#No. thoughts. behind. those fuckes. whatsoever

[samthechaotic]

*Me a medical student reading Batman 138*

What the actual fuck? DOES THIS WRITER KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT HUMAN'S BIOCHEMISTRY?? HOW IS HE SUPPOSED TO "FALL IN LOVE" AND LIVE A NORMAL LIFE WHEN ADRENALINE IS AN ESSENTIAL PART OF FALLING IN LOVE AND HAVING KIDS!!!

*10 mins later*

ADRENALINE?? ARE U FCKING FR???

*40 mins later*

I COULD SPEND AN ENTIRE MONTH ON WHY THIS IS MEDICALLY SO WRONG AND IT WILL NOT BE ENOUGH!!!

[geminiwritten]

short skirt weather ; robert 'bob' floyd

fandom: top gun

pairing: bob x reader

summary: you and bob are obviously into each other, but he's hesitant to make a move claiming you're too young for him, until a whole lot of miscommunication—jealousy, tension, the works—and a training accident lands you in hospital...

notes: the lew spiral is still spiralling and i almost struggled writing this because i love him so much??? anyways, it's heaps of fun, has all the tension, jealousy, angst, fluff, and of course... lots of horny thoughts! please let me know what you think!!! (p.s. shout out to the critical role nerds for the callsign, iykyk)

warnings: swearing, miscommunication, reference to a slight age gap (but it isn't specified and it's also described as 'barely there'), teasing, short skirts (sorry bob), jealousy, switching pov (kind of), plane crash, very minor description of injury, and horniness so 18+ ONLY MDNI! (let me know if i missed anything)

word count: 18022 (i have no chill whatsoever)

your callsign is vex

Bob Floyd never thought of himself as someone who took particular interest in the weather—unless it had to do with flying, of course. But on the ground? He couldn’t care less. Or, he shouldn’t. 

Especially not when it comes to what the weather makes people wear. How is that any of his business? It shouldn’t matter how hot it is outside or how that directly affects the amount of material someone’s wearing. It really shouldn’t. 

But it does. And not just with anyone. No—this has everything to do with you. 

You, in that damn sundress and those ridiculous cowboy boots that shouldn’t be giving Bob a semi in the middle of the goddamn bar. 

And yet, there you are in all your glory. Legs on display, that flowy little skirt just barely covering the curve of your ass. And fuck if it isn’t making it impossible for Bob to keep his eyes from wandering. 

“God damn,” Jake says, his southern drawl thick as his green eyes lock onto you—or more specifically, your ass. “Do you think she knows?” 

Bob blinks, brows pulling together as he turns toward Jake, trying—and failing, miserably—not to sound annoyed that he’s checking you out. “Know what?” 

“What a girl like that does to guys like us,” Jake replies easily. 

Reuben chuckles and takes a slow sip of his beer. “Oh, she knows. She definitely knows.” 

“Ugh,” Natasha groans. “Could you creeps stop looking at her like she’s something to eat? It’s gross. She’s our friend. Our teammate.” 

Jake opens his mouth, lips already curled into his usual smirk, but Natasha puts a hand up to stop him. 

“And she’s barely younger than us, so don’t say anything weird about her age.” 

Jake rolls his eyes and lifts his beer. “Wasn’t gonna…” 

There’s a beat of silence as Bob lets his eyes drift back to you, drinking in the way you’re leaning against the bar. Elbow propped, hip cocked, one boot crossed over the other, and your head tipped just slightly as you talk to the dark-haired stranger beside you. 

“Wait,” Mickey leans forward, squinting—very unsubtly—across the bar. “Is that her date?” 

Natasha nods. “Think so. Looks like the guy she showed me.” 

Bob’s head snaps toward her, dark blue eyes wide. “She’s on a date?” 

Mickey giggles. Reuben snorts. Even Bradley has to hide a laugh behind his beer. 

“Alright,” Jake says, slapping a hand on the table in mock outrage. “Who didn’t tell Bob?” 

Natasha shoots him a flat look before turning back to Bob. “Didn’t you hear us talking about it at lunch? She met some guy on Hinge or something.” 

