#really just. focusing in on a moment huh.

[evenyvn]

Is That Me?

Streamer!Yunho x Fem!reader

summary : in which yunho makes his in game avatar eerily similar to you and thought no one will notice.

cw : she/her reader, sfw, fluff, gaming streamer yunho, yunho is a tsundere, the reader got some sort of cute agression towards yunho, kisses, they are in love your honor🙏 very short.

this is inspired by this trend on tiktok where people makes their game avatar look like their girlfriend and i find it absolutely adorable

Masterlist

Yunho had been live for a couple of hours now, the streamer is deeply focused on customizing his character in a new RPG. He had spent an embarrassingly long time tweaking the facial features—adjusting the shape of the eyes, softening the lips, picking the right skin color. His chat had caught on quickly.

> “Yunho, that’s literally Y/N.”

> “Bro, you’re not even being subtle.”

> “Tell me why this character looks IDENTICAL to your girlfriend.”

> “Obsessed much?”

He scoffed at the comments, shaking his head. “Nah, nah, it’s just a coincidence,” he muttered, but his chat was relentless.

> “Sure, dude. You even picked her exact beauty mark.”

> “The denial is crazy LMAO.”

But Yunho paid no mind. He was too immersed in finalizing the outfit choices, his eyes locked on the screen, completely unaware of the soft creak of the front door opening behind him.

You had just gotten home from work, tired but excited to finally see your boyfriend. You walked through your shared apartment, following the familiar sound of your boyfriend voice on his gaming room, opening his door only to stop dead in your tracks when you caught sight of his screen.

your eyes widened.

Is that… you on his game?

Yunho was still too focused, humming to himself as he adjusted the character’s hairstyle.

You grinned mischievously before creeping up behind his chair. Without warning, you threw your arms around his neck from behind, pressing against him as you practically yelled in his ear, “IS THAT ME??”

Yunho jumped. His whole body stiffened, his hands jerking the mouse so hard that his character spun in circles on screen. His chat exploded.

> “SHE CAUGHT YOU LMAOOOO.”

> “BUSTED BUSTED BUSTED.”

> “OH, YOU’RE SO DONE.”

He turned his head slowly, wide-eyed, meeting your smug gaze. “Wh-What are you doing here?” he stammered, ignoring the way his ears turned pink.

“I live here, Yunho.” You giggled, squeezing him tighter. “Now tell me—” you pointed at the screen “—why does this character look EXACTLY like me?”

“I mean how are you home so early? and It’s just a coincidence.” He cleared his throat, trying to sound nonchalant.

You gasped dramatically, clutching your chest. “So you’re saying I look basic?”

Yunho’s hands shot up in defense. “No! No, that’s not what I meant—” While he's trying to think of an excuse, his chat was having the time of their lives.

> “AW HELL NAW HE FELL FOR THE TRAP.”

> “RIP Yunho 1999-2025.”

> “Just admit it, bro.”

Meanwhile, you leaned closer, pressing loud, exaggerated kisses all over his cheek and jawline. “Aww, you’re so cute~” you cooed between kisses. “You made me in your game and tried to act like you didn’t! That’s adorable!”

“Quit it!” Yunho whined, wiggling in his chair, but he wasn’t really resisting. His face was completely red now as he tried to hide a big grin on his face behind his hand.

You finally stopped, grinning ear to ear. “Admit it, baby,” teasingly tilting your head. “You remember my face so well you made my character without even looking at a picture, huh?”

Yunho pursed his lips, staying painfully silent, face still hidden behind his hand. His chat knew the truth.

> “He 100% did.”

> “Bro has her memorized at heart.”

> “Simp behavior and I respect it.”

After a moment, Yunho sighed in defeat. “...Maybe.”

“Maybe?” you gasped again, dramatically clutching your heart. “The bare minimum acknowledgment??”

Yunho rolled his eyes, finally relenting. He reached for your wrist and tugged you onto his lap. “Fine, fine. Yeah. I made her look like you on purpose. Happy?”

You beamed, wrapping your arms around his neck again. “Very~”

“Alright, but now you have to stay and stream with me,” Yunho said, acting as if he was the one making the demands.

You didn’t hesitate. “Deal.”

And so, for the rest of the stream, You sat comfortably on his lap, constantly pointing out every little detail he got right—down to the curve of your smile and the arch of your eyebrows—while Yunho pretended to focus on playing. His chat, however, wouldn't live this down.

> “Yunho’s whipped and we love to see it.”

> “Best stream ever.”

> “Y/N never shuts up about how cute he is and honestly? Same.”

Even though Yunho stayed quiet, his shy little smiles gave him away. And deep down, he didn’t mind—because, well… they weren’t wrong.

divider by @.adornedwithlight | likes, reblogs, and comments, are very appreciated ♡

[cruel-as-sin]

and you deserve it | logan howlett

↳ summary: you have a stack of paperwork to get done by tomorrow morning... but your boyfriend has other ideas

word count: 2.3k

song: earned it | the weeknd

pairings: trilogy!logan x fem!reader

content warnings: 18+ content (MDNI), smut, porn w/ light plot, oral (f! receiving), hickeys, LOTS of teasing, established relationship, MASSIVE praise kink, logan is a tease just bc he can be, scott summers mentioned, hints of possessiveness and jealousy from logan, pet names for reader (baby, sweetheart, darlin', good girl, atta girl), no use of y/n, unidentified mountains of paperwork that reader has to complete (i don't care if it's realistic, let me live!), aftercare, logan is a sweetie (lmk if i missed anything!)

↳ a/n: so um. here's this, bc teasing!logan has me melting into a puddle. inspired partly by me envisioning logan doing this to me, partly by my own past experiences, and partly by conversations with @lostinlovingrevery, enjoy!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Logan eyes you from the doorway, his gaze lingering on your focused expression before trailing down the rest of your form. You're exhausted, that much is clear, but the stack of papers before you doesn't indicate that you plan on resting anytime soon.

He'd bet Summers is to blame for this.

If that happens to be the case, and if you're also so intent on finishing this paperwork by Scott's deadline, as he's sure you are, then... he's got no choice to convince you otherwise, right?

And if he can't do that, he might as well have a little fun.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You feel like you've been at this for hours. Actually, glancing at the time, you probably have. You didn't mean to leave all your paperwork until the last minute, but things just sort of happened; and now, here you are, the words on the page starting to blur before you, your eyes heavy, your body aching.

You hear the click of the bedroom door closing, feeling Logan's hands on your shoulders a moment later. "Still at it, huh?"

You hum in acknowledgement, leaning back into his touch as he begins to massage your muscles, the tension in your body slowly ebbing away.

"You should take a break, baby." He continues to work at the knots in your shoulders, a soft groan escaping you as his strong hands make you melt into the back of your seat. "Finish this in the morning."

You shake your head. Scott will lay into you if you don't get this done- that's a lesson you had to learn the hard way. "Can't. You know how early Scott wants this."

He grunts in disapproval the moment Scott's name leaves your lips, leaning down to press his mouth to your ear. "That's a shame." His voice drops to a low tone that only means trouble, his hands moving to the hem of your shirt, playing with the fabric. "I had some other ideas, but I guess that'll have to wait."

You should do the responsible thing and agree with him, tell him that yes, he will have to wait, because you do really need to get this done.

But the way his breath hits your ear, the feeling of his hands brushing against your bare skin, and the dreadful thought of spending the rest of your night doing paperwork instead of in bed with Logan all have you reconsidering.

You cast a glance in his direction, then back at the remaining stack of paperwork before you. Finishing the rest of it in the morning couldn't hurt, right? If you managed to get up early...

"Well," You begin, your tone sultry as you turn around in your seat to face him. "I suppose just this once I could make an exception." You lean in to kiss him, but find a confused expression forming across your face when he stops you.

“Uh-uh." He shakes his head, pulling away just enough to stay out of your reach. "You got work to do." Still, his hands remain on your shoulders, toying with the straps of your bra.

It hits you, then, what he's doing. Why he has that stupid little smirk on his face that signals he's got you backed into some sort of corner, laying out a trap for you, a scenario in which he knows you're inevitably gonna give in.

"Lo," You immediately whine in protest. "That's not fair."

“Never said I was being fair, sweetheart." He stares you down with that same damn smirk still on his face, his hands tracing small circles on the bare skin of your collarbone. "Go on." He tilts his head toward your desk, an order you don't dare to refuse.

For a moment, you think maybe he'll go easy on you. That he just needs to have his hands on you somehow, and that he'll let you finish this paperwork without any more distractions. So you turn around in your seat, picking up your pen once more. The moment your eyes land on the sheet in front of you, though, Logan's breath hits the back of your neck. His hands move lower, dipping just beneath your shirt, featherlight touches along the edges of your bra.

Of course he isn't making this easy.

"Logan." You try to take on a sterner tone with him, but it devolves into a moan as he begins to press kisses along your neck.

He chuckles sinfully, only continuing to kiss and suck at your skin. "C'mon, sweetheart. The sooner you get this done, the sooner you can come to bed."

Evil. That's the word that comes to your mind to describe him right now- pure fucking evil.

And you kind of love it.

With a huff, you try to focus on the papers again, muttering under your breath. "It would be a lot easier if you'd stop distracting me-" You're cut off by Logan nipping at your pulse point, and you have to force yourself not to whimper at the way his teeth drag across your skin. You know he's going to leave a mark, something you've scolded him for countless times, but right now you can't bring yourself to care.

Even though you can't see his face anymore, you can hear that stupid smirk in his voice. "Less talking, more working."

You grumble to yourself, stubbornly silent as one of his hands moves down your back. You try to hide the way your breath catches in your throat at the warmth of his touch and the placement of his kisses, or the teasing words he whispers in your ear. "You said it yourself, you gotta get this paperwork done." His hand moves down to your hips, your waist, then to your inner thigh. You're pretty sure you're fucking buzzing with energy by this point, but you keep it together, eyes narrowed on your paperwork, fingers curled tightly around your pen.

Then he really goes in for it, tracing his hand up and down your inner thigh, the other slipping to the edge of your shirt, acting like he's going to dip beneath the fabric, but never going so far as to give you a semblance of what you want. Noticing the effect he's having on you, the way your heartbeat speeds up and the arousal dripping from your core, his tone becomes more cocky. "You don't wanna disappoint Scott, do you?"

Gods, he never could stop having a made-up rivalry with that man, could he? "I don't care what Scott thinks." You say between unsteady breaths, trying to make your voice sound more confident than it should be. It's a lie- well, not really, because at this point you really don't care what Scott thinks, you just want Logan to fuck you.

He has the nerve to scoff. "Well if that was the case, we wouldn't be here, sweetheart." He taps your thigh, a silent command for you to keep going, but like the bastard he is, he feels the need to verbally remind you. "Chop chop. Don’t need Summers bitching at you tomorrow."

You manage to keep going, trying your hardest not to get distracted by Logan's touch, his lips, his hands, his breath against your skin, the words he continues to whisper, the little huffs of amusement you occasionally hear when he gets a particularly good reaction from you. His hand dips just below your shirt, brushing against your stomach, and you feel like a medieval virgin with how much wetter that simple act makes you.

The stack in front of you is dwindling, and you might finally be nearing salvation- but Logan, of course, has other ideas. When he sees that you only have a couple of papers left, he gets bolder. Hands roaming under your shirt, rolling one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, grinning at the moan he gets out of you.

You unconsciously start rolling your hips, desperate for any sort of friction, any form of relief to the ache building itself in your core. But Logan notices, one of his hands wrapping around your hips and pulling you back against the chair. You squirm in his grasp, but his hold is firm- you can't move a muscle, not the way you want. "One more, darlin'." He whispers in your ear. "You can do it, I know you can." The hand wrapped around your midsection moves lower, placing light pressure against your clothed slit, and you swear you're going to kill him tomorrow. "You wanna be good for me, don't you?"

Motherfucker.

You grip the pen tighter in your hand, squinting at the words on the final piece of paper in front of you, the empty spaces laughing in your face. His hand stays there, the pressure just enough to drive you insane. His other hand keeps playing with your nipples while his mouth moves down to your back, a trail of kisses placed along it before he begins to suck another mark into the skin of your collarbone. He moves the hand against your core, just slightly, pressing down a little harder when you're halfway through the page. But you don't let him get to you, you can't let him win.

With shaky hands and impressive strength of will, you finally finish the last paper, setting it atop the stack of other finished forms, a testament to your unwavering commitment. "There. I'm done."

"Good job, sweetheart." Logan purrs in your ear. You close your eyes, leaning back into his touch- but then he withdraws his hands from you. The loss of contact makes your head spin, and you scramble to your feet as he starts to back away.

"What are you doing?" Your tone is half-angry, half-panicked, a mixture of words that comes out rushed and stumbled-over.

"Going to bed." His tone is casual, completely unbothered, the polar opposite of you- cheeks flushed, breaths heavy, a pleading look in your eyes. "You gotta get up early tomorrow morning, right? To give that paperwork to Scott."

For a moment, you're crushed by disappointment. He can't really mean that, can he? Then you catch that stupid smirk on his face again, and frustration builds within you, your pent up energy needing some sort of outlet. "Logan Howlett, if you don't get your ass over here and make me cum right now-"

He laughs, the sound lighting up the room, before he steps back towards you. "I'm just messin' with you, baby." He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him, strong arms bare for you to admire, wifebeater clinging tightly to his chest. Quickly, your anger subsides, his touch too magical for you to resist. "You did so good for me." He murmurs in your ear. "I think you earned a reward, yeah?"

You nod, the circles he's making on your waist making you feel dizzy, but he clicks his tongue. "Ah-ah-ah, none of that silent treatment shit. You got nothin' else to pay attention to now, so I want words."

You swallow, forcing yourself to be some level of coherent. "Yes. I- I want a reward." When that doesn't seem to satisfy him, your tone becomes more confident. "I earned a reward."

"There we go, atta girl." He leans in to give you a kiss, a brief moment that turns into something more as you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. His tongue dips into your mouth, mingling with yours, and he groans at the feeling.

He pulls your shirt over your head, unclasping your bra and massaging your breasts between kisses. You tilt your head back as his mouth trails down your neck, your collarbone, and then to your breasts, swirling his tongue around your nipple. “You did such a good job, baby.” He murmurs, his hands and mouth alternating between your tits, the pleasing sensation only adding to the unbearable heat between your thighs. "You always work so hard, gettin' things done for everyone."

He's right. You do work hard. And by the way he's lifting you up and setting you on the bed, he intends on appreciating it.

He pulls down your pants, then your panties, tossing them to the side as he positions himself between your spread legs, admiring your glistening center. "So pretty." He mumbles, leaning in to lick up your arousal.

His tongue is like fire against you, the heat he brings forth a raging inferno that grows and grows, a culmination of god knows how many minutes of torture. Your hands tangle in his hair, tugging him in deeper, and the moan he lets out reverberates throughout your body.

After a particularly loud moan leaves your lips, he pulls away to glance up at you. “Yeah, you feel better now, huh?” He chuckles, a grin lingering on his face as you pull his head back down to your pussy.

His tongue laps at you endlessly, and you quickly find yourself approaching your peak. "Oh, god, Logan-" You moan. "Don't stop, please, I'm gonna-"

He pulls away again, just for a moment, his thumb moving to replace his tongue as he spoke to you. "Go on, baby. You've been so good, such a good girl for me." His fingers moved in quick circles around your clit, and you whined as he kept going, faster and faster. "Be a good girl and do one more thing for me, okay? Cum for me, you earned it, c'mon." Then he leans back in and latches onto your clit, and the sensation has you seeing stars as you cum on his tongue. His name echoes throughout the room, your body trembling as pleasure washes over you.

