#sorry. sorry. sorry. university assignment i promise

[okaylikeschaewon]

Chairs

~5k words, Roommates series

Finding an empty room to study in really shouldn’t be very difficult in a university of all places, yet here you were, roaming the hallways like a buffoon trying to find an alternative to the usual lounges you had been frequenting for the first few weeks of the semester.

In an attempt to avoid interrupting another class again, sparing yourself from the embarrassment, you carefully placed your ear against a door and tried to listen for anyone inside - this would be a lot easier if the stupid little windows above the handles weren’t covered up. After giving it a few seconds and hearing nothing, you decided to try your luck.

Slowly, you opened the door and took a peek inside. Turns out it was an office, and seemingly one for a newer professor, or one who simply didn’t care to decorate, based on the lack of vanity items on the barren shelf. One detail, however, did stand out to you; Realistically you should have just left at this point, but that Herman Miller was whispering sweet nothings in your ear - you had to try it, just for a second.

After closing the door behind you and placing your bag down, you walked around the modest little desk to get a better look at the chair. It was pristine. In a room devoid of most expression, you still felt a gorgeous rush of euphoria as you took a seat. It was truly shocking how a luxurious office chair made such a difference in the entire atmosphere of the room.

No longer did you feel like you were in some bland, secondary thought of a room. You had lucked out, this was exactly the type of room you were looking for when you set out to find a quieter alternative to your usual spots. Then, your luck seemingly got even better when you noticed a little calendar on the desk in front of you. 

Not that you were trying to snoop or invade anyone’s private space, but you noticed whoever used this room had nothing scheduled for the day, and a bit of basic deduction skills led you to believe this was his day off - luckily the room was unlocked. Seemingly he was a philosophy professor who also taught communications?

Still, you should probably have left at this point. Yet… for some odd reason you were convincing yourself to do something that you shouldn’t. Was there really much harm in using an empty office to study? It’s not like you’d be making a mess or anything, and you’d be careful to not break anything. Surely no one would mind, it would only be for a couple of hours before your next class anyway.

That’s when you heard a knock.

Your heart skipped a beat. Immediately your mind began racing to think of an excuse, some reason you were in here. Wait, if it was the professor, why would he be knocking? Wouldn’t he just come in? Presumably if you didn’t respond, they would just leave, right? That made enough sense in your head to calm you down, but just as your heart rate began to slow, the door opened.

“Hello sir!”

“H-Hello,” you stammered as one of the most adorable girls you’ve ever seen walked into the room, closing the door behind her.

“I was going to send an email, but I figured I’d try your office first,” she continued nervously. “It’s about the last assignment.”

God she was cute. At this point you were supposed to tell her that she had the wrong person, but you just sat there like an idiot and listened.

“Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Yuna, I’m in your intro to philosophy class,” she stammered while fidgeting with the hem of her skirt. “I know you probably won’t recognize me, and I promise I’ll start showing up to class.”

“Showing up?” you mumbled under your breath, trying to make sense of what was going on.

“I promise I have a good reason,” she added before locking the door behind her - a detail you barely picked up on - and dropping her bag. She walked over to you, right past the desk, until she was right in front of you. “If I had known how cute you were, I never would have skipped in the first place.”

Cute? If this girl thought you were her professor, this was quickly becoming incredibly inappropriate. Yet, your dumbass was still just sitting there and letting it happen. Was this wrong? Probably. But you were stunned in a sense, almost like you were being forced to play the role.

“So, how can I help you?” you asked while trying to keep your eyes away from her body, a difficult task considering how little she attempted to hide her figure with that tight button up she wore.

“It’s less about what I want,” she replied before crouching down in front of you. “And more about what you want.”

“Holy shit,” you mumbled as your eyes inadvertently landed on the unbuttoned neckline of her shirt.

“Professor, I really need some help,” she whispered as she leaned forward. “I’m glad you’re willing to work with me, I was worried at first.”

“Yuna, wait,” you replied sternly, bringing your own hands to your crotch as she placed hers on your thighs. This was straight out of a poorly written porno and had to stop. “There’s a misunderstanding.”

“I can tell you won’t get me in trouble, right professor?” she ignored you entirely. “You think I’m pretty, don’t you?”

“What? No that’s not- I mean yes you’re very pretty but that’s not what-”

“Do you want me?”

“Yuna, please listen-”

“If you don’t,” she whispered, slowly moving your hands away. “Then just tell me to stop.”

“I can’t give you what you’re asking for because I’m not-”

“You don’t have to give me anything,” she interrupted you with a smile. “I’m just doing you a small favor, and then after you can decide what you want to give me.”

Fuck’s sake why was she so hot, it was hard to think straight.

“That’s right,” Yuna continued with a whisper as she began unbuckling your belt. She reached her soft fingers into your underwear and pulled out your cock, gripping the shaft gently. “You get to decide exactly what you want to give me, and I mean it when I say anything.”

“Yuna, I…” you moaned softly as she placed your tip into her mouth and began swirling her tongue against your hole. “Fuck.”

“That’s better,” Yuna smiled brightly up at you while pulling your pants down to your ankles. “This is just some no-strings attached fun, right professor?”

She leaned forward some more and began sucking on your balls while the hand she had around your shaft tightened its grip. With both balls in her mouth, pressing them around with her tongue, she began stroking your shaft gently.

“Oh professor, I didn’t know you were so fucking big,” she moaned after releasing your balls with a little pop.

“Maybe because you’ve never attended class,” you replied for some unknown reason, as if you were actually her professor. It just felt like the right thing to say. No, it was dumb, you should stop her. This was all wildly inappropriate and would probably get you expelled. Or was it? You never even said anything, she’s the one who initiated. It was all just happening so fucking fast, your brain couldn’t make sense of the situation.

“I’m so sorry professor, I’ll make it up to you I promise.”

With that, she lifted herself up until she was right above your cock and opened her mouth wide. In a single movement, she lowered herself all the way down your cock until you felt your tip prodding the back of her throat.

Fuck.

Yeah, there was no stopping, not when Yuna started bobbing up and down your cock. She moved fast, throating your entire length each time, finally pausing just long enough to gasp for air and smile up at you, using her soft fingers to coat your cock in her saliva.

“I promise I’ll keep coming, professor, you can see as much of me as…” her voice trailed off and she engulfed your cock once more, all the way down to the balls before holding. She pushed as far as possible, her nose pressing against your skin and her chin up against your balls. Then, as quickly as she went down, she came back up gasping once more. “... as you want.”

“Yuna, this is wrong…”

“Then don’t tell anyone,” she shrugged, leaning back and slowly unbuttoning the rest of her shirt, revealing a bright pink bra. “If you want me to leave, I’ll leave and we can pretend this never happened. Is that what you want?”

“I…” you hesitated, considering the options, but Yuna wasn’t as patient as you.

“That’s what I thought,” she smirked, opening up her shirt enough to put her soft cleavage on full display. “Now how about you stop thinking so hard and just relax. You don’t owe me anything for this, I’m just doing you a little favor out of the goodness of my heart.”

That was a fucking lie. You’d have to figure out a way to explain that you weren’t her professor - a problem that was definitely for later as Yuna leaned forward again on all fours and began licking up your shaft slowly. She would press her lips on your balls before sticking out her tongue and sliding it all the way up to your tip before wrapping her lips around it.

“You must be so tired, grading all those papers,” Yuna purred, bringing her hands up to your balls and fondling them while kissing on your tip repeatedly. “Just close your eyes and relax, this can be our little secret.”

Fine, you’d play along. You placed one hand on the top of her head before closing your eyes, letting her bob up and down your cock to her heart’s desire. It felt phenomenal, there was no denying it, she was experienced for sure. For the next few minutes, nothing but quiet slurps filled the small office as Yuna worked your cock expertly, sliding her tongue around and around, pressing down hard with her lips.

“Can you cum for me, professor?” she moaned, grabbing your shaft with her hand and stroking as fast as she could. “Please? In my mouth? I’ll be a good girl and swallow it all.”

“Oh my God,” you moaned softly, opening your eyes and looking through the blurriness to see Yuna with one hand playing with her tits while the other jerked you off.

She stuck her tongue out, licking your tip from time to time, hand still moving just as fast. Her half-lidded eyes staring up at you, begging for your release. It was working. You could feel the pressure building up more and more, you knew you were about to blow any second now.

“Please professor,” she cried out. “Cum for me.”

“I’m…” you grunted softly under your breath, shutting your eyes tight in anticipation, tightening your grip on her hair.

Then, in a flash, before you even felt it, your eyes shot open as the first streak of cum launched directly against Yuna’s lips. Like the expert she was, Yuna quickly opened her mouth and caught the next few spurts in her throat as she kept jerking the lower half of your cock while coaxing out your cum with her tongue.

“Good fucking girl,” you moaned, bringing your other hand to the back of her head and pressing down.

She barely gave any resistance as you pushed your cock all the way into her throat, unloading whatever was left as deep as you could. Even balls deep down your cock, she was still working her tongue, her lack of a gag reflex putting in work. As her face began turning a tinge blue, you let go of the back of her head.

Despite the resistance disappearing, she didn’t immediately pull back. Instead, Yuna made a tight seal with her lips and slowly inched her way up your cock, making sure not to leave a single drop of cum on your shaft. Once at the tip, she paused, looking up at you and swallowing whatever she had in her mouth before sucking your tip desperately trying to get more of your cum out of you.

“That’s all I got, sweetheart,” you gasped as the sensitivity began to hit.

Yuna finally let go of your cock and looked up at you with the brightest smile this world has ever known.

“Thank you professor!”

“Yuna,” you sighed as she stood back up and began sifting through her bag while you quickly pulled your pants back up. “I’m not your professor.”

The girl froze in her tracks, holding her laptop in her arms.

“What?”

“I tried telling you earlier, but you weren’t listening.”

“Who are you?” Yuna asked anxiously, covering her chest up.

“I’m a student,” you answered, diverting your gaze in an attempt to avoid making her uncomfortable.

“What the fuck are you doing in his office? And why… shit.”

“I’m really sorry, you just weren’t listening, I tried-”

“I don’t give a fuck about that,” Yuna shook her head and put her laptop down on the desk. “Can you at least help me?”

“W-What?” you stammered, trying not to stare at her tits.

“What the fuck do you have to be shy about,” Yuna rolled her eyes, immediately noticing your discomfort. “Here,” she added before lifting up her bra and flashing her bare tits at you, bouncing up and down a couple of times. “You already nutted in my mouth, I really don’t give a fuck if you see my tits. Now can you help me or what?”

“With what? Your assignment?”

“Exactly,” she answered before pulling down her bra and opening up her laptop. “This shit’s due tomorrow, I was hoping I could get out of it.”

Yuna turned the laptop to show you the assignment. Based on a quick skim of the rubric, it was simple enough - to be expected from an intro course.

“This doesn’t look too difficult,” you commented, scrolling through the meager attempt at a start. “Yeah, I can help.”

“Perfect,” Yuna smiled, suddenly taking a seat on your lap. “It’s due at midnight, I’ll get you whatever you need.”

“I don’t need anything,” you chuckled softly when a notification popped up on the screen. “Holy fuck who is that?”

“My roomie, you like?” Yuna giggled, leaning forward to reply to the message.

“She’s fucking gorgeous,” you commented in awe as you stared at her display picture. “Yeji… God damn, those eyes… and that body…”

“Alright enough,” Yuna snapped and began standing up, her jealousy showing.

“Hey,” you quickly pulled her back down by her hips. “You’re more gorgeous,” you lied.

“It’s whatever, I get it,” she sighed, rubbing her ass against your body. “I’d also fuck her if I could. Anyway, you sure you don’t want anything?”

“I’m good, really.”

“Nothing at all? No extra motivation?” Yuna asked, grabbing your wrist and placing it on her perfect handful of a chest.

“No,” you gave her tit a quick squeeze before letting go. “I won’t be able to type very fast with just one hand.”

“I can suck your cock again, if you want,” she added as she started grinding her hips back and forth.

“Yuna,” you grabbed her ass with both hands and held her still. “If you want me to do this, just sit tight and relax.”

“Fine,” she leaned back against your chest, her floral shampoo hitting your nose. “Just let me know if you need anything then.”

“Will do,” you muttered as you began typing away.

Truthfully, it would have been much easier without her sitting on your lap, but you figured that was a sacrifice you were willing to make. The next hour or so went by in relative silence as you typed away while Yuna watched diligently, making sure not to distract you beyond the gentle press of her body against yours.

That was until she fell asleep between your arms. She really was incredibly adorable, and for the first time since your breakup, you almost felt like you were in a relationship again. Very carefully, you picked her up and placed her on the small armchair next to the mostly vacant bookshelf. She was breathing deeply, her chest bouncing up and down with each one.

Without even realizing it, you were smiling. You reached forward and carefully did a couple of the buttons of her shirt to cover her up before returning to the Miller. Unknown to you at the time, she had woken up and noticed, but you were too focused on finishing the assignment for her, you were almost done anyway.

Another hour or so passed while you were completely focused, typing away diligently. Maybe it was stupid, considering it wasn’t even your assignment, but you were becoming quite proud of your work. You didn’t even care that you missed your class and that the sun had started setting outside, you had adopted this assignment as if it was your own.

“Done,” you muttered under your breath, leaning back in the chair and stretching your arms towards the roof.

“Your typing skills are truly incredible, you finished so quickly,” Yuna commented softly, making you jolt slightly as you forgot she was even there. “I wonder what else those fingers can do.”

“Thank you, but it’s really nothing,” you replied modestly, ignoring her last comment. “I’ve taken this course before, or something similar at least.”

“I never would have been able to finish this in time without you, there’s no way,” Yuna began leaning against the desk, facing you. “I really owe you for this.”

“No, you already kinda-”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

Her words stung more than she intended as the memories of your ex came back. Not that it was her fault, obviously, but it still hurt.

“No,” you replied bluntly, unintentionally letting some emotion out.

“That’s surprising,” Yuna mumbled a bit shyly, perhaps picking up on your tone.

“What about you? Boyfriend?”

“Definitely not,” she laughed softly, almost as if to hide some pain behind her own voice. “Can I ask you something?”

“Obviously,” you chuckled. “I think we’re well past that stage.”

“Why’d you…” she trailed off slowly, her finger toying with the buttons on her shirt.

“You fell asleep,” you shrugged, leaning back in the chair. “Felt like it was the gentleman-y thing to do.”

“Right, because my behavior definitely deserves gentleman treatment.”

“I didn’t really look at it that way,” you replied cautiously. “Regardless of circumstances, you still deserve dignity.”

“You don’t think I have dignity?”

“What I think doesn’t really matter,” you answered. “But no, that’s not what I’m saying.”

“I don’t think I have dignity.”

Silence filled the room. For a few, stretched moments, you simply stared into Yuna’s round eyes, trying to understand this girl and who she was beneath the surface.

“Why do you feel that way?” you broke the silence first. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Don’t play dumb,” Yuna shook her head in frustration. “You know exactly why.”

“Yuna,” you began carefully. “I only just met you-”

“I swear I only did this because someone told me it would work,” Yuna cut you off. “And I wouldn’t have done it if I walked into the room and wasn’t attracted to the person I saw, seriously.”

“That’s fine-” you started before getting cut off once again, something you realized she loved to do.

“Like, I’m not a complete whore,” she continued. “Did I do it for personal gain? Sure. But I also wanted to. Is it really such a crime to be horny?”

“Yuna!” you spoke up firmly, standing up and grabbing her wrists. “You don’t have to explain, I’m not judging you for it.”

“Yes you are,” she muttered quietly after a pause.

“Believe whatever you want,” you shrugged and let go of her wrists. “Your assignment is done either way.”

“So why’d you actually help me?”

“You looked like you needed it,” you chuckled softly before pausing. “Truthfully? You reminded me of my ex.”

“Oh?” Yuna’s eyes wandered for a moment as she fixated on a spot of the floor. “In what way?”

“Well for one,” you stepped closer to her. You gently pushed her hair behind her ear before continuing. “You’re unbelievably pretty.”

She finally looked back up at you, a rosiness creeping onto her cheeks. “I appreciate that,” she smiled warmly. “Though I can’t imagine your first time meeting her was anything like this.”

“You’d be surprised,” you chuckled softly, leaning on the desk next to her, both of you facing the empty bookshelf.

“I have a hard time believing your first time meeting her involved head,” Yuna giggled quietly.

“Like I said, you’d be surprised.”

“You’re kidding?” Yuna gasped, turning to face you. “Well shit, now I don’t feel as embarrassed I guess.”

“I don’t think you should feel embarrassed at all,” you replied calmly. “Just like I said earlier, not judging you.”

“Then don’t judge me for this either,” Yuna whispered softly.

Part of you wasn’t entirely sure how to react to the kiss, you just let your body go on autopilot. It wasn’t a quick peck or anything, she pressed forward with real passion, pushing you backwards onto the chair again and straddling your lap. Your hands made their way around her body, feeling her gentle curves, the soft skin, her warm touch. Yuna’s mouth clashed against yours, her tongue growing more and more confident, teasing and intertwining with yours.

What really got you going was the touch of her hand on the back of your neck - that’s when you knew you were in trouble. You kept kissing, full of passion and lust, your hands rummaging around her top and unbuttoning it for the second time that evening before ripping it off and tossing it to the side, soon to be joined by her bra as you unclasped it.

Once her tits were finally free again, you let the kiss fade apart. Yuna stared at you breathily, awaiting your next move, but you weren’t going to keep her waiting long. After grabbing her ass with your hands, you stood up from the chair, holding her in your arms and gently placing her down on the desk. She quickly pushed aside her laptop before laying flat on the desk, looking up at you with a face full of carnal lust.

“Is this what you want?” you asked quietly while unbuckling your belt.

Yuna stared at you, her eyes more sensitive than you’ve ever seen, and paused for just a moment before answering.

“Yes.”

That was all you needed, and by the time you had your pants off, Yuna had already slipped off her underwear and bunched up her skirt around her waist. Before you, glistening and shining, as beautiful as you had imagined in your mind, Yuna lay there waiting - for you.

“You’re so beautiful,” you muttered as you took hold of her thighs and pulled her closer to the edge of the desk. “Let me know,” you added gently as you lined yourself up.

She nodded up at you before closing her eyes, biting her lower lip just slightly as she tilted her head back, pressing her tits up towards the roof. You leaned in some more, your tip spreading apart her body as you placed your arms on the desk around Yuna’s small frame, pressing forward slowly. With utmost care, you inched yourself deeper and deeper, paying full attention to the way Yuna was contorting her expression.

Her pussy felt incredibly warm and comforting around your cock. Once you were nearly all the way in, you paused to simply revel in the feel of Yuna’s body. And of course, you wanted to give her a moment to adjust to your body.

“You good?” you whispered, leaning forward even closer.

Yuna opened her eyes and nodded again. It was like night and day the way her personality shifted from earlier. She came in so confident and in control, but now she had become completely vulnerable, completely comfortable around you. And in return, you felt immense comfort with her.

A wave of warmth rushed through your body as you leaned forward over her body and kissed her again. As she kissed you back, you began slowly sliding your hips back and forth, enjoying every inch of pleasure her pussy was shooting into you.

“You’re a living fucking dream, you know that?” you grunted as you softly pressed into her pussy again and again.

“Your dick feels amazing,” Yuna moaned, arching her back. “Fuck me, fuck me good.”

That was the plan. You pushed forward faster, inching yourself even deeper now. The deeper you pressed into Yuna’s pussy, the better it felt. Not only was your cock throbbing in pleasure, you were also losing your mind at the sound of Yuna’s gentle moans overpowering the sound of the desk sliding against the floor with each thrust.

“That’s fucking right,” Yuna sobbed softly, rubbing circles around her clit with her hand. “I’m going to fucking cum, don’t fucking stop.”

“Cum for me,” you grunted, taking two big handfuls of Yuna’s tits into your palms and squeezing.

“I’m clo….” her voice trailed off, leaving her mouth open and eyes shut tight in focus.

She couldn’t physically speak anymore, yet it hardly mattered. You knew, without a doubt in your mind, the way her pussy was contracting against your cock that she was cumming hard. Making sure not to change your pace, even as your sweat began pooling on your brow, you pushed and pushed, muttering filth that she probably couldn’t even comprehend right now, pushing through her new tightness.

Her pussy convulsed for a bit longer before the squeezing calmed, and all that remained from her orgasm was the heavy breathing that pushed your palms up every second or so. You also slowed down a bit, all the sensation bringing you painfully close to your own orgasm, realizing now how tired your legs were getting. Being so close to the edge, however, gave you all the energy you needed. Finally, Yuna had recovered, and she pulled herself up, wrapping her arms and legs around your body.

“Are you close?” she whispered directly into your ear.

After that, definitely.

“Do you want to cum on me?” Yuna moaned into your ear. “All over my face?”

“Yes,” you gasped back, focusing as hard as you could on your hips thrusting into her pussy a few final times before you pulled out - you were unbelievably close now.

“Good,” she purred before quickly jumping off the desk and turning you around as she sat on the chair. “Cover me in that cum.”

Before you could start stroking, Yuna had already grabbed your cock. This girl was like fucking magic, the way she jerked you off with her mouth open wide, eyes staring into yours, her hand was doing better than even you could do. She moved as fast as she could, squeezing hard against your cock, fondling your balls with her other hand. You rode the absolute edge of your orgasm, just to get launched over your limit as Yuna stuck her cute little tongue out and prodded your tip a couple of times, sealing the deal.

“Ah!” Yuna gasped as the first hefty gush landed on her forehead, splattering into her hair. “Fuck yes,” she added with a moan as she adjusted your cock.

The next few moments happened so fast, in such a blur, you could barely comprehend what was happening. All you knew was your cock felt fucking amazing as Yuna jerked you off. In front of you, once your vision cleared up, Yuna’s face was completely plastered in white, barely any actually making it into her open mouth.

“Fuck!” you squealed as Yuna shoved your cock down her throat. “Please!”

She pulled your cock out of her lips, smiling brightly up at you, that smile that you could stare at for the rest of your life.

“Aim better,” she giggled, using her pinky to scoop a glob of your cum off her face into her lips.

“Alright, let’s try again.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Yuna smirked before suddenly pouting. “It’s in my hair, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you quickly pulled out some tissues from your bag and handed them to her. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she sighed, pulling out her phone to use as a mirror. “Thanks again, for the assignment.”

“Yeah, of course,” you replied as you got dressed. “Thanks for… yeah.”

“Any time,” Yuna giggled softly, wiping her face clean.

“Here,” you held her bra out for her.

“Thanks,” she accepted the garment. “But no, really, any time.”

“Are you suggesting-”

“Yes.”

“Yuna, I don’t know if I’m ready for a relationship yet.”

“Oh, no,” she quickly clarified. “I didn’t mean like that, trust me I’m also not ready yet. I just meant the sex part, and maybe also the homework part.”

“Friends with benefits?” you picked up her panties. “Have you ever had one before?”

“No, but I’m down to give it a shot with the right person,” she answered softly. “Have you?”

“Yeah, mine actually just graduated last year,” you chuckled, reminiscing about your past. “Look, if you’re serious, then I’m down. But I want you to think about it first, it can be kinda dangerous.”

“I’d agree with you if we knew each other before,” Yuna replied. “But we just met, I don’t think feelings will be an issue.”

“Right,” you tried to hide your skepticism. “Alright, exclusive or no?”

“I’d say no. Thoughts?”

“Fine with me,” you held out her panties. “But then no jealousy allowed.”

“Keep them,” Yuna winked up at you before standing up. “And of course not, no jealousy.”

“Yeah?” you placed your hands on her hips. “Even if I fuck your roomie?”

“I’ll do you one better,” Yuna whispered into your face before spinning you around and pushing you onto the chair. She had already straddled your lap before whispering her next words. “Fuck me again and I’ll set you up with her myself.”

“Deal.

---

A/N:

Short and quick little piece I wrote in a couple of nights. I had always planned for Yuna to be in the Roommates universe, I just can't remember what inspired me to write it all of a sudden. Truthfully not the most edited and reviewed fic I've ever written, oh well, enjoy!

I really hope it's not too confusing (not that you need to read the other fics in the universe, the whole point is that you can read them independently). This is supposed to take place in junior year, and there are a few references to some of the other fics in this universe, some foreshadowing I guess.

I wouldn't expect another fic for a bit, I really don't have much time to write lately. I can, however, give some insight on what I'm currently working on: Dating Seraphs next part soonish (my priority rn), Exchange next part, Roommates Kazuha part 3, Roommates Eunbi part 2, Roommates secret unnamed idol part 1, unnamed actress stand alone fic, and also a stand alone MiSaMo fic (this one might be my next post, I'm like 8k words deep already). There are a couple others currently on the back burner that I haven't forgotten about as well.

Long ass A/N but I haven't said much to my readers in a while so fuck it. Like always, feel free to throw feedback at me, I try to read it all. I probably can't be convinced to write more, but if you're desperate for one of the fics I listed above then feel free to plead your case and I'll probably prioritize it. Take care you lovely people.

[kathaelipwse]

Hate You Less Every Day | K.Seungmin

Pairing: Seungmin x F.Reader

Word Count: 12,711 words | Reading Time: 45-ish mins

Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers | Angst | Slow Burn | Fluff | College AU

Trope: Grumpy x Grumpy | Forced Proximity | Academic Rivals | Soft for Her Only

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse, physical altercation, bruises, strong language, emotional vulnerability, first person pov {I, my, mine, etc}, NO PROOF READING WAS DONE.

Synopsis: You’ve hated each other since first year. He’s cold, sarcastic, and always seems one insult away from combusting. But when a university project forces you together — and fate keeps trapping you in the same orbit — cracks begin to form in the walls around your hearts. Turns out, there’s more to Seungmin than biting words… and more to this "hate" than either of you expected.

Author’s Note: For the girls who fall for the quiet, mean ones that secretly remember your favorite snack. If you’ve ever wanted to punch a man and then kiss him right after — this one’s for you.

-

The syllabus landed on my desk with a final, echoing thud, the sound reverberating through the otherwise quiet lecture hall like a death knell. Its weight, a deceptively thin stack of papers, mirrored the leaden dread that instantly settled in the pit of my stomach. My eyes, usually quick and efficient at skimming academic jargon, now moved with agonizing slowness across the printed words: "Semester's main project: group collaboration." Just three words, innocuous on their own, yet together they possessed the sinister power to unravel my meticulously planned, already stressful academic year. I gripped the edge of the desk, my knuckles white, as I desperately scanned the list of assigned partners. My heart, usually a steady drumbeat, now pounded a frantic, irregular rhythm against my ribs, each beat a desperate plea for a miracle. And then I saw it, the name that made my blood run cold, freezing in my veins: Kim Seungmin.

A strangled gasp escaped me, a mortified little sound instantly regretted as a few curious heads snapped in my direction. This couldn't be happening. Of all the hundreds of students in our vast, anonymous cohort, the universe, in its most twisted, sadistic sense of humor, had conspired to shackle me to him. My mind raced, frantically searching for an escape route, a loophole, anything. I’d honestly rather be hit by a bus – repeatedly, slowly, painfully – than endure a semester tethered to Kim Seungmin.

Our first, and frankly, only, true encounter had solidified our antagonistic dynamic during freshman year, carving an indelible scar into my university experience. It was a miserable, drizzly Tuesday morning, the kind that promised a day as dreary as my mood. I, perpetually clumsy even on the best of days, had been attempting to navigate the crowded hallway, juggling an armful of weighty textbooks and a steaming, scalding coffee from the campus café. Rounding a blind corner in the bustling corridor too quickly, my foot caught on an invisible crack, and I’d lurched forward, colliding with a solid, unyielding force. It was him. Seungmin.

My coffee, a dark, bitter cascade of liquid, exploded upon impact, drenching his pristine, freshly ironed white shirt. The hot liquid seeped instantly into the fabric, blossoming into an ugly brown stain right on his chest. "Oh my god, I am so, so sorry!" I’d stammered, my voice high with panic, my hands fumbling frantically for the few crumpled napkins I always carried. He hadn't uttered a single word. Instead, he’d simply stared at me, his eyes twin pools of glacial ice, promising an eternity of unadulterated damnation. His jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscle twitching just beneath his skin, his perfect eyebrows narrowed into furious, accusatory slits, and the sheer, palpable disdain radiating from him was a physical force, pushing me back. Even after my torrent of profuse apologies, my desperate offers to pay for dry cleaning, to buy him a new shirt, to literally bow at his feet, his expression remained rigidly unchanged. He simply turned on his heel and stalked away without a backward glance, leaving me standing in a rapidly expanding puddle of my own making, utterly, completely mortified, the lingering scent of burnt coffee clinging to the air. That was three years ago, a lifetime ago in university terms, and he had never, not once, let me forget it. Every fleeting, accidental glance across the lecture hall, every unavoidable proximity in the cramped hallways, was met with the same chilling contempt. He’d perfected the art of looking through me as if I were a particularly annoying smudge on the wall, an inconvenience he tolerated only because he had to breathe the same air.

Now, here we were, bound by the cruel, unyielding dictates of academia, forced to become "collaborators." I took a deep, shaky breath, trying to mentally prepare myself for the inevitable onslaught. Our first "collaboration" meeting was set for that afternoon in one of the library’s designated group study areas, a glass-walled box that offered no escape. I arrived a full fifteen minutes early, determined to project an air of professional calm, to be the unequivocally mature one in this impending disaster. I spread out my notebooks, pens, and laptop, trying to look busy, in control. He sauntered in precisely five minutes late, his backpack slung with an almost arrogant carelessness over one shoulder, his expression as unreadable and cold as a blank slate. He didn't acknowledge my presence, didn't make eye contact. He simply pulled out a chair opposite me, the screeching scrape of the legs against the tile floor grating against my already frayed nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard. He settled in, crossing his arms, his posture radiating an air of bored indifference that was somehow more irritating than outright hostility.

"So," I began, clearing my throat, the sound ridiculously loud in the quiet study zone. "For the project, I was thinking we could start by brainstorming some ideas for the theoretical framework, and then perhaps divide the research tasks based on our initial findings?" I tried to keep my voice even, professional, my tone a polite invitation for cooperation.

He didn't even let me finish. His eyes, though not directly on mine, were sharp and dismissive. "Let’s just get this over with," he cut in, his voice flat, devoid of any warmth, resonating with a familiar, barely concealed disgust. "The sooner we finish this, the sooner I don't have to look at you. Or hear you. Or, god forbid, smell your cheap coffee again. Is that even what it was? Smelled more like regret."

My jaw tightened, a muscle throbbing with instant irritation. I could feel a flush creeping up my neck. I took another deep, fortifying breath, counting slowly to three in my head, reminding myself of the scholarship, of my future. "Look, Seungmin," I forced a strained smile, trying to inject some semblance of humor into the abysmal situation, "I know we're not exactly going to be braiding each other's hair or exchanging friendship bracelets, but we have to work together. For the sake of our grades, can we at least try to be civil? Just for the next few months?"

A humorless smirk, sharp and cutting like broken glass, played on his perfect lips. "Civil? What's the point? It won't change the fact that you’re probably going to be a dead weight, clinging to my academic success like a barnacle to a ship. Knowing your track record for… 'accidents'." His gaze flickered meaningfully to my hands, then to the clean, empty table between us, a clear, unwelcome reminder of the coffee incident. The implication was that I was inherently clumsy, unreliable, and bound to mess up.

A sharp, furious retort sprang to my tongue – something about his own questionable social skills, his perpetually sour expression, his inability to interact with another human being without radiating hostility – but I bit it back, hard, my teeth digging into the inside of my cheek. "My GPA is just as high as yours, Seungmin, if not higher, actually," I stated, my voice losing its cooperative edge, becoming colder, more defensive. "I assure you, I'm perfectly capable of doing my share, and I won't 'drag your grade down'."

He leaned back further in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, his posture radiating an air of superior disdain. His gaze swept over me with an almost clinical detachment, as if evaluating a specimen under a microscope, or perhaps a particularly persistent pest. "Right. Just try not to trip over your own feet this time, or spill anything important. Or accidentally set the library on fire with your sheer lack of grace. My patience is already thinner than a single strand of hair, and frankly, I don't have enough spare brain cells to deal with your particular brand of… enthusiasm for misfortune."

My hands clenched into tight fists under the table, my nails digging into my palms, the physical pain a dull anchor against the sharp sting of his words. This was going to be an impossibly long, agonizing semester. We forced ourselves through the initial brainstorming session, the entire process punctuated by his relentless passive-aggressive comments and my increasingly strained, brittle politeness. Every single suggestion I made was met with a skeptical hum, a dismissive wave of his hand, or a thinly veiled criticism disguised as constructive feedback. "That's… an idea," he'd say, his tone suggesting it was the worst idea he'd ever heard. Or, "Are you sure you understand the parameters? Because that sounds wildly off-topic." Every time he spoke, it felt less like a productive conversation and more like a tiny, precise cut, each one a fresh wound.

As the meeting finally, mercifully, drew to a close, I began packing my things with an almost frantic speed, relief flooding through me like a cool, cleansing wave. "Okay, so I'll work on researching the historical context of the topic for the first section, and maybe you can look into the contemporary case studies for the second part of the draft?" I suggested, trying desperately to end on a cooperative, forward-looking note, a futile attempt to salvage some semblance of normalcy, to make it seem like we were two rational human beings capable of collaboration.

He merely grunted, already halfway out of his chair, seemingly desperate to escape the vicinity of my very existence. He paused beside the table, his shoulders squared, his eyes, dark and piercing, finally locking onto mine with an intensity that made me instinctively flinch, a sudden predatory gleam in their depths. His voice dropped, losing its usual mocking, sarcastic edge, becoming a low, chilling whisper that was somehow infinitely worse than any shouted insult, cutting deep into the thin veneer of my composure. "If I never see you again," he articulated each word slowly, deliberately, his gaze unwavering, "it still won’t be long enough."

He said it with such absolute conviction, such raw, unadulterated animosity, that it momentarily stunned me into silence. For once, my mind went blank, devoid of any snappy comeback, any witty retort to deflect the blow. My shoulders slumped, the last vestiges of my manufactured composure crumbling, leaving me feeling exposed and raw. All I could manage was a weary sigh, a heavy exhalation of defeat, and a slow, deliberate roll of my eyes, a silent admission that he had, for once, truly disarmed me. He watched my reaction for a second longer, a flicker of something unreadable – was it satisfaction? A cold triumph? – in his dark gaze, before turning sharply and walking away without another word. He disappeared around the corner, his retreating figure seeming to dissolve into the bustling library, leaving me utterly alone in the vast, echoing silence of the study area, the bitter, undeniable truth of his hatred hanging heavy in the air, a suffocating shroud. This project wasn't just going to be difficult; it was going to be pure, unadulterated torture. And somehow, I knew it had only just begun.

-

The initial dread of working with Seungmin had, against all odds, morphed into a fragile, strained routine. Weeks blurred into a grueling cycle of forced proximity and thinly veiled animosity. Our project, a complex analysis of ancient civilizations, was slowly, agonizingly, progressing. Every collaborative session felt less like an academic meeting and more like a minor diplomatic battle. Seungmin remained consistently cold, his every utterance a barbed wire fence between us, his expressions a constant, unyielding mask of disdain. I’d perfected the art of the subtle eye-roll and the tight-lipped nod, a silent, mutual agreement to endure for the sake of our grades, our coveted GPAs looming large as the ultimate prize. It was a miserable truce, a slow poison, but a truce nonetheless.

Then came the announcement that sent a fresh wave of ice-cold dread through me: the university's annual geology excursion. A mandatory, week-long camping trip to study rock formations and ecosystems, miles from campus, very useless yet helped in the grades. The moment the detailed itinerary landed in my inbox, my heart sank lower than a geologist's pickaxe hitting bedrock. Group assignments for tents. I scrolled down the PDF, my eyes scanning the list of pairings, my heart a leaden weight in my chest with each name I passed. And then I saw it, stark and undeniable, right below mine: Kim Seungmin. Of course. Just my luck. The universe truly did possess a cruel, sadistic sense of humor, determined to see just how much misery it could inflict upon my existence.

The bus ride to the remote campsite was a torturous blur. Jammed shoulder-to-shoulder with excited, chattering students, I mostly tuned out the cacophony, opting for oversized headphones and a grim, determined silence. Each bump in the road felt like a premonition of the discomfort to come. Upon arrival, the campsite was pure, unadulterated chaos – a sprawling expanse of muddy ground where tents were being erected like mushrooms after rain, equipment unloaded haphazardly, and hundreds of students milled about, their youthful energy a sharp contrast to my internal gloom. I located our designated plot, a patch of slightly less muddy earth where two flimsy pieces of canvas lay discarded, somehow constituting a shelter. Seungmin was already there, his movements precise and efficient, meticulously unrolling his sleeping bag inside what would soon be our shared enclosure. His back was to me, his broad shoulders squared, already staking his claim. He hadn't even waited.

"Great," I muttered under my breath, loud enough for him to undoubtedly catch the biting sarcasm. "Just fantastic."

He turned slowly, a dark eyebrow raised in that characteristic, disdainful arch. "What's 'fantastic'? The thrilling opportunity to spend a week in the unforgiving wilderness with someone whose primary skill seems to be being a persistent, irritating nuisance?" His voice was low, laced with his usual biting sarcasm, each word a perfectly aimed dart. He didn't even bother to look me in the eye.

"No, what's 'fantastic' is being trapped in a glorified cloth sack, barely big enough for one person, let alone two, with someone who treats me like I’m a particularly unpleasant germ," I retorted, dropping my heavy backpack with a thud that kicked up a puff of dry dust, a small act of defiance. "Did you even consider trying to get the tent assignment changed, Seungmin? Or are you just reveling in this, enjoying torturing me slowly, inch by agonizing inch?"

He let out a short, scoffing laugh, devoid of any genuine amusement. "Why would I? This is just part of the grand tapestry of my life, I suppose. Enduring minor annoyances for the greater good. Like passing this class with a decent grade, despite the handicaps I'm clearly being assigned." He unzipped his backpack, pulling out a thick geology textbook and a pen, as if he were about to start studying right there, mocking my frustration with his sheer indifference.

"You really are unbelievable," I spat, yanking my own sleeping bag out of its compression sack with unnecessary force, almost tearing the fabric. The tent, once just a visual, now felt impossibly small, a claustrophobic box that was already stealing my breath. Just the thought of breathing the same stale air as him, night after night, for five consecutive nights, sent a shiver of genuine dread down my spine. This wasn't just a project anymore; it was psychological warfare.

The first two days of the trip were a precarious, exhausting dance of avoidance. We hiked in separate groups whenever humanly possible, ate at opposite ends of the muddy picnic tables, and spoke only when absolutely, unequivocally necessary for the project tasks – identifying rock types, mapping geological features. But the evenings, oh, the evenings. Trapped in the shared tent, the air crackled with a suffocating silence, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of his sleeping bag, his deep, exasperated sighs, and my own jaw clenching so tight it ached. The unspoken tension was a live wire stretched taut between us, waiting for the smallest spark.

It finally snapped on the third night. A vicious, unseasonal storm had rolled in, turning the entire campsite into a muddy, miserable quagmire. Rain lashed against the thin tent fabric like thrown gravel, and thunder rumbled ominously in the distance, shaking the very ground beneath us. We'd been huddled inside, trying to go over some field notes by the weak, flickering glow of a single, battery-operated lantern. The damp cold had seeped into my bones, making my temper dangerously short.

"This data collection is sloppy," Seungmin stated, his voice cutting through the incessant drumming of the rain, sharp and dismissive as he jabbed a finger at my notebook. His tone was always one of cold authority, never of genuine help. "Did you even pay attention during the rock identification lecture? This is completely wrong. Look at these sketches. Are you drawing a cloud or a mineral sample?"

My patience, already worn thinner than old paper by the damp cold, the cramped space, and his constant, relentless criticisms, evaporated instantly. "It's not 'sloppy'!" I snapped, my voice rising, fueled by raw frustration. "It's a first pass, Seungmin, and the light out there was terrible! And honestly, your handwriting isn't exactly calligraphy either, Mr. Perfect! At least mine's legible even if my sketches aren't up to your impossible standards!"

"My handwriting doesn't affect the accuracy of the observation, unlike your apparent inability to distinguish between granite and quartzite," he shot back, his voice rising, a cold, controlled anger seeping into each syllable. His eyes, usually so impassive, now held a dangerous glint. "You know, for someone who claims to have such a high GPA, you really do struggle with basic concepts. Or perhaps you just trip your way into good grades like you tripped into me that day?"

The jab was unexpected, raw, and it hit a nerve that had been festering for three years, a deep-seated wound of humiliation and injustice. My vision narrowed, the weak lantern light suddenly blurring. The rain outside seemed to amplify the sudden, ringing silence in the tent as I took a ragged, trembling breath. This was it. I was done.

"Oh, so we're going there, are we?" My voice was low, dangerous, a low growl of pure, unadulterated fury. "Still hung up on a coffee stain from three years ago? Get over yourself, Seungmin! It was an accident! I apologized a hundred times! What is your actual problem? Why do you hate me so much? What did I ever do to deserve this constant, bitter, nasty attitude from you, huh? Was it just a bad hair day that morning, or are you just fundamentally incapable of being a decent human being?"

His eyes, usually so impassive, now flared with something akin to genuine rage. His face was pale in the flickering light. "My problem? My problem is having to tolerate your existence! You're clumsy, you're annoying, you're always trying to play the victim! You're like a loud, persistent buzzing in my ear that I can't swat away! Do you know how many times I've tried to avoid you? You're like a bad rash that keeps reappearing no matter what I do!"

"A bad rash?" My voice cracked with a mixture of disbelief, humiliation, and a surprising, deep well of hurt. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them back fiercely. I would not cry in front of him. "You think I enjoy this? You think I enjoy being around someone who looks at me like I'm dirt under his shoe? I've tried to be civil! I've tried to be professional! I've tried to ignore your petty insults! But all you ever do is tear me down! What, is it that hard for you to see someone else succeed? Is it that hard for you to just be a decent human being for five minutes without making someone else feel small and insignificant?" My voice was rising, trembling with suppressed rage and a surprising amount of genuine pain. "You are cold, Seungmin. You are just utterly, completely cold. You're a walking, talking glacier! And frankly, I'm sick of it! I am sick of you and your self-important, hateful attitude!"

The last words hung in the air, echoing in the claustrophobic space, punctuated by a particularly loud clap of thunder that rattled the tent. We stood there, glaring at each other across the tiny expanse of the tent floor, our chests heaving, the air thick and crackling with the intensity of our raw, exposed resentment. His perfect composure was finally, irrevocably shattered. For a long, drawn-out moment, his eyes, usually so hard and unyielding, softened, just a fraction. A flicker of something crossed his face – was it surprise? Vulnerability? A hint of hurt beneath the anger? – a fleeting, almost imperceptible emotion that was so unlike him, so utterly human, that it caught me off guard. It was the first crack in his meticulously constructed wall, a tiny, almost imperceptible fissure, but it was unmistakably there. And for the first time, in the midst of all the anger and hatred, I felt a strange sense of something beyond pure fury. A tiny, almost unnoticeable shift.