“Said she was gonna go home with him and let him keep her up all night,” Jake adds with a wicked grin. “Y’know, since we’re starting night rides next week—figured she’d get used to staying up late.” 

“I was intentionally leaving that part out,” Nat says, glaring at Jake. “But thanks for clearing it all up, Bagman.” 

Jake tips his beer toward her. “Anytime.” 

Bob’s jaw twitches. His teeth are clenched so tight it hurts, but he can’t relax—not with that guy’s hand on your hip, fingers digging into the soft fabric like he has some right to touch you. Like you belong to him. 

Which you don’t. You don’t belong to anyone. 

At least, that’s what Bob has to keep telling himself. 

“Easy, Floyd,” Bradley mutters beside him. “You keep staring like that, the poor guy’s gonna catch fire.” 

Bob doesn’t respond. He can’t. His voice is gone, breath caught somewhere in his throat. He’s too focused on your smile—how it flickers, just a little off. Not quite like the one you wear with them. With him. 

It shouldn’t matter. He shouldn’t care whether or not you’re giving that stranger the same bright smile or soft laugh you always give him. Because it’s none of his business. 

Who you date and what you do—none of it is his business. You’re allowed to wear tiny dresses, flirt with strangers, and laugh at guys who think they’re clever. 

It shouldn’t matter. 

But it does. 

God, it fucking matters—way more than it should. 

Because for the first time in weeks, you’re not looking at him. You’re looking at... that guy. 

And even though he tells himself—repeatedly, a thousand times a day—not to enjoy being the centre of your attention... he does. 

He lives for it. 

“You know,” Reuben says slowly, lips curled into the tiniest smirk, “this wouldn’t even be happening if you’d sack up and—” 

“Payback,” Natasha warns. “Don’t.” 

“What?” He raises both hands in mock innocence. “All I’m trying to say is, if he likes her that much, he should just ask her out. She’s clearly into him. We all know it.” 

Bob’s eyes flick between you and Reuben, his brows furrowed slightly as his thoughts tug in opposite directions. On one hand, yeah, Reuben’s logic makes perfect sense. Bob’s not blind—he sees the way you look at him. The way your face lights up when you talk to him, the quiet smile you wear just for him, the blush you try to hide when he says something low and teasing. 

But on the other hand? He just can’t do it. You’re young—too young. And he’s... well, he’s not old, but he’s older. It’s not a huge age gap, not really, but that paired with how drop-dead gorgeous you are? It’s enough to make him feel like a— 

“Nothin’ wrong with being a cradle-snatcher,” Jake chimes in, eyes sparkling as he lifts his beer. 

Bradley chuckles quietly. “Jesus, Hangman. You’re on fire tonight.” 

“Why thank you, Rooster,” Jake replies smoothly. 

Natasha rolls her eyes and downs the rest of her beer in one long swig, looking thoroughly done with all of them. 

The conversation shifts then—to next week’s night ops training—but Bob barely hears it. The pounding of his pulse is too loud, drowning everything out. And he can’t stop watching you. 

The way your hands move when you talk, how your dress sways as you shift your weight, the gentle curve of your smile. Even over the music and chatter, he swears he can hear your laughter—if he strains. 

And it kills him. Because he’s not the one making you laugh tonight. 

- 

“Wanna get out of here?” Ryan asks, his voice low in your ear, breath warm against your neck. 

But not in a sexy way. Not in the way that sends goosebumps down your arms or makes your skin prickle with anticipation. It just makes you feel warm—too warm—in the packed, overheated bar. 

Honestly, for the last forty-five minutes, while Ryan has been telling you all about his super interesting job—he's a carpenter, it’s not that interesting—you’ve been seriously considering hopping behind the bar to help Penny and Jimmy. 

“It’s barely nine,” you say, forcing a polite smile as you tilt your head. 

“Yeah,” he chuckles, scratching the back of his neck. “But I’ve got to be at work by six tomorrow morning, so I figured if we ducked out now, we could... you know, mess around a bit before bed.” 

