#these are the kinds of things you notice when you go through every character's name multiple times

[bleach-smashorpass]

Seireitei Smashability Showdown: (Loser's) Round 1, Match 114

[lokissweater]

you noticed me ⚾︎

{mlb!megumi fushiguro x f!reader}

summary: megumi fushiguro is one of the best players on the major league baseball team, and when you finally spot him on the big screen after practically dozing off at every game you went to with your girl friend? you were absolutely IN LOVE, but IN DENIAL that he could ever like you back… but he does, and bad.

warnings: MDNI. afab!reader, NASTY NASTY MEGUMI, oral sex, SMUT, pussy eating in locker rooms HEH, mentions of drinking but like tiny just once, reader is oblivious to the way megumi wants her, DOMINANT AF MEGUMI PHEWW, cursing, flufffff!!, barely any angst, DIRTY TALK, pet names, aged up characters.

word count: 12.1k (IK IM SORRY ITS A CUTE ONE THO)

authors note: you GUYSSSS i love megumi fushiguro i want him so bad and i LOOVEEE this fic!! i worked like a little worker bee for days and i really hope it makes you guys happy :] MWAH!!

want more? you can find my mlb!megumi fushiguro masterlist here!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

megumi fushiguro was the hottest baseball player you had ever seen in your life.

and you didn’t even like baseball to begin with, dozing off at every game your girl friend dragged you to because her boyfriend was on the major league team— but the one time you decided to open your eyes and pay attention to the big giant screen in front of you?

there he was in all of his emo glory.

number eighteen.

focused, half lidded eyes resembling borderline boredom as he waited for the pitcher to throw, his forehead glistening with sweat, flushed red cheeks, and his jet black hair slightly peeking over his forehead from underneath his baseball cap.

“my god—” your hand flew and you gripped your girl friends arm tightly, your jaw to the fucking floor as your eyes were gorilla glued to the screen, her quirking a curious eyebrow at you as she matched your frantic nature.

“what? what is it? who did you see? whats happ—”

you pointed your finger up at the screen, him swinging and hitting a fucking grand slam as he proceeded to get four runs with one hit, the one thing you knew about baseball besides a home run.

“that’s a— that’s a grand slam!” you pointed frantically, probably looking absolutely insane as you stood and screamed your fucking head off.

your girl friend laughed loudly, “you like fushiguro? megumi fushiguro?”

you jumped up and down, your girlfriend astonished and laughing as this was the first time she’d ever seen you energetic at a baseball game.

“he’s friends with yuji!” she yelled over the hollering of the crowd. “we can go to their locker room after and you can say hi! i heard he’s kind of mean though—”

“no!” you spun around, eyes wide and terrified. “i already know he’ll eat me alive then! i’m a loser, i can’t talk to him i don’t have game i—”

she rolled her eyes. “you’ll be fine—”

“no i can’t!” you shook your head frantically. “please he looks like the type to love bomb me and then leave me i don’t think i can handle that—”

she snorted. “are you sure?!”

you hesitated for a moment, biting your bottom lip as your eyes trailed back over to the screen, seeing megumi breathing a little heavy from running the field, his hands on his hips as he scanned the arena.

you sighed through your nose. “yeah i’m sure!”

“suit yourself!”

a year. a year you spent continuing to tag along with your girl friend to their games, staring lovesick and sad at the big screen over megumi, and standing outside far far away from the locker room once they scored another big win and not going in like you used to, waiting for your girl friend to finish up speaking to her boyfriend as you tried your best to avoid the chance of running into megumi.

she finally emerged from the locker rooms one day, a knowing smirk on her face.

“i told yuji.”

you blinked. “told him what?”

“that you like fushiguro.”

“no!” you gasped, a hand flying and smacking over your mouth. “please no im about to experience the biggest heartbreak of my life—”

“oh relax!” she grabbed your arm and practically dragged you towards the locker room doors. “he’s not even here megumi already left, but yuji wants to talk to you.”

“why?!” you exclaimed. “to let me down easy? to tell me he’s sorry on his behalf—”

your girl friend just about threw you in and went in after you as you stumbled, eyes blown wide as the air became humid and heavy, several of the players lounging about and refreshing themselves as the sound of lockers slamming shut echoed through the space— deep, broad voices laughing filling the room as yuji spotted you, his eyes friendly and polite. “y/n!”

you relaxed and smiled, “hi! you guys played really well today!”

“megumi also played really well today.”

“oh my god—” you groaned, throwing your head back as you spun around, heading straight for the exit.

“wait wait!” he laughed loudly, jogging up to you. “sorry sorry.”

“what do you want with me..” you mumbled.

he gave you a half smile. “i wanted to tell you that megumi’s weird.”

you snorted, “elaborate please.”

yuji threw an arm around your girl friend before continuing.

“you know we support your feelings and what you want…” he began.

your eyes narrowed. “why are you guys talking to me like you’re my parents—”

“but—” yuji cut you off. “i’m just gonna be straight with you. i’ve never ever seen megumi interact with anyone, let alone another woman, besides the team.”

“i don’t think i’ve ever seen him have a proper conversation with anyone on the team besides you actually…” your girl friend muttered to yuji.

yuji winced. “yeah…” he turned back to you. “back when megumi and i first got signed, he was really popular and a lot of girls would come up to him after games for his number or just to talk to him.”

“well obviously he’s a greek god,” you grumbled. “this is hurting me man get to the point.”

he sighed. “he basically scared all of them off. didn’t give a single one a chance and was kinda mean... he would either ignore them or straight up just tell them he wasn’t interested without them even being able to get a word in.”

you stared blankly.

“i tried to tell him that he needs to be nicer but he’s just not interested.”

you kept staring.

“that’s why i’m telling you this because we don’t want you to get hurt and i feel like if you try and talk to him he’s gonna be a dick and it might…” yuji looked at you sadly. “it might be a lost cause.”

you blinked.

“y/n?”

“that’s fine!” you squeaked, hands tight at your sides. “a part of me already knew. i read about it in an article, and i’ve seen his interviews.”

your girl friend looked at you with concern filled eyes. “are you okay?”

“yeah!” you waved them off. “why wouldn’t i be?”

“because your eyes are red.”

“ppffttt!” you blew out. “i’m fine! seriously. i never intended to talk to him anyways, i’m too much of a scaredy cat.”

you extended your arms out and engulfed the both of them, squeezing tight. “thank you guys for telling me though, i appreciate it.”

“y/n…” yuji trailed off.

“i’m gonna take off though, i’ll see you guys later, okay?” you waved and opened the door. “love you!”

and you scrammed, your heart in a million pieces.

it’s not like you didn’t already know. you knew, so why were you sad? why did you feel like you just got ran over by a double decker bus? why did you pathetically feel so sad?

this was the reality. you never stood a chance.

so why were you crying?

you continued walking down the hall and towards the main exit, utterly embarrassed at your sobbing and trying your best to hide it as you navigated through several groups of people, your vision entirely blurry as you were basically drowning in your tears.

you had barely escaped the crowd when you spotted a little secluded area in the lobby, trudging over pathetically and plopping down on the coushy seat as you wiped your cheeks, staring at the wall in front of you— a huge glass casing proudly decorated with the teams trophies and awards, gigantic portraits of the players on the team adorning the walls with megumi’s serious beautiful framed face right in front of you just making you feel worse.

you already knew, but regardless of megumi’s stand off ish personality, you liked it. you had curiously browsed his interviews and quotes in articles, and you always laughed at his responses, him almost every time offending the staff without even trying or knowing, and you found it so so funny, it only making you admire him and want to get to know him even more, even if it was just a friendship.

megumi fushiguro was one of the best players on the team in history, and as you closed your eyes, silent pathetic tears still slipping down your cheeks?

he never felt so out of reach.

“here.”

your eyes opened, but you literally could not see jack shit as your tears were still blurring your line of sight, you completely and utterly mortified that a stranger caught you sobbing as you wiped your face quickly in response.

“put on my sunglasses if you don’t want people to see you crying.”

the voice was gruff and lazy, but you could not care less as you took the sunglasses and settled them over your eyes, the lenses so freaking dark that you couldn’t see a single thing— your sight worse than before.

but it relieved you, as you figured no one could see your bloodshot eyes and therefore thankfully not notice you losing your mind over something so stupid.

“thank you,” you mumbled. “sorry.”

“for what.”

you felt the plush of the bench shift next to you, figuring that the stranger man sat beside you as you refused to look in their direction out of embarrassment.

not that you could even see in the first place.

“for looking like a loser.”

the stranger man snorted. “s’fine.”

you wiped your nose with your sleeve, sniffling.

“how do you see in these?” you muttered softly. “they’re making me claustrophobic i can’t see a thing.”

“that’s the point,” he hums.

“how come?”

“i get migraines everyday. they help.”

“oh i see.” you responded softly. “have you ever run into a wall because of them?”

you hear him huff out through his nose. “i did once, when i first got them.”

you giggled gently. “did you bleed?”

“no,” he spoke calmly. “i got a bump on my forehead.”

you snickered, “what? loserrr.”

you stood up and carefully tried to walk around a little, testing out how to guide yourself through the dark lenses and trying to be careful and not bump into a wall (which was literally impossible), your hands out, feeling around.

“jesus christ i’m just kidding now i feel bad. i think im gonna bump myself into a wall too so we can call it even.”

you couldn’t see, but the stranger man’s lips twitched at your comment.

“don’t do that.” he murmured. “sit back down.”

you listened and started making your way over, feeling him reach out and wrap his fingers around your wrist carefully and guide you to the bench, you plopping down on it once you felt it.

“thank you!” you responded sweetly. “…i’m actually glad i can’t see a thing right now.” you perked up, pushing the sunglasses back up over the bridge of your nose.

“why is that.”

“so i don’t have to look at megumi fushiguro’s big portrait in front of my face.”

the stranger man stopped.

“…why?”

“because he indirectly broke my heart.”

you heard a little audible laugh, and you smiled to yourself.

at least someone is having fun right now.

“how did he indirectly break your heart?”

“my girl friend’s boyfriend is yuji itadori. she spilled the beans against my will about how i have a crush on him, and yuji told me that he’s mean and he’ll basically bite my head off and tell me to scram.”

“did he?”

“uh huh,” you nodded. “they were trying to let me down easy, but it’s not like i was gonna try and talk to him anyways. i’ve gone a year without saying anything i can go on and on and on.”

the stranger man hummed.

“he’s so cool though…” you murmured, dazed. “he’s gonna be a hard one to forget about.”

“why do you like him?”

“i feel like im being interrogated,” you giggled.

you felt the stranger man lean back against the wall. “sorry, just curious.”

you copied him and crossed your arms, “mmm… because he’s really good at what he does. i admire that most of all.”

you tilted your head. “everyone berates him for being mean but i like that he’s supposedly mean for some reason…. he’s just serious about his profession and he doesn’t want to waste time. he’s also the hottest man i’ve ever seen so that definitely helps.”

the stranger man laughed a little.

“i don’t know,” you sighed sadly. “maybe i’m just demented. i am demented.”

“if yuji itadori told you the exact opposite about him, would that have encouraged you to go up to him?”

you sat in thought for a moment, but ultimately shook your head. “no. it’s too embarrassing for me and i’m also a big fat wuss so…”

you slid your fingers underneath the lenses and rubbed your stinging sore eyes. “maybe in the next life if i’m lucky, ill be reincarnated as a cool baseball man too and i won’t have to deal with this shit.”

“cool baseball man.” he repeated, tone seemingly amused.

“yup.”

the stranger man sighed. “is this why i found you crying?”

“maayybeee?” you dragged out shyly, your cheeks flushing.

it was silent for a moment, your vision completely black but his on your rosy cheeks, oddly staring that if you could see right now, you’d probably call him a creep.

“i’m sorry i made you cry.”

you jumped back.

“no not you!” you huffed. “have you not been paying attention? catch up man—”

you felt a shadow reach up and tug the sunglasses slightly away from your face, your eyes constricting against the bright lights of the hall as they tried to adjust.

and when they did?

megumi fushiguro was sitting right next to you, a tiny smile on his face dressed in all black with his teams baseball cap on.

your eyes widened dramatically and you slapped both hands over your mouth, beyond horrified as everything you had thought you were telling a stranger about him, you were telling him directly, your brain short circuiting and your body heating up like a fucking hot flash.

“oh my god i’m so sorry!” your voice was muffled, you shaking your head in absolute denial.

you immediately sprung up and grabbed your purse, slowly backing up further and further away from him.

his smile widened.

oh my god.

megumi fushiguro was smiling, a sight you’ve never ever seen during his games, practices, interviews, articles, or magazines as your cheeks increased in shade— wanting to mentally take a picture and remember forever as you knew you’d probably never see him smile like that again.

but he was smiling.

“pretend i don’t exist!” you stammered, “pretend this never happened i’m sorry this is so embarrassing keep winning your games okay and i’ll keep being an idiot far far away from you—”

“where are you going?” he chuckled lowly.

“—you’ll never see me again i’m going home and i’m going on lockdown—”

he laughed through his nose, his lips in an amused smile.

“you don’t have to do that.”

“yes i do—”

“you don’t have to forget me either.”

“that i definitely do—”

you were halfway out of the main entrance doors.

“hold on y/n—”

megumi stood, his long legs walking over to you and you froze.

y/n?

you slowly turned around, your face pale and afraid.

“how do you know my name?” you asked softly.

“your best friend is dating yuji, is she not.”

you nodded, eyes blank.

“i’ve been seeing you inside the locker room after our games for like… two years.” megumi mumbled.

oh.

oh that’s right.

you didn’t actually notice megumi until last year, when you decided to finally open your eyes for once during a game and that’s how you spotted him for the first time on the big screen in front of you, in all of his gorgeous handsome entity.

“oh.”

he raised a hand and pressed his index finger to your forehead, nudging you softly.

“dummy.”

“s-sorry..” you gave him a wobbly bashful smile, your cheeks pinky as you rubbed your red eyes.

his eyes slightly softened and he shook his head. “s’fine.”

megumi continued to stare at you, a stone cold face that always seemed to scare off the teams entire fan base, but only made you feel numb and giddy all over every single time.

you smiled wider then, and megumi’s lips twitched.

cute.

“i’m— i’m gonna go now.”

“do you have a ride home?”

you stopped. “no i was just gonna call an uber—”

he shook his head and walked past you, his shoulder brushing gently with yours with his hands stuffed in his pockets as you turned and stared at him.

he paused and looked over his shoulder.

“you coming?”

your eyes widened. “coming? w—where?”

he rolled his eyes. “i’m taking you home.”

“no!” you shot your hands out. “it’s okay! really! thank you thank you i appreciate it but—”

he stared lazily.

“come.”

you pressed your lips into a thin line and tipped your head down, taking tiny painful steps as you followed after him to the parking lot.

megumi led you from the public parking area to a secluded section around the back of the arena, one you assumed was for players and crew members only as you nervously gnawed on your bottom lip, feeling absolutely sick.

you both continued to walk down until you arrived to a private parking garage, megumi slipping out his keys from the pocket of his hoodie as you approached a shiny black luxurious car sitting neatly in a spot.

his car was really fucking nice, and you figured so being as he was one of the most popular players and probably had more than enough money in the bank— your fingers trembling as you gripped the passenger side door, settling yourself inside his plush cool leather seats and all black interior.

megumi pressed the ‘start’ button and his engine roared to life, the motor echoing through the structure as you clumsily tried to put on your seatbelt, your cheeks growing pinker with each passing second that you just couldn’t get the stupid damn thing to— click—

he reached over across the console and took the seatbelt from you, pulling it over your body and clicking it secure without a word.

“thank you.” you said softly, eyes trained to your lap.

megumi gave you a small nod and backed out of his parking space, driving around a couple of rows before making his way out with the night air softly breezing through your hair as he drove, his dash illuminated with blue lines that ran smoothly across.

“can you put your address in—”

“oh yeah!” you jumped. “sorry—”

you reached over and tapped in your address on his big touch screen, watching the way the gps registered the location and gave him the estimated time of arrival.

forty fucking minutes.

“megumi..”

his eyes looked over at you for a second before turning back to the road.

“hm?”

“i live kinda far from here and i don’t want you to drive the opposite way from where you live.”

you leaned a little, eyebrows pinched. “i can take an uber seriously, this is too much trouble i—”

“you’re already in my car.” he deadpanned.

“i’ll jump out.”

he pursed his lips, trying to suppress a smile.

“i have child lock on.”

“child lock?!” you gawked. “is this what you think of me?”

“you’re a little helpless… and you’re a crybaby.” he mumbled. “child lock stays on.”

you giggled after, your eyes shining and filled with mushy feelings for him as you nodded. “you’re probably right.”

he looked over at you then, and he smiled, softly.

“what do you do?”

you fidgeted. “h—huh?”

“do you um…” he ran his thumb over the top of his gear shift. “do you work? do you go to school?”

he’s asking you?

“i go to school!” you responded shyly but kind. “i go to a college that’s about fifteen minutes from your stadium. i usually go and meet up with my best friend after class if there’s a game.”

he hummed. “are you a big baseball person?”

you grimaced.

do you lie? do you tell the truth? do you roll down his window and attempt to jump out of the car that way?

you played with a strand of your hair. “i— i um—”

he raised an eyebrow.

“i— don’t?”

he cocked his head. “you don’t?”

you shook your head no, completely ashamed of who you are as a person as you covered your eyes.

“i knoww i suuucckkk,” you whined. “the only things i know about baseball are home runs and grand slams— which you did!”

you pointed at him excitedly. “last year! i remember you hit a grand slam! i got so excited that for once i knew what the fuck was going on and why everyone was going crazy…”

you fiddled with your fingers nervously, your eyes trained to the road. “i felt so included.”

he chuckled, and unexpectedly, reached over and gently ruffled your hair.

you then stared at him as he did so, doe eyes wide and cheeks pink.

megumi was truly just beautiful— his smooth face that didn’t have a single blemish on his skin shining under the moonlight, his black spiky hair peeking from under his cap that you had no doubt in your mind was soft and velvety.

you hated that you’d probably do anything for that man.

“i’m sorry i made you cry,” he repeated, you recognizing his words from before.

your eyebrows furrowed.

he was still thinking about that?

you shook your head furiously, “you didn’t! i swear it’s okay. i’m just crazy.”

he huffed out a laugh.

megumi thought you were odd, but in a good way. he thought everything you did was a little funny, as you were jumpy and clumsy and a crybaby and helpless, but he also took note of how polite you were. he noticed how considerate you were of him even though you were really upset, and you were kind of sweet… really sweet actually, your personality something that was totally different from the usual girls that came up to him.

well, the usual girls that used to come up to him back when he first started.

megumi pulled into your driveway and shifted the gear into park, the doors automatically unlocking.

you opened the door and stepped out before leaning down and peeking your head in.

“thank you for the ride!” you said sweetly, a cute smile on your face. “i’m sorry you had to listen to my confession against your will.”

he shook his head. “it’s alright.”

you went in to close the door.

“y/n.”

you leaned back down, “yeah?”

“are you gonna stop coming to our games?”

you gnawed at the inside of your cheek, your eyes darting around the interior of his car nervously.

“i— i don’t think so.”

“good.”

megumi watched you close his door and walk back a bit, him shifting his gear into reverse as the corners of his lips turned a tiny bit upwards.

“i’ll see you then.”

as you watched him pull out and drive away, his engine roaring down the street, you could not stop or simmer down the way your heart raced against your chest, so much so that you were afraid it was going to burst through your chest and literally kill you.

the next time you went to a game, you hadn’t told your close girl friend yet as she led you through the crowd and down to the v.i.p. lower level seats like always, a kind courtesy of yuji’s that he did whenever he could.

as you watched, you embarrassingly spotted megumi almost the minute you arrived, stars and hearts in your eyes as you watched him do his thing and work magic through the field with his absolutely insane batting, strong and purposeful as he barked orders or observed the opposing team for leads.

once his and the opposing team switched sides, megumi looked up as he jogged, his eyes seemingly scanning the v.i.p. front sections until he spotted you.

he raised a hand and gave you a little wave, and your eyes widened as you timidly, hesitantly, gave him one in return— your cheeks turning pink.

“who are you waving at?”

your girl friend pressed a cheek against yours and looked.

“who is- fushiguro?!”

you looked at her sheepishly.

as you recounted the story to her, her eyes bulging out of her sockets and screaming her head off every two seconds, her head snapped to the field.

“i have to tell yuji—”

“no!” you gripped her shoulders. “it’s literally nothing! he drove me home and he probably just feels bad for me.”

“megumi isn’t the type to make a crying girl feel better or drive her home.”

“it’s because he knows that we know yuji.”

“mm i don’t think so..” she scowled, crossing her arms in eventual defeat as she stared straight ahead.

that’s how it went for about a month.

you would come to their games, megumi would wave at you from the field or you would catch his attention and wave at him, and you would briefly speak to him casually just after his games, your conversations with him usually lasting no more than three minutes as he was often pulled by his coach or a crew member.

but even though the conversations were short, they were really nice, and the both of you never seemed to notice the people around you wanting his attention until he physically had to get pulled away.

but you still refused to go inside the locker room, knowing that was surely the place where you had to talk to him for longer than three minutes. you were too scared, embarrassingly so as you bid your girl friend and yuji goodbye from just outside the door before leaving every time, completely unaware of the way megumi would stare expressionless at you from inside.

when your girl friend invited you to the team’s yearly banquet, you flat out said no, decision firm and unmoving as she begged you over and over and over again.

“please please you have to go! you can’t avoid megumi forever!”

“what is the purpose of me going though?” you sighed, shaking your head with a smile at the sight of her dramatically on her knees over you. “for you it makes sense because you’re with yuji but what’s the excuse for me? i’m not anybody’s plus one.”

“yes you are,” she got back up on her feet and wiggled her eyebrows, “you’re megumi’s plus one.”

“bye i wish,” you mumbled, plopping down on your bed.

“okay you’re my plus one, or yuji’s! so he has two plus ones!”

she walked over and sat down next to you, resting her head against your shoulder as she sighed. “please come. you don’t have to talk to megumi okay? fine. but just come with me, i’ll have a better time if you do.”

you gave her a silly smile and thought for a moment, her sad tone swaying you as you finally gave in.

“only if you swear you won’t force me to talk to him.”

she nodded eagerly.

“i swear!”

so you stood there, nervous and biting your thumb as you frantically looked around, dressed in a pretty black off the shoulder mermaid style gown with a high slit exposing your leg— fiddling with your styled hair as you waited and waited and waited for your girl friend to come back from the dessert table with yuji.

you hadn’t seen megumi yet as you were trying to keep on a look out, because the moment you did see him all dressed up? you were sure you were going to start pathetically bowing for him on your knees in front of all these people and end your social life forever.

finally, she came back and handed you a little pastry, you thanking her kindly and taking a small bite.

“wait no!” she gasped, turning her pastry around. “fuck, i got the wrong one. i meant to get the vanilla one this is coconut.”

“i can get it for you this time.” you smiled kindly, her looking at you gratefully as you patted her shoulder, making your way over to the dessert table.

your eyes lit up like stars at the sight of it, grand and luxurious as any kind of pastry you could ever possibly think of was present— neat and gourmet-like, each adorned with elegant toppings as multiple huge chocolate fountain stations ran from the sides.

“hi.”

you jumped and looked to your right, megumi standing there beside you with a bored expression, clad in a polished black button up and slacks, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

you gulped.

“h—hi.”

“i didn’t think you’d come.”

he lazily picked up a tiny slice of chocolate mousse cake and looked at it.

“i was dragged by my best friend,” you puffed out a laugh. “she said i was her and yuji’s plus one or something like that.”

he nodded, biting his cake slice and swallowing.

“you stopped coming inside the locker rooms.”

you faltered.

he noticed that?

“oh yeah! i just—” you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. “i’ve been really busy with school so i study right after…”

for some reason megumi eyed you carefully, and your cheeks grew pinker the more he blatantly stared at you as you fidgeted.

“are you—”

“fushiguro!”

you both turned your heads to the source, and you spotted an unfamiliar guy, one who you assumed was on the team with them, smiling enthusiastically and throwing a heavy arm around megumi’s shoulder.

“who’s this? i’ve never seen you talk to anyone besides us!”

megumi only spared him a nonchalant glance before he looked back over at the dessert table.

the unknown man extended a hand out to you, and megumi’s eyes snapped to it.

“hi! i’m takuma!”

you cheerfully took his hand. “y/n!”

“are you megumi’s girlfriend?”

you gawked, guilt and embarrassment already filling your body at the thought of megumi finding that comment uncomfortable and being uncomfortable because of you.

at his own banquet.

“n—no!” you shook your head, eyebrows pinched. “i came with my best friend and yuji.”

takuma unhooked his arm and let it rest beside him. “oh nice! you know yuji as well?”

you nodded, “mhm!”

the rest of the crowd began to take their seats for the awards ceremony segment, and the three of you walked over to your designated table by yuji and your best friend, who’s eyes widened at the sight of you next to megumi.

you all sat, and takuma pointed to the empty seat next to you.

“is anyone sitting here?”

“oh no!” you smiled politely. “it’s empty you can—”

“take mine ino.”

megumi pulled out the chair next to you and plopped down on it, scooting up. “it’s closer to the front.”

huh?

“o—oh!” takuma scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “okay! thanks fushiguro.”

he only nodded in response and stuck his face in his champagne glass, sipping.

and he was right. you watched as takuma navigated through the circular tables before sitting in a seat that was right smack dab in the front.

“that’s really nice of you megumi!” you chirped. “he has such a good view now!”

“mhm.”

your best friend smacked a hand to her forehead with a shake of her head, and you looked at her quizzically.

the awards ceremony was the most fun you’ve ever had, as you were over the moon for all of the players that were awarded prestigious titles and recognitions, and even more excited for yuji and megumi, the both of them combined taking award after award that by the time the event was done, your table was filled to the brim with frames, medals, and trophies.

your doe eyes glowed over megumi’s earnings, pride and admiration bubbling in your chest as you took in the result of his hard work, feeling like he was the most talented person you ever had the privilege of knowing.

he stared at your enamored look.

“you’re so cool, gumi..” you gushed, not even noticing the little nickname you gave him.

but he did.

“cool baseball man?” he responded softly, referencing your words from when you first met.

your eyes snapped to his and you gave him the shiniest smile, nodding quickly. “yeah! cool baseball man.”

megumi looked down at his awards, and after a couple of seconds, picked up a shiny gold medal hung on a baby blue striped lanyard, holding it out for you.

“here.”

your eyes traveled down.

“what?”

“for you.” he pushed the medal forward.

shock crossed your face, and you frantically shook your head, pushing the medal back to him. “no! no megumi that’s yours you earned it—”

megumi rolled his eyes and held on to the edges of the lanyard, effortlessly setting it over your head and around your neck, the medal clinking and twinkling against your chest.

“i have four others. it’s fine.”

“no but—”

he carded his thumbs underneath your hair and gently slid your hair out from beneath the lanyard, setting it delicately over your bare shoulders.

yuji and your best friends jaws were on the floor, but you didn’t notice, too busy ogling over the fact that megumi fushiguro was the kindest person you had ever met, utterly amazed that he selflessly gave you something so precious. you.

your gaze trailed down to the medal, and you softly touched it with the pads of your fingers.

“t—thank you gumi…”

his lips twitched.

you realized then that the music had started and the crowd had already dispersed to celebrate, some dancing in the center while others mingled on the sidelines or hogged the dessert table.

and you spotted your best friend with yuji, the both of them smiling adoringly at each other, laughing and dancing— something bashfully wished for yourself as you grinned softly at them.

megumi followed your gaze, and he huffed an amused small laugh through his nose.

“they met at a party didn’t they?”

you looked to him and nodded, “uh huh! i was with her. she was so scared to talk to him and i literally had to throw her in.”

he scratched his cheek. “i remember. i was there.”

your jaw dropped. “you were?!”

he nodded. “and i remember you too.”

you sat there in silence.

how long had megumi been around in your life without you knowing? how didn’t you ever freaking notice?

before you could press any further, megumi squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his fingers to his forehead in pain, groaning softly.

you jumped, “are you okay? what’s wrong?”

he shook his head. “migraine. the lights are fucking with me a little.”

“oh!” you frantically looked around the table and around him. “where are your sunglasses? the dark ones the ones you ran into a wall with!”

megumi snorted and shook his head again, eyes peeking at you a bit. “it’s fine. i left them at home.”

your eyebrows rose, “you left them?”

he nodded and dropped his hand, sitting up straight and trying to open his eyes fully to seem normal, but his lids only dropped again and his forehead fell to rest against the table.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbled. “just give me a minute.”

“don’t be sorry gumi…”

you figured the rest of the night was going to be like this, and if megumi stayed, he was going to end up dealing with the dull ache in his head for hours on end and not enjoy his banquet.

but you wanted him to enjoy it. this was his night, and you didn’t want him to spend it pissed off and writhing in pain.

“do you want to leave?”

he turned his head to the side and looked at you.

“we can um—” you fiddled with the medal around your neck. “we can go outside? or we can go for ice cream…”

you tilted your head to the side cutely, and you were oblivious to the way megumi’s cheeks went a little pink at the sight.

“ill pay though!” you smiled sweetly. “it’s the least i can do for the medal you gave me.”

he gave you an endearing half smile and nodded.

your eyes lit up. “really?! okay!— wait let me just say bye to my best friend and let her know—”

you quickly stood and walked over to the dance floor, megumi watching after you before picking up his black blazer and holding it underneath an arm, wondering how the fuck he was gonna pick up all of his awards himself.

“y/n!” your best friend gushed. “you’ve been talking to megumi for hours what the fuck is going on—”

you laughed. “nothing! it was nothing but i’m gonna go get ice cream with him!”

“what?!” her and yuji said in unison.

“did he ask you?” yuji pushed.

“no!” your eyes narrowed. “of course not i’m a big fat loser why would he? i invited him because he has a migraine so—”

your best friend hummed, a smirk on her face. “oh i see... use protection.”

“huh?!” your jaw dropped. “no! that’s not—”

“y/n!”

you turned and saw takuma walk over to you, a big smile on his face. “you enjoying the banquet?”

“oh yes! it’s really great!” you smiled kindly. “the dessert table is absolutely insane.”

“right?!” takuma stepped closer to you. “they go all out every year, it’s what everyone looks forward to.”

“i can definitely see why!”

he chuckled and nodded but then turned to you, speaking quieter. “listen um… i was wondering if you were uh— well if you wanted to dance? with me? y’know… maybe get to know each other better and then—”

yuji shoved his lips to your best friends ear.

“he’s stealing megumi’s girl.”

“i know!” she whispered harshly. “what the fuck do we do—”

“i don’t know!”

“well call megumi over—”

suddenly, a tall broad figure walked in between you and takuma, your vision blocked by his back.

“sorry ino,” megumi stepped to the side a little and placed a hand on the small of your back, ushering you towards the exit. “we were just leaving.”

yuji and your best friend gave each other a low high five before their eyes darted around, putting on false ignorance.

“sorry!— it was nice meeting you takuma!” you called from over your shoulder before the both of you stepped out of the venue and into the cool night air.

megumi’s car was parked right out front, him unlocking the doors with a button just like he had done the last time, you noticing how all of his awards were set neatly in the back seat.

“oh i’m sorry gumi! did you carry these over by yourself? i was gonna help you—”

you sat yourself on his passenger side seat, the leather creaking with every movement you made.

he shook his head. “i had my publicist team do it. it’s fine.”

“oh okay…” you mumbled, still feeling a little guilty that you didn’t help him.

you went to reach for your seatbelt when megumi’s arm flew in front of you and grabbed the strap, pulling it over your frame and clicking it securely before his hands wrapped back around the steering wheel, just like he had done a month prior.

you couldn’t make out his expression, as it was blank and stone-like and not a word was coming out of his mouth as he backed out from the parking space, but you smiled at him cutely nonetheless and thanked him.

the nearest ice cream shop was literally down the road from the venue, and the drive took less than three minutes before megumi pulled in and parallel parked on the side of the street.

you both stepped out and walked inside, the shop colorful and vibrant as what looked like twenty different assortments of ice cream were on display, your eyes launching across each flavor excitedly.

“i haven’t had ice cream in a fat minute…” you murmured as you pressed your hands against the glass.

“me neither.”

“which flavor do you want megumi?” you asked him sweetly, your eyes still glued to the flavors that it made him chuckle.

“um…” he stepped forward and scanned the different colors. “i’ll take whatever you get.”

you looked at him and your eyebrows softened, “are you sure? what if you don’t like it?”

the corner’s of his lips turned upward, the sight making your heart skip a beat.

“it’s okay. i trust you.”

you ended up getting your all time favorite flavor that you never skip— cake batter, one that tastes different depending on who’s palette it is, and something you anxiously thought over as you gnawed on your bottom lip and stared, waiting for him to try it as you both sat on a park bench not too far from the shop.

“why do you look like you’re about to cry.” he snickered lowly.

your eyes snapped to his and you giggled. “i might if you don’t like what i picked out.” you plopped a little spoonful in your mouth, the cold ice cream melting and spreading over your tongue as you swallowed. “cake batter is a hit or miss for different people…”

he hummed, “how come?”

“it’s either too sweet or just nasty.”

“i have a sweet tooth.”

your eyes lit up, “so do i! i’m a big sweets person. i love love desserts and chocolate and ice cream… but i’m not the biggest fan of candy.”

“you’re not?”

“i love candy but not how i love sweets… and i wouldn’t randomly pick it out like at the store because i wanted to. most likely i would get a cookie.”

megumi liked how much you talked.

“have you always had a sweet tooth?” he pressed on, looking at his ice cream cup.

you nodded. “have you?”

“not really,” he shook his head. “i didn’t pick it up until i met—” he stopped. “…my dad.”

met his dad?

megumi spotted your confusion and continued.

“my actual dad disappeared. dunno where he’s at. all i’ve heard is that he had a bad gambling addiction so i’m guessing it had something to do with that.”

your eyes softened.

“gojo is kind of like my dad…” he mumbled. “he’s supported my sister and i financially ever since i was maybe five or six.”

“you have a sister?” you murmured, eyes big.

he nodded. “i do.”

he scooped a bit of cake batter ice cream up with his spoon and plopped it into his mouth, smiling softly. “gojo gave me a sweet tooth. he can’t go a day without it.”

you’d never heard megumi open up so much before, and you felt incredibly lucky and special to be the one to hear about his family and share a precious moment with him over eating ice cream, something you wanted to treat delicately and remember for as long as you lived.

“do you like it?” you asked softly, gesturing to his cup.

“i love it.”

you beamed, and he took in your cute smile for a minute as you ate some more on your end.

“i’m sorry about your actual dad… but i’m glad you and your sister got the support you needed when you were young.”

he nodded.

“did he encourage you to do baseball? or was it you?”

“he did initially.” he shook his head. “he was annoying at first, was a cheerleader at every game and was so loud.”

you giggled.

“but i grew to like it… and that’s what i wanted to do for a career. if it wasn’t for gojo’s funding i wouldn’t have been able to.”

you hummed, savoring the ice cream a bit before swallowing. “that’s really nice, gumi. i’m really happy you got the opportunity to grow your skill out like that…” you swirled the ice cream around your cup with your spoon. “what you have is a solid gift, and i would hate to see it not get the recognition it deserves when you’ve worked so hard to make it what it is now.”

you looked at him. “so i’m really, really glad that it does get it.”

megumi stared at you, face blank and a scoop of yet to be eaten ice cream on his spoon, his cheeks growing hot.

“i don’t know why you think so highly of me.” he murmured.

everyone thinks he’s rude.

your eyebrows furrowed. “i don’t think megumi, i know. you’re not a mean person, you’re honest and serious about the important things in your life. and if the medal around my neck that you gave me selflessly doesn’t tell you otherwise? i might have to kill you.”

he laughed, loud, his eyes sparkling. “you might?”

you bit your lip to refrain yourself from freaking out over his smooth laughter. “i might.”

you subconsciously rubbed your hands over your chilling arms then and megumi eyed it before he put his cup down, reaching next to him for his blazer and opening it up as he gently placed it over your shoulders.

you looked at him like he was the world then, doe eyes big and round and shimmering, and megumi felt like he could do anything with that look as long as it came from you— a permanent red tint on his cheeks that was entirely your doing.

“thank you..” you mumbled shyly, your eyes glued to your now empty cup of ice cream on the bench as you clutched the sides of his blazer, the smell of him wafting in your nose that made you absolutely weak.

megumi timidly, slowly, reached up and moved a strand of hair from your eyes then, and you looked up.

“pretty…” he murmured, dazed even.

his hand fell and landed gently on your exposed thigh from the slit of your dress, but instead of moving it, he let it stay there, his hand smoothing over your plush soft skin as he was completely entranced by your heavenly face, his body pulling his lips closer to yours as megumi’s breath quickened with absolute need the higher up his hand trailed up your yummy thigh.

you couldn’t say a word, he practically didn’t let you as his lips pressed delicately and timidly against your plush ones, his mouth moving so slowly and his tongue parting your wet lips for the purpose of devouring more of you, all while his fingertips reached and felt the side straps of your panties— the material alone making him erratic and desperate while his other hand gripped your waist tightly.

your mouths moved faster now, the sounds of wet smacking and lips separating to reconnect with more greed than before muffling your ears as he breathed heavily through his nose, his eyebrows pinched together in pent up everything as he finally had you with him after months of you avoiding him.

and then you pulled away with a wet pop.

“i—i’m sorry!” you covered your mouth. “i didn’t mean to kiss you!—”

what?

megumi’s eyebrows furrowed, both of your chests heaving as his cheeks and lips were blushed red.

he shook his head, “no i kissed you—”

“don’t cover for me gumiii,” your shoulders slumped, your brain so in denial that he could ever like you back that it tricked you into thinking you were the one kissing and all over him. “fuck i’m sorry… that was so disrespectful and— and weird of me and i—”

megumi’s hands slipped away from your body and he shook his head, his eyes dead locked on yours with his eyebrows pinched together. “y/n no you’re not understanding—”

“i’m the biggest creep on the planet man i understand if you don’t ever want to speak to me again—” you covered your face and leaned forward.

megumi stared at you astonishingly as he listened to you ramble apologies and dramatic insults for yourself continuously, his shoulders slowly relaxing and his lips turning into a soft knowing smile, your random speech starting to make absolutely no sense at all and his heart aching at the fact of how naive you were.

“y/n.”

you stopped. “what.”

he reached over and pulled your hands away from your face. “you’re helpless, you know that?”

“helpless and a creep.”

he laughed and shook his head. “stop it.”

he stood and offered his hand out for you.

“it’s getting late, i’m driving you home.”

megumi decided he would properly speak to you about it the next time he saw you… except he didn’t.

you started avoiding him like the plague again, horrendously horrified about what you believed you had done, thinking that it was better if you stayed away from him and fulfilled your initial task of forgetting him, no matter how much it hurt you.

you didn’t want megumi to ever be uncomfortable or experience what you believed he experienced with you. he didn’t deserve that. he didn’t deserve a pathetic little fan girl that never left him alone and hindered his work on the field, even though you wished so badly you could see him again, as the taste of his lips and mouth never left your fuzzy mind.

you kissed megumi fushiguro.

“oh my god y/n, you’re so stupid.”

“no i’m not! do you really believe megumi could ever like me back? no! absolutely not. i kissed him and i fucked up and that’s it. i’m staying away from him.”

your best friend ran her fingers through her hair and almost tore a chunk out in frustration. “it sounds like he kissed you! he had his hand on your thigh—”

“that was for stability! he—”

“no it was to feel you up!”

you shook your head side to side with your arms crossed. “nope nope nope nope—”

“y/nnnn!”

as for megumi, the next game he had he looked for you while on the field like he always did, looking forward to seeing your precious face and giving you a little wave… except he couldn’t find you. after the game, he went around the stadium and towards the locker room, inside and back out, the parking lot, his parking lot—

and he couldn’t find you.

this went on for a full three weeks of game after game nearly every day him doing the same exact thing— him getting increasingly more confused and a bit upset at your disappearance, going as far as to staying hours after his games still in his sweaty baseball uniform and cap with hopes that you’ll turn up.

except you never did.

and at the end of the third week, he had had enough.

“oh hey megumi!” your best friend greeted him, her hand fixing around yuji’s hair in the locker room after a game.

“hi.”

he stood there and said nothing, and your best friend eyed him skeptically. “…yes?”

megumi shifted awkwardly. “have you um… have you seen y/n?”

she sucked in a breath. “uh yeah. i saw her this morning.”

“this morning?” his eyes narrowed. “is she okay? why hasn’t she been coming to our games with you?”

“because—” she stammered. “well because—”

“is it our place to say?” yuji muttered.

“is it our place to know?” she whispered back harshly.

“i don’t know!”

“let’s just tell him!”

“but what if!—”

megumi rolled his eyes and huffed. “nevermind. please tell her to come tomorrow, i need to talk to her.”

your best friend gulped and nodded, both her and yuji watching the way he walked away and snatched his cap off, throwing it inside his locker and slamming it shut with his foot before picking up his duffel bag and leaving, not even bothering to change out of his dirt covered uniform.

“i’ve never seen him so stressed,” yuji commented.

“it’s because he likes her and she’s being an idiot…” your best friend sighed sadly.

so when she came to you the next day and told you megumi needed to speak to you, she amplified how upset he was to get you to feel bad and feel the urgent need to come to the game tonight, which you of course did.

and you were worried. so so worried and scared that he was finally going to tell you off for kissing him, to tell you that you sucked and that he never ever wanted to see you again in his life and that you were a disgusting human being—

but the roar of the crowd pulled you from your thoughts, the team winning once again as many began to pack their things and take their leave. you were completely and utterly shitting yourself, petrified and already heartbroken over the fact that megumi was officially going to cut you off as a friend when you hadn’t even had the chance to try and win him over yet.

and the way he played on the field tonight was way more aggressive than normal. he was louder, meaner, and didn’t take his eyes away from the ball or his opponents as he nearly got into a fight with another player, yuji and a few others needing to pull megumi apart and set him aside to cool off— the cameras and reporters having a field day in regards to him.

and that bothered you like nothing else. why the hell were they so excited over him getting angry? to amplify the brand that he upholds as the teams meanest player? as if they’ve never had a bad day a day in their lives? what was the point?

and it was all because of you, you realized.

you made him upset.

you covered your face with your hands and groaned, feeling like you wanted to cry.

“y/n…” your best friend patted your back. “it’ll be fine… he just needs to talk to you! you don’t even know what it’s about.”

“i can take a wild guess.”

she looked at you worriedly before picking up her things. “whenever you’re ready babe… i think he’s in the locker rooms by now.”

she left you there to gather yourself, and you sat there for a couple of more minutes before finally getting up and making your way to the locker rooms.

most of the fans had cleared out by now, and the sun was beginning to set as you passed and squeezed through crew members and news reporters, gnawing at your bottom lip as you turned a corner and spotted the locker room, many of the players already leaving.

just as you had reached your hand up to open the door, a firm voice called out to you.