The raw, echoing silence that followed our explosion in the tent on that stormy night was almost more deafening than the relentless drumming of rain outside. The air still vibrated with the violent echoes of shouted words, of exposed nerves and bruised pride. Seungmin had simply stared at me for another long, unblinking moment, that fleeting, unreadable flicker in his eyes, before turning abruptly to face the tent wall, effectively ending the confrontation. There was no apology, no acknowledgment of the raw emotions that had just flared. He just… shut down. I lay rigidly in my sleeping bag, back to him, listening to the persistent drumming rain and the frantic, chaotic beating of my own heart, a drumroll of lingering anger and a strange, unsettling vulnerability. Sleep didn't come easily that night, disturbed by the ghost of his unspoken emotions and the replay of my own desperate accusations. The next morning, a fragile, unspoken truce had settled between us, heavy and awkward, a layer of thick, uncomfortable frost.

The remaining days of the camping trip were a masterclass in uncomfortable coexistence. We moved through the schedule like two separate, carefully orbiting planets, never quite colliding, never quite separating. Our interactions were clipped, functional, and strictly academic. "Pass the map," he’d utter, his voice flat. "Did you record the pH levels for this soil sample?" I'd respond, my tone equally devoid of emotion. "The coordinates are slightly off here," I might point out, and he’d merely hum in acknowledgment. There were no more direct insults, no more snide remarks. But there was also no warmth, no easing of the tension that still hummed like a live wire beneath the surface. Each hour was a slow, agonizing countdown until we could return to campus, to the blessed anonymity of our separate lives, where the only shared space was a large lecture hall.

Yet, even in this strained quiet, amidst the mud and the mandated group activities, I started to notice things. Small, almost imperceptible moments that chipped away at the monolithic image I had built of him – the "walking glacier," the "cold, hateful Seungmin."

One afternoon, while hiking along a particularly steep, rocky trail, the air thick with damp earth and the scent of pine, a younger student in our group, clearly struggling with a heavy backpack and an armful of rock samples, slipped on a loose patch of shale. Their bulky sample bag tumbled down the incline, scattering carefully collected specimens everywhere. Before anyone else could react, before even the professor could shout a warning, Seungmin, who had been several paces ahead, his eyes usually fixed on the path, paused. He looked around quickly, a swift, almost furtive glance, as if checking if anyone was watching. Then, without a word, he silently walked back down the treacherous slope. He knelt down, his expensive trekking pants getting covered in mud, and began to help the flustered, embarrassed student gather their samples, even reaching into difficult crevices to retrieve a few that had rolled far. His expression remained neutral, unreadable, giving nothing away, but the act itself was undeniably, undeniably kind. He then offered a steady hand to help the student back up the slippery incline, a silent, supporting anchor. He hadn't said a word, just did it, then strode off quickly, resuming his place at the head of the line, leaving the student stammering their thanks to his retreating back. I watched the entire exchange, half-hidden by a cluster of thick, damp trees, a surprising, almost unsettling warmth spreading through my chest. The "walking glacier" had a hidden current, after all. A quiet, unexpected decency.

Another evening, back at the campsite, the air chilled and damp, we were trying to go over the day’s complicated data. The battery in our shared lantern flickered ominously, threatening to die, plunging us into darkness. I muttered, annoyed, about how impractical and inefficient it was. Without looking up from his notes, or even pausing his rapid scribbling, Seungmin reached into his own meticulously organized bag and pulled out a fresh set of batteries. He tossed them onto my lap with a soft thud. "You need these," he said, his voice flat, but without a hint of his usual derision. "It's inefficient to work in the dark. Your notes are illegible enough as it is, no need to worsen them by adding shadows." It was still a jab, a reference to my supposed clumsiness and incompetence, but the gesture itself was… helpful. Practical. And for the first time, it didn't feel entirely malicious. It felt less like an insult and more like a statement of fact, coupled with a solution.

"Thanks," I said, genuinely surprised, picking up the batteries. I waited, bracing myself, expecting a sarcastic retort, a follow-up barb. But he just grunted, a noncommittal sound, continuing to scribble furiously in his own notebook. The silence that followed wasn't entirely hostile. It was just… silence. A comfortable, almost companionable silence, broken only by the distant sounds of the camp and the scratch of our pens.

On the final morning, as we packed up our muddy gear to leave, a palpable sense of relief permeated the air. As I struggled with a particularly stubborn tent pole, Seungmin, already finished with his own packing, unexpectedly reached over and expertly untangled it with a single, swift movement. "You're doing it wrong," he stated, but this time, there was no contempt in his voice, just a simple observation. It was infuriatingly helpful.

Then, as we waited for the bus, he actually initiated a conversation that wasn't solely driven by immediate necessity. It was about our project, of course, the ever-present anchor of our interaction, but it was the first time we’d spoken without the air crackling with resentment, without the invisible barrier of animosity.

"We need to finalize the structural analysis section as soon as we get back to campus," he stated, his voice a low, even tone, completely devoid of its usual sharp edges. He glanced at his own notes, then back at me. "I've started drafting some of the geological arguments, integrating the new field data. And, I have to admit…" He paused, as if the words were physically painful to utter. "I think you've actually got a decent grasp on the historical context, surprisingly. Your research on the ancient trade routes was quite thorough."

I paused, midway through zipping my overstuffed backpack. My eyebrows raised in genuine amusement, a small, involuntary smile playing on my lips. "Surprisingly?" I echoed, a hint of playful sarcasm in my voice. "I thought you were utterly convinced I was going to drag your precious GPA down to the academic abyss, Mr. 'Clumsy-and-Annoying'."

He straightened up then, turning to face me fully, meeting my gaze directly. His lips twitched, almost imperceptibly, in what might have been the fleeting shadow of a smirk. It was so subtle, I almost missed it. "Well," he began, his voice a low drawl, "let's just say you're not entirely useless. Your research skills aren't as catastrophically bad as your spatial awareness, or your ability to handle a simple cup of coffee." The insult was still there, woven into the fabric of the reluctant compliment, yes, but it was delivered with a different cadence, a lighter touch. It felt less like a genuine attack and more like… banter. And instead of feeling hurt, instead of feeling the familiar sting of his contempt, I felt a strange, bubbling urge to laugh. I managed a scoff instead, shaking my head. "Coming from Mr. Perfect, the human embodiment of flawless execution, I'll take that as a glowing commendation."

He let out a soft sound then, a quiet huff that was almost, almost a genuine chuckle. The sound was so unexpected, so entirely out of character, that for a split second, I froze. He caught himself quickly, though, his face settling back into its usual carefully constructed stoic expression, his shoulders straightening. "Don't get used to this," he muttered, his voice regaining a hint of its usual dryness as he hoisted his heavy backpack onto his shoulders. He didn't look at me as he started to walk towards the idling university bus. "Our GPA depends on it, nothing more. A means to an end." And with that, he was gone, blending into the stream of students, leaving me standing there, a small, unexpected smile still touching my lips. The truce was still fragile, built on the shifting sands of academic necessity, but maybe, just maybe, it wasn't quite so miserable anymore. Marks mattered, after all, and for the first time, I felt like we might actually achieve them without either of us ending up in the infirmary. Or jail.

-

The subtle shift that had begun in the muddy, cramped confines of the campsite continued to unfurl, slowly but surely, back on the sprawling, familiar grounds of campus. The bitter, acidic edge that had defined our every interaction for so long began to soften, imperceptibly at first, then with a gradual, almost shy consistency. It wasn't a sudden transformation, but a nuanced evolution, like ice melting into a slow trickle. The "truce" we'd forged for the sake of our precarious GPAs started to expand beyond just academic necessity. Our weekly project meetings, once dreaded endurance tests I approached with a pit in my stomach, now held a strange, almost enjoyable rhythm. The insults were still very much present, Seungmin wouldn't be Seungmin without them, but they were lighter, less aimed to wound and more to playfully prod, to challenge. It was a new kind of verbal fencing, where the foils were blunted.

"Are you absolutely certain you formatted that bibliography correctly?" Seungmin would ask, leaning over my shoulder, his voice a low, dry murmur that no longer sent shivers of annoyance down my spine. "I wouldn't want your general clumsiness to extend to proper citation; that would be a catastrophic academic event."

"And I wouldn't want your overly critical eye to miss the actual, groundbreaking point of the research, Mr. Perfect," I'd shoot back, a small smirk playing on my lips. "There's more to a thesis than just impeccable formatting, you know." The old sting was gone from his words, replaced by a subtle challenge that I found myself, to my surprise, genuinely enjoying. The air between us, once thick with unspoken animosity and unspoken threats, now carried a faint, almost playful current, like static electricity before a summer storm. We’d even started to fall into step with each other sometimes, walking in the same direction after class, a comfortable silence settling between us that hadn’t existed before.

One particularly grueling afternoon, buried under a literal mountain of research papers in a secluded corner of the library, we were locked in a heated, albeit now less hostile, debate about the merits of a particularly obscure historical theory. My brain felt like it was melting from lack of sleep and too much caffeine. As I, perhaps overly dramatically, tried to explain a convoluted point, I made a rather wild, exaggerated gesture with my hands, accidentally knocking my pen off the table. My reflexes, surprisingly quick for my current state of exhaustion, allowed me to catch it mid-air with a dramatic, somewhat theatrical flourish.

"See?" I exclaimed, trying to look nonchalant, as if I did that all the time. "Not so clumsy after all, am I? Perhaps I'm evolving."

Seungmin, who had been watching me with his usual critical, assessing gaze, a faint frown line between his brows, suddenly let out a sound. It wasn't a scoff, or a grunt, or a sarcastic remark. It was a genuine, startled burst of laughter. A short, sharp sound that quickly died, quickly muffled, but undeniably, unequivocally a laugh. It came out of him so unexpectedly, so out of character, that both of us froze. His eyes widened slightly, the barest hint of a surprised flush creeping up his pale neck. My own eyes went wide in response, my breath hitched. We stared at each other for a beat, two beats, an eternity, the faint echo of his laughter still hanging in the quiet library air like a phantom. It was the first time I had ever made him laugh. The first time I'd even heard him laugh, period. The moment stretched, awkward and profound, before he quickly averted his gaze, clearing his throat loudly, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," he muttered, his voice a little gruff, a little rougher than usual, as he immediately picked up his pen and pretended to be deeply, urgently engrossed in his complex notes. "Beginner's luck. A fluke. Don't expect a repeat performance."

I didn't press it, didn't dare to. But a warmth spread through me, something more potent and comforting than the library's stuffy heating. The tension that had snapped between us was no longer the familiar, searing anger, but a new, exhilarating kind of awkwardness, a feeling of having stumbled upon something fragile and unexpected.

Our project work often ran late, pushing us into the quiet hours of the campus, long after most students had retreated to their dorms. One evening, after a particularly intense, four-hour study session that had left my brain feeling like scrambled eggs, we emerged from the almost-empty library. The campus lights cast long, stark shadows across the deserted pathways, and the usual daytime bustle had died down to a hushed murmur of rustling leaves and distant traffic. It was a crisp, cool night, the air carrying the subtle scent of damp earth. We started walking, quite naturally, in the same direction, towards the main gate.

"Which way are you headed?" he asked, his voice low, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between us. It wasn't a question delivered with forced politeness, but with a natural curiosity, a casualness that surprised me.

"My apartment is just a few blocks past the main gate, near the old bookstore," I replied, gesturing vaguely into the darkness.

"I'll walk with you," he said simply, not as a question asking for permission, but as a statement of fact, a decision already made. And he did. We walked in comfortable silence, the kind that didn't need to be filled with forced conversation or the tense expectation of a verbal attack. There was no longer the oppressive weight of his animosity, no need to brace myself for a cutting remark. It just… was. The silence felt okay. More than okay, it felt surprisingly pleasant, even companionable. I found myself stealing quiet glances at his profile, illuminated intermittently by the yellow glow of the streetlights, feeling a strange, unexpected sense of peace settle over me. It felt less lonely than walking home by myself.

These small shifts weren't just in our shared, silent walks. They began to appear in smaller, more meaningful gestures, quiet acts of thoughtfulness that built up like tiny, invisible bricks. I remembered one afternoon when I was struggling with a particularly complex statistical problem for another class, completely unrelated to our project. I had mumbled my frustration aloud during a brief coffee break, half to myself, half just releasing steam. Seungmin, who had been engrossed in his own notes, seemingly oblivious, had, without a word, taken my textbook, scanned the problem, and then, with frustrating ease, explained the solution in a few concise sentences, patiently, clearly. He didn't mock me for not understanding it, didn't make me feel stupid for needing help. He just… helped. Simply. Efficiently.

Another time, I’d been working late in the campus study lounge, feeling a familiar, insistent grumble in my stomach. I'd mentioned offhand to no one in particular that I was starving, wishing I had my favorite brand of spicy snack crackers, the ones they only sold at the small convenience store off-campus. The very next day, after our project meeting, as I was packing up my bag, I noticed a small, crinkly bag tucked almost hidden under my notebook. It was my favorite snack, the exact brand, still perfectly sealed. I looked up, my eyebrows raised in surprise, to catch him already walking away, his back to me as he pushed open the heavy library door. But just before he disappeared, I caught the barest hint of a smirk, a flicker of something almost smug, on his face. He knew I’d seen it.

Banter had replaced bitterness, and small, unexpected acts of thoughtfulness were slowly, painstakingly chipping away at the seemingly impenetrable walls he'd built around himself, revealing quiet, fleeting glimpses of the person beneath the cold, sharp exterior. We weren't friends yet, not by a long shot. The word felt too big, too fragile for the tentative connection forming between us. But the vast, seemingly impassable chasm that had once separated us was slowly, tentatively, beginning to bridge, one quiet moment, one shared laugh, one thoughtful gesture at a time. I found myself wondering, more than once, what else lay beneath Seungmin's carefully constructed facade.

The subtle shift in our dynamic continued, growing more pronounced with each passing week. The library, once a battleground, had become a quiet, almost comfortable space for us. Our project was nearing completion, its impending success a testament to our strange, evolving partnership. The teasing from Seungmin still came, sharp and witty, but now it felt less like a threat and more like a secret language, a peculiar form of affection only we understood. He’d ruffle my hair sometimes, a quick, almost imperceptible gesture, and once, during a particularly stressful moment with a malfunctioning printer, he even offered a brief, solid hug when I finally got it to work, then immediately pulled back as if burned.

It was during one of our late-night study sessions that I overheard fragments of his past. I was grabbing water from the cooler when a few students, huddled in a hushed conversation near the entrance, mentioned his name. My ears perked up, against my better judgment. They spoke of his family, hushed whispers of abuse and a tortured upbringing, how he had moved out at a young age, essentially cutting ties, building walls around himself to survive. They were saying things like:

"Did you hear about his parents? Apparently, they were completely awful. Like, physically and emotionally." "Yeah, someone said his dad was violent. And his mom just… let it happen." "No wonder he's so cold. He probably never learned how to have normal relationships." "He moved out at 16, right? I heard he was basically homeless for a while…..dunno how he still affords such expensive clothes though" "must be his cousin's lending him money, they say he was close to his cousin brother" "he betrayed him too, he was the one who abused him as well, no?"

It painted a picture so stark, so devastatingly different from the stoic, arrogant Seungmin I knew. He hadn’t just been born cold; he had been made cold, forging his defenses in a crucible of pain. A wave of unexpected sympathy washed over me, a profound understanding for the seemingly impenetrable fortress he had built around his heart. The arrogance wasn’t arrogance at all, I realized; it was a shield.

A few days later, the tables turned. A group of self-important jerks from the history department, known for their obnoxious gossip and condescending attitudes, started loudly speculating about Seungmin's reserved nature and his family background right in the common room. They snickered, making crude jokes about him always being alone, about how he must have 'issues' because he never seemed to interact with anyone outside of academic necessities.

They were saying things like:

"Seriously, what's his deal? Is he, like, incapable of human emotion?" "Probably has some deep-seated trauma. Daddy issues, maybe?" "I heard his parents were monsters, honestly his whole family. Explains a lot, actually." "He probably ran away because he couldn't handle it. What a drama queen." Fury, sharp and instant, coursed through me. I didn't think, I just reacted.

"You know," I interrupted, my voice cutting through their obnoxious chatter, "it's pathetic how you manage to sound so utterly clueless while having such loud mouths. Worry about your own sorry excuses for lives, instead of dissecting someone else's. Some people actually have real problems, unlike your biggest concern, which seems to be how many brain cells you can collectively lose in a day."

One of them, a bulky guy with a smug grin, sneered at me. "Oh, look who it is. His little protector. What, did he finally deign to speak to you?"

"He doesn't need a protector," I retorted, stepping closer, my voice low and dangerous. "But he does need a break from pathetic losers like you who get their kicks from tearing down people they don't even know. You want to talk about issues? You're the ones with issues if this is how you feel good about yourselves."

The smug grin vanished, replaced by a sneer. "Watch your mouth, girl. You don't know who you're talking to."

"Oh, I know exactly who I'm talking to," I shot back, my patience evaporated. "A bunch of overgrown 'toddlers' who probably think their farts smell like roses. Get a life, or better yet, get a clue." The next few minutes were a blur. Words escalated, shoves turned into pushes, and suddenly, I was in the middle of a full-blown brawl. I knew how to handle myself; my older sister had taught me a few things growing up. I landed a solid hit on one guy's jaw, ducked under another's wild swing, but their numbers were overwhelming. I felt a sharp pain in my neck as someone tried to suffocate me, then a blow to my cheek and lip. I fought back, kicking and punching, until a few other students intervened and broke it up, leaving me with throbbing knuckles, a sore neck, and a busted lip.

Later, sitting in a quiet corner of the library, I cleaned up my bruised knuckles and dabbed ointment on my split lip. The fight had been stupid, reckless even, but I didn't regret it. Not for a second.

Meanwhile, Seungmin, having heard garbled rumors about a fight involving me and some jerks from the history department, felt a cold knot of dread form in his stomach. He didn’t know why, but the idea of me being hurt made his chest tighten. He ran to the nurses’ office, his usual calm replaced by a frantic urgency he rarely felt. He searched the empty room, calling my name, his heart pounding. Panic flared when he didn't find me there. He searched the common rooms, the lecture halls, his internal alarm growing louder.

Finally, at the far end of the university grounds, near the main gate, he saw me. I was walking home, slowly, my head down, my backpack slung low. He ran, closing the distance quickly, his breath catching in his throat when he finally reached me. He grabbed my arm, gently, his fingers surprisingly hesitant.

"Y/N!" His voice was rough, laced with a fear I'd never heard from him. "Why? What happened? Are you okay?" He pulled my hand to inspect my knuckles, then gently tilted my chin to look at my neck and face. His eyes widened further at the sight of my busted knuckles, the faint red marks and developing bruises on my neck where they'd tried to suffocate me, the swelling on my cheek, and the ointment over my busted lip. His composure utterly crumbled. "Why would you do that? You look like you got run over by a truck!"

I just nodded, a small, tired smile on my injured lip. "I'm okay, Seungmin. Just a little bruised."

He let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping slightly. "But… why? Who were those guys? Why did you get into a fight?" His voice was softer now, full of a vulnerability that struck me more than any of his earlier anger ever had.

I hesitated, then decided to be honest. "They were talking about you," I admitted quietly, looking away. "Saying stupid, cruel things about your family, about you. I just… I couldn't stand it."

He froze, his grip on my arm tightening almost imperceptibly. His eyes searched mine, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within their depths – surprise, shock, a hint of something fragile, something like gratitude. He didn't say anything for a long moment. Then, he let out a slow, deliberate breath, and started walking beside me, towards my apartment building, the familiar path now feeling profoundly different.

"You really… you stood up for me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, almost disbelieving.

"Yeah," I mumbled. "Someone had to. They were being complete jerks."

He walked in silence for a few more minutes, the soft glow of the streetlights painting long shadows ahead of us. Then, he spoke again, his voice even softer, laced with a raw vulnerability I’d never imagined I would hear from him. He began to talk, not about the fight, but about his past, about the loneliness, the walls he built, the constant vigilance. He didn't offer a dramatic confession, but a quiet, almost reluctant sharing of the burdens he carried. It wasn’t a torrent of emotion, but a steady, painful drip of truths that explained everything. He spoke about how he didn't trust easily, how he always expected people to eventually let him down, or worse, to use his vulnerabilities against him. That’s why he pushed people away. That’s why he had pushed me away. My heart ached for the younger Seungmin who had endured such pain….. the abuse, the mental scar left on him….and the physical scars his father had left with his beloved belt on his back. And worst? His mother the one who brought him to the world had been far worse, she didn't hit him, no. Her words were worse than being stabbed all over continuously until there was no more blood left inside him. 'I wish you died in my womb itself, useless disgrace' he had mumbled what his mom had said ragefully when he was eight, returned from school with a 'B' grade. He explained how he came from a family of scholars and multi-talented people….he was just good at academics, music at times he liked it, but 'pop' which his family never approved. And how he had ran away at 16.

We reached my apartment building, the familiar brick facade a welcome sight. I turned to face him, my lip throbbing slightly. He looked down at my face, a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head.

"You're not as annoying as I thought," he said quietly, a faint, almost shy smirk touching his lips. Then, his eyes met mine, a flicker of genuine concern replacing the usual sarcasm. "And hey… don't jump into dog fights 'cause people say something about someone."

I couldn't help but smile, a genuine, if slightly lopsided, grin. "That someone is you, idiot." I chuckled softly, despite the pain. "We're friends, right? Of course, I would beat up someone for you. You do the same for me someday, okay?"

He didn't reply, just stood there, watching me. I waved goodbye, the small bag of snacks still tucked into my backpack, my knuckles aching, but a strange warmth spreading through me. I walked inside my apartment building, leaving him on the pavement, a quiet understanding finally settled between us. The walls hadn't just cracked; a section of them had crumbled completely.

-

The fight, my busted lip, and Seungmin’s raw, unexpected honesty had undeniably cracked something fundamental between us. The lingering tension wasn’t gone, but it had morphed into something entirely different—a charged awareness, a silent understanding that hummed beneath the surface. The careful, almost fragile friendship that had begun to blossom now deepened rapidly, like a plant suddenly given ample sunlight. He joked more often, his dry wit a surprising, almost addictive source of amusement that often caught me off guard, making me laugh despite myself. His teasing, once a weapon, was now a familiar banter, a peculiar form of affection only we seemed to understand. He’d ruffle my hair so frequently it became a comforting, almost instinctive gesture, a brief brush of his fingers that sent a curious warmth through me. And once, during a particularly stressful moment with a malfunctioning library printer, when I finally coerced the ancient machine into spitting out our perfectly formatted document, he even offered a brief, solid hug – a fleeting, tender weight against my shoulder – before immediately pulling back, as if burned by the contact. The touches were small, almost imperceptible, non-committal, yet each one sent a ripple through me, a quiet acknowledgment of the shifting, undefinable landscape of our relationship.

A few weeks later, with our major project nearing its final submission, I was buried deep in a new set of notes in the sprawling, echoing library, trying to make sense of a particularly convoluted philosophy reading. The familiar scent of old books, dust, and quiet ambition filled the air, a comforting constant in my often-chaotic academic life. I was so engrossed, I didn't immediately notice him. But then, a subtle shift in the energy of the room, a prickle of awareness at the back of my neck, told me he was there. Seungmin walked in, his presence immediately noticeable even amidst the rows of diligently working students. He scanned the room with a quick, decisive sweep, his eyes landing on me. It was becoming undeniably clear that our project meetings were no longer the sole reason for our shared time. We just… wanted to spend time together, whether it was to work, or just to exist in the same space.

He started walking towards my table, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips, a rare, relaxed curve. But then, just as he was about to reach me, a figure detached itself from a nearby study group. It was Mark from my statistics class, a guy who had always been a little too friendly, a little too persistent for my liking. Mark stopped by my table, leaning in, his voice a little too loud, a little too familiar, jarring the quiet academic atmosphere. "Hey Y/N! Still struggling with those regression analyses? I saw you looking stressed in lecture today. I could always tutor you later, if you want. My place, maybe?" His grin was wide, suggestive, and made my skin crawl.

I felt an immediate surge of annoyance, a flicker of warning bells clanging in my head. "No, thanks, Mark. I've got it," I replied, trying to keep my voice polite but firm, my gaze pointedly on my textbook.

Before Mark could press the issue, a shadow fell over our table. Seungmin had arrived. His pleasant expression had vanished, replaced by a sudden, intense coldness that made Mark visibly flinch and take a half-step back. Seungmin didn't say anything, but his eyes, sharp and predatory, fixed on Mark. His jaw was subtly clenched, his posture radiating a silent, dangerous warning. The silent threat was palpable, heavy in the air. Mark, sensing the dramatic shift in the atmosphere and Seungmin's unspoken, yet potent, displeasure, stammered awkwardly, "Uh, right. Later, Y/N," and quickly retreated, practically scuttling away between the bookshelves like a startled mouse.

Seungmin turned to me, his jaw still clenched, his eyes still burning with an uncharacteristic intensity I rarely saw. "What was that?" he demanded, his voice low, a controlled growl that sent a shiver down my spine.

"What was what?" I tried to feign innocence, though my heart was beginning to thump erratically, a frantic drum against my ribs. I knew exactly what he was talking about.

"Him," he said, gesturing vaguely in Mark's retreating direction. "Trying to 'tutor' you. At 'his place'." His voice was laced with a barely concealed possessiveness, a hint of something that sounded suspiciously like… jealousy. It was a new, unsettling, yet strangely thrilling note in his tone.

"He's just being friendly," I countered, though even I knew it wasn't entirely true. Mark's intentions were anything but innocent. "And besides, it's none of your business anyway. Why do you care so much, Seungmin? You've never cared before."

He scoffed, a short, sharp sound, but there was no real conviction behind it, no genuine disdain. He leaned in, suddenly, intimately close, caging me between his body and the edge of the library table. His hands flattened on the table on either side of me, trapping me in place, his solid frame blocking out the rest of the world. His eyes, dark and intense, searched mine, stripping away any pretense. The air thick with unspoken things, charged with an undeniable current. His scent, a clean, fresh mix of laundry soap and something uniquely him – sharp, cool, and utterly intoxicating – filled my senses, making my head spin. My breath hitched in my throat.

"Why do I care?" His voice was a low whisper, rough with unspoken emotion, barely audible above the quiet hum of the library. "Why do I care? What a stupid question, Y/N. Don't you think I care?" His gaze dropped to my lips, lingering there, hot and intense, then flickered back to my eyes, a silent question passing between us. The space between us dwindled, becoming almost nonexistent, my personal bubble entirely invaded. I could feel the heat radiating from his body, the subtle, almost imperceptible tremble in his frame. My own heart was hammering against my ribs, echoing in my ears, a frantic rhythm against the quiet hum of the room.

"Why do you care so much?" I whispered back, my voice barely a thread, challenging him, my gaze fixed on his, unable to look away. His proximity was intoxicating, terrifying. Every fiber of my being was alive, hyper-aware of him, of the delicious danger of the moment.

He didn't answer with words. Instead, his head lowered, slowly, deliberately, drawn in by an invisible force. His eyes were half-lidded, dark with unspoken desire, an emotion that both thrilled and unnerved me, and his gaze was entirely, possessively on my mouth. I unconsciously parted my lips, a soft gasp escaping, my entire being focused on the undeniable magnetic pull between us. The air thrummed with a silent question, a desperate anticipation, a shared longing. His breath fanned across my face, warm and minty, teasing my senses. His lips were just inches from mine, so agonizingly close I could feel the heat, the subtle movement of his breath, the whisper of air.

Almost.

Just as our lips were about to meet, just as the tension was about to break, the heavy library door creaked open with a loud groan, admitting a group of boisterous students who were laughing far too loudly, their voices echoing in the quiet space. The sudden, jarring sound shattered the delicate bubble of intimacy that had enveloped us. Seungmin stiffened, his head snapping up, his hands instantly retracting from the table as if he’d touched a live wire. He took a hasty step back, putting a sudden, jarring distance between us. His face, which had been so expressive moments before, was now a mask of carefully constructed neutrality, a faint, tell-tale flush high on his cheekbones. His eyes darted around, suddenly cold and distant again.

Neither of us spoke. The unspoken question hung in the air, thick and heavy, a phantom touch on my lips. He looked at me, his eyes quickly sliding away, a flicker of something that looked like self-reproach, frustration, or perhaps even embarrassment crossing his features. Without another word, without even a glance back, he turned abruptly and walked away, disappearing quickly between the towering bookshelves, leaving me utterly alone at the table, my heart still racing, my lips still tingling, the ghost of a kiss haunting the space between us.

The next week was silent. A suffocating, awkward silence. His walls were up again, higher and thicker than ever before, reinforced with a desperate urgency. The playful banter ceased. He avoided my gaze, spoke only in clipped, necessary sentences about the project, his voice devoid of any warmth. I didn't push. The almost-kiss, the raw vulnerability he had shown, the flicker of jealousy – it was all too much, too soon, too exposed. I didn't dare mention it, and neither did he. I knew, with a certainty that settled like a cold stone in my stomach, that he was cursing himself for the nonsense he'd even thought, for almost breaking the fragile new reality we had built. And I, left with the ghost of a touch and an unasked question, didn't know what to do but endure, and wait.

The week that followed the almost-kiss was a torturous expanse of silence. Seungmin had retreated entirely, his walls higher and more impenetrable than ever. He avoided my gaze, spoke only when absolutely necessary for our project, his voice clipped and devoid of any emotion. The casual touches, the light banter, the shared glances—all vanished as if they had never existed. It was like he'd hit a reset button, reverting to the cold, distant person I'd first known, only now it felt worse because I'd seen glimpses of what lay beneath. I didn't push. The humiliation of the near-moment, the crushing weight of his sudden retreat, kept me silent, nursing a quiet hurt and a growing sense of confusion.

-

Then, the inevitable happened. Not between us, but to me. A persistent cough escalated into a full-blown fever, body aches, and a throat that felt like it was lined with sandpaper. Uni became an impossibility. I missed class for a day, then two, then three. By the fourth day, my head still pounded, but the worst of the fever had broken. I was drifting in and out of sleep, nestled deep in my bed, the curtains drawn against the bright afternoon light. My mom, bless her, was a constant, comforting presence, bringing me lukewarm tea and soft blankets.

I vaguely heard the doorbell ring, followed by the murmur of voices. I assumed it was a delivery, or maybe one of mom's friends. A few minutes later, my bedroom door creaked open softly. I stirred, blinking my eyes open, disoriented. Standing in the doorway, framed by the soft light of the hallway, was Seungmin.

My eyes widened in disbelief. He was here. In my apartment. In my bedroom. My mom was right behind him, a small, welcoming smile on her face. "Look who came to visit, sweetheart," she whispered, her voice laced with surprise and a hint of delight. "He was very worried about you."

Seungmin looked undeniably awkward, clutching a small plastic bag in one hand – a box of tissues, a bottle of juice, and a packet of my favorite crackers. "Hi," he mumbled, his gaze sweeping over my disheveled hair and flushed face. He looked pale, almost as if he'd run all the way here.

My mom stepped forward, ushering him gently further into the room. "Please, come in. Make yourself comfortable. You know, you're the first one of her friends who has ever bothered to show up when she's sick." She glanced at me, a soft sadness in her eyes. "She believes having friends would just lead to distractions, make her lose focus on her studies and scholarship. She always said everyone else just used her for notes or favors."

Seungmin froze, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly. He looked genuinely surprised by that. I was always surrounded by people, always laughing and talking. He probably saw me as effortlessly popular, unburdened by the academic anxieties that plagued him. The revelation hung in the air, shifting his perspective, painting a new picture of my own carefully constructed barriers.

My mom gave him a reassuring pat on the arm. "I'll go make some fresh tea for you both." She left the room, giving us a knowing, gentle smile as she closed the door softly behind her.

The silence that followed was different from the one in the library. This was a quiet, intimate silence, tinged with a delicate vulnerability. Seungmin slowly approached my bed, his gaze soft, almost hesitant. He pulled a chair closer, placing the bag he carried on the bedside table. He just sat there, watching me. He didn't speak, just observed, his eyes scanning my face, taking in the signs of my illness.

As the afternoon light faded into dusk my mom had served tea….long back, empty glasses sitting on the side table, he remained. My mom checked on us once, her eyebrows raising subtly when she saw him still there. She didn't press, just smiled. I must have drifted off again, lulled by the gentle rhythm of his breathing. When I next stirred, it was deep in the night. The room was dark, save for the faint glow from the hallway seeping under the door. He was still there, sitting by my bedside, his head resting against the back of the chair, his eyes closed. My mom must have come in while I was asleep because a soft blanket was draped over his shoulders.

Then, I felt it. A soft, warm weight enclosing my hand. I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the dimness. His hand. He was holding my hand, his fingers loosely intertwined with mine as he slept. My mom would eventually tell me later that she had come in to check on me again and saw him like that, holding my hand while he slept, and she didn't want to interfere. She simply smiled to herself, a quiet understanding dawning in her heart.

The next morning, I woke to the soft sound of his even breathing. My head felt clearer, the fever gone. I looked at him, truly looked at him. He was still there, asleep in the chair, his head tilted awkwardly. His face, usually so guarded, was softer now, relaxed in slumber, almost boyish. The sight sent a wave of tenderness through me. As if sensing my gaze, his eyes fluttered open. He blinked, a little disoriented, then his gaze met mine. His expression, usually so carefully schooled, was softer than I had ever seen it. All the walls were down, stripped away by exhaustion, by concern, by the quiet intimacy of the night.

He slowly straightened up, his hand still holding mine, his thumb gently stroking the back of my hand. His voice, when it came, was a barely audible whisper, raw with a vulnerability that made my chest ache. "I don’t hate you," he murmured, his eyes searching mine, seeking understanding. "I don’t think I ever did, not really. I dunno, Y/N… it's a scary feeling I'm carrying, and I don't wanna hurt you." His grip tightened, a silent plea in his touch. "It's just… I'm not good at this. Not good at… caring about someone like this."

Days Later;

Seungmin's whispered confession – "I don’t hate you. I don’t think I ever did, not really… I dunno, Y/N… it's a scary feeling I'm carrying, and I don't wanna hurt you" – lingered in the air long after he'd left my apartment that morning. It wasn't a grand declaration, but the raw vulnerability in his voice, the tremor in his touch as he held my hand, had irrevocably shattered any remaining doubts. The careful, almost fragile friendship that had begun to blossom in the library now deepened, solidifying into something real and comforting.

The following days, and then weeks, confirmed the shift. He started dropping by my place frequently, initially under the guise of polishing our now-finished project. But it quickly became clear he just wanted to be there. He’d arrive with a quiet knock, slip off his shoes, and settle onto the couch as if it were his own, pulling out his laptop not for work, but just to be present in the same room. My mom, ever perceptive, had taken to him instantly. She adored him, showering him with the kind of warm, gentle attention he clearly hadn't experienced much of. She'd make him extra portions of dinner, fuss over his quiet nature, and listen intently when he spoke. "Your mum likes me more, honestly," he'd tease, flexing his eyebrows at me from across the kitchen table, a rare, genuine smile gracing his lips. I'd swat playfully at his arm, "Not allowed. She’s mine."

It was a few months later, over one of Mom's elaborate Sunday dinners – a spread of comfort food designed to feed an army – that the deepest, most stubborn wall in Seungmin finally crumbled. He had grown comfortable enough in our home, secure in Mom’s unconditional acceptance, to share fragmented stories of his past with her. He spoke quietly, his voice low, about his difficult family, the coldness, the emotional and, at times, physical abuse he had endured, and his painful decision to cut ties completely and move out on his own at a young age. Mom listened, her expression empathetic but never pitying, her hand occasionally reaching out to gently touch his arm. When he finished, instead of offering sympathy, she simply rose from her seat, walked around the table, and enveloped him in a warm, comforting hug. "You are welcome here anytime you want, kiddo," she said, her voice soft but firm, stroking his hair gently. "This is your home now too, if you need it. Always." And that was it. That was his breakdown. The quiet, controlled Seungmin, who rarely showed any outward emotion, dissolved into a tearful, trembling mess in my mother's arms. The simple, unconditional motherly love he had always craved, that unburdened acceptance, finally washed over him, breaking years of hardened self-protection. I watched, my own eyes welling up with a profound mix of tenderness and fierce protectiveness, a silent promise to cherish this vulnerable side of him.

In between these moments of profound openness, things between Seungmin and me became complicated, beautifully worse even, in the best possible way. The academic project, a distant memory now, had earned us both top marks and secured our scholarship applications for prestigious universities, our future paths seemingly aligned. But our personal project, whatever this was, was still a work in progress, an intricate tapestry of unspoken feelings.

He would openly flirt with me now, his words still carrying that dry wit, but with a new layer of playful affection that made my cheeks flush. "Still can't believe I managed to get stuck with someone as hopelessly disorganized as you," he'd murmur, but his fingers would be gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. He’d cuddle me on the couch during movie nights at my place, his arm casually draped around my shoulders, sometimes pulling me closer until my head rested on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. He still ruffled my hair a lot, but now it was always followed by a soft, almost shy smile, and sometimes a lingering touch. We shared inside jokes, comfortable silences, and knowing glances that conveyed more than words ever could. Yet, despite the growing intimacy, the undeniable magnetic pull, the unspoken feelings that hummed between us like a tuning fork, neither of us dared to confess the full extent of our emotions. We existed in a limbo of almost-lovers, dancing around the inevitable, a thrilling, terrifying anticipation.

The tension finally reached a breaking point one blustery afternoon. I was heading to the library, my mind buzzing with a new research idea, a spring in my step from our newfound closeness. But then, I saw him. Seungmin was talking to a girl from our literature class near the library entrance. She was leaning in too close, laughing too loudly at something he said, her hand resting casually on his arm. A jolt of something unpleasant, sharp and cold, shot through me, instantly curdling my good mood. Jealousy. My stomach twisted. I watched for a moment, feeling a familiar wave of insecurity wash over me. He seemed to be laughing back, his head tilted towards hers. My heart sank, a familiar ache of disappointment settling in, a fear that all of this was just… casual for him. I turned abruptly, unable to watch another second, and walked away, a bitter taste in my mouth, the spring in my step replaced by a heavy thud.

I spent the next hour trying to focus on my notes, but the image of them, laughing together, kept replaying in my mind, a cruel, endless loop. He knew how I felt, didn't he? Had all those moments, all that closeness, all those late nights, been for nothing? Was he just… like that with everyone? Was I just another 'friend'? The questions churned, making me furious, making my eyes sting.

Suddenly, the heavy library door burst open, slamming against the wall with unusual force, and Seungmin strode in, his eyes scanning the room with a desperate, almost frantic urgency. He spotted me at my usual table, hunched over my laptop, and marched directly towards me, his face etched with a storm of emotions – anger, frustration, and a raw, exposed vulnerability I hadn't seen since the morning he held my hand. He reached my table and, before I could even react, he spun me around, gently but firmly, until my back was against the edge of the table. He leaned in, caging me, his hands pressing down on the table on either side of my hips, effectively pinning me in place. His breath hitched, ragged and uneven, his eyes blazing, a mixture of unbridled fury and something far deeper swirling within their depths.

"What the hell was that, Y/N?" he demanded, his voice low and fierce, cutting through the quiet of the library like a knife. He wasn't yelling, but every word vibrated with intensity. "Why did you just walk away? Why were you giving me that look? That 'I'm disappointed' look?"

"What look?" I retorted, trying to sound nonchalant, to regain some composure, but my voice wavered, betraying me. "Maybe I just had somewhere else to be. Not that it's any of your business, Seungmin."

"It is my business!" he practically snarled, his voice rising in frustration, drawing a few hushed, curious glances from nearby students. He didn't care. His gaze was locked solely on mine. "You saw her, didn't you? That girl? You thought I was flirting back, didn't you, you idiot? You thought all of this" – he gestured vaguely between us – "meant nothing! I shut her down cold, Y/N! I told her I wasn't interested, that I was waiting for someone! Someone specific!"

My breath caught in my throat, a sudden, dizzying hope blooming in my chest. "Waiting for… who?" I whispered, my heart pounding a furious, hopeful rhythm against my ribs, daring to believe.

His eyes burned into mine, pure, unadulterated emotion finally breaking through years of carefully constructed walls. "I like you?" he practically scoffed, the words laced with self-derision, his voice raw with a sudden, overwhelming vulnerability that stripped him bare. "It's so much more than that. I fucking love you, Y/N, and it’s annoying, and it’s terrifying, and I’m not good at this—I'm absolutely terrible at this, I've never felt this before—but I want you. Only you, Y/N. No one else but you." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a desperate, urgent whisper, his forehead almost touching mine, our breaths mingling. "You get under my skin like no one else. You annoy me more than anyone on this entire planet, you make me want to pull my hair out, but fuck, when you don't? When you just ignore me, when you pull away, when you give me that look like I've actually messed up, like I've hurt you? It hurts worse. It hurts me worse. So yes, annoy me. Argue with me. Challenge me. Make me go crazy. And rule me like you own me. Because if I am not gonna be yours, I don't want to be anyone's. I can’t be anyone’s.”

The confession, delivered with all the grace of a charging bull but with the raw, brutal honesty of a soul laid bare, hit me like a tidal wave. My eyes welled up, not with sadness or confusion, but with an overwhelming surge of joy and profound relief. All this time, all the confusion, the unspoken feelings, the subtle touches, the hidden glances—they were real. He loved me. He truly, utterly, loved me.

I didn't need any more words. My hands came up, almost instinctively, cupping his face, my thumbs tracing the sharp line of his jaw. I pulled him closer, meeting his lips with a desperate, all-consuming kiss. It was fierce and tender, raw and emotional, a culmination of two years of antagonism, of quiet observations, of growing friendship, and finally, of undeniable, deeply felt love. He kissed me back with an urgency that stole my breath, his hands coming up to grip my waist, pulling me impossibly close against him, eliminating every last inch of space between us. It was a promise, a surrender, a beginning.

When we finally broke apart, breathless and trembling, he rested his forehead against mine, his eyes still closed, a faint, contented smirk playing on his lips, a stark contrast to the storm that had raged moments before. "Guess you’re not that unbearable after all, hm?" he murmured, his voice a low, husky rumble, full of newfound affection.

I giggled, a joyful, light sound that felt entirely new, entirely free. "My mum was right about this…"

He opened his eyes, a playful glint in their depths, pulling back just enough to see my face. "Oh, I love your mom more, honestly," he teased, his smirk widening, a familiar playful challenge.

"Not allowed," I said, a mock threat in my voice as I tightened my grip on his collar, pulling him closer again.

"I was kidding—" he began, but I didn't let him finish. I leaned in and kissed him again, a soft, lingering kiss, sealing the truth of his words, of his love, and of our perfectly imperfect, wonderfully complicated beginning.

….The End

[societyfolklore]

That Was Mine

Title: That Was Mine

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You’ve held it together all day. The final straw? Someone stole your snack. Bucky makes sure you know you’re still allowed to fall apart -  but only for him.

Word Count:  3k

Warnings:  / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, established relationship, comfort sex, soft dom!Bucky, oral (f receiving), praise kink, emotional softness, body worship, panties pushed aside, slow grind to ruin, smutty kitchen sex.

A/N: my entry for  @avengers-assemble-bingo for Spring Bingo Sorry I'm late to start this! Will have them all up in June! :)

Square: A4 -  Stolen Snacks

Card Number: AAS001

You stared at the empty space in the cupboard like it had personally betrayed you.

You’d held it together. Through the botched recon brief that ended with you getting shoulder-checked into a wall. The two-hour debrief with Fury that circled the same five points and still managed to assign you clean-up duty. Through training drills with Natasha that left your muscles screaming, a cracked tablet that shorted out mid-field report, and a stray pulse round from testing Tony’s gear that seared through your glove. Through trying to calm a panicking rookie in the med bay and brushing off Steve’s attempt to talk about team morale while your ribs throbbed from the fall no one noticed.

