#me. mid row: wait what did they just say

[patron-saint-of-lesbeans]

God would love me if I was a worm (Isaiah 41:14)

[mononijikayu]

ni yao de ai — ryomen sukuna.

“We saw you look up at your girlfriend after that game-winning spike. What was running through your head?” And Sukuna, grinning like a fool. “Ahhh, just hoping she’s proud of me, you know?” Then it became bigger and bigger. One after the other, he could not shut up. He was, after all, too damn in love. “Your girlfriend’s reaction went viral after your match. Do you watch those clips together?” And Sukuna, without missing a beat. “Hell yeah, we do. I send her all my favorite edits. Couple goals, you know?”

Genre: Alternate Universe — Volleyball! AU;

Warning/s: General Rating, AFAB! Reader, Use of She/Her, Use of Female Centered Identification, Pet Names (Babe, My Love, Baby, Etc), Romance, Fluff, Humour, Love, Comfort/No Hurt, Established Relationship, Lovers, Dating, Feeling, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Idiots In Love, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Teasing, Healthy Relationship, Friendships, Profanity, Volleyball Pro! Sukuna, Astrophysicist! Reader, Boyfriend! Sukuna, Girlfriend! Reader;

Words: 6k words.

Note: i'm working on the actor nanami fic, so here is something for you to enjoy while you wait for that. also, i keep thinking about how sukuna would have been like pro-hero bakugo had he not been dating reader. like, he would be so good at volleyball, but he would be so eager to be blunt about absolutely everything and just be so crass, you know??? anyway, our sukuna managed to not be like that, cause he's #1 lover boy first. enjoy this!!! see you in a couple days!! i love you!!! <3

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THIS WAS NOT OUT OF THE ORDINARY NOWADAYS, FOR YOU TO SIT HERE. Your long-time boyfriend, professional volleyball player Ryomen Sukuna, has always been a bit of a big deal. Well, you try to not make it to be but you both know that it is.

He was undeniably talented, incredibly confident, and dangerously charismatic. But it wasn’t until this past year, when he officially made Japan’s national team and became their standout player, that his star practically exploded.

And with that… came you.

You didn’t ask for it at all. The attention, the headlines, the fan-cams. However, by virtue of loving Sukuna, you had become a fair bit of a participant in his stardom. And it wasn’t like Sukuna did it on purpose. 

Well, actually he kind of did. Because if there was one thing about your boyfriend, it was that he never shied away from publicly loving you. In fact, he leaned in. Hard.

And you?

You could never say no to him when he asked. Ever. Because you loved him as he is, and that includes loving you. And if supporting him meant occasionally being pulled into the spotlight alongside him. Well… you’d do it a million times over. That’s how much you loved him. 

It started small at first.

Little moments here and there.

Well, he tried to ease you into it.

Like when Sukuna played his first international match for Japan, and you sat quietly in the front row with his family. You thought you were being lowkey, just there to support your love. But the cameras caught you. Multiple times. Your face blown up on the jumbotron — smiling, proud, hands clasped in silent prayer every time he served.

Sukuna noticed you on the screen mid-game, and instead of ignoring it like any normal athlete would. And then he would go on and smirk. Then almost like he can’t help it, he winked at you. On live television. You damn near sank into the earth.

The clip instantly blew up on Twitter. 

Everyone on the internet lost its mind. 

Suddenly there were viral captions like:

“When the national team’s ace makes eye contact with his girl mid-game and winks?????”

“The way he’s SO unapologetically in love I’m crying.”

“The girlfriend has MAIN CHARACTER ENERGY I’m obsessed.”

And you? You just wanted to disappear.

Ryomen Sukuna, on the other hand, ate it up.

“You see how they love us, babe?” he grinned later that night, scrolling through TikTok edits of you two.

“My love, I was literally just sitting there.”

“Nahhh, you were the cutest girlfriend alive.”

“Stop watching the videos, I look like I was going to hurl because of nervousness.”

“Nope. I’m obsessed with us. Sorry, babe.”

But then it started escalating. Almost too quickly. The more Ryomen Sukuna won on the national stage. And the more the media realized he could not shut up about you. The more you started to become a topic. At first, it was small questions during post-game conferences.

“We saw you look up at your girlfriend after that game-winning spike. What was running through your head?”

And Sukuna, grinning like a fool. “Ahhh, just hoping she’s proud of me, you know?”

Then it became bigger and bigger.

One after the other, he could not shut up.

He was, after all, too damn in love.

“Your girlfriend’s reaction went viral after your match. Do you watch those clips together?”

And Sukuna, without missing a beat. “Hell yeah, we do. I send her all my favorite edits. Couple goals, you know?”

And suddenly you were trending on Twitter at every single match. 

People started calling you “Japan’s National Team Girlfriend”. 

There were TikToks like “POV: You’re dating an Olympic-level volleyball player and he’s obsessed with you”. Someone even made a fan account dedicated to you. Some people are making fan accounts about the two of you. It was just insane.

You were horrified about it.

You never expected this.

Sukuna, however, was thriving.

“Babe, you’re famous now.”

“I am just—this is crazy, my love. I didn’t think this for myself.”

“Too bad. You’re dating a national treasure. That makes you one too.”

“You're the only national treasure here, not me—”

“Wrong. We’re a package deal. We always have been, babe.”

“Well, fuck. Looks like I gotta know how to deal with this.” You sighed, leaning into the couch. “You’re lucky I love you so much.”

“I love you so much.” He says, looking at you with those warm loving eyes. “Very much.”

You sighed, moving close to lean into him. “I love you too. Very much.”

And then, of course, came the Vogue interview soon after that.

Sukuna got asked to do a pre-Olympic feature for Vogue Japan. It was going to be a full-blown video interview and magazine spread to highlight him as the country’s volleyball superstar heading to his first Olympic Games. 

You didn’t think much of it at first—until Sukuna casually mentioned. “They wanna do a segment with you, too.”

You froze. “Wait. What?”

“Yeah, you know….like those….interviews we watch.” Sukuna said it, like it was the most casual thing. “Like a couples segment. You know. Cute shit.”

“Okay, but this is insane. I don’t think I’m good enough to be interviewed for a magazine like Vogue.”

“Yes, you are. You’re the most beautiful and smartest person in the world, like the coolest. How could you not be in the magazines?”

“You’re just saying this cause you’re biased.”

“So?” He snickered, leaning closer to you like a cat to his owner. “Isn’t my opinion the only thing that matters?”

“My love, please—”

“Babe, come on. It’ll be fun. Just some quick questions. I’ll be right there with you.”

“Are you sure you want me there?”

“I always want you with me.” He whispers to you, eyes adoringly looking at you. Almost begging. “Please come with me.…I’ll make it worth your while later.”

You can’t say no to him. Not like this. Not ever. You sighed. “Fine. I’ll go with you.”

And so, here you are now, right beside your boyfriend, in this studio.

The massive studio hummed with quiet energy. You could feel the subtle buzz of camera equipment, the low chatter of the production crew, and the muffled thuds of footsteps as people flitted around making last-minute adjustments.

Despite the growing tension in the room, there was one person who looked like he couldn’t be less bothered and that was Ryomen Sukuna himself. Your beloved Sukuna is now Japan’s top star volleyball player right now.

The man who was about to debut in his very first Olympic Games. And yet he sat there like he was in his living room, entirely unruffled by the cameras or the fact that the world was about to have their eyes glued on him.

To him, this was just like any other day. It was nothing special, nothing worth that much of a fuzz. It’s media day. Well, of course he was with you. That was always something that made him happy.

But the occasion in itself just as it was, like on all work days.

It truly did make sense for him to be like that.

After all, Sukuna had been through enough media circus for the past few years. With all the pre-game conferences, after-game interviews, constant media coverage during training camps.

By now, cameras had become like background noise to him. Even though he wasn’t the most camera-savvy person, he had long accepted that it came with the job. As much as you have.

Though, you know it was just still so insane. This level of fame was not something you expected to see. But well, what can you do? Your boyfriend is an ace at anything he does, and he always will be.

So here he was now, gold chain glinting under the bright studio lights, his long arm draped casually behind your chair as if he had all the time in the world. His thumb, rough, calloused from years of playing was tenderly brushed the curve of your shoulder absentmindedly, warm and familiar. His long legs were spread obnoxiously wide, his knee brushing against yours like it belonged there.

You, however, were fighting down a giggle like you did when you were both younger. It wasn’t fair how good he looked in front of the camera. Your Sukuna was in his official team Japan tracksuit, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, exposing his tattooed forearms.

His messy pink hair was styled back, just enough for his sharp jawline to be obnoxiously prominent and his signature smug grin made it look like he had already won gold before even stepping onto the court.

And then like he could feel you staring, Sukuna leaned toward you. 

You raised a brow as you finally noticed his ruby eyes tender on you.

“What? There something on my face?”

“Bet I can answer faster than you, babe.” His voice dropped low, just for you to hear, the gravel in his tone sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

You snorted, glancing at him. “Yeah, okay. Just don’t embarrass me, my love.”

His grin sharpened, canines flashing. “No promises, babe.”

You groaned to yourself.

You were so screwed.

He’s competitive even on this.

The interviewer settles in her seat across from you both, a friendly smile on her face. “Alright, we’re rolling!” she calls out. “Let’s give them a warm welcome!”

The crew claps behind the camera and you and Sukuna stand up, quickly bowing your heads lowly to everyone in the room, greeting them politely one by one. The crew did the same, with eyes full of awe as they both looked at you two as you sat down.

“Alright, hello everyone!” the interviewer finally smiled, straightening in her seat. “We’re here today with Ryomen Sukuna, Japan’s powerhouse volleyball player heading to his very first Olympic Games — and we’ve got his longtime girlfriend, [Your Name], who is also a Astrophysics researcher joining us today!”

Sukuna perked up a little at that introduction, his grin widening. “Renowned, huh?” He turned to you, his voice dropping low, teasing. “Damn, babe. Are you that famous now, my baby?”

You rolled your eyes, fighting down a smile. “Says the Olympic athlete. Let’s not do this, please.”

The interviewer laughed. “We are so excited to have you both here. Thank you for making time despite your hectic schedules — especially you, [Your Name]. I imagine taking a break from Astrophysics research work isn’t easy?”

“Oh—” you started, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I mean, I really shouldn’t have gotten a break. I was actually supposed to have a research advisory today…”

Sukuna turned to you sharply, his brows raising. “Wait—what?”

You blinked. “…Huh, what?”

“You never told me that. I thought you just got permission.” Sukuna scoffed, his head tilting. “Babe, you really have a major advisory today? How the hell did you get off work?”

“Ohhh, yeah…” you cringed, rubbing the back of your neck. “Yeah… funny thing about that.”

The interviewer’s interest piqued. “Oh?”

You hesitated and then bit back a smile. “So… My head researcher’s daughter is actually a huge fan of Sukuna. Like, borderline obsessed.”

Sukuna’s brows shot higher. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah.” you chuckled sheepishly. “And when they found out I was doing this interview with him, my boss was like, ‘Yeah, just get me his autograph and I’ll look the other way on you missing the advisory.’”

Sukuna immediately cackled. “Really? That’s damn hilarious.”

“Swear to god, it's crazy in there when it comes to you.” you laughed, sinking a little in your seat. “He told me, ‘If you get me a video of him saying hi to my daughter, I’ll even let you off the hook for the paperwork you forgot to pass last week.’”

“Babe.” Sukuna turned his entire body toward you, his grin practically ear-to-ear. “Why didn’t you tell me that earlier? That’s easy. Just give me a pen later—hell, I’ll record her a whole-ass personalized video.”

You scoffed, blushing. “Oh my god, no—you don’t have to do that much—”

“Nahhh, I gotchu, babe, don’t worry.” Sukuna grinned mischievously, already plotting. “I’ll make her dad look like a hero. Gonna be like: ‘Hey princess, your dad is the real MVP for letting your fave’s girlfriend skip work today to give you content.’”

You smacked his arm, mortified. “Oh my god, you are so insane.”

The production crew lost it almost immediately.

The interviewer covered her mouth, laughing.

“I’m serious!” Sukuna laughed, scarlet eyes crinkling. “You know how many brownie points that’ll get you at work? You could literally ghost them for a week and they’ll still cover for you.”

“Oh my god, stop—”

“And the paperwork you forgot?” Sukuna shot you a playful smirk. “I’ll just sign it with ‘Ryomen Sukuna’s girlfriend is a genius, give her a raise.’ Boom. Problem solved.”

“RYOMEN SUKUNA.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop.” Sukuna raised his hands in surrender. “Just don’t call me that, okay? You know what my name is.”

The interviewer was crying. “I am so sorry, I can’t breathe—you guys are adorable.”

You slumped in your seat, burying your face in your hands. “I’m never living this down.”

Sukuna just laughed harder, his hand finding your thigh and giving it a warm squeeze. “Nah, you’re good, babe. I’ll make sure you’re employee of the month after this.”

The interviewer, trying to recover. “W-well! We really appreciate you being here, [Your Name]. Seriously. It's not every day we get a literal astrophysicist and an Olympic athlete in the same room.”

“Oh no, I should be the one thankful!” you stammered, still flustered from Sukuna’s antics. “Thank you for having me here with my love. Honestly, it’s such a privilege.”

Sukuna practically preened. “Her love. You guys heard that, right?”

You smacked his arm. “Oh god, don’t even start.”

“Too late, babe.” Sukuna grinned smugly, leaning back in his chair. “I’m riding that high all day. Like, that’s from the one I love right there. I’m riding this forever.”

“You can’t just—” You lower your face to your hands, feeling yourself warm. “Oh my god.”

“Don’t get embarrassed so fast!”

“I’m trying hard not to!”

The interviewer was now fully crying from laughing.

And you? You were about two seconds away from melting into the floor from sheer secondhand embarrassment.

You just can’t believe he’s like this today.

“So, uh, are you guys ready for some quickfire ten-second questions?” She asks as you finally recover, lifting your head.

Sukuna cracks his knuckles dramatically. “Easy. We’ve been together more than a decade or so. I can ace this.”

You scoff. “You’re gonna overthink everything.”

Sukuna feigns offense. “Excuse you? I’m very decisive.”

The interviewer laughs. “Alright, let’s put that to the test. First question: Sukuna, what’s your favorite pre-game meal?”

“Ramen.” he says instantly. Then, a beat later, “Wait. No. Her curry. Yeah, yeah. That one….the spicy one. Final answer.”

Your mouth drops open. “Are you serious? I thought you hated it.”

He grins smugly. “It’s true. I loved it all. Took another plate after you left. Your food hits different, you know?"

You roll your eyes but can’t help the blush creeping up your neck. “O–okay, I guess.”

The interviewer beams. “Cute. Okay, [Your Name], what’s his go-to post-game routine?”

“Oh, easy.” you say, straight-faced. “Complaining about his back. Then how he doesn’t like how Gojo Satoru took that line shot at him at a game. Take a ridiculously long, hot shower. He has a beer before we eat dinner. Then aggressively demands my cuddles.”

Sukuna sputters at you. “Aggressively?!”

You arch a brow. “You corner me in the kitchen. Every time.”

He throws his head back in a laugh, his large hand sliding to your knee. “Okay, fine. Fair point.”

The interviewer chuckles. “Alright, Sukuna — who’s the first person you call after a big win?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Her. Always her. And she picks up, even mid-experiment.”

Your chest tightens, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “You’re too much.”

“Hey, I really do call you the most after every match.”

“And after a loss?” she presses.

Sukuna leans slightly toward you, his arm shifting so his hand now rests protectively on your thigh. “Also her. But I’m significantly more annoying.”

You snort. “So much pouting. He becomes, like, unbearable.”

Sukuna gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. “Unbearable?! I’m mourning, babe!”

“You’re sulking. Just like right now.”

“Same thing!”

The interviewer is practically doubled over laughing. “I love this dynamic. Okay, favorite thing about each other — go.”

Sukuna’s answer is immediate. “Her laugh. Hands down. Best sound in the world.”

Your heart lurches, face instantly heating. “Oh my god, shut up—”

“No, like dead serious, babe.” he interrupts, his smile softening. “Could be having the worst day ever, and if she laughs? I’m good.”

You smack his arm, your face now an embarrassing shade of red. “You’re being gross on camera!”

Sukuna shrugs, unbothered. “Truth is truth, babe.”

The interviewer melts. “Okay, your turn, [Your Name].”

You stammer, still flustered. “Uhh—” you scramble to think of something non-cheesy, but instead, your mouth betrays you. “The way he always warms his hands before touching my face.”

Sukuna freezes. “…Huh?”

You blink. “…What?”

“That’s your favorite thing?” he asks, blinking at you like you’d just dropped a bombshell.

You squirm. “I mean, yeah. You do it all the time. Like, even if we’re just watching a movie or something — you always warm your hands first. It’s cute.”

The grin that spreads across Sukuna’s face is devastating. “You’re so obsessed with me.”

You physically groan. “Oh my god, shut up.”

The interviewer is practically swooning. “This is the cutest thing ever—okay, okay, next one. Sukuna, if you could steal any skill from your girlfriend, what would it be?”

“Her patience.” he deadpans.

You burst out laughing. “What?”

“No, like actually, I really think you mastered it so much.” he insists, leaning forward. “You have no idea how insane she is at staying calm. Like, I’ll be losing my mind over a game or a bad practice, and she’ll just—” he waves his hand, mimicking your nonchalant demeanor, “‘Okay, babe, it’s fine. You’ll win next time.’ Like. What the hell? Where do you get that?”

You’re dying of laughter. “It’s called balance, my love.”

“It’s witchcraft.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Then learn it.”

He laughs at your words. “No, but I’m genuine about this. My girl can sit there and deal with a long day where her research yields bad results and do it again even though it takes long. And come home to me sulking and just know how to be just as patient.”

You looked at him, eyes full of love. “You’re so….I love you. Just a lot.”

He smiles back at you. “Love you too, babe.”

The interviewer sighed, whimsically. “I love you two so much. Okay, final question—and you both have to answer this.” She leans in dramatically. “What’s the very first thing you’ll do if you win gold at the Olympics?”

Sukuna’s cocky grin is instant. “Kiss her. On live TV.”

Your jaw drops “‘kuna, my love! Don’t just say that!”

“What?” he laughs, utterly shameless. “Manifesting, babe.”

“You’re disgusting.”

Your boyfriend snickers. “Yeah, you say that now but you’re gonna make out with me after this—”

“Oh my god, not here!”

The interviewer howls with laughter. “And what about you, [Your Name]?”

You glare at Sukuna but ultimately sigh in defeat. “I guess… I’ll let him.”

Sukuna beams, victorious. “See? Obsessed with me. You were lying earlier, hm? Saying you won’t and now here you are, you admit the truth. I am so vindicated.”

You slap his arm, but you’re grinning so wide your cheeks hurt. “You’re so annoying.”

“Yeah, but I am your annoyance. That's my happy life right there, being loved by you like that.”

The interviewer shakes her head, still giggling. “I swear, if you actually win gold and kiss her on live TV, I’ll play this clip everywhere.”

Sukuna’s arm curls around your shoulder, pulling you in. “You better be ready, babe. I’m serious.”

And the terrifying part? You can already picture it. Because you know that he can do it. He can win it all just like that. You could see the gold medal around his neck, the camera zooming in, and Ryomen Sukuna turning straight to you with that same smug grin before sweeping you off your feet.

You purse your lips into a flat line, blushing. “Yeah, yeah…..I’m prepared.”

The interview finally wraps up there.

You’re still a little dazed. The cameras, the lights, the overly intimate questions about your relationship—but Ryomen Sukuna? He still looks happy, still completely unbothered. Like he lives for this. Which, you suppose, he does.

His arm never leaves your shoulder as you stand to shake hands with the Vogue team, his thumb still brushing absentminded circles against your skin. And just as you think you can finally slink away into the background, done with all the attention, Ryomen Sukuna pulls you right back in.

“Babe, c’mon.” he murmurs, his mouth brushing your temple. “Stay for the photoshoot.”

You blink. “What?”

“The shoot. They’re doing my Olympic feature photoshoot now.” He grins like he already knows how this will go. “Hang around for a bit.”

Your eyes narrow. “I thought this part was just you?”

“It is.”

“Then why do you need me here?”

“Moral support.” he says with a teasing smirk. “Also, you look really cute today, and I need you to stand there and be hot while I take photos.”

You gawk. “My love…..”

“What?” He shrugs, pulling you even closer as he starts walking toward the set. “I’m serious. Just stand off to the side, babe. I’ll behave.”

You have exactly zero trust in that promise. But you sigh and let him tug you along anyway. Because at the end of the day, you can’t say no to him. You never could. Not then and certainly not now. That’s just how much you loved the man.

So you do stay. But you try your hardest to stay out of the way. This is just for him, and only for him. You shouldn’t meddle. This isn’t for you. You do not want to get involved. So you make sure he sees you but sees you preoccupied, as you take food from the snack pile and coffee from the coffee machine.  

The photoshoot setup is expansive. There were grand lighting rigs, enormous backdrops, a team of stylists fussing over Sukuna’s hair and clothes. He’s already swapped his casual attire for his Japan national team uniform, crisp and iconic in its red and white.

And good god, you were stunned.

He looks obscenely good, even better than normal.

You were just hypnotized.

Like, you can definitely say that it's an actual deity-tier sort of beauty. Tall and lean, the muscles in his arms and thighs practically sculpted. His sharp features and dark tattoos look even more striking against the stark white backdrop. And the way he carries himself. It was that dangerous, unbothered confidence that had the photographers practically swooning as much as you were already.

You stand quietly off to the side, as you stuff yourself with snacks. You were doing your best to stay unnoticed and so far so good. But the moment Sukuna locks eyes with you from across the room, in the middle of his solo shoot, you already know you’re already fucked.

Because he grins. That stupid, sharp, predatory grin.

And you just know something is going to happen.

Because, you know that look on his face.

He’s about to pull some bullshit.

“Alright, Sukuna — tilt your chin up a bit. Perfect, perfect — can we get some more intensity in those scarlet eyes?”

He obliges easily, shifting his stance. For a few moments, you think you’re in the clear. Maybe he’ll actually behave. Maybe he’ll just get through his shoot without doing anything that would just throw you off your horses.

“Hey.” Sukuna suddenly calls out — loud enough for the entire set to hear. His gaze zeroes in on you. “Can she come here real quick?”

Your stomach drops.

The entire team turns to look at you.

Your soul leaves your body.

“I swear to god…..” you hiss, mortified. “No—”

“C’mon, babe.” he grins. “Just real quick. Just one picture.”

The photographer, looking intrigued, asks, “Wait — are you talking about her?”

“Yeah. Of course I’m talking about her.” Sukuna says smoothly. “That’s my girl.”

Oh my god oh my god oh my god.

You try to melt into the floor. “My love, no—”

“Babe, come on.” he says, mockingly sweet, “I thought you were here for moral support? Come on, just one picture. I won’t even ask them to include it in the spread.”

The team just absolutely loves what’s happening right now. They’re already whispering to each other, eyes lighting up with interest. One of the assistants, who was clearly a hopeless romantic, suddenly gasps, “Oh my god, can we get her in a couple of shots?”

“No, no, no you don’t have to.” you stammer, mortified. “I-I’m not part of the shoot—”

“You are now, babe.” Sukuna smirks, already striding over to grab your hand.

“My love, I’m not even— I didn’t sign anything—”

“Babe, relax.” he murmurs, tugging you right into the center of the set like it’s nothing. “You’re not doing a solo shoot. Just stand next to me. That’s it.”

The photographer, gleeful, immediately jumps in: “Oh my god! Yes, yes, yes. Let’s do a few couple shots. Just casual. We can get a few ‘power couple’ frames, I love this.”

