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moonlightdreamzz · 1 month ago

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somewhere between yours, and his

chapter one — what we don’t talk about. | chapter two — half-truths and jungle juice

summary. you and jungwon are just best friends. housemates. you know, the kind who kiss when no one’s looking. the kind who sleep too close and never talk about it. the kind who swear it’s nothing, even when it’s everything.

then jake’s cousin sunghoon shows up—quiet, sharp, a little too pretty, and acting like he’s above it all. he’s only supposed to be visiting. just passing through. but he stays. and he watches you. and he starts saying things no one else dares to say.

jungwon’s the one who’s always been there. sunghoon’s the one who makes your skin burn. you’re stuck in the middle of something that isn’t quite love—but it’s not not love, either. it’s messy. it’s reckless. it’s kind of a problem. but it might also be the best kind of trouble you’ve ever been in.

pairing. jungwon x reader x sunghoon.

genre. college!au, angst, fluff, slow burn, smut.

themes. love triangle, messy relationships and decisions, love or lust?

authors note. really hope you all enjoy this. i love a good love triangle with a complex plot—nothing hits harder than wanting two people for completely different reasons. this one’s close to my heart, so buckle up. it’s soft, it’s messy, and nobody’s playing fair.

the morning smells like cinnamon, overcooked eggs, and the same damn candle jake always insists on lighting when girls are coming over—vanilla something. you hate it, but you never blow it out.

light filters through the living room windows in wide, lazy rectangles, catching on dust in the air like static. it’s a thursday that feels like a sunday. slow. syrupy. too warm inside, too cold outside.

you’re sitting on the kitchen counter in shorts and someone else’s hoodie. you’re not sure if it’s jake’s or jay’s or jungwon’s, but it’s oversized and smells like detergent and boy, so you keep it. bare legs swinging. phone in your hand. not texting anyone back.

there’s music playing—lofi, soft and beatless—because jungwon hates silence in the mornings.

he’s in the kitchen with you, halfway through scrambling eggs he’s already messed up once. tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek like he’s solving a puzzle harder than breakfast. his sleeves are pushed up. hair still messy from sleep. he hasn’t shaved.

his voice is hoarse when he says, “you could help, you know.”

you look up from your phone. blink at him, bored. “i could. but i like watching you struggle.”

he cuts you a look, quick and half-smiling. he always does that when you flirt with him like it doesn’t mean anything. you do it more than you admit.

“you’re the worst,” he mutters, but he’s smiling for real now. you see the dimples.

“and you love me.”

he doesn’t answer. just hands you the first plate and turns back to the stove.

jungwon and you have this… thing. it isn’t a thing. but it is.

you’re best friends. but not like “haha we’re besties” best friends. more like i-know-how-you-like-your-toast, i-know-what-time-you-cried-last-week, i-know-you-well-enough-to-sit-in-your-silence best friends. you have history, but not the kind you tell people about. not the kind you even tell each other about.

just moments. stacks of them. sleepovers that turn into shared beds. movie nights that end with you curled into his chest pretending not to feel the way he stiffens when your hips shift.

he never pulls away. he also never makes a move.

you bring the plate to the couch, plop down cross-legged. he follows, and sits beside you, thigh to thigh— remote in hand like always, already queuing up something silly on youtube.

“why do we watch food vlogs while we eat food?” you ask.

“motivation.”

“you’re literally eating.”

“doesn’t mean i’m not planning my next meal.”

his knee bumps yours and doesn’t move. you’re not paying attention to the screen. you’re watching his hands.

he doesn’t wear rings like jake or bracelets like jay. just clean wrists, long fingers, callused in the places his engineering tools left behind.

you like his hands too much.

breakfast turns into scrolling. scrolling turns into dozing. you’re not sure who falls asleep first, but when you open your eyes, you’re leaning into him, his head tilted against yours. breathing even. he’s warm. always so warm.

you don’t move. just stay there, eyes half open, watching the soft rise of his chest beneath his crewneck. watching the light move across the floor.

his arm shifts. wraps around you. not tight. just enough. like habit.

like he forgets he’s not supposed to do that.

you stretch. slowly. limbs falling away from jungwon’s like you weren’t just nestled against his heartbeat. like you haven’t had his mouth on yours before.

not that it means anything. just drunk. just heat and music and mouths moving too close.

just that one night in jake’s room after everyone else passed out—when you ended up on top of him, grinding slow to whatever song is playing. his hands stayed on your waist. yours in his hair. his breath breaking when you moaned into his neck like it’s nothing.

or that second night in the hallway, when he kissed you so hard you almost fell over—half-dressed, giggling—until he pulled away too fast and said,

“we should stop.”

so you stop. you never tell anyone. he never brings it up. but it lingers like a bruise you keep pressing.

you blink hard, shake the memory off, and look over at jungwon. his hand rests against his stomach, head tipped back on the couch. his eyes meet yours. soft. unreadable.

the front door opened. you heard it before you saw it.

then a voice,

“yo.” it’s jake.

“couch potatoes,” jake called from the kitchen. “my cousin’s coming soon.”

jungwon grunted. “huh?”

“sunghoon. remember? i told y’all. he’s visiting for a few days. thinking about transferring.”

“oh. yeah.”

jungwon sits up. rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm like he didn’t just almost hold you all the way to sleep. he sees what you’re wearing. the hoodie. oversized and too familiar. not his.

“you should change,” he says.

you raise a brow. “why?”

“you’re wearing jay’s.”

you smirk. “jealous?”

“just saying.”

but there it is. the flicker in his eyes. that flash of memory neither of you ever name.

you pull the hoodie tighter around you anyway.

that moment hums in the space between you. like an unanswered question. like something half-written.

jake walks into the living room like he owns the place. (which he kind of does—his name’s not on the lease, but somehow he always has the aux and the fridge key.)

he’s barefoot, eating dry cereal out the box. he glances at you on the couch, then at jungwon, who’s now pretending he wasn’t just emotionally undressing you with his eyes.

“so listen,” jake starts, crunching mid-sentence, “y’all know that party at gamma tonight?”

you raise an eyebrow. jungwon grunts like yeah.

jake waves it off. “yeah, well, i’m thinking we skip it. bring the party here. you feel me?”

you blink. “wait, what?”

he shrugs, like it’s nothing. “just for the vibe. for sunghoon. bro’s swearing we’re lame over here. like we don’t got it. like this whole school’s boring as hell.”

“so you wanna throw a whole function just to prove a point?” you ask.

jake points at you with a finger full of cereal. “exactly.”

you glance at jungwon. he shrugs like he’s indifferent, but he’s already pulling out his phone to text jay.

“i mean,” jake continues, flopping down into the armchair like he’s pitching a business plan, “we’re already here. it’s our house. no one’s gotta worry about getting home drunk. and he’ll get the vibe. and maybe finally shut up about how ‘lit’ the city is compared to this place.”

“what city is he even from?” you ask.

“malibu, by way of seoul. but, like, the rich part,” jake says, making a face. “he thinks he’s better than everybody.”

“is he?” jungwon mumbles.

jake throws a cushion at him. you dodge it instead.

“nah, he’s cool,” jake says after a beat, “he’s just got that face, you know? the kind you wanna punch even when he’s being nice.”

you snort. “sounds promising.”

“don’t worry. you’ll love him.” jake grins at you. you do not return it.

jungwon taps something into his phone. “jay says he’s down. sunoo too.”

you sigh. “so it’s really happening.”

“oh, it’s happening,” jake says, standing up and already heading toward the bluetooth speaker like a man with a mission. “by the weekend, this house is gonna remind sunghoon exactly why we don’t need to transfer anywhere.”

he disappears down the hall, yelling something about liquor and chips.

you and jungwon sit in silence for a second, and the air changes.

he stretches his arm behind the couch, eyes on the ceiling. “you gonna get cute for him?”

you look at him sideways. “who?”

he doesn’t look at you. just shrugs, like the question was nothing. “the rich cousin.”

you smirk. lean back against the cushion, letting your bare leg press against his jeans. “you want me to?”

he doesn’t answer. but he doesn’t move away either.

the silence stretches.

not awkward. not yet. but thick—like you’ve both just remembered something you’re supposed to forget.

the tv’s still on, playing some random food vlog neither of you are watching. your leg stays pressed to his, warm through the denim. his hand is right there. resting on the couch cushion between you, fingers curled slightly like he’s about to move but doesn’t.

you glance down at it. then at him. his jaw is tight. his eyes are still on the ceiling like he’s trying not to look at you. you slide your fingers across the space. slow. just enough to brush his. and when you feel his pinky twitch against yours—you don’t stop.

your hand finds his. you don’t hold it, not really. just… let your fingers tangle halfway. and he lets them.

his breath hitches, barely audible.

you look at him. he’s already looking at you. eyes low. soft. like he’s scared to blink.

you both lean in at the same time.

no one speaks. your nose brushes his. your fingers tighten just a little. his lips part—just enough. your eyes flick to his mouth.

and that’s when it happens.

his phone rings.

it’s loud in the silence. ugly and immediate. the default ringtone, buzzing across the table like it’s mad.

jungwon jolts back like he got burned. you both jump a little, breath caught mid-moment. he pulls his hand away fast, clearing his throat like it helps.

“…it’s jay,” he mumbles, already grabbing his phone.

you sit back slow, trying to look chill while your heart hammers against your ribs.

he answers.

“yo… yeah, we’re here. no, she’s—she’s right here. yeah, we told her. yeah, it’s fine.”

you stand quietly. walk past him. don’t say a word. you head straight for your room, the door clicking shut behind you.

he watches you go, phone still pressed to his ear, heart in his throat. he doesn’t say it out loud, but it’s all over him. he wishes the phone hadn’t rung. he wishes you had kissed him. he wishes he’d let it happen.

even though you never talked about it, you still slept in his bed that night.

he didn’t say anything when you walked past your room and climbed under his covers—just lifted the blanket like he always does, turned off the light, and let you curl into his chest like nothing almost happened.

he held you all night. he didn’t try anything. he didn’t say anything, either.

but you felt him kiss your forehead when he thought you were asleep. and when he finally drifted off, you stayed awake a little longer, watching the way his fingers twitched against your arm like he was dreaming about holding you tighter.

you didn’t bring it up the next morning. neither did he.

and then last night—same thing. no talking. no explaining. just his bed and his body curved around yours like a habit that never got broken.

now it’s friday, and jake’s tearing through the house like a man possessed.

he’s blasting music from the kitchen, half-dressed, holding two bags of red solo cups and yelling about how no one’s done anything he asked.

“we literally skipped class for this,” he shouts, tossing chips onto the counter like that solves something. “the least y’all can do is act like you’ve been to a party before.”

sunoo is lighting candles in the living room like it’s a spa retreat, muttering to himself about ambiance and scent mixing.

jay in his room changing for the third time.

jungwon’s wiping down the kitchen counters, pretending like he doesn't get the best sleep of his life when it's you on his chest. like he isn't utterly in love with you. it doesn't help that you're still in his hoodie, the same one you've been sleeping in for the past two nights. all he can think about is how you’re so...beautiful, and so his. at least that's how it makes him feel when you crawl into his arms. when you wear his clothes. when you kiss his cheek in the middle of the night because you think he's sleeping. so why can't he just...go for it?

and you? you’re sitting on the edge of the armrest, sipping something pink and dangerous out of a plastic cup, watching the house shift into something new.

the lights are dimmer. the music’s louder. the vibe’s getting blurry around the edges.

that’s when you hear it— the knock at the door.

not loud. just one, then another. like he’s not here to make a scene. like he doesn’t have to.

jake practically leaps across the room to open it, and there he is.

sunghoon.

black jeans, black hoodie, black duffel slung over one shoulder like he didn’t try but somehow still looks better than everyone in the house. his expression is blank. his face is sharp. he gives jake a nod, steps inside, eyes sweeping the room.

and then he sees you.

he doesn’t smile. he just looks.

and something about it makes your skin feel too tight.

you don’t say anything. neither does he. but the shift is immediate. like the air’s not yours anymore.

he’s taller than you expected. taller than jake, even. but lean—built like someone who moves fast but never runs. he doesn’t look like someone you’re supposed to be impressed by. he looks like someone who knows you already are.

his face is sharp. every angle defined like it was drawn with a ruler and no eraser. a high nose bridge. cut jawline. straight brows that make his expression unreadable. but it’s not just the bone structure—it’s the stillness. the way he doesn’t fidget. doesn’t smile too fast. doesn’t feel the need to do anything but exist.

your eyes meet for half a second. long enough to register how clear his skin is. how cold his stare feels. you look away first.

“this is my cousin,” jake announces, slapping a hand on sunghoon’s shoulder. “sunghoon. just got here from cali. he’s here for the weekend. maybe longer, if he likes it.”

sunghoon nods. looks around, taking in the living room like he’s scanning for threats. his eyes settle on you again.

“yo,” he says, voice low and casual. he nods once. “you’re…?”

jake says your name at the same time you do. sunghoon’s mouth twitches like he wants to smile, but doesn’t.

“cool,” he says. “nice to meet you.”

his voice isn’t cocky. it’s calm. a little too calm. you just nod. no words. just sip your drink and look somewhere—anywhere—else.

but he keeps looking. not long. not creepy. just… like he sees something he doesn’t quite get yet. and he’s deciding whether or not he wants to.

“you good?” jake asks him, grabbing a cup off the counter.

“yeah.” sunghoon sets his bag down by the door. “just tired. this place is nice though.”

“he thought we were lame,” jake tells you, clearly offended. “texted me last week like, ‘if your school’s so fun, why’s everyone online acting depressed?’”

“i said that once,” sunghoon mutters, taking the drink jake hands him. “and i wasn’t wrong.”

“he’s a hater,” jake says, then points at you. “she’s gonna change your mind.”

you blink. “what?”

“you got main character energy,” jake grins. “you’ll bring him around.”

you scoff. “he looks like he’d hate main characters.”

sunghoon actually smiles at that. just a little. and then he says, “not always.”

jungwon watches from the kitchen, still wiping the same spot on the counter that’s already clean.

he’s not eavesdropping. not really, he just… hears everything.

the way jake’s hyping sunghoon up. the way your voice dips when you respond. the way you don’t say much, but your body shifts to face him just a little more than usual.

you’re still holding your drink. still wearing his hoodie. but it’s like you’ve already floated somewhere else.

sunghoon doesn’t say much, but that’s the part that bothers jungwon the most.

he doesn’t need to. he’s got that look—cool and unreadable, like he knows exactly how he’s being perceived. like he knows the effect he has.

and you’re not falling for it, not really, but jungwon can see it. the little spark of curiosity in your eyes. the way your lips twitch at sunghoon’s joke. the way you sip your drink slower now, like you’re giving yourself a reason to stay planted in that moment.

he presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek.

he knows he’s not allowed to feel some type of way. he had chances. too many. he never says the right thing.

but watching sunghoon look at you like he’s already picking you apart—like he’s interested and not even pretending otherwise—it makes something cold settle in his chest.

he wipes the counter again, but he doesn’t realize his grip on the cloth has tightened. fuck.

991 notes · View notes

ari-sa · 6 months ago

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·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻

roommate!geto who you are weary to move in with at first, but as soon as you meet him you feel perfectly comfortable- like you’ve known each other for decades~

roommate!geto who insists on calling you “baby” and “doll” all the time

roommate!geto who you cuddle up with in your shared living room every thursday night to watch movies~

he’s already sitting on the couch with open arms when you come out to the shared space, “what’re we watching today baby?”

roommate!geto who has to excuse himself for a minute (or two) when he sees you walk out of you room in sleep shorts that expose the curve of your ass and a tank top with no bra.

roommate!geto who gets hard whenever a sex scene comes on, he knows you can feel his length pressing against your back, but the fact he knows you can feel it turns him on more~

roommate!geto who always sneaks touches. <3

nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck while you “platonically” cuddle during the movie. taking in the scent of your freshly lotioned skin~

grabbing your waist to guide you when you’re at parties, shielding you from any boys that might be around,

pressing his hips against yours whenever he stands behind you,

tucking loose strands of your hair behind your ear mid conversation.

roommate!geto who drives you everywhere- he doesn’t mind because he loves spending time with you <3

roommate!geto who you give little fashion shows before you go out clubbing with your friends. “you look beautiful doll”

roommate!geto who despite loving your outfit can’t stop thinking about how some guy might hit on you at the club

roommate!geto who cannot shut up about you to satoru~

roommate!geto who starts taking up skirt pictures of you to show satoru what has him going crazy-

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻

a/n: ok i finally got the courage to get this out of my drafts. pls lmk if it’s actual shit 😭

also i didn’t proofread or anything so there might be mistakes- sorry again!

#ari-sa #geto smut #geto suguru #geto suguru smut #suguru geto smut #geto x reader #geto x you #geto x y/n #geto suguru headcanons #jjk imagines #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk headcanons #jjk suguru #jjk geto #getou suguru x reader #suggestive #suguru geto #roomie!geto

2K notes · View notes

kimkaelyn · 1 year ago

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Ditto [s. todoroki]

𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓎 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝒾𝒹𝒹𝓁𝑒, 𝐿𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒, 𝒟𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓃𝑜 𝓇𝒾𝒹𝒹𝓁𝑒, 𝒮𝒶𝓎 𝒾𝓉, 𝓈𝒶𝓎 𝒾𝓉 𝒷𝒶𝒸𝓀, 𝑜𝒽 𝓈𝒶𝓎 𝒾𝓉 𝒹𝒾𝓉𝓉𝑜 — 𝒟𝒾𝓉𝓉𝑜, 𝒩𝑒𝓌𝒥𝑒𝒶𝓃𝓈

→ summary: when you transferred to U.A., you didn't anticipate slipping on a pair of chopsticks in the middle of the crowded cafeteria during your first week. however, what was more surprising was the unexpected fall for the boy who gracefully caught you.

→ pairing: shouto todoroki x fem!reader

→ genre: fluff, strangers to friends to lovers

→ word count: 13.1k

→ warnings & tags: sfw, female pronouns are used, usage of y/n l/n, Class 1-A are now third-year students aka 18+, swearing, the usual U.A. chaos, reader has a Quirk, misunderstandings, some training violence, minor injuries, mentions and discussions of insecurities, aizawa briefly belittles the reader as a form of motivation, beginnings of a panic attack but it's cut short, there is one instance of the reader appearing to be ‘flushed’ in regards to a fever, since this is my first bnha fic some characters might be ooc? | please kindly let me know if I missed any tags!

→ author's note: AHHHH HERE IT IS! I've been working on this for almost a year now and I am so excited to finally share it with all of you. Honestly, I didn't think I would ever finish this story, but I kept slowly chipping away at it thanks in part to the encouragement from @andypantsx3, @missrosegold, and @getstarried. Special thanks to @pikatsum for beta-reading this for me! Thank you girls. This is for you🫶🏻

The cafeteria at U.A. High School was a pretty chaotic environment, you quickly learned within your first week after transferring from another Hero Course in the countryside. There were multiple things that could and would happen after the famous students had gotten some much-needed nutrients in their systems.

It was only three days into the school year and nothing had happened just yet, but in the U.A. world, that something was overdue.

The first chaotic event of the year that everyone had been anxiously—or in some cases, excitingly—waiting for happened on Thursday.

The day started off average; you got to school with three minutes to spare, which was a new record, but you had forgotten your pencil pouch in your dorm room, so you had to borrow some pencils from a girl who sat in front of you; Mina Ashido.

“Thank you,” you whispered as you took the pastel pink utensil from her. There was even a cute little fluffy puffball at the end in exchange for an eraser. Good thing you had an eraser in your bag.

“No problem! I gotcha!” She physically lit up and gave you a bright smile before turning back to focus on the blackboard.

You somehow managed to get through your morning classes running on the four hours of sleep you got the night before. You were cutting it quite close to passing out at your desk during calculus class, but you were saved by the lunch bell.

As soon as you stepped foot into the hallway, you were wrapped up in the faint, delicious scent of your favorite food coming from the cafeteria. Your mouth instantly watered, and you made a mad dash for the source of the delicious scent.

“Hey!” a sharp voice made you freeze in your steps. You glanced over your shoulder to find Tenya Iida, Class 3-A’s representative, glaring at you. The light reflecting off his glasses made him appear more threatening than he really was, but regardless, you still found yourself shying away from his harsh glare and rapid-moving hands. As they passed by, some students gave you apologetic smiles while others were not shy about openly staring at the scene before them, wondering what you possibly could have done to induce the wrath of the student representative. “There is to be no running in the halls!” You cowered some more at his brisk and overly formal tone.

Geez, what a stuck-up, you thought to yourself.

“My apologies, Iida.” You respond with a bow. He accepted your apology with a curt nod before he continued on his way to the cafeteria.

You waited for him to pass before rising from your bow. “Wow, he makes it feel like I broke the law or something.” You mused aloud.

“Don’t take it personally,” a comforting voice said from behind you. You turned to find Momo Yaoyorozu, Ochako Uraraka, and Tsuyu Asui standing before you. Ochako gave you a slight wave in greeting. “Iida can be quite demanding,” Yaoyorozu reassured you.

“Thank you.”

Tsuyu regarded you with gentle onyx eyes. “It’s L/N, right?”

You smiled, happy that she remembered your name from roll call. “Y-yeah! I’m Y/N L/N.” You introduced yourself. “I, um, already know who you guys are.” You suddenly felt shy, and you bashfully rubbed the back of your neck out of nervous habit.

Before your transfer was finalized, you did extensive research into your future school’s history and future classmates. Thankfully—or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it—a lot of information is public knowledge; the various attacks on the school in the year leading up to and the conclusion of the War between the Paranormal Liberation Front and the Heroes, not to mention the various televised sports festivals, and the fact that the members of Class 1-A are practically household names even before their graduation.

The girls invited you to sit with them in the cafeteria. You had been keeping to yourself the first few days of school, choosing to observe from afar the already established social circles and friend groups. You had waited for an invitation to join one of said groups, and here was your opportunity.

The four of you made small talk as you made your way through the lunch line and to the table. Right away, Asui told you to call her by her given name. You told them about your life growing up in the countryside—with you and Uraraka bonding over your shared reason for becoming Pro Heroes—about the friends you had, embarrassingly funny stories from your junior high days, and eventually what led you to transfer to U.A.

“Well, this is the best Hero Course in the country!” you all laughed. “But to be frank, the only teacher at my old academy who could handle my Quirk retired, and none of the other academies within the prefecture had the resources to help me advance. Plus, my mentor is an U.A. alumnus, so naturally, the only other choice was U.A.”

Yaoyorozu hummed. “It is a shame about your mentor retiring, but that is what led you to transfer to U.A., and for that, I am grateful.” The class vice representative regarded you kindly. “I am a firm believer of things happening for a reason, and your transfer doesn’t change that.”

Uraraka nodded her agreement. “Momo’s right. U.A. is a place where anybody can make a difference, and I think you will find success here.”

You were rendered speechless. The tips of your ears turned red as your classmates regarded you with so much hope and sincerity in their eyes. “Uh . . . I,” you bashfully scratched the back of your head. Not knowing how to respond, you instead reached for the small bottle of milk on your lunch tray and brought it to your lips.

However, before you could take a sip, a BOOM erupted from the front of the cafeteria, accompanied by a gruff voice yelling, “Don’t walk in front of me, Icy-Hot!” You reflexively jolted at the loud noises and lost your grip on the glass, spilling the half-full bottle all over the front of your uniform.

“Shit,” you exclaimed as you instinctually rose from your seat, only to quickly sit down again when the liquid started to fall to the floor. The girls gasped and were quick to hand you all the napkins in the vicinity.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Asui asked as she watched you pat down your sodden skirt.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You waved off her concern as you continued to wipe away the remaining liquid. The napkins managed to soak up most of it, but your skirt was still damp. If you didn’t change skirts, you were going to smell of milk for the rest of the day, and you didn’t want to start off the school year with a reputation for smelling vile. “I’m going to go back to the dorm really quickly and change into a clean uniform. Please let Mr. Snipe know that I will be late for class.”

“Do you want us to accompany you?” Yaoyorozu asked. She began to rise from her seat, but you stopped her.

“No, no. I’m okay, really.” You gave her what you hoped to be a reassuring grin instead of a grimace. “Thank you for offering, Yaoyorozu, but I’ll be fine.” Before your classmates could respond, you stood from the table and made your way to the exit.

Great, this is just great, you thought as you walked, not really paying attention to where you were going. As soon as I make some friends, I make a fool of myself.

Unbeknownst to you, there was an obstacle in the aisle directly ahead. You were too distracted by your growing inner turmoil to notice the pair of metal chopsticks lying on the ground before you until your foot made contact and slipped out from under you.

It all happened so fast that you couldn’t even react.

Time froze as you became weightless, and you felt your body become briefly suspended in the air. Before you could react and rotate your body to prevent yourself from violently banging your head on the tiled floor, gravity took hold and yanked you back down toward the ground. You squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting to witness your classmates’ reactions to your misfortune.

Great, now I’m gonna embarrass myself in front of the entire school. Fuck you, chopsticks.

You prepared yourself for the pain of hitting the hard floor but were shocked when you were suddenly wrapped in a chilled warmth. You did slam into a hard surface, but this didn’t feel like the cold tile you expected.

“Are you all right?” a voice asked from above. You opened your eyes, only to find yourself captivated by a beautiful graphite and turquoise gaze. Your mouth opened to respond to the inquiry, but you couldn’t speak. This strange yet calming gaze hypnotized you, causing the rest of the world to fade into a buzzing silence. You watched as the perfect eyebrows of the owner of those magical eyes furrowed downward at your prolonged silence, the action momentarily drawing your attention.

With your attention span no longer zeroed in on the heterochromatic gaze, the world around you suddenly slammed back into your senses at full force. The volume of your fellow classmates’ conversations was deafening at first, but your ears grew accustomed once again to zone them out and focus on the person before you.

It took about thirty seconds for the entirety of your current predicament to register within your brain.

You were hanging about ten centimeters off the ground. The only thing keeping you upright and injury-free was Shouto Todoroki’s firm grip on your wrist.

“Um, hello?” the dual-haired teenager once again drew your attention to him. His grip slightly tightened before he tugged you up onto your feet.

“I think you broke her, Icy-Hot.” A rough voice drawled from your peripheral.

The intrusion of the other voice is what finally brought you out of your stunned silence. “No, I’m okay. Not broken.”

“Did you hit your head?” Todoroki inquired. He steadied you on your feet but didn’t release your wrist from his hold. Katsuki Bakugou was standing off to the side, trying to appear like he wasn’t involved with either one of you.

“I-I don’t think so.” As you reached down to brush yourself off, you caught a whiff of the unflattering scent of old milk emitting from your clothes. You held back your gag and turned to face Todoroki and Bakugou. “I’m sorry to rush, but I really do need to go.” You gave a quick bow. “Thank you for catching me, Todoroki. Bye!”

The two boys watched you sprint away like a bat out of hell. “T’fuck is her problem,” Bakugou muttered. “Fuckin’ extra makin’ me late for lunch.”

Todoroki didn’t respond to his classmate’s remarks. His lips pursed together as he watched you nearly run into a couple of first years before you disappeared around a corner, out of sight.

“Don’ even think ‘bout it, Icy-Hot.” Bakugou drawled from beside him. Todoroki cocked an eyebrow, the only sign of emotion on his otherwise indifferent expression. “Gettin’ involved with ‘hat extra will ruin your precious bloodline.”

You tried to forget about the cafeteria incident, but the embarrassing ordeal refused to secede from the forefront of your mind. As you lay in bed that night, your thoughts ran a hundred kilometers a minute, antagonizing and overanalyzing every second of what had happened.

As the night dragged on, your thoughts shifted from the overall event to one single individual: Shouto Todoroki. You knew who he was, of course. You didn’t grow up underneath a rock. Yet, you weren’t prepared for how much more handsome he was in person than on the news or in photos.

You overanalyzed everything he did in the brief two minutes you were blessed to be in his company, every word he said, and every brief flash of emotion that showed in his heterochromatic eyes. Todoroki had tried to approach you after training in Ground Beta once you had returned from the dorms, but you avoided him, not wanting to face him again so soon after the embarrassing first meeting.

By Sunday, you had begun to forget about your embarrassing cafeteria incident. Your newfound friends didn’t bring up the spilled milk, and thankfully, they didn’t see you slip on the chopsticks and fall into Shouto Todoroki’s muscular arms. You breathed a sigh of relief when you found out that last part. You didn’t want them to think you were a total klutz.

Todoroki may think otherwise.

As you were rounding the corner to walk back up the stairs to head back to your dorm room, Todoroki happened to be walking down. You both turned at the same time and walked straight into each other.

He wasn’t fazed by the sudden collision; however, you were taken completely off guard. No matter how strong you may be, suddenly walking into about a hundred kilos of pure muscle would make anyone stumble. While he remained steadily standing, you, on the other hand, fell back onto your ass.

It took about three seconds for the two of you to comprehend what the hell had just happened. You groaned out when pain flashed across your backside.

“My apologies, I did not see you.” Todoroki said as he offered you a hand. You begrudgingly accepted his assistance, face heating as your super handsome classmate helped you to your feet for the second time in a week.

“Thank you,” you bowed your head to him. You brushed away some dust from your sweatpants, finding yourself too shy to look back up.

You felt a firm, yet gentle hand land on your shoulder. You jerked your head upwards to meet Todoroki’s captivating gaze. “Are you injured?” His heterochromatic eyes searched you for any injury, and they glimmered with relief when he found none.

“No, I’m okay,” you reassured the male. “I may be a little bruised in the morning, but I will be fine.” Not to mention my bruised ego.

Todoroki hummed in acknowledgment, his hand still resting on your shoulder. His eyes were hyper-fixated on you, leaving you to feel bare under his intense gaze.