“y/n.”

you froze, retracting your hand as you turned to look.

megumi stood there at the end of the hall, his baseball uniform still on and his cap dangling from his belt loop, hands in tight fists with his chest rising and falling, an agitated look on his face that you had never seen before.

“h—hi-”

“are you trying to forget me? is that what’s going on?”

your eyebrows furrowed.

“what?”

megumi took stride full steps towards you. “you finally talk to me, you confess to me, you disappear for a month, i wait for you, you finally show up at the banquet looking like the most beautiful woman i’ve ever seen in my fucking life—”

he stopped in front of you. “takuma tries to steal you from me, i get pissed off, i fall for you at the park, i kiss you—“ he threw his arms up. “and you disappear again!”

your eyes bulge out of their sockets.

fall?

“you what?—”

“so i’m asking you again,” megumi bent his knees to look at you at eye level, his hands coming up to cup your pink cheeks and his face so close to yours you can make out the exact color of his eyes.

“are you trying to forget me? like you said you would?”

you fidgeted.

“i— i was doing it for you—”

“why for me? i never said—”

the feeling of his big hands on your cheeks was making your heart do backflips and trick shots as your wide doe eyes looked at him.

“because when i kissed you i made you uncomfortable and i don’t ever want you to be so i thought it’d be best if i left you alone—”

“okay let’s fix that right now,” his hands tightened slightly around your cheeks and he readjusted his footing, knees still bent. “i kissed you. if anything i should be the one worried if i made you uncomfortable because i put my hand on your thigh like that and for that i’m sorry.”

“no but—”

“yes y/n. i kissed you because you’re polite and you’re sweet and you’re funny, and you don’t see me as rude like everybody else does. and even though you’re naive and helpless sometimes, i like that you are. i like you.”

“but you’re megumi fushiguro…” you squeaked.

“so?”

“and i’m a loser.”

he laughed so cutely and shook his head, his pearly whites fully shining at you so big that it took you back to the first time he smiled in front of you.

“no you’re not you big dummy.”

he let go of your cheeks and placed his palms flat against the brick wall behind you, cornering you in as he let his head hang low, the top of his spiky black hair the only thing in your line of vision.

“i don’t know how else i can make you see…”

he sounded so exhausted, and your heart clenched.

“was it—” you timidly placed your hands on his shoulders. “was it actually you that kissed me?”

he nodded, head still hung.

“and do you actually like me? like— like more than a friend…”

“way fucking more,” he mumbled.

you bit the inside of your cheek as you tried to contain yourself from screaming.

you couldn’t believe it. the megumi fushiguro, number eighteen, the most handsome man you’ve ever seen and the kindest one you’ve ever met… liked you.

“i could’ve sworn i kissed you..” you spoke softly, trailing off.

“you didn’t.” his voice was firm. “i kissed you and i put my hand up your thigh…” his forehead lifted to rest on the crook of your neck as he sighed a deep breath.

“i told— i told takuma to scram at the banquet because i got jealous that you were talking to him more than me. i saw you crying in the hall that first time we spoke and i recognized you and i went up to you because finally—”

he picked his head up slowly, eyes serious. “finally, you noticed me.”

he was so close that your nose brushed gently with his.

“you’re so dense y/n…”

megumi’s eyes flickered to your lips, “i’ve wanted you since the party.”

“the party?” you murmured.

he nodded. “the party where your friend first met yuji.”

your breath hitched as you felt his hands slide down the wall and snake over your hips, holding you tightly against him as the shock of his words made your body numb and tingly.

since the party?

it all seemed to click into place then, every single moment megumi tried to get you to look at him, to talk to him, in his own discreet way that you were completely oblivious to. and you were so fucking caught up in this fog of denial, that a person like megumi could never be interested in a person like you, that it made you push him away for the longest time without even giving yourself a chance.

you were so fucking stupid.

your arms slowly wrapped around his broad shoulders, the rough feeling of his baseball uniform underneath your fingertips and arms as you pressed your nose up against his shoulder shyly, feeling so incredibly bad for avoiding megumi for so long.

“i’m sorry…” you mumbled. “i’m sorry i was so oblivious gumi.”

you felt him shake his head from the crook of your neck silently, the vibration of his heart beating rapidly against you making you sweat and melt at the same time.

“don’t be.”

“i just—” you struggled. “i just thought you didn’t like me like i liked you and i wanted to respect your space…”

“i understand,” he muttered. “but i don’t want you to respect my space anymore.”

you held him tighter.

“and—” your voice was slightly muffled by his shoulder.

“hm?”

“i liked it when you put your hand on my thigh…”

megumi stilled, you playing the night he kissed you over and over in your head again like you’ve done since it happened— the thought making you nervous and timid.

he gripped you tighter.

“did you?”

you nodded, “mhm.”

megumi without parting from you, slipped a hand under your shirt and soothed his fingers over the bare skin of your torso, your breathing stuttering, his rough hand radiating warmth.

“what else do you like.”

you gripped the fabric of his uniform.

“i like… i like the way you kissed me. and how you touch me… like right now.”

your voice was so so soft, practically a whisper as he seemed to shiver under your words, wanting more.

“what else.”

“you,” you mumbled. “your body… your hair… your face… your hands… the way you talk to people.”

“you want me?” he murmured breathlessly.

“more than anything.”

“what else do you like?”

you leaned your head back a little and pressed your lips to his ear. “the way you play ball.”

he hummed, “you like the way i play baby?”

you nodded, your heart hammering.

he lifted his face from the crook of your neck and shamelessly pressed his lips to your cheek, murmuring.

“you wanna see what else i can do?”

“what— what else?”

megumi’s face remained pressed against your cheek as he let both of his hands now snake underneath your shirt and upwards, slowly but roughly groping the cup of your tits over your bra, feeling you up as you gasped.

“uh huh..” he pressed an open mouthed wet kiss to your pink fuzzy cheek. “‘cause i can do a lot more than just be your cool baseball man.”

he roughly spun you around and pushed you up against the wall, his hands coming back up to your breasts to grope you as he shoved and rubbed his hardened clothed dick against your perky ass, your tiny skirt riding up and revealing your pretty pink panties that made him absolutely feral.

“gumi!” you gasped. “s—someone could see—”

“i don’t fucking care.”

megumi buried his nose further into the back of your neck and your hair, him being a little pervert in the most delicious and intoxicating way possible.

he dragged his mouth up against your skin and latched on to the nape of your neck, sucking and biting sloppily against it as he marked you aggressively, no doubt in your mind that a purple bruise would follow soon after as his hands slipped under your bra now, pinching your hard nipples meanly and laughing when you jumped.

you moaned and whined against the wall, your body trembling as you felt your slick arousal slip from your hole and dampen your panties, choked up embarrassment coating your face as he shoved his fingers down your skirt without warning.

“you’re soaked baby…” he whispered. “and all because i grabbed your tits?”

“megumiii…” you whined, and you squeaked as he quickly slipped his fingers in between your pussy lips and pinched your clit.

“gumi,” he corrected. “fix it.”

“g—gumi—”

“good, pretty baby...” he praised, his dick rock fucking solid against your ass at the way his fingers slipped and slid in between your lower lips without much effort, both of your chests heaving and panting as your brains frazzled erotically.

the sounds of footsteps echoed from the end of the hall and you both immediately froze, a gasp slipping past your lips before megumi quickly covered your mouth with the same hand that was just fingering you.

“shh.” he kissed the back of your head.

if anyone were to walk in and see the sight before them— megumi with his crotch pressed up against your ass, a hand pushing your top and bra up, squeezing your bare puffy tit and the other covering your mouth?

they’d drop dead.

without another moment wasted, megumi uncovered your mouth and turned you around, his tongue darting out and licking the patch of wet on your cheek from his fingers before shoving them in his mouth, sucking up your left over juice as he bent down and wrapped his arms around your legs, lifting and throwing you over his shoulder.

megumi was freaky.

your eyes widened as he walked to the double doors of the locker room and kicked it open with his foot, turning around to lock them shut before walking to a corner and setting you down gently on a bench, his palms flat beside you on the smooth wood as he towered over you.

“is— is everybody gone?”

“long gone.” he nibbled at your cheek.

“but— but what if someone wants to come in?—”

he pulled away and got down on his knees. “i’ll tell them to fuck off.”

you panted as he pressed his hands against your thighs and squeezed, spreading them apart slowly with his eyes trained to your drenched cute pink panties.

he slid his hands underneath your thighs and lifted, bending you and pressing your knees closer to you as your back hit the lockers behind you, your hands gripping the bench for dear life.

“has anyone ever seen your pussy?” he gruffed, licking his lips.

you shook your head, embarrassed. “n—no.”

“has any other man touched you the way i’ve touched you?”

“m—maybe in high school?—”

megumi sunk his teeth into your inner thigh and bit you as you yelped.

“thought you liked me.”

“i do!” you sputtered.

“clearly not if you’re being a little whore and letting other filthy men on you.”

your hole clenched.

“that— that was before you!”

he stuck his tongue out and pressed it flat against your pussy covered panties, dragging it slowly and agonizingly up until the tip of his tongue passed and flicked up against your clit, the tip moving around and around your little nub as your thighs shook.

“doesn’t matter.” he let a string of drool fall from the corner of his lips and over your ruined underwear, your eyes fluttering as you felt his warm saliva ooze in between your lips.

“and what about takuma, hm?”

you tried to open your eyes. “ta—takuma?”

“mhm. he was all over you.”

you hiccuped as he wrapped his fingers around the straps of your panties and pulled them down.

“i—”

“bet he wanted to do to you what i’m doing right now…” he hummed. “would you have let him?”

he stuffed his nose into your bare pussy and inhaled deeply, your jaw dropping as you squeezed your eyes shut.

your lack of response caused him to pull away and bite your thigh again, harder.

“would you?”

“n—no!” you shook your head quickly, strands of your hair lightly grazing your face. “i wouldn’t—”

“so who then?” he licked over his bite mark. “who would you spread your legs open for like this and let them see what a nasty fucking girl you are…”

“you gumi!” you hiccuped. “just you—”

“just me?”

megumi finally let his tongue slither itself in between your folds, slowly running over your flaps and clit as your hole continued to squelch out your arousal, pooling on the bench beneath you.

“y—yes!”

he slobbered and spit over your pussy like a starved dog, his face glistening like sugary glazed sweets.

“that’s what i fucking thought,” he hummed. “you gonna try and forget me again?”

“no!” you shook your head. “never! i can’t!”

he gripped your thighs tighter as he absolutely violated your folds then, wet sloshing and slurpings filling the air as he spat and shook his head side to side rapidly on your clit, you squealing and attempting to snap your thighs shut in response, his strong grip not letting you even if you tried.

“i—i can’t!” you cried. “gumi slow please it’s too much—”

“be a pretty baby and stop complaining.” he ran his slimy tongue over your pussy entirely before shoving it inside your hole.

you choked and clasped a trembling hand over your mouth, tears of ecstasy spilling from the corners of your eyes as you squeezed them shut.

you whimpered and moaned and cried so pathetically, so cutely in his ears that he grinned as he pumped his tongue in and out of you filthily.

“you’re so fucking sweet—” he slapped your cunt and you jumped. “good thing i have a sweet tooth.”

your legs shook violently as you began to see stars, your tight hole clenching and sputtering around nothing as you felt your release approaching.

“gumi—” your hand flew back to the bench and you gripped it. “m��gonna cum! i’m— i’m gonna make a mess—”

megumi’s hand shot up and wrapped around one of your thighs so the tips of his fingers met your clit, his digits proceeding to rub and flick it as you climbed and reached your high, a high pitched scream echoing through the steamy locker room as your pussy leaked your sweet cum on his tongue.

you shuddered and jumped at the way he cleaned up your release and swallowed it, running his tongue soothingly over the bite marks on your thighs before coming back up and wiping his glistening face with his sleeve.

megumi leaned in and pressed a gentle loving kiss to your lips, a complete turn around from the feral beast you had in between your legs— you kissing him back with just as much feel and affection.

he pulled back and got back up on his feet, you watching him ditzy as he jogged over to his locker and turned the lock until it clicked open, him rummaging inside for a little before he shut it and came back with a fresh pair of gray sweatpants.

“put these on baby,” he murmured.

you nodded sweetly and took them from him, you slipping off your skirt and pulling his sweatpants over as you watched him bend and look over corners.

“what are you looking for?” you asked softly.

he perked up then and stuck his hand under a bench, pulling out your wet ruined pink panties and holding them up high like a trophy.

“oh my god—” you covered your mouth in embarrassment. “give me those!”

“nope.” he shook his head and walked over to his duffel bag on the floor, unzipping it before stuffing your panties inside. “these are mine now.”

megumi came back up and wrapped his palm underneath your chin, tilting your face up softly before planting a sweet kiss to your swollen lips.

“and so are you.”

and that you were.

you went on many many dates with megumi after that, each and every single one so incredibly lovely and fun, a genuine connection you felt with him and each other that you had never ever felt before in your life, absolutely enamored by the way he gently treated you and made you feel like the only one that mattered in his life.

your best friend was obviously over the moon for you, squealing like a maniac at everything you told her, and always teased megumi about his lovesick face whenever you came to his games or appeared in the locker room to help him change, sort his clothes, or fix his hair.

“megumi…” she snickered. “your cheeks are a little red! are you like— sick?”

he scowled at her and turned the other way, wiping his sweaty forehead as he watched you bounce down the steps cutely and onto the field after one of his practices, a huge smile on your face that replicated on his.

the minute you jumped into his arms, he peppered your little cheeks with kisses as you giggled and ruffled his spiky hair, asking him how he felt about practice and other things after he set you down.

without anyone noticing, a journalist was on the field, and at the sight of megumi fushiguro’s beaming toothy smile as he watched you run to him, they quickly snapped a photo and published it.

one was a perfect portrait photo of his shining white smile (that later became his signature picture) and the other was a photo of his arms out for you as you ran, the both of them causing an absolute uproar that altered megumi’s image from that day forward.

megumi fushiguro was thought to be the meanest player on the team since the day he got signed.

but when he started taking more pictures with fans, kind of stopped offending the people around him, signed more autographs, and smiled occasionally at the paparazzi— all while your pretty self stood right next to him?

megumi fushiguro was sometimes the meanest player on the team.

————————————————————————

want more? you can find my mlb!megumi fushiguro masterlist here!

[p0orbaby]

First Love

summary: you have a new admirer, alexia isn’t a fan

warnings: none

a/n: i cant remember if this was request or not so if it was i apologise but ive lost it. if not, well done me for thinking of my own plot for a change

word count: 1.2k

-

You and Alexia arrive fashionably late, because, well, it's Alexia’s family, and you’re not about to sacrifice your sanity to be early for a gathering that’s going to last an eternity anyway. She’s already stressed because she knows every cousin, uncle, and long-lost relative is going to pester her with the usual questions. How’s football? How’s the knee? When are you going to settle down and give your mother some grandchildren? Not to mention, the subtle but unmistakable scrutiny that comes with introducing you—again—like you're the new pet hamster instead of the person who’s been sleeping next to her for three years now.

You’re prepared, though. You’ve got your A-game smile, and you’re ready to nod at all the right moments while maintaining an impressive and unwavering level of small talk. You’re a pro at this by now. You can discuss the weather in ways that would make any other Briton jealous.

The event is held at a distant cousin's place—a sprawling estate that screams “we have more money than common sense.” The house is big, too big. The kind of place where you could lose a child or three and not notice until the next family reunion. The garden is a maze of strategically placed garden furniture, various expensive but uncomfortable chairs that no one sits in, and a kid's bouncy castle that looks like it was imported from the set of some cheesy Netflix original with mediocre reviews.

You’re halfway through your first glass of sangria when you notice him—a small boy, around five or six, with that messy hair that suggests he’s been on a sugar bender since eight this morning. His eyes are locked on you like you’re the most fascinating thing in the world. He’s got this look that can only be described as pure, unfiltered determination, like he’s decided, at that very moment, that you’re going to be his new best friend, and there’s absolutely nothing you or anyone else can do about it.

"He's cute," you whisper to Alexia as the boy starts to waddle over, his shoes lighting up with every step. Alexia glances at him, then back at you, her brow furrowing ever so slightly.

"Yeah, cute," she says, her tone dry enough to rival the Sahara. You can tell by the way her jaw tenses that she’s already not thrilled with this kid, which is hilarious because you’ve seen her face down a team of professional athletes without breaking a sweat. But a small child? Apparently, that’s a whole different kind of threat.

The boy—let's call him Diego, because of course his name is Diego—sidles up to you with all the subtlety of a charging bull. He stares up at you, his eyes wide and sparkling, like you’re a rock star, and he’s your biggest fan.

"Hola," he says, in that high-pitched voice only kids or cartoon characters can pull off without being annoying. Except, it’s already a little annoying, because he’s completely ignoring Alexia, and that’s a crime in and of itself.

"Hi there," you reply, keeping your tone light and friendly. You glance over at Alexia, who’s now sipping her drink with a look that suggests she’s contemplating how many more family functions she can skip without starting a feud.

Diego looks at Alexia briefly, as if she’s some sort of obstacle, then turns his attention back to you, his smile growing wider. "Wanna play?"

You blink. Play? You haven’t ‘played’ in, what, fifteen years? Maybe more? You’re more accustomed to adult games now, like “Where did I put my phone?” and “How long can I avoid doing laundry?” But Diego doesn’t seem to care. He’s already grabbed your hand, sticky fingers and all, and is pulling you toward the bouncy castle like it’s the best idea in the world.

You glance at Alexia, who’s now watching the whole thing with an expression that would be hilarious if it weren’t so serious. There’s a thin line between her eyebrows that you’ve learned means danger. You try to give her a look that says, “Help me,” but she just raises an eyebrow, as if to say, “You got yourself into this, deal with it”

Before you can protest, you’re inside the bouncy castle, surrounded by kids who are all screaming with the kind of joy only children and maniacs experience. Diego is jumping up and down, laughing like a crazy person, and you’re doing your best to stay upright, which is difficult because it’s been a while since you were five.

Outside, you can see Alexia, arms crossed, watching you with a look that’s a mix between amusement and something else—something that looks suspiciously like jealousy. You bounce awkwardly, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity, but Diego is relentless. He’s now trying to get you to jump higher, and you’re seriously starting to consider if this is how you go—death by bouncy castle.

After what feels like an eternity (but is probably just ten minutes), you manage to escape, stumbling out of the bouncy castle like you’ve just survived a natural disaster. Diego is still inside, shrieking with laughter, blissfully unaware of the drama he’s just caused.

You make your way over to Alexia, who’s watching you with that amused, slightly irritated expression still firmly in place.

"Having fun?" she asks, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Oh, tons," you reply, wiping sweat from your brow. "Best day of my life”

"You know, I’m not the jealous type," she begins, her voice low and dangerous, "but what’s mine is mine. End of story”

You can’t help but laugh, because of course Alexia would be jealous of a five-year-old. It’s ridiculous, and yet, somehow, perfectly understandable. "I think I’ve been claimed by someone else," you say, grinning. "You might have some competition”

She rolls her eyes but you can tell she’s not really mad. At least, not in the serious way. "He’s got good taste," she admits grudgingly, "but don’t let it go to your head”

"I wouldn’t dream of it," you reply, leaning in to kiss her cheek, because you know that’s what she wants, even if she’ll never admit it.

The rest of the party is a blur of forced smiles, endless small talk, and more sangria than you probably should’ve had. Diego pops up a few more times, always eager to drag you back to the bouncy castle or show you some new toy, but each time, Alexia is there, gently but firmly steering him back toward his actual family.

By the end of the night, you’re exhausted, and Alexia is finally starting to relax, probably because Diego has finally passed out somewhere, giving up on his quest to monopolise your attention.

As you leave, hand in hand, you glance back at the house, wondering how long it’ll be before you’re back here again, playing the role of the supportive girlfriend in a family that still doesn’t quite get it. But then Alexia squeezes your hand, and you realise it doesn’t matter. Because at the end of the day, what’s hers is hers, and what’s yours is yours, and that’s all there is to it.

Besides, next time, you’ll be ready. You’ll bring your own bouncy castle and show Diego who’s boss.

[fyodoro]

UNEXPECTED LOVERBOY

-> in which you overhear your calm and secretive boyfriend gushing over you like there’s no tomorrow (1.1k wc)

Cw) gn!reader, manga characters (no spoilers), sakura still malfunctions when it comes to romance topics

Calling Hayato Suo an enigma would be an understatement.

Not a soul knows what lies under that eye patch. He’s calm, collected, and composed at almost all times, but it was a task of its own to grasp why. It’s impossible to catch him eating anything other than teacakes, and he often replaces his meals with a hot cup of tea. He claims to be on a diet, but every diet needs some protein incorporated into it.

Everything there is to know about Suo can be followed up with the same question: “Why?” and “What?”

However, there was an exception to his mysterious nature: You.

Of course, you didn’t know that. Hell, even Suo failed to notice his quite obvious soft spot for you until now. But as Nirei’s eye glittered with joy as he scribbled new notes onto Suo’s page in his notebook, and Sakura’s pupils shrunk with his cheeks flaunting a new shade of red, everyone knew.

Hayato Suo’s in love.

“(Name’s) a beauty, really. They may be rough around the edges at times, but I’ve never met anyone with a soul like theirs,” he babbled uncharacteristically.

He brought his teacup to his lips with closed eyes, missing the baffled expressions on everyone’s faces. But the moment he opened them, he couldn’t help but quirk a brow. “What’s with the shocked faces?”

Umemiya coughed into his hand graciously. “We’re just a little surprised, that’s all,” he began, too immersed in the conversation to notice you entering Kotoha’s cafe. “It’s not often you ramble like this.”

“I didn’t know Suo could be so open about his feelings,” Nirei exclaimed with a smile. “You must reallyyyy like (Name), huh?” he questioned, holding his pen in one hand and notebook in another as if this were an interview.

Suo’s head tilted. “Of course I do, that’s why I’m dating them.”

“You’ve been rambling on and on about (Name) for almost 10 minutes, it’s gross,” Sakura grumbled with flushed cheeks.

“But we wanna hear more! Keep going,” Nirei added.

Everyone looked at Suo attentively, including you. Somehow, the group failed to hear the bell chime when you entered the cafe. You’re clueless as to what’s going on, but it didn’t take a genius to realize it had something to do with you considering the amount of times your name was thrown around.

“My, if you insist,” Suo chuckled. “But I fear I’ve already said it all, unless I forgot to mention how cute it is when their cheeks puff up when they’re annoyed?”

Sakura held his head in his hands in fear that it’d melt off with how hot his face felt. “No, you didn’t. But we get it! You love (Name)!” he shouted.

“They’re impossible not to love,” Suo commented with his usual calm smile.

“That’s just Sakura’s romance sensor going haywire,” Kiryu teased. “Don’t mind him.”

The split-haired boy sulked in his seat, trying to dismiss the heat he felt on his face. “You’re all so…”

His voice trailed off, catching a glimpse of your frame standing behind Suo.

“Su-“

“Trust me, if you were in my shoes you’d be doing the same thing. (Name’s) one of a kind, not to mention beautiful. I can’t imagine a life without them, honestly.” The brunette went on, unbeknownst of your looming presence behind him. “Anyone can fall in love if their heart is stolen.”

“Someone like Suo being so head over heels in love… it must feel like a fairytale for (Name),” Umemiya chimed.

“Oh trust me, it does.”

Everyone’s heads turned to face you, except Sakura, who had noticed you seconds prior.

“(Name)?!”

“I didn’t know I could be such a fun subject of conversation, Hayato.” you teased, hands resting on your boyfriend’s shoulders as you leaned down to his ear.

He gulped, hiding his flustered heart through his relaxed exterior.

“We were just talking about you!” Nirei said happily. “Is it true? That Suo never lets you hold doors open, and holds them open for you? Or that he gave you his umbrella when it was pouring rain because he’d rather get soaked than risk you getting sick?” Oh! What about-“

The boy in question sat in silence, allowing Nirei to ask his heart away to confirm that this wasn’t one of his absurd lies.

You nodded at the blonde. “Yes, yes, yes, and yes. Except he technically kept the umbrella- he just held it over me so my hands wouldn’t get cold,” you corrected, recalling the awful weather of that day.

“What a romantic~” Tsubaki swooned.

“I try my best,” Suo smiled shyly.

“Suo never talks about his life! This is the most he’s ever told us, (Name)! Does he talk to you about his personal life?” Nirei inquired politely, trying not to make you feel pressured into answering.

You thought for a moment. For one, you felt honored that Suo didn’t wanna keep your relationship a secret like the rest of his life. But the blonde’s question made you realize something yourself- you really didn’t know much about your boyfriend’s personal life.

“Well… what can I say? He’s a mystery to everyone, including me.” you replied unsurely, glancing at Suo from the corner of your eye.

“Interesting…”

Nirei wrote something down in his notebook, and you didn’t bother looking. Instead, you held eye contact with Suo. He didn’t have to speak for you to know what he was thinking.

He wasn’t hiding anything from you. He just didn’t like talking about his past, and you understood.

“My love, you know more about me than anyone else in this room,” he stood after finishing the contents of his teacup. “After all, you were the one who told me to take baby steps, correct?”

You vaguely recalled those words. It was weeks ago, but he felt guilty for not telling you or anyone else about his history. In response, you told him to take as long as he needed, and baby steps were always the first steps.

“I did,” you affirmed. Your voice was soft, but it didn’t hide your intentions of making his heart pound a little harder. “But I didn’t think I'd catch you gushing over me like you’ve lost your composure~”

Suo almost broke, and you laughed.

“Woah, is Suo blushing?”

“Who could blame the guy? It’s the most open he’s been with us,” Hiragi commented with truth.

Kotoha giggled from behind the counter. “Not to mention how close (Name) is to him right now, it might be too much for the poor boy to handle.”

The red in Suo’s cheeks slowly faded, and he let out a small sigh. “I’ll see you all later, we’re gonna get going now,” he waved.

The two of you walked out hand in hand, and everyone else was left either baffled, confused, or unphased. Unless it was Sakura, who was somehow all three.

Little did you know, Nirei left a small comment on the corner of Suo’s page in his notebook.

‘Quite the loverboy.’

© enassbraid 2024. i do not permit plagiarism, translations, or reposts of my work on any platform.

[rowarn]

hybrid au part 3 - FINAL

other parts: one | two

cw: major character death, angst, happy ending tho, lack of communication, loving!kyle agenda, mentions of price finally

a/n: SO THAT'S IT. i hope it was worth the wait!!!! mwah!!!

Kyle noticed the way your light dimmed the following days. He was at a loss, one day you're bouncing off the walls and filling every room with the sweet sound of your purrs and the next it's cold and quiet. 

He tried everything, bringing home fragrant, expensive food and snacks, toys, whatever he could find that he thought would make you smile again. But nothing seemed to work. 

When you spend the entire day curled up on the couch, blankly watching TV, he decided he had enough. 

The following day, he was hooking your collar around your neck and forcing you to go outside into the sunshine. 

Your eyes burned as you stepped out beneath the sun's blazing beams. Days spent indoors, sleeping most of the daytime hours away, had accustomed you to darkness. It was hot and you already wanted to go back inside but one pitiful look towards Kyle told you that you were not getting out of this easily.

So you hang your head and allow him to lead you down the sidewalk. The military housing area was surprisingly quiet, the only sound was a lawnmower somewhere nearby. 

Kyle was silent, content with keeping his hand on the small of your back, a kind, protective gesture to assure you that he was still there as you glared at the sidewalk. 

Before you knew it, the quietness of the neighborhood grew louder and louder until you were walking through the gate of the hybrid-park. 

You looked around, watching all the happy hybrids and owners running around and playing lighthearted rounds of soccer or football. Casting a glance to Kyle, he gives you a crooked, boyish smile. 

“What do you wanna do?” he asks, glancing around, “We can take a lap around the park if you'd like?” 

You shake your head, “Can we just sit?” 

“Sure, sweetheart,” he coos, nudging you in the direction of an empty bench. 

You both take a seat, and look out across the park. While the nights still got quite chilly, it was beautiful during the day - a soothing breeze that rustled the green leaves in the trees and clear blue skies that you could look at for hours. 

You hated to admit it but - Kyle was right. You were starting to feel better, like a weight was being lifted off your shoulders. Being cooped up in the house didn’t help anything, in fact it probably made things worse.

A hand patted your head and you looked over to see Kyle beaming, as if he could see the tension just melt off of you. 

“I'm going to get us something to drink,” he muttered as he stood up, “Lemonade okay with you?” 

You nod your head, fluffy ears bouncing atop your head as you do. Kyle has to resist the urge to reach out and pet them, forcing himself to turn around and find a drink stand to get the lemonade from.

You're staring off at a dog hybrid and a young boy playing a heated game of soccer when you hear your name being called. 

Your head whips around to see Johnny standing there, tail wagging and eyes wide in shock. It's obvious he ran all the way over to where you are from the way his shoulders heave up and down with his heavy panting. 

“I-” he clears his throat, thinking over what he wanted to say, “I've missed ye.” 

Your heart was pounding in your chest, making the blood rush in your ears, “Johnny…”

“Come home,” he says, desperate and breathless, “I miss ye and I want ye to come back.” 

“Simon doesn't want me, Johnny…” you mutter, feeling shame burn at your cheeks as you look down at your hands - nails neatly filed down by Kyle just a few days ago. 

“To hell with him!” he spits, “I want you back, isn't that enough?” 

Your frown deepens. His selfishness ignites irritation within you, tears pricking at the backs of your eyes. 

“Why?” you ask, voice breaking as the word slips past your lips, “Why should I have to live like that? Being hated while you get to be loved?” Johnny says your name but you cut him off before he can say anything else, “That's not fair, Johnny. I have Kyle now and he loves me! I'm happy with him.”

“Can't ye be happy with me too?” he asks, sad, teary eyes cutting right through your heart. 

“Of course I could Johnny but…” before you can continue there's a sharp call of the pup’s name and both of you freeze. 

Johnny looks over his shoulder to see Simon jogging up behind him, a fierce glare in his brown eyes. A rough, gloved hand grabs the back of the hybrid’s collar. 

“What the hell do you think you're doin’ runnin’ off like that?” Simon snaps, anger masking the clear worry he had experienced at his missing companion. 

“I was just…” Johnny’s eyes drift to you and that's when Simon acknowledges your existence. 

The sneer on his face is clear even through the mask and it makes you shrink in on yourself, ears flattened back. Even after all this time, the sting of his rejection remains strong and hurts just the same. 

“What’s a gutter rat like you doin’ here?” Simon snaps. 

It annoys him that you're always at the source of his problems with Johnny. Whenever the pup misbehaves, you're always there. A bad influence. Typical cat. 

You look at Johnny. He doesn’t meet your gaze, instead staring up at his owner with an apologetic expression. You want him to speak up. You want him to defend you, to tell Simon to be nice or to apologize or tell him what you mean to him. 

But Johnny just sighs, “Sorry, Si.” 

The lack of defense towards you in the face of Simon solidifies everything for you in that moment. You look down at your lap, the crack in your heart only aching and stinging more and more with every beat of silence that passes between the three of you. 

Something ice cold touches the back of your neck and you yelp, launching yourself off the bench and onto the ground. Laughter fills your ears and you turn to glare at Kyle who holds a large plastic cup of lemonade - the cold thing he’d just surprised you with. 

“Sorry, love!” he apologizes but the laughter shows he's anything but. 

Soap speaks up then, asking if Kyle knows you. Your owner’s brown eyes shine with pride as he affectionately ruffles your hair.

“Found them on the street and brought them home!” Kyle tells them, sounding much like a proud father, “Best decision of my life!”

Your cheeks burn at his praise, his kind, loving words remedy the painful stinging in your heart that had been brought on by your previous owner. You take the cup of lemonade when he offers it to you, taking a sip and cringing at the sour taste that hits your tongue – much to Kyle’s amusement.

“You guys are welcome to come over anytime,” Kyle says, smiling as he affectionately pets your ears, “I’m sure this cute kitten would love to have a friend to hang out with.”

“Yeah…maybe,” Simon mumbles, sending you a sidelong glance that was cold and empty – telling you everything you needed to know without saying it. Absolutely not.

You find that you don’t mind that much. The idea of never seeing Simon or his painfully hateful gaze was nice. But when you looked at Johnny, who was staring at you in despair – you find yourself mumbling in response, “Maybe someday.”

The hope in Johnny’s eyes seers into your mind, even long after you’ve parted ways and gone home for the day. 

The days pass in relative ease. The depressive rut you found yourself in melts away and Kyle is thrilled to see that you’ve returned to your bright, bubbly self. You greet him at the door when he walks in, sit and purr beside him while you both eat dinner together, curl up against his side and happily snooze the night away. 

It’s peaceful bliss.

But one evening, Kyle returns home and tosses his heavy duffle bag onto the floor with a thunk. You get up to greet him, stretching your arms high above your head before padding over to him with a sleepy smile on your face. Kyle opens his arms for you, letting you tuck yourself into his chest for a hug. A loud purr emanates from your chest that only seems to make Kyle’s shoulders drop.

“What’s the matter?” you ask when you catch a look at his face when he pulls away; brows furrowed and lips in a tight line.

“Just got some sad news, that’s all, lovie,” he mutters, patting your head before he moves into the kitchen to start preparing dinner.

“What news?” you ask, following after him, tail swishing nervously behind you. 

Did his parents pass away? Did a friend get hurt?

Kyle sets out some vegetables on the counter, hunting around for a knife before sighing, “You remember Simon and Johnny? We met them at the park the other day?”

You nod your head, “Of course.”

“There was an accident a couple days ago,” Kyle explains, slowly chopping up the celery on the cutting board, “Johnny got hit. He didn’t make it. Simon’s tore up about it.”

It feels like everything freezes right then and there for you. You no longer hear the chopping of the knife, no longer hear Kyle's voice or the sound of traffic outside on the street. All you can hear is the pounding in your ears and the sound of your own breathing.

Images flash behind your eyes in your grief. You can see Johnny’s boyish smile and his boisterous laugh emanating down the hallway. You can see him so clearly, wrapped around you as you snuggle and snooze together as the rain falls outside. You can hear the animated way he would tell you stories, waving his hands around and his tail thumping loudly on the floor.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until you feel a hand cup your cheek. You blink away the tears and Kyle’s face comes into view, worry etched onto it. 

“What is it, lovie? Why are you crying?” he asks, clearly concerned.

“Johnny’s dead?” you ask, voice broken and wobbly as you fight to talk through tears.

“Yeah, love,” Kyle coos, thumbing beneath your eyes to rub away some tears, “Why are you so upset?”

Everything tumbles from your lips then. You tell him about how you lived on the street, how your life changed the day you met a rambunctious pup who wouldn’t take no for an answer until he had himself a friend. You tell Kyle about how, even though Simon was awful to you, Johnny was a light in the dark and how much you adored him and how much he meant to you. You tell him how Simon threw you out like trash and how much it hurt and how much you missed Johnny despite everything. 

Kyle held you through it all, tucking you tenderly against his chest as you cried it all out.

“I had no idea, lovie,” he whispers into your hair, pressing sweet kisses to your forehead when your breathing becomes erratic. 

“I-I never got to settle things with him,” you wail, “He wanted me to come home and I-I couldn’t give him an answer.”

Kyle sighs, cupping the back of your head, rocking you back and forth until your cries quiet down to hiccuping sniffles, “It’ll be alright, sweetheart. Everything will be okay.”

Truthfully, he doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn't know how he can make this hurt go away or help you soothe the grief you’re experiencing. All he can do is hold you close and comfort you whenever you need.

This time, when Kyle notices how sad you are as the days pass, he doesn’t force you to leave the house or do anything. He just lets your sadness run its course, doing what he can to ease your burden by making your favorite dishes and letting you watch your favorite movies over and over again until he can practically recite them by heart.

There’s a knock at the door that startles the both of you one evening. Kyle’s on his feet in seconds, hand drifting towards the firearm he keeps nearby before he looks through the peephole on the door and relaxes. 

You peek over the back of the couch as he opens the door. Simon stands there. 

Although he is masked, you can practically see how worn down and utterly devastated he is. 

“What’s up?” Kyle asks, hand twitching to reach out for the older man but thinks better of it. “Do you need something?”

“I wanna talk to that one,” Simon nods in your direction, where you’re still peeking over the couch. 

Kyle turns to look at you over his shoulder, asking your consent. You think it over for a few seconds before you nod your head. Not like Simon would do anything with Kyle here. 

He steps aside to let the larger man enter and closes the door, giving an excuse about getting drinks before disappearing into the kitchen.

Simon’s heavy boots vibrate the floor as he takes a few large steps towards you. You scoot to the other side of the couch when he sits down, the couch bouncing with his added weight.

His hands are folded between his knees where he rests his elbows on them. His tattooed skin ripples and flexes as he nervously fidgets with his hands. 

“Johnny wanted you to come home,” he starts out, staring intently at the floor. You swear you can see tears beading at his lower lash line as he says his companions name, “So I’m here to see if you will.”

“You want me back?” you ask softly, anxiously pulling a pillow into your lap.

Simon nods, “It’s what Johnny wanted. He cared about you, loved you. You’re all I have left of him.”

You’re silent at that. 

Despite everything, your heart aches for Simon. He adored Johnny more than anything – even if he hated you, his love for the pup was palpable. You could see it in his face every time he saw Johnny, eyes scrunching up happily. Johnny was his world and now that world was gone and Simon was left with nothing but bitter emptiness and a void that he was desperate to fill. 

You found yourself opening your mouth, ready to agree – ready to be the one to soothe your ex-owners devastating hurt. But then you found yourself looking into the kitchen, to Kyle’s back. He was hunched over the counter, vigorously mixing something in a bowl and you realized that you didn’t want to leave him. 

Kyle was yours. Kyle was everything you could ever need or want. He wanted and loved you when you thought no one else would. He didn’t give up on you even when you were difficult and cold. He cared about you, thought about you every day. He gave you everything you wished for so desperately during your time living with Simon. 

“I can’t,” you find yourself whispering, tears filling your eyes at how much it hurt to turn Simon away, “I know Johnny would want me to be with you, to make sure you’re okay without him but…I love Kyle and I want to stay with him.”

“So that’s it then?” Simon asks, voice small and weaker than you’ve ever heard it before. You know there’s a crushing weight on his heart right now, knowing he will be going home alone to a painfully empty and cold house. 

“Yeah…” You whisper, unable to look up at him as he rises to his feet. 

Kyle comes out of the kitchen with a steaming bowl in his hands, asking Simon if he was okay as he passes by him to the front door. The larger man just grunts in response and opens the door. The quiet click of it closing is all you hear of his departure before the warm bowl is in your lap. 

It’s a bowl of broth that makes your mouth water. The fact Kyle had made it for your just because warmed your heart.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, sitting down next to you, arm tossed over the couch behind you, fingers mindlessly stroking over the fuzzy surface of your ear.

“He wanted me to go home with him,” you respond, taking a sip of the broth.

“You said no?” he asks. You catch the worry in his tone – like he was scared you were going to tell him you were leaving him soon.

But you nod and his body relaxes in relief, “He only wanted me back because I reminded him of Johnny. He didn’t really want me, just the image of Johnny.”

Kyle nods, leaning over to kiss your temple, “That man loved that pup. But I’m glad you’re here to stay.”

You look over at him from over the bowl of broth as you sip it, “Yeah?”

“I would have let you go if that’s what you really wanted but…” He looks a little sheepish as he continues, “It would have hurt to see you go, kitty. I meant it when I said adopting you was the best decision of my life.”

You place the bowl down on the coffee table before launching yourself into his arms. He grunts as your weight slams against him, knocking him back onto the couch as he laughs. His arms wrap around you in a bear hug, squeezing you so hard that your ribs ache but you don’t even think about trying to pull away.

Though you don’t say it, he knows that you’re his to keep and that you love him just as much as he loves you. He couldn’t imagine life without you now. 

BONUS: 

“I think my boss is gettin’ impatient to meet you, you know,” he mumbles in your shoulder.

“Your boss?” you ask, voice almost too quiet to hear over your loud purring.

“Yeah, the old man’s been dyin’ to meet the cute kitten I talk about all the time at work,” he explains.

“You talk about me?” you ask, peeking up shyly.

He grins, “All the time. I think everyone’s sick of my voice at this point. But the Captain's really been begging to come and meet you. I’ve been waiting for a good time to bring it up. He’s a bit of a lover so you’d have to put up with all the pets and hugs he has to offer.”

Your eyes shine in interest, “I want to meet him!”

Kyle chuckles, reaching up to pet one of your twitching ears, “I’ll make the call then and set up dinner.”

You were excited to meet a new person. You hoped he was as kind and gentle as Kyle was. And even though the idea of Simon sitting alone and hurt in his house with nothing but the memories of his best friend, you weren’t going to let that stop you from opening up new chapters in your own life. 

do not repost on other websites, translate, or modify. reblogs welcome!

[peachsukii]

₊✩‧₊◜ thinking about reader and bakugo’s intense “I’m home!” sex after he gets back from a month long mission. (follow up to this!!)

『 ♡ - k.bakugo x fem!reader 』 ꒰ tags & content ꒱ 18+ MDNI! masturbation, mentions of phone sex, toy usage (vibrator), praise, light dom/sub dynamic, pet names (baby, peach, sweets, good girl, princess - one mention of slut and whore but affectionately!), fingering, minor roleplay (bakugo in his hero gear & reader wears his mask), oral (blowjob), facial, cum eating, lots of dirty talk, nipple play, marking - biting/scratching, a sprinkle of choking, hair pulling, rough sex, overstimulation, creampie, aaand fluff! aged up characters to 22. ⋆ ˚ʚɞ — i didn’t expect this to be as long as it is, buuuut i had a lot of ideas of what they did when he came home...so there's a lot. what can i say? y'all missed each other! the smut immediately starts under the cut and does not stop until the end! 😵‍💫 ｡‧˚ʚ cross-posted to ao3 | word count; ~3.7k ɞ˚‧｡ -`✧ katsuki bakugo masterlist

It's been a long month without Katuski being home. You've done everything you can think of to keep yourself busy while he's been away - played games, read books, hung out with friends and worked overtime to make the days fly by. You called each other day and night, talking for as long as his assignments for the day allowed. Thankfully, they gave him his own room as an accommodation and didn't have to worry about sharing with anyone else.

Boy, did that come in handy.

You two are not shy and foreign to phone sex of all kinds, it was something you actually talked him into doing when you're apart longer than a week for work. FaceTime, voice notes, sexting; the full gambit. You had a private collection on your phone with all his voice notes that he'd sent to you over the years. You used it as "material" for when you're alone.

One folder was all for praise - "that’s my good girl," "go slow sweets, I wanna watch ya take every inch of me," "you’re so cute when you’re begging on your knees, baby," "love watching your soft lips wrap around my cock," "your moans are so fuckin’ pretty, peach," “god, y’have no fuckin’ idea how goddamn wild you drive me,” and more snippets of him coaxing you along to get you off.