“No, please, it’s not fair to you all or him.” you say, panicked. “It’s his shoot, I’m not supposed to—”

Sukuna grins down at you. “C’mon, babe. What’s one photo?”

You glare. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” He tugs you even closer. “C’mon, let me show off my pretty girlfriend a little. Please?”

“…I hate you so much.”

The next twenty minutes are the most unhinged photoshoot of your life.

It starts simple. Ryomen Sukuna standing tall in his Olympic uniform, with you just casually next to him. He’s still smug and composed, while you try your best to look like you belong there. But then it escalates, as it always does with him.

“Can you put your arm around her waist?” the photographer asks.

Sukuna immediately complies, almost too gleefully, you might add, as he was pulling you flush against his side, his arm curling snug around your lower back.

“Actually, can you lean down and nuzzle into her neck a bit? Just natural intimacy.”

You really could feel your soul just saying a hail mary and saying goodbye for good. Your Sukuna doesn’t even hesitate. His mouth brushes your temple, his nose drags against your skin, and he actually whispers in your ear: “Told you you’d be in this shoot, babe.”

“I hate you so much, like a lot. Right now.” you grit, cheeks burning.

“You love me, a lot. I can tell.” he grins. “Like look at that bright eyed love!”

“Can we get one with her in front of him? Like, you know, back to his chest?” The director suddenly says.

You barely have time to react before Sukuna’s already wrapping his arms around you from behind, his chin resting atop your head. His long fingers splay warmly across your stomach, deliberately making the pose look far too intimate.

The camera shutter goes crazy.

And then—the final blow from the director:

“Okay, for the last shot—Sukuna, can you kiss her?”

Your brain explodes. “WHAT—”

“Ohhh, I think I can.” Sukuna drawls, thrilled. “Hang on.”

“I swear to god, you can’t just—my love!”

Too late for any arguments, he’s made up his mind. His hand slides up to your jaw, his thumb tilting your chin just slightly. And then, without a hint of shame, he leans down and kisses you. Right there. On the set. With the cameras flashing like crazy.

It’s not even a small kiss. It’s full and lingering. It’s passionate and hot and burning. It was the type of kiss that only belongs to you two. Yet you don’t push him away or pull away. Instead, you let his hand cup the edge of your face, his mouth molds against yours, and you feel his stupid grin against your lips.

The photographer practically screams. “Oh my god, that was too good! That was just perfect!”

You finally part from him. But it took you a bit before you were back down to earth from the spellbound trip to love. “You are so annoying, I swear!”

“Babe.” he says, smug as hell. “I think we just sold out this magazine issue.”

“I’m going to kill you, that was too passionate! That’s just for us—"

“Please. You’re gonna frame these photos later.”

“Ugh, no I won’t!”

“You so will.”

And when the photos do come out, everything just shifts in the world. The entire internet loses its mind over Japan’s national volleyball ace and his head-over-heels-in-love girlfriend like he always is, you realize, miserably, that Ryomen Sukuna was absolutely right.

Because you do, in fact, frame one of the photos.

Well, almost all the photos you got.

And what does Ryomen Sukuna do?

He never shuts up about it.

══════════════════

epilogue

The group chat video call came in less than five minutes after the interview aired. You barely had time to process the fact that the clip of you and Sukuna had already exploded on social media — like a firestorm-level viral. 

Your phone was pinging nonstop with texts, notifications, and Twitter mentions of people collectively losing their minds over “Astrophysicist GF x Olympic Athlete BF” like it was the rom-com of the century. Like it was the most important trope out there.

And just when you thought you could quietly crawl into a hole and die from embarrassment…

Incoming Video Call: “Menaces + Nanami (we tolerate him)”

“Oh my god no—”

“Babe, answer it!” Sukuna grinned, already stretching his long arm to grab your laptop. “I need to see what they’re about to say.”

“Sukuna, I’m literally not ready for this shit—”

“You’re literally adorable, babe. Don’t worry!” Sukuna smirked, already clicking Accept. “Let me enjoy my W.”

The call connected. Chaos immediately erupted.

Gojo Satoru (Camera OFF): “AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH—”

Geto Suguru (Camera ON):

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH—”

Nanami Kento (Camera ON):

“…Are you all seriously screaming?”

Itadori Yuuji (Camera ON):

“BROOOOOO THEY WENT SO HARD IN THAT INTERVIEW OH MY GODDDD!”

Fushiguro Megumi (Camera ON, Visibly Unamused):

“…I’m logging off.”

Gojo Satoru (Camera ON, Appearing Out of Nowhere):

“NO YOU’RE NOT, MEGUMI— OH MY GOD YOU TWO WERE INSANE.”

You immediately face planted onto the table, groaning. “Kill me. Just kill me now.”

“Babe, why? You were really cool!” Sukuna laughed, wrapping an arm around you. “This is literally my proudest moment.”

“Oh my god, this is just so—” You groaned.

“Bro. Bro, oh my god.” Itadori was crying. “Sukuna. The way you said ‘Her love. You guys heard that, right?’ I— I fell off my couch cheesing, bro. You haven’t changed!”

“RIGHT?!” Gojo practically screeched. “And then he was going like ‘I’ll get you employee of the month, babe.’ I almost died! This was so—I can’t even explain it!”

Sukuna was thriving. His grin stretched wide, his canines flashing. “Ayyyeeee, you finally got it Gojo! You got someone, so you understand right? You see how I held her down? Boyfriend of the year.”

“You really are, bro!”

“My love, stoppppp!” you wailed dramatically.

“Nah, babe. Let me cook from boyfriend to husband!”

“Okay but REAL TALK. [Your Name]. Explain to me why your head researcher just casually let you off work because his daughter’s a fan of Sukuna.Also, how the hell are there fans of Sukuna?” Geto Suguru says as he munches on his popcorn.

“Taking offense to that last part, Geto.”

“Hahaha, I don’t care!”

You groaned harder. “I really don’t know. But it worked. I mean, people are asking me for Sukuna’s autographs for their kids at the research facility.”

“No, cause that’s wild, actually.” Suguru laughed. “Your literal superior was like, ‘Get me his autograph and you can skip work.’ That’s insane. I wish I could do that.”

“Well you could had you gone to the same research dept as me.”

“Nah, I don’t wanna work there. Your deadlines are crazy.”

“Hey, my influence is really good for her right now!” Sukuna grinned, leaning into you smugly. “I’m basically her office’s MVP. They should name a telescope after me, if I’m being honest.”

“That’s not what I'm working on right now! That’s the other team!”

“Eh, same thing.”

“The Ryomen Sukuna Space Observatory, nice ring to it.” Gojo said dreamily. “Iconic.”

“Guys, really.”

“I would like to formally request to be excluded from this narrative.” Nanami Kento deadpans as he puts away his paperwork.

“Oh shut up, Kento. Are you still acting tsundere after all this time?” Gojo cackled. “You enjoyed it.”

“No. I did not.”

“Then why’d you text me ‘how did Sukuna–san improve in comedy? he’s hilarious.’ right after it aired?”

Nanami froze. “I did not do that—”

“YOU DID TOO!” Itadori gasped loudly. “I saw the receipts, senpai. You can’t just lie about that!”

“Lies.”

“Don’t deny it!”

“I will deny it, there’s no proof.”

“…Sukuna–senpai, I have to say, you being in love still after all this time really made me cringe.”

Gojo Satoru lost it. He almost fell off his chair, laughing. “That’s so—what the, that’s so—”

“See? People do cringe when you go lovey-dovey!” You tease him, and then laugh as you lean against him. 

“Wow, didn’t know that’s your true feelings about me, babe.” Sukuna scoffed, faking offense as he playfully rolled his eyes. “No love for the Olympic boyfriend, huh?”

“You sounded like a sickeningly in love golden retriever, and it was disturbing.”

Sukuna snorted. “If I still had the privilege to order you one hundred laps, I would.”

“Hm, but you don’t.”

“All because you’re jealous. How’s your date yesterday? Bad like last time?”

Megumi recoiled like he’d been shot. “Senpai, that’s so—”

“Nahhh, I get it, Megs. Cause I’d be mad too if I was third-wheeling greatness like this, while I’m waiting on Cupid to give me luck.” Sukuna gestured grandly to you and himself. “It’s hard out here.”

“I hate you.”

“Don’t be mad, bro. Just manifest your own [Your Name].”

“I swear to god, senpai.”

“Again, manifest. Hell, I’ll even help you. My sister’s into you—”

“No, thanks.”

“Okay but can we talk about how senpai just easily offers the autograph AND the video like it's nothing?” Yuuji enthusiastically says, smiling from ear to ear.

“REAL! Like, this is so crazy. ” Gojo gasped. “He just casually said ‘I’ll make your boss look like a hero, babe.’”

“Bro is so down bad, man.” Geto snickers, drinking his beer. “Everyone’s losing their shit everywhere.”

“And then he was like, ‘yeah don’t worry, I’ll help sign your paperwork.’’” Yuuji grows louder, more enthusiastic than before. “I can’t believe people are seeing it more closely like this. You’re a lucky lady, senpai!”

“Yeah, who can say they have such a long loving thriving relationship, no?” Gojo teases, as he leans on the screen. “LIke, people are jealous!”

“Guys, please!” you howled, your head hitting the table as your face turned scarlet. “PLEASE STOP—”

“SU-KU-NAAAAA–SENPAIIIIII!” Yuuji screamed, clapping. “You’re built differently, man. This is why you’re not bitchless!”

“This is why you follow in my footsteps, Itadori.” Sukuna laughs proudly. “You will only end your suffering if you follow me. That goes for you, Nanami, Fushiguro.”

“No thanks.” Nanami and Fushiguro say, almost at the same time.

“Nah, cause now that I think about it….my girl’s gonna expect me to do well too, Sukuna.” Gojo says, rubbing his chin. “That’s such a cruel move, Sukuna!”

“Hey, I love my girl as easily as breathing.” Sukuna raises his beer can, like cheers. He grins. “Good luck. I’m here if you need tips.”

“…The fact that this interview is already at 4 million views is baffling.” Nanami whispers as he looks at his phone. “It was just released an hour ago.”

Your head snapped up. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Oh yeah, it’s viral now.” Megumi deadpanned. “It’s already trending. Twitter’s obsessed with you two.”

“Yup, yup.” Itadori confirmed. “Hashtag ‘Astrophysicist GF x Olympic Athlete BF’ is number one right now.”

“YOU’RE LYING.”

“Dead serious.”

“My love.” you whirled on him, horrified. “What did you do?”

Sukuna, entirely unbothered: “Won.”

“Bro, people are literally shipping you two like it’s a Netflix rom-com.” Gojo snickers, sighing. “I want mine to be like that.”

“Right?” Suguru agreed. “And they’re already calling you ‘The only loverboy to ever loverboy’ which is kinda crazy to say about Ryomen Sukuna.”

Yuuji sighed. “But it fits, don’t you think? He loves his girl.”

Sukuna beamed. “As they should.”

You were spiraling. “I can’t go back to work like this. They’re gonna tease me—”

“No, babe, you’re good.” Sukuna said smugly. “You literally got immunity. They’re too obsessed with me now.”

“OH MY GODDDD.”

“…So when exactly did you two sign up for a publicized rom-com?” Nanami asks.

“Bro, right?” Gojo laughed. “Next thing you know Sukuna’s proposing on live TV after winning gold.”

Sukuna gasped dramatically. “Wait. That’s fire, actually.”

“Hey, don’t you dare!” you screamed.

“Imagine it, though!” Gojo egged on. “He wins gold. Camera zooms in. Sukuna pulls you onto the court. Boom. Proposal.”

“Don’t give him ideas, Gojo Satoru!”

Geto cackles. “Nah, once you give Sukuna ideas and he likes it, he’s not gonna change his mind.”

“Write that down, bro!” Itadori gasped.

“Oh, I will!” Sukuna grinned.

“Ryomen Sukuna, I swear to god—”

“Hey, hey, slow down. That’s not my name.”

“I’m not stopping until you say you won’t do that.”

“Here me out, let me cook on this idea, like this is a really good idea. Come on!”

“No!”

[itneverendshere]

need your confession - r.c (+18)

pairing: kelce's!sister x hockey!rafe warnings: smut

It was the biggest game of the season so far—your university’s team against their biggest rivals.

You, however, were sitting on the bleachers, arms crossed, wrapped in your thickest winter jacket, trying to not to shiver like a little bitch, your legs pratically fusing to the metal. Next to you, Kie had a bucket of popcorn balanced on her lap, one boot casually propped against the row in front of you like she wasn’t on the verge of hypothermia too.

“Tell me again why we’re here when we could be literally anywhere else?” she asked, tossing a kernel into her mouth.

You exhaled sharply, your breath visible in the freezing air, eyes locked on the opposing team’s bench. “Kelce.”

You’d never missed a game in your life, the stupid sport had somehow made it’s way into your heart. It was practically coded into your DNA after a lifetime of being dragged to them, of screaming at refs, of celebrating wins and mourning losses. Although today you were more than tempted to do so, but you came, just to prove—to no one in particular—that you weren’t a coward.

Out there, somewhere in that sea of helmets and shoulder pads, was your biggest one-night-stand mistake. You were less than excited to see him skate across the ice.

Kie followed your gaze, pausing mid-chew. “Oh. Oh.” She swallowed. “You didn’t tell me he was on their team.”

“Because I was trying to block it out,” you muttered through gritted teeth.

There he was, stretching like he was God’s gift to hockey, that same smug smirk on his face that made you want to throw up in your mouth a little. The same guy you made the mistake of hooking up with last summer, back when you were blissfully unaware he was a complete waste of oxygen. Before you knew he played rough on and off the ice, throwing cheap shots at your brother, running his mouth, and generally acting like a walking red flag with skates.

“You have the worst taste in men,” Kie whispered dramatically, shaking her head.

“I was young and dumb,” you defended. “And drunk. Mostly drunk.”

“Still. You hooked up with a guy Kelce would literally throw himself into a fire to destroy. I’m surprised the universe hasn’t imploded.”

You groaned, sinking deeper into your jacket. 

Five minutes later you were gripping the railing, heart thudding as the teams lined up for the puck drop. The second your brother skated out, you tensed. Because you knew that motherfucker was going to say something.

And sure enough, after the first few plays, you saw him slide up beside Kelce during a pause in the game. His head tilted, mouth moving. Oh fuck no.

Kelce straightened up, grip tightening on his stick.

“Oh, shit,” Kie muttered, leaning forward. “Is he—?”

You braced yourself, waiting for your brother to lose it—waiting for him to drop his gloves and snap.

But before he could react, Rafe did.

One second, your brother looked ready to commit a felony, and the next, Rafe skated between them, shoving your biggest mistake back with his stick. Not hard, but enough to make a point. Enough to say, not fucking happening.

You blinked.

“What the fuck?” Kie breathed. “Did he just—?”

“Shut up, I’m trying to understand it too.”

Your brother shot Rafe a look, something between confused and annoyed, but Rafe ignored it, leaning in to say something low enough that even the refs weren’t paying attention. You couldn’t see his face, but whatever he said made the other guy’s smirk falter.

That did things to you.

The second the puck dropped, Rafe dropped him.

You hardly saw it happen. One moment, your biggest mistake was skating forward, and the next—bam. Rafe’s fist connected with his face so fast you almost missed it.

Kie sucked in a breath beside you. “Shit.”

You shot up from your seat, eyes still wide, watching as the guy hit the ice like a sack of bricks. Flat on his back, motionless for a second, before he started to stir.

Rafe just stood over him, still gripping the front of his jersey, still looking for a reason to throw another punch. His helmet was tilted back slightly, visor pushed up just enough to reveal that look—that look—the one that usually meant someone was about to get their ass beat.

The refs were already swarming, whistles blaring, but Rafe wasn’t moving.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you hissed, gripping the railing.

Kie was still frozen. “That was—wow. That was—”

“Unhinged?”

“Hot,” she finished.

You whipped your head toward her. “What?”

She raised her hands. “Unhinged, sure, but also—”

You groaned, eyes snapping back to the ice just in time to see the refs finally pry Rafe off the guy, shoving him toward the penalty box. He went willingly, shaking his hand out like his knuckles didn’t ache from the impact, that same fucking smirk plastered on his face as he skated off.

Then, because he was an asshole, he looked right at you. Through the glass, through the crowd—right into your fucking soul.

And winked.

You felt your entire body heat up, which pissed you off because fuck Rafe Cameron. Fuck his stupid protective streak. Fuck his broad shoulders and that stupid confident smirk and— You were sitting way too fucking close to the penalty box.

Close enough that when he stepped inside, he barely had to turn his head to see you.

You were still gripping the railing, eyes narrowed.

Rafe sat down, leaned back, then tipped his head toward you—he was expecting a thank-you.

You scowled. “Are you insane?”

It didn’t even matter that Rafe Cameron was built like a linebacker or that he had at least five inches on you. You were prepared to climb his ass like a tree just to wring his stupid, smug neck.

He smirked, rolling his shoulders like knocking someone out was just another Tuesday for him.

“I mean, I’ve been told,” he said, voice muffled through the glass, “but you're welcome, princess.”

Your mouth actually dropped open.

Kie choked on a laugh beside you.

“You—you think I’m gonna thank you?” you seethed, standing up so fast the people behind you flinched in their seats. “You just got benched for ten minutes.”

Rafe shrugged, running a hand over his chin like he wasn’t even listening to you. “Worth it.”

You nearly groaned at how good he looked with his helmet off, cheeks flushed from the cold, blue eyes sharper than usual. 

“You can’t do that.

“Can’t protect my girlfriend’s reputation?”

“Stop calling me that,” you hissed, wishing there wasn’t a glass stopping you from punching his face.

“What? I thought we were still doin' that.”

“We were never doing that.”

“We definitely were,” he countered, tilting his head. “Y'were all over me last week, princess.”

“Stop it.”

“Habit,” he said, so fucking nonchalant.

“Drop it.”

“Can’t.” He grinned, giddy, like this was his favorite thing in the world. “Kinda like it.”

Your eye twitched.

You exhaled sharply, pressing your fingers to your temples. “You are so—”

“Charming? Handsome? Heroic?”

Kie wheezed.

“You volunteered to be my fake boyfriend.”

Okay so you were lying through your teeth now.

“You begged,” he corrected, like the little shit he was. “Practically threw yourself at me.”

Kie was actually crying.

You clenched your jaw so tight your teeth hurt. “I asked you one time to pretend to be my boyfriend because some guy wouldn’t take a hint.”

“And I did an amazing job,” Rafe said, nodding like he deserved a fucking trophy.

“You got into a pissing contest with him,” you deadpanned.

His grin widened. “And he backed off, didn’t he?”

You made a sound so aggressive that Kie clamped a hand over her mouth.

Kie nudged you. “You’re staring.”

“I’m glaring,” you corrected.

You made a deeply frustrated noise, something that probably wasn’t human, something that just encouraged him further. Rafe looked so fucking smug, he knew exactly what he was doing to you, like he thrived off it.

The ref skated over then, tapping the glass with the butt of his stick. “Cameron, quit flirting and focus.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, tapping his stick against the glass once before turning back to the ice, still grinning.

You slumped into your seat, suddenly exhausted.

 “So, when’s the wedding?”

Later, at the victory party, you were still ignoring him, not that it was stopping him.

Rafe had been glued to your side all night, trailing after you like a fucking golden retriever, hands always on you—guiding you through the crowd, resting on your waist, fingers slipping under the hem of your jacket just because he could.

And you—you were trying so fucking hard to stay mad. To hold onto your annoyance, to remind yourself that you didn’t ask him to knock a guy out in front of thousands of people just because he ran his mouth.

But he was making it impossible. Especially now, when he slid up behind you, arms sneaking around your waist, voice warm against your ear. “Still mad at me, girlfriend?”

You stiffened, but he just laughed, squeezing your sides before you could pull away. “Thought you’d be a little more appreciative. Y’know, considering I defended your honor.”

You turned in his arms, narrowing your eyes. “We are not together.”

His hands slid lower, settling on your hips, fingers pressing just enough to make you shiver. “Mhm. Keep telling yourself that.”

Fuck, he was so fine, disgustingly fine. The kind of fine that made you want to throw something at him just so you wouldn’t have to deal with the fact that your body loved being near his.

You scowled.

Rafe just smiled. “Y’look real pretty tonight, by the way.”

You rolled your eyes so hard you damn near saw your past life. “Shut up.”

Rafe just grinned, fingers flexing against your hips like he had any fucking right. You smacked his hands, stepping back, but he just reeled you back in like a fish caught on his line.

“You are so annoying,” you hissed, trying to peel his hands off you like they were stuck with super glue. “Let me go.”

“Nah,” Rafe said, cocky as ever, grip tightening just to piss you off. “I kinda like it here.”

You made an indignant noise, smacking his chest this time, but that only made him chuckle. You wanted to scream, maybe—kiss him a little, which was exactly why you needed to stay the fuck away.

Some girl passing by stopped, looking between you two with a dreamy little smile. “Oh my God, you guys are so cute together.”

Rafe beamed, like he’d just won a fucking award. “Right?”

“No,” you snapped, shoving at his arms. “Don’t encourage him.”

The girl just giggled and walked off, and you were left fuming while Rafe watched, amused.

“You’re still enjoying this way too much,” you accused, crossing your arms.

“‘Cause it’s fun, princess,” he teased, hands still resting on your waist, like they fucking belonged there. “Y’get all riled up. It’s cute.”

Your throat hurt in a way that had you wanting to actually fight God.

“I’m about to get real uncute if you don’t back up.”

Rafe smirked, ducking his head like he had a secret to tell. “You sure?” His voice was low, sweet like he thought he could charm you.

You shoved at his chest hard, and he finally let go, but not without laughing to himself like this whole thing was so fucking funny.

“Go bother someone else, Rafe.”

“But you’re my favorite,” he shot back way too fast, and you hated that your stomach flipped like a damn pancake.

Your jaw dropped. You smacked his arm so fast he actually flinched.

“Don’t start,” you warned, but Rafe lived to start shit.

“Not my fault you like it,” he muttered, just loud enough for you to hear.

Your eyes narrowed into dangerous little slits. “I don’t like it.”

Rafe just raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Mhm.”

You scowled, about to curse him out properly, but before you could, his fingers brushed your waist again—light, teasing, just enough to make your breath hitch. 

You slapped his hand away so fast it echoed.

“Stop.”

Rafe grinned, like your suffering was his favorite form of entertainment.

“What? ‘S not my fault you’re so touchable.”

You gasped, actually gasped, because what the fuck kind of line—

“If you don’t stop this shit—”

“What?” He leaned in, voice low, too close, like he wanted you to feel the words. “You gonna hit me? Y’know I like it rough.”

You nearly malfunctioned, body glitching, brain buffering, eyes blinking at him like he had lost his goddamn mind.

“Don’t—” You inhaled so sharply your lungs burned. “Don’t ever say that shit to me again.”

Before you could even form a proper death threat, his hand curled around your wrist, just enough to stop you. To still you.

Jesus Christ, his hands were warm.

Big and solid and warm, even in this freezing-ass party house, even with the cheap beer and half-melted ice lining the countertops. His fingers pressed lightly into the inside of your wrist, just above where your pulse was doing its best impression of a goddamn hockey buzzer.

His other hand found your waist again.

Your breath hitched and you hated that he noticed.

“Knew you liked me, princess.”

“You’re delusional,” you snapped, jerking your hand back, but he just tsked, his grip firm but easy, he knew you weren’t actually trying.

He pulled you closer. Just an inch, enough to make you feel him.