The way he says it nearly makes you laugh. He sounds like a teenager trying to sneak in some action before curfew. 

“Look,” you sigh, laying a hand on his knee, “this has been fun, but I’m just not your girl. And honestly? I was kinda hoping this would distract me from someone else, but... you’re not him. I’m sorry. It’s not your fault—this one’s on me. But, uh... good luck!” 

He looks completely flabbergasted. Like the blank stare you’ve worn for most of the evening—or the way your gaze kept drifting across the bar toward someone else—wasn’t a hint. God, he might be even dumber than you thought. 

You slip off the barstool with a clipped smile, wishing you looked more sincere, but your body is already moving toward where you really want to be—where your squad is. 

Where Bob is. 

You’re just about to head for the booth when your eye catches on Penny—and the very large crowd waiting to be served. 

“Damn it,” you sigh, pivoting sharply and hurrying around the bar. 

You slip through the swinging wooden doors behind the bar and fall in beside Penny, listening closely to the man ordering drinks—his voice raised over the music and chatter. Without hesitation, you start grabbing clean glasses, catching Penny off guard as you begin pouring pints of golden beer. 

“Sorry,” you say with a soft laugh. “I saw the crowd and couldn’t just let you suffer.” 

She rolls her eyes but smiles. “I’d tell you to scram if you weren’t so gorgeous—and a literal lifesaver.” 

You give her a cheeky wink before lining up the beers on a tray for the man. Penny swipes his card, and he’s gone in half the time. Then the next patron steps up, and you keep working smoothly, moving effortlessly behind the bar and easing the pressure. 

Eventually, the line dies down, and Penny takes full advantage of your presence by sending Jimmy out back for more stock. You stay behind the bar while she ducks off to collect empties, keeping yourself busy wiping benches, refilling lime wedges, and unloading the freshly washed glasses. 

You’re so focused on scrubbing at a particularly stubborn stain on the bar top that you don’t notice someone approach—someone you usually have a hard time not noticing. 

“You don’t work here,” Bob says, voice light, lips twitching at the corners. 

You glance up, your heart immediately jumping into overdrive. “I could,” you say, straightening. “Maybe I should quit the Navy. Bartending might be my true calling.” 

He chuckles. “You’re one of the best fighter pilots in the country, and you think slinging drinks is your destiny?” 

You shrug, leaning forward casually—knowing exactly what you’re doing. His eyes flick down to your chest for a split second before snapping back up, fast enough to pretend it didn’t happen. 

“Hey, don’t knock it. This job is harder than it looks.” 

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” he says softly, watching with quiet intensity as you pour him a pint of cherry soda—without him even needing to ask. 

You slide it over with a small smile. “What do you think? I’m a pretty good bartender, huh?” 

His cheeks tint pink, the flush dusting across his nose. “Yeah. I think you make a very pretty bartender.” 

You smirk. “Was that a compliment, Lieutenant?” 

He rolls his eyes and drops a crumpled ten onto the bar like it might save him from saying more. 

You shake your head. “Don’t worry, it’s on the house.” 

“You sure you’ve got that kind of authority?” he teases. 

“Penny said our drinks are free tonight,” you reply, smug. “Payment for being an excellent bartender.” 

“And for filling the tip jar faster than I’ve ever seen,” Penny chimes in as she reappears, arms full of empty glasses. 

Your cheeks heat as Bob’s gaze flicks toward the overflowing jar. 

“Wow,” he chuckles softly. 

You flick your hair dramatically and bat your lashes. “Perks of being a pretty bartender, I guess.” 

Then you turn around and bend over to grab something from the fridge—very aware of the effect—and sure enough, Bob promptly chokes on his soda. He coughs, his whole face turning red as he pounds a fist against his chest. 

“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath, “more like consequences of a skirt that short.” 

You snap upright, brows lifting and eyes gleaming with amusement. “Bob Floyd, did you just comment on the length of my skirt?” 

He blinks fast. “No.” 

You tilt your head, fighting a grin. “You sure? Because the colour in your cheeks looks a little guilty to me.” 