The second folder? That was your sacred treasure trove. There were only three files, but they were some of the hottest things Katuski's ever graced you with. They were 10 minute audio clips of him jerking off to the thought of you, vocalizing every detail. Thank god for advanced technology because it allowed you to hear every mumbled ‘fuck’ under his breath, hushed grunts and audible shudders.

You didn’t have any other plans for the day - listening to your boyfriend’s sexy voice while you test out a new vibrator sounded like the perfect solution!

Stripping out of your clothes, you grab a t-shirt from his dresser and throw it over your naked body. It loosely drapes over the top of your thighs, barely hiding the fact you’re not wearing any panties. You grab the vibrator from your nightstand and lay in bed, phone nestled into the pillow next to your head. You decide to choose one of the three files at random. Before you even hit play, your face is flushed and heart is threatening to burst through your ribcage. It doesn’t take long for you to succumb to the gratification, getting lost in his husky moans and the hum of the vibrator.

You’re too busy to notice that the apartment’s front door has opened, along with the commotion of Katsuki dropping his bags in the doorway. He doesn’t say anything as he’s taking off his boots, assuming you could be taking a nap or had headphones on if you didn’t come skipping down the hallway. He didn't tell you he was coming home two days early and wanted to surprise you!

What a surprise it was for him to hear subtle mewls coming from your joint bedroom, immediately catching his attention. He was still in his hero gear, minus his gloves and gauntlets, with his mask settled into his hairline like a headband. As quiet as possible, he tip toes down the hall and peeks around the doorframe. He could hear faint audio playing and a buzzing noise, but couldn’t make out what it was until he got to the doorway.

When he peeked through the crack in the door, his dick throbbed violently as it tented his cargo pants. The sight of you sprawled out on the bed, viciously fucking your new vibrator in nothing but his t-shirt was hot as hell. And you were listening to...his voice notes? He was entranced by your delicious moans and how your legs twitched when the vibrator hit your swollen clit. Part of him jokingly thought you didn’t even need him right now, since you technically did have a version of him, but his selfishness took over instead.

Willpower be damned, he needed you. Now. It took everything in him not to pounce on you right then and there.

Katsuki retreats to the living room and sits on the couch, desperately fighting the urge to start playing with himself to the sound of you doing the same. Instead, he pulls out his phone and clicks on your name to call you. He could hear your phone’s audio shift from his own voice to your ringtone, a startled yelp escaping you.

“H-hey babe,” You answer, panting quietly. “What’s up?”

He almost bursts out into laughter, but keeps it together enough for his little charade.

“Everythin' alright? Ya sound outta breath,” Katsuki teases, but decides to get to the point. “Eh, fuck it. Come into the living room.”

He hangs up and hears your feet padding against the wooden floor instantaneously. Within seconds, you slide into view, overjoyed that he’s home.

“Kats!” You squeal, scrambling over to the couch and jumping into his lap. You’re peppering his lips, neck, cheeks and forehead with rapid fire kisses, giggling as he tries to still your movements to pull you into a warm hug. He nuzzles his face into your neck lovingly, returning your kisses tenfold.

Your excitement briefly makes you forget that you were just in the middle of pleasuring yourself before rushing to greet him. The realization catches up to you when you fully sit on his lap, his erection teasing your exposed slit. A heat pools in your gut at the thought of him catching you in the act - he heard you.

“Sorry for interrupting,” Katsuki says, hands gliding up your bare thighs and grabbing a handful of your ass, grinding your center against his own. The secondary contact causes a gasp to fall from your lips. You don’t respond verbally but lift yourself away from his lap, creating enough space between you two.

“What're ya-,” he’s cut off by you taking his right hand off of your ass and tucking his fingers against your soaked entrance. You take two digits and lower yourself onto them, coating his fingers in all your built up slick.

“I missed you,” you whine as he flexes inside you instinctually, petting your walls with his coarse finger pads. You start to move on your own, gripping his shoulders and riding his fingers to finish the job you started in the bedroom.

Katsuki is speechless, not even a witty remark coming to mind to tease you. His face burns hot when the sounds of your juices sloshing around his fingers fill the room, a heat creeping up the back of his neck. Since you previously wound yourself up, it doesn’t take long until you’re ready to explode. Your eyes are threatening to roll back into your head as you swirl your hips on his fingers. His entire being is pulsing with need as he begins to drills his fingers into you, knuckle deep, and drinks in all your breathy moans. The string in your belly is pulled taut - tighter than its been in the last month, snapping with an intensity that leaves your thighs quivering within seconds.

You come all over his fingers, down his hand and stain the crotch of his cargo pants.

“Hah, good thing they’re getting washed,” you joke breathlessly as you go to kiss Katsuki but stops you - he shocks you with something he’s never done before.

He retracts his fingers from your drenched cunt and swiftly smears it all over your lips before capturing them with his own, sharing your tangy release in ecstasy. He licks your bottom lip before sitting back, breaking the kiss and settling the two fingers back to your mouth. Your lips part ever so slightly at the pressure.

“Don’t ya think you taste divine?” He smirks as he watches you open your mouth invitingly, lazily sucking his fingers covered with your spend. You don't break eye contact with him the entire time, heavily panting like a dog in heat as your tongue leisurely trails the length of each finger. A thin string of saliva sticks to the corner of your mouth as you pull away from his fingers with a soft pop of your lips.

You reach for his mask in his hairline, pushing it back to fall into your grasp. Untying the small knot, you bring it to your own face and secure it around your eyes - just like he wears on patrol. Katsuki's giving you a curious look as you slide off his lap and kneel to the floor.

Oh fuck-

Putting your hands to his hips, you drag your fingers to the hem of his pants - he's scrambling to undo his belt while you yank everything to his ankles. His cock springs forward, bouncing off his clothed abs as it’s freed from the confines of his boxers. You can tell he’s aching for you to touch him, tip leaking pre-spend and blazing hot to the touch. With no hesitation, you edge his entire length into your mouth, tongue sliding delicately along the underside of his shaft and consuming every drop of him.

“F-fuck peach, should'a let you wear my mask ages ago,” Katsuki stutters, thighs trembling at the sight your lips enclosed around him. “’m not gonna…last long watchin’ ya like this.”

You start to slither your tongue around his length, subtly hollowing your cheeks and barely moving an inch. His tip hits the back of your throat as he grabs your hair, shoving you all the way to the base and meeting his soft blonde wisps with your nose. He's unable to control himself - your mouth just feels too good around his cock right now. Katsuki’s only known his own fist for the last month, you’re making him feel like a blushing virgin all over again with how fast he’s accelerating toward his orgasm. You’ve hardly touched - well, blown - him and he's ready to combust.

His grunts have morphed into higher pitched moans as he’s bucking his hips off the couch into your mouth in tandem with your own movements, ferociously chasing the building heat in his gut.

“S-shit, fuck fuck fuck!” he yells while ripping your lips off of him by your hair, endless hot ropes of cum painting your pretty face. His mask, your cheeks, lips, and chin are dripping with white, each droplet slowly making it's way to your jawline. The sight is enough to almost make him come a second time, needing to throw his head back on the couch to avoid eye contact momentarily and pull himself together.

You hum with satisfaction and rise from your knees, straddling him on the couch once more. In the heat of the moment, you grab him by the jaw and plant a messy kiss on his lips, smearing his paintjob in the process. In the lusty haze, he doesn't give a shit that you mimicked his actions. Honestly? He kinda liked his own flavor - it complimented your own, dancing together on his tongue.

“Don’t you think you taste divine?” you purr, repeating his sentiment and licking some of the smeared cum off his cheek. You untie the mask and let it drop from your face, realizing that you may have just ruined his professional hero gear. “This…is washable, right?”

Katsuki laughs. “Yeah, don’t worry ‘bout it. 's gotta be with how dirty hero work gets.”

The two of you get up from the couch and walk to the bathroom to clean up. Once he’s done soaking a wash cloth with warm water, you’re taking his place and bending over the counter to rinse the remnants of his facial from your skin.

Lucky for him, you’re still not wearing any panties. And bent over like that? Your ass and pussy are on full display, still glistening from your previous orgasm.

Katsuki crouches to the ground, kneeling behind you and bites your bare ass with a huff. The sensation makes you jump, water splashing all over the counter and collar of your shirt.

“Katsuki!” You yelp, shutting off the water and blindly reaching for a towel nearby. “You’re insatiable.”

“Like you’re complaining.”

His tongue then traces from the inside of your thigh and stops just shy of your center, a shudder of anticipation wracking your body.

“You’re playing with fire, Kat,” you warn, spinning around and lifting your leg, placing a foot on his shoulder to teasingly show off your messy core. His eyes dart up to meet yours, a salacious grin settling on across his lips.

“Then fuckin’ light me up, princess.”

Something in you snaps - an unexplainable strong hunger captivating your mind. You wanted him to absolutely obliterate you in any and every way possible.

Everything happens in a flash - remaining clothes are strewn across the floor, bodies pressed against the plush of the sheets when you fall against the bed, tangled and relishing in the bare skin contact. The sensation kindles the fire in your veins, begging for more of him - all of him.

"K-Katsuki," you whimper onto his lips, breathless between frenzied kisses. "I want - no, need - you to fuck me like you hate my guts."

Your lascivious request has Katsuki's head swimming in a lewd sea of thoughts, gritting his teeth to hold back the ravenous desire. He can’t help but fist himself in response before leering over you.

“Oh, is that how you wanna play this game, baby?” He growls into the shell of your ear, squishing you further into the mattress. "Want me to use you like a fuckin' toy, eh? Poundin' away at your tight-ass cunt 'til ya can't take it?"

You're too enraptured by the promise swirling in your head to form any logical thoughts as his hands travel to your breast between your bodies, palms blistering hot to the touch as he tweaks your nipple. "When ya can't walk tomorrow, jus' remember y'asked me for this."

The incoherent whine that escapes you is involuntary, a raw reaction to his words. You hear a pleased hum rise from Katsuki's throat as he towers over you once more. He places a few tender kisses to your neck before he fiendishly groans, "I'm gonna fuckin' wreck you."

Not a second passes before his canines are puncturing your delicate skin, threatening to draw blood with how deep he's sinking into the bite on your jugular. Katsuki releases only to keep biting anywhere he could latch on to as he roamed your body - your neck, breasts, collarbone, shoulder, nipples, hips, thighs - eager to mark every inch of you, claim you as his. It makes you squirm and your pussy ache with need, lightning bolts of pleasure coursing through you with each snap of his teeth. Usually when he bit you, he’d soothe the area with a few kisses - but now? He was a rabid fucking animal, carnality overwhelming his ability to think straight.

You're able to get a quick look at his ruddy cock when Katsuki leans back, repositioning himself while gripping your hips. You’re salivating at the sight - thick, swollen and pulsing, spend dripping down his length and coating the skin with a sheen of arousal. He’s heavily tracing circles into your hip bones, his firm clutch on your waist keeping you in place. He’s tugging your center toward his own, teasingly slipping the head of his cock between your creamy folds. You’re about to plunge down onto him when he pulls back, a wicked grimace crossing his lips. A dissatisfied squeak spills from your lips, pouting up at him with metaphorical hearts in your eyes.

“Y’want this?” Katsuki snarls, bouncing his dick against your mound, the contact causing you to inhale sharply. “Beg like the needy slut you are.”

Words are failing you as you attempt to fulfill his demand, the only sounds falling from your puffed lips a succession of jumbled moans.

“Cat got your tongue, princess?” He snorts at his own pun under his breath as he trails his palm up your body, resting under your jaw and fixating on the seductive gleam in you pupils.

“I know how to find those pretty words ‘a yours.”

Katsuki applies firm pressure to your throat under his finger tips, tilting your head upward to face him. Your hips buck up in response, begging for him to spread you open.

He clicks his tongue at your shameless plea. "C'mon baby, tell me what ya want."

His fingers flex over your throat, playfully interchanging how much pressure he's using over the pulse in your jugular. His gaze travels down your newly bitten and bruised body, pleased with how they adorn your features.

With every ounce of concentration, you blurt out everything lingering in your heat-riddled mind. "Break the fucking bed, rip my soul from my body, leave me choking on every word, ravage me until there's nothing left...please, Katsuki!"

You barely finished screaming his name before Katsuki releases the hold on your throat, roughly returning his grips to your hips and ramming his cock straight into your sweltering sex, the burning sensation rolling your eyes back into your head.

"Good fuckin' girl, baby."

He's hypnotized by the way your tits bounce as he fucks in and out of you at a feral pace, sweat glistening over both your bodies. The room's temperature heightens, the humidity only adding to the wild desire you're sharing.

Suddenly, he pulls out of you, leaving you confused and yearning. You don't have time to ask questions as he's rolling - shoving - you onto your stomach, arching your hips into place before resuming his unmerciful thrusts, growling and grunting from behind you. The new position has you crying out, intoxicated by the way his cock is hitting every hotspot along your walls and g-spot repetitively. You're unable to contain the sounds spilling from your parted lips as they harmonize with Katsuki's moans. He bends down to snatch your hair by the roots, forcing your head off the pillow as his other hand reaches around your waist, finger pressing harshly against your puffy clit. The wail that bubbles from your throat is sinful, overwhelmed as the coil in your core is wound tighter, tighter, and tighter.

"I fuckin' love when you moan like a whore, baby," Katsuki barks out between baited breath. "Ya keep screamin' like that, 'm gonna end up stuffin' your pretty pussy full 'a cum."

You flutter around his dick in response, stroking his length with every snap of his hips. "Hah, seems like that's what your beggin' for, isn't it?"

He screws his eyes shut, jaw clenched as he's inching closer to the edge. Your clenched walls coax his release to come rocketing out of nowhere, a guttural moan spilling out of him as he pumps you full of spend. The warmth is inviting - comforting, leaving you floating on cloud nine. Katsuki lets your locks drop from his grasp and removes his hand from your clit, folding over your back with exhaustion.

Imagine his shock when you push back against him, causing him to slide out of you with a schlep and fall back against the bed. You reverse your position to face him, taking hold of his shoulders to pull him into a sitting position and shove his back against the wall.

"Wha-"

You straddle his lap, springing his still-hard cock back inside of you and begin riding him mercilessly.

"One more," you whisper, voice low and demanding. "I know you can do it, my good fucking boy can give me one more."

Your nails are digging into his chest, red scratches left in their wake as you grind your soaked center against his shaft. Katsuki's stuttering, unable to find words as the overstimulation mixed with praise short circuits his brain.

"Ba-mmph-baby, wa-ahh-wait, fuck!"

Numerous beads of sweat roll from his hairline and drip down his cheeks, slack jawed from delirium. A second wave of release is rapidly rising in his abdomen, high pitched whimpers falling from his open mouth.

"Ah-almost!" you shout, fingers tracing his hardened nipples and pinching them roughly. He jolts, a final whine escaping him as the aforementioned wave crashes down, a second round of seed spurting out inside of you. Your own slick rushes to meet his spend, mixing together as it leaks from between your legs and into his lap.

"Holy fuck," Katsuki wheezes, barely able to speak. "Wh-where the fuck did you learn that?!"

Your legs are trembling uncontrollably as you lift yourself off of his dick, falling sideways onto the bed.

"I...just thought to try it," you sigh, "Never thought I'd get you to whine like that. Fuck, Kat. That was ungodly hot."

His face is burning red and heat traveling down his neck, somewhat embarrassed at his reaction of losing himself in the moment.

"Oh no, you don't get to be embarrassed! With half the shit you do to me?!" you tease, kicking his thigh jokingly with your foot. He grumbles, scrunching his brows together and crossing his arms.

"Alright, alright, I'll stop teasing you."

"Good, ya better. Now move your ass over and make room for me."

Katsuki flops next to you, too exhausted to get up from the bed. He wraps an arm around your waist and one under your head, cradling you close as your cheek meets his chest. You can hear his heartbeat thumping away as you close your eyes to the rhythm. He kisses your forehead before laying his head back against the mountain of pillows.

"Guess I should go away on missions more often if that's what I get 'ta come home to, shit. Feels like I just ran a fuckin' marathon."

You can't help but giggle, fighting off the itch to drift into slumber a little longer.

"I'm sneaking into your hotel room next time. No way am I waiting that long again!"

The two of you snuggle close, despite the ungodly amount of sweat coating your bodies and mugginess in the air, too enamored with one another to care.

"I love you so much, sweets. Don't forget that." Katsuki's voice is quiet, the words tightening in his throat as he speaks them aloud.

"I love you too, Katsuki. Forever and always."

He's satisfied with your answer as he closes his eyes, letting the wave of fatigue settle in his bones and lull him to sleep.

tagging @pastelbakugou as a thank you for the idea of a follow up 👀✨ no pressure tags!: @maddietries @slayfics @bkgrl @bub-ss hoping this was explosive enough! 🧡💥

[amywritesthings]

press four for more options. | part four.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 4.6k Summary: After seeing your ex with his new girl at a work party, you take the not-so-smart advice from a friend to call a sex hotline to get over him. Your match? A baritone bossy dom named Levi.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - alternate universe (modern), sex work, pet names, alcohol, mentions of drugs, jokes about death Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics

part three. / return to part one. | masterlist

Night comes around.

You do not call.

In fact, you don't call the Scout Services Hotline a single time that whole weekend.

As you scroll mindlessly through social media in your bed, fluttering between apps without retaining a single word or meme, your cell phone weighs heavily in your hand.

Don't call.

Just don't call.

It isn't like you're devoid of things to do.

Going out is an option.

Being around people may help your mood — but you don’t feel like unearthing from your snuggie poncho.

Putting on a movie can be a great distraction — but you know your attention span would barely last through the opening credits.

It was him.

Right there.

Right in front of you.

Levi from Scout Services, alive and in the flesh, holding your phone.

No amount of mental gymnastics can make you doubt otherwise. 

He has a voice like no other; one that haunts your day dreams and soothes your nightmares, one that brings this sudden urge to do better for yourself—

Ironically, to be independent and strong on your own.

Which, actually, really fucking sucks now that you’re stuck with the decision to totally disappear from the gym, too.

(Kind of thwarts the whole ‘new me’ chest-puffing you’d started Friday with.)

So you make a final decision:

You still have to go to the gym Saturday, Sunday, and Monday.

Even if you say nothing, keep to yourself, remain a shadow, you have to go.

(There’s a fragile line drawn in the sands of reality. You can toe the edge, but you refuse to. This is his livelihood. You’re not delusional to believe you’re a main character exception.)

Coincidentally, Levi goes every day, too. 

Your stomach flip-flops with the unsettling realization that your perch on a treadmill actually gives you a perfect vantage point to watch him as he sets his station up every morning.

Meticulously he sets towels down to place his shaker bottle and water thermos down, as if worried the ground hadn’t been cleaned overnight.

He even takes the disinfectant cloths and cleans every dumbbell he lines up neatly before starting his workout.

The dark-haired man truly is less-than-average in height, which isn’t a turn-off to you in the slightest, but his arms — his goddamn arms.

Levi wasn’t kidding when he told you that he could pick you up.

He could probably pick two of you up, one arm each.

They’re so toned, his forearms veiny from morning dehydration.

Training vigorously in his own world, not once does he notice that you’re the bumbling idiot that’s tripped on the treadmill (see: a few times) from dissociating.

Hell, he hasn’t a single fucking clue that you’re close enough to yell across the room to him.

Would he know?

That you’re Scarlet.

His, in some made-up world.

(Does your voice stand out in a sea of lonely people?)

The cleaning ritual extends to his cooldown, where he properly cleans each piece of equipment before nestling it back in its place.

Levi sits on his phone for a second, dropping down to a bench to scroll — text messages.

(Damn it, have you really resorted to minor stalking?)

As soon as he stands, though, you drop your chin to watch your sneakers rhythmically pass one another on the treadmill belt.

He passes like a ghost, evaporating into the men’s locker room without a word.

This is torture.

You miss him.

But you still refuse to call.

Can't — because in another world you may be his, but in this world, he is not yours.

.

.

— —

.

.

    Tuesday night rolls around and you decide you hate life.

Annie, Eren, Reiner, and Mikasa are already there by the time you walk into the downtown hotspot.

The boys as well as Mikasa are still in their suit attire from work, their ties loosened at their necks. Annie’s in a hoodie and jeans, clearly much more interested in having a comfortable evening.

If the emptied shot glasses are any indicator of the plans for this evening, then you steel yourself for one hell of a Wednesday.

You glide through the busy crowds of the bar towards the group.

Bodies upon bodies crowd this place — it’s never not a zoo at this hour, no matter the day. Saying excuse me would only waste breath. 

A live band croons on the far end of the smoky bar, forcing everyone to talk ten decibels higher just to hear the conversation.

(Can’t you turn around and go home while you’re ahead?)

In the sea of people, a pair of emerald green eyes over by a cluster of tables in the right-hand corner catch your movement. They widen, recognizing your face, and a lopsided grin of surprise follows.

“Holy shit, she left her cave!” Eren yells, holding up a cheap beer in salute to your arrival.

(Thanks Jeager, you little fuck.)

You don’t hear what she says, but you can see Mikasa’s lips part in tandem with a sharp elbow jab straight to his ribs.

Eren instantly falters his salute, souring in pain.

“I know. Don’t be so shocked,” you state to your colleagues, leaning up against the circular high-top table. “Am I the last to show?”

“Nah, you’re right on time. Armin and Jean’re on their way,” Reiner grunts, holding onto a comically small cosmopolitan in his rather large hand. “Sasha’s on babysitting duty with Nicco.”

You look around the bar for any other familiar faces.

“And Connie?”

“Passed out,” Mikasa supplies. “Took edibles after work.”

“There’s no chance in hell anyone’s waking him,” Eren snorts. “Fucker’s toast.”

Reiner sighs. “For what it’s worth, Jean tried.”

“No, Armin tried,” Annie corrects, finally piping up. She holds something on the rocks — brandy? Whiskey? You can’t tell. “Jean just laughed and kept trying to draw shit on his face.”

“You didn’t see the Snapchat he sent?” Eren asks after a gulp of his beer.

You shake your head, knowing damn well you’ve avoided using your phone for the last several days. 

Missed texts, abandoned tagged tweets, your streak in your mobile game ruined — anything so you wouldn’t be tempted to click that little number.

Damn it.

Enough wallowing.

“I’m gonna go grab a drink,” you state, disengaging with the table. “Anyone need anything?”

From your peripheral, you see a familiar mop of blonde hair walking towards your group. At his side is a much taller man sliding through the crowd, navigating the shorter one to the tiny table you’ve commandeered from the masses.

Armin and Jean.

Reiner and Annie shake their heads.

“Nope, I’m solid.”

“Good here.”

“Eren’s got the next round of shots,” Mikasa flatly states. “You’re fine.”

“Ha, hell yeah!” Eren exclaims, before he settles into a confused pause of silence. His head whips to Mikasa, blinking twice. “Wait, what?”

You don’t stick around for that aftermath.

Squeezing back into the lion’s den of people, you try not to get hit with any too-full beverages or waving hands.

You manage to weave and duck, eventually finding a small empty corner at the edge of the bar.

Success.

You rush to claim it before someone else can, your forearm on the wooden surface. 

Holding up two fingers to get the one of the three bartender’s attention, she nods once to acknowledge she sees you — she’ll get there eventually.

Two empty stools are available, so you scoot onto the one closest to the wall while waiting for your turn and drop your purse onto the other while you situate yourself. 

It’ll likely take a while if the busyness of the staff has anything to say about it.

An hour.

All you need to do is last one whole hour.

Chat a bit, mingle a little so everyone at work doesn’t think you’re a total goddamn recluse, then you can go—

“Is this seat taken?”

A question sounding to your left breaks your train of thought.

The seat.

The one next to you, where your purse lay.

Way to go, dumbass.

You answer on autopilot, not thinking twice about it.

“Oh — shit, yeah. I mean, no! No it’s not. I’m sorry.”

As your torso turns to grab your purse off of the deep red stool, your eyes drop to make sure nothing spills out of it.

“Hold on, let me just move—”

Your chin lifts to find yourself staring eye to eye with Levi.

Wait.

Levi?!

His cheekbones look even sharper under the warm hue of the bar lights overhead, lips parted like he was interrupted in asking a question.

The whites of his eyes grow more prominent with every passing second, making the blue-gray color of them stand out in stark contrast to the black curtain of fringe falling against his temples.

The realization that you spoke — that he’s seen your face before — seems to be hitting him like a goddamn freight train.

Your blood runs cold as your own eyes round.

“...my stuff.”

Weakly you finish your thought, wishing for nothing but death right now. 

Maybe a stranger, like a secret agent with wicked strength, will simply rush the bar and put you in a headlock and knock you out. 

Maybe your drink will be poisoned. 

You’re happy for anything so long as it’s swift.

Levi grunts in acknowledgement, slowly finding a spot on the empty stool beside yours.

Both of you swivel towards the bar, staring ahead.

Silence.

For what feels like hours, neither of you speak. The noise of the bar becomes overwhelming.

Somehow the surrounding voices feel amplified when you’ve lost your own. 

It’s trapped between a thousand apologies and half a dozen explanations that sound worse than the one before it.

You need to get up.

Excuse yourself out. 

Leave.

You won’t get your damn drink, but that’s fine so long as you’re not here.

“How’s your phone?”

Eventually Levi speaks, and you find yourself wishing he hadn’t. 

The effect of his voice is even worse in person — so buttery smooth, the gravel much deeper in his chest now that there isn’t a phone receiver to dilute it.

“Not… damaged,” you reply cautiously.

“Good.”

Another stretch of silence passes, and you forget about ordering drinks altogether.

Your eyes drop to view his folded hands, how the veins protrude even when resting.

His fingers are slender, strong, and hate yourself for yearning.

You have to apologize.

This is crossing a line.

You need to—

“So—”

“I’m canceling my subscription.”

You blurt a fraction later than Levi, proclaiming your innocence before he can ever condemn it.

When you meet his steely eyes, they squint with curiosity.

From the crown of your head to your chin, he assesses in a serpentine pattern before eventually finding your eyes once more.

“How come?” he asks, leaning further against the bar top.

“I— how come?”

You repeat his question in surprise.

Wildly gesturing towards the space between you with your hand, you snort.

“Uh, because that’s the right thing to do in this circumstance? Because seeing you in person is borderline unethical?”

He hums at that, not giving you much to work with.

“And for the record, I did not stalk you to this bar.”

“Didn’t think you did.”

“I’m actually here with friends—”

“Why didn’t you say something?” 

Levi interrupts, seemingly unbothered by your rambling. 

“At the gym. I can make an educated guess and say you knew it was me from the second I opened my trap, but you didn’t say anything.”

Why isn’t he freaking out?

Shouldn’t he be freaking out?

Just as you open your mouth to continue professing your innocence, the bartender walks over and points to you.

“What can I get you?”

You blanch, no longer remember how to order drinks. 

“I—”

“I got her tab,” Levi interrupts casually, tapping his index finger into the counter. “Two hard seltzers.”

Then he has the audacity to glance your way.

“Pineapple, right?”

Holy shit, he remembers your favorite flavor?

Is this a flex?

(It kind of feels like a flex; a way to say I know you, I was there.)

“...pineapple’s fine,” you murmur in return, hesitant.

The bartender doesn’t waste another second to rummage in the mini fridge on the other side of the bar for two slim cans.

For another agonizing thirty seconds, neither of you say a word.

He raises his chin to watch whatever sport’s game is playing overhead on the television.

You stare at your mirrored reflection in the bar backsplash.

This is real life.

The man you’ve spent hours talking to over the phone to, getting off to, is sitting right beside you, yet he isn’t trying to create distance.

If anything, he’s buying you a damn drink and asking you why.

Why didn’t you say something?

“I didn’t say anything at the gym because that would have been extremely inappropriate,” you finally argue under your breath, keeping the conversation strictly between you. “What would I have said? ‘Oh hey, guy I've paid to talk to on the phone every single night for the past week. Isn’t it crazy that I actually go to the same gym as you?’ That’s so creepy.” 

When he says nothing, still staring at you, you continue to bury yourself into a deeper grave.

“I mean, I thought you lived, like… a billion miles from me. Maybe from another planet.”

His brows pinch with amusement. 

“On Mars, or…?”

Oh.

He’s joking.

He’s actually joking about this.

You turn your chin, brow furrowed. “This isn’t funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, and you have to force yourself to maintain eye contact.

“I wondered why you looked so scared of me on Friday. Thought maybe I smelled like shit from my workout.”

No, you want to say. Unfortunately it was the goddamn opposite.

“So you’re not…”

“Worried you’re a stalker trying to dox me because of my job?”

Levi blatantly finishes, and you wince.

Clearly he notices your embarrassment, because he sighs and relaxes his shoulders.

“I’m more pissed that you didn’t call all weekend, but then again, that’s the nature of the job.”

You both watch each other for a moment as the bartender returns, passing you both pineapple hard seltzers to nurse.

He pushes your can to your hand, nudging the icy-cold aluminum against your thumb, then picks up his own.

“The nature of the job?” you repeat, and he nods.

“People get bored. Run out of funds. Novelty wears off fast.” 

Levi shrugs, sipping his drink. 

“Just because you like talking to someone doesn’t mean they stick around. Wouldn’t blame 'em — shit gets expensive quick.”

“I just…”

You trail off, fighting to find the correct words to say.

“...I thought it wasn’t right to call again, knowing I knew what you looked like, so I didn’t.” 

Explaining yourself makes your tongue feel sluggish, like you were caught red-handed in a crime you didn’t know you’d committed until hindsight.

“I can leave you alone,” you decide to add, holding your drink tighter. “Like I said, I’m here with my friends and… after all, you were doing your job. A great job. You’re kind of the reason I’m even here in the first place.”

Levi’s brow knits, and your eyes widen.

“Not like that!”

“Pretty shit at asserting yourself even in person,” he murmurs like it’s a cheeky inside joke, and he sips once more. “So how am I the reason?”

He’s not angry.

Hell, he’s conversational.

Not the least bit worried about how you’ve both managed to get here.

Might as well be honest.

“Because I decided to stop being a little less scared of the world,” you confess softly. “It— That’s why I got to the gym so early on Friday. I wanted to start doing strength training, like how you talk about how much you love it. And… I thought, maybe, I’d spend more time with friends. Get out there more. Be more assertive — beyond right now, obviously.”

The dark-haired man’s expression smooths at that in a mixture of recognition and surprise.

The slide of his brow is beautiful, and your heart squeezes at the sight of an animated Levi in the flesh, just as you pictured.

“Do you have to go back to your friends right now?”

At first you don’t quite register his question, but then it causes butterflies to flutter in your stomach.

He looks left to right, as if trying to find your troop of buddies, before returning his attention back to you.

“You don’t… want me to leave?”

Levi shakes his head.

You feel bolted to your stool, unable to move even if you wanted to.

Simultaneously you sip your drinks, keeping eye contact.

It feels intimate.

Too intimate.

“So, then…” You start slowly. “What does this mean?”

“Well,” Levi begins, mulling it over in his head. “Means the whole provider-client relationship has basically gone to shit. You know my face, now I know yours.”

“Right.”

“Then again, that professionalism was already well into a shit pile way before Friday morning.”

You blink, not following. “Huh?”

“There’s nothing in the company policy about what to do when you stumble into your client at the damn local gym, but there sure as hell wasn’t anything about…”

Levi trails off, clenching his jaw in debate.

“...about crossing the line I practically leapt over. I’m good at my job because of my detachment, but this was the only time I bordered on unethical myself. That wasn’t fair to you, and I’m sorry.”

Sorry.

Levi… was sorry?

The words blurt faster than you can stop yourself. “Why the hell are you sorry?”

His eyes widen with a budding uncertainty.

“I… just said I crossed the line?”

“When?”

“On the phone?”

“Okay, duh, but when?”

“Our last session.”

“So that was real.”

Levi actually got off to your voice.

If you weren’t in such shock about sitting here face-to-face with him at a local bar, then perhaps your ego would have, in fact, made a crash landing on Mars.

He considers his next words very carefully. 

“It wasn’t supposed to be.”

Then he sips more before shaking his head.

“Look. It’s… a job a friend of mine got me. I’m not a real-life Casanova or any of that shit. Hell, most of my time was spent training punks to fight in a boxing ring, so I never had the energy for relationships or dating.”

You can't hide your surprise. “You were a fighter?”

He makes a noncommittal face.

“Loosely. Personal trainer, training in general — fell into it after I got out of the service.”

“Right, you were in the army,” you murmur, and the edge of his lips upticks at your recollection.

“A couple of months ago the gym I worked for went under, money got tight, so I thought I’d try it out. Guess everyone says it's hard to teach an old dog new tricks, but bossing fighters around and fielding horny-ass callers ain't all that different."

Levi turns his chin just so to regard you under a wispy black fringe.

“I can usually predict what someone wants. The people that call this hotline shit, they’re in and out."

He takes a pause.

"You, though — the second I picked up your call, you threw me through a goddamn loop.”

You use your nail on your index finger to absently scratch the side of your thumb, attempting to process everything he’s telling you.

"First night we spoke, actually, I ended up at this very bar to contemplate why the fuck I wanted you to call back. Didn't want you blowing your money on it, obviously, it's overpriced and ridiculous, but — it clearly shook me up enough for me to take then ten-minute walk in the middle of the night in the first place."

Ten minutes.

That length of time strikes something in you.

“So, your… office building isn’t far?” you slowly ask.

Levi shakes his head. “No, no office. I work remotely. Kind of the reason why I took the gig in the first place. I wouldn’t do this shit if I had an audience in a damn two-by-four cube.”

You’re not sure what possesses you to confess it, but you point past your shoulder. 

“My apartment complex is actually six blocks down the street.”

Ten minutes away, is your implication.

His hand had raised to sip from his seltzer can, but it halts immediately.

His eyes narrow. 

“The complex on Junction Ave?”

“Yeah," you say.

“Right across from—”

“The Reiss deli.”

That narrowed gaze shoots wide. “You’re shitting me.”

“You say the word shit a lot.”

“Baby, I live there,” he blurts.

“Wait, what?”

Now it’s your turn for your eyes to nearly pop out of your skull.

(You’re too shocked to even process what he called you.)

He huffs in a brief laugh, shaking his head.

“You gotta be fucking with me.”

“I’m not! Wait, you live in the same building as me?”

“You said Thomas was your goddamn mailman,” Levi states. “Do you know how many fucking Thomas the Mailmen there are in this world? I didn’t think we’d have the same one.”

Holy shit.

Oh, holy shit.

You sit up taller in your seat. “Wait, what floor?”

“Sixteenth.”

“I’m on the tenth!” you exclaim in your shock. “Holy shit, so you…”

Have been right above me this entire time.

Your phone buzzes, ruining your train of thought. 

Reflexively you look down to see the preview of Annie’s message over your lock screen.

[A. LEONHART]: Did u die?

Right.

You’re here with friends.

“Friends wondering where you are?” Levi inquiries at the sight of your growing frown.

“Yeah, give me a sec.”

You swipe the screen north and type a reply.

[ME]: Talking to someone. Be over in a bit.

Annie’s reply is immediate, and you turn your phone from Levi’s view in mortification.

[A. LEONHART]: 🍆🍆🍆🍆🍆

[A. LEONHART]: WINGMAN??? NEED????

[ME]: NO! Do not come over here!

[A. LEONHART]: ok ok ok noted

[A. LEONHART]: i’ll keep jaeger to the left end of the bar

“Looks urgent.”

“Huh?” 

You shoot a glance back up to Levi, who’s now angled towards you with his cheek squished against his clenched fist. His elbow props him up on the bar top. 

“No! No. It’s just my friend Annie. She — is actually the one who gave me the number to that hotline in the first place,” you confess.

Levi hums in that delicious way you’ve come to crave. 

“I don’t want to derail your evening. I’ve already taken you away from them for a while.”

Your heart is hesitant, but it grows despite yourself. 

“If you want me to stay, then I’ll stay,” you quietly state. “I… liked talking to you. I mean, beyond the whole — you know.”

He nods once, setting his drink down. 

“For what it’s worth, I don’t want you to disappear, either. My job’s not exactly corporate. Not many people can separate fantasy from reality. With you, I never had to bullshit what it was, but…”

Levi trails off, sighing heavily.

“...but I also understand if it’s just a fantasy, for you.”

Something nestles itself between the lines of his words. 

Something he isn’t saying outright, sussing out if he has any right to try.

“Do you really mean that, Levi?”

That sigh turns into a curbed huff, smile fleeting but enough to bring your stomach butterflies. 

“Damn. Sounds nice, hearing my name in person.”

Oh, sweet Jesus.

You could scream into your damn seltzer, but you decide to play it as cool as you possibly can.

“So Levi’s your real name?”

He nods.

“Not creative enough to come up with an alias."

Levi shifts, rolling out a shoulder.

"But to answer your question, I’m saying I… yeah, I mean it. I wouldn’t mind asking you out for coffee sometime, given we seem to run on the same gym schedule as it is. Just didn’t know if you wanted to leave it at the hotline and call it a day — no pun intended.”

Are you seriously hearing what he’s saying right now?

Does Levi want to step out of a fantasy and into your reality?

Your lips part with a million questions only to end up blurting a very stupid one: 

“Are you single?”

That earns a bark of a laugh, causing his head to gloriously drop back, exposing his neck.

(All you want to do is sink your teeth into it.)

“Yes. Very,” he promises. “Are you, still?”

“Very,” you promise back.

“And my job doesn’t bother you?”

You haven't quite gotten that far, logistically, but it's only a coffee.

He isn't asking to marry you.

Besides, he talks about it like any other office job. You can't find any ill feeling toward it.

“Work is work,” you argue with a one-shoulder shrug. “Sure, it’s unconventional, but… I’m so used to not knowing what I want, or second-guessing what’s good for me, and I don’t think I’ve ever second guessed a damn thing with you.”

Bringing the seltzer back up to his mouth, Levi smirks against the can, mulling something over. 

You smile in return, sipping your drink.

It's the truth.

He may not really know you, but he knows you.

Just as you're beginning to think you know him.

“Well, if you don’t get too wasted with your friends tonight—”

He steals a ballpoint pen from a dampened closed check from his left side.

Then he snatches a napkin from one of the bartending stations with lemons, limes, and straws.

Hunching over, he scribbles on said napkin, before turning a cheek to you.

“—and you end up going to the gym tomorrow morning—”

Levi then sits up taller, folds the napkin, and reaches for your hand resting on the bar top. 

His skin is smooth. 

Heated. 

Your entire body melts to his whim as he turns your wrist over, palm facing up.

One by one his fingers unfurl your fingers, nestles the napkin in your hand, then closes your fist for safe keeping.

“—give me a call.”

Leaving a twenty on the bar counter, Levi lets go of your hand to slip off of his stool.

You say nothing as you watch him give you one last once-over, expression full of admiration, before turning into the sea of people.

A call.

Flexing your hand, you uncrinkle the napkin to read the number etched black on white.

Not the Scout Services Hotline.

No — his number.

Your attention flies back to the original spot where you've now properly abandoned your friends, but you know they'll forgive you for your absence.

Annie knows.

She'll cover for your abrupt disappearance.

On autopilot you yank out your phone, bypassing the texts from your friends, emails from work, and tap the little telephone icon.

Zero through nine appear.

Hastily you type the number, hesitation long gone, and press send.

One ring.

Two.

By the third, it abruptly cuts. You hear shuffling in the background. Cars beeping.

“Hello, Levi Ackerman speaking.”

Levi Ackerman.

Knowing his full name warms your heart.

Standing from your stool, you rise to your toes to search the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Levi stands there on the sidewalk, holding his phone up to his ear.

“Hi, Levi. It’s formerly Scarlet.”

Immediately he turns to the bar, searching the very same window.

Searching for you.

You smile to yourself.

"My schedule just opened up. I know it's a little late for some coffee, but..."

Trailing off, your teeth catch your bottom lip.

Be selfish.

"Are you free for some tea now?”

.

FIN

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

How are we feeling, Hotliner Nation? I teased that this may not be the end of this story. I'm not against writing a sequel, whether to continue the immediate story or time skip, but I wanted to see what people thought before I spoke too soon. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed our hotline journey together.

In the meantime I invite you to follow me here or subscribe to my AO3, as I have other projects in the works (including finishing the final chapters of my canon-based amnesia au with Levi, Silver Underground.)

The last two months have been such a wonderful journey, and I thank every single one of you for engaging the way you have. I never anticipated such a frenzy when I started P4, so sincerely, from the bottom of my heart - thank you for the comments, reblogs, inbox mssgs, etc. Every reblog gives this writer wings.

[namisweatheria]

I feel like we don't discuss Nami's relationship with gender enough. Her entire character is so deeply informed by being a girl in a male-dominated pirate world and it's so interesting and so worth talking about.

The background creepiness of Bad pirate crews, which are most of them, how they tend to not have any female crew members at all, how they beckon any pretty young woman around to come play with them and join them. It's real bad. It's also like, a totally 2 dimensional portrayal of evil that is reserved for the most background of background characters.

However I think their ubiquity says a lot about how piracy is meant to be perceived by the public in One Piece, and is one of the strongest indicators of how prevalent misogyny is in-world.

It's very normal in One Piece for regular island inhabitants to have never met a Different class of pirate in their life. There's no reason for them to withhold judgement that maybe these pirates won't be like every crew that attacked before, and to wait and judge them by their actions. I mean frankly that would be irrationally weak self-preservation.

There are people who live peacefully under the flags of Yonkos who protect them, and feel loyalty and gratitude to them for it, but that seems to only be thing with very big name pirates. The East Blue, being the weakest and least populated, has no such plethora of powerful people and resulting turf wars.

So. Nami. Is very clearly implied to have never met any Different pirates before. I'm thinking about what that means. About how every group of pirates she stole from were creepy, dangerous men. How she started going out stealing when she was still a young child. How she didn't have a mother anymore to guide her or comfort her. How Arlong would grab her chin inappropriately, talk about her as a "human female", as property, and god knows what else.

How all the men in Arlong's crew treated her patronizingly, pretending they're all friends, teasing her and playing at respect when really not a single one of them ever stuck up for her or hesitated to accuse her of betrayal. Who were always ready to kill her if she refused to cooperate. Who grabbed her and intimidated her when they felt like it.

That's what she had to come back to after a close call with stealing from other predatory men, instead of the relief of home there was a dark, cramped room filled with endless hours of misery and isolation and blood. Where any one of her captors could barge in and demand new maps, work faster, where did you go, you took too long again this time. Endless threats and incursions.

I'm thinking about that her fight scene in Alabasta, where she tumbles and rips off her cape and uses it to catch her enemy's spikes, before leaping to her feet and running out the back door, all in one moment. How it makes her enemy reconsider her and think, "so the girl's not a total novice at fighting after all." What that implies about her experiences as a young thief. The times she wasn't fast or clever enough and had to fight and claw her way out. Why she always carried a staff and a knife. Why she was the only one before Chopper who had any medical knowledge or experience.