His voice dropped lower. “Y’know,” he murmured, lips just brushing your ear, “You sure let me touch you a lot.”

Your spine snapped straight.

“I don’t,” you gritted out.

His fingers flexed on your waist. “No?”

“No.”

“Then stop me.”

Oh, you wanted to, you should have.

But you hesitated for just a second too long, because he was too close. Too solid. Too much of everything you swore you didn’t want, but now, right now, standing in the middle of a party where nothing else existed but him—

You didn’t move.

And Rafe knew it.

His smirk turned slow, lazy, and then—oh, you bastard—he tipped his chin down, catching your gaze with his like he dared you to look away.

You couldn’t.

Your pulse was a war drum against your ribs, your breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a growl, because he was going to do it.

He was going to—

His lips came down against yours, no hesitation. No teasing. He’d been waiting for this, he knew you had, too.

You didn’t have time to process before his tongue swept past your lips, and—fuck—your knees almost buckled.

Because Rafe Cameron kissed like he did everything else.

His fingers tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him, this wasn’t enough. His other hand cradled the side of your face, tilting your head up so he could kiss you deeper, pressing and taking like he already knew you’d let him. He knew exactly where to touch, how to hold you so you wouldn’t dare pull away.

Then— oh —his tongue swiped against your bottom lip, slow, before slipping past, deepening the kiss like he was starving for it.

Your whole body reacted.

It shot straight down your spine, pooling low in your stomach, Rafe wasn’t giving you a second to think—his lips moved against yours in that filthy rhythm, his tongue teasing, stroking against yours, coaxing a sound from your throat that you hadn’t meant to make.

That did something to him.

His hands tightened, one splaying across the small of your back, pressing you flush against him, the other sliding up to your neck, angling your head just how he wanted—deeper, messier.

And, God help you, you let him.

Because fuck, he kissed so good.

Rafe groaned into your mouth, the sound needy. His teeth scraped lightly against your bottom lip, biting just enough to make you gasp, and he took advantage—kissing you deeper, he wanted that little sound, he’d do whatever it took to pull more from you.

His fingers sliding down—tracing the curve of your ribs, teasing the edge of your top like he was thinking about pulling it off right here.

Then he changed the rhythm, slowing down, torturously. His tongue tangled with yours in a slow tease; he wanted to make you feel every second of it, he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

He kissed like he was made for it.

Rafe tilted his head, lips dragging along your jaw, down to your neck, where he bit, hard enough to make your breath hitch.

“Knew you'd let me.”

Your chest heaved, your whole body felt wrecked, and he hadn’t even really touched you yet. You should have slapped him, pushed him away.

Instead, you wanted more.

So you rose onto your tiptoes, pressing your chest against his, searching for friction—and shit, Rafe felt it. His entire body shuddered, his breath stuttering as he realized—no bra. Just you, warm, your nipples pebbled from the cold, pressing right against his chest through your flimsy top.

Rafe groaned into your mouth—wrecked. His grip on your waist nearly dropped for the shock.

Your hands slid up, nails scraping hard against the back of his neck, tangling in his hair, tugging—and fuck, that sent him feral.

He swallowed your gasp, mouth slanting over yours, tongue slipping inside—hot and wet. His tongue teased, then took, deep and demanding, like he owned you.

He pulled back just enough to spit—hot and slick—right into your tongue, eyes burning as he murmured, “Take it.”

And you did, you fucking did.

Because you were gone—ruined—nothing but the overwhelming need to feel him everywhere.

Rafe groaned, like he couldn’t believe you just let him do that, then devoured you again, tongue licking into your mouth like he wanted to live there.

His hands wandered, slipping under your top, tracing up your bare sides, thumbs barely brushing the underside of your tits—so close but not enough, teasing just to drive himself insane.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your lips, voice ragged. His forehead pressed against yours, hands still gripping you tight,. “Gonna be the fuckin' death of me.”

And God help you, you wanted to finish the job in the middle of this hallway.

His forehead was still pressed to yours, his breaths coming hot against your spit-slick lips.

You were so close, your chests heaving together, and just to be a brat, you rolled your hips just a little.

Rafe let out a guttural groan, his hands flying down to grab your ass, yanking you against him so hard you swore you felt his pulse everywhere.

“Jesus fuckin' Christ,” he groaned, mouth dropping open against your throat.

His forehead pressed to your shoulder, his entire body shuddering as his thumbs finally, finally swiped over your nipples, dragging over the soft, sensitive skin.

“You tryin' to make me lose my shit?”

“Maybe.”

Rafe moved, backing you up until your spine hit the wall, one knee pushing between your legs, parting them like he had every fucking right. 

His tongue was relentless, fucking into your mouth in deep, filthy strokes, like he wanted you to choke on it, wanted you messy. His spit dribbled from the corner of your lips as you kissed him back just as desperately.

Your nails dug into his broad shoulders, hard enough to leave marks, and fuck, Rafe loved it. He groaned into your mouth, hips grinding against yours, chasing the friction like a man starved.

“Y'like teasing me, huh?” he panted, dragging his mouth down your jaw, nipping at your pulse, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. His voice was strained. "Makin' me wanna fuck you stupid?”

You whimpered.

That was all he needed.

His hands yanked your hips closer, grinding you against his thigh, right there, and fuck, you felt everything—felt how hard he was, how badly he wanted you.

You wanted him just as bad.

“Rafe—” you gasped, head tilting back against the wall, body burning.

He grinned against your throat, smug and dark. “There’s my girl.”

You whined, nails scraping against the back of his neck, and Rafe swore.

“Gonna fuckin' kill me,” he growled, his teeth nipping at your collarbone, his hands now fully cupping your tits, squeezing like he needed to feel every inch of you.

Your hips rocked against him, your body completely shameless, seeking out every bit of friction you could get. The slick between your thighs was unbearable, and his thigh between your legs was making it so much worse.

“Fuck, Rafe,” you groaned, and that did it. That fucking did it.

His hand snapped to your jaw, forcing your head back so he could drown you in another filthy kiss. His tongue pushed into your mouth, dominating, possessive, his spit mixing with yours until it was dripping down your chin.

He loved it—loved you like this, breathless, wrecked, nails digging into his back, chest pressing flush against his like you were trying to fuse your body to his.

Rafe wasn’t even thinking anymore, his hips rutted against yours, his hands gripping your ass like he wanted to leave bruises, like he needed you to feel him tomorrow.

He broke the kiss, just enough to look at you, and fuck, he’d never seen anything hotter—lips swollen, spit everywhere, your breath all shaky and uneven.

“Look at you,” he rasped, his forehead pressing against yours, his fingers slipping lower, teasing. “So fuckin’ pretty.”

His thigh flexed between your legs, and you gasped, body jolting, the friction was too good, too much, and Rafe fucking felt it. His smirk was nothing short of wicked as he did it again, pressing you harder against the wall, grinding his leg up into you.

“That feel good, baby?” 

You could barely get the word out. “Y-Yeah.”

“Yeah?” He kissed you again, this time slower, his tongue licking into your mouth in long, lazy strokes, he had all the time in the world to ruin you. One of his hands slid up, fingers wrapping around your throat—not squeezing, just resting there, holding you in place.

Your pulse hammered against his palm. Rafe felt it. He fucking loved it.

“So fucking needy,” he murmured, his thumb tracing over your jaw, his other hand still gripping your waist, still rocking you against his thigh. His knee nudged up higher, pressing right where you needed him most, and your fingers tightened in his shirt.

“Rafe—”

He grinned against your lips. “That’s it, baby.”

Your brain was dead, but somewhere in the mess of it all, one clear thought hit you—

Of course he was the type of guy to talk you through it.

Of course, Rafe fucking Cameron would be the kind of guy who couldn’t just let you fall apart on your own. No, he had to be right there, dragging you through it, forcing you to hear every filthy, possessive word dripping from his lips.

The pressure between your legs was building, tight in your tummy, and you didn’t care that you were still in a fucking hallway, that anyone could walk by. You were too lost in him.

Rafe must’ve seen it on your face because his smirk faded. His fingers tightened just a little around your throat, his thigh flexing again, and fuck—

You whimpered, your hips rolling against him, chasing more, more, more.

Rafe groaned, his forehead pressing to yours, his lips brushing yours as he panted.

“God, fuckin' love you like this,” he muttered.

Just to wreck you further, he tilted your chin up, forcing your gaze to meet his, his blue eyes dark.

“You’re shakin',” His tone was smug, satisfied, “You gonna cum for me, princess?” His voice was pure sin. “Just like this?”

You gasped, pleasure sparking like electricity through your veins, and Rafe smirked—because he already knew the answer.

His grip on your throat tightened, not enough to hurt, just enough to make your breath hitch, to make you dizzy with it.

“Fuck, you’re close, aren’t ya?” he murmured, voice rough, teasing, eating up the way you moaned against his mouth. “So fuckin' desperate for me you’re about to come like this—rubbin' yourself on my thigh like a needy little thing.”

You should’ve been embarrassed, should’ve cared that you were still standing in a fucking hallway, grinding against him like you’d lost every ounce of dignity.

“Tell me, princess,” he growled, his thigh flexing between your legs, making you bite your lip. “Did that motherfucker ever make y'feel like this?”

You didn’t regist the words at first, but then you realized Rafe wasn’t just asking—he needed to hear it. 

Your breath hitched, nails digging into his shoulders. “No,” you gasped, shaking your head. “Never—fuck—never like this.”

That was all he needed.

His grip tightened, his hands sliding down to grab your ass, dragging you against him harder, rougher, making you moan into his mouth. 

“Didn’t fuckin' think so,” he muttered, his teeth grazing your jaw, “That’s my pretty girl,” he coaxed, his lips still dragging down your throat.

Your body tensed, thights closing around his.You gasped, back arching against the wall, fingers pulling at his shirt.

Your breath came in desperate, uneven gasps.

He couldn’t just let you have it.

No, Rafe fucking Cameron had to drag it out—had to make sure you felt every last second of it, had to talk you through it like he got off on watching you break.

“That’s it, baby,” he rasped, his grip on your hips bruising as he forced you to keep moving against him, his thigh flexing up to meet you with every devastating grind. “Don’t fucking stop now.”

You whimpered, your entire body on the verge of collapse, pleasure building so deep that it almost hurt.

His fingers slipped under your jaw, tilting your face up, forcing you to look at him, to see the way his blue eyes were blown with want.

“That’s it,” he murmured as a wrecked sound ripped from your throat, your body arching against his, because fuck, fuck, fuck—you were still right there.

Your breath hitched, your legs trembled, your mind blanking.

“Oh, fuck—” he groaned, feeling you shake apart in his hands, eating gup every twitch, every little gasp. His lips pressing against your cheek, murmuring filthy, wrecked praises against your skin.

“That’s my girl,” he muttered, his voice thick with pride,  “Look at you.”

Your body was still buzzing, your breath coming in uneven gasps, your legs shaking where they were wrapped around Rafe’s waist. His forehead still pressed against yours when your phone rang.

The shrill sound cut through the post orgasm haze in your brain like a bucket of freezing water to the face, bringing you to the absolute insanity of what had just happened.

Oh, fuck.

Rafe groaned, annoyed, pressing his lips to yours again, not ready to let you go. “Ignore it,” he muttered, “They’ll call back.”

But then you saw the name on the screen.

Kie.

Your stomach dropped.

“Shit,” you whispered, your hands immediately shoving at Rafe’s shoulders, wiggling out of his grip. He hesitated for half a second before letting you down, his brows furrowing at how suddenly you pulled away.

Your legs barely worked, body was still tingling from the way he had just ruined you, but you forced yourself to stumble back, pressing the phone to your ear.

“Kie?”

“Thank God,” her voice came rushed, stressed. “It’s—fuck, it’s Liv. She got rookied.”

Rookied.

You knew what that meant. Some asshole upperclassmen had put her through some fucked-up hazing bullshit, and now she was probably wasted, crying, or worse.

“I’m coming,” you said instantly, already running a hand through your hair, trying to make yourself look less like you’d just been getting wrecked in a hallway.

Rafe was watching you.

You could feel his eyes on you, his body still so close, his hands still flexing at his sides like he wanted to grab you, pull you back in.

But you couldn’t think about that.

Holy shit.

Your childhood friend, your brother’s best friend, the guy you had a crush on when you were twelve.

You had just grinded on Rafe Cameron like a desperate whore and fucking came on his thigh in the middle of a goddamn hallway.

You felt your face go hot, embarrassment sinking in like a slow-moving poison, drowning out the last bit of euphoria still clinging to your skin.

Rafe stepped closer, his brows drawing together, picking up on your demeanor.

“You okay?” His voice was still rough, breathless.

You swallowed hard, shoving your phone into your pocket. “I—I have to go.”

His frown deepened. “What? Now?”

You nodded, your hands shaking as you avoided his eyes, you couldn’t look at him.

“I have to take Liv home,” you rushed out, already stepping away, trying to put distance between you and the biggest mistake of your life.

Rafe’s jaw clenched. “Need help?”

His voice was genuine, and for some reason, that made your stomach twist even more.

“No,” you said shaking your head. “I—I got it.”

His eyes searched yours, you knew exactly what he was looking for—regret.

You didn’t say another word. You just turned and walked away, ignoring the way your legs still trembled, ignoring the way your lips still tingled from his kiss, ignoring the way your heart slammed against your ribs because holy shit, what the fuck did you just do?

[jungwnies]

mercedes boys | wrong garage, right person

୨ৎ : featuring : mercedes drivers | george russell x reader & kimi antonelli x reader ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by @fastcarsgonyoem) : after a wardrobe malfunction during media day leaves her exposed and stranded, christian horner’s estranged daughter finds herself seeking cover in the mercedes garage, only to walk out wearing their team kit. with tensions already high between her and her father, the media frenzy that follows is nothing compared to the storm waiting back in the red bull paddock. but one driver makes it clear she’s not walking through it alone.

୨ৎ : genre : angst & romance ୨ৎ : tws : ur christian horner's daughter 💀 ୨ৎ : word count : 1089

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : being already awake for the live content is so refreshing... it was getting tough waking up at 3am to watch the lives 😭 and can i say how proud I AM OF KIMI BRO OMFG... he is setting new records jdknjcdff (unfortunate sprint tho...)

ʚ・george russell

it was supposed to be a normal media day.

smile, wave, answer a few watered-down questions, ignore your father’s passive-aggressive nod across the paddock, and leave before the headlines twisted your last name into a headline again.

what you didn't plan for was the strap of your tube top snapping mid-interview.

it happened fast — a loud pop, a panicked hand to your chest, and a horrified expression frozen on the face of the poor journalist who definitely didn’t sign up for this. you muttered a choked “i need a second,” and spun on your heel, panic rising in your throat as your eyes darted around the paddock.

no one from red bull was in sight. not your team, not your pr handler — and certainly not your father.

of course not.

the only thing within reach was the nearest garage. mercedes.

you didn’t even think. just ran.

george looked up from his post-briefing water bottle and froze the second he saw you barreling toward him, one hand clutching your chest and the other waving wildly.

“george! shirt— help— please!”

he blinked. “did… did you just say shirt?”

you burst into the garage, chest heaving, cheeks flushed. “tube top snapped. no one’s around. i need a shirt. or something. anything.”

he didn't ask questions. just shrugged off his oversized team tee and handed it over.

it hung loosely on you, swallowing your frame in dark gray cotton and that familiar silver star on the back. you caught your reflection in the side of a car.

oh no.

mercedes branding. all over you. on a media day. in front of half the grid.

you walked back out, head high, trying not to meet the eyes of the cameras that were absolutely capturing this moment. the second you stepped onto the main paddock strip, it was over.

click. click. flash.

“is that christian horner’s daughter… in mercedes gear?”

“was this planned?”

“she defecting?”

you didn’t stop walking until george caught up with you.

“you okay?” he asked gently.

“peachy. i’m just waiting for my dad to explode in the background.”

as if summoned, your phone buzzed. three missed calls. all from him.

george took one look at your screen and exhaled. “you want me to walk you over there?”

you laughed without humor. “you want front row seats to the fireworks?”

“i want you to know you’re not walking into that alone.”

your steps slowed.

you looked at him, this man who didn’t owe you anything — who knew exactly who your father was, what your name meant, and still held out his hand like it didn’t matter.

you took it.

when you finally reached the red bull side, your father stood by the door, jaw clenched, arms crossed.

he opened his mouth — and george spoke first.

“she had a wardrobe malfunction. no one from your team was around. i helped. that’s all.”

christian looked at you. not angry. just cold.

“i’ll handle this later.”

“no,” george said calmly, squeezing your hand. “you’ll handle it respectfully.”

you didn’t say anything. you didn’t need to.

george had already said enough.

ʚ・kimi antonelli

you knew the second the strap popped that it was going to be a disaster.

there was a flash of sound, a startled yelp, and then your hand flew up to your chest as your tube top gave up on life mid-media appearance. the cameras were already flashing. the crowd paused just enough to notice. you backed away slowly, heart pounding, half-hiding behind a barrier and pretending to scroll through your phone as if that would stop the headlines from writing themselves.

of course, no one from red bull was around. especially not your father.

you scanned the paddock like a rabbit ready to bolt. the closest team garage was mercedes. you didn’t even think. you just made a beeline straight for it.

kimi spotted you instantly. he was in the middle of debrief, a bottle of water in one hand, half-listening to a mechanic. but the second he saw you marching toward him with your arm across your chest and panic in your eyes, he moved.

“are you okay?”

“top snapped. can’t find anyone. i need something to wear. literally anything.”

he blinked, then without a word, peeled off his black and silver warm-up shirt and handed it over. it was soft, a little loose, and smelled vaguely like peppermint gum and sunscreen.

you turned away as you pulled it on, face burning.

when you looked back at him, he just smiled a little. “you look good in my colors.”

you smacked his arm lightly. “not helping.”

“sorry.”

you knew it was too late when you heard the cameras clicking. when you turned the corner out of the garage, a few journalists raised their phones like they had just struck gold.

“is that horner’s daughter?”

“in a mercedes shirt?”

your phone started buzzing. you didn’t even look at it.

kimi fell into step beside you. he didn’t say anything at first. just walked with you, calmly, like there wasn’t a storm of speculation brewing on every feed.

“you don’t have to come,” you said quietly.

“i know.”

“you’ll get dragged into this.”

he shrugged. “you didn’t do anything wrong.”

you bit your lip. “doesn’t matter. he’ll say i did anyway.”

kimi stopped walking. you turned to face him, but he just stared straight ahead at the red bull garage down the lane.

“if he says anything out of line, i’ll speak up.”

your heart kicked. “kimi…”

“i don’t care what your last name is. i care that you’re shaking.”

you hadn’t even noticed you were. his hand slipped into yours like it belonged there.

when you reached the edge of the red bull paddock, you saw your father standing near the media doors, arms crossed, expression already tight.

he looked at you. then at kimi. then at the logo stretched across your chest.

“you’re joking.”

kimi didn’t flinch. “her top broke. she needed help. we helped. that’s it.”

your father’s eyes narrowed. “you could have gone to literally anyone else.”

“no one else was there,” you said quietly.

“you’re making a scene.”

the silence was heavy.

your father scoffed. “we’ll talk about this later.”

“no,” kimi said. “you’ll talk to her when she’s ready. not when you feel like being angry.”

you looked at him, stunned.

he didn’t let go of your hand.

and in that moment, you realized it didn’t matter how loud the headlines got.

kimi would always stand between you and the noise.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[kxsagi]

Heyyyy precious. Low-key want to request reader with a underground band that is suddenly blowing up but they never told the boys. (Everyone you want but please Hyoma, Yukimiya + Itoshi dudes)

Like they had this band for a while but they never said anything and the band wasn't famous until they started making hit after hit and that's how they find out (thanks even if you don't do it 🙏)

“𝐢 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 ‘𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥”

a/n: more rockstar gf! reader? OH I AM LIVING FOR IT

ft. itoshi rin, itoshi sae, chigiri hyoma, yukimiya kenyu, isagi yoichi, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei

itoshi rin

finds out through your spotify page. 

you left your laptop open and he just wanted to queue music, but then sees you’re logged into a verified artist account with millions of streams. 

stares at the screen like it personally offended him. 

walks into the room like: “hey. wanna explain why you're casually outperforming the entire j-pop industry?” 

he’s not mad. just deeply, emotionally confused. like “when were you doing this? we live together.” 

you say “after you go to bed” and he’s like “i go to bed at 2 AM???" "... when you're at practice."  

starts watching your live shows in secret like it’s surveillance footage. 

sends you a single text after your band hits billboard: “guess i’m dating a rockstar. don’t let it go to your head.” 

plays your songs when he thinks you’re not home. you are. you record him. he never forgives you. 

itoshi sae

finds out during a random interview when the host says “your girlfriend’s band is incredible, by the way.” 

sae: “what.” 

sae: “excuse me.” 

sae: “whose girlfriend?” 

goes home, opens youtube, and finds a video titled “HOT GIRL SHREDS GUITAR WITH HER TEETH (and it’s kinda sexy)” 

pauses at 0:03. it’s you. 

calls you with the calmest voice ever: “is there a reason why you’re leading a cult on stage and no one told me?” 

you go “i thought you’d be chill about it” and he goes “this is beyond chill. this is grammy nomination level. i need a minute.” 

insists on getting free tickets to your shows even though you always offer him VIP. 

ends up becoming the mysterious hot boyfriend in the crowd who dips after the encore. 

lets you have your spotlight but still flexes a little when people connect the dots. 

chigiri hyoma

chigiri was just trying to eat his lunch when he saw your face on a Time Out Tokyo article titled “Meet the Band Taking Over Asia’s Underground Scene.” 

drops the spoon. 

reads the article with the intensity of someone researching for a thesis. 

calls you mid-interview, whispers: “you’re so hot i actually need to sit down. are you kidding me.” 

gets way too excited. 

insists on learning your setlist so he can scream-sing it in the front row. 

becomes the dude holding up a “SHE’S MY GIRLFRIEND” sign at your gigs. 

posts after every one of your performances captioned: “dating the main character. sorry.” 

makes you autograph the back of his thigh once and got it tattooed. zero shame. 

yukimiya kenyu

finds out because a luxury fashion brand asked if he wanted to model with your band. 

goes “oh wow, they’re blowing up fast” and then sees your face on the moodboard. 

audibly gasps. 

takes off his sunglasses in shock, indoors. 

“love. are you a full-time rock goddess and i’m just finding out like this?” 

gets dramatically offended you never asked him to take your promo pics. 

immediately offers to do your PR, plan your brand deals, and get your band a skincare sponsorship. 

subtly matches his outfits to your stage looks. 

becomes that boyfriend who answers interview questions on your behalf: “she’s too humble to say it, but yeah, she did sell out in five minutes. queen behavior.” 

introduces you as “japan’s coolest rockstar girl” at every party. 

isagi yoichi

finds out when he walks in on you casually practicing vocals in the garage. 

he’s like “that’s kinda good…” 

then pauses. 

“wait. why do i know these lyrics.” 

pulls out his phone and realizes the song is already in his playlist. 

you’ve been in his top 5 artists on spotify this whole time and he didn’t know it was YOU. 

stares at you like you’re an alien. 

“you’re my girlfriend AND my favorite artist?! am i living a fanfic?” 

spirals. you’re hot. you’re talented. you’re secretly famous. you’re literally a pop punk goddess. 