But Logan doesn't stop there. He works three more orgasms out of you with his tongue, only switching to his fingers when he wants to remind you of just how good you're being, how much you deserve a reward, how pretty you look all spread out for him, how much he loves this fuckin' pussy, how much he loves you.

As you come down from your final high, he makes sure to lick you clean, then moves up to languidly kiss you. You moan into his mouth, still in a post orgasmic haze, your eyes heavy from tiredness and bliss. He smiles down at you, brushing some hair out of your face, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"I'm proud of you, sweetheart."

And as he cleans you both up, gets you a snack and some water, changes you both into pjs and tucks you into bed, he repeats those words and more over and over, an unwavering beacon of strength and support. Yours, forever, always.

tags: @flowersforbucky @thinkinonsense @gewrgia-black @wlwloverwrites @buckybarneswife125 @sweetverine @dilfverines @wchswift @namikyento @lokirogersgirl @nymphoniah @logansdoe @robo-writing @atleastpleasetelephone @r0ttedcherubim @logaenhowlett @th3mrskory @pidgeypidge-pidge @lostinlovingrevery @rosenclaws @cenviswasteland @lubdubology @trr3rr @sacredsorceress @howlettsangel @dixie-isnt-cool @blythesarchives

(this is the taglist for my logan howlett one-shots. if anyone would like to be added to or removed from this taglist, or would specifically prefer to only be tagged for f!, m!, or gn! reader, please let me know!)

[shaunamilfman]

lost in translation [1]

pairing: Jackie Taylor x f!reader summary: You're her French tutor. Your methods may be a little controversial. College AU. note: any dialogue line in italics is French I saved us both time by not translating all of it. minors dni. Jackie Taylor praise kink i know that's right. Part Two

Jackie takes the textbook resting in your lap and tosses it to the floor, ignoring your shocked gasp in favor of swinging one leg over your hips and settling on your lap. 

“Jackie, what–”

She cuts you off as she grabs onto your shoulders, looping her arms behind your neck and claiming your lips. It's messy, impatient, and everything you imagined it would be. Thinking about kissing Jackie had taken up such an embarrassingly high amount of your time recently that you're almost not sure what to do with it once it's become reality. 

Almost. 

Your hands flail for a moment before settling on her hips, sliding down to palm at her ass through her jeans and pulling her firmly against you as she grinds down against your thigh. She groans into your mouth as you prop your thigh up, giving her something to really rub herself against. Jackie gasps, hips stuttering as the seam of her jeans digs in with enough pressure to make her head spin. She rolls her hips again, harder now. 

“What are you doing?” You murmur. 

“Studying.” 

“Studying?” You laugh breathlessly. The answer seems so ridiculous with how wrecked she looks on your lap, but it's such a Jackie answer that you can't help yourself from closing the distance to kiss her again. 

Jackie's tongue brushes achingly slowly against your bottom lip. Her hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, her thumb brushing against your skin as she tilts your head back. She tastes sweet, a mix of the strawberry lip gloss she carries around and the mint gum you'd watched her hastily spit out when she'd seen you coming earlier. 

She takes your lips parting as what it is: an invitation. Her tongue traces yours, slipping inside your mouth with no further preamble. Jackie’s just teasing you, more than anything, retreating whenever you press forward only to push forward again a moment later. You tighten your grip on her ass, squeezing hard as you grind her down on your thigh which earns a breathy moan that vibrates against your skin.

Droplets of spit glisten on her lips as she pulls back just long enough to suck in a desperate breath before diving back in, utterly unbothered by the mess she’s made of the two of you. Her lips glide against yours, so warm and slick that you think you could happily get lost in them forever.

She takes your bottom lip between her teeth as she pulls away, grazing the skin as she pulls away with a pop. Her lips are swollen from the effort. A string of saliva connects you until Jackie slowly licks at her lips and swallows it. 

“French kissing,” Jackie says. 

Her lips brush against yours with every word. She can't even bring herself to pull far enough away to breathe, so intent on making you lose your mind. 

“What?” You ask dazedly.

“French. Kissing,” Jackie repeats slowly, like she's explaining something simple to someone stupid. You can feel her smug grin forming on her lips. 

Jackie leans closer without warning, tracing the seam of your lips only to press a chaste kiss against them before pulling away. “Educational, see? I’m learning so much already.”

“French kissing, huh? Missed–missed that on the syllabus,” you try weakly, eyes falling to her lips.

You just barely catch the way Jackie’s eyes narrow in confusion at the words, far too focused on the way she feels as she leans back and uses you for leverage as she rolls her hips. 

“Shut up.” 

“Yeah, okay. Sounds good.”

You drag her back and forth on your thigh, not so much assisting Jackie as moving her altogether. She seems content to let you move her hips as you please, far more intent on mouthing at where your neck meets your shoulder and moaning into your ear. Her thighs tremble from the strain, so slick and warm that you can feel her even through the denim of her jeans. 

Her hips start to move sloppily as you pull your hand away, pausing just long enough for wandering fingers to pop the button of her jeans. 

“God, fuck, look at you,” you murmur.

Her face is flushed, hair sticking to her forehead as she looks at you with wild eyes as your hand rests above her waistband. 

“How do I look?”

You almost laugh before you realize she was serious. “So pretty for me. Mon jolie fille.”

Her breath catches audibly as the word leaves your lips, her hips jerking forward against nothing. She blushes, looking both like she's feeling shy and like she doesn't want you to know. You'll let her have this one. You trace idle patterns just above her panties, fingertips teasing across soft skin.

“Does the French do something for you?” You muse. “Is that why you jumped me in the middle of tutoring?”

Jackie scoffs weakly. “No.”

You slip your fingertips beneath her panties, sliding into the cramped confines as you can’t bear to pull away long enough to get her jeans all the way off. Jackie whimpers as your fingers find her soaked, shifting to spread her knees apart so that you would please touch her.

“You’re paying me to tutor you, you know,” you say, palming her deliberately slowly. “We might as well practice your French.”

“Non.” Jackie rolls her eyes, but the effect is undercut by the way she clutches at your shoulders.

“I think it’s the perfect time to work on your pronunciation.”

“I think it’s the perfect time for you to–”

Jackie’s hips twitch as you graze her entrance, her moan muffled against your neck as you slid inside. She’s so ready for it, like you suspect she’s been for the last twenty minutes. The silk of her panties rubs pleasantly against your hand as you thrust into her, and without even sparing them a glance, you knew they were much too nice just to wear to a tutoring session.

“Jackie,” you say, watching her eyes flick over to yours.

“Mmm?”

“Did you wear these for me?”

Her eyes dart away as she realizes she was caught before finally nodding. 

“Good. Good girl.” If there was one thing Jackie responded to, it was praise. Jackie clenches hard around you, predictably. It was the only way you could get her to study. Figures that it would work here too.

She’s so wet that it truly was an accident when you slipped back in with two fingers, but all Jackie does is moan again as she rolls her hips half-heartedly. God, she’s just so perfect.

“Feel good?” You ask, unnecessarily. Even you know that. But you just want to hear her say it.

“Yeah. Just, I–I want…”

She bites at her lip as you grind your palm against her clit, crying out in protest when you pull it away again. Jackie tries to chase it, but you grab onto the back of her jeans with your other hand to stop her.

“Stop playing and make me come,” she snaps.

“En Français,” you interrupt. She stares at you for a moment, like she can’t believe you’re doing this to her, before continuing irritably.

“Je veux jouir, idiot.” Her accent is rough, like always, but it brings a smile to your face.

“Not a direct translation,” you muse, grinding your palm where she wants it. “Close enough.”

“Jerk.”

“En Français,” you sing-song.

“En Français,” she mocks under her breath, but the way you curl your fingers takes the words right out of her.

“Oh, fuck, please–s'il vous plaît.”

“That’s it, Jackie,” you say, your fingers picking up the pace as Jackie all but collapses in your lap to bury her head in your shoulder. “That was good. Just put it together.”

Jackie whines, shaking her head. 

“Tell me what you want so I can give it to you.” 

“Make me come, please.”

You were too far in to stop again at this point anyway, but what Jackie doesn’t know won’t hurt her. She’s almost riding your palm as she comes, dragging her clit up and down your palm like it was going out of style. The moan she lets out is obscene and far too loud for your neighbor’s sake, but you wouldn’t change a thing as her thighs clamp down around you.

She whines as you pull your hand away, accidentally brushing against her clit and making her hips jerk away. 

“Sorry,” you murmur, peppering kisses against her neck till she relaxes. Jackie seems to like that, sitting straighter in your lap and propping her head back to give you more room to work with. She slides the fingers of one hand up your neck, curling absently in your hair as she lets out pleased little sighs when your lips press against her jaw. Her other hand starts to slide down your arm, her fingertips tracing little lines. 

You need to get the rest of her clothes off next time. And there will be a next time; of that at least you were certain. And with the way Jackie’s wandering fingers were making their way to the hem of your shirt, next time might be a lot sooner than you were counting on.

��

Four Months Ago

“Hey!” Comes a voice across from you, far too perky for this early in the morning. You try not to react too harshly, as it's not this girl's fault you're already in the library the first day of the semester. 

“Hey.” You glance around the library curiously, seeing more than one empty table. Did she seriously want to sit at your table when it was so empty? You're sure your irritation shows on your face as you start to move your things to one side of the table. 

“Oh, no. You're good. It's just… You're Y/N, right?”

“Depends on who's asking.” 

“Jackie. Jackie Taylor. Listen,” she starts, taking the seat across from you. “You tutored one of my friends in French last semester, and she really recommended you.”

You smile, a little pleased at the comment. Still, you don't usually start tutoring this early in the semester. It's hard to know what someone's struggling with before class even starts. You say as much, and she gives you an embarrassed shrug. 

“I tried taking it during the spring semester and failed, so…” She trails off expectantly. Ah. 

Retaking. 

“Yeah, I mean, I guess. What exactly do you think you're struggling with?”

Jackie frowns, propping her head up on her hand. She taps her fingers thoughtfully against the table. You can't quite bring yourself to look away from her, not when the angle does insane things for her jawline. She's easily one of the prettiest girls you've ever seen. You're not looking forward to how distracting it will be to sit across from her to try to teach her. 

Keep it professional. 

“When it stops being in English,” Jackie says finally. 

You laugh. “Everything, then?”

“Is that going to be too much–” 

“No, it's fine. Just bring me your syllabus and I'll look it over. What professor are you taking it with?”

Jackie's eyes widened slightly, something strangely panicked coming over her face. “Oh–uh. I'm not sure.”

You give her a curious look, but don't comment on it. “Who'd you take it with in the spring?”

“I don't remember,” Jackie says hastily, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. Your eyes can't stop from focusing on it. “I'm just bad with names. So bad. It's a fault.” 

“... Right. Well, when you get it, just give me a ring.” You rip a corner out of your notebook, jotting down your phone number before handing it off to her. “Sounds good?”

“Excellent,” Jackie says primly, her smile a touch too wide as she looks back at you. 

You return the smile awkwardly, squirming beneath the weight of her stare. Jesus, did she look at everyone so intensely? It felt like she was drilling a hole through your head. 

“Anything else, or…?” You prompt gently. 

“Oh!” Jackie stands up, shouldering her bag again. “No, that–that was it.”

She waves your phone number around before adding, “I'll call you!”

You watch her curiously as she walks off, eyes drifting before you tear them away. Right. You shake your head, turning your attention back to your textbooks with a long exhale. This was going to be a long semester. 

…

Jackie huffs dramatically as she sits across from you, arms crossed over her chest as she leans back in her chair. You almost want to laugh. It’s funny, really, watching her try so hard to let you know she’s unhappy with the situation. 

Obviously, Jackie.

When you firmly told her that your tutoring sessions would in fact have to take place in the library from now on, you thought her head was going to explode. She was so mad you wondered for a moment if she might start yelling as you dragged her by the arm over to a familiar table in the corner.

Sure, you’ve met her in one of your rooms more than once, but obviously that won’t work anymore. Not after what happened last time. Jackie really did need all the help she could get to pass, and sitting across from her on her bed certainly wasn’t going to lead to anything of note being accomplished. 

So the library was good. A nice, neutral ground with witnesses. It would keep the both of you accountable. At least, you thought it would. Judging by the amount of times you’ve had to reach under the table and pluck Jackie’s foot off your thigh, shame wasn’t as the universal motivator you hoped it would be.

Which brings you to Jackie looking over at you expectantly as she finishes her latest sentence prompt.

“That’s not bad,” you say, giving Jackie a smile. She was at least trying to put in some kind of effort, even if it seems to involve a lot of leaning forward to give you a view straight down her shirt. That seems dangerous. You lean further back in your seat, which proves to be a mistake as Jackie’s bored smile starts to turn concerningly smug. “How about this one: What would you say if–”

“Boring,” Jackie interrupts, tapping the top of your paper as she pins it to the table beneath a single manicured finger. She crosses one knee over the other. In that skirt. With those legs. Deceptively long legs and impossibly distracting. Jackie just sits there, but the sight of her makes it hard to breathe. Jesus Christ.

“Jackie…” you warn, but Jackie barrels right through you like usual. You’ve got to give it to her: she's persistent. 

“What? Teach me something useful. We keep talking about libraries. When am I ever going to go to the library when you aren’t there to drag me there?” She pauses for an answer and continues on when you struggle to find one. “How about this? What would I say if…”

“If?” You were definitely walking right into it.

“If I wanted to ask the hot tutor for her number?”

“Puis-je avoir votre numéro?” You answer reflexively, wincing when Jackie smirks. 

“That’s not bad. Very good,” she says with a mocking lilt. The wink that follows makes it feel more playful than anything else.

She picks your pen off the table, grabbing your hand with hers as she slowly writes it across your hand. Her fingers are warm as they brush against you, making you hyperaware of each swooping motion. Jackie takes extra care to touch you as much as she can during the process, trailing her fingertips down your skin as she pulls away.

You don’t realize until later, but she stole your pen too. All you can manage is a weak protest, “I already have your number.”

Jackie tilts her head to the side as she asks mirthfully, “Then why did you ask?”

You stare at her wordlessly, and Jackie just laughs. She leans forward to rest her head on her palm, reaching out a hand to brush stray hairs away from your eyes. Before you can even get your hand up to slap it away, her hand has retreated, curled innocently over her notes.

“Are you going to study, or are you here to flirt? Because it seems like that’s all you’ve come here to do today.” You can’t help how frustrated the words come out; honestly a little miffed at all the teasing she’s done today. Your tone is harsher than you intended it to be, and Jackie takes notice of it instantly. She’s spent the last hour just trying to make you squirm, and you were embarrassed how much she’s succeeded. 

Jackie looks shocked at being called out, her foot that was brushing against your ankle quickly retreating again. Like a child caught with one hand in the cookie jar. She clears her throat before nodding awkwardly.

“Tough choice,” she admits. “But I think I’m here to study, prof.”

“You know what?” You ask slowly, watching as Jackie freezes. “How about we just work on your pronunciation today, since we didn’t get a chance last time.”

“I think I’m okay,” Jackie tries.

“I didn’t ask.”

“Oh–okay.”

“We’ll start off easy. Vous avez fait du bon travail.”

Jackie lights up, just the way you expected she would. “You’ve done a good job today?” There’s just the faintest hint of a question there, a bid for approval.

“Good, Jackie. I knew you’d get that.” You say it just for the way it clearly flusters her.

“Easy,” she deflects.

“Decided that on the first question, have we?” You feign disapproval, but there’s no hiding the affectionate look on your face.

“I can’t help that I’m your favorite student.” That was definitely true. You wouldn’t put out half this effort for anybody else. There’s just something about her that draws you in and makes it impossible to leave.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, hm?”

Jackie gasps as you flip through your notes.