You know she was stitching herself up. And the weapons, how do you think she learned to use those? If any of the Arlong Pirates helped her it wasn't out of kindness and it wasn't gentle.

Then I think about Nojiko, and Bellemere's memory, and the only softness in a hard life. How easily Nami connects to every young woman experiencing hardship that she meets. How completely she dismisses the struggles of men unless they mean something to her and are going through something terrible. The way that Nami only has sympathy for women and children is easily noticeable in-text, but it's also something confirmed in those words by the author. And it's clearly because of the life she lived, the men who had all the power and only abused it, who saw her as nothing but a girl to take advantage of, without anyone aside from her sister clearly knowing and caring about any of it.

Nami clearly isn't bitter, she doesn't think the world owes her recompense, on the contrary she knows she is far from the only person in the world to suffer the things she has suffered. She is endlessly reaching out and kind, but only to those that she isn't sure would get help without her. Certainly, before Luffy, Usopp, and Zoro, no man ever reached out a hand to her without an ulterior motive.

I think when she sees a girl in trouble, a girl biting her lip to hold in a scream of grief, a girl running in the woods away from a monster, a girl captured by pirates, she sees someone who no one is coming for. Who no one will stick up for. A person without allies in a world against her. Whether it's actually true in this case or not, she runs straight for that girl anyways every single time.

[honeybuckin10]

Hospital Beds - a Hawks x fem!doctor!reader One Shot

Summary: Hawks heals more than his wings after the Paranormal Liberation War attacks [wc: 4.6k].  

Warnings: mentions of mental health struggles, mentions of character death, descriptions of wounds, swearing, angst, fluff, comfort, potentially unpopular Hawks opinions. characters slightly aged up.

a/n: started writing thinking this was gonna be cute and flirty, ended up taking a kind of serious turn (still otherwise cute and flirty with happy-ish ending). might do a spicier part 2 at some point. as always, don’t be a ghost reader pls and ty <3

Hawks’ eyes were focused on the window, lost in thought. There was a crowd gathered outside Central Hospital. From the muffled voices through the glass, it didn’t sound like they were there for support. He felt the span of his back against the hospital bed, a sensation both foreign and grounding. The space where his wings once were stung slightly at the contact, despite the heavy nerve blockers he assumed were administered earlier.

“Back again so soon?”

You broke him from his trance as you shut the door behind you. Your eyes immediately scanned his monitors, a pleasant smile never leaving your face.

“At some point, we really do have to get your heart rate checked out.”

He didn’t actually have a high heart rate. But the machines he was hooked up to always went crazy whenever he got sight of you. He was too embarrassed to say anything, though he wondered if you noticed why his charts never reflected any underlying conditions when his vitals were checked by others.

“You’re not a very good patient, you know. Though now that you can’t talk, perhaps you’ll actually listen.”

He tried to respond, but quickly remembered he couldn’t open his jaw, not very much at least. No sound came out of the small gap between his lips.

You had treated Hawks on several occasions now, usually after incidents involving fire. Most were minor. He’d come in and joke that he’d done it on purpose to see you. You’d roll your eyes, every now and then you’d even dignify him with an actual response: ‘nice try’. But his injuries now were unlike anything you’d ever seen. You knew it was bad when he didn’t try flirting with you. Then again, it’s not like he could even if he wanted to.

Your tone was light and breezy, but the furrow in your brow betrayed your façade.

“I’m only joking, of course. But in all seriousness, your trachea was severely damaged from the smoke inhalation during the attack. Fortunately you narrowly avoided respiratory failure, but you won’t be able to use your voice for a couple of weeks. Lucky for you, technology has advanced enough that you won’t have to carry around a notepad everywhere you go. We recommend using the voice app on your phone.”

You handed him his cell phone, when Hawks noticed a plastic bag of personal items behind you with unknown origins. You followed his eyes to see what was distracting him.

“Oh yes, a young man named Tokoyami brought you a change of clothes and some other things you may need while you were out. Said he was your mentee.” You paused, searching for some kind of reaction. You thought it might brighten his spirits. His eyes widened somewhat, but there was still no smile. “It’s clear you’ve had a big impact on him.”

Tokoyami. His mentee. A child. More memories of the battlefield came flooding back. Twice. Dabi. He knew you hoped that bringing up his pupil would put him at ease. But Hawks was suddenly overwhelmed with guilt that he had put the student is such a dangerous situation.

“I also spoke with Dermatology. They informed me that sixteen percent of your body is covered with third degree burns, another twenty percent second degree, and twenty-two percent first degree. Given the severity and location of the burns, you’re also at risk of developing contractures that could compress your airways in the future so we’ll need to keep a close eye on that. Once your wraps come off, they’ve prescribed you a topical treatment that you’re to use three times a day until everything is healed. You’ll also be started on an oral antibiotic immediately, which you’re to take for three weeks.”

He attempted to use his new voice.

“What about wings?” You took a deep breath. Not good.

“I’m getting to that. I’m going to adjust your bed a little first. Are you able to lean forward?” He nodded as the bed rose up and the angle of his back moved more upright. He winced, unable to hide his discomfort but did as you instructed.

“I’m sorry, I know this is painful for you. I’m going as quickly as I can.” You talked through how you were examining his dressings, that his biggest risk at the moment was that the wounds would get infected, and that the dressings would need to be changed again before the end of the day.

“I think they will grow back. But it will be painful and it will be slow. You must be patient during this time and you’ll have to stay out of the field for a while. I’d recommend taking a well-deserved break until they’re fully healed.”

Bedrest sounded like Hawks’ personal hell. He only nodded his head. He didn’t have the energy to protest.

“You’ll also need to go through a psychiatric evaluation before rejoining field.”

Hawks let out a muffled groan. You let out an exasperated laugh.

“Really, you didn’t make a peep when I was examining your open wounds but you draw the line at psych eval?” You watched as he typed out his next thought.

“Waste of time.” Your eyes softened.

“First of all, this is standard procedure. Endeavor, Mirko, Eraserhead, all those UA students are going to have to get one too. Second, even if it wasn’t, what you – what you’ve all gone through would cause even the strongest soldier some kind of stress. We want to make sure that you’re all in the right headspace so that you’re the most prepared you can be going against whatever this enemy is. You have to take care of yourself first before you can take care of others.”

Hawks sat there a moment in silence, absorbing your words. Wondering whether you would be so sympathetic and kind if you knew the truth. He began typing.

“I killed someone,” the unnatural voice said. It came from him, but it didn’t feel like him. It echoed against the walls of the sterile room, void of emotion.

You pulled a chair next to his bed so that you were slightly below his eye level.

“I heard. That must be a lot to carry.”

“You hate me.”

“I don’t.”

“I’m a bad person.”

“You’re not.” You paused, choosing your next words carefully for the fragile hero. “I don’t know what your world is like. I wasn’t there so I don’t know exactly what happened. But I do know that we are both in the business of saving lives, albeit in different ways. My guess is you made a split second decision on what was in the mission’s best interest to save the lives of your colleagues and ultimately the lives of civilians. Nobody has a crystal ball to know whether that was the best or right choice. But it was a life or death situation, and you did the best you could in the moment. It’s natural to feel remorse and guilt, but you can’t let it debilitate you for the rest of your life either.”

What right did you have to comment on such things?

“You’ve never killed someone,” he countered.

“I have. In my OR. There are some people that can’t be saved, no matter how hard you try.”

“I think he was a good person,” he typed, wondering if that negated everything you just said.

“Good people do bad things all the time. It doesn’t make them bad people.” He sighed, swallowing the searing pain as harsh air passed through his lungs. You watched closely as the hero studied his bandaged hands, refusing to make eye contact. “For now, the best thing you can do for yourself and Japan is rest. We need you.”

He sat with your words. It didn’t dawn on him until long after you left the room that you weren’t just talking about Twice.

-

As you warned, the days passed at a glacial pace. He didn’t enjoy how quickly he acclimated to talking through his phone. He had growing pains from the nubs of his wings that began to poke through his skin. Each day brought a revolving door of doctors and healers and other specialists, by whom he was constantly poked and prodded and observed. Hawks hated every minute of it. Almost every minute.

You came in daily to monitor the progress of his wings. It was the most painful part of his recovery. But you entered his room with a smile and sunny disposition, like you weren’t about to inflict torture on him for thirty minutes. The air hurt his exposed back when you removed the old bandages. It stung when you applied antiseptic to cleanse the area. It felt like he was going to pass out when you ran your gloved fingers along the growth that was coming in. He felt all the more pathetic laying on his stomach as you did your work.

But you did your best to distract him with bad jokes and hospital gossip. Not that you had to put in that much effort. Your presence was distracting enough.

On the fourth day after the battle, you finally got a chuckle out him. What’s black and white and black and white and black and white? He shrugged as you applied ointment. A penguin falling down the stairs. You quickly realized that your methods may have been faulty as his laugh devolved into a coughing fit, his lungs still weak.

“Shit, I’m sorry. Try to remember your box breathing.”

He held his breath at the top of his inhale. Four, three, two, one. Exhale. Four, three, two, one. He repeated this for a minute before his breath finally returned to normal. He gave a thumbs up. I’m ok.

Relief washed over your face. “I’m sorry I made you choke on air. But glad to see you in better spirits today.” He began typing.

“I’m always in good spirits when you’re around.” You bit back a smile no one could see as you started redressing the incoming wings.

“Ah, there he is. Yeah, you’re definitely starting to feel better.”

“Can’t you tell? I’m the pinnacle of health.” The gallows humor was hard to miss despite the monotone robotic voice, the statement in stark contrast to his fully bandaged and hospitalized body.

“You will be, soon enough.” You finished applying new bandages. “That’s it for me today, unless there’s anything else you want to share.”

“Capricorn. 27. Single –“

“Yeah, yeah, very funny.” You pulled off your disposable gloves, turning to hide the blush creeping up your neck. “I already knew that from your chart. Nice try,” you teased.

“Didn’t know you were stalking me.”

“Goodbye Hawks, I’ll see you tomorrow.” You knew your faux sternness was hardly believable, as you caught him wink before you closed the door.

-

Two days later you bumped into Hawks and Best Jeanist in the hallway. You broke into a wide grin when you noticed the two heroes, pleasantly surprised to see just how much progress your patient had made in such a short time.  

“Good morning gentlemen.”

“Good morning Dr. y/l/n,” Best Jeanist said with a small bow. Hawks was visibly confused about his formality.

“Please, there’s no need for that. It’s just good to see you back in the land of the living.” Best Jeanist helped fill in the gaps for his perplexed cohort.

“Hawks, Dr. y/l/n was part of the team who developed the drugs to put me in a temporary death-like state to convince Dabi that you’d killed me. We can thank her for setting us up for success to get you undercover.” Hawks knew he missed out on a lot during his covert mission, but had no idea how many parties were involved outside the ordinary network of hero agencies and the Commission. You blushed at the praise.

“It was nothing, really. You guys are the ones doing all the hard work.”

“Truly, we are in your debt,” Best Jeanist piled on. You weren’t used to so much flattery and you had a job to do so you tried to end the conversation.

“Anyways, I have to get to my next patient. Jeanist, keep an eye on your partner. It’s good for him to walk around a little bit but make sure he doesn’t overdo it.”

“I won’t let him out of my sight.” He gave another bow.

“I’m right here,” Hawks typed, unamused by the turn of the exchange.

“I’ll see you in a few hours, Hawks,” you yelled over your shoulder before disappearing down the next corridor.

The session later that day was nothing out of the ordinary. The nubs sprouting from his back had formed into tiny but well-defined wings and he was able to sit up during exams as opposed to lying face down on the hospital bed. All signs of positive progress.

He watched wistfully as you documented your observations, swaying his legs off the side of the bed like a child.

“They’re coming in quite nicely, I’m really happy with where you’re at.”

“Great what do I need to sign to get out of here?”

“Ahhh not so fast. You have to stay at least another two days and even once you’re discharged, you most certainly are not ready to return to active duty.” He pouted underneath his respirator mask.

“You’re no fun.”

“Sorry, just doing my job.” You proceeded to check his other vitals before heading out. First you took off his mask to check his lymph nodes, pressing your fingers firmly against the outer side of his jaw, moving down his neck. He was acutely aware of the lone thin layer of latex that separated you. He couldn’t stop the warmth that crept up his face, thankful that most of it was still covered. His flushed cheeks may have been under wraps, but he couldn’t hide his quickened pulse from you. You put on your stethoscope and instructed him to breathe deeply a few times, the cold metal circle moving from his upper back, to lower back, to his chest.  

Your brow furrowed in confusion. “Your lungs are sounding better but your heart’s beating like crazy.”

He feigned surprise, which was much easier when he didn’t have to control his own voice. “Really? That’s odd, no one else’s said anything.”

You pulled up his chart again to check the inputs of all the other practitioners who’ve treated the hero since his arrival at Central Hospital. All values normal.

“On a scale from one to ten, how much pain are you in at this point?”

“Two or three.”

“Are you feeling nervous about anything?” He chewed his lower lip trying to think of a way to get out of this, knowing that if he said no you would run more tests which would be unnecessary and prolong his stay.

“Yes,” he lied. Kind of. He actually was a little nervous, though definitely not for the reason you likely thought. You brought your chair next to his bed again.

“Do you want to talk about it?” A loaded question.

“No.” The good thing about talking through his phone and the mask was that he could get away with saying less. Sympathetic people tended to not ask follow up questions.

“Okay. Well, you know I’m always here if you ever want to talk.” You spoke slowly, your reassuring voice laced with uncertainty. It was difficult to get a read on him when you couldn’t hear the tone of his voice or see his face. “Do you have any questions?” He nodded.

“Will you go on a date with me?” You almost choked on your own saliva. You blushed, but forced yourself to remain stoic.

“I’m very flattered, but there are strict protocols against physician-patient relationships.” Your stern message was undercut by your stammering, high pitched squeak.

“What if I promise to never get hurt again?” You tried not to smile, knowing it would only egg him on. You were failing.

“You shouldn’t be making promises you can’t keep.”

“What if I find a different doc?”

“You’ve gotten awfully good at talking through your phone,” you muttered under your breath.

“Can’t hear you.” Despite his mostly covered face, you could tell from the crinkle around his eyes that he was enjoying every moment of this interrogation.

“I-I’d have to take it up with the Board of Ethics.”

“That’s not a no.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Can I say one more thing?” You sighed, bracing yourself for whatever nonsense he was about to spew.

“I’d rather you didn’t but legally I think I have to say yes.” You watched as his thumbs frantically moved over the keyboard.

“Thank you for taking care of Best Jeanist. This operation wouldn’t’ve gotten so far without him or you.”

“Oh.” Your felt your heartbeat in your throat. “Again, just doing my job. Glad I could help.” You fiddled with some papers. “Let’s try this one more time. Do you have any other questions… about your health.”

Hawks shook his head, looking exceptionally pleased with himself. Despite the fact that you wanted to scold him for the bizarre interaction, you were reassured by his pleasant disposition, one you hadn’t seen since he arrived.

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

-

Tomorrow rolled around but you entered an empty sterile room, bed ready for a new patient. After a few seconds your confusion passed and you saw red.

You stormed down the hall in search for any hospital staff, until a poor resident had the unfortunate luck of being in your path.

“Where the hell is my patient?”

“I-I’m sorry?”

“Room 3409. Yesterday my patient was there and today the room is empty. He wasn’t ready to be discharged so where is he?”

“I-I-I don’t know ma’am, I’m sorry.”

“Dr. y/l/n, this is a hospital, not wrestlemania if you could keep it down please. And stop traumatizing the junior residents.” Hawks’ pulmonologist emerged from his office and tried to placate you. You glowered at the first young doctor as he silently excused himself from the conversation that was definitely beyond his paygrade.  

“Please tell me he got moved to a different wing.”

“I’m afraid not.” He spoke again before you could let out another outburst. “I warned him of the risks of a premature discharge, to which he insisted he was feeling fine and that those were risks he was willing to take. I had him fill out some paper work and a consent form and he left this morning.” Your nostrils flared as you silently seethed.

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that so I don’t have to report you. Oh, and one more thing…” The doctor took a deep breath before proceeding, worried he may end up the subject of your wrath. “This is probably terrible timing, but – he requested to take you off his care team,” your eyes widened “…and should he be re-hospitalized that you not be involved.”

“WHAT?” You continued mumbling a string of profanities under your breath. The doctor continued slowly and calmly.

“He made it very clear it had nothing to do with the quality of care he received from you. But he uh, mentioned something about a potential conflict of interest.” He took a step back as you burned an imaginary hole through his head with your retinas. “I cannot emphasize enough how much I do not want to know any more information about this.”

“There is no more information about it because it doesn’t exist!” You wanted to scream. “Fuck him. Fuck you. Fuck this hospital. I’msosorryItakethoselasttwoback.” You stomped your foot down like a petulant child before storming off. “FUCK!”

-

By the next day you had cooled off, that is, until you saw Hawks loitering outside Endeavor’s room as you were making your rounds.

“YOU!” you boomed. Hawks’ excitement to see you was quickly replaced with fear as you approached and you were close enough that he could see the rage steaming off you.

“Hey doc,” he said sheepishly.

“Don’t you ‘hey doc’ me.” You were very close to his face. He was sure he would’ve felt your breath if he didn’t have the stupid respirator mask on. For a split second he thought about taking it off but realized that would only further enrage you. “What the hell were you thinking?”

He began typing but you swatted his hand before he could answer. “Ow.”

“And you –“ Best Jeanist would be the next recipient of your verbal lashings. “You said you would keep an eye on him. Liar.”

Hawks had never seen his colleague scared before, but there was a first for everything.

“He just wanted to come for a ride-along, I promise he stayed in the car the whole time!”

“I have never been more disappointed,” you said in a low voice. Best Jeanists bowed.

“I am very ashamed and deeply regret my actions. I am sorry.” That seemed to pacify you momentarily. You returned your wrath to Hawks.

“I told you you’re not ready to return to the field. And now I hear you’re refusing to receive treatment from me? I cannot explain to you how embarrassed and insulted I am.” You allowed him time to type this time as Best Jeanist stood there as witness, desperately wishing for the floor to open below and swallow him whole.

“You’re right. I’m not ready. But this enemy is moving too quickly, time is of the essence. I’m in good enough shape that I can help off the field. I’m sorry I went against your professional judgement.” You continued to glare at him with pursed lips.

“And?”

“And I was being proactive. I’m taking you on that date.” Your face flushed immediately while the avian hero somehow remained shameless. You did your best to maintain your composure.

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise.” You crossed your arms defensively.

“After a stunt like this, I wouldn’t be so sure. Plus, since you’ve already taken it upon yourself to be discharged I’m not sure why you’re even here.”

“Now that we know about the Todoroki family connection to Dabi, we need to gather intel. Also need to consolidate info from those at the Jaku Hospital attack. Off-field work, if you will.” Your eyes narrowed, only to be met with undeterred playful golden irises.

“Fine, I’ll allow it. But I feel the need to make it known that I’m not happy about it.” The injured hero smiled again.

“Thanks, doc.”

“Again, our sincerest apologies for the mishap.” Best Jeanist did his best to make up for his companion’s clear lack of repentance.

You only gave the heroes a parting glare as you walked away.  

The rest of the day passed, otherwise uneventful but long and exhausting. You kept a professional and pleasant face for the benefit of your patients, but it was getting hard to maintain after all you’d seen in the last seven days since the attacks. Yes, there were cases of miraculous recoveries in the face of overwhelming trauma. But far more frequent were lives that were forever altered by all that had transpired, not just for patients themselves but all the other souls connected to those individuals. The hospital was at capacity, and each bed represented not just one person but a web of lives that now had to face a new crippling reality. If you thought about it too much you could cry – which you did, in the nearest break room or supply closet if had even just two minutes between appointments. Thus, your favorite part of the day became doing paperwork in your office at the end of your shift. It was methodical and soothing, and allowed you to disassociate.

It was at that moment when you were enjoying your oasis that an intern rushed into your office, disturbing your peace.

“There’s an emergency on the top floor, you need to come quick.” You immediately got up and followed her down the hall and up the elevator, asking clarifying questions about the situation.

But when you entered the room in question, all you saw was a picnic blanket on the hospital bed, two champagne flutes, a bottle, and the number two hero. The intern shrank in the doorway.

“I’m really sorry, he said he would send me a bunch of merch if I could get you here.”

“You’ve got to be joking.” You rubbed your temples, hoping it would transport you to another dimension where you never went to medical school and thus would not be here. “You are not to accept a single thing from him, do you understand?” The intern nodded aggressively. “Now go, I’m sure you have better places to be, ideally with a patient who actually needs help.” The intern scurried away without another word.

“And you,” now turning to Hawks. “Bribing medical professionals? Super illegal.”

“Sorry.” His mischievous eyes said otherwise, clearly undeterred by your scolding. You scoffed.

“No you’re not.” He shrugged. You took a closer look at the set up. “Seems kinda wasteful, doesn’t it? You can’t even drink.”

He turned the bottle to show the label. Sparkling nonalcoholic cider. The corners of your lips tugged upwards, threatening to betray your steely exterior.

 Any semblance of a smile quickly vanished, however, when he removed his respirator mask.

“What are you –“ He spoke before you could protest or before he lost his nerves.

“I’m going to be gone for a really long time after today. I don’t know when I’ll be back. Or if I’ll be back.” He cautiously grabbed your hands. “Regardless of which it is, I really want to make sure I don’t break any promises.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in when he paused. You suddenly found it hard to keep eye contact.

“This is a hospital, not the Make A Wish Foundation.” Despite your icy response, you made no effort to pull your hands away from him. He gently rolled his thumb over your knuckles, trying to memorize every ridge and crease.

Most of his face was still covered in bandages, but you liked that you could now see how his lips curved into a lopsided smirk, punctuated by laugh lines that formed around the corners of his mouth. You liked knowing that you were responsible for it. Your mind concocted imaginary circumstances of other things you could do to get him to make the same perfect expression.  Your eyes lifted to meet his when you were done daydreaming.

“I thought they were one in the same.” He was insufferable. His arms fell to his sides when you separated yourself from him. For a moment he almost looked like the defeated shell of himself that was in your care a week ago. But it was quickly washed with relief when he saw you grab the bottle.

“You are the worst patient I’ve ever had.” A satisfying *pop* echoed in the room. He knew your words were hallow, as your acquiescence was rewarded with the hero’s bright eyes and heartfelt smile that made your heart beat in time with the little bubbles that evaporated around you. You handed him a glass of cider, his fingers ghosting over yours as he took the flute from you that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not your patient anymore.”

[bloodibambiidoll]

Hi dolly!!

This is my first time asking for a request and i hope it’s okay… but is there anyway you can write something smutty for Eddie?

Bully Eddie x shy reader? Eddie is surprised she got detention so he teases her about it the whole time ! When it’s over he “rewards” her for being good and taking the teasing ??

Pretty please 🥺🥺🥺🥺

So I took a lil tiny bit of a different approach with this, Reader isn’t as shy as I set out to make her because I’m not the best with shy reader but I hope you still like it, my love!! Also not so loosely based on “good girls” by 5SOS.

Warnings: All characters are 18+, Bully Eddie, “good girl” reader, hair pulling, teasing, unprotected sex, edging, a lil choking, clit slapping, pet names, fluffy ending. 18+MDNI! Wk: A lil over 2k

Everyone labels you as a “good girl” but the funny thing is, that you aren’t really. You sneak out. You party. You’re no stranger to skipping class. But when you sneak out you just go on night walks for some peace and quiet. And when you go to those parties you tend to keep to yourself, find a nice dark corner to hide in while you sip your drink and observe your peers, hardly noticed. Everyone thought you were a prude virgin, but that wasn’t true either. Thanks to Eddie Munson.

Eddie probably knew the real you better than anyone. The first night you hooked up he happened to be walking through the park you always stop to swing at on your walks and offered you a ride. At those parties he would always find your dark corner and slither his way into it, offering to pass joints back and forth, inevitably ending up with you both sweaty in the back of his van. But that didn’t stop him from calling you things like “Angel” and “goody two shoes” you would always disagree but he would always retort that with “bad girls get caught, and you’ve never been caught, so as far as everyone else is concerned, you’re a good girl.”

So he had this obsession with keeping it that way. He would talk to you at school and parties, but only for so long. He never gave any indication that you guys were hooking up on a regular basis to anyone and he even went as far as to tease you in front of your classmates. He was always tugging on your hair, knocking your books out of your hand, throwing little balled up pieces of paper at your head in the middle of English. You always just roll your eyes, maybe flip him off, tell him to fuck off. But in all honesty? It kind of hurts a little, because you’ve come to really like Eddie, even if you never meant to. That’s why when you heard girls in the locker room talking about how Eddie is probably “an animal in bed” but “they’d never touch him with a ten foot pole because he probably doesn’t shower” you might have seen red.

Not only did you feel territorial of him but you felt protective. So you might have grabbed Nina Johnson by the back of her hair and punched her directly in her nose. The entire locker room went silent aside from the sound of her groans as blood started to drip down her nose. If every single person in the room hadn’t unanimously agreed your gym teacher probably would’ve never believed it was you.

“Sooo you really aren’t gonna tell me why you’re in here?” Eddie is turned sideways in the chair next to you with his legs spread. His thick ringed fingers tap on the chipped wood of the desk and his boot clad foot shakes against the cracked linoleum as he gives you a pointed look.

“Nope.” You glance over at him with your lips formed into a pout, your eyes wide while you bat your lashes at him innocently.

“C’mon, angel, don’t be like that.” His tongue darts out to wet his plump bottom lip as his eyes roam your figure. “Tell me what my good girl did to land herself in detention with the likes of me. I’m dying to know.”

“Nice try. But still no.” You roll your eyes as you turn back to your book.

“Oooh, she’s sassy today. Why not? Was it something really bad? Did you go to the bathroom without a hall pass? Maybe you stole a book from the library? Wait, wait, don’t tell me you skipped class, angel? Thought you were a good girl.” You know he’s teasing you, trying to get you worked up, in more ways than one and you hate that it’s working.

“Shut up, Eddie, can’t you see that I’m reading?” The next thing you know your book is being ripped from your hands and held in front of Eddie’s face.

“What’re you reading, anyways? Oh - shit, this is kinda dirty, isn’t it sweetheart?” Eddie’s chocolate mischief filled eyes peek at you from over the cover as he wiggles his eyes eyebrows at you. “The knight did what to the princess now?”

“Eddie!” You feel your entire body warm with embarrassment. You reach out to try and grab the book back but he holds it above his head as he chuckles. “Stop being a dick! Give it back!”

“Don’t be greedy, princess, what if I want to know what the knight does next?” You shoot up from your chair and try to reach for the book again but Eddie easily moves it behind his back before you can get it in your grasp. “I think I’ll hold onto it until detention is over, and maybe if you act like a good girl for the next thirty minutes I’ll give it back after.”

“Whatever.” You huff, flopping down in your chair with your arms crossed.

You don’t look at Eddie for the rest of detention, deciding instead to stare out the window and pout while he continues to try and pester you. You were frustrated and tired of his teasing. You immediately grab your backpack and head for the door when the teacher comes into the room to dismiss you, totally ignoring Eddie as he calls after you. You roll your eyes when you hear his chains clanking behind you.

“Hey, princess, wait up! Don’t you want this back?” He catches up to you easily, his hand grasping onto your wrist to get you to stop walking. You whip your head towards him with your eyes set into a glare.

“Honestly, Eddie? I don’t really care anymore. I just want to go home.” You pull your arm from his grasp and try to walk away but he steps in front of you with a concerned look on his face.

“Hey, are we good? You know I just like fucking with you, right?” He holds your book up between you, offering it to you.

“Yeah, that’s just about all you like.” Eddie’s face drops at your tone. You're never like this. You usually get all giggly and embarrassed when he messes with you but he’s never seen you genuinely pissed off at him. As much as it unsettles him it also makes his cock twitch a little.

“You’re kind of hot when you’re mad, you know that?” Eddie bites his lip and gives you that look that makes you swoon for him every time. He reaches his hand out to cup your jaw, his thumb running across your pouty lips. “Quit pouting, let me drive you home.”

“No.” You whine, pouting even further as you look up at him through your lashes. He has you and he knows it.

“Alright, fine then.” Eddie shrugs, giving you a devilish smirk before turning to walk away, he only makes it a few steps before you’re calling out for him. “That’s what I thought, there’s my good girl.”

“Yeah, fuck, taking me so well, angel.” Eddie is pounding you from behind, your cheek is squished against one of the pillows he started keeping in the back of the van while one of his large hands is laced through your hair. The other roughly grabs onto your hip for leverage, his hips slapping loudly against the fat of your ass.

“Maybe you’re not a good girl after all, huh? Getting dentition. Giving me an attitude. Letting the freak fuck you in the back of his van a block away from your house? Maybe you’ve just been a naughty girl this entire time?” That has you clenching around him, loud moans leaving your lips as you cum hard on his cock.

“Fuck, Eddie, fuck!” He continues to fuck into you hard and deep, using his grip on your hair to pull you up so your back is flush against his chest.

“Tell me why you got detention.” His lips brush your ear, his voice rough.

“Uh-uh” Your eyes roll back when his finger tips brush across your puffy wet clit. He pounds into you a few more times before stilling inside you.

“Tell me, or I’ll stop. I’ll make you lay there and watch me while I jerk off on your pretty little face.” His teeth sink into the nape of your neck, causing you to throw your head back, your walls constricting around his thick cock.

“I don’t know why it matters so much - fuck Eddie -“ you gasp when his hand comes down on your clit, smacking it.

“Tell me.” The hand in your hair grabs onto your throat, adding just the right amount of pressure.

“I punched Nina Johnson in the face, okay!?” You whine when he pulls out of you completely, flipping you on your back. He leans over you, with his hands on either side of your head and a smile plastered on his face.

“Princess, you what!?” He chuckles.

“You heard me.” You pout, avoiding eye contact.

“Did you really? That’s so hot.” He grips onto your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Why’d you do it?”

“Eddie, you said you’d fuck me again if I told you why I got detention I don’t think it’s really fair that you’re asking more que -“ You’re cut off when he takes his cock in his hand and slams inside of you, he doesn’t even give you time to think before his cock is bullying your sweet spot.

“Guess you're officially a bad girl now, huh? Since you got caught?” Eddie chuckles as one of his hands snakes down to rub circles on your clit in time with his thrusts. “But you’re still gonna be a good girl for me, right?”

“Yes, yes, I’ll be so good for you, so fucking good. I’m close, I’m gonna -“ His thrusts and the circles on your clit stop simultaneously causing you to gasp.

“Then be good and tell me why you punched her and I’ll let you cum.” He slaps your clit again and it has your eyes rolling back. “You a little pain slut too? Guess we will have to explore that later. Now answer the question.”

“I just did, okay? I don’t know why it matters, she’s always been a bitch to you anyways.” You whine, any and all fire you had gone, all you want is to cum on Eddie’s cock. “Please, please let me cum Eddie, wanna cum.”

“There’s an easy solution here, princess.” Eddie chuckles as he lands another slap on your clit. “Why’d you do it?”

“She said something fucked up about you, okay!? Now can I please cum? Please?” Eddie’s eyes widen, his heart warming a bit at your words. You got detention for him? He’s going to rock your fucking world.

“Oh, angel. I really have corrupted you, haven’t I? Punching girls in the face for little ol’ me?” He grips onto your calf, throwing it over his shoulder so he can fuck into you deeper, his fingers find your clit again as his cock bullies your sweet spot over and over again. “Cum for me.”

“Fuck, Eddie, want you to cum too. Want you to fill me up.” You’re usually pretty shy with dirty talk but Eddie is seeing a whole new side of you today and he really fucking loves it.

“Yeah? Want me to fill this pussy up? Paint your walls with my cum? Maybe I’ll mark you up so everyone knows what a bad girl you really are?” Eddie leans down, letting your leg fall so he can bury his face in your neck. He sucks on your skin, determined to leave his mark.

“Oh god, I’m gonna cum, Eddie. I’m gonna fucking cum, please mark me up, want everyone to know who I belong to.” Your tight wet pussy constricts around him, sending him over the edge with you. He cock twitches inside you as spurts of his cum fill you.

“Yeah, fuck, that’s it. Naughty little pussy taking all my cum just like she was made to.”

Eddie fucks you both through your highs before flipping onto his side, pulling you against him. You lean up so you can bury your face in his neck and give him a mark of your own causing him to let out a groan.

“You’re gonna get me going again if you keep doing that, baby.” He chuckles, running a hand along the back of your head to encourage you to look at him. When you do, he’s looking at you in a way he never has before. Almost with adoration. “You’re really badass, you know that?”

“Yeah? That’s a high compliment coming from you, fair knight.” He lets out a loud, signature Eddie laugh at that.

“I am but your humble servant, princess. I am indebted to you for defending me from the evil witch of the locker room.” You both burst into a fit of giggles. “But really though, you should let me read more of that book, maybe we can act it out one day.”

“Oh my god! You’re so annoying.” You snort, playfully slapping his chest.

“Yeah? And you’re my certified badass girl.”

“Yours, huh?” You look up at him and he cups your jaw, rubbing circles along the apple of your cheek with his thumb.

“Yeah, if you’ll have me.” His cheeks turn a tinge pink as he looks down at you bashfully.

“Duh.” You connect your lips with his in a tender kiss that feels different from any other kiss he’s given you. You were Eddie Munson’s girl and that’s all you ever really wanted to be.

Divider is by @strangergraphics

[drama-trauma]

Yandere nerd

Part two of the anti-social nerd. Kind of. This is more of a what went behind the scenes. Sorry for the wait. Hope you'll enjoy.

Warnings: Manipulation,yandere,drugs,more suggestive rather than smut, cheating and student-teacher relationship(minor characters), blackmailing, stalking, reader's too horny.

You've been a mess as far as you remember. Always seeking fun instead of abiding to obligations. None of your relationships lasted long. I mean, you only wanted some long, thick dick! You didn't want to act all lovey dovey with them. Just fuck you full of hot, thick sperm and leave! Was it that hard?

Your parents realised their mistake in raising you. They wanted you to be a lawyer or a doctor, not a whore for fuck's sake!So you get send to a new school, one well known for it's multi talented prodigies.

That's where you met the love of your life. To be honest, the best dick of your life.When the teacher placed you next to a weirdo,at first you didn't think much of it.You came here to get dicked down, not bother about which wacko is sitting next to you!You went around getting fucked by both juniors and seniors alike. Living the best time of your life with your favourite companion - dick. Hell, you could prepare a chart on all the dicks you saw so far - thick ones, long ones, small ones, average ones and more. Among all the dicks only a couple stood out in their size or shape.You could remember the way your body took it in but not the names of their owners.

And that's when it happened. You were running laps in p.e class, when it started raining heavily. Upon entering back to the gym room, you notice it. The p.e uniform clinging to that wacko seatmate of yours. His nipples were a nice shade of pink- hardened by the chilly atmosphere.And there was a prominent outline of his dick through the wet pants.That was when you sweared to yourself “I have to cum atleast once on this dick”.

From then on began your attempts to get closer to the wacko. Kian was his name. It wasn't difficult finding out since he was more or less of a teacher's pet. Always answering to every single question.Always paying attention in class. Hell, why couldn't he pay attention to you? You were the most good looking person in that class. Others would die for a chance to be in your hole but this guy was more interested in solving sin and cos! If only he knew how much your hole was twitching around empty air at the thought of his dick!

You came to the realisation that if you don't take the initiative then your dream of getting fucked by that dick will remain a dream. So you started making small conversations - something about classes and favourites and what not. Only to be polite. You can't just go upto someone and ask to be fucked. It was only polite to get to know each other. Just enough so that when he sees your favourite colour, he gets hard at the thought of you clad in it , screaming and creaming.

It was cute how Kian stuttered when he talked to you. That's what you would've said if it wasn't for his bulked up body. No one talked to him much. Who wants to even talk to a bookworm? If it wasn't for dick, then you would've ignored him too. But God,it made things easier. You only wanted his dick at first. But now he was getting pretty damn adorable with his attempts at getting to know you more.The way he beat around the bush when he was nervous, the heavy blush coating his face on a teasing comment, the way he squirmed in his seat when you got a bit close - God fucking damnit, it was adorable .

You don't know how but from a point onwards you looked forward to seeing him - not a glimpse of his dick but him. Was it the way he looked at you dreamily? Was it the way you were the only friend that he had?Was it the way his entire world revolved around you?Was it the way you were his entire world?You don't know. But one thing, you knew was that it was addictive. It was consuming. It was love.

You wanted him to make the first move towards your relationship. But ofcourse, he just had to be dense. That's fine, you'll help him out.Changing out of your pe uniform extra slow - tantalizingly, dropping pens more often and picking them up while bending more than needed with pushing up your ass temptingly, accidentally dropping water on your chest to put your hardened nipples on display and what not. He was an idiot when it came to romance. But he was your idiot.

You could easily tell the effect it had on him. His boners couldn't be hidden - not with that size.He wasn't really good at stalking. Kian made his presence obvious despite all his efforts at going unnoticed. The way his footsteps sounded when he was following you, the shutter of the camera going off, the heavy breaths he inhaled while you were taking a shower - you could sense his presence easily.

Kian was not good at being possessive either. He couldn't find the courage to butt in when you conversed with others. He was too scared to touch you. He seemed content just being by your side. But hell, you knew better. You knew about the way he jerked off in one of the school bathroom stalls after you got a bit too close with him. You knew about the questionable pictures being taken.You knew about the predatory glimpse in his eyes at times. You knew that he wanted nothing more than to have you all to himself. You knew everything.For a nerd, he sure was dumb as fuck.

The day your English professor decided to give you a group project was the luckiest day of your life.You and Kian were not in the same group but that could be arranged. After class, you stayed back. You managed to convince the professor to pair you up together. With an excuse of how he would let his teammate walk all over him and how he would have to do all the work, him having trouble getting along with others and what not . At first, the professor wasn't too keen on letting it happen. But at the mention of letting his pregnant wife know of his cheating, he quickly complied. Cheating on his wife was one thing, cheating on his pregnant wife was even worse and the worst thing? The fact that he cheated on her with one of his students.

Next class, you and Kian got paired together. He seemed happy. He wanted to do the project at your house, but you denied it saying that your parents were home and they don't like having people over or something. He believed it and offered to go to a cafe. Why couldn't this dense fuck understand that you wanted to go to his house? Stupid bitch. You brought up the idea of doing it at his place. He seemed nervous - about the “secret photos” he took maybe. Did he have it posted on his bedroom wall? Did he wake up to your picture? Did he end his day after staring at it? Did he jerk off to it? Fuck, curiosity killed the cat.

After a while of contemplation and convincing, he finally relented. You would be at his house in three days. The project was only due in two weeks. There was plenty of time.

Day 1 - you could see dust and smell a nasty scent on him. He must be cleaning his entire house inside out since you were coming over. Day 2 - you just so happened to tell him about how people nowadays fucked while drugged and how many of the students in your school preferred such things and how it seems crazy and what not. As long as you sow a seed, the fruit's bound to be ripe. Day 3- you tell him about how there's a guy selling stuff in your school.Students buy their stuff from him and at an affordable price. That night, you got a call from this so called "dealer", that Kian had bought the stuff from him. Good. You paid the dude pretty well to work this all out . Drugs going around in a prestigious school? Lies.But Kian fell for it and that's what matters.

Everyone has a secret that they'll take to their graves. And for you, what went behind the scenes will be that secret.

The day you went to his house, you had looked through the pictures he took of you. You were honestly so fucking horny after seeing them. You looked good. He sure knew how to work a camera.And the time where a needle was injected? You weren't a masochist but you could make adjustments.Waking up covered in cum? You must've looked like a masterpiece. Fuck, you wanted to be conscious for your first time together. You wanted to feel the pain and pleasure of having his dick enter your hole for the first time. You wanted to see him loosen you up. But it's alright. There'll surely be another chance. And you'll make sure to do it conscious then.When he walked in dressed in that robe? You could cum on the spot just at the sight.When he started fucking you again?For a virgin, he fucked real damn good. Just your style - fast ,deep and desperate.

Everyone has a secret that they'll take to their graves. And for you, what went behind the scenes will be that secret.

[kykyonthemoon]

Nightmares

When nightmares strike, you are the sole source of warmth that could help him overcome his inner turmoil.

ಇ. Character x Reader/MC

(Caleb, Rafayel, Zayne and Dawnbreaker, Xavier and Glitch!Xavier)

ಇ. Tags: hurt/comfort, angst with a little fluff, emotional hurt, comfort

ಇ. Word count: 3k7

ಇ. Requested anonymously.

ಇ. Masterlist

ಇ. Request

Pic from X

𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒃

It was a sunny afternoon when he returned to his old house.

That place still had a modest beauty, the kind of beauty that made family members feel sad every time they left. It was so deeply engraved in his mind that with every breath, he knew he was closer and closer to returning home.

There, would be someone always waiting for him.

The door creaked when opened. Caleb walked inside. The familiar smell of food and the sound of cooking in the kitchen were always the things that impressed him the most. He continued in that direction till he noticed a familiar figure sitting at the dining table, back to the aisle.

Caleb grinned and spoke your name. You did not reply. He went forward, putting one hand on your shoulder to turn you around.

Your lifeless eyes glanced up at him.

"Pipsqueak? What's wrong?"

You did not respond. You slowly rose up and entered the kitchen. Why was this place so dark and cold? Caleb failed to recall the house being this vast and gloomy.

"Where are you going? I'm back now, pipsqueak?

You halted. The warm sunlight poured down on him through the window, but where you stood just a few steps away from him, everything was in darkness.

Even you.

“You only came home now…” You spoke, but your voice didn't contain any emotion. You were always the one who ran into his arms when he came home after long journeys away! Why were you being so distant then?

“Pipsqueak…”

Caleb reached out to you. How he wanted to touch you! He wanted to hold you in his arms and if he had to beg your forgiveness for leaving you, he would definitely do so.

He had been gone for too long.

You looked at him. Tears began to fall and your face showed little emotion. Not joy, but resentment. You became distorted and writhed as if fire surrounded your body.

“You've been gone for too long!”

You screamed out in pain. Caleb quickly rushed towards you, but it seemed like a force was holding him back, making him unable to move. Just like that, he could only open his eyes and watch you burn. The kitchen was on fire. The house was on fire. Everything was on fire.

“You've been gone too long, Caleb!” You shouted. Your tears turned into blood as your body burnt in the flames. “You left me alone! You abandoned our home!”

The walls cracked, the windows exploded and debris flew all around, cutting you, cutting him. The ceiling began to collapse. But there was nothing Caleb could do. He just cried.

“Pipsqueak… Please…”

“You… left me… here...”

Your plaintive screams were swallowed by fire. When he finally was able to reach out and touch you, there was nothing left there but a burned corpse.