But this?

This was too much.

Your last chocolate bar. The one you’d shoved to the back of the shelf, behind the rice cooker like a goddamn dragon hoard, and even labelled.

Gone.

You felt the tears before they came. That tight, angry pressure in your throat. The prickle behind your eyes. It was more than frustration, it was the weight of everything you'd swallowed down all day finally pushing up from your chest. A battle cry turned into a whimper.

You hated it.

 Hated crying over something so stupid, hated how this tiny, ridiculous moment had cracked the dam you’d patched together with stubbornness and caffeine.

Your breath hitched. The cabinet blurred. You clenched your fists tighter. Maybe if you stood still enough, quiet enough, you could push the feelings back down where they belonged. Somewhere deep. Somewhere no one could see.

That’s how Bucky found you. Still standing there like a statue in mourning,  shoulders drawn tight, fists white-knuckled, eyes locked on that empty shelf like you could will the universe to give you one goddamn break. Just one.

“Doll?” His voice behind you was soft. Careful. Like he already knew something wasn’t right.

You blinked, throat tight and eyes burning. “Fine.” It came out too fast, too brittle.

He stepped closer, his footsteps quiet on the kitchen tile. “Sweetheart…”

“They took it,” you whispered, voice barely audible.

“Took what?”

You sniffed and gave a shaky little laugh that didn’t reach your eyes. “My chocolate.”

He paused, one long second where you could feel him processing that. Then, with a low, understanding note in his voice. “Oh.”

You still didn’t turn around. Couldn’t. The heat in your cheeks was too much, and the tears were already pushing harder. “I just wanted one fucking thing today,” you said, the words gaining a tremble. “One thing. And someone… I don’t even know who, but someone went in and…”

Your voice cracked. A tear fell before you could catch it. You scrubbed it away with the back of your hand, furious at yourself for crying over something so small, but it wasn’t just the chocolate. It never was.

His body pressed in close, not just touching but anchoring, like he was stitching you back together with every inch of contact. You felt the brush of his stubble as he dipped his head closer, his breath warm against your ear.

“I got you,” he murmured, voice low and sure like it was a promise. “I got you, baby. Just breathe.”

You turned into his chest, burying your face in his shirt as more tears spilled free. His arms wrapped around you without hesitation. No teasing. No judgment. Just strength. Steady, unshakable warmth. You could feel his heartbeat through the fabric, solid and calm, syncing with your own stuttering rhythm like it was trying to coax you back to yourself. He smelled like leather and soap and something uniquely his. That grounding, familiar scent that always made you feel like home was wherever he stood.

He didn’t rush you. Didn’t ask what was wrong or try to fix it yet. He just stayed there, solid as ever, letting you feel every heartbeat in his chest and the slow, steady rhythm of his breath like it could replace the storm in your own.

He held you there for a long moment, rubbing his hand up and down your back, pressing a kiss to the top of your head without needing to say anything more yet. Just being held like that made your chest ache in a different way, an ache that felt like the release you'd been holding back all day.

“You wanna yell?” he asked, finally, his voice light but sincere. “We’ll go down to the training floor- think most of them are there- you can scream at every single one of those snack thieves until you feel better.”

A wet laugh hiccupped out of your throat. It surprised you, but you didn’t fight it. “It was probably Peter.”

“I’ll drop-kick him. Promise.”

That earned another laugh, softer now, your fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. You could feel his smile against your temple before you even looked up. And when you did, you caught the full picture- his brows drawn with worry, his jaw tight like it physically hurt him to see you upset, and his eyes so full of quiet love it made your knees go weak.

Every inch of his expression said it plain: You are safe. I’ve got you. I always will.

“You’ve had a hard day, huh?”

You nodded, swallowing back a fresh wave of emotion. Your lip trembled again, and this time you didn’t fight it. It felt like if you said even one word, everything would crack wide open again. Maybe you didn’t have the energy to pick the pieces up this time.

Bucky saw it. He always did. He didn’t push, didn’t fill the silence. Just stayed steady and warm at your side.

“Then let me fix it,” he said gently, brushing your hair behind your ear. His voice dropped even lower, like he was speaking to something raw in you. “Let me take care of my girl.”

You expected another hug. Maybe a kiss on the forehead. Maybe for him to lead you to the couch and tuck a blanket around your shoulders, like he sometimes did after a mission that ran too long or left you rattled. You expected soft words and gentler hands. The kind of quiet that didn’t ask anything from you.

But what you got was more. A presence that didn’t just hold you together, it reminded you that you didn’t have to be perfect to be loved. That your breaking point didn’t scare him away. That he’d carry it all if you let him.

You didn’t expect him to grip your hips and lift you onto the kitchen counter.

“Bucky- ” you gasped, palms braced against his chest, heat flushing up your neck. The cold countertop under your thighs only made his warmth feel more intense, more consuming. Like a fire had started under your skin and only he knew how to tend it.

But he was already stepping between your knees, lifting your skirt with slow, deliberate care. His fingers skimmed your thighs like they were something fragile, like he had all the time in the world to unwrap you, gaze locked on yours with a hunger that sent sparks straight through your core. Every brush of his knuckles sent goosebumps racing up your legs.

“You think you gotta hold it all in,” he murmured, lips grazing your jaw, his voice like velvet and smoke. “But you don’t. Not with me. You don’t have to be strong right now. You just have to be mine.”

He kissed the corner of your mouth, then lower along your jaw, down your throat- each press of his lips a quiet promise. You could feel the devotion in each one, like he was spelling out his love with his mouth, soothing away the hurt one kiss at a time. His hands moved under your underwear, warm and certain, fingers spreading you open with aching care, reverent like he was learning you all over again and loving every second of it.

“You’re tense,” he murmured, voice lower now, thumb brushing slow, perfect circles over your clit. “Let me take care of that. Let me make you feel good, baby. Just let go.”

“Bucky, someone could- ”

He dropped to his knees.

Right there- like it was the most natural thing in the world. His broad shoulders framed by the spread of your thighs, his blue eyes already locked onto your face with that look that always undid you. Soft hunger. Absolute focus. The kind of reverence that made you feel like a temple he’d worshiped at a thousand times before and still found holy.

He pushed his hair back from his face with one hand, jaw tense, a little smirk curling one corner of his mouth like he knew exactly what he was about to do to you. Like he was proud of it. Of you. Of how wrecked you were about to be.

“You didn’t get your chocolate,” he said, breath hot and heavy against your soaked folds. “So I’m giving you something sweeter.”

Then his mouth was on you.

Hot. Wet. Filthy.

His tongue dragged upward in one slow, claiming stroke that had your head knocking back against the cabinet. Then he did it again, circling your clit like he had all the time in the world, savoring every reaction. His lips wrapped around you and sucked with the perfect amount of pressure, after all, he’d memorized the way your body begged to be touched.

You gasped, legs trembling, one hand flying to the edge of the counter, gripping it for balance as your other dug into his hair. He groaned at the contact, the sound vibrating straight through your core. The smirk you’d seen moments ago returned against your skin, devilish and pleased with himself.

“God, look at you,” he murmured, pausing only long enough to drag his tongue flat over your slit.  His lips brushed your clit again as he grinned. “I know you wanted chocolate, but fuck- you taste like candy.”

Then he dove back in.

He devoured you like it was his sole purpose in life. Like your pleasure was his mission and he had no intention of failing. His metal arm wrapped securely under your thigh, holding you wide and open for him, while his flesh hand slid up your stomach to your breast, fingers curling over it possessively as he groaned against your cunt.

Tears blurred your eyes again not from grief this time, but from how completely he meant it. From the way he worshipped you with his mouth, like this was his heaven. Like he needed this more than breath.

You couldn’t stop the sounds spilling from you, gasping cries, sharp breaths, needy little sounds you didn’t recognize as your own as his tongue worked you harder. Faster. Each stroke more precise, more demanding. Your hips tried to jerk away from the intensity, but he growled and tightened his grip, locking you down.

“Uh-uh,” he rasped against your swollen clit, slick with spit and need. “You take it. Take what you fucking need. Let go for me, baby.” 

And you did.

You shattered for him; loud, messy, legs shaking as your orgasm tore through you, slick flooding over his mouth. He didn’t stop. He moaned like he was the one coming, mouth locked to you as he coaxed every last aftershock from your body.

Only when you sagged back, breathless and twitching, did he slow down. His lips softened their rhythm, moving with care now, peppering soft, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs, the kind that made you shiver from tenderness rather than urgency. He murmured praise between each kiss, like he couldn’t help it, like worship was the only language he knew.

“So fuckin’ sweet,” he whispered, licking his lips with a slow, satisfied drag of his tongue. His face glistened with you, and he wore it like a badge of honor.

He kissed your thighs again, then trailed up to your hips, stroking your sides with reverence. He nuzzled your skin like it was his safe place, his temple, murmuring against the shell of your hip, “Could stay here all day, baby. Right here, tasting how good you are. You don’t even know what you do to me.”

His hands never left your body- constantly caressing, grounding, reminding. His metal fingers curled around your thigh possessively while the other swept gently up and down your waist. You felt utterly surrounded by him, like there wasn’t a single part of you he hadn’t claimed.

He looked up at you then, pupils blown wide, lips swollen, his expression dazed with devotion. Like he hadn’t just eaten you alive but knelt at your altar and meant it.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, voice ragged and thick with love. “No one gets to take from you. Not while I’m here. Not ever.”

And you believed him. Because when Bucky touched you like this- held you like this- he didn’t just give you pleasure. He gave you proof.

Proof that someone saw you. Fought for you. Loved you enough to hold the pieces no one else knew were broken.

Because when everything else went wrong…Bucky always made sure you still felt right.

When  you finally blinked through the haze, he was standing again, unzipping his pants with that same look in his eyes.

Oh-  Bucky wasn't through yet. 

He leaned over you, kissed you slow, then deeper, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. His cock pressed hot and heavy against your thigh, and when his hand gripped your jaw, his voice came low and reverent.

“Wanna fuck my sweet girl now. Gonna fill you up slow…make you feel everything, baby.”

Your breath caught as he guided himself between your thighs. Then he placed one firm hand on your ass and slid you forward across the counter, dragging you closer to the edge until your legs dangled more, your core perfectly aligned for him. The sensation of the heat of him pressing forward made your head spin.

And when he pushed inside, slow, stretching, claiming- you swore he moaned louder than you.

“That’s it,” he groaned, forehead to yours, hips rolling deep. “Just like that.”

He rocked into you with slow, sinuous thrusts, hips rolling in smooth, deliberate motion as if he had no interest in finishing quickly, just in working you open, keeping you full, keeping you right there on the edge. Each pass stroked that aching place deep inside- your thighs tightening, breath catching, every nerve singing like it had been tuned to his rhythm.

“Right there, yeah?” he rasped. “I feel it. You clench so good when I hit that spot.”

His hand smoothed up your spine, the other gripping your ass to keep you pinned just where he wanted you. He didn’t pound, he rolled, deep and deliberate. Deep and slow, hips pressing tight against yours with each drag of his cock, like he wanted to replace every ache and frustration you’d carried today with the stretch of him.

“You don’t need a sweet treat now do ya?” he murmured against your cheek, voice thick and low. “Not when I can get you high like this. Give you every endorphin your pretty little body’s been begging for.”

And when he pressed into that spot again- again- until you panted and quivered for him, you stopped caring who might walk in. Stopped caring about anything except the wet, slick sound of him inside you and the way he whispered, "Gonna wash all the bad day away, yeah? Gonna let me do that for ya, doll? Gonna let me take every ounce of tension and fuck it right outta you?"

The rhythm of him built gradually, rising like a wave pulling you under- his hips rolling, staying deep, making your breath stutter and your nails curl into the strong slope of his shoulders. Each drag of his cock pushed you higher, stretched you further, until all you could do was cling and shake and feel.

When he adjusted his angle, grinding down into that tender place inside that had you gasping every time, the one that made your legs twitch and your stomach tighten, dragging a helpless, high-pitched whine from the back of your throat- you broke. The orgasm crashed over you, hot and sudden, your body pulsing around him in tight, desperate waves.

Bucky swallowed your cries with his mouth on yours, kissing you through it, devouring every sound you made like it was his favorite dessert.

“Good girl,” he growled, voice shaking. “Just like that. Fuck- gonna give it to you, baby. Gonna fill you up nice and warm, yeah?”

Buck jerked, moaning into your mouth as his hips snapped once, twice, before he spilled into you, thick and deep and perfect. You both shook, breathless in the kitchen, bodies slick with sweat and love and everything unspoken.

His hand brushed your jaw as he whispered soft words against your lips. “So good for me. My perfect girl. Took all of it.”

Then he stepped back just enough to grab a paper towel, cleaning you up with gentle care.

You stayed on the counter, legs still trembling, smiling and a little fucked-out, watching as he fixed his pants with that stupidly smug grin like he’d just won something sacred and maybe he had.

“I’m sure I’ve got one of your snacks in my room,” he said, voice still husky but playful. “Let’s get you back there… we can shower and snuggle, and you can tell me everything- or we can just watch a movie. End the day right.”

He stepped in close and lifted you easily off the counter, one arm under your thighs, the other around your back like you weighed nothing. You curled instinctively into him, nuzzling into the warm crook of his neck, your breath still uneven, your heart still stuttering from everything he’d given you.

“Bucky Barnes,” you murmured, your lips brushing his skin as you smiled, “better than chocolate.”

He chuckled low, chest vibrating against yours. “Damn right I am.”

[valleyofheartz]

I Love You, I’m Sorry

University AU

Pairing: Volleyball player!Sakusa Kiyoomi x Artist!F!Reader

angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, FWB to lovers, angst with a happy ending

WC: 9.7k

Synopsis: Falling in love with the pretty volleyball player in your first year of University wasn’t something you intended to happen; it just did. And then, two years later, the line between lust and love blurs. You want him beyond his body, but does he want every side of you? A part of you liked to think so, but Sakusa Kiyoomi is known for crushing hearts, and make no mistake, you were no exception.

Content/Warnings: alcohol consumption, kissing, mentions of sex but nothing explicit, FWB relationship, graphic descriptions of blood/knives/wounds/organs (nothing actually happens), subtle hints of depression/anxiety, jealousy, curse words, one scene with a creep but its vague, pls lmk if I missed anything!

two August’s ago, you fell in love.

you remember laughing till tears cascaded down your rosy cheeks, face hurting from smiling so much. you remember soft touches; on your hand as you reached for the same item, on your waist when you squeezed by, on the corner of your mouth when you don’t seem to notice the crumbs that coat your lips. you remember a gentle smile, eyes crinkling the slightest bit as your heart stutters in your chest. you remember dark curly hair, mole kissed skin and eyes brimming with affection.

you remember everything.

bright, giddy, and curious, you entered university with dreams larger than the sun. your passion for art made you yearn. you wanted to draw everything beautiful. you’d sit by the tree near your campus library and draw for hours, music blaring through your headphones as you sketched pretty items, pretty scenery, and pretty people in your book.

it was under the tree you found your muse.

you recall forgetting to bring something to tie your hair with, leaving it to fall in your face when the the wind hit a little too hard. you squinted, frowning as you moved the strands out of your sight.

and then, as if entranced, you see the prettiest student walk towards the library. it’s like everything is suddenly moving slower. he’s clad in a- sports jacket? with your school logo, and black shorts to match. he has a gym bag hung on his right shoulder, but you find yourself more focused on the thick locks on his head and soft slope of his nose. his lips are full, pretty and pink. the slight chill from the air must be the reason why his cheeks are tinted as well, and your hands itch with the urge to draw this mythical being.

(first-year you was a little dramatic, but present you still understands her.)

you draw a rough sketch of him the moment he leaves, but you know had you had more time to look, you would’ve done a much better job.

✾

the second time you see him is at a party.

you had forgotten about the pretty boy as the days went on, more focused with school and handing in assignments. exams arrived, and then you were on break. your friends had begged you to show up, with promises of it being a fun experience even if all you wanted to do was curl up under the covers and sleep all day.

you end up wearing a cute outfit, somewhat revealing yet covering the parts you wanted to. your hair is styled with shiny clips that match your makeup. you feel pretty, and even though you initially did not want to go out, you think this might be a good idea.

“Y/n, let me know if you want to leave early, okay? And don’t drink anything random people offer you.” Kuroo grabs your arm, tone serious. you want to laugh at the usually silly guy being so protective of you.

you smile, “I know, father. No need to worry about me, it’s just my first party.”

Akaashi beside you ruffles your hair, “He has a reason to be worried, you’re a little too sweet for your own good.”

you scrunch up your nose, mentally disagreeing. you could certainly be mean. but they had yet to see you at your worst, so this made sense. you decide to let them keep this image of you.

Bokuto barrels forward, knocking into your back as you stumble into Kuroo’s arms. he catches you with ease, sending a glare towards his friend.

“Watch it, are you drunk already?”

Bokuto grins, “Pre-gamed a little too hard! My bad, bro.” he pauses, looking at you, “And the lady-bro.”

you stifle a giggle at his words, focusing on the warmth that emits from Kuroo. you suddenly regret wearing something that showed more skin, knowing you got cold easily.

“Tetsu, can we get drinks?” you grab his bicep gently as he looks down.

“Yeah, yeah. Let me just say hi to some of the guys and we’ll go.” he waits for Akaashi to come to your other side before walking, with you squashed between them.

you roll your eyes, what was up with them? it was your first time attending a university party, not your first time at a club.

you greet people mindlessly, and they all seem nice enough. you get restless after twenty minutes though, really wanting a drink. you tug Kuroo’s shirt gently, waiting for him to turn to you.

“I’m gonna go get a drink, you want anything?”

he frowns, “I’ll come, give me a sec.” he doesn’t wait for a response before excusing himself from his friends. they all wave him off as he guides you to another room in the house, which is more secluded.

you find the table, filled with all sorts of stuff you were unfamiliar with. one of Kuroo’s friends stands by, and you assume he’s keeping an eye on the beverages to ensure nobody spikes them with anything.

Kuroo gives him a quick nod before reaching for a bottle. he must know what he’s doing, however, as he pours you a mixture of two drinks before handing it to you. you take it with narrowed eyes, lifting it to your nose and oh, it smells fruity enough.

you down it in one go, looking back at Kuroo’s slackened jaw. you bark out a loud laugh, before covering it with your hand. “What?”

he shakes his head, “Nothing, nothing. Didn’t know you were so thirsty.”

you shrug in response, mindlessly scanning the room as Kuroo pours himself a drink.

despite the room being half empty, it is still fairly large. you can see a group playing beer pong on the left side, while the ones on the right are laughing loudly as they seemingly discuss something funny.

and then, your eyes land on him.

he’s standing with who you assume is his friend, with their back towards you. he’s leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, and the position allows his navy blue shirt to stretch with the muscle. you swallow when your eyes trail down to his slim waist.

broad shoulders and a small waist? surely that had to be illegal.

his black pants are loose, but fit his thighs nicely.

when your eyes go back to his face, you’re once again filled with the urge to pick up your pencil and draw. he’s not smiling, and you have a feeling he doesn’t smile very often, but it doesn’t take away from his beauty. his cheekbones are pretty and prominent, and you wonder how they would feel beneath your palms.

you bite on your bottom lip at the thought, feeling foolish for thinking about a stranger like that.

“Oh? Does my little Y/n have a crush?” a voice croons next to your ear.

you whip your head back with a glare, “Tetsu, no.”

he laughs loudly, head throwing back as he cackles. you frown, scrunching your nose at him even if he’s too busy laughing to see.

“Oh, c’mon cutie, I’m just teasing. Nothing wrong with a little crush, I would just recommend someone a little… nicer.” he says, out of breath as a grin stretches on his face.

you tilt your head, “Huh? You know him?“

Kuroo ruffles your hair gently, with you moving to fix it immediately.

“We aren’t close, but I do know him since he’s on the same team as me,” Kuroo smiles at the wide eyed look you give him. “i’d say i’m closer with his friend over there.”

when you glance back to the pair, you find that the pretty boy has his eyes on you.

your heart jumps, your body shivering as you snap your eyes back to Kuroo.

what the fuck? maybe you hallucinated that.

“Oh, your man is looking here.”

maybe not.

“Hey, want me to introduce you? Who knows, you might be able to defrost his heart.” he smirks, with you shaking your head to disagree. “No, thank you. I’m not going to defrost his heart like he’s some piece of frozen raw meat.”

he huffs out a laugh, turning into a cough when his eyes partially widen. “Well, you should prepare yourself, they’re both coming here right now.”

you look at Kuroo with an incredulous expression, “You’re fucking lying.”

“Such a foul mouth, cutie.” he lifts his hand up and looks beside you, “Hey, man.” he waves. he nods at the pretty boy next, who you assume nods back.

you finally allow yourself to look away from Kuroo and at the two new men in front of you. they’re both tall, but thankfully you’re used to being surrounded by tall men due to your friends.

you smile at the friend and glance at the pretty boy for a second, “Hi, I’m Y/n.” you’re thankful you manage to sound stable.

“I’m Adriah.” his friend says with a half grin. it’s boyish and charming, but you’re more concerned with the curly-haired guy beside him. your eyes dart to his next, anticipating an introduction.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

his voice is deep, it’s almost alluring. it reminds you of the dark chocolate you often pick up from the convenience store beside your dorm; bitter but comforting.

you always loved dark chocolate.

the thought makes your heart do a funny thing and your chest seize up.

✾

a year and a half later, you kiss Sakusa Kiyoomi for the first time.

you’re close friends by now, perhaps even best friends. you know him like the back of your hand; no, you know better than you know yourself.

you know his arms are covered in beauty marks, ones you’d like to trace with your lips. you know how his hair looks when he first awakens, eyes swollen and lips puffed out in a pout. you know his favorite food, and how he likes his coffee in the morning. you know he sighs through his nose when he’s feeling overstimulated, you know his lips press together when he’s about to say something mean. you know he crosses his arms when he feels like he needs to protect himself, you even know the brand of disinfecting wipes he prefers to buy.

you know he has a dimple on his left cheek when he smiles, you know how his lips stretch out all pretty when he’s caught off guard. you know the low timbre in his chest when he laughs, his thick steel walls suddenly nowhere to be seen as he allows himself to relax.

“Kiyo, please? I really want to go, and nobody else wants to come!” you beg, voice sad as you sit on the edge of his bed.

it’s 12:00PM, and Kiyoomi is still laying in bed. you understand, it is a Saturday, but you wanted to go out and visit the cat cafe with supposedly amazing tiramisu.

the lump on the bed barley moves, “Oh great, so I’m your last choice. I’ll pass.”

you smile, giggling. “No, you were my first choice, but you said no so I asked other people and they also refused, so now I came back to you!”

he lifts the covers, sitting up. he’s shirtless, and the sight of his bare body covered in pretty beauty marks makes your brain short-circuit. you turn away, huffing. “Put on a shirt you… perv.”

you hear a pretty laugh then, your head immediately turning back to catch the rare sight. he shakes his head, small grin still on his face, “I’m the perv? Not the one who’s red in the face and can’t even look me in the eye?”

you blink harshly, “I can look at you! I’m just… respecting your boundaries.”

you turn away again, crossing your arms. you hear the covers on the bed shuffle, and when you slowly turn around, you find yourself much closer to Kiyoomi than you thought.

you blink, moving to give him space and tumbling off the bed in the process with a yelp. he grabs you with wide eyes, moving so he takes the brunt of the fall.

you land on top of him, watching as he groans in pain below you. your hands are resting on his broad shoulders, and they feel smooth beneath your hands.

he sighs, laying his head on the floor. he looks up at you through lidded eyes. “So what now, genius? You made us fall.”

you shoot him a dirty look, “Well nobody told you to fall with me.”

“This is the ‘thank you’ I get? Next time I’ll let you get hurt, brat.” he rolls his eyes with a scoff.

you pout, bottom lip pushing out. “You’d let me fall and get hurt?”

he stares at you intently, not answering. you take the time to observe his face, wanting to burn the memory into your brain. you like the small bump on his nose. you like the way his bottom lip is slightly bigger than the top. you like the way his skin turns red easily, his cheeks often sporting a pretty blush even from the slightest chilly air. you like his thick curly hair, wondering how it would feel in your hands. you like his eyes too, dark and swirling with emotions you’ve yet to unravel and discover.

suddenly realizing your proximity, your eyes dart to his lips. plush and full, they look so inviting. you subconsciously lick your bottom lip, glancing up to find his eyes are also on your mouth. and when he finally looks you in the eye, you know if you don’t make a move now, you never will.

you lean in, slowly, and with a gentle exhale, you press your lips to his.

✾

a month later, you have sex with Kiyoomi.

it comes naturally, you think. soft kisses shared with hushed whispers were no longer enough. it led to heated touches and lust-filled eyes.

so when the two of you end up going further, you have no complaints.

he treats you exactly how you’d like, gentle in some ways and rough in others. you like the feel of his calloused hands caressing your skin, the rough bumps making him more attractive than you already thought he was.

and then you’re laying in bed, sweaty and covered in fluid. but his mattress is so comfortable, and your eyelids feel heavy.

“Y/n, we need to shower.”

“One minute.” you mumble quietly.

you feel a hand gently move hair out of your face, subconsciously leaning into the warmth of his palm. it’s gone before you can speak, and you have to force the whine down your throat.

you hear a sigh, and then feel a strong arm slide underneath your knees with the other behind your back as you are lifted into the air.

you squeak, hands scrambling to latch onto his neck. you look up at Kiyoomi with wide eyes, “Seriously, Kiyo? I can still walk, you jackass.”

he shakes his head with a small grin, and your hands itch to grab his face and kiss him senseless. “Are you sure you can walk? I’m not sure you can after all that.”

you change your mind, you want to slap him senseless.

“Ha-ha. So. Funny.” you deadpan, unable to help yourself and breaking into a smile when you feel his shoulders shake as he chuckles.

when the two of you are in bed, freshly washed and ready to sleep, Kiyoomi breaks your heart for the first time.

you’re laying your head on his chest, heartbeat steady and comforting as it almost lulls you to sleep.

his voice pulls you back, “Y/n,”

you hum in response.

“I don’t want you to misunderstand, I care about you, but I’m not looking for anything serious right now.” the words are spoken softly, but they cut through your heart nonetheless.

your body freezes, and you have to force yourself to relax when you realize he can feel it.

so what if Kiyoomi isn’t ready to date? you’re okay with kissing him, going out with him, and sleeping with him. you’re okay with that and not having a label. you’re okay with not being exclusive.

you’re okay with having him to this extent.

you’re okay.

“I understand. Don’t worry, Kiyoomi.”

✾

five months later, everything is the same.

and yet, nothing is the same.

“I don’t like this, Y/n. I think you should break things off with him.” Kuroo frowns, leaning into Akaashi’s side as he hogs the blanket to himself in the freezing cold apartment.

you pull your own fluffy throw closer, “There’s nothing to break off, Tetsu. There’s no label.”

Bokuto walks in, clad in a black tank top and volleyball shorts. “You can break off this unlabeled arrangement you have, Y/n! Just call it exactly that!” he smiles, hands on his hips standing proudly.

Akaashi coughs, “Bo, please put your air conditioning lower. We’re all going to get sick at this rate.”

Bokuto frowns, hands dropping to his sides. he walks to the thermostat, “Seriously? I think the temperature is fine.”

“That’s because you’re not human, you beast.” Kuroo snorts.

Bokuto turns around, looking scandalized. “I’m not a beast! You two are just weenies!”

you giggle, “Thank you for not including me with them, Kou.”

he salutes you with a cute little grin.

so maybe your friends were against your… situation with Kiyoomi. but you knew what you were doing, and while he might not want a relationship right now, you’re sure you can change his mind over time.

naive, perhaps, but you’ve always been a romantic at heart.

✾

everything comes to a head at one of their volleyball games.

you’re invited, of course. being friends with a few of the boys had allowed you to show up earlier and get seats in the front row.

it’s not your first game, but you’re excited nonetheless.

until you see Kiyoomi with someone unfamiliar.

she’s pretty, almost unearthly pretty. her hair is long, and cascades down her back like those magical waterfalls one would find deep in the forest. her smile is perfect, not crooked in the slightest. and when she greets him, her dainty hand smoothes over the skin of his arm; you walk faster.

Kuroo greets you first, with Akaashi and Bokuto coming behind him. you give them all your best wishes, but you can’t stop the uneasy feeling in your stomach at the sight of Sakusa with that girl.

when Akaashi sees your line of sight, he grimaces sympathetically. “Ah, that’s one of his friends from high school.”

your eyes shoot to his, and you wonder what expression you’re showing, because he comes closer and wraps you in a hug. you release a breath at the touch, letting yourself relax as he pats your back.

when you go to greet Sakusa, the girl is still there.

she’s sticking to him like a leech.

you try to get rid of the rude thoughts as you approach. she didn’t deserve your jealousy, nobody did. because you did this to yourself.

“Hi, Kiyo.” you smile.

he smiles back at you, and though it is small, it’s there. something in you settles when you think about how far the two of you have gotten.

the girl beside him is looking at the two of you curiously, but all you do is give her an awkward grin and turn back to Kiyoomi.

“Um, I just wanted to say good luck. I have a surprise for you, i’ll give it to you after the game.”

he raises a brow, intrigued. “You can’t give it to me now?”

you huff out a laugh. “No, silly. It’s a reward for you playing today. I know you’ll do well regardless of the outcome.”

his face smoothes out as he nods, “Okay, I’ll be waiting then.”

without another word you wave and turn around, walking to the seats and taking one in the front. you feel odd being the first to leave, but it was clear that the girl was not going to her seat until the game started. and while you’d like to talk to Kiyoomi more, you know you have to control yourself before you do something stupid like show him your jealousy.

the game goes by quickly, with your university winning the match. you cheer loudly, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. it’s times like these that you truly cherish the joy in life. even though you hadn’t played in the game yourself, you can practically feel the positive energy radiating off of the players, and it fills you with excitement.

you run down and across the court, moving to hug your friends as you congratulate them.

“Y/n are you going to come with us to get dinner? Please say yes!” Bokuto widens his eyes, bottom lip curling into a pout.

you smile, happy to be included but knowing you have to decline. “Sorry, Kou. I already have plans with Kiyoomi. Can we raincheck?”

he nods sadly, and Akaashi pats him on the back in consolation.

“Have fun at dinner! I’m going to find Kiyoomi.” you wait till they exit the gymnasium before turning around and looking for the tall dark-haired man you were enamored with.

you can’t seem to find him through the crowd and the thought has you frowning anxiously. you stumble inside the group of people, breathing out when you finally see the end of the mob. with another exhale, you look up.

you see red.

because there is Kiyoomi, with the small pretty girl in his arms as she wraps her own around his neck. their faces lean in together, and if you didn’t know any better you’d assume they were about to kiss.

without even knowing what you’re doing, you march right up and grab his arm, tugging him into you with as much force as you can muster.

he looks down at you with wide eyes, and even though his hair is damp with sweat and his shirt is sticking to his skin, you find him to be the prettiest in the room.

suddenly realizing how this looked, you let go of his arm and step back. “What were you two doing?” you ask, voice soft yet loud enough for him to hear. the crowd has begun to disperse, leaving only the team and their friends in the gymnasium.

the girl looks awkward, glancing between you and Kiyoomi before taking a step back. “Uh, I’m gonna get going now. I’ll text you later, ‘Omi.”

your eye twitches at the nickname, and when Kiyoomi simply nods at her, you feel like you’re losing your mind.

he says nothing to you as he moves to pack his things, stuffing his towel in his bag and throwing it over his shoulder. he doesn’t even glance at you as he walks out, with you trailing after him like a lost puppy.

the walk to his apartment is short, but because of the silence it feels much longer; much more painful, like every step is with your bare foot onto glass.

when you finally arrive at his place, he shuts the door and tosses his gym bag to the side before turning to you.

“Want to explain what that was?” his face is cold, and the uncaring way he speaks to you makes you nervous.

you swallow, “Shouldn’t you explain? Why were her arms… Why did it look like you two were dating, or something? Why did you let her touch you like that?”

he chuckles, though it has none of the sweetness that it is normally laced with. “Why the fuck does it matter? You’re not my girlfriend.”

surprisingly, the words don’t hurt as much as you thought they would. no, you knew that already. what really makes your skin burn is the way he looks at you.

you feel dread creep up on you, goosebumps arising on your skin as you shiver. the look in his eyes is unforgiving, a stark contrast to the normally fond gaze you are granted with.

maybe that’s why it twists the metaphorical knife that is lodged in your stomach, scarlet blood seeping out as the squelch rings in your ears. it feels far too real, you can almost see him holding the knife as it digs deeper into your flesh.

“I never liked that about you.”

it's vague, but you feel like you understand what he means regardless. you ask him to clarify despite yourself. “Never liked what?” you whisper. your hands are shaking; you hold them behind your back to conceal it.

“The way you act around me. Like we’re in a loving relationship when really, we’re just friends who sleep together sometimes.” the words spoken are firm, leaving no room for you to even question whether he means them or not.

“I’m sorry?” you sound breathless, asking him to confirm what he had already said.

his eyes darken further, and you swallow harshly at the sight.

“You need me to say more to get it through your thick skull?” he scoffs, furious, and the sound cuts into your already wounded heart.

“I don’t like the way you coddle me. I don’t appreciate when you give me your opinions on things you know nothing about.” he pauses. you wait with bated breath, wondering how much more your heart could take.

“And, god, I really fucking hate when you show up at my games and smother me in front of everyone. It’s uncomfortable, and then you put me on the spot and act like you’re my fucking girlfriend.”

it feels like someone has plunged their hand through your chest, tearing you apart as they grasp onto your beating heart; you can almost picture it, the way the mangled organ thumps erratically as crimson liquid seeps out between their fingers.

you inhale shakily, “I just… I love you, I’m sorry.”

you look up, to see who’s holding your heart hostage.

“I don’t love you. I never have, and I never will.”

it’s him.

and fuck, it’s always him.

✾

two summers from now, Sakusa knows he’ll be playing volleyball professionally, for the first time.

he’ll have finished his fourth year of university, and he will be happy.

happiness.

Sakusa doesn’t exactly understand the emotion. sure, he’s felt anxiety, rage, and satisfaction, but happiness? what did that even entail?

he sits silently, trying to drone out the professors talks of another essay, and suddenly regrets taking a psychology class. because the amount of writing it required was a bit too much, even for him.

and then his thoughts go back to happiness.

oftentimes, Sakusa is told he looks mean; grouchy. and yet, he remembers an old conversation with Atsumu.

“So… you and Y/n?” Atsumu drawled.

Sakusa sighs, moving to pack up his things in the locker room. “It’s not like that, don’t go spreading anything.”

the blond raises his hands in mock surrender, wet hair sticking to his forehead. “Hey! I would never!”

and then he grins, though not as obnoxious as usual. it’s more kind, if anything, and Sakusa doesn’t know what to make of it.

“I’m just saying, ya seem a lot less grumpy these days. Happier.”

Sakusa pauses, staring at the chipped paint on the wall.

Atsumu sighs, swinging his bag over his shoulder as he moves to exit. “She’s good for ya, ‘Omi.” he pats his shoulder twice on his way out. “Don’t fuck it up, man.”

Sakusa stiffens; not at the action, but at his words. he quickly places everything in his bag before zipping it up and heading home.

if he’s a bit dazed at practice the next day, no one says anything.

when Sakusa lays in bed, he recounts the last time he spoke to you.

it’s been two weeks, and even though time has passed, it feels like just yesterday you were standing in his kitchen with your heart on your sleeve, letting him use it however he wished.

he remembers feeling furious at you, for so obviously disrespecting one of his good high school friends. and then you hadn’t even apologized, you’d instead pushed at him even more.

and then… he ruined everything.

he remembers the look on your face, the pure heartbreak in your irises as he carelessly spewed words he knew would hurt you.

it was not surprising when he walked into practice two days later to see glares of contempt by some of his teammates, who he knew were your friends. even Atsumu had looked at him and shook his head, and some part of him burned with shame. his mistakes were on display for everyone to see, and although he wanted to pull his walls even higher, he felt too distraught at the potential loss of you to bother.

he remembers laying in bed that night, finally deciding to break the silence between the two of you. but with a simple, ‘I’m sorry. Can we talk?’ he was able to find out that he was blocked.

he felt ice run through his veins, pausing at the vibrant red letters, spelling Not Delivered. he quickly opened Instagram and Twitter and found you had him removed and blocked there as well.

fuck.

he had really done it now, hadn’t he? he so naively believed that you simply needed space, and once he gave you a sincere apology the two of you could go back to the way things were; that you two could explore whatever non-platonic feelings he was beginning to develop for you.

but once he realizes the gravity of the situation, he wonders what the point is of experiencing love for the first time if it ends here.

it can’t end here.

he makes it his mission to try to meet you.

first he showed up to your Thursday class, knowing it ended at noon and you had a two-hour gap between your next one. he has a coffee in one hand and a freshly baked donut in the other. he drove across town to grab it, knowing it was your favourite. he knows a mere donut cannot make up for what he said to you, but it felt wrong coming empty handed to reconcile with you. not when you deserved everything and more.

except when you see him, you immediately turn and walk in the opposite direction.

the action stings, and he sighs once you are out of view. the bag with the donut in his hand feels heavy, his hand tingling with the rejection. he knew you wouldn’t forgive him so easily, but it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

I deserve this, he acknowledges.

I deserve this and worse.

it’s the next week when he has the chance to see you again; he knows you’re working, often meeting you at the cafe to pick you up and take you to his place home.

so with a deep breath, he walks in. the door bell chimes loudly, and he curses mentally when he realizes how deserted the place is at the moment. there’s only a few people inside; a man sitting in the corner as he types furiously on his laptop. a woman and two others sitting on the side as they sip on what he assumes is coffee or tea.

and then he looks to the front, where you stand, and your eyes are on him.

the moment he takes a step forward, you stumble back, as if burned. he stops, unsure if he should keep walking or simply say something as he stands ten feet away from you.

unfortunately for him, you seem to come back to reality and swiftly open the door where it explicitly states STAFF. a moment later, one of your coworkers walks out with their customer service smile, and he deflates.

third time’s a charm, he says to comfort himself. but even he knows it won’t be that easy.

it’s friday, and even though he had no idea if you’d be home, he figured it was worth a shot. so that’s how he finds himself at your door, with a bouquet of white Tulips in his arms.

“Hi! Is there anything I can help you with?”

he jumps slightly when he hears a high-pitched voice coming from behind him, turning around and smoothing out his face.

“I’m not sure.” he states quietly.

“That’s okay! Is there anything in specific you’re looking for? A colour, or a meaning, perhaps?”

he frowns; it feels like all he’s been doing is frowning lately. “Uh, maybe something bright? Or… something that symbolizes forgiveness?”

she smiles sympathetically, and he wonders what expression he must be showing to warrant such a response from a stranger.

and that’s how he finds himself here. he shuffles on his feet, clutching the flowers to his chest protectively. with a soft inhale, he raises his fist and knocks.

silence.

he rings the doorbell this time, and still nothing.

he exhales quietly, his head dropping as he stares at the old carpet that covered the hallways in your apartment building. he’s been here so many times with you, but now he sees nothing but the back of your door and he has nobody but himself to blame.

he stands in front of your place for an hour, mindlessly staring at the wall as he recalls his words to you. how you’d handed your heart to him with your bare hands, only for him to treat it as though it meant nothing to him.

so on Sunday, he lays in bed and recounts the last two weeks.

he wants to wallow in self-pity, but then he hears banging on his door and wonders which unlucky soul will encounter his wrath.

he swings the door open, face emotionless and mouth ready to open and hurl insults at the other, until he sees his one and only cousin, Komori.

“Hey man!” his cousin smiles, innocent and happy.

Sakusa hates it.

his shoulders slump as all anger vanishes, exhaustion left in its wake. “What are you doing here, Moyota,”

he walks back to his room as Komori closes the door. “because if you can’t tell, i’m busy.”

Komori snorts, “Busy doing what? Moping?”

Sakusa glares at him, but in his disheveled state he merely looks like a feral wounded puppy. he crawls back under his covers, face smushed inside his pillow as he feels the other side of the bed dip.

“Get your outside clothes off my bed, Moyota.”

he hears a huff before the pressure is gone, and wills himself to sleep.

“Listen, I know you’re upset about what happened with Y/n, but sitting in your sadness won’t get you anywhere.”

Sakusa continues to lay there. “Mhm.”

Komori ignores the dry response, “There’s a party on Friday. You should go.”

“Why should I go to a party? You want me to drink my sorrows away?” his voice comes out muffled but he’s sure Komori can hear him regardless.

“Y/n will be there.”

that gets his attention. he sits up, the covers pooling at his waist as he crosses his arms. “How do you know?” his eyes narrow.

Komori rolls his eyes, “Because, I overheard Kuroo asking her to come on the phone. Something about him finding her someone new to replace you.”

he clenches his fists, feeling the burn of jealousy take over. replace him? he knew you were well-liked in your program, often waving at people whenever the two of you walked together on campus. he was not ignorant of the stares you’d get from fellow students. but it didn’t matter then because he knew his eyes were on you, and yours were on him.

but now everything’s different.

now, your eyes are not solely on him. the thought has his chest hurting in a way that he can only describe as a stabbing pain.

“I’ll go.”

✾

the week passes by too slow for Sakusa, but he knows it’s only because he’s missing you. when friday arrives, he’s feeling somewhat optimistic about meeting you and hopefully reconciling.

he scrunches the products in his hair, freshly washed from the shower. he’s wearing black slacks and a matching button-up. he places a few rings on his hands and moves to dry his hair with a cotton t-shirt once more before exiting his room.

“About time, dude. Why is your hair routine so complicated?” his cousin complains from his place on the couch, looking at him expectantly.

Sakusa grabs his keys on the counter, “My hair isn’t pin-straight, that’s why. Why are you still sitting down, let’s go.”

Komori rises with a shake of his head as he walks to the front door and slips on his shoes. Sakusa waits for him to leave before locking the door and following him to his car.

the drive seems unreasonably fast, and his palms feel sweaty as he wipes them on his pants. he’s suddenly thankful he chose to wear black bottoms.

when he walks inside the house, he’s immediately hit with the smell of alcohol and sweat. it’s absolutely disgusting, and he has to remind himself why he’s there as he takes another step forward.

“Let’s go to the back! It’ll be less busy there!” Komori raises his voice, but Sakusa can just barely hear his words. he nods and follows his cousin to another room, breathing out in relief when he notices there are fewer people.

Sakusa subtly shuffles towards an empty corner, knowing Komori is following him. he turns around, leaning on the wall, “These people are revolting. When is Y/n getting here?”

Komori scratches his head, tapping at his phone with one hand. “Not sure, let me check with my friends. I’ll ask where Kuroo is.”

he scowls, “Why would that matter?”