“Now,” you say. “J'en veux un autre.”

A hesitation now, her confidence faltering. Has she noticed so quickly? 

“I want another,” she says slowly.

“Say it like you mean it, Jackie,” you add, keeping your voice carefully neutral. If she was looking at you to see how she should respond, she wasn’t going to find anything useful.

“I want another.” Breathier this time, even as she still manages to meet your eyes.

“Better. Plus vite, s'il vous plaît?”

“Faster… please?” She repeats, a dawning look of comprehension crossing her face. “I don’t know when I would need this.”

“No? You can’t think of a single time?” The way her eyes dart away is answer enough.

“You’re messing with me,” she accuses.

“You don’t find it useful?”

Jackie flushes, fingers tapping against her arms as she looks at you. “I think this is enough practice for today, don’t you think–”

“N'arrêtez pas. Plus”

“Don’t–don’t stop. More,” Jackie stutters.

“Good job. You were right, Jackie. I don’t think the sentences I was having you practice before were very useful to you.”

“No?” She asks quietly.

“No. I think you’re much more likely to need to know these, right?”

Jackie gapes.

“You’re so mean,” she says finally, her voice almost a whine.

… 

Three months ago. 

"Okay," you say slowly, smiling encouragingly over at Jackie. "Let's try this in French, okay?” 

You wish that you could find the enthusiasm to mean it, but that felt like an impossible task. What was the definition of insanity again? Doing something over and over again and expecting different results.

Right.

Jackie nods. “Duh.”

Your smile becomes strained around the edges. “My name is Jackie. I play soccer."

She scrunches her nose in thought, her pen tapping occasionally against her notes. You can’t help but notice how she makes no move to actually check her notes. Usually that kind of thing would be encouraging in someone you were tutoring. It meant that they were confident enough to try it without help. With Jackie, however, you’ve learned that she was probably so confused that she never wrote anything down in the first place. Or, better yet, something about a verb and a bunch of question marks.

It’s not that Jackie was dumb, far from it if you looked at her other classes. Those textbooks she hauled around always seemed appropriately thick, with little notes scrawled on sticky notes in the margins and tabs sticking out the sides seemingly at random. She insisted that she had a carefully maintained method for everything, but you were starting to wonder if she just added a tab when she felt like it. It felt like something she’d do, though you didn’t know her all that well yet.

It was an impressive class load to maintain with how much time she’s clearly dedicated to her soccer team. If it wasn't their practice nearly every day, it was Jackie going out by herself. You’ve passed by the soccer field a few times on your way back from the library–by accident, you assure yourself–and have found her out there more than once lit by nothing but the floodlights. You’re not sure how she made time to breathe, let alone maintain her courses and still manage to make an appearance Friday nights.

You’ve seen her around campus a few times, and she always seems to have an excited wave locked and loaded. Her face lights up the second she catches sight of you, rocking slightly on her feet as she waves just a touch too enthusiastically. There’s a genuine warmth to it, just as inviting as it was disarming. 

There was something about French that just wasn’t clicking for her. She’s improved somewhat under your tutelage, but not as much as you usually expected. If she weren’t such a hopeless case at times, you would have advised her to try a different tutor. But there was something about the way she smiles at you when she gets something right that has you hesitating.

This was your latest attempt: appealing to her love of soccer.

“Okay, uh… man–no, Mon! Mon nom est Jackie.” She pauses, leaning back in her chair as she forces out a breath through pursed lips. “And… Je… jouer soccer.”

Jackie claps her hands together, looking at you expectantly. She looks proud of herself, the most interested you’ve ever seen her in French yet. You think your new approach is definitely working. It figures that all it would take was throwing soccer in there. Something about the way she’s staring back at you makes you feel bad for what you're about to say next.

“That’s not bad,” you start off encouragingly, but Jackie’s face falls almost immediately. There’s a part of you that wants to take the words back to see the smile come back to her face, but you quash it to the best of your ability. “But remember what we talked about? That you can’t just translate words individually from English to French?”

“But it’s so much easier that way,” Jackie complains, her lips falling into a pout. It seems to come so naturally to her. That expression should be illegal in all fifty states.

“But that’s not how languages work.”

“It could be,” she mutters under her breath, but waves a hand at you to continue. 

She may not internalize anything you say, but at least you could trust Jackie to actually listen when you spoke. Some of the other people you tutored couldn’t be bothered to raise half the effort. It wasn’t even that Jackie didn’t try. Jackie tries so hard sometimes, almost embarrassingly so. You’ve seen her mouthing the words along as she reads her homework, trying to make something stick, but nothing seems to land.

“Je m'appelle Jackie. My name is Jackie.”

Jackie frowns thoughtfully. “What’s the difference?”

“It’s not wrong, per se–”

“Great, more French…” she mutters.

You gape at her for a moment. You can’t tell if she’s serious or not. “That’s not… never mind. Look, it’s not incorrect. It’s just very literal. If you say mon nom est, people will know you’re not a native speaker.”

“People will know that the second I open my mouth,” Jackie counters, winking over at you. You can’t help but laugh, nodding your head in agreement.

“Okay, fine. Je m'appelle Jackie.”

“Bon travail. Uh, good job,” you add, intercepting the question before she can ask it. You could already see the words forming on her lips. Jackie squirmed slightly at the words. 

Interesting.

“Now, the rest of it. Je joue au football.”

“But I don’t joue football,” Jackie protests immediately. You groan. She’ll die on this hill, you swear. “I joue soccer.”

“The French call it football.”

“The French are wrong.”

“Every last one of them?”

“Every one of them that calls it football, yeah.” She leans forward in her seat, waving her finger at you.

“Tu joues au football,” you tease.

“Tu joues au soccer,” she insists.

“I don’t play soccer, no.” You laugh. 

Jackie couldn’t seem to get conjugations down either. She sighs, her shoulders slumping dejectedly before she buries her head in her hands in frustration. 

“Why is this so hard?” She whines.

Small hairs stick up beneath her fingers, and much to your despair, the disheveled look only seems to add to her allure. You’re in danger of doing something stupid the longer you spend in Jackie Taylor’s presence. You thought it was a passing fancy at first–hoped, more like–but the longer you’ve spent with her, the more you’ve found yourself inexplicably drawn to her.

Jackie peeks out at you through her fingers, her eyes meeting yours. “I’m hopeless, aren’t I?” She asks, quiet and self-deprecating. It’s said teasingly, but there’s a helpless sense of resignation there that makes your heart ache.

“No,” you promise. “You’re not hopeless.”

Jackie’s shy smile makes your heart race. Her eyes search yours, but you’re not sure what she’s looking for. Something suspiciously close to smug passes over her face. She leans closer to you, bracing her elbows on the table.

“Je suis très jolie,” she says confidently. I am very pretty.

You laugh quietly, which doesn’t seem to be the reaction she was looking for as her face falls. She frowns at you.

“You are very pretty, Jackie,” you agree with a smile.

Jackie groans, tapping her fingers against the desk. She thinks for a moment before she tries again, making sure to emphasize every word. “Tu es très jolie.” You are very pretty.

“Oh,” you say quietly, eyes widening in surprise. “Thank you.”

She seems to take it as a victory. You’re not entirely sure why.

[pintrestgrl]

BARRYS SISTER!READER WITH RAFE CAMERON

warnings — drug mentions , brothers bsf topic idk if thats taboo, lowk rafe manipulates her? provocative statements? girl idk but they dont fuck or do anything

based on this ask

CAN WE ALL APPLAUD ME FOR WRITING PLEASE AND THANK YOU ITS BEEN YEARS

it had became an understanding that you were to stay quiet when barry was dealing in the house. preferably in your room, but if you were around it, you weren’t allowed to say a word.

this rule had been instilled in you since you were in middle school. it was annoying, to say the least. you’d always wanted to help, at least a bit. you had basically learned the way the whole interaction was supposed to go, just from watching your brother.

the customer would get to the house, usually at night, come inside, pay, get their drugs, then leave quietly. it had become an art form to barry— and a source of entertainment to you.

however, tonight there was a customer staying in the house for a lot longer then usual. you knew he wasn’t a pogue, he didnt look nor act like one. he must be a kook. you could tell he was a bit coked out too. you became really good at figuring that stuff out after a while.

you didn’t talk to him, simply sat on the opposite end of the couch while him and barry conversed. you stayed with your knees tucked to your chest, observing. barry had a few customers come in and out, before getting a call.

you couldn’t quite hear what your brother was saying exactly, but you made out enough to know that his supplier was gonna be coming. you sighed to yourself, another thing barry wouldn’t let you participate in.

the supplier showed up after a near 20 minute wait, barry heading for the door. you expected the kook boy to follow him, but he stayed still in his place on the couch. barry seemed too focused to tell him to come with, too.

the room fell into an uncomfortable silence after that. that was, until the boy got up from his seat, moving across the couch to sit directly next to you. all while staying silent. you tensed a bit, confused and nervous. before he spoke, “what’s your name?” you looked at him unsure, “why?”

“just wanna know.” you rolled your eyes, facing away forward again. away from his gaze. “what’s yours?” he laughed, at your reverse psychology attempt. “rafe. cameron.” you knew that last name. sarah cameron. the girl from school. must be his sister, you thought to yourself.

“okay.” you spoke, simply. he looked at you, you felt his stare. “so, barry doesn’t let you help him deal at all?” you shook your head, humming out a no. “shame. he let you do anything? doesnt really seem like it.” you smiled a bit at his observation, speaking. “no, not really.” he nodded, analyzing your words.

“he ever let you go to a party before?” you furrowed your brows. how did he knew that you had been begging your brother to let you go to a party for years? “no. he hasn’t.” he laughed, amused at the answers you gave him.

“so, guessing you never been with a boy before either, huh?” you creased your brows yet again, confused on what he meant by his statement. “in what way?” rafe smiled, before speaking bluntly again. “you ever been fucked before?” you flinched at his harsh choice of words, before quickly shaking your head.

“what? no. why are you asking that?” you spoke, now looking at him as if he was fucking crazy. but he was just glad you were looking at him. he wanted to see your face. the face you kept so well hidden from the world. “relax, ‘m just curious.”

you looked annoyed, tense. but he didn’t mind. he was happy to get a couple words conversation out of you. “you shouldn’t even be talking to me, let alone asking that. barry would fucking kill you.” you told him. he laughed, yet again. “barrys like a brother to me. you can talk to one guy. what he doesnt know wont hurt him.”

you bit your cheek, before speaking. “and what if i did tell him?” he stayed silent for a moment, pondering the question. “then he would have to get over it.” you laughed, subtly. you didnt wanna boost the kook boys ego too much.

it fell silent again, but more comfortable this time. not fully, but almost there. the boy stood up again, speaking. “i’m heading out.” you nodded, looking up at him. he headed towards the door, before stopping and turning around.!

he gave you, and your body a once over before speaking again. “your tits look good in that.” your eyes quickly widened, narrowing in on him. “you’re a fucking weirdo.” you spoke. he laughed, turning back around and heading out the door.

you were still fucking astonished that he said that to you. that was the first time you ever even heard a boy think of you like that. but a strange part of you didn’t hate it.

you should’ve told barry, you really should have. but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. not with the risk that came with it, you not being able to see that blonde kook boy again.

tags — (dm if u wanna b added , or taken off)

@lacehartz @battybaby111 @maybanksangel @kittyreposts @littlelamy @theeternaloptimistt @sugaraanddiesel @enchantedstarfish @iwishiknew-69 @heavenlyangelbaby @rafesdoe @whinyangel

[thebestsetter]

There are few things in life that make Tobio Kageyama's pupils dilate.

The first one, of course, was volleyball.

The high of setting a perfect ball, making a great dump, and getting an ace. The squeak of new shoes and the smell of the court. The cheering in the stands and the feeling of your teammates' hands slapping his back. All of it made his heart beat faster, his hands get sweaty and mind focused.

Volleyball was his first love, without a shadow of a doubt.

But it was not his only love.

He met you after a game he won (3-0, may I add, which he claims only happened because you were in the stands that day), when you stopped him when he was exiting the gym and decided to shoot your shot.

He was still a silly third year highschooler, fresh out of an insane win, so he, of course, said something really smart along the lines of "Huh...uhm... you sure?"

Anyways, he was glad you were not freaked out by his reaction and just giggled at him (even though nowadays you laugh loudly when remembering this situation), claiming you really did want his number. Because if you didn't, he wouldn't meet his second (and dearest) love: you, the second thing that can make his pupil dilate.

The high of kissing you, grabbing your hand or going on dates with you. The sound of your laugh and the smell of your perfume. The anxiety he felt moments prior kneeling down on one knee. The cheering of his teammates congratulating him for this new chapter of his life. The sight of you in white.

It all makes him feel like throwing up (in a good way), his brain feel like mud and those stupid butterflies start flying around his stomach.

He thought that was it. He had you and volleyball. He didn't need anything more.

Oh, how utterly wrong he was.

His third and final love is his daughter.

His 17 year old self would never be able to imagine that such a tiny being would bring him so much joy and pride. A mini version of you mixed with some of his characteristics made his heart swell with happiness.

The feeling of his chest - almost physically - inflating during your daughter's ballet presentations, the sound of her sweet "Daddy!" when he comes back home from practice, the image of you and her watching on him from the stands.

So, yeah. These are the things that make his eyes shine brighter and joy take over his entire being. He doesn't need anything else in his life, only the three most important things for him.

....or does he?

Well, your growing belly will surely put this theory to test.

And, once again, you'll probably prove him wrong.

Uhm... haikyuu debut fic??? I've never written for Kags b4, so sorry if this ooc ☹️😔

[hottiesforhockey]

Yayy 800!!! 🎉 Can you write “oh, she's pretty." "You're pretty too." with John Marino!!

They’re childhood besties (both crushing forever) and she’s visiting him in. They catch up over dinner at his new favorite spot and get drinks after. A girl tries to talk to him so he’s trying to be polite barely engaging until she leaves him alone. Bestie’s trying her best to cover up her feelings so she fake supports with hyping him up and he finally decides to let his thoughts out <3

John grins at you from across the table, elbow resting lazily on the edge as he swirls the last sip of his drink in his glass. The restaurant is dimly lit, golden light casting soft shadows across the dark wood of your booth, and the low hum of chatter blends with the clinking of silverware around you.

It feels intimate in a way that makes your chest tighten—a quiet kind of warmth wrapping around you, the kind that always seems to settle in when it’s just you and him. The kind that makes you forget, for just a second, that you’re not supposed to feel this way about your best friend.

“I’m glad you could make it,” he says, voice softer than before.

He watches you with an easy fondness, one that makes your heart do a stupid little flip. You quickly glance back down at the menu, suddenly very focused on deciding between the cheeseburger and the salmon, even though you both know you’re going to order the chicken tenders like you always do.

John huffs a laugh like he’s reading your mind. He probably is.

“You’re really settled in here, huh?” you ask after a moment, propping your chin on your hand as you finally look up at him.

He nods, stretching his arm across the back of the booth. “Yeah. Took a minute, but it’s starting to feel like home—the photos you sent really helped.”

Your heart clenches, but you push the feeling away, forcing a soft smile. “Good.”

And you mean it. You’re proud of him. You always have been.

Before either of you can say anything else, the waitress strides up to your table, holding a notepad she clearly doesn’t need. She’s pretty—long lashes, a confident smile, and a perfectly timed hair flip as she stops at John’s side of the booth.

“Hey there,” she says, her voice sweet and just a little too familiar. “Sorry for the wait. What can I get for you?”

She’s looking directly at John. Only John.

You shift slightly in your seat, waiting for her gaze to flick toward you, but it never does.