The fire disappeared. The cozy house in Caleb's memory had become ruins. He clutched your corpse, which was scorched black and was disintegrating into dust. The sobbing inside him turned into a protest against himself.

He left, because he thought it was the best thing for you.

When it all came back, to this place, many years ago, he had caused the house to explode. To you, he had been dead since then. He didn't have time to say goodbye. But he only had to do it to ensure your safety.

In the end, he could not save you. He could not save himself.

Still, you left this world. Still, you turned into ashes. Who did this to you; it was not the matter. Not when you had already died the day he left.

Caleb yelled with anguish. He lost you, he lost his home. The one thing that kept him going was gradually vanishing, soaring with the wind and never returning to him.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

“Pipsqueak!”

Caleb shouted. He opened his eyes to see the familiar bedroom ceiling, which was dimly lit by street lights outside the window and visible through the curtains.

Beside him, you turned over. With your eyes still closed, one hand struck his chest.

“What now?… Waking me up in the middle of the night…” You said in a sleepy voice. Caleb grabbed your hand and turned around to hug you. Only when he felt your warmth and buried his face in the scent of your hair could he calm down.

“It's nothing, pipsqueak…” He whispered. “It was just a nightmare… Sorry for waking you…”

You breathed evenly in a straight position on the bed. Your mouth grumbled something like: "Idiot... You're a grown-up now, and you're still afraid of nightmares..."

Caleb smiled softly. He gave you an even tighter embrace. "Yes. I'm such an idiot. I'm so terrified of nightmares every time I have to leave you."

“But I'm right here. Now will you let me go back to sleep?”

“Just let me hold you a little longer…” He whispered as he put his hand beneath the pillow and softly drew you into his loving arms.

You were real in front of his eyes.

And he had no intention of allowing you to vanish like in that dream again.

𝑹𝒂𝒇𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒍

Waves crashed onto the shore in regular rhythms. The twisted moon overhead sent a feeble light into the sea, engulfing the two little figures standing by it. The water had reached their knees, and the two were leisurely dancing together.

Spinning. Around and around. Magically shimmering water droplets continued to soar high with each stride. You smiled pleasantly at him. That night, you became his bride.

The celebration was over. Only the two of you remained together, from now until eternity. You were so beautiful, so perfect. Your love for him was as pure as your smile.

And he should have felt happy.

He should have, because after all, he had got you and this perfect ending. But was this really the end?

He gazed at you with melancholy eyes. You smiled heartily as you whirled around. Sea water surged up high, bathing your entire body in a vivid crimson color. The entire water surface became the color of blood.

You were still dancing, as if the pungent odor of death gave you delight. You were immersed in blood when he gazed at you. Hatred was the only thing burning in his heart at that time.

You swayed a little farther, then turned towards him. Your arms stretched out as you called affectionately:

“Rafayel! Hurry. Come with me!”

He moved closer. He was strolling through a pool of blood from his own kind. Lemurian blood was dispersed over the waters.

Unbeknownst to you, as you turned your back on Rafayel, one of his hands was wrapped around your waist, the other brandishing a knife.

“I like this place. Can we stay here forever?” You said, as if you didn't care about the blood gushing at your feet.

"Alright." Rafayel replied in a cold voice. “If you like it here, we'll stay.”

You leaned your head back with joy, resting on his chest. You were so little, yet you had a powerful heart. So gorgeous. He only wanted to strangle it, tear it out of your chest, and toss it into the deep sea.

He wanted you to pay the price.

You closed your eyes and hummed the melody he once sang for you. How foolish of him! He had given you everything—his love, his life, his whole kingdom... Everything was ruined by your hands.

Now, he shall take it all back.

Rafayel raised your chin and let you stare at him for a long while. You were smiling still. But he swung the sharp blade high, plunging into your heart.

In your eyes was terror and agony. Tears streamed from the corners of your eyes, but he still held your chin in his palm, making you unable to look away as his other hand forced the hilt of the dagger, deeper into your heart.

“Rafayel… Why… Why?…”

That was all you could say before the vivid red blood from your heart spread to his palm, spilling into the sea and merging with the blood of the Lemurians.

He should have been satisfied. He should have been thrilled since he carried out his vengeance.

But he simply felt broken.

When he tossed your lifeless corpse into the water, it seemed like he had died too that very moment.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

“Rafayel!!!… Stop… I can't… breathe… Rafayel!…”

You pinched Rafayel's cheek hard; he was sleeping on your chest. His weight prevented you from breathing normally. The ache awoke him. White pearls dropped from the corners of his eyes.

“Rafayel?…”

You frowned and watched him slowly rose up, both hands resting on your pillow. When he lowered his head, the radiant pearls continued to rain on your face and the bed.

“Hey… What's wrong?” You lifted your hands to caress his cheeks. “Why are you crying?”

“I… just had a nightmare…”

Rafayel gasped. It must have been a really horrific nightmare to make him this way. He fell asleep, his body was all over you, and then he started weeping. You had never seen him like this, and it concerned you.

"What did you dream about?" Your arms curled around Rafayel's neck, bringing him closer. He hesitated, as if he didn't want you to know, then revealed:

“In my dream, I had to kill the person I loved.”

Silence filled the room. The sky over your head was twinkling with stars. Rafayel's bedroom was filled with the lovely sound of the sea. You rubbed your face into the crook of his neck and murmured:

“I trust Rafayel will never harm me.”

“Are you sure? Even I don't know... The person in the dream... It's not me..."

"That's right." You rubbed his sweaty back. “That person is definitely not you. You know, people say dreams are the opposite of reality. What you saw will not happen.”

Rafayel was calmer, however, you still felt his body trembling in your arms.

“I won't allow that to happen…” He replied. “Having to end the life of the person I love… It is far more painful than being stabbed in the heart by that same person…”

“Rafayel.” You said in a serious tone. You held Rafayel's face with both hands, forcing him to look at you. His hair was tangled, and pearls were no longer pouring from his eyes, but they remained red. “I don't know what will happen in the future, but as long as I still breathe, I will never hurt you.”

Rafayel gazed at you for a time before gently smiling. “That's a promise between the two of us then.”

𝒁𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆

“Zayne… So cold… I'm… so cold…”

Zayne helped you up, quickly wrapping his thick coat around you. His hands stroked your body repeatedly to keep you warm. But you were growing colder. Your breath slowly escaped your body as the sorrow smothered his heart

“No… Wake up… Don't sleep! Please!… Don't sleep now…”

Zayne's scarred and bloody hand clumsily held on to you. So tight. He wanted to give you all his warmth. But did he even have any warmth left?

“It's useless.”

The voice sounded as if it had just escaped his mind. Zayne turned around. Behind him stood Grim Reaper, another Zayne dressed in a cloak as black as the night. Cold and cruel.

“You know you can't save her.”

"Shut up!" Zayne's shouts resonated across the wind and snow. He would never leave you alone in this cold.

Yet Grim Reaper's voice still echoed:

“You know why she died.”

Trembling, Zayne gradually dropped his gaze to the girl in his arms. In the center of your chest, bright, sharp pieces of ice were developing more and more.

"No… NO!" Zayne screamed. His palm touched the shards, causing them to tear into his skin. Bleeding. “I will save her! I must save her!”

He breathed into your numbed hand. But the more he touched you, the greater the ice formed around your body.

“Give up.” Grim Reaper spoke again. Zayne ignored him, despite the fact that they looked absolutely the same.

Nightmare. He had always been his nightmare. Perhaps in another universe, he was the Grim Reaper. And he felt like he was progressively becoming the Grim Reaper as you left this life, leaving him behind.

“Stay with me, please… Open your eyes and look at me….” Zayne begged over her corpse. His tears turned into drops of ice. They fell onto your body and shattered.

You could no longer hear his cries.

"You cannot save her." Grim Reaper said. He was bending down on one knee beside you, on the other side of Zayne. His hand in the black glove brushed across your frost-covered face, as if he, too, was in grief. "After all, you cannot save yourself."

"Leave!" Zayne yelled in rage and suffering. His embrace of you became more intense, as if he wanted to take you away from Grim Reaper's reach. He grinned with bitterness.

"Remember. You are the one who killed her.”

Zayne shook his head, repeatedly. Everything in front of his eyes drifted away. Grim Reaper also vanished. There were only you and him remaining.

He had murdered you.

You and he promised to get through this together. He would save your dying heart, and you would help him in his escape from the curse of his Evol. It was a curse. He was unable to control it, and there came calamity.

Help you? No, he was not your savior. He was your death.

Zayne heard Grim Reaper's laugh - his own laugh - echoing in his thoughts. Cruel yet full of bitterness.

The snowstorm came, but it could not bury his sin and regrets.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

When you came into Dr. Zayne's office during lunch break, you noticed the temperature was unusually low.

You discovered Zayne asleep on the sofa. His body trembled, he broke out in a cold sweat, and his mouth moved without any word heard. You even caught a tear falling from the corner of his eye.

“Zayne? Are you having a nightmare?” You shook him by the shoulders. His entire body felt freezing. The nearest window was covered in frost. You started to panic. But no matter how you attempted to rouse him up, he failed to hear you.

You had to sit on the sofa, placing his head on your lap. You caressed his hair, patted his shoulders and head while comforting him:

"It's alright. I'm here with you… You will be fine…”

After a while, his quiver stopped. His eyes opened slowly. He found you.

“…”

Zayne's hand reached out towards you and then stopped halfway. He was about to touch you but hesitated. Seeing that, you clasped your hand with his.

"What's wrong? Doctor Zayne is experiencing nightmares from overwork, isn't he?"

You smiled. So gentle. That warm beam seemed to calm him down. Zayne's respiration and pulse rate eventually returned to normal. He replied:

“Yeah… My apologies for causing you to worry again.”

When he recognized your cold hand, he became fully awake. He rapidly gained control of his Evol, and the room warmed up to some extent.

“Are you feeling okay?”

“Yes. Much better now.”

Zayne's eyes were still red. He wanted to sit up, but you kept him in your lap for a while longer.

“Lunch break is still long. You can sleep for a bit longer. I will stay here to watch over your sleep.” You declared out loud, as if you were his little defender.

This made Zayne quite happier. He grinned and replied:

“You are always the one who guides me out of nightmares. No matter how bad it gets, I know you will come to my rescue.”

"That's right. Now you can sleep soundly.”

Zayne slowly closed his eyes. He was unsure if he could sleep again after that nightmare. But having you by his side made him feel more at peace. Your fingers squeezed his hand. Your warmth enveloped him. You were alive and well. He still had time to save you, to save himself.

Knowing that made him feel a lot more assured. When you placed a kiss on his forehead, he was ready to face all of the nightmares to come.

𝑿𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒓

When Xavier returned to Philos, he did so as a traitor.

He gambled with fate, and lost everything. Honor. Freedom. Love. There was nothing left for him when he returned.

His fleet had crossed countless light years, to innumerable realms out there. But what he was looking for was just an illusion.

And suddenly his entire existence became a curse.

To lose his freedom, to lose the love of his life for eternity. Was that the price to pay for opposing destiny?

In the dark corner of the room, Xavier knelt on the cold stone floor. He could not move, nor speak unless granted permission.

He quietly observed the girl he loved in the garden on the other side of the door. The warm sunshine tenderly casted a lovely aura over your body. Your grin shone brighter than the myriad of flowers in the yard. How many times did Xavier want to approach you, call your name, and touch you? But he could not.

Every time he came close to you, the crimson chain around his neck tightened. It did not murder him, but it was painful and debilitating enough. All he could do was stare at you holding hands with an unknown person. Someone with a physique similar to his.

That man was the King, you were his Queen. And Xavier was nothing but a sinner, a tool to be used, a killing machine. All for you. He would do everything for you, but you were no longer his lover.

You failed to recognize him. You were no longer the same as before. Since the person he truly loved was dead.

She was once a Queen. He had vowed to be the Knight standing beside her. But he left her alone on the cold throne. She died and was reborn, again and again. How many times had his love died before he came back?

The girl in front of him now had no memory of those lives anymore. It was a blessing. For you would no longer have to cry over the treachery you believed he had committed on you.

His only wish was to save you; to save the girl he loved from the spiral of death and rebirth. But when he tried to cut off your chains, he, too, was bound by another curse.

He watched you die and come back in another life. As many times as you sat on that throne, he became a slave at your feet, and as many times as he witnessed your death. He could not do anything else, not even scream and weep.

For, he had been cursed since the day he left you alone.

“Xavier… Save me… I don't want… to die…”

He stared down at your body, which was securely tied to the stone table. Trembling. His Queen begged him. Xavier was shrouded in black. The chain around his neck became tighter.

“Do it, Xavier! Stop wasting time!”

The crowd behind urged him. Xavier's palm clenched on the shiny hilt of his sword.

“No… Xavier… Please!…”

“The sacrifice must be completed! Do not forget your duty as Philos' royalty, Xavier! Do not forget how you betrayed us and what punishment you must endure!”

Xavier closed his eyes tightly. You and him, you could never escape this fate. He raised his sword, once more. He ended your torment, for another life.

Yet, his suffering would never cease.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Xavier awoke with tight agony in his neck and chest. His pillow was drenched from weeping. He heard your frightened voice repeating in his ears:

"Oh dear! You have a high fever!”

Through tears, he watched you climb out of bed. You were going to go fetch him a damp towel and medication. But he pulled you back. He wrapped you securely in his arms.

“X-Xavier? How are you feeling? You scared me?…”

“Sorry… I'm really sorry…”

He continued muttering like that. You began to suspect that his apology was not for waking you up in the middle of the night screaming, or that he was hugging you so tightly that you were suffocating. Was there anything else going on?

"Did you have a nightmare?" You questioned as you wrapped your arms around him, rubbing his neck and back.

Xavier responded with a gentle "yeah". He eased his hold slightly to allow you to breathe. But seeing his condition, you couldn't help but worry.

"You have a fever." You mentioned it again. "Let me get medicine for you…"

“Stay with me!” Xavier spoke, almost like a grumble. It startled you. His arm was draped around your torso, and his other hand gripped your wrist firmly. Xavier dropped his voice, recognizing he was becoming overly emotional: "Please... Just stay here a little longer..."

“Alright… I'm here…” You comforted Xavier. You cared about nothing other than his mental turmoil. But you believed he would feel better, and when he was ready, he would tell you everything.

A moment later, when he had calmed down, Xavier said:

“I'm sorry… I didn't mean to make you sad or worried…”

"It's fine. I just want you to know that I will always be by your side… Besides, we also have Galaxy Kid, Bunbun and these plushies..."

Both Xavier and you gazed at your plushie-filled bed. He grinned faintly, as if he was finally at ease. You added

“We'll get through everything together, okay?”

For a moment, Xavier said nothing. He just tilted his head slightly to look at you closely. His hand caressed your face as if you were a treasure he once lost, then found.

“Of course. We will get through everything together. Definitely…” His voice trailed off as he fell into a hazy condition caused by the fever in the middle of the night. “This time… I won't let you face it… alone…”

[seospicybin]

PLAY PRETEND.

Lee Know x reader x Han. (s,a)

Synopsis: Minho, a seasoned actor, is joined by Han, an idol stepping into his first major role for a BL drama and their chemistry on screen makes everyone wondering what’s real and what’s an act, including Minho’s girlfriend, you. (20,7k words)

Author's note: A fair warning, it's a tad bit angsty but hope you enjoy it. ♡

Minho is no stranger to the thrill of the spotlight. As one of the industry's top actors, he’s amassed a fan base that follows his every move, each role bringing him closer to becoming a household name. His charm and undeniable talent have carried him from promising rookie to revered star, and few can match his level of skill and dedication.

This latest role, though, is something entirely new. When the announcement breaks that he’s accepted his first BL drama, the news explodes across social media, every fan site, and entertainment news outlet. Fans can barely contain their excitement.

Minho is known for transforming into his characters with an authenticity that leaves them breathless, and the thought of seeing him in a romance with another man—something he has never done onscreen—sends waves of excitement through them. Speculation about his co-star and their potential chemistry runs wild.

But beneath the flood of supportive messages and the whirlwind of media attention, Minho feels a prickling of doubt. He’s heard whispers that he’ll be paired with Han Jisung, an idol who only recently turned to acting. Minho can't deny he’s apprehensive about working alongside someone with so little experience. Acting requires a kind of discipline that not everyone can muster, especially when the stakes are this high.

Even as the buzz around the drama continues to grow, Minho keeps his distance from the hype. He needs to stay focused, to treat this role like any other. After all, he’s a professional, and he’s made it his career to bring out the best in every character he plays—even if that means navigating uncharted waters with a rookie idol by his side.

-

The table read is set in one of the sleek, polished meeting rooms of the production studio, its walls lined with posters from past hit dramas. Minho arrives right on time, slipping into his seat with the practiced nonchalance of someone who’s done this countless times before. Around him, the director and scriptwriters are setting up, their expressions shifting between excitement and concentration.

Just as Minho begins flipping through the script, he notices a quiet stir as Han enters the room. Dressed casually, with a hint of nervousness shadowing his usually confident expression, Han greets everyone politely, bowing deeply. His gaze shifts to Minho, and he visibly straightens, flashing a hopeful smile.

“Minho,” Han says, inclining his head with respect. “I’m really looking forward to working with you.” His tone is warm, genuine, a mix of nerves and eagerness showing in the way he speaks. It’s clear he’s someone who looks up to Minho, eager to make a good impression.

Minho, on the other hand, keeps his expression carefully blank. He offers Han a curt nod, glancing back down at the script with an air of disinterest. His own reservations about the rookie’s lack of experience hover in the back of his mind.

“Let’s just focus on the work,” Minho replies coolly, turning the page. “I’m sure you’ll pick things up as we go along.”

Han, however, doesn’t seem discouraged. His eyes brighten, and he shifts his chair a little closer, leaning forward eagerly as the director begins discussing the scene they’ll be reading. Despite Minho’s chilly demeanor, Han listens intently, occasionally glancing over at Minho, almost as if trying to absorb his every gesture and expression.

As the reading begins, Han gives it his all, his voice rising and falling with emotion, even if his delivery lacks the polish of a seasoned actor. Minho remains composed, effortlessly slipping into character with every line, his calm, professional presence commanding the room. But he can't help but notice the way Han watches him, soaking in each subtle movement, as though he’s studying a masterclass.

Despite himself, Minho is somewhat impressed by Han’s dedication, even if he doesn’t let it show. Han’s energy is raw and unrefined, yes, but there’s a spark there—something that could, perhaps, be shaped. Not that he’s planning to admit it.

When the read-through ends, Han gives him another eager look. “Thank you for today. I hope I can learn a lot from you.”

Minho offers only the briefest nod, keeping his tone neutral. “Just do your best,” he says, before gathering his things and slipping out the door, leaving Han watching after him, still hopeful and undeterred.

-

It’s past midnight when he finally slips out of his car and makes his way down the empty street toward your apartment. The city feels different at this hour, like it’s holding its breath. He lets himself in quietly, his heart lifting the moment he sees you, curled up on the couch, waiting for him as if you knew he’d come.

“Hey, stranger,” you greet him with a sly smile on your face.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks softly, shutting the door with a careful hand.

“I figured you might drop by,” you say, smiling as you pat the space beside you.

He sinks down, the stress of the day beginning to fade in your presence especially after his lips touched yours in a rewarding kiss. You lean against him as he snuggles into your arms, comfortable, familiar, as if the world outside doesn’t exist.

“So, how was the table read?” you ask, curiosity lighting up your face. “Was it as intense as you expected?”

Minho sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Let’s just say it was… interesting,” he mutters. “They paired me with Han Jisung, you know, the idol who just started acting.”

There’s a slight edge in his voice, a hint of skepticism. “He’s eager, I’ll give him that, but he’s new to this, and it shows. I could see it right away. He’s trying hard, but…” he trails off, his tone resigned.

You rest a hand on him, giving him a reassuring smile. “Hey, give him a chance. You might be surprised. Once filming starts, he could be different. He’s probably just nervous being around someone like you.”

Minho huffs softly, though his expression softens a bit. “Maybe. But you didn’t see how he was watching me, like he was waiting for every word I said. I’m used to people wanting to learn, but with him… I don’t know. He tries too hard.”

“Then try not to be so hard on him,” you suggest gently, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “You might be the only one who can help him get through this. You know, just… take it easy. He might surprise you.”

Minho chuckles, his fingers brushing lightly along yours and sneaks a quick peck on your lips. “I’ll try. No promises, though.”

“Good,” you say, leaning your head against his as you continue landing comforting rubs on his back.

For all the lights and cameras that follow him, Minho’s real life unfolds in the shadows, far from the glare of fame. To the world, he’s a household name—a sought-after actor whose every move is documented, dissected, and adored.

But here, in the quiet sanctuary of your apartment, he’s just Minho. Here, there’s no need for the polished charm, the unshakeable confidence, or the professional distance he maintains around others.

Here, he can simply exist, away from the world that claims to know him.

Dating someone outside the industry was never something he’d planned, but somehow, being with you—a person untouched by the demands of fame—grounds him in a way nothing else can. You work a steady, simple job, miles from the chaos of show business, and that’s part of what he loves most. Your world is calm, ordinary, real. He can shed the layers of expectation and just… breathe.

These quiet nights with you are his escape, a secret he guards as fiercely as his most cherished roles. And though it’s a thrill to keep your relationship hidden, it’s also a risk—a delicate balance he walks to preserve the one part of his life that fame hasn’t touched.

After a few minutes of peaceful silence, you shift against him, glancing up with a playful smile. “Are you hungry? I could whip something up.”

Minho’s lips curve in amusement, already anticipating your offer. “Depends. Are you on the menu?”

You chuckle, getting up and heading to the kitchen, dismissing his flirty attempt. “How does a bowl of noodles sound? Only the best for a famous actor like you, of course.”

Minho follows you, leaning casually against the counter as he watches you work, eyes warm with that familiar, easy affection. You go about filling a pot with water, setting it to boil before adding in the noodles and seasonings. He knows you’re not exactly a gourmet chef, and he’s well aware that these noodles come straight from a packet, but it’s never been about the food.

When you finally slide the bowl over to him, you can’t help but tease, “You know, you’re probably the only person who actually enjoys my cooking, and all I did is adding the seasoning packet.”

Minho only shrugs, picking up his chopsticks. “Doesn’t matter. I like it because you made it and you put your love in it,” he says simply, looking at you with that soft, genuine smile that’s just for you.

You sit beside him, resting your chin on your hand as you watch him dig in, a small warmth blooming in your chest. Moments like this, just the two of you, sharing a late-night snack in the dim glow of your kitchen, feel like little pockets of normalcy—something rare and precious amidst the fast-paced world he belongs to.

“So, how was your day?” he asks between bites, looking over at you with genuine interest.

“Pretty quiet,” you say, mirroring his casual tone. “Went to work, came back, and then… waited for you,” you add with a small smile, one that he quickly returns. “But nothing too exciting, really.”

He nods, listening intently, and after a moment, he begins to share bits of his own day, too—the rehearsals, the meetings, the endless stream of people he has to charm and impress. But there’s something about these late-night conversations that lets him drop the facade and just be honest, to talk freely without any pressure or expectation.

“But nothing too exciting, really.” He adds at the end of his sentence, copying your tone as he says it.

He finishes the noodles, setting the bowl aside and leaning back, his hand reaching for yours. “Now, how about...” he murmurs, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles, “We make things exciting?”

-

When Minho says exciting, he doesn't mean brushing teeth together by the sink in the bathroom. He gets ahead of you, washing his mouth with a scoop of water and puts his tootbrush into its place, having something he wants to do to you as you're busy brushing your teeth.

He stands behind you, wrapping his arms around you before pulling you close until your back meets his chest. It stays like that for a moment until his hand wandering your chest and fondling your breast through your camisole.

“Now, this is exciting,” he murmurs as he sinks his mouth into your neck.

Through the reflection in the mirror, Minho sees you shoot him a glare as you keep brushing your teeth and it only makes him want to keep doing it, he uses both hands to slip under your camisole and continues fondling them, fingers circling on your blossoming buds.

You turn your head slightly to the side and this time, directly glare into his eyes. You let him have his way for now but as you need to eventually finish brushing your teeth, you yank his hands away from you so you can bend down to wash your mouth with water next.

But Minho takes advantage of this new position and lands a gentle slap on the back of your thigh, he then takes a step forward to close the gap, allowing him to rub his growing bulge against your ass.

You take a towel to dab your mouth and look over your shoulder at him, “You're so impatient, you know that?”

Minho shamelessly nods and pulls you close, making you feel his erection poking behind you, “Just trying to keep things exciting.”

There’s no way you can stop Minho from getting what he wants. He lays on top of you, elbows propped on each side of your body as his hands are busy fondling on your breasts. He gently squeezes on your soft mounds and then pushes them to the middle so he can take the two nipples into his greedy mouth.

“Be nice,” you warn him with your hand tangled in his dark locks as he has your nipple tugged between his teeth.

The way he responds with a menacing smirk only means that he'll likely do things that goes against your warning and you're right, he opens his mouth wide and takes as much flesh, he closes his mouth around it and sucks on it as hard as he can.

“Minho!” you hiss in pain and tug at his hair hard because that’s the only way to make him hear you.

He lets go with a loud pop, his lips are wet and so are the marks he made on your breasts. Even so, he begins making a trail of kisses down your front until his lips land on where you want him the most.

He looks at you as he starts lightly touching your clit with his fingers, and then he places the softest kiss on it. He replaces his fingers with his tongue next, pressing the tip of his hot tongue on it before moving in circular motions. His fingers teasing your entrance repeatedly, he pushes his two digits just enough to make you feel the stretch and make him feel how tight you are for him.

One long finger slipped into you, and grateful sighs and murmurs tumble from your lips. That is exactly what you need. He works a second finger in, and the stretching sensation has your head falling back. Oh yes, this is what you need. Your heels dug into the bed as you push into the penetration as his fingers easing in and out, curling against you to breathtaking effect.

When Minho abruptly removes his touch, you can’t bite back a protesting sound. “Minho, I need more, I—”

He lifts his glistening fingers to his lips and suck them into his mouth. The intensity of his eyes combined with his devilish grin has you fisting the sheets in you hands as your core tightens on itself.

Minho continues by placing caresses with deep, slow thrusts. It's good, so good, but he isn’t touching you where you want it, need it. Your hips writhed as you try to relieve the growing ache. When he withdraws again, you stroke your hands down your stomach in rampant frustration, but your own touch does nothing to excite you so you grip your knees, pull them apart to bare your sex to his eyes.

“I need more,” you mutter to him with a defeated sigh and a lustful glare. You spread your legs wider for him and seductively beg, “Please?”

The first push he makes is gentle and your body takes, and then takes some more until he's fully sheathed inside you. There’s no denying that every part of his body arouses you but but it’s his eyes, and the expression in them as he rolls his hips against you. His movement is slick and easy, there’s no hard impact, Minho moves against you with measured control.

You know he's not enjoying it when you're not making all kind of noises, Minho is frowning a little in concentration as he tries to angle his hips until he finds one that seems to nudge a little switch inside your body.

“Goodness!” You gasp in response as you grip the side of the pillow.

“There we go!” Minho mutters with a satisfied smirk as he hits it again and again, and the pleasure is so intense a sob catches in your throat.

You have no strength to raise your arms to his shoulders as every thrust that goes into you is taking you one step closer to something you’re fairly sure will kill you but despite of it, you want to savor every second of it. In fact, you want to live in this moment forever.

Minho is quick to notice what you're doing, you're trying to delay your orgasm. “Hey, quit holding off.”

“I'm not,” you breathlessly and innocently answer.

Your lie only causes him to increase his force, he slips his hands under your hips and angles you higher, he then adds more intensity to his thrusts and you have no idea how he's not tired.

“I don’t want it to end, please, Minho, please,” you whine as you're on the brink of free falling into a pool of unadulterated pleasure.

“Stubborn, aren't you?” He murmurs before pressing a hard kiss on your parted lips.

Instead of adding speed, Minho begins doing this smooth, deep rolling thrusts that slowly making you two losing it and on the second, you grip at him as your mouth snapped close. However, you can’t hold in your satisfied moans for long and even though they might be heard by the whole apartment building, you let them out.

Minho lowers you down and you keep your arms around his shoulders, not wanting to let him go so he ends up lying on top of you. He places kisses on your neck and jaw, he turns your head to the side to place a kiss on your lips next.

“Minho?” You softly call between your exhausted pants.

His hand lingers on your jaw, “Mmh?”

You softly smile as you look at him and say, "I still don't want it to end.”

-

The earliest light of dawn filters in through the curtains, casting a soft glow across your room. Minho stirs awake, his body tuned to early starts, but he finds himself reluctant to leave the warm comfort of your bed. He turns slightly, his gaze falling on you, still sound asleep beside him.

There’s something so peaceful in the way you’re nestled against the pillow, your breathing steady and even, and he doesn’t have the heart to wake you.

For a moment, he just watches, taking in every little detail—the way your hair falls across your face, the gentle rise and fall of your chest. It’s a side of you he rarely gets to see, and he wants to hold onto this quiet moment just a little longer.

Just as he’s about to slip out of bed, you stir, blinking sleepily as your eyes find him. “You’re awake already?” you mumble, your voice soft and drowsy.

He offers a gentle smile, brushing a few stray strands of hair from your face. “Yeah, I have to head out early today. Busy day ahead.”

You sigh, a little pout tugging at your lips as you nod. “Alright. Go home safely, okay?”

Minho leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead and then your lips. “I will,” he murmurs, his voice a quiet promise. He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his hand still resting against your cheek. “Now go back to sleep, mmh? I’ll see you soon.”

You close your eyes, letting yourself sink back into the warmth of the bed, feeling the gentle weight of his words wrap around you like a blanket. With one last soft smile and a long peck on your lips, he pulls away, leaving the room with quiet steps, careful not to disturb the peaceful quiet of the early morning.

As Minho steps out into the early morning chill, he pulls his jacket tighter around himself, his footsteps echoing softly in the stillness of the street. The sky is painted in soft hues of blue and pink, a quiet beauty that feels worlds away from the life he’s about to return to—the endless rehearsals, the flashing cameras, and the carefully managed image he has to keep up for everyone else.

He pauses for a moment, looking back at your apartment building, a sense of longing settling in his chest. Leaving you always feels harder than he expects. These brief, stolen hours together are like little fragments of a life he can’t fully claim—moments he can only touch in secret, moments he treasures more than he can ever say. With you, he doesn’t have to be Minho, the actor. He can just… be.

But out here, as the city begins to wake, he feels the weight of that distance between his two worlds, the one where he’s a public figure and the private one he shares with you. And as much as he longs to stay in this quiet, hidden world a little longer, he knows he has to step back into the other, slipping on the mask he wears for everyone else.

With a steadying breath, Minho turns and walks down the empty street, blending into the first stirrings of the city. But even as he goes, a part of him lingers behind, held by the warmth of the life you share, waiting for the next time he can return to you.

-

The lights are hot and bright as the cameras start rolling, casting the whole set in a surreal glow. Han can feel his pulse quickening as he glances over at Minho, who stands effortlessly in front of the camera, already slipping into his role with a natural ease.

It’s their first day of filming, and Minho’s presence on set is undeniable—commanding and calm, as though he belongs here. Han’s seen him in countless dramas, admired his work from afar, but seeing him in action up close is something else entirely.

Han straightens, pushing down the nervous energy bubbling inside him. He wants to do his best, not just for the role, but because he respects Minho’s work.

As they begin their scene together, he mirrors Minho’s every movement, every expression, trying to match his intensity. The world around them fades, and for a moment, Han feels like they’re the only two people in the room. Acting alongside him is exhilarating, like catching a glimpse of something real—something that flickers into life only when they’re on camera.

But as soon as the director calls “Cut!” and the cameras stop rolling, it’s like a switch flips in Minho. His face hardens, his expression going from warm to distant in a heartbeat. Han watches as Minho steps back, slipping his hands into his pockets, his gaze averted and indifferent.

The shift stings more than he’d like to admit. He’s tried not to let it bother him—after all, Minho is a seasoned actor, and Han knows he’s still new to all this. He tries to remind himself that it’s just how things are, that Minho has his own process. But a part of him can’t help but feel like he’s being shut out, that maybe Minho doesn’t think he’s good enough to be here.

Still, he brushes off the discomfort, plastering a grin on his face as he walks up to Minho between takes. “Hey,” he says brightly, a playful note in his voice. “That last line—you totally nailed it. I don’t know how you make it look so easy.”

Minho gives him a polite nod, his expression neutral, barely meeting his eyes. “Thanks.”

Undeterred, Han leans in, grinning wider. “You know, I really want to learn from you. I’ve never done this before, so if you have any tips or, I don’t know, actor secrets… I’d love to know them.”

Minho’s gaze flickers toward him, unreadable. “Just do what comes naturally,” he says coolly, his voice even, before glancing back at the script in his hand.

Han can feel the subtle rejection, but he’s not one to back down so easily. Despite the distance Minho keeps, Han finds himself wanting even more to prove himself—not only to show he belongs here, but because something about Minho’s presence challenges him to be better. He might not understand Minho yet, and he might never break past that calm exterior, but he knows he can learn from him. And no matter how many times Minho brushes him off, he won’t stop trying.

As they step back into place, the cameras ready to roll again, Han shakes off the lingering doubt, focusing instead on the spark of excitement he feels at working with someone he admires. He’ll keep pushing, keep learning, even if it means playing his own game just to get Minho to notice.

After all, this is only the beginning.

-

Minho leans back against his bed, phone pressed to his ear as he hears your familiar voice on the other end. Just the sound of you, even over the phone, has a way of easing the tension that clings to him after a long day on set.

“So,” you say, your tone warm and curious, “how was the first day of filming?”

Minho sighs, letting himself relax for a moment. “It went… pretty well, I guess. It’s strange, doing something like this,” he admits, feeling the honesty flow more easily over the phone. “But everyone was professional, and the scenes turned out alright. Han, too, was… surprisingly good.”

“Oh?” Your interest piques, and he can hear the little smile in your voice. “I thought you weren’t sure about working with him.”

“I wasn’t,” Minho replies with a slight chuckle. “But he’s… not bad. Maybe it’s just beginner’s luck, but he’s got this energy that fits well on camera. Still, I don’t know.”

He pauses, considering his words. “He seems eager, almost like he wants to prove himself. But sometimes I feel like he’s trying too hard to impress me.”

“Well, maybe he is,” you say lightly. “He probably respects you, wants to do a good job, and maybe he’s just a little nervous.”

He huffs out a laugh, not answering directly. The truth is, he knows you’re probably right, but there’s something about Han’s determination that catches him off-guard. Maybe he’s just reluctant to admit how much potential he actually sees in him.

You’re quiet for a moment, then your voice softens. “Just try not to be too tough on him, Minho. He could learn a lot from you, and you might actually enjoy it.”

He hesitates, then lets the subject drift. “Anyway,” he murmurs, shifting the conversation, “what about you? How was your day?”

“Pretty routine,” you say, a little laugh coloring your words. “Nothing as exciting as your day, obviously. Work, home, the usual. But it was good.” There’s a beat of silence, a comfortable pause, before you add, “I wish you were here, though.”

The words hit him more deeply than he expected, and a quiet ache settles in his chest. “Me too,” he says, his voice softening. “I miss you. It’s strange being away, not getting to see you.”

“Think you’ll get to come by this week?” you ask, hope in your voice.

He sighs, his mind going to tomorrow’s early call time. “I’d love to, but I’ve got to be on set early. It’ll probably be like this for a while.”

A small pause, and he can imagine you nodding, understanding even without him saying it. “That’s okay. Just call me when you can. I’ll be here.”

“I know.” A faint smile tugs at his lips as he shifts on the bed, pressing the phone closer as though he could close the distance between you. “Soon, alright?”

“Alright,” you say, and there’s warmth and understanding in your voice that makes him wish he could be there to hold you.

He stays on the line a little longer, savoring the sound of your breathing, the easy silence between you that says more than words could. Finally, reluctantly, he whispers a soft goodbye, letting the call end.

“Goodnight,” he softly murmurs into the phone while imagining himself placing a soft kiss on your lips as he says it.

“Goodnight,” you say back and Minho imagines you're lying close next to him as you say it.

As he sets the phone down, he feels the empty space around him a little more sharply, a quiet reminder of the life he keeps separate from the world he’s about to step back into tomorrow.

-

The set hums with quiet activity as staff members move props around, adjusting lighting and prepping for the next scene. Minho lounges in his chair, script in hand, as he studies his lines for the upcoming scene—a heavy, emotional exchange that requires all of his focus. He’s done this countless times before, but it never gets easier. Emotion, raw and real, always takes something from him, and he’s already gathering his energy to make the scene hit just right.

Just then, the faint shuffle of footsteps pulls his attention. He glances up to see Han approaching, clutching a steaming cup of coffee with both hands. Han looks a bit awkward, his gaze shifting between the cup and Minho, as though he’s unsure whether he should go through with whatever he came over to say. Minho raises an eyebrow, curiosity tempered by his usual calm, as Han finally steps forward, extending the coffee to him.

“Here,” Han says, offering the cup with a nervous smile. “Thought you might need a pick-me-up.”

Minho accepts the cup with a polite nod, trying to read Han’s expression. There’s something hesitant there, like Han’s searching for the right words, but they’re just out of reach.

“Do you need something?” Minho finally asks, his tone more detached than he intends.

Han shifts his weight, looking down at his hands, clearly gathering his courage. “Actually… yeah, sort of,” he admits, his voice a little lower. “I, uh, wanted to ask if—if you could give me a few pointers. For the next scene.”

Minho’s first instinct is to brush it off. He’s not here to be Han’s mentor; he has enough to focus on himself. But just as he’s about to deflect, your words come back to him: Try not to be so tough on him. He feels a quiet sigh building but swallows it back, deciding to give Han a chance.

“Alright,” he says, keeping his tone measured. “What part are you struggling with?”

Han’s eyes brighten, his expression earnest. “I just… I don’t want to mess up. It’s an emotional scene, and I know I should be able to make it feel real, but I feel like something’s missing. It’s like I can’t quite reach the right emotion.”

Minho studies him, caught a bit off-guard by how genuine Han’s concern seems to be. There’s no sign of the overly eager performer he’d expected, no arrogance. Just someone who truly wants to do well, who wants the scene to mean something.

“Alright,” Minho says after a moment, settling back into his chair. “If you’re struggling to reach the right feeling, think about what the scene means to you. Imagine if it was a real experience you went through—how would it make you feel? How would you react if it were happening to you?”

Han nods, looking down thoughtfully as he takes in Minho’s words. “That makes sense,” he says, his voice quieter, almost to himself. “I guess I’ve been trying too hard to think of it as a performance, instead of… just letting it be real.”

Minho finds himself nodding, feeling a faint respect growing. “The camera picks up on everything,” he says. “If you’re holding back, it’ll show. Don’t worry about looking a certain way; just feel the moment, and the rest will fall into place.”

Han looks at him, something almost like awe in his expression, and for the first time, Minho sees past the nervousness and the enthusiasm. He sees Han’s passion, the quiet intensity that fuels him, and he realizes that maybe, just maybe, Han’s not doing this for appearances. He’s doing it because he genuinely loves the craft.

As they’re called back to set, Minho watches Han head toward his mark, feeling a flicker of something new—a recognition, a sense that maybe Han isn’t as unpolished as he’d assumed. He has potential, real potential, and Minho feels a quiet challenge stir within him. He hadn’t expected this, but maybe working with Han might be more interesting than he thought.

-

Minho frowns as he glances at his phone, refreshing his messages again. Between every take, he checks, hoping to see a notification from you. Since last night, he hasn’t been able to reach you, and as much as he tries to focus on work, an uneasy worry nags at him. And, if he’s honest with himself, there’s a touch of frustration, too.

Finally, his phone lights up with a message from you: “Hey, sorry I couldn’t reply sooner! I’m okay, just got a little busy. Call me when you can.”

Minho doesn’t waste a second. He hurries to his car, slipping into the driver’s seat to get some privacy, and immediately dials your number. You pick up on the second ring, but before you can even say hello, he’s already starting in.

“Where have you been?” he says, his voice sharper than he intended. “I’ve been trying to reach you all night.”

There’s a pause on your end, then you reply, sounding a little sheepish. “Sorry, Minho… I went out with some friends last night, and I was exhausted, so I went straight to sleep when I got home. I didn’t think you’d be so worried.”

He exhales, some of the tension easing now that he’s finally hearing your voice. “You could’ve at least sent me a quick text. I don’t like waiting around, wondering if something happened.”

“I know, I’m really sorry.” You sound genuinely apologetic, but there’s a lightness in your tone as you add, “I assure you I’m totally fine.”

But even though he’s reassured, he can’t help the faint jealousy simmering beneath the surface. He hates that he can’t be with you for a normal night out, can’t enjoy the easy, carefree moments you have with others. Instead, he’s here, locked in this demanding schedule that keeps him away from you.

“What are you up to now?” you ask, breaking his thoughts.

Minho smirks, deciding to take advantage of the moment to get back at you, just a little. “Well, we’re on a break right now,” he says, his tone casual. “But I’ve got an interesting scene coming up later—a kiss scene, actually.”

There’s a pause, then you laugh softly, catching on to his little game. “Oh, I already looked him up,” you say, a hint of amusement in your voice. “And yeah, I can see why the fans think he's cute.”

For a second, Minho feels his own jealousy prickling again, but he plays along, leaning into the teasing. “You sound jealous,” he says, savoring the reversal.

You laugh, feigning an exaggerated sigh. “Well, maybe I am. It’s not every day you get to kiss someone as adorable as him. I hope you’re making the most of it.”

“I guess you’ll just have to imagine it,” he replies smoothly, though the truth is, he can already picture your playful glare. The thought makes him smile, and the frustration that had built up fades just a little.

At that moment, one of the crew members calls out to him, gesturing that it’s time to return to set. Minho sighs, reluctantly pulling himself back to reality. “I’ve got to go. They’re calling me back.”

“Good luck with the kiss scene,” you tease, your voice light and warm.

“Thanks,” he says, a hint of a smile still lingering. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Okay. Don’t enjoy the kiss too much, Minho.” You add with a sly smile that he can hear through the phone.

He chuckles, hanging up with a smile that lingers even as he steps out of the car. As he walks back to the set, he can still feel the warmth of your voice echoing in his mind, carrying him through the challenges of the day and making him feel, just for a moment, like he’s not as far from you as he really is.

-

Han’s heart races as he glances over the script again. Today’s scene isn’t just any scene—it’s a kissing scene. He knew it was coming, but somehow, seeing it in writing and knowing the cameras will be rolling any minute makes it feel ten times more intimidating.

Not only is this his first time acting in a drama, but it’ll also be his first time kissing someone with an entire crew watching. His hands feel clammy, and he can’t quite calm the flutter of nerves in his stomach.

He paces a bit, hoping the movement will help him shake off the jitters, but it only makes him feel more visible, more self-conscious. The pressure mounts, and he’s starting to doubt if he can pull this off without looking completely out of place.