“Because he wouldn’t leave her alone at a party.” Komori shrugs. “They’re real close.”

something in his chest feels tight at his cousins words. you and Sakusa were once close; and if you forgave him, he’d let you be even closer. he just has to apologize and hopefully smooth everything over.

a part of him itches to go and search for you himself. he feels on edge, knowing you are so close yet so far away. it unsettles him, the thought that if you don’t forgive him he’ll have to watch you from afar, and accept that someone will love and care for you all the ways he didn’t.

but - does he love you? he cares for you, immensely at that. but does he love you?

he thinks about your pretty eyes, always filled with affection. he thinks about your ability to make people feel comfortable around you within minutes. he thinks about your small hands, your shy smile, the feeling of your hair when he twirls a lock around his finger as you lay in his bed. he thinks about how you look with the sun seeping through the crack in the curtains, skin glowing and lips slightly parted as you exhale softly.

his heart beat echos in his ears. he feels a flush take over his face and places the back of his hand on his forehead. he suddenly feels hot.

maybe he has a fever? but so suddenly? he swallows, the sound echoing in his head.

and then he finally sees you, drink in hand as you throw your head back and laugh.

his heart beats loudly in his chest.

he places a hand above it, feeling the erratic thumps beneath his palm.

ah.

so he loves you.

-

Sakusa waits.

he waits in the corner, a drink in his hand, courtesy of Komori as he subtly stares at you from across the room.

it’s been about an hour, and you’ve yet to notice him. he cherishes the time, observing you from afar. he watches you giggle and wrap your arms around your friends, the gaping hole you’d left in his heart the moment you walked out of his life grows by the minute.

he’s contemplating what to do when you finally lock eyes with him.

he watches the smile slowly slip off your face, something akin to agony colouring your eyes.

he begins to walk towards you, not breaking eye contact for a second. it's like he's entranced. and when he’s right in front of you, he feels breathless; like your existence has left him at a loss for words.

“Hey.”

his voice comes out rough, and he clears his throat when your lips tug downwards.

your friends are looking at him with distaste, even Bokuto who normally sports a happy grin seems fairly upset. it makes him realize what a huge fuck-up he is.

he shifts on his feet, “Can we talk?”

Kuroo answers for you. “No, you can’t. You’ve said enough to her.” he steps in front of you, shoulders pushed back.

Sakusa feels irritation bubble in his chest, but pushes it down, knowing that Kuroo has a reason to be protective over you.

“I just want to apologize. And, confess something.” his voice comes out more desperate than he thought it would. it sounds fragile, even to his own ears.

Kuroo deflates, if only slightly. “It’s still a no. Find someone else to mess around with.”

“I'm not messing around. I just, I need to talk to her. Please.” the cup in his hand is beginning to bend, the cheap plastic cracking as the drink sloshes around.

Kuroo opens his mouth to what he assumes refuse him again, until a small hand grabs onto his arm and steps in front of him.

he watches as you let go of Kuroo, looking more composed than you had been before.

“It’s okay, Tetsu. I can handle this.” your voice makes his skin tingle. he realizes how much he’s missed it.

Sakusa’s shoulders drop in relief. he feels so happy that you decided to talk to him, he doesn’t even care that your friends are glaring him down.

“But-”

you cut Kuroo off, “Really, it’s fine. I’ll text you if I need anything.”

Kuroo looks like he wants to argue, but you give him a look that has him backing down.

he huffs, “Fine. Just be careful. Call me if he does anything.”

Sakusa stops himself from scoffing, annoyed with Kuroo’s words. what would he do at this point? what could he possibly do to make things worse than they already are?

you pat Kuroo on the arm and walk past Sakusa, turning back. “Let’s go.” you don’t wait for a response before continuing, and he follows you without a glance at your friends.

he tries to control his breathing, attempting to keep it steady as you enter the backyard. it’s empty, the chilly night air keeping everyone inside.

you turn around, crossing your arms. “So? You wanted to talk?”

he licks his lips, rubbing his forearm with his hand. he’s thankful that he threw his drink out at the garbage can near the back door. he can feel his hands shaking, and hopes you don’t notice.

“Yeah.” he exhales, “How have you been?”

you shrug, expression guarded. “Fine.”

he nods, expecting the dry answer but still feeling a bit dejected.

“I miss you.”

the words come out so abruptly. the two of you stare at each other in shock, and he almost raises a hand to cover his mouth.

god, why did he just say that?

you laugh, but it comes out less genuine than he’s ever seen. “You should be happy you don’t have someone pretending to be your girlfriend, right?”

his face drops, and he knows whatever expression he’s showing is not as stoic as he thought. because with one glance at his face you look like you almost regret your words.

“I was.. I was so fucking stupid that night. I know you have no obligation to forgive me, but please let me apologize.”

you stare at him silently, before nodding.

Sakusa breathes out, “I’m sorry. Nothing I said was true. I was just… angry. Not at you, at myself. I had been denying how I felt for so long and when you asked me who that girl was, I just lost it.”

he stares at the grass rather than your face, not wanting to know if you look at him with an unforgiving gaze. “I realized that I had unintentionally entered a sort of- relationship with you. I was scared. I still am.”

he lifts his gaze finding your wide eyes. “It was an unintentional relationship, but I wouldn’t have done anything different.”

he pauses, “Of course, except when I ruined everything. I’ve stayed up every night since it happened thinking about how I could have responded differently.” his lips tug up, the expression bitter.

“Because it was after that I realized my feelings for you.”

your brows furrow, your eyes darting around his face in pure confusion. “What are you saying, Sakusa?”

he ignores the ache of you using his last name, “That I have feelings for you.”

the silence is deafening as crickets chirp in the silent night.

“I love you, Y/n.”

you stagger back, as if wounded. you shake your head, “No, no. You don’t love me, Sakusa.”

he doesn’t understand your response. sure, you wouldn’t be elated. he knew you were still upset. but you look like you genuinely don’t believe him, like you refuse to believe him. he feels like he’s going to collapse if you walk away without acknowledging his feelings.

“What? I’m serious, Y/n. I love you.” he reaches a hand out, drawing back when you flinch.

“I’m in love with you.” he whispers.

you look at him, as though he has caused you immense pain, before turning away and running back into the house.

Sakusa stands there, alone in the dark.

he wonders if love is supposed to be so painful; if he will always be the one to inflict the pain, cause the heartache, and leave everything in ruins.

✾

"Shit." you curse as you stare at the empty fridge in front of you. an old bar of havarti cheese and two stale apples stare mockingly at you.

so perhaps you haven't gone grocery shopping in quite a while, but you've been busy! with assignments, your friends, and... Sakusa, you have had too much on your head to worry about things like restocking your fridge.

but now it's nearly midnight, and you have yet to eat dinner. your stomach rumbles at you, and you press a hand to it in annoyance.

you can skip a meal, it's not the end of the world.

but then your stomach rumbles again, and it's starting to feel extremely uncomfortable.

you check your phone, just to see if you can order in. but with one glance at the delivery price, you click your phone off. you stare at the sad-looking apples and cheese once more, making up your mind.

the convenience store is about a ten-minute walk, five if you run.

without another thought, you grab a hoodie from the coat rack and put it on. you pick up your apartment keys and slip into your shoes, bracing yourself for the cold air.

the walk ends up being somewhat soothing, the normally lively city is quieter. you use the time to think about your relationship - or lack thereof, with Sakusa. you still remember when he professed his love for you two weeks ago.

you remember rushing back into the party and telling your friends you had to leave. Kuroo drove you home, and you spent the night eating leftover icecream and binging Jujutsu Kaisen.

why couldn't you date someone like Gojo?

but then you think someone calmer, more steady would suit your personality well. someone who you could rely on and with a bit of sarcasm perhaps. someone who has dark hair; you always liked curly hair on men.

someone like him.

Sakusa Kiyoomi.

your thoughts are cut off when you finally get to the store. the lights are bright underneath the dark sky, the bell chiming when you open the door. you quickly grab a few rice balls, and walk to the cashier. it takes you a total of three minutes to get what you want, before you're walking back out with a plastic bag in hand.

you look up as you walk, the stars twinkling prettily. they remind you of his eyes.

you really wish you could stop thinking about him.

Sakusa makes you feel like you've caught a never-ending sickness. like you will wake up each day with your chest in pain, with your eyes swollen from crying paired with your unstable emotions.

its exhausting, you think; caring about people to a point where they cannot understand or reciprocrate your feelings. and then you always end up like this. alone. you wonder how long it will take for the other people you cherish to leave you too.

your thoughts come to a halt when you hear footsteps behind you.

its dark outside, the streetlights only providing a dim yellow glow as you walk. when you turn your head, you notice a man in a hood. your heart immediately plummets.

fuck, what had you been thinking? you should have ordered delivery, screw the price! the money wasn't worth your life.

you walk faster, noticing the person speeding up their steps. your breathing is becoming heavier, and you can feel your legs trembling as you continue to walk. you know you can't go home, otherwise he will know where you live.

you make a detour to head to a park you've been to many times. it was about a five-minute walk from your place, and the thought has you walking faster anxiously.

when you hear his footsteps draw closer, you turn your head and see he is much closer than before.

your breath hitches, and you find yourself tearing up in fear.

you are about to resort to an offensive stance, prepared to swing your bag of riceballs at his head when you bump into something.

you gasp loudly, flinching so harshly at the suddenness of the situation. you look up, finding familiar dark eyes. they look at you with bewilderment, but all you can think about is the pure relief that pools in your stomach, the tears building up in your eyes finally falling.

you rush forward and wrap your arms around him, breathing in the familiar scent. your shoulders are trembling, but they calm slightly when you feel an arm wrap around your waist and the other smooth over your upper back.

he looks over your shoulder, and you are unsure what expression he is showing. "Did you need something?" his voice comes out deep and - angry. you wonder if you are hallucinating the protectiveness that coats his tone. his arms tighten around you further, causing you to relax in his embrace.

you wait, body stuck to his. you hear footsteps retreating, and breathe out shakily.

"He's gone." he says, voice low.

you nod, but you stay in your position for a few minutes, content to bury yourself in his embrace after such a terrifying situation.

"Kiyoomi?" you look up, placing your hands on his chest.

he tilts his head downwards, "Are you okay? He didn't do anything, did he?" his brows are furrowed, lips pursed. he looks extremely concerned, and you feel surprised that he seems to care about you so much.

you shake your head slowly, "No, he didn't do anything. I'm - i'm fine." you lick your lips, trying to convince yourself to believe your own words.

Sakusa doesn't answer you, but he does turn his head and glance back before looking down at you. "I'll walk you home. Are you okay to walk? I can carry you."

you don't have much energy left, but you manage to laugh anyway. "I can walk, thank you."

you gently push at his chest, even though you want to continue to stay in his arms. you don't have that privilege any longer, and you shouldn't have assumed you had it in the first place.

you nod, however, and accept his offer to walk you home. you'll let yourself be selfish just this once, and then you'll let him go.

the walk back is silent, but Sakusa sticks close to you. you feel safe with him next to you, regardless of the fact that he hurt you so deeply.

he seems to protect you from others, but never from himself and his words. you sigh tiredly at the thought.

when you get to your apartment, he insists on walking you up. once at your door, you look at him and shuffle on your feet awkwardly.

"Uh, thanks for helping me back there and walking me home. I'll go inside now." you reach for your doorknob but he grabs your hand, pulling you closer. his head dips down, and he closes his eyes with a sigh.

"Please, just talk to me. I can't handle this." his voice makes you shiver, and you curse your body for reacting that way to him.

you lick your lips, "Can't handle what?"

he opens his eyes, tilting his head further down to catch your gaze. "You being mad at me. You ignoring me. Please, tell me what I need to do to fix this."

the two of you are standing so close, your cheeks heat up at the proximity. he still makes you so nervous after two years of knowing him, and the thought has you annoyed with your weak heart.

a shaky breath escapes your lips. "I don't know. You really hurt me, Sakusa."

he looks at you, face pained. like you being upset is causing him pain, and your chest aches to make him feel better.

"I'm sorry, I love you."

the words bring you back to that night, where you bared your heart to him and he trampled on it without a thought. you feel the urge to let more tears slip out, but you are tired of crying over people that do not care for you. you are tired of being the one that loves more.

but he looks different now. his eyes are filled with remorse, and you want to kiss his frown away. maybe, just maybe, this time you wouldn't be the one who loved too much for their own good.

he wipes a thumb underneath your eye, swiping over your cheek. you hadn't even realized you were crying until the concern in his face grew. it makes you feel embarrassed and angry at yourself, but you can’t find it in you to refuse his comfort.

"You don't mean that, Kiyoomi." your voice cracks involuntarily.

he shakes his head pushing your foreheads closer to one another. "I do, I mean it. I'll say it a million times until you believe me."

you huff out a shaky breath. "A million times is a bit dramatic."

"I'd do it for you." he moves his head to the side, pressing a kiss to your temple. the action has butterflies erupting in your stomach, unused to something so innocently romantic.

"You realize we have a lot to talk about? It won't be easy. I can't forgive you so quickly." you lean closer, tilting your head up.

he leans his head downwards. "I know. I'm sorry, just give me a chance and we can talk about it. I'll work hard to make you forgive me." the words are whispered close to your lips, his breath hitting your face. the minty scent is so Kiyoomi, it has your heart fluttering.

you know you have a lot to talk about. you can't just gloss over the month you spent apart, and you would have to talk to your friends about your choice to give him another chance. it would be difficult, and a risk. you were tired of pouring love into people who could not understand its substance.

but perhaps you can hope; you can hope that this time things will be different. that you'll love someone who will love you back all the same.

"Okay." you say softly.

he smiles, and you wonder if you are imagining the glassy look in his eyes. "Okay?"

you nod, whispering once more. "Yeah, okay."

he tilts his head down and captures your lips with his own, one arm sliding around your waist and the other in your hair, tugging you impossibly close.

you gasp into it, not expecting the desperation that leaks from his lips. he pushes you against the wall, with you wrapping your arms around his neck.

tomorrow, you'd have a lot to think about. you'll have to talk to him and figure out what's in store for the two of you. you will also have to face people who will surely disagree with your decision.

but that was a problem for the future.

for now, you're content to focus on the warm lips on your own.

EXTRA:

"So, what happened with that girl anyway?" your cheek is smushed on Kiyoomi's chest as the two of you lay in bed. you had come over to his place after his practice, and you were enjoying the skinship and cuddles.

he shifts underneath you, "Which girl?" his voice is drowsy, and you know he's falling asleep. you can't help yourself though, you've been curious.

you lift your head, smiling at his tired eyes. "The one from the game. She kept touching you."

you watch recognition fill his eyes as he hums, "She asked me to grab a coffee a few days after the game. Haven't responded though."

you nod, satisfied. "Are you going to? Respond, that is."

he turns, large arm wrapping around you. "Why would I do that when I have you? I'd rather the both of us get coffee sometime."

you laugh, "Are you asking me out on a date, Sakusa Kiyoomi?"

he smiles sleepily, planting a kiss on your forehead. "Yes. Let's get coffee soon."

you giggle, snuggling closer. "Okay, sounds good to me."

the surprise you had wanted to give to him after the game sits on his wall, framed and beside his bed. the drawing is one of your best, filled with the overwhelming love you know you could only ever offer to Kiyoomi.

love has always been something daunting for you. to love so wholeheartedly meant the likelihood of someone hurting you was greater. but you don't regret anything, not the slightest bit.

because you know how much love you have to offer, and as long as its to the right person, you know he'll keep your heart safe.

you love him, and you're not sorry.

a/n: 9.7k words later i refuse to read this again:’)

[yoongifis]

💌 switching positions | myg

where the boy that you’ve got wrapped around your finger works his hardest to change his position from a somewhat friends-with-benefit to an official relationship with you. [and hes not the only one who will be switching positions ;)] *if you haven’t read ‘fxck a fxckboy’ yet, i suggest to read it before reading this! or don’t :p do as you wish!*

pairing: flirty/smartass!y/n x fuckboy!yoongi

; warnings: ass grabbing, ass slapping, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, fingering, creampie, cock warming, blowjobs, handjobs breastplay, usage of sex toys, masturbation, usage of mature words, some dirty talk, jealous yoongi

; genre: smut (18+), pwp

; wc: 11k (hooooly sheeeeiiit)

a/n: SHES FINALLY HERE AAAAHH!! a little continuation of fuckboy yoongi~ hehe! very very sorry it took me so long! i had this in the drafts for a while and was slowly building it throughout the year :v now i've gotten busy bc your girl got into nursing school :') don't get me wrong though, i'll do my best to put out some writings here and there bc i do enjoy doing this :p i also wanna say thank you so much for showing so much love to the original 'fxck a fxckboy' fic!! i didn't expect it to gain that much attention, so i was pretty hyped to see a lot of people enjoying it :D i really hope you guys enjoy this one <3 it's just a little somethin' to fulfill your fuckboy yoongi needs hehehe. fair warning though, this is literally pure smut with no sort of plot (call me a horny mofo lmfaoooo). please ignore my grammatical errors :') i'll fix them at some point when i am notttt lazy ! :p

-

“Yoongi, could you quit it? I’m trying to help you study for your exam!”

The two of you were in one of your university library’s study rooms—which included a whiteboard, a table, and a couple of chairs in a somewhat small amount of space. Out of all the seats that were around the table and the free space this room has to offer, he chose to stand right behind you, hands wrapped around your waist as his head rests on the back of your shoulder as you wrote things on the whiteboard. 

He’s groaning out of boredom. 

“But isn’t this supposed to be a date?”

You snort with a chuckle, “yeah—a study date.”

You went a couple more rounds on the day you first slept with each other (and damn did he go crazy). After that, you told him you didn’t want to fuck him without being “official” because it felt like you were one of his little flings. He respected that, and really held himself back (although he does manage to sneak some kisses from you here and there to get his daily dose of you). He became eager to get you to be his girlfriend, but like you said you wanted to go on dates before you can agree.

And that’s what he did.

He’s been making everything into a date. And so far, he’s taken you on plenty.

Work on assignments together at the school library? (study) Date. 

Drive around town, enjoying the views as you guys talked? (car-ride) Date.

Watch a movie at his place with all the snacks he bought just for you? (movie night) Date. 

How about the two of you make dinner together? (cooking) Date.

It was cute. Something you’d never expected from him. Did he always have this romantic, sweet, and cheesy side to him? You could tell he is trying to keep his promise—take you on a bunch of dates till you agree to be his girlfriend. It may seem a bit too much, but due to his past history you wanted to make him wait and work hard for the ‘boyfriend title’—which he was willing to do. 

“Still a date,” he mumbles.

Yoongi’s squeezing you tightly, bringing his head to the crook of your neck, lips just slightly brushing against your skin. 

“Yoongi, you’ve got to study. They’re not going to let you graduate if you don’t pass this class. This is what you get for always skipping.”

“I just don’t understand that calculus shit. And I can’t study when you’re around.”

“You don’t even like it when I’m not around—but it somehow has to be me that has to help you with studying.”

“Exactly.”

You’re chuckling again at how cute he was. How is it that he was one of the biggest fuckboys at your school and now he’s the biggest simp for you?

“How about we make a deal?”

He hums, “I’m listening.”

“Pass the class and I’ll give you whatever you want.”

His head shoots up. “Whatever I want?” He repeats.

“And I’ll stop your suffering and agree to be your girlfriend.”

It’s like a whole switch went off in his body; he was ready to get going.

“You don’t have to tell me twice, princess,” he’s removing his hold around you, finally taking a seat with a pencil in his hand and a paper in front of him as he looks at you, “if that’s all it’s going to take for me to be your boyfriend, I’ll do it.”

—

Of course, Yoongi left himself with only two days to study for his final exam. It may seem like not enough time, but one thing you learned about him is that he can get really determined to do something especially if he gets some type of reward from you. 

He surprisingly locked himself in his room (according to Hoseok), and was trying to do things on his own. He also did not contact you at all that day—making that day the first time the two of you haven’t hung out or contacted each other since the day you both had that little confession session.

You didn’t want to admit it, but you were honestly missing Yoongi despite it only being a day. You’ve gotten so used to having him constantly around you that him not being right next to you felt so off. 

These feelings must’ve been bothering you so much because now you’re at the front door of his apartment with an early dinner of take-out in your hand, waiting for Hoseok to open the door.

“He’s still in his room—the doors unlocked this time which is new. I would have loved to join you guys but I promised to go out with the other boys,” he pauses. “…I did ask Yoongi to join me but he told me to ‘get lost’, so—,” he grumbles under his breath as he makes his way around you.

You laugh at him.

“No worries, Hoseok. Just go have fun.”

The two of you switch places, with his hand still on the door handle as he’s about to head out.

“I should be saying that to you guys,” he wiggles his eyebrows at you, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Yoongi’s right! Get lost already!!” You gently hit the side of his arm as he laughs at your reaction. “Don’t be so weird.”

“Who said it had to be those things? I never said that,” he laughs, but you roll your eyes at him. “Go out, watch a movie, or cook—whatever to get him up and out of his room. That guy isn’t even getting enough rest like usual and barely ate today and yesterday. I’ve literally never seen him like this before—he’s actually studying pretty hard for his exam.”

You’re thinking to yourself, giving him a little nod before he says his final goodbye and shuts the door.

God—Yoongi is really serious about this.

You knock before you enter, only to be faced with Yoongi at his desk, tons of loose paper scattered everywhere and crumpled ones on the floor. He didn’t even notice you until you said his name, his focus from the lecture playing on his laptop switched to you when he glanced over his shoulder.

“Babyy,” he mumbles lowly, a little smile on his mouth.

You’re walking towards him, expecting his eyes to stay on you but they don’t. He’s listening to whatever lecture he had on, scribbling down whatever. It kind of hurt a little. You were too used to having his attention all on you.

“Have you eaten? I brought some take out.”

All he does is shake his head, still focused on his work.

A small pout on your face appears, upset with how he was. You put the bag filled with food onto the floor, next to the drawers of his desk. You take a step closer to him, a hand immediately going to his head to run your fingers through his messy hair. You gently massage his scalp with the pads of your fingers, leaning over to take a look at his work. The only sound that could be heard between you two was the lecture that he had playing.

“Look at you, working so hard,” you broke the silence, “you literally weren’t able to be like this at the library.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just a little “uh-huh”. It was more of a little grunt in agreement. 

It bothered you that he wasn’t talking to you like usual. No hands or eyes all over you—nothing! 

You remove your hands away from him.

“Yoongi, don’t you want to relax with me for a little bit?”

It was obvious you were pouting again—you can just hear it as you spoke.

“Can’t, baby. I’m sorry,” he mumbles. He didn’t even bother to glance over at you or complain how you removed your hand from his head. 

“Not even just for a little?”

You hear him exhale, the small action enough to make your heart sink just a little.

“Baby, I’m a little busy. Go lay in my bed and rest for me over there, yeah? I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

Now that definitely hurt.

He didn’t even take a look at you again! Not one glance.

Without a word, you sat on his bed. Eventually you quietly lay down, taking your phone out to scroll through your apps even though you’d much prefer to be talking or hanging out with Yoongi. 

The silence and sound of his lecture videos and the small scratches of his pencil on his paper echos in the room.

Who would have thought you’d ever see Yoongi ignoring you or not be all over you when you’re in the same room as him?

You immediately got to thinking.

And it hit you.

You toss your phone somewhere on the bed, getting up and making your way to Yoongi. You stood next to him, watching the way he doesn’t even acknowledge your presence. He sits there silently, carefully watching his lecture. When you see the right moment, you turn his chair a bit towards you, giving you enough room to squeeze your way through and sit on his lap while facing him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Baby—,” he sighs, “I told you I’m busy right now. I can’t have you on me like this.”

“But babyyy I miss youuu,” you whined, “can’t I get a recharge?”

You notice him completely freeze, slowly taking in what just happened—it was the first time in forever where you didn’t call him by his name.

You mentally smirk to yourself.

Now that’s what you were waiting for. 

He swallows hard, keeping his composure. 

“Yeah?” He hums, “I have the test tomorrow and I’m trying to get a good grade on it. If I let you sit here with me, you gotta promise me that you won’t distract me. This test means a lot to me. Got that, baby?”

You tighten your hold around him, nestling your head against the side of his neck. You nod your head at his words. Not because you agree or that you’d promise to follow his conditions. It was just for the sake of his sanity.

He clears his throat, hitting the play button and grabbing his pencil to continue scribbling down notes or whatever. 

Everything was pissing you off at the moment. 

You missed his hands being all over you and the way he’d fight his way to steal another kiss from you while you’re trying to push him away because he was always greedy for more. You wanted him to be annoyingly head over heels for you while you try to be nonchalant about it. And it’s also crazy to think that it’s only been a couple days and you’re acting like this over Yoongi not showing you the same attention as usual.

You give it some time. Patiently waiting until you thought it was time to get him all riled up—and then maybe he might just pay more attention to you. But being extremely patient at this moment is a pain in the ass, and you knew you didn’t want to drag this on forever. You move around on top of his lap, trying to somewhat grind against him as you pretend to get yourself more comfortable. You move your face closer to his neck, nuzzling your head on the top of his shoulder. You softly exhale, allowing your breath to hit and tickle his neck. 

Nothing. No reaction. 

You place your soft lips against his skin, giving him very light kisses on the same spot.

He slightly tilts his neck away without a word, causing you to huff in annoyance. You immediately bring your lips to his neck again, placing slow and gentle kisses on the side of his neck that instead lead to a spot under his ear and along his jawline.

He groans, clearly enjoying your actions but conflicted with the need to resist the temptation of you.

“Baby,” is all he says, voice sharp and stern. 

You pull away, sitting up straight to face him. 

“Enough.”

You could tell on his face that he was being serious.

Well..trying to. And it was cute—which is why he wasn’t as successful with intimidating you.

You roll your eyes at him, making your way towards him to pepper his jawline with kisses.

“But I miss youu,” you mumbled against his skin, making your way to his ear.

“…and I want you so bad, babyyy.”

You hear him mumble a “fuckin’ hell” under his breath and his hands creep underneath your thighs. He’s picking you up and you wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck tightly. In no time, you feel your back hit against the bed. You watch him adjust himself so that he’s eye level with you as he hovers above you. Just by the look of his dark eyes, you knew you were in for it. 

“Yoongi—,” you squeaked.

“Hm?” He hums, voice rough. 

The atmosphere around him felt different this time. It was just hard to point out what it was. Nevertheless, you brushed it off. As desperate this may sound, you were finally getting what you wanted and you’re not going to let anything get in the way. All you wanted right now was him because—fuck—you miss him. 

“Please—,” you mumble.

It felt embarrassing to be underneath him like this with his hungry eyes beaming at you—and that’s all he’s been doing for the past how many minutes that felt like an eternity. You watch his eyes flicker from your eyes and down to your lips, clearly tempted to just devour you then and there but he doesn’t. He shifts in his position, bringing his right thigh in between your legs and pressed against your crotch, giving you the opportunity to grind against him—cuz fuck, you couldn’t help it. You wanted to be touched—you needed him to do something to help you get some relief but he didn't do anything.

He watches you carefully. The way your eyes flutter shut and open slowly as you attempt to grind against his thigh, begging for him to do something.  God, you were just so fucking tempting. But he couldn’t.

Instead, he brings his head to the side of your neck, peppering a messy line of light kiss along it. He leads the trail up towards the side of your jaw, almost mimicking exactly what you were doing earlier. Once he makes it to the spot underneath the lobe of your ear he pulls away.

“What do you want, princess?” He softly speaks into your ear. 

The sound of his voice and the way his breath hits your skin already sends shivers down your spine. It was really just the effect he had on you, and he never failed to make you feel this way. Your mind was already drunk off him, words also didn’t seem to want to come out of your mouth.

He removes his thigh away from you and sits up, getting another good look at you before he lowers himself more till he becomes face-to-face with your abdomen as he lays in between your legs. He lifts up the oversized hoodie you wore, but only exposing your tummy. From there, he started to place slow and soft kisses from below your chest and leading down to underneath your belly button. These actions were making you go crazy—maybe it has been too long since you’ve been touched this way by Yoongi.

He stops giving your tummy kisses when he reaches the spot under your belly button, making you whine out a little “please”.

“Mmm?” He hums, looks up at you as he sits back up to admire you. “What baby? You want me to go further, don’t you?”

You nod at him, your eyes telling him that you need more.

He gives you a lopsided smile before bringing his head to the side of yours, his lips slightly grazing the shape of your ear.

“I don’t fuck just anyone anymore, remember? My girlfriend is the only person I ever want to fuck.” 

What a damn smart ass.

He’s already pulling away chuckling before you could wrap yourself around him to keep him on top of you.

“Whaat?!” You whined, “—but Yoongi!”

He’s laying in between your legs, arms wrapped around your hips as he nuzzles the side of his head on your tummy. You watch him get comfortable and his breathing slows. 

“Yoongi,” you gently pat his head in annoyance.

Silence.

“Yoongi, wake up,” you huff.

Nothing.

The exhaustion finally caught up to him and made this man fall asleep on you just like that.

You grumble to yourself in annoyance—a perfectly good plan gone to waste. You do your best to shove him off you (of course it took a couple tries). Once you finally got him off you, you took your needy ass home.

That was just it.

Hoseok could deal with this man when he gets home!

—

You honestly couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that you’re in this position right now. The Yoongi you were seeing now was a complete 180 from the one you were dealing with yesterday.

“What’s with the little outfit you have underneath your hoodie, princess? Were you already expecting me to come over?”

His smile is cheeky, the thought of you waiting for him to come home in that outfit got him smiling like crazy. 

Fuck—it  made him way too happy.

You hum, carefully picking out your words.

“I was going to film something.”

“Yeah?” His eyes widen, and his imaginary tail starts to wag. “as a congratulatory gift, huh?” 

“That… or a ‘sorry-you-failed-you’ll-get-it-next-time’ gift,” you chuckle.

He scoffs at your words.

“You thought I wouldn’t pass?”

“I mean there was a possibility, wasn’t there, Yoongi?”

He chuckles, bringing his eyes from you down to your thighs.

“You don’t get it, baby,” he hums, fingers lightly grazing down your thigh, “you told me you’d be all mine if I passed this exam.” He pauses, removing his fingers from your thigh and brings his face closer to your skin, pressing chaste kisses that lead up to your inner thigh. He gently bites down, earning a little yelp from you.

Yoongi sits up to face you eye-to-eye again, admiring the annoyed look on your cute face yet there was a slight shift in his demeanor.

“There’s no way I’d ever want to lose to a prize like that, baby. And even if I weren’t able to pass that exam, you know damn well that I’ll make sure to make you want to be mine.”

He stares at you, mentally undressing you causing him to lick his lips. The way he looked at you made you feel small, despite his eyes flickering from your eyes, down to your lips, and to your bare legs. It suddenly felt embarrassing to be wearing such an outfit under a hoodie while being in front of Yoongi. 

As if he could sense your feelings, he gets off the bed and grabs your swivel chair from your desk, placing it right in front of the end of the bed. He takes a seat, leaning back with his legs spread and arms crossed over his chest.

“Show me what you were about to film.”

“Yoongi—,” you mess with the bottom of your hoodie, pulling it down to cover yourself some more, “—you know I can’t —.”

“Show. Me.” He interrupts, words sharp. His voice was low and demanding—and you hate to admit it but it was definitely turning you on.

You swallowed hard, awkwardly clearing your throat before answering him. 

“I’m—uh—,” you croaked.

“What is it?” 

“My—um…,” you mumbled “…it’s in the drawer on your right.”

He raises an eyebrow, turning to his side to pull open the drawer of your dresser. He rummages through it without looking until he feels a particular item he can already recognize. The boy brings it out, holding it in front of him with a snicker.

“You were going to use this too?” He’s waving it around, a big smile on his face.

Your grow even more embarrassed, face flushed. You look down, avoiding his gaze as you sheepishly nod your head.

“What a treat,” he hums, “but don’t you need to prepare yourself before using your little toy?”

You lift your head up only to find him still watching you with a teasing smile. 

“Let me see how you get yourself all nice and wet, princess—then I’ll hand this over to you.”

As you’re sitting on top of your legs in a kneeling position, you bring your thighs a little closer to each other—and he immediately notices it.

He’s tipping his head upwards, giving you a signal to “go on”. 

You could just not listen to him but in all honesty, you’ve been waiting so long to become intimate with him again. And knowing him—especially from what happened the other day—he’d definitely tease the shit out of you and not give you what you want if you don’t follow his orders.

You try to brush off the nerves you were feeling, moving your legs from underneath. Your legs were spread apart, knees bent and feet on top of the bed, giving him a good view of your skimpy, sheer underwear you chose to wear today. He could already tell you were wet—just from a quick glance at your panties he’s already spotted a little wet patch.

With just your index and middle finger, you take the two digits and place them over your panties and on top of your clit, rubbing it in small and slow circles. You were already closing your eyes, throwing your head back while moaning softly. Maybe it was the effect of his presence or just him overall but you felt even more turned on than when you do this by yourself.

“Panties to the side, princess.”

You do as he says, feeling the surge embarrassment run through you, causing your face to grow hot and red. You continue to slowly rub your wet clit, with your head turned to the side as you whimper and moan all while avoiding him.

“Don’t avoid your pussy, baby. It needs some attention too,” he hums, “put a finger in.”

You look at him, biting down on your lip as you remove your fingers from your clit.

You hesitate a bit before slowly inserting your middle finger into your heat, pumping it in and out as you turn your head away from him to avoid his gaze. You bit down on your lip with enough pressure to leave indents, suppressing your moans from Yoongi.

“So good baby, you’re such a good girl.” He coos.

“Your pussy is just sucking your finger right in, princess,” he chucked, “making a whole mess just from one finger.”

You ignored his comments, torn between concentrating imagining that your fingers were his own or his cock that were filling up your pussy, or the fact that you wanted to hide yourself and your moans from the man in front of you. God, it’s embarrassing—to be exposed and to be playing with your most private part right in front of a man you were head over heels for. Yoongi, however, wasn’t having it. He thought this whole thing was the biggest turn on he’s ever had. You were the sexiest girl on earth to him, especially with the nice treat of you playing with yourself. 

“Nnnggh—ahh~!” You yelped, quickly looking down to see the man in between your legs, eyes dark as he lapped up your overflowing essence. Your movements stutter, and he takes that as an opportunity to move your hand away and replace it with his, making you a bit noisier than before. He pulls his face away, thumb playing with your clit as he keeps eye contact with you.

“There we go, baby. Don’t hide that pretty face from me,” he smirks. It was easy for him to read you—he already knew that you would try to avoid his gaze. He’s tossing your pink dildo on the bed, removing his hand from your clit. He places each hand on the back of your thigh of each leg, pressing your legs against the sides of your chest and nearly folding you in half. This position was one of his favorites—he was always able to see everything while he ate you out.

He keeps a tight hold on your legs, making sure they stay in place. He switches from using a flat tongue while moving his head side to side to using just the tip of his tongue to stimulate your sensitive and erect clit before sucking it—completely indulging in all your juices that were flowing out of you. 

“W-wait!—please!” you squealed.

He has you squirming, lifting your hips in an attempt to get it away or closer to his face. The noises he made were obscene— loud slurps, low hums. He ran his tongue up and down your slit, lapping up the essence you produced. He uses that thick piece of muscle to probe at your hole, plunging it in and out of you. He buried his face into your pussy, his tongue moving around your hole as his nose brushes against your bead, allowing him to inhale the sweetest scent of you.

He loved watching the look you had on your face—cheeks brushed red, mouth hanging open, eyebrows furrowed. It was a sexy look—and being in this position where he had a good view of your lower half and your face could almost make him cum. He removes his hold from one leg, bringing that free hand to easily slide two fingers in you as he abuses your clit with his mouth, causing you to let out a strained gasp.

“Y-yoon…gi~!” You cried.

He hums against your clit before removing himself.

“Fuck, princess—,” he curls his fingers upwards as he thrusts them into you, “—you taste so damn good.”

“Please—! Need you!”

He’s chuckling at you—thought that you looked so damn adorable that he was contemplating to tease the shit out of you or completely fuck your brains out.

“Yeah? You need my cock, huh, baby?” With his two fingers in your pussy, he uses his thumb to rub your clit, causing you to clench around him. He becomes more aggressive with his thrusting of his fingers.

“Hhhnnghh—!” You squeak, feeling yourself about to reach your high. You’re gripping onto the sheets, arching your back. Right there—it was right there. You could feel the way he was trying to get you to release. But once you almost felt that wave of pleasure, it was quickly taken away from you. Your legs shake and you clench around nothing.

“You owe me a show, princess,” the man hums, bringing the wet digits to his mouth. He spreads his two fingers apart, making a v-shape as he takes his tongue and licks around his fingers—the slick, sticky essence coating them— all while making sure to maintain eye contact with you.

“Yooonggii—,” you whined with a pout, bringing your legs together to rub your thighs against each other to feel something. “Was almost there, Yoongi~,” you mumble with a pout, innocent eyes glistening at him. 

He’s standing up as you spoke, chuckling at how desperate you looked. 

“God, you’re fucking cute.”

It was clear to him how badly you wanted him to continue. But he had to hold himself back because he just had to play around with you. The man reaches over the bed to grab the sex toy he tossed earlier, holding up to show it to you.

“I got you all ready for this, baby. Show me how you use it.”

You look at him with a flushed face, lips pouting at the fact he wasn’t going to continue what he was doing earlier. It was annoying—stopping you from cumming just because he wants to see you ride your dildo. You were hoping the pleading look on your face would change his mind—make him want to continue, but he doesn’t budge. You slightly roll your eyes at him, reposition yourself to sit up in front of him on your knees again. 

He smirks, satisfied with how well you’re listening to him even though he can see right through you. Yoongi gently tosses the dildo in front of you before taking a seat. You took the toy into your hands, holding it as if it was a foreign object to you. 

“Go on, baby.” He hums, keeping his eyes on you. He looked relaxed; slightly slouched against the chair with his legs manspreading. 

You huff, mustering up the courage and to mentally preparing yourself to do such a lewd act in front of him (even though the two of you have already slept with each other and seen one another naked and whatnot…). You lift yourself up, standing on your knees with them slightly spread apart. You hold the bottom of your hoodie underneath your chin, which exposes just your tummy, while you try to position the toy underneath you. You bring your panties to the side to expose yourself, brushing just the tip against your slit which makes you clench around nothing. You  slowly sink down once you feel yourself wrap around the tip. 

“Haaa~,” you gasp, tilting your head back as you sink down even further. You’re a whimpering, mumbling mess when you have it completely in you—and fuck has it been a long time since you’ve actually used it or been fucked by Yoongi. You allow yourself to get yourself adjusted.

He focuses on how your face scrunches up and how your mouth hangs open, since you’ve let go of the bottom part of your hoodie and is now covering where all the action was. 

You missed this feeling of being full that it was making you go crazy. You wanted to stay like this, but for some reason you felt like wanting to move. You lift your hips up in an attempt to have the toy just barely in you, but it doesn’t slide out of you so you sit down again.

“Your pussy isn’t letting it go, princess. You’re gripping it so tightly,” he chuckles, leaning forward so that he’s closer to you and the bed. “I’ll hold it for you, baby.”

You nod, lifting your legs up as you try to relax yourself, letting your dildo slide out and onto the bed. You stood there on your knees, waiting for him to do something.

He brings his hand to the bottom of your hoodie.

“Hold this up with your mouth for me, baby. Make sure this part is the part you’re holding with your mouth”

You look at him a bit weird, not fully understanding his specific request but you do it anyway. You bring the fabric up to your mouth, now completely revealing your lingerie to him.

Ah…What a smartass.

He notices you roll your eyes at him, making him chuckle. He takes the sex toy and holds it with the base in his palm.

“Alright, baby. Go at it.” He’s positioned the dildo underneath you, waiting for you to get on it again. 

The two of you make eye contact as you slowly sink down again. You feel the tip of the toy brush against your wet folds, causing you to bite down on the fabric a little harder than before. 

Why are you more excited? Is it because of Yoongi? 

Fuck, you wanted him badly.

As you slowly slide yourself down on the dildo, you’re  immediately throwing your head back again, breaking eye contact but he continues to watch you. You feel yourself reach the end of it, only for you to immediately raise your hips and again to slowly start moving up and down. You find a rhythm as you bounce on the toy, your hands finding their way to massage your breasts, massaging them with the lingerie still on as your moans are slightly muffled from the fabric in your mouth. 

“Look at you playing with yourself. You look so sexy, princess. You were going to film something like this for me, right baby?” He hums, reaching over in his pocket to take out his phone. He opens up the camera app, tilting his phone upwards to get the whole view of you and starts to record you. “I'll help you and be your cameraman—look at the camera, princess.”

At first he gets a shot of all of you—you glancing down at him and the camera with a flushed face before quickly throwing your head back, hands grabbing at your own breast over the sheer fabric covering them, your hips moving on its own as you bounced up and down. He then pans the camera to your pussy swallowing up your dildo.

“Yeah, keep moving like that, baby. You’re making such a creamy mess on your dildo like a good girl. You’re gripping so hard—fuck, baby,” he groans lowly.

He watches the way all your overflowing juices were pooling at the base of the dildo and makes sure to get a good shot of it before tossing it to the side.

“Take the hoodie off, baby.”

You do as he says, tossing the fabric somewhere on the floor. He takes in the way you looked in the skimpy piece of clothing you wore underneath. 

God, you blew him away. 

You were just so. damn. beautiful. 

The white made you look heavenly—angelic, actually. And the lacey, sheer fabric that covered you wasn’t necessary at this point, but damn did it do a good job at catching his eye. The set you had on also had some frills on it, along with a little bow in the middle of your waistband and of your bra. It all suited you—it was perfectly made for you.

He literally just couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

With his free hand, he caresses the curve of your waist to the curve of your hips. He takes a finger and curls it underneath the thin waistband of your panties, following it slowly until he removes it once he reached the middle of your thigh. Yoongi brings his hand up to your chest, using his index finger and thumb to pinch your erect nipple right through the sheer fabric.

“Haaahh~,” you stutter in your movements, letting out an airy moan.

God, he needed you so bad.

He takes the hand that is holding your dildo, flicking his wrist upwards, causing you to fall forwards and pause your movements. He slides your dildo back out, only just to slam it back in and keep it at a steady pace—fucking you with your dildo as you stay still leaning over him. His free hand goes to the side of your ass, helping you stay up.

“Yoongi—!” You whine, your arms making its way to link behind the man’s neck. Your chest is nearly pressed against his face, giving him the opportunity to grab a mouthful of your breast. 

The man encases your hard nipple through the fabric in his mouth, biting down on it enough to get another moan of his name out of your mouth.

“Nnnghh~!” You squeal, pulling him closer to you. 

He then begins to suck on your nipple, toying with the metal bar that’s pierced right through it. With how sheer the fabric is, he’s practically sucking on you rather than the fabric.

Your legs begin to shake as he starts to pick up the pace with your dildo. You could feel that high again, the same feeling you felt earlier when he was eating you out like a goddamn monster.

“Yoongi!” You chant with your mouth slightly hung open, “please! Right there—!”

He’s slamming the dildo inside you, filing you all the way. He’s hitting the spot that made you roll your eyes backwards, your mouth hanging open and spewing nonsense.

He removes himself from your breast, pulling back to take a look at your face, admiring how sexy you are. God—he can’t get over you.

“Go ahead and cum for me, baby,” he mumbles lowly, “lose yourself already.”

He uses the hand on your ass to guide you on your dildo while the other hand has it sliding in and out of you. He brings his lips to your collarbone, trailing kisses towards and up your neck.

You breathe heavily, mouth hung wide open as pleasure takes over you. It almost felt like you were being fucked by him, but it was nearly enough. 

“Yoongi—yoongi!” You chant before losing yourself. You rest your head on his shoulder, listening to your heart pound crazy while you catch your breath. 

“Good job, baby, you did so good.” He kisses the side of your head, slowly removing the dildo from your pussy, earning a little whine from you.