John, ever the polite one, doesn’t seem to notice. Or if he does, he doesn’t acknowledge it. “I’ll take the burger, medium rare. And another drink when you get a chance.”

She nods, scribbling it down before flashing him another bright smile. “Good choice. And you?”

You’re so caught up in the interaction that you almost forget she’s talking to you now. You clear your throat, forcing a polite smile. “Uh, the chicken tenders, please.”

Her pen barely moves before she turns back to John, leaning a little closer than necessary. “So, you play hockey, right? I thought you looked familiar.”

You stiffen.

John shifts slightly, clearly uncomfortable but too nice to be rude. “Yeah,” he says simply, fingers tapping against the table.

The waitress giggles, actually giggles, twirling her pen between her fingers. “That’s so cool. You must be really busy with all that.”

You press your lips together, suddenly feeling like an outsider at your own table.

John, to his credit, doesn’t seem particularly interested. His eyes flick toward you, and when he sees the way you’re picking at the corner of your napkin, his brow furrows just slightly.

The waitress finally, mercifully, takes her leave, promising to bring John his drink right away. You watch as she walks off, biting the inside of your cheek.

“You okay?” John asks, watching you closely.

You force a smile, shrugging. “Oh, she’s pretty.”

It’s casual. Light. A tease, just like always. But you know he can hear the slight edge in your voice. You know, because his eyes don’t leave yours.

And then, before you can look away, before you can bury whatever just cracked open between you—

“You’re pretty too.”

His voice is quiet, but it lands with a weight that settles deep in your stomach.

Your breath catches.

And this time, he doesn’t let you brush it off.

The air between you feels different now—thicker, charged with something unsaid, something you don’t quite know how to name. The usual easy rhythm of your banter stutters, replaced by a silence that lingers just a beat too long. John doesn’t look away, and neither do you, caught in the weight of his words, in the way his gaze lingers on your face like he’s memorizing every detail.

You clear your throat, breaking the moment with a breathless laugh. “Smooth, John. Real smooth.”

He grins, a little lopsided, a little knowing. “Not my fault it’s true.”

Your heart is a traitor, hammering against your ribs, but you refuse to let it show. You shake your head, reaching for your drink just to have something to do with your hands. “So, hockey star, huh?” you tease, voice deliberately light. “Didn’t realize you were famous.”

John groans, tipping his head back against the booth. “Don’t start.”

You smirk, leaning forward. “Oh, I’m absolutely starting. Should I be worried about paparazzi? Autograph seekers?”

He groans again, but there’s laughter in his eyes when he looks at you. “I swear, if you start asking me to sign your napkins, I’m leaving.”

You clutch your chest in mock devastation. “And here I was, about to auction off your signature on eBay.”

John chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

You shrug, feigning innocence. “You love it.”

Something flickers in his expression, quick and fleeting, but enough to make your stomach drop. His voice is softer when he speaks again. “Yeah. I do.”

Your breath catches. There’s no teasing in his tone this time, no sarcasm, no easy out. Just truth, bare and unguarded. It unsettles you, the way he’s looking at you now—like you’re something precious, something worth holding onto. And maybe you are. Maybe you always have been.

The waitress returns before you can figure out what to do with the moment. She sets John’s drink down first, then slides your plate in front of you with little more than a cursory glance. The spell is broken, but the tension lingers, settling in the space between you like something waiting to be acknowledged.

John thanks her politely, and you murmur your own thanks, though your mind is elsewhere. He picks up his burger, but instead of taking a bite, he watches you, waiting.

You push a fry around your plate, feigning interest in the golden-brown crisp of it. “So, you like it here?” you ask again, the question heavier now than before.

He nods. “Yeah. But…” He pauses, hesitating. “It’d be better if you were here too.”

You freeze, fingers tightening around your fork. “John—”

“I mean it.” His voice is steady, but there’s something vulnerable underneath, something raw. “I miss you. It’s not the same without you.”

You swallow hard, caught between the past and whatever this is—the unknown, the terrifying possibility of more. “You’re making it really hard to pretend this is normal.”

He exhales a quiet laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe it’s not supposed to be.”

Your stomach flips, and you force yourself to meet his eyes. They’re warm, steady, filled with something that makes your chest ache. “John…”

He shakes his head, smiling just a little. “You don’t have to say anything. Just… think about it.”

And maybe, just maybe, you already have.

[runnning-outof-time]

Hi, K! For the blurbs (only if you want to)

❛ do you remember when we first met? ❜

For Arthur. Something fluffy, maybe? But it's up to you.

Thanks in advance! ❤️

Thanks for sending this in, Flor! I’m sorry it took so long for me to share. I hope you like what I did with the prompt you sent! Enjoy! 💛

Doing Much Better | Arthur Shelby x Reader

Summary: (Y/N) reminds Arthur of what things used to be like whilst he’s dealing with a moment of frustration.

Pairing: Arthur Shelby x fem!Reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 506

COMMENTS & REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED! — I’d love to know what you think of the story!

“Do you remember when we first met?” (Y/N) softly asked Arthur, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.

Arthur let out the softest sound, a nonverbal way of telling her that he was listening and she could continue if she wanted. He was still fixated on his fisted hand; his vision still slightly tinged red from the argument he’d had a short time ago.

(Y/N) took a moment to recall the time then, smiling to herself before she continued, “you were stumbling down the street…I had no idea who the hell you were despite living here for a handful of years,” she couldn’t help but laugh to herself as she remembered it. “The bets were down…you’d gone out to ‘find some trouble to get your mind off of it’ as I remember you putting it. I’m not sure if I ever admitted it before, but your state confused me. You were drunk but yet it was only the middle of the afternoon,” she paused to laugh a little at the memory.

Arthur just smiled as he watched her recount the time. Slowly but surely he was focusing in on what was most important to him. (Y/N) was greatly helping in that focusing.

“I had my inhibitions, but decided to help you anyway. You first gave me directions to another pub, and when I noticed that, I turned direction and took us to a church close by. That’s where you showed me your humor…” she paused again, letting another laugh escape her lips, “you said that the church’d burn down if you stepped foot in it.”

“I really thought it would,” Arthur remarked, the first time he’d spoken since he and (Y/N) had entered the room together.

“But it didn’t,” (Y/N) told him in an assured tone. “We spent nearly the entire evening talking there, and then you repaid the favor and walked me home.” She couldn’t help but smile at the man standing across from her.

It only widened as he finally looked up and their eyes met. All of Arthur’s frustrations seemed to melt away as he looked at her. Slowly, he unclenched his fist to hold his hand flat, the thumb of his other hand running against his palm as he felt his head coming level again.

“You’re doing so much better now, Arthur, and I’m so proud of the man that you’re working to become,” she made sure to hold his eyes as she spoke sincerely.

Whenever she noticed him tipping over the edge, she reminded him of where they began. He was at a low during that time, a low that she hadn’t seen him hit again in the years that she’s spent with him after that very first meeting occurred.

“Doing much better, huh?” he mused aloud, more so to himself than to anyone else. She still heard what he said though. “If that’s true, it’s all because of you,” he spoke louder this time, and (Y/N) heard him loud and clear.

MASTERLIST

Tagged: @succubaby @mystcldydrms @look-at-the-soul @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing

@evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings @watercolorskyy

@strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @stevie75 @dark-academia-slut

@zablife @cillmequick @depxiety @shelundeadxxxx @red-riding-wood

@padfootdaredmetoo @crabat-the-queen @sebastianstangirl01 @everythingelseisextra @kmc1989

@papichulo120627 @brummiereader @adaydreamaway08 @justrainandcoffee @peakyltd

@johannelis2302nely @just-a-blackhole @anotherblinder @ce1iat @christinasyellowflowers

@insanitybyanothername @daisyblinder @wotcherpeak @call-sign-shark @sleepyycatt

@novashelby @wonderlanddreamer

[sweethotchlogy]

“What About my Damn Tie” A.H

In which : Hotch’s smirk deepened. “Uh-huh. Just a tie. Seems like you’ve been more focused on it than on the road.”

Part one “That Damn tie” A.H

Paring: Aaron Hotchner X bimbo!fem!reader

Content : Fluff Pining Banter teasing

Warnings: obsession reader is obsessed with Hotch tie , more just Hotch , playful banter , mutual pining ,

Wc: 500

Author notes : poor reader , Derek is always teasing her , but now Hotch is because he knows about her obsession with his tie ..

Diverds @cafekitsune

Side note lately I’ve been obsessed with Vanilla Coke..

You finally made it back to BAU headquarters, the rain tapping against the SUV windows, matching the rhythm of your thoughts. The ride had felt endless, and you were eager to get out, stretch, and grab something cold to drink. You muttered under your breath as you struggled to unbuckle your seatbelt, “I could really use a cold Vanilla Coke. That ride was long…”

The moment the door opened, you stepped out into the rain, glad to stretch your legs. Hotch was already stepping out from the driver’s side.

“I don’t get you,” Hotch’s voice broke the silence, his calm tone laced with amusement.

You turned to face him, eyebrow raised. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Hotch continued, his eyes meeting yours, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t get you.”

Your mind immediately snapped to his tie—the damn tie. You had been trying not to think about it the whole ride. The way it was perfectly knotted. The way it just seemed to make him look even more... well, Hotch. You couldn’t help yourself; you muttered under your breath, “That damn tie…”

Hotch’s gaze flickered to his tie, and then back to you. “What about my damn tie?” he asked, his voice light but curious.

Your heart jumped in your chest, and you quickly tried to play it off. “Nothing,” you said, a little too quickly. “Just... thinking out loud.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been staring at it the whole ride,” he pointed out, clearly amused. “Is there something wrong with it?”

You winced but tried to keep your voice steady. “No. It’s... fine. Just a tie.”

Hotch’s smirk deepened. “Uh-huh. Just a tie. Seems like you’ve been more focused on it than on the road.”

You were definitely flustered now. The tension between you was palpable, and you quickly turned back toward the building to avoid the heat rising in your face. “I’m not—just... let’s get inside.

Hotch followed you with a slight chuckle. “Next time, I’ll make sure to wear something less distracting,” he said, his voice teasing but with that faint edge of something you couldn’t quite place.

As you made your way inside, Derek was already there, a smirk plastered across his face as he caught sight of you.

“I heard that,” he said, clearly noticing your muttering.

You turned to face him, a little annoyed. “Don’t, Derek,” you warned. “I’m not playing.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, I didn’t say anything.”

JJ walked up, with a cold Vanilla Coke in her hand. “Heard you could use one,” she said with a knowing smile.

“Thank goodness,” you said, grabbing the can from her. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Tell us about it,” JJ smiled as you took a deep breath.

You sighed in frustration, trying to calm your nerves. “Guys, please…” — “you knew what she was asking about the ride back with Hotch .

Just then, Hotch walked in, his voice cutting through the moment. “Good, you got your Vanilla Coke. Can we get started?”

You nodded, trying to shake off the tension. The group made their way up to the bullpen, but Derek was still looking between you and Hotch, his eyes darting back and forth as if trying to piece something together.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. “Derek, stop,” you snapped, glaring at him. “We’ve got work to do.”

Derek raised his hands again, clearly amused. “Alright, alright. But something’s definitely going on here.”

@ssamorganhotchner @ssaaaronmontgomery @hotchs-big-hands @kiwriteswords @alinathinkstoomuch

[noorpersona]

Unrequited Love: Kenma

Kenma Kozume had never been good with change.

He liked things predictable. Safe. Video games had taught him that if he kept his strategy consistent, if he memorized the patterns and played smart, he could survive anything. Life was just another game to him—one where he preferred to stay in the background, keep things stable, and avoid unnecessary risks.

But nothing about this felt stable. Nothing about this felt safe.

Because you were leaving.

Kenma sat on the floor of your apartment, legs crossed, a cardboard box in his lap. Around him, the room looked smaller than it used to, packed with boxes stacked high, shelves stripped of their usual clutter. The air smelled like old books, packing tape, and a faint trace of your perfume, and for the first time since he had known you, your space didn’t feel like home anymore.

Maybe because it wasn’t. Not for much longer.

You had been a part of his life for so long that he barely remembered what it was like before you. Since childhood, you had been there—first as a quiet presence at his side in elementary school, then as the only person who could sit with him for hours, gaming in comfortable silence. You never questioned the way he was, never pushed him to be anything other than himself. And as the years passed, you became his constant, his safe place, his person.

And now, you were leaving.

“So, you’re really going, huh?” His voice was quiet, neutral, but even he could hear the strain in it.

You looked up from where you were sorting through a pile of miscellaneous things—old letters, tangled earbuds, random trinkets you had shoved into drawers over the years. You smiled, but it was the kind that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah. It’s happening.”

Kenma’s fingers curled around the edges of the box. He had known about this for weeks now, ever since you told him about the job opportunity in another city. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. He had told himself it wouldn’t change anything. That you would still text him, call him, visit when you could.

But now, with everything packed up and your walls bare, the reality of it all settled like a weight in his chest.

He had never thought about a life where you weren’t here. Where he couldn’t just send a message and have you show up at his door an hour later with takeout, where you weren’t sitting beside him on his couch, watching him play through whatever new game he was obsessed with that week. Where you weren’t just…

Here.

You sighed and flopped onto your back, staring at the ceiling. “I’m kind of freaking out,” you admitted, voice light, almost playful. “New place, new people, new job. It’s exciting, but also terrifying.”

Kenma swallowed. He should say something. Something encouraging, something that made it sound like he was happy for you, like he wasn’t falling apart inside.

“You’ll be fine.”

You turned your head to look at him, and for a second, he thought you could see right through him. That you could tell he was barely keeping it together. But then you smiled—soft, familiar, warm.

“Thanks, Ken.”

He nodded, looking away. He focused on the box in his lap, on the way his hands clenched the cardboard just a little too tightly.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He had never needed to say anything before. He thought you just knew—that you had always known. That there was no rush, no deadline, no moment where he would run out of time. Because you were always here.

But now, you weren’t going to be.

And Kenma realized, too late, that he had never even given himself a chance.

The packing took hours, and Kenma stayed through all of it. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to be, and he didn’t want to be anywhere else, anyway. He helped you sort through things, separate what you were keeping from what you were leaving behind. Every item had a story, a memory attached to it. The hoodie he had lent you once and never got back. The game controller he had bought for you so you could play co-op with him. The tiny cat figurine you had won at a festival and insisted looked just like him.

All these little things that made up you.

All these little things that reminded him of what he was losing.

He wasn’t good with words. He never had been. He wasn’t like Kuroo, who could charm his way through anything, or Bokuto, who could wear his heart on his sleeve without fear. Kenma had always been quiet, reserved, hesitant. But when it came to you, his feelings were loud, screaming inside him, demanding to be acknowledged.

But he had never said anything.

Because what if he did, and you left anyway? What if it changed everything? What if losing you as a friend hurt worse than losing you to distance?

“You should take this,” you said at one point, holding out an old, well-loved game case. “We never finished it together.”

Kenma stared at it, then at you. “Then take it with you.”

“I don’t have my console anymore. Sold it.” You grinned sheepishly. “New city, new start.”

His grip tightened on the game. He didn’t like that answer. He didn’t like any of this. He had never been an emotional person, but right now, something bitter sat at the back of his throat, something wrong.

You were leaving. You were letting go of all these things, of this life, of him—and you were acting like it was just something that had to happen.

Kenma had spent years convinced he had all the time in the world. But time was up. And for the first time, he didn’t know what to do about it.

It was late by the time everything was packed. The apartment looked empty now, stripped of everything that made it yours. You stretched, yawning, then turned to him with an expression that was far too casual for what this moment felt like.

“This is it, huh?” You nudged his arm lightly. “One last night before I go.”

Kenma’s stomach twisted. He forced himself to nod. “Yeah.”