He straightens up, his usual walls clicking into place like armour. “Didn’t say anything.” 

You roll your eyes and plant both hands on the bar, leaning forward just enough to make him squirm. “Bob, I’m not a baby. And I’m not some virginal schoolgirl, either. You’re not going to hell just for flirting with me.” You pause, letting your gaze hold his. “Hell, if you did it more often, I might take you to heaven.” 

His throat bobs as he swallows hard, and you see the want flicker in his eyes—just before he reins it back in. 

“But if the age gap is that big of a deal to you—which, for the record, is barely anything—then maybe stop looking at me like you’re picturing me naked.” Your voice drops. “Mixed signals can really confuse a girl.” 

You hear the softest laugh from Penny, but your eyes stay locked on Bob’s—daring him to look down again, to do something other than walk away. 

He clears his throat. “Thanks for the drink.” 

Then he turns and walks away, heading straight back to the booth where all your friends are—acting like they haven’t been watching, but you know better. They’re all too nosy for their own good. 

You sigh heavily. “Men. Fucking impossible.” 

Penny laughs again, resting a hand on your shoulder. “Fighter pilots, actually. They’re a very special breed of difficult.” 

“Hey,” you giggle. “I am a fighter pilot.” 

She nods, smirking. “And there’s not a doubt in my mind how difficult you’re makin’ life for that boy right now.” 

You press your lips together and give her a flat look—because yeah… she’s not wrong. 

After all, why else bring a guy to the bar you knew your friends would be at—you knew he would be at? Why wear a dress this short? And why spend half the night with your eyes locked on him, just wishing he’d walk over and interrupt your lousy date? 

- 

Graveyard shift. Bat hours. Vampire runs. Ghost hops. Night rides. 

Whatever you want to call it—the squad hates night ops. 

It’s dark, it’s eerie, and your NVGs fog up if you so much as breathe wrong. Fatigue hits harder, the skeleton crew slows everything down, and visibility is shot—so you’re flying blind, trusting your radar and your WSO to keep you alive. 

“You know what’s great about night ops?” Mickey says, head tipped back in his chair. “Nothing. Not the dark, not the sleep deprivation, not the existential dread at two a.m. while staring into the black void wondering if your wingman ghosted you or just changed frequency.” 

You roll your eyes and take a sip of coffee. 

“It’s night one, Fanboy,” Natasha mutters beside you. “We still have four weeks of this. Are you going to complain the whole time?” 

Mickey shrugs. “Yeah. Probably.” 

“Did Mav piss Cyclone off or something?” Reuben asks. 

You shake your head. “Nah. He heard there might be a mission coming up with night flying. Figured we should get ahead of it.” 

“Or he just hates us,” Javy sighs, eyes half-shut. 

Natasha snorts. “Did you sleep at all today, Coyote?” 

“Nope,” he grumbles, shifting a glare toward Jake. “Someone had his whale noises up too loud and bit my head off when I told him to turn it down.” 

Jake shoots him a look. “They help me sleep. If you’ve got a problem, buy some earplugs.” 

“Damn,” you mutter. “Glad you’re not my wingman tonight, Coyote.” 

He shifts his glare your way and flips you off lazily before letting his eyes shut completely. 

“So, Vex,” Jake says, twisting in his seat toward you, “never did hear how that date went the other night.” 

You arch a brow. “Oh, so now I have to report back on all my dates?” 

Jake’s lips twitch, his gaze flicking toward Bob. “Dates? As in plural? Just how many are we talking here?” 

“That’s none of your business,” you reply, taking another sip of coffee. 

There’s a brief pause, and his eyes narrow—seeing through you a little too easily. “The date tanked?” 

Natasha snorts and you quickly elbow her in the side. 

“Yes,” you mutter. “It sucked. He was boring. And no, I didn’t get laid. So yes, I’m in a less-than-favourable mood.” 

Jake’s smirk turns wicked. “Sweetheart, if getting laid is what you need, you only have to ask.” 

Your brows shoot up. “That so?” 

He nods. 

You turn to Javy, who’s about one breath away from snoring. “Coyote.” 