Just then, he hears a familiar voice, steady and calm. “Hey, you alright?”

Turning, Han finds Minho watching him, his expression unreadable but maybe… a little curious. Han realizes he must look as nervous as he feels. He laughs, trying to brush it off, but his voice sounds too high-pitched, even to his own ears. “Oh, yeah. Just… you know. First kissing scene and all.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, an amused smile playing at the corner of his lips. “First one ever?”

Han nods, scratching the back of his neck, feeling his cheeks start to burn. “Yeah. It’s just… not exactly something you get to practice with an audience.”

Minho considers him for a moment, then nods thoughtfully. “Alright. Do you want some tips?”

Han’s eyes widen, and he nods eagerly, grateful for the offer. “Yeah, definitely. I just don’t want to mess this up.”

“Alright,” Minho says, stepping close enough for Han to catch a faint hint of his vanilla tinted perfume, a subtle warmth that somehow makes the moment feel more intimate than he anticipated. “When you’re filming a kiss scene, it’s not just about the kiss itself. It’s about building the moment.”

Han nods, listening intently as Minho explains, his voice calm and steady. “First, you have to make eye contact—hold it, let the camera pick up on it. It’s about anticipation.”

Minho’s gaze holds his, unblinking, his eyes drawing Han in. Han swallows, trying not to look away, but there’s something intense in Minho’s stare that makes his heart skip a beat.

“Then, just before you lean in, close your eyes slowly.” Minho demonstrates, his eyelids lowering in a way that looks so natural, so effortless, that Han feels his breath catch. “You want it to look like you’re losing yourself in the moment, even if it’s just for the camera.”

Han tries to mimic it, closing his eyes as he’s been shown, and he hears a quiet chuckle from Minho. When he opens his eyes, Minho is watching him with a slight smile.

“Not bad. Just a little slower next time.” Minho’s tone is relaxed, and Han feels himself start to loosen up, reassured by his guidance.

Then, Minho moves closer, reaching up to show Han where to place his hands. His fingers lightly grip Han’s shoulders, then slide down, positioning Han’s hands at a comfortable height. Han’s pulse races as he tries to focus on Minho’s instructions rather than the way Minho’s hands linger on his arms, warm through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“For the camera, small details make a big difference,” Minho says, his voice soft. “When you put your hand here” —he places Han’s hand gently on his shoulder— “it should look natural, like you’re pulling the other person in. You don’t have to actually pull; just let it look like you could.”

Han nods, and they go through the motion slowly, Minho guiding him with subtle adjustments. When he’s finally in position, Minho lets out an approving hum.

“Good. Now, when you’re ready to lean in, you want to pause for a second, let the anticipation build. And when you’re close…” Minho’s voice trails off, and his gaze flickers to Han’s lips, just for a heartbeat, before he looks back into Han’s eyes. “That’s when you close the distance.”

Han’s heart is racing by now, every word and movement searing itself into his memory. They practice the approach a couple more times, each time stopping just before their faces are close enough to kiss. Each time, Han tries to stay calm, to focus on the details of what Minho is teaching him, but his heartbeat keeps betraying him. He’s intensely aware of every movement, every breath, every inch between them.

“Alright, now put it all together,” Minho says, stepping back a bit, though his eyes stay on Han with an encouraging nod. “Eye contact, pause, and then move in slowly.”

Han tries, replaying Minho’s instructions in his mind. His gaze meets Minho’s, and he holds it just a little longer, letting himself linger in the moment as Minho had shown him. Slowly, he leans in, placing his hand on Minho’s shoulder and letting his eyes close just before he’s close enough to kiss.

When he pulls back, Minho gives a small nod, a faint smile of approval on his face. “See? You’ve got it.”

Han exhales, finally allowing himself to relax, though he still feels a strange flutter in his chest. “Thanks, Minho. I... really appreciate it.”

“Just remember what we went over,” Minho says, stepping back as he glances over at the crew setting up for the scene. “When we film, just focus on the details, and it’ll come across naturally.”

As Minho turns to join the others, Han is left standing there, still feeling the lingering warmth of Minho’s touch, his mind replaying every movement, every glance they shared. He tells himself it’s just respect for Minho’s talent, admiration for his guidance. Yet deep down, he’s not entirely sure if that’s all it is.

-

Minho settles into place, a breath away from Han’s lips, his heart steady as he prepares to make the kiss scene look effortless. He’s honed his craft over the years, and this should be no different—just another kiss for the camera, a routine step in building their characters’ chemistry.

But as he leans in, he can’t help but recall your teasing words, the way you’d feigned jealousy about him getting to kiss Han. The memory slips through his mind at exactly the wrong moment, and his composure shatters. He lets out a small laugh, quickly turning his head to cover it up. The crew and director glance his way, and Minho raises a hand in apology.

“Sorry, that was on me,” he says, trying to stifle the smile tugging at his lips.

Han watches him, visibly confused, but thankfully, the director doesn’t dwell on the moment. Instead, he calls for another take, and everyone gets ready to go again. As they reset, Minho notices Han still looking at him, a faint crease of curiosity in his brow.

“What was that?” Han whispers, leaning closer. “You don’t usually break character.”

Minho just shrugs, an amused smile lingering on his face. “Nothing. Just…something came to mind.” He doesn’t elaborate, and Han seems to sense there’s more to it but lets it go as they prepare for another take.

As the camera rolls, Minho resets his focus, this time with a playful plan forming in the back of his mind. A way to tease you a little, to get back at you for that playful jealousy you’d shown. He moves in, letting his eyes drift down to Han’s lips just before he closes the distance, leaning in a little closer than he has to, lingering just long enough for the gesture to feel personal. His hand finds its place on Han’s shoulder, and he holds it there with a slight squeeze, making the moment feel as real as possible.

He senses Han stiffen slightly, taken aback by the closeness, but Han doesn’t falter. They hold the moment just long enough for the director to call “cut,” signaling the end of the scene. Minho pulls back, noting the faint blush coloring Han’s cheeks, and gives a small, apologetic smile.

“Sorry if that was... more intense than you expected,” Minho says quietly, keeping his tone light. “Didn’t mean to catch you off guard.”

Han clears his throat, the blush still there as he offers a quick shake of his head. “No, no, it’s fine. I mean...the director was okay with it, so…” He trails off, looking away for a moment before adding, “You did what felt natural.”

Minho gives a nod, inwardly satisfied as he thinks about how you’d react if you’d seen that take. It’s a harmless bit of fun on his end, but he knows he’ll enjoy teasing you about it later, letting you imagine just how “convincing” he made the scene. And as they move on to the next part of the filming schedule, he can’t resist a quick, sly grin, already thinking about what he’ll tell you the next time he calls.

-

Han’s fingers twitch as he waits behind the stage, heart pounding in his chest. The noise of the crowd is muffled by the curtain, but he can still feel the energy thrumming through the air, making his nerves spike. This is his first press conference, his first time promoting a drama as one of the leads, and the weight of it all presses down on him. He’s used to being in front of a crowd, but somehow, this feels different—more personal, more vulnerable.

He closes his eyes for a second, trying to calm his breathing, but the anticipation only makes his anxiety grow.

“Hey.”

Han’s eyes snap open, and he finds Minho standing beside him, studying him with a slight, knowing smile. There’s a calmness in Minho’s gaze that immediately makes Han feel a little more grounded.

“You good?” Minho asks, his tone gentle, but with a trace of amusement.

“Yeah, yeah, just… you know, a bit nervous,” Han admits, rubbing the back of his neck.

Minho chuckles softly. “That’s natural. First press conference for your first drama—it’s a big deal. But hey, you’ll be fine.”

Han nods, trying to absorb the reassurance, but Minho seems to notice the lingering tension in his posture.

“Look, when you go out there, just remember this: you’ve worked hard for this, and you belong here,” Minho says, his voice low and steady. “All you have to do is be yourself. And if things feel overwhelming, just look my way. We’re in this together.”

The words settle over Han like a warm blanket, easing his nerves bit by bit. He takes a deep breath, finding comfort in the simple yet genuine support Minho offers.

“Thanks,” Han says softly, feeling a grateful smile tug at his lips.

Minho gives him a nod, a small smile of encouragement lingering on his face. “Let’s go out there and show them what we’ve got, yeah?”

With Minho’s steadying presence by his side, Han steps onto the stage, feeling a renewed sense of confidence. As the questions begin, he finds himself feeling more relaxed, anchoring himself with the occasional glance at Minho, just as he’d promised. And when the interviewer eventually turns to Minho with a question about him, Han listens, his nerves now replaced with a curious anticipation.

“Minho, as a seasoned actor, what’s it been like working with Han Jisung, given that this is his first major acting role?”

Han braces himself, expecting something polite but brief. But Minho’s expression softens as he pauses, clearly choosing his words carefully.

“To be honest, I wasn’t sure what to expect at first,” Minho begins, his voice steady and sincere. “But Han Jisung… he’s surprised me. His passion for acting and his willingness to throw himself into the role has been inspiring, even to me. He doesn’t hold back, and he’s constantly open to learning and improving. For a newcomer, he brings a depth and commitment that not everyone has, and I think audiences will be able to see that right away.”

Han’s cheeks flush as Minho continues, his words unexpectedly heartfelt. Minho looks over at him, offering a small, encouraging smile.

“Han's energy on set has honestly made this experience refreshing,” he adds. “He’s kept things fun and alive, which has been a huge part of why our scenes have felt so natural.”

Han’s heart swells, his initial nerves completely forgotten as he absorbs Minho’s words. This is more than he ever expected, more than he thought he deserved. Hearing Minho acknowledge his efforts, and in such a public way, strikes a chord he hadn’t anticipated. He tries to focus on the rest of the press conference, but Minho’s words echo in his mind, leaving him feeling both honored and somehow vulnerable.

When the event finally wraps up, Han lingers, watching Minho as he chats with the staff. He knows now, without a doubt, that his admiration has grown into something more. And he wonders how much longer he’ll be able to keep it hidden.

-

Han has lost count of the days since filming began, but one thing has become impossible to ignore: the way his admiration for Minho has shifted, morphing into something deeper than respect. It’s a constant pull at his thoughts, this warmth in his chest that surfaces every time Minho offers him guidance, shares a laugh, or even gives a simple nod of approval after a scene. At first, Han tried to brush it off, telling himself it was just awe for Minho’s talent and dedication. But now he knows better. He likes Minho—more than he should, more than he ever intended.

But he keeps it to himself, swallowing back his feelings each time they surface. He doesn’t want to risk their work, their growing camaraderie, over a confession he’s not even sure Minho would welcome. So, he lets it simmer beneath the surface, content with the moments they share on set.

Today, though, his heart is beating a little faster than usual. Tonight, the first episode of their drama will air. The whole cast and crew are buzzing with excitement, anticipation hanging in the air as they wrap up filming for the day. Han watches as everyone exchanges plans for the evening, talking about where they’ll be watching the show, who they’ll be watching it with. He hears a few of the cast members mention a get-together to watch it as a group, and a thought strikes him, simple yet daring.

When the opportunity arises, Han gathers his courage and approaches Minho. “Hey,” he begins, keeping his tone casual. “Some of us are planning to watch the first episode together tonight. I was wondering… if you wanted to join?”

For a moment, Han feels a flicker of hope as Minho looks at him, appearing to consider the offer. But then Minho’s expression softens, and he gives a polite smile, one that Han can already sense holds an apology.

“I appreciate the invite,” Minho says gently, “but I’m going to have to pass. I’ve already got plans.”

Han tries not to let the disappointment show on his face. He nods, forcing a small smile of understanding. “Ah, that’s cool. No problem at all.”

Minho’s eyes hold a kindness that almost makes the refusal sting less, but only almost. “Enjoy it, though,” Minho adds, his voice genuine. “And don’t stress too much. I know you did great.”

Han swallows back the lingering disappointment and musters a grin, forcing a lighthearted laugh. “Thanks, hyung. I’ll try not to cringe too hard.”

Minho laughs softly and gives him a supportive pat on the shoulder before heading off, leaving Han watching his retreating figure. The ache of disappointment settles in his chest as he tries to shake it off. He tells himself it was just a small ask, nothing major, and that Minho’s absence doesn’t mean anything. But he can’t help but feel a lingering sadness, wishing—just for a moment—that he could be close enough to Minho for things to be different.

-

You make your way through the back entrance of Minho’s apartment building, slipping in with a comfortable familiarity that comes from many late-night visits. Inside the elevator, you scan the keycard he gave you, a small but meaningful token of trust. As the doors close and you begin your ascent, anticipation builds. It’s been a few days since you last saw him, and tonight feels special, knowing you’ll finally get to see the drama he’s been working so hard on.

The elevator brings you directly to his floor, and with a quiet thrill, you step into his apartment. The place is dimly lit, warm and quiet. It’s clear Minho isn’t home yet, just as you’d expected. Setting the bags of food on the counter, you begin unpacking, arranging the dishes you brought on his plates. As you’re finishing up, placing the food neatly on the dining table, you hear the faint sound of the door opening.

A smile spreads across your face, and you walk quickly toward the foyer, meeting him just as he steps in.

“Hey, stranger,” he says, his face lighting up the moment he sees you. Before he can say more, you’re in his arms, hugging him tightly. He holds you close, pressing a warm kiss to your forehead, and then another, softer one on your lips. For a moment, the rest of the world disappears, leaving just the two of you in the quiet of his apartment.

You smile at him when he pulls away and take his hand, “Hope you're hungry cause I brought some food.”

“Famished, actually,” he says as he follows you to the kitchen.

Settling into the cozy embrace of the sofa after dinner, you snuggle up next to Minho, draping a blanket over your laps as the drama’s opening credits begin to roll. Minho’s arm rests around you, his hand tracing gentle patterns on your shoulder, though his eyes are fixed on the screen, already fully immersed.

As he appears in the first scene, you can’t help but smirk a little. He’s clearly playing up the brooding lead, leaning into every intense look and dramatic pause.

“Wow, look at you, Mr. Intense,” you tease, nudging him gently. “Are you sure you’re not laying it on a bit thick?”

Minho sighs in mock exasperation, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “It’s called method acting. Ever heard of it?”

“Oh, definitely,” you say, trying to hold back your laughter. “You’re giving ‘mysterious and misunderstood’ a whole new level. That little eyebrow furrow—does that come naturally, or did you have to practice in the mirror?”

He chuckles, pulling you closer. “I swear, you’re the worst critic I’ve ever met. You know I actually have to think about these things, right?”

As the episode progresses, you continue your playful commentary. When he delivers a particularly intense line, voice low and dramatic, you can’t resist muttering, “Ooh, that voice drop… it’s like you’re trying to win an award for ‘Most Serious Actor Ever.’”

Minho groans, but there’s a soft glint in his eye that shows he’s not entirely displeased. “What do you know? This is serious acting.”

You shake your head, laughing softly. “Of course it is. I’m sure your fans are swooning over every word.”

But as the scene shifts to one where his character opens up about a vulnerable moment, your smile softens. You watch as he delivers his lines with surprising tenderness, the usual edge in his voice melting into something raw and real. For a moment, you’re caught off guard, watching as he brings a sense of depth to his role that you hadn’t fully expected.

Noticing your silence, he glances over at you, eyebrow raised. “See?” he says, a little smugly. “Still think I’m overdoing it?”

You roll your eyes but lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Maybe I spoke too soon. You’re actually pretty convincing.”

A triumphant grin spreads across his face. “Knew you’d come around.”

And then, Han’s character appears on the screen. You watch him closely, intrigued by the dynamic he’s creating with Minho. He’s got an earnest quality that’s surprisingly convincing, even charming.

“You know, he’s actually pretty good,” you comment, glancing at Minho. “Not as bad as you said he’d be.”

Minho sighs, leaning his head back against the couch. “Okay, maybe I was a bit harsh,” he admits, sounding a little reluctant. “I wasn’t thrilled about his casting at first. I didn’t think he’d be able to keep up. But I have to admit, he’s… he’s got something.”

You nod, watching his face as he speaks. There’s a thoughtful look in his eyes as he stares at the screen, and you sense that his respect for Han has grown, even if he’s too stubborn to say it outright.

“It’s nice that you two get along now,” you say softly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

As the first episode wraps up, the screen fades to black, and you let out a satisfied sigh, glancing over at Minho. He’s watching your reaction carefully, clearly curious about your final thoughts.

“Well,” you say, drawing out the moment just to tease him, “I have to admit… you and Han actually have pretty great chemistry on screen.”

He raises an eyebrow, his lips curving into a smirk. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” you continue, feigning a dramatic sigh. “Almost enough to make me a little jealous.”

Minho chuckles, shifting closer and wrapping his arms around you. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs, leaning in until his face is inches from yours. “It’s all just acting, remember?”

“Uh-huh,” you reply, jokingly doubting his assurance with an eye roll.

“You know who has the best chemistry?” he asks with mock seriousness, he pats his lap, gesturing you to sit on it.

Without hesitating, you obey his words and does what he asked, sitting on his lap with your back against his chest and he begins rubbing the side of your thigh.

“Who?” You ask as you rest your head onto his shoulder.

"You and me," He answers without a beat then pulls you into a kiss, his playful tone fading into something softer, more genuine.

As you relax into his embrace, you feel the ease and warmth that only he can bring, and for now, any lingering worries fade away as he captures your mouth in a kiss again, and it’s so gentle you could cry.

“Dress off. Come on now.” Minho’s voice is rough and cajoling.

You don't know what it is about him that always makes you always submit to his wishes even though nothing would happen if you didn't. Yet, you always do it. You tug the hem of your dress and slightly get up from his lap just so you can take it off over your head.

Minho immediately pulls you close and puts his veined arms around you, you don't want it less than that. His hand grabs your chin to turn your head his way and presses a kiss, his tongue touches yours.

“All I’ve been thinking about all day is all the ways we’ll fit together,” his lips graze yours as he speaks as he sinks his mouth on you again, hard.

You never know with Minho because next, he's giving your throat the softest bites imaginable. He then slides his fingers into yours and rests them together on your chest. Here, this moment is sweet, soft and gentle, and... Minho.

The two of you begin kissing again, and the friction of your ass against his crotch is spurring him into a slightly heavier rhythm. His mouth is wet, soft, delicious. The moment he stops, even to take a proper breath, you tug him back.

After an eternity, he tangles his hand in the strap on your shoulder. He runs it lasciviously through his fingers pulling it taut, releasing it with the faintest snap, and then does it again.

“I like this color on you,” he murmurs as he cups your breasts through your bra.

He crashes his lips on your open mouth, hot and intense, it goes on until he successfully takes off your bra. The second he breaks the kiss, you're gasping for air.

He continues to fondle your breasts, the friction between you and him blooming outward. He scoops your hair away and presses his mouth on the side of your neck. He slides under and weighs your bare breasts in his hands. Slowly, gently, his fingers pinch that earned him a gasp from you.

There's nothing you like more than seeing his hands on you but what's more arousing is how you're the only one naked. He slides one hand down your front and the scrape of his nails makes your skin break into goose bumps.

It doesn't take long until his hand slips between your legs, feeling your sex through the flimsy fabric, tracing that bundle of nerves that engorged the more he touches it.

The next thing you know, the underwear is off and lying on the side of the sofa. He lands his hand right where you need him and he licks at the sheen of sweat beginning to mist your neck, making you drop your head to the back.

His skillful fingers know how to please you and just the sight of his hand touching you between your thighs is enough to make you feel hot all over. When he begins pumping his fingers in and out of you, you hear a faraway sound that you realize is you, whimpering, begging noises. He takes no notice and shows no pity. He presses his perfect mouth on whatever section of skin he pleases.

“Minho, please,” you breathlessly plead with your hand flies to his forearm, it's unclear whether you're trying to stop him or gesture him to keep going.

“What is it, honey?” He casually asks with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Want you inside me,” you rasp with a brief, sweet kiss on his lips.

He endearingly brushes your head and kisses your lips, “You can have it, honey.”

Minho watches as you work open his jeans and pull the zipper down, and the second his erection sprang free, you wrapped your hand around it, stroking it. You don’t want to waste any more time waiting so you position yourself and slowly easing yourself down.

“Oh...” you moan the moment you fully take him and rest your back on his chest.

The slightest of movement and you can feel his whole length inside you, hot and hard, you lowly whimpering as Minho continues, one hand squeezing on your breast and the other is rubbing on your clit. As the knot inside you tightens, your body instinctively responds by slowly rolling your hips.

“That’s cute,” Minho murmurs as his mouth lingers close to your ear.

Half listening to his word, you turn your head his way and look at him. “Huh?”

He presses a haste kiss on your neck and answers, “I haven't moved yet you're already clenching around me.”

You put your arm around his neck and tangle your hand in his hair. “And maybe you should start doing your part too.” you say with a pout.

Minho smirks and then he tightens his hold around you, “You'd better hold on then cause I'm not going to hold back.” he warns you a second before planting a hard kiss on your lips.

One thing about Minho is that he’s staying true to his words, he's bucking his hips from under you, fast and without any intentions to stop. His arms tightly wrapped around you, keeping you steady as you bounce on his lap for every time he thrusts into you.

Breathless, incoherent noises are spilling out of your parted mouth as you cling onto the last shred of sanity. And when you think you can't take it anymore, Minho keeps pushing through until you fall apart around him.

He doesn't even give you time to gather your senses as he puts all of your hair away and kisses your lips. “You good?” he casually asks like he didn't just fuck your brains out a while ago.

“I'm dead,” you breathlessly sigh, completely spent. “I'm a ghost.”

Minho lets out a low chuckle in amusement. “I didn’t know I was lethal.”

“Oh, trust me. You are,” you say, bringing his head close to plant a soft kiss on his lips.

Minho puts his arms around you as you curl into him. The way he holds you right now is different, he holds you as if he's keeping a fragile object on his lap. He trails the length of your arms and then folds them together on your stomach. Together, you stay like that, simply existing in this shared world that only belongs to you and Minho.

-

The morning after the drama’s first episode airs, Han sits with his phone in hand, scrolling through endless comments and reviews. His heart lifts slightly at the sight of fans praising his chemistry with Minho; they seem excited about the pairing, and some are already declaring themselves fans of their on-screen relationship.

But the more he scrolls, the more his excitement fades. Articles from entertainment sites flood his feed, critiquing his lack of experience, questioning if he’s ready for the screen at all. A few words sting deeply: "too green," "stiff," "not quite convincing."

He exhales heavily, running a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the disappointment. But as he glances up, he catches Minho watching him from across the room, brows knitted with concern.

“Reading comments?” Minho asks, his voice gentle but knowing.

Han hesitates, but he nods, letting out a sigh. “Fans seem to like it… but the critics? Not so much. They’re saying I’m not ready for this.”

Minho moves to sit beside him, leaning back with a casual calm that Han wishes he could imitate. “Critics are always like that,” he says. “They can be harsh, especially with new actors.”

Han swallows, looking down. “Yeah, but... maybe they’re right. I thought I was getting the hang of it, but maybe I’m just not cut out for this.”

Minho gives him a long look, then shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s true at all. You’ve got something that can’t be taught—genuine passion. I can see it, and that’s not something every actor has.”

Han glances at him, a small glimmer of hope returning to his eyes. “You really think so?”

“Yeah,” Minho nods. “Look, we’re a team here. You’re not alone in this. If there’s something you’re struggling with, tell me. I’ll help you.”

A warmth spreads through Han’s chest, the comfort of Minho’s words easing the ache from the criticism. “I appreciate it, really,” he says softly.

Minho gives his shoulder a reassuring pat. “Just remember, it’s early days. If we keep working together and building on this chemistry we have, the audience is going to feel it too. It’s not about perfection; it’s about being present, letting yourself believe in the character.”

Han nods, taking in each word. “I’ll do my best. Thanks, Minho.”

Minho smiles, a slight glint of pride in his gaze. “Good. Now stop overthinking, okay? You’re doing great.”

Han laughs a little, the weight on his shoulders feeling lighter. He’s not sure how he’ll improve overnight, but with Minho’s support, maybe this acting thing doesn’t seem so impossible after all.

As he glances over at Minho, still sitting close and offering a steady, reassuring presence, Han feels a warmth that has nothing to do with his career. It’s more than gratitude, more than admiration. This kindness, this unwavering belief in him—Minho didn’t have to do any of it. And yet, here he is, making Han feel like he’s more than just an idol trying to act, like he’s genuinely capable of this.

In that moment, Han knows he can’t keep denying what he feels any longer. It’s not just respect or admiration. It’s something deeper, something he can’t easily brush aside. As much as he wants to hide it, to keep their friendship untainted by anything more, he realizes he can’t. Not when Minho is the one who makes him feel this way—seen, encouraged, understood. And, with a sinking heart, Han knows that those feelings aren’t going away anytime soon.

-

Han sighs as he rubs his temples, trying to ease the tension that's been building since the morning. He can’t seem to shake the restless feeling gnawing at him ever since he read those online critiques. No matter how many times he tells himself to let it go—just as Minho advised—the words stick like thorns. As filming wraps up for the day, Han is lost in his own thoughts, trudging toward the parking lot, when he hears footsteps approaching.

“Hey, you’re not leaving yet, are you?” Minho’s voice breaks through Han’s clouded mind.

Han looks up, surprised to see Minho standing there with a casual smile. “Uh, yeah, I was heading out,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant.

Minho raises a brow, eyeing him thoughtfully. “Come with me, then. I know a place—quiet, private. Good for clearing your head.”

The invitation is sudden, and Han blinks, caught off guard. But Minho is already turning, expecting Han to follow. A slight thrill rushes through Han as he nods, curiosity piqued. He falls into step behind Minho, trailing him to a discreet, cozy-looking cafe perched on a hill with a stunning city view.

The lights are dim, casting a soft, golden glow, and the atmosphere is intimate. Han notices immediately that the place is empty, giving them complete privacy.

“It’s nice here, right?” Minho says, glancing around. “A friend of mine owns the place. I rent it out sometimes, just to get some space.”

Han nods, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nervousness. Just the two of them, alone, in a setting so... cozy. He can’t help but feel the weight of his own feelings pressing down, undeniable. His gaze lingers on Minho, wondering if he senses the energy between them, or if—on some level—he already knows how Han feels.

His heart races, and, feeling bold, he almost asks—asks if Minho knows, if he’s aware of the effect he has on him. But before Han can get a single word out, he hears footsteps. He turns, just in time to see you walking toward them with a bright smile, your eyes lighting up at the sight of Minho.

“Hey,” you greet, and Minho immediately rises to meet you, pulling you into a warm hug and placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Oh, you’re here!” Minho says, his voice softer, affectionate. He turns to Han, still holding your hand. “Han, this is my girlfriend.”

Han feels something in his chest tighten. His smile falters for just a second, but he quickly pulls it back together, offering his hand to you as he forces out a polite, “Hi, nice to meet you.”

You take his hand with a warm smile. “Nice to meet you too, Han! Minho’s told me a lot about working with you.”

Han manages a nod, though his throat feels tight. He wants to say something—anything—but the ache in his heart makes the words stick. The sight of Minho with someone else, with you, sends a hollow feeling through him. He sits there, struggling to maintain his smile, all the while painfully aware that the private moment he thought he’d been sharing with Minho was never just his alone.

The table is set, plates of food and drinks laid out perfectly in front of him. But Han can’t bring himself to touch a single bite. His appetite vanished the moment you walked in, and now every glance at the couple across from him—at you and Minho—is like a quiet, twisting ache in his stomach. He feels faint, like his insides are tangled with something heavy and painful. He knows it's not hunger or exhaustion; it’s something deeper, a pang lodged firmly in his heart.

Forcing a smile, he tries to keep the mood light. He clears his throat and asks, “So… how did you two meet?”

You exchange a warm look with Minho, and he squeezes your hand gently before you answer. “We met at an event at the gallery where I work. I’m a curator, so I was helping with the art exhibition. Minho came as a guest. We didn’t talk much that night, but he found a way to reach out after.”

You chuckle softly, glancing at Minho with an affection that’s obvious. “And the rest, well… it just happened naturally.”

Minho nods, adding, “But we decided to keep it private, for now. I wanted to keep you out of the public eye, spare you the complications.”

There’s a softness in his voice as he speaks to you, a gentleness that makes Han’s heart clench. He can see it—Minho’s care for you, how serious he is about this relationship. The easy comfort you share with him is everything Han wants but can’t have.

A bitter taste fills his mouth, jealousy settling in a solid knot in his chest. He tries to hide it, but he feels every bit of his resentment boiling beneath the surface. He hates it—the way you and Minho fit so perfectly, the way you both look so natural together.

“So, Han,” you ask, turning to him with a friendly smile, “have you been enjoying the drama so far? You’re really good, you know.

“Thank you,” he simply responds with a courteous smile.

“And you're really cute in person, I can’t help but wonder... is there someone you’re secretly seeing too?”

Han swallows, feeling his throat tighten. He forces a small laugh, glancing away. “No, no one. I’m… just focused on work right now.”

He hates that he can’t admit the truth, hates that he’s here, across from you, pretending like everything is fine when all he wants is the person sitting right next to you.

You nod, looking genuinely kind, and somehow that only makes it worse. Han hates how nice you are, how you’re trying to connect with him. He hates how you and Minho look so in sync, how he can feel his heart tearing just from watching the way Minho looks at you.

Most of all, he hates that he can’t just shut off his own feelings. Sitting across from you both, he feels as if he’s being reminded of something he can never have, a painful dream that he knows he needs to give up on, but that still clings to his heart no matter how hard he tries to shake it off.

-

Minho watches Han carefully, noticing how his usual lighthearted energy seems to have dimmed. As they film take after take, Han's responses lack the spark that usually flows so effortlessly between them. The director's frustration mounts with each retake, his voice tight as he finally calls for a break, clearly exasperated. Minho feels the tension, both on and off set, but his mind zeroes in on Han, who has been uncharacteristically reserved all day.

Taking a deep breath, Minho strides over to Han, watching the younger man stare blankly off to the side, clearly lost in thought.

“Hey,” Minho starts, voice low but firm. “Is everything okay?”

Han shrugs, barely glancing his way. “I’m fine,” he mumbles, but Minho can tell he’s anything but. Han’s usual enthusiasm is missing, leaving an emptiness that’s throwing off their whole rhythm.

Minho presses, not willing to let it slide. “Look, we’re here to work, and the scenes are getting held up because of this...whatever it is.”

He’s careful with his words, knowing that Han is struggling but still needing to emphasize the stakes. “If you’re distracted, if something’s going on, just tell me. We have to get this done right, or we’re going to keep everyone here longer than necessary.”

Han sighs, brushing him off again, though Minho can see a flicker of guilt in his eyes. Minho softens his tone, sensing he may have come on too strong. “I’m only saying this because I want us to do well—and I can help, if you’d let me.”

There’s a moment of silence before Han nods, glancing away to mask whatever emotion is flashing through his expression. “Alright. Maybe we can practice the scene together.”

They sit down, scripts in hand, and Minho begins walking him through the lines. But as they work through each moment, he can't shake the feeling that Han is holding something back, a wall just behind his eyes that wasn’t there before. He wonders if something personal is weighing on him, though he knows better than to pry.

-

Han's heart races as he prepares for today’s scene, a new layer of anticipation weaving through his nerves.

It’s another kissing scene—something he used to dread, but this time, there’s a different kind of excitement, a yearning that feels both thrilling and bittersweet. He doesn’t have to force himself to seem close to Minho; the longing that he’s held back for so long is simmering just beneath the surface, ready to seep into the scene. For once, he allows himself to embrace it, just a little.

They run through a quick rehearsal, and Han tries to focus, but every subtle brush of their hands and each lingering gaze threatens to undo him. As they step into position for the actual take, he forces himself to take a breath and hold steady.

The director calls “Action!” and, with it, Han leans into the moment fully, letting every hidden feeling flow from him as they close the distance between them.

When their lips meet, Han pours every unspoken word, every ache, into the kiss. It’s more than just acting now—it’s a fragile connection that feels achingly real to him, even if only for this stolen moment. He lets himself feel it all, knowing this might be the closest he’ll ever get to showing Minho how deeply he cares. His hand brushes Minho’s cheek as they linger just a second longer, not wanting to let go.

Finally, the director’s “Cut!” jolts them back to reality. They pull away slowly, and as Han opens his eyes, he sees Minho’s expression shifting, as if caught in an unsaid question.

For a heartbeat, he thinks that maybe Minho sensed it—that somehow, in that kiss, his true feelings slipped through. But then Minho’s face relaxes, a warm smile spreading across his lips.

“You’re really getting the hang of these kissing scenes,” Minho says with a casual laugh, a glimmer of pride in his eyes.

Han’s stomach twists with disappointment, the remnants of that brief connection slipping through his fingers.

As Minho turns and walks off set, Han watches him go, knowing that his feelings remain hidden, unreturned. He wants to believe Minho felt even a fraction of what he did—but as reality settles around him, he knows it was only ever acting for Minho.

-

After filming wraps up, Minho lingers on set, barely able to shake the scene that’s been replaying in his mind. The kiss with Han felt different somehow—charged with an energy that was hard to pinpoint. He replays it in his head, wondering if maybe Han poured a little more into it, making it all the more convincing. Maybe he was just that good at acting, Minho tries to reason, but the thought keeps tugging at him, unresolved and pressing.

His phone chimes, breaking him from his thoughts, and his heart lifts when he sees your name light up the screen.

Opening the message, he’s met with a picture that instantly brings a smile to his face—a hint of mischief and a lot of allure, just like you. You tease him in the caption, making it obvious that you want to tantalize him this nude picture of you.

With a grin, he types back, playfully: “Not enough to cure it, you’re going to need to send more.”

And right on cue, you do, sending him another that’s even more provoking, arousing even.

“What you've been missing when you're away.” You write in a follow-up text.

“Maybe you should come to me instead.” He writes bacm but even in his teasing, there’s an underlying wish that you were really here with him, grounding him.

As he looks at your messages, Minho feels a deep warmth. Beyond attraction, beyond companionship, there’s a completeness in his life with you—a sense that he has everything he needs. And maybe, that’s what he needs to focus on, even amid his rising fame and unexpected connections on set. You’re more than enough; you’re what matters most to him, reminding him of who he is and what truly grounds him.

-

The day begins with a hint of anticipation buzzing in Han's chest, something he can't fully ignore. After yesterday’s kiss scene, he feels oddly lighter, but it hasn’t lessened his feelings for Minho—if anything, it’s intensified them. He worries that this pull he feels toward Minho will linger far longer than he’s ready to admit.

His first scene of the day is an intense one, an emotional scene he’s been rehearsing tirelessly. Though he knows Minho isn’t in the scene, a wave of surprise rushes over him when he sees Minho watching from a distance, blending in with the crew lined up behind the camera. A tiny flicker of nervousness unsettles him, feeling as though he’s being carefully assessed by Minho, even if it’s just him being there. The thought of wanting to impress Minho nudges at him, urging him to pour his heart into this take.

As the camera rolls, Han steps fully into his character, letting each line carry the weight of the scene’s emotions. He loses himself in it, forgetting even the people watching until, finally, he hears the director call, “Cut!” He lets out a breath, a sense of release, noticing his co-star’s encouraging smile and the director’s approving nod. But just as he looks for Minho, he sees him disappear behind a wave of moving crew members, leaving Han feeling strangely empty.

Later that day, after Han’s costume change, Minho finds him in a quiet moment. Han’s heart jumps as he notices the way Minho looks at him—a soft smile lighting up his face, more genuine than anything he’s seen from him before. That one look sends a rush through him, and when Minho speaks, his words only deepen the effect.

“That was a really good scene, Jisung,” Minho says with a warmth that Han can’t help but soak up. “You did great.”

The praise hits Han hard, and he feels both flattered and resentful of the ache it leaves. This approval, this smile—it's exactly what he wants, yet he knows how dangerous it is to hold on to it. Minho’s encouragement fills him with a quiet joy but also makes him painfully aware of his own unresolved feelings. Han wrestles between wanting to hold onto these feelings or forcing himself to let them go, but the choice only feels harder with every small moment like this.

-

As you sit on the couch, phone in hand, you glance once more at your screen. Still no reply from Minho. You’d sent him a couple of texts earlier, just checking in, but the lack of response now is stretching into hours. You tell yourself he’s probably caught up in filming—it wouldn’t be the first time—but still, you can’t help wondering what he’s up to.

Tonight is the broadcast of the new episode of his drama, and you’ve set up everything to watch it: dimmed lights, a cozy blanket, and your favorite snacks lined up on the coffee table. Just as you settle into the sofa, there’s a knock at the door. You weren’t expecting anyone; Minho usually lets himself in, and you can’t think of anyone else who would come by unannounced.

When you open the door, there he is, pulling down his mask to reveal that familiar sly smirk. His eyes are bright with that hint of mischief you love, and before you can even say a word, he’s leaning against the door frame, clearly pleased with himself for the surprise.

“Missed me, stranger?” he says with a playful grin.

You barely wait for him to step inside before you practically throw yourself into his arms, wrapping around him in a tight hug. Excitement bubbles over as you press a series of quick, affectionate kisses all over his face, earning a warm laugh from him.

“Missed you,” You whine as you hold his face in both hands.

Minho’s arms slide around your waist, pulling you close, and he murmurs against your hair, “I missed you too. That’s why I’m here.” He’s smiling as he says it, his tone light but his gaze soft, as if being here with you is exactly where he wants to be.

“You could’ve at least answered one of my texts!” you tease, poking his chest gently.

“That would’ve ruined the surprise,” he counters, his smile growing.

The two of you are cozied up on the sofa, his arm around your shoulders as you lean into his warmth, both fully engrossed in the episode playing out on screen. Every so often, you toss out a playful comment about Minho’s acting, teasing him for an overly dramatic look here, a “heroic” line delivery there. He chuckles along with you, sometimes leaning in to nudge your shoulder in faux protest.

Then, the intimate scene comes on, the one you knew would happen eventually but hadn’t quite prepared yourself to watch with him right next to you.

On screen, Minho and Han move closer, the scene building until the two share a slow, meaningful kiss. The room goes still, and for a moment, neither of you say anything, just watching the scene in silence.

As the kiss fades to the next shot, you exhale a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. You give Minho a sidelong glance, raising an eyebrow.

“You know,” you say with a grin, “you didn’t even kiss me like that. I’m starting to feel a little jealous here.”

He laughs, a bit of color coming to his cheeks, and he lifts his free hand, shrugging playfully. “What can I say? I’m just a great actor,” he jokes, clearly enjoying the teasing exchange.

But then, something shifts. He grows quiet, his gaze softening as he looks at you, his playful expression fading into something warmer, deeper. He reaches out, taking your hand in his and intertwining your fingers with a gentle squeeze.

“You know that I love you, right?” He asks out of the blue.

“All of a sudden?” You ask back in utter confusion.

“I mean it. I love you so much.” He murmurs, his voice lower than a whisper.

The sincerity in his tone catches you off guard, and for a moment, all you can do is look at him, feeling the depth of his words sink in. It’s not often that Minho expresses his feelings so openly, and hearing him say it like this—it’s almost overwhelming.

You give his hand a squeeze, your heart racing. “I love you too,” you say, your own voice soft with emotion and lean in to plant a heartfelt kiss on his lips.

And as you settle back against him, you feel a sense of warmth and reassurance, a quiet understanding that nothing could come between you, not even a screen full of on-screen kisses.

-

As he waits to be called to set, Han steels himself, trying to bury the emotion stirring inside him. But he can’t shake the thought that his heart might betray him when it matters most.

The buzz of excitement and nerves in Han’s chest grows stronger with each step he takes toward the set. He’s been preparing for this scene, both mentally and emotionally, and he knows how important it is to the storyline, but there's more to it—this is the scene where Minho’s character will finally confess his feelings.

Han’s heart pounds harder just thinking about it, knowing the lines that will be said, the emotions that will pour out between them, even if it's all scripted.

He spots Minho on set, dressed sharply, looking even more stunning under the warm, intimate lighting. The setting feels romantic, with subtle touches arranged to evoke tenderness, and everything about it draws Han deeper into the atmosphere.

He takes a slow breath, trying to calm his nerves, but his hands still feel clammy, his stomach flipping at the thought of what they’re about to portray. He reminds himself it’s just acting, but when it comes to Minho, it feels like anything but.

When the director finally calls action, Han barely has a chance to prepare himself before Minho starts speaking, his voice low and sincere. The words Minho’s character says are filled with yearning, with raw honesty, and as Han listens, he finds himself lost in them, his heart aching as if they’re directed at him.

Without thinking, his body responds instinctively, as if it’s moving on its own accord. He reaches for Minho, stepping closer, and in the quiet pause between lines, he leans in. The kiss isn’t in the script, but it feels right, a raw improvisation that spills over the line between their characters and themselves.

For a moment, he forgets the cameras, the crew, and everything else—just the warmth of Minho’s presence, the closeness, the sense of something deeper.

In that split second, Han lets his own feelings slip, letting Minho feel what he’s held back all this time. It’s terrifying, yet exhilarating, and he can feel his heart racing as he wonders if Minho will notice, if somehow he’ll sense the truth beneath the surface.

As the director calls cut, Han steps back, trying to steady his breathing and his emotions. The kiss lingers in his mind, an echo of feelings he knows he shouldn’t have let surface, and he’s torn between regret and the quiet thrill of that moment with Minho. It felt real—too real—and he can only hope no one else noticed the depth of what he let slip.

But as he glances toward the crew lined up behind the camera, his gaze lands on you. You’re standing there, just out of the frame but close enough that it’s clear you’ve been watching.

Han’s heart skips, panic rising as he catches a look on your face that makes his stomach turn. There’s something in your expression, a subtle knowing, a hint of suspicion, as if you saw more in that scene than the scripted performance. It’s a look that seems to cut through him, one that makes him feel as though he’s been caught, exposed.

Han’s heart beats faster, his eyes quickly averting, but the feeling lingers, heavy and suffocating. In that single glance, he fears you’ve seen everything he’s been trying so hard to hide.

-

Disguised as Minho’s assistant, you make your way through the bustling studio complex, heart fluttering with excitement at the thought of surprising him. His manager is in on it, guiding you through the maze of set pieces and equipment with a casual nod, helping you blend in as just another member of the crew. You can hardly wait to see Minho in action, to watch him shine in the role he’s been so invested in.

When you finally arrive at the set, it’s just as he and Han are about to start filming. Quietly, you settle yourself among the crew, standing beside Minho’s manager as everyone prepares to watch the scene. Your eyes find Minho instantly, and you feel a swell of pride watching him work, completely in his element.

As the director calls for action, you’re immediately drawn into the scene. Minho and Han stand together, their faces a mixture of vulnerability and intensity. Minho delivers his lines with that familiar, effortless passion, but there’s something more, something unspoken in the way he looks at Han.

The air between them crackles with emotion, a depth of connection that feels almost palpable. Han responds with equal intensity, his gaze fixed on Minho, raw and completely believable.