“Hey.” You tilted your head, watching him. “Are you okay?”

No. No, he wasn’t. Because this wasn’t fair. Because he should have said something sooner. Because he didn’t know how to deal with the fact that tomorrow, you wouldn’t be here anymore.

“Yeah.”

You frowned, unconvinced, but you let it go. Instead, you stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. Kenma stiffened for a moment, caught off guard, before his body reacted on instinct, arms lifting to hold you back just as tightly.

“I’m gonna miss you, Ken.”

The words hit him harder than he expected. He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing, trying to memorize this—the feel of your arms around him, the warmth of you against his chest, the way your head fit perfectly against his shoulder. Trying to ignore the aching thought that this might be the last time.

He wanted to say don’t go. Wanted to tell you to stay, that you didn’t have to leave, that he—

But he didn’t.

Instead, he whispered, “Me too.”

And he held on for as long as he could.

[2i1han]

Slowly, Then All at Once

5.1 : finally (truth)

pairing: classmate!leehan x fem!reader│word count: 8.8k

genre: fluff, a bit angsty, slow-burn, young adult, romcom

tags: boynextdoor , non-idol au, high school/college au , first love , neighbor!leehan , extrovert!leehan , cold!leehan , extrovert!reader

characters mentioned : kim leehan , park sungho , sakai moka , kim minji , bae jinsol , lee jooyeon

warnings : no warnings! sfw

summary : you and leehan have known each other for years—classmates since ninth grade, always familiar but never really close due to leehan's indifference. but when his brother enters the picture, everything starts to change. unresolved situation that were once buried begin to surface, and leehan must decide: let go or finally take a chance.

a/n : the first half of the finale is here! i decided to split the last part into two since it took longer than expected. i had so much fun writing this omg! i hope you guys would love it as much as i do. happy reading!

playlist : wanna be/gfriend , serenade/boynextdoor , because you are beside me/yoon youngjoon , feel like falling in love/melomance , heavy heart/rio , so tender/say sue me , bad/wte , light/wte , can't go/ben , chocolate/bol4 , would you love me/stella jang , everyday/haebin

the ruckus finally settled with you, leehan, and sungho seated around a cramped four-seater dining table in their apartment, silently eating the beef stew sungho had prepared. the tension in the air was so thick you could probably cut it with a spoon. aside from the occasional clink of utensils against ceramic bowls, the room was dead silent—so silent, in fact, that if someone dropped a pin, you were pretty sure it would sound like a gunshot.

you glanced up from your bowl, only to catch the brothers shooting daggers at each other from across the table. sungho's jaw was tight as he focused on his food, while leehan, chewing on a piece of beef, had that smug look that made you want to either roll your eyes or throw a napkin at his face.

"wow, never knew you could cook like this," leehan sneered, pausing to flick a glance at sungho.

"thanks," sungho muttered, clearly unimpressed by the backhanded compliment.

the energy at the table was unbearable, so you decided to cut through it with casual conversation. you turned to sungho, hoping to shift the mood.

"i have a portrait project that's going to be presented at the spring exhibit," you began, tapping your fingers lightly against your bowl. "and i still need a model. would you be up for it? i can't seem to find anyone who fits what i'm looking for."

sungho perked up instantly, his eyebrows lifting in mild surprise before his lips curled into a pleased smile. but just as he opened his mouth—

"i can do it," leehan cut in, his voice way too casual for someone who had just rudely interrupted.

you blinked. sungho blinked. the room froze for a moment before sungho slowly turned to look at his younger brother with an expression that was half murderous.

"actually," sungho tried again, clearing his throat, "i can manage—"

"nah, pretty sure you're busy," leehan interrupted once more, tilting his head with feigned innocence. "jooyeon mentioned your band has a bunch of upcoming gigs. and competitions, too. next month's gonna be packed for you, huh?"

sungho's smile twitched. his grip on his spoon tightened.

you weren't dumb—you could see right through whatever leehan was trying to pull. but at the same time, he wasn't wrong. sungho's schedule was a mess, and while he looked like he was about to fight for his life at this dinner table, you didn't want to pile on more responsibilities for him.

still, sungho gave it one last shot. "i can still—"

"lock in, man. we're all gonna be watching you at the competition, right?" leehan continued, his voice seasoned with mock encouragement.

you could almost hear the way sungho ground his teeth together. he was seething.

meanwhile, leehan took another bite of beef and—oh, of course—grinned victoriously. "but i'm free, just saying," he added nonchalantly. "i can cover for him."

sungho sent him a sharp side glance, his silent rage radiating off his skin.

you hesitated, your eyes flickering between them. sungho looked like he wanted to argue, but you knew he was genuinely busy. as much as you wanted to respect the fact that he would make time for you, you also didn't want to be the reason he lost sleep over a project.

"well… alright," you finally muttered, stuffing rice into your mouth to avoid meeting sungho's pitiful expression.

"great." leehan smiled, looking downright pleased with himself. "just message me when."

and, after the painfully awkward dinner, the second you stepped out of their apartment and into yours just a few steps away, sungho shut the door behind you. then, in the blink of an eye, he whirled around, arms crossed, and shot leehan a deadly glare.

"you—"

before he could finish, he let out a dramatic groan and collapsed onto the sofa, dragging his hands down his face in pure exasperation. leehan, meanwhile, simply leaned against the wall, popping a stray piece of beef into his mouth.

"don't look at me like that," leehan said with a smirk. "it's not my fault you're busy."

sungho just hissed at him, rolling his eyes before sprawling across the couch. he upped the volume on the tv, just enough to really rub it in.

"oh yeah, by the way—just clean up the mess in the kitchen," sungho tossed over his shoulder. a smug grin all over his face

leehan scoffed, immediately getting on high alert. "what? no way. you cooked, i ate, we move on with our lives."

"uh uh," sungho cut in smoothly, waving a hand as if dismissing some lowly peasant. "i'm way too busy with my band practice. y'know, my jam-packed schedule and all that. can't do the dishes or clean the table." he sighed dramatically, like he was carrying the weight of the economy—or at least the weight of not having to do chores.

leehan's jaw clenched. he could already see where this was going.

"oh, and while you're at it," sungho added, stretching his arms over his head with a sigh, "give the laundry pile a spin too, yeah?"

leehan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "you’re kidding."

sungho gave an exaggerated wince. "i wish i was."

leehan scoffed, poking his tongue in his cheek in irritation. with a sharp exhale, he rolled his eyes before silently raising a fist behind sungho's head in a mock punch.

sungho, still casually playing his fifa, didn't even need to look before sneering, but then, it eventually faded into indifference as he's reminded that you'll be spending most of the time with leehan regrding the project instead of him.

the moment you stepped into your room, exhaustion hit like a train. you barely made it to your bed before flopping down, face-first into your pillow. a muffled groan escaped vibrated from your face, but after a few seconds, you rolled onto your back, stretching your arms before grabbing your phone.

your fingers hovered over sungho's chat. you had planned to type out a quick, "sorry i picked leehan, just being mindful of your schedule." but your thumbs hesitated over the keyboard.

sorry? for what?

it wasn't your fault sungho was busy, and it definitely wasn't your obligation to use only him as your model. with a huff, you backspaced the entire message and tapped into leehan's inbox instead.

"tomorrow at 4 p.m. sharp. art room in our building."

you hit send, then immediately turned your phone off and tossed it onto the bed beside you.

ding.

your phone lit up instantly. you squinted at the screen.

"sharp."

you rolled your eyes but couldn't help the slight smirk on your lips. not bothering to reply, you pushed yourself up, changed into your pajamas, and crawled under the covers. tomorrow was going to be a long day.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

by the time the clock neared 4 p.m., you were already running on fumes.

the day had been nothing short of hectic—paint-splattered hands, brushes rolling off tables, and the scent of turpentine clinging to your clothes. minji and bae had already left hours ago, both of them free from the burden of last-minute exhibit work as they won't be participating. meanwhile, you still had one unfinished portrait standing between you and sweet, sweet freedom.

you stretched, arching your back with a groan as you wiped your hands on your already paint-drenched apron. you cleaned up your station and made your way to the painting area at the back of the room, where stacks of canvases leaned against the wall, and easels stood around. the last two students in the studio gave you polite bows before heading out, leaving you alone.

a glance at your wristwatch. 3:58 p.m. perfect timing.

you had just finished setting up your large 36x48 canvas, arranging your materials neatly on the side table, when a soft knock sounded against the door.

you turned around just in time to see leehan stepping inside, hands casually tucked into his jeans' pockets. his white shirt was slightly oversized, and the strap of his sling bag rested diagonally across his chest. he strolled over, leaning down onto a nearby table, his legs swinging slightly.

"you really took my message seriously," you teased, setting up the cylindrical stool for him.

leehan grinned. "i'm a man of my word."

"good. sit there." you pointed at the stool, propping yourself onto your own chair. you adjusted your position slightly, angling yourself so you could still see him past the huge canvas.

leehan swung his sling bag off his shoulder and settled into place, tapping his fingers against his knee. his eyes flickered toward the blank canvas before him. "that's a huge canvas."

"and your face is going to be on it for the entire university to see." you smirked, sharpening your pencil carefully.

he then let out a short chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "hope i don't ruin it."

you deadpanned at him before dragging your gaze back to the canvas. "you won't. unless you suddenly decide to grow a third eye midway."

leehan snorted, but then immediately straightened his posture, preparing to stay still.

you leaned in, squinting as you began sketching the rough outlines of his face. the problem? your vision wasn't exactly the best. you pushed your glasses up your nose and squinted harder. still blurry.

"leehan, can you—"

his head perked up at your voice, alert like a golden retriever.

"can you move a little closer? i can't see."

he let out a breathy chuckle but obeyed, nudging his seat forward until he was about a meter closer.

you nodded, satisfied, before refocusing on your work. your gaze flickered back and forth between him and the canvas. leehan, however, kept his eyes stubbornly locked on the wall behind you, refusing to meet your eye.

then, came the tricky part—his eyes.

for the portrait to work, he needed to look straight ahead. but his gaze was still glued to the wall, as if the fish encyclopedia was written all over it.

clearing your throat, you tried again. "okay, now… can you maybe, uh, look at me?"

as soon as the words left your mouth, you cringed internally. god, that sounded way too awkward.

"i mean, just look here," you clarified, motioning at your own face for emphasis.

leehan hesitated, but after a beat, he finally locked eyes with you. the moment his gaze met yours, his fingers started fidgeting in his lap, and—was that his ear turning red?

you bit back a sigh. this would've been so much easier if it were sungho.

even from across the room, you could see leehan overthinking his existence. his posture was stiff, his shoulders unnaturally squared like a soldier in formation.

"relax," you muttered.

leehan exhaled sharply, his shoulders immediately dropping. he hadn't even realized how tense he was.

the next hour then passed in silence. you worked in quiet concentration, laying down the basic sketch, while leehan sat there, completely still—physically, at least. mentally? his thoughts were screaming "she's so pretty. relax. she's so pretty. relax."

every time you leaned in to observe him, leehan would hold his breath. every time you tucked a pencil behind your ear, he had to fight the urge to look away. and when you casually blew a stray strand of hair out of your face? that was it. he was done for.

if anyone asked, he'd swear it felt like you were the one who should be getting painted, not him.

finally, after what felt like an eternity, you stretched your arms with a satisfied sigh. "alright, you can loosen up for a bit. i'll grab us some drinks from the vendo outside before we move on to painting."

just as you started to stand, leehan abruptly shot up as well. "no, stay. i'll go get it," he blurted out.

you raised a brow. "you sure?"

he nodded firmly. "yeah, what do you want?"

"uh… just a fanta."

"got it."

before you could argue, he was already making his way to the door. it shouldn't take long—there was a vending machine right outside the room.

a couple of minutes later, he returned, holding an orange fanta in one hand and a cola in the other. he handed you your drink wordlessly.

"thanks," you said, reaching for the can with a small smile.

leehan simply nodded, sitting back onto his stool, taking a sip of his own drink.

you cracked open the drink, taking a sip while glancing at your sketch. it was coming together, but you still needed to refine the details before painting. meanwhile, leehan took a swig of his cola, clearing his throat as he tried to shake off whatever nerves had been plaguing him the whole session.

"by the way," you started, stretching your arms before setting your drink down. "if you're tired, you can move a bit. just let me know before you do so i don't mess up the proportions."

leehan blinked at you, mid-sip. "you say that now? after i've been sitting like a stone?"

you snorted. "you literally could've just told me if you were uncomfortable."

"yeah, well," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "didn't wanna mess up your flow. you looked… focused."

you raised an eyebrow. "right. and not, i don't know, paralyzed with fear?"

leehan clicked his tongue, "please, i'm an excellent model. totally natural."

you gave him a deadpan look, but you were about to giggle, pointing at his still-too-tense shoulders. "leehan, your posture has been so stiff, i feel like i'm painting a renaissance prince posing for his royal decree."

he groaned, finally slumping forward, elbows on his knees. "happy now?"

you chuckled. "much better."

for a while, the two of you just sat there in the usual silence, you sketching, him sipping his cola. the awkward tension had mostly melted away, replaced by something more comfortable—well, at least until leehan decided to open his mouth again.

"so, uh, why'd you choose me as your model, anyway?" he asked, voice casual, but his fingers were fidgeting again.

you hummed, not looking up from your sketch. "i needed someone, and you were available."

leehan huffed. "wow, so special."

you smirked. "well, sungho was my first choice."

leehan scoffed. "keyword, was."

"uh-huh." you rolled your eyes before adding, "but he's busy, and you have a face that works for what i need, so here we are, also not to mention you were insisting."

"a face that... works?" he blinked.

you nodded. "yeah, symmetry, strong features. good contrast for lighting. the kind of face that looks interesting in a portrait."

leehan processed that for a moment before leaning back slightly, unusually feeling bold. "soo… you think i'm handsome."

you paused mid-stroke. slowly, you looked up, giving him the blankest stare imaginable. "that's not what i said."

"but it's what you meant," he teased.

you exhaled sharply through your nose, unamused. "do you want me to make you ugly in this painting?"

"whoa, whoa there now," leehan laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. "i'll behave."

you shook your head, going back to your sketch. leehan, now more relaxed than earlier, watched you work for a moment before muttering under his breath, "still, if i'm gonna be immortalized in paint, i better look good."

you didn't respond, but there was a tiny, smile on your lips.

you kept your focus on painting the base, carefully layering each stroke of color. the sound of the brush swiping against the canvas mixed with the hum of the vending machine outside, creating a strangely peaceful atmosphere. but even as you concentrated, your mind wandered.

somewhere between blending the undertones and defining the shadows, your thoughts drifted to earlier today.

leehan had been laughing with you, joking around like he hadn't spent the last few weeks acting like he had a personal no-fun policy whenever you were around. like he hadn't been weirdly stiff and overly cautious since the membership training. but today, it was like none of that ever happened. he was back to being comfortable again, and, honestly? you were kind of enjoying it.

a small smile crept onto your face before you even realized it. just a tiny one, but of course, leehan had to notice.

"what are you smiling for?" his voice broke the silence, his tone was genuinely curious.

crap. you immediately wiped the expression off your face, blinking rapidly like that would somehow delete the past three seconds. "nothing," you blurted out, grabbing the first excuse that came to mind. "just remembered a joke minji told me earlier."

leehan tilted his head, clearly not buying it. "wow. that must've been a knee-slapper if it's got you smiling at your own painting like that."

you pressed your lips together, refusing to let yourself laugh. instead, you cleared your throat and gave him a pointed look. "focus."