He lets you sit down on his clothed lap, your wetness probably leaving marks on his sweats. At this point, you could most definitely feel how hard he was right now. You lift your head up and look at him with fucked out eyes. Your hands were clasped behind his neck, while his hands rested on your waist.

You grind yourself against his hard erection, hoping he gets the hint that you wanted him now instead of having you beg for it.

The corner of his mouth lifts up to a small smirk.

He’s lifting you up as he gets you both off the bed. He’s turning around, gently bringing you down on top of the bed.

“Lie down for me, baby,” his voice low.

He gets a view of you again in your sexy lingerie. Yes, this fucking sexy ass lingerie—god, all the mental photos he has of you will definitely be on repeat in his mind. He didn’t want to remove it. I mean—it would be a waste if he had to. Just the look of you in such a pretty yet skimpy outfit made him go crazy. 

You attempt to be quick with closing your legs again, keeping some modesty. However, he was able to beat you by bringing his hands on either of your legs and pushing them slightly down to keep you wide open for him.

“So pretty,” he mumbles under his breath as he salivates at the look of your body. You grew embarrassed again, having the urge to shut your legs to cover you up but Yoongi was too strong for you.

“Can you tell me what you want next, baby?”

You already knew he was going to tease you—actually he probably just wanted to hear those words come right out of your mouth. It would be music to his ears.

“Yoongi, please…,” you mumble, “don’t you want to fuck me?” You give him the most innocent doe eyes that you could, hoping he could lose himself already.

He chuckles.

“Of course, princess,” he brings himself closer to you, taking his painful erection and grinds himself against your slick, teasing your little hole. “You want me to fuck you like this? With my clothes on? It’s making such a mess on my pants, baby.”

You bite down on your bottom lip, shaking your head no. You wanted more, and you know that he knows that already.

“Thought so,” he hums. “Be specific, baby. Tell me what you want me to do.”

You hesitate a bit, but his teasing was enough to make you more upfront with what you wanted.

“Take your clothes off too, Yoongi.”

“Mmm…were you feeling alone?”

“Extremely, Yoongi”

He chuckles as he removes every piece of his clothing from his body, tossing it wherever in the room.

“Can’t let my baby feel that way,” he hums.

Your eyes go from his to below his waist, watching him slowly remove his boxers and revealing his cock. It was thick and long, an angry red at the tip with a bit of precum oozing out. 

Your hand gravitates towards it, holding it by the base and squeezing it a little. You completely forgot how big and girthy he was. As you slide your hand up and down his cock, you got him lowly groaning while you thought to yourself about whether or not this thing could fit in you again. But fuck—you wanted him so bad. 

“…please Yoongi,” you remove your hand from his cock, looking up at him, “fuck me already.”

He’s smiling, bringing his cock closer to your core. He takes his thumb to push his cock on top of your slit, and keeps it there. He slides himself back and forth, coating himself with your slick, teasing you as he rubs the tip of his cock against your clit.

You let out a little whine from his touch. 

“Want your cock inside me, Yoongi,” you mumble.

He’s leaning forward to press a chaste kiss on your forehead, his facing hovering yours.

“It’s all yours, baby.”

He’s leans in again to steal a passionate kiss from you, while he slowly pushes his cock inside your soaked hole. You slightly pull away from him, your mouth hanging open, spewing out soft moans as he fills you up. 

He gives you the chance to get used to him being inside you. And fuck, did he miss your fucking pussy. 

He pulls his hips back, letting you miss the feeling of him filling you up before he slams himself right back into you again.

“Haaah~! Yoongi!” You say breathlessly. Your hands crawl to hold the sides of his face, as he continues to leave a trail of scattered kisses from the side of your neck and down to your chest. He’s pulling the cup of your bra down, exposing you before he latches on to your pierced nipple. 

He starts to pick up the pace as he thrusts into you; finally leaving your breasts alone with hickies that mark you as his. He stands straight to look down at you, watching you writhing underneath him. He pulls the other cup to your bra to expose the other perky and pierced breast. His eyes mesmerized by the face you were making as you were getting fucked by him, your tight pussy sucking him right up, and your tits bouncing everywhere—god it felt like they made him even harder.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he grunts as he thrusts into you, “you’re all mine, huh?”

You let out little more whimpers and moans, unable to make out any sentences. He chuckles, wanting to see you lose more of yourself. He lifts your leg and puts it over your shoulder, wanting to penetrate you even deeper. He takes his right thumb and gives it a quick lick with his tongue before placing it right on your clit, rubbing it in circles.

“Nnnggh—ah! Yoongi!” You yelp.

“My pretty girl. You take me in so well, huh?”

He watches you let out louder moan, realizing that his cock grazed your most sensitive spot.

He’s snapping his hips hard against you. He lifts his knee up to place it on the bed, angling himself so that he could continuously hit that spot that had you rolling your eyes back. He presses down on your clit harder, torturing it with quick and small tracings of a circle.

You’re mumbling nonsense, spewing out whatever came out of your mouth. He could feel you tightening around him, making him let out another groan.

He looks down at the area where you two were connected, admiring the creamy mess you were making on his dick. His eyes wander upwards to your heavenly body. Then up to your cute face, making all kinds of sounds as he pounded you—God, he’s actually going insane, he was grunting with every thrust. 

“W-wait! Haahnngh~! Yoongi!” You bring a hand to his abdomen, weakly trying to push him away as he’s drilling himself inside of you. 

“Please!” You whined, “s-something’s coming out!” 

A soft smile slowly forms on the man’s face as he watches yours—mouth hung open, nonsense whining. You were writhing underneath him, trying to get away from him but he wouldn’t let you. He presses a soft kiss on your forehead before putting more strength into his thrusts.

“Yoongi!” You yelped, letting out helpless whines as you can feel yourself about to reach your high. 

Your hands wrap around his back, your sharp nails scratching him enough to show red lines and possibly make him bleed. 

He gives a final thrust, causing you to squirt all over his pelvis area and onto the bed when he removes himself from your hole.

“Fuck…,” he grumbles under his breath.

He watches your chest move up and down, eyes closed as you’re still trying to recover from what just happened.

“You made a fucking mess, baby. You squirted all over me.”

Your eyes shot open, propping yourself up with your elbows to look down at what you did.

“I just…?” You lay yourself down again, covering your eyes in humiliation. It’s the first time you’ve done that before. “Yoongi—this is so embarrassing,” you whined.

“Embarrassing?” He’s leaning forward to kiss the back of your hands before gently removing them away from your face, eyes now on him. “That was sexy as fuck, baby.”

He’s lifting you to sit you up before he carries you again. He sits first on the edge of the bed, placing you on his lap while facing forward. Right in front of you, you had a view of the two of your naked, sweaty bodies. Hickies scatter across your chest, your legs spread apart and glistening from you making the biggest mess. You feel your cheeks grow red from looking at yourself.

He helps remove your sheer, lace bra off. His hands roam around until they glide up and down the sides of your waist.

“Look how sexy you are, baby. So, so fucking sexy.”

He’s tapping on the side of your ass, signaling for you to lift your bottom just a bit, which you did, as he helps you remove your panties. He holds his cock up, and helps you guide your hips to it. You slowly slide down on his cock, fully taking him whole, causing you to let out a shaky moan.

“Bring your feet up, baby.”

You do it, placing one foot on either side of him and near the edge of the bed. He has his chest against your back, an arm holding your waist to keep you steady while his other hand is pushed against the bed behind him to hold him up.

“Bounce for me, princess. And keep your eyes on the mirror. Need you to see what I see when I fuck you.”

You bite down on your lip, looking at him through the mirror and he tips his head again telling you to “go on”. You slowly lift your hips up, feeling somewhat empty without his cock in you, until you drop yourself down on him. The fullness had you moaning out his name, throwing your head back in pleasure.

“I told you to watch yourself, didn’t I?”

You keep a steady pace on his cock, your eyes closed and mouth hanging open again.

“…too embarrassing—,” you moan.

He scoffs, annoyed with your response. He wanted you to see how you looked—how your body reacts when you have his cock stuffed inside of you. He wasn’t going to let that answer slide.

The man hooks his arms under the back of your knees, carrying you while he keeps himself in you. Your eyes flash open when you feel yourself in the air.

“W-wait! Yoongi!” Your hands go to your face to cover your eyes. You lay your back more against him to keep yourself from falling forward.

He’s moving you on his cock with no difficulties. He has you bouncing up and down, while you’re still trying to process what’s going on.

“Look at how much of a slut you fucking look like, princess,” his voice low and gravely. 

The contrast of his words turn you on. Peaking through your fingers, you catch a glimpse of your glistening, naked body. 

“Remove them, now.”

You swallow hard, finally facing yourself. Your eyes wander, watching the way your pussy took in your boyfriend’s cock, how you were making such a damn mess on it, the way your perky breasts bounced around while he thrusted upwards into your pussy. It was all so vulgar—a dirty scene that came out of a porno.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby. This is the view that I get—andI’m the only one who gets to have this view.”

Despite feeling slightly embarrassed about watching yourself, you couldn’t help but feel a bit more turned on. Who knew you could make such a dirty yet sexy expression?

You’re furrowing your eyebrows, mouth hung open as you whimper and moan. Your hand travels down to your lower abdomen, holding it there to feel a slight bulge whenever Yoongi pushes himself in you. It was actually insane to you to be able to feel and see this.

“Go lower, baby. Play with yourself.”

Your hand slowly inches lower, grazing your skin. You take a finger and draw small, slow circles on your clit. You watch yourself through the mirror, your eyes flickering to watch your scrunched up face to how Yoongi was pounding your pussy while you played with your swollen, sensitive bead.

“Fuck—that’s it baby. You listen so well,” he grunts. 

He adjusts his hold under you, making it more comfortable for him to slide you in and out of him while he fucks you harder underneath. He was basically doing bicep curls at this point—his muscles were nearly on fire but he couldn’t care any less.

“More pressure baby.”

You follow his commands, and you have yourself throwing your head back again as you lose yourself. Your sensitive clit makes your hips shake, causing you to squeeze tightly around him. You hear Yoongi slightly growl in your ear, going crazy because of you. 

“You’re milking my cock so hard—you want my cum that bad, huh?” His voice was gruff.

He holds you a bit lower, stopping his little bicep curls and instead continues to fuck you from underneath at a faster pace and with more forceful thrusts.

“Ngggh—ahh~!” You yelp from the change in speed.

“Don’t fucking remove your fingers. Keep playing with yourself.”

You were nearly seeing stars again. You couldn’t think straight. But you could feel that same feeling you felt earlier, and you knew you just couldn’t hold that knot in your stomach anymore.

“F—fuck! Yoongi! Ah—!” You cried, “cumming!”

“Fucking cum for me, baby. Lose yourself already.” 

He’s thrusting you with all the power he can, while his face was stuck on watching your reaction on your airbrushed slightly red face. 

Soon, he's pulling out of your slippery, wet hole. Your mouth makes an “o” shape, before crying out Yoongi’s name as you orgasm again.  Your body fluids shot out of you and coating the mirror—and you squirt again, just as he was wanting to get you to do. 

Your head falls back against his shoulder, eyes closed as you were trying to catch your breath. You could feel your hips still twitching from being so sensitive. This was something you’ve never experienced before. 

He’s kissing the side of your head, mumbling sweet words. He gently lays you back down on the bed on your back, allowing you some time to relax for a bit. You can feel the mix of his and your fluids seeping out of your hole, dripping down to your other puckered hole.

Your eyes flutter open and they couldn’t help but take a quick scan at the naked man’s body that stood in front of you. As you look lower, you can’t help but notice that his cock was still painfully hard, standing up straight with a slight curve to it.

He towers over you, watching every small movement you make. Although he was being sweet to give you some time to rest, by the look he was making you could tell he was hungrily waiting for the next round. He licks his lips as a lazy smile forms on his face as your eyes finally meet.

“Yoongi…,” you mumble. Your hand makes its way to his length, wrapping your fingers around it. Your essence still coats him, making it slippery enough for you to slowly stroke his cock. You look up at him with half-lided eyes.

He lowly groans in pleasure, throwing his head back for a second before bringing it back to look at you.

“Mmm…yes, baby?” 

“All that fucking and you’re still so hard?”

He’s laughing, an odd thing to do when someone is giving you a handjob. 

“I can’t get enough of you, baby.”

“Yeah?” You hum, slowing your movements. 

He takes his hand and wraps it around yours, helping you pump his cock before he starts to guide it to your slit. The two of you drag the tip against your wet folds.

“Looks like it’s the same for you too, baby. You’re fucking wet again.” He’s pushing himself into you again, the two of you letting go of his cock. He slowly sinks in, getting a little whimper out of you.

“All that fucking and you’re still clenching onto me so tightly, baby. You really love my cock inside you, huh?”

He’s pulling out, still keeping the tip in, before he thrusts back into you. 

“Mmmph~! F-fuck…! Yesss, Yoongi.”

He’s chuckling again, keeping his pace steady.

“Yeah?” He hums, bringing one of your legs over his shoulder. He wraps his arm around your thigh to keep it steady. Taking his free hand, he uses it to press firmly against your lower abdomen. You’re mumbling nonsense again from this new feeling of pleasure.

“God—I fucking love you,” he grunts, bringing your other leg over his shoulder. He’s leaning against you, practically folding your body in half just to reach you even deeper. This position had you rolling your eyes back, reaching for any body part of him to dig your fingernails into his skin. Yoongi would switch it up at times—from giving you fast yet shorter strokes to taking his sweet time as he pulls himself nearly all the way out just to slowly bring himself back in. However, he made it his goal to make sure every thrust was sharp enough to bruise your cervix. 

Your mouth hangs open, nothing but airy moans escaping from it with every thrust he makes. He brings his face to yours, using this opportunity to probe his tongue into your mouth. His tongue dances along with yours before he captures it in his mouth. He’s sucking on it, eliciting more moans from you but he removes himself to swallow them. You pull away to catch your breath, the knot in your stomach becoming tighter.

“Gonna…cum—,” you mumble under your breath. 

Yoongi huffs, giving you small pecks on the sides of your mouth. He really didn’t need you to let him know. He could already tell by the way your insides were clamping onto him. 

He’s quickly removing himself from you, denying your orgasm. The man watches your hips move in desperation, your hole spasming around nothing as he helps you rest your legs on the bed.

“Yoongiii—hnngh…,” you cried, voice whiney. “So mean,” you quietly mumble.

He smirks at your words.

Without any word, he rolls you onto your stomach. The man lifts your hips upwards to have your ass sticking up and spreads your legs apart. He pushes the upper portion of your body against the mattress, your arms cushion your head as you lay there. With his large hand, he presses on the small of your back, helping you with a deeper arch. 

“Beg for my cock, baby.”

You turn your head around to look back at him, shaking your head in disagreement while he has you in this position.

His left eyebrow lifts up and a dark chuckle escapes his lips.

“You were behaving so well earlier, princess.” He hums, taking his dick and running it through your wet folds to collect your arousal. “Now you want to be a brat?”

“Don’t want to beg anymore,” you mumble.

He scoffs. “So should I end it here?”

“Go ahead. I’ll find someone else who could do a better job then. They would let me cum.”

He smacks the sides of your ass, getting a yelp out of you.

“Watch your mouth.”

“Maybe I can call up this one guy—.”

He grasps the sides of your ass, spreading them apart to reveal your needy pink, dripping hole. He slowly sinks into you, causing you to let out a shaky moan. Yoongi keeps still inside of you, making sure you’re taking in all of him.

“You only need me, baby—your fucking boyfriend. I’m the only one who gets to see you this way and get you to cum.”

He can’t help but absolutely hate the sound and the thought of you with another man. It drove him crazy just hearing you mention “some other guy”.

Your eyebrows furrowed together, little moans coming out of you as being stuffed with his dick made you go dumb in the head.

“—Yoongi—ngggh—! Move!”

He lifts your hips higher, pressing the small of your back to get you to arch your back more. He leans over you, his pelvis pressed against your ass, making you feel his dick even further in you, causing you to let out a swear. He leaves gentle kisses on the back of your naked shoulder.

“Say please,” he mumbles into your skin.

“F—fuck, Yoongi!” You grumble, annoyed at his words.

He waits patiently, letting his silence and your soft whimpers fill the air. The man couldn’t care less if he had to stay in the position for hours—he loved the feeling of your soft, warm, and wet pussy pulsating around him. 

And with that, you knew you couldn’t win.

 “—Please—!” You cry out. 

“Remind me who I am again.”

“—boyfriend!” You quickly spat out, desperate for him to move already.

“You gonna be a good girl for me again?”

You’re quick to nod your head ‘yes’.

He grins at your response, happy with how easy he can get you to be submissive when you’re full of his cock.

“Now was that so hard to do, princess?”

He’s pulling out, just the tip barely in you.

“…annoying,” you mumble under your breath.

He slams himself into you again, causing you to moan out his name.

“Yeah? I’m annoying too, huh? A big mean, annoying boyfriend, right?”  His voice was low and gravelly.

He starts to find a rhythm and pace as he starts to pound your pussy. Snapping his hips to make sure his skin hits against yours as loud and as hard as he can, the noises filling the room and the skin of your ass slowly turning a shade of red.

He’s searching for your dildo that was thrown somewhere nearby. Once he finds it, he’s immediately taking it. He leans over you as he fucks you, placing the dildo in front of you. Yoongi halts his movements, removing himself from you.

“Yoongi~,” you whine, swaying your ass side to side. You push your hips back, trying to find him so you could reconnect again.

God, this view—this scenario. It’s all he could easily get used to.

“C’mon, baby you can’t be doing that to me,” he slightly groans, “you’re driving me crazy.”

“Please,” you mumble, bringing your hands behind you. You place one hand on the sides of your ass, gently spreading it apart so that Yoongi has a better view of your weeping hole. You turn your head to look back at him as you hold yourself in this position, swaying your ass side to side. “Please go crazy and fuck me already, Yoongi.”

What a fucking invite.

“Fuck,” he hissed, running his hand through his wet hair. He could feel all the blood in his body rushing to his cock, making him painfully harder. His mind went damn blank just from hearing you say that while being in such a pornographic position. 

You seriously knew how to turn him on. 

How fucking dangerous.

He’s bringing himself closer to you, rubbing his erect cock in between your ass, allowing it to slide back and forth. It gets you impatient, causing you to wiggle your ass again as he continues with his movements.

“Be a good girl and keep that dildo in your mouth while I fuck you, alright princess?” He gives the side of your ass another gentle slap as a form of encouragement.

Yoongi patiently waits for you to start bobbing your head, along with the vulgar slurping noises you obnoxiously made.

Did you really enjoy having that dildo inside your mouth when he was right behind you?

He mentally scoffs out of jealousy, knowing that he shouldn’t be feeling this way at all. 

You became louder with your muffled moans once Yoongi was inside of you again, making those dumb thoughts disappear. The view of you being filled up both way clearly made him way too hard—he was instantly fucking you at a brutal pace, almost as if he hasn’t touched you in ages.

He’s rougher this time; using one hand to gather your hair and make a makeshift ponytail just to wrap it around his hand to help you guide your head along your dildo while the other free hand is gripping the side of your ass as he fucked you from behind.

“You’re so fucking good, baby. Sucking on your dildo while I fuck you senseless, just like a pretty little slut you are.” 

His thrusts had more force to them, your skin turning redder than before. He wanted to demolish you, make you melt underneath him. All you could do was hum into your dildo in pleasure, holding onto the base for dear life. You could feel tears threatening to spill out of your eyes whenever your dildo would reach deeper in your throat, causing you to gag on it. Of course, Yoongi thought all of this was sexy. God, it was fucking sexy.

He found that one spot again that has your mind spinning. The man angles himself so that he kept hitting that spot over and over again.

You immediately pull away from your dildo, drool escaping from the sides of your mouth.

“Y-yoongi—!” You yelped, your hands let go of the dildo after you toss it to the side, now gripping onto the sheets.

He releases his grip on your hair, moving his hand to the front of your neck to pull you up and your back arched against him, changing the position again. The other hand around your waist to keep you steady.

Yoongi brings the side of his head to yours.

“Not gonna let you get away from me,” his gravely voice whispers against your ear—and god did that send tingles down your spine.

The pressure of his hand around your neck was pleasurable enough to keep you lightheaded. However that hand goes to toy with your breasts, fiddling with piercing and pinching your nipple before taking a big handful of your breast to massage it as he fucked you.

He finally brings his hand to your front, pressing his two fingers against your swollen and sensitive bead. You feel your hips twitch, unable to control your body movements. All you could feel in this moment was how hard the two of your heartbeats were and pure ecstasy. This man knew how to fuck. Scratch that—he knew how to fuck you. He’s already memorized what had you throwing your head back, what’s got you clenching so damn tightly around him, or what has you babbling nonsense just from fucking you a couple times.

“Yoon—gi! Haaah~!” You turn your head to the side and towards him. He brings his face to yours, attacking your lips again before you pull away a moaning mess.

“Fuck—you take me in so goddamn good, baby,” he grunts, “you wanna cum, huh, baby?”

You’re nodding your head, feeling yourself nearly on the brink of losing yourself again. He’s just about bruised your cervix enough and made your damn clit so swollen and sensitive to touch. You knew you were already making a mess around his dick.

He moves his hand away from your breast and around your waist again, embracing you and holding you tightly for what’s yet to come. Your arms hold onto his arm with one of your hands interlocking with his, a gesture that had him feeling like his heart grew 10x in size. He loves you. He’s way too in love with you—head over heels at this point.

If it was even possible, he’s fucking you even harder. Grunting into your ear, telling you how good you are, how damn pretty you are—how fucking perfect you are, practically made just for him. It was all enough for you to finally lose it, and it was the same for him too. He’s groaning in pleasure when he feels your pussy twitching around him. His warm cum coats the inside of your walls before it oozes out when he removes himself. You fall forward and lay against the bed with your arms weakly holding you up. He watches the mixture of your cum slowly dripping out before he takes his two fingers to push it right back in, only for it to slip out again. He’s quick to get the kleenex tissues to wipe you up, letting you have some time to  catch your breath. You’re rolling over to finally lay down on your side, watching the boy walk through the door.

“I went ahead and got the bath running, baby,” he hums, helping you sit back up. He pulls you onto his lap, pressing a gentle kiss against your temple. 

“You’re insane, Yoongi.”

“Am I?” He lazily smiles.

“I really don’t know what possessed you back there.”

He laughs, “Baby, I haven’t had a taste of you like that in so damn long. I couldn’t help it.” 

Before you knew it, he had you relaxing in the bathtub while he cleaned up the room and got it ready with new sheets and all for the two of you to get some rest. 

—

You could feel Yoongi’s body pressed against your back; his arm sitting across your waist and his head nuzzled against the back of your head. This was all something you had never imagined for yourself—to be lovingly cuddled like this after a long night with your now boyfriend who was an ex “fuckboy” from your school, but it’s definitely something you could get used to. 

You carefully remove yourself from his hold, quickly replacing yourself with one of your pillows. You glance over at him to see his sleeping figure one last time before leaving, and softly scoff with a smile on your face. 

This man is actually very cute when he’s sound asleep.

You quietly pick out some new clothes before tip-toeing away to your bathroom across the hall to get yourself ready for that well-deserved shower.

-

After putting on your clothes, you open the bathroom door, letting all the moisture and heat out. You take the time to gently brush your hair a little more after blow drying it, then applying some hair oil to the ends of it.

“You can’t just leave me like that and expect me to be okay with it.”

Your head quickly turns around to see the mumbling boy, squinting a half-asleep eye at you while using one of their fists to rub one of their other eye. You chuckle at his appearance—his naked torso and his boxers. He stood there in between the door frame, looking like an actual child who just woke up.

“It was just a quick shower, babe.” You turn around to the mirror and continue what you were doing. “I’ll be in the room soon.”

He grunts, making his way towards you as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you against him and lays his head on top of your shoulder.

“Yoongi~,” you whined with a soft chuckle. 

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s only allowed in bed.”

“Mm, so last night was just it, huh?”

He snorts with a chuckle at your comment, barely having enough energy to react a lot bigger.

“‘One time’ my ass. You’re stuck with me. Not letting you off that easy.”

He turns to your head and presses kisses to your hair. You bring a hand up to gently pat the side of his cheek.

“Congrats on passing the class,” you mumble, “and for finally getting that boyfriend title you’ve been wanting.”

Yoongi turns to look at you with a big smile on his face through the mirror, your hand gently caressing the side of his face. The two of you turn to each other, pressing a small kiss on the lips before pulling away.

“I know a better way you could congratulate me.”

You immediately knew exactly what he was hinting.

“You told me you’d give me whatever I want plus the boyfriend title.”

Fuck—yeah, you did promise that.

You sigh in defeat.

“…Breakfast first?” You bat your eyelashes at him, giving him that doe-eyed look that made his heart flutter like crazy.

He looks at you with so much adoration, in awe that this beautiful girl was finally his. 

-

if you got this far, thank you for the read <3 :)

i hope you enjoyed!! pls check out my other work!

[lowryuk]

Yours to Break.

Pairing: Ex-boyfriend!Eren x F!Reader

Word Count: 9.3K

Summary: No matter how hard you try to stay away from Eren, he always finds a way back to you—and you always let him.

A/N: hihihiya! I hope you enjoy and if you do, please consider to like, reblog and follow :D. I’m always open to give additional headcannons on my fics, so don’t be afraid to fill up my inbox with questions or comments—I’d love to answer them! The ex!bf eren won the poll so here it is. Look forward to the jock!Eren x reader that will come out some time next week (aiming for Tuesday night). Also, thank you for all the love on “What Was Mine.” I’m super glad so many of you enjoyed it :)

Side note (read after you finish fic to avoid spoilers): I know Eren’s pretty toxic in this one (I genuinely didn’t mean to do that lol) but I promise you he gets better over time and him and reader work it out.

(Warnings are below undercut)

Warning(s): Toxic!Eren (sorry), borderline abusive relationship (Eren’s very manipulative), Violent!Eren (but not towards reader), fight scene, possessiveness, angst, jealousy from both sides, insecurity, unprotected sex (wrap your willyyy), p in v, rough sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, marking/biting, dirty talk from Eren, hair pulling, cum eating, fingering, finger sucking

Taglist❣️: @erenjaegerwifee, @m0chamami

Eren Yeager was your first love.

It started in high school, in a cramped math classroom where he took the seat beside you and, with an easy confidence, offered to help when he noticed you struggling. Numbers had always come naturally to him, while you found comfort in words. So when you walked into English class and spotted him flipping aimlessly through the pages of a novel he clearly had no interest in, it only made sense that he patted the seat beside him, smirking as if to say, your turn to return the favor.

He was charming in a way that felt easy, the kind of person who could make anyone laugh with little effort, who was liked by everyone without even trying. And he knew it. He took advantage of the way you got flustered when he leaned in too close, how your gaze would drop to your desk anytime he said something bold, teasing you just enough to make your stomach tighten in that unfamiliar, fluttering way.

At some point, he asked for your number. It started off as innocent as it could be—just conversations about homework and upcoming assignments, exchanging notes before tests. But before long, the texts became less about school and more about each other. Late-night messages filled with inside jokes, subtle flirting that you’d overanalyze before falling asleep.

Then, one day, he asked if you wanted to hang out after school. You said yes, and sitting in his car, parked in a quiet lot, he turned to you and asked you out on your first real date. From that moment on, Eren was yours, and you were his.

For three years, life was blissful.

Then, in your first year of university, something shifted. Eren changed.

The boy who had once been so easygoing, so secure, had suddenly become possessive. At first, it was subtle—an offhand remark about how a guy in your class seemed too friendly, a joke about how you were too nice for your own good. But soon, it escalated. If you had a male partner for a group project, Eren had to be present, insisting it was only to “keep an eye on things.” The first time he said that, you could only stare at him, stunned into silence.

He had never been this way before. He had never cared if you had male friends, never acted as if he didn’t trust you.

"Why would you even think that?" you had asked him, incredulous, because you had done nothing—absolutely nothing—to warrant the suspicion lacing his voice. But he brushed it off, called it a joke, even though there was nothing funny about the way he was suddenly scrutinizing your every move.

You should have left then. You should have realized that love wasn’t supposed to feel like walking on eggshells, wasn’t supposed to be a constant battle to prove your loyalty to someone who once trusted you implicitly. But the thought of leaving him was suffocating. You didn’t know how to exist in a world where he wasn’t yours, where you weren’t his. So, you bit your tongue every time he accused you of things you hadn’t done. You let it slide when he checked your phone, when he questioned why a guy had liked your photo, when he made you feel like you had to explain yourself for things that never needed an explanation before.

And you endured it all—until the night of your best friend’s birthday.

She had gone all out, booking a VIP section at one of the best clubs in the city, followed by a stay at a high-end hotel where everyone would unwind, sober up, and just enjoy each other’s company. The moment you told Eren about it, he made his stance clear—he didn’t want you to go. You weren’t surprised. You had skipped out on nearly every get-together in the past year to appease him, and on the rare occasions you did go, Eren had been right there with you, monitoring, hovering, making it painfully obvious that he didn’t like or trust your friends and your friends felt the same way about him.

They had been in your ear for months now, warning you that his behavior was concerning, that he was controlling every aspect of your life. The worst part? They weren’t wrong. You just weren’t ready to admit it yet.

So this time, you refused to back down. You had to go—if not for yourself, then at least for the people who had been patiently waiting for you to come to your senses.

Eren wasn’t happy, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. Instead, he settled for damage control, reminding you—no, demanding—that you answer every single one of his messages throughout the night and call him the second you want to go home and he’ll pick you up. Because god forbid you stay the night with your girlfriends. God forbid he didn’t have a grip on you, even for just one evening.

You smoothed your hands down the fabric of your dress, adjusting the hem before stepping out of your room. The black bodycon hugged every curve, accentuating the shape Eren had always been so possessive over. And judging by the way his eyes darkened the moment he saw you, that possessiveness was alive and well.

His gaze swept over you slowly, his jaw tightening. He didn’t say a word at first, just exhaled through his nose like he was biting his tongue. It was rare for him to hold back, but you knew exactly why he did—because if he started an argument now, there was a chance you’d walk out of this apartment and ignore his messages for the rest of the night.

And Eren couldn’t have that.

So instead of criticizing your outfit, he did what he always did. He pulled you into him, his hands trailing down your waist, pressing flush against the fabric he so clearly disapproved of. His lips ghosted over your cheek before dipping lower, warm breath fanning over the sensitive skin of your neck. Then, before you could react, he sucked at the spot beneath your jaw, just enough to leave a mark.

You let out a sharp whine, shoving at his chest. “Eren.”

He smirked, fingers tracing over the faint bruise he’d left behind like a signature. “M’sorry, baby,” he murmured, though he sounded anything but apologetic. “You just look so good. Smell good, too.”

You sighed, shaking your head. You knew what he was doing. He’d played this game before, trying to soften you up with kisses and sweet words, hoping you’d decide to stay in instead. But tonight, you weren’t falling for it.

“Come on, ‘ren,” you said, stepping back before he could try again. “I’m gonna be late.”

The corner of his mouth twitched downward, a heavy exhale slipping past his lips. He looked like he wanted to argue, but he must’ve realized it was pointless. Without another word, he grabbed his keys and his jacket, leading you out to the car.

The drive to the club was quiet. His hand rested on your thigh like it always did, but there was a stiffness to his touch, like he was holding something back. When he pulled up to the entrance, he reached for his phone and sent you a notification.

“There. Sent you money for drinks,” he said, his voice low. “Text me if you need anything. Call me when you leave.”

You glanced at your phone before looking back at him. His green eyes locked onto yours, intense and expectant, waiting for you to promise you’d do exactly as he asked.

You leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Thanks, ‘ren. I’ll see you later.”

He didn’t look satisfied, but he let you go, watching as you stepped out of the car and made your way toward the entrance.

Inside, the club was already packed. Music thrummed through the walls, shaking the floor beneath your heels as you moved through the crowd. Your friends spotted you before you even had a chance to search for them, waving you over with excited grins.

The night started exactly as planned—shots, music, laughter, all of it. You danced with your girlfriends in the middle of the club, letting loose, letting the alcohol warm your veins and wash away the stress. A few guys—friends of your friends from university—joined in, pairing off with the girls around you. You weren’t interested, content just dancing with them, but then—

You felt hands wrap around your waist.

You stiffened immediately, your body reacting before your mind could catch up. The touch was unwelcome, unfamiliar, and when you tried to pull away, the grip only tightened. The man behind you was drunk—too drunk to register your discomfort, too drunk to listen to your protests. You shoved at his arms, twisting in his grip. “Hey—let go.”

He didn’t.

Instead, he chuckled, slurring something incoherent into your ear as he held on tighter. Eventually, you stomped on his foot hard enough with your heel that he let go, but the damage had already been done. 

Somewhere in the crowd, a camera was on. 

You didn’t know who recorded it, didn’t know how it got out so fast, but somehow, the video landed in front of Eren. Some guy—one of the ones dancing with your friends—had been filming his own night, oblivious to what he was capturing in the background: you, struggling against a man who wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Eren follows that guy and by chance, viewed his story. And he saw everything.

By the time you finally ripped yourself from the stranger’s grip and rushed back to the VIP room, dragging your friends with you, your phone was already blowing up with notifications. Call after call. Message after message.

 What the fuck?

Who the fuck was that?

Pick up the damn phone.

Answer me.

Your stomach churned. You sat down, fingers flying across your screen as you started typing an explanation, but no response. You sat on the couch, in distress. Your friends pried, asking what was wrong, but you played it off, painting a smile on your face. “Nothing! I’m just a little overwhelmed from all the drinks and dancing. You guys should get some more drinks, I’ll join you in a bit.” 

The girls nod and make their way back to the bar. The moment the last girl leaves, your attention is back on your phone. 16 minutes have passed and still no response. You chew at your lip. You knew it was only a matter of time before his face appeared here. 

And you were right. 

The door to the VIP room slammed open.

Eren stormed in, his eyes locking onto yours. They were sharp, furious, burning with an intensity that made your breath hitch. You stand up to explain yourself, praying to get an explanation in before he rains hell on you. 

“Eren, I didn’t—”

“Save it,” he cut you off, voice low, edged with something dangerous. “I don’t wanna fucking hear it.”

He didn’t give you a chance to argue, didn’t wait for an explanation. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you, dragging you through the club. You followed, chest tight with unease, because you knew—knew the second you got in the car, he was going to explode.

But the universe had other plans.

Before you could reach the exit, a body stumbled into Eren’s path, swaying with the weight of too much alcohol and poor decisions.

It was him.

The same guy from before. The same hands that had grabbed at you, the same slurred voice that had whispered too close to your ear. His eyes were glazed over, unfocused, but the smirk he wore was clear as day. He was saying something, words too muddled to make out over the bass of the music, but whatever it was—Eren understood. His shoulders tensed, jaw locking so tightly it looked like it might snap. You barely had time to react, to process the moment, before—

Crack.

The first punch landed so fast, so brutally, you almost didn’t register what had happened. The guy’s head snapped to the side, his body crumbling beneath the force of Eren’s knuckles meeting his jaw. A choked grunt left his lips as he staggered back, crashing into a nearby table, sending glasses and bottles tumbling to the floor in a shatter of glass and spilled liquor.

Gasps rippled through the club. The air shifted, charged with electricity, the weight of too many eyes turning to watch the scene unfold.

But Eren wasn’t finished.

He was on him before the guy could even think about recovering. Grabbing the front of his shirt, he yanked him forward, then sent another devastating punch across his face, knuckles colliding with bone. The guy groaned, his head snapping back with the impact, but Eren didn’t stop. His rage was relentless, a force of nature that had no intention of slowing down.

Another punch. Then another.

The force of each hit sent dull, sickening thuds reverberating through the air. Blood smeared across Eren’s knuckles, staining his skin as his breathing grew heavier, more ragged.

“Eren,” you gasped, reaching out instinctively, but he wasn’t listening.

He couldn’t hear anything over the white-hot fury roaring in his ears.

The guy was barely putting up a fight, too drunk and dazed to do anything but weakly raise his hands in a feeble attempt to block the blows. But Eren didn’t care. He just kept going, pinning him to the floor with his weight, his fist drawing back once more—

Until strong arms wrapped around him from behind. The bouncer.

It took everything in him to haul Eren off, muscles straining as he pried him away from the bloodied, barely conscious man beneath him.

“Enough, man! That’s enough!” the bouncer barked, struggling to keep a firm hold as Eren thrashed against his grip.

The guy’s friends rushed to his side, helping him up, but he could barely stand, his legs wobbling beneath him as he slumped into their arms. Blood dripped from his nose, from the corner of his mouth, smearing across his cheek in messy streaks.

You swallow hard, the weight of a hundred eyes pressing into your back as you force your legs to move. Shame coils in your stomach, heavy and suffocating, burning hotter with every step you take toward the exit. You don’t need to turn around to know your friends are still watching—silent, wide-eyed, exchanging looks you can’t bring yourself to decipher.

You just keep walking, head low, body tense, each step dragging under the weight of everything that just happened. The pulsing beat of the club feels like it’s mocking you now, a steady thrum against your ribs as you push past the crowd, past the mess Eren left behind, past the whispers and the stares. The moment you step outside, the cool night air hits you like a slap to the face.

Eren stands a few feet away, back against the wall, shoulders still rising and falling with the remnants of adrenaline surging through his veins. The bouncer is in front of him, speaking low, one hand raised in an attempt to keep him grounded, to keep him from snapping again.

Eren doesn’t look like he’s listening.

His hands are still clenched at his sides, blood smeared across his knuckles, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He’s seething, barely restrained, like a live wire just waiting to spark. You hesitate for a second, nerves twisting in your gut, but then you take a deep breath and step forward. The gravel crunches beneath your heels, and at the sound, Eren’s head snaps up.

His eyes find yours instantly.

And just like that, the bouncer’s words fade into the background. Whatever thin thread of patience was keeping Eren in place? Gone.

He pushes off the wall, rising to his full height, and you swear the air shifts. The tension is palpable, thick and suffocating as he takes a step toward you. His expression is unreadable—stormy, dangerous, still brimming with barely restrained fury.

You open your mouth, not even sure what you’re going to say, but you don’t get the chance to speak.

“Let’s go.”

His voice is rough, tight, leaving no room for argument. There’s no question of whether or not you’ll follow him. It’s a command, plain and simple.

Then he turns, not waiting for a response, and starts walking toward the car—expecting you to do the only thing you can.

Follow.

But you don’t.

Not after what you just saw.

Your body refuses to obey, frozen in place as a cold, creeping realization sinks into your bones. Eren takes a few more steps, fully expecting you to fall in line like you always do—but when he doesn’t hear the familiar rhythm of your heels clicking against the pavement behind him, he stops. 

Slowly, he turns, and that’s when he sees it.

The look in your eyes.

It’s not anger. It’s not disappointment. It’s something far worse.

Fear.

His chest tightens, the breath leaving his lungs in a slow, staggering exhale.

Eren’s seen you upset before. He’s seen you roll your eyes at him, huff in frustration when he’s being stubborn, even cry when things got too overwhelming. But never—not once—has he seen you look at him like this. Like you don’t recognize him. Like you’re not sure if it’s safe to be near him.

A sharp, ugly pang of regret twists in his gut. His fingers flex at his sides, still smeared with the remnants of his outburst. He doesn’t even remember throwing that first punch—doesn’t remember the decision, just the impact, just the raw, unchecked fury that swallowed him whole the second he saw that guy put his hands on you.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

The club doors swing open behind you, breaking the suffocating silence.

“Don’t.”

Your friend’s voice is sharp with concern, and then she’s right there beside you, eyes scanning your face before snapping to Eren. Her grip on your arm tightens slightly, grounding you.

“She’s not going with you,” she says firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Eren’s jaw tenses. His shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath, but he doesn’t respond. He doesn’t look at her. He only looks at you. 

Waiting. Pleading. Silently praying for you to tell her she’s wrong. That you’re still his. That you’re coming home with him.

Your friend gently pulls you closer, lowering her voice as she leans in. “Stay with us. Stay with me,” she urges. “You know you’re more than welcome to.”

You hesitate, one last glance at Eren, but the answer is already clear. You nod.

That’s all it takes.

Your other friends begin trickling out of the club, surrounding you in a quiet show of support. And Eren—Eren just stands there, watching it all unfold. Watching as you choose to stay. Watching as the space between you stretches wider and wider, until it feels impossible to cross.

Your heart pounds against your ribs, and for the first time tonight, you feel the weight of everything settle over you. You don’t want to get in that car. You don’t want to sit in silence while he stews in his anger. You don’t want to go home with a version of Eren you don’t recognize.

Something in Eren’s face cracks. It’s small, barely noticeable to anyone else, but you see it. You see the way his brows pinch together, the brief flicker of pain behind his eyes before he locks it all away. 

Eren exhales through his nose, dragging a hand down his face. He nods once, more to himself than anyone else.

And then, without another word, he turns and walks away.

You don’t watch him go. You can’t.

Because deep down, you know.

That was the end of you and Eren.

—

The first month without Eren felt like a drug withdrawal. 

Your friends had to step in, blocking his number on your phone because they knew you wouldn’t. They were the ones who went back to your shared apartment, packing up your things and returning them to you in silent understanding—because if it had been up to you, you would have walked through that door and never left.

You weren’t strong enough to face him. To see the place where your life with him once existed.

So you let them handle it.

And in the weeks that followed, it felt like you cried enough tears to drown in.

Everything felt hollow. Your bed, too big. Your room, too quiet. Your days, a haze of exhaustion that you couldn’t shake, no matter how much sleep you got—though sleep rarely came easy. Your body ached for something familiar, something warm, something safe. But the only thing that had ever felt like home was the very thing you had to stay away from.

Eren.

Your friends were your lifeline, your anchor in the storm that threatened to pull you under. They kept you moving, kept you functioning. They took turns staying over, making sure you ate, helping you through assignments when even the simplest tasks felt impossible. They covered for you in class, took notes, did everything they could to make sure you didn’t fall apart completely.

Because you couldn’t face campus.

Not when you knew he was there.

So you hid.

You spent hours in the library, surrounded by books, teaching yourself the material from the safety of quiet corners where you knew he wouldn’t find you. Where no one would look at you with pity or whisper about what happened. Where you could pretend, just for a little while, that you were fine.

But the second month was different.

The second month, you forced yourself to return to class.

And the very first lecture you walked into—he was there.

Your heart lurched before you could stop it, the reaction so deeply ingrained that it disgusted you. Because even after everything, even after what he did, some part of you still longed for him.

But you didn’t let yourself look at him.

You didn’t need to.

You felt his eyes on you the second you walked through the door.

He was waiting for you.

You knew it before you even sat down. Before you even heard from your friends that he had been asking about you. That he had been the one sending them notes, making sure you didn’t fall behind. That he had been looking for you, searching for any trace of you on campus.

You didn’t know any of that then.

All you knew was that you couldn’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledging him.

So you took a seat on the opposite side of the lecture hall, your posture rigid, your focus locked on the professor, even as you felt the weight of his stare.

Unfortunately, avoiding him wasn’t as easy as you hoped. You had chosen your classes together, planned your schedules to align—because, back then, you had never considered a world where you wouldn’t be by each other’s side.

And now, you were paying the price.

He was in most of your classes. Which meant he was always there. Always watching.

Never approaching.

Just watching.