Watching them, an unexpected pang of jealousy cuts through you. You’ve seen Minho work with countless actors, watched him perform in intimate scenes before, but there’s something different here. Their chemistry is undeniable, powerful in a way that feels unsettlingly real. The way Minho looks at Han… you’ve seen that look before, but it was meant for you.

An uneasy feeling builds in your chest, making it difficult to stay there any longer. Suddenly, being in the midst of the crew, watching this connection unfold, feels suffocating. You don’t want to make a scene, but you need some space, somewhere to process what you’re feeling.

Without drawing attention to yourself, you quietly slip out of the studio and make your way to Minho’s car. Sitting alone, you take a few deep breaths, trying to shake the images of what you’ve just seen, to push away the unsettling thoughts.

But they linger, and for the first time, you feel a strange sense of distance, as if the Minho you’ve known might be drifting somewhere you can’t reach.

-

Minho still feels shaken from that last scene, his thoughts tangled between reality and the emotions that flared up so unexpectedly. He wasn’t sure if it was acting or something more; the way Han looked at him, the intensity of it, felt… different. He steals a glance at Han, hoping for some kind of clue or confirmation, but before he can say anything, his manager approaches, letting him know that you came to set to surprise him.

He barely manages a nod before making a quick exit to the parking lot. As he reaches the car and sees you there, he feels an instant rush of relief. But as he takes in your expression, he notices something—a subtle hesitation, a shadow he can’t quite read.

The surprise in your eyes catches him off guard, almost as if you hadn’t expected him to come out so soon, like you weren’t fully prepared to see him.

“Hey, stranger,” he greets you, a smile breaking through the confusion swirling in his mind.

He quickly closes the distance, taking your hand, pulling you close as he wraps you in a tight hug. He kisses your lips softly, grateful that you’re here, grounding him after the surreal scene he’d just finished.

“Thank you for coming to see me.”

You give him a gentle smile, though he senses a slight distraction in your eyes. “I watched that scene you did with Han,” you say, your tone warm but reserved. “You were… incredible. So was Han.”

Your compliment touches him, but there’s something in the way you say it that feels… off. Before he can put a finger on it, you take a bag from the backseat. “Figure you'd be hungry so I brought you food.”

Minho gladly takes it from because he's indeed famished, unknowingly has skipped on a meal. He delivers his gratitude with a quick peck on your lips. “You know me so well.”

“Minho, I...” you talk with an edge to your voice and Minho holds his breath as he waits for you to finish your sentence. “I don't think I can stay long.”

“That’s okay. I'm happy just to see you even for a bit.” Minho, knowing he’ll be filming well into the night, doesn’t press you to stay, though a small part of him wants to. He doesn’t want you waiting around all night in discomfort.

“Alright,” he says softly, releasing you but keeps his hand intertwined with yours. “Make sure to get home safe and thank you for the food.” He gives you a warm smile, savoring one last kiss before letting you go.

Just before you exit the car, he catches a faint hesitation in the way you return his kiss. It’s fleeting, barely noticeable, but something about it lingers as he watches you walk away. He brushes it off for now, telling himself it’s just a long day getting to him.

-

Han’s heart races as Minho approaches him with that bright smile, so full of energy, as if the last twelve hours of filming hadn’t taken a toll on him at all. Han has been trying to stick to a plan—finish each scene and make a quick exit, not giving his heart any more time to catch up to the feelings he’s been wrestling with. But seeing Minho like this, so openly pleased to be near him, has him feeling dizzy with hope and dread all at once.

When Minho pulls him aside, Han’s pulse quickens. He can’t tell if he’s nervous or just bracing himself, wondering why Minho would be so close, why he’s leaning in.

“It’s my girlfriend's birthday and I uh... we're doing a get-together tonight and she wants you to come,” Minho’s voice drops as he tells Han about it and his eyes are steadily scanning his surroundings just in case someone is eavesdropping.

“But it’s okay if you can't come,” Minho is quick to add that there’s no pressure, that Han is welcome to decline.

Han knows he should turn it down, excuse himself with work or exhaustion, anything to put some distance between him and this moment that feels far too tempting.

But the way Minho’s eyes look at him, with that open warmth, makes it so hard to walk away. A part of him longs to be with Minho just a little longer, even if he knows he shouldn’t.

“Alright,” he hears himself say, his voice soft. “I’ll come.”

-

Han hadn’t known what to expect when he agreed to come to your birthday celebration, but a small, intimate gathering of just the three of you was nowhere near what he’d imagined.

There’s a cake on the table, candles lit and flickering softly, casting a warm glow over the empty café. Han and Minho sing you a slightly off-key version of “Happy Birthday,” and when you blow out the candle, Minho leans in and presses a soft, lingering kiss on your lips, murmuring a quiet, “Happy birthday, love.”

The kiss is both beautiful and unbearable for Han. He forces a small smile, trying not to look too long at how perfect the two of you seem together, how he can’t help but wish he were the one beside Minho in that way.

When it’s his turn, he clears his throat and offers a sincere, “Happy birthday. I, uh… I didn’t bring a gift yet, but I’ll make sure Minho delivers one soon.”

“Thank you, Han,” you reply, giving him a warm smile. “You being here is more than enough.”

The three of you share the cake, and while you all laugh and chat, Minho’s phone rings, cutting the conversation short. He glances at the screen and sighs. “I should take this—it’ll just be a minute.” He stands up and heads outside, leaving you and Han alone in a silence that settles thick between you both.

Han shifts uncomfortably, trying to think of something to say. “I really am sorry I didn’t bring anything. I… I just didn’t know it’d be this, uh… personal.”

You smile, but there’s something different in it. “It’s okay, Han. Actually… can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

You look at him for a long moment, and then, out of nowhere, you ask, “Do you like Minho?”

Han blinks, taken aback but he knows better to opt for a safe answer. “Of course. I mean, who wouldn’t? He’s a great guy, and he’s an amazing actor.”

Your expression remains calm but your eyes locked on his, staring intensely. “You know what I mean, Han.”

He stares at you, his initial denial withering under the weight of your gaze. His chest tightens, and suddenly, he feels vulnerable, exposed. “I… I admire him, I really do. He’s just… easy to look up to.”

But you don’t let him off that easily. You look at him with quiet understanding, and he realizes you already know. His voice falters as he adds, “I… I didn’t mean for it to be this way. I’ve tried to make it go away, but…”

His voice trails off, and he watches you, waiting for anger, for judgment—something. But instead, you surprise him.

“Then tell him,” you say gently. “When filming ends. You have until then.”

He stares at you, his heart racing. “W-What?”

“I’m giving you the chance to tell him yourself, Han,” you say, your tone gentle yet unwavering. “Whatever happens after that… well, that’s for the three of us to figure out.”

Han can’t believe what he’s hearing. A thousand thoughts flood his mind, but he has no chance to respond. Just then, Minho returns, looking between the two of you, sensing the strange tension.

“What’s going on here?” Minho chuckles, oblivious. “Did Han just remember he forgot to bring you a birthday present?”

You smile, deflecting with a light laugh. “Pretty much.”

Minho laughs, taking a seat beside you. “Well, lucky for you, I didn’t forget.”

He hands you a small, wrapped box, eyes twinkling. “Here—open it.”

You unwrap the box and find a delicate necklace inside. It’s simple but elegant, the kind of thing that’s unmistakably Minho’s taste. Your eyes soften, and Minho smiles, reaching over. “Here, let me.”

As he moves closer, his fingers brush your neck while he fastens the clasp. Han watches from across the table, feeling something heavy settle in his chest as Minho’s attention focuses entirely on you.

“There,” Minho says softly, sitting back with a satisfied grin. “Looks perfect on you.”

���Thank you,” you say, a touch shyly, your fingers brushing over the pendant.

Han forces a smile as he sits, his mind swirling. He feels as though he’s been given a choice he never imagined he’d have to make—and he wonders if he has the courage to take it.

-

Minho pulls up outside your apartment building, letting the car idle as he glances over at you. He wants you to stay, he always does, and tonight is no different. With a hopeful smile, he asks, “Are you sure you don’t want to change your mind? Just one night won’t hurt, right?”

You laugh softly, the sound warm but faintly tired, and shake your head. “I’d love to, but I have to leave early tomorrow. It’s the opening for the exhibition at the gallery, remember?” You pause, then add with a teasing grin, “Besides, we both know there wouldn’t be much sleep if I stayed.”

He chuckles, understanding immediately, though he can’t deny the disappointment that lingers. He always craves more time with you, more moments like these, but he nods in acceptance.

“Okay,” he says with a sigh of defeat.

As you turn to say goodnight, leaning in for a soft, lingering kiss, Minho feels something different, something beneath the surface that he can’t quite put his finger on. Before you can pull away, he draws you back in, pressing his lips to yours again, deeper this time, seeking the reassurance he hadn’t known he needed. There’s a quiet intensity in the way he kisses you, like he’s searching for an answer to a question he doesn’t know how to ask.

When he finally pulls back, his hand still rests on the back of your neck, thumb tracing gentle circles there. He looks into your eyes, brow slightly furrowed. “Are we… okay? You and me?”

Your smile is soft but slightly strained, your voice gentle as you reply, “Of course we are, Minho. Everything’s fine.”

But as you pull away, Minho can’t shake the feeling that your answer isn’t entirely convincing. There’s something lingering in your gaze, something unsaid, and it hangs in the air long after you step out of the car and wave goodnight.

Watching you disappear into your building, Minho grips the steering wheel tightly, his mind racing. He doesn’t know what’s bothering you or what’s weighing on your mind, but he’s determined to find out. Whatever it is, he’s not going to let it come between you—not if he can help it.

-

The flowers arrive just as you’re beginning to settle into your day, a bouquet bursting with blush roses and delicate lilies. Tucked inside, there’s a small, handwritten note: “Missed you, stranger.”

You can’t ignore the pang of guilt that hits you as you read those words. Lately, you’ve been putting distance between you and Minho, caught up in your work and all too aware of how it must feel to him. You send him a quick text to thank him, hoping it conveys more than just words. But before you can put your phone down, it rings, and you see his name on the screen.

“Hey,” he says, and there’s a warmth in his voice that immediately pulls at you. “So… did you get them? Do you like the flowers?”

You can hear the hopefulness in his tone, and it stirs something deep inside. “I love them. They’re beautiful, Minho. Thank you.”

His laughter is soft, but you can tell he means it when he says, “I kinda had to. You’re starting to feel like a stranger to me, you know?”

The pang of guilt sharpens. He’s not wrong. Your busy schedule has taken its toll, and your relationship has been on the quiet side for too long now.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, hating how small the words sound. “I didn’t mean for things to get like this.”

There’s a pause, as if he’s letting your words sink in. “I miss you,” he says finally, and it’s so honest, so simple, that it breaks through all the walls you’ve been putting up.

You close your eyes, letting the warmth of his words settle in. “I miss you too, Minho.”

His sigh is full of relief. “Then let’s see each other this weekend. I’ll come over, or we can go out—whatever you want. Just… let’s spend some time together.”

You hesitate, knowing what you have to say next. “I wish I could. But… I’m going on a work trip. I’ll be out until early next week.”

The silence that follows is thick with his disappointment. “Ah,” he says finally, and though he tries to mask it, you can hear the hurt in his voice. “I get it. It’s just... been a while since we actually spent time together.”

You feel his pain like it’s your own. “I know. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

“Alright,” he says, a touch of resignation there now. “Just… don’t be a stranger too long, okay?”

“Okay,” you say softly. “I won’t.”

When the call ends, you’re left holding the phone, staring at the flowers, and hoping that when you’re finally back, it won’t feel like the distance has grown too much for either of you to cross.

-

Han has been caught in a constant tug-of-war with himself, torn between wanting to keep his distance from Minho and feeling that undeniable pull toward him. He can’t stop thinking about you and the offer you made, the chance to tell Minho the truth—a chance he knows is dangerous to take, but also one he can’t stop thinking about. But for now, he’s settled for a safer distance. Not too far, not too close. After all, it’s not his fault if Minho is the one who keeps stepping into that space, right?

Sitting alone in the empty changing room, Han studies his script, though the words feel hazy, his mind clouded with everything but the lines he’s supposed to memorize. Then he hears the door open, and Minho walks in, dropping down on the bench next to him. Han hates the way his heart betrays him, lifting and quickening just at the sight of him.

Minho speaks quietly, his voice low even though they’re alone. “Hey… about that night at the uh... birthday party. Did something happen that I don’t know about?”

Han tries to play it off, plastering on a look of confusion. “Not sure what you mean, hyung. Nothing happened, really.”

Minho lets out a soft sigh, eyes narrowing in the way they do when he’s trying to figure someone out. “It’s just… she's been acting slightly different around me since then. And I thought maybe… I don’t know, maybe she mentioned something to you?”

Han swallows, trying to keep his face neutral even as his mind races. He can feel the weight of Minho’s gaze on him, searching for something—an answer, maybe, or just some kind of hint. He should tell the truth; it’s right there, at the tip of his tongue. He could just say it, let everything out, let Minho know exactly how he feels.

But his nerve falters, and he finds himself shaking his head. “No, they didn’t say anything to me.” The lie slips out too easily, and he hates himself a little more for it.

There’s a moment, a charged silence between them, as if Minho is still trying to pry the truth out of him without words. Han’s chest tightens, his lips part, and for just a second, he thinks he might actually confess, might let himself finally say it.

But before he can, the door opens again, and a crew member steps in, breaking the moment. Han glances down quickly, hiding the expression on his face, and when he looks back up, Minho has already shifted back into his usual easygoing self, the vulnerable moment now lost.

As Minho returns to studying his own lines, Han can’t help but wonder if he’ll ever have the courage to take the chance you offered—or if he’s doomed to keep it hidden forever, just out of reach.

-

Even though you know he might not read it right away, you send Minho a quick text the moment your plane lands. Just something simple, letting him know you’re home safe, so he won’t worry. The exhaustion of the trip starts to settle in as you unlock your door, finally home, ready for nothing but a hot shower and some rest.

After your shower, you’re standing in the bathroom, towel-drying your hair when you hear the front door click open. It’s surprising because you hadn’t expected him. You’d assumed he’d be busy on set, wrapped up in his usual back-to-back schedule.

“Hey, stranger, I didn’t—”

Before you can finish the sentence, Minho crosses the space between you, pulling you into a tight hug, his arms wound around you like he’s trying to hold onto you with everything he has. His kiss is different tonight—there’s something raw, almost desperate, in the way he presses his lips to yours, like he’s afraid he won’t get another chance.

You feel his hand slide to the back of your neck, holding you close, and the intensity takes you by surprise. You pull back just slightly, searching his face, and see something you haven’t seen before: Minho’s usual confidence replaced by a quiet vulnerability.

“Hey…” you say softly, brushing a thumb over his cheek. “What’s wrong?”

He looks away, almost as if he’s gathering himself, before he speaks. “I just… I feel like you’re slipping away from me. Like, you’re here, but… I don’t know, it feels like I’m losing you, and I can’t stand it.” His voice is low, but there’s no mistaking the emotion behind it.

He holds your gaze, his eyes searching yours, his expression so open, so raw. “I don’t want to lose you. I love you so much, more than I know how to say.”

The sincerity in his words cuts through any distance that’s been creeping in between you two, and you feel your heart swell. You reach up, threading your fingers through his hair, brushing it gently away from his face.

“Oh, Minho,” you murmur, pressing a reassuring kiss to his forehead. “I’m here. I'm not going anywhere.”

Later that night, your naked bodies are tangled around each other on the bed, he has you under him, your hands are tightly clasped as Minho thrusts into you at a painstakingly slow pace. No games, no teasing, no playful, naughty comments in between kisses, it's just Minho making sweet, sweet love to you.

His brown eyes are deeply looking into your eyes, making you feel naked, more exposed than you already are. You know that he loves you but seeing him this vulnerable and openly admitted how much he fears losing you... you endearingly brush the hair falling over his forehead away and smile at him.

“Minho...” you place a tender rub of your thumb on his cheek and whisper, “I love you so much.”

Minho doesn’t say anything but tilts his head slightly to the side and lowers his mouth on you, placing kisses that trails up your neck and eventually finds its way to your lips. Soon, his body closing in the gap between your bodies until they mold into one and move in sync. You feel him relax around you, his arms loosening, but his grip on your hand remains firm. You lay close together in the quiet, his head buried in the crook of your shoulder, the room filled with an unspoken promise—one that feels stronger than ever.

-

You stir, feeling a warm, familiar presence beside you, followed by the softest kisses trailing across your bare shoulders. For a moment, you wonder if you’re still dreaming. It’s so rare for you to wake up with Minho still in bed—usually, his early mornings mean you open your eyes to an empty spot beside you, the only trace of him being the faint scent left behind on his pillow.

But this time, as you turn over, Minho’s face is right there, his eyes lighting up as he realizes you’re awake. He leans in, pressing a warm, gentle kiss to your lips.

“Good morning,” he murmurs softly, his voice still sleepy and fond.

You blink at him, smiling as you pretend to be in awe. “Is this real? You’re actually here, watching me sleep?” you tease. “I have to admit, I could get used to waking up like this.”

He smiles, a playful glint in his eye. “Guess I got lucky and don’t have an early call today,” he says. “Plus, I thought I’d stick around, make you breakfast for once.”

“Wow,” you say, dramatically widening your eyes. “Breakfast in bed? Someone pinch me—I might actually be dreaming.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, then grins mischievously. Instead of pinching you, he leans down and gives your shoulder a playful bite, making you laugh as you push him away.

“Okay, okay!” you say, laughing. “Guess I’m awake after all.”

He chuckles, leaning in to plant one more quick kiss on your lips before he gets out of bed, throwing on a t-shirt and glancing back at you with a smile that makes your heart flutter. You feel so at ease, so light, as you watch him head toward the kitchen. For once, he’s here, sharing an ordinary morning with you, and there’s nothing dreamlike about it—it’s perfectly, wonderfully real.

-

It’s a rare, quiet morning, and Minho can’t help but savor it. He watches you across the table, laughing over breakfast as you share your plans for the day. There’s a calmness in this moment that he rarely gets, and he wants to remember it—the way you smile, the way sunlight falls on your face, the easy rhythm between you.

As he thinks about the upcoming wrap-up party, he realizes it’s the perfect chance for the two of you to step out together, and he doesn’t want to hold back anymore. Setting his fork down, he gathers his nerve and finally asks, “Hey, would you come to the wrap-up party with me?”

Your eyes widen slightly, and Minho can tell you understand the risk—he’s putting his career, his privacy, all of it on the line for this relationship. But he doesn’t care; for the first time, he feels ready, willing to risk the whispers, the stories, the scrutiny.

“Okay,” you answer with a nod, agreeing without hesitation.

Minho feels a surge of warmth and relief. You’re ready, too, and that means everything.

But then you bring up Han, almost out of the blue. “How’s Han doing?” you ask, a casual question, but one that catches Minho off guard.

“He’s doing well,” Minho replies, not thinking much of it at first. He explains a little about the last few scenes they filmed, how the entire crew is working hard to bring the final moments together.

You nod, listening intently, but then you ask another question, one that feels a bit more pointed. “Are you two still filming those... emotional scenes?”

Minho studies your face, sensing something beneath the surface of your curiosity. You’re searching for something, a hint of something you’re not ready to say. He knows you well enough to see it, and while he doesn’t press you, a quiet worry lingers in his mind.

-

The last day of filming feels heavier than Han ever imagined. He should feel relief, maybe even pride—but all he feels is a gnawing sense of urgency. It’s his last chance to tell Minho how he really feels, and though he’s been avoiding it, he knows he’ll regret it if he never says a word.

Taking a deep breath, Han walks over to where Minho stands, chatting with a few crew members. His hands are clammy, his heartbeat loud in his ears as he taps Minho’s shoulder. Minho turns, and his expression lights up with that easy, familiar smile, but seeing it makes Han’s heart ache even more.

“Hey, Han!” Minho says warmly. “We did it. Congratulations on finishing your first drama.”

Han manages a small smile, mumbling, “Thanks... same to you.”

There’s a pause, a space where Han can feel himself teetering between holding back and letting go. He opens his mouth to speak, to say the words he’s been holding onto for so long, but before he can, Minho speaks again.

“You know,” Minho starts, his tone sincere, “I’ve had a great time working with you. Really, Han, we made a good team.”

Han’s stomach tightens, sensing where this is going.

“And what I really appreciate is how professional you were about everything,” Minho adds, a subtle emphasis lingering in his words. His eyes hold a quiet understanding, as if he already knows what Han was about to say and is gently letting him down.

The words stick in Han’s throat, dying on his lips. Minho’s kindness is unmistakable, and his meaning is painfully clear. Han swallows, a bitter taste filling his mouth as he nods, trying to keep his expression neutral.

“Yeah,” he replies softly, forcing a smile. “It’s been... really great.”

But inside, he feels his heart breaking, each beat carrying a weight he can hardly bear as he takes a step back, feeling as though he’s losing something he never even had.

Han manages to keep his expression steady, even as he feels the weight of the moment pressing down on him. Minho, still smiling, extends his hand.

"See you at the wrap-up party later?" Minho says, his tone light and friendly, as if unaware of the ache that’s slowly eating away at Han.

Han hesitates for just a second before he reaches out, clasping Minho’s hand. The handshake feels formal, a sharp contrast to all the warmth, laughter, and quiet moments they shared over the past months. For Han, it’s a goodbye he’s not ready to say, but he squeezes Minho’s hand tightly, holding onto it just a heartbeat longer.

“Yeah... I’ll see you there,” he says, forcing the words out with a nod.

Minho gives him one last friendly smile before letting go, his fingers slipping away, leaving Han’s hand cold and empty. Han watches him walk away, feeling the finality of that handshake settle deep in his chest. This was it—the end of everything they’d built together on screen, and perhaps, a reminder of everything that could never happen offscreen.

As the door closes behind Minho, Han is left standing alone, trying to gather himself for the celebration ahead, all while feeling like he’s quietly mourning a loss that only he understands.

-

The wrap-up party buzzes with excitement and laughter as everyone gathers to celebrate the drama’s success. Minho’s hand in yours is warm and steady as he leads you inside, a small but powerful gesture that feels like a silent promise. This is your first time stepping into his world, publicly, and your heart races with a blend of nervousness and exhilaration. You know what this means—for both of you. Minho glances down at you and smiles, a comforting reassurance that you’re right where you belong.

As he introduces you around, you find yourself meeting the director, the crew, and Minho’s fellow cast members. Each of them is surprised, but warmly so, learning that Minho is dating someone outside the industry. Their welcoming smiles help ease the tension you’ve been holding, though it’s Minho’s presence, steady and unwavering at your side, that really keeps you calm.

Then, across the room, you spot Han. He’s chatting politely with some cast members, appearing as cheerful as everyone else, but there’s a heaviness in his gaze that betrays him. You see through the calm facade, sensing a quiet sadness lingering beneath it.

When there’s a brief lull, you find a chance to speak with Han alone, pulling him aside to a quieter corner of the room. He looks at you, surprised, and then a hint of understanding softens his expression.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” you ask softly, not wanting to intrude, but hoping he’ll confide in you.

Han gives you a sad smile, his eyes flickering with something unspoken. “Because… I had Minho,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You’re caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

He lets out a small, bittersweet laugh, his gaze drifting away as if he’s seeing something distant. “In those scenes, in the drama,” he begins, voice thick with emotion. “I had him. For that time, we were… everything I’d wanted us to be.”

He pauses, taking a breath, collecting himself before looking back at you with quiet acceptance. “It was enough. Because that’s what Minho and I could have been—but what we’ll never be.”

The weight of his words settles over you, a haunting realization of what he’s endured in silence. There’s nothing you can say, so you simply place a gentle hand on his arm, sharing in his sorrow, understanding the depth of his unspoken feelings.

Han gives you a small, grateful nod before he glances away, quietly pulling himself back into the celebration. Watching him go, you’re left with a mix of empathy and sadness, understanding now just how deeply he loved Minho—and how he’s finally letting him go.

As the party winds down and you and Minho leave, his hand finds yours once more, intertwining your fingers as you walk into the quiet night. There's a warmth to his touch, an unspoken reassurance that grounds you, yet Han’s words still linger, leaving a bittersweet ache in your chest. You feel torn between the happiness of being with Minho and the weight of knowing what Han silently gave up.

Once you’re inside the car, sitting beside Minho on the passenger's seat, you can’t shake the feeling that tonight has left a lasting mark, especially on Han.

Minho notices the quiet contemplation in your expression and turns to you, eyebrows raised with a gentle curiosity.

“Ready to go home?” he asks, reaching to gently trace his thumb along your hand.

It seems like he's just snapped you out of your trance as you get a bit startled by the gentle squeeze on your knee. “Mmh, yes, I'm ready.”

You offer a convincing smile as you lean into him and try again. “Let’s go home.”

As the car launches forward, you find yourself holding onto Minho’s hand with a newfound appreciation. Han’s journey may have ended in heartbreak, but in some way, it brought you and Minho closer, and you can only hope that one day, Han will find someone who will give him a real happy ending, but more importantly, he find a story that’s all his own—a story that doesn’t end when the cameras stop rolling.

-

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[viaviavie]

short drabble about overblot!idia suddenly getting a courage boost while you are trying to stop him

He had long noticed the obvious pattern of devastating wreckage and repair. By the time Scarabia’s vice housewarden had been overtaken by the ink accumulating from within him, Idia had it all figured out. Everything was falling into place too perfectly, and you were at the center of the spotlight. It couldn’t have been any coincidence that with each overblot, you happened to be there playing some part in the story. Whether it be as a mere background character without any significance, or the driving point of the ordeal, you just had to play the part of a hero. 

Idia was never meant to get so invested in all the little things that followed you in your wake. He initially thought that your role in the Heartslabyul fiasco was merely an accident that ended all too well. Of course, their housewarden would have wanted to make amends for the trouble he has caused you. Getting involved in Savanaclaw’s foul play was most especially bold, and surely, you were only driven to challenge them for the sake of your friends. The same argument applied to your conflicts with Octanivelle, accompanied with a sense of urgency to save your living space. Idia found it odd that you found yourself entangled with Scarabia’s affairs, and as if he could predict it, an overblot had occurred, and you happened to save the day again. He was no longer surprised when he heard that the Ramshackle Prefect became a manager at Vil’s behest, and he already knew what would happen before such events transpired. 

He wonders if this time, you shall play the part of a hero as well. 

In the interactions he shared with you, he kept observing. You were an anomaly, at best. He still remembered the way you made a spectacle of yourself at the welcoming ceremony, and the way rumors spread about a magicless student who will be attending the college. You have always been kind, yet honest about your selfishness when it comes to your own wellbeing. No, you were not heroic in the slightest. You had nothing to your name, no magic at all. However, you did have friends like that troublesome duo, the beast, and all that fell for your good and charm. 

Had Idia been any less of a villain, surely, he would have fallen entirely too.

And yet, there he was, staring you down from his machinery as the dead clawed at your feet.  You were protected, yet all alone at the same time. Each and every one of your allies was fighting off a beast, leaving you to fend for yourself. Idia did have to give them all some credit for being able to protect you from those monsters, but doing so had left you vulnerable for him to prey on. Behind his mask, a crazed grin surfaced as he watched you take several steps back until the ground grumbled with instability. Even when staring at such a wicked villain, your eyes shone with defiance. 

Just as the floor crumbled beneath you, a metal arm curled itself around your waist and pulled you forward. Blackness shrouded your vision, and the taste of metal hit your nose when you found yourself pressed against Idia’s humming chest. Even though his face was obscured by his modifications, you felt his glee through the way his eyes dilated looking into yours. His laughter boomed throughout the cave, catching the attention of some students whose hearts dropped at the spectacle. You wanted to scream for help, but the boy shushed your lips with a cold finger. “Spoiler alert, baby. I already know what’s gonna go down.” He cooed so sweetly, sending shivers down your spine. Idia had never sounded so confident before, not even when it was just you two playing games online with the console he had lent you so graciously. His tone frightened you beyond belief, certainly malicious of the shy boy you had come to know.

His hand snaked its way to the small of your back, supporting you as the machinery swayed you both back and forth on the platform. The world spun in your vision, but all you could really make out was Idia. “You unite the student body’s strongest mages, and with the great power of friendship, down goes the great villain and all his plans. Oh no! So sad, and we all live happily ever after once you save the day, yeah?” It was almost intimate— the way he held you and lowered down his mask, revealing that toothy grin that once fluttered butterflies into your chest. Now, all you knew was dread and uncertainty. You barely even registered him leaning so closely into your face, another clawed hand cupping your cheek until a nail scratched at the skin. “News flash, sweetheart! That ain’t happening today!” 

He allowed you to look at the devastation that surrounded you both with a gentle tilt of the head. Dread filled your heart as you watched your friends struggle against the fiends, hope slowly wavering in the back of your mind. You couldn’t do anything, not without magic. Once again, you found yourself utterly defeated. After all, you had no magic, nor the wit to overthrow him here, on this platform.

Idia loved that empty expression you had. Heroes would never look that pathetic, but he didn’t mind that from you at all. You were never meant to take on that responsibility, and he wouldn’t force that on you. Just as he despised the role of being a housewarden, carrying the burden of his curse, he wished that you would never have to face that same fate. But you didn’t know that, nor will you accept it. Whether you knew of what he truly thought or not, there was still defiance in the way you held your ground and dug your heels into the platform. You have yet to accept fate, and that is something that Idia was willing to challenge.

Tilting your chin towards him with a gentle hand, Idia smiled at you. If the circumstances were different, you would have felt comforted by the sight. “Don’t look so upset. It will all be over soon and you won’t ever have to put yourself in danger again. Being the protagonist must be sooooo overrated and tiring, don’t you think? You clean up so many messes, and not even a proper thank you from any one of them! You won’t have to deal with any of it anymore once we’re done here!” However, to his surprise, you bite back with a glare. It wasn’t in your heart to abandon them after coming this far, nor did you have the heart to let Idia destroy himself from the inside out. You still cared despite the destruction of your home, and the ruins that followed after.

It was so touching, so sweet and endearing that it drew out a bitter laugh from the boy. “Still trying to be a champion, are you? You naive little thing, I guess you still don’t get it.” Suddenly, his grip on you tightened, and it feels like you are falling deeper into the abyss with him. You hear the cries of your friends from above, and the sight of the lance grows brighter and brighter. You remained silent in anticipation, but it seems that Idia cared not for the commotion behind him. He takes your silence as defiance.

“That’s fine. Have it your way.” Giggling to himself, the platform comes to a halt between the impending blast and the monster that Ortho has become. Your gaze is fixated on Idia once more, but the glow of the lantern makes itself known in your peripherals. There they were– Rook, Epel, and Vil were aiming that lance with frightened yet determined faces. Idia is still smiling, as if he knew that no matter what happened, whether he perishes here or leaves with you unscathed, he would win.

“What will you do now? Save the world or save me? That’s all on you, my hero!”

[lostiolite]

hii can you write something about monoma having a crush on a 1-A reader who has a personality like him but a little more nicer? have a great dayy

Everyone is better than me

Monoma x reader oneshot 0.6k words

You’ve always felt like a side character, worthless, expendable. it's something that kind of haunts you. You were surprised when you got into U.A. 

But, oh, your classmates. they were the best people on earth (except Mineta). Midorya went through so much to improve. Bakugo, despite being an asshole was talented, he had every right to brag with a quirk like that. Ururaka’s bubbly persona never failed to lift people’s spirits. Mina and Kirishima were the best people to give you motivation. Momo always tried to get you to understand your worth but you didn’t seem to budge.

You were kind of overwhelmed to be surrounded by such awesome people. They were practically shining stars, so much so that it blinded you. You wish to shine as bright as they do but you know you never will. Despite feeling inferior to them,  you couldn’t be more thankful to them.

Your class was your lifeline and you always praised them. Your classmates have been targeted and come out triumphant every time. Why wouldn’t you be proud? You would praise your classmates, obviously not in an obnoxious way like a certain someone, who always seemed to try and 1-up you when you talked about them.

You were always talking about them– not yourself, which caught the attention of Kendo, who recently worked with Momo. 

You were eating lunch with Mina in the cafeteria. You two were brainstorming on a class project and decided to sit away from the rest of your friends because you would get distracted. 

Unfortunately, Mina had to use the bathroom, leaving you alone. This is when Kendo came up to you, asking you about school. 

You started talking about what the rest of your class was doing in detail, making sure to praise them. Monoma who was in the area noticed, he tried to one-up you like always before Kendo karate chopped him. Kendo then cocked her head, returning her attention to you.

“And, what about you?” 

You were stumped. You just assured her that there was nothing interesting going on with you. She stopped you, asking why you didn't wanna talk about yourself. You were kind of stunned at her bluntness, she went straight to the point. You sighed,

“Because I'm not as amazing as them, and I probably never will be. But, I don't think that matters, because being able to support them is enough for me.” 

She gave you a somber smile. she didn’t really know what to say, which was new. She usually knew how to cheer people up. She’d have to get back to you later, her focus was now on Monoma, whom she half expected to start dogging on you. He didn’t say anything though. 

She waved you bye and retreated back to her table.

That's when everything kind of clicked for Monoma. 

He was usually intellectual and able to grasp others' emotions and feelings, but when it came to class 1-A and by association, you, he went on autopilot. His main objective was to dogshit on 1-A to bring light to 1-B accomplishments and that they were just as great as 1-A. 

Ever since then, he’s seen you in a different light, maybe even developed a fat fucking crush.

Mentioned before, but he goes on auto pilot when around class 1-A, so he doesn’t realize when he says things like–

“Maybe take a note out of [name]’s book and be more humble, because you look like a fool” he’d say taunting Bakugo.

One time bakugo called you an extra when you offered him help in a subject he was struggling in (which is rare for bakugo), and suddenly Monoma appeared behind him.

“Maybe that’s why you bombed the test, you think you're better than everyone huh— your fragile ego can't take a hit so you have to take it out on [Name]! Be grateful someone like them is even offering help to such a lowlife braindead creature such as yourself!”

That's when Deku caught on.

Monoma not-so subtly praising you is something most of 1-A doesn’t really take note of, but Kendo and Deku are absolutely appalled.

[loaksky]

— 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘮

the deets — lo'ak is the black sheep in the family, clinging to honor by a precarious thread. you are the well-loved songstress in the tribe. he should resent you for being everything he's not, but his fickle heart can't bring him to do so.

the who — lo'ak x fem omatikaya!reader

the word count — 10.2k (rip yall)

the tags — (one-sided) rivals-to-lovers, angsty angsty, hurt / comfort, reader gives lo'ak a big ol smooch (perhaps more than one), lo’ak is the biggest dumbass and because of this he’s mean asf, reader has a big ol heart and just really wants lo’ak to like her, aged!up characters for maturity’s sake. 

the warnings — language, lo'ak is in luv but doesn't realize it, he's in denial that the feelings could be reciprocated, this is super dramatic so put your seat belts on!

the notes — was feeling extra sad and wanted to write something self-indulgent. this lovely anon requested something, and i used their ask as inspiration to finish this beast. fine line, bags, and love in dark are the three main songs i listened to finish this, so if you wanna be in your feels, have a listen LMAO. despite all the support, i’m still so mf nervous posting this ejsjsjdjs

masterlist

SOMETHING UGLY KINDLES IN THE PIT of Lo'ak's stomach at the mere mention of your name. It's sour on his tongue, bitter in his brain. He doesn't know when he's started to feel like this, started to feel absolutely dreadful anytime he'd hear the timbre of your voice. 

It's warm, thick like nectar and it makes him sick. 

Ever since you all were little, the elders crooned over what a great girl you were growing into; strong, intelligent, beautiful. It made him boil how much they'd sing your praises, the high esteem everyone held you in as one of the clan's most talented. 

Something dull would pick at him being compared to his older brother, but nothing burned more than being compared to you. 

Maybe it's because it's always implied whenever your names share the same sentences, that lingering implication that he could be more like you. The clan fans the flames of your mere existence while Lo'ak is snuffed out like a dying fire. 

He hates it. He hates you. 

He thinks. 

It'd be easier to, if you were awful behind the scenes. Arrogant, stuck up, but you're none of those things. You're kind, gentle, mighty when you need to be. It doesn't help that you shine like the brightest star, engulfing everyone in your light, in your warmth. 

But Lo'ak resists. He sees right through you, sees right through every saccharine smile you send him. He can see it in your eyes, how you really see him. Despite standing a full head taller than you, he sees the way you look down your nose at him. 

It grates his nerves, how disgustingly sweet you are towards him despite all attempts to rebuff you. 

Certainly doesn’t soothe his ego when you always seem to be around the bend every time he gets bitched at by the clan, eyes soft and filled with pity. To add insult to injury, you frequently tail him like a shadow after these moments when all he wants is to be alone. 

Like now, you linger. 

It's after dinner and Kiri and Spider stand before him. They come together like the three points of a triangle and you stand an awkward distance away from them. 

Kiri notices you first, her face splitting into a big smile as she waves you over. 

Lo'ak breathes a deep sigh before locking eyes with Spider who tries his best to suppress an amused grin. 

“Hi,” you chirp and Lo'ak can't help but roll his eyes. 

Spider and Kiri greet you eagerly. Lo'ak simply nods his head in acknowledgement before tightening his fist around his dagger. 

“We going or what?” he finally says. 

You perk up. 

“Where are you guys heading off to?” you ask curiously, hands clasped behind your back.

Spider opens his mouth to answer, but Lo'ak cuts him off quickly. 

“No where important,” he says, unsure if you'll blab about their whereabouts to the elders, or worse, his parents. 

You roll your lips and shift on your feet. 

“Can I come?” you ask hesitantly, eyes hopeful. 

Kiri's smile grows as she links her arm with yours. 

“No,” he says sharply. “Absolutely not.” 

Your face falls and something pulls inside his chest when you fail meet his gaze, your frown barely perceptible. 

You make a move to pull from Kiri's grasp, but her arm tightens through yours. She levels Lo'ak with a weighty glare and you fidget uncomfortably under his narrowed eyes. 

“Don't worry about it,” you say, like someone's hit a reset button. You smile that pretty smile and Lo'ak wants to scream. "It's okay, I think Rutan needs help with clean up." 

You slip from Kiri's grasp and the three watch you walk off. 

“Do you always have to be such a bitch?” Spider scoffs a disbelieving laugh. 

“She's just gonna tag along so she can snitch,” Lo'ak grumbles. 

“Oh c'mon,” Kiri argues. “________ just wants friends.”

Lo'ak sneers. 

“I don't want to be friends with her,” he says firmly, knuckles white around the handle of his knife.

“Weirdo,” Spider mumbles. “She’s cute. Think she likes you.”

Lo'ak's spine stiffens.

“It's an act” Lo'ak grumbles. “She just wants to look good in front of the elders to keep up whatever nice girl show she's putting on.” 

Kiri rolls her eyes hard. 

There are moments when Lo'ak thinks he's being harsh, but he can't help himself. It's like he loses all semblance of a filter when it comes to you. 

“Hi, Lo'ak,” you greet him sweetly, lowering yourself onto the fallen log he's perched on, fashioning arrows to practice with later on in the evening with Neteyam. 

He shifts away from you, putting the distance of two bodies between the two of you as he pauses his task at hand. 

“Hi,” he says flatly. 

“Can I help?” you ask tentatively, fingers twitching towards one of the untouched sticks in a pile next to his feet. 

His kicks them closer to himself, out of your reach before leveling you with a sharp glare. 

“No thanks,” he says quickly and you recoil slowly, letting out a shaky laugh before fixing that stupid smile on your pretty face. 

“Oh, sorry,” you apologize, straightening in your seat. 

A silence so uncomfortably palpable settles over the two of you as you shift so that your knees are turned towards him. 

His throat bobs when his gaze travels from your little toes all the way up to your inquisitive gaze, golden and searching. It makes something unruly settle in his gut and he turns his attention back to carving his arrows. 

“Do you need something?” he breaks the silence finally. “I'm kinda busy.”

You bite your lip before scooting a little closer to Lo'ak's hunched figure. 

“My birthday's coming up,” you start. 

“I'm aware,” Lo'ak almost scoffs. 

It's all the clan has been able to talk about for the past few days. How they'd be able to prepare for the golden girl's next birth cycle and what they'd be able to do to make you smile the brightest. 

“Your birthday is a week before,” you state and his head whips towards you. 

“How do you know that?” he asks sharply, accusation heavy in his gruff tone. 

You flinch and he falters for a moment before your smile simply widens. 

“We grew up together, Lo'ak,” you say and the way his name sounds from your mouth sounds absolutely heavenly. “You're my friend.”

Friend. 

He scowls at the term.

“We're not friends,” he bites back. 

If the statement bothers you, you don't show it, simply tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before putting on a brave face. 

“I want to celebrate with you,” you say shyly. 

“Hard pass,” he says too quickly, gathering his sticks and fashioned arrows under his grasp. 

He leaves you in the clearing on your own.

You must be fucking with him. You have to be. It'd be the only explanation for why Jake pulls him aside a few nights later and tells him that you've requested to work with him and Neteyam during archery practice. 

“No,” he says stiffly, shaking his head. 

His dad levels him with a hard glare and Lo'ak sighs deeply. 

“She's a nuisance, Dad,” he argues. “Me and Neteyam are making good progress with our training and we'll have to start at square one if she joins.”

“Lo'ak, this isn't an ask,” Jake says sternly. 

“But, Dad!”

“Lo'ak.”

Lo'ak huffs, snatching his bow and quiver angrily before storming off. 

“You're doing great,” Neteyam says to you once the three of you have convened in the training circle. 

The three arrows you've shot have all landed within centimeters of the mark and to say that Neteyam is impressed is an understatement. Lo'ak, on the other hand, fumes not-so-silently as he tears his arrows from his target. 

Yet again, you have another person wrapped around your finger and it makes his blood simmer as he assumes his position at the marker and loads his arrow. It splinters through the air and hits the target right on the bullseye. The arrow punctures through the hide and lodges its way into the wood from the sheer force of Lo’ak’s shot. 

You start at him moon-eyed, lush lips breaking into a full smile. 

“Perfect shot,” you observe. “That was awesome.” 

Lo’ak scans your features hesitantly before his gaze flits to his older brother, waiting for any acknowledgment that he’d done a great job, but Neteyam is taking notes on the arrows still stuck in the fabric of your own target. 

His heart sinks. 

“Fuck this,” Lo’ak grumbles, bundling all of his belongings.

He stalks through the clearing, past his brother, to leave you two. 

He doesn’t know what fuels the fire more, the fact that Neteyam didn’t even bat an eye at the feat they’d been practicing for for the past three weeks because he was too immersed in you, or the fact that you bore witness to his first clean shot and gave him that sickeningly sweet smile that made his stomach turn. 

“Where are you going?” Neteyam sighs. 

“Somewhere you two aren’t,” he grumbles under his breath, ducking through the brush of the lofty forest. 

You lick your lips, locking eyes with Neteyam as you give him a bashful grin and slowly break away to follow Lo’ak’s path. 