"you're the one who started smiling at random," he muttered under his breath, but he leaned back slightly, letting you get back to work.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

hours passed. the painting was coming together better than expected—each brushstroke settling into place, the colors blending just right. even though you hadn't fully detailed leehan's face yet, the portrait already looked like something that could be hung in the exhibit.

you sighed before shifting your focus to his left eye. and, that's when it hit you.

for someone who thought he'd "ruin the painting," leehan was actually ridiculously good-looking.

like, annoyingly good-looking.

you leaned in slightly, eyes narrowing as you studied his features. his eyes had that naturally thoughtful shape, framed by long lashes that felt unfair. his nose was well-defined, and his lips—full and slightly parted had the kind of symmetry that artists spent hours trying to get right on canvas. his skin? smooth. his blonde hair? soft-looking, with a few stray strands that casually fell over his forehead perfectly.

this was absurd.

you were so caught up in analyzing him like some kind of high-definition character model that you didn't even realize how long you'd been staring—until leehan cleared his throat.

you snapped out of it so fast you nearly dropped your brush.

leehan wasn't just looking at you now—his pupils were slightly blown, his face a little too still, and, most importantly, his ears were red.

"the paint's gonna dry," he muttered, nodding toward the palette in your hand.

"oh- uh... right," you said, gripping your brush so tightly it was a miracle it didn't snap in half.

"i'm just, uh, memorizing the color of your eyes for accurate blending," you blurted out.

a bold-faced lie. a straight-up horrible excuse. but you said it with confidence, and that had to count for something. leehan blinked at you. for a second, it looked like he might call you out, but instead, he just smirked.

you turned back to the canvas in urgency, focusing way too hard on mixing paint. it's normal to find people attractive. acknowledging someone's good looks doesn't mean anything. this was just an artist appreciating her subject. that's all.

a quick glance at leehan told you he was still looking at you, his fingers lightly tapping against his knee. his expression was still, and his smirk hadn't faded entirely.

you exhaled, shaking your head. yeah, totally normal.

you tried to ground yourself, to shake off whatever weird spell had momentarily possessed you, but your hands. you fumbled with your brush, nearly dropping it onto the palette.

to distract yourself from your own nervousness, you did the most natural thing you could think of, checking your wristwatch.

"oh- it's already 7:30 p.m. do you not mind being this late?" you asked, glancing back at leehan.

there was a flicker in his face, like something had just clicked in his brain. "oh, right… i had practice."

you blinked. "you had practice?"

"yeah, thirty minutes ago—"

"why didn't you tell me?" you cut him off, standing up so fast your chair scraped against the floor. "leehan! you should've said something!" you hastily set your palette down, already feeling mildly guilty. "come on, i don't want to be a hurdle in your schedule."

leehan stood as well, brushing off his jeans like he wasn't thirty minutes late to a commitment. "it's alright, really."

"no, it's not," you huffed, crossing your arms. "go catch up to your practice. we can just continue this tomorrow."

leehan raised an eyebrow at you. "and you? will you be fine going home alone?"

you narrowed your eyes. "wow, since when were you this concerned about me?" you sneered, untying your apron and turning to carefully place the canvas in a secure spot.

leehan cleared his throat. "i'd be held accountable if something happened to you. i'm the last person you've been with." he looked away as he said it.

you scoffed, rolling your eyes. "wow, thank you for that warm and thoughtful concern. my heart is so touched."

leehan said nothing, just slung his bag over his shoulder. but then, before heading to the door, he hesitated. "but, really. will you be okay?"

something in his tone made you pause. his usual teasing edge, and indifference was gone. long gone, replaced by something softer, and genuine. his eyes gazed at yours, and for a second, you saw actual worry there.

your eyebrows furrowed slightly. "yes, i promise," you assured him.

at that, his shoulders loosened a little. "just… take care," he muttered. "and don't hesitate to call if you need anything." there was hesitation in his voice, like he wasn't sure how much concern was too much concern, but his worry overshadowed his cowardness.

you felt the corners of your lips twitch. "i will…" then, snapping yourself out of the moment, you clapped your hands together. "now go, go! you're already late!"

leehan exhaled through his nose, shaking his head, but there was a sheepish smile playing on his lips as he turned towards the door. "see you."

you only hummed in response, watching as he disappeared down the hallway.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

after spending an estimated five minutes cleaning up the mess you made in the art room, tidying yourself up, and hastily shoving all your supplies into a large bag, you finally stepped out into the hallway. the evening light filtering through the windows cast a dim glow on the polished floors, giving the school a peaceful atmosphere despite your exhaustion.

as you adjusted the strap of your bag over your shoulder, you spotted sungho approaching from across the hall. his tall figure was easy to recognize, his casual uniform slightly disheveled as usual, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. the moment he saw you, his face brightened, and he jogged toward you with a wave.

"y/n!" he called out, voice echoing through the empty corridor.

you gave him a tired smile, rubbing at your temple. "hey," you greeted, your voice coming out lower than intended.

sungho slowed his pace as he reached you, his eyes instinctively scanning the space around. his head tilted slightly in curiosity before he turned back to you. "where's leehan?" he asked.

you kept your eyes straight ahead. "he left early. practice." your tone was flat, too tired to sound even mildly interested.

sungho clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "that prick. he presented himself like he had all the time in the world, but turns out he's just as busy as me." he huffed in mild annoyance, running a hand through his hair.

that made you chuckle under your breath.

"what?" he asked, his brows lifting slightly.

"nothing," you said, covering your mouth briefly with the back of your hand to suppress another giggle. "it's just funny seeing him like this."

"like what?" sungho squinted at you.

"like… actually existing." you shrugged. "he never really talked to me back in middle school. not until, well, the entirety of high school."

sungho suddenly came to a full stop, grabbing your sleeve to halt you as well. "wait, wait, wait—" his expression twisted in surprise. "you two have known each other???"

you blinked at him, his reaction catching you off guard. "uh… well, about that," you trailed off, biting your lip. you gave him your best starry-eyed look, silently pleading for him not to get mad.

sungho squinted at you. "and you're just telling me now???"

his dramatic reaction made you wave your hands defensively before patting his shoulder, trying to calm him down. "i was gonna tell you! but the situation between me and leehan was so awkward you wouldn't even notice that we've known each other for almost four years." you pursed your lips in, upset.

sungho stared at you for a second before scoffing. "yeah, well… i didn't notice." he resumed walking, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "leehan barely breathes around you—not until recently."

you huffed a laugh, shaking your head. "i don't know, but my first instinct was to deny knowing him the first time i found out he was your brother at orientation. i thought he'd just ignore me again and make me look like a fool, like—'oh yeah, we know each other!' while he just stands there like a statue." you rolled your eyes.

sungho hummed thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. "what do you mean by 'again'?"

you sighed, adjusting the weight of your bag. "we never really had any mutual connection despite being literal classmates for years. i kept trying to talk to him, but he was just… barely there? meh." you waved your hand dismissively. "it's just funny that he's finally interacting with me like a normal person."

sungho's face twitched, confusion passing through his face. it was subtle, but you caught the way his brows furrowed slightly.

he knew everything about his brother's social tendencies. every agenda, every thought that passed through leehan's mind—he always had an idea. that included the whole thing about minju. but now, as if a puzzle piece clicked into place, he suddenly remembered the unnamed girl leehan was whining about during the entire vacation.

sungho narrowed his eyes slightly. "you and leehan… never had any contact? not even, like, sns or something?"

you simply shook your head. "we exchanged about five 'hellos' in three years, give or take."

sungho muttered something under his breath—something that sounded suspiciously like weird. if it were minju leehan had been talking about, that would've been obvious. but now? sungho quickly shoved any forming conclusions out of his head. there was no way he liked the same girl his brother possibly liked. that was not in his bingo card. hell, he'd rather set the world on fire than entertain that thought.

he forced a chuckle, shaking his head. "guess he's been getting pickier with people as he grew."

"wow, so does that mean he doesn't like me, even in general?" you rolled your eyes, nudging his side with your elbow.

sungho chuckled at that. "if he doesn't, then he's the problem."

your smirk faded slightly, your expression shifting into wonder. you didn't say anything as you both exited the school gates, making your way to the parking area where sungho's white motorcycle was parked.

sungho picked up his helmet, pausing before handing it to you. "y/n."

"mm?" you looked up at him while already fidgeting with the helmet clasp.

he hesitated for a brief second before exhaling. "because i personally think you're likable."

you blinked at him, tilting your head slightly. "what do you mean?"

sungho held your stare, his expression unusually serious. then, without a single ounce of hesitation, he spoke.

"i like you."

you blinked at him, and suddenly the air was cold.

he just dropped it. no warning, no dramatic buildup—just straight-up dropped a confession like it was an everyday statement you almost thought he was kidding. his expression remained neutral, though you could see the amusement flickering in his eyes as he watched you process his words.

"you… me??" you pointed to yourself, brows furrowing.

"yeah, you." he nodded, this time with a smile on his lips. "i thought i was being obvious, but… wow. didn't know a socialist like you had no social cues when it comes to romance."

"wait, wait, wait." you held up your hands, as if physically trying to stop time. "when? were you obvious?"

sungho scoffed. "uh, i don't know, maybe when i first met you at the café last fall and slipped a note under your napkin—with my number and a compliment saying how beautiful you are?"

you opened your mouth, but he wasn't done.

"oh, and how about that time i bothered to ask for your name at the bus stop the same night? or when i took care of you when you were blacked-out drunk? bonus points if you even noticed how my face lights up whenever i see you."

with every sentence he stacked up, you pursed your lips tighter, slowly sinking in guilt as you finally saw the vision.

"i… i just thought it was because… i was your neighbor? and, you know, decency? friend things?"

sungho pressed his forehead with his fingers, clicking his tongue. "of course! because that's totally a normal way to make friends."

"but… why?" you chuckled nervously, leaning against his bike as he stood in front of you, arms crossed.

sungho tilted his head, smiling softly. "because you're insanely pretty. and, well… i got to know you. and you're kind, sweet, and fun to be with." his voice was so genuine, it's almost impossible to doubt his words.

you just smiled at him, clasping your hands together as if trying to steady yourself. "thank you, sungho," you muttered, your voice softer than you expected. "but i don't—"

"no, it's alright."

he cut you off before you could even finish, his tone was assuring, as if he already knew what you were going to say. "i just wanted you to know," he continued. then, as if catching himself, he added, "but, of course, that doesn't mean i don't want to take you out on a date." his smirk returned, teasing but not pressuring.

you let out a breathy smile, dropping your gaze to the ground for a second before looking back up at him. "sungho, i'm not sure about it... i'm sorry."

he lifted his index finger, stopping you before you could even get another word in. "and don't even think about apologizing, y/n." his voice was lighthearted, but his sincerity was undeniable.

you blinked up at him, lips parting slightly, unsure of what to say.

"just—just always remember that i'm here whenever you change your mind," he said, tapping a hand against his chest lightly. "always here." his smile held no hint of disappointment, only reassurance, and somehow, that made it even harder to respond.

any other person's heart would've fluttered at this. a handsome man in front of you, confessing his feelings with a soft voice, giving you space, reassuring you without a hint of resentment.

sungho had been a great friend. a constant. someone you could rely on, someone who made you laugh, someone whose presence had started to feel as familiar as your own shadow. but you only saw him as that.

at least for now.

some small, distant part of you wanted to like sungho the way he liked you, but no matter how you looked at it, you just couldn't. it wasn't that he wasn't enough—it was just that your heart had never leaned that way.

you inhaled deeply, then exhaled through your nose, forcing yourself to meet his eye. "i'll keep that in mind." you said.

sungho studied you for a moment before clapping his hands together, the sudden noise snapping the tension like a bubble popping. "alright then!" he grabbed his helmet from the motorcycle seat, swiftly securing it over his head.

"let's go?" his voice was slightly muffled through the helmet, but you could hear the grin in his tone.

you nodded. "yeah."

as you climbed onto the back of his motorcycle, he gave you a small glance over his shoulder. "hold tight."

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

"thank you for always driving me home," you said, stretching your arms with a sigh. "i get to save money on bus fare, enjoy a fresh breeze of air, and—" you wiggled your eyebrows at him. "a handsome driver too."

sungho scoffed, placing a hand on his hip, unimpressed. "don't tease me like that just because i finally told you i like you."

"whyy?" you grinned, leaning slightly towards him. "you are a handsome driver." you wiggled your eyebrows again, pushing the joke further.

sungho's lips twitched, but he held his ground. "mhm, really?" he leaned against the wall beside your door, crossing his arms. his expression hardened slightly, eyes hooded with a smirk. "date me then."

your laughter, which had been bubbling out freely just a second ago, abruptly slowed down. you blinked at him before straightening your posture. "nope," you said, lifting your finger in playful way.

sungho let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. "then stop being stubborn, hm?" before you could react, he reached out and gently poked your forehead with his index finger. your head nudged back slightly from the unexpected touch.

"ow," you muttered dramatically, rubbing your forehead as if he'd actually done some damage. "assault."

"yeah, yeah." he rolled his eyes, standing upright again. "now go inside before our neighbors start thinking i'm some rejected ex loitering outside your door."

you clicked your tongue and turned toward the keypad, typing in your passcode. "i am going in now." you gestured lazily to your door as it beeped open.

before stepping inside, you heard him call out again, "eat dinner properly, or i swear i'll kick your door open with a stew in hand."

you turned your head halfway, peeking at him from the edge of the door with a teasing smile. "yes, dad, i will." you rolled your eyes for extra effect.

still smiling, you stepped inside but lingered just long enough to poke your head out one last time. "thanks again," you repeated.

sungho's expression softened immediately. "always welcome."

you gave him a final nod before shutting the door, the soft beep of the lock echoing in the now-quiet hallway.

the moment your body hit the mattress, exhaustion swallowed you whole. your limbs went weak against the soft sheets, your face buried into the pillow as the warmth of your room lulled you into sleep.

meanwhile, in the next door over, sungho sat slouched on the couch, eyes fixed on the flickering tv screen but mind wandering far from whatever show was playing.

then came the familiar sound of the door keypad beeping, followed by the sharp click of the lock opening. the door swung open, then shut with a heavy thud. sungho didn't look up.

"had fun getting your face drawn?" he muttered, his voice was flat but full of sarcasm, except, there's no trace of playfulness with it.

leehan, fresh from practice, stopped in his tracks. his muscles ached, his head pounded, and the last thing he needed was sungho throwing a fit. he had barely stepped inside, and already his brother was throwing jabs.

he exhaled sharply through his nose, annoyance bubbling up despite his exhaustion. he knew sungho well enough to catch the underlying irritation in his voice, but tonight, it grated on him more than usual.

with an irritated sigh, he let his duffle bag drop onto the floor with a loud thump, the impact vibrating through the quiet room. his steps were heavy, his sneakers squeaking against the polished floor as he stalked closer to the couch. "what's your problem?" his voice was edged with frustration, his patience running dangerously thin.

"not only have you been getting in my way recently, but now you're also bringing random girls into our apartment without telling me?" his fists curled at his sides, knuckles turning white.

sungho barely reacted—until the words hit his ears. his jaw tensed, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as a scoff slipped out. his once indifferent stare flicked up, burning with annoyance

"some random girl?" he echoed. then, quickly, he pushed himself up from the couch, standing tall as he faced his younger brother. "or are you mad because it's y/n?"

leehan rolled his eyes, glancing away toward the wall, trying to keep his composure. "you're talking nonsense."

"don't play dumb, leehan," sungho shot back, stepping closer, his voice gaining an edge. "was she the girl you wouldn't shut up about during vacation? the one you kept moping over? 'oh, boo-hoo, i didn't get the chance to get close to her, and now she's moved to busan'—was it her?"

leehan's posture stiffened hearing this.