His eyes snap open. “Huh?” 

“Want to fuck me?” 

He startles—eyes wide, mouth dropping open. “I—uh, what?” 

Laughter rumbles through the room—everyone giggling softly at poor, confused Javy. 

Well... almost everyone. 

Bob isn’t laughing. In fact, he’s not even smiling, or looking your way. His eyes are glued to his phone—even though you can see the screen is blank. 

Which means he’s definitely listening. 

You shift in your chair and give Natasha a sidelong smirk. Her brow furrows slightly—a silent question about what you’re up to—but she nods anyway, signalling that she’ll follow your lead no matter where it goes. 

“Does anyone know if Cyclone’s single?” you ask, voice light and dripping with faux innocence. 

Mickey’s eyes go wide. “Admiral Simpson?” 

You nod, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah. He’s hot.” 

“Agreed,” Natasha says—and from the way her mouth curves, she’s not just playing along. She definitely agrees. 

“Isn’t he married?” Reuben asks. 

Javy frowns, still half-asleep but clearly paying attention now. “Nah, I think they divorced.” 

“So,” you say slowly, “what I’m hearing is... he’s single?” 

Bradley’s gaze flicks to Bob—just for a second—before settling back on you, reading you like a damn open book. “Bit old for you, isn’t he, Vex?” 

You shrug with a smile. “Not at all. I like older men. More experience.” 

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch the way Bob shifts in his seat—just slightly, but it’s enough. He’s not looking at you, but the tips of his ears have turned pink, and his jaw is locked tight as he keeps his eyes on his phone. Still blank. 

“I swear he’s still married,” Mickey says, clearly trying to get this train back on the rails. 

“Yeah,” Reuben adds. “Didn’t they do couples counselling?” 

“They did,” Maverick says, breezing into the room like the punchline to your joke. “Didn’t stick. So yes, he’s single.” He pauses in front of you, green eyes sparkling with amusement. “But I’m not sure how he feels about dating subordinates. Want me to find out?” 

You match his smirk with one of your own, sitting up a little straighter as you meet his gaze. “How generous of you, Captain. That would be great.” 

He chuckles, shaking his head as he moves to the front of the room and sets a stack of papers down on the desk. “Alright, aviators,” he says. “Welcome to night ops.” 

After an hour-long briefing and way too many questions about why you’re all stuck on night training, Maverick orders everyone to get ready for the first hop. You’re on deck with Jake, Natasha, and, of course... Bob. 

The four of you ride in silence across the flight line, packed into one of the motorised carts as Maverick drives you from the squadron building to the hangar. There’s a low buzz of anticipation in the air, but no one says much. It’s late, and everyone is focusing on their own little preflight rituals. 

Once you reach the hangar, the ground crew directs you toward the night ops staging area where your NVGs and gear are laid out. You’ve done enough of these late-night flights to know the drill, so you join the others in wordlessly collecting your kit and starting to suit up. 

By the time you make it out onto the tarmac, your jets are already prepped and the crew chiefs are finishing up their walk-arounds. You head over to your jet, nodding to the plane captain before starting your own pre-flight check—walking the length of the fuselage, scanning for anything off, running a practiced eye over control surfaces, landing gear, intakes. It’s second nature by now, but you don’t cut corners. Especially not in the dark. 

Once you’re satisfied, you turn to face the runway and pull your helmet on, checking the vision through your NVGs. It’s blurry—just enough to make you squint. The image is skewed, the edges fuzzy, crawling inward like shadows that shouldn’t be there. 

You mutter something sharp under your breath, reaching up to adjust the settings yourself when— 

“Don’t move.” The voice is low. Steady. Too close. 

You freeze instinctively as Bob steps in—right into your space, like you’re the only two souls on the glowing stretch of tarmac. His gloved hand finds the side of your helmet, fingers sliding into place with steady control. It should feel clinical—routine—but it doesn’t. It burns. Even through the goddamn helmet. 

“I can fix it,” he murmurs, eyes on your goggles, not your face. “Tilt your chin up.” 