You shifted your weight back and forth as the silence between you dragged on for a couple more seconds. “Um, I—” You cleared your throat. “I should be on my way now. Got things to study, you know.” You told him with an awkward laugh.

You moved to step around him when it became obvious he wasn’t going to move. Your movements are what must have shaken him out of his stupor, with him bashfully stepping to the side to allow you access to the stairway.

“Right.” He said as you walked by. “Take care, Y/N.” You startled at his sudden usage of your given name, but nevertheless, you felt oddly relieved. You smiled shyly and bid him goodbye. Nothing else was said between the two of you, but you felt his eyes on you as you walked up the stairs.

I hope he likes cinnamon; you thought as you peered into the oven.

To be fair, you should have considered that before laboring for over two hours making kinako cinnamon cookies from scratch—which absolutely failed. Therefore, as a last resort, you were forced to run to the store and buy a box mix.

The he in question?

Shouto Todoroki.

It had been several days since your embarrassing first interaction with the dual-haired male and forty-five hours since your second, literal, run-in—not that you were keeping track, of course.

You wanted to do something nice for him as a way to apologize for your newfound clumsiness and thank him for his assistance in both instances. Your calligraphy skills were not . . . up to par, so to say, by any means, so a handmade thank-you card was off the table, and you highly doubt Todoroki was a flower guy. Not to mention his affluent background, so buying him a gift or offering to take him out to dinner was null—and way too straightforward for two people who were barely even acquaintances.

Therefore, you were left with only one option: homemade cookies.

Besides, all the old aunties back home always said the quickest way to win anyone over was through food.

“Ooooh, something smells amazing!” someone exclaimed from the stairway. Smiling slyly to yourself, you turned away from the oven to the new arrival.

You hadn’t interacted much with Rikido Sato save for the casual good morning greetings and thanking him for the delicious red velvet cupcake he baked for you as a welcoming gift to U.A.

“Thanks,” you said, grinning at the male.

The combined low mutterings of more approaching classmates brought your and Sato’s attention to the doorway where Mina Ashido, Eijirou Kirishima, Denki Kaminari, and Hanta Sero were entering the dorm.

“Woah something smells fantastic!” Kaminari said, gazing into the kitchen in hopes of spotting the source of the delicious scent.

“Yeah, it does!” Kirishima agreed.

“Oh my gosh, what is it?” Ashido asked as she walked over. Her eyes lit up when she spotted you. “L/N! Did you make something?”

“I did.” You confirmed with a slight nod. “I’m making kinako cinnamon cookies.”

“Oooooh, yummy!” the pinkette exclaimed as she bounced over to peer into the oven. Your other classmates quickly joined her, all of them staring into the soft, golden light of the oven with stars in their eyes.

“They look so good!” Kaminari was practically drooling at the tawny treats. At that moment, the timer went off with a soft ting! You politely shooed your classmates back as you pulled a hand towel over your hands.

“Step back, everyone,” you warned as you opened the oven door. “They’re going to be hot.” You carefully reached in and grabbed the cooking tray, cautiously sliding it off the rack and fully into your cloth-covered hands. Despite taking precautions, you hissed as the hot aluminum seeped through the towel and made contact with your flesh. As quickly as you could without dropping the pan of cookies, you turned and set it down on the kitchen island.

“These look delicious!”

“Woah, man, they look amazing!”

“I bet they taste as scrumptious as they lo—”

You zoned out the boys’ compliments as you moved to the sink and turned on the tap.

“L/N, are you okay?” Ashido asked as she followed you. Her question caught the other's attention, and they, too, turned to watch you quizzingly.

“Yes, I’m fine.” Your response ended with a wince as your skin made contact with the cool water.

“Here, let me see,” Ashido gestured to your hand. With your permission, she took your wrist with gentle fingers and held it up for you both to inspect. Your skin was reddened slightly, but it wasn’t anything serious. You let out a sigh of relief. “It’s not serious, thankfully, but we should still put some burn cream on it just in case,” Ashido advised as she turned off the tap.

You nodded your head again and followed the pink-haired girl as she went to retrieve the first-aid kit. Before you walked too far from the kitchen, you shouted over your shoulder to your classmates, “Please don’t eat the cookies, boys! They are still hot and are for someone special!”

There was a noticeable delay in response to your warning. After a pregnant pause, there was a muffled, “okamph!” in response. You were about to turn around and make sure that they weren’t eating your treats, but Ashido calling your name changed your plans.

“Let’s fix you up, yeah?” She said as you both entered the girls' bathroom. Ashido gestured for you to sit on the counter while she dug through the first-aid kit for burn cream.

“Thank you, Ashido,” you said a few moments later as she lightly applied the cream to the worst of the reddening. Your skin wasn’t blistering, which was a good sign, but it was beginning to ache.

“No problem,” she replied. She began to gently rub the cream into your skin, mindful of the sore spots. She beamed at you as she said, “And you can just call me Mina. We are friends!”

You smiled at her. “Okay, Mina.” The two of you were silent for a couple of minutes as Mina continued to dress your burns.

“So,” she started, breaking the silence. “Who did you make the cookies for?”

You sharply inhaled. “W-what? What do you mean?” You tried to play it off by playing dumb, but Mina gave you an are you kidding me look.

“Don’t play that game with me, girl.” She scolded you. “So, tell me, who is this ‘special someone’?”

You let out a heavy sigh, dropping your shoulders in defeat. “One of our classmates. . .” You trailed off, turning away from the pinkette, and absentmindedly twirling a strand of hair around your finger.

Mina’s eyes lit up and her eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “Oh my God, seriously?!?” She squealed. You turned to face her again. “Girl, you absolutely gotta tell me! Who is it?!” She went to grab ahold of your hands but stopped herself when she remembered your injury. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You said. “But, um, I—” You hesitated, searching for the right words, but you couldn’t find them. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.” You said, barely above a whisper, turning away from your classmate once more in embarrassment.

Mina leaned back, taken by surprise by your change of tone. She studied you for a few seconds, her expression falling when she saw the look on your face; the clenching of your jaw.

“It’s okay, girl,” she reassured you. She set the roll of bandages down on the counter as she finished wrapping your hand. “You don’t have to tell me who your crush is if you don’t want to.”

You whipped back around to face her, eyes wide. “C-crush?!” you stammered out. “W-what?! I don’t have a crush! I never said I did.” you explained.

“Yeah, sure,” Mina smirked at you, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You wouldn’t of baked cookies for them if you didn’t like them.”

“Um, because I’m nice?” you asked with a lilt in your voice. Mina does have a point, though, you thought.

Mina laughed. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go with that.”

A couple of minutes later, you and the pinkette exited the bathroom, laughing over something Mina had said. Your hand had been expertly wrapped and treated with some burn cream. Your injury didn’t even hurt anymore, but you were still going to check in tomorrow with Recovery Girl as a precaution.

As you rounded the corner to go back into the kitchen, you stopped dead in your tracks as your eyes fell to the now-empty pan where twenty cookies sat not even ten minutes ago. Mina stopped next to you, and you could see her giving you a questionable look, but you didn’t—couldn’t—acknowledge her. You just stared blankly at the pan, trying to process what you were seeing.

What the hell? you thought.

“Ah, man,” a voice drawled out. You slowly turned towards the source; Denki Kaminari. He was lounging against the counter as he rubbed his stomach for emphasis. “Those cinnamon kinako cookies were delicious!” Your brain blanked out when you heard that, the organ pathetically trying to comprehend and respond to the current situation.

“You’re telling me!” Kirishima piped up from beside the blond. Sero and Sato voiced their agreement from where they were seated on the couches. “They really hit the spot after the day I had.” The redhead noticed you and Mina. “Hey, guys, welcome back!” he greeted with a wave, a broad smile overtaking his features. “How’s your hand?”

You did not formulate an answer right away, your brain still processing the crumbled remains of your cookies. Your delay didn’t go unnoticed by the others, but before they could question it, Mina came to your rescue.

“It’s okay! Y/N is alright, nothing major.” She informed them. Kirishima’s gaze left you to focus on the pinkette by your side, but Kaminari’s remained transfixed on your blank expression.

“Oh, well, that’s great to hear! I was worried—”

“But you should be ashamed!” Mina cut the redhead off, tone sharp as a blade. “All of you.”

“What—?”

“Mina, why—?”

Kirishima and Kaminari spoke at once, their voices clashing, but the pinkette interrupted them once more.

“Y/N didn’t make those cookies for you.” She said. “She made them for someone special, yet you guys ate them even after she told you not to.” She just about bit the last part out. The boys gaped at Mina, her scolding catching them by surprise.

“Is that true?” Sato asked, rising from the couch to approach you. Everyone fixated their attention on you, waiting for a response.

You hesitated at the sudden limelight, and also in shyness. When you originally set out to bake the kinako cookies for Todoroki, you didn’t expect them to 1.) burn your hand and 2.) for them to be eaten by others. Even though you were upset, you didn’t want the others to be ashamed or scolded. But they did eat them after I told them not to, you thought, pondering your next move.

After a few moments, you squared your shoulders and steadily said, “Yes. I . . . made them for somebody.” At your words, the room’s atmosphere soured. The boys’ shoulders slumped as they realized their mistake.

“Shoot, L/N, I’m sorry,” Kaminari said, stepping forward to gently grab your uninjured hand and bow.

“Yeah,” Kirishima added, scratching the back of his neck and looking away slightly. “That wasn’t really manly of us.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Sero intoned, looking sheepish.

Sato came to stand in front of you next to Kaminari, who still had a gentle hold of your hand. “I’ll be more than happy to remake the cookies for you.” He said. “If you want that, of course.”

You smiled, though it was closed-lipped. “Thank you, Sato, but not today.” He bowed his head.

Suddenly, the front doors slammed open, startling the six of you. You all watched, shell-shacked—you did, at least—as a fuming Bakugou stepped inside, loudly exclaiming, “I had ‘hat dumbass villain handled! Damn Sidekick extra jus’ had to step ‘n and—” He noticed your little group gaping at him. “The hell ‘re ya fools lookin’ at?” As the words left his mouth, the other two members of the infamous U.A. trio entered as well.

“Kacchan,” Izuku Midoriya said, trying to placate the explosive male. “He was just trying to . . .” The rest of his sentence fizzled into the background as the entirety of your attention span landed on Shouto Todoroki.

It had already been well-established that the youngest Todoroki son was even more handsome in person, but seeing him in his Hero costume did things to you. Your mouth almost dropped open to gawk at his god-like appearance, but you clenched your jaw tightly shut to avoid that catastrophe. Despite that, you were pretty positive your eyes were as wide as saucers, greedily taking every inch of him in as if it were the last time you would see him.

I should sue him for the cost of my medical bills when I develop heart palpitations, you thought.

“Shut the hell up, ya stupid nerd.” Bakugou snapped at a sputtering Midoriya, drawing your attention once more. You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears.

“Is he always this angry?” you asked under your breath; half-serious, half-rhetorical.

“Oh, yeah,” Mina confirmed, voice just as low.

Sero snickered from his post next to Sato. “You get used to it after a while,” he reassured you.

One of Kirishima’s blinding smiles makes its appearance once again. “Katsuki’s always been passionate about, well, everything.” He told you, not bothering to lower his voice. “It’s who he is. We love him regardless.”

Sato chimed in with, “Platonically.” The boys snickered and Mina rolled her eyes, yet there was a small smile playing on her lips.

“Even though his sour attitude can be harsh and lowkey over the top,” Kaminari began, eyes shining with mischief. “It sure makes him fun to mess with!” Your companions groaned in exasperation and started to voice their reservations.

“No, Denki. Leave him be—” Mina urged him.

“Awe, come on, man. Don’t—”

“Heyy~ Katsuki,” Kaminari crooned, rocking back on his heels as the pale blond’s attention zeroed in on him. Kirishima and Sato facepalmed. “Why have trouble catching a ‘dumbass villain’?” he teased. “Bad day? Your head not in the game?” The hair on your arms rose to attention as an electric charge swept the room, putting everyone on edge. Kaminari’s baiting also drew the attention of the explosive male’s companions. Your eyes briefly met captivating graphite and turquoise, eliciting a sharp gasp to leave your lungs.

“You’re gonna regret the day you were born, dumbass!” Bakugou bellowed, pointing an accusatory finger at the electric blond, snapping your attention from the hypnotizing gaze. You fully expected him to charge the male, already taking a cautionary step back, but instead of explosions ripping apart the building, Bakugou grunted and moved towards the showers.

Mina turned to the blond and shouted, “Now why did you do that, Denki? You know better than to rile Katsuki up like that!”

Kirishima dragged a large hand down his face before running it through his unruly red locks. “I’ll go check on him,” he announced before jogging after the sandy-blond. You were at a loss for words as you continued to watch your classmates scold a shit-grinning Kaminari, not even the tiniest bit remorseful for his teasing of Bakugou.

“Please don’t take Kacchan’s rashness to heart.” A new voice piped up. You turned to meet the electric green gaze of none other than Izuku Midoriya, the new generation’s proclaimed Symbol of Peace. “I’m s-sorry, I don’t think we have properly met. I’ve been in and out of campus lately—with missions and such.” He practically skipped over to stand in front of you. He smiled brightly as he gently took your hands in his large, calloused ones. “I’m Izuku Midoriya. I’m so happy you are here at U.A.!” he excitedly exclaimed, lightly squeezing your entwined hands. You couldn’t hide your wince and small gasp of pain as Midoriya unknowingly squeezed your burns. The green-haired male let go of your hands so fast as if he was the one burned instead of you, eyes growing wide. “Oh my gosh, are you okay?!” he asked, noticing the bandages wrapped tightly around your hand. Midoriya’s frenzy caught the other's attention, and all eyes were on you yet again.

The tips of your ears grew hot at the unwavering attention from the Heroes-in-training—especially from a certain icy-hot male who made your heart falter in its beating. “Y-yeah, I’m f-fine.” You stuttered as you met each of your classmate's gazes, trying to reassure them of your stability.

“What happened?” Todoroki inquired, eyes hawkishly zeroed in on your face.

“U-um, well . . .” you trailed off, words fading from your brain as you slightly cowered under his unwavering attention. “I—”

“She burned herself while baking kinako cookies,” Sero spoke for you, having caught onto your growing anxiousness. You didn’t miss Todoroki’s eyes narrowing at the black-haired male’s words. Sato and Kaminari made noises of agreement, the blond absentmindedly rubbing his stomach in content.

Midoriya’s eyes shined. “Really? You did?!” He looked behind you to the kitchen, eyes searching for the aforementioned treats. “Where are they?” he asked when he didn’t spot any, only a plate littered with crumbs. He turned his attention back to you. You opened your mouth to answer, but a wave of shame overcame you as your eyes once again met those of the one you had made the cookies for.

Mina noticed your hesitation, giving you a knowing look as she answered for you. “The three idiots to your left ate them all,” she said with a little bite to her words, glaring daggers at the culprits. “After they were specifically told not to.” She reaffirmed. The boys shuddered at the reminder of their disobedience. The pinkette turned her attention back to the green-haired and dual-haired males. “I patched her up, though. The burns are minor.”

Midoriya nodded his head in understanding. “You should still see Recovery Girl,” he instructed, unashamedly expressing his concern for someone he had just properly met. “At least let her take a look at it.”

“I’m going to stop by to see her in the morning,” you reassured him, words coming back now that your mind was a little clear. His shoulders slumped in relief.

“You should rest, Y/N.” Todoroki’s searing gaze trailed over your form, calculating eyes searching for any additional outward signs of injury or discomfort. “After suffering an injury, no matter how insignificant, rest is important.” He softly chided.

“R-right.” You stammered out, at a loss for how else to respond to your handsome classmate's concern other than compliance. A wave of exhaustion washed over you at that moment. Your feet stumbled as you became lightheaded for a split second. You noticed the dual-haired male take a step towards you, catching onto your sudden exhaustion, but you quickly rightened yourself. “Thank you, Todoroki.” You’re not exactly sure why you thanked him, or what for. His concern, perhaps? He subtly nodded as you turned from the small group, breathlessly mumbling some sort of farewell and something about retiring to your room for the rest of the day.

The others muttered their goodbyes as you made your way to the stairwell.

As you walked up the stairs, head hung low, your throat began to burn and your vision began to blur with tears. The first one fell when you reached your floor, quickly followed by a couple more. You wiped them away, sniffing, as you made your way to your door. You didn’t react to the sudden presence next to you and the weight draped around your shoulders.

Mina didn’t say anything, only traced comforting circles into your back as tears flowed freely down your cheeks.

The next day, you and your classmates were gathered outside Gym Gamma for an impromptu training session. You were surprised that Class 3-A still regularly trained together, but in your defense, that assumption came from someone who didn’t have many options when it came to sparing partners up until your transfer—a major shortcoming in retrospect.

“Today we are working on ‘last stand’ combat.” Mr. Aizawa drawled in his natural I Don’t Give A Fuck tone. “Close-quarter combat in which a violent assailant has obtained the upper hand and corners you in an attempt to defeat you.” He proceeded to explain the instructions of the training exercise and pair the students into groups of four who would take turns being the Heroes and the assailants.

“Midoriya will be with Jirou.” Mr. Aizawa intoned, briefly glancing at the two students to confirm they heard. “Todoroki will be with L/N.” Your muscles stiffened when you heard that. Your heart began to race as you watched the red-and-white-haired male make his way over to you.

“H-hi,” you greeted him, giving a soft smile.

“Hello,” he said, politely inclining his head. “I look forward to working with you.”

“Same here.” You said before facing forward once more as the first group began their round. You and Todoroki observed the match in silence, with you paying extra attention to your classmates’ movements and taking mental notes of how they incorporated their Quirks into hand-to-hand combat.

The sound of approaching footsteps drew your attention. Expecting the new additions to be Ochako and Asui, you turned to greet them with a warm smile but paused when instead of your friends, Midoriya and Kyoka Jirou were standing next to you, both with warm expressions on their faces.

“Hi!” Midoriya greeted with a wide smile and a small wave. “I’m excited for this training exercise! It’s going to be so cool to see everyone’s improvement with hand-to-hand combat over the break! And any new moves! Or Quirk Awakenings! Or—” You had a hard time keeping up with what he was saying as it turned into a stuttering rant as he went on about each individual’s Quirk.

The rumors were true regarding his ramblings, you mused to yourself, wondering how long he could go on for before a small hand on his shoulder made him take pause.

“Midoriya,” Jirou intoned. “Calm down.” His cheeks flushed a bright red. He began laughing nervously while absentmindedly rubbing the back of his neck.

“S-sorry,” he said, shyfully.

“It’s okay,” you reassured him. “I agree with your stance, though. Observing others' skills is an effective way to improve your own. Get an idea or two.” You turned your attention back to the ongoing training, taking mental notes of your classmates’ fighting stances and their defensive moves, trying to get a better understanding of the why behind them. You pulled a small item from your jacket pocket, absentmindedly rubbing it between your thumb and forefinger. The movement caught Midoriya’s attention.

“What is that?” he asked, green eyes alight with curiosity.

“What? This?” You held up your good luck charm; a small, pink parrot keychain from a popular cartoon series you had won years ago at one of your hometown’s summer festivals. It was lucky because at the moment, while little you were trying to win, your Quirk had manifested. “It’s my good luck charm,” you explained the pink parrot’s value to you.

“Oh, cool!” Midoriya exclaimed. “You know, I used to have a good luck charm—it was my super rare exclusive All Might trading card! First edition!” His eyes shined as he reminisced. “I would bring it with me everywhere! Even Kacchan—”

“Deku,” drawled a low voice from the other side of your gathered class. The temperature fell as Bakugou’s vermillion eyes narrowed onto Midoriya. “Don’t say another word.”

“He’s such a fanboy.” Jirou chuckled, fondness seeping into her voice. Midoriya smiled sheepishly, not bothering even to try to deny the label. You spent the time until your group’s turn getting to know the two, quickly finding out that you and Jirou share the same taste in music; vowing to swap playlists after class. You were so caught up in your conversation that you almost forgot about Todoroki's presence, if not for the awareness of a body next to you. His chilled warmth seeped into your muscles, causing you to relax one moment, and tense up another.

“Are you all right?” he softly inquired, spying your tensed posture.

“Yeah, I’m good.” You replied, softly smiling but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Just a lil’ nervous, is all.”

Todoroki frowned slightly, not understanding how you could be experiencing anxiousness. “Wh—?”

“Oh yeah!” Midoriya suddenly interjected. “This is going to be your first time demonstrating your Quirk, huh?” he asked you. “Or at least this is gonna be the first time I will see it. What is it again? Object—no—um, yeah, anyway I bet it is awesome!” His eyes still shined with his enthusiasm and curiosity. “Sometime you gotta let me ask you about it! I have so many! Does it work like Ochako’s Zero Gravity? Or Yaoyorozu’s Creation?”

You couldn’t help but give a small laugh at his eagerness. You had never met someone as enthusiastic about Quirks as Izuku Midoriya. It was kind of refreshing to interact with someone as passionate as he was.

“Kind of,” you began, silently pondering over what you know of the brunette’s Quirk and comparing it to your own. “Ochako and I have the same limitations when it comes to the weight of an object, but besides that, our Quirks are different.” Your Quirk was object manipulation; you could telepathically manipulate objects within a certain range. To you, your Quirk wasn’t all that—wasn’t anything unique by any means—but to others, you were seen as a powerful goddess. “To be honest, I’m lacking in hand-to-hand combat skills.” You sheepishly smiled.

“Really?” Midoriya asked, blinking in shock. “I thought your previous school would have prepared you for all types of situations.” Jirou nodded her agreement with the green-haired male. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Shouto continue to observe you with a calculating expression on his face.

“Unfortunately, no.” You shrugged. “Their curriculum was more focused on improving the individual’s Quirk than learning how to fight without it.”

“Oh, wow,” Jirou said. “That could put you at a great disadvantage down the line.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I know. That’s why—” You were cut off by Mr. Aizawa calling for your group to begin your training round. “Welp, this is it, I guess.” You chuckled nervously.

Midoriya gave you a reassuring smile. “You’ll do great!” he said, giving you a thumbs-up accompanied by a warm smile.

“Do your best,” Jirou added before moving towards the training pitch.

You started to follow, but a cool hand on your shoulder made you pause, shivering softly. You turned to find Todoroki giving you an expectant look. “You’ll do fine,” he said, confidently. He looked as if he put his entire faith in you. “I’ll be by your side the entire time.”

You felt a surge of confidence fill you at his words. You gave him a determined look. “Right,” you said. “We got this.”

You swear up and down his eyes twinkled when he looked at you, but it could have been a trick of the light. “You got this.” He replied, softly. The two of you walked into the pitch together, side by side.

The training went . . . not terrible, but it could have been better on your end.

Todoroki, Midoriya, and Jirou were amazing. Even without using their Quirks, they each were a force to be reckoned with. You were captivated by how swiftly they moved—as if they were ballerinas performing Danse des Petits Cygnes.

You weren’t on the same level as them and the rest of Class 3-A. You knew that, and you acknowledged it, but to see and be confronted by it so bluntly in person made you feel a whole other level of embarrassment and shame. You weren’t weak by any means, you could hold your own in a fight for some time, but not like your classmates could—and had.

Perhaps that is what separates you from your classmates. They have battle experience. Hell, they fought in a fucking war for crying out loud while you were on the other side of the country, guarding civilian shelters. You were fortunate not to see much bloodshed, but maybe that brought you to a disadvantage against these future Heroes surrounding you.

The horn had sounded as Jirou pinned you in the dirt for the sixth time, signaling the end of the round. You heard the sounds of Midoriya and Todoroki’s scuffling come to a halt from somewhere off to your left as Jirou lifted herself off of you. She offered you a hand as you began to rise from the ground. You accepted her extended hand with a grimace as the muscles in your back burned.

“Nice work.” Mr. Aizawa said as the four of you approached. “You performed adequately,” he addressed Jirou, Todoroki, and Midoriya. He turned to you. “You, not so much.”

You flinched as the words landed home. Damn, you thought, but he’s not wrong. You had naively allowed yourself to believe that Eraserhead wouldn’t call out your inferiority, at least in front of others. Then again, he was Eraserhead—infamous for his bluntness and apathy.

“Your skills are greatly lacking in hand-to-hand combat,” he continued. “I haven’t seen somebody so physically inadequate since your classmates were first years. Coming from another Hero Course, especially one with its reputation, it’s to be expected that you’re not up to par with your new classmates, but I didn’t think it would be this bad.” As he spoke, he never broke eye contact with you, scrutinizing you. Even with one eye, his unrelenting gaze made you feel as if he could see every minuscule detail about you. “Based on the performance I saw today, it was a mistake to put you in this class.”

You heard a gasp from one of your classmates; its owner unknown. You gulped down your shame and remained silent. You had a feeling Aizawa wasn’t finished with you.

“From here on out, I expect you to train harder and push yourself further than anyone else. Extra training, extra classes—anything that will make you catch up.” His eye narrowed. “If I do not see substantial improvement in one month, you will be expelled. No exceptions.”

Your eyes widened, but your shock did not stop you from replying. “Yes, sir.” You said, keeping your tone neutral as you mulled over his words. Although extreme, I understand the reason for Mr. Aizawa’s methods, you thought. He’s right though. I’m far from even scrapping the level these guys are on. I need to be more disciplined and work even harder if I want to stand on equal ground with my classmates. Resolve made, you promised, “I will go Plus Ultra!”

“Yaass, Y/N!” Mina cheered. “Woohoo!”

Aizawa didn’t say anything else to you, promptly dismissing the class. Midoriya praised your performance and commented on his wish to sit down and talk in-depth with you regarding your Quirk. You promptly accepted his request, telling him you would let him know when you were free. He smiled before walking off to join Iida and Ochako.

“If it means anything,” a voice suddenly intoned from behind you. You spun around, having not sensed the person's approach. You weren’t all that surprised to find Todoroki there, softly regarding you. “I think you did well.”

You scoffed but smiled softly. “Thank you, but you don’t have to patronize me. I have a lot of work to do if I want to catch up.”

“You will,” he declared, before quickly clarifying, “Catch up. Especially with my help.”

You furrowed your brows. “Excuse me?”

“Should I repeat myself?” he inquired, his heterochromatic eyes swimming in mirth. “I will assist you in your training and classes.”

You didn’t respond right away, regarding him with suspicion. You waited for him to name a condition for his help, but when he offered none, you relaxed. “Thank you, Todoroki.” You inclined your head. “I greatly appreciate it.”

“Shouto,” he corrected.

You blinked at him, taken aback. “What?”

“Shouto,” he reiterated. “You may call me Shouto. We are friends, are we not?”

You gaped at him for a moment, processing his words. “Ye-yeah!” you said a little too loudly. “We are friends, Shouto.”

The small smile that graced his lips lit up your entire world and caused your heart to speed up, pounding almost painfully against your ribcage. “Meet me here tomorrow after class.” He instructed.

“Tomorrow.” You repeated in confirmation.

His smile grew a little wider. “See you then, Y/N.” He said before turning on his heel and strolling away. You watched him go in a daze, in disbelief of what just occurred.

“Oooooooo, Y/N’s gotta date!”

You shrieked at the sudden voice and spun around for a second time to find Mina standing there, hunched over laughing at your reaction.

“Mina!” you shrieked, placing a hand over your heart. “You scared the shit outta me!”

She continued to laugh. “Sorry,” she said once her laughter died down. “You were so entranced with Todoroki that you didn’t even realize I was here!”

“Oh, yeah right.” You responded, playfully rolling your eyes. The two of you began to walk to the dorm. “I wasn’t entranced with him.”

The pinkette gave you a look of disbelief, an eyebrow raised. “Yeah, sure,” she retorted. “You can lie to yourself all you want, but you ain’t lying to me.”

You scoffed but didn’t attempt to refute her claims. You put your hands in your pockets and looked to the ground, lost in thought. Mina didn’t say anything else, allowing you both to walk in silence.

The next afternoon, you met Shouto at the training grounds outside Gym Gamma for your first tutored training session. He regarded you kindly as you slowly approached, suddenly feeling quite bashful.

“Thank you for offering to do this, Shouto.” You said when you arrived. “It really means a lot. I don’t know how I’m going to repay you.”

“There’s no need for repayment.” He softly responded. “I volunteered to assist you. Therefore, no repayment of any sort is necessary.”

“Are you sure?” you asked. “I don’t want to inconvenience you—”

His soft call of your name made your next words die in your throat. “I assure you, this is fine.” He said. “Your company and attention are substantial enough.” You felt your face warm at his admission. Shouto gestured towards the training pit. “Shall we begin?”

He started by teaching you some stretches that are supposed to help decrease sudden muscle spasms and strengthen them. Afterward, he had you show him the little knowledge you had of hand-to-hand combat to gain an idea of where you stand in regard to U.A. training. Once you had demonstrated the few kicks and different styles of punching you knew, you turned to judge Shouto’s impression.

Your breath caught at what you saw.

His handsome features remained stoically blank for the most part, but the pursing of his lips and slight furrowing of his brows spoke a different tale. He grumbled something under his breath that sounded a lot like they didn’t prepare you at all, but you weren’t one hundred percent sure.

“Shouto?” you inquired, voice slightly uneven as your mouth formed the syllables of his name. “Is everything alright?”

His beautiful eyes snapped to yours, and once again you were frozen by the intensity with which he looked at you. His gaze was calculating, and you could just about see the cogs turning in his brain as he silently regarded you. A couple long moments later, his lips parted on an exhale and he finally addressed you.

“We have a lot of work to do.” He declared. “But we already knew that.” You slowly nodded your head, curious as to where he would be going with this conversation. “Thankfully, you’re not completely helpless,” he intoned dryly. “Even though you don’t have many skills regarding physical, non-Quirk combat, I have identified several places where we can start, correct, and then build on.”