"i don't know what you’re talking about," he muttered, but his tone went weak, giving off the lie beneath it.

sungho let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "she was, wasn't she?" his eyes darkened as he took another step forward. "don't even think about lying to me, kim leehan—"

"fine!" leehan snapped, cutting him off. his voice was raw with frustration. "so what if she was? what if she's the girl i've been in love with since middle school?"

sungho's expression shifted, the fire in his eyes dimming slightly, replaced by disappointment rather than anger.

"you're unbelievable," he muttered.

leehan let out a bitter scoff. "what's so unbelievable about it, huh?" his voice was quieter now, but no less tense. "why are you always up her trail?"

"because i like her," sungho admitted without hesitation, his voice was steady, and confident. "that's why i'm always up her trail." he tilted his head slightly, eyes boring into leehan's. "what about you? what have you done, huh? aside from pushing her away your entire life? crying over things you could've changed if you actually tried?"

the words hit like a slap. leehan's pride deflated, his lips parting slightly, as if he wanted to argue,but he couldn't. because sungho was right.

silence passed between them. sungho's shoulders, though still tense, relaxed slightly as he sighed. "why didn't you say anything to her?"

"because you already did!" leehan spat, his voice breaking slightly as his eyes snapped back up to meet sungho's. "don't you think i overheard you outside y/n's apartment? i was on the stairs! i had to run a damn lap around the block just to forget whatever i just heard!"

sungho clicked his tongue. "so? that never stopped you before."

leehan let out another heavy sigh, this one full of exhaustion rather than anger, and finally dropped onto the couch, rubbing his temple. he knew sungho was right—again.

a moment passed before leehan muttered, almost to himself, "she likes you, doesn't she?" his voice was calmer now, void of hostility.

sungho hesitated before sitting down beside him, mirroring his posture, elbows resting on his knees. he exhaled deeply. "no, i don't think so."

he then let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head before adding. "you piss me off, you know that?" sungho scoffed. "you're a piece of sheep."

leehan blinked. "what?"

"you heard me." sungho leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head. a sheep. dumb, fluffy, lost in a field somewhere."

leehan let out a tired groan, getting up abruptly. "god, i can't stand you." he muttered as he stormed off to the door to grab his bag, and in to his room.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

leehan barely slept that night. he tossed and turned, one side to the other, then back again. his mind was stuck replaying his argument with sungho on a loop, each word poking at him like a needle.

by the time your second painting session rolled around, he looked wrecked. his dark circles were prominent, his hair slightly messier than usual like he hadn't even bothered running a hand through it. but what stood out the most wasn't his exhaustion—it was how strangely he was acting. not distant, not cold, just different.

as usual, he sat on the cylinder stool, positioned exactly one meter in front of you. you, on the other hand, kept shifting your gaze between your canvas and him, checking proportions, colors, and lines. normally, he'd sit still, lost in his own world. but today, every time your eyes flickered toward him, you found him already looking at you.

"you don’t have any practices today, do you?” you asked, eyes flickering between the canvas and his face as your brush glided over the surface. "don't lie."

"i don't, i swear."

you weren't sure why, but the way he said it made you look at him. his voice has a softness that hadn't been there before. there was nothing particularly special about what he had said—it was the way he said them, the smile that curled at his lips as he spoke.

"hm..." you nodded subtly before refocusing on the painting, dismissing the feeling before it could eat you whole.

the studio was quiet. the hum of the fan filled the space, the faint scent of paint and turpentine hanging in the air. the clock on the wall read 7 pm, and aside from the two of you, the room was completely empty.

your painting was already taking shape—his eyes were done, capturing their usual beauty. all that was left were his nose, lips, hair, and neck.

then, out of nowhere, leehan broke the silence.

"what's with you and sungho?"

your brush halted mid-stroke, pausing for just a second before you dipped it back into the palette. "what?" you chuckled lightly, hoping to brush the question away.

leehan didn't budge. "hmm…" he hummed, tilting his head slightly. "i just noticed him being different toward you lately… and, you know, the whole thing about the café."

your eyes flickered toward him again. "you knew about that?"

he nodded casually. "mhm, sungho told you during the orientation, right?"

you tried to recall, frowning slightly before shaking your head. "i guess not? he did mention the one about talking to you about me, though."

"mhm, that's that." leehan's lips twitched.

realizing you were now cornered in the conversation, you sighed and turned back to your palette. "well, you probably guessed by now that he likes… me." you scrunched your nose slightly.

leehan barely reacted. no shift in posture, no change in expression, just silence.

"but... i don't know what to say to him," you admitted.

instead of offering some deep, thoughtful advice, leehan simply shrugged. "then don't say anything."

you blinked. "what? why?"

without missing a beat, leehan tilted his head back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. "he'll move on." his voice was so indifferent, it was almost annoying.

your gaze briefly trailed down to his throat, watching as his adam's apple moved when he swallowed. for some reason, that irritated you. maybe because he was acting so… unbothered.

"you might be his brother, but you don't know that," you pointed out.

at that, leehan finally lowered his head back down, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach flip. the usual laid-back amusement was gone.

"then, it's up to you."

for once, his expression was easy to read. he looked disappointed. upset, even. and that threw you off.

the silence passed again, heavier this time. you weren't sure why, but you just stared at him. and for some reason, he let you.

it was only when he finally noticed your gaze getting longer that he looked away.

"go back to what we're doing so we can finish early," he muttered, dismissing the conversation entirely.

your eyebrows twitched slightly at his sudden shift in tone. you hadn't expected him to shut down so quickly. and strangely, the way he said it left a dull ache in your chest.

but instead of pushing, you just hummed in response and turned back to your canvas.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

friday nights were sacred. no classes tomorrow meant one thing: slight freedom. the four of you sprawled across the living room in your apartnment. the coffee table had been shoved to the farthest corner to make space, the tv was playing some random variety show no one was really watching, and a large tub of ice cream sat open in the middle.

moka was draped over bae's lap on the sofa, twirling a strand of her own hair between her fingers. minji lay on her stomach on the floor, chin propped up on her hands, legs swinging lazily behind her. and then there was you—cross-legged in the middle of the room, absentmindedly stirring a spoon into the melting ice cream, deep in thought.

"so," bae broke the silence, leaning forward. "what was that thing you were whining about in the group chat?"

moka tilted her head to look at you, her cheek smushed against bae's thigh, while minji turned her gaze expectantly in your direction.

you sighed, letting the spoon drop into the tub with a soft plop before leaning your head against the sofa armrest. "promise me y'all won't overreact?"

all three of them nodded, far too quickly to be trusted. knowing damn well they would overreact, you rolled your eyes and exhaled. "well… sungho told me that—"

"he likes you?" minji cut in, deadpan.

you blinked. "yeah?" your face scrunched in confusion. "how'd you know?"

"oh, girl, we've always known." bae let out a short laugh, while moka and minji just shook their heads in mutual disappointment.

"how? did... did sungho tell you?" you leaned forward, pouting slightly.

"no, duhh," moka scoffed, shifting slightly in bae's lap. "he was crazy obvious. we've been telling you that for months, but you just kept going, 'oh no, he’s just a friend' like—ugh."

"yeah, we've just been waiting for him to spell it out for you since clearly, you were a walking blindfold," bae added, shaking her head.

"and don't think we forgot about the whole thing where sungho slipped his number into your napkin back in 12th grade," minji pointed her spoon at you, eyes narrowed. "which you hid from us for months, by the way. that was our last missing piece. at that point, we were just waiting for you to get a clue."

you sat there, lips pressed into a thin line, back slouched.

"not surprising, really. we're just relieved you finally caught up," moka said, still fidgeting with bae's hoodie drawstrings.

you sighed, rubbing your temple. "okay, but like." you straightened up, drawing their attention back. "leehan—"

as expected, that name alone was enough to snap them back into gossip mode. minji's head lifted slightly, moka sat up properly, and bae's brows raised.

"he's been off lately," you continued, narrowing your eyes slightly.

minji immediately groaned. "i swear if this is another he's ignoring me again rant, i am never lending an ear again."

"no, no, listen!" you waved her off. "he's been around more—like, a lot more. earlier in the art room, he straight-up asked me what's up with me and sungho. at first, i thought he was just, you know, casually nosy because it's a matter about his brother, but…" you paused, watching their expressions shift.

"but what?" bae leaned in slightly, smirk forming.

"i don't know, he seemed kinda… irritated? when i told him sungho liked me." you played with the hem of your sleeve. "and when i asked him what i should do, he just went all, then don’t tell him anything, like... okay?"

a slow, knowing grin crept onto your friends' faces.

"and then," you continued, glancing at them warily, "during the membership training, i asked him if minju was the one sungho was talking about, like, the girl leehan was grieving over. but he looked at me and went-" you adjusted your posture, lowering your voice to mimic him, "'it's not… i was just scared that i wouldn't be able to see you again—""

"and you're only telling us this now?!" minji screeched, sitting up so fast that her spoon nearly flew out of her hand.

"how could you hide this from us?!" moka clutched her chest. "valuable information like this!"

"i'm sorry, okay?" you threw your hands up. "the last thing i needed while drowning in stress was you guys picking on me about it."

"but hey." moka gestured between minji and bae before crossing her arms. "are y'all thinking what i'm thinking?"

the three of them exchanged glances, all nodding as if you weren't sitting right there.

you squinted. "what are y'all on about?"

"you're just gonna call us ridiculous anyway," minji muttered, shaking her head.

"we're just saying—" moka grinned. "both of them probably like you. hell, they've probably already fought about it."

"that's ridiculous," you immediately scoffed.

"told you," minji huffed, nudging moka with her elbow.

"you'll see eventually. we're always right," moka said before flopping back into bae's lap.

you let out a long sigh, staring at the ceiling. were they right? they had been right about sungho, but leehan? that was a reach, right?

you shook your head, deciding you weren't about to let your friends' absurd theories mess with your brain. instead, you reached for your phone, unlocking it.

a notification minutes ago.

"do you wanna go out tomorrow before going to the studio?"

from leehan. you twisted your lips, thumb hovering over the screen. before you could even think of a response, you decided to check the earlier notification first.

"wanna swing by our band practice tomorrow? it’s gonna be fun :)"

it's sungho. your hand slowly dropped to your lap.

then, with a long, exhausted groan, you threw your phone onto the couch and flopped back, covering your face with your hands.

"great," you mumbled.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

"no freaking way. i asked her first."

sungho stomped into the kitchen, his socked feet sliding slightly on the tiled floor as he stopped beside leehan, who was elbow-deep in soap suds at the sink.

leehan didn't even bother looking at him. instead, he flicked his soapy fingers in sungho's direction without hesitation. a few stray bubbles and water droplets splattered onto sungho's shirt, making him jolt back with a disgusted noise.

"we have a session tomorrow," leehan said flatly, picking up another dish with an almost offensively calm demeanor. "you can't seriously be trying to mess with her important schedule."

sungho dramatically flicked the water off his shirt, shaking his head like a cat that had just been hit with a spray bottle. "it's in the morning!" he argued, throwing his arms up. "she'll be back way before she even has to go to the studio. what's your point?"

leehan finally turned his head, giving him an unimpressed once-over before scoffing. "yeah? and she's gonna spend the rest of the day thinking about your dumb band practice instead of focusing on her project. real considerate of you, wow. really."

sungho groaned dramatically, rocking back on his heels before leaning against the counter "you know what? whatever. i can't wait to see that miserable face of yours when she responds to my message." he smirked, spinning on his heel, and stomped back to the living room'

the apartment settled into silence as leehan just rolled his eyes back to the sink.

then—ping.

sungho's phone screen lit up on the coffee table, the notification flashing.

almost immediately after—ping.

leehan's phone buzzed against the kitchen counter.

their eyes snapped toward each other. a tense pause.

the air suddenly shifted, like two cowboys squaring off in an old western standoff.

then, sungho launched himself toward the coffee table, nearly tripping over the rug as he dived for his phone like a desperate contestant in a game show. his socks provided zero friction, and he skidded slightly before catching himself, fingers snatching at his phone in a scramble.

at the same time, leehan almost ripped the kitchen towel from the counter, aggressively drying his hands at lightning speed before snatching up his own phone.

neither of them breathed as they fumbled with their screens, thumbs moving rapidly.

then—another beat of silence as one of them muttered "damn it,"

to be continued

[zeroseuniverse]

Can you do a zb1 reactions to their idol crush looking rlly good at a a year end award show, and their reaction when their crush first walks past with their group in the seating area.

ZB1 Reaction to Their Idol Crush Looking Stunning at a Year-End Award Show

Jiwoong

He prides himself on being composed, but the moment you walk past, looking that good, his cool facade almost falters. His lips part slightly before he catches himself, straightening his posture and adjusting his suit like he wasn’t just lowkey stunned. He keeps his expression neutral, but his eyes subtly follow you as you pass by. The members notice immediately. "Hyung, you good?" Gyuvin smirks, nudging him. Jiwoong just scoffs, rolling his shoulders like it’s no big deal. "Yeah, of course." But the way he clears his throat and shifts in his seat says otherwise. If you so much as make eye contact with him, his fingers tap lightly against his knee—his only tell that you’ve thrown him off his game. And when the camera pans to him? He sits perfectly still, pretending he’s unaffected, but fans will definitely catch the slight clench of his jaw and the way he exhales a little deeper than usual.

Hao

He’s normally composed, but when you glide past, looking effortlessly elegant, he subtly clears his throat and adjusts his posture. He tries to play it cool, but his eyes unconsciously follow you, his fingers lightly tapping against his knee. The other members notice the way he’s suspiciously quiet and smirk at him. He just exhales through his nose and mutters, "I didn't expect them to look that good tonight."

Hanbin

He’s the definition of polite admiration. The moment you walk past, he sits up a little straighter, eyes widening slightly before quickly schooling his expression. But the sparkle in his gaze betrays him. He subtly nudges the member next to him and murmurs, "They look really good tonight, huh?" with a small, approving nod. He’s careful not to be too obvious, but his lingering gaze as you take your seat says enough.

Matthew

His reaction is immediate—his eyes widen, and his lips part slightly. He doesn’t even realize he’s staring until one of the members nudges him with a smirk. He laughs it off, rubbing the back of his neck, but he still sneaks glances at you every few minutes. When you finally sit down, he exhales and mutters, "That was dangerous."

Ricky

Mr. Confident until he isn’t. He’s usually chill, but when he sees you, his eyebrows raise slightly, and he tilts his head like he’s analyzing your look. He subtly shifts in his seat and leans back, pretending to be unbothered. But when you make brief eye contact while passing by, he smirks slightly before turning away as if he’s totally unaffected—except the tips of his ears are definitely a little red.

Gyuvin

He has zero control over his reactions. The second he sees you, his jaw literally drops before he catches himself and slaps a hand over his mouth. He then turns to the members with wide eyes, whispering dramatically, "Are they real? Is this a dream? I need a moment." He spends the next five minutes trying (and failing) to act normal whenever the cameras are on him.

Taerae

He’s all smiles the second he spots you. He nudges the member next to him and just grins. "They look amazing, right?" His admiration is clear, and he doesn’t even try to hide it. He might even lean forward slightly when you walk past, eyes practically sparkling with admiration. He’s the type to clap a little too enthusiastically when your group performs.

Gunwook

He tries to act nonchalant, but the moment you walk past, his expression flickers between awe and nervousness. His arms tense slightly, and he looks away for a second before sneaking another glance. "Wow…" he mutters under his breath. The members definitely tease him when they notice how focused he suddenly is on wherever you’re sitting.

Yujin

He’s the youngest, but he’s still got game—or so he thinks. The moment he sees you, his confidence flickers, and he stares for a second too long before pretending he wasn’t looking. He bites his lip, trying to suppress a smile, but the other members notice immediately. "Yujin-ah, close your mouth," Gunwook teases, making him cover his face in embarrassment.