“so like… do i get VIP access to your concerts or do i have to cry in general admission?” 

once tackled a guy backstage for breathing too close to you. 

his lock screen? your album cover. his phone case? your lyrics. 

calls your fanbase “his in-laws.” 

kaiser michael

finds out via twitter trending. 

trending topic: “WHO IS THE LEAD SINGER IN THIS BAND AND WHY IS SHE HOT???” 

he’s like “who tf is this chick everyone’s thirsting ov–” 

zooms in. 

it’s. you. 

spits out his wine. 

immediately calls you with a perfectly calm, terrifying voice: “schatz. liebe. meine muse. care to tell me why the entire internet wants to lick your boots?” 

you go “it wasn’t that deep” and he goes: “you were wearing leather pants and singing about dominance. it was absolutely that deep.” 

watches every live show like he’s scouting you for a transfer window. 

50% impressed. 50% aroused. 100% confused why you didn’t tell him first. 

claps like a proud theater mom every time you hit a high note. 

“i’ve decided to become your groupie. my ass looks good in fishnets.” 

threatens your fans for fun. 

lowkey jealous the spotlight’s not on him but deeply in love with how you take it anyway. 

shidou ryusei

finds out because he saw a clip of your concert on tiktok where you licked the mic mid-performance. 

immediately duets it with a thirst trap and the caption: “that’s my girl. hands off unless you’ve got a death wish 💋🔪” 

comments “i taught her that tongue move btw” and gets banned for 24 hours. 

facetimes you screaming: “YOU’RE IN A BAND? A BAND?? SINCE WHEN DO YOU HAVE A WHOLE ALTER EGO THAT LOOKS LIKE A VILLAIN I’D WANNA MAKE OUT WITH???” 

starts tagging along to all your gigs like an aggressive golden retriever. 

jumps on stage once and tries to mosh with the crowd mid-ballad. 

fights your bassist in the parking lot over “stage proximity.” 

buys your merch in bulk and cuts them into crop tops. 

refers to himself as your “road boyfriend.” 

once got kicked out of a venue for throwing a fan’s sign because it said “marry me.” 

his reasoning: “that’s MY future, bitch.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[scarletwinterxx]

won't let these little things slip out of my mouth - jeon wonwoo imagine

i have a confession... i cried while writing this. now i'm sad no one will ever propose to me this way, why oh why did i even write this BUT I LOVE IT SO MUCH🥺🥺🥺🥺

A/N: I HIGHLY SUGGEST PLAYING SPRING SNOW BY 10CM WHILE READING THIS. or not if u don't want to cry like a baby (like me🥹)

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

The cold winter air nips at your cheeks as you walk beside Wonwoo, his camera slung over his shoulder as always. The streets are adorned with twinkling lights, festive wreaths, and the hum of Christmas carols drifting from nearby speakers. Despite the chill, you feel warm. Maybe it’s the cozy scarf he insisted you wear or the way his hand occasionally brushes yours as you walk.

He’s been unusually quiet tonight, though. You steal a glance at him, noting the slight curve of his lips as he stares ahead, the golden glow of streetlights reflecting in his dark eyes. He’s up to something. You just know it.

“Jeon Wonwoo,” you say, breaking the silence, “what’s with the secrecy? You’ve been grinning like a kid who knows something I don’t.”

He chuckles softly, the sound warm and familiar. “Patience,” he teases, his tone as smooth as always. “You’ll see soon enough.”

He leads you to a quaint little gallery tucked away on a quieter street. The windows are frosted, but you can see the soft glow of light inside, illuminating what looks like an intimate exhibit. Your curiosity piques as he holds the door open for you, the bell above jingling softly.

The gallery smells of wood and faintly of pine, and the atmosphere is calm, almost reverent. Wonwoo leads you through the first room, where a variety of black-and-white photos hang on the walls. They’re beautiful, sure, but they don’t hold your attention for long. Not when you can feel Wonwoo’s excitement radiating beside you.

“Come on,” he says, tugging you gently toward a smaller, dimly lit room at the back. “This is the part I wanted you to see.”

The moment you step inside, your breath catches. The walls are lined with photographs, but these aren’t just any pictures. They’re familiar. Too familiar.

“That’s... Wait, that’s from our trip to Jeju!” you exclaim, pointing to a shot of you laughing on the beach. Another photo catches your eye—a candid of you staring in awe at cherry blossoms during spring. And then another, of you holding an umbrella, your face lit up with laughter as the rain poured down.

You turn to Wonwoo, your heart racing. “What is this?”

He’s smiling, that soft, shy smile that always makes your knees a little weak. “Keep going,” he says, nodding toward the other wall.

You walk further into the room, and your chest tightens as you take in rows and rows of photos. All of you. Every angle, every expression, every moment he managed to capture. There’s one of you napping on a park bench, another of you squinting at a map, and one where you’re mid-bite into an enormous burger, ketchup smeared on your cheek.

You burst out laughing, tears pricking your eyes. “You didn’t!”

The walls of the gallery feel like they’re closing in as you walk further into the room, your gaze darting from photo to photo.

Each one is a piece of your life together—your smiles, your laughter, even your messy moments. You pause at a picture of you trying to eat an ice cream cone that’s melting faster than you can keep up with it. You remember that day vividly, how Wonwoo kept laughing and snapping pictures while you tried (and failed) to salvage the cone.

“Wonwoo,” you say softly, your voice trembling as the weight of it all settles over you. “You’ve been collecting these... all this time?”

“Every moment I could,” he says from behind you, his voice warm and quiet in the stillness of the room.

You move to the next photo. And then the next. They’re all you, and it’s overwhelming in the most beautiful way.

Then your eyes catch something different.

The very last photo on the wall.

It’s simple—a close-up shot of a ring nestled in a velvet box. The light glints off the delicate band, making it shimmer in a way that feels almost magical. Your breath catches in your throat as you take a step closer, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Is that—” you start, but the words die on your lips when you turn around.

Wonwoo is there, down on one knee in the middle of the gallery, holding that same velvet box in his hand. The air leaves your lungs as your gaze locks onto his, the vulnerability and love in his eyes almost too much to bear.

“It’s just us,” he says softly, as if he’s answering a question you didn’t ask. “No distractions, no one else. Just you and me.”

You cover your mouth with your hand, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill over. He takes a deep breath, his voice steady but filled with emotion.

“I’ve spent so much of our time together trying to capture every moment, every expression, every laugh, because I never want to forget a single second with you. But the truth is, none of these photos come close to how I feel when I’m with you. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen—through my lens and in my life.”

He opens the box, revealing the ring that you’d just seen immortalized in the photo. It sparkles under the soft lights of the gallery, but nothing shines brighter than the love in his eyes as he looks up at you.

“I want this to be my last photo project,” he says with a small, shaky laugh. “Because after this, I just want to live the moments with you. Will you marry me?”

The world tilts and rights itself again as you nod furiously, your tears spilling over. “Yes! Yes, of course, I’ll marry you!”

Wonwoo grins—one of those rare, wide grins that you know he reserves for the moments when he can’t contain his joy. He slides the ring onto your finger, his touch gentle and sure, before standing and pulling you into his arms.

The silence of the gallery wraps around you both like a warm blanket. It’s just the two of you, the faint glow of the photos on the walls casting soft shadows.

You lean back to look at him, laughter bubbling up through your tears.

“You seriously used a picture of the ring for the big reveal?” you tease, your voice trembling with joy. “Couldn’t help yourself, huh?”

He chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “It’s a story, isn’t it? And now it has the perfect ending.”

You rest your head against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. “Not an ending,” you whisper. “The perfect beginning.”

And in that moment, surrounded by the story of your love etched in photographs, you know you wouldn’t want it any other way.

[astars-things]

video game bingo

Vinnie hacker x reader

It started as a joke. Just a little something to keep myself entertained while Vinnie streamed for hours on end, lost in the world of League of Legends. I had crafted my own little "Vinnie Hacker Stream Bingo" card, filled with all his signature habits.

Moans when frustrated? Check.

Pops a Zyn? Oh, that’s an easy one.

Hits the desk? That’s a free space.

The list went on, and every time he streamed, I’d fill in a new card, never quite managing to hit a full row. But tonight? Tonight was different.

I curled up on the couch behind him, out of frame but close enough to hear the familiar sounds of his game. His chair was slightly turned toward the monitor, fingers flying over the keyboard as his brows furrowed in concentration. I grinned, marker in hand, watching the inevitable unfold.

First, it was the moan—one of those deep, frustrated groans he let out whenever someone on his team made a dumb play. My marker swooped across the square.

A few minutes later, I heard the unmistakable sound of him cracking open his Zyn tin. Another check.

His chat was spamming messages, probably roasting him, but I was locked in, watching like a hawk. Then it happened—an unfortunate team fight, an ult gone wrong, and Vinnie smacked his desk with the flat of his palm. The sound echoed in the room. My breath hitched as I realized I was one square away from victory.

I was practically bouncing in my seat now, waiting for that final piece to fall into place. And then, as if the universe itself wanted me to win, he leaned into his mic, groaning, "Dude, How is he not dead. This game is so bad."

I gasped dramatically, slammed my marker down, and shot up from my seat.

“BINGO!”

Vinnie’s chair froze mid-rock, his head snapping toward me, brows knit together in complete confusion.

“Wait… what?”

His chat was already going insane. Messages flooded in:

“OMG SHE FINALLY DID IT.” “THE BINGO QUEEN.” “VINNIE LOOK AT THE PAPER.”

He rolled his chair over to me, still looking lost. “What do you mean, bingo?”

I bit my lip to keep from laughing and held up my paper, proudly displaying my masterpiece. His eyes scanned the words—

Moans Pops a Zyn Hits the desk Complains about the game Says ‘how is not dead'

Vinnie groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Ain’t no way you made a bingo card of my stream habits.”

I grinned, tapping the page. “You do this literally every time. I was bound to win eventually.”

His chat was now fully invested, spamming messages like “Make this a drinking game” and “Vinnie is so predictable lmao.” He shook his head, turning back to his mic.

“Chat, I feel betrayed,” he said, though his smirk betrayed him. “My own girlfriend is out here farming content off me.”

I leaned into frame just enough for chat to see my smug expression. “Don’t hate the player, babe. Hate the game.”

He let out a groan but couldn’t stop smiling. “I swear, I can’t do anything without you making a game out of it.”

I shrugged. “Keeps me entertained while you spend hours yelling at your screen.”

Vinnie chuckled, finally returning to his game, but not before tossing a playful glare over his shoulder. “Next time, I’m switching it up. You’ll never get bingo again.”

I just smirked, already planning my next card. “We’ll see about that.”

my first vinnie hacker fic hope you guys like it x

[psformybss]

could you please write something about secret fiancé! reader and Drew and how they met and their love story? I see them being high school sweethearts

Folded Notes & History

series masterlist

warnings: fluff, high school slowburn

an: i also see them as high school sweethearts! i tried my best to keep it kinda vague because if i got into details this would have been over 10k words but if anyone wants to see anything specific ab high school or college lmk and i will definitely write it

︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

Junior year U.S. History smelled like old carpet, burnt coffee, and dry-erase markers that hadn’t been replaced since the Bush administration. The windows barely opened, the chairs squeaked every time someone moved, and the only working clock on the wall ticked just a little too loud.

Y/N sat in the second-to-last row, back straight, notes neat, her pen gliding across the lined paper in even strokes. She didn’t talk much in class—kept to herself mostly—but her notebooks were always full, color-coded, and annoyingly precise.

The seat behind her was usually occupied by Drew Starkey.

Basketball team starter. The kid who always had one earbud in until the teacher told him to take it out. Somehow managed to look both effortlessly tired and infuriatingly good in a wrinkled hoodie and scuffed-up Nikes. He wasn’t loud like the others. He laughed with his head tilted back and his whole chest, but he talked in this low, lazy voice that made people lean in.

He wasn’t in class that day.

Or the next.

By Friday, he slid into the desk behind her like he hadn’t missed a thing.

“Hey,” he said, a little raspy.

Y/N glanced over her shoulder. “Hey. You okay?”

“Yeah. Strep,” he said, tugging his hoodie up over his head and ruffling his hair. “Felt like swallowing knives.”

She winced. “Sounds awful.”

When the bell rang, everyone shuffled out—some slower than others, hoping to stall their way into lunch. Y/N was stuffing her folders into her bag when Drew tapped her shoulder.

“Hey,” he said again, a little more unsure this time. “You, uh… take good notes?”

She blinked. “What kind of question is that?”

He grinned. “The kind where I’m hoping you’ll let me borrow them.”

She stared for a second, weighing her options, then flipped open her binder and gently tore out three pages.

“Here,” she said. “Don’t crumple them.”

Drew took the pages like they were made of gold leaf. “Whoa. Color-coded and everything.”

“I like things to make sense,” she said with a small smile.

He gave her a look—just a flicker of something amused and genuine, like he hadn’t expected her to be funny. “Thanks. Seriously. I owe you.”

“You can pay me back by actually listening in class,” she teased.

He laughed. “Fair enough.”

From then on, something shifted.

It started subtly. He started saying hey every morning, even when he didn’t need notes. He started tossing her pens when hers ran out mid-lecture. When they got assigned group work, he pulled his desk up to hers before the teacher even finished talking.

They weren’t friends yet. But they were circling something.

One Wednesday in early February, she caught him doodling in the margins of his quiz while they waited for the bell. He passed her the paper before handing it in—Mr. Klein drawn as a Cold War dictator, complete with sunglasses and an absurdly large cigar. She snorted, smacked him lightly with her pen, and nearly got detention for “disrupting the learning environment.”

That afternoon, Drew waited by her locker.

She blinked in surprise. “Did you get lost?”

“Nah.” He shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets. “Wanted to ask you something.”

“Okay…”

“You busy Friday?”

She tilted her head. “Why?”

“I was thinking… coffee. And maybe you could quiz me for the test. But mostly coffee.”

She raised a brow. “You’re using school as a cover to ask me out?”

“I’m multi-talented.”

She smiled. “I’m free after six.”

That Friday afternoon, the sky was overcast, and the wind had a bite to it—the kind that made you hunch your shoulders and tuck your hands deeper into your pockets. The coffee shop sat on the edge of downtown, nestled between a dusty used bookstore and a florist whose windows fogged from the heat inside. It smelled like cinnamon and espresso the second you walked through the door, the kind of scent that made you want to stay a little longer than you meant to.

Y/N slid into the corner booth first, the red vinyl cool beneath her jeans. Drew followed, his backpack thumping softly against the seat as he dropped it beside him. The table between them was scratched and slightly wobbly, and one of the overhead bulbs flickered every few seconds, casting them in and out of soft, golden light.

Drew’s hands dwarfed the paper coffee cup he held. He turned it in slow circles, fingers twitching around the lid. His foot tapped under the table in a restless rhythm—quick, uneven, like he couldn’t decide if he was cold or just anxious.

“You okay?” Y/N asked, tilting her head slightly, eyes flicking down toward the motion.

He offered a quick smile, almost sheepish. “Yeah. Just… too much energy, maybe. I had practice this morning, but I guess it didn’t wear me out enough.”

“You’re practically vibrating.”

“Could be the caffeine. Or nerves.” He met her gaze for a second and then looked away, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’d made a joke he wasn’t sure she’d laugh at.

She gave him a small smile. “Nervous about what?”

He shrugged, eyes on the lid of his cup. “I don’t know. Talking, maybe.”

“But you talk to everyone,” she said, brow raised.

“Yeah, but not like this.”

Her smile faltered slightly, not because his words were bad—but because they felt… honest. Real.

They had both said they needed to study. Finals were creeping up fast, and the stress was starting to hang over the school like storm clouds, thick and heavy. But neither of them had even unzipped their backpacks.

Instead, they talked.

About everything and nothing at all.

He told her about late nights after football practice—how the field looked different when it was empty and quiet, the stadium lights buzzing above him, casting long shadows. Sometimes he stayed behind after everyone left, just to sit in the silence. He told her how his shoulder clicked every time he threw too hard, and how he’d ice it without telling the coach because he didn’t want to be benched.

“I hate calculus more than I hate losing a game,” he confessed, resting his forehead against the heel of his hand. “And that’s saying something.”

“That bad?” Y/N asked, hiding a smile behind her cup.

Drew groaned. “It’s like a foreign language I was never supposed to learn. And the teacher… he acts like we’re just lazy, not confused.”

She nodded. “I get that. It’s the worst when they make you feel dumb for asking questions.”

“Exactly,” he said, lifting his head. “Like, I already feel stupid. No need to pile on.”

She traced the rim of her cup with one finger, letting the steam rise into her face. “That’s why I always study with music on. I can’t do silence—it makes everything feel heavier.”

Drew looked at her, curious. “Music helps?”

“It’s like… noise that doesn’t expect anything from me,” she said. “Just fills the space so my brain doesn’t spiral.”

He nodded slowly, like he was filing that away for later. “What kind of music?”

“Depends. If it’s math, it has to be instrumental. If it’s history, I can do lyrics. English? Full-on sad playlists.” She smiled at that. “Like tragic heartbreak anthems while I write essays.”

Drew laughed, the sound warm and low. “You’re way more strategic than I am.”

“I just can’t sit in a quiet room and focus. It makes me feel like I’m waiting to mess up.”

He was quiet for a second, watching her with a softness in his expression that hadn’t been there earlier. “I didn’t know that.”

She shrugged. “Not something I really talk about.”

He leaned back, stretching one arm over the booth. “Well, for the record, if you ever need study music, I make a mean playlist.”

“Oh yeah?” she teased. “Do you specialize in tragic heartbreak anthems too?”

“Only the best,” he grinned. “I’ve got taste, Y/N.”

They laughed, and the tension that had been buzzing low between them since they sat down seemed to lift, just a little.

Outside, the sky had faded into a dull blue-gray, and the streetlamps were flickering to life. Inside the café, the lights over the counter glowed golden, making everything feel softer, smaller—like they were the only ones in the world for a little while.

“I like this,” Drew said after a beat, his voice quieter now. “Just… talking.”

Y/N met his eyes. “Me too.”

His foot had finally stopped tapping. His hand rested on the table now, not far from hers.

“You make it easy,” he added.

Her heart jumped at that, but she kept her voice steady. “Easy to what?”

He shrugged, almost shy. “To be myself.”

There was a silence after that—not the kind that felt heavy or awkward, but the kind that settled between them like something gentle. Like understanding. Like maybe they were both just starting to see something they hadn’t quite realized before.

The following week, students spilled out of the building in slow waves, some lingering in clumps by the flagpole, others heading straight for their cars with earbuds in and heads down. Y/N adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, juggling her water bottle and a loose folder full of notes.

“Hey,” Drew’s voice cut through the low hum of chatter as he caught up to her just outside the double doors, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder.

She turned, surprised. “Hey.”

He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly looking unsure. “You headed out?”

“Yeah. Long day.”

“Wanna walk together?” he asked, his voice almost too casual. “I mean—I’ll walk you to your car. If that’s cool.”

It was.

They fell into step beside each other, his steps a little slower than usual to match hers. The air smelled like cut grass and something sweet from the vending machines by the gym. Neither of them said much, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. There was a quiet ease in it. Just the occasional brush of his arm against hers and the low hum of his voice when he pointed out a sticker on someone’s bumper that made him laugh.

When they reached her car, she turned to unlock the door, but paused.

“Thanks,” she said softly, glancing up at him.

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking like he wanted to say something more but didn’t.

Instead, he smiled. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Tomorrow.”

And he waited until she pulled out of the parking space before turning to leave.

A couple of weeks later, it was Thursday, right after seventh period. The bell had just rung, and the halls were buzzing with bodies and noise—slammed lockers, overlapping conversations, the occasional squeak of sneakers on linoleum.

Y/N was heading toward the front stairwell when she felt someone catch her hand gently from behind.

She turned, and there he was.

Drew.

Still wearing his practice jersey from PE, cheeks a little flushed, eyes scanning hers like he was trying to read something written just beneath the surface.

“Hey,” he said, a little breathless, like maybe he’d jogged to catch up.

She smiled. “Hey. What’s up?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he stepped a little closer, checking over his shoulder. The hallway was mostly clear now, just a few stragglers around the far corner. His fingers laced through hers.

“I’ve been wanting to do this all day,” he murmured.

And then he leaned in.

His lips met hers in a kiss that was quick but warm, like a spark that caught and lit something deeper. It wasn’t showy, or practiced, or perfect—but it was real. He pulled back just enough to look at her, a slow, crooked smile spreading across his face.

Her heart was racing, but she smiled back.

He tapped her knuckles gently. “See you eighth period.”

And just like that, he disappeared around the corner, leaving her standing in the middle of the hallway with a stunned grin and the taste of cinnamon gum still on her lips.

By the time spring bloomed and the world smelled like fresh grass and impending finals, they were inseparable. The kind of inseparable that made other people tease them in passing.

Afternoons were for shared iced coffees and laying in the sun behind the bleachers. Evenings were late-night phone calls that started with “I should probably study” and ended with whispered laughter and one of them falling asleep mid-sentence.

And that’s when she started writing him notes.

Little ones. Folded into triangles with sharp creases, sometimes stickers stuck to the outside—smiling suns or tiny frogs with glittery eyes. The messages varied. Sometimes it was a quote from a book she liked. Sometimes a joke from class. Sometimes just: good luck today or don’t fall asleep in history again or I’ll steal your hoodie.

She slipped them into the vents of his locker when no one was watching—between fourth and fifth period, right before his lit class. He never said much about them, but she’d catch glimpses: Drew standing at his locker, one shoulder pressed to the metal like he was shielding the moment from the world, a half-smile tugging at his lips as he read her words.

He kept them all.

She found that out months later, on a quiet Saturday afternoon in his room. The window was open, and the curtains moved with the breeze. She sat cross-legged on the floor, picking through a shoebox of old ticket stubs and tangled friendship bracelets, when she found them—flattened out notes stacked neatly under a band of ribbon.

“You kept them?” she asked, holding one up between two fingers, her voice caught somewhere between laughing and blushing.

Drew looked up from where he was sprawled on the bed, arms tucked behind his head. He didn’t even pretend to be embarrassed.

“They were the best part of my day,” he said simply.

She blinked at him, heart stuttering, and looked down at the mess of her handwriting, all those tiny things she’d never really expected him to remember—much less treasure.

“You’re such a sap,” she teased, but her voice was soft. Adoring.

He sat up then, barefoot and slightly rumpled, his t-shirt creased from the way he’d been lying. He rubbed the back of his neck like he did when he was nervous, and she tilted her head.

“What?”

“I was gonna wait,” he said, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. “Like… I had this idea to ask you at prom or something cheesy like that.”

She grinned. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, still fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “But then you found the box, and you smiled like that, and—God, I really don’t wanna wait.”

Her smile softened. “Wait for what?”

He looked up at her then, finally, and she could see it in his eyes—the mix of hope and nerves, like the way he looked right before a big game.

“To call you my girlfriend,” he said. “Like, officially. If you want.”

She didn’t answer right away.

She leaned forward, one hand on the edge of the bed, the other still holding one of her notes, and kissed him—light and warm, like the breeze drifting through the open window. His hand found hers, fingers curling around her palm.

When she pulled back, she was still smiling.

“Of course I want to.”

And for a second, neither of them said anything else. The world felt small and soft and safe, like maybe everything was exactly where it was supposed to be.

Then senior year came. So did prom, late-night drives, college decisions, and the terrifying realization that not everything lasted forever.

But somehow, they did.

Even when school ended.

Even when dorms and deadlines tried to pull them in opposite directions.

And now, years later, he still has that shoebox.

She still folds her notes into triangles.

And he still grins like a boy with a secret every time he finds one.

[oikarma]

war of the foxes

pairing: max verstappen x teammate!reader

summary: max verstappen stays and his teammate will leave. this is a very old story. there is no other version of this story.

a/n: angst. also considering the current state of things, this is an au where red bull has their shit together 😊

part one / part two

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

You had always known what people said about the second Red Bull seat. It was a curse. A never ending machine of hopefuls chewed up and spat out, careers destroyed before they even had a chance to shine.