You steadied yourself, resolve firmer than ever before. You declared, “I’m ready.”

Shouto gave a quick, but detailed, overview of his plans for your ‘training tutoring’, you referred to your sessions as. He was going to teach you everything he thought you should know—which was everything he knew—in order to successfully become a Hero people could rely on.

The two of you began by improving your physique. You joined him on his early morning run along with Midoriya and Bakugou, who welcomed you with contrasting fervor. When you met for your afternoon training, you would run five kilometers before learning various grades of combat moves, and then concluding your time together by sparring.

It was established early on that neither of you would use your Quirks during your tutoring as the two of you were well-adapted to your respective Quirks—and the strict rules regarding their usage.

For the next several weeks, you worked tirelessly on your training, and your dedication and hard work paid off. At your end-of-the-month assessment, Aizawa was pleased by your rapid and exceptional improvement and announced you could stay at U.A. He also informed you that it was never his intention to expel you in the first place, but nevertheless, he was impressed by your efforts.

You and Shouto continued to grow closer as time went by. You still had your training tutoring sessions in the afternoons, and you became a regular on his early morning runs. You even hung out outside of class and training; preparing pre-workout meals and drinks together, and various study sessions at all hours of the day and night. Once, you even packed him a small canister of his favorite brand of soba noodles for lunch one of the weekends he was interning at his father’s Agency. When he came back to the dorm after his shift, he made a beeline for you and promptly informed you that from then on out, you would be solely responsible for packing his lunches.

“Now why would I do that?” you implored. You crossed your arms, awaiting his response. “Are you gonna pay me?”

Shouto slowly blinked at you in the way a cat would. “Why would I compensate you for an action you chose to do?”

You had no retort for that.

As you spent more time together, you noticed some changes. Shouto would stare at you for seemingly no reason, and whenever you called him out on it, he feigned innocence. He also sought you out more often, insisting on walking to your next class or to and from the dorm by your side. He even began to occupy you on your shopping runs, dutifully holding your bags for you. And whenever you would thank or compliment him, his whole demeanor would light up as if Aphrodite herself had shown favor towards him.

You weren’t any better, though.

If Shouto would do so much as even blink in your general direction, your heart would soar and butterflies would take flight in your stomach. At first, you brushed it off as nerves for being the subject of the Shouto Todoroki’s attention, but you were in denial, not wanting to admit what was actually occurring. Looking back, you realized that deep down, you had known all along what was happening, but at the time, you weren’t ready to admit it—to yourself and him.

Regardless of your rebuttals and lack of admission, you were falling for your dual-haired classmate, hard and fast, and there wasn’t anything you could do about it.

3 months later . . .

“Y/N! It’s starting! You’re gonna miss it!” Ochako shouted from the couches, the other girls of Class 3-A surrounding her, all dressed in comfortable loungewear. It was the class's annual Girl’s Movie Night, which was held every couple of months. Tooru told you earlier that week that they would like to have it more often, like once a month, but given their hectic and ever-changing schedules, the girls had to settle for every few months. They took turns who got to pick out the movie. It was Mina’s turn this time. True to her nature, she selected an early 2000s chick flick set in the States.

“Hold on, wait for me!” you hollered back as you finished pouring the freshly popped popcorn into a large bowl, a few kernels spilling out as you whirled on your heels to sprint into the living area. You nearly tripped over Jirou’s legs as you practically threw yourself towards the last remaining free spot on the couch.

“Ah, sorry!” you exclaimed as you settled yourself into the cushions, checking over Jirou and your popcorn bowl. “Did I miss anything?”

“No, it’s just starting,” Momo said, taking a sip from her cup of tea as the opening credits began to roll.

“Ooh, this is one of my all-time favorite movies!” Mina squealed next to you. “Have you ever seen it before?” she asked.

You hummed, acknowledging her question. You thought hard, trying to recall if you’ve ever seen the characters on the screen before. “I’m not sure,” you said. “I don’t think so.”

The pinkette gasped aloud and theatrically placed a hand on her chest, sprawling backward. “Y/N! You wound me!”

Across the room, Tooru piped up from her spot next to Asui. “How could you not have?! It’s only one of the greatest movies ever made!”

“Oh, I’m not so sure about that,” Ochako interjected. “Gonna have to disagree.” You expected them to start arguing back and forth over what is truly the greatest movie ever made, like your friends back home would have done, but they don’t. Mina stuck her tongue out at Ochako before turning back to the movie.

You all watched the movie in relative silence, save for the light background noise of popcorn moving around in a bowl and slurping from a now-empty straw. It was nice, peaceful; a well-deserved and appreciated respite from the grinding hustle of being Pro-Heroes-in-training.

“Just confess already!” Jirou shouted at the screen as the main character allowed another opportunity for them to confess their feelings for their classmate slip through their fingers. “Gosh!” A corner of your mouth curled at her irritation. A few grumbles of agreement sounded from the others as the movie continued playing.

You had to stifle your laughter as the main characters continued to pine after one another, completely oblivious to the other’s growing feelings. I can’t believe there are actually people in the world who are like them, you silently mused. It’s so obvious they like each other. I can’t believe they don’t see it.

“Ugh, the anticipation and pining is killing me!” Tooru cried out, her slippers moving frantically in the air as she kicked her legs.

Asui raised a brow. “I thought you’ve seen this movie before?”

“Well, yeah, I have,” the invisible female said. “But the suspense still gets to me!”

“It is quite intense.” Ochako agreed. “I hope they confess soon. It hurts to see them think the other doesn’t return their feelings.”

“I don’t understand how they cannot.” You admitted, shrugging your shoulders. The girls turned to look at you as you continued, “I mean, they’re so obvious.”

“Yeah, it’s kinda annoying at this point,” Jirou mumbled.

Mina snickered. “Y/N, as if you’re one to talk.”

You gave her a questioning look, eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, come on. You’re so obvious, too, with your crush—”

You cut her off, “I do not have a crush.”

“You have a crush?” Asui asked. You and Mina responded at the same time.

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, she does.”

“What is this about?” Momo inquired, reaching for the remote and pausing the movie.

“Nothi—” you began but was swiftly interrupted by the pinkette next to you.

“Y/N has a crush on Todoroki!”

The girls gasped and gapped at you, eyes wide.

“I do not!” You said, face burning as you tried to mitigate the situation. “We’re not like that!”

“Oh my.” You thought you heard Momo say under her breath, but you couldn’t really hear since Tooru started shrieking with glee.

“You guys would be the cutest couple!” she exclaimed, jumping up from her spot on the couch and racing over to pull you into a tight embrace.

“I mean, it does make sense given they spend so much time together.” Ochako mused, a finger on her chin as she considered the situation.

Asui jumped on the bandwagon with, “Oh they are definitely into each other.”

“One hundred percent,” Mina agreed.

“Girl, you gotta spill the tea!” Tooru exclaimed as she pulled away. “Tell us everything!” The others voiced their agreement.

“I do admit, I am curious as to how this relationship came to be,” Momo vocalized, setting her tea cup down onto its saucer. “That is if the two of you have gotten that far into your companionship.”

You blinked at the midnight-black-haired woman, shock clouding your brain for a moment as you processed her words. “Um, n-no. We aren’t in any type of r-romantic relationship.” You clarified, but immediately you could tell certain people thought your answer was complete horse poop. “We aren’t!”

“Regardless, you guys are pretty close,” Ochako interjected. “I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

Jirou nodded in agreement. “And all the extra training you do together.”

“The early morning runs,” Asui added.

“Okay, okay,” you threw your hands up in a placating manner. “I understand what you guys are trying to get at, but you’re wrong.”

Mina came to stand beside you, giving you a knowing look. “Girl, Y/N,” she began. “You can try with all your might to deny it, but it’s obvious what is really going on between you and Shouto.” She placed a delicate hand on your shoulder. “And I know you know it, too.”

You stared at the pinkette, pondering her and the other’s words. You wanted to continue denying what they were saying, but you were getting tired of denying your feelings to yourself. You slumped your shoulders, the tension leaving your body as you resolved to come clean with the truth—to yourself and your friends, besides a certain dual-haired male. “Alright, fine.” You let out a heavy sigh, mentally preparing yourself for their reaction to your next statement. “I like him a little.” You confessed, looking at the floor, too afraid to meet any of their gazes.

The room was dead silent for two breaths before Mina erupted in choking laughter. “’A little’? Yeah RIGHT!” She laughed so hard that tears began to stream down her pink cheeks. After she managed to calm down a bit, she turned to face you fully, laying a hand on your knee. “Girl, you’re lying to yourself.” She told you, tone light yet serious. “We have all seen the way you look at Shouto—” the others nod in confirmation. “—and your eyes tell it all.”

You flinched as embarrassment flooded you. “Is it really that obvious?” you asked. You turned to the others to gauge their reactions. “Am I?” They all nodded.

“Definitely.”

“For sure.”

“We could see it from a mile away.”

You gasped. “Oh my,” you covered your face with your hands. “Do you think Shouto knows?”

“I doubt so,” Momo said. “Shouto is quite intelligent and a formidable force to be reckoned with, but as I’m sure you’re aware, his experience and understanding of social concepts and cues are fairly limited.”

“In other words,” Jirou interjected. “He’s none the wiser.”

You released a sigh of relief. At least he doesn’t think I’m a psycho stalker or something.

“Hey, give him some credit, guys,” Ochako remarked. “Todoroki’s more aware than he’s given credit for.”

“Moving on,” Mina said. “Have you thought about confessing your feelings to him?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, shamefully looking away. “No. . .”

“What?!”

“Really?!” Tooru shouted. “But he’s so hot!” The sleeves of her shirt crossed in front of her. “I would do anything to be his girlfriend.”

You laughed. “While you are correct about his handsomeness, I don’t even know where I would begin or how I would confess.”

“Your feelings are valid, Y/N,” Asui assured you. “Confessing one’s feelings for another is a life-changing occurrence.”

“You gotta do it before graduation in a couple months, though,” Ochako added. “If not, then you may never get another chance to do so.”

“Why do you say that?” you asked. “As Pros, wouldn’t we work together often? Why does it need to be before we graduate and turn Pro?”

“Possibly, but with our chosen line of work, there is always a possibility. . .” she trailed off with a grimace.

You understood immediately. “Oh.”

“Although rare in the line of duty, it does happen.” Momo said. “I wouldn’t worry about that though, but I agree with Ochako.”

“Plus,” Mina began, mischief glowing in her eyes. “If the two of you get together before you make your Pro Hero debut to the world, you wouldn’t have to worry about him falling in love with some random civilian he rescues on the street or another Pro.”

You nodded. “You have a point.”

“Either way, I think it will all work out in the end,” Ochako said, her cheeks widening with her smile. “I think perhaps Shouto returns your feelings, and just simply doesn’t know what to do about them or how to address them, therefore you should tell him.” The other girls voiced their agreement.

“Yeah, it doesn’t have to be some big romantic gesture or anything,” Jirou said.

“Just be honest with him, Y/N,” Asui said.

“Yeah, girl,” Mina added, giving you a warm smile when you met her gaze. “You got this. Besides, he can’t reject you. You’re too hot for that.”

You squared your shoulders as a burst of confidence filled you thanks to the encouragement you received from your friends. “Okay, I will!” you loudly announced. “I will confess my feelings to him!”

The others cheered as you all held up your lemon water in a faux toast. In your happiness, none of you noticed the shadows shift in the stairwell and the soft noise of retreating footsteps on the wood.

You were screwed.

“How am I gonna tell him!?” you mewled aloud a couple of days later in the cafeteria. You dramatically slumped your forehead on the tabletop, mentally kicking yourself for allowing the girls to convince you that confessing your crush would be an easy endeavor. You felt a reassuring pat on your shoulder. Groaning, you lifted your head from the table to shoot puppy eyes at Ochako. “Ochako, help me!” you cried. “How do I confess?”

The brunette gave you a sheepish smile. “I don’t know, Y/N.” She professed, her eyes apologetic. “Proclaiming one's love for another isn’t really my strong suit.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Asui mumbled under her breath before taking a sip of her drink, receiving a glare in response.

“Y/N, sweetie,” Mina cooed from your other side. “I think you’re overthinking it a little. It shouldn’t be but so hard. Just be honest with him!”

“But that is hard!” you said, waving your hands in the air. “I can’t just walk up to him and say, ‘hey, Shouto, I think you’re really hot and amazing. Wanna go out with me?’”

“Sure you can,” Momo intoned, trying to reassure you. “Maybe not in those exact words, but when the time comes, you will know what to say.”

“I hope so,” you sighed, slumping your shoulders. “I hope so.”

As time passed, you found that you did not, in fact, know what to say when the time came to confess your feelings to Shouto Todoroki. Whenever you were near him, you became tongue-tied and could barely speak without becoming a stuttering mess. During each interaction, Shouto would give you a long, confused look, his eyebrows drawn downwards as he watched you struggle for words. He wouldn’t comment on it, bless him, but he must’ve thought you to be a total weirdo.

Yet, he still accompanied you on the walk back to the dorm every day after classes ended, and he insisted on continuing your training sessions every weekend after he finished his shift at Endeavor’s Agency. The two of you grew closer, to your absolute delight, and yet you still hadn’t managed to work up the courage to confess your feelings to him.

Until one day . . .

You were sitting in homeroom during free period, chatting with Midoriya about the latest episode of the rebooted All Might: The Mightiest Man TV series.

“I’m telling you, Midoriya,” you said. “It doesn’t matter how much the animation and special effects have improved, the original will always be better than the reboot.” You crossed your arms and lounged back in your chair, waiting for the forest green-haired male to start sputtering his counterargument. “You can’t change my mind. I will die on this hill.”

“Are you seriously sayin—?”

A call of your name from a familiar tenor drew your attention. You turned towards the source to meet a pair of heterochromatic eyes. Shouto was making his way to your desk, coming to a stop right in front of you. You had to tilt your head back in order to maintain eye contact. After a moment, he turned his attention to Midoriya next to you. “Pardon me, Midoriya, but I need to speak to Y/N in private.”

You and Midoriya gaped at the dual-haired male for a good twenty seconds before you slowly rose from your seat. “O-okay.” You turned to face your green-haired companion. You hoped your eyes were conveying your inner panic as you said, “Midoriya, I’ll be back.”

All he could do was nod as he watched you follow behind Shouto, wondering why you looked so panicked to go with the male. Maybe you were constipated.

As Shouto led you toward the classroom door, Ochako and Mina shot you curious glances. When you met their gazes, they gave you a reassuring smile and a thumbs up, respectfully.

“Good luck, girl!” Mina whisper-shouted.

“You got this, Y/N,” Ochako said. You tried to match her comforting smile with your own, but it didn’t reach your eyes.

You followed behind the dual-haired male, silently wondering what was going on. Once you were outside the classroom, he led you down the hallway to a little corner nook bathed in the golden light of the afternoon.

“Shouto, is everything okay?” you asked, anxiously shifting from one foot to the other. “Is something wrong?” At your inquiry, he finally came to a stop in front of a set of windows and turned to face you.

“Yes, everything is fine.” He reassured you. “I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”

You blinked. “Okay,” you said. “Shoot.”

Shouto likewise paused at your usage of unfamiliar slang but didn’t comment on it. “Um,” he started, but drifted off, not finishing the thought. He opened his mouth only to shut it again after a moment or two without making a sound. You furrowed your brows as you continued to watch him struggle for words.

“Um, Sho?” you prodded. He didn’t respond, however, still thinking over his next words. Shouto never hesitates, you thought with a mixture of wonderment and anxiety. Is something bothering him? you thought with growing concern. You felt your heart come to a skittering stop as another horrifying conclusion came to mind; am I the problem?

“I overheard you and the other girls’ conversation on Movie Night,” he confessed at last, interrupting your spiraling train of thought. He bashfully looked away as if he was ashamed.

“Oh, okay?” you responded, absentmindedly going through the events of the night in question. Your heartbeat began to calm down to a normal rate. “What conversation?” You couldn’t think of anything in particular and were about to ask him to elaborate before the realization hit you like a freight train.

“I like him a little.”

“Okay, I will! I will confess my feelings to him!”

“Yeah, girl, you got this. Besides, he can’t reject you. You’re too hot for that.”

Oooohhhhh.

Fuck.

Maybe he didn’t hear that particular part of the conversation! You tried to reassure yourself as you waited for Shouto to answer your question. Your heart rate picked back up as panic began to settle in. We were there for several hours. There is so much he could’ve—

“You have an admiration going on.” You hate to admit you gawked at him for a couple of seconds before his formal wording translated into modern speech. You have a crush.

FUCK!

“Oh my God, I am so sorry!” you rushed out, trying to save face and whatever friendship you had with Shouto. You felt your cheeks burn. “Please, just forget you ever heard that!”

Shouto snapped his head to you as your words registered in his brain. “Why would I do that?” he asked after a moment. “We live in the same building with shared living space, barely anything is not overheard by another.”

Oh God, how much did he overhear?

“Besides,” he continued. “At our age, it is completely natural for one to harbor feelings for another.”

You blinked at him as his words registered, your cheeks now tingling due to the burn. Gosh, he sounds like a grandpa giving the birds and the bees talk.

“It—it’s j-just,” you stammered. “I-I-I—” You let out a harsh breath in frustration when your words continued to fail you. Shouto raised a brow before his eyes narrowed. Your heart sank when you saw that.

Oh great, he’s annoyed!

“Are you all right?” he asked before moving so he was right in front of you. You squeaked at the sudden warmth of his body heat as he placed a hand on your forehead. “Do you feel ill? You feel warm, and your face looks to be flushed with some perspiration gathering on your forehead.” His eyes frantically looked you up and down as he examined you for any further signs of sickness. “I should get you to Recovery Girl.”

“N-no!” you exclaimed when he went to sweep you off your feet. “Sh-Shouto, I—I’m fine, really. I’m n-not s-sick.”

“Oh?” Shouto blinked in confusion and, adorably, subtly tilted his head to the side. “Then why are you so febrile? And you are stuttering?”

“It’s not because I am sick. I’m just em-embarrassed.” You whispered the last part, and you couldn’t help but look away from Shouto in shame.

“Embarrassed? Why are you embarrassed, Y/N?” You shut your mouth, refusing to speak. Shouto sensed your hesitation. The light slowly left his heterochromatic eyes and he bashfully looked away from you. “Is . . . is it because you don’t want to be seen with me?” he asked. “For fear that your crush will see us together and not return your affection?”

You let out a gasp in surprise. “What? No!” You are quick to reassure him—your actual crush—of your intentions. “That’s not it at all!”

Shouto met your gaze again. His eyes lit up with what looked like . . . anticipation? Hope? You weren’t sure, but your heart began to race in trepidation. “Then what is it?”

“I like you,” you blurted out. You shut your eyes and covered your face with your hands, trying to hide from your drowning embarrassment. “Like, not even a little bit, but, like, really, really like you.” You whispered from behind your hands.

There was no immediate response from the dual-haired male. You didn’t dare to remove your hands from your face to check if he was still standing in front of you.

He probably didn’t hear me. You internally slapped yourself upside the head.

Before you could react, Shouto was carefully removing your hands from your face. His touch was gentle, like he was afraid you would crack and break under his fingertips. “Why are you hiding from me?” he whispered. Your breath caught in your throat as you stared wide-eyed at him.

“I��I.” Despite your efforts, words weren’t able to come out of your mouth.

“You should never feel like you need to hide,” he continued. He let out an airy tsk before he reached his hand up and gently tucked a piece of stray hair behind your ear. You felt your face heat up even more at the action. “Especially from me.”

What.

“W-what?” you voiced aloud. You blinked a couple times, trying to bring your brain back from the brink of short-circuiting.

Shouto chuckled lowly, moving impossibly closer into your space. “I think you need to get your hearing checked out, love.”

You blinked some more. “What?”

“Have I broken you?” he asked, the corner of his perfect lips turning up at the thought. “First you forget your words, and now you have lost your hearing. . .” he trailed off as he continued to stare intently into your eyes.

What is he playing at. . .? you wondered as you blankly stared at him.

The two of you stood there and took each other in for quite a while. In reality, it mustn’t have been for very long—at most a minute and a half—but to you, it felt like hours. You were so close you could see the light reflecting in his heterochromatic eyes and the small streaks of gray in the turquoise-colored one.

“I . . . like you, too,” Shouto suddenly confessed, violently snapping you out of the daze his proximity causes. “I have harbored feelings for you for some time now.”

WHAT!?

“You . . . do?” you asked, skeptical. You were hesitant to believe his words in fear that this whole thing was some sick prank. But—

No. Shouto isn’t that type of person, you thought. He barely understands humor as it is, so he must be telling the truth.

“I do,” he confirmed.

“Oh, um.” You fumbled again for words, embarrassment flooding your entire system once more. You licked your dry lips, missing the way Shouto’s eyes locked onto the movement. “Cool.”

Shouto blinked at you, one of his perfect eyebrows raising. “Cool?” he repeated with a sly smile overcoming his lips.

“Mhm.” You dumbly nodded. “Cool.” You paused before muttering a small, “Ditto.”

He chuckled again, subtly moving the tiniest bit closer to you. He was just about crowding you into the corner at this point. “Ditto, huh?” He mumbled under his breath with a widening smirk playing at his lips. “I think I have broken you, dear.”

You grinned. “Perhaps.” Shouto chuckled again before falling silent. The two of you stared at the other, lost in each other’s gazes.

“Can I kiss you?” He spoke on an exhale, his deep voice somehow even deeper. Before you could internally flip the fuck out and fully comprehend what was happening, you were already nodding. That was all the confirmation Shouto needed before he brought your lips in for a sensual kiss. Fireworks exploded behind your eyelids as you relaxed into him.

You smiled into the kiss. Thank you, chopsticks.

The next day, you and Shouto walked into the classroom holding hands. Everyone collectively stopped what they were doing to openly gape at the two of you as Shouto, always the gentleman, escorted you to your seat. The shocked silence lasted all but three seconds before Mina and Tooru let out ear-piercing shrieks and practically tackled you.

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh!” Mina was shouting meanwhile Tooru was holding onto you so tight to the point that she was nearly crushing you into her invisible body.

“AHHHH, I knew this was gonna happen!” she exclaimed before somehow pulling you in closer.

“Can’t . . . breathe.” You wheezed out before your boyfriend pulled you away from the two fangirls and protectively held you to his chest.

“I would be grateful if you didn’t crush my girlfriend to death, Tooru.” He intoned in his naturally dry tenor. His statement only made them freak out even more.

“Ah! Look at the two love birds!” Ochako swooned.

“Fuckin’ disgustin’,” grumbled a deep voice from somewhere in the back of the room.

Before you could turn to shoot Bakugou a death glare, Shouto was already clapping back. “What, are you jealous, Bakugou?”

The desks which had surrounded the blond a moment prior were blown to shiverines.

“I’LL END YOU!”

Fin.

→ extras: snapshot 1, snapshot 2, fic tag

No plagiarizing, re-uploading, translating, or copying of any kind or on any platform of my writing or inserted into any type of AI generator. Do not recommend my work on TikTok. Do not repost on YouTube.

#shouto todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #bnha x reader #shouto x reader #shoto x reader #fic: ditto #todoroki x you #shoto x you #shouto x you

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eicsferrari · 2 months ago

Text

so my darling - cl16 smau

requested: yes♡

face claim: nailea devora & other pinterest pictures

a/n: i LOVED this concept and i think this is my favorite au i've done so far. tysm for the request<3 also idk and i will never learn the difference between in/on/at, i just vibe it bc i don't care

masterlist

જ ♡ જ

Then

charlesleclerc beach forever⛱️

tagged yn

♡liked by arthur_leclerc & others

yn shell yeah! seas the day

charlesleclerc my god your puns are terrible

yn shut up😔 u secretly like them

charlesleclerc if that's what you need to believe...

arthur_leclerc without me? i sea how it is

charlesleclerc DON'T ENCOURAGE HER

yn YES ARTHUR WELCOME TO THE PUN CLUB we get together every thursday🤝🏼

pascale.leclerc.355 ❤️ hope you had fun! ♡liked by author & yn

જ ♡ જ

Now

📍london

yn dump of a great weeekend

♡liked by bestfriend & others

bestfriend prettiest girl😍

yn youuu

user1 new music when???

user2 i miss seeing charles in the comment section

user3 it's been 3 years move on🙄

arthur_leclerc bet the england rain makes you miss home ♡liked by author

yn i always miss home❤️

user4 i don't understand what happened between charles and her but it cannot be that bad if arthur and her are still friends

user5 i agree but idk how close they still are. they comment on each other posts but we never saw them together again

જ ♡ જ

Then

yn can't believe this kid is going to be a f1 driver. charles, my best friend, the most important person in my life: i'm so incredibly proud of you. you deserve this more than anyone. whatever happens, whatever you do, i hope you know you'll always have me❤️

♡liked by pascale.leclerc.355 & others

charlesleclerc i love you

yn i love you more

pascale.leclerc.355 i always adored that picture of you two!

yn me too <3

arthur_leclerc you made him cry

yn he's not special i've Been crying

જ ♡ જ

Now

જ ♡ જ

Then

yn he won me a plushie :)

♡liked by charlesleclerc & others

charlesleclerc two plushies*

yn liar you said you wanted to keep the big one

charlesleclerc well in my defense it's ferrari red, call it a manifestation tactic

arthur_leclerc only yn could convince you to do karaoke

charlesleclerc it's not fair! she said "bet you won't do it" so my competitive ass had to

yn nooo don't spill my secret way to make you do everything i want

arthur_leclerc acting like he doesn't do anything you want regardless🙄

જ ♡ જ

Now

yn posted a story

💽scott street - phoebe bridgers

↪bestfriend replied to your story: good luck🤞🏼

જ ♡ જ

yn bday boyyyyy!! cheers to pour decisions

♡liked by arthur_leclerc & others

arthur_leclerc last night was so much fun!! thank you for coming

yn always❤️ how's your head?

arthur_leclerc it hurts. i think the tequila was too much

yn you should've drawn the lime!

arthur_leclerc i-

user6 charles and yn were at the same place, this is not a drill. i repeat, charles and yn at the same place!

bestfriend hot pics but text me!

yn better yet come over

user7 let us in, share the convo with the chat🙏🏼

જ ♡ જ

yn posted a story

💽best friend - conan grey

જ ♡ જ

charlesleclerc life has been good lately

♡liked by pierregasly & others

user8 is that yn or am i going insane???

user9 you might be onto something

yn was the boat on sail?

charlesleclerc don't

yn you missed my puns admit it

charlesleclerc i missed all of you

user10 i waited years for this😭

જ ♡ જ

yn don't mind me, just (tea)sing

♡liked by charlesleclerc & others

user11 THAT'S LEO

user12 charles in the likes war is overrrrr

scuderiaferrari that jacket🔥 ♡liked by the author

yn thank you admin, i've been saving it for a special ocassion

user13 this better mean we are getting yn back on that paddock 🙏🏼

charlesleclerc red looks good on you❤️

user14 he is flirting, right? or am i delusional?

જ ♡ જ

💽cowboy - selena gomez & benny blanco

yn cowboy boots give a kick to any outfit🤠🏆

texas u were fun. ferrari 1-2❤️

tagged charlesleclerc

carlossainz55 perfect weekend, forza ferrarri!

yn congrats on p2!! just two chili guys on the podium

carlossainz55 houston, we have a pun!

charlesleclerc it's contagious, it's a disease at this point

iamrebeccad beautiful girl😍

yn i love youuu let's get coffee soon

charlesleclerc it was special having you there<3

yn can't believe i was there to see you win!! i sobbed the entire time

yn problem is now you set the bar too high. i expect you to win every time i go to see you

charlesleclerc i'll do my best😉 anything to impress you

user15 yes he is flirting

જ ♡ જ

arthur_leclerc posted a story

જ ♡ જ

yn "so my darling" out now

comments have been disabled

જ ♡ જ

charlesleclerc remember i'll always love you

♡liked by yn & others

bestfriend ok leclerc guess i will share the best friend title🙄🙄

charlesleclerc i was here first ?

bestfriend i already said i agreed to share it don't push your luck and take what you can

arthur_leclerc fucking finally! it only took you like twenty years

yn always and forever❤️

charlesleclerc ❤️

જ ♡ જ

taglist: @justaf1girl @anamiad00msday @readtoooomuch @2bormaybenot

#f1 smau #formula 1 smau #charles leclerc smau #cl16 smau #f1 fic #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc au #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc fanfic #cl16 x reader #cl16 x yn #cl16 au #cl16 fic #cl16 fanfic #childhood friends to strangers to friends to lovers

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fairyofshampgyu · 10 months ago

Text

☆ Me? Pegged?!

genre: smut, fluff, established relationship

Pairing: college bf ! beomgyu x dom ! fem reader

Warnings: pegging, soft sex, sub beomgyu, dom reader, fluff, male masturbation, mentions of porn, anal fingering, use of strap on, hand job, hand holding during sex, beomgyu cries but bc he’s emotional lolol, use of petnames ‘puppy’, ‘baby’, gendered term, reader is referred to as ‘girlfriend’ and afab, disgustingly fluffy

synopsis: your skeptical boyfriend gets pegged for the first time <3 To say the least he definitely enjoys it a lot more than he expected.

word count: 2.8k

“What? Like, in my ass?” Beomgyu, splutters eyebrows raised and asking in a hushed tone, looking cautiously left to right seemingly embarrassed. Although, you were a little confused what he was looking for, given you were both inside his dorm room…and the only people in there.

His demeanour, a total whiplash to a few moments prior when he had very proudly won the fighting game you both were playing together.

“Well, yeah in your ass.” You deadpan at him. “It’s called pegging. It’s just something I think could be fun for us to try and share together and I want to make you feel good! But it’s okay if you don’t want to-”

“No! I’ll-I can try. For you. I’ve just-I’ve never really thought of it before. It seems…intense...” Beomgyu looks down with a pout, fiddling with his thumbs, legs crossed on his bed.