[lazysoulwriter]

every loss is a win. - chris sturniolo. ✩

*✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:i dont have any idea how this game works but whatever *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:

Chris was sitting on the couch in his living room, controller in hand, a playful smirk on his face. His girlfriend, who had just stepped into the room, was looking at him with a raised brow.

“You seriously want me to play Fortnite with you?” she asked, crossing her arms, but there was a hint of amusement in her eyes.

Chris grinned, eyes sparkling with excitement. “I do. You’ll love it, I promise. And if you mess up—” He paused, winking. “I’ll kiss you every time.”

Her lips curled up in a teasing smile, clearly intrigued. “Kiss me every time I die, huh?”

“Exactly,” Chris said, leaning back on the couch, clearly confident in his ability to teach her. “It’ll be fun, trust me.”

She sat next to him, reluctantly grabbing the other controller. Chris set up the game, his fingers moving quickly as he navigated the screen. “Alright, babe, here’s the deal,” he said, eyes still focused on the screen. “Just follow my lead, and you’ll get the hang of it.”

She nodded, though she wasn’t exactly confident. She had zero experience with Fortnite and had no idea what she was doing. But... the idea of Chris kissing her every time she died sounded like a win in her book.

The game started, and her character appeared on the screen. Chris quickly explained the basic controls: how to move, aim, and shoot. She pretended to listen, but her eyes kept drifting to him. The way he gripped the controller, the intensity in his eyes—it made her feel… something.

The game was off to a rough start. She died almost instantly, and before she could even react, Chris was leaning in to kiss her, his lips warm and soft against hers. She closed her eyes, savoring the kiss, but something inside her stirred. A wicked thought entered her mind.

What if… what if she purposely lost, just to get more kisses? The idea made her smile.

She died again—almost immediately, actually—and Chris was quick to lean in and press another kiss to her lips, this time lingering just a little longer.

She bit her lip, suppressing a giggle. “I think I’m getting the hang of this game,” she said innocently, but her plan was already in motion.

A few more rounds, a few more deaths, and Chris kissed her each time. He had no idea. But she did. The game wasn’t really about winning anymore.

“Damn, babe”

“I know,” she said, feigning innocence. But in reality, she was just waiting for the next kiss. And when it came—this time, a little deeper, a little hotter—she couldn’t hold back anymore.

Before Chris could even react, she pulled him closer, her lips crashing into his with a newfound urgency. He gasped, momentarily taken aback. “Woah, what’s going on?"

She didn’t answer, instead pushing him back onto the couch, her hands tangling in his hair as she kissed him desperately, passionately. The game was long forgotten at this point. Her body was closer to his, her hands moving down his chest.

“Do you—do you want to stop playing?” Chris asked, breathless, clearly taken by surprise at the shift in energy.

“Yes,” she whispered against his lips. “I don’t want to play anymore.”

Without another word, she leaned down, kissing him even deeper. The world around them melted away, and for the next few moments, there was no game, no controller—just the two of them, consumed by each other.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

[threegoldfish]

Steven, oblivious to whatever had been going on with that woman, takes in the sight of her sitting a bit more straight, watching fingers brushing through her hair when she gets herself ready to explain; Oh boy, that sounds like she's got a lot to say about the whole stealing-thing---

Her palms find the smooth surface of that table next to them, slapping down with force all of a sudden; Steven jerks at the movement and loud bang it produces, takes a step back, eyes wide, hands shooting away from the artifact to curl against another in front of his chest - just for him to then immediately reach out again for the stone slab to make sure it isn't falling to the ground and shattering into pieces. ---Thank god, however, the thing's heavy enough for it to not really move out of place, despite the rather violent shake of that table. Steven sighs, relieved, then swallows, gaze focused on the artifact as he gives it a bit of a gentle nudge (checking if it really won't budge, satisfied with how secure it seems to be in its position) before his attention is back on her, with him standing more straight as he listens.

That's... that's an awful lot of information and the longer she speaks, the higher Steven's brows lift along his forehead, almost reaching his hairline when she stops after what feels like minutes. A blink follows - another one - and Steven clears his throat, brown eyes now flicking back and forth between her (Sasha, she tells him) and the artifact that is much more of important nature than she expects it to be.

"---A cult?", he asks, and oh no, doesn't that ring some bells within him here? He has to think of Harrow, of how he'd managed to gather a massive following in an attempt to bring Ammit back; If these guys she mentioned are similar in any shape or form, they could absolutely be trying to do the same thing here, just with---

"...Oh god." Steven's gaze drifts away for a second, focusing on an imaginary point behind her, thoughts racing. His hands intertwine in front of his chest again, fingers picking along nails, tugging on knuckles, letting go of nervous energy as a few seconds of silence pass. "...Oh god, oh bloody--- not again..."

As distracted as Steven seems to be, the more sudden his next movement is when he quickly turns around toward the stone slab then, leaning over it for a second time, finger trailing along the hieroglyphs as he rereads everything. His lips move as he does but he's not speaking anything out loud, dark irises flicking over each and every single picture with intense devotion and focus, wide-eyed, shoulders moving with every breath he takes.

"Terrible you said, huh." Thoughtful, a little hesitant, but also... very much uncomfortable at the same time. The chuckle that follows is as dry as the Sahara Desert, lacking of any humor, breathy and as nervous as Steven's whole posture is. "...Yeah, this... I think this thing is terrible indeed. Bloody terrible, I guess. Like... this thing--- the uh, what it says, it's...---"

Steven takes another breath, then looks a bit more collected again as he stands, brows knitting. He finds Sasha's gaze and shakes his head for a moment, in disbelief, before he gestures toward the ancient relic she had randomly stolen without even knowing how important it might be.

"...It sounds like a poem. ---Like a ritual, even. Like something that's needed to be spoken out when attempting to summon...something. A god, for example." ...Which might sounds ridiculous to someone who has no idea that ancient Egyptian gods are still around to this day and not just a myth. Steven clears his throat, very much tense, and the more he thinks of people being out there trying to summon Apep, the more he starts to feel panic rise within him again.

He contemplates calling for Marc, let him handle this thing... Perhaps he should. Oh gosh. Should he show this to Khonshu...?!

Oh god, and the people she stole this from - they will try to find this thing, and if they are just somewhat similar to Harrow's previous following, they'll not hesitate to do whatever they need to get it back.

"---You cannot sell this." A statement, voice surprisingly firm as Steven looks at her, determined. "You absolutely cannot sell this, to anyone."

sasha was absolutely giddy with delight. maybe this jake-who-wasn't-jake wasn't so disappointing, either. it certainly made for some entertainment, that was for sure. teeth gently bit down on her tongue in a cheeky manner in response to his annoyance, humming a laugh quietly while she got comfortable in her chair. a little payback definitely made her feel better.

relationship, though? that kind of soured her glee, gaze lowering to think about that silently for a moment. like.. a real one? the same for ' jake ', too? jealousy bubbled underneath her skin for a man she'd only met once, sasha adjusting her coat quietly. hm.

elbow lifted onto the table, chin making itself at home to rest on her palm, gaze following his fingertips. she liked the way she caressed the stone so gently, taking a deep breath while she bit the inside of her cheek in thought. she watched almost longingly, freehand quietly drumming on the tabletop while she imagined some not so decent things with his soft looking touch combined. she was just a girl, after all. seeing him so excited about it was quite sweet, too.

she blinked suddenly, perking back up and brought back to reality when he started speaking again, sitting straight and raking through her hair like she hadn't just fantasized something about a total stranger. gaze swiveled back up to meet his, staring at him blankly for a moment.

apep. that made so much sense!

" hm? OH--UGH. " sasha rolled her eyes, leaning back a little before palms slapped down on the tabletop in a frustrated manner, cursing under her breath. she had a story to TELL. " listen to this-- " she started, as if this were normal gossip. voice heavy with its usual russian dialect.

" so I used to do business with this man. many years ago, right? he has his guy contact my guy that puts me in contact with people--and he asks him to ask me--who this egyptian artifact buyer I used to sell to is. so I tell him. "

she puts her finger up, wagging it. " that makes me wonder, right? what is he looking for? because this man has never ever been interested in egyptian artifacts. he used to buy, sell and smuggle weapons. terrible man, really. too much cologne, too. I could smell him from a mile away. " waving a dismissive hand.

" so I find him. because he is stupid and proud and I know where he is located. he does not know where I am located, though. none of them do. that's why I win and they lose. and I do my thing I can do and I spy on him. " fingers wiggling as if to imitate a creeping motion. not that he knew what exactly 'what she could do' that was.

" and he and these other men are all together. is really fucking creepy, honestly. like a cult. and they're standing around talk about who you mentioned. ahh---apep, right? and they have that slab. and they look a little too happy. talking about one step closer to serving their ultimate purpose for...uhmm apep, yes--"

she furrowed her brows, looking at him while trying to stifle a laugh. because it was so creepy and absolutely ridiculous.

" that many men in a room that happy means something terrible. so I stole it. " giving a sigh while she folded her arms over her chest. no other rhyme or reason, really. she had no idea what the slab did. she was just petty. " and because they killed my buyer for it. " mumbling curse words in russian under her breath. as if that were necessary.

" so is it worth anything? because I was just going to sell it and use some funds for a couple of hitmen as revenge and maybe a charity of your choosing. " grinning ear to ear, completely oblivious.

oh.. where were her manners?

"--sasha, by the way. " both elbows on the table now, fists curled underneath her chin and legs doing a single swing underneath the table. this was so exciting getting down to business !

[devotedlystrangewizard]

someone tell me what the difference is between evil durge and heretic rt that makes me really like heretic but feel disappointed by evil durge mmhmhmm

[navree]

the Return To Adderall of 2023 (sorry to everyone who's already getting sick of me posting about what it's like to be back on medication but pls remember the last time i had this in my system was in 2018, i am Readjusting) means that i am now so incredibly focused and i'm gonna actually take a look at my drafts folder and see if i can work on whatever seems the most done

[screampied]

✩ㅤ cw. fem! reader, size difference, choking, size kinks, unprotected, dirty talk, praise, full nelson, mdni.

play fighting with suguru which later turns into him having you in a full nelson.

“awww, c’mon. don’t tap out on me now, sweetheart,” he purrs against the soft shell of your ear, hearing you sweetly gasp at the gaping barrage he creates with his thick cock. just a few moments ago—you were on top of him and now you were being stuffed full, legs dangling and weakly being held hostage while a beefy arm of his slings around your throat. your body collapses backward as you’re just idly bouncing on his lap, feeling each of his bulky muscles flex and twitch behind you. “biiiig stretch, fuck there we go. mhm, my baby’s all nice ‘n flexible.” he gruffs, peppering a few sultry kisses near the open curvature of your neck. you moan, feeling the secure grasp of his broad hands move from its original placement, gluing under the cracks of your thighs.

he’s got you in such a risqué position, your body continues to jostle against his, feeling his carved hard abs rub off against your skin. “ngh, suguru,” you squawk, and your hooded eyes peer down at yourself taking him in fully. his base had a pretty sheeny tan, resuming to pump in and out of you, already blissfully bottoming out. you felt him everywhere—and he’s just holding you upright with two burly arms, locking his arms under your plush pretty thighs. “ ‘m gonna cum again, fuck.”

with a husky snicker, he deepens his thrusts against you by moving his hands toward your rickety hips. a cunning simper spreads against his lips before he ghosts a few silvery slick fingers down your sopping wet slit. “well yeah, with a weak pussy like this, bet you are. you poor thing.”

your jaw couldn’t help but loosely hang itself open as he’s just ruthlessly lodged inside of your cunt, creeping a swollen fat thumb near your puffy hood to toy and flick with it some more.

his touch to you was like electricity, and you were very much on the verge of breaking. he was so thick — insanely thick, geto’s pearly poking crownhead mercilessly drags in and out of your pasty walls and you recognize the delicious curve of his dick all too well.

your moans grow even louder, so loud that it’s bouncing against the paper thin walls whilst the sharp slaps of skin create shivers all throughout your body. “fuck, more. put me in a chokehold, sugu.”

“dirty girl,” he grunts, his hefty base starting to slather up with sappy juices from your slick heat. a big brawny arm curls around your neck again and he presses a chaste kiss toward your cheek.

“my, you really shouldn’t say such things, y’know,” and as you’re still taking his cock, you feel his free hand grab near one of your breasts. he gives it a nice squeeze before focusing his attention back towards your neck, hearing your cute exasperated gasps. licking against your ear, he lowly whispers, making you slightly turn your neck to face his feral sly eyes. “i could just snap you in half if i really wanted to. all i gotta do ‘s jus add a little pressure like this ‘n . . my doll’s gonna be all broken and we can’t have that, huh.”

sweet sweet whimpers spill from your lips as his arm still remains wrapped around your throat. he makes sure it’s a safe hold, giving you a few frisky squeezes here and there just to hear you whine for more.

he’s so beefy. through your glossy doe peripherals, you could visibly see his veins pop out through his skin. you felt your pussy throb once you start to imagine all the times he goes to the gym alone, all the times he’s lifting weights.

if anything though, you wanted him to be lifting you instead.

“nothin’ to say? aw, pity,” his gravelly voice lowers, and you’re brought back to harsh reality once his palm swats against your ass. you bite down on your tongue in attempt to suppress your incoming lewd whimper but it still comes out. “fuck, always so warm f’ me, god,” and his grip against your neck loosens. the pits of your tummy tense and coil up as your clammy thighs continue to tweak and spasm from his sharp thrusts. so deep. every few seconds, he’d pull your legs up or drag them further apart just to hear you gasp.

you’re almost marveled by the fact that such an obscene position even exists. your legs could barely stand and if it wasn’t for the help of his hands, you’d be screwed.

“s- sugu—ah!” you whine, feeling his bulbous head ram its way against your convulsing g-spot. he knows that spot like the back of his hand, the cute bumpy texture that never fails to present himself around his angered tip. shaggy long tresses of black hair tickle near the nape of your neck as you fall back. “fuck fuck fuuuck,” you loudly snivel, digging your nails into his meaty thigh. once he hits it, he keeps hitting it until your cute voice strains itself out. he’s still practically got you folded as you’re trying to ride out your euphoric orgasm. the bed devastatingly dips inward from the crushing masses of weight piling on top of it.

“there we go, that’s my sloppy girl,” he coos in a raspy tone. geto’s pitching his voice against your ear as he speaks and oh, his words a mere raunchy whisper. he hears your talkative cunt squelch out, faint strings of syrupy slick forming a little plash around his weighty base. geto holds your hips firmly, showering the crook of your neck with a plethora of balmy kisses as your body ruts and shakes.

“good girl, listen to how nasty you always sound for me,” he hums, sneaking his stubby fingers back down towards your weeping wet cunt, maneuvering a few circles near your drooling slit. “i know, i know,” he talks over your enraptured shrills, and he then gives your pussy a patting spank. you moan, falling back against his sweaty chest and a trail of his curly chest hair titillates against the center of your back. “this is a lot more fun then wrestling, isn’t it, sweetheart?”

“y- yeah,” you swallow, and he teasingly wraps a stocky bicep around your neck again. he’s still merrily buried inside of your gummy walls, feeling you writhe around his lap and he chuckles. you’re panting, full lungs desperately trying to gather up any amounts of air that it could before you exhale. “again, sugu.”

with a purring hum, he lifts you back up, trying to pull your leg over your shoulder. “hm, fine. but keep up. ‘m not gonna go easy on ya this time,” and he gives your dribbling sensitive clit another playful pat. “and ‘m certainly not gonna go easy on her either. but, i’ll try not to break you too bad this time princess, no promises.”