Sometimes he would get distracted, pulled into conversation with his friends, and you would take the opportunity to slip out unnoticed. But most of the time, you had to move. Had to find new places to sit, new spots to claim as your own. Because he had taken over the one you used to share, as if holding onto it would somehow bring you back.

But it never did. Because you knew better now.

You reminded yourself every single day that Eren was bad for you. That you left for a reason. That no matter how much you missed him, no matter how much his absence burned, going back would only mean getting hurt all over again.

And you wouldn’t survive it a second time.

By the third month, you were starting to feel like yourself again.

The ache in your chest was still there, but it was duller now—less consuming. There were even days when Eren didn’t cross your mind at all. Small, fleeting moments where you were too busy laughing with friends, too immersed in your coursework, too wrapped up in your own life to remember the ghost of what used to be.

You had caught up with all your class material, no longer drowning under the weight of everything you had missed. You even started going out again, slowly reclaiming the pieces of yourself you had lost along the way.

But parties were different.

Parties meant a high probability of running into him.

And you weren’t sure you were ready for that.

The first time your friends convinced you to go out, you had braced yourself for it—for the possibility of seeing him across the room, for the way it might send you spiraling. But he wasn’t there. Or if he was, he stayed buried in the crowd, out of your sight, allowing you to actually enjoy yourself for the first time in months.

You had smiled that night. Laughed. Felt alive in a way you hadn’t in so long that your friends took notice.

Which was exactly how you ended up here.

“I don’t know… I really don’t wanna go,” you sigh, flopping onto your bed as your best friend digs through your closet. “He’s going to be there. I know it.”

She rolls her eyes, unfazed. “And? You can’t let Eren stop you from living your life.” She turns, leveling you with a look. “You’re bound to see him at graduation. What, are you gonna skip that too just because he’ll be there?”

You glare. She has a point, but you don’t want to admit it.

“I just don’t see why we have to go to this party,” you argue, grasping at straws. “It’s a frat party for the football team’s season finale win. Eren is the quarterback. That’s literally his event.”

“Which is exactly why you should go,” she counters. “Show him you don’t care. Show him you’ve moved on.”

You scoff, unconvinced.

She sighs, dramatic and exasperated. “Besides,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows, “that cute guy from Kirstein’s party—Porco, right?—he’s gonna be there. Maybe you two can finally hit it off.”

Your stomach twists, and you don’t know if it’s from nerves or uncertainty.

You hesitate.

Because deep down, you know she’s right.

You’ve spent the last three months avoiding Eren, avoiding anything that might put you in his orbit again. But that fear has kept you from actually living, from moving forward, from proving to yourself that you can be okay without him.

And you want to be okay.

So you exhale, pushing past the doubts clawing at the back of your mind.

“Fine,” you mutter, crossing your arms. “But if it sucks, I’m leaving early.”

Your best friend grins, victorious. “Deal.”

—

You step into the crowded frat house, the noise and chaos of the party immediately hitting you. The sharp stench of alcohol, weed, and sweat clings to the air, mixing with the heavy bass of the music that rattles the walls. It’s so loud, your ears ache, and the vibrations almost drown out your own thoughts. People are packed into every corner, some stumbling around in drunken oblivion, others caught up in their own heated conversations, laughing and shouting to be heard.

Your friends immediately vanish into the mass of bodies, their laughter and voices lost in the tide of noise. You can barely catch a glimpse of their heads as they weave through the crowd. You sigh, already feeling the weight of isolation. You should’ve pregamed, should’ve had a drink or two to take the edge off, but you figured you’d be alright. Now you curse to yourself. 

The feeling of being an outsider gnaws at you as you weave your way toward the back of the house, looking for some reprieve from the madness. The music seems slightly quieter in the corner, the people fewer and farther between. You make your way to the counter, pouring yourself a crappy, sour concoction. It’s just something to occupy your hands, something to take your mind off the fact that you're surrounded by a sea of people, yet feel utterly alone.

You lean against the counter awkwardly, your fingers tapping the rim of your cup as you survey the scene. The longer you stand there, the more you realize how much you wish you didn’t feel so out of place. It’s supposed to be fun, right? You’re supposed to be enjoying yourself, yet all you can think about is what’s happening on the other side of the room.

And then you see him.

Your breath catches in your throat, and your heart skips a beat. His green eyes find yours almost immediately, locking with yours from across the room, and for a moment, the noise of the party seems to fade. It’s just you and him, that intense, familiar gaze burning into you. Your stomach flutters, your pulse quickening as you instinctively look away, embarrassed by the sheer weight of his stare. But even as you force yourself to focus on anything but him, your brain locks the image of him in that moment in a way that feels almost intrusive. You can’t unsee it.

There he is, sitting on a couch, looking effortlessly handsome as always. His friends are scattered around him, but it’s the girls that draw your attention. They’re all over him, leaning into him, touching his arm or laughing too loudly at everything he says. Their eyes are bright, eager, like they’re competing for his attention. The sight makes your chest tighten in an unfamiliar, raw way. You hate it. You hate how your stomach twists in jealousy, how your pulse spikes as you watch them cling to him, as if they’re the ones who belong there, the ones who get to be close to him.

It’s ridiculous.

You have no right to feel this way, but there it is. The jealousy. The sharp, bitter ache in your chest.

Eren, oblivious or maybe not, remains relaxed, his attention still half on the crowd and half on whatever conversation his friends are having. A beer bottle rests lazily in his hand, and yet you can’t help but feel that he’s watching you too. Noticing you. It’s like he’s waiting for you to react, to do something, anything, just so he can watch you squirm. 

So, you decide to play his game. If he’s having fun, then why shouldn’t you? The burn of his gaze on your back is unbearable, but you’re not about to let it control you. You clutch your drink a little too tightly and step toward the nearest guy—a random face you don’t even recognize. Without hesitating, you drag him to the dance floor, your body moving to the beat of the music as it blares in your ears.

The guy seems more than happy to comply, his hands moving almost immediately to your waist as you both start dancing. You can feel his eyes on you, a heat that sears through the crowd, but you refuse to give in. You tilt your head back, letting out a laugh at whatever nonsense the guy is saying, letting the music drown out the weight of Eren’s presence. You want him to see. You want him to feel the sting of watching you, of knowing he has no claim on you anymore.

The night carries on, and so does the game. You're all over the place, hopping from one group to the next—dancing with the guy, laughing with your friends, joining in on a game of beer pong. You’re doing everything you can to avoid Eren. When you make your way down to the basement for beer pong, you know before even turning around that he’s there. Right behind you, close enough that you catch the faintest trace of his cologne beneath the scent of alcohol and sweat. And because he’s there, so is everyone else. A crowd follows, drawn in by him like gravity, but you don’t care.

You don’t acknowledge him. You don’t spare him even a glance. Instead, you make it your mission to rub it in his face.

Beer pong used to be your thing. You and Eren were practically unbeatable. But tonight, you’re not teaming up with him. You find a random guy and start the game with him, your laughter filling the air as you take your shots. The game ends, and you lose—your partner was terrible, after all. But it didn’t matter because you were having fun.

Even though the guy was terrible at beer pong and completely clueless, there was something undeniably cute about him. You couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes lingered on you, like he was captivated, and the more you chatted, the more it seemed like he was genuinely into you. Honestly, it wasn’t the worst thing. He was easy to talk to, lighthearted, and in the moment, you found yourself enjoying the attention.

You stepped outside for a break, finding a chair near the backyard to cool off. The chill air did wonders against the heat of the party, and for a brief moment, you let yourself enjoy the solitude.

Of course, the rando followed. He sat down beside you, leaning back casually, his presence comfortable in a way that didn’t feel forced. You had a casual conversation—mostly about the party, how much fun you were having—but you could tell where this was going. His eyes had a certain gleam, the kind that made your stomach flip with unease but also something else—something more promiscuous.

Then, just as you were about to stand and go back inside, he leaned in closer, his voice low and smooth as he whispered, “Wanna get out of here?”

You almost said yes. Almost.

But before you could respond, a strong hand wrapped around your arm and yanked you to your feet. The sudden force took you off guard, your body jerked backward, and you barely had time to blink before you were being dragged back into the house. You glanced up, heart sinking, and sure enough, it was Eren. His grip tightened around your arm, pulling you through the crowd like you didn’t have a say in the matter.

You tried to break free, your heels digging into the floor, but it was useless—Eren’s hold was ironclad. He didn’t give you a chance to fight back, leading you down the hall toward the laundry room. The door creaked as he shoved it open, the dim light flickering above. Without a word, he stepped inside and pulled you after him, letting the door fall shut behind you with a quiet thud.

Your heart skipped, irritation flooding your chest as you pulled against him. “What the fuck is your problem?” you snapped, voice trembling with a mix of anger and confusion.

He didn’t even flinch. He stepped closer, his presence looming over you, dominating. His jaw was tight, clenched in frustration, eyes darker than you’d ever seen. You could practically feel the heat radiating off him.

"You are my fucking problem," he growled, his voice like gravel, rough and unforgiving.

The air between you two thickened, suffocating. He was close—way too close—his chest brushing yours, his breath heavy with alcohol and desperation. The faint scent of his cologne lingered in the space between you, and it hit you harder than you expected. You tried to ignore it, but it made your heart race.

He stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as his voice dropped lower. "You really thought I was gonna let you leave with some random asshole?"

You recoiled, your chest tightening with frustration. You fought the urge to push him away, the words already on the tip of your tongue. "It’s none of your business, Eren," you snapped, your own voice shaking with a mixture of defiance and frustration.

Eren’s lips curled into a humorless smile, but the anger in his eyes was sharper than ever. “The fuck it isn’t,” he spat, his voice filled with venom.

Your chest rises and falls as you try to steady your breathing, but it's impossible with Eren this close, the heat of his body searing through the tiny space between you. His jaw is clenched, eyes burning with something between anger and desperation.

"You don’t get it, do you?" Your voice shakes as you step back, putting distance between you. "You’re bad for me, Eren. You always have been."

His jaw tenses, hands balling into fists at his sides. "And you think you’re any fucking better for me?" He takes a step closer, eyes locked onto yours. "You think I don’t know how much we fuck each other up?"

"Then why do you keep coming back?" you demand, voice cracking despite your best efforts. "Why can’t you just let me go?"

Eren exhales sharply through his nose, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "You think I haven’t tried?" His voice is rough, wrecked. "I’ve done everything I fucking can to move on. To stop thinking about you." His hands twitch like he wants to grab you, but he forces them to stay at his sides. "But every time I try, I just end up right back here. Right back to you."

Your throat tightens, and you shake your head. "This isn’t love, Eren. It’s just something we don’t know how to quit."

He exhales sharply, jaw clenching. "Maybe I don’t want to quit." His voice is rough, ragged. "Maybe I’d rather ruin myself than live a life without you."

His words slam into you like a wrecking ball, knocking the breath from your lungs. Your mind screams at you to walk away, to end this now, but your heart betrays you. You don’t move when he presses closer, don’t push him away when his fingers finally brush against your skin.

"Tell me to leave," he breathes, lips ghosting over your jaw. "Tell me you don’t want this, and I swear to god, I’ll walk out that door and never look back."

But you don’t say a word. Because you can’t. Because you do want this.

Eren sees the answer in your silence before you do. A dark smirk ghosts over his lips, a glint of triumph flashing in those wild green eyes. "That’s what I thought."

His lips are on you before you can protest, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him. The second you kiss him back, it’s over. The tension, the months of pent-up frustration, the unbearable need—you both snap. Months of anger, heartbreak—it all ignites in a way that’s so ferocious, so consuming, that your knees nearly buckle beneath you.

His hands are everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your sides, pulling you impossibly close until there’s not even an inch of space between you. You’re supposed to shove him away. You’re supposed to hate him. But when his hands slip down, fingers digging into your thighs, lifting you onto the edge of the dryer, you don’t protest. You can’t.

“Fuck, I missed this,” he breathes against your lips, his voice rough, desperate. His hands tighten around your thighs, spreading them so he can step between them, pressing himself against you. “Missed you.”

Your fingers tangle in his hair, yanking him back up so you can crash your lips onto his again, swallowing the low groan he lets out as you roll your hips against him. His grip tightens—possessive, desperate—as he presses you harder against the cool metal, his body heat swallowing you whole.

“This whole time,” he mutters against your lips, voice low and wrecked, “you’ve been acting like you can move on, like you’re fucking over me.” His fingers dig into your hips, keeping you right where he wants you. “But I see you, baby. You burn for me just as much as I burn for you.”

You hate how true it is. Hate how easily he reads you. 

His hands slide up your thighs, bunching up your dress, fingers teasing along the bare skin underneath. His lips are everywhere—trailing down your neck, over your collarbone, his breath hot and heavy against your skin.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his voice all smooth arrogance, all cocky challenge as he drags his lips back up to your ear. “Go ahead. Push me away. Walk out that door.”

Your breathing is ragged, your fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. You should push him away. You should leave.

But instead, you whisper, “I hate you.”

Eren smirks. “Liar.”

Then his hands are on you again, and this time, there’s no stopping it.

“Eren—” you whimper.

“Shh.” His teeth graze the side of your throat, nipping at your skin before soothing it with his tongue. His breath is hot against your ear, sending a violent shiver down your spine. “You can pretend all you want, but I know you, baby.” His hands slide higher, thumbs brushing over sensitive skin, making your breath hitch. “I know you still belong to me.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders as he presses his body against yours, hips rolling forward in a slow, deliberate grind. The hard press of him makes your breath stutter, makes heat coil deep in your stomach. You arch into him as he sucks a mark onto your skin, claiming you in a way that makes your head spin.

“You gonna keep lying to me, baby?” Eren mutters, voice thick with amusement. His fingers trace slow, lazy circles over your thighs, his movements teasing, controlled.

You open your mouth to snap at him, to tell him to shut up, to stop playing games—but before you can, he grabs the thin fabric of your dress and rips. The sound of tearing cloth barely registers before his hands are on you, gripping your breast, his mouth attaching to your sensitive tit. 

You gasp, fingers curling into his shoulders, legs wrapping around his waist, bringing him impossibly closer. He rolls his hips into yours, pressing the full length of himself against you, a broken whimper slips past your lips.

"Feel that?" he breathes, voice thick with need. "All for you, baby."

Then his fingers finally move between your legs, brushing over your thin, damp fabric keeping him from what he really wants. His smirk deepens. "Tell me what you want. Beg for it."

Your breath stutters. He’s playing with you, dragging this out just to watch you fall apart. You hate him. You hate how good he is at this—how he knows exactly what to say, exactly how to touch you to make you melt.

But you’re not giving in that easily.

“Fuck you,” you snap, but it comes out shaky, breathless—less of a threat and more of a plea.

Eren grins, like he’s thriving off your frustration, like it only makes this better for him.

“Oh, you will,” he purrs, dragging his lips down your jaw, your throat, sucking another mark onto your skin like he wants it tattooed there. His teeth graze your pulse, and you can’t stop the way your body jerks toward him.

“Fuck,” he groans, pressing his forehead against yours for just a second, his grip tightening. “Look at you.” His fingers press against the wet spot, slow and teasing, and you whimper. His favorite sound. “So fucking wet for me, and you wanna sit here and tell me you hate me?”

You bite your lip hard, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

But then he hooks a finger under the waistband of your panties, pulling it down, and fuck—

“You’re soaked, baby,” Eren moans like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen, his head tipping back, his fingers barely dipping into your heat. “God, I fucking knew it.”

Your body betrays you, bucking against his hand, and Eren laughs. 

“There she is,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your ear as he slowly, slowly drags his fingers up your slick folds. “Knew you’d stop pretending eventually.”

You should tell him to shut up. You should shove him away.

But when two fingers slip inside you, curling just right, pressing against that spot that makes you see stars–

All you can do is moan his name.

And Eren loses it. 

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, lips crashing into yours again, swallowing every sound you make. His fingers fuck into you, deep and slow, his palm rubbing against your clit just enough to make you tremble. Your hands claw at his shoulders, your head falling back against the dryer as he works you open, stretching you out with his fingers, his mouth kissing your pretty titties before trailing down to your belly button. You’re falling apart, barely holding on, your whole body trembling, burning.

And Eren knows it. Feels it.

“That’s right, baby,” he whispers, voice thick, lips dragging back up so he can see your face as his fingers fuck into you harder, deeper. “Cum for me.”

And you do.

Your body shatters, waves of pleasure crashing over you so violently you think you might black out. Eren groans as you clench around his fingers, watching every second of it with hooded, hungry eyes, like he’s memorizing the way you come undone for him.

“Fuck, that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he breathes, his free hand cupping your jaw, forcing you to look at him as he drags you through it, fucking you with his fingers until you’re shaking, whimpering, completely wrecked.

Then—without breaking eye contact—he pulls his fingers out, glistening with your release, and licks them clean.

Your whole body burns at the sight.

Eren groans, closing his eyes briefly before he looks at you again, smirking. “Goddamn. You taste even better than I remember.”

You’re still gasping for air when his hands grab your thighs, pulling you flush against him again.

“My turn, baby,” he murmurs, his voice thick with need. He grinds against you, and fuck—he’s so hard it makes your mouth go dry. “This is what you do to me.”

Your head is still spinning, but when you feel him reach for his belt, your heart beats faster. Eren’s belt hits the floor and your whole body tenses, every nerve ending on fire. Your thighs are still shaking from your last orgasm, but Eren—cocky and relentless—grins down at you like he’s just getting started.

“We both know you’re not leaving until I’ve fucked you so good you forget why you left me in the first place.”

You don’t get a chance to argue because suddenly his hands are gripping your thighs, yanking you to the edge of the dryer, forcing your legs wide open. And then—fuck—he’s pushing inside, and your brain short-circuits.

You can’t think. You can’t breathe. You can’t do anything but gasp as Eren buries himself inside you, slow and deep, stretching you in a way that has your head tipping back, your fingers clawing at his shoulders.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Eren groans, his forehead dropping to yours, his hands digging into your waist like he’s losing his mind. “Still so fucking tight.” Your breath stutters. Your legs tremble. And then Eren pulls out just to slam back in, knocking the air straight from your lungs.

Your nails dig into his skin, and Eren grins like he loves it. “Yeah? Feels good?” he pants, dragging his lips down your throat, sucking another mark into your skin. “Tell me, baby.” You can’t form words. Can’t do anything but whimper, moan, cling to him like you’ll fall apart if he stops.

Eren fucking thrives off it.

“C’mon, use that pretty mouth, sweetheart,” he taunts, rolling his hips in a way that has your whole body convulsing. “Tell me how much you fucking love this.”

You want to fight it. You want to bite back.

But then he grinds deep, his fingers brutal on your thighs, and—fuck—you break.

“So fucking good,” you gasp, damn near crying as your head tips back, giving yourself over to him completely. “Eren, please.”

Eren’s groan is animalistic, his grip tightening as he picks up the pace, snapping his hips into you over and over, fucking you so deep you see white. “Yeah? Missed this cock that much?” he growls, his teeth grazing your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Missed me that much?”

Your whole body shudders because—fuck—you did. You hate how much you did. Eren knows.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, grabbing your jaw, forcing your teary, fucked-out gaze on him. “You can’t stay away from me, baby. You never could.”

His thumb brushes your lips, and without thinking, you part them, sucking it into your mouth, letting your tongue flick over the tip. Eren’s breath stutters. “Fuck,” he chokes out, his body trembling against yours as he watches you. “You’re gonna fucking kill me.”

You smirk, flicking your tongue against his thumb again, and Eren snaps. His pace turns brutal, desperate, unhinged, his grip bruising as he drives himself deeper, harder, faster, like he’s trying to ruin you. Like he’s trying to make sure you never forget who you belong to. 

“Not letting you go again,” he pants against your lips, each word punctuated by a sharp, punishing thrust. “Not fucking happening.” The dryer beneath you shakes, slamming against the wall by the force of his thrusts. You break around him, legs trembling, body shaking, a sob of pleasure ripping from your throat.

Eren follows seconds later, burying himself as deep as he can groaning, “fuck, m’gonna breed this fucking pussy. Make you all round and full with my kid. Bet you’d fucking love that shit.” He bites down on your ear, his whole body tensing as he spills inside you. 

And even then, even when he’s breathless and spent, he doesn’t let go.

His arms stay wrapped around you, his lips press against your forehead, his breath warm and heavy against your skin.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, softer now, rough fingers tracing lazy patterns into your back. “Always have been.” And this time, you don’t argue. Because fuck, you know it’s true.

You look up at him, wrapping your arms around his neck, and for a brief moment, you let yourself savor the feeling of being close to him again. But that moment is short lived. His mouth crashes onto yours once more, swallowing any protest, any resistance. You whine against him, the sensitivity of your body only driving him further.

Without warning, he thrusts back into you—hard, deep—your gasp echoing through the room. Your nails dig into his back, and his body presses against yours, moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm, as if savoring every inch of you. You can feel the muscle in his body, each movement setting fire to your senses.

The stretch is almost too much, overwhelming in the best way, and you can't help but chant his name, your body trembling beneath him. It feels like too much, but at the same time, you crave more. God, the way he makes you feel, you can’t fucking deny it anymore. 

Eren pulls back for a second, his breathing ragged, and looks at you, his eyes filled with hunger. “Say it. Say you need me, say you fucking belong to me.” His voice is rough, almost begging, but not quite. It’s a demand wrapped in raw desire.

“I need you,” you gasp, your head thrown back, lost in the feel of him inside you, his cock hitting all the right spots. “I belong to you.” The words come out in a breathless rush, and it feels like every part of you is finally breaking apart—letting go.

His grin is triumphant, dark, like he’s just won something, but he doesn’t slow down. No, he’s persistent. His thrusts are harder, faster, making your body jerk against the dryer, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the confined space of the laundry room.

“You’ll never get away from me again,” Eren growls, his grip tightening on your thighs, pushing you up against him harder. “I’m not letting you leave. Not this time.”

You can’t answer. The words are lost in the swirl of sensations, the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. But when you feel yourself about to break, when your body tightens and your heart skips a beat, you know the end is near.

“Eren, I can’t—” you try to warn him, but it’s too late. You’re spiraling.

And then, he moves faster—deeper—pushing you over the edge. You explode around him, your entire body shaking as you scream his name, clinging to him like he’s the only thing that keeps you tethered to the ground.

He follows shortly after, his own release deep inside you, his body shuddering with the force of it. He collapses against you, his forehead resting on yours, both of you gasping for breath, tangled together in a mess of sweat and desire.

For a few moments, neither of you moves. The only sound filling the quiet room is your heavy breathing and the slow, steady hum of the dryer spinning behind you. Eren shifts, pulling you up against him, and you can feel his warmth as he wraps his arms around you. He grabs a shirt, handing it to you, and you pull it on before he tugs you back against his chest.

There’s an elephant in the room, and you don’t fight it. You can’t stop yourself from saying, “Eren, we can’t just pretend this is...”

He cuts you off before you can finish. "I know. I'm getting help."

Silence fills the space between you, the weight of his words settling around you like a heavy fog. Then he speaks again, voice raw, vulnerable.

“The night we broke up, the look in your eyes... it haunts me every single day. You were scared of me. And all I wanted to do was protect you. When that happened, I knew I needed help. And fuck, I’m so sorry.”

He holds you tighter, burying his face in your hair. It’s rare for Eren to be this open, this vulnerable with you. The only other time he’d ever let his walls down like this was when he found out about his dad’s affair. He’d taken it hard, and all he wanted was for you to hold him, console him. And that’s what you did.

“I’ve been going to therapy. I bottled up all my emotions, and the shit with my dad sent me into a spiral. I saw what it did to my mom, how it affected her, and I started thinking if I controlled you, you wouldn’t hurt me like that. Now, when I think back, I realize how fucking dumb that was. You’re everything to me. So precious, and I can’t stand the thought of losing you.”

He pauses, his voice shaking slightly as he continues. "But I did. I pushed you away, and I was out of my fucking mind. I get it if you don’t want to jump right back into this, but... with time, could you give me another chance?"

You look up into his eyes, your thumb brushing away the tears that streak down his face. Your heart aches seeing him so vulnerable.

“I’m sorry you had to go through this alone, Eren," you whisper softly. "I wish you’d let me be there for you.”

He shakes his head, pulling you closer, his hands trembling. "Don’t apologize. This is all on me. I just… I can’t fucking lose you. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

“You’re not losing me," you say, your voice firm but full of tenderness, trying to calm him down and reassure him. Eren stares at you for a moment, his lips parting slightly before he breathes out, barely a whisper, “I love you.” Your heart stutters in your chest, the words you've been longing to hear for these last few months. You lean in, your forehead resting against his as you whisper back, “I love you too. Everything’s gonna be okay.” 

[mickyschumacher]

[I THINK HE KNOWS!]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: a fake and curated date in italy on valentine's day is no one's idea of fun except a publicist’s. but all it does is take a walk around monza to know the difference between what's real and what's fake.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: fluff, poor humour, fake dating trope, reader is a graduate uni student, lando being a dream boyfriend, kinda suggestive at the end, mentions of horrible fans and privacy invaded, me knowing nothing about italy let alone lombardy at the end as well.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: lando norris x fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3.3k

𝐀/𝐍: third fic of my series! i really loved writing this one! fake dating is always such a hit or miss to write about but in this case, it was a lot easier. hope you enjoyed it!♡︎ // as usual, poorly proofread

𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Life’s a funny thing really. Full of mistakes leaving you wondering how you ever got there.  

And as you sat on a bench, looking over at the view of Lake Como in Lombardy, Italy, with ‘hidden’ paparazzi down the street, you began wondering the exact same thing.  

“How long do you think they’ll be here?” You queried, turning your body to face Lando.  

Lando tilted his head, resting his cheek in his hand as he leaned on the top of the bench. His blue eyes briefly raked over you and then where the paparazzi hid. He looked over at his watch. “Give or take twenty minutes. They’ll probably be hungry for actual food soon.”  

You withheld your sigh. How did you get here? Time sure had flown as seven months ago you were just a graduating university student with loan after loan on her shoulders. The very student who still decided to have a sweet treat after handing in her assignment and headed to your favourite cafe. The very student who bumped into Lando Norris and had her bracelet snag on the sleeve of his jacket, landing you in a compromising position as you tried to take it out.  

The very student who woke up the next day with her entire privacy invaded as ‘fans’ hunted you online and seemingly decided not only were you Lando’s girlfriend but the ‘perfect match’. 

That was you.  

Mere hours later, you had Lando’s publicist and underlings knocking at your door with a comprehensive contract and a promise to pay your student loans and pay you. You didn’t think it would last this long. Three months tops... surely. 

So, you signed it. A contract declaring that you were fake dating Lando Norris.  

They said it would help Lando’s image. And help it did. Lando had never looked better to his sponsors. Apparently dating a university graduate makes you look more polished and mature, enough to at least secure a dozen contracts. Most fans seemed to love you. Even the driver’s had taken a liking to you.  

But to you, Lando, and a handful of selectively picked people, this was all fake.  

Every decision was carefully made. The matching jewellery, what he said, what you posted, where you met, the hugs, the arms around the waist, the staring, the kisses... 

And six months later, here you were. On a curated date with the Lando Norris at Lake Como on Valentine’s Day – the third day of your trip. You had both compromised, agreeing to each make a list of things so do in Lombardy, two of which had to be a couple’s activity for the sake of it.  

You had completed most of both of your lists. A visit to Teatro Alla Scala, an opera theatre (your idea, obviously). A guided tour Villa Del Balbianello because Lando needed to see some more real-life scenes of Star Wars (mostly ended up taking photos of you the entire time). An agreed night out from the both of you to Navigli to consume ‘local food.’  

Lando, who desperately wanted to have walk around Lake Como, was sorely disappointed when he spotted the paparazzi hiding around the corner. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, watching your fingers trail the cracks in the wooden bench.  

“It’s okay,” you assured. “It’ll be over soon anyways.” 

Lando knew you were talking about the paparazzi. But he couldn’t help but think about your relationship with him.  

That day at the cafe... the only reason people thought you two were in a relationship wasn’t just because you were barely a centimetre apart trying to remove your bracelet but in all the photos people had captured, Lando was staring at you like it was love at first sight.  

And before he knew it, everything had gone down. The fans, his publicist, the media... it was a shitshow. And then you showed up two days later having signed a contract to be his fake girlfriend.  

Lando hated it. Fuck, he hated it so much. He hated that he dragged you into this. He hated that every moment with you was planned. And he especially hated that he couldn’t like you openly. Not with you thinking it was fake.  

Lando looked down back at his watch. He sighed, leg beginning to shake out of impatience. 

You raised a brow. Naturally, you put a hand on his arm. “Lando... is everything okay?” 

Lando flickered his eyes to your hand and back to your face. He moved his arm from your grasp, grabbing your hand instead. “Come on. We’re leaving,” he stated.  

Your eyes widened as he stood up, bringing you up with him. “W-What? Lan–we’re supposed to leave in thirty minutes,” you murmured quietly, leaving only him to hear your voice.  

“I don’t care,” he started, increasing his walking pace. “Whatever you do... just hold on to me, okay?” 

You furrowed your brows. “Lando, what are-” 

Abruptly Lando paused in his steps. He turned to you, blue eyes staring hard back at you. “Do you trust me?” 

“I–” 

“Do you trust me? Yes, or no?” He repeated softly. 

You gulped nervously, unable to look away from him. “Yes.” 

A look of relief washed over his face as he nodded. “Good. Then hold on. And don’t let go.” 

“Lando, I still don’t get what you–MEAN!” You yelped as Lando began running in no particular direction. You tightened your grasp on his hand while your legs struggled to catch up to him. The problems of having an athlete boyfriend.  

The wind felt serene. The sun was oddly warm despite it being the winter season. It was as though spring was trying to come a little early. All the early architecture you had seen on the way here was beginning to blur into one uniform colour. You weren’t sure where you were going or why but all you knew was that you were going way too fast.  

“Lando! I swear to God, if you get us killed–” 

“You said you trusted me,” Lando yelled back, cautiously looking over his shoulder. He could see the paparazzi struggling to follow the both of you.  

You panted, pushing your legs to keep up. “I do! Breaking into a sprint all of a sudden with no idea in mind, however, begs a slightly different answer.” 

Lando couldn’t help but laugh over the air and God, did you love it. You had heard of people saying that a laugh could sound like music to one’s ears. You never understood it. It was a laugh. A reaction. How could it be musical? But in that moment, you understood. It wasn’t just the laugh. It required the context, the smile, the thought... and only then did it become an orchestrated musical masterpiece.  

Another yelp left your mouth as Lando pulled you to the side, situating yourselves in an empty shaded alleyway. You rested your back as comfortably as you could against the stone while Lando stood in front of you, hand still wrapped around yours.  

You both waited quietly. Turning your head slightly, you could see a small flock of black clothed paparazzi walk by, all ushering and yelling, mystified to how you both had disappeared.  

“Okay,” you swallowed hard, turning back to Lando. “I think they’re...” You seem to have lost your ability to speak as you found Lando staring at you. It had been a common occurrence within the past few months and it never got any easier. “They’re gone,” you confirmed, chest heaving.  

“You should probably start joining me on my workouts,” he mumbled, eyes flickering over you again, absorbing the sight of the thin sheet of sweat across your skin.  

You narrowed your eyes, moving your hand from his grasp to hit him with the side of your bag. A groan fell from his lips. “Ow!” He yelled, making you clasp a hand over his mouth. Your head darted to the side, checking whether anyone heard him.  

“What was that for?” He queried after you removed your hand from his mouth.  

“For being an asshole. And for making me run. Which reminds me... why did you make us run?” You queried with a more than unhappy tone.  

Lando grinned. “We still have one thing on your list to do.” 

You furrowed your brows. “I didn’t add anything else.” 

Lando’s hand rummaged through the pocket of his shorts, taking out a familiar piece of paper – the very one you had written all your activities on. And right at the bottom was an activity you thought you tore off.  

Your eyes widened, hand darting out to grab the piece of paper but Lando was too quick. “Nuh-uh,” he tutted, holding the paper close to him. “I’m getting this framed.” 

You skin burned at his words. You clearly remembered what you wrote.  

Walk the Monza track with Lando (and preferably some gelato). 

“I was supposed to take that off,” you mumbled.  

Lando frowned. “You don’t want to do it? Or did you not want to do it with me?” 

You blinked blankly at Lando. “Are you stupid? Did you read the same thing I did? Obviously with you. I just... we’ll probably get mobbed so it’s a stupid idea.” 

Lando understood what you meant. Visiting in Italy for two days now had proven to be incredibly difficult with a fan asking for a photo every other minute. He was appreciative that you were so understanding but he felt awful. 

“Yeah... I mean it would be crazy if you had a boyfriend who could rent out the entire track for a couple of hours,” Lando yawned, stretching his arms nonchalantly.  

Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see your mouth fall open. “Lando... you didn’t.” 

Lando rolled his eyes, grabbing your hand once again. “I did. Now come on. We’re going to be late!”  

━━━━━━━━━━━ 

You blinked blankly once you arrived to the empty Monza track. You had preoccupied yourself in the car ride here, pointing out all the interesting things you were seeing as Lando drove to the track. You were going to fall asleep if you hadn’t arrived there any earlier. But now that you were... you didn’t think your eyes could get any wider.  

“Is that a...” You turned to Lando with twinkling eyes.  

“Just go pick your flavour,” he narrowed his eyes.  

A squeal fell from your lips and before you knew it, you were hugging Lando tightly. You could feel his arms wrap around your waist, happily accepting your hug. “Thank you,” you murmured next to his ear.  

Lando smiled calmly despite his heart beat pounding in his ears. He was sure he could stay like this forever if he could. “You’re welcome. I... It’s so much less than what you deserve, but it’s all I could think to do given the... circumstances.”  

You stared at the pavement of the track heavily, Lando’s words swirling around your head. Right... the circumstances. You cleared your throat, pulling away from him even though you could’ve sworn you felt him tighten his grasp momentarily.  

“Come on. Pick your flavour or I’m just going to get you all chocolate,” you called out, waking over to the gelato cart he had hired. 

Lando sighed, briefly making a disgusted expression. He followed after you with a small smile. Despite the wind, he could still smell you on him.  

You greeted the cart owner, excitedly eyeing all the gelato flavours. There were so many to choose from... how were you ever going to pick? “Can I get...” 

“She’ll get mango, chocolate, raspberry, and lemon in a cup,” Lando finished, hovering behind you.  

You gaped, snapping your head to Lando. “How did you know?” 

“Better question is,” Lando started, resting his mouth right above your shoulder and near your ear, “why wouldn’t I?” 

You shivered at his words, cheeks burning at the small grin playing on his lips. “I’m not sharing any of mine,” you muttered, moving your eyes to the gelato.  

Lando pouted teasingly. “Please,” he sung, tilting his head so you could see him blink his eyes rapidly. 

You gulped, taking a step away before you succumbed to his wishes. “I think I’m going to throw up.” 

Lando gasped. “So rude!” 

You chuckled taking the cup of gelato while thanking the owner. Lando narrowed his eyes at you, ordering his own combination of pistachio, melon, and orange.  

You made a face at his cup as he walked towards you. “There is something so wrong with you.” 

Lando rolled his eyes, nudging you forwards to the entrance of the track. “Just be quiet and walk.” 

━━━━━━━━━━━ 

You and Lando walked comfortably at your own pace around the track, eating your gelato while he explained parts of the track or its history.  

“I’m not gonna lie,” you started, finishing your spoonful of raspberry, “Curva Parabolica makes me feel sick. Every time it came on the TV, I thought I was going to throw up.” 

Lando raised a brow, resting his spoon in his cup. “I thought you didn’t watch them?” 

It was always Lando’s assumption you didn’t watch the races. Even when you came to them, if there was a camera, you’d flash a smile, otherwise there was no other reason to be there. You were at the podiums because you had to be, not because you wanted to be. 

You snorted, looking at him incredulously. “Of course, I watch them. Why wouldn’t I? You’re freaking racing! I’m always so proud of you, no matter where or how you finish. You don’t see me next your mum and dad, cheering you on at the end of the race?” 

Of course he did. You were the first person he would look for at a race. And if you weren’t there, he’d look at the camera in hopes you were watching. And all this time... you had been.  

Lando’s mouth dried. “I just thought...” 

You looked at his face and you could read his mind. “You thought it was fake.” 

He blinked, regret washing over his face. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it,” he apologised.  

You took a spoonful of your mango gelato and eyeing his mournful expression. “It’s okay. If there’s one thing you should know, my proudness and happiness for you isn’t fake. Even if this whole thing is.” 

And there it was again. The bitter reminder that this entire relationship was fake. That perhaps the only real thing in your relationship was how you met.  

But this was real. 

This – the track, the gelato, the conversation – this was real.  

Lando sucked in a sharp breath, moving his eyes to the rest of the track as he ate large soon of his melon gelato. He exhaled slowly, trying to remember where he was once again. “Okay... pop quiz! Who was Variante Ascari named after?” 

You cleared your throat, pulling on a thoughtful expression. “Um Al.. Alberto Ascari? The Italian driver, right?” 

“Thank God someone’s been paying attention,” he joked as you neared the named turn.  

You rolled your eyes. “I should thank Fewtrell for that one. Remember that stream he made us join?” 

“Yeah,” Lando laughed softly, all the memories hitting him at once. It was really sweet of Max actually. It was a time when some ‘fans’ were being particularly awful to you. Saying you were using Lando for fame because you barely knew anything about the sport.  

Max then created a poorly made quiz about Formula 1 and got you and Lando to join. Max and Lando pretended not to know much so you were all in the same boat. And any time the right answer was mention, Lando would occasionally squeeze your leg to give you a clue. The stream was flooded with some of the kindest comments, telling you to ignore everyone else and just focus on your health and your relationship with Lando.  

It was one of the moments where you realised how good of a friend Max was. Lando was lucky to have someone who cared for him that much.  

Lando looked down at his cup and let out a dramatic sigh. 

You didn’t even need to bat an eye towards. “I told you I'm not sharing,” you reminded, quickening your pace.  

It didn’t take long for him to catch up. “Please, please. I can see you have like two spoons of mango and lemon. Come on. Sharing is caring.” 

“No–Lando! Stop following me!”  

All of a sudden, you and Lando were running again. But this time, you weren’t worried about some paparazzi or the destination. It was just you and Lando.  

“No offense, but you are not outrunning me,” Lando called out from behind you, running with what you were pretty sure was a smug grin. 

You huffed, trying to push your legs further but you could feel him hovering. You came to an abrupt halt. “You’re right. I can’t outrun you,” you smiled, turning to him. “But I can out-eat you.” 

Lando’s grin dropped as you combined the two flavours of gelato and plopped them in your mouth. He stood there, dumbfounded while you happily ate the rest.  

You replicated his smug grin from earlier and poked your tongue out. “All finished. Sorry,” you shrugged with no sound of an apology hidden in your voice.  

Lando swallowed hard, eyes fixated on your mouth. A step closer to you, his body was pressed on yours. His hand travelled up your neck, the other hand resting on your waist to pull you closer.  

You inhaled slowly, hairs on your body standing straight. You tried meeting his eyes but all you could see was him focus on your lips. Instinctively, your hand fell to his arm around your waist, fastening yourself to him.  

“I... I think I can still taste it,” he said, voice hoarse and dry. He wasn’t sure if he could even recognise himself. 

“Lando... I–we're not on the clock,” you whispered, unwilling to untangle yourself from his grasp.  

“I don’t care.” 

In the blink of an eye, Lando’s lips were smashed against yours and fuck, his lips were soft and pillowy as usual. Your stomach churned upon feeling Lando pushing you closer to him, if that were possible. His fingers were cold against your skin, creeping under the hem of your shirt to rub tingling circles onto your skin.  

A breathy gasp fell from your lips while goosebumps littered your skin. Lando took advantage of this, groaning against your lips as he darted his tongue to explore your mouth. He could feel himself press into you, rubbing his hard-on against you.  

You think now would be an appropriate time to self-implode. You had all the signs. Burning skin, dizziness, and the lost ability to breathe. 

Lando almost buckled under your touch as your fingers scoured his taut torso, lingering dangerously close to his v-line. 

“Holy fuck,” he gasped, pulling away to rest his forehead on yours. His hands had found themselves holding yours, preventing you from undoing him any further. His chest heaved, rising up and down while he stared at your swollen lips and moved his eyes to meet yours.  

“I want this to be real,” he pleaded, moving your hand to his face. “Please.” 

“Lando,” you started but he didn’t want to hear it.  

He shook his head. “I think I’m falling in love with you. I think I have been since we first met,” he sighed out, collecting himself. “I don’t want to do this when it’s fake. I want to be with you because what I feel is real. Because you drive me crazy and I can’t imagine a future without you.” 

You blinked, feeling his hand trail over yours as you caressed his face. Your heart raced loudly in your ears. How were you supposed to respond to that? “I...” 

“Please say something. Anything,” he begged, blue eyes heavily staring down at you. 

“As long as you promise to walk with me on every track. Oh, and get me gelato.” 

Lando let out the biggest sigh of relief, almost collapsing against your hand. His head dipped down, pressing his lips against you once again, taking you into a long kiss. He sighed, pulling away.  

His arms fell around your waist as he grinned at you. “I promise.” 

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑 

[nomie-11]

Last Call Home

masterlist! | read part 2 here!

synopsis: you had promised years ago that when Vi went to university, you would stay back and take care of Powder and tuition until she graduated. You just didn't understand the toll it would take on yourself.

pairings: vi x reader, powder is lowkey reader's adoptive daughter

“Hey, it’s Vi. Just wanted to call and let you know that I love you and I miss you, and I know I promised I’d be home for the weekend, but Cait needed me for a lab her and Jayce were working on. I promise I’ll come visit you and Pow soon. Happy Valentine's Day, baby.”

—phone call from Vi to Y/n, February 14th, 11:36 p.m.

—————————

Working at The Last Drop wasn’t where you had seen yourself in the long run. When your senior year homeroom teacher had asked you where you wanted to be in the next five years, you would have said university, maybe a job in a field you fell in love with, an apartment with Vi that has a balcony and a nice view.

Not living in the same city in the same dingy apartment since graduation, no college degree and a stagnant job at a bar no one came too unless college was on break. 

But that was you, at the ripe age of twenty two. 

Trudging home after a long shift at the bar, but you had work to get done, things to do before tomorrow. Laundry, bills, maybe dinner if there was enough in the fridge for Powder to eat for the next three days until you got paid and could go food shopping. 

The door to your apartment pushed open with a soft click, the scent of the cheap countertop cleaner you bought immediately assaulting your nose. 

“Hey,” Powder said, not looking up from her seat on the floor by the coffee table. She was doing the art assignment her (ridiculously expensive) therapist had told her to do. 

“Hey baby,” you said, forcing a smile onto your face as you kicked off your work boots and sat heavily onto the couch. “How was school?”

She glanced up at you, her soft, violet blue eyes giving you a one over before she answered. 

“It was good,” she nodded. 

You nodded back, draping an arm over your eyes as you stared up at the ceiling. It was unfair to Powder, and you knew it, but ever since her and Vi’s dad had keeled over and died of a heart attack four years ago, and Vi left for school the year after, you were all she had left. 

“Good.”

————————————

“Fuck, I totally forgot that tomorrow is Powder’s art showcase. I know I promised I’d be back home for it, but finals are next week and I really need to study. Just… send me photos of it, ok? I just want to see her. She’s getting so big. I’m sorry again, Y/n. I miss you.”

——phone call from Vi to Y/n, March 4th, 1:47 p.m.