For years you'd carefully tread around it. Now it was going to swallow you whole.

The call had come mid-season-an opportunity, they called it. A test, a challenge. You'd been performing well with Yuki Tsunoda, enough to get noticed, enough to make them wonder if you could be the one to break the cycle. The one who could stand beside Max Verstappen, not behind him. (That was already too hopeful. You should've known right there and then when they made the offer. No one was good enough to be Max Verstappen, least of all you.)

You should have been excited. And maybe, for a moment, you were. But excitement dulled quickly when you saw the way Max looked at you.

Not with condescension. Not with the dismissive arrogance he'd had for some of your predecessors. No, what unnerved you was the worry.

Max Verstappen was worried about you.

He never said it outright, but you could feel it in the way he watched you in the paddock. Before briefings, he'd stand outside the door and look at you not-so-subtly. When you were going through data, he'd be busy burning a hole through the side of your head. Even in the way he'd been just a little too careful in wheel-to-wheel racing with you. Max Verstappen didn't hesitate, but here he was, risking his wins for a little girl like you. You didn't like the way he acted. Like he knew what was coming. Like he had already seen this story play out before and was just waiting for the inevitable crash.

"I know what you're thinking," you told him one night, after a long talk in the Red Bull hospitality.

Max didn't feign ignorance. "And?"

"And I don't need you to worry about me."

His jaw tightened ever so slightly, though the rest of his face remained unchanged. "You should be worried."

You forced a laugh. "If you're trying to psych me out, it's not going to work."

"I've seen what this team does to drivers who can't keep up."

You bristled, defensiveness sparking in your chest. "Who says I can't? Is it 'cause I'm a girl?"

Max shook his head. "That's not the point. Just don't let them break you."

And what did that mean? He left the room so you could mull over his words. They weren't meant to be demeaning. For you, they turned into an omen.

He wasn't afraid of anything. There was a reason he was called "Mad Max." But right now, he was afraid for you.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

It was not an auspicious start.

Everything should have been the same-the car, the paddock, the routine-but it wasn't. The expectations were different. The pressure was different. The way people looked at you was different.

You weren't a prospect anymore. You weren't just another young driver on the grid: hell, you weren't even just "the girl driver." You were his teammate now. The one expected to measure up, to push Max Verstappen harder than anyone before you. The one expected to last.

You were still convincing yourself you could.

Max barely spoke to you before qualifying, but his words haunted you. And you felt him. Watching. Waiting. You knew it when you stepped into the garage, when you sat in the car, when your engineer's voice crackled into your earpiece, reminding you of your tire strategy.

Everything was set. Everything was calculated. Now, it was just you and the track.

The lap was clean. Fast. Not enough for pole, but enough to start on the front row, right beside Max. For the first time that weekend, you felt a flicker of relief. Maybe you could do this. Maybe the curse was just a myth.

Then the race started.

Let me tell you something. You were about to learn the hard way that Red Bull had never needed to curse anyone.

The pressure was enough to break them all on its own.

See, the car was fast. No one cared that you defended like hell against the Ferraris. No one cared that you held off Norris for lap after lap. All they cared about was the fact that you were fast enough. That should be a victory. But, enough...

Fast enough to challenge Max. Fast enough to make Helmut Marko smile that tight, pleased little smile. Fast enough to be what they needed you to be. The team orders came before the final stint. You heard them. You understood them. And a part of you really wanted to disobey them.

But you didn't.

You weren't stupid. You knew how this worked. If you made yourself a problem, they would find a solution. Like they found a solution for all his teammates before you. And how they would rip poor Yuki to shreds if you messed this up, too.

You stopped trying and let Max through. As you followed behind, your second-place trophy felt more like a warning than a reward.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

"You drove well."

You barely looked up as Max sat down beside you in the hospitality lounge. The champagne from the podium still clung to his suit, the scent sharp and sour in the air.

"Did I?" The words tasted bitter on your tongue, just as bitter as when you'd bit down on your tongue during the podium as not to cuss Max out. It should've been you.

Max sighed. "I told you it would be like this."

You exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around the edge of the table. "So what? I'm supposed to just accept it?"

"No. But you have to survive it."

You turned to him then, searching for something in his expression-something to make sense of the way he kept looking at you like he wanted to fix something that couldn't be fixed.

"Did you?" you asked.

Max blinked. "Did I what?"

"Survive it."

He paused.

"No."

Max leaned in just slightly, his voice barely above a murmur.

"But I won."

And maybe that was the difference.

Winning was everything. That was the Red Bull way, the way that had built Max Verstappen into a champion, the way that had kept a revolving door of drivers in that second seat. But no one ever stopped to ask what winning cost. No one wanted to know the answer.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The media barely let you breathe after your first race with the team.

"Do you think you'll challenge Max this season?"

"Were you frustrated with the team orders?"

"Is Red Bull finally going to have a real teammate for Max?"

Their words clawed at you, leaving wounds no one could see. You smiled, played the game, and gave them the answers they wanted.

"Max is an incredible driver, and I'm here to do my best for the team," you said sweetly.

A lie. A half-truth. Doing your best didn't matter if your best wasn't enough.

You trained harder. Pushed harder. Fought harder. Told yourself that if you were fast enough, they wouldn't have a reason to hold you back.

It played out the same way every time. You were fast-fast enough for anyone else but this goddamn team. Every strategy call, every pit stop, every fraction of a second somehow tilted in Max's favor. And you watched, helpless, as the gap widened. Not just on the track, but in everything.

You weren't his equal. You were never going to be. So it brewed, anger festering, murmured curses collecting, until the breaking point came under the lights of Singapore.

You had him. The tires were fresher, the DRS wide open, the car flying on the final stint. You could feel it-the moment slipping through his fingers, the moment that was finally yours.

The radio cackled.

"Hold position."

Your hands clenched around the wheel.

"Hold position," your race engineer repeated.

Max was slower. You were faster. The team-your team-was asking you to stop fighting, to accept second place, to accept that you would always be second best.

Every instinct screamed at you to ignore it. It was time to take what was yours.

The third call came. Less like a request, more like a threat.

"Do not race Max."

The same cold voice that had crushed the careers of men before you. You slowed and laughed, laughed so all the viewers could hear. You wanted them to know. It didn't matter how fast you were. You were defeated, for one single reason.

You would never be Max Verstappen.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Max watched you. Helmut Marko was talking, but you weren't listening. You were too busy staring at the telemetry, at the numbers that confirmed what you already knew.

You could have won and you should have won.

Max hadn't even seemed surprised.

"Why?" you asked, when the room had emptied, when it was just the two of you.

Max didn't answer right away. He sighed. He still smelled like champagne.

"Because that's how it is."

"Stop fucking with me," you snapped. "You know I was faster. You know I should have won.”

Max didn't flinch, even as you came closer. There was something tired in his expression. Like he'd seen this story before. "Yeah," he said simply. "You should have."

You waited for him to say more, for him to tell you how unfair it was, how wrong it was, how he'd fight for you to have a fair shot. But he didn't.

He knew. He had always known.

"They'll never let me beat you, will they?" you asked, voice hollow.

Max's hesitance was all the answer you needed.

"You were always going to lose," he admitted. "Even if you won."

He turned away first.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The silent sabotage became louder. Strategy calls that made no sense. Pit stops that stretched just long enough to cost you positions. Interviews where Christian Horner gave thinly veiled criticisms of your performance, where Marko said you needed to improve if you wanted to stay.

If you wanted to stay. They were only waiting to see how long it would take before you broke.

You held on longer than they expected. Longer than most, but not forever.

Abu Dhabi was your last race for Red Bull.

They framed it as a "mutual decision." A "parting of ways." They thanked you for your contributions. They praised your talent, held you as an inspiration for other women in motorsports, said they had no doubt you'd have a future in F1.

Just not with them.

Max didn't look at you during the press conference. You weren't sure if it was because he felt guilty. Or because he didn't.

The garage was quiet when you stopped by later that evening. Your name had already been stripped from the door. Hah. Max was still there.

You weren't sure why you'd come. Maybe to say goodbye. Maybe to tell him to go to hell. Maybe both. You know, "bye, have fun in hell!" When he finally turned to face you, all of your quips and one-liners vanished. You felt one thing only:

Resignation.

"You were right."

Max's expression didn't change. His eyes flickered and betrayed him.

"You deserved better," he admitted.

"Yeah."

He said his last two words quietly, so quietly you might've missed them: "I'm sorry."

You stared at him. At the driver who had been your teammate, your rival, your measuring stick, your executioner. You nodded.

It didn't change anything.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

a/n: idk how i feel about this fic. this was very much me running with that one quote by richard silken: "somebody has to leave first. this is a very old story. there is no other version of this story." and i obviously heavily referenced it. is this a romance? i like to think it could be a romance, if red bull didn't force y/n's hand. but this is how the story goes.

on a side note i think i might write what happens after y/n leaves red bull because the ending makes me sad.

[its-avalon-08]

Hello! Can I req ln4 x reader where they are secretly married, but the entire world just know they're bestfriend. One day an interviewer ask if they are a thing and they say they're married but sarcastically (like Chris Evans and Elizabeth Olsen on Ellen show) and in the end they decided to just reveal it. Thank you!!

🗣️avaspeaks: i love this request so much!!! and i thoroughly enjoyed writing this one, and i hope i did it justice!

we decided to break the internet (ln4)

'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•''•.¸♡ ♡¸.•''•.¸♡ ♡¸.•''•.¸♡ ♡¸.•''•.¸♡

introduction - lando and y/n were practically inseparable since childhood. building sandcastle empires on the beach, trading pokémon cards at recess, navigating the awkwardness of middle school together - they'd seen it all. what neither quite admitted, not even to themselves, was the secret crush simmering beneath the surface of their friendship. every time lando tried to impress a girl with his skateboard tricks, y/n would "accidentally" trip him mid-grind. and whenever y/n had a date, lando would "forget" to return her favorite dress, the one that made her feel invincible. their sabotage was childish, sure, but it stemmed from a fear of losing the other entirely. one summer night, sprawled on the hood of lando's beat-up car, gazing at a sky exploding with stars, something shifted. maybe it was the whispered secrets shared, or the way their laughter mingled with the chirping crickets. in that moment, childhood friendship flickered, ignited by a spark of something deeper, a love waiting to prosper.

the air crackled with anticipation as lando norris and a stunning y/n settled into the interview chairs. formula one fans adored their playful dynamic, convinced they were just best friends. little did anyone know, they'd been secretly married for over a year and a half.

"so," the interviewer began, a sly smile on his face, "the fans are curious. is there anything going on between you two, romantically?"

lando shot y/n a mock glare. "absolutely! infact we're married!!!," he deadpanned, throwing his head back in exaggerated shock.

the room froze. cameras flashed. y/n, stifling a laugh, gasped dramatically. "married and absolutely smitten with eachother! lando, haven't you told them about movie night and all the crying over sappy rom-coms?"

the audience erupted in gasps and whispers. even the other drivers, strategically placed in the back row, looked bewildered. carlos, oscar,max,charles,daniel,alex and george laughed silently into their hands.

lando, playing along, clutched his chest. "oh no, you can't tell them about that! what will the neighbors think of all the late-night screaming about popcorn refills?"

y/n doubled over, tears welling up (from laughter, not the fake movie marathons). "and the screaming matches over who gets the last slice of pizza? lando, you monster!"

the room buzzed with confusion. were they…? weren't they…?

the interviewer, clearly flustered, stammered, "wait, so… you're saying you have movie nights and… screaming matches?"

lando winked at the camera. "the usual newlywed stuff, you know?"

y/n, wiping a fake tear, added, "don't even get me started on the scooter races in the paddock."

the room descended into chaos. reporters scribbled furiously, phones buzzed, and drivers peeked over their chairs, jaws slack.

lando, barely able to hold back a real laugh, reached for y/n's hand. "alright, alright," he conceded, "we might be exaggerating a tad. movie nights are definitely a thing, though. y/n's a terror with the remote."

y/n swatted him playfully. "hey! at least i let you pick the action movies sometimes."

suddenly, y/n did something unexpected. with a flourish, she turned her hand, revealing a simple gold band with a sparkling diamond. the room fell silent.

"oh by the way we've actually married for about two years now," y/n raised an eyebrow at lando, a wide, mischievous grin spreading across her face. "forgot to mention that detail, did you?"

lando, speechless for once, could only stare at the ring, then back at the stunned faces around him. the dam broke. laughter, loud and genuine, erupted from them both. the tension in the room evaporated, replaced by a mixture of shock, amusement, and a touch of awe.

as the interview wrapped up, the secret was out. lando and y/n, f1's favorite "best friends," were husband and wife. the post-interview scrum was a whirlwind. questions flew, cameras flashed in their faces, and congratulations poured in. through it all, lando and y/n stuck together, their laughter echoing through the room, a testament to their love and their ability to surprise everyone, even the f1 world.

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

well i hope you liked it! thank you for sending in your request and do send more! thanks for reading!

leave a like, leave a comment!

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

[dakusan]

How skz texts you when they're in love.

stray kids ot8 x reader | comfort, soft angst

🌙 synopsis: how skz would text if they were your boyfriend and down bad. i’m talking unhinged voice notes, emoji abuse, and random deep confessions between memes.

💌 a/n: After seeing how much love the mini shots I did yesterday got, I was like... why not make more! Plus I was brainrotting about how skz would text if they were like… hopelessly in love with you. Might make this into a series, like how they text when they're jealous, etc etc. ps. reblogs = love pss. if u want jealous/skz texting you at 3am or other versions… say less. or, if u want another mini fanfic like I did for Hyunjin's bday, idk, whatever you want, send me your prompts might as well advertise my songs too lololol leave me alone T.T

📍credits: @cafekitsune for the divider

🎶 Now Playing: "Unwind" — VX

Bang Chan // 방찬

type: text-after-text typa guy

response time: fast unless he’s in the studio, then apologizes like you ghosted HIM

voice notes? yup, especially for soft rambles or late-night confessions

emojis: overuses the 😂, ❤️, sometimes the 💀

chaotic habits: sends memes at 2AM, randomly asks deep life questions mid-convo, follows up a heartfelt message with “ignore me lol”

texting vibe:

"yo" "wait" "i saw a puppy n thought of u wtf" 2 min voice note about how your laugh is stuck in his head "don't replay that i'll actually combust"

Lee Know // 리노

type: dry until he’s obsessed—then he gets lowkey clingy

response time: elite. replies instantly unless he’s annoyed (playfully)

voice notes? rarely. only when teasing or if he has something to prove

emojis: the cat ones. 👍🏻. dramatic use of dots (…)

chaotic habits: sends photos of his cats and says “this is us.”

texting vibe:

"do u even like me" "jk unless" "come over. soonie wants to see you" "also me. i want to see you. but soonie first"

Changbin // 창빈

type: tries to act chill but texts like a man who's in deep

response time: fast. suspiciously fast. like he had the convo open already

voice notes? yes. raspy and low when he's tired = danger

emojis: lots of 🐷 (ironically??), 😭, 💪, and the occasional 🖤

chaotic habits: pretends he's not clingy but sends 10 messages when you don't reply in 4 minutes.

texting vibe:

"are you eating?" "no i'm not checking up on you shut up" "but also don't skip meals or i'll show up" sends gym selfie with the caption: 'working out so i can carry your future' "delete that last msg. i was joking. (i wasn't)"

Hyunjin // 현진

type: romantic poet in a silly man’s body

response time: varies—he’s either blowing up your phone or forgot what a phone is

voice notes? yes, and they’re beautiful, emotional, and sometimes dramatic as hell

emojis: 🌟, ✨, 💘❤️, random aesthetic ones

chaotic habits: sends blurry selfies with “do i look like ur soulmate or”

texting vibe:

"i dreamt of you again" "you were dancing in the clouds" "and then u tripped over a squirrel lol" "still romantic tho" sends 37 Pinterest boards dedicated to your aura

Han // 한

type: overshares. overshares again. disappears. comes back with a meme

response time: fast but forgets mid-convo then apologizes with a TikTok

voice notes? only unhinged ones

emojis: chaos. 🍥 . 🤡, 😭, 🙈

chaotic habits: texts “i love you” at the most random times, like when he’s eating cereal

texting vibe:

"babe" "i just saw a frog and it reminded me of ur ex" "anyway what u doing" "miss u so bad it's medically concerning" sends 12 memes in a row "btw did u know u're my entire world okay bye"

Felix // 필릭스

type: sunshine in text form, but gets lowkey flirty when he’s really into you

response time: pretty fast, unless he’s baking something (which he tells you about in detail)

voice notes? yes, and his voice is so soft you’ll play them 20x

emojis: ✨, 🌞, 🤍, sometimes random food emojis

chaotic habits: sends selfies with “do i look cute enough for u today?”

texting vibe:

"hey angel" "just made brownies and i wish i could feed u one rn" "missing you more than coffee and you know that's serious" sends a selfie with hearts drawn on his cheeks "rate my cuteness out of 10 (be honest but also lie)"

Seungmin // 승민

type: sarcastic menace until he realizes he’s obsessed

response time: elite. scary good.

voice notes? sometimes, especially to roast you

emojis: very minimal. he’s a punctuation man.

chaotic habits: says “you’re so annoying” when he actually means “i miss you”

texting vibe:

"you're insufferable" "also i got u something, check ur door in like 2 mins" "don't cry. i'll block u" "jk. kinda" "be safe. i love you. don't make me say that again"

I.N // 아이엔

type: cute chaos. teases you constantly but gets shy when you flirt back

response time: quick, unless he’s gaming

voice notes? yes, but he re-records them 5 times before sending

emojis: 🥺, 😭, ✨, chaos combo

chaotic habits: sends TikToks that are somehow always lowkey him confessing

texting vibe:

"hey loser" "jk i like u a lot please don't block me" "wanna vc? i need to hear ur voice to survive" "do u think we'd survive in a zombie apocalypse or would u trip and make me die" "nvm i'd save u"

[xoxotria]

starcrossed | hjs

pairing: professor!hong joshua x student!reader

themes: professorxstudent relationship, flirting in public, smut

warnings: none

tick. tock. tick. tock.

time was moving painfully slow today. normally you’d find dr. hong's class interesting but today you just couldn't seem to focus for some reason.

well—you couldve been focusing on the lesson if it weren’t for your stupidly hot professor teaching, his attire slightly different from his usual because the first few buttons of his shirt was unbuttoned whilst his tie hung looser than it normally would around his neck.

it was as if the world was plotting against you to actually do well this semester because of the temptation speaking to the entire class infront of you.

you shouldn’t be having these kinds of thoughts for your professor (he wasn’t that much older, just your senior of 2 years as he had graduated early) but goddamn was he fine. you just couldn’t help but think of him that way—his perfect head of hair that is perfectly messy and perfectly wavy on days he doesn’t gel in place. he's tall and buff. some people describe him as somewhat on the thinner side but i can tell he has more than some hidden muscles under his suit. his big brown eyes are hypnotizing; and his pink plump lips—fucking perfect.

don't even get me started on his hands. hands that i've imagined on my body in the most inappropriate ways—gripping, spanking, rubbing, choking.

he's a profiler so he's probably picked up on the fact that you were attracted to him. and you no profiler but you think he's attracted to you some way too. he looks at you when he thinks you don't notice (but you do). and they're not just any kind of looks; they're long looks, looks that start at your legs and end at your eyes. like that one time you just so happened to wear a short skirt and thigh high socks. walking in late and stopped him mid sentence as he watched you take a seat on the front row. he quite literally choked on his words. and in that moment you felt such a boost of confidence to be able to get that sort of reaction out of him. seeing what you did to him turned you on enough to be miserable for the rest class.

today you were not wearing a short skirt and you were bored. you wanted to get his attention somehow. it's wrong—so wrong.

but this couldn't hurt right?

you remembered you were wearing a tight fitting tank top under your sweater. you decided to discreetly pull down your top and take off your sweater then lean forward and pretend to be engulfed in the subject he's discussing, showing quite a bit of cleavage just enough to get his attention.

he usually paces from one side to the other when he discusses to check if the class was still listening. and you happen to be sitting towards the right side of the room and he's walking towards the left so you wait patiently for him to turn around.

he's walking. walking. walking. and turn.

"what i find interesting is the part where jane says that a lady's imagination jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony in a moment. what do you think she—" he stopped dead in his tracks; he spotted you.

you smile innocently as you feign to be listening intently to the discussion.

"uhh, ahem" he clears this throat nervously.

"miss, what do you think she meant by this?" he improvised, catching you off guard.

people started to turn their heads in you direction so you instinctively leaned back and slightly pulled up your tank.

shit, he got me there.

you could see a small smirk form on his face as he waited for your answer.

"well..." you start hesitantly, "that women are used to being disillusioned."

"that's your take?" he cocks his head and raises an eyebrow.

"yes. that's how i interpret it. how would you sir?" you both start to engage in a back and forth. your gazes locked on each other.

"i believe she refers to women's ability to develop deep feelings for someone when they respect them," he walks a few steps forward with both hands in his pockets. you nod your head slowly in agreement.

"i suppose you're not wrong. but the two don't necessarily contradict each other." you add, feeling more confident now with your answer.

"mmm you're right miss. I can always count on you to give me good answers."

you had laid low for the rest of the class, periodically answering some questions for recitation. he had avoided lingering too much on your side of the room probably to remove suspicion on his side from his flustered outburst.

"that's all for today, class. have a good weekend."

slightly embarrassed from what happened earlier in class you try to leave swiftly, passing by the professor's desk avoiding eye contact.

"miss, may i speak to you for a second?" he called out behind me as you curse under your breath for not getting out faster.

you turned around hesitantly and saw him sitting at his desk, looking at papers; almost as if he hadn't called you over. you walk back to his desk as the last few students leave the classroom, leaving us alone.

you start to get nervous as your brain imagines all the things he could say to me.

could he be mad about what you had said in class? is he gonna call you out for your flirting? is he gonna kick me out of his class? fuck—that can’t happen. this was a prerequisite for another class you have next semester.

"the last paper i assigned was due yesterday, you haven't turned it in" he looks up at you as he props his arms up in front of him and interlocks his fingers, resting his chin on his hands.

you had let go of a breath you hadn't realized you were holding—a late paper you could handle but him calling me out or worse dropping you from his class? another story.

"i'm sorry professor, i haven't finished it yet" you make slight puppy dog eyes in the hopes he'll be the tinest bit forgiving. normally he hates it when students turn in their work late and you did not want be one of them that he mentally puts a label on for being tardy.

"can you have it done by tomorrow? i'll be in my office at around 9pm, you can drop it off then. normally i wouldn't open office hours on weekends but i can make the exception; just this once."

"i can do that. i'll have it done by then sir."

"good. you're a bright student, i wouldn't wanna see your grades suffer due to tardiness." he leaned back on his chain and places his hands on his lap.

your eyes had drifted towards his lap—it almost looked like an invitation but you knew better than that.

"thank you dr. hong i greatly appreciate it." you say with all sincerity as you watch a small smirk form on his lips.

does he like it when i call him that?

"i'll see you tomorrow at 9pm sharp, miss."

well, fuck. no escaping him now.

⋆˚🐾˖°

you've finished your paper as soon as you got home and now your mind is being filled with tempting ideas you should not be entertaining.

what if i wore a short skirt again? no. it'll be too obvious what you trying to do.

but wouldn't that be the point though? what point was i making anyways? am i really considering trying to get my professor to sleep with me? you groaned as you jumped into your bed.

the thought kept looming over my head the next morning, during the day, in the afternoon—the entire time i was awake and before i knew it it was time for me to get ready. it's settled—you want him and you wanted him bad.