You obey—barely—and he leans in, his body almost touching to yours. One hand on your cheek-plate now, the other carefully turning the tiny focus dial above your temple. You can feel his breath against your skin, warm and shallow, and it sends a pulse through your ribs that you’re trying desperately not to show. 

“Didn't this happen last time?” he asks, the corner of his lips twitching. “You jam the strap too tight.” 

“I like it snug,” you mutter, not trusting your voice with anything flirtier. Not when he’s this close. 

Bob hums, low in his throat. “Of course you do.” 

Your heart stutters. 

He adjusts something with a flick of his thumb—the pad of it grazing down along the side of your face, slow and careful. Like he's memorising the shape of you under the gear. Your jaw flexes. 

“You always get this close when you’re adjusting gear?” you ask, pretending the heat in your voice is a joke and not a plea. 

Bob stills for a beat. Just one. 

Then—very softly—he whispers, “Only yours.” 

You swear your knees nearly give. 

But before you can breathe or speak or lean the half-inch forward that would start something you probably shouldn’t want this badly, Bob finishes the final adjustment and lets his hands fall. Slowly. Like it costs him something. 

“There,” he says, voice low but distant now. “Better?” 

You blink behind the goggles. “Yeah. Clear.” 

He lingers for half a second more—just enough to feel like maybe he wants to say something else—then turns and walks back toward the others without another word. 

You don’t move. You can’t. You’re just standing there in the dark, goggles perfectly focused, heart pounding like you’re about to hit Mach 1. 

It takes an embarrassingly long minute for you to remember how to function. To stop thinking about how close he’d just been—how you could smell him, feel his heat, and how, if you’d tipped your chin up and stretched just a little… you might’ve been able to kiss him. 

But then you hear Maverick shouting across the tarmac, calling for a final rundown before wheels-up. 

You shake your head, yank your helmet off, and join the others for a quick debrief before splitting up again and climbing into your jets. You settle in, strap your helmet back on, check your now perfectly focused NVGs, and run your usual internal systems check. 

Then—after the green light from ground crew—you’re in the sky. Squinting through your goggles, seeing the world saturated in green and grey, and wondering why the fuck no one has invented a better form of night vision yet. 

“Remind me again why we’re stuck on the graveyard shift,” Jake says, voice dry. “Because as much as I love flying blind through pitch-black nothingness, I’d really rather be in bed right now.” 

“You’re not blind, Hangman,” Maverick replies. “We’ve got one of the best WSOs in the world with us.” 

“Oh, good,” Jake says sarcastically. “My life’s in the hands of Phoenix’s baby on board.” 

You roll your eyes. “I’d rather have my life in Bob’s hands than yours, Bagman.” 

His chuckle crackles through the radio. “Yeah, I know where you’d like to have Bob’s hands. And it’s not holding your life.” 

Heat rushes to your cheeks, making the cockpit suddenly feel way too hot—your flight suit practically suffocating. 

“Hangman,” Maverick warns. “Be professional.” 

Jake scoffs. “Oh, so those two can eye-fuck each other all night long, but I can’t say the obvious out loud?” 

There’s a pause—a beat where you wonder if he’s finally pushed it too far—but then Maverick’s laughter cuts through. 

“Yes. Because they do it quietly.” 

Your eyes go wide and you almost—almost—fumble a right bank. “Mav!” 

More laughter crackles through the radio, Natasha now joining in. You’re just about to tell them all to stick it when the mood shifts, and the laughter stops. 

“Vex, check your two,” Maverick says, voice sharp and low. “Something’s throwing heat.” 

“Negative,” Bob cuts in. “Let me scan it first.” 

You hesitate, holding formation, but frustration flares under your skin. Did Bob really just override a direct order? 

“Confirming IR spike,” Bob says after a beat. “Something’s cooking down there, but it doesn’t match any known signature.” 

You glance down at the blur on your MFD. “I’ll break off, check it out.” 

“Wait. Don’t.” Bob’s voice is low but tense, edged with something more than caution. 

“Why?” you snap, anger prickling your chest. 