———————————

Mornings started early. You never had time to make Powder's lunch when you got home from work, so you woke up before dawn to make her breakfast and something somewhat nutritious to eat. The last time you actually had enough money to take her to a family doctor, the only comment they had was that you must have been starving her with how underweight she was. 

You hated the implication, hated yourself more for not being able to prove them wrong. Powder deserved better. You didn’t even bother with breakfast for yourself anymore—not since the last time you stepped on the scale and realized your clothes were fitting tighter than they used to. Some days you told yourself it was just muscle from hauling kegs and scrubbing down the bar; other days you knew better, people aren’t meant to live off of cheap frozen meals and energy drinks. 

You shoved a granola bar and an overripe apple into Powder’s bag, watching her from the corner of your eye as she meticulously folded her art supplies into a second-hand tote you had re-sewn more time than you can count. Her hands moved with care, but there was a tension in her shoulders that weighed too heavy for a thirteen year old. She wasn’t even your sister, you were her sister's girlfriend by relationship, but she might as well have been your daughter at this point. 

She caught you looking, and her soft frown deepened. 

“You don’t have to keep doing this,” she murmured. 

“Doing what?” You asked, tying the handles of her lunch bag into a bow as casually as you could. 

“Pretending everything’s okay.” Powder’s words were quiet, but they struck you like a fist. 

You didn’t answer, just slid her bag over the counter to her and kissed the top of her hair. “Have a good day at school, baby,” you whispered, even as the lump in your throat threatened to consume you. 

——————————

“I finally booked train tickets for May, so I’ll be home for two weeks before I have to go on that research trip. Maybe we can plan a day, just me, you, and Powder? We can go to that art museum she loves—tickets are free for under eighteen, I’m sure we can still pass as high schoolers. Sound good? School is really kicking my ass. I just want to come home.”

——phone call from Vi to Y/n, April 24th, 11:23 a.m.

—————

A part of you wasn’t ready to see Vi. 

It wasn’t anger or resentment—not entirely. It was something deeper, heavier. A dull ache that grew each time her name lit up your phone, her voice brimming with excuses that always sounded too reasonable to argue with. You hated how your heart still jumped at the sound of her voice, how it softened just a little each time that she said she missed you. You hated that a part of you believed her. 

You glanced at Powder’s latest painting propped up against the wall by the coffee table. It was a tangled mess of blues and reds, dark shadows streaking through what looked like broken glass. It was beautiful, haunting even, but it wasn’t a pre-teen’s painting. It was too raw, too heavy. 

Powder was supposed to be excited about Vi’s visit. She’d circled the date on the calendar in her favorite bright pink pen, but now you weren’t so sure. She didn’t talk about her sister much anymore, and when she did, it was only in passing. 

The sound of her footsteps pulled you out of your thoughts. She wandered into the living room, still in her pajamas, her hair a long mess waiting for you to braid it carefully. “Is she really coming this time?” 

You sighed, unsure how to answer. “She says she is. She booked the tickets.”

Powder sat on the couch, curling into herself as she hugged a pillow to her chest. “She always says that.”

You didn’t have the heart to argue. She was right. 

—————

“I’m on the train now! Can’t wait to see you. I know I’ve been gone too long, but I’m gonna make it up to you and Pow. I swear. I brought her those paint sets she’s been wanting. Love you.” 

—phone call from Vi to Y/n, May 5th, 3:13 p.m.

—————

You heard her before you saw her—the creak of the apartment door, her familiar laugh as she stumbled inside carrying her overstuffed duffle bag. Powder froze beside you on the couch, her pencil hovering mid-stroke over her sketchbook. 

“Hey! I’m home!” Vi’s voice was warm, teasing, like she hadn’t been gone for months. 

You stood slowly, your heart pounding in your chest as Vi rounded the corner, her eyes lighting up when they met yours. “There’s my girl,” she said softly, dropping her bag and pulling you into her arms. She smelled the same—like leather and lavender, and the faint scent of cigarette smoke that lingered from the months before she quit. You wanted to melt into her, but something held you back. 

Powder didn’t move from the couch. She stared at Vi, her face unreadable. “You’re late,” she said quietly. 

Vi’s smile faltered. “I know, Pow. I’m sorry. The train—”

“Doesn’t matter.” Powder stood, brushing past her sister without another word and disappearing into her room. 

Vi’s shoulders sagged. “She hates me, doesn’t she?” 

You shook your head, forcing a small smile. “She doesn’t hate you. She just doesn’t know how to trust you anymore.” 

Vi winced, her hands finding your waist as she looked at you with familiar, guilty eyes. “Do you still trust me?” 

Your throat tightened. You wanted to say yes, wanted to believe it was true. But trust wasn’t built on promise—it was built on presence. “I don’t know,” you whispered. 

And for the first time since you met her twelve years ago, Vi didn’t have a comeback. 

—————

“Pow’s still mad, isn’t she? I don’t blame her, but it sucks. I’m trying, Y/n. I swear I’m trying. I just… didn’t think everything would be so different. Anyway, tomorrow’s our museum day, right? I’ve been looking forward to it all week. I want it to be perfect. I’ll make it up to the both of you, I promise.” 

—phone call from Vi to Y/n, May 7th, 9:42 p.m.

—————

The museum was quieter than usual, the midday crowd sparse except for a few families and a group of art students sketching by a massive installation in the lobby. Powder walked a few steps ahead of you and Vi, her eyes scanning the walls, taking in every piece like she was cataloging them in her mind. 

Vi tried to catch up with her, her usual playful energy bubbling to the surface. “Hey, Pow, wait up!”

Powder didn’t slow down. She stopped in front of a painting—abstract, full of swirling colors and chaotic lines. “This one’s new,” she said, her voice distant. 

Vi stepped closer, her gaze flickering between Powder and the painting. “It’s cool. What do you think it’s about?” 

Powder shrugged, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “Maybe it’s about someone trying to fix something, but they keep messing it up instead.” 

Vi flinched, but you placed a gentle hand on her arm before she could respond. “It’s beautiful, Pow,” you said softly. 

Powder glanced at you, her expression softening just a little. “Yeah. I guess.” 

Vi stayed quiet after that, no attempts to joke or lighten the mood. You could tell she felt out of place, like a guest in her little sister and her girlfriend’s lives. 

Lunch was better—Powder perked up when she was able to order a large side of fries instead of splitting a small with you, and Vi managed to coax a small smile out of her when the three of you went out for ice cream after, and Vi shelled out the extra twenty five cents for rainbow sprinkles on top. But the weight between them lingered, a silent reminder that some things couldn’t be fixed in a single day. 

—————

“Hey, it’s me. Just wanted to say I’ll wait up for you tonight, okay? I know you’ve been working late, but I want to spend some time with you. Maybe we can talk. Love you, Y/n.” 

—phone call from Vi to Y/n, May 9th, 7:12 p.m.

—————

You came home long past midnight, your body aching from another double shift. The sound of the TV murmuring in the background greeted you as you pushed the door open, and there was Vi, sprawled out on the ouch, half-asleep but still waiting for you. 

“Hey,” she mumbled, sitting up as you dropped your bag and kicked off your worn shoes. “You look exhausted.” 

“I am,” you said simply, your voice flat. 

Vi frowned, her eyes scanning you more closely now. She took in the dark circles under your eyes, the way your shoulders slumped, the stains on your work uniform no amount of scrubbing could get out, the strain on the clothes you couldn’t afford to replace. Her gaze drifted to the pile of unopened bills on the kitchen counter, the worn-out sneakers by the door, the way Powder’s bedroom light was still on because she refused to sleep unless she was sure you were home. 

“Y/n…” Vi started, her voice low and uncertain. 

“What?” you asked, dropping heavily onto the couch beside her. 

“I didn’t realize…” She gestured vaguely around the apartment. “All of this. How much you’re doing. For Pow, for—everything.” 

You laughed, but there was no humor in it. “What did you think I was doing while you were at school, Vi? Sitting around waiting for you to come back?”

Her face fell, guilt washing over her. “No, I just—”

“You didn’t notice,” you interrupted, your voice sharp. “Because you weren’t here.” 

Vi looked away, her jaw tight. “I’m here now.” 

“Yeah,” you said bitterly. “For two weeks. And then you’re gone again, off to some research trip or lab or whatever else is more important than being home for Powder’s fourteenth birthday and her next art showcase and all of her other achievements.” 

Silence settled between you, heavy and suffocating. Vi reached for your hand, her touch tentative. “I know I’ve screwed up,” she said quietly. “And I know I can’t fix it in two weeks, but I want to try. Please, Y/n, let me try.” 

You wanted to believe her, but the exhaustion in your bones made it hard to hope. Pulling your hand away as you stood, you couldn't bear to look at her. “I’m going to bed.” 

Vi stayed on the couch long after you disappeared into the bedroom, the weight of her absence these past years settling over her like a heavy blanket. For the first time, she truly saw the cracks in the life she’d left behind—and the toll they’d taken on the people who’d given her the means to leave. 

—————

“Hey, Cait. It’s me. Look, I’ve been thinking, and I know it’s a big ask, but… is that offer for the spare apartment still on the table? It’s just—things here are worse than I thought. Y/n is working herself to death, and Powder’s not doing great. I want to bring them to Piltover. They deserve better than this. 

I swear, I’ll make it work. I’ll get a part-time job, and once we graduate, I’ll pay you back for everything. I just need to know if it’s okay, if you’re okay with it. They’re—well, they’re  my everything, Cait. I can’t keep leaving them like this. Let me know, okay? Thanks. For everything.” 

—phone call from Vi to Caitlyn Kiramman, May 9th, 11:37 p.m.

—————

The restaurant wasn’t fancy by Piltover standards, but it was leagues above the dingy diners you frequented when you had enough saved up to get Powder a vanilla milkshake and a burger. The dim lighting made the worn wooden tables look almost elegant, and the scent of freshly baked bread and sizzling garlic filled the air. Powder’s eyes were wide as she took it all in, her sketchbook clenched tightly in her hands like she wasn’t sure what to do with it.

Vi had insisted on treating the two of you, though you weren’t sure where she’d gotten the money. “A friend helped out,” she’d said with a sheepish grin, waving off your questions. 

The meal was nice—better than nice, really. Powder had polished off a plate of pasta bigger than her head, and Vi hadn’t stopped smiling since you walked in. But when the plates were cleared and the check paid, Vi leaned forward, her expression turning serious. 

“I need to talk to you both about something,” she said, her voice steady but soft. 

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at Powder, who was busy doodling on a napkin. “What’s going on?” 

Vi took a deep breath. “I want you both to come to Piltover with me.” 

Your stomach dropped. “What?” 

“I talked to Caitlyn,” Vi continued, her gaze fixed on yours. “She has a spare apartment, and she said we can stay there. Rent-free. She’s even willing to cover Powder’s school and therapy until I can get a good enough job to take care of it myself. And you can enroll in community college until I graduate and transfer to Piltover University. A fresh start for the both of you.” 

Your head was spinning. “Vi, that’s… that’s huge. We can’t just pack up and leave. What about Powder’s school? She can’t handle transferring in the middle of the year. Finding a new therapist she trusts? My job?”

“I know it’s a lot,” Vi said quickly, her hand reaching for yours. “But Caitlyn’s family is crazy rich, and she said she can help with everything. We’ll find Powder a new school with a great art program, a new therapist to help with her BPD, whatever she needs. And you won’t have to work like this anymore, Y/n. You can focus on what you want to do, not just surviving.” 

Powder looked up from her drawing, her eyes wide. “You want us to move to Piltover?” 

“Yeah, Pow,” Vi said gently. “I know it’s scary, but I think it would be really good for you. For us.” 

You pulled your hands back, shaking your head. “This is too much, Vi. What if it doesn’t work out? What if we can’t—”

“It will work,” VI interrupted, her voice firm but pleading. “I’ll make sure of it. I’m not asking you to trust Caitlyn or her family. Just trust me. I’ve got you.” 

Silence hung between you, heavy with unspoken fears. Powder’s gaze flickered between the two of you, her expression uncertain but curious with the hope of a future you wished you could provide but would never be able to afford on your own. 

“I don’t know,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I need time to think about it.” 

“Take all the time you need,” Vi said, her tone softening. “But just… think about it, okay? You can’t keep up like this.” 

You nodded, but the weight of the decision settled in your chest like a stone. Vi’s words made sense, but they didn’t erase the fear gnawing at you. This might have been miserable, but this was home. 

—————

“Do you think Powder will hate me for leaving again? I don’t want to go.” 

—phone call from Vi to Y/n, May 15th, 2:54 p.m.

—————

The train station was as dreary as you remembered it being the first time Vi left. The cold concreted floors and harsh fluorescent lights did nothing to make the moment any easier. Powder clung to Vi’s waist like her life depended on it, her sobs muffled against the soft leather of her sister’s favorite jacket. 

“Hey, Pow,” Vi said softly, brushing a hand through her hair. “You’ve gotta let go, okay? I promise I’ll come back. You’ll see me again soon.” 

Powder shook her head, her tears soaking into Vi’s clothes. “Please, Violet! I don’t want you to go!” she choked out, calling her older sister by her full name. 

You stood a few steps away, arms crossed tightly over your chest, trying to keep it together. But when Vi turned to you, her eyes shining with unshed tears, your resolve cracked.

“You’ll take care of her, right?” Vi asked, her voice breaking just a little. 

“Always,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. 

Vi stepped forward and pulled you into a tight hug, Powder squeezed between the two of you. “I love you,” she murmured against your lips. “Both of you.” 

“I love you too,” you said, your voice barely audible as you buried your face in her shoulder. 

The train whistle blew, loud and piercing, signaling the last boarding call. Vi pulled back reluctantly, kneeling to press a kiss to Powder’s forehead, and then standing to press a gentle kiss to your lips. “I’ll call as soon as I get back to my apartment,” she promised, her voice trembling. 

Powder reached for her again, but you gently pried her hands away, lifting her up as if she was still the nine year old girl watching her sister leave for the first time. She wrapped herself around like she had when she was younger, her legs around your waist and her arms clinging to your neck as if letting go would make everything fall apart. 

Vi hesitated on the platform, her eyes fixed on the two of you until the last second. Then she turned and boarded the train, disappearing through the doors. 

You and Powder stood there as the train pulled away, her sobs shaking against your chest. Watching Vi go felt like losing her all over again, and you couldn’t stop the tears that slipped down your cheeks. 

“It’s okay, baby,” you whispered as you held her tight against your chest as if she was a backpack you had strapped to your front. “We’ll be okay. Let’s go home.” 

But even as you said it, you weren’t sure if you believed it. 

The walk back to the apartment was long and heavy, Powder’s weight in your arms a reminder of how young she still was despite everything she’d been through. Her sobs quieted eventually, but she didn’t let go, her face buried against your neck like she was trying to hide from the world. 

When you finally made it home, the apartment felt emptier than it ever had before. 

—————

“Hey, Vi. It’s Y/n. I know you’re probably in a lab right now, but I just dropped off Powder at school. I quit my job on an impulse last night, I couldn’t handle it anymore. I can’t do this anymore. I miss you, and I just— I think we’ll do it. I think we’ll move to Piltover.” 

—phone call from Y/n to Vi, June 1st, 8:02 a.m.

Read part 2 here!

If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!

[myfictionalromance]

A Ghost at Gotham University Pt.2

DP x DC | Danny Fenton x Tim Drake | Masterlist

The espresso machine roared as Danny pushed open the door to the café. The low lighting was warm and gave the space a cozy atmosphere. It was a quiet little spot on a well-lit street, not too far from campus, and right next to the business district—which meant it was plenty busy during the day but stayed open late as a haven for night owls like himself. Danny was hoping it would be a good study spot from now on.

Not that he couldn’t study in his dorm—but he couldn't study in his dorm. There were plenty of ghosts haunting the historic dorm he was privileged enough to stay in—thanks to the Wayne Scholarship. Specifically, the ghost that haunted his small room—a frat guy from the ’80s named Brock—did not take well to Danny encroaching on his haunt.

“Bro, you cannot be serious—this is my dorm. My dad paid for me to not have a roommate!”

“BRO—” Danny countered exasperatedly, “You’re literally a ghost. Your dad hasn’t paid for anything since your Hell Week incident.”

“Hazing is all a part of the brotherhood, lil’ man. I have no regrets—my final keg stand was the stuff of legends!”

Danny facepalmed. It took promising that he’d swing by a frat party soon—and the fact that Danny had literally nowhere else to stay—to convince Brock.

“Alright, bruh. You go to a party, become my honorary brother—you can hang. The brotherhood doesn’t turn down their bros who need to couch surf!”

“This is my assigned dorm room. I’m using the bed,” Danny replied flatly.

And that was how Danny ended up getting his first college roommate. It seemed to go well the first few nights. Brock made himself scarce—usually visiting the frat house or other communal haunts around campus. Until Danny sat down to crack open his biology book, and Brock appeared in a flash—moaning about how studying harshed the vibe of his haunt, and refusing to let Danny ruin that while he stayed there. This was apparently some ghostly trigger, it seemed—so Danny couldn’t fault him too much. But it didn’t stop him from grumbling as he hauled his heavy backpack down the street.

Walking the dark streets of Gotham just to study wasn’t his best choice, but he had a pop quiz tomorrow! It wasn’t his fault he’d procrastinated all day under the false assumption he’d be able to study in his dorm. Then, like a lighthouse guiding him home—the neon sign for Gotham Grounds caught his eye. Hark! He was saved!

Now, as he made his way through the café, with only a few patrons sprawled about, he decided to take a whole table in the front for himself. Perfect! Now he could spread out a bit, grab a little coffee, and dig into his assignments. He was determined to make Jazz proud this time around—get the best grades he could, prioritize school, so he could have a strong career in whatever he ended up wanting to do (he still wasn’t sure yet…). After all, college isn’t cheap—and if he wanted to keep his scholarship, he’d have to be way more committed to his studies than he was in high school.

As he walked up to the counter to place his order, he came to an abrupt stop when a new patron came speeding through the door. The guy in question—tall, dark-haired, wearing a stunning suit—would’ve been handsome if he didn’t look so utterly sleep-deprived. His eyes, framed by dark circles, popped wide open when he realized his hurried and abrupt entry made him cut Danny off in line. He let out a brief, “Oh, sorry—you go!” and ushered Danny forward to order first.

“Thanks—” Danny’s soft reply hitched in his throat when they caught eyes. Mr. Handsome Stranger smirked a bit before Danny shook his head and turned his focus back to what was important right now—caffeine! He wrestled through the bi-panic to remember his coffee order.

“Uhhh, I’ll have a medium red-eye.” The barista looked aghast, and Danny at least had the self-awareness to look a bit sheepish.

“A red-eye at 8 p.m.? Are you sure? That stuff’ll wake the dead…”

Danny mused that it was nice the barista seemed to care enough for his well-being to double-check.

“Oh yeah,” he quickly tried to laugh it off. “Lots of studying to do tonight, and it really doesn’t hit me that bad.” The barista reluctantly rang him up and gestured to Mr. Handsome behind Danny.

“What about you, sir?”

Sleepy Beauty blinked slowly and yawned out, “I’ll take a black-eye…”

“A black-eye? Geez, what’s with all these hardcore coffee orders this late?” The slack-jawed employee was absolutely peeved as he rang up the next order. “You want that to-go as usual, Mr. Drake?”

The guy—Mr. Drake, apparently—glanced at Danny, who quickly looked away.

“I’ll take it for here, actually. I’ve got some work to do as well.”

“All right—two death-by-coffee’s coming up… you freaks.” The surly man chuckled as he fired up the espresso machine and got to work.

Danny was already back at his table—staring very intently at that biology book that had seemed so important ten minutes ago.

“Sorry Jazz, I’m weak,” he thought to himself.

If this was the rate he was going at, he might not make it through the semester. He noticed this Drake guy had picked a table adjacent to his at the front. Danny could see him out of the corner of his eye as he pulled a sleek laptop from his bag.

After a moment, the barista sauntered over to their tables with their orders. Danny looked up at Mr. Drake and chuckled.

“That’s so funny we both got pretty much the same order—that guy thought we were nuts.”

“Hey, it’s always good to meet someone with superior taste in coffee,” he laughed back. “I’m Tim, by the way.”

“Danny!” he replied with a crooked smile.

They raised their mugs to each other in solidarity before hunkering down to their respective tasks.

And from then on, they worked in comfortable silence. Only the sound of soft jazz pouring through the radio, the espresso machine, and the murmur of the few other patrons filled the air. The night eventually wore on, and about an hour later, Tim left. Danny’s eyes trailed him on the way out.

“It was nice to finally meet someone who wasn’t a ghost,” he mused. “I wonder if I’ll see him around?”

Unbeknownst to Danny, Tim was hurrying back to the Nest to suit up for the night. He couldn’t believe he’d wasted a whole hour of patrol over coffee and a brief moment of bi-panic! But then again, it had been nice to take a moment to breathe. A busy day at the office followed up by what was sure to be a long night out—he couldn’t fault himself for wanting to stop for a minute.

He was going to be thinking about those blue eyes all night…

Pt.3

[onlybeeewrites]

Three’s A Crowd

Request: Hello! I have request for a Coriolanus Snow x Fem! Reader. Where the reader is pregnant and has to give a speech maybe during him becoming president but in the middle of it she goes into labour.