“Gyu,” You cup his cheek and he leans into your touch almost instantly, looking back up at you, practically purring at the nickname and your gesture, “if you’re not comfortable with it we won’t. We don’t have to just because I want to. I just wanted to know your thoughts on it. ”

Beomgyu was always an open minded person when it came to sex, always down to try things at least once. Both of you were pretty compatible in that sense, easily bored when things were kept the same. You liked how experimental and open he was with you.

Beomgyu rubs at the back of his head and nods slowly, still looking skeptical. “I want to try it with you. I trust you. But, I just don’t think I’ll really find it that enjoyable though. I’ll think about it.”

Not that beomgyu would admit to you, but after the topic of pegging was brought up, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. It made a strange feeling pool in his stomach, unsure if it was a good or bad thing. Would it even feel good? What would it feel like? It’d probably feel weird right? And the thought of being so vulnerable was a little scary. He knew he had nothing to be embarrassed about with you but it still felt a little too daunting.

To say the least, beomgyu was curious, and many nights contemplating brought him to conduct his own research. Grabbing his laptop, the only light shining in his dark room at the ungodly hours of a thursday night, he went to the only place he knew would have some sort of answers—the internet and he began sheepishly typing into the search bar.

To his surprise, he came across many dudes enthusiastically raving about it on reddit and how it completely changed their view of life—he thinks some of them were being a little bit dramatic.

He also watched a few videos, for research purposes only. He stares at his screen, mouth agape and feeling a flush creep up his neck, cheeks growing increasingly heated at what he sees. Woah. Maybe. This might actually be….

He couldn’t help imagining you doing that to him instead, mind painting vivid pictures of you, imagining your hands on his hips and breath against his neck, being handled like that. It was strangely arousing.

Suddenly beomgyu was squirming in his bed, one hand hesitantly slipping down his grey sweatpants as he bit his bottom lip, eyes squeezed shut and eyebrows furrowed as he began embarrassedly and frantically jerking off his now red and hard dick to the thought of you pegging him.

Faster than he thought, beomgyu was cumming heaps with a hand slapped to his mouth to stop himself from loudly moaning out your name (the college walls were very thin. He knew from experience.) and completely making a mess, soiling his sweats with a muffled whimper instead.

He lay there gasping and panting flushed, left to ponder his actions and new found revelation. It was kind of hot? Or maybe it was just a heat of the moment kind of thing. He couldn’t actually find that hot, right?

Fuck.

There wasn’t much beomgyu kept from you, usually he’d be the one to talk your ear off about the most mundane, silliest things of his day as you both cuddled closely together. However, he’d purposefully failed to mention his recent porn search history and the fact that he’s been cumming a heck of a lot faster than he’d like to admit at the thought of his girlfriend fucking him in the ass.

It’s only made him more curious about whether he’d actually like it. There was only one way to find out and that was to just see for himself. So he knew he had to bring it up with you somehow again without sounding like a crazed freak.

You were studying in the library when beomgyu approached you, textbooks spread out in front of you as you furiously typed notes on your laptop. Beomgyu leans in to peck your cheek before taking a seat beside you and you looked up, lifting your headphones from your ears. “Oh you’re studying as well?”

Beomgyu gives you an incredulous look as if it was absolutely outrageous to suggest he’d be doing that. “Um no.” He clears his throat, trying to sound as nonchalant and cool as possible, “so, uh, remember that thing we talked about?”

You furrow your brows unsure of what he was talking about, but given how incredibly embarrassed he looked, you had an inkling of what it might be and you try not to laugh, heavily amused, accidentally saying it bit too loud, “Oh you mean pegging?”

He looks around frantically, eyes wide with panic as he tries to gauge if anyone else had heard, then he hits your arm and shoves you. “You don’t have to be so loud, my god.”

You can see the tips of his cute ears going pink as he shakes his head and rolls his eyes “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to,” chuckling softly, you put your hands up in defence so he wouldn’t shove you again.

Beomgyu just narrows his eyes at you and scoffs, “Yeah, so anyway. I was just thinking, you know, maybe we should actually... give it a try? I mean, if you're still interested," Beomgyu says, his words tumbling out in a rush.

Your eyebrows raise in surprise. “So, you’ve been thinking about it?” you teased, leaning in closer. “What changed your mind?”

"Well, I've been doing some, uh, research," he admitted, scratching the back of his head. "And, maybe it doesn't sound so bad after all. I mean, I’m not saying I’m dying to try it or anything. But, you know, I’m open to the idea. I guess.”

“Sure, sure,” you say giggling into your textbook. “You guess…”

Beomgyu flicks your forehead playfully, furrowing his brows. “Shut up.”

“Oww!” You rub your forehead soothingly, “We’ll try it soon then, yeah?”

He pretends to think about it, even though his excitement is barely contained. You could practically see his tail wagging and brown puppy eyes lighting up. “Yeah, we could do that.”

Today is the day beomgyu will finally get why a bunch of dudes from reddit are so into being pegged by their girlfriends. Unfortunately for beomgyu though, he was currently stuck in class, wanting more than ever to just be in your dorm, but he had to wait.

The professor's voice drones on, the words blending into a meaningless blur as Beomgyu stole glances at the clock every few seconds. Each tick seemed to echo in his head like a countdown to freedom, and he couldn't help but let out an impatient sigh, mind racing with thoughts of what awaited him once this torturous lecture finally ended.

Meanwhile, you were finding immense amusement in Beomgyu's predicament and you couldn’t help but send him teasing texts during his class to make him even more pathetically desperate.

Beomgyu's eyes widened as he read the message, his cheeks flushing red. He bit his lip, trying to stifle a groan of frustration. He typed back quickly, fingers fumbling with the keys.

Beom🧸🎸: This is pure evil ! You’re so mean :( 😞💔😪👎

You can’t help giggling, typing back a sarcastic response.

aww what a poor puppy. You’ll just have to wait.

Beom🧸🎸: why can’t I just skip bro🧍‍♂️

You tell him he’s not allowed to skip and that he has to sit through the entirety of it just to torture him some more. Beomgyu pouts, his bottom lip sticking out in a comically exaggerated manner at the text, earning a weird look from Soobin who sat next to him.

Finally, the professor dismisses the class, and Beomgyu practically leaps out his seat, gathering his notebook and laptop and shoving it in his bag in record time. He dashes out of the lecture hall, barely acknowledging soobin’s farewell. Beomgyu’s heart racing as he practically sprinted across campus to your dorm.

When he reaches your door, he knocks eagerly, breathing heavily and you swing open the door.

Without a word, Beomgyu pulls you into a passionate kiss, his hands tangling in your hair as he presses you against the doorframe. He couldn't wait any longer; the anticipation had built up to an almost unbearable level, and now that he was finally here with you, all he wanted was to feel close to you.

You chuckle softly against his lips, teasingly pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. "Someone's eager," you run a hand through his tousled hair.

Beomgyu grins, cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and excitement as he stares down at you with half lidded eyes. "Can you blame me? You’ve been torturing me!" He pouts, staring down at your lips before kissing you again.

You’ve been meticulously prepping beomgyu for god knows how long now, but you wanted to make absolute sure that he was stretched out well so you wouldn’t hurt him one bit.

His soft, breathy moans fill the room as your lubed fingers slide in and out of his cute, pink hole repeatedly. He seemed to like it so far, each gentle movement makes him cling tighter to the pink silk pillow pressed against his chest, hugging it with his eyes blissfully closed, legs spread wide as he lay on your bed.

“Do you think you’re ready, baby?”

He opens his eyes, meeting your gaze with a needy look, and cutely nods, taking a few deep breaths. “Yeah- please.. I want you noww..”

You give him a weary glance. “I don’t want to hurt you though.”

Beomgyu shakes his head softly, still hugging the pink silk pillow tightly, even if he’s a little nervous, he desperately wants to feel you. He swallows, looking directly into your eyes and whines. “I’ll be fine. pleasee”

Sighing, you step into the harness of the strap-on (you’d made sure to order the cutest and prettiest one you saw online), coating the silicone in generous amounts of lube before returning back to beomgyu on the bed.

You gently place his dainty ankles over your shoulders, kissing on his inner thighs and pretty white sock clad legs and ankles as you do so.

You can’t stop staring in awe. Heart swelling up at the sight of beomgyu, fluffy messy hair splayed around his face, long thick eyelashes kissing his rose dusted cheeks, slightly chewing at his plump bottom limp as he braces himself. He’s so precious. How fucking gorgeous this boy is.

You kiss his ankles a few more times, one hand going to his cute tummy that heaved and you slowly push the silicone cock into his now glistening from all the lube, swollen, puffy pink hole, ever so slowly easing in, inch by inch and bottoming out.

Beomgyu cries out, hiding his face instantly in his elbow and he arches his back, and mewls.

“You okay, puppy?”, you coo and gently move his arm out the way so you can look at his pretty face and parted lips, stilling your movements and softly brushing the bangs out his eyes.

Beomgyu shakily nods, trembling. “Mmh. m’ okay. You can keep going.”

Loud high pitched strangled moans escape his lips as you pick up the pace, a slow one. It’s a new feeling and it takes him some time to get used to. Beomgyu was always loud and would make the prettiest moans ever anyway, but there was something so different at how he moaned right now, completely guttural and different to how they usually were. Even he was surprised, clamping a hand over his mouth in embarrassment, attempting to muffle them but he just couldn’t stop the noises at all even if he tried, loud whines and whimpers continuing unabated. You loved them so much.

You watch his poor, neglected cock slap his tummy with every thrust, red and hard and dribbling beads at the head constantly. You take his dick in your hand, stroking it at the same movement and fucking him harder.

He gasps shuddering and writhing, his fingers curling into the sheets. "Oh... that feels...," he manages to say, interrupted by whines and moans, mouth in a cute ‘o’ shaped, completely dumb and fucked out by now he can barely think, and he moans your name over and over. A cascade of mewls spilling from his lips, a sweet symphony that fills the room.

You lean down to press his swollen lips with yours, moving your mouth against him so messily and needy, making out with him so intensely as you carried on fucking his hole. You’re sure you’re hitting his prostate by now.

Beomgyu disconnects from your lips to pant, a string of saliva connecting from his and your mouth and reaches his hand out to yours “Hold…” He whimpers out, eyebrows furrowed and you gladly grab his hand, intertwining your hand with his and holding hands as you peg him, anchoring him. Your other free hand still continuing your ministrations on his cock, kissing him again. It seems you’ve pegged him completely into subspace.

"gonna cum soon... I can'ttt... it's too much!” Beomgyu chokes out, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he completely shakes.

You suddenly heard choked sobs and sniffling coming from beomgyu. Alarmed, you paused for a moment, worried that maybe you had hurt him. His face was buried in the pillow, and his shoulders were trembling with each shaky breath.

“Beomgyu, are you okay?” you asked softly, your voice laced with concern. You gently eased back, not wanting to cause him any discomfort.

He turned his head to look at you, and your heart ached at the sight before you. His glossy, brown doe eyes were filled with tears, eyelashes clumped together and his bottom lip was jutting out in a pout, making him look devastatingly beautiful, tears streaming down his red cheeks and his hair tousled and damp with sweat. He was such a pretty crier.

“I-I’m okay,” voice trembling with the intensity of his feelings. “It’s just... it feels so good. I love you so much.” His tears flowed freely now, each sob wracking his body. You were surprised at how emotional beomgyu had gotten.

You lean down to kiss away his tears, cupping his hot cheeks, “You’re doing so good for me, gyu. I love you too.”

Beomgyu grasps your hand even tighter, his fingers digging into your skin as he clings to you so close. His head falls back with every thrust, and he throws his head back as you continue to hit his prostate repeatedly again and again, making him go cross eyed and his jaw slack.

He spurts a copious amount of cum from his cock, making such a mess on the sheets, your hand, and his tummy, cumming so hard his vision goes blurry, and he feels dizzy, his legs shaking uncontrollably. His eyes flutter open and shut, gasping and panting heavily. You pull out and collapse beside him, both of you utterly exhausted.

Beomgyu can conclude, the guys on reddit were so right.

Beomgyu doesn’t let go of you at all afterwards, burying his face in your chest and wrapping his legs and arms around you, clinging to you like a koala contently, breath warm against your skin as you kissed the top of his head.

“I can’t feel my legs.” Beomgyu whines, “Please never mention the crying ever again okay?” He muffles out. “I have a reputation to uphold, you know. Can’t have everyone thinking I’m a crybaby.”

You chuckle, stroking and playing with his soft hair which he loves so much, humming softly at the feeling of your hands on his scalp. “I thought it was very cute.”

He doesn’t say anything and a moment of silence ensues.

“Thank you, baby.” he says gently and quietly, “I’d be eating you out so good right now if I wasn’t so exhausted.” a tired but cheeky grin spreading across his face.

Within seconds, beomgyu was out like a light, his soft snores filling the quiet room, looking so cute absolutely knocked out in your arms.

Please actually reblog !!!!!! and leave comments !!!! guys 😭 if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated and so nice tysm !<3🙏💕🌷🌷! It’s incredibly discouraging and disappointing when fics have such little reblogs ☹️👎🤨. At least send an anon in the inbox if you don’t want to rb, don’t just like. Feedback is always appreciated it makes writers want to actually write more :)

A/n: guys im sorry if this was the shittest thing I’ve ever written. I was really trying !! But I’m Just very out of practice at writing atm 😭 im very sorry if the smut is the most messiest thing you’ve ever read, I have not proofread it at all I have no idea what I was writing. So I’m very sorry

#beomgyu smut #txt smut #beomgyu x reader #sub!beomgyu #sub!idol #beomgyu hard hours #choi beomgyu smut #sub!txt #sub txt #sub beomgyu #sub idol #kpop smut

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fans4wga · 2 years ago

Text

"The studios thought they could handle a strike. They might end up sparking a revolution"

by Mary McNamara

"If you want to start a revolution, tell your workers you’d rather see them lose their homes than offer them fair wages. Then lecture them about how their “unrealistic” demands are “disruptive” to the industry, not to mention disturbing your revels at Versailles, er, Sun Valley.

Honestly, watching the studios turn one strike into two makes you wonder whether any of their executives have ever seen a movie or watched a television show. Scenes of rich overlords sipping Champagne and acting irritated while the crowd howls for bread rarely end well for the Champagne sippers.

This spring, it sometimes seemed like the Hollywood studios represented by the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers were actively itching for a writers’ strike. Speculations about why, exactly, ran the gamut: Perhaps it would save a little money in the short run and show the Writers Guild of America (perceived as cocky after its recent ability to force agents out of the packaging business) who’s boss.

More obviously, it might secure the least costly compromise on issues like residuals payments and transparency about viewership.

But the 20,000 members of the WGA are not the only people who, having had their lives and livelihoods upended by the streaming model, want fair pay and assurances about the use of artificial intelligence, among other sticking points. The 160,000 members of the Screen Actors Guild-American Federation of Television and Radio Artists share many of the writers’ concerns. And recent unforced errors by studio executives, named and anonymous, have suddenly transformed a fight the studios were spoiling for into a public relations war they cannot win.

Even as SAG-AFTRA representatives were seeing a majority of their demands rejected despite a nearly unanimous strike vote, a Deadline story quoted unnamed executives detailing a strategy to bleed striking writers until they come crawling back.

Days later, when an actors’ strike seemed imminent, Disney Chief Executive Bob Iger took time away from the Sun Valley Conference in Idaho not to offer compromise but to lecture. He told CNBC’s David Faber that the unions’ refusal to help out the studios by taking a lesser deal is “very disturbing to me.”

“There’s a level of expectation that they have that is just not realistic,” Iger said. “And they are adding to the set of the challenges that this business is already facing that is, quite frankly, very disruptive.”

If Iger thought his attempt to exec-splain the situation would make actors think twice about walking out, he was very much mistaken. Instead, he handed SAG-AFTRA President Fran Drescher the perfect opportunity for the kind of speech usually shouted atop the barricades.

“We are the victims here,” she said Thursday, marking the start of the actors’ strike. “We are being victimized by a very greedy entity. I am shocked by the way the people that we have been in business with are treating us. I cannot believe it, quite frankly: How far apart we are on so many things. How they plead poverty, that they’re losing money left and right, when giving hundreds of millions of dollars to their CEOs. It is disgusting. Shame on them. They stand on the wrong side of history at this very moment.”

Cue the cascading strings of “Les Mis,” bolstered by images of the most famous people on the planet walking out in solidarity: the cast of “Oppenheimer” leaving the film’s London premiere; the writers and cast of “The X-Files” reuniting on the picket line.

A few days later, Barry Diller, chairman and senior executive of IAC and Expedia Group and a former Hollywood studio chief, suggested that studio executives and top-earning actors take a 25% pay cut to bring a quick end to the strikes and help prevent “the collapse of the entire industry.”

When Diller is telling executives to take a pay cut to avoid destroying their industry, it is no longer a strike, or even two strikes. It is a last-ditch attempt to prevent le déluge.

Yes, during the 2007-08 writers’ strike, picketers yelled noncomplimentary things at executives as they entered their respective lots. (“What you earnin’, Chernin?” was popular at Fox, where Peter Chernin was chairman and chief executive.) But that was before social media made everything more immediate, incendiary and personal. (Even if they have never seen a movie or TV show, one would think that people heading up media companies would understand how media actually work.)

Even at the most heated moments of the last writers’ strike, executives like Chernin and Iger were seen as people who could be reasoned with — in part because most of the executives were running studios, not conglomerations, but mostly because the pay gap between executives and workers, in Hollywood and across the country, had not yet widened to the reprehensible chasm it has since.

Now, the massive eight- and nine-figure salaries of studio heads alongside photos of pitiably small residual checks are paraded across legacy and social media like historical illustrations of monarchs growing fat as their people starve. Proof that, no matter how loudly the studios claim otherwise, there is plenty of money to go around.

Topping that list is Warner Bros. Discovery Chief Executive Davd Zaslav. Having re-named HBO Max just Max and made cuts to the beloved Turner Classic Movies, among other unpopular moves, Zaslav has become a symbol of the cold-hearted, highly compensated executive that the writers and actors are railing against.

The ferocious criticism of individual executives’ salaries has placed Hollywood’s labor conflict at the center of the conversation about growing wealth disparities in the U.S., which stokes, if not causes, much of this country’s political divisions. It also strengthens the solidarity among the WGA and SAG-AFTRA and with other groups, from hotel workers to UPS employees, in the midst of disputes during what’s been called a “hot labor summer.”

Unfortunately, the heightened antagonism between studio executives and union members also appears to leave little room for the kind of one-on-one negotiation that helped end the 2007-08 writers’ strike. Iger’s provocative statement, and the backlash it provoked, would seem to eliminate him as a potential elder statesman who could work with both sides to help broker a deal.

Absent Diller and his “cut your damn salaries” plan, there are few Hollywood figures with the kind of experience, reputation and relationships to fill the vacuum.

At this point, the only real solution has been offered by actor Mark Ruffalo, who recently suggested that workers seize the means of production by getting back into the indie business, which is difficult to imagine and not much help for those working in television.

It’s the AMPTP that needs to heed Iger’s admonishment. At a time when the entertainment industry is going through so much disruption, two strikes is the last thing anyone needs, especially when the solution is so simple. If the studios don’t want a full-blown revolution on their hands, they’d be smart to give members of the WGA and SAG-AFTRA contracts they can live with."

#sag-aftra strike #sag strike #fans4wga #writers guild strike #actors guild strike #union solidarity #wga strong #i stand with the wga #wga strike #writers strike

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coolwyous · 2 months ago

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┈─★ 𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 ( 𝘀𝗼 𝘀𝗮𝘆 𝗶𝘁 𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸 — 𝙙𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙤. )

⊹ ࣪ ˖ your professor contacts you to ask if you’d be willing to share your notes with a classmate that has requested a bit of help. you’re more than happy to help, until resident hockey star megan skeindiel is hitting you up every week, expectantly waiting for you to hand them over...

ˎˊ˗ ❄️ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 🔓୭˚. ⠀ ᵎᵎ ⠀ 🗝️

➴ pairing: hockey player! megan skiendiel x english major!f!reader

➴ genre + wc: 10k, college au! one-sided enemies to friends, friends to lovers, dorky hockey jock megan, mostly fluff tbh

➴ you might want to tune in...: ditto - njz

┈─★ a/n: wigline was giving boyfriend in that livestream and i was trying to decide what sport before i was struck w the idea of megan and her beanie bros as wanna-be-frat-boy hockey stars. planning on making this part of a larger universe, goalie!lara and captain!dani coming next. enjoy!

eng121: intro to british literature. meets tuesday and thursday from 11:00 to 12:15.

you’re always a few minutes early, an easy walk considering your world history lecture is just upstairs. you’ve always been punctual, thus why you’re first to class every time. it’s definitely not so you can get a front row seat in the lecture hall to make a good impression on your favorite professor teaching your favorite subject.

the lecture hall starts to slowly trickle in. you don’t know anyone in this class, which is okay– you’re there to focus anyways, and given that your grade is an impeccable 98% by the end of week 5, you figure you’re doing something right. of course, minji and belle would say you’re doing way too much, every late night study session you pick instead of joining them for another party celebrating the hockey team–

your mind trails to thoughts of that damn women’s hockey team. they’re loud, they’re arrogant, and worst of all, they’re everywhere.

you hope they’re gone on an away game today. it’s so much easier to focus when they’re not there.

but unfortunately, you’re not that lucky. the idiots come bursting in through the door. a curly haired blonde, a grinning brunette with red tips, and the tallest of the three, a button-nosed ginger. each wearing the team’s signature letterman jacket. you hate the sight of that damn letterman jacket.

they’re rough housing with each other, pushing and shoving, until eventually, one of them crashes into your desk, sending your bookbag and its contents flying. you feel your teeth grit together— any closer and it would have been your coffee all over your brand new laptop.

“sorry, sorry,” the blonde screech-laughs, scrambling to catch herself before she tumbles. you spot the hickeys shamelessly scattered on her neck. you wouldn’t be the slightest bit surprised if she had showed up half drunk to class.

“bro, pick them up for her at least,” the red-haired one laughs.

“i got it,” you say through gritted teeth. you want to say as little as possible to these idiots.

but it’s the tall one who is kneeling down with you, scooping up your pens in her hands, offering them to you all while avoiding your gaze. “uh, sorry ‘bout that.”

“it’s fine.”

“cool miffy eraser.”

“thanks.”

is she expecting you to thank her? for picking up four pens and an eraser that her friend dropped?

your professor clears his throat once the teaching assistant arrives, signaling the start of class. the three stooges share a look between themselves before hurrying up the steps of the lecture hall, making their way up to a back row where you’re certain they’re planning to just good off and distract everyone for the rest of class.

you sigh as you return to your seat and focus on the words in front of you on your laptop. you hate hockey.

“hi y/n,” sophia, the delightfully nice upperclassman TA of your course approaches you as class ends. “got a minute?”

you nod, packing up your backpack. sophia has taught a few lessons in the course, her powerpoints engaging and meticulous, and you can’t help but admire how perfectly she navigates the content. talk about goals.

“the university resource center reached out to us and said a student is requesting accommodations. a note-taker is all they’re asking for. that means we can find someone in class to assign to take notes for the student.”

“me?” your eyebrows arch as your realize what she’s asking.

“i’ve been grading your class’ discussion posts. you very clearly love british literature.” she smiles, and you feel your neck burn at the compliment. “it’s a decent pay, and you can just offer whatever notes you’re already taking. we just need to let the student know by friday. let me know?”

minji gives you the push you need when you get home to your dorm later that day and explain your situation to your roommates.

“you’re already taking the notes. might as well get your bag,” she shrugs from her bed where she’s playing animal crossing.

belle nods in agreement. “plus, you love being helpful. our bleeding heart.”

you roll your eyes and shoot an email to sophia, receiving a smiley face as her reply just a few minutes later.

you printed out your notes up to that point in the quarter to have them ready for thursday’s lecture. sophia said she’ll introduce the two of you at the end of class, all you have to do is hang back. you ruffle through your backpack once class ends, tucking your laptop away as the last of your classmates begin to trickle out the door.

your professor waves to you as he leaves, and you happily get up from your seat to approach sophia.

at least– until you’re cut off by someone clumsily stepping in front of you, in a flash of ginger hair.

your heart drops. no way in hell.

“hi.” she says simply, face unreadable. today, her and the three stooges kept showing tik toks to each other in the middle of lecture, at least three accidentally blasting at full volume. you want to tell her the hell off for always disrupting your favorite class, but sophia’s eyes are eagerly on you, and you want to impress your new mentor.

“hi,” you manage to get out behind gritted teeth.

this girl is way too overdressed for an 11am english lit course. white button up shirt, a messily knotted tie, dickies and that stupid letterman jacket with the leather sleeves. the beanie she usually sports is nowhere to be found, letting you get a better look at her features.

not that you particularly care to look at her. she’s not even giving you the decency to look you in the eyes, instead, just fixing her glance at your hand and pointing.

“i need that,” she finally says after an awkward pause. she points again. “uh, those.”

“you?” you’re still in disbelief. you’re going to spend every thursday after class giving your beautiful, pristine notes to this entitled fuckboy jock?

“unless uh, if you’re not y/n y/ln, and those aren’t for me,” she adds, peeking down at her phone to confirm the details.

“i typed today’s lecture.” you feel a scream bubbling in your chest, but you manage to suppress it. “let me send them to you. let me give you my email.”

“ah, cool.” she hands you her phone, already opened to her student email account. you glance at the cinamoroll phone case, when she finally catches you off guard, adding a quick “thank you.”

“no problem.” well, yes problem, but maybe it’s more of an ego thing. at least she finally said thank you.

“if you could send, uh, all of them. that’d be easier.” the athlete scratches awkwardly at the back of her head. you’re a bit irritated that you wasted all that paper trying to print them and be polite, but whatever. bleeding heart or whatever belle said, you figure you can’t exactly be choosy about your good deeds if you want the karma.

“and we have an away game next week, so i’ll be missing class on tuesday. if you can email me then too…”

“got it.” when did you sign up to be a freaking personal assistant?

“thank you.” she dips her head down, lips pressing together into a fine line. “i’m megan.”

“bye megan,” you wave, before snatching up your backpack and getting the hell out of there.

you’re left in peace next week as the three stooges aren’t there on tuesday.

thursday rolls around, and megan is waiting for you in the hallway by the door again, leaning against the wall. you’re starting to feel extremely irritated by the whole situation. she didn’t even reply to your emails from last week or this week to say thank you for the notes you emailed. at the very least, she could let you know that she got them, right?

“you can just email them, all of them, in the future. save the paper,” she tells you as you hand her your annotated paper copy of that week’s powerpoint. you squint at her and walk off without a word.

the one good thing that comes out of this arrangement is that sophia invites you to get coffee with her after class, and your mentor becomes one of your favorite friends in the span of a week.

“i didn’t know you got accommodations for being a jock that misses half a semester’s worth of class,” you say irritatedly as you pick your order up off the counter.

sophia laughs. “i’m so sorry… they don’t tell me why they need the notes, just that they’re approved for them.”

“ugh, i’d kill for someone to give me all their notes,” minji, who tagged along, complains. “stupid hockey players get everything handed to them.”

“do you think that’s really it though? like they get free access to a notewriter because they miss so much class? and the university obviously wants to keep making money off of them,” you speculate. “holy shit. that’s so unfair.”

“i don’t know anything about how the student athlete system works,” sophia wrinkles her nose.

you’ve already made up your mind. come this thursday, you’re putting your foot down.

thursday’s class comes. megan’s stupid blonde friend does actually spill your coffee this time. now, you’re not only pissed with megan, but pissed with everything that surrounds her. her friends leave the lecture hall with the taller girl trailing behind them, but you grab her by the sleeve to stop her. she’s dressed normally today: beanie, hoodie, sweats, and that stupid jacket on top of it all.

“y/n,” she greets, almost cheerfully. “you don’t have to keep waiting for me, the emails are fine-”

“i don’t think you deserve my notes any more,” you cut her off. you’re waiting for it, the entitlement, the meltdown, whatever it is that shitty people who take advantage of you do, but it never comes.

megan simply wrinkles her nose and shrugs, scratching awkwardly at her forehead.

“well, i’m dyslexic, so there’s that.”

“oh my god.” that’s why she got the accommodation approved. not because she’s a jock. you’re swept over by a wave of instant regret. you pray to god you’ll live this down. “i am so sorry.”

“your notes are also really, really helpful.” megan holds up the paper she had been hiding in her hand. a bright red 72 is circled on the quiz.

“a C?”

“technically a C minus,” she corrects you playfully. “and it’s the best i’ve done on one of these stupid quizzes since the semester started.”

you feel your nose burn with embarrassment. “i’m sorry.”

“i’d be annoyed too if someone took advantage from all my hard work.” she offers a tilt of her head. “i promise i’ll be more grateful.”

“no, you don’t have to do that.” you’re still reeling from megan’s quiet confession. “i was being neurotic.”

“here, ah, put your number in,” she hands you her silly cinnamoroll phone case. “i’ll send you a QR code, you can scan it for free drinks at the cafe. student athlete discount.”

“i’m sorry again,” you grimace.

she shakes her head. the smile playing on her lips stirs something in the pit of your stomach.

“it’s no worries. i’ll see you next week.”

two weeks after your whole expose on megan, you two have fallen into a cordial rhythm of nodding to each other at the end of every class. you appreciate that she acknowledges you now.

however, this does not diminish your burning hatred for the hockey team as a whole.

you’re in the middle of impressing your professor, explaining the contrast between romanticism and modern cynicism, bringing in points you had connected from your intro to philosophy class.

but it’s hard to finish the thoughts when the three stooges are causing a ruckus from their corner of the room. you see lara smack dani in the shoulder, the two struggling to catch their breaths in between silent laughs. megan, stuck in the middle of them, looks clearly distressed.

your eyes meet, and you swear there’s something apologetic in the way she looks at you.

your professor is equally as unpleased as you are, glaring at the trio as you finish your thoughts.