“I... I don’t like it,” he says. “It’s not worth the risk.” 

You grit your teeth and break off anyway, flying low and steady toward the suspicious heat signature. 

“I’m going to check it out, Mav,” you say, voice tight. “Hangman, got my six?” 

“Copy,” Jake replies. 

You bank left, staying quiet as you approach the stretch of uninhabited grassland. Your HUD flickers with the steady IR pulse—a dull orange glow against the dark terrain. Too concentrated for a campfire. Too controlled for a random burn. It’s creeping north—methodical. 

You drop lower when you spot flashing lights—fire crews moving with purpose, reflective gear flickering like stars in the NVG haze. This isn’t an accident. It’s a controlled burn. 

“Mav, why is there a fire in a training zone?” you ask. “Shouldn’t that be logged?” 

“It’s just brush management?” Maverick asks, sounding almost relieved. 

“Affirmative,” Jake replies before you can. 

“Copy. I’ll flag it with air traffic—looks like someone forgot to tell the rest of us.” 

You and Jake return to formation without issue. 

“Lucky it wasn’t Bigfoot, huh Bob?” Jake says, his smug grin practically audible. “Might’ve leapt right onto Vex’s jet and dragged her into the woods.” 

There’s no response, just the soft static of the open channel. 

Then Natasha mutters, “Don’t be a dick, Hangman. He was being cautious.” 

“Well, I’m sure she appreciates the concern,” Jake says. “But she’s not made of glass.” He waits for a retort—gets none—and chuckles. “And if she’d died out there, I would’ve avenged her. Dramatically.” 

“Hangman,” Maverick sighs. “That’s enough. Bob’s got better eyes than the rest of us tonight. Maybe don’t piss him off.” 

Still, nothing from Bob. You even crane your neck, catching sight of his and Natasha's jet—nothing but a shadow at your five o’clock. Like you could somehow see him in the cockpit, tensing his jaw or rolling his eyes at Jake’s jabs. 

Frustration simmers in your chest. You know he was just being cautious—or protective—but this is your job. He doesn’t get to tell you what you can and can’t do, especially when it’s a direct order from your CO. Even if you were dating, you wouldn’t let him boss you around—well, not outside of the bedroom, anyway. He can care. He can worry. But making it sound like you’re incapable? That’s what he just did. And it makes your skin crawl. 

The rest of the flight passes without incident, but the comms stay unusually quiet—even Jake gives up his teasing—and you’re still pissed by the time you’re back on the ground. 

You move through the post-flight motions with a frown on your face and your jaw locked tight. First, the ground crew helps you out of the jet and you do a quick walk-around. Then you ditch your night gear, knock out a maintenance report, and sit through a short debrief with Maverick before jumping in the cart back to the ready room. 

By the time you walk in, the others are already gone. You’re not sure if you were too caught up in your own grumpiness to notice them pass you on the way over, but you don’t bother asking. You’re still too busy being pissed. 

In fact, you’re so busy scowling at the coffee machine as it splutters out an espresso shot you know is going to taste like dirt that you don’t notice someone step up beside you. 

“I’m sorry,” Bob says, voice soft. “About what happened up there.” 

You jump—just slightly—then twist to face him, arms crossed tight over your chest. He's standing just a few feet away—helmet gone, flight suit half unzipped with the collar tugged open just enough to make your stomach flip. 

“I didn’t mean to undermine you.” 

“Sure felt like it,” you mutter. 

“I know.” His eyes finally lift to meet yours—midnight blue, heavy with regret and something else that makes your breath catch. “That’s why I’m apologising.” 

You turn back to the coffee machine, hoping the clatter and gurgle of the old machine will cover the sudden pounding of your heart. “Look, I get you were trying to be cautious, but Mav gave me a directive. You don’t get to override that just because your gut didn’t like it.” 

“I wasn’t thinking about you as a teammate back there,” he says quietly. “I was thinking—” 

“That I’m a little kid?” you snap, spinning to face him again. “Because whatever issue you have with my age, I need you to remember that I got here the same way you did. I worked my ass off to be the pilot I am today, and I don’t need someone second-guessing me just because they’re a little older. Especially when I know what I’m capable of.” 