⋆˚🐾˖°

you walked into the campus surprised that the main buildings are even open at 9pm on a saturday. the halls were so dimly lit, you almost couldn't find his office if you didn’t know the way to the room like the back of your hand.

you were late but that was on purpose. you were hoping it'll get a rise out of him. you decided to put on the same skirt and knee high socks as the last time, except your skirt is slightly more hiked up and you were wearing a very form fitting cropped sweater.

once you reached the door with his name on it you stop for a moment to muster up courage. you loved his name, it really did suit him.

you knock on the door and hear a faint, "come in."

you open the door to reveal a room that looks like any typical college professor’s office; but in a good way. it's lit up by a few lamps and candles, there's books on shelves and on the floor all opened as if dr. hong rummaged through it for research, there's a small couch with throw pillows and a blanket and his desk is facing the door—it was homey. you liked it.

it's not until the click of the door closing that he looks up from whatever he's doing. he does a quick double take and gulps and from where you were you could see him shift in his chair slightly.

"you're ten minutes late," he leans back on his chair and intertwines his hands together on top of his lap.

"there was traffic leaving my house i'm sorry." you lied.

"do you have the paper i asked for?"

"yes," you reached into you bag and dug out a folder with your essay neatly tucked inside and walked over to his desk and handed him the folder.

"i wanna read it over and give you your grade before you leave. please, make yourself comfortable."

you obliged, sitting down in one of the chairs in front of his desk and dropping your bag in the other.

he began reading my essay while you observed him. it was evident he was trying extra hard to focus. as he read and turned the pages you were entranced by the way his fingers moved and caressed the paper softly as if it was fragile.

at this point you were starting to imagine his hands on you again, creating a wetness between your thighs in probably the sluttiest panties you owned and if you had been a bit more entranced you wouldn't have noticed all the times he snuck glances at you while he read the paper he seemed to be approving, which was another relief.

finished he dropped the folder and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.

"it's a great essay, A+." he finally spoke.

you let out a breath you didn't notice you were holding.

"thank you dr. hong.”

"you're a great writer," he complimented, "but you really need to work on the tardiness."

"yes, you're totally right. i will work on that sir."

silence filled the room and all that raced through your mind was that you had to make your move.

now or never.

you stood up slowly and walked around the desk, your finger tracing the smooth wooden surface. you don't say a word and can tell he's trying to decipher what the hell you doing. once you were all the way around you sit on the desk, right in between his legs.

"what are you—"

"do you like having me as your student, dr. hong?"

he gulps and shifts in his seat, "yes."

you hooked your foot under his chair and pull him closer watching as his eyes drift towards your lips then up to your eyes again.

“what’s your favorite thing about me being your student?”

"uh, well, you're very smart and—"

"are you sure it's not staring at my ass and legs when i wear skirts like this?" you cut him off, leaning forward slightly.

he exhaled through his nose, looking deep into your eyes and you see he's giving in. concern flashes in his eyes for keeping things professional as it fades into lust and desire.

"i do like it when you wear skirts like that," his voice was no longer hesitant. he knew you wanted him just as much as he wanted you—and that was all he needed not to be nervous.

"mmm, why?" both of you were inching closer to each other. you could smell the perfume he wears to class that always seemed to get your attention in more ways than one.

god, did he smell divine.

"because i can imagine lifting it up to fuck you bent over my desk." his hand began sliding up your leg feeling you up as he did.

your breath got caught your throat when you heard him say it.

"that's what you're gonna do to me?"

"mhm, maybe that'll teach you a lesson on being tardy all the time." he stood up slowly, towering over you with both his hands are now caressing your thighs—his thumbs getting dangerously close to your soaking core.

"then teach me, doctor."

a smirk grew on his face as it did on your own as you challenged him. he tilted your chin up with his finger and leaned down slowly—painfully slowly. your lips graze each others as he avoided kissing you fully.

"can i kiss you?" he asked, your lips nearly touching.

"you can fuck me." you said impatiently breathing getting heavier.

"but can i kiss you?"

it confused you that he wanted to be a gentleman now after explicitly telling you he wanted to fuck you bent over his desk but then you realized he was just teasing you some more.

"yes." you breathed out before pulling him in by the back of his neck and practically going in tongue first.

he immediately pressed his body against yours, and you pulled him even closer by his cardigan. once you was clutching it you thought: why does he still have this on?

you quickly started to unbutton his cardigan as if your life depended on it whilst he slid his hand in your hair pulling on it by the roots.

"you're greedy huh? i bet you're already soaking wet."

"why don't you see for yourself?"

how you even got to utter that sentence was past you. you just needed him and you needed him now.

he grinned before attaching his lips to yours again and slithering his hand under your skirt and into your panties. you moaned softly into his mouth at the feeling of his fingers sliding in your folds and brushing against your bundle of nerves with the fingers you fantasized so much about.

"i hadn't even touched you and you were already this wet for me? all this for me?" he slid his hand out and put his fingers in his mouth and sucked—your mouth hung open in both shock and desire.

that was fucking hot.

"i wanna taste more of you, babygirl." he said looking at you through half hooded eyes.

he got down on his knees and scooted you forward to align himself with your entrance as he then began peppering kisses up ypur thighs as he hiked the skirt up more and more.

once you were exposed he kissed your clit through your underwear—at this point you couldn't help but groan as you grew heavy with anticipation. he hooked a finger on your underwear and tugged them off before he kissed your clit again. this time his lips made direct contact with your skin and a louder moan escaped your lips—you swore you could see your juices coating his soft pink lips.

he started licking softly and slowly. your hips beggining to rocking against his face almost as if they had a mind of their own. he picked up the speed just a little bit and then he stayed in that pace.

fuck this man is driving me insane. i want him like this—all day and everyday, always.

like waves your pleasure kept rolling in as he fucked you with his tongue. you could feel the familiar knot building up in you as began panting and moaning like crazy as his tongue danced slowly on your clit in circles. that's when he inserted a single finger and hooked it upwards hitting that one spot that makes you cry out in pleasure.

"oh fuck!" you cried out pulling his face deeper with your thighs as you crossed them behind his head as you heard him moan in response. your hand was tangled in his beautiful head of hair and you tugged on it slightly.

you couldn't believe it. he's moving ever so softly but you can feel so much pressure building up and then it crashed down on you—hard. body began shaking uncontrollably as your thighs clenched together locking him in but he didn't stop what he was doing.

it wasn't until you had come down from your high that he detached himself from you. this man really had you seeing stars for a moment.

he got up and kissed me again tasting yourself on him—his lips felt so nice on mine that i could kiss him forever.

"get up." he commanded softly as you followed.

he pushed his chair to the side and turned you around kissing your neck as he ran his hands all over your body with you becoming a moaning mess again.

"say my name." his hands grabbed my breasts as you felt your eyes roll to the back of your head from the way he played with your nipples with his fingers.

"joshua." you moaned out.

he groaned into your ear and quickly bent you over pressing his hard dick against your ass.

"you see what you do to me? every time i see you in class you're teasing me. coming into my class late in a short skirt like a slut."

he lifted your skirt and gave your ass a slap, making you jolt and moan at the same time from the sting it left.

"are you gonna keep being a bad girl? or are you gonna take my dick like the good girl you know you are?" he whispered into your ear as he spanked you.

"why can't I be both?"

"i knew you were greedy from the start." he chuckled lightly before pulling back to unbuckle his pants and get rid of his underwear.

he lined himself behind you grabbing unto your hips for support.

“do i need to use a condom?” he asked.

i shook my head no.

“i’m on the pill.”

you heard him say a quick fuck under his breath when he realized that he could cum inside you without worries.

"fuck!" he cursed as he inserted his dick in you.

"you're so big," you breathed out as you felt as if your voice had left your throat for a moment.

"you can take it."

once he was fully in he thrusted in slowly so you could adjust to the pleasurable pain.

you gave him the signal and he started to thrust faster. small moans and whimpers can be heard from both of you along with the rattling of his desk.

he took a handful of your hair and pulled, making you moan louder and even though the building was pretty empty both of us could still be heard by guards so he grabbed your panties and stuffed them in your mouth to muffle your loud moans.

"that's my good girl." he said in between pants as he lifted your leg and placed it on top of the desk to get a better angle.

"touch yourself." he whispered into your ear as your fingers found your clit feeling him thrust in and out of you.

you were getting over stimulated feeling both your fingers and his dick sliding in and out of you at a fast pace.

you could tell he was trying to holding back moans as he panted out.

“you look so pretty taking my dick like that. it looks so much better than i even imagined in my head.”

all you could do was moan and cry into your panties. you couldn't really tell him you were so close, but he could tell by the way your walls clenched around his dick.

"cum for me my sweet girl."

you felt the knot in your stomach dissolve as your orgasm crashed over you. you swore you came so hard you squirted and blacked out for a moment.

“fuck joshua!” you cursed as he still thrusted in and out of you, chasing his own high.

he quickly turned you around feeling his high and pushed you on your knees to cum in your mouth. his mouth hung open in an O shape as his hips buckled into your mouth. you swallowed every last drop and stared at each other for a moment—both out of breath.

"quite the mess i made." you said looking up at him, slightly embarrassed after catching your breath.

"was that the first time you squirted?" he asked as you nodded.

he took your hands and helped your stand. your legs we shaking like a baby deer's as he helped you to your feet and pushed your hair out of my face.

"don't be embarrassed. it was very sexy. and i'll take care of the mess."

he chuckled as you nodded and smiled back at him.

"did you learn your lesson about being late?" he placed his hands on your waist and you rested yours on his shoulders.

"if this is what i get for being late then i'm gonna be late everyday for the rest of the semester."

and the sound of his laugh filled the room as you smiled at him.

"fine," he replied, "as long as you wear outfits like this more often."

you had placed a soft kiss on his lips before pulling away.

“deal.”

so tell me, how can something so wrong feel so good?

[orchidyoonkook]

To What We Were Before, And All The Things After | JJK | Ch. 9

Title: Sugar Cookies and Devious Confessions

Pairing: Prince!College Student!JK x Fine Arts Major!(F)!Reader

Series Rating//Genre: (M) | College AU, Mild Royalty AU, Smut, Angst, Fluff, S2F2L, Indiffernce to lovers, sloooowwww ass burn

Summary: Exams season and Solstice? Consider YN locked in, loaded, ready to go, hangry, and sentimental. Jungkook is just along for the ride with a hefty side of acts of service, quality time and physical touch are his love languages. Who'da thunk?

Warnings: T, language, fluff, so much fluff actually, I've surprised myself, semi-sexual conversations, JK is a menace but Reader can keep up...mostly, touch of angst tbh, reader gets hangry and is bad at taking care of herself sometimes, but apologises and makes up for it, mostly just wholesome this time. And fun!

Word Count: 6,675

Release Date: December 8, 2024. 12:30PM

A/N 1: Hiiiiiiiiiiii. It's here, thank you to those who reminded me. I literally would have forgotten for the third week in a row without them. I love you all.

A/N 1.5: Chapter ten will be coming sometime between Dec 20th-30th as it is festive and that's all I will say about it.

Series: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight

Jungkook’s learned many things about you since your friendship started. 

From your favourite colours to your favourite brush to paint with. He learned that you are always team morally gray love interest in the books you read in your limited spare time, although that one was learned a little against your will. 

He’d wanted to know why you always went for them, and very begrudgingly you admitted you found it appealing when they’d do anything to protect the main character. That they always did what they thought was best or what needed to be done despite their sad backstory, because for some reason, they all had sad backstories.

Every. Single. One of them. 

And you claimed it suckered you in every time. 

But through all of your time spent together—specifically during midterms—Jungkook learned just how much you ignore all of your basic needs as a human being when it comes to exams season. 

How you’ll forget to eat all day in favour of studying, or staying up late to finish your practical exam projects, making absolutely sure they’re up to your impossibly high standards, disregarding sleep.

So it doesn’t surprise him when he turns the corner to the greenhouse cafe to see you, thinner than normal with bags under your eyes, slaving away at something on your computer. 

He hates that he can tell you’ve lost weight through your winter clothing.

You look up, briefly smiling in greeting. He can tell just from how long it took you to notice him that you need a break, a good healthy meal and some sleep.

He smiles back, but bypasses you and walks straight into the cafe. You don’t think twice about it, already knowing what he’s doing.

“Hey Vivian,” he says to the barista.

“Hey JK, the regular?” She's restocking some cups and lids to the counter.

“Please, but tag on a hot chocolate for YN and some tarts.” Vivian nods, typing the order into the cashing system, very much used to either of you adding on each other's order to your own at this point.

“Machines ready for you,” she says, already prepping the first drink—his by the looks of it.

Jungkook pays and waits patiently, watching you from the window. 

“How long’s she been here?” he asks over the currently frothing milk—that’s for your hot chocolate.

“Since seven. She grabbed a tea and hasn’t moved since.” 

It’s almost 1:30 now, and Viv looks at him knowingly. She’s watched you do this to yourself every mid-term and exam season since you started. 

“Ah. I see.” He purses his lips.

It’s only a few minutes before the drinks and tarts are ready. Jungkook grabs them and heads out the door, calling a thank you over his shoulder.

“Okay look,” he says to grab your attention as he stands directly in front of you. The act of walking to the front of you alone clearly not enough to gain it. 

Looking up, your eyes widen in glee at the treats he carries. You attempt to reach for them but he pulls them back.

“Nuh uh, you need food.” 

You look at him confused. “Those are food.”

“No, these are the reward. You need a meal.” 

You try to interrupt him. Most likely to say you do eat meals, but instant ramen or a box of mac'n'cheese do not count, and he cuts you off before you can. “A healthy meal, Picasso, something to give your body nourishment and energy. One that fills you up.”

You scowl at him. 

“But–”

“No buts,” he cuts you off again. “Healthy food. Full, happy belly food,” he says, gently patting his stomach so not as to spill his drink. “Pack up, we’re going to the cafeteria and getting you some.”

“But–”

“Y/N,” he says sternly, giving you a look that says he will not be budging on this, and that if you refuse, he’s going to throw you over his shoulder to ensure it happens. 

It was the voice of a future King, he thinks. Then internally shudders. That’s not who he is with you, but he can admit that sometimes this side of him comes in handy during times like these. 

“Fine.” You snip, very clearly not happy about this.

Fortunately, you don’t seem to have any art supplies with you today, just your computer, a notepad and pencil case. You gather them quickly, throwing them into your backpack with an annoyed look because you don’t want to stop, but he’s forcing your hand.

He doesn’t care. You need this, and it’s clear as hell you were not going to do it on your own.

You were so fucking stubborn sometimes. 

His mask, hat and baggy shirt combo mixed with some large combat boots and a slight slouch in posture has worked wonders disguising him from the public so far. In fact, he’s pretty sure it intimidates some people seeing as how they nearly jump out of his way. You’ve joked about it before, calling it his ‘scary dog privilege’…whatever that meant. 

Jungkook doesn’t mind, though. Despite being four months into the school year, and his speech at the beginning, people still fawn and stare at him. Trying to get his attention, his approval. Anything to get something from him, even if it’s just a look in their direction. 

He wonders if it will ever die down, if it'll ever go away. Or if with new freshmen every year, a new horde of people will seek him out. 

So, he’s grateful that with this little disguise on, no one bats an eye at him as you two walk the fifteen minutes it takes to get across campus to the cafeteria. He knows you’re more than mentally drained, because you’re not checking over your shoulder every few seconds to make sure no one realizes you’re with him like you usually do. 

You enter the main building, luckily the cafeteria on the ground floor, just near the back. Once there, you walk straight to the fridge of premade to-go foods. Grabbing a fruit cup, a chicken caesar salad, and a container of mixed vegetables with dip, you turn to him.

“Is this good enough for you?” you snark.

“Yep, great choices,” he says, ignoring your tone. “Very healthy and nutritious. Plus you nearly have all the food groups.”

“I do have all the food groups,” you say back, deadpan.

Wow…

You really need some sleep, he’s never heard you sound so lifeless. Or mean. You’re only ever truly mean when you’re beyond exhausted, too tired to care. 

He’d say your mood and overall vibe is like a mixture of brown and gray, but he knows if he said it out loud you’d make him specify which specific shades of brown and gray, so he keeps the thought to himself. Both not to provoke you and to be polite.  

“You’re missing dairy and grain,” he says.

You point to his hands holding the tarts and drink.

“Fair point,” he concedes, and trails you to the register, grabbing a protein shake from a nearby fridge on the way. His card is out and paying before you can reach for your wallet and you accept it, even too worn out to yell at him for buying you something. 

Hot chocolate and the occasional bag of tarts you're fine with, because half the time you’re also buying him his coffee and sharing your tarts, so you see it as a fair trade. But anything outside those and you damn near throw a fit, claiming you don’t need him to spend his money on you. 

You never want anything from him, so unlike everyone else in his life.

He leads you to a more private booth in the corner, scary dog privilege in full effect as no one dares stand in his way, and you very unceremoniously plop down, sluggishly shucking off your bag and coat. 

Definitely a brownish-gray. 

You two eat and drink in silence; you, slowly picking away at your food, him, finishing his drink then eating the vegetables from the container you don’t like. It’s a peaceful silence, contented as your mood gradually improves and some colour returns to your face the more you get into your system. 

The sight relieves him. 

“Sorry,” you say, eyes glued to the table, unable to look at him. And he knows it’s for the way you treated him pre-food.

“No worries,” he replies. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. That's good.”

Jungkook wasn’t going to push, but now that your mood’s improving, he hopes it’s safe to.

“Hey,” you look up at him, the bags under your eyes more evident under the artificial light and his heart breaks a little at the sight. “Promise me you’ll get some sleep tonight?”

A small close lipped smile finds your face, eyes soft, appreciative. The corner of his own lifts to match. 

“I promise I’ll try.”

You fall asleep early that night, 9pm. 

You don’t know what allows you to, but your exam worries fade and assignment anxiety slips from your mind the heavier your eyes grow. In the back of your head however, a thought slips through your defenses; you know it’s because of the look in Jungkook's eyes when he’d asked you too. 

The one of worry—genuine worry—for you. 

You hate yourself for causing it. You never want him to have to worry about you, god…he already has so much on his plate, you don’t want to add to it. 

But mostly…

But mostly you let yourself succumb to slumber because you don’t want to disappoint him. 

He asked you so kindly, and you know he had your best interests at heart when he did. He always does. 

You don’t have it in you to deny him that simple favour. To take care of yourself a little better.

So you sleep, just this once. For him. To help relieve him of the stress you caused.

And you know that that thought is what lets you until 10am the next day.

You feel better than you have in weeks.

You have everything you could possibly need to make all the recipes you have planned for today. Eggs, flour, sugar, soju, cutters, extracts, ginger, honey, chocolate chips, food colouring, some fruit concentrates and more are stuffed into the bags that dangle from your now struggling arms. There’s also another much lighter bag filled with a surprise for him that sits near the crook of your elbow. 

 Jungkook’s not going to know what hit him.

The door clicks open and you watch his eyes nearly leave his skull before he reaches to take them from you.

“Oh wow, you really weren’t kidding were you,” he says as he takes them to the kitchen with ease. 

Stupid muscles, you think, but the thought doesn’t hold for too long, glad at having your arm circulation back. 

“Solstice cookies are no joke in my house,” you say, following him.

“Clearly.”

He starts taking things out of the bags and you grab the one with the surprise in it before he can get to it.

“Won’t we need that?” he asks.

“Yes, but it’s not for cookies,” you start backing away towards the living room, bag behind your back. “It’s a surprise.”

Jungkook has a goofy grin plastered on his face as he follows you, and you put one on to match.

You stand in front of the coffee table and order him to sit and close his eyes, a sarcastic ‘yes ma’am’ comes from his lips, but he does as told. 

You set the contents of the bag on the coffee table; a small fake tree with built in lights, some tiny baubles in a box, a star, a polaroid camera and a custom, empty ornament.

“Okay, open!”

Jungkook opens his eyes and the same goofy grin returns, but this time there’s a sparkle in his eyes that you’ve never seen before.

His voice is gentle and lovely when he asks, “What’s all this Picasso?”

“Your very own tree to decorate. We have lights, decorations, even a star for the top,” you say as he leans and picks up the star. “You said you didn’t really celebrate anymore so I wanted to bring some celebration back to you—if you wanted to, that is.”

He twirls the star in his hand, smile never leaving, as he inspects it closer. “Did you make this?”

You turn sheepish. “Ah… yeah. They don’t really sell mini toppers for the mini trees, just the baubles, so that guy’s made from the finest cereal box cardboard and tinfoil on the market.”

He just stares, at the star, at the tree, then to you. You can’t tell if you screwed up or not. Did he hate this?

But then he’s standing and you’re in his arms as he hugs you. 

You freeze, unsure of what to do for a second, before you let your arms go around him, hugging him back. 

He’s solid, you can feel the strength in him as he breathes, and the weight in his arms as they hold you. 

But also warm. So warm your cheeks start to heat to match the rest of your body that seems to be on fire. 

It ends before it barely started, and you find yourself missing him the second he’s gone. 

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head as if not realizing what he’d just done until after he stopped. You want to tell him it was okay, but he says, “thank you,” immediately after, and squats down to open the baubles. 

“You’re welcome,” you say as you watch, sitting down on the couch. He looks like a kid, the brightest of smiles on his face as he goes to place the first one, but pauses, and hands it to you. 

“You know better than me where to start.”

You giggle, placing the red sphere near the middle, and gesture for him to put on the next one. It continues like this until the box is empty, you then him, then you then him. He places the last ornament and looks to you, star in hand. 

“You do it,” you say. You’ve done this a million times with your mum, you doubt he’s done the same.

He carefully grabs the top branch that sticks up, placing the star over it. Your heart swells at how gentle he is with your handmade decoration. 

“Now the last step,” you say, as you reach for the camera. This was your favourite tradition with your mother, the yearly solstice picture. You have one from every single year after you were born, and even one with you in your mum’s belly. 

“Turn around,” you say, spinning your finger and he does, you follow.

You’re both on the ground in front of the tree, and you lift the camera, leaning into him. Still so warm. He leans right back. 

“Say 'Solstice!'” you call out, and smile.

“Solstice,” he says with you as you snap the picture.

You pause for a moment, making sure the image is done capturing before leaning away again. 

The image prints out, and you take hold of it, shaking so it develops faster. 

“Can you get some scissors, and a permanent marker?” you ask Jungkook. He leaves for only a moment, returning from the kitchen, scissors and marker in hand. 

You reach for the empty, custom ornament. It’s a camera, and where the lens would be is a spot for a picture. Cutting the polaroid to fit, you slide it in, and write solstice followed by the year on the back of the ornament.  You put it in the middle of the tree, letting the baubles frame it.

You don’t see Jungkook watching you do all of this, a look in his eye that would melt you if you saw. 

“And now for the magic,” you say, turning on the built-in lights. The tree twinkles as the little LEDs reflect off baubles, like stars on a clear night winking at one another.

You're too busy looking at the tree when you hear a click. Following the sound you see Jungkook, polaroid camera in hand, lens facing you. The image pops out and he grabs it, placing it on the coffee table beside the tree.

“Aren't you supposed to shake it?” you ask.

He looks purely serene as he responds. “Nah, polaroids have chemicals and dyes layered in them, so if you shake them you can get microbubbles or marks on them.”

You didn’t know that, but it doesn’t surprise you in the slightest that he does. His talent for photography, a result of years of study and practice. 