“miss skiendiel? any thoughts?”

you can’t help but feel bad. if anything, megan was the least guilty of the three. it was the other two that were giggling like little stupid frat boys.

“uh yeah,” megan leans back in her chair, clearing her throat. she’s quiet for a few moments before she simply shrugs and scratches at her nose. “ditto, y/ln.”

dani bursts out into laugher and a few other snickers are heard throughout the lecture hall. you grit your teeth. is she too cool to care? you had started to let yourself think that maybe she was more than a mindless jock just coasting through classes so she could focus on playing. but every chance she gets, megan just feeds the fire.

she tries to nod at you after class, but you’re not having it. it surprises you when she steps into your way, ducking her head down to meet your gaze. you curse silently at how much taller she is than you.

“hey,” she chirps.

“what do you want?”

“i’m sorry about them. they’re—“ she pauses, processing your tone. “hold up, are you annoyed with me?”

“i shouldn’t be?” you snap.

“why would you? i was trying to tell them to shut up.”

“and then you opened your mouth, and it was like you couldn’t be bothered. you act like you’re above it all.”

she’s staring at you in disbelief, that stupid beanie obstructing her brows but you can see the confusion in her eyes. those big round puppy dog eyes widen.

“that? y/n, you think my dumb ass is gonna be able to come up with something on the spot right after you just sounded so smart? much less in front of everyone?”

“you’re always so over it.” you roll your eyes, reaching down to grab your backpack. “care at least a little.”

“y/n, listen to me.” megan holds her hand out to stop you and her voice drops, but it’s not threatening. it’s almost… shy? “y/n, you scare the fucking shit out of me. that’s why i’m so quiet. i’m trying to think of what to say.”

you blink back in confusion. “i’m not scary.”

“you’re like a super genius.” the athlete gives you a pleading look. “my brain feels like i dropped it in the toilet and soaked it in rice.”

you laugh at her comparison. she grins and you figure you can forgive her, at least this time.

“that’s dramatic.”

“i’m hopeless. your notes are the only thing keeping me holding on.”

you feel an ache in your chest. megan isn’t all that bad— just a girl desperate to make progress even if she’s sinking.

“are you busy tonight? i can come help you study,” you offer, and you can already hear belle clowning you for your charity work.

her grin widens, exposing the whites of her extremely nice teeth. you feel yourself soften, even if just for a moment.

“you’d be saving my life. i’ll text you my dorm after practice.”

“don’t stand me up,” you warn. you wonder if it went to your head, hearing megan admit you intimidate her.

but then her lips curl into a playful smile, nodding as she strides backwards out of the classroom. “yeah, ditto, y/n. i better see you then.”

you’re in her building as soon as she texts you that she’s out just a few hours later. you double check the number on the door and feel your heart pound as her neighbor walks out, eyeing you up and down before heading down the hall. ugh, you pray you don’t look desperate.

“megan?” you call out, knocking on the door. the door gives way, clearly not locked or even closed all the way, and you immediately spot the flash of bright orange hair. she’s hunched over in front of her bed, eyes fixed on the laptop with a set of headphones covering her ears. her hair is in two braids falling over her shoulders.

“y/n! sorry, these things are noise cancelling,” she apologizes, motioning for you to come join her. you step in, and she tries to turn the laptop away from you, which you flag as suspicious. “i got started without you.”

you lean over a little further and roll your eyes as you see what’s actually pulled up. it’s a hockey game.

“so much for studying time, skiendiel.”

“no, no,” she says hurriedly, pulling the headphones completely off her head. “i’m listening to your notes. look.”

she pulls up her phone and true to her word, she’s using speech to text to read the document out through her headphones.

your heart breaks at her brows furrowing together, those dark eyes pleading up at you. she’s just a fucking puppy.

“it’s the only way i can focus. i have to watch my games back to relax. i already did my workouts, ate, packed for tomorrow. it’s the only way i can fit everything in and not go crazy.”

“i can read them to you,” you offer.

“i can read,” megan wrinkles her nose. “i just waste more energy trying to figure it out than actually retaining anything.”

“i can read, and explain it to you,” you modify your initial suggestion, before you even realize what you’re doing. why are you so eager to help this girl? a month ago you were complete strangers, and she was the bane of your existence.

but there she is, the jock you hoped would never show up to class again, looking up at you with the most round brown eyes that keep rustling something in you. is it pity?

“you must think i’m so fucking stupid,” she grimaces, shaking her head.

“i think you’re willing to work hard,” you tell her gently. “that counts for a lot in my book, actually.”

she says nothing, flipping open her copy of the class textbook. but the look she gives you, warm and full of gratitude, says everything.

you two spend the next hour, criss crossed on her floor, papers and books strewn around you. your review is going better than you anticipated: she’s quiet, focused, and attentive to all the comparisons you draw.

“i hate this fuckass romantic period,” megan hisses as you finish your next reading of a lord byron piece. you noticed her brows furrowing halfway through as she tries to keep up. “so much poetry bullshit.”

“you’re good at poetry. it’s all metaphors for big feelings,” you encourage her, before a memory that comes to mind helps carry your point across. “the thing you said about your brain the other day was an amazing metaphor.”

“that? my brainrot? i speak like that ‘cause i can’t figure out how to say what i really want.”

you realize what it is, your question from earlier. it isn’t pity. megan is just a nervous, hard-on-herself girl, stuck in the expectations of others, a victim even to your unfair judgement. literature has always come easily to you– you can’t imagine how hard it must be for someone to be trying to navigate that at a disadvantage and still give it their all.

you put a finger on it. it’s not pity. it’s admiration.

“it paints a picture, perfectly,” you tell her, pushing back against what you realize is her constant cloud of self-doubt. she shakes her head, but the smile is there, telling you you’ve broken through to her. you press on, preparing the next passage to read out loud. “just imagine these old white dudes are trying to do the same.”

you don’t finish up until 10pm, when her roommate enters and seems genuinely surprised to see you both.

“hi marsh,” she greets.

“ah, i was wondering why our neighbor warned me that you had a girl over,” the accented girl greets, grinning cheekily. “they couldn’t possibly imagine you’d just be studying.”

you see megan’s face burn red. you laugh to cover up the flash of heat that takes to your neck from the speculation.

“they’re conspiring against me ‘cause i’m really not like that,” megan groans, standing up hurriedly. “you’re gonna make my tutor think i’m a piece of shit.”

“don’t let her fool you,” the brunette smiles warmly, pointing at megan. “heart of gold, this one.”

“ah okay, now that’s too much.” megan tries to bury her face in her shoulder awkwardly, handing you your shoes. “let me walk you out.”

belle texts you to remind you that she’s outside the dorm to pick up dinner with you, like you had agreed. megan walks you down, waving awkwardly to your roommate before turning to you with that same awkward wave.

“uh, bye. thank you again. made a lot of sense when you broke it down.”

“i’m happy to come by again soon, if it made a difference,” you smile.

“only if you were already planning to study by yourself. don’t go out of your way for me,” she tells you forcefully.

“i’m happy to,” you reassure her. “good night megan.”

maybe you catch her off guard by saying her name, but the way her eyes widen makes you laugh. there’s something charming about her undeniable awkwardness. she waves again, and watches carefully from the building doors as you stride up to belle, waiting for you on a nearby bench.

“that’s your charity project?” she questions, “your horrible hockey jock?”

“i might’ve been quick to judge,” you admit, looking over your shoulder. megan is still there, leaning against the doorframe, watching you guys walk off. “she’s not all bad.”

“not all bad? you made her seem irredeemable,” belle laughs, looping her arm in yours.

her only crime is liking hockey and being awkward. you sigh, and belle changes the subject, but you’re stuck thinking about it for the rest of the night. megan deserves a chance to show you who she is before you decide it for her.

and she does exactly that. megan, once she feels more comfortable, turns out to be a complete goofball. you’re laughing so hard at her stupid jokes one study session that you cough up red bull out of your nose and megan nearly passes out laughing with you. megan exposes that despite the hockey player stereotype, she is completely harmless. you watch her awkwardly let people cut her in line, or sip a drink made incorrectly when you get coffee together, all because she’s too nervous to speak up. megan is a mama’s girl and has nightly calls with her mom, sometimes interrupting your sessions, but she’s quick to mumble an ‘i love you too, mom,’ when she thinks you can’t hear her. and you learn that megan, more than anything, loves hockey.

megan is also insanely humble, and is used to hard work. you start to realize just how much the athlete has on her plate.

you guys are leaving class one day, trying to decide when your next study session should be, when she explains what a normal day looks like for her. conditioning, nutrition, physical therapy for an old back strain, at least a half hour every night of reviewing her game tapes to see how she could have played better. and that’s not even including the hour-and-a-half practices she attends every day. and in megan’s case, you realized, she shows up an hour early to get a head start. that’s not even to mention the travel time involved with away games.

no wonder she only hangs around those stupid jock friends of hers. with the exception of her roommate, it doesn’t seem like she’d have much time to make friends outside of that.

you’ll admit, however, that lara and daniela are slowly growing on you. dani lives in your dorm building, and lara is the only one with a car on campus, so megan will sometimes end up inviting them to come and study with you guys. lara, confident and forward, is extremely friendly and makes you feel at ease once you stop seeing her as some frat boy wanna-be. dani, a self-proclaimed attention whore that you discover also is extremely emotional, has a laugh so infectious it’s easy to see why her and lara are usually distracted in class.

and then megan, tagging along like their dorky little sibling, constantly begging them to stop drawing attention to themselves. you start to read her face, noticing when she’s dying of embarrassment from something they do.

you start to really know megan, and she lets herself be known, an open and honest response for every question you ask as your friendship deepens over the weeks.

“why do you come to class so dressed up sometimes?” you ask one night, trying to figure out how to help her pre-loop up her tie for the next day. you’re sick of seeing that crooked knot on her neck and offered to teach yourself on youtube to help her out.

“you’re supposed to dress formal on game days.” she explains. “like, to respect the sport or whatever.”

“i see,” you hum, trying to focus on remembering where the next loop goes through. you realize on the days megan is dressed up, you see a ton of people wearing their fan merch. you finally connect the dots. “i didn’t realize this many people liked hockey.”

“yeah, ‘cause you’re a giant nerd and don’t pay attention to sports. hockey is our biggest sport here.” megan teases. “half of our graduates go pro.”

“oh,” you blink. you’re becoming painfully aware of how close you two are, your fingers sliding behind her neck to tuck the tie behind her collar. “you must like the attention.”

“no. i like the game.” megan’s still awkward, but as your friendship has grown, she’s gotten better at correcting your incorrect assumptions. “the attention makes me lose focus.”

“do you wanna go pro?” you ask.

“yes,” megan says, and it’s quiet like a confession.

“i think you can do it.” you say it so confidently, but megan lets out a deep breath that tells you she’s doubted this. you hope she takes your faith in her to heart.

“i would say you should come see a game, but you wouldn’t know the difference if i played great or got my ass beat out there,” she laughs.

“i think you’re the hardest working person i know. you’ll make anything happen.”

“that’s really nice, y/n.” she watches as your fingers finish the final loop, pulling the knot into her collar snugly. “you’ve always been so down to believe in me.”

“promise you won’t forget about me when you make it big?” you grin teasingly. you smooth out her collar around her tie before feeling your neck burn at the proximity between you two. and yet, you don’t find yourself rushing to move away.

megan’s eyes draw to you with something in them, something gentle and different than before.

“of course,” she smiles, but there’s something more. you’re not brave enough to ask her about it.

your phone buzzes you awake. you don’t bother to reach for your glasses, simply seeing 1:29am is enough to irritate you. but then you see the contact photo, a goofy candid of megan with her beanie pulled down over her eyes, and you figure you can’t be that mad.

you slip into the hallway to not wake belle and minji before picking up.

“hi.”

“y/n?” her voice is raspy and so, so sweet. you wonder if she’s just as tired as you are. “what’s up, what do you need?”

“you called me, dumbass.” you laugh. “in the middle of the night, i might add.”

“oh shit, right right,” she says cooly.

you laugh again. megan’s humor is so, so stupid, and you have no clue how she can manage to make you laugh every single time.

“how’s the hotel?” you ask. it’s an away game against washington state.

“too stuffy, and we have a red-eye in like three hours.” she sighs. “daniela just got back from partying and woke me up.”

“at least she didn’t bring anyone back to the room this time,” you say.

“god, please do not remind me of that, y/n,” megan pleads, and you can picture the way she’d give you that panicked glare at the memory. you laugh at the way she told the story when it had first happened– rooming with dani for a game against oregon when the blonde made megan sleep in the bathroom so she could hook up with a sorority girl. megan described being traumatized by what she could hear through the door, and you nearly died of laughter.

“try to sleep. red-eyes can be brutal.”

“i’ll nap when i’m back home,” she reassures you. you’re already planning out what you’ll bring her for lunch as a celebration. you didn’t know much, but you knew that these semi-finals were no joke.

(you don’t mention minji clowning you for tracking the score of the game, and sophia giving you a questioning look when you screamed in the middle of the dining hall once megan’s team had won.)

“i’m literally whispering and dani says i’m making too much noise. i’ll kill her,” megan adds, and you can practically hear the eye-roll.

“you’re not killing anybody, you big dork,” you laugh. “you should go to sleep.”

“fine fine, bye hater.”

“good night, megan.”

“good night, y/n.”

you attempt to pay no mind to the flutter in your chest as you make your way back into your dorm, diving into your bed. before you close your eyes, a text from megan makes that flutter even harder to ignore.

wanted to hear your voice

yeah?

i get homesick on the road :/

aw you poor baby

thanks for picking up

sure jsyk u can call whenever, you big baby

ditto

“what are you doing tomorrow?” she asks you, after a session in your room where you’ve finished drilling the different dates of publications into her head with a stupid memorization song.

“i don’t have any plans besides–”

“besides reading books by boring dead dudes,” megan gripes. “some of the older girls are having a party to celebrate making it to the championships. you should come. you can bring your roommates. the house is so close, it’s like a 20 minute walk from the dorms.”

“i’ll think about it,” you smile.

“think about what?” belle’s voice rings out as she enters the room at the perfect time.

“just a small house party. i’ve never seen you out before, y/n,” megan says.

“y/n’s a homebody, but i’ll get her there. send me the details?” belle grins.

you groan as the two exchange numbers, seeming much too devious for your liking. but the night ends, the next day passes by, and you won’t give megan the satisfaction of letting her know how excited you are about this as your uber drops you and your roomies off far later in the night than you’d like to be awake.

minji squints as the music pounds from the house, barely containing the people that you see through each window. the three of you let yourselves in, immediately met by familiar faces.

“i thought you said small?” belle laughs as lara and daniela greet you with hugs.

“dani posted it to her public story instead of her private,” lara snorts. “half the university is here.”

“if my crime is to love being surrounded by beautiful women, fuckin’ arrest me,” dani defends herself, hands in the air.

“y/n.” megan’s voice rings out from behind you. your heart thuds as she stands there smiling, like a puppy wagging its tail. “you made it.”

“take this with me!” dani grins, handing you a cup of god knows what. you haven’t had enough experience to know your tolerance, but you figure you can start with one and go from there. the blonde cheers as the drink disappears down your throat, megan giving you a concerned yet amused look.

“you’ll die if you try to keep up with her,” she laughs. “she’s fucking crazy.”

“thanks for the tip,” you smile back. you see the cup in her hand. “should i keep up with you instead?”

“it’s gatorade,” she grins sheepishly. “i’m play to win, and i don’t like to take risks the week of such a big game. i try not to even let myself get upset. gotta focus, y’know.”

“well let’s pour one out for baby megs,” lara toasts, pouring from a bottle into everyone’s cups. “and y/n, who saved our girl from academic probation!”

“alright lar, not too much now,” megan wrinkles her nose.

you laugh, and her eyes meet yours, a smile behind their warmth. you’re surrounded by some of the most exciting people you’ve ever met, and yet all you want to do is find a quiet corner and talk to this dork. you feel your chest tense with a weight of something, but you shake your head before the thoughts can develop.

“gonna go get another drink,” you excuse yourself quickly. maybe you need something stronger, just for tonight.

you’re in the kitchen pouring yourself something random when the flash of ginger hair catches your attention from the other room. except, megan’s not alone, and there’s a girl standing a bit too close, touching something on megan’s forearm.

your mouth goes dry. you’d spent so long getting to know the side of megan the world doesn’t see, it hadn’t occurred to you that she could still have a bad side to her. is it even a bad side to be flirting with a cute girl at a college party? you swallow a lump in your throat and drink whatever you’ve put in your cup. of course she’s allowed to do what she wants, and that doesn’t make her a bad person.

you look up again, and megan leans down to whisper something in the girl’s ear. the girl laughs a little too hard, touching her arm again in the process. megan’s funny, but there’s no way she’s that funny, and plus, the only person who ever laughs that hard–

you pause. the only person that laughs that hard at her is you.

the shots you took are catching up to you. you race outside to the front yard to try and get some fresh air, accidentally shoving into a guy who’s lingering by the door.

“woah, slow down there,” he snaps.

“please don’t talk to me,” you reply quickly, head still spinning

“don’t come to my house and be rude as shit,” he growls in response. “i’ll stop talking to you when i want to stop talking to you.”

you try to diffuse it by walking away, but he grabs you by the arm to make you look at him. you feel hot tears spring from your eyes. an angry frat boy is the last thing you can handle right now.

“no smartass comebacks? c’mon, push back you little bitch.”

before you can even do anything, she’s there, like a knight in shining armor, the outside of her forearm crushing against his windpipe as she shoves him into the wall. the movement comes easily to megan, no doubt her 15 years of aggression on the ice. her eyes are wide, darker than you’ve ever seen them before.

she barely registers him before those brown eyes come to you. you feel your breath catch in your chest with the way she looks at you.

megan drops him in an instant, instead coming to chase you down.

“i couldn’t think of anything cool to say to scare him.” you realize she’s shaking, her voice quivering. she’s unnerved, but her presence is so so comforting, her rambles are somehow exactly what you need. “i wanted to say ‘i’ll fucking kill you’ and then ‘i’ll kick your ass’ but instead i almost said ‘i’ll fuck your ass.’”

you manage a snort through your tears. somehow, megan makes you laugh even through this.

“‘i’ll fuck your ass’ may have been scarier, actually,” you laugh, sniffling.

“god, y/n.” her brows are knit together in concern. she looks up at the sidewalk, the dorm lights barely visible down the street. “can i make sure you get home okay?”

“it’s so late already, i can’t let you walk back alone.” you shake your head.

“i’m sure as hell not letting you walk alone.” she scoffs, before giving you a nod of reassurance. “dani lives in your building, i’ll sleep at her’s once i’m in the dorm, i have her keycode. please.”

somehow, despite it being god knows how late, you know nothing is going to happen as long as megan is there. she insists on giving you her jacket and as much as you push back, she ignores you and drapes the zip-up over your shoulders anyways. she chats your ear off about how excited she is for friday’s game and before you know it, you’re back in your room, wobbling on unsteady feet through the dorm, grateful your roommates are still partying it up.

“thank you, for everything,” you tell her, watching as you sit on your bed and she quietly unlaces your shoes.

“i owe you a lot, that was nothing.” she shrugs, tossing your shoes into the corner. “if i’m good for anything, i’m good for shoulder checking weirdos.”

you laugh. “hopefully that’s the last time i’ll need your services.”

“you can need me forever,” megan tells you softly, smile on her lips. “i’m here.”

“i judged you so hard when i first met you,” you confess, falling backwards onto your bed. you blink, staring up at the ceiling. “i was so wrong about you.”

“yeah?” she laughs, taking a seat next to you to help put your hair into a bun.

“you’re such a sweetheart,” you sigh, sitting up. your hand brushes a tress of her hair out of her face. “biggest, most thoughtful dork i know.”

“i’m not dorky,” megan furrows her brow. you laugh as her nose scrunches up.

“you were talking to someone, i’m sorry.”

“she was talking to herself and calling it a conversation. i promise, as soon as i saw you walk out, i followed you asap.”

you feel yourself studying her, your heart pressing against your ribcage with something eager to come out.

“i bet you kiss so many girls.” the words spill out of you as the alcohol takes its toll. “how come you’ve never tried to kiss me?”

you see megan’s cheeks flush red, her gaze fixed on the tv as she pulls up a 10 hour dancing fruit video to leave on in the background.

“i don’t kiss that many girls,” she defends herself softly.

“you’re so special. megan the future superstar.” you groan, realizing how fleeting your friendship is. all you’ll probably be is a footnote in her life’s story. you furrow your brows. “i want a kiss from megan the future superstar.”

as drunk as you are, you’re shocked when she seems to comply.

your breath hitches as she leans in. her lips press gently against your temple.

“there.” she whispers, checking down at her phone. “minji and belle will be here soon, okay? good night, y/n.”

she pulls your blanket up over your shoulders and slips into the hallway. you’re too out of it to ask her to stay.

you wake up, and realize someone is in your bed.

you panic for a brief second before you realize that person is playing animal crossing on their switch, completely unbothered by you gaining consciousness. you’ve never been so grateful to see minji before, even if she is smothering you as you cram into the twin sized bed.

“she’s alive,” minji calls out from next to you. belle comes out of the bathroom, freshly showered, and pulls something out of the mini-fridge for you. a pedialyte in your favorite flavor and some pain relievers.

“thank you,” you sigh to your roommates, feeling your head pound as you sit up and start to chug, swearing off college parties for the rest of your years.

“can’t take credit. your jock left them for you this morning,” belle informs you, a teasing grin.

“oh god, megan,” you wince, recalling your behavior from the night before.

“she wouldn’t go away,” minji complains. “not until i texted her a picture of me in your bed so she knew i was there.”

“she does the same thing when i walk home with y/n from their study dates.” belle says. “just watches us from the doorway until we can’t see her any more.”

“y/n adopted a stray,” minji teases.

“if you say some shit about a bleeding heart, i’ll throw up in your bed specifically,” you threaten belle, and your roommates laugh at you as you let out another groan. you figure skipping class for the first time all semester won’t kill you as you lay back down.

after skipping all your classes, you’re at a table in the dining hall, meal untouched, your focus instead on trying to draft a text to megan that even begins to fix the mess you left behind last night. you’ve been at the same table for at least an hour, trying to figure out how to even start.

“hey, y/ln.” you recognize the voice as dani’s, calling out from behind your booth. “can’t hang?”

“leave her alone, dani.” the voice makes you freeze in place. you didn’t even get a chance to send your text.

“we missed you last night for spin the bottle,” dani grins. “meg had to get it on with that cheerleader.”

despite all the work you did last night to remember megan’s allowed to do what she wants, your stomach drops at dani’s reveal.

“yeah, okay, go away,” megan groans, shooing the blonde. dani complies, and megan sits so you’re alone in the booth together, side by side. she rests her head in her hand on the table. “so…”

“i’m really sorry about all i put you through last night,” you immediately start, feeling the regret press in your ribs.

“you don’t have to be,” she tells you softly, head shaking.

“no, i am.” you insist, realizing how stupid it was of you to think anything would ever come of this. megan doesn’t see you as anything but a tutor, a familiar face at best who she’ll leave behind as soon as she makes it big. “i got so caught up. in the game, the party, the celebration.”

“oh. um, yeah?” she asks quietly.

“you’re not a hockey star to me. you’re just megan.” you furrow your brows. “i’m sorry again for all that.”

you were hoping it would clear things up. but it’s like a cloud comes over megan, her gaze hard and more importantly, avoiding yours.

“no yeah, totally,” she wrinkles her nose, eyes clamping shut. you wonder what’s coming over her and panic that you’ve done something you can’t take back. you try to pivot away quickly.

“your game’s tonight, right?” you ask, but she’s already getting up from the table, gathering her bookbag in her hand.

“megan?” you check in.

“yeah, don’t worry about coming,” she tells you, shaking her head. “i know it’s not your thing.”

and before you can utter a single word more, she’s gone.

you take a couple of hours to try to do homework in the library, but you couldn’t possibly focus. not with megan’s final expression haunting you, the pained scrunch of her nose, her inability to bring herself to look at you. you have a tab open to a youtube livestream of the game that you can’t seem to draw your eyes away from.

“you look constipated,” minji says plainly as you get back to the dorm.

“you are such a-” you stop yourself. you’re not angry at minji, you’re angry at yourself. no need to take out a civilian in the crossfire. you suck in a deep breath and try again. “minji, please be nice to me for once. i’m having a shit day.”

“cheer up.” she says so devoid of emotion, you wonder if she was dropped as a baby. but then she’s handing you a card, in handwriting familiar to you but definitely not minji’s own. “your puppy dog gave this to me when we got coffee.”

your eyes nearly bug out of your head. “you got coffee together? today? since when do you hang out?”

“when you were passed out this morning. and i said she was determined, not that i didn’t like her.” you’ll never understand how this girl’s brain works. “anyways, letter, for you.”

you want to ask so many more questions, but a lightbulb goes off as you try to think about the web of connections at this university.

“and your friendship has nothing to do with the fact that you’ve been admiring her roommate from afar with absolutely zero rizz to approach her with? are you trying to have her put in a good word?”

you would pay to watch minji’s demeanor crack like this again.

“wah, shut up. you spread lies on my good name.” she shakes her head furiously, but nothing ever triggers minji, so you know you’ve hit a soft spot when she gets this worked up. “megan is…”

“the closest you’re ever going to get to danielle marsh,” you burst out laughing.

“shut up and read your letter.”

you open the envelope and a ticket falls out. today’s date, 7pm, the championship game at your university ice arena.

y/n. i wrote this by hand and took my time. thank you for everything this semester. i think meeting you was my favorite part of this year. i’m grateful you saw me, the way you really saw me. hope that makes sense. hanging out with you felt like being a book that someone finally took off the shelf and opened up. hope to see you at my big game. i saved you a seat by the box, so you can help me study in between plays.

– megan

ps. just kidding about the studying thing, don’t you dare bring a book into my sacred space. anyways, thanks again.

“minji, i think i fucked up,” you breathe quietly. how unfair to keep judging megan when this whole time, she’s shown you exactly who she is. was it easier to say megan was this or that in order to soothe your own confused feelings? who did it ultimately hurt in the end?

“what would belle say?” the girl asks. “go bleed your heart out or whatever.”

you don’t correct her. it’s honestly the perfect advice.

you check your phone and see the game is at halftime, and they’re down 0-2. the stadium is on the other side of campus, but you remember megan’s words from the party. she doesn’t even try to let herself feel upset the week of a game, and there you are on the night of her team’s championship game, being the worst friend possible to her.

your heart races, then aches. you have to make this right, the sooner the better. you order an uber and pray this is the right call.

you race into the stadium and realize it’s absolutely packed with thousands of people, and thunderously loud. it looks like a professional stadium, even at the college level. the game is tied now, 2-2, but you remember enough of what megan’s told you to recognize that they’ve gone into overtime. next to score wins.

you stumble hurriedly down the steps before you make it to the front row. just as the note said, there’s an open seat directly in front of the player box. you see the flash of ginger hair from under a helmet, hunched over on the bench as she watches the play, clearly nervous. you lock your gaze on her and run up to the plexiglass wall.

there’s a tiny slot in the glass, usually where the players hand a dead puck or a broken stick through the slot to an eager fan, but you’re too desperate to get a hold of megan that you yell to her through it, hoping she can hear you over all the noise.

“megan!”

she looks around confusedly, before turning around to see you against the glass.

“y/n?”

“you deserve so much more than an apology, but i can at least start with saying i’m sorry,” you know the confession is terrible timing wise, but you’ll never live with yourself if you don’t get it off your chest, especially on such an important night for megan. “i’ve been so horrible to you, assuming all the worst, and you’ve been nothing but an angel to me. ugh, i just…i feel so stupid, because i know how this ends, and i don’t want to get hurt, but i feel like i’ll regret it if i don’t say something.”

“how this ends?” you see megan’s brows furrow together underneath her face guard. “y/n, i could never even dream of hurting you.”

“you didn’t want to kiss me,” you remind her, but you don’t want it to feel like a guilt trip. “and that’s okay, i just know that changed a lot and-”

“because you were drunk.” she cuts you off, shaking her head quickly, her nose wrinkling as she clamps her eyes shut. “that’s- it’s just- fuck.”

“what?” you ask, but before you can finish, daniela slams into the player box and leans in towards megan.

“kazuha’s getting killed out there. she needs a stronger center out, coach is gonna put you in,” dani yells over the roar of the crowd, reaching over to grab a fast sip of water. she shoots a look at you, then a warning glare at megan to wrap it up. “30 seconds.”

“y/n—“

30 seconds is all you need. you won’t waste your shot.

“megan, i really like you. as in, really like you.” you feel the hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you finally hear the words out loud. “as in, i think i’m falling for you, which is so scary. i’m sorry for messing up our friendship. these feelings are way too huge for me to push away. knowing you was amazing and i don’t want you thinking for a second that it wasn’t.”