Pairing: Coriolanus snow x Fem!reader

Word count: 1.5k

warnings: pregnancy, light mentions of labor, classism, district versus capital opinions, the reader is from the capital

~~~~~~

You weren’t the first choice. You knew that. But did it stop you from turning him away his advances?

Absolutely not.

You were kind, sweet, and everyone around you knew who you were. Growing up with the Snows and your close friends, you weren’t the standout. It wasn’t a bad thing—it just was.

You came from a wealthy family. Generational wealth that had taken a hit during the War, but quickly bounced back when your family invested in clothing manufacturing. Your family helped sponsor the reconstruction of factories destroyed in Eight, and soon, the business boomed. Your wealth grew, surpassing anything you’d ever imagined.

But despite having access to the finest fashion first, you remained the same sweet girl. Always willing to give a skirt, blouse, or dress with a flaw to Tigress, saying, “It would be a shame to waste it. I just don’t have the talents to fix it.” Tigress always smiled in return.

Watching you during the Hunger Games years ago had been painful. When the games changed, and Academy students had to mentor District tributes, you were assigned Wovey, a poor thirteen-year-old from District Eight. You did everything in your power to keep your promise to get her home. But near the end, after Wovey drank some water and died within minutes, your frustration boiled over. You demanded answers, questioned the contents of the water, and felt humiliated. You had failed, and it ate at you, gnawing at your pride.

After the Games, life seemed to return to normal—for you, at least. News broke about Coriolanus Snow’s involvement in cheating and his banishment to District 12 as a peacekeeper, and the gossip spread like wildfire.

You’d liked him—been acquaintances. You exchanged basic pleasantries, nothing more. He was smart. Incredibly so. Even in silence, his eyes were constantly assessing, watching everything.

You felt sorry for him. Sorry that he was stuck in an awful district with awful people. Sorry that he’d been manipulated by Lucy Gray, that District girl who you believed was only using him. How awful those District people were.

Then, near the end of summer, after Sejanus Plinth’s death, Coryo returned to the Capital. And he was different—hardened, colder, more toned. But the way he looked at you was also different.

It began with simple compliments during classes at University. Compliments that made you blush. Then came walks to class, studying together, dinners. And before you knew it, you were standing beside him as the First Lady of Panem, ever so cold, calculating, and calculating. You saw the side of him he only allowed you to see—the soft, loving Coryo you had come to know and love.

And now here you were. Just two years into his presidency. The grand hall of your home was packed, its glittering elite seated in perfect rows as cameras broadcasted the event to the districts. Tonight, the event was designed to be a spectacle—a night of carefully crafted rhetoric.

You stood at the podium, poised, regal, your silk gown flowing over the unmistakable curve of your belly. Coriolanus had urged you to rest, to stay seated during the event, but you insisted. This speech was important.

The initiative you were launching, The Future of Panem Fund, symbolized progress—a new focus on education and healthcare for the next generation. It reinforced Coriolanus’ image as a leader who not only brought order but invested in the future. As his wife, you played a key role in solidifying that vision.

Standing before the audience, you smiled, your voice unwavering. “Good evening. I would like to thank you all for taking the time to come tonight. I assure you, it will be worth it,” you began, the polished ease of a practiced speaker settling over you. A sweet smile, a perfect face, the ideal First Lady for their perfect President.

“For too long, we have focused on the present—on survival, rebuilding, improving. But tonight, we look beyond the now. We look to what comes next. What comes tomorrow.”

A wave of nods rippled through the audience, all of them hanging on your words. You had crafted this speech carefully, balancing inspiration and strength.”

“The Future of Panem Fund is not just an initiative; it is a promise.” Your hand rested lightly on your belly. “A promise that every child in the Capital will have access to education, healthcare, and the resources to grow strong and capable.”

Applause rippled through the hall, and beside you, Coriolanus stood composed, his sharp gaze never leaving you.

You took a steadying breath before continuing. “Because the future of Panem is not written by chance. It is shaped by those with the will to guide it. Together, we will build a nation that does not just survive—but thrives.”

The applause swelled, echoing through the hall. You allowed a brief smile, savoring the moment—

And then, the contraction hit.

Your breath hitched, pain radiating through your abdomen. You gripped the podium, forcing yourself to maintain a serene expression. You weren’t going to falter.

Coriolanus noticed instantly.

Though he didn’t move, you could feel his attention shift, his calculating mind assessing every detail.

Still, you pressed on. “This fund will ensure that every—” Another contraction. This time, your breath left you in a slow, controlled exhale. You gave a short laugh, shaking your head.

Oh.

Oh, this was happening.

You turned to Coriolanus and, in a voice that carried through the microphone, murmured with quiet amusement, “I do believe I’m in labor, my dearest.”

Silence.

Then the hall erupted.

Laughter, cheers, applause—thousands of people on their feet, reveling in the spectacle. This was their perfect moment—their President, his wife, and the arrival of their child, the future of Panem.

But Coriolanus didn’t see it that way.

For the first time, his mask cracked. His usually unreadable expression betrayed sheer disbelief.

You, however, were laughing softly, gripping the podium as another contraction struck. “Well,” you exhaled, glancing back at the crowd, “it seems the future of Panem is arriving a little earlier than expected.”

More laughter, more cheers, more applause. Half the room was celebrating, while reporters scrambled to capture every moment as though it was a privilege to witness.

Coriolanus finally snapped into action.

“Go,” he barked sharply to the peacekeepers, “Bring the doctor. Now.”

The peacekeepers moved immediately, but Coriolanus was already at your side, one hand pressed to your back, the other reaching to steady you. His grip was firm, unwavering, but you felt the tension radiating off him. More peacekeepers formed around you, escorting you out of the hall and to the private part of your home.

“You should have been resting,” he muttered lowly, his voice tight as he guided you away from the podium.

You smirked despite the pain. “And miss my big speech? Not a chance.”

His jaw clenched, but a faint twitch of his lips betrayed something softer. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” you teased breathlessly, leaning into his support as another contraction hit, a small groan escaping, “you married me.”

Cameras flashed as Coriolanus led you toward the exit, his grip protective, unyielding. The crowd cheered, watching their leader—newly cemented in power—prepare to welcome his heir, the new generation to rule Panem.

[4unnyr0se]

❥ apple cider | tobio kageyama

warnings: timeskip! university! tobio, f! reader, she/her pronouns, virgin! tobio, cunnilingus, tit-sucking, hickeys, sub! tobio, cowgirl position, praise, needy! tobio, unprotected sex, hinata mentioned

MDNI | 18+ content

word count -> 6.2k

a/n: okay yeah lowkey i lost the plot a little bit but its tobio soo... also sorry if he's ooc i tried so hard

❥ song: apple cider - beebadoobee

Biology class was a pain in the ass, no matter what your major was. Whether it was an elective course or required for a biology major, it was god-awful. At least, it was god-awful for Tobio. He needed it for a science credit, and that class was the only one that wasn’t open. And it was a 6 PM-9 PM lecture, which was the greater of the two evils. So basically, he got the worst time slot for the worst possible class. And all because he slept in once class registration started for college sophomores. It's totally unfair. 

But it wasn’t the stupidly long and late classes that pissed him all the way off, no. It was his annoying, stuck-up, sickeningly smart classmate who was the textbook definition of a know-it-all. Literal and metaphorical; you even dressed like one. Neck-length black turtlenecks with round nerd-like glasses and ankle-length skirts in tones that complement your skin so well. He hated you. He hated how you were better than him. And you were so smug about it. Your stupid little smirk would grace your features every time the professor praised you for getting another correct answer. Or when your professor praised you for “Breaking the curve yet again, spectacular! You’re going places.” God, that pissed him off—little miss brilliant, perfect you.

So one could imagine the rage he felt in his stomach when your professor made the both of you stay after class, well after the other students left, chattering about how lame the homework was and what parties were happening on Friday. 

“Tobio, I asked you to stay after because your grades are…less than satisfactory,” your professor pushed up her glasses, gesturing to the piles of papers with his name scrawled out in chicken scratch. “I’m worried about your performance. If you continue on the path you’re on now, you’ll probably have to retake the class. That means you’ll fail three credits short and might have to graduate later than the others.”

Tobio shrugged, shoving his hands in his loose jeans pockets. “I can always take a class in the summer, can’t I?”

Your professor shook her head. “Unfortunately, no. I don’t work during the summer, and I’m the only professor that teaches this biology level. Besides, I know you have volleyball to attend to when you aren’t in class. It must be stressful, dealing with sports and academia.”

Tobio didn’t know what academia meant, but it sounded like school. “So, what? Are you going to tutor me after class or something?”

“Oh, no. As a professor, I cannot help students past my office hours. That’s why I’ve appointed my best student to tutor you until your grades are satisfactory,” she gestured to yourself. “She’s maintained a high ninety throughout the semester, so she should have no problem tutoring you.”

You waved at Tobio, smiling softly. 

Tobio sighed and rolled his eyes. “No offense, professor, but is there any way that I can get somebody else to tutor me?”

“Do you two not get along well?”

“We just don’t know each other, that’s all. I think Tobio is just shy,” you stood beside him. “I promise I’ll do my best to help you improve your grades, honestly.” you flashed him another soft smile.

He thought the show you were putting on for your professor was impressive. “Fine, whatever.”

“Great!” your professor happily clapped her hands together. “In that case, why not start tutoring him tonight? I’m assigning an online quiz tomorrow that isn’t open note, so I hope you’ll score better than 60% this time, Tobio.”

You covered your chuckle with a false cough. His highest grade was a 60%. Oh, that’s pathetic. Adorably pathetic. “Yeah, we can walk to the library. Unless you have something else that you need from us, professor.”

Your professor shook her head and bid you two off, closing the classroom doors behind you. You and Tobio walked awkwardly to the library, his blue eyes glued to the ground below you.

“So, you play volleyball?” you tried to break the silence. He didn’t respond. “Did you hear me? I asked if you play volleyball.”

“Just shut up and walk. You hate this as much as I do. Stop pretending to like me. Our professor can’t hear you. No need to suck up anymore.” he brushed his black bangs out of his face.

You were taken aback by his words. “Okay, that’s fucking rude. Sorry for wanting to get to know you better, jackass.” you played with the necklace dangling from your neck, your eyes darting to look over at Tobio occasionally. He was tall, taller than you were. Built, too. You heard that he played volleyball in high school and won nationals a couple of times, and he was only a college sophomore. You thought he must work out regularly to keep his shoulders broad. He definitely had abs, too, rippling just under the compression shirt he wore-

“Oi, we’re here. Did your brain leave your head or something?” he grabbed your wrist, stopping you from slamming face-first into the library doors. “Watch where you’re going. Next time, I’ll just let you break your nose.”

“Gee, thanks. I feel so protected,” you sighed, walking to an empty study corner. Tobio took the beanbag, and you took the couch, taking out your flashcards and highlighters. “So, we’re currently on the human anatomy unit. This is one of the more complicated units, so I can’t blame you for struggling. One of the reasons I’m doing so well is that my high school offered human anatomy during my third year. I was good at it.” you praised yourself. 

“Wow, really? Karasuno didn’t offer that.” Tobio leaned back in the bean bag, resting his arms behind his head. 

“You went to Karasuno? I didn’t know you were from Miyagi.”

“I thought it would be obvious to you since you’re so smart or whatever.” he rolled his eyes, leaning forward. “Let's just get this over with. I have other shit to do besides getting babied by the class know-it-all.” 

You slammed your flashcards down on the table, shooting him a glare. “Look, it’s not my fault you’re bad at biology. But I’ve been appointed as your tutor and won’t give up on you just because you’re mean to me. I’ve been called worse things. So suck it up and let me help you, you asshole.” you tossed your textbook at him. “Read this passage, and then I’ll show you the flashcards. Is that okay with you, or do you need further instruction, moron?”

Damn, he liked when you talked to him like that. He knew you were faking that kindness act just so your professor wouldn’t get upset with you. He was right. Tobio knew you had an attitude under all that nerd attire that made you look so fucking sexy. Wait, did he think you were sexy? No…right? You were his tutor. You were a total loser who dressed like that basketcase from The Breakfast Club. So why did he suddenly have the overwhelming urge to slam his lips against yours when you told him off? He shook his head, trying to erase the sinful thoughts from his mind as he read the passage in the textbook that lectured about menstruation. Ew, gross. Well, he guessed it wasn’t gross. It was natural. Besides, you would probably punch his lights out if he said it was gross. For once in his life, it was better to keep his mouth shut. 

“Have you finished the paragraph?” your words snapped him out of his thoughts—a twinge of pink dusted his cheeks.

“Yeah,” he responded, closing the textbook. “I can’t believe you have to go through that every month.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “You get used to it eventually. At least I don’t have endometriosis,” you shuffled your flashcards, taking one out of the deck. “Okay, can you tell me the average amount of days that a person with a uterus gets their period?”

Tobio thought for a moment. “Uh…five?”

You slowly nodded. “Well, it’s closer to a week, but everyone is different, so I guess you’re technically right,” you pulled out another card. “Why do people with uteruses get cramps when menstruating?”

“Um��because the muscles in the vagina contract to…” 

“To what?”

“To get rid of the lining…”

You clapped your hands together. “Very good! Did you already know some of this stuff?”

Tobio nodded. “I have an older sister. She gets really bad cramps, and the whole house turns into chaos whenever she gets her period. Chocolate usually helps…I would always make her chocolate milk.” He smiled to himself.

“Aw, that’s really nice of you. Your older sister is lucky to have a nice little brother, even if he’s a jackass to his biology tutor.” you snickered, putting away the flashcards. “Well, it’s been an hour already. I think we should wrap up. I’m hungry.”

“I’m not a jackass, shut up!” Tobio grew defensive, crossing his arms over his muscular chest. “I have to get to practice anyway. Hinata will start spamming my phone any minute if I’m late. He’s so annoying.”

You put your items in your bag. “Hinata? Like, Shoyo Hinata?” you pushed your glasses up to your face. “I know him. We eat lunch together sometimes. He’s hilarious.” you smile, and Tobio felt a jealous wave wash over him. You were the cutest girl he had talked to in a long time. Why did Hinata get to talk to you, too? Was he about to try something? Fucking Hinata. 

“He’s actually really fucking annoying. He makes weird noises when he receives the ball like a toddler.” Tobio smirked, brushing the dust off his jeans. “But if you think he’s funny, you must be right. After all, you’re the smart one.” he teased.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “Don’t get pissy with me because you have a shitty grade in biology. So, what if you know how the menstrual cycle works? I bet you’re awful at the reproductive part of human anatomy.” you placed a hand on your hip. “We’ll meet here tomorrow at the same time. You get to learn about the vagina, which should be fun for you since you’re obviously a fucking virgin.” 

“I am not!” Tobio huffed, staring daggers as you walked away. He wasn’t technically lying to you, but it also wasn’t the truth. Sure, he had done things with his mouth and hands, but he never went all the way. And Tobio was almost positive that you would bully him relentlessly if you knew that he was a virgin. And he also knew, way deep in his gut, that he wanted you. For whatever reason, he had to have you. You were so full of yourself and painfully smart, smarter than he would ever be. Tobio needed to fuck you so good that you would not doubt in your mind that he wasn’t a virgin. 

The library was relatively empty, but it was a Saturday afternoon. Students who lived off campus were at their parent's house, and those who lived on campus were probably asleep in their dorms or doing other activities. It was a lovely atmosphere, especially without all the annoying frat guys using the library as a place to make out with girls in the nonfiction section. You and Tobio sat in the usual spot, except you both sat on the couch this time. Even though you didn’t particularly care for him, he was getting better at human anatomy, which you felt proud of.

“So, are you ready to learn about how we reproduce?” you opened your textbook to the bookmarked page. “I know we already learned this in high school, but it’s still an important part of the unit to review, just in case there’s a question on the exam next week that’s a curveball.”

Tobio sighed and took out a highlighter he bought exclusively for your tutoring sessions. “I can’t believe we have to go over this. We’re in college. We know how to fuck.” he blushed, tapping the uncapped highlighter on the thin paper of the textbook.

You cleared your throat. “Just because we know how the process is done doesn’t mean we understand the risks that come along with it. There are sexually transmitted diseases and ectopic pregnancies…there’s a whole list of things that can go wrong during sex. Luckily,” you pushed your glasses up the bridge of your nose. “Those things are relatively rare. Well, except for the STD portion. That’s why condoms are important, even when your partner is on the birth control pill.”

Tobio smiled slightly. “You seem to know a lot about this. Is there something I should know?” 

Wow, he was never this smooth when it came to flirting. Usually, he was an awkward mess who stammered over his words and made a fool of himself. 

You rolled your eyes and looked at him. “My high school just thought that being properly educated when it came to sex was important, that’s all. I’m not some sexual deviant if that’s what you were wondering. Would a sexual deviant dress like a librarian?” you gestured to your outfit.

Tobio’s eyes wandered to your tight-fitting sweater that fit snugly around your breasts and waist. The skirt you wore was thigh-length and oh-so-snug, and the stockings you wore underneath made you look like the prettiest librarian he had ever seen. “Do you want me to be honest, or is this one of those questions where I’ll be wrong no matter what I say?”

You closed your textbook. “No, be honest. Let me know what you’re thinking.”

Tobio took a deep breath, refusing to make eye contact. You were pretty, but damn, were you terrifying. “I…I think you look really fucking sexy when you dress like a librarian.” he squeezed his knuckles on his lap, looking down at his feet with a furious blush on his face. 

You chuckled. “So you have a thing for librarians or something?” you moved closer toward the bumbling setter. “That’s not a bad thing, you know. Even though you’re incredibly stupid, you are…kind of cute.” you placed your hand on his trembling thigh.

“Don’t touch me there. It’s sensitive,” he whispered.

“Aw, you really are a virgin,” you softly purred, finding this whole ordeal amusing.

“I told you I’m not,” Tobio continued to lie. “I’ve…I’ve had sex.”

You sighed, pulling your hand away from his thigh. “You know, it’s okay if you are a virgin. I know I tease you about it, but it’s really nothing to be ashamed about.”

Tobio crossed his arms and grumbled. “My teammates say otherwise, especially the upperclassmen.”

You rolled your eyes yet again. “Tobio, they just say those things because of toxic masculine culture. You have to ask yourself if you honestly think you’re ready to lose your virginity if you’re emotionally ready for it.”

Tobio raised an eyebrow. “Why would I have to be emotionally ready? Don’t people fuck because they’re horny?”

“Well, yes, but it’s a very intimate act. You have to be mature enough to be vulnerable with your partner. This is why sex education is so important.”

Tobio racked his brain, thinking of what to say next. “Do you…want to come over tonight? T-to study, obviously. I have to get my grades up, or it’s my ass.”

You smiled, packing up your things. “We can just study in my dorm. I live alone, so it’ll be nice and cozy. Maybe we can do a practice quiz on female anatomy? I’m guessing you already know a lot about male anatomy.” you give him a suggestive smirk.

Tobio frowned. “Did you just say that I jerk off a lot?”

“You’re a nineteen-year-old in college. Of course, you jerk off a lot.”

“Shut up! God, you’re so pretentious.” Tobio shoved his hands in his pockets, leaning back against the couch. 

“At least I’m not failing biology,” you stuck your tongue out playfully. “Come by my dorm building around nine. It’s the one by the dining hall, you can’t miss it. I’ll be waiting to buzz you in.” With that, you left, humming to yourself as if you didn’t give Tobio a million ideas on how to spend his time in your dorm. What if you brushed against his shoulder when going over terms, and his hand just happened to slide around your waist? Oh, it would be absolutely terrible if you got on top of him, caging him under your body as your lips trailed down further and further until they landed on his needy cock. Fuck, Tobio was hard just thinking about it. He grabbed a nearby throw pillow and whistled to himself, waiting for his erection to go down so he could walk to his dorm and prepare for tonight. In reality, nothing would probably happen…right?

It was 9:02 in the evening. The crickets played a tune outside your dorm hall as you sat down on one of the many chairs they had scattered on the lawn that were usually used during the springtime. The moon shone brightly in the sky, and the fireflies danced with the stars. Truely it was a perfect evening.

Except Tobio was fucking late. Sure, it was only two minutes, but what if he forgot? You didn’t have his contact information; emailing him was out of the question because that would be outdated. And so, you waited patiently outside for him to arrive. You couldn’t wait to lecture him.

“Yo,” Tobio waved. His backpack hung over his shoulders, and his cell phone practically dangled from his grey sweatpants. “Sorry, I’m late. My roommate was being an asshole, and we were yelling so much that I lost track of time.”

“You’re two and a half minutes late, dick,” you brushed the dirt off your knees, stretching. “I was considering going back inside and leaving you to fend for yourself.”

Tobio scoffed. “It’s only two and half minutes, damn. You really need to learn how to relax.”

You opened up the dorm building with your keycard. “If I relaxed, I wouldn’t be at the top of my class. Now, would I?”

“Whatever. Can we just get this over with? I hate studying.” he said defensively. It wasn’t technically lying; Tobio didn’t like studying, but he liked studying with you. He would never admit it, but you made the material easier to remember, and you actually cared about him getting decent grades for whatever reason. 

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, princess. I live on the third floor, and the elevator is broken, so we’re taking the stairs.” you took off your hoodie and wrapped it around your waist, revealing your low-cut tank top. “C’mon. I don’t want to waste more time than we already have.”

“It was barely three minutes…” Tobio muttered under his breath as he followed you up the stairs, trying his best not to trip over the steps as his eyes constantly darted to your exposed cleavage. Fuck, you looked so fucking good. Did you even know what you were doing to him? Probably, you loved teasing him. Maybe if he got enough answers correct, you would let him bury his face in your breasts and suck little hickeys onto them.

“Okay, we’re here,” your dorm room was just at the end of the hall, nice and secluded. You jiggled the key in the doorknob and let him inside, the dorm walls decorated with posters ranging from your favorite TV shows to stupid ones you found while thrifting. “Make yourself at home. I’ll get my laptop to do online flashcards. If you get them right, you get to feed your little monster pet. Isn’t that fun?”

Tobio chuckled. “You have to rely on a game to study? And there I thought you were just books and, uh, other things.”

“Wow, so smooth.”

“Shut the hell up.”

You giggled and sat on your bed, patting the spot next to you. “Make yourself comfortable. This could be a while.”

“As long as it’s less than an hour, I don’t care.” he sat beside you, mindful of the space between. If he was any closer, he might be unable to help himself.

“Oh, honey, did you think you would be in and out of here in a tight thirty minutes? You could not be more wrong,” you mocked him, opening the flashcard application on your computer. “This will take maybe two hours so that you can learn all there is to know about the female body. Unless, of course,” you leaned in closer. “You don’t think you can handle it.”

Fuck, this is where Tobio dies. He’s going to die, and it’s because this sexy fucking nerd won’t give his virgin ass a break. 

“I-I can handle it! I can totally handle it!” Tobio sounded so sure of himself, but the crimson blush decorating his cheeks gave it all way.

“If you say so,” you clicked on a flashcard. “Alright, what is the labia?”

Tobio thought for a moment. “Uh, it’s the folds of skin around the vaginal opening…right?”

You smiled. “Very good! You get to give the little monster a treat now.” You handed him the laptop. “You can click on what food you want to give him. I personally like giving him the rice cakes.”

Tobio chuckled at the tiny digital creature chewing on the snack. “This is kind of cute. I can see why you like studying now.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Studies show that making learning fun actually helps the material stick in your brain for longer periods of time. Who knew?”

You clicked on another flash card once Tobio had finished feeding the virtual monster. “Oh, this is a fun one. How rare is the female orgasm without clitoral stimulation?”

“...why do I have to know this?” Tobio looked flustered.

“Just answer the damn question.” he looked cute when he was embarrassed.

“Uh, common…I think. I don’t know, I’m not a girl.”

You sighed and adjusted your glasses. “Wrong, sorry. It’s actually incredibly rare for a female to orgasm without proper clitoral stimulation. We often time have to fake it to please our current partner.”

He looked down at his socks. “That doesn’t sound very fun. Why do guys cum more easily than girls?”

“Because the sperm fertilizes the egg, and women don’t need to orgasm to produce the egg, obviously.”

“And how was I supposed to know that?”

You rubbed your temple. “Because the textbook is right in front of you, dummy. Anyways,” you looked at Tobio. “Don’t feel bad. We have sex toys and stuff so we can get proper orgasms.”

Tobio scratched the back of his neck. “Has…has anyone ever made you cum?”

You were silent for a moment. “No, not even once. I had a boyfriend who was convinced he knew where the clit was…he always got it wrong.”

“Sorry to hear that,” why did Tobio feel bad? He wasn’t your boyfriend…did he want to be?

“S’not your fault, don’t apologize.” you pat him on the back, the faintest shade of ballerina pink on your cheeks. “Well, we should probably get back to studying now.”

Tobio closed the laptop. “We could study a different way…o-only if you want to.”

“What do you mean? Like, without flashcards?” you were faking your innocence. You knew exactly what he was talking about. 

“Are you seriously going to make me say it?” Tobio forced himself to look at you, drinking in your natural beauty. Holy fuck, you were so gorgeous.

“Yeah, I really am,” you leaned forward, licking your lips. “Go on, tell me how we can study a different way. I’m so eager.”

Tobio groaned to himself at the sight of your pink tongue licking your bottom lip, making you seem even more tempting. “We could, dammit, we could have sex a-and you could show me how to…y’know, make you feel good. O-only if you want to, I would never force you to. It’s not like I’m desperate for sex or anything. Who said that? Not me-” You cut him off by placing a manicured finger on his chapped lips. 

“If you want to fuck, then let’s just fuck. I’ll teach you along the way, alright Tobio?” you placed your laptop on the dresser beside you, climbing into his trembling lap. Your soft hands cupped his flushed face, the scent of your vanilla hand cream filling his nostrils with a pleasant aroma. “Do you want me to fuck you, Tobio?”

“God, yes,” 

With his approval, you gently pressed your lips against his. He quickly melted into the kiss, wrapping his muscular arms around your waist so your chest was flush against his. His lips moved slowly against yours as if he was terrified to do something that would upset you. You giggled into the kiss, shifting in Tobio’s lap to get more comfortable.

He groaned into the kiss, his hands squeezing your hips with feather-light force as your tongue bore into his mouth, dancing with his own before pulling away. Your arms secured themselves around his neck, fingers tugging on the loose strands of midnight black hair. “Did you like kissing me, Tobio?” you purred, your petal-like lips trailing kisses down his thick neck.

“Y-yeah, I really fucking liked that,” God, his whimpers would be the death of you.

“Do you know what a hickey is, Tobio?”

“Not really…” he felt ashamed of how little he knew.

You frowned at his downtrodden tone, rubbing his cheekbone with your thumb. “Hey, don’t say it like that. It’s okay if you don’t know what a hickey is. I’m your tutor, don’t you want to learn?” he nodded.

“So why don’t you let me show you then, hm? I’ll be gentle, I promise.” you kissed up and down his neck until you found a spot that made Tobio gasp. “Is this where it feels good?”

His sweatpants strained. “Yeah..really good,”

Your teeth nipped at the skin. “This might hurt, so tell me if it’s too much. Can you be a good boy and do as you’re told?”

Another whine escaped his puffy lips. “Yeah, I’ll be good for you.”

Your lips descended onto the previously marked spot, taking his skin between your teeth and sucking ever so slightly. His once light grip on your hips strengthened as you bit down on the sensitive flesh, sucking the tiniest purple bruise that would surely blossom into a beautiful hickey. You pulled away, catching your breath and brushing your hair out of your field of vision. “How did that feel, pretty boy?”

Tobio’s cock was painfully hard in his boxers. The grey sweatpants were not doing him any favors in terms of concealing his throbbing erection. “Shit, that felt so fucking good,” his hands traveled down to the bottom of your shorts, fidgeting with the cotton fabric. “Can I have another one, please?”

You pecked his nose. “Only because you asked so nicely.”

His head craned to the side to give you better access as you bit at the other side of his neck, suckling on the same place opposite the first hickey. Whimper after shallow whimper fled his lips, his calloused hands from years of volleyball sliding under your shorts to toy with the fat of your ass.

You gasped at the sensation, pulling away prematurely. “Somebody’s certainly handsy tonight.”

“S’not my fault,” Tobio looked away. “Just wanted to feel more of you, that’s all. Not my fault that you’re pretty.”

“You’re cute,” you pecked his lips, your glasses pushing up against the bridge of your nose. “Tobio, do you wanna continue being a good boy for me?”

“So fucking badly, please. I’ll do whatever you want. Just make me feel good.” Holy fuck, he was sure he had never been more embarrassed in his whole life. He would never say something like that. The power you held over him was unmatched.

You rolled yourself off his lap, propping yourself on the bed by your elbows. Teasingly, your hands reached under your shirt and pulled it off, your bra following after. The cold and arousing air of your dorm room grazed your tits, your nipples perking up at the temperature change. “Why don’t you take that shirt off too, hm? Don’t be shy now.”

Tobio didn’t need to be told twice. He practically ripped his shirt from his body. You didn’t even get a chance to admire his toned form before his lips were on yours again, his muscular body caging yours as his rough hands left trails of molten lava on your breasts. 

“Fuck, Tobio,” you moaned into the kiss, wrapping your legs around his slender waist. “D’ya like what you see, pretty boy?”

He didn’t answer. His lips wrapped around your nipple, eagerly sucking at the sensitive mound while his other hand toyed with the supple flesh. You let out a content sigh as his mouth alternated between breasts, not leaving one abandoned for a moment. 

“Fucking love these tits,” his voice rumbled against your cleavage, covering your scorching body with sloppy open-mouth kisses. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

Your hand danced between his messy hair. “Good boy. You’re being so good, Tobio.”

His hips rutted against yours, his clothed erection desperate for any kind of friction. “Wanna make you feel good,” he groaned as he tore his mouth away from your breast. “Please, teach me how to make you feel good.” he didn’t even care how desperate and pathetic he sounded. All he knew was that he needed you. 

“Take my shorts and panties off,” you lifted your hips off the mattress. Tobio didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled your soft shorts off and tossed them on the ground beneath you, your panties soon dangling over your ankle. “That’s it. You’re such a good student, Tobio.”

Fuck, your body was to fucking die for. Your glistening heat was so incredibly tempting. He wondered what you would taste like…if you would permit him to taste you.

“Do you know what oral sex is?”

“Y-yeah, of course I know. I’m not an idiot.”

You nodded in satisfaction. “Now, do you want me to show you how to make a girl cum on your tongue?” 

His nod was a bit too quick.

You chuckled. “Alright then,” your delicate hand spread over your pussy, circling your clit. “This is the clitoris. When you apply enough pressure to the clitoris, that’s when your partner will probably orgasm. Fingers sometimes do the trick,” you looked deep into his gunmetal eyes. “But the best thing to do is to suck on it with your mouth. Can you be a good boy and do that for me, Tobio?”

“Mhm, I-I can do that. I’ll make you feel so fucking good, I promise.” he lifted your hips so they rested on his thighs for support. The hot breath from his tongue sent electric shocks throughout your body, complimented only by his whimpers as he flattered his tongue against your soaking heat. 

“Fuck,” you sighed, tossing your head back against your plush pillows as Tobio slowly dragged his tongue up and down, occasionally stopping to suck on your clit. Your hands flew to his unkempt hair as he grew greedy, quicking his pace. The calloused tips of his fingers squeezed the supple skin of your thighs as his nose brushed against your most sensitive bud, lapping at your sobbing cunt like a man starved.

“T-Tobio, fuck!” you cried out, arching your back further into the mattress as his pace quickened like a man on a mission. His tongue and lips worked against your core in a fierce heat, not being able to think of anything else except pushing you over the edge, just like you asked him to. Your thighs clenched around his head as his thumb found your clit, swirling electric circles. “I’m so fucking close, don’t stop!” his name fell like a mantra from your lips as he continued his brutal pace, groaning as you tasted too incredibly sweet on his tongue.

He lifted his head from between your thighs, his mouth covered in your slick. “Am I doing a good job? Do you feel good?”

You shoved his head back down. “Yes, just keep going. I’m so fucking close, Tobio, please.”

The sound of you begging was all he needed to drive you over the edge. He buried himself in your heat, his thumb being replaced by his middle and ring finger as he drew rough circles against your clit, his tongue darting up and down like a madman. With one final cry of ecstasy, you came crashing down as your orgasm sent shockwaves of pleasure throughout your molten figure. His tongue worked you through your orgasm, lapping up every last bit of your release.

You pulled him up by his hair, your face flushed with the deepest shade of pink he had ever seen. “Fuck…that was so fucking good. You’re such a good boy. Do you want your reward now?” Before he could answer, you flipped over so he was under you, your body still shaking from the aftershocks of your orgasm. His sweatpants were discarded, and boxers hung on his ankle. 

“What are you doing?” Tobio whined as your thumb teased his throbbing cock, gathering precum on it as you tasted him. “Fuck, it feels so fucking good.”

You hovered above his length, aligning it with your entrance. “Shh, just think about how good I’m about to make you feel, okay?” you lowered yourself down onto his cock, hissing as your greedy pussy swallowed his length.

“What about, oh fuck, what about condoms?” Tobio whimpered, his hands finding your hips as you sat on his pelvis, the walls of your cunt squeezing around his cock. 

“Well, you’re a virgin, and I’m on the pill. It’s safe to assume that you’re clean.” you groaned as you lifted yourself, the head of his throbbing cock sitting snug in your walls before you slammed yourself back down. 

“Holy shit,” Tobio rasped, squeezing his eyes shut as you began to slowly bounce on his cock. “Y-you’re so fucking tight, oh my fucking god.”

You leaned down to kiss him, whispering sweet nothings against his lips as you raised and lowered your hips, creating a steady pace that filled you up so nicely. “Yeah, you like me fucking you?”

His grip on your hips tightened as you set a relentless pace, your dorm room filling with the echoes of skin smacking against skin as his cock disappeared in and out of your cunt. “Shit, I’m not gonna last if y’keep that up. Fuck!” he shouted as his cock brushed against your cervix. The sight of your bruised breasts bouncing in his face only drove him further to the edge of euphoria, taking your nipple in his mouth as you continued to ride him.

“Yeah? You want me to fuck you harder, Tobio? So fucking greedy.” you were met with a wanton cry as you slammed down even harder, his cock twitching inside of you. Your pace grew sloppy as he continued to suck on your breast, his calloused hands roaming up and down your backside, desperate for purchase. 

“M’not greedy!” Tobio whined, practically sobbing into your harsh kiss as your walls clenched around him, milking him for all he was worth. “Gonna fucking cum, fuck! Can I cum inside? Can I please cum inside your pussy?” his pride has long since been thrown out the window, his release the only thing in his head. Tobio didn’t even wait for you to respond before his climax crested, shooting white hot ropes of cum into your pussy, his hips bucking up into yours as he rode out his incredible high. 

The warmth in your core enveloped you as your bouncing ceased, letting him recover from the aftershocks of euphoria. His mouth was agape, and his gorgeous blue eyes could barely be kept open.

“You’re so cute,” your hands cupped his cheeks, kissing his nose as you got off of his ruined cock. His body was scooped into your arms, fingers drawing random shapes and patterns on his chest as he recovered. “Did that feel good, pretty boy?”

Tobio could only grumble in response. “So good, so fucking good. Love that pussy,” he whispered, curling up deeper into your arms as you tended to him.

“Do you need anything? A glass of water, a snack?”

“I’m not five years old…” he sighed, peeking up from your arms. “Can we just cuddle or something? I don’t wanna leave just now.”

You raised a brow. “No one said you had to leave right away. Where that stereotype came from, I will never know.” 

Tobio shrugged. “I dunno either. It’s stupid, anyway. You’re so warm.”

“Are you sure this isn’t the same guy who was being such a hard-ass a couple of days ago?” you chuckled, fluffing his hair.

“No! Shut up,” he frowned at you, pecking your cheek. “Let’s watch a movie so I don’t have to keep looking at your stupid, pretty face.”

“Hey, Tobio,” you whispered in his ear. “If you get a good grade on that quiz next week, I can show you what my mouth can do.”

[shadowsviper]

Birds of a Feather

Thanos/Choi Su-Bong x fem!reader

The two of you have always stuck together way before the games.

Word Count: 1.4k

It's been a while since I've posted anything and I'm so sorry. Everything at school and in my life just hit me at once and I wasn't able to write at all but hopefully, I'll be writing more. I watched Squid Game while I was back home and I loved Thanos so I'll be writing more of him for a while 😭

This is pre squid game Thanos (kinda ooc 😭) but I do plan on writing more parts of him and reader being in the games.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You and Thanos, or as you knew him, Choi Su-Bong, have been inseparable since childhood. You met in school when you got paired with him for an assignment. Even though the two of you were bickering the whole time, you soon became friends. That friendship continued through your school years and into Thanos' rap career.

Ever since you two were young, Thanos always made it known that he had an interest in rap and wanted to be known for it. Some people thought he was crazy for it, saying that he wouldn't be able to succeed in that career. Despite all the things you heard behind your back, you supported him. You once told him that you would always be there for him and you stood by that promise. You even joked that you two were birds of a feather. You were there with him through all the ups and downs of his career.

Everything was going great in both your lives. You both got out of the slumps and moved on to greater things. Thanos made a name for himself when his career set off. He was always in the studio making new beats and raps. As he grew more popular, he would have performances every other week in different parts of the city. He would always come back to tell you the crazy things that happened.

While Thanos made a career in rapping, you went off to a university to continue studying. You knew that it could put you in debt, but you weren't too worried knowing there was enough money that both you and Thanos had made together. Whenever you had the time, you would follow him to see him perform. Seeing him perform live in front of hundreds of people was the best feeling. You could see how much he loved performing, how much he loved the attention.

After a year and a half, you started to notice something was weird with him. The late nights weren't the issue, you were used to that since you knew he would stay later in the studio or his performances ended late. He would often party with his friends afterward, sometimes even dragging you along if you had nothing to do.

It was the weird look in his eyes when he walked through the door. The subtle twitches you can't see unless you're really staring him down. His erratic behavior seemed to have started out of nowhere. You knew he had always been hyperactive and wasn't afraid of anything but whatever this was, it was different.

Thanos tried to hide it from you for a while. He didn't want you to think differently of him and he didn't want you to worry. He knew you already had enough to deal with in school. One of his friends had gotten some drugs one day and offered him a pill. Before that moment, he had never taken drugs. He had no idea how it would affect him. He told himself he was only going to try it once.

He couldn't have been more wrong in his life.

The instant high he got was something he immediately got hooked on. All his senses were heightened, the lights seemed brighter, and the sound around him was pounding in his head. He would be lying if he said he didn't like it. Ever since then, he had been buying more drugs from his friend. He would use them after every performance. He would make sure that he came down from his high before returning home to you.

Over time, he got used to the drugs he had now and needed more. Something in the back of his mind told him it was a bad idea but he pushed the thoughts back. Every week he would meet up with his friend, buying different types of drugs and he eventually gave in and bought a vape.

For a moment, he stared down at the newly bought drugs in his hands. He knew if you ever found out, he would probably lose you. You had always said you would stay by his side but that promise never involved drugs.

Little did he know, you were already suspicious of him. The subtle things and his recent behavior had been a giveaway. You didn't want to assume immediately but didn't know what else to think. You also noticed that he had been more reckless with your shared money. He got new tattoos almost every week if not every other week. He started to buy more designer things, from clothes to jewelry. You noticed he recently bought a cross necklace and hid it under his shirt. You thought it was weird because he had never been religious.

One day, you decided that it was time you talked to him. After getting home from school, you sat on the couch and waited for Thanos in the living room. For a few hours, you mindlessly scrolled on your phone. He had texted you earlier saying he was coming home a little early because he had nothing to do.

You looked up at the door when you heard the locks clicking. The door swung open and Thanos walked in, the same hazy look was on his face. He almost jumped when he saw you, he didn't think you would be sitting in the living room waiting for him. He shut the door behind him with a soft click.

"You scared me, Flower," he said, removing his shoes. He placed them next to yours before walking over to you.

"Didn't mean to," you said softly, reaching your hand out to him. His hand reached out, grabbing onto you. He sat down, pulling your intertwined hands closer to him. You watched as he played with your hand. "Can I ask you something?"

Thanos stopped playing with your hand for a second. He looked over at you and shrugged. "Sure."

"Have... have you been using drugs?" The question came out more straightforward than you wanted. You watched as Thanos froze.

"No," he finally said. He kept his eyes down at your hands. He didn't want to look up to see how you could be looking at him.

You squeezed his hand, hoping it would give him some comfort. "Look at me and say that again."

Thanos continued to keep his eyes down. After a few seconds, he glanced up and looked at you. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. Instead, he shifted his eyes somewhere else.

That was all you needed for confirmation.

"Why?" you asked. "How long have you been doing this?"

Thanos felt like he had wronged you in some way. You had both fought to find money to stay alive and when you did you both went off to separate careers. The money you both made was shared and he was using it to buy drugs.

"A few months," he said, his voice cracking. He looked back down at your hand which was still holding his. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to worry. I also didn't want to lose you."

Your heart nearly broke hearing his words. Both of you had been through so much over the years but you still managed to stick together. You knew that there was no way either of you would lose the other.

You pulled your hand out of his and raised both hands, gently cupping his face. You felt his body stiffen at your touch but soon relaxed. You turned his face to look him in the eye. No matter what mask he puts on the second he walks out the door, you can always tell his emotions from his eyes. He could easily lie about something, and hide things, but his eyes would always betray him.

"You will never lose me," you said firmly.

Thanos nodded, closing his eyes and pushing his face further into your hands. You were the only person to not walk away from him. He knew he had always been hard on people and his attitude and personality drove people away but you always stayed. You were the one person who always supported whatever he wanted to do in life. He couldn't afford to lose you. He would only lose himself.

"We're birds of a feather, remember?" you chuckled, reminding him of your words when you were younger.

Thanos nodded once more, opening his eyes. He loved the soft look you always gave him. Having you nearby reminded him of how much you truly cared for him. He opened his arms, wrapping them around you, pulling you close. He felt your arms wrap around his neck, resting on his shoulders. He leaned his head forward to bury his face into your neck. You could feel his soft smile on your skin.

"Birds of a feather," he whispered softly against your skin.

[sorrowfulrosebud]

The soft grass underneath you and Katsuki provided comfort as the two of you laid close together, hands encompassed tightly as your shoulders touch.

Both pairs of eyes focused on the stars above you, yet your peripherals were trained on the other. You had managed to sneak away from the dorms in an unplanned rendezvous after curfew, knowing that Aizawa was gonna ground your asses. But, that was future you’s problem.

“Katsuki?” You asked softly, rubbing your thumb on his hand. Katsuki looked at you and let out a small “hm?”.

“Do you think… do you think we’re together in every universe?” You turn to look at him, your cheeks warm and gaze soft as you peek a gaze at your docile boyfriend.

His eyes widened a second before he pushes your cheeks close to his lips, pressing a feather light kiss before nosing your jawbone. His arm snakes under your neck as his large hands caress your shoulder, the other reaching your waist.

“Either way, I’d cross every damn universe there is and join us together. We’re the perfect couple in every dimension, universe and plane. I’d be stupid not to chase you,” he promises, squeezing you tighter to star gaze with you.

The heavy metal of Katsuki’s armour proved too heavy for him to relax in, so it was left in a heap in the corner. The head knight had personally assigned him to be your royal guard, and the mutual (but forbidden) affections bloomed.

Carmine eyes were soft for once as his hair was gently pushed out of his face. His weary head rested in your lap as you held his calloused hand, pressing the occasional kiss. Your crown had been ditched, not caring for the silly trinket as you soaked up your lover’s attention in your chambers.

“Your majesty?” Katsuki coughed, cheeks growing slightly pink. You hummed in acknowledgment, slowing your movements as a silent means to continue.

“Do you think that, I mean… I’m not exactly of royal stature. If we were lovers in another universe, or if I were royalty and you were my bodyguard, would we still have this bond?” Katsuki asked, voice hushed as you petted him.

You gave his hand a kiss, before bending down and pressing your lips to his.

“Katsuki, even if we were two lowly peddlers in the street, or if you were a royal and I was your servant, then I would still pine after you until my dying breath,” you affirmed, softly petting his cheek.

“I knew you would say that, princess. It just hurts that somewhere, there’s a bastard me who gets to live our dream life without secrets.”

Katsuki trudged through the door, toeing off his boots as he enters the carnage of the house. You looked so tired as you had managed to wrangle the quadruplets into their afternoon nap.

Despite the baby food in your hair, bodily fluids and coffee stains on his your ratty old T-Shirt, you had never looked more beautiful. You were at home, taking care of the babies YOU gave him, taking care of the home YOU wanted to provide for your family.

He owed his very existence and life to you, so he can feel his heart breaking as he sees you quickly wipe your exhausted tears. You smile wanly at him as you go to give him a hug, but grimace at the idea of hugging him in your current state.

“Oh I’m sorry baby, I look a mess right now. I’ll go clean up for you so I don’t look so gross,” you say, ready to go upstairs.

As you pull away, Katsuki pulls you tighter and kisses you firmly. Your resolve begins to crack as he feels you tremble in his arms.

“Katsuki, no. I’m filthy at the moment, you deserve better-,” you start as he shushes you.

“Baby, you could wear a bin bag and look better than any model in the entire world. You’re doing amazing to take care of our babies and do everything else,” he murmurs into your ear, fearing that if you tried pulling away then you would completely crumble.

“You’re working so hard though, you’re saving people’s lives and I’m here crying over a few toys on the floor, baby food in my hair and snot on my shirt,” you whimper, burying your face into his beefy chest.

“(Y/N), you just pushed 4 babies out of you. You quit your job so that our babies wouldn’t be left with strangers. You still manage to get the house tidy, but you know I only give a damn if you and the babies are alright. On top of that, you manage running any of MY errands that I didn’t manage to do. You’re a fucking superhero baby,” he murmurs, squeezing you tighter.

“But you deserve so much better! You deserve someone who has time to put makeup on and do their hair and, and-,” you were interrupted by Katsuki shushing you.

“Baby. I would choose this life over and over again, no matter what I was offered. I will always choose you, I will always find you, I will always want you. I’m taking time off work to prove that and we’re taking a holiday together,” he said firmly, wiping your tears as you hiccup.

“I’m always going to choose you too.”

Katsuki and you sat comfortably on your porch bench, occasionally swinging as you nestled into each other. Today marked your 50 year anniversary, and the two of you chose a quiet celebration.

You had lost a lot of friends over the years; some were lost in villain raids, and some succumbed to their injuries years later. It wasn’t until Kirishima passed from a heart attack in the field did Katsuki retire, choosing to live the rest of his natural life with you. No more hero work. No more pain. No more villains or heroes. Just you two in your little country home with your chickens, cats and dog.

“Would you ever do it again?” Katsuki asked, his mouth lines trembling a little.

“Do what, sweetpea?” You ask, rubbing the soft loose skin on his hands. Katsuki sighed and looked away.

“Would you ever consider a different person? I’ve only ever caused you harm. My work, my personality, my overall being,” he asks, looking away as his mouth twitches. You let out a small “oh”.

“Never in a billion million years, my love. I chose you for a reason. I chose you because I love you, despite your flaws. We have had such a wonderful adventure together, some good moments and some bad. You’ve gained and lost a lot too, Katsuki. You’ve lost friends, mentors, family…” you reason with him, heart breaking at his shiny eyes.

“When it’s my time, I want to know that I made you utterly happy. I don’t want to leave you knowing that if you could have, you would have never had met me, never spoken to me and not have to deal with my baggage. I want to proudly say I lived my life fully and without regrets. YOU’RE my life baby,” he sobs softly, years of self-loathing catching up to his old and creaky body.

You wove your bodies tightly together, holding each other as the two of you shed loving tears together in bliss.

“Katsuki? You okay, pup?” Katsuki’s sandy ears perked up as he sat upright in bed. You knuckled your eyes out of sleep as you looked at your mate. He was often plagued by nightmares, even after falling deeply in love with you, after being abandoned by his pack.

You, ever the kindly human, took him in. Fed him, sheltered him, cleaned his wounds. 2 years later and you were his mate, sole confidant and lover.

Katsuki panted a little, before snapping his head to you. His hackles were raised, teeth bared self-consciously as he tries to calm down. You held up your hands, showing you mean no ill will. Slowly, your hand extending to your mate’s ears, rubbing the soft spot between them as he closed his eyes and slowed his breathing.

“Hmmm, thank you,” he muttered lowly. He rearranged himself on the pillow so he could face you. You smiled at him and kissed his nose, giggling when he goes cross-eyed.

“Do you want to tell me what you dreamed?” You asked quietly, petting his cheek as his tail whomped against the mattress. He huffed.

“Jus’ a stupid nightmare, nothing special,” he muttered, grabbing your hand and kissing your palm.

“I’m here if you need me, pup,” you told him, getting yourself comfortable again, trusting he would tell you.

“… my old pack got you. In my dream. We had a stupid argument, and I hurt you. You were killed,” he said quietly. Almost full of resentment. Your eyes widened, prompting him to continue.

“Are you happy with me? I mean, for fucks sake, I’m a fucking wolf-man creature and you’re a human. Our relationship is as unnatural as nature can allow, but we still play house,” he ranted lowly, fists clutching the sheets.

Your hand found its way to his, interlocking your digits and being mindful of his claws. Sandy ears pricked your way as you stroked his chest.

“I don’t care that you’re half man, half wolf. I love you for who you are, not what you are. I was aware of everything that you’ve faced, and I still chose to take you in. And I would do it a million times over,” you said firmly.

Katsuki let out a shaky sigh, before nuzzling into you.

“I hope in every universe we’re together.”

[cosmicalily]

10:45pm with bang chan - a @cosmicalily timestamp

author’s note: okay hello so where was mr christopher bahng when i was stressing and studying like crazy for my exams? also first channie fic (everyone claps) highkey embarassing that it took me so long apologies to my bahngers

warnings: discussions of anxiety and stress to do with university/school

“Do you want a pudding? Minho dropped them off for us.”

You didn’t reply, body sprawled across the couch. Chris shrugged, assuming you were asleep, picking the small plastic cup up and rifling around in the drawer for a spoon.

“I’m so overwhelmed,” you said suddenly, your voice cracking. He stopped in his tracks, letting the spoon and unopened pudding clatter to the counter. He approached you, gently, resting his hand on your cheek, moving his thumb to wipe under your eye when a tear spilled over.

“Come here,” he said, putting his arms around you as you crawled onto his lap, wrapping your legs tight around his waist. He rubbed circles into your lower back, letting you shove your face into the crook of his neck and dampen his sweatshirt with your tears. “I’m sorry, sweet girl. You always have too much on your mind.”

You sobbed at his kindness, holding him tighter. “It’s just all this shit with my assignments, and then work, too. I keep covering for people but when I’m the one who’s sick, nobody covers for me. And then there’s that girl who just pulls apart every fucking thing I do.”

“That friend of a friend?” Chris raised an eyebrow. “What a bitch.”

“I know, I hate her. I hope her lash tech absolutely botches her next set, eyes swollen, no space between,” you huffed, and Chris laughed.

“That’s my girl, let it out.” he smiled, giving you a kiss on the cheek. “Is there anything else you’re still stressing about?”

You sighed. “That assignment. It’s making me nervous, even though I know I can do it. I just don’t want to.”

“You’re the smartest person I know,” Chris said honestly. “I don’t think there’s anything you’ve done to your ‘worst ability’ that anyone else could do to their best. It’s not everything, baby, I promise you.”

“It’s a sixth of my outcome-”

“Out of the other five parts that you’ve already smashed out. I’m always proud of you, you know that, and it’d make me proud to see you let yourself go a little. I’m here, you know, you can always tell me this stuff. I have the space in my mind for it if it starts to overflow from yours.”

You gave Chris a kiss on his nose, then his cheek, then his lips. “Thanks, baby.”

“It’s what I’m here for.” He hoisted you up, carrying you into the kitchen and setting you down on the counter. He stood between your legs, taking time to properly wipe your tears and press gentle kisses onto your lips. Chris tore off the foil lid of his pudding and dug his spoon in, pressing the cool metal against your mouth. You opened, smiling, letting the cool custard melt onto your tongue. It was comforting, not just the food, but sharing it with him.

He slung one arm around your waist, the other holding his spoon, taking a mouthful for himself then offering one to you. It felt good to have something substantial in your stomach; whilst Chris always made sure you ate properly when studying, you never gave yourself the time to actually enjoy the food, or to have something as a treat. Your stomach would cramp after the third coffee and the second energy drink, but now, it felt calm. 

“You’re too good to me,” you looked up at him, eyes shining.

“Nobody’s good enough to you, sweet girl,” Chris replied. “I wish I could stop everything and give you a moment to breathe. It’ll be over though, someday. I’ll make sure of it.”

“And we can live in a pretty house by the beach with a dog and make out all day?” you asked, giggling.

He smiled. “That’s the dream, baby.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “That’s the dream,” he repeated, pulling you in close.

taglist: @hyunjiiza @velvetmoonlght @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @btch8008s @yaniluvs @ellemir2404 @bellarellasstuff - comment, dm or send an ask to be added

[dipperpepper77]

The Good Timeline

Dipper Delusions

Tags: FLUFF. Another lifetime AU.

Sylus: The cigarette that perched on his lips was roughly taken away. He already knew who it was, your scent lodged in his bones. "Dear? I said I'd quit after this case..." It only earned him a peck on the lips- "and... your spouse said now." You showed him the sparkling ring on your finger. The usual banter leaving smile lines on your faces. The promise of showing how great of a life you two had in the future when you're old and gray.

Sylus worked as a detective in the Red light district. Meeting his beautiful spouse on a particularly rough day. He went over files as Luke and Kieran called from University. Sylus made it a point to send the twins to pursue education this time around. "Yeah... I can see the notes you're writing. Luke... didn't I say to work on your penmanship? Kieran isn't absolved from this too. You're assignment was late. I spoke to your professor." He felt a soft tap. Seeing your eyes looking down on him, lips pursed to ask a question. "I have no interest in solicitation." He reaches for his wallet. "Solicitation? I... you're hiring for an assistant position..." His face went red. "Oh... yeah. I am". The rest was history.

Your fingers scooped some gel. Applying it evenly in thin coats to slick his hair back a bit. Small kisses landed to the back of his neck earning you a hoarse laugh. "My dear assistant is being unprofessional." You rolled your eyes, "Your 'assistant' is the reason you crack as many cases as you do, dear...". He could only laugh. "Noted. My beautiful spouse has a tude this morning. How do we fix it?" A kiss. Two kisses. His tongue dragged on your bottom lip, only to hear the loudest CAW known to man. Mephisto reminding you both that he was in the room. "Right... right. Sorry Mephie." Man... he loved this lifetime.

Rafayel: A paintbrush hurled its way towards Rafayel's head. Who else would he call other than his spouse? The only problem is... are you busy with court? "Love? Are you busy?" You spoke quietly. The halls of the court making your voice echo. "Not really. The judge isn't here but I'm ready to go. What's wrong?" He sighed. "My beautiful and hardworking lawyer. AND WHAT'S WRONG?! A DAMN KID THREW A PAINTBRUSH AT ME". You tried... SO hard to not laugh. Your poor husband isn't having a great first day as a elementary school art teacher.

You came home earlier than him. Preparing dinner, stirring the noodles occasionally when the door opened. There he stood- looking like the loser of a paintball competition. Blue streaks on his cheek, pink on his arm, yellow on his leg, a muddy combination of colors on his hair. He refused to shower alone that afternoon. Your hands threading his strands trying to get the dried paint out. "What would I do without you?" You smiled. Kissing his lips gently. "Crash and burn".

You're about to sleep. His arms wrapped around your waist- as his phone lights up. You hear Grayson, the school principal, yelling. "Rafayel... WHERE DID YOU LEAVE THE PAINTBRUSHES?" You looked at Rafayel. "Raf... you did NOT." His face was beet red. "... I threw them in the lake." Thank goodness that his spouse was a lawyer. This seemed to be a pickle only YOU could get him out of. Your price? He had to clean and cook for the entire month. Which he did gladly. Coming home to see him in a little apron to show off he's committed to this bit.

Xavier: Office romance is REALLY hard to hide. Especially when your husband is so damn clingy. You turned in your cubicle, holding to the arms of your chair to crack your back. "That's not good... I'll crack your back for you at home." He said it SO loud. "Xavier... I'll write you up with HR." It was a tease, more of a 'hey! shut up.' He looked at you with a blank expression. "HR? For cracking my spouse’s back?" Great. Now everyone was buzzing with life. The new thing was your marriage to Xavier.

You both ate in his car- your fingers unwrapping the foil of your burrito. "You did that on purpose didn't you?" He smirked. You feel the disturbance to your spousal instincts. Closing your eyes- you put the pointer and middle finger of both hands to your temple. "If I turn... and you're laughing- I'll tickle you." You opened your eyes to see him opening the driver's side door to run. Thats how you both came to the office with mud stained clothing. Spitting out grass and leaves.

Xavier's favorite threat? "I'm going to cook tonight". That made your face go sheet white. But, you got home a bit after Xavier to see the table prepared with so much food that ACTUALLY looked edible. You sent messages to your loved ones saying your 'I love you's' incase you didn't make it out after dinner. You took a cautious bite... it was REALLY good. After you felt like a stuffed turkey- you went to the kitchen to do the dishes. Seeing empty bags of multiple take out places... right. Of course, you should've known. Your eye twitched. Looking back to see Xavier making a run for it.

Zayne: You did medical research. But, want to know you most reoccurring resource? Your husband. So it's always known... 4pm is when you'll waddle into the hospital. You came a little after 4:30 this day, however. Feeling hands twirl you around to make you face him. "You're late, my brain." You could only smile. "Traffic got really hectic, my hands." The nickname came from an interviewer. Saying that Zayne was the hands on spouse while you were the brain. Your research proposing many alternatives to medicine or explaining the true severity to different diagnosis’.

Your feet laid on Zayne's lap as he rubbed your heels. "I feel like I'm going through a loop. There is proof. I triple checked my statistics, the validity to my claims... hell! I even did a trial myself with my money!." He offered you a listening ear. "So, the problem is that the board isn't listening?" The next week you found the board looking... afraid of you. Signing off on documents to let you propose and do actual research on your claim. You knew in your gut who made it happen... Zayne. He believed in you more than anyone in the world.

At home he held you close to his chest in the bath. "I know what you did. Thank you." You looked up at him, laying your chin on his hard chest. He smiled at you. His eyes looking at you like you were a rare jewel. "Not a problem... not for my brain." The chuckle that left your lips made his heart jumpstart all over again. Your wet hand intertwined in his. "In this life... let's do this everyday." He nods. Kissing the top of your head. "Everyday... I can do that."

Caleb: He married his first love. His childhood best friend. He wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. You sat between his legs as he combed out your hair, making it neat and presentable for work. "After we land let's go to the breakfast place we saw in Paris?" You nodded gently. Eyes closed in bliss as he took his time. Landing occasional kisses behind your ear. "Lovely... beautiful... all the adjectives to say you look like a dream this morning." You scrunched your nose a bit. "You big sap."

You entered the cockpit to ask him if there would be any delays, per the request of a traveler. He looked up when he saw you. Cue the cheesy husband he was. "Mayday! Mayday! A smoking hottie walking in the cockpit. Evacuate immediately!" You rolled your eyes. "Delays? Traveler is insistent on getting to Paris as quickly as the plane allows us." He shook his head gently. "That information is classified. If only my spouse... gives me five minutes. Then I'll tell you." So there you were. Sat on his lap as he pointed to the different areas of the earth to tell you where was were. He placed a kiss on your lips after five minutes. "No delays. Just a husband wanting to land quickly to take his spouse to tourist spots."

When you got to the hotel in Paris he was all over you. Oiling your scalp like always as he gathered everything you needed for a spa day. Which led to you giving him a well deserved massage for being the worlds best husband. You kissed his cheek. "Remember when we were kids and you peed your pants on a big ride?" Oh that does it... he rolled over. Pinning you to the bed as he tickled you. "You said you'd stop teasing me about that!" You laughed hysterically. "Mercy! Mercy! The oil! Baby!!"

Dip speaks: Thanks for reading! But, next might be ANGST. I'm going to get ya. 🚬 🐺

[gay-dorito-dust]

hi hiii its my first time ever asking anyone idk how this works ( ;｀Д´)

i rlly love your writing, i often find myself staying up late reading through your blogs!! funny bcs u were the one who got me into jason todd (ФωФ)

anyways!!! i was hoping you could pls pls pls pls plssssss write smth about Jason Todd who has a lover thats a sleep-deprived uni student having a hell week and jason is like "bitch put google docs down and get some sleep, ur ass has been awake for 48 hours" all worried and wanting them to rest and reader is like "correction, 50 hours."

i hope it makes sense (´ 3｀)

tyyyyy!!! woopee woopee

Sorry this took so long to get to anon, I hope you liked it either way. And don’t stay up too late reading fics but I truly appreciate you reading my stuff, I’m glad you like them 🦦🐿️

A week.

An entire week Jason had noticed you have been forcing yourself to stay up at the dead of night, glued to your laptop all the while chugging energy drinks and cups of coffee as though they were going out of style, and for what? An assignment that determined your future at uni should you not get straight marks.

Jason thought it ridiculous that you made yourself sleep deprived over this but he knew that if he didn’t do anything about it, then you’ll continue this habit until you were well out of university, struggling to come to terms that you had well and truly burnt yourself out before you could properly start living.

So when Jason couldn’t fell you next to him in bed one night, like you promised him you would, and groaned as he got himself out of bed before making his way towards the kitchen where he’d knew you’d be.

‘What time do you call this?’ Jason asked when he saw you in your usual spot at the kitchen counter, hunched over your laptop with a thin blanket frapped over your shoulders and a can of energy drink on one side of the laptop and a cup of coffee on the other side. He hated what this stupid university has made you do just in order to get good grades, it was harmful, damaging and it would inevitably lead to health complications later on in life; If he could Jason would more then gladly march down there and threaten the professors to stop shoving a boatload of work onto their students, but firstly he has to get you away from that damn laptop and learn how to take a fucking break.

‘Mid-afternoon?’ You asked, not looking up from the bright screen of your laptop, where the words scrawled across it in an incoherent mess for your overworked brain to comprehend.

‘It’s actually 3:30 in the morning.’ Jason replied unamused as he crossed his arms over his chest and you winced when you saw that he was indeed right about it being three thirty in the morning. ‘Don’t you think it’s time that you shut the laptop off and get some sleep?’

‘But I-‘

‘Actually sleep.’ Jason cuts you off as you slumped back into your chair, unable to come up with a decent enough response to defend yourself with because deep down you knew Jason was right, you’ve hadn’t had a decent sleep in a long while and it was definitely taking it’s toll with how lightheaded you’ve become as of late.

You sighed and ran your hands down your face. ‘Jason I can’t, I’ve got-‘

‘An assignment to complete for tomorrow I know.’ Jason cuts you off again as he crossed the room to put his hand over the top of your coffee cup upon noticing that you were intending to take another drink from it. ‘But I look at you and can tell you can barely keep your eyes open for more than five minutes.’ He adds and upon your silence, he puts the cup aside as far as he could before doing the same with the half empty energy drink, and then finally shutting the laptop close despite your weak protests for him not to.

‘No, Jason my assignment, I need to finish it.’ You told him with slow, sluggish movements as you tried to pry his hand off of your laptop, all the while biting back a yawn. ‘Just give me five more minutes please and I’ll come to bed, promise.’

Jason had enough of this habit of sleepless nights, it ends now, the professors will have to understand and extend the due date for your sake as he remembered how often you had harped on about how important this assignment was for your overall grade; However Jason didn’t take neglecting your bodily needs lightly and would prioritise that over anything else,you could hate him all you wanted but he was only looking out for you and your wellbeing.

‘Sorry chipmunk but I can’t watch you do this to yourself for any longer than I already have.’ Was all Jason said as he then lifted you out of your chair suddenly causing you to yelp in surprise and cling onto him for dear life, now being more awake then you ever have been five minutes ago, as he then proceeded to carry you back towards the bedroom before unceremoniously dropping you onto the bed.

‘Jason, I seriously needed to get that assignment-‘

‘We are going to sleep, end of discussion.’ Jason said with finality as he crawled under the covers and quickly held you against his chest as tightly as he could, rubbing his hands up and down your back soothingly. ‘I know how important this assignment was for you sweetheart but I’d much rather have you well rested, clear minded and healthy than to ever to have you pass out in my arms from exhaustion. I want my baby happy and healthy and you are neither of those things right now.’ Jason whispers into your ear, kissing the side of your head a couple of times before resting his forehead against yours so that he was looking into your weary half lidded eyes.

‘Look at you, you can barely keep your eyes open.’ He spoke with worry laced in his words.

‘You’re really warm and comfy jay birdie.’ You murmured, feeling the need for sleep grow ever stronger the longer you stayed in his arms as it fogged your mind.

‘I know, so please we can talk to the professor in the morning and sort something out, but until then no more late nights understand?’ Jason said firmly as he held you a little tighter, he just wanted you to get a decent nights sleep and be looked after properly but all these late nights weren’t cutting it and were making your situation worse, how were you meant to get anything done when you were half out of it due to overworking and lack of a sleep schedule? Were the professors at your university thinking they were teaching robots instead of humans with breaking limits?

‘Okay I understand, I love you.’ You replied sleepily as you burrowed your head into his neck, falling asleep in record time as Jason stayed awake a little longer as to make sure you were properly asleep before following suit, watching over you in the dream realm as he did the waking one.