“Oh, good to know,” you say as you take the camera from him, and direct him to look at the tree. You snap a picture to match your own, placing it on the table beside the one he took. 

He stays sat there, staring at the tree for a while, the occasional flit towards you before the tree once again.

“It’s perfect,” Jungkook says, breaking the comfortable silence. He clears his throat before adding. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

You don’t know what else to say besides that, but you can see the happiness in his eyes. Their glow. Their warmth. 

You don’t think you need to say more. 

He knows. 

Time is quickly passing, and you have five recipes to get through today. So as much as you find yourself not wanting to move, perfectly happy sitting here with him for the rest of the day in this beautiful silence, you can’t. The tree is only the beginning of your day together.

“Cookie time?” you ask. 

Jungkook looks to you and takes a deep breath, as if he was also content to stay where you were for the day.

Just you, him and the tree.

“Cookie time.”

“You bitch!” you say as flour flies from his hand to your cheek. 

You were three and a half recipes in, having made two easier recipes first to ease him into a more difficult one. Shortbread, maejakgwa, and gingerbread now sit around in tupperware and cooling sheets around the apartment. 

But because of that, Jungkook is slowly losing all seriousness as you retrieve the sugar cookie dough from his fridge. It was actually the first thing you’d made, knowing it had to chill for a while beforehand, hence the three and a half. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, all knowing smirk plastered on his face like a neon billboard. 

You refuse to sink to his childish levels, and remove the beautifully chilled dough from its refrigerator bowl. Wiping your face with a cloth to clean yourself of the flour, you order him over.

“Come use all your unnecessary muscles to roll this out, quarter inch thick,” holding out the rolling pin to him. The smirk lessons only slightly, but he does as told. 

“All my muscles are unnecessary, huh?” he says after a minute of rolling. You’re by the sink washing some dishes as he does and you can all but physically see the egging in his voice. 

“Yes.”

“And why’s that?” He asks as he finishes rolling out the dough and begins on his cookie cutter decisions. You’ve learned he’s particular about which one’s he wants to use for which type of cookie. 

“Because you have like a million eight foot tall, 450 pound security guards following your every move at all times,” you say, as if this was obvious. In reality, it was a solid team of six guards who were at their tallest 6 '4, and maybe 285 at their heaviest. 

Admittedly, they were all really nice guys, having met them numerous times over the months. And you were planning on stealing some of the cookies from today to give them little solstice bags. 

Jungkook’s never going to be able to eat them all by himself  anyway…you think. And even if he could, he really shouldn’t.

“So, because I have security guards,” he looks at you unbelievingly, “my muscles are unnecessary?” 

“Yes. Why have them if you don’t need them?” At this point you’re just teasing him.

“Lots of reasons,” and he starts listing as you continue to clean. “They look nice, but that's obvious.”

“I’m sure your groupies don’t mind that at all,” you sneak in under your breath, referring to his enormous, and rather lewd mouthed female following on social media. 

“Hey, you leave my groupies out of this, they’re nice people,” he says, pointing a white powdered finger. You scoff and go back to the dishes mumbling something about how they feed his ego. 

“There’s also the fact that I like being strong. I like that I don’t get winded from jogging up the stairs, and I like that I have the ability to help damsels who show up at my place with their arms full of far too many heavy bags.”

You shoot him a glare and he laughs. “You can’t say I’m wrong.”

You also don’t have to acknowledge that comment.

He takes it as a win in your ever ongoing battle of wits. And just to try and even out the playing field a little more, as you are currently winning by a landslide, he adds on a little more to his answer, hopefully one you’re not expecting, and therefore winning by shock factor.

“There’s other reasons too, but those are a lot less PG, to say the least.”

He—

Your hands pause their ministrations for mere seconds before continuing.

How did he say it so…casually!?

Like he didn’t essentially just tell you he likes being strong for bedroom purposes. A topic you’ve never been anywhere near speaking to him about, and he just… brings it up like that? So cryptically as if he wants you to ask for clarification. 

And you do want clarification, damn him!

You hate that it makes you curious. Hate. It.

You like knowing things, not to be nosey, but because you like the mental safety it brings. When you and Nel first started having sex you did a deep dive on everything you could, to make sure nothing was a surprise and that you didn’t hurt yourself or him if you tried anything new. 

Little did you know half of the research was for nothing. Nel has never been the most sexually adventurous person, whereas you wanted to try out new things, explore, see what you like via trial and error, he was fine with good ole missionary and a handful of other basic positions. 

What you two do now works though. And that’s what counts. Compromise. Overcome. Enjoy and respect each other's boundaries. 

But it makes you wonder if Jungkook knows anything you don’t. 

That reason alone is apparently enough for you to hear, “Like what?” leave your lips before you can stop it. And you internally freak.

What the fuck! You did not just ask him that. 

That did not just come out of your mouth.

You did not jus-

“You really wanna know?” he asks, eyeing you over his shoulder with a single quirked brow, like he can’t believe you said it either, but he’ll dish you if you want him too. 

How interesting. You don’t remember gaining this level of trust from him, to be honest about something so personal. So private. 

You wonder when that happened. 

No, you say in your mind. But your head is gingerly nodding yes. 

Stop that! You think to your body, betraying you once again.

Jungkook hums before picking up a cutter, a simple circle. 

“Well,” he punctuates the word with a cutter punch. “Uhh…there’s a certain level of—” a punch, “—power dynamic I prefer having, and they definitely help with that,” another cutter punch. “I also like being able to lift my partner with relative ease, or carry them if need be. Legs around my hips is a personal favourite.”

Your dishwashing slows as he continues, unable to stop the images that flood your mind thanks to your visual thinking. 

Stupid art brain.

A small pool of heat starts to form low in your stomach. Stupid art brain.

After some more circular cutter punches, you think he’s finished and you’re relieved, but then he switches to a spikier one and continues. 

“I’ve also learned that finger strength seems to be a fan favourite,” he jokes and you gulp, forcing that thought out of your head as soon as it enters like a slingshot.  “And most of my previous partners seemed to enjoy the fact that I could, uhm…well, that I could hold them in place while I did… that is…whatever I wanted to them.” 

You ignore the wetness in forming your underwear. This conversation, regardless of who it was with, was not helping you and your complete and utter lack of sex. 

Another enormous downside to long distance, your libido and its easily excitable nature due to lack of use. Maybe an appointment with your vibrator is due soon, if you’re this affected by these attempts at sterile descriptions of sexual-like encounters. He isn’t even saying anything expressly dirty. He’s trying to be as respectful and informative in his answers as he can.

Plus, you did this to yourself. 

“But if I had to pick, I think there’s a tie for my favourite part about having unnecessary muscles for non PG purposes,” he says, and looks at you with another quirked brow, seeing if he’s allowed to proceed.

You’ve entirely stopped washing the dishes. Too focused on not focusing on the growing need blooming inside you. 

Oh yes, you’re penciling it in right now: Vibrator appointment. Tonight. 10:30pm. 

Sharp.

Time to accept the consequences of your actions.

“Consider it a potential learning opportunity. Academically speaking, of course,” you say, as a way to make this educational. That’s all this is anyway right? To see if he knows anything you don’t. 

Right?

Right.

“If you say so Picasso.” He tears the leftover dough from the neatly cut cookies, and starts laying them on a baking pan. “First, I like that I’m strong enough to flip my partner over whether they’re, uhm...” he struggles for an ‘academic’ sounding word, but settles for, “restrained, or not.”

Heat. Everywhere. There's heat everywhere and you immediately go back to the dishes, changing the flowing water to ice cold and ignoring the throbbing of your core. You’re pretty sure if you slipped your hands down your pants right now, they’d be just as wet as they are cleaning the mixing bowls. 

Maybe you should reschedule to 10. Or even 9:30. Hell, why not 9 while you’re thinking about it.

“Secondly, I like the muscles because they help me make great use of walls.”

You nearly drop the bowl in the sink, not having nearly enough time to recover before he’s looking at you again, sugar cookie filled baking pan in hand.

“You ever done something like that?” he asks, sly smirk visible. He’s trying to make light of the situation, make it a joke for the sake of comfortability.

He’s spilling ‘all’ his secrets, why shouldn’t you spill one.

The oven dings, signaling the preheating is complete and it’s ready for use. He comes closer to you, only because the oven is opposite the sink, puts them in and sets the oven’s timer for 12 minutes. Turning back around, he’s not two feet from you.

You force your voice to be as smooth and cool as possible as you face him, your own smirk plastered. 

“Wouldn't you like to know?”

Yes, yes he would.

“Call your goons in, I have their bags ready.”

“They’re not my goons,” Jungkook says, texting Shen, head of his security detail. “They’re my guards.”

You’re both finishing up cleaning the kitchen, all of the ingredients are put away, the dishes are cleaned, and Jungkook is washing down the counterspace as you write the names of everyone on the little bags filled with the results of your combined labours.

The coffee table is covered in little polaroids from today, all still resting from when they developed. Half of them have some form of baking related mess on them, be it some flour or a small lump of dough. 

You look at one he took after throwing more flour on you, your nose is scrunched and it looks like half your face is white with the stuff. It’s cute. There’s another beside it, Jungkook is pretending to lick raw batter from the whisk, eyes wide, tongue outstretched. It’s chaotic.

They’re perfect.

Shen, Dae-Seong, Asa, Rowan, Micah and Hikari are Jungkook’s security detail. They all have shared apartments in the same building. Never too far away. Shen and Asa are stationed on his floor, Mikah and Rowan are on the floor below and Dae-Seong and Hikari are on the one above. 

“Guards, goons, same difference,” you say, but you hear knocking not seconds later, no doubt Shen and Asa. 

You go and open the door, welcoming them in.

“Hey Y/N,” Asa says, scooping you up for a hug, your feet dangling. Asa’s one of the guards who’s super tall, and he’s always been very affectionate towards you. Come to think of it, a lot of them are. 

“Hey Asa, how’s Natalie?” you chuckle, hugging him back lightly. Natalie is his wife, who's still back in the capital.

“She’s good, excited to have me home soon.”

“No doubt, say hi for me.”

“Yeah, will do.”

He sets you down just in time for another knock. 

Rowan, Micah, Hikari and Dae-Seong all make their way in too, giving high fives, light hugs or happy greetings to you as they do. Soon, you’re being towered over by men, feeling very small, but never scared as they are always so lovely to you.

You suspect you’re quickly becoming their favourite. 

Jungkook they’re used to seeing, they’ve known him for years, protected him for years. They give him shit, a nod or grab him by the neck with their arms as they play wrestle to greet him. No hugs or high fives to be seen with him, only laughter. Mostly at Jungkook. 

When they’re around, Jungkook is the most at ease you’ve ever seen him at. 

“So what’s up?” Shen asks. He’s the least affectionate out of everyone, stoic even, but that doesn’t surprise you. He’s responsible for the safety of the future monarch, that’s a stressful job.

You look to Jungkook, who’s now sitting on the couch. He signals with a hand that this is all you.

“I don’t know if you all celebrate, but just in case you do, Jungkook and I spent the day baking,” Rowan snorts at that, and you ignore it, motioning for them to follow you to the kitchen. The island carrying their individually labeled goody bags comes into their view.

“And this is just a little thank you for all you do from the jackass in the other room,” you point with a thumb to the wall the couch is on the other side of. The men snicker. 

“I heard that,” Jungkook calls.

“You were supposed to,” you call back, then to the group once more, “and it’s also a Happy Solstice from me.”

Rowan and Asa are still laughing at your less than kind words about their charge as you begin to hand them their bags. Each one says thank you as you do, and Asa gives you another hug. He may be 6’4 and god knows how many pounds, but really, he was just a big teddy bear—a lethal one— but cuddly nonetheless.

“We’ve got a decent selection, but feel free to trade,” you say, giving Shen his bag last. He has a thing with going last, you have no idea why, but you respect it. You whisper to him that he has an extra of each cookie, and not to tell the others, including Jungkook. He gives you the absolute smallest of small smiles, followed by a hushed ‘thank you.’

It’s the most tender you’ve ever seen him.

Micah pipes up. “What’s this one?” he asks, holding up a cookie.

“So, we’ve got gingerbread, maejakgwa, sugar cookies, shortbread and that, my dearest Micah,” the mountain of a man blushes at that, and you laugh, “is a yakgwa cookie. Think chewy honey and ginger.”

He pops it into his mouth instantly and you swear if he could, he’d melt into a puddle. 

“There’s no way King Pain in the Ass over there made these, they’re way too good,” Hikari says, on his third one. He seems to be trying one of each, seeing which he likes. So far? Apparently it’s all of them.

“Cross my heart,” you say, “it was a gallant team effort.”

“Thanks kid,” he calls to the prince, currently entering the room to see his guards happier than he has in a very long time. He will never admit it out loud, for fear of endless mocking, but the sight warms his heart.

Dae-Seong comes up to you, and very politely asks, “Could I get the recipe you used for the maejakgwa? My wife would love these.”

“Of course, Dae-Seong,” you place a kind hand on his forearm. “Give Minji my best will you?”

The man nods, grateful. 

All the recipes today were from your memory, so you get your phone, and start typing it out. 

You have him text it to himself from your phone when you’re finished, and use that as your que to grab the camera.

“Everyone,” you call out, and immediately seven pairs of eyes, with seven full mouths beneath them, are looking at you. Jungkook’s eating some from his own stash, or so you hope. “Crowd your favourite royal on the couch please, it’s picture time.” You shake the camera gently in your hand.

“My favourite royal’s back at the pala–” Hikari tries, but a punch to the shoulder from Jungkook has him laughing in favour of completing the sentence. 

You love the relationship he has with them. Like brothers.

Quickly, Jungkook is squished between the six men, one on either side and four on the floor in front of him. They tried to fit more on the couch but they're all so big that they couldn’t.

“Everyone needs to smile, and if they don't, I'm taking more until they do,” you say pointedly, eyeing up Shen. He only nods that he understands.

“Say Solstice!”

A chorus of deep voiced ‘solstice's' ring your eyes as you look through the eyepiece and snap the picture. It prints out and you leave it with all the others on the coffee table. You see that everyone is smiling in the picture as it develops. 

Perfect. Everything about today has been perfect.

After a few more minutes of chatting, the guards have to get back to their posts, and you’re at the door, wishing everyone a happy break as they leave. 

Shen, as usual, hangs back, wanting to be the last to leave. He’s standing beside Jungkook, both watching you as you bid the others farewell. 

“I like her,” Shen says to Jungkook quietly. 

“Me too,” Jungkook says back. 

Shen can see the prince means that in more than one way.

“Keep her around.”

“I'm trying my best to.”

It’s nearing 7:30, you’re both full after ordering dinner in, not wanting to be anywhere near a kitchen until next week, and working on assignments. Jungkook’s editing some photos, and you’re writing part of an essay from your phone, having completely forgotten to bring your computer in all the excitement. 

“Hey,” you say, sitting in your spot on the couch. You nudge him with a socked foot, he has headphones on so he can focus.

He doesn’t look to you, but removes a headphone. “Yeah?”

You lock your phone, brain mush for the night. “Can we move movie night to tonight? I have an exam at 8am on Monday and I want to use tomorrow to study.”

You’ve been thinking about it for a while, deciding that today would let you know if you needed to make the switch or not. And given that you’ve spent the day on your feet and partially socializing, you doubt you’ll be able to focus for the rest of the night, exhausted. But the good kind of exhausted.

You’ve been taking better care of yourself since that day with Jungkook. Not drastically, but you’re starting to listen to your body’s signals a little more, and right now it’s telling you you need TV and sleep. 

Appointment be damned. You’ll reschedule.

Jungkook hits the space bar and removes his headphones before closing the computer. 

“Yeah, of course. But–” he cuts himself off, looking at the tree in front of him. The lights are low in the apartment and it’s dark out, so the tree shines, glowing from within. The picture of you two still sits in the middle, and the now multiple stacks of polaroids sit around its base like presents. 

“But?”

“But that means I won’t see you after today. I only have two exams left, Monday afternoon and Tuesday morning, then I’m back at the palace.”

Oh. 

Right.

“We don’t have to, I can just study earlier in the d-”

“No! No, it’s okay. It just…it changes a few things,” he bites his lip as he thinks, and places his computer on the coffee table. “Close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Close your eyes Picasso, please?”

You’re very confused but comply, closing your eyes and waiting. You hear him get up and then him walking, then a door opens. There’s some rummaging before the door closes and his footsteps near again.

The couch dips right beside you.

“Hold out your hands.”

You hold them both out, palms up, and something bumpy and cylindrical is placed in them. 

“Okay, open.”

In your hands is a leather rolling brush case, held shut by not only matching leather strings, but a red ribbon and bow. 

“Oh,” you didn’t know you were doing gifts. “Jungkook. It’s—it’s beautiful.”

“Open it.”

You untie the ribbon, setting it to the side as you also untie the leather strings, and unroll. The case is filled with brushes from Olliveri and Schultz, the best brush makers in the realm. And a small, very surprised gasp escapes you. 

You’ve never once owned any of their products. Their brushes go for $50 at the lowest, for the smallest of brushes.  

Exquisite craftsmanship goes into each and every brush, hand carved wooden handles, the best bristles you can buy, and rust resistant ferrule. You’ve always dreamed of having one of their brushes, and now here you are, with a whole set.

They’re the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. 

“Jungkook I—I don’t know what to say. I couldn’t possibly acce-”

“Yes you can. You can and you will. Please. I even made sure they put in an extra fan brush cuz it’s your favourite.” 

You notice the two brushes on the end, identical. 

He remembered. 

A lump is forming in your throat, overwhelmed with gratitude.

“I haven’t—I don’t—,” you take a breath, “I didn’t get you a gift, though.”

“Today was gift enough,” he says, and you can see in his eyes he means every word. “I haven't had a solstice like this in…a really long time, and the memories from today are enough, more than enough. I promise.”

You don’t know what to say, you haven’t been at this much of a loss for words since…ever. You can only think of one thing to convey how thankful you are.

Throwing your arms around his shoulders, you squeeze, his arms immediately around your waist. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, “I love them.”

Jungkook takes a deep breath too, savouring this moment for as long as he can. The feel of your arms around him, squeezing. The soft curve of your body up against his. His hands on your waist, you’re warmth under his touch, or maybe that was him, he can’t tell. And he doesn’t care. 

 It’s the first time you’ve ever initiated physical contact that was more than a nudge or playful shove. 

“You’re welcome, YN. Happy Solstice.” 

Chapter Ten: TBR

A/N 2: Fun fact! The tree and tin foil star are based on what I do irl. I have a dollarstore tree with little baubles and lights, but I made the star from a cereal box and tin foil because there weren't any toppers when I bought it.

A/N 3: As always, Thank you for reading, loves. Xoxo - Yoon <3

<- Back

[everrinsly]

a/n; somehow, i always imagine the boys being very flirty as they grow up hahah

a momager and her silly olympic team vibes.

the weirdo quick and the real mvp. fluff. fem!reader. | not proofread.