“skiendiel, in for center. push up and get that puck into that damn net!” coach yells, tapping the back of the ginger’s helmet to get her attention.

megan gives you a look, your confession hanging in the air, before she leaps over the door and back onto the ice.

she’s so insanely fast. you don’t have to know hockey to know she’s zipping circles around the other team, their yells of frustration loud and clear as megan swipes in to intercept pass after pass.

she’s so focused. you watch in awe.

dani is yelling something to which kazuha nods, dropping her shoulders to book it towards megan. megan uses their proximity to take the pass, running the puck once more up the ice. the defense of the other team are playing dirty, a high stick to the eye immediately taking daniela flat down onto the ice. lara calls for a foul from her spot in the goalie’s box, but the ref didn’t see it, so the play goes on at break-neck speed.

despite the chaos, megan is locked in to what she needs to do.

she spits the puck back out in a blazing pass back to kazuha, spinning off an incoming check from another player. she eyes the goal for a split moment, the clock trickling down into its final seconds, before kazuha’s pass is already blasting towards her.

megan shows no hesitation. she checks a defense into the wall before spinning off, stick lifting into the air to take the most perfect shot off kazuha’s pass.

your breath catches in your throat as the puck seems to suspend in air, everything going in slow motion. then, your eyes meet, in the middle of it all.

the goal lights up red just as the buzzer hits. the entire stadium erupts into a deafening roar as you watch megan get swarmed by her entire team. final score 3-2.

they’re cheering as a team, but you see the flash of ginger hair as a helmet comes off and a body starts skating back towards you. you move to the tunnel, where megan comes off the ice and can finally be face to face with you. she’s breathing heavy, stray hairs clinging to her face through the sweat.

“i didn’t kiss you that night because i wanted it to be perfect.” megan’s still catching her breath, but she seems desperate to clear her name. you feel frozen in front of her, but she presses on earnestly. “i didn’t want it to be another kiss with a random stranger i’d forget about in a week. i’ve spent too much time thinking about kissing you. i didn’t want it to be anything less than perfect for you.”

“i’m crazy about you, y/n,” she gasps breathlessly, arm wrapping around your waist without hesitation. “i like everything about you. i like you so much it scares me.”

“why didn’t you say anything?” is all you can manage, shaking your head in disbelief.

“are you serious?” megan lets out a high pitched laugh. “look at you. you’re the most brilliant, incredible, hilarious, kind person i know. i didn’t think i stood a chance. i’m nowhere near cool enough or smart enough to think i was good enough to talk to you, let alone getting to be your friend. it was so worth it to just be your friend. i would have been happy with that forever.”

you feel your head spin. megan thinks all this about you?

“i literally asked you to kiss me,” you press, confused about how it could have been misread.

“i didn’t think you were being weird about me being popular. when you cleared that up, my next thought was that you were pitying me, like how you pity-tutored me.” she confesses. “i overthought and it messed me up. i’m sorry.”

“if you don’t just damn kiss already,” lara barks at you guys as the team starts to trickle off the ice and into the tunnel, daniela grinning teasingly right behind her as she ices her eye. you wince at how bad her eye looks following that high stick, but then you realize what she’s teasing you about.

you look back at megan, those perfect brown eyes searching for something in yours. you can’t possibly understand how someone who just won her team a national championship can still seem so hesitant.

“may i?” she tilts her head eagerly.

“oh my god, asking permission after all that.” you groan and wrap your arms around her neck, head reeling from all that’s just unfolded. “megan, you chivalrous loser, i swear to god.”

she grins something so angelic, you choose to forgive her.

and the kiss she gives you, gentle yet eager, her arms wrapping around your waist to anchor you in place, is so, so perfect. so insanely worth the wait.

you walk into your 11am intro to british literature class that tuesday, door held open for you by your chivalrous loser.

sophia’s grading papers at the professor’s desk when eyes drop to your hands (your interlaced, holding-hands-with-megan hands) and smiles at you so giddily, you can’t help but smile back at her just as big. she’s never going to let you live this down.

dani and lara sit in the row directly behind you guys, hooting and making kissy noises to taunt their younger teammate. you won’t admit how much these idiots have grown on you.

megan’s arm snakes behind your shoulders as she leans back in her seat next to you. her laptop is already out, open to a new document. you’re so insanely proud of her for her determination.

you’re too busy admiring her to realize you’re staring, and by the time you’re aware, she’s side-eyeing you.

“eyes on your own paper, cheater.”

“oh my god, class hasn’t even started yet. you literally haven’t even typed anything.”

her fingers quickly hit the keyboard, a few strokes before she turns the computer to face you.

i <3 my super cool gf

girlfriend. your heart races at the memory of how you made it official over the weekend after being her date to all the celebratory dinners. you smile and type something back.

i <3 my dorky sweet gf

megan won’t ever let you catch a break. “oh, so you get to be cool and i’m just a dork again?”

“my dork now,” you remind her.

“you’re on thin ice,” she rolls her eyes. “you’ll have to take me on a date to make up for it.”

she reaches forward to take your hand in hers, letting them dangle between the desks. you give her hand a gentle squeeze. she peers at you from the corner of her eye, scrunches her nose, and re-focuses on the board as the professor sets up his presentation.

this stupid letterman jacket you’ve always talked shit about is actually kinda warm. at least, you like it a whole lot better when you’re the one wearing it.

“i like you so much,” you breathe quietly as the lecture begins.

she smiles eagerly, bringing your hand up to plant a kiss along your knuckles. she’s been so open about her affection for you, you feel like you’re in a dream.

“the guy is trying to teach,” she chastizes you, and you roll your eyes at the change in roles. the way she looks at you tells you she has so, so much to say, and your heart pounds as she focuses back on the lecture. your responsible girl.

she doesn’t leave you hanging, however, adding a final thought.

“but yeah, ditto.”

#megan skiendiel x reader #megan skiendiel #katseye x reader #megan skiendel imagine #megan x reader #katseye #katseye megan #megan katseye #☆ﾟ coolwyous works.#☆ﾟ coolwyous - ditto.

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muqingslover · 3 months ago

Note

Hii!! Love your writing!!

I wanted to ask if you have any hc about the lads men as fathers? For example, my hc was that Xavier is a boy dad that makes sure his kid will not end up listening to those "alpha podcasts" because he sets the example of a gentle yet "i slayed over 70,000 wanderers", kind yet assertive man. HOWEVER, since the level 175 affinity interaction came out, I'm 100% hes a girl dad raising his daughter to be a strong and independent woman (like the MC he loves dearly). What do you think?

[ my first ask! yahooo! thank you, pookie! I'll give you my thoughts in general (a big mix of everything) but if anyone wants one of the boys in more detail then feel free to ask because I have more to share! ]

Alright maybe this is a hot take but I don't think he wants children, like at all.

Xavier does NOT like sharing. He's literally jealous of himself for goodness sake and he really, reaaaally, does not want to share you, especially not with clingy children that would take almost if not all of your attention and also his sleep.

In-game he's also shown to not be super fond of children in general which I find hilarious.

He's lived a long life, sacrificed everything and everyone for you, and spent the rest of his years searching for you. He believes he has the right to be a bit selfish and keep you to himself. Let's be honest, he's earned it.

He does want children, but he is the type to plan for it. And I mean *plan*.

Out of everyone, he understands the best what it means for both your body and mental health the changes pregnancy would bring (including the chance of postpartum depression and other complications) so there would be a looooong discussion before anything happened.

When putting together the nursery it's like he's preparing for the apocalypse and not a baby "We might need this" (you won't be needing it), "This was made with [chemical], it could be toxic for you or the baby." "Zayne, it's just a plastic spoon."

Absolutely not as cool as he leads you to believe. You have this man stressed™ but he is so, soooo patient.

He'd be very serious about follow-up appointments and he'll make time for the both of you no matter what.

GIRL DAD ! GIRL DAD ! GIRL DAD !

100% victim of waking up covered in silly drawings and bows in his hair but he says before him than his poor white walls.

You have your hands full monitoring these two that love to sneak around and stuff their cheeks full like hamsters with sweets.

Now this man wants a whole LITTER if you'll let him.

Hear me out: TRIPLETS. Oooor, twins with a younger sibling right after. Maybe one more if you are really brave.

This was not planned at all, but when you tell him he's so happy he'd be in actual tears while hugging you.

Luke and Kieran are over the moon about it too. They'd be so cute with the children because they get to be big bros now and they take their role very seriously.

Sylus would pull out his phone or coat and it would be covered in cute stickers. He takes no action in getting rid of it though because he loves it.

Those children are S P O I L E D. You have to take the role of saying no otherwise he'd take over the world just because his baby asked to be queen of the world on a random Thursday.

I think he's on the same boat as Xavier but for different reasons.

I have some...perhaps...controversial takes on this little guy in general so I'll leave it open for your interpretation hehe

love him though<3

I know I know everyone says he'd be the best girl dad but PLEASE pleaaaase give this man a little boy.

If you think women's baby fever are bad just wait until you see Caleb's

He would draw on your belly bump where he thinks the baby is and talk to him even while you're asleep

This guy is taking lessons about pregnancy, how to support you during birth and he is 100% in one of those moms group chat.

"Caleb we do not need another onesie—" "But look! Look how cute it is! Oh, and the little hat? C'mon angel, please?" (Ban him from shopping by himself because he comes back with WAY too many things you do not need)

He loves and I mean LOVES matching clothes. From silly costumes, to pajamas and outside outfits.

So. Many. Pictures. He takes pictures all the time to keep them as memories because if something were to happen where you or he lost their memories again then they'd forever be preserved :(

[ I have so much more to say about this but maybe I'll just make a separate post for each of them ]

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alchemistc · 6 months ago

Text

You never let me in, Buck sends, two of three sheets fully winded, and when he kicks his leg over the coffee table he nearly knocks over three empties.

They do this thing, right? Buck gets upset and before the tears can fall, because he's cried too many fucking times already, he makes himself angry. Picks at something that has come up every time he's done a post-mortem on the last six months.

And then he sends that shit to Tommy. Because - because who the fuck else is he supposed to talk to about it? The guy who'd sucked him off in the hallway of a nightclub two weeks ago? The woman who'd spent an hour quietly helping Buck understand that yeah, he was very much bi, and yeah, some people did not like that shit? Maddie, or Chim, or Hen or Eddie, who still might interact with him on the job? Bobby? Fuck, not Bobby.

Bobby who'd blinked at Buck and offered platitudes and apologized to Buck like it was somehow his fault Tommy was good people but he was the kind of good people who just walked out on something that could have been something.

I should have pushed more. I know I should have. I just thought since I was trying to share everything, you were too.

My mistake.

Three months and Buck isn't over it. He's far enough into the mourning process that he thinks this one is always gonna sting, and not for the reasons Tommy thinks.

That's not fair. I'm sorry.

The texts get delivered. Tommy reads them. Buck's had read receipts on since the first time Tommy went quiet on a call and Buck freaked out a little - but back then they were still working towards something. Back then, sometimes Tommy would pull out his phone and open the thread just to give Buck sign of life.

He was always doing that. Heading shit off at the pass.

Buck had just never realized he'd be able to do it to hurt him, just as well as take care of him.

Every four weeks like clockwork Buck gets a response. He has no fucking idea why it's four weeks, what the third Thursday of the month has to do with Tommy feeling gracious enough to give Buck some clarity. He'd never known enough about Tommy, is the thing he's coming around to. He'd done everything he could to bring Tommy in, make him a part, and Tommy had let him. Tommy had distracted him with quippy words and a clever tongue and with being so fucking willing to be integrated into Buck's life that Buck just - hadn't noticed.

No one will say it, but he Bucked It Up in the worst kind of way.

He's waited until Third Thursday to send these texts. He actually hasn't sent anything at all, until this moment, and he wonders if Tommy noticed. If he cared. Tommy picks and chooses from Buck's random thoughts, parses out details like he's reading from a manual and Buck is off topic two thirds of the time. Buck doesn't actually know why he's been answering, all this time. He wonders if, in the last four weeks of silence, he thought he was finally done with Buck.

He wonders if it had hurt.

Buck sets his phone down to stand, skating across to the kitchen in his socks for the pizza rolls in the oven.

His diet is shit. His body feels like crap. He's one more drunken nights sleep on the couch away from emptying the rack in his fridge down the drain and giving sobriety a try. The last person he'd slept with had hinted that they'd prefer not to use condoms and Buck had almost let them.

Buck has worth. He knows he does. It's just sometimes when he remembers that every person he's ever loved has either walked out on him or let him walk away when he needed them, he struggles to find that worth.

His life has meaning, and all that jazz.

Buck sort of wonders if Tommy hasn't finally blocked his number, as he tosses a too-hot pizza roll in his mouth and huffs on the lava cheese burning his tongue. After the last message Buck had sent, three weeks ago, he wouldn't exactly be surprised.

(This is basically just an unhinged grief journal with an unreliable second narrator. Do you know what it's like to realize you're still in love with someone who never let you know them?)

There's been no response to that. Fair. Buck hadn't even actually said the words. No, he'd jumped right into the sharing a life part, cart before the horse as always when emotions were high.

The pizza rolls get tipped onto a plate and are immediately swimming in the heavy pour of ranch he'd prepared after he set the oven to preheat.

It cools them off a lot quicker than popping a hole in each seam and waiting.

It's been eight years since Buck has really even thought about that little trick.

When he opens his phone there's no response. No receipt. Just stark words waiting to be acknowledged.

I gave you my family, Tommy. You didn't even introduce me to your team at Harbor.

It's startling to realize after the fact. He doubts Tommy had meant it that way, but he'd basically spent six months being love bombed only to have the rug ripped right out from under his feet.

And yet. Months later and he still wants to know. Know why. Know how he could have done it, with tears in his eyes, with full awareness that it was already gonna hurt. Know Tommy - anything he'd part with, really, that wasn't something every random acquaintance also knew.

Cool, he'd been jealous of what Buck and the 118 had. (Buck had tried to give him that. Or at least he thought he had.)

Great, he didn't talk to his dad and Gerrard was a shitty captain. (Buck had spent an hour once explaining the first time he and his dad had spoken about Daniel without screaming at each other. Tommy had listened to the rants about Gerrard and offered physical comfort and a 'sounds like him' and Buck had just been so relieved to have an ally amongst the 'life is just like this sometimes' crowd that he'd never examined that.)

He was a Kinsey six who'd been engaged to the first woman Buck had ever really loved and they'd never dug deeper than that.

And Buck had apparently interpreted some of the shit he'd said that night wrong, but he still doesn't think it's fucking fair that Tommy can't trust him to know his own fucking mind well enough to know he hates sleeping around and he'd found the sort of connection he was looking for. He'd found it. Even with the lack of reciprocation. Even with the quiet behind Tommy's eyes that he'd never let Buck in on. Even with the -

His phone buzzes on the coffee table.

Can we talk?

Buck kinda hates those words in that order now. They'd been the start of something twice, but they'd always been leading to an end, if Tommy had his way.

Once every four weeks, apparently, Buck sends back and takes a vicious bite.

His phone chimes with an incoming call.

Buck stares at the name he hasn't had the stomach to remove the little heart from. Lets it ring through to voicemail and then shoves three more pizza rolls into his mouth and doesn't care if they burn off his taste buds.

His phone rings again.

"What?"

"I'm outside your building. Didn't want to make any assumptions that I'd be welcome without asking first."

Buck can feel his ribs cracking under the lurch of angry laughter. "What the hell?"

"Well the parking around here is miserable again, so I figure that's a sign."

"Are you driving right now?"

"Hands off. I'm on Bluetooth. So. Should I circle the building a fifth time or call it now and go home?"

Buck gets stuck on fifth time.

There's no way he hadn't been driving since at least before Buck sent that first text.

Buck sighs. There's absolutely no reason to be hopeful about that. For all he knows, Tommy has just decided dousing any residual flames is just another thing he has to do in person.

"My Jeep's in the shop. I'll buzz you into the garage."

Tommy's silent for a long, long moment. The quip comes anyway. "I keep telling you that thing is a money pit."

"I'm not really feeling the flirty banter, right now, Tommy, so maybe just let me know when you're at the gate."

He does. He hangs up the phone twenty seconds later with a plain "See you soon."

Buck doesn't have time to change. Fix his hair. Hide the sheet pan with half a dozen pizza rolls still laying on it, because he'd cooked way too many again.

(He could absolutely do one of these things but if Tommy's gonna throw this at him, he's getting every little slovenly habit Bucks's picked up since he walked out that door.)

The knock comes while Buck's shoving the last two rolls on his plate into his mouth.

He's still chewing with his mouth open to blow out the steam when he swings the door open, and Buck feels the first inklings of pleasure ripple through him at the sight of Tommy.

He looks like shit.

"You look like shit."

Tommy's brow ticks up. He stares pointedly at the glob of not-cheese that's going to absolutely ruin this sweatshirt.

"That tends to happen when you spend an hour in an armchair two sizes too small picking at trauma you've been hiding from your therapist for six years."

Buck opens the door wider. Holy crap. Tommy might legitimately be more fucked up than Buck.

Tommy's smile is strained. "Can I come in?"

Buck holds his gaze. His eyes are a little red. He's got a red spot along the side of his neck, like he's been rubbing at it. Buck only recognizes it as a comforting motion because he's replayed him doing it half a million times right before he ended things.

"Depends. Is this the last time you respond to my mean, rude, asshole texts for an hour after therapy rubs you raw?" Third Thursday Therapy, is apparently what does it. Buck is - god. He just wants -

"God, I hope not," Tommy says, and Buck takes a step to the side to let Tommy in.

#bucktommy fic #bucktommy #not-quite-fixit but it could be #tevan fic

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4linos · 1 day ago

Text

between the lines.

lee minho x fem!reader

synopsis: after a quiet and amicable separation, you and minho learn to navigate the subtle emotional terrain of co-parenting, discovering that the bonds between you aren’t entirely severed. when a new relationship enters the picture, old emotions come into play, forcing you to reassess what it means to truly move on.

warnings: angst, slow burn, emotional tension, jealousy.

wc: 5631

The first time you considered the possibility that you and Minho might not last forever, Hana was two and a half, screaming on the floor of the grocery store aisle because you wouldn’t let her open a bag of marshmallows. She’d skipped her nap. Your back hurt. You hadn’t eaten since morning.

And Minho was standing a few feet away, silent, tired, rubbing his temple in the way he always did when he was overwhelmed but didn’t want to show it.

You remember thinking: We are both so lonely, and we’re standing right next to each other.

It wasn’t a sudden epiphany. It didn’t make you pack your things or call a lawyer. But it planted something. A quiet awareness that hadn’t been there before. A realization that being in the same place didn’t always mean being together. That surviving parenthood wasn’t the same as growing closer. That love, real, sustaining love might not be enough on its own when the everyday grind had worn both of you thin.

You made it another six months.

And then came the conversation. The one that changed everything, though neither of you raised your voices. It happened on a rainy Thursday night, with Hana finally asleep in her little bed, her stuffed rabbit tucked under her arm, her breathing slow and peaceful in a way that made your chest ache.

You and Minho sat across from each other at the kitchen table, the air heavy between you.

You were the one to speak first. “I think we need to talk.”

That alone was enough to make his posture shift, like he already knew what was coming.

“It’s not working, is it?” you asked. Not accusing. Just asking. Hoping that if you said it softly enough, it would hurt less.

Minho didn’t answer at first. He just looked down at his hands, which were resting on the table tensed, still. Then he nodded, just once.

“I’ve been trying to figure out when it stopped feeling like a marriage,” he admitted quietly. “I think I just kept hoping it would come back.”

You swallowed around the lump rising in your throat. “I don’t think it’s coming back.”

Silence again. But not an angry one. More like the pause between waves, where everything is held in suspension.

You looked at him, at the man who had held your hand through labor, who had taken turns feeding Hana in the middle of the night, who had sat next to you at every pediatrician appointment and knew the exact way she liked her pancakes cut.

You loved him. You would always love him.

But you weren’t in love anymore.

You weren’t sure when it had changed. Maybe it was the night she wouldn’t stop crying and you both sat on opposite ends of the couch, too exhausted to even speak. Maybe it was the way your conversations became about diapers, sleep schedules, school everything except each other.

Or maybe it was just that neither of you had the energy to keep reaching across a growing distance.

“I don’t want Hana to grow up thinking this is what love looks like,” you said finally.

Minho’s throat worked as he nodded again. His voice cracked a little. “Me neither.”

That was the thing, he wasn’t cruel. You weren’t unhappy because of anything he had done. It wasn’t betrayal or bitterness. It was the slow erosion of connection, the way life and parenting and exhaustion had worn down the parts of your relationship that had once made you feel like you belonged to each other.

You were roommates. Teammates. Co-parents.

But not partners. Not anymore.

You sat in the kitchen for a long time, talking through tears and through silence. Talking about Hana. About how she would always come first. About shared custody. About what it would mean to not come home to the same place, not make coffee in the same kitchen, not tuck her in side by side every night.

There was grief in every word, but also strange relief.

There was no fight. No slammed doors. No accusations.

Just two people who had loved, and tried, and grown apart without meaning to.

That night, Minho slept on the couch.

Not because you asked him to, but because it felt right. The beginning of the transition. The first step into what would become your new life.

The next morning, you made Hana’s breakfast together. Waffles, fruit, a little too much syrup. She didn’t notice anything had changed. She sat between you, babbling about a butterfly she’d seen at school, kicking her feet against the legs of the chair.

Minho smiled at her, reached to wipe a bit of syrup from her cheek.

And your heart broke a little, not because you were losing him, but because you knew you never fully had him, not in the way you thought.

And now, there was no going back.

But the strange, unexpected truth was this: you didn’t hate each other. There was no war between you. Just the quiet, gentle undoing of something that had been holding together for too long out of fear and habit.

You were going to do this. You were going to split your lives in two. And somehow, you’d stay whole, for Hana.

Even if it meant breaking your heart just a little, every day.

The first few weeks after Minho moved out were quiet. Too quiet.

Not in the way that brought peace, but in the way that pressed in around your ribs, reminding you of what was missing. Of the space that had opened up on the couch where he used to sit. Of the way his toothbrush was no longer beside yours. Of how bedtime with Hana was now something you did alone, one pair of hands where there used to be two.

She asked for him a lot in the beginning.

“Where’s Appa?”

“Why isn’t he here tonight?”

“Can he come for breakfast?”

You never lied. You just softened the truth.

“He’s at his house tonight, sweetheart.”

“He’ll come pick you up tomorrow.”

“He always loves you, no matter where he is.”

You kept your voice steady even when your chest ached. Because this, this was your choice. And Minho’s. And you had promised each other that no matter how hard it got, Hana would come first. Always.

The first custody exchange was awkward.

You packed her overnight bag with too much three outfits, her favorite books, two stuffed animals, backup pajamas, her dinosaur toothbrush. You labeled everything. Left a note for Minho: She didn’t nap today. Give her a snack before bed or she’ll wake up early. Extra socks in the front pocket.

He showed up exactly on time, looking like he hadn’t slept much. He hovered in the doorway, hands in his pockets, eyes drifting over the apartment like it was both familiar and foreign now.

Hana ran into his arms, squealing with delight.

Minho’s eyes met yours over her head, and for a moment, there was something unbearably fragile in his expression. Something that looked like guilt, or grief, or just quiet devastation.

“I’ve got her,” he said gently. “I’ll bring her back Sunday night.”

You nodded, smiling even though your throat was tight. “She’s excited. Don’t let her trick you into giving her two desserts.”

“I make no promises,” he said with a small laugh, and for a second, just a second, it felt like old times.

But then they were gone, and you were standing in the doorway alone.

The silence afterward was staggering. You wandered through the apartment as if it belonged to someone else. Cleaned dishes that weren’t dirty. Reorganized a drawer. Ate dinner standing at the counter. Told yourself this was just the beginning. That it would get easier.

And, in some ways, it did.

You and Minho started texting more. At first, it was just about logistics, drop-offs, schedules, what size shoes Hana had suddenly jumped to.

But then it morphed into something else. Little moments.

Minho: She drew a rocket ship today. Said she’s going to the moon and taking you with her.

You: Only if she packs snacks. She gets hangry.

Minho: She’s yours then.

You: Coward.

There were jokes again. Shared photos. Voice memos of Hana singing off-key in the car. Slowly, the tension faded, replaced with something steadier, something you could almost call a friendship.

Not romantic. Not really.

But intimate, in the way that only two people who love the same child with their whole hearts could be.

You found your rhythm.

Exchanging her favorite snacks. Making sure she had her favorite sleep toy. Texting each other at the exact same time when she got sick with a cold and neither of you wanted to leave her alone.

You didn’t expect how often Minho would still feel like a constant in your life. Even without the title. Even without the home.

Birthdays became the strangest kind of sacred ground.

The first one post-separation, you debated whether to have separate celebrations. But the idea felt wrong.

So you hosted together. Rented a room at a small play café. Brought cupcakes and balloons. Watched Hana run wild in a princess costume that was already unraveling at the seams.

You were worried it would be awkward. But it wasn’t.

Minho handed you tape when the banner fell down. You took turns cutting cake. You didn’t need to explain anything to anyone because it worked.

At the end of the party, Hana opened her arms wide and declared, “This is the best day ever!”

You and Minho both laughed, both crouched down to hug her, both looked at each other over her head.

It hit you then: this was still a family.

Not broken. Not perfect. But real.

Sometimes, people asked.

“So… are you and Minho ever getting back together?”

You always shook your head. “No. We’re better this way.”

And mostly, you believed that.

You liked the ease. The clarity. You liked being able to make decisions for yourself again. To not feel like you were trying to force something to fit that no longer did.

You weren’t waiting for him.

And as far as you could tell, he wasn’t waiting for you either.

That was the deal.

And yet, there were moments.

Small ones.

Like the time Hana fell asleep on the couch between you, her little hands curled into both of yours, and Minho looked at you with a softness that made your breath hitch. Or the time he fixed the heater in your apartment without asking, just because he knew you were tired and it was cold.

Those moments lived in the corners of your mind, quiet and persistent. You never said anything. Neither did he.

You had made peace with what you were.

Two parallel lines.

Running side by side.

Never crossing again.

Or so you thought.

It happened on a Wednesday. One of those in-between days when nothing significant is supposed to happen, no birthdays, no big milestones, just a quick stop for coffee before school pickup.

You weren’t expecting anything. Certainly not him.

The café was almost empty, the way it always was in that strange lull between lunch and evening, when people drifted in with laptops or last-minute meetings. You were just trying to stay awake. Hana had been up half the night with a fever that had finally broken at dawn, and the weight of your exhaustion clung to your limbs like something physical.

You stood there, half-dazed, reading the menu even though you already knew what you wanted. You were still in your softest hoodie, the one with a faint juice stain on the sleeve you hadn’t had time to scrub out, your hair shoved into a clip, makeup forgotten.

That’s when he spoke.

“You’re either having a really good day or a really bad one,” he said, with a friendly, lopsided smile and a cup already in his hand.

You looked up, blinking. He was a little older than you, mid-thirties, maybe. Clean lines, warm eyes. Kind-looking, though you’d learned not to trust that right away.

You huffed a breath that was halfway to a laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only because I’ve had both kinds,” he said. “And I usually end up here either way.”

You offered a tired smile. “Then I guess we’re both regulars in the land of mediocre Wednesdays.”

He laughed at that. Not too loud. Just enough to make something ease inside you.

You placed your order. He didn’t push, didn’t linger too long. But when your drinks were ready, and he reached for a napkin, he glanced at you again. Hesitated.

Then he said, “I’m Jisung.”

You hesitated too. There was something in the way he said it, open, but not expectant.

So you told him your name.

You ended up sitting for a few minutes. Fifteen, maybe twenty. Talking about nothing at all favorite books, your mutual disdain for the newer version of the transit app, how the weather kept teasing spring and then snapping back to winter.

And then, just as you were getting ready to go, he said it.

“I know this is forward. But I’d really like to see you again. Would you be okay giving me your number?”

Your first instinct was to say no.

Not because he wasn’t kind. Not because you weren’t interested.

But because he didn’t know.

Didn’t know that your days were split between pickup times and pediatrician appointments, bedtime routines and shared custody schedules. Didn’t know that you carried a small pink backpack in your trunk at all times. That your heart had been broken, not just by Minho, but by the slow understanding that you weren’t the person you used to be.

You weren’t single. Not in the way most people meant it.

You had a daughter.

So you said it, simply. Carefully.

“I should tell you… I have a three-year-old. Her name’s Hana. She’s my whole world.”

There was a pause.

You watched his face closely, the way people do when they’re waiting for someone to flinch.

But Jisung didn’t.

He nodded, once, slowly. “Thank you for telling me.”

And then, “That’s not a dealbreaker. Not even close.”

You stared at him, unsure what to say. Most people tried to hide their discomfort behind politeness. But he just sipped his coffee like it was nothing.

“You’re not surprised?” you asked finally.

He smiled again, softer this time. “I have a niece. She’s four. My sister raised her on her own for the first couple years. So… I know it’s not easy. I also know it doesn’t mean you stopped being a person outside of being a parent.”

That..that was what got you.

The way he said it. Like you were still allowed to be.

You handed him your number before you could second-guess it.

And when you walked out into the late afternoon wind, you didn’t feel giddy. You didn’t feel swept off your feet.

But you felt something else.

Like maybe, just maybe, there was a space in your life for something new. Not a replacement. Not a fairytale.

Just something small and honest and real.

You didn’t tell Hana, not yet. There was no reason to. You were cautious now, and rightfully so. The last thing you wanted was to start something that would unravel too quickly.

But when Jisung texted you later that night, it made you smile.

Hope your Wednesday ended better than it started. Next coffee’s on me.

And you found yourself typing back before you even realized it.

Only if you’re ready to hear more about unicorn Band-Aids and toddler opinions on cheese.

He replied almost instantly.

Try me.

You didn’t know what this was going to become.

You only knew this: he hadn’t run.

And that, in itself, felt like the beginning of something worth noticing.

You didn’t expect how quickly it would happen with Jisung.

Not love. Not even something as weighty as hope.

Just… lightness. The kind you hadn’t felt in a long time. The kind that came from being seen as someone other than a mother, other than a tired co-parent, other than a woman halfway rebuilt from the ground up.

It started with texting.