He isn’t far ahead as you push through the vines and low-hanging leaves, the path lined with large plants and the spindly roots of the looming trees. The grass is plush between your toes as you scamper to follow Lo’ak from a distance, watching as his lithe body climbs through the dense flora. 

“Why are you following me?” he calls after a few dozen paces, stopping in the middle of the path to whirl on his heel. 

His golden eyes are syrupy, warm despite the edge, and you can’t help but flash him your pearly whites in a genuine smile that takes up your dimpled cheeks. 

“Why’d you run off?” you ask him. “You were doing so well!” 

His chest rises and falls with a scoff. 

“You can give it a rest, you know?” Lo’ak says flatly, fist so tight around his bow he feels like he’ll crush the wood. 

Your expression morphs, eyebrows furrowing in a way that makes Lo’ak throat bob, something pinching behind his ribcage. 

“What?” you ask, frown marring your pretty face. 

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, but you can stop acting like you wanna be friends with me,” Lo’ak says matter-of-factly. 

“You are my friend,” you protest quietly. 

Lo’ak rolls his eyes. 

“Dude, whatever,” he mutters, turning his back on you. 

“Is it so wrong?” you murmur and he stops in his tracks, refusing to meet your gaze. “To be friends?” 

Friends. 

That stupid fucking word again.

Lo’ak bites his tongue and stalks off, leaving you on the path. 

Neteyam rips him a new one when he sees him at dinner later that night. Lo’ak hangs his head as Neteyam digs in.

“Is it so hard to be nice?” Neteyam asks, hand squeezing his shoulder as they stand a handful of meters away from the main circle. 

As his eyes wander, he notices you sitting with his sister, head thrown back in laughter that glitters and wafts with the rising smoke of the fire. He swallows turning his attention back to his older brother. 

“Just don’t like her,” he admits. “I want her to leave me alone.” 

“You don’t like her or you like her too much?” Neteyam asks, brow bone raised. 

Lo’ak’s face scrunches.

“Ew, no,” he blurts. “Why would I—”

“________ just wants to fit in,” he sighs. “She has trouble making friends.” 

“Yeah, I wonder why,” Lo’ak mocks. “I don’t know why Kiri and Spider are always up her ass, she’s—”

“Lo’ak,” Neteyam warns. 

“Dude, everyone is always ________ this, _________ that! I don’t understand what’s so great about her—”

A throat clears and the brothers both turn their attention to the newcomer. Lo’ak could groan in frustration seeing that you’ve abandoned your seat and now stand nearby with two wooden plates. 

“They’re going to start cleaning up soon,” you say hesitantly. “Wanted to bring you some.” 

Neteyam takes it graciously from you, nodding his head in thanks while Lo’ak stares down at the plate you’d arranged for him, abundant in vegetables and thick cuts of meat. 

“No thanks,” he says flatly.

You try to coax him. 

“C’mon Lo’ak, you say gently. “I know you haven’t eaten yet.” 

“No thanks,” he repeats stonily, holding his hand up. 

You offer up the plate again. 

“Lo’ak–“ 

“I said no thank you,” he grunts, annoyed. 

He’d only meant to push it back towards you, but one second it’s in your hands, the next you’re wearing dinner, the plate clattering onto the ground. 

“Lo’ak!” Neteyam scolds. 

“Shit, I didn’t–”

“It’s fine,” you breathe an airy laugh and Lo’ak freezes when he hears your breath hitch. “It was an accident.” 

“Oh, ________…” Neteyam sighs, but you’re picking up the plate and scurrying off, ignoring the nearby snickering. 

“Whatever you got going on, you need to cool it,” Jake scolds him in the family tent after dinner that night. “________ is a good girl, she’s trying to find her place. Can’t really do that if you’re gonna be a jerk to her all the time.” 

Lo’ak resists the urge to roll his eyes because, yet again, someone is sticking up for you, admonishing him about how he could be nicer, how he could take you under his wing, how he–

“What about me?” Lo’ak argues. “I tell her to leave me alone all the time, but she doesn’t listen. Why do I have to be nice to someone who doesn’t respect–”

“Cut the bullshit,” Jake thunders. “You haven’t even tried being her friend.” 

“Why should I?” Lo’ak counters. 

“Because maybe you two are more alike than you’d care to learn,” Jake says knowingly. “Now go apologize.” 

“Dad!” 

“Go, Lo’ak.” 

Lo’ak sucks in a deep breath before squeezing his eyes shut and blowing out through his nose. 

“Fine, fine, whatever,” he grumbles, ducking from the tent into the humid night air. 

He starts into the jungle, fingers brushing over the leaves and petals of the plants and flowers. He takes the moment to regulate his pounding heart in his chest before trying to wrack his brain for any words that he could scrounge into a believable apology. 

When he crosses the glowing waters of a skinny brook, something rustles nearby and his hand is on the hilt of his dagger in the blink of an eye. 

He turns to face the noise, knife drawn, but then you emerge and his body relaxes a fraction. 

“Fuck, ________, you scared me,” he sighs in relief. 

You fidget and swallow down the lump in your throat. 

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. 

A brief silence dawns the two of you and Lo’ak notes that you’ve cleaned up from the evening meal’s debacle, now wearing a longer loincloth threaded with round pearlescent beads that refract the luminescence of the surrounding forest. 

Your grasp tightens around a leather bound journal and for a moment, he wonders what you could be writing about. 

When you follow his gaze, you shyly tuck the journal behind your back and give him an uneasy smile. 

“I wanted to–”

“I came to–”

Your words clash and you breathe a little laugh through your nose as you gaze at him with brilliant eyes. You start closing the distance and Lo’ak’s hands grow clammy. 

“You first,” you offer. 

Whatever threads of an apology he’d crafted in the moments prior have evaporated now that you stand before him, absolutely glowing. 

“Lo’ak?” Your head tilts and his cheeks warm. 

“Sorry,” he says hoarsely. “For what happened at dinner.” 

You shake your head quickly. 

“You don’t have to apologize,” you assure him, reaching out to touch him. 

He recoils, clearing his throat as he retreats to put an ample amount of distance between the two of you. 

You eye the berth and something shutters across your face as you rock back on your heels and flash him another uneasy smile. 

You haven’t even tried being her friend, his dad’s words echo like a call in the night. Maybe you two are more alike that you care to learn. 

Were you? You and Lo’ak were as different as they come, you molded by the love and adoration of the clan, him built up by the lessons and lectures he received from his parents and Neteyam. 

“Where are you going?” you ask, blowing by the previous conversation. 

He shrugs. 

“Dunno,” he admits. “I was looking for you.” 

The way you freeze is almost covert, your lips rolling as you try to hide the smile threatening to split your face. 

“Oh,” you hum. “Wanna go for a walk?” 

No, he wants to say. He absolutely does not want to spend anymore time with you than he has to. Likes to believe that he wouldn’t even bat an eye if he were to never see you again, but you’re looking at him expectantly and his dad’s words are like a mantra in his head, so he agrees begrudgingly. 

It’s awkward at first, silent except for the natural soundtrack of the vicarious jungle. But like you do so well, you break the silence and Lo’ak has to resist rolling his eyes for the third time that night. 

“What are your favorite colors?” you ask suddenly. 

“I dunno, green?” he offers. 

“Are you sure?” you laugh quietly. 

Lo’ak thinks a moment before nodding his head. 

“Yeah, green,” he finalizes. “And blue.” 

He barely notices that you’d fallen behind, and when he turns to look over his shoulder, he sees that you’re scratching something into your little journal. 

“And your favorite fruit?” you press, nose still between the pages. 

Lo’ak breathes out a laugh and your head shoots up. 

“What? You gonna send this list to the lab?” Lo’ak asks.

You give him a shy smile, shifting on your feet. 

“No,” you say softly, then whisper to yourself, “just compiling a list to win your heart.” 

Lo’ak barely hears you, ears twitching as his eyes narrow in confusion. 

“What?” he asks. 

You snap your notebook shut, shaking your head quickly as you pad through the grass to catch up to him. 

“Nothing.” 

Something ripples in the fabric after that night, you and Neteyam both notice when Lo’ak enters the training clearing the next afternoon and greets you with a nod instead of flat out ignoring your presence like he had the last training session. 

And you think that the moment is fleeting, a one off, but as the days progress, you realize that maybe Lo’ak is finally softening around you. 

He stays for entire lessons, the most minute of smiles twitching at his lips whenever you compliment his shots. He waits near the edge for you as you pack up your things, and while the walk back to the village is a quiet one, you bask in his company, triumphant when he doesn’t run off. 

And while your evening walks are few and far between, you savor the moments he affords you, wedging yourself between him the crumbling walls of his facade. 

Tonight is one of those moments, sitting on adjacent branches overlooking the lively forest, when Lo’ak lets you peek farther into his life than he’d originally intended. 

“He never understands,” he sighs, popping a few berries from his satchel past his lips. 

Tonight’s topic is his father and you listen intently, eyes fixed on the way he reclines on the branch and looks up at the stars. 

“I try hard, you know? To make everyone proud, but all they see is my failure,” he says, obviously annoyed. “No matter what I do, it’s not good enough.” 

“You do great things, Lo’ak,” you say quietly, the first words you’ve said all night. 

And like your voice is a reminder, Lo’ak’s spine goes rigid, throat bobbing as he realizes that he may have said too much to you. He’s getting too comfortable and you’re all the willing to absorb every insecurity and every worry he has. 

But something about quiet moments like these makes him loose-lipped, eyes fluttering to where you’ve got your notebook balanced in the seam of your thighs, scrawling something on the pages as you eat your own berries. 

The words are leaving him before he can stop them. 

“Easy for you to say,” he murmurs. “You’re perfect.” 

The laugh that escapes you startles him and a few of the berries he was about to devour slips from his fingers and plunk down the leaves.

“I’m not perfect,” you assure him. 

“Only someone who’s perfect would say that,” Lo’ak grumbles, peering over the edge of the branches to spot his fallen fruit. “The whole village loves you, everyone’s always so ready to bat for you.” 

You look down at the pages of your journal with a sad smile. 

“It’s a lot of pressure,” you admit quietly. “Everyone’s watching your every move, waiting for you to mess up.” 

Lo’ak shifts uncomfortably.

You continue. 

“And most of the villagers our age don’t like me,” you say, thumbing one of the pages. “They say I kiss ass, that I’m always trying to keep a leg up.” 

Lo’ak winces, knowing that he’s the source of at least one of those sentiments. 

“The elders think you’re honorable,” Lo’ak argues gently. “You’re talented, you have something to offer the people.” 

“Honor means nothing if you’re bound by it,” you say finally, closing the cover to your journal. “If anything, I want to be more like you.” 

“Like me?” Lo’ak asks incredulously, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

You nod, smiling at him. 

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I think you’re brave, fearless. And even if you care what people think, you do what you want.”

Lo’ak is quiet, taken aback by your confession.

Before he can respond, you’re gathering your things, bidding him a warm farewell as you begin climbing down the tree to disappear into the night. 

After that night, you think that maybe you’re just imagining things, that you’re reading too much into the fact that Lo’ak has begun to finally act like you exist, but then Kiri says something and the hope sends your heart soaring. 

“Seems like he finally got his head out of his ass,” she says a few mornings later as you two stand near a shallow stream, eyes peeled for any fish you two could bring back to the village. 

“Think so?” you ask nervously, arrow trapping the flailing fish to the pebbles of the stream’s bed. 

Kiri shrugs. 

“He actually pays you mind now,” Kiri observes. “That’s a step up for sure. I think you just need to spend more time with him.” 

You smile, splashing through shallow waters to capture the fish and add it to the growing pile in the basket between you and the middle Sully. 

“Yeah?” you wonder

So you test the theory, basket filled with various peeled fruits and a little container of nectar you squeezed from the petals of a flower. 

It doesn’t take long to hunt him down. When you enter the training circle, he’s packing up his things, quiver strapped to his back and bow in his fist. 

Before you make yourself known, he’s turning on his heel to face you, eyes wild as he swallows down the lump in his throat. 

He’d be the last to admit that the last night you two spent together was branded in his brain, that his mouth had dried up so much so he felt his tongue could crack.

There were so many implications in your words and it horrified him, scared him so much that he knew he couldn’t let you that close again. 

But now you stand before him, pretty as can be, hopeful even, and he’s at a war with himself, absolutely caught between resenting you for being everything he’s not and giving into the draw. 

“Hi,” you greet, basket heavy in your hands. 

You look more radiant than usual, skirt brushing the forest floor, the woven vine of your top banded to expose your midriff. 

“Hey,” he replies hesitantly. 

“Where you going?” you ask curiously.

His throat bobs as he gestures behind him. 

“Hunting,” is all he says.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” you ask eagerly.

He doesn’t. He shouldn’t. Because things are shifting and he’s not sure if he’ll be able to stomach the change. If he’ll be able to admit to himself that you’re wearing him thin, that you make him feel things he’s never felt before and that it makes him feel like he has no control. 

Because when it boils down to it, you make him lose control, make him lose his filter, and make him feel every emotion twice as hard. 

“No,” he says.

And in that moment, you feel like you’re back at square one, watching as his eyes turn stony and his jaw sets firmly. 

“You shouldn’t go hunting on your own,” you say softly. “Will someone be with you?” 

“It’s fine,” he argues. “I’m fine.” 

“I can go with you!” you offer. “I thought maybe we could sit by the stream and talk, but we can go hunting instead. We can–” 

“No,” he says again, pinning you with eyes so lethal, it makes you wonder if you really had imagined the moments you shared with him, if you had imagined Kiri telling you that she saw it too. 

You try again anyways. 

“It’ll be good practice and–”

“I said no, ________,” he barks. “You’re dead weight and I want to be alone.” 

Your lips seal and you bite the inside of your cheek. 

Lo’ak could nearly scream in frustration when he notices the way your shoulders sag and it makes something in his heart cinch. 

“Okay,” you agree, nodding quickly. “Be safe and–”

The words die on your tongue when you notice the look of annoyance on Lo’ak’s face. 

Lo’ak is in deep shit, you come to find out hours later. 

You sit outside of the training circle, knowing that Lo’ak will return down the path after his hunting trip. What you don’t expect, however, is Jake and Neytiri emerging with the entire line of Sully kids and Spider.

Jake grips the back of Lo’ak’s neck tightly as they march past wandering eyes, straight to the family tent. You don’t miss his wounds though, varying in depth, some bleeding, some sore. 

You’re hot on their heels, standing right outside of the entrance as Jake tears into the middle Sully. 

“Time and time again, I have to get on your ass for doing the complete opposite of what I ask you to do!” Jake’s voice is thunderous inside the tent. “Do you not realize that you not only risked your life but your sisters’ too?”

There’s a beat of silence before Jake continues, obviously pacing from the way his volume fluctuates. 

“And what were you thinking bringing Tuk? She’s nine, Lo’ak!” he shouts, the anger and the hurt evident in his tone. 

“I’m sorry,” Lo’ak mumbles. 

“Yeah, I bet you are!” Jake scolds. “I don’t ask for much. All I want is for you stay in line. Just stay out of trouble and work hard on your training. I paired you with ________ and Neteyam in hopes that maybe you’ll tighten up and be more like them, but you’re always disappointing me.” 

You frown. 

Whatever Lo’ak had done probably didn’t warrant such deep admonishment and something tugs especially hard at your heartstrings knowing that all he wants to do is make his dad proud. 

“You’re surrounded by good influences, but you always have to go against the grain, Lo’ak,” Jake says, the edge in his tone softening. “I’m getting tired of the bullshit, son. You need to clean up your act. Hear me?” 

“Yes sir,” Lo’ak says quietly, voice almost a whisper behind the hide of the tent. 

“Now go get yourself cleaned up,” Jake huffs. 

Your spine is straightening when you hear foot steps closing in, holding your breath as the flap to the tent billows open and Lo’ak is emerging.

His eyes flit to yours and his expression sours further. 

“Lo’ak,” you murmur, reaching out to him. 

He’s shrugging you away, wincing when a wound on his shoulder stretches especially taut. 

“You’re hurt,” you say quietly. “I’ll–”

“Leave me alone,” he says, eerily level. 

“But you’re–”

“I said leave me alone, ________,” he warns, pushing past you in what should be the pursuit of his grandmother’s quarters.

Instead he’s making a beeline for the jungle. 

You’d seen the look in his eye before he stonewalled you, seen the hurt and heaviness that most people didn’t seem to notice because he was always so adventurous and carefree. 

You follow after him. 

“Lo’ak, you know he’s only worried for you,” you try to reason gently, fingers reaching for his own as you duck under massive leaves and fluttering insects. 

He whirls to face you, swatting your hand away. 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he bites. “You don’t know anything.” 

You swallow, holding your hand to your chest as you watch him lay down every brick to wall himself off. 

He hates it. He hates how you look at him, how you seem to pity the life he has to live. It makes him sick, thinking that you two have it the same. He’d rather be hated for being great than hated for being a let down. It’s insulting, how you think you know how it feels. 

“Let’s go back. I’ll wrap your wounds and–”

“Of course, clan’s golden girl is gonna patch me up and make it all better, huh?” he seethes facetiously. “Just fuck off!” 

You flinch, blinking at the boy you holds so much rage in front of you. 

“I know you’re hurting, but you don’t have to be mean,” you whisper, taking in a shuddering breath to will yourself not to cry. 

“Mean? Mean?” Lo’ak bristles. “I’ve tried telling you to lay off nicely, tried telling you to just leave me alone, but you don’t listen. You just pry and overstep and you make every little thing about you! Oh, it’s so much pressure, villagers our age hate me, of course they would! You already have everything and just have to go rub salt in the wound!” 

You shrink, eyes welling as your lip trembles. 

“Lo’ak, stop,” you whimper. 

“We’re not friends, ________.We never were and we never will because I don’t like you,” he spits. “Now please, for the love of god, will you just leave me alone!” 

The forest is silent save for Lo’ak’s ragged breathing, fists clenched as he glares down at you. 

“I-” Your breath hitches and you choke out an apology. “I’m sorry.” 

Lo’ak’s heart softens a fraction as you take a step back, turning quickly on your heel. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” you rasp, tripping over your own feet as you stumble into a run, putting as much space as you can between you and the middle child who stands in the middle of the forest, unable to wrangle every harsh word he’d said to force back down his throat. 

You dropped your journal. 

Lo’ak is sure you’re looking for it, know that you’ve always got your nose stuck in it. You had dropped it running off and now he has its leather bound in his hands. 

It’s been a couple of nights since the faithful evening he’d blown his top and he’d only seen whispers of you. It was so unlike you to disappear, to not be entertaining the masses as they fell to your feet. 

He’d cooled off significantly, and when he replayed the conversation in his head, he winced, body folding in on itself as he realizes how harsh he’d been. 

“Are you actually thinking thoughts?” Spider claps him on the shoulder, startling him so badly he drops the journal. 

It lands spine down, the pages fluttering open. 

He chances a peek before Spider is rounding his lithe figure to pick up the notebook. All he makes out is a rough sketch. 

“You write?” Spider asks, intrigued. 

“No, it’s ________’s,” Lo’ak answers. 

“Oh, your little girlfriend’s?” 

Lo’ak gives the human a cross look, snatching the book from his grasp as he stands up.

“Trouble in paradise?” Spider pries, scurrying to keep up with Lo’ak’s long strides. 

A beat of silence before Lo’ak finally answers. 

“Made her cry,” he mumbles, embarrassed. 

Spider winces behind him. 

“You serious?” 

Lo’ak sighs. 

“Yes, dude, fuck,” he breathes, hand coming to the back of his neck. “I don’t know what came over me. Dad was ripping me a new one and Neteyam already chewed me out before they got there and she was being annoying, so I just…” 

“Bro,” Spider scoffs in disbelief, scratching the back of his head. “You’re a real dickhead sometimes.” 

Lo’ak’s eyes wander as he shifts uncomfortably, feeling incredibly small as his friend glares up at him. 

“I mean, I told her I wanted to be left alone!” Lo’ak tries to defend weakly. “I- I didn’t mean to.” 

“She likes you a lot, dude,” Spider reiterates. “She just wants you to like her back.” 

Despite the glaring signs, Lo’ak has trouble believing that your feelings for him far surpass charity work. They couldn’t, it was impossible. Because at the end of the day, you’re you and he’s…him. 

He opens his mouth to say something, but Spider beats him to it.

“Did you at least apologize?” 

Lo’ak squirms.

“Dude!” 

“Look, I know, I know,” he tries to assuage the situation. 

“________ is literally the sweetest girl in the entire clan you just–“ 

“I get it, bro, I get it!” Lo’ak huffs. 

“Get your head out of your ass,” Spider says. “She might not stick around long enough for you to realize.” 

“Realize what?” Lo’ak snaps. 

“Are you really gonna play stupid right now?” 

He blinks at the human. 

“You like ________,” Spider says matter-of-factly. “You always have, ever since we were kids.” 

“Oh, piss off,” Lo’ak grumbles.

“Dude, you’re literally my best friend, but I sometimes I wanna shove my foot so far up your–”

“I do not like ________,” Lo’ak says sharply. 

“Everyone sees it but you, dipshit,” Spider scoffs. “You like her, but you’re scared. She’s perfect and she intimidates you. Think she’s gonna see you for what you really are and turn her back on you like everyone else does when you fuck up, but she’s not like that, Lo’ak. She’s been there whether you like it or not. But she might not always.” 

Lo’ak swallows down the knot in his throat, fingers tightening around the notebook. 

“Everything clicking?” Spider asks knowingly. 

Lo’ak throws him a final narrowed glare before stalking off. 

It’s Lo’ak’s birthday and just like every orbit, he spends it alone in the forest.

At first, he’d been burdened with the weight of hurting your feelings, but now his conversation with Spider weighs heavy on him as he climbs dirt walkways and flowered paths. 

It doesn’t help that your notebook weighs heavy in his satchel, a silent reminder that he still has a piece of you while you cling to his peace of mind. 

I think you’re brave, fearless. They’re the words you uttered to him that fateful night you turned the reality of you two on its axis. 

As he splices all the moments you two shared like a reel, he realizes that it’s endless. That you’re always there, you’d always been there, like a layer of impenetrable atmosphere surrounding him. 

He really should apologize, he knows this much, but you’ve disappeared like a wisp of smoke. Training sessions have returned to a sibling affair and he’s too prideful to ask about you. 

It’s almost eclipse when he begins making his way back for the evening meal, knowing that a scolding will await if he arrives even a minute late. 

After what had happened with you, he was lying low, trying to diminish his blip from the radar.

As he closes in on the village’s main circle, he notes that it’s quiet. A little too quiet. It puts him on edge, makes him draw his bow and feel around for an arrow in his quiver. 

A few more paces and he’s broken into the clearing, a few stragglers milling about. Another half a dozen steps and it’s like the forest melts into a celebration, whorls of blue pouring into the circle as villagers begin trilling. 

Lo’ak is hoisted into the air as the dying fire in the center of the camp begins to slowly roar. 

“Happy birthday, baby bro!” Neteyam caws loudly as they begin jostling him into the air, chanting and dancing as the dense crowd of clanspeople celebrate him.

It’s like time slows as he peers from side to side eagerly, seeing the way Spider, Kiri and Tuk dance happily among his people. Jake and Neytiri stand near the fire, smiles wide when they see the look of awe on their middle son’s face. 

When he’s finally set on his feet, he wobbles, childlike as he turns, taking in the glowing streamers that crisscross between the tents. Flowers of green and blue thread through the vines, gleaming like lamplight as the forest buzzes around them. 

“Wha– What is all this?” Lo’ak croaks in disbelief, eyes flitting wildly as he notices Norm and Max standing next to a table they’d hauled from the pod to the circle, piled high with meats and vegetables wrapped in leaves. 

A platter of yovo fruits, his favorite, are at the center, surrounded by a painted sign with his name and the handprints of dozens of villagers on it. 

“You survived another orbit!” Neteyam laughs heartily, head-locking the younger boy before roughly digging his knuckles into the top of his head. 

A laugh bubbles from Lo’ak’s lips, swatting his brother away as villagers and clan members he’d grown up with approach him one by one to greet him. 

As the night progresses, he doesn’t even realize he’s searching until your mother approaches and his spine goes rigid, cheeks warming under her piercing gaze. 

“From my ________,” she says, setting a pouch into his palms. “She toiled over these for many eclipses. Please take care.” 

Lo’ak’s nod is delayed as his satchel shifts on his shoulders, a dull reminder that your journal still remains with him, begging to be read. 

“Where– Where is she?” he asks suddenly, feeling your absence all the more now that your gift sits in the palm of his hand. 

“My daughter does not feel well,” your mother says simply. “She wished to be excused from the festivities.” 

His chest feels hollow, stomach tight as his cheeks burn. You’d mentioned this to him, all those days ago in the training circle, about wanting to celebrate with him. 

His eyes flit to the flowers looped through the vines, the mountain of yovo fruits, the gift in his hands. He doesn’t want to be presumptuous. Doesn’t want to fuel the tiniest ember of hope in chest, but he can’t help it. 

He can’t help but read into it, into the implications of this celebration you’d planned all for him, into every word you uttered to him in the quiet of the forest’s chirping. 

It’s all it takes for him to lock himself in his own head. The feast melts into the background, dull, as his eyes cut the crowd for you. 

You have to be here, gotta be hanging around the outskirts silently. The idea taunts him, makes his gut twist hard as images of you dancing in the circle, singing to him, celebrating him, loving him—

Lo’ak freezes, blinking incredulously at the thought that’d just crossed his brain. It makes him queasy, makes the regret and the guilt gnaw at every nerve ending as your crying face flashes like an unwanted slideshow in his brain. 

It’s all he can think about as the festivities die, as villagers begin turning in the for the night and he helps his family clean up the aftermath of another orbit finally finished. 

Spider helps Tuk and Neteyam near the fire, and as Lo’ak moves through the motions like he’s caught in a tide, Kiri watches, knowing all too well what consumes her brother’s mind. 

It isn’t until Lo’ak is shrouded by the stillness of the early morning, his family tucked in their tent, bodies and limbs splayed as they sleep together, that he sits in a swinging hammock, your journal and the pouch in his lap. 

It feels wrong, the way he thumbs the cover, working up the courage to turn it open. But Ewya, fate, would have never left it in his wake if it wasn’t meant to be read.

As his finger ghosts the etchings of the front cover, worn and loved by you, something tickles his leg as he admires the leather. He blinks in disbelief when he sees a singular woodsprite resting against his thigh. 

Before he loses his nerve, he’s opening the pages with bated breath. 

Recipes, nature notes, short thoughts fill the sheets and Lo’ak feels like he’s reading into your brain, seeing all the little things no one bothers to know. 

he is like the sun,

shines so bright,

but burns the closer you get. 

Lo’ak’s pointer finger glosses over the ink, over your curly handwriting. 

he is so incredible, but he doesn’t even know it. i want to shout it to every creature in the forest, every tree and every flower. oh, how i wish to be as fearless as him. 

His chest heaves as the words blur. 

Fearless. 

Fearless. 

Fearless. 

In this moment, he feels everything but. He feels like a coward. 

He continues to flip, throat lodged as he sees drawings, both rough sketches and full renderings. He hadn’t even known that you liked to draw, yet here he was, observing his home through your artistic eye. 

Flowers, leaves, trees, creatures, insects, fruits mar the stained papers, etched like it’d been caught in real time. 

likes green and blue. 

likes yovo fruits. 

The entry from the day you’d first walked with him through the forest. 

When he turns the page, his breath hitches. 

In full color, you’d captured his bullseye from your first training session. His back taut from the release, expression shaded stoic. He looked mighty, like the strongest warrior, and it was all through your eyes. 

Lo’ak doesn’t even realize he’s crying until the bullseye in the illustration bleeds from a fallen tear. Another one drips from his chin, then another. 

The next page is the night you two had poured your hearts out to each other. Again, in full color, he’s watching the stars. You don’t leave out the glow of the freckles that smatter his face and body, don’t miss the smile that plays at his lips as he quietly points out that his dad had come from a star. 

He flips again and different iterations and designs for what seems like jewelry litters the pages, shaded with different colors of blue and green, marked with varying notes, x’s marking through ideas you didn’t like. 

Lo’ak remembers the pouch, sitting untouched in his lap, and his shaky fingers undo the ties. He shakes the contents on the flat of the notebook and the most intricate beadwork fits into the crease. 

His eyes widen as he picks up the necklace in a trembling hand, the eclipsing sun catching the etching in the flat stones. 

Four five-fingered hands and four four-fingered ones, each separated by jewels scavenged and cleaned from the bed of the glowing river. 

A small scroll flutters from the pouch and Lo’ak chokes back as sob as he unrolls the hide. 

Happy Birthday, Lo’ak. I am always grateful to know someone like you. May your next orbit be filled with endless blessings from Ewya and may you see yourself how I see you. 

You see him, he realizes. You’re his supporter, a silent force that consumes every insecurity and swallows every doubt. You believe in him more than he believes in himself. 

He stands from the hammock and runs. 

You’re sitting in the same tree the two of you had rested in the night you’d confided in Lo’ak, watching as the sun eclipses and begins to light up the sparkling forest.

Something rustles and you sit up, hand on the hilt of your dagger as you search the area for movement.

As your eyes lock on the source, you almost wish it had been a beast coming to devour you whole. But as Lo’ak climbs the branches of the tree quickly, you feel the dread begin to solidify in your veins. 

You take your satchel, hanging from a nearby branch and sling it over your shoulder, pulling your shawl over your head to prepare for your escape. 

“________, wait,” he chokes breathlessly. “Please.” 

You feel like crying all over again, feel so unbelievably stupid thinking that Lo’ak would ever see you the way that you see him. 

You pause a beat as he settles on the branch across from yours, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. 

Something glints in the sun and your eyes widen when you see that Lo’ak has fastened the necklace you made him around his neck, right above the the leather chain that holds his beloved claw charm. 

“You’re wearing it,” you whisper, lips twitching into a frown as you try your best to keep your tears at bay. 

“I’m sorry, ________,” Lo’ak apologizes hoarsely. “Fuck, you don’t understand how sorry I am.” 

The tears well on their own. 

We’re not friends. We never were and we never will. 

The words haunt you like a broken record and you shake your head, moving from your perch to move down the branches. 

“Wait, wait,” Lo’ak pleads. “Please don’t go, I–”

“I hate you,” you whisper. “I hate you, Lo’ak.” 

He freezes, watching as you balance on a branch below. 

“I tried so hard to be your friend,” you whimper, angrily wiping away your tears. “You’re amazing. You’re strong, and you’re fearless, and you are everything I want to be, but you’re heartless.” 

Lo’ak lets out a shuddering breath, a chill running down his spine as you look up at him like he’d smashed every star in the sky. 

“I wanted to be with you, you know?” you let out a watery laugh. “I hoped that maybe if I stuck it out, you’d see how much I cared, how badly I wanted to be with you, even if it was from a distance.” 

“I do, _________, I do!” he argues. 

He hadn’t always, but he sees it now. He sees you. 

You shake your head again.

“You don’t,” you sigh, voice trembling. “It’s my fault anyways. You were right. You told me to leave you alone and I was being too much.” 

“Stop–”

“Let this be the last time,” you assure him. “Let’s just– Let’s pretend we never met.”

“No, _________. Wait!” 

You’re climbing down the tree and disappearing into the brush and, like a fleck of ash, you’re disintegrating into nothingness. 

Most people think he’s being moody, that he’s just been scolded by his father or older brother, but Neytiri knows better. 

She sees the way her son has changed over the course of the past few weeks. She knows there is a great burden that he carries, but much like her beloved and her eldest, he suffers in silence. 

“Maitan,” she says quietly, brushing a braid from his face as he folds the leaves around a chunk of steaming meat. 

Lo’ak pauses almost imperceptibly, but continues his task. 

It isn’t like him to stay home and work with Neytiri. If anything, he’d be the first one out of the tent, Tuk, Spider, and Kiri tailing after him as they galavant through the endless forest. 

“Something weighs heavy in your heart,” she tries again, hand coming over his. 

Lo’ak stops and leans back, unable to meet his mother’s searching gaze. 

“I hurt someone,” he says quietly. 

Neytiri stiffens.

“What?” 

“I hurt someone I care about,” Lo’ak admits. You’d called him fearless, strong. He needed to live by your word. “I hurt her and I don’t know how to fix it.” 

“Oh, Lo’ak,” she murmurs, squeezing his hand gently. 

Her face has softened as she takes in his stony expression. 

“My son, some things cannot be fixed,” she says honestly. “But all things require great effort. Sometimes those efforts will fall through, but that is the natural order of life.” 

Lo’ak swallows. 

“Whoever this special person is, if you have hurt her, she deserves the full effort of your heart, no?” 

You do, he knows you do. You deserve every last effort. But a niggling streak of insecurity tells him that you don’t deserve someone like him. You don’t deserve someone who takes your affections for granted. You deserve someone who will love you with every breath, who will love you fearlessly. 

“I really messed things up, Mom,” Lo’ak says quietly. “I don’t…” 

Neytiri’s hand comes to Lo’ak chest. 

“The night I first met your father, Ewya gave me sign,” she says. “He has a pure, strong heart. You do too.” 

Lo’ak swallows. 

“Be brave, Maitan,” she says. “Sometimes that is enough.” 

Lo’ak’s fingers hurt from picking berries.

His cuticles bleed, pricked by the thorns of the fruit’s bush. Kiri hums beside him, weaving a little bag out of ropes of thin vines. 

“You’re not gonna help me?” he whines. 

“Why should I help you with your mess?” 

You look beautiful under the glow of the evening meal’s crackling fire. It’s the first time you’ve emerged since before Lo’ak’s birthday feast and you’re being flocked by elders and villagers, wishing you well and asking about your supposed ailment. 

He sits across the fire, fists tight as he searches for a lull in the crowd. 

Spider snickers next to him, devouring the contents of his plate like he’s starved, watching Lo’ak’s useless pining like a show. 

Be brave. 

He’s standing to his feet before he can back out, crossing the circle to approach you. The villagers watch like they know something he doesn’t and the nerves are eating away at him as he steps into your space. 

You look up from your conversation with a girl your age, the smile slipping from your lips. 

“Can we talk?” Lo’ak asks, eyes wandering to watch the way everyone watches him. 

You remain jaded.

“Now’s not a good time,” you say quietly and a few onlookers snicker in the background. “________,” Lo’ak tries again. 

You stare up at him, the shadow of the fire dancing over your features as you seemingly look right through him. It’s humiliating, the way you remain seated and watch him fidget, but he figures he deserves the cold shoulder after months, years of casting you to the side. 

“Let’s go?” you ask the girl, nodding your head over your shoulder. 

The girl chances a glance between you and Lo’ak, noticing the telltale sign of your work etched into the stones of the choker he hadn’t taken off since his birthday. 

She gives him a sympathetic smile as she follows after you. 

He’s going to have to try a lot harder than he has, he realizes as your birthday looms right around the corner. The next eclipse, in fact. 

He’s losing hope, losing courage, but he can’t give up on you two just yet. 

He makes sure the berries he picked the days prior are packed tightly in his bag, the lid to the nectar fastened, and his present wrapped nicely. 

It’s his last hope, his last shot to make things right. 

Spider, Tuk, and Neytiri surround him, Neteyam and Jake off on a hunt. 

They’d all been privy to the fact, aiding him in his endeavors as he organized his final grapple with your heart. 

“Kiri said she’ll bring her right before eclipse,” Spider says, peeking from the flap of the tent. “That’s in, like, minutes.” 

Lo’ak is nervous. Doesn’t know what he’ll do if he loses you for good, but he knows he has to give it his best effort. It’s the least you deserve. 

Be brave. Sometimes that is enough. 

Lo’ak glances at his mom and she gives him a warm smile, ruffling his braids. 

“You are the son of Toruk Makto,” she assures him, pinching his cheek. “There is nothing you cannot do.” 

The words are carved into his brain as he rushes through the forest, the the stream that the curls and bends through the forest. It glows beautifully at night and that is his final push. 

“Wait, give me like three seconds, I left something.” Kiri’s voice is muffled behind the trees. 

“Huh?” Lo’ak sees the way your head tilts through an opening in the foliage. 

“I’ll only be a second!” 

“Wait, Kiri!” 

Kiri is running straight for him, comes barreling through the bushes, and continues down the path. 

“Good luck, egghead!”

Lo’ak takes in a final breath to quell the tremor in his hands before ducking through the bushes to reveal himself. 

You’re sitting on the embankment, on a woven mat that Kiri had laid out for you two, decorative vines edging the seams. 

“Oh, you were–”

You peer over your shoulder and your expression falls. 

“Lo’ak…” 

“Happy birthday, ________,” he breathes. 

You don’t look amused, slinging your bag over you shoulder as you rise to your feet. 

“Kiri and I are hanging out,” you tell him. 

He scratches the back of his head. 

“I…I had Kiri bring you here because I knew that you wouldn’t come with me if I asked,” he admits. “And of course, I don’t blame you, but I– I just really need to talk to you.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek, unable to look him in his eyes as he draws nearer. 

“Just give me some time, please,” he pleads. 

You finally meet his gaze, searching his eyes as he looks down at you earnestly. 

You give him the tiniest nod, reluctantly shedding your satchel to reassume your seat on the mat. 

The waters rush gently, like a song as Lo’ak lowers himself next to you.

His palms are clammy as he fidgets in his seat, the scent of herbs and flowers wafting from your dewy skin. He can’t bring himself to look at you, afraid that every sentiment he’d crafted in the hours of the night will escape him, so he watches the bubbling of the stream. 

“Well?” you whisper, like you don’t want to shatter the fragile sheath of peace that layers you. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I know I’ve said it already, but I really am, ________.” 

“I know,” you murmur and his gaze flits to yours. “Even if you don’t act like it, you have a good heart, Lo’ak. You feel everything, even the things you don’t want to.” 

He swallows.

“I didn’t mean it,” he says carefully. “I was mad and I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair.” 

You sit silently, knees hugged to your chest. Your cheek rests against your knee, watching Lo’ak with seeing eyes. It makes him trip over his words. 

“My whole life, I’ve always been compared to Neteyam,” he says. “The entire village would whisper about me and how I was nothing like the mighty warrior.” 

When he glances at you, he notices your fingers twitch, like you want to reach out to him. 

He squashes his fears and turns to face you, five-fingered hand coming up to thread with your four. You watch the union, uncertainty obvious in the way you tense, but Lo’ak squeezes. 

“And then when we started growing up, you were just another person I had to live up to,” Lo’ak whispers. “You’re perfect, ________. You’re kind, and you’re smart, talented. You’re everything I’m not and it made me hate you.” 

You shrink, but Lo’ak pulls you towards him, hand coming up to brush your cheek. 

“But you’re all of that and more,” he continues, the words gushing like a river. “You’re always there, you support me and you defend me and see things I don’t.” 

You become shy under his gaze because for the first time, he’s seeing you. He’s seeing you for every single thing you’ve been to him and it makes your stomach knot. 

“I have something to tell you,” he says. “Please don’t be mad at me.” 

Your gaze is soft, palm still in his as he turns and reaches into the bag he discarded next to him. Your eyes widen when he produces your notebook, edges curled the slightest as he hands it to you. 

“My journal,” you say, taking it from him quickly. “I’ve been looking for this. Why- Why do you have it?” 

He looks guilty, lips rolling as he avoids your gaze. 

“Did you…” 

“I wasn’t going to,” he admits. “But there were woodsprites and I knew it was a s–”

“Lo’ak this is private,” you murmur incredulously. “Why would you read this?” 

“How long, ________?” he asks quietly, grip on your hand tightening. 

“Lo’ak, don’t–”

“How long?” he presses desperately. 

Your eyes are watering, like that wicked night all over again and Lo’ak begs Eywa for the final push. 

“Since we were ten,” you whisper brokenly. “It was my first performance and it was so stupid, but I was throwing up because I was nervous and you talked me through it.” 

Lo’ak is stunned, the memory like the faintest of outlines. 

“We didn’t even know each other that well,” you hiccup. “But you patted me on the back and you gave me this–”

You pull your fingers from his grasp and flip the journal to the last page, revealing a hidden pocket. Your nimble fingers pull a tattered string, the remnants of a vine, threaded with wilted flower petals, preserved from being pressed inside your notebook.

“You said that they made you make it during lessons,” you say, breath hitching. “That it’d be my good luck.” 

He’d forgotten all about the memory completely, too caught up in driving whatever wedge he could between you two, building up walls to seal you out. 

“And you kept it this whole time?” he asks, face scrunched in disbelief. 

“I’d hold on to anything you give me,” you admit in defeat. “Heartbreak included.” 

He lets out a shaky breath. 

“________, I’m so sorry,” he repeats, hand coming up to your neck. “You have to know that. I’m really fucking stupid, but if you give us a shot, I won’t mess it up.” 

Your hand comes up to his wrist, crumpling as you bow your head. 

“Don’t do this to me,” you beg, moving to break away from him. 

“Please.” 

His hold tightens, other hand twining with yours. 

“If I…if I give myself to you, I’m giving you everything,” you say hesitantly. “If you break this, you break me. I don’t think I can come back from this.” 

Lo’ak presses his forehead to yours, breath warm against your lips as he searches your gaze for any semblance of hope. 

“This is me being fearless, ________,” he whispers. 

You melt, pressing your lips to his tentatively. He’s frozen for the shortest of moments before relenting, pushing up onto his knees to deepen the kiss. 

He’s cradling your face and your hands are wandering and Lo’ak can’t help but think he could get used to loving you. 

To being loved by you. 

BONUS

“I was gonna give it to you on your birthday,” Lo’ak says sheepishly a few nights later under the stars. “But, you know…” 

Your usual place among the branches of the looming trees have a lot of memories both bitter and sweet, but you suppose you could make new ones. 

“You don’t have to give me anything,” you say sweetly, tail swishing to wrap around his ankle. “You’re all I need.” 

Lo’ak doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to your saccharine words if the pounding in his chest is anything to go by. 

His hands are shaky as he pushes the hide towards you, a bow made of vine tied neatly around the gift. 

“Wanted to,” he says simply, moving the hair from you face to see your reaction better. “Open it.” 

You’re gentle with the present, like you are with most things, but eager to see what he’d gotten you. 

A tiny gasp falls from your lips when you finally see it, wide eyes meeting his as you free the jars of paints he’d mashed up, the brushes he fashioned, and the brand new journal he bound himself. 

“Lo’ak, wow…” 

“So you can paint me more,” he says, then adds timidly. “Or maybe us. Maybe you could paint us.” 

an — holy shit guys, this was such a big project for me because i really wanted to dive into so many different things in this fic. to everyone who was waiting patiently, thank you sososo much. as usual, i took a lot of creative liberties with this one, but i hope you guys enjoyed nonetheless! although requests are paused for me to catch up, like always, if you wanna chat with me about literally anything, my askbox is open. lots of love hehehe :) xx

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neng © 2023

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