more olympic team shenanigans | part 1 | part 2 | part 4

more reads!

~~~~~

Even though the boys were all grown (late twenties now, by the way), you were absolutely appalled at how they still bickered like children mid-match. At the Olympics of all major events—

“Oi! Kageyama! Stop setting like you're mad at me or something!” Hinata snapped, slapping the ball down with a little too much force... right into the net.

On the other side of the court, France's setter stifled a laugh that was immediately shot down by Suna—still holding his signature pose, arms raised, hands in front of his face. His green eyes were narrowed, glinting with a lethal glare.

Kageyama scowled. “I’m not mad! You’re the one who’s late to the spike!"

“You’re the one who keeps shifting your timing!”

“Maybe because your fucking brain’s five steps behind your feet—!”

"Or maybe it's you that can't fucking count—!"

"I was calculating optimal trajectory—"

"Optimal trajectory my ass!"

"You fucking trained on sand—and you're still shitty—"

"WHA—the fuck did you just say?!"

Atsumu sucked his teeth on the sidelines. “Well, shit... here we go again.”

Komori leaned over from his libero crouch and whispered to Sakusa in the back row. “Three guesses who’s gonna fix it.”

Bokuto perked up, hands on his hips, watching the freak duo fight (just like he and Kuroo used to do back in high school). “Wait for it…”

From the bench, Iwaizumi had given up. Clipboard on the the floor. Coach was nearly hiding away in shame, muttering something to the assistant coach. Probably (most definitely) adding in an extra training schedule.

The referee on the court had already dropped the whistle from his lips, sighing like he can't be bothered because Team Japan was the root cause of all his problems.

And the jumbotrons?

The jumbotrons caught everything. The camera crew were having the time of their lives, recording the meltdown of Team Japan.

—So that’s when you stood up from your seat near the bench, clipboard in hand, eyes soft and kind.

As you jogged onto the court during a much-needed timeout call, Sakusa muttered under his breath, “And there she goes. The real MVP comes to the rescue.”

“Bet three curry buns she fixes it in less than twenty seconds,” Iwaizumi said, arms crossed, clearly already counting down.

When you reached Hinata and Kageyama, you gently pressed a hand on each of their shoulders. Slightly damp with sweat, but you didn't care. Not when you've took care of them since high school, at their very worst to their very best.

“Hey,” you voiced, all warm and calm. “What’s going on?”

Hinata looked down at you and pouted. Literally pouted. “He’s not syncing with me.”

Kageyama huffed, rolling his eyes. “I’m syncing. He’s just zigzagging like a squirrel... on fucking caffeine.”

You fought a laugh. “Okay, but think about how far you’ve come. You two read each other like a book now, right? You’ve done this dance a hundred times. You’ve already got the rhythm—you just need to trust each other again.”

Their gazes softened slightly.

You smiled, giving Hinata a playful nudge. "Remember? You used to hit Kageyama's sets with your eyes closed, Sunshine."

You turned slightly to face Kageyama and patted his chest. "And you... make sure you imagine the spiker. Not just send it high and far, okay?

You leaned up to wipe some beads of sweat off each of their foreheads with your sleeve.

“Besides,” you added, “I kind of love when you pull that sneaky slide attack, so don’t make me sad, okay?”

Hinata smirked, a cute little tilt of his lips. "I can do that, sweets!”

Kageyama adjusted his uniform collar and ran a hand through his hair, grumbling, “Fine fine. I’ll fix my toss for your slide... you just stop looking at me like that.”

“Hmm... like what?” you asked innocently.

“Like that,” he murmured.

But before you could even respond, he stomped back to the net.

(They were just as adorable now as they were back in high school).

As you trotted off the court, Suna was staring at you with a deadpan look. “Must be nice having a buffoonish-ass love language.”

You giggled softly, teasing. "Wouldn't call it buffoonish if it works, Rin. Are you just jealous?"

“Hm. Maybe,” he hummed.

Atsumu let out an exaggerated groan. “Can we get a team-wide policy? No cute manager pep talks unless we all get one.”

“You want me to pat your head too, 'Tsumu?” you said sweetly, grabbing a towel and handing it to Ushijima.

Atsumu opened his mouth, then paused, a flirty smile adorning his lips. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no, sweetheart.”

Bokuto leaned over, buffing his chest out. “Can you pat me like how you patted Kageyama?”

“You smiled at Hinata like he invented the sun,” Sakusa added with a small scowl.

Ushijima blinked. “It was motivational. Very effective.”

“Uh-huh, damn miracle worker,” Iwaizumi muttered from behind you, voice low. "An how about you all stop crowding her now. You've still got a game to play."

Your face heated, and suddenly the entire bench was smirking.

Except for Komori, who cheerfully handed you his water bottle. “You handled that really well.”

You gave him a grateful smile, laughing softly. “Thanks, 'Toya... finally someone who's a little more gown-up than the rest of you all.”

And then, Suna appeared from behind, lips brushing close to your ear as he whispered, “For the record, if you ever wanna motivate me like that, I promise ten kill blocks every set.”

“Same,” Atsumu grinned.

"You're a setter, dumbass."

"I CAN BLOCK—"

"Nah, your timing's shit—even if I count for you."

"Oh fuck you—"

“Me too, by the way!” Hinata shouted from the court, already back in position and totally recovered. “I’d fail just to get my sweat wiped with your sleeve again!”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks warm but heart fluttering.

“How about you all just get back out there and win,” you called, voice firm but fond.

They chorused a 'yes'—some louder, some flirter, some absolutely pretending they weren’t jealous as hell.

And as the whistle blew again and the ball flew up, Kageyama and Hinata moved in perfect sync, slamming down the point so fast it shut the opposing blockers down cold.

“Told you. Real MVP.”

[letaliabane]

The Aftermath (CARE FOR SERIES)

Pair: Thorin Oakenshield x Healer!Reader (a pretty short human one too lol) A/N: The fight for Erebor is finally over! The war has been won! However as the mountain and the town of Dale begin to thrive once more, our couple are more apart than ever before, and Thorin is keen for answers. Will they allow themselves the joy of not only peace, but love? Genre: Bouts of angst, but also lots and lots of fluff that we’ve ALL been waiting for (including me), and some good ol’ smut! Warning: brief mentions of abuse/torture, smut (not heavy smut but still a warning just in case) animal death (one hunting scene nothing too details or gorey but just in case) PREVIOUS (The Light Within)

Six months had passed since what was now called the Battle of the Five Armies, inked into the fresh pages of books, told by spokespeople in Dale and within the halls of Erebor. As the dwarves began to return to their mountain and build anew, celebrations began, the ale flowed and rich foods ladled over rows and rows of tables with joyful music ringing through the grand halls of the mountain.

And yet all the while, Thorin, the King to the throne of Erebor, dressed in the finest of furs and sat with food barely touched, could not find it in his heart to celebrate. Not when the woman he longed for was no longer by his side.

The days that followed the end of the war were a blur of pain. He vaguely remembered Kili calling your name from afar. 

It was only after he had substantially recovered that he was informed by his youngest nephew of what had occurred between Y/N and the dwarf who had guarded his door. He did not resist dealing the appropriate punishment to them. 

With Oin being firm in stressing his need for rest and proper recovery, Thorin had sent members of the company, either alone or in pairs, to look in search of her, to bring her back to him. All returning with no such luck. 

And though the duties of being King rested heavily on his shoulders more than ever before, his thoughts often still drifted to her. Her wonderful laugh that had his heart soaring, her glowing smile that had long ago captured his heart, her kindness, her bravery. Her stubbornness matched his own. How all he wished was to up and leave to find her, and somehow encourage her to return to his side—

'Thorin?'

He turned towards Balin who sat on his right, his face drawn in concern.

'Are you all right laddie? You've barely eaten anything tonight and been quiet.'

'Have a lot on my mind is all Balin. Nothing to worry about,' Thorin said with a forced smile, taking a long sip from his ale.

'You'd think with the war over you wouldn't have too much on your mind.' Dwalin piped up from next to his brother, stabbing into the meat on his plate. 

'Unlike you Dwalin I have a kingdom to take care of. My mind will never settle.' Balin quickly spoke up. 'Be that as it may, you should take the time to celebrate your victories my King. After all you have fought for you deserve this more than anyone else.' 

Seeing Dwalin had turned to other conversation, Thorin muttered quietly, 'I cannot celebrate when I have not undone all my wrongdoings... I cannot celebrate with who I truly wish for most.' 

Balin halts mid-mouthful, quickly putting down his cutlery. 'Thorin we have looked high and low for that lass and sent the best trackers after her. If she wished to be found we would have found her by now.' 

The King slammed his fist down onto the table angrily. 'It's not good enough!' 

There was a dreadfully long pause between them, thankfully no attention drawn away from the merriment as the crowd continued to drink, laugh and dance. 

He sighed heavily, turning back to his advisor. 'I'm sorry Balin, I did not mean that.'

'It's quite all right laddie. All I wish to say is that maybe we let her have her peace. It's the very least she deserves.' 

Without another word, Balin turned back to his plate, continuing to eat quietly. Thorin sighs heavily, nails digging into the wood of the table. His thoughts wandered once more to Y/N, and then it struck him. 

He shot to his feet, shocking those around him as he left the table without a word, ignoring those who called out after him as he left the Great Hall. 

Making his way to where the ravens roosted, he knew there was one person whom he could summon for assistance.

Gandalf trudged through the grand marble halls of Erebor, led by Dwalin and Kili through the mountain city. He had received an urgent letter by raven requesting his presence with the King

'Do you have any clue of why I was summoned?' The wizard addressed Kili who shook his head. 'No Gandalf! It was a surprise to see you at the gate! I'm guessing that it's business to only do with Uncle.'

'Which is what I'm afraid of ...' He grumbled quietly to himself.

After moving through multiple winding corridors and staircases, he was led into a small but lavish study. The walls were lined with bookcases filled with books, an oak carved table and matching chairs fitted with red velvet cushions sat in the middle of the room while a roaring fireplace warmed the room.

Just as the elderly wizard made himself comfortable at the table, the large doors opened revealing King Thorin.

'Gandalf, I apologise if I've kept you waiting,' The King called out, shutting the doors behind him before entering the room.

'Not at all Thorin! Or should I say your Majesty?' Gandalf jested to which Thorin chuckled.

'That is not needed here between us Gandalf,' he said as he sat himself down at the other end of the table, 'I know my request for your visit was sudden, and I'm aware that I've already asked plenty from you during our travels. But I needed to attend to a matter of urgency that I believed required your expert hand.'

'Oh? And what might that be?'

Thorin sighed. 'I need your assistance in finding Y/N.'

Gandalf's eyebrows raise ever so slightly. 'Oh? Is that so?'

'Don't play coy with me Gandalf. I've been told that you were seen taking her away from Erebor while I was injured. I've been searching and searching, and I haven't found her. All I want ... All I want is to see her again.'

Gandalf took a moment to take in Thorin's appearance. Though he carried himself with confidence, he could see the pain in the King's eyes, the longing. Dark shadows creased beneath his eyes, jaw tight and locked.

'You must understand something Thorin. Y/N has survived through what one could only describe as the depths of hell, and very lucky to have returned. There isn't a day that goes by that she fights to keep the peace she has built for herself. A peace that she lost long ago, and I'm not talking about a place to call home,' Gandalf places his fingertips to his temple. 'But here, and when she feels endangered, she will linger no longer than she needs to.'

At his words, Thorin couldn't help but think back to their journey together. The way she flinched at loud noises, when her grip would tighten on her sword when overwhelmed, how at peace she was in silence when they all had sat upon the boat to Lake Town. His eyes flickered back to Gandalf as he continued.

'If she wishes to remain alone, I ask not only as your friend but also as her Guardian, that you leave her be.'

Immediately the King felt anger swell within him, the impending roar to command his authority. But as the thought of Y/N swept over his mind, the anger dulled, instead understanding overwhelmed him.

For so long he had only wished for peace away from the kingdoms, away from responsibility. He knew what that longing was like. It was the feeling he felt when he saw her among the company. Her gentle yet fierce nature, a beacon of hope so bright within the darkness that seeped into all of their lives. If anything it would kill him to take that feeling away from her.

Thorin stood to his feet and found himself in front of Gandalf, kneeling (as best he could with his newfound injuries) before him. 'As King, I swear to you.'

The old wizard chuckled, resting his hand on Thorin's shoulder with a firm squeeze, 'Come now my friend, there is no need for all this. We must make our move swiftly and without further hesitation.'

The sun shone down through the thick forests to the West of Erebor, the rustling of leaves moving in the wind, the echo of a stream rolling over rocks nearby, the singing of birds and deers grazing across the hills of rolling green.

All the while, Y/N made sure each step she took was as quiet as possible, avoiding any fallen logs or sticks before hunching down.

The stag she had been tracking for quite some time had come to a halt, grazing at the tall grass.

Pushing the single braided parting behind her ear, she quietly grabbed an arrow from the sheath that hung from her shoulder and pulled it taut in the bow that had hung at her side. And with careful, even perfect precision, as the stag raised its head, she let the arrow fly and hit the stag which immediately fell, twitching before going still.

With a sigh of relief and a smile of victory, she rushed over, first making sure that the animal was no longer suffering before pulling the arrow free from its side. Wrapping the animal up carefully, she shrugged it over the back of her horse, Shadow, a black stallion that she had tied to a tree not too far away. Making sure the animal was secure, Y/N took Shadow by the reigns and led him back onto the forest path.

Soon she found herself in familiar sights, turning off onto a small path leading to a small stone cottage by the lakeside surrounded by blooming white daisies. A vegetable patch had been put together at the front, the first signs of growing carrots peaking from beneath the earth, bright strawberries and raspberries sprouting from bushes to Y/N's delight, growing plentifully in the new season.

This was her new home.

She pulled her horse into the small stable which she had recently finished constructing. After removing the saddle and gear she gave Shadow a quick brush down.

'Thank you girlie, you did well today,' She whispered, giving it one last pat before filling up the horse's bucket with some of the freshly picked carrots from earlier that day. She couldn't help but smile as the horse's head disappeared into the bucket immediately, devouring its treat.

With a huff, she picked up the stag and began to carry it to the front of the cottage, only coming to a quick halt at the sight of the door standing ajar. She most definitely locked it before leaving on her hunt.

Immediately she dropped the stag to the ground, pulling her sword from her hip before pushing forward, kicking the door open. With a quick scan of the room, she found nothing amiss, nothing moved - nothing astray.

'My girl put that away!'

She couldn't help the scream that left her, turning to find Gandalf sitting in the armchair by the fireplace which had only moments ago been empty.

'Gandalf! How many times have I told you to inform me of your arrival! You always have some way of frightening me,' She screeched, angrily putting her sword back in its sheath.

'And where is the fun in that Y/N?' The elder chuckled as she brought the stag into the house, placing it in a corner of the room where she butchered her hunt.

Y/N rolled her eyes, unable to help chuckling, moving towards the kitchens putting a kettle on the stove. 'What brings you here Gandalf? Your letters made me think I wouldn't see you for a while!'

She heard him sigh heavily, hearing the creak of the chair as he stood to his feet, 'Well I've travelled quite the ways to see you. From Erebor.'

'Oh?' Y/N said, keeping her back to the wizard, hiding her shock. 'Royal business I'm assuming.'

'Yes, actually having to do with you my dear.'

'With me? What do you mean ––'

The crash of pots broke the heavy silence that followed, having slipped from Y/N's hand. She had turned back to face the wizard, only to see the one dwarf she had hoped not to see again standing behind him. Dressed in his old travelling clothes, familiar from their journey shared together, his hair down and rippling over his shoulders.

Y/N huffed. 'Gandalf ––'

'My dear ––'

'You promised!' She gasped, stepping back into the counter, gripping and digger her nails into it. 'You promised me you would never let him know.'

'I know,' Gandalf said as he stepped up to her, pulling her hands away from the counter into his own, feeling them shake within his hold. 'And I'm sorry. But you know as well as I that you will regret letting him go if you don't at least give him a chance.'

Before the fear over took her he gently placed kiss to her forehead, whispering, 'Be brave, little one, and use the second chance you were blessed with.'

Y/N looked up at Gandalf as he gave her one last smile before leaving her side. After grabbing his staff and hat, he gave Thorin a nod before closing the cottage door behind him.

The silence that ensued was deafening, almost choking the air within the cottage. Y/N's eyes looked everywhere but at Thorin, trying to calm herself.

But Thorin's gaze had never moved from her. It had been so long since he had seen her. The way the sun fell through the window behind her made her shine like a star, and he couldn't help but be mesmerised by her beauty.

'A lovely home you've built Y/N, and all by yourself?'

She glanced towards him, nodding silently, muttering to himself, 'Beautiful.'

As he looked around the room, Y/N took the chance to take him in. She noticed the healed scarring on his face from the war, as well as the cane that he kept at his side putting his weight against it. It seemed he carried more than mere scars from the battle against Azog.

With a sigh, she turned to him, 'Thorin ––'

'If I may speak,' He cut across her quickly. Only when she nodded he moved slowly to her side. 'I understand you ran from Erebor after an incident occurred during my injury.'

'Thorin ––'

'Please Y/N.'

She squeezed her eyes shut, falling silent once more.

'I know why you left. You sought out the one person you knew who would bring you safety and that was yourself. The person you've had to rely on for so many years. I wasn't present in that moment to contend with your fears ... I wish to be someone you could confine in and trust.'

He reached carefully towards her, and when she didn't flinch, he gently caressed her hand. Staring down at this, unable to resist Y/N intertwined their hands together. When she looked up she found Thorin staring past her eyes, his other hand now running across the braid that hid behind her ear still held together by a very familiar bead. His branded bead.

'You still wear it ...'

She smiled. 'Why wouldn't I? Just because I left doesn't mean my heart changed.'

The next few hours flew by. Thorin had helped Y/N skin and prep the stag which she made into a rich stew filled with vegetables from her garden and along with freshly toasted golden bread pulled from the oven. They barely spoke throughout but worked with few words exchanged.

It was after the meal had been devoured, the red wine that Thorin had brought along in his pack was poured and they sat warming by the fireplace that Y/N spoke.

'I know Gandalf already told you most of the story, about my family and all that. I was captured by the orcs and kept under their watch. They enjoyed having a human prisoner for entertainment in their encampment,' She muttered as she fiddled with the dents in her cup. 'But when the fear faded the numbness seeped in and then the anger followed. All I could think about was my family, each of them struck down and for what? Bloodlust? Such a waste ...' 

She lost herself in the flames that climbed across the logs within the fireplace, tears brimming in her eyes. Thorin sighed heavily before placing his hand gently upon hers. Y/N gasped softly at his touch, pulling herself from her thoughts. She squeezed his hand firmly in return. 

'Their faces were ingrained in my mind every day through every lashing, every beating, and every shaming. It fuelled me to do more … to observe, listen and eventually scrape my way to make an escape.'

As silence ensued, Thorin took her in carefully. Her eyes became glazed, lost in the depths of her mind, her memories a prison of pain and destruction. He knew that spiral all too well.

'I lost my younger brother Frerin during the great war against the orcs and Azog. Happened to be the last of the battles that occurred,' He uttered.

Y/N's head shot up in shock. He smiled sadly.

'He had rushed Azog alongside my father. In the tussle, he and his men got separated and pushed back into the woods that circled Moria. It was days later that I found him by the edge of Mirrormere Lake,' His expression became grim, grip tightening around her hand briefly, 'He was face down, eyes gouged, choked on his own blood. I'll never forget the way the blood soaked the earth and stained the waters, the stench of death was .... inescapable. With the weight of my father and brother's death, I was forced to pick up the pieces of my family and people when all I wanted was to kill. To lose myself to darkness and never turn back.'

Thorin's gaze flickered towards the flames within the fireplace. 'I built a wall of stone around my heart because I found that with love comes the greatest price of all. One day we'll lose it, no matter how hard we try we will lose it in some way. That all changed ...'

Y/N's head tilted with curiosity, 'What changed?'

Thorin turned back to her, gulping heavily. 'You came along.'

Y/N couldn't help the gasp that left her lips. He abandoned his cup on the side table to turn his body towards hers, still grasping her hand in his own tightly. 'I know that this scares you Amrâlimê, and to be truthful, I also am frightful. But I just want you to know that not a day goes by where I don't love you and never will stop.'

His words went straight to the pit of her stomach, heat spreading throughout her body like the bowels of a cauldron. Thorin's hand remained in hers, but there was an urgency in the way his fingers tightened around her. Though his eyes have a certain gentleness, there is also something else. A simmering hunger filled with a deep intensity, and before she could say another word, she pushed her lips to his.

Thorin growled against her mouth like a hungry animal satiated yet tempted for more, returning the kiss fiercely and pulling Y/N in close by her hips. Without hesitation, she sat in his lap wrapping her arms around his neck, running her fingertips through his hair.

Clothes are hurriedly stripped away, and when Thorin tosses her tunic aside, he notices the scars that littered Y/N's body, some areas of skin puckered red from the wounds that still healed.

When she noticed his gaze hovering around her body, she couldn't help bringing her arms up to cover herself but he stopped her, grabbing her wrists.

'No don't. You’re a sight to behold, you are ... ethereal,' He muttered, bringing her to stand between his legs, pressing a kiss to her sternum, hands running gently down her back and hips, coming up to caress her breasts. A stuttered gasp left Y/N, head falling back as he pressed kisses upon her breasts, the feeling of his rough hands sending sparks across her body. 

'Oh Thorin,' She breathed, tugging him to his feet before kissing him firmly. His kisses changed, heated, firm and responding with equal fervor. His hands moved below his thighs, lifting her with quick ease before laying her down on the furs before the fireplace.

However, she was quick to roll him onto his back, unable to stop the laugh that escaped her at the brief shock on his face. Thorin was quick to rise and capture her lips once more, smiling against them.

Y/N reached down gripping his cock before sinking down onto him slowly. Both of them gasped against each other's mouths at the sensation, Thorin wrapping his arms around to bring you close, chest to chest, nothing more left between them.

They move together in the throes of passion, hips slapping against one another, sweaty, warm skin, his hands squeezing her hips. She allowed herself to fall against him, forehead pressed to his shoulder as she shuddered in pleasure.

Through the haze, Thorin raised his hips, fucking her deeper, her moans louder before he silenced her with a firm kiss. It's almost too soon that he finds himself strung tight, close to the edge.

She arches against him, chasing the rising tide within her. 'Don’t stop,' she pants, her voice a shaky breathless plea.

Y/N leant forward, hands pressed to his chest, nails digging into his skin as she swiveled her hips harder, Thorin grabbing a handful of your ass. She cries out, eyes rolling back as she collapses against him shakily. He follows quickly behind, burying his cock deep inside her.

In that moment the world faded away, and it was just the two of them. The sounds of heavy breathing and the hiss of fire upon wood filled the air. The broad daylight pouring through the windows had dimmed with the setting of the sun, leaving the room with a peach glow.

Thorin ran his hand through her hair, pushing it away from her face. He kissed her cheek, then down her neck, to her shoulder. She trembled against him, her hands wrapped around his shoulders.

Lifting her face, she met Thorin's gaze to find him already watching her, pressing his forehead against hers.

'Amrâlimê, my dearest, my fierce heart,' He said between kisses which he placed along her face, lifting her chin gently to kiss Y/N's lips gently. 'Mine'

Y/N smiled against the corner of his lips, pressing another firm kiss to his lips. 'Yours.'

​FINAL CHAPTER (At Last) CARE FOR TAG LIST:  @alyhull , @bellastellaluna​ , @sdavid09​ , @aidanturnersass​ , @letsbeinspiredby​ , @hiddenmangaka​ , @female-hux​ , @elia-the-bibliophile​ , @fangirlbitch02​ @nickangel13​ @thatteluguchick​

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Musician Age Gap AU

Kara goes to the concert expecting nothing more than a tepid evening out. Well, as tepid as a night alone with her goddaughter could be. Esme has a knack for pulling Kara out of any funk she's in, no matter how deep her doldrums. And Esme's excitement to see this specific artist Kara's never heard of is nearly infectious.

Kara finds herself grinning in the car as Esme strictly tells her not to turn the radio on.

"They're gonna play one of her songs, and we need to go in fresh!"

So they simply chat on the ride to the arena, and upon arrival Kara is floored by the flood of people flowing from the parking lot to the venue itself.

"She's only the biggest name in pop music, Aunt Kara," Esme teases with a grin. "What did you expect?"

Kara's eyes go big with an exaggerated shrug of her eyebrows. "Not this!"

"Come on, old lady. This is why we got here early."

Esme finds fast friends among the other fans in line, but Kara steers clear of the parents clearly commisserating over the ordeal. She's not a parent, just a chaperone, and she has no intention of allowing herself to be infected by the endless negativity of long suffering caregivers bemoaning the whims of their tweens and teens.

Once inside, Esme heads straight for the merch table, clearly intent on spending her long-saved allowance money on anything she can get her hands on. The kid's wrists are already stacked with friendship bracelets, her own tote of swaps nearly empty and waiting to be stuffed with shirts and mugs and posters. Kara eyes the mounting total, then catches the moment Esme starts weighing the balance of what she has against the hoodie advertised at $60.

Kara rolls her eyes at the price, then reaches over with her card outstretched. "Add a medium hoodie to that, please."

Esme squeals with delight, and as soon as they're clear of the stall she throws her arms around Kara.

"Thank you!!!!"

"You're welcome," Kara says with a chuckle. "Just don't wear it til you get home. It's going to be hot in there."

"Okay!" Esme is already swapping her existing t-shirt for the tank top she'd gotten, emblazoned with the face of a young woman and the performer's name: LENA

"How do I look?" Esme asks with a spin, bracelets clicking.

Kara grins. "Like the world's cutest groupie." She tilts her head towards the crush of people heading into the stands. "Come on, let's go grab our seats."

"What's a groupie?"

Kara rolls her eyes, only to pause mid-turn when her phone starts vibrating in her hand. She hesitates, meeting Esme's eye.

"Just a sec, sweetie."

"What? No! Aunt Kara you promised no work."

Kara grimaces. "I know, but it might be an emergency." She scans the corridor, gaze catching on a short row of food vendors. "Here, why don't you take this and get us some nachos?"

She shoves forty dollars into Esme's hand and fishes out her bluetooth, nestling it in her ear.

"Aunt Kara..."

"I gotta find a corner somewhere," Kara continues. She points to a section of cinderblock wall a little ways down. "I'll meet you in across from the restrooms, okay? Five minutes, then I'm all yours."

Esme huffs. "Fine."

Kara answers the call, but waits until she sees Esme add herself to the food line before she starts speaking.

"This better be good!" she shouts into her phone. She can't hear anything but a jumble of sound on the other end, the din around her crowding out any words that might have been spoken. "Hold on!"

Reassured to see Esme already in conversation with a number of girl's around her, Kara goes looking for a quieter spot. She finds one in the nearest stairwell.

"What?" Kara snaps.

"Um," her assistant says over the line. "Mrs. Jasper called again? She wants--"

"Eve," Kara growls. "Do not tell me you called me, tonight of all nights, because Mrs. fucking Jasper called making some other inane request."

"I'm sorry!" Eve squeaks. "It's just--"

"Tell her it is after hours, and that she will be hearing from me personally first thing tomorrow morning."

"Oh, um. Okay. I guess--"

"Go home when it's done. And turn off your phone. You shouldn't be working this late either."

"Um. Okay. Thank you, Miss Danvers."

Kara ends the call with a roll of her eyes. But her frustration hardens into panic when she tugs on the door to return and-- it doesn't budge. She yanks again, harder, and still nothing.

"Fuck!" she shouts. She begins pounding on the door. "Hey! Can someone open this door?!"

No one comes to her rescue, her calls likely drowned out by the same noise that had driven her here in the first place. With another curse, Kara steps into action. She chooses to go down, hoping that the next door will open. It does, but the corridor she steps into is nearly empty. She hears a bit of bustle further down the hall, but out of sight.

She heads towards the sounds, trying the handle of every door she passes. None of them turn-- save one. She leans into it a little too hard as she tries the knob, and nearly tumbles into the room at the unexpected open.

Managing to right herself with a small yelp, Kara straightens-- only to freeze upon locking gazes with the young woman staring at her. A young woman Kara recognizes from the shirt her goddaughter had just put on.

Lena tilts her head with a droll grin.

"Well, you aren't my tea with honey."