Short at first. Polite. Careful.

But then it grew.

Jisung was funny. Thoughtful in ways you hadn’t realized you’d missed, remembering small things you'd said in passing, asking follow-up questions that showed he was really listening, sending you photos of his niece’s drawings captioned, “Future gallery opening. No big deal.”

You told him about your favorite childhood movie and he watched it that same night, texting you commentary like a live broadcast. You mentioned a place you always meant to try for takeout, and he offered to bring it to the park one day, with enough snacks for Hana if she came along.

You hadn’t said yes yet. But you didn’t say no either.

There was a night, three days after that first coffee, when he said something so unexpected it caught you mid-laugh.

You don’t have to split yourself in two to be worth knowing, you know that, right?

You stared at the screen longer than you meant to. You didn’t respond right away. You didn’t know how to.

But later that night, as you lay in bed alone, peaceful, not lonely for once, you realized it had been a long time since anyone made you feel whole without asking you to prove you deserved it.

And it showed. Apparently.

Minho noticed.

Not all at once. Not in any obvious way. But subtly, in the way someone who used to know you better than anyone always notices the small shifts first.

It was the way you answered the door when he arrived for the next pickup. Hair loose, smile soft, phone still in your hand from a message you hadn’t finished reading.

The way your laugh slipped out easier, fuller, like it hadn’t had to squeeze itself through exhaustion first.

The way you stood a little taller, like you weren’t carrying quite so much anymore.

Minho didn’t say anything at first.

He watched quietly as Hana launched herself into his arms, chattering about snacks and sidewalk chalk and how she saw a squirrel that “definitely waved at her” from the tree outside.

You knelt beside her to zip up her backpack, brushing hair from her face, your phone buzzing once in your pocket. And you smiled.

Not at Minho.

At the message you hadn’t even read yet.

That’s when he felt it. A strange, quiet pinch. Not jealousy, he wouldn’t call it that. Not exactly. He had no claim. You’d made your peace. He had, too. Mostly.

But there was something else. A realization, sharp and unwelcome: someone else was making you smile like that.

Someone new.

So as you handed Hana her favorite stuffed animal and stood to walk them to the door, Minho glanced sideways at you and said, casually, “You’ve seemed… lighter lately.”

You blinked. “Yeah?”

He shrugged, one arm around Hana, the other tucking her blanket tighter beneath his elbow. “I don’t know. Just… seems like a good week.”

You tried not to react. But he saw it anyway, the flicker of something in your eyes. Maybe surprise. Maybe guilt. You weren’t sure why it felt that way.

“Been keeping busy,” you said lightly, brushing it off. “Work stuff. Mom stuff.”

He nodded, like he believed you. Like he wanted to believe you.

But then he added, almost offhand, “Someone making you smile like that must be doing a pretty good job.”

You froze for half a second too long.

Then gave a quiet laugh, not meeting his eyes. “It’s nothing.”

Minho didn’t press. He never had been the type to dig where he wasn’t welcome.

But the silence that followed carried something unspoken.

Because it wasn’t nothing. He knew that.

And maybe that was what unsettled him the most.

Not that you were moving on.

But that you were really moving on. And that he wasn’t sure when, exactly, he’d stopped being a part of your inner world, the one that lit you up from the inside out, even when you didn’t notice it yourself.

He stood there for a moment longer than necessary. Then said, “I’ll text if she asks for the green blanket. I think it’s still in your laundry basket.”

You nodded. “I will.”

He turned toward the door, Hana bouncing in his arms, and as he walked out, you felt the familiar ache rise in your chest.

But it was different now. Not grief. Not loss.

Just the echo of something that used to be yours.

And maybe, just maybe the shape of what was coming next.

It had been years, actual, measurable years since you’d dressed up like this.

Not for a work function, not for a rushed dinner where you had to check your watch every ten minutes to make sure you got home before the sitter left, not for a birthday party where you'd spend most of the time cutting fruit and wiping sticky fingers.

But for you.

For something that felt new.

For someone who looked at you like you were still a whole person, not just a parent navigating the aftermath of a quiet ending.

You stood in front of the mirror, smoothing the fabric of your dress with palms that felt a little too warm. Your hair was curled soft, loose, deliberate. The kind of effort you hadn’t made in so long you’d forgotten how it felt to do it without a reason tied to someone else’s needs.

You had makeup on.

Not the rushed concealer and mascara you slapped on in the five minutes between school drop-off and morning meetings, but the kind you actually sat down to apply. Lipstick. A little blush. You almost didn’t recognize your own reflection. Not in a bad way. Just in the way that made you realize how long it had been since you’d prioritized seeing yourself like this.

And your heart beat just a little faster than usual, because Jisung was waiting. A real dinner. An actual date. Your first since everything.

You had texted him earlier, half excited, half nervous “I might forget how to flirt. Fair warning.”

He’d replied, “That’s okay. I’ve got enough awkward charm for both of us.”

And then, as if summoned by your anticipation, there was a knock at the door.

Except… you hadn’t heard your phone buzz.

You walked over, heels clicking softly on the floor, a final glance in the mirror before you opened it.

And then everything paused.

There, standing in the hallway, was Minho.

Not Jisung.

Minho, wearing his work jacket, looking slightly winded, as if he’d come up the stairs too fast. In his arms, curled against his chest, was Hana. Asleep. Cheek pressed to his shoulder, mouth slightly open, hair mussed from what must’ve been a long day.

You blinked, confused, your hand still on the doorframe.

Minho blinked back. And then he stared.

His eyes moved over your face, your dress, your hair. His expression froze somewhere between surprise and something harder to name.

“You’re…” he started, then stopped.

You were equally stunned.

“What’s going on?” you asked, voice soft as you glanced down at Hana, trying not to raise it too much.

“I—I had to come early,” he said quickly, adjusting his grip on her. “I got called into work. Last-minute shift. I—I texted you, but maybe you didn’t see—”

You swallowed, brain trying to catch up. “No, it’s okay. I just didn’t check my phone.”

Minho nodded. But he was still staring.

And for a moment, neither of you said anything.

Because he’d seen you in pajamas. In nursing bras. In sweats stained with juice and grief. He had seen you in all your rawest forms tired, stretched thin, unfiltered.

But this?

This version of you, lipstick soft and subtle, eyes bright, dress fitting in that way that made it clear you’d chosen it not just for practicality but for feeling, this was not one he’d seen in a long, long time.

And it startled him.

“I’ll… take her,” you said gently, reaching out.

He hesitated just a second longer, as if anchoring himself in the weight of her before letting go.

“She’s out cold,” he murmured. “Didn’t even make it through the drive.”

You nodded, carefully transferring Hana to your shoulder. Her small body nestled against you without resistance. You ran your hand down her back in soothing circles.

Minho didn’t leave.

He stood in the doorway, watching you rock her, his hands now empty.

“You look…” he started again, then cleared his throat. “Nice. I mean—you look nice.”

You gave a half-smile, focusing on keeping Hana settled.

He shifted his weight. “Were you… going somewhere?”

Your heart pinched, not because you owed him anything, but because there was something in his voice. A softness, yes. But also a quiet pull, something unspoken that hovered just behind the words.

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t want to lie. But you didn’t want to explain either.

Minho’s gaze didn’t waver. And in the silence, he figured it out.

The realization didn’t fall like a hammer. It arrived like a tug. Gentle. Persistent. Sharp in its precision.

“You were meeting someone,” he said quietly.

Still no answer.

Your silence was the confirmation.

He looked down. Exhaled. A short, barely-there breath, as if he’d braced for it and still felt it anyway.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said finally. “I really did try to give you a heads-up.”

“I know,” you said softly. “It’s okay. She comes first.”

He nodded. “Yeah. She does.”

But neither of you said what you were both thinking:

That even now, even with everything changed, there were still parts of each other that lingered. Quiet shadows in the corners of new lives.

He turned to go. Paused at the stairs.

“I’ll be done around noon Sunday,” he said without looking back. “I can come pick her up then.”

“Okay.”

And then he was gone.

You watched the door close.

You stood there for a moment, still holding Hana, feeling her soft breaths against your neck. Then you carefully laid her in her bed, brushing a curl from her face. She stirred slightly, but didn’t wake.

You checked your phone. One missed text.

Jisung:

I’m already here, no rush. Take your time.

Your throat tightened.

You called.

He picked up on the second ring, cheerful. “Hey, did you get lost?”

And then he heard the apology in your voice before you said a word.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered. “I can’t make it. Something came up with my daughter and I—”

“Hey, hey,” he said gently, cutting you off. “It’s okay. Really.”

“No, I feel awful. You came all this way—”

“And I got to see the sunset and listen to my favorite playlist. Not a waste.”

You laughed, small and tired. “I was really looking forward to tonight.”

“So was I,” he admitted. “But I’ve got time. We’ll try again. No pressure.”

You hung up a few minutes later, reassured by the ease in his voice, the lack of disappointment, the way he didn’t make you feel like a burden.

You walked back to the living room, heels still on, makeup still perfect.

But the night was quiet again.

And despite everything, despite Jisung’s warmth, despite the newness that had started to take root, your thoughts kept drifting back to the man who had stood at your door, holding the child you both loved more than anything, looking at you like he’d never quite seen you before.

You poured yourself a glass of wine. Sat down on the couch. Closed your eyes.

And breathed.

Because the line between what was and what could be had never felt thinner.

The apartment was quiet again the next morning.

Hana woke up early, too early for a Saturday, but you didn’t mind. You made pancakes, her favorite, cutting them into little stars with the cookie cutters she insisted on using lately. You let her pour too much syrup, ignored the sticky fingers on the table, and braided her hair while she babbled about a dream she had.

You didn’t tell her about last night. She didn’t need to know you had to cancel plans. That you’d stood in the hallway watching the space where Minho had been, heart doing something you didn’t know how to name. She didn’t need to know how long it took you to take your makeup off, or how the curls in your hair stayed long after you fell asleep on the couch, still dressed.

You let it all go, for her.

That afternoon, after cartoons and crafts and one very glitter-heavy art project, you took her to the park. It was a habit now fresh air, a safe routine, a way to let her run out her energy before the inevitable bedtime protest.

She was climbing the jungle gym when you saw him.

Minho.

You almost didn’t recognize him at first, hood pulled up, headphones around his neck, looking a little rumpled in a way that said he’d just finished a shift and hadn’t meant to be seen. But he spotted you instantly.

You weren’t expecting him until the next day.

Still, he walked toward you, hands in his pockets, something hesitant in his expression.

“Hey,” he said.

You smiled, surprised but not unwelcome. “Hey. Thought you were working until tomorrow.”

“I got off early. Thought I’d come by and see if you two were around.”

You glanced toward Hana, who had now spotted her dad and was waving with both arms, squealing his name. Minho grinned and waved back, already stepping forward to meet her.

They played for a while, the two of them slipping into their easy rhythm, him chasing her in slow motion, letting her tackle him dramatically onto the grass, her laughter echoing.

You sat on the bench and watched, something warm and complicated curling in your chest.

When she finally wore herself out and asked for juice, Minho offered to go grab some from the little market across the street. She nodded sleepily, curling against your side, and he jogged off.

He came back with two juice boxes.

And a bottle of iced tea, for you.

He handed it to you casually, like it didn’t mean anything. Like he hadn’t memorized your favorites, even now.

“Thanks,” you said.

He shrugged. “Figured you’d want something cold.”

The sun was starting to dip, casting the park in long shadows. Hana was drawing in the dirt with a stick now, humming to herself.

Minho sat beside you on the bench, a comfortable silence settling.

And then, after a few minutes, he asked it.

“You were going on a date, weren’t you?”

You looked down at the bottle in your hands. Twisted the cap. “Yeah.”

He nodded slowly. “Is it serious?”

“No,” you said. “Not yet. Just… new.”

Minho stared out at the playground. “Is he good to you?”

The question caught you off guard, not just that he asked, but how quietly he did. Not possessive. Not jealous. Just… careful.

You turned toward him. “Yeah. He’s kind.”

Minho nodded again. “That’s good. That’s… good.”

You both sat there, the air heavier now.

And then he said, “You looked beautiful last night.”

You froze.

He didn’t look at you when he said it. Just kept watching Hana, his expression unreadable.

“I know I shouldn’t say that,” he added, voice low. “But it’s true.”

You didn’t know what to do with the ache that bloomed in your chest at his words. The softness. The honesty.

“I didn’t expect to feel anything,” he said after a beat. “But I saw you, and it just—hit me.”

You swallowed. “Minho…”

He finally turned to you then, and something in his eyes cracked open. Something vulnerable. Something you hadn’t seen in a long time.

“Do you ever wonder,” he asked, “if we gave up too soon?”

The question lingered between you like fog, thick, slow, impossible to ignore.

You looked at him. Really looked.

At the man who had once been your everything.

At the man who still showed up. Still knew your drink. Still remembered how to hold your daughter like she was the most precious thing in the world.

And you wanted to say: Yes. I wonder all the time.

But instead, you said: “I think we gave what we had. And then we gave some more. And maybe we ran out of things to give.”

He nodded, but the pain in his eyes didn’t go away.

“I miss her,” he said. “Even when I just saw her yesterday.”

And you knew he didn’t just mean Hana.

You nodded. “I miss us sometimes, too.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. “I think maybe that’s what’s hardest. Missing something that still kind of exists… just not the way it used to.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t.

Because you were terrified of saying the wrong thing.

Of opening a door you weren’t sure you had the strength to close again.

Hana came running over then, breaking the tension. “I’m tired,” she whined, arms outstretched.

You stood up, lifting her into your arms. She nestled her head into your shoulder immediately.

Minho stood too.

You walked to the parking lot together, silence wrapping around you like a shared memory.

When you reached your car, you opened the door and placed Hana gently in her seat, buckling her in as she blinked sleepily.

Minho watched.

And just before you got in the driver’s seat, he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nodded.

But you didn’t look back as you drove away.

Because you didn’t want him to see the tears you weren’t sure how to explain.

masterlist.

❌proofread

[official taglist: @alisonyus @lenfilms ..]

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ferrarifudds · 1 month ago

Note

can I request a kk arnold x reader fic where the reader is super girly, like on the UConn cheer squad and everything, the total opposite of kk?

Girls. ✷ KK Arnold

Pairing: KK Arnold x Cheerleader!reader

Summary: When KK is crushing hard and isn’t sure if you even swing that way at all…

Word Count: 1.6k

Disclaimer/s: just fluff. you know the vibes! :3 aubrey & paige cameo too , my shaylas

Vera’s Voice! loved writing this thank u.

KK had been crushing on you since freshman year.

It didn’t start off dramatic—more like casual awareness. You shared a few general education classes in your first year, usually sitting a few rows apart.

The two of you weren't close, but you both exchanged enough half-smiles and “hey’s” to recognize each other on campus.

It wasn’t anything. Not at first..

Now you were both sophomores, both deep in your respective sports—her on the basketball team, you on the cheer squad—and even though you'd never been friends, the familiarity lingered.

It was very out of the ordinary for KK. To be shy.

Especially when it came to you.

It was the easiest thing in the world for her to make friends—but, she just felt nauseous when it came to the idea of even talking to you.

Maybe it was because you were the kind of girl who made heads turn without trying, always dressed to the nines, even for your 8 a.m. lectures in some effortless matching set.

Your glossy lips, manicured nails, claw clips in your hair, the whole thing.

You wore gold jewelry that always matched your outfit, carried a white Stanley cup everywhere, and somehow never had a hair out of place even after a full cheer routine.

And of course, as a cheerleader, one of UConn’s finest, you were always on the sidelines of their games, loud, bright and way too radiating for KK to process when she was already trying not to miss free throws.

You didn’t just smile—you lit up.

Like someone who could turn fluorescent gym lights into something blissful.

“You’re so down bad,” Paige had whispered on the bench last month, the two of them both checked out amidst a 30 point lead.

The blonde nudged KK in the side after catching her sneaking a glance in your direction.

“I’m not,” She mumbled, eyes dropping immediately.

“You are,” Aubrey chimed in. “You get all flustered when you look at her. It’s cute.”

KK groaned into her hands. “Man, I don’t even know if she likes girls.”

“You won’t know unless you shoot your shot,” Aubrey shrugged, setting her water bottle down. “What’s the worst that could happen? She says no?”

“She could… not say anything,” KK muttered. “Or act weird. And then I still gotta see her all the time.”

Paige and Aubrey shared a look with each other before laughing, shaking their heads at the younger teammate. “You’re so damn dramatic.”

KK didn’t respond.

She just pressed her lips together and focused on her laces, hoping the conversation would drop.

But it didn’t stop the thoughts. Or the way she found herself watching you more often. How you shook your poms absentmindedly during timeouts.

How you always tied your shoes the same way, with one loop a little too big. How you stretched before practice like you weren’t built like an ethereal gymnast.

How you made her feel sixteen again. Flustered and awkward and flushed with nerves over someone who might not even look at her twice.

Little did KK know though….

It wasn’t until a rainy Thursday after practice that the universe seemed to finally nudge her forward.

The basketball team was filing out of the gym after a long afternoon of drills.

KK had just peeled off her practice jersey and thrown on her hoodie when she heard Aubrey’s voice echo through the hall.

“Yo. You might wanna look outside.”

“Huh?”

“Your dream girl’s out there,” Paige added, hunching her back in a giddy demeanor. A smug expression already forming. “Struggling like hell.”

KK stepped forward cautiously, peering out one of the large windows.

And there you were—practically drenched from head to toe, lugging what looked like an oversized speaker case, a storage bin of pom poms, and a rolled-up mat, clearly trying to juggle everything with both hands while your phone was pinned between your shoulder and ear.

“I told coach I’d drop it off today, but I had to uber here with everything,” You were saying into the phone, breathless. “My car is still in the shop—but trust, I figured it out.”

KK froze.

“This is your moment,” Paige whispered, practically vibrating with the need to meddle. “Go.”

“What if she doesn’t—?”

“KK.” Aubrey stepped in front of her. “You either help her now or Paige and I help her. And we flirt.”

KK sighed dramatically but started walking before she could change her mind.

You didn’t notice her at first. Not until she reached for the speaker case, gently pulling it from your grasp.

You turned, startled.

But there she was.

“Oh—KK!” You tried to bring down the slight scare she gave you. “Hey.” You smiled.

“Hi,” She replied, a little breathless, trying not to focus on the way your hair stuck to your cheeks in the rain. “You need some help?”

You blinked at her for a second, then smiled—really smiled—and KK felt her heart skip.

“I mean... if you’re offering, then yes please.”

She laughed, shouldering the case easily and waiting while you adjusted the mat in your grasp. The rest of the walk to the storage room wasn’t far, but it felt like its own kind of eternity.

A quiet one.

You didn’t rush the silence, and neither did she.

“Thank you,” You said finally, setting the bin of cheer poms down. “Didn’t think anyone was still in the gym.”

“Yea, uh..” KK cleared her throat. “Practice ran a little late,” She replied, glancing over at you, nervous.

You smiled again. “Well, thank God.” You continued to start a little conversation. “I owe you one now.”

She shook her head, a small laugh following after. “Nah, it was the least I could do.”

You nudged her shoulder. “Aw, come on.” The smile on your face nearly made her melt. “I would’ve died carrying that all by myself, you came at the perfect time.”

KK was smiling now. Her face brighter than ever. “I’ll hold you to it then.” She shyly glanced away, her gaze falling outside the nearby window where Aubrey and Paige stood now—not making it any less obvious they were watching.

She took a deep breath—remembering their words.

“You won’t know unless you shoot your shot.”

“Uhh… Well. This pasta spot on campus just opened,” She offered, voice light as if she were testing the waters. “I’ve been wanting to go. Heard it’s pretty nice...”

Your heart stopped.

Goodness gracious, KK.

Fucking finally! You thought.

You blinked, startled by the sudden flip in your heartbeat, your grip tightening on the mat you were still holding.

“Oh,” You said, trying to keep your voice casual despite the way your stomach was doing somersaults. “Yeah? That sounds... really sweet.”

KK looked back at you, eyes searching yours for any hint of rejection—but instead, all she saw was the softest kind of surprise, like maybe you’d been waiting for this moment too.

She gave a small, nervous smile, teeth tugging at her bottom lip.

“So...” She started, tucking her hands into her jacket pockets, “Would you wanna maybe go? With me?” Her voice dropped just a little, enough to betray that this wasn’t just about pasta.

You smiled—biting the inside of your cheek, blush clearly rising. “Are you asking me on a date?”

KK’s laugh was immediate, and embarrassed, her hand flying to the back of her neck. “I mean.. Yeah? Only if you want it to be…. Uhm—No pressure.”

You stepped a little closer, the rain still softly tapping against the windows beside the both of you. “Then yes,” You said quietly.

“I’d like that. It’s a date.”

The look on KK’s face was pure light.

Pure disbelief and joy and holy shit.

“Okay,” She breathed, more to herself than to you.

You pulled your phone from your pocket, unlocking it with a quick swipe before holding it out toward her. “Here,” You said, voice a little softer now. “So I can text and bug you for more details.”

KK blinked at the phone like it had just materialized from thin air, then laughed, taking it from your hand. “Smooth.”

“I try,” You murmured, watching her type. “Just been waiting for you to finally say something.”

Her fingers hovered over the screen for a beat. She gave a quiet laugh, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“Yeah?” She asked, a little breathless. “Guess I was waiting too. Just… wasn’t sure.”

You tilted your head. “Wasn’t sure about what?”

“I wasn’t sure if you were into girls.”

You blinked, a little surprised—but then you smiled, something gentle crossing your face as you giggled. “Really?”

KK shrugged, a little embarrassed. “I mean, I didn’t wanna assume.”

You tilted your head slightly, studying her. “Well… I’ve always been into girls,” You admitted softly.

Her eyes widened just a bit, like she was processing it in real time. “So I had a shot this whole time?”

You laughed under your breath. “You’ve always had a shot.” You grinned as KK finally handed your phone back.

Her number saved.

You looked down at the contact name, smiling wide at the heart emoji she left beside it.

Looking back up at KK, your heart melted.

It finally happened.

Oh wow.

But, after a few seconds, her gaze followed towards outside the window where Aubrey elbowed Paige, the two of them immediately high-fiving like they’d just sealed a bet.

You raised a brow. “They’re not even being subtle.”

KK turned, groaned, and covered her face with her hands, embarrassed. “Man, I’m gonna kill them.”

You nudged her again, voice soft this time. “You won’t need to. You already scored.”

And KK just looked down at you, smiling bigger than she ever has before.

Because she really did.

likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated! ^_^ and pls Lmk if you wanna be apart of my permanent tag list

tags! @halfwayhearted @pedriache @wdcbox @janaelalfysblunt @hellokittyfeenie

#kk arnold #lesbian #wlw #kk arnold fic #kk arnold uconn #kk arnold oneshot #kk arnold blurb #kk arnold x you #kk arnold x fem!reader #kk arnold imagine #kk arnold x reader #kk arnold x female reader #kk arnold fanfic #wbb #uconnwbb #uconn women’s basketball #uconn wbb #women’s basketball

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enchantedflameandflower · 5 months ago

Text

Billy Butcher x you oneshot!

Billy knows how to really take care of you when you need it most…

18+ only smut, piv, cock warming, creampie

Merry Christmas! 😘

~*~*~

It was getting late. Butcher was watching a movie on the couch, but you were sitting at the table, finishing up some work.

When you were finally done, you gave a huge sigh of relief and checked your email one last time.

"Fuck," you groaned as you opened the 5th message from your boss that night asking you for a report on one of your projects. Frustration and tension and anxiety surged inside of you like the tide, and for a moment all you could do was sit there and stare at the screen.

Butcher had paused halfway through his movie as he got up to get a drink and seemed to sense what was happening. Honestly, you were stressed a lot these days. Most of the time he wouldn't notice, or at least would just let you be but right now you felt like you were at your tipping point.

"C'mere doll," he said from behind you.

You glanced over your shoulder to tell him you were busy, but the fierce look in his eyes told you he was not going to take no for an answer.

You sighed when you stood up and went over to him but all you were thinking was 'he noticed.'

Butcher slid his hands around your waist, tugging you against him. "You've been workin' too hard."

All of the breath in your lungs seemed to escape in one big whoosh. "It's just how it is this time of year. I just have one more report to work on. And I need to do my laundry. And it's Thursday."

Butcher leaned back, lifting his eyebrow at you.

"Dusting day," you explained meekly.

Billy gave you a look. "I'll do yer laundry with mine and dustin' can wait. What can I do tonight to make ya sit still for a while and let yerself go?"

You leaned forward wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your cheek against his broad chest. He was right, you felt like you were about to collapse but there was still so much to do...

"Maybe just hold me," you said softly.

"I'd be chuffed, love, but yer mind would still be whirlin' wouldn't it. Need somethin' to distract that pretty head o' yours too."

He rubbed your back for a moment as he thought and a soft, but tired, little sound escaped your throat. He knew you, and he knew it had to be something different to truly get your mind off of your worries right now.

He glanced at the tv where the movie was paused, then back to you. "Up for a little playin', love? I've got an idea."

The look in his eye told you it was something interesting and you couldn't help immediately being intrigued. "Maybe...what would I have to do?"

"Nothin' love. Go and change inta somethin' comfy. Just a shirt, nothin' else, then come back out and sit with me."

"Ok." You gave him a kiss before you retreated into your shared bedroom.

When you came back out he was sitting on the couch and he groaned as soon as he saw you.

"Fuck me," he muttered.

You grinned at him, pleased. You'd changed into one of his shirts, and you'd left it unbuttoned, though it was pulled around you at the moment. It was soft and it barely came to the tops of your thighs.

"Well c'mon," he husked, patting his lap and letting his heated gaze roam over you.

You climbed into his lap kneeling over him and sitting back on his thighs. "If your idea is to fuck me..." you deadpanned.

He smirked wickedly, his hands sliding to your hips. "Nah it ain't that. You know you'd be comin' in minutes, love, then you'd be right back to your troubles again wouldn't ya? Need somethin' to relax yer brain fer a lot longer than that. Besides I need t'finish me film."

Well...he wasn't wrong.

For a moment you met his eyes, gleaming with mischief, and you could feel his cock swelling beneath you...and then you realized what he wanted to do. A surprising pulse of lust surged through your veins and you knew you were immediately wet for him. It wasn't something you'd ever thought of before but now that you did...now that you did you were more than eager to try. That might actually work.

His hazel eyes glinted with desire even as they darkened. "Be a good girl and get me cock out, yeah?"

You swallowed, nodding your head and sliding back off his lap. He gave you a look and you obeyed instantly, working his belt free and opening his jeans. He shifted his hips so you could tug them down just enough to free his cock, already hard and ready for you.

"How do you want me?" you whispered.

"Facin' the telly, yeah? Wouldn't want you to miss the rest o' the film."

You hadn't really seen the first half as you'd been working at the same time, but you had a feeling that didn't matter. And maybe it would help to have something to watch to help distract you from his...distracting.

You stood up and turned around as he slid one big hand around the base of his cock to steady it, and gripped your hip with the other.

"Ready, doll," he murmured low, and you moved to sit on him slowly, his hand positioning you with a tight grip.

When you felt the head of his cock at your entrance, a little moan left your lips but he kept guiding you down without pause.

"Fuck..." you breathed. Without much preparation, the fit was tight and he stretched you almost uncomfortably but you knew your body would adjust.

"Fuckin' hell, love, your gushin'," he groaned. "Must've liked this idea more than I realized."

You wanted to argue but a broken moan was all that left your lips. You took a breath as you took him all way, you ass quickly pressing flush against his thighs. "Oh my god..." you whimpered. Syrupy pleasure flooded through your body, making your clit throb and your cunt flutter around his cock as you thought about him making you stay like this.

Billy gripped your hips hard with both hands and you felt another gush of wetness around his cock. "Easy now. Take a deep breath fer me, love. Yer gonna have to calm down if yer gonna be a good girl and let me keep ya on me cock till I'm done watchin'."

"Oh fuck," you moaned breathily, closing your eyes and biting your lip hard. Breathe.

His hands rubbed soothingly over your hips and outer thighs and you took a slow deep breath and licked your lips, focusing on the tv in front of you. You caught sight of the time bar and you almost groaned at the amount of time that was left, just a little less than an hour. Breathe.

He felt so thick inside of you, the size of him alone lighting up every nerve ending you had. But you had a long way to go so you took another deep breath, and finally your body let go of some of the tension, just a little.

That's my girl," Billy murmured low from behind you. He slid one arm around you and urged you to press back against his chest. "Just rest here for a bit, filled up with me cock, not thinkin' 'bout nothin' else."

Your only answer was another whimper and he gave a low chuckle as he started the movie again.

Your bare legs were draped over his jean clad thighs and you had to be careful not to let his open zipper scrape across your inner thighs or worse. Incentive not to move, you supposed.

You swallowed again, trying hard not to clench around him, but you couldn't help the little flutters of your cunt anytime his cock twitched or he shifted even the tiniest bit.

How he was keeping his own control so easily, you had no idea. Probably had a wank in the shower earlier, you sighed to yourself.

His chest was warm against your back and his big hand was rubbing your thigh. You really tried to watch the movie, but fuck, he was so deep like this. His cock was fiery hot inside of you and you swore you could feel the veins that ran the length of it. You felt every inch of him.

Minutes ticked by slowly, and you did your best for almost 15 of them, but as pleasure continued to pool in your center, and your body adjusted to his size, relaxing and taking him deeper, all you could think about was getting relief. You were dripping and you were sure he could feel it, but still he seemed as relaxed as ever, lazily stroking your thigh as he watched the tv.

Then before you could try to stop yourself, your hips rocked on top of his lap and a soft little cry escaped as bliss erupted inside you, making your whole body tense and buzz, making your fingertips tingle.

Billy rumbled and caught your hips with both hands, gripping hard, holding you still. "No movin', doll."

Your clit throbbed helplessly, completely neglected and you had to bite your lip to keep from whining pathetically, clenching your hands on your thighs.

"Breathe," he murmured, his beard tickling the curve of your neck as he leaned forward. You took a gulp of air, and then another, not even realizing you'd stopped.

Breathe.

Finally, you caught your breath and your lust lowered back to a simmer.

"That's a good girl fer me," Billy said, kneading your hips in reward but all you could do was groan at his praise and it made your cunt flutter around him again.

"Don't say that," you whimpered.

He gave a quiet laugh and patted your leg. "We'll have to keep practicin' this," he said low against the shell of your ear, then went back to watching the movie.

You slumped back against his broad chest again and his arm came around you. Instead of thinking about the way his cock was filling you, you tried to focus on letting your palm play over the little hairs on his forearm. After another 15 minutes, a hazy-sweet fog started to drift over your mind, some combination of dazed and still wildly turned on.

Anytime he moved it sent a jolt of pleasure through you but you were starting to get used to it, learning to let it soften into your body, banking it for later. After a while you couldn't even tell where he ended and you began, he was just a part of you.

At some point you must have completely spaced out, because you suddenly realized the tv was off. Billy was smoothing his hands slowly over your stomach and your thighs and your hips, still thick and big inside of you.

"Did I do it?" you murmured languidly.

Billy leaned closer, kissing the side of your neck, his mustache and his beard scratching sensitive skin spectacularly. "You did it. Such a good girl. My girl..."

You made a lilting, blissful sound and wrapped your fingers around his forearms, desperately needing to hold on to something.

"Think you can come for me now, pet?" His voice was gravelly and rough in your ear.

"Mmmm...mmhmm..." You gripped his arm tighter, unable to get your mind to even form another word. Every single worry was completely gone and you couldn't care less about anything except this right here.

Billy shifted underneath you, pushing his jeans further down his thighs and the movement made him thrust up into you.

You cried out, trembling with need, and he made a low sound to soothe you. "I've got ya, love. I'll take care now..."

It was too much to hold yourself up so you fell back against him and he rumbled approvingly. The vibration in his chest only added to your pleasure.

He pulled the edges of his shirt that you were wearing apart so you were totally exposed and tugged it down so your shoulders were bare but didn't bother taking it all the way off. Then he wrapped his hands around your bare waist and began to thrust up into you. "Fuck," he groaned. "Wasn't gonna last much longer either, love."

One of his big hands slid up to engulf your breast, kneading the weight of it in his palm then pinching your tight nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Your heart stuttered as you gasped for breath, every nerve lighting up. Billy knew how to make your body sing.

Lifting one arm, you curled it around him to thread your fingers through his hair and let your eyes flutter closed, just feeling him.

Every single thrust hit the right spot and made you whimper or moan or cry. Pleasure seemed to only crest higher and higher inside you, no limit in sight.

Within moments, as he had predicted earlier, you were on the brink of orgasm, but you wanted more, needed it. Grabbing at his hand on your waist, you pushed it down, guiding his fingers to where you were joined.

Billy moaned, his lips brushing the nape of your neck. "Mmmm, needy little thing, ain't ya..." he teased, but he deftly nestled two fingertips right over your swollen clit.

The second he started to circle over the throbbing nub your bliss heightened ten-fold...it had been left ignored for too long.

Your cries now were so much that you vaguely wondered if the neighbors would be concerned but there was nothing you could do, and Billy didn't seem to care at all.

His fingers slowed when he sensed you were almost there and he used his free hand to move your knees to the outside of his so he could push your legs farther apart with his own, wide open for him, and stuffed full.

Then his fingertips returned to their fast, slick circles with haste.

The eruption of your climax happened immediately and all you could do was cry out his name. Your entire body tensed in pleasure, wave after wave crashing through you in relentless pulses as he continued to stroke your clit.

The growl Billy let loose against your shoulder in response was earth-shaking. You had never felt an orgasm this intense before and you could tell your thighs and his fingers and his cock were drenched.

"Fuckin' "ell," he groaned. He moved to grip your hips with both hands one last time, the fingers on one hand still slick with you, and he bucked up into you, rough and erratic as his own orgasm began.

Burying his face against the curve of your neck, he bit down, moaning, low and gruff.

Broken whimpers and unintelligible words fell from your lips as every sensation continued to bounce and ping through your body like a pinball machine.

You could feel his come, hot and thick, spurting deep inside you. It felt just as good as everything else this night.

By the end of it you were completely expended, weak in his lap. You wouldn't be able to move even if the apartment caught on fire.

Billy was slumped into the couch now too, but his arms were around you and he was still inside you.

You had no idea how long the two of you lazed there, but eventually Billy regained his strength.

You whimpered as he finally slid out of you then gathered you up in his arms.

Your own strength was long gone and it was not coming back. He carried you into the bathroom and you were too fucked out to even care he stayed. After he cleaned both of you up, he scooped you up again and set you on the bed. He found your favorite, softest long t-shirt to sleep in and tucked you in. In the next minute he was sliding under the blankets too and he hauled you against his chest.

"Alright love?" he murmured.

"Mmmmmm. Mmmhmmmm." You were nestled in his arms, his skin warm beneath you and your face pressed to his shoulder. You wanted to say thank you but you were pretty sure only a mumble of half-formed words came out. His hand rubbed soothingly over your back and you felt him nuzzle the top of your head only seconds before you were out.

You couldn't go to work the next day, much to Butcher's smug amusement.

~*~*~

thank you for reading 🥹 thank you for all the inspiration to write this ❤️

(post tags are not working for this so doing my best to figure out what the issue is, and tagged people instead, I’m so sorry bleh tumblr)

@chocolategiverzombie @kus-babygirl @jynx15 @cassiopeia-grimm @karlurbanism

@weallhaveadestiny @violent-darkness @norman-b @fenyxhawthorn @smallsadjellyfish

@butchersboobs @shirley-girly @bobabilbil @galaxyshifting @angelically-yours

@burntsaltsblog @multifandomqueen199032 @waerwena @rebelled-angel @spikycritter

karl urban masterlist

#billy butcher #karl urban #billy butcher fanfic #billy butcher brainrot go brr #billy butcher fanfiction #billy butcher imagine #billy butcher smut #billy butcher x reader #billy butcher x you #karl urban brainrot go brrr #karl urban fanfic #karl urban fanfiction #karl urban is the man of my fucking dreams #the boys billy butcher #the boys fanfic #the boys #the boys amazon

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callikari · 26 days ago

Text

──────── 🚋 INVISIBLE STRING

。 some invisible string, tying you to me ..

... 이희승 x 𝒻em!reader && fluff strangers to friends to lovers !! 1350 wc (..◜ᴗ◝..) no warnings, just pure fluff > <

【 more like this ☎️ 】

the first time you meet heeseung, it’s at a dinner party your friend hana throws in her tiny west village apartment—half lit by candles, music playing softly from a bluetooth speaker, pasta slightly overcooked but made with love.

he’s wearing a dark sweater, sleeves pushed up to his forearms, hair a little tousled like he didn’t try too hard (but somehow still looked annoyingly perfect). he’s seated across from you, sipping wine like it’s water and smiling gently when you speak.

the conversation flows. not forced, not heavy. just… easy. he tells you he writes music sometimes—just for himself, “nothing crazy.” you tell him about your favorite film, and he jots it down in his notes app like it matters.

you laugh more than you have in weeks.

you both linger a little too long after dessert.

someone mentions going out for drinks after, but you both say you’re tired—though neither of you really want the night to end.

you think about asking for his number.

you think he might be about to ask for yours.

but then—distracted goodbyes, coats being handed out, laughter echoing down stairwells. and suddenly he’s gone.

you never got his contact.

and now you can’t stop thinking about him.

a week later, you’re in your friend’s apartment again, dramatically flopped on the couch, holding a mug of tea like a victorian widow.

“i’m serious,” you sigh. “he’s the one. i know that sounds crazy but trust me—heeseung is the one.”

hana snorts, scrolling through her phone. “you spoke to him once.”

“and it was the best conversation of my life,” you mutter. “i felt it. fate. like, taylor swift lyric fate.”

“you forgot to get his number.”

“that’s the tragic part of the love story, hana.”

you try to let it go.

you try not to check every café window, every bookstore door, just in case.

but then fate does what fate does best.

it’s three weeks later. cold wind, red leaves everywhere. you’re leaving your favorite used bookstore on west 4th street, cinnamon roll in one hand, tote bag in the other. and then—

“hey.”

you look up.

it’s him. heeseung. in a tan coat, scarf around his neck, holding a coffee like he’s walked straight out of a film.

for a second, you just blink.

he looks like he’s doing the same.

“you’re—”

“we met at hana’s,” he says at the exact same time. you both laugh.

“i was hoping i’d run into you again,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “i, uh, never got your number.”

you smile, heart flipping. “well. guess fate wanted a second chance.”

from then on, it’s soft and slow and sweet.

a series of little moments that string themselves together like poetry.

late afternoons walking through the west village, sharing an umbrella when it starts to rain.

heeseung waiting outside your building with a coffee just the way you like it.

quiet bookstore dates, knees brushing under the table.

him reaching for your hand one day without thinking—and not letting go.

you learn heeseung is shy in the warmest way. he writes melodies on napkins, hums under his breath when he’s thinking. he always listens—really listens. remembers every detail, no matter how small.

he calls you on sunday mornings just to say good luck on your errands.

you start leaving little notes in his coat pocket.

the kiss happens on a thursday.

you’re in his apartment—tiny and full of character, walls covered in records and books and fairy lights. the heater’s clanking, the window’s cracked open, and a jazz record spins in the background like something out of a movie.

you’re sitting side by side on the floor, sharing a blanket, both too tired to talk but too happy to move.

“this is nice,” you murmur.

heeseung turns to look at you, eyes warm and unreadable.

“yeah,” he says softly. “it is.”

a pause.

your heart stumbles.

“can i…” he starts, then laughs under his breath. “wow, i sound like a movie character.”

“you were gonna ask if you could kiss me,” you say, smiling shyly.

he nods.

you lean in first.

the kiss is gentle—soft, like everything he is. his hand finds your cheek, your fingers curl into the sleeve of his sweater. it’s not rushed. it’s not perfect. but it feels real.

you pull back just enough to whisper, “told you you were the one.”

heeseung grins. “so did fate.”

and from that moment on—

it’s you and him.

always.

a thread tying you through time, tugging quietly until it brought you home.

“time, curious time…”

and you believe it.

enha taglist :: @ash-engen @chrrific @cheruphic @jungwonbropls @ijustreallylike2read @brazillianqueen123

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retiredteabag · 1 month ago

Text

Unknown Rivals

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader

Synopsis: There was only one thing worse than being paired with Sukuna for an important school project, and that was realizing the slacker somehow had a higher class standing than yourself.

Tags: Academic rivals, enemies to eventual lovers, type A reader, anxiety, college!au

pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3 - next part

One thing was for sure about the past weekend, and that was the fact that your advisor knew not to assign you any future classes with this monster of a man.

You had three finals coming up, one of which came in the form of a presentation. And you had yet to practice said presentation and your partner scheduled that particular event at the most inconvenient of times. The whole endeavor was drawing a lot of your current anxiety. Of course, you didn't ask to reschedule.

You had looked over the combination of slides in your PowerPoint, waiting by the day for Sukuna to finalize his speaker notes, and everyday your distress only grew.

It was not uncommon for the dunning kruger effect to take hold of the arrogant men in your lectures. He may have brought up concerns about your own public speaking ability, but you have yet to see the man speak in full sentences before anyone.

Over inflated head, self-important, Oscar Wilde level egomaniac-

The class's presentations were split into two groups; the first half of the class would present on Thursday, and the latter half, on Friday. You were one of the unfortunate teams that would go first.

The nerves were getting to the point of being sickening every time you passed the auditorium. The hollow heartbeat swelled in your chest and you felt nauseated. Too soon, you would be in there, on that stage, stood beside that arrogant prick.

Being one of the first groups to speak might be better than having to be last; just get it over with... still, it wasn't great for gauging the audience, competition, or topics.

You were to present before the faculty, classmates, and employers looking for interns.

Maybe Sukuna had been correct. Yes, you could be "anal about this stuff", sure, but you had put too much money into your education to not put in equal effort. Since when was it a crime to try?

For the fifth time that week, you looked over his slides...still, no speaker notes on the later half.

He did look like the type to wing it. Read the SparkNotes and assume he could sound intellectual with the insertion of pauses and emphasis on basic information. For a normal assignment, a professor might be non the wiser, but for something as important as this final? He needed to know his stuff.

And what then, if he was asked a question? What if he didn't prepare? What if he crashed and burned? The smoke would affect you too.

That's why you find yourself waiting inside a private study room in the library that Wednesday. You had arrived right on time to the room you had reserved and were unpacking the contents of your bag when a pack of giggling students retched the door open.

There was a moment of silence that passed between all before you cleared your throat, "Sorry...I reserved this room..." the group looked around at each other, making pouty faces.

Eventually one of them spoke up, "Do you really need it?" They all shared a pitiful look, "Theres a lot more of us, we really need the room..."

You stood there for a moment, expecting someone in their friend group to have a speck of sense. It quickly became clear that none of them did, "Right... well, I'm sorry but I need the room too."

"Every other room is reserved by a group, this room is just you." One of them pointed out, speaking far too loudly to have the door open to the library stacks.

"I'm here to work with my project partner." You huffed, as if that made a difference. The room was yours! There was no way you were going to back down. You would be presenting tomorrow and needed a space to practice. "That's why I reserved the space."

They make faces as if you have committed some kind of hate crime, throwing their arms in the air in offense. "Your partner isn't even here, can't we just use it? You could literally go anywhere else."

The group nods at the boy who spoke up, fully supporting his argument as if he just slam-dunked you with a killer 2AR. You sigh looking down to check the time on your phone. If Sukuna wasn't here, you might as well just leave. Who’s to say he’ll come anyway?

You weigh your options, he hadn’t responded to your email this time either.

"Pretty sure it's you who can go anywhere else."

He wasn't loud, but his voice rang with conviction. Speak of the devil. You look away from your watch and observe his effect on the group.

Sukuna pulled the door back wider, he stood at least a head taller than the largest among them, and while he was never found with a smile on his face anyway, he looked particularly harsh in this moment.

"Can't we just-" one of the girls leaned into Sukuna, grabbing his bicep, "take the room?" She smiled sweetly, tracing an index finger over his arm, "There's a lot of us, you know?"

Sukuna practically jolts off of her, tearing his arm out of her grasp, and making a twisted face in the group's direction. "Get offa me." He moves through the rest of the students, tossing his bag onto the table with a bang.

You make brief eye contact before he watches you turn to see the pack of freshmen resolutely standing in the doorway. He swings back, rolling his eyes, "Now get out."

There wasn't any room for argument in his tone. The lot of them huffed and griped but made no real fuss as they crossed their arms and whispered insults. The door slowly slid shut.

You plug your laptop into the adapter, muttering, "Good to see you've finally showed up."

"I didn't have an attitude when you were late to the library."

He just stands there. Unzipping his bag on the ovular table in front of the projector.

You look at him, recalling that day well, you want to snip at him again but you cant help the short, somewhat shocked, laugh you let out.

He walks to the other side of the room, pulls out his notebook and looks at the screen. "So are we practicing, or what?"

"Oh, we're practicing, all right." You mutter to yourself.

You bring out the sheet from the first week you met in the library. It outlined the topics that each of you would need to cover. You open up the PowerPoint and turn to look at him, comfortably sitting down.

"We should probably start with introductions."

"We roleplaying this?" He sat with his legs spread on the swivel chair, arms crossed.

"You were the one who asked to practice." You point out, motioning for him to get up. "At the presentation, the students will have nametags, but we should still open up with a greeting so they know who to call on for questions."

He sighs, lifting himself from his seat like it took a great effort, he stood beside you, looking to his mock audience, he points to himself,

"Sukuna, Ryomen." Then he turns to look at you, jutting out his thumb in your direction, and as if it is the most natural thing in the world, calls out your full name.

It was so strange, you got caught searching for words. You had no idea he knew your name. If there was one thing obvious about Sukuna, it was his blatant dislike of his peers. It wasn't uncommon to see him rolling his eyes, or avoiding the fellow students that followed him around all the time.

"Right, okay, we'll smooth out that part later, for now, lets focus on the first few slides." You lean down and point out the screen of your laptop, "I'll go first. I’ll give my thesis as a roadmap for my information, then you can do yours."

You turn your face to the side, expecting him to still be standing behind you, listening to your explanation, but pull back in alarm to find his face right beside yours, he was focused on what you were pointing out on the slide.

You jolt back, taking a moment to regain your thoughts, "…I’ll get into my half and allow for a segway into yours.” He follows your motion, standing straight. “We'll have clickers.” You continue, “Let's just say that whoever finishes explaining the slide will be responsible for clicking to the next one, okay?"

He was so watchful, it was unnerving. Had he always been like this? Seeming bored, he gives you a nod. "Sure."

The following two hours flew by. It was actually nice to not have to dance around issues, you could be confrontational and know he wouldn't get offended. He was well versed in his area of the presentation, easily paraphrasing what he wanted people to grasp from his slides. It wasn't until he sat down, asking you to present for him that you started having issues.

"What?" He leaned back in his chair, spinning slightly, "Give your speech, do it like I'm the audience."

"No." You huff, "not if you don't." You point at him.

"I'll do it, but you go first, you we're the one who wanted to start us off anyway." He’s brought this on you somewhat out of nowhere.

You look around the room, feeling suddenly anxious. You had practiced both you and Sukuna’s parts to the point of near memorization. You had recorded your speaker notes and listened to them before bed nightly. You knew what to say. But you were feeling suddenly…shy?

"Don't act like I've put you on the spot," He waves a hand, "We're here to practice."

"I know." You look at your shoes, feeling small, stupid. It was embarrassing to have him watch you. He just screamed judgment. You huff, "Fine. Turn around."

He looked almost insulted at the notion. "What? No."

"Would you just do it?"

Assuming he wouldn’t complain, you wait for him to turn. He just squints at you,"I knew you worried over nothing but do you have stage fright too or something?" Sukuna leans down, elbows on his knees.

You didn't really know what the issue was. Performing on stage, you could probably disassociate long enough to not feel so uncomfortable, but here, alone, with only his eyes to see you, it was different somehow. "No...maybe... I don't know."

"Well." He shrugs, "Now's a great time to shake off those nerves. Go on, I'm sure you have all your information down."

He motions your way, and you force yourself to go over your work, starting from the top. You try to focus on your cadence, intonation, and scripted pauses from your recording. You turn to look in the corner of the room, mimicking the intentional body language you had meticulously practiced in front of your bathroom mirror.

You spent the time expressing what you would say rather than pretending to teach him. Having already used the room for hours, you simply focused on the main points of contention, explaining your slides with practiced ease. Once you finished, you moved onto his starting slide and cantered passed him to one of the opposing chairs.

He did not take your cue, getting up to present, however, opting instead to open his body language, "I woulda thought you had a script in front of you."

"Like you said, I actually know my information." You snark, huffing out a breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding. Starting to become tired and stressed at the idea of the upcoming exams.

He simply rolled his eyes as the suggestion that he might not, "You can't make eye contact."

He was speaking as if stating a fact. Your brows furrow, having been doing exactly that what he said you apparently couldn’t do. "When you're presenting, you don’t look at me" He continues. "It's weird, you have no problem with watching people but when you know that someone is watching you, you can't seem to acknowledge it."

Your mouth twists into a mock smirk; he reminded you in that moment of your previous first-year psych student roommate, who genuinely believed themself a genius among feckless plebs.

"When we're on stage, we won't be making eye contact with anyone really-" You were about to defend yourself before being interrupted.

"See. You’re doing it again. You can't look at me." He narrows an accusing finger in your general direction. Moving to stand, he grabs the clicker off the table and shifts into a teasing tone. "Here's how it's done."

You were still somewhat reeling from him pointing out a habit you didn't even know you were taking part in. Wondering suddenly if others had noticed it and if so, why nobody had said anything.

You felt suddenly irked and wanted to prove to him that, no, you very well could make intentional eye contact with someone making a point to notice you.

It was a grueling task, and, as you would find out, your brain seemed to be sending every 'I am uncomfortable' signal to your body while attempting it. You couldn't seem to stop swallowing, voluntarily blinking, or forcefully making your hands stop moving.

All these small tasks took up some serious mental effort but despite that, you were still able to take in his oratory skills.

For a man so lacking in the interpersonal communication sphere, he presented with poise, confidence, and knowledge on his subject. He paced himself well and it almost seemed as though his speech was conducted in a way that made note-taking ideal. He seemed aware of his space and motioned accordingly.

When he wasn't gesturing or looking back at the slides, he was looking at you, as if he was lecturing you with the information you had tirelessly slaved over when studying his speaker notes.

And on the topic of speaker notes? He totally strayed from them! He didn't even follow the same roadmap that you had seen nights before. You hated it, but none could deny, he was still a compelling speaker. You couldn't make a sensible complaint because of how undeniably well he spoke.

Besides, what kind of anal, control-freak, dictator of a school partner memorized someone else's speaker notes?

The issue arose in you suddenly that Sukuna doesn't need to make an effort like you do. He doesn't care to, he simply has the confidence in himself. He seemed to hold no anxiety and no care for how he was perceived. The only issue was, these types often flunked out of school, and here he was thriving.

While he wrapped up his slides, he crossed his arms over his chest, pointedly looking your way.

You think back to your previous interactions, Sukuna must see himself as so terribly generous, allowing you the time of day to practice with him. He likely thought the concept stupid. And worse? His efforts didn't ease your nerves, and they did not qualm your worries.

Your thoughts are cut off by the brisk striking of his knuckles on the table. You look up at him, "Get out of your thoughts." He slides past you to his bookbag, putting away a notebook. "We're in good shape."

You aren't sure what to say. You don't feel like you're in good shape but you don't want to discourage him, not that you thought it possible for him.

Before he slips out of the door, you turn to him, "I'm going to send you a list of mock questions so you can prepare some answers." He wouldn’t look at the email, you were sure.

He snorted a laugh, "Good to know you were paying attention."

And he was gone.

Sukuna was not terribly fond of school, that is, in the typical sense. He did enjoy learning and was dedicated to his area of study, sure, but being around people? He found it exhausting.

You hadn't stuck out to him, but it was hard to not notice you. You sat in the front of every single lecture, pristinely on time. You were one of the students that the professor felt inclined to call on. And he saw you in the library, often.

It was not until he had been enlisted as your partner for the practicum that he started to see why you had taken his notice.

At first, he shook it off, thinking himself crazy, but after three sessions in the library, it was clear what it was. You reminded him of someone.

You were just like his nephew.

Wednesdays and Fridays in the library, you would be rambling on about something, going over the expectations for the project draft, explaining the sources you wanted him to utilize, and he would be listening, sure, but he would be seeing Yuuji.

The little boy was a little shit, and despite being wildly more extroverted that yourself, he too was nervous about everything.

Sukuna was like a second parent to the boy, and as much as he would complain, he wouldn't change it for a thing.

It was weird, to see the kid in you. At first he stocked you up as a try-hard, but in reality, he assumes you're just scared. You really are just like that little boy.

You did not sleep well last night. You got to bed early but you simply couldn't slip away. And when you finally did pass over into restless sleep, you were promptly woken up by your own hyperactive consciousness.

You checked the clock each time. Had you really set that alarm? You would go over your script and the more you did, the sicker you felt. You craved more time to practice, you craved for your body to stop jittering with nerves, you craved to just fall asleep damn it!

After a few more hours of waking only to have found rest in literal minute increments, you arose. Dressed yourself and began to get ready.

Everything around you spoke of a good day, the weather was perfect, you looked great, and you had all the rehearsed information at the ready.

Still, internally, you couldn't reach peace.

Once you arrived at the auditorium, you spotted your professor and retrieved your nametag from him. Sukuna was no where to be found which only added to your panic. You paced in the box, the private room for speakers, behind the theater, and repeatedly touched your hair.

Even with potential hours to go, you were feeling overwhelmed, you were at the point of wishing you could just go first and be done with it all.

You were squeezing water out of a thin paper towel and placing it on your neck when the door creaked open.

You flipped to him, "Where have you been?!" You hissed.

You had plenty of time before you would be introduced but you couldn't hide the frustration in your voice.

Sukuna was dressed in a Mandarin suit, he looked perfectly relaxed and the notion only fueled your anger. "I had a class..."

He comes forward and sets his (backup) flash drive on the circular table in the middle of the loge. "Well, why didn't you say that before?” You make an exasperated face and feel your heartbeat quicken, “And where is your nametage?"

Even you could hear the hysterical twinge in your voice, you took a deep breath and told yourself to relax. He didn't say anything, just raised his brows while reaching behind to retrieve the very thing from his back pocket.

Embarrassed, you tear the makeshift cloth from your neck and rush to sit on the couch. You scrap the towel to shreds before disposing of it.

"Everything's in order, we'll be alright." He didn't come to join you on the sofa but watched from the side of the box. He didn’t sound comfortable but he certainly seemed to believe his own words.

"It doesn't even really matter." You had been telling yourself this very thing for weeks when someone took notice of how concerned you were. Not a part of you believed it but you hoped the phrase would ease your mind anyway.

"Oh, it matters." Sukuna laughed.

You wanted to be mad, but in all reality, he was just saying what you knew, him lying would not have comforted you. He started to come over now.

"It just isn't so important that you need to kill yourself over it." You rolled your eyes, knowing what he was saying.

"If we bomb, then that's that, so what?" He tossed his hands up slightly.

You looked at him, and without even needed to study his face, you knew he meant it. He believed it. ‘So what?’ You roll the words around in your brain, shaking your head. You couldn't have stopped the words from escaping.

"I hate people like you." You mutter it, undertones of a laugh there, nothings amusing. "Seriously, I hate how you can just say that."

He isn't mad. The bastard grins, "Oh, trust me, I know."

And then he’s leaving the room. You don't have much time to wonder about what exactly he was doing. You hadn’t thought he would be upset at your declaration. Then again, you hadn’t exactly been thinking when you said it.

What had he meant, that he knew? I guess a guy like him just assumes everyone who isn’t perfectly relaxed at all times is a suck up.

When he returned, he was carrying water bottles and complimentary fruit from outside the auditorium doors. This time around he does come sit, right next to you.

"Have some."

You don't feel thirst but you still accept it when he cracks open the bottle for you. He places the fruit on the table before you both and takes a drink himself.

"I didn't really mean that, I'm just jealous of how you live." He's leaned back and his suit pants clung to his legs.

He purses his lips and shifts his head from side to side, smirking, Mmm, I don't know, I think you actually meant it."

You both chuckle, the nerves are still getting to you. "I still hate you for what you did earlier this semester." You lighten your voice but glance his way to show you do mean it.

He turns his head now, brow raised but still comfortably leaning against the back of the couch. "What did I do earlier this semester?"

You laugh, rolling your eyes. It takes him a moment before he sees you’re not gonna reply, "No, what did I do?"

"The whole beginning of this project." You muse. He still isn't catching what you're saying so you motion with your hands. "Our meetings, in the library? You never told me you were top of the class."

“Should I go out and advertise it?" He clearly isn't getting what you mean.

"No, Sukuna, it sucks because you never told me that you were well versed in the class material.” He still doesn’t seem to grasp the issue, “I’m saying, it made me feel stupid to find out that the guy I thought I was tutoring was actually competing with me."

"It made you feel stupid?"

"In a way. Like you were mocking me."

Sukuna frowns, he leans onto his knees. "I wasn't mocking you."

"You say that." You poke his shoulder and he looks at you quizzically.

In all actuality, it was nice to be able to tell him these things, you didn't feel that anger anymore. As of it had rolled off, only shame lingered.

"I never minded our sessions in the library. I guess it made things easier, you're so..." he reaches for the word,

“Anal?” You recount when he had called you that very thing.

He rolls his eyes, "Organized."

"Thanks." Your voice is low, sarcastic.

He shrugs. Some of the nerves have left you, but suddenly you're hearing voices in the auditorium, one specifically telling people to file in through the doors, and you know you'll be speaking soon.

He turns to look at you again, legs parallel to your own, his palms flat on his thighs, "You care too much about what others think."

He's doing that thing, that I'm-going-to-make-intentional-eye-contact-with-you-and-it-will-be-an-unspoken-comeptition-to-prove-you-can't-do-it thing.

"Maybe you're too carefree." You offer silently.

Soon, someone will come through the doors before you with mic packs and you'll have tape on your face. Your heart pounds. "You should feel okay without having to prove that you’re worthy of validation from others."

He reaches forward for his water bottle, voices can be heard above you, to your sides. People are taking their seats. "You're a smart girl."

And for the second time this week, he says your name and it feels just as strange as it had that first time. "And you didn't have to prove it for me to see it."

And with everything else occurring in this moment, you feel the most upset about the fact that the obnoxious Sukuna Ryomen might just bring unshed tears to your eyes.

You’re silent as you stand, brushing unseen dust off your clothing. Sukuna is stood there by the door that leads to the area behind the stage, his hand is outstretched.

You look around frantically, turning to find his clicker that he must have left on the table, but before you can start searching, he scoffs.

He leans forward and grabs your arm, spinning you gently. He robotically shows you his hand again and places your own in it.

Oh.

He tightens his encompassing palm around your own and makes a tugging sensation to pull you ahead of him through the door he held open.

People in the tech crew were setting everything up and called you each over to get your mics on.

When he lets you go, your hand twitches involuntarily.

You hadn’t realized how cold you were until you felt the warmth of his hand. And for some reason, you couldn’t think of much else as you got mic’d up, despite the ever growing voiced in the audience.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

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