His frown deepens. “No, it—it’s not that at all. I just—I didn’t see what it was, it was dark, and when you went low...” He drags a hand through his hair. “I couldn’t breathe. I thought, what if something happens to her?” 

You blink, startled by the raw edge in his voice. 

“If anything had gone wrong, it would’ve been my fault,” he says, softer now. “I’m the WSO. I should’ve seen it first.” 

“Bob,” you whisper, stepping closer before you can stop yourself. You can feel the heat radiating off him now. “If I ever end up in a bad spot, that’s on me. I trust you to have my back, always—but it’s my responsibility when I make a call. And I broke off because I knew you’d be there. You and Phoenix, Mav, Hangman... I knew I had the best team in the sky behind me.” 

His jaw clenches as his gaze drifts over your face, like he’s trying to memorise every inch. 

Then he moves closer—close enough for one of the clips on his suit to catch yours—and reaches out. His fingers hook gently into the edge of your suit’s hip pocket, tugging you forward just enough to make your breath hitch. 

“You’re not just my teammate,” he murmurs. “Don’t you get that? I care about you. More than a teammate. More than a friend. I—” 

“I don’t believe it,” a familiar voice cuts through the room. “The famous Dagger Squad stuck on the graveyard shift? What’d you do, lose another bet?” 

Bob startles, stepping quickly away from you with bright red cheeks, unnecessarily adjusting his glasses. 

You turn toward the door, ready to rip into whoever just decided to interrupt the closest you’ve ever gotten to Bob... when you realize who it is. It’s Trevor—an old friend from flight school and one of the newer instructors on NAS. You’ve been meaning to catch up with him, but being in an elite squadron doesn’t leave you much time for a social life. 

“Damn,” you say with a playful smile, “who let you in the building?” 

He steps fully into the room, wearing his signature shit-eating grin. “Vex,” he says, voice full of mock disbelief. “You’re still here? I figured Maverick would’ve canned your reckless ass by now.” 

Jake swivels in his chair to look at you. “So you’re a renowned little chaos gremlin? Good to know.” 

You roll your eyes and step toward your friend. “Guys, this is Trevor—or Grinder—I’ve known him since flight school. He gave me my callsign, actually.” 

Trevor snorts. “Technically, Admiral Prescott gave you your callsign. What exactly was it he said again? That you’re a living, breathing vexation who’s going to be the sole reason for his retirement?” 

Jake and Natasha giggle from across the room, and Trevor grins proudly. 

You narrow your eyes at him. “Want to tell my squad how you got yours?” 

He tips his head, brows raised. “Maybe I should get to know them first.” 

Then his eyes flick toward Jake—grinning, handsome, utterly clueless Jake. Yep. That’s the real reason Trevor decided to drop by your squadron building tonight, because he knew Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin would be here. The very pilot he’s had a crush on for more months than you care to remember. He’s been bugging you for ages to introduce them, even though you told him—repeatedly—that you’re not sure Jake swings that way. He wasn’t deterred though; he said he’s happy to figure it out and see if he can negotiate if not. You just rolled your eyes. 

“So, Grinder,” Natasha says, “what do you do?” 

Trevor’s face lights up and he quickly launches into a long-winded explanation of his new role as a flight instructor. He walks toward her as he talks, inching closer to where Jake is seated not far from Natasha. 

You turn back to Bob, clearing your throat. “Sorry about him. He’s... a lot. But you were saying...?” 

He shakes his head, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor. “Nothing. It’s fine.” 

You frown. “It didn’t sound like nothing.” You take a slow step forward. “Didn’t feel like... nothing.” 

“It’s okay,” he says quickly, his eyes snapping up as he forces a tight smile. “We can talk later. Really, it’s fine.” 

You hesitate, wanting to push but knowing it’s no use now—those walls are well and truly back in place. 

“Okay,” you say, nodding once. “Later.” 

- 

Unfortunately, later never comes. 

You want to talk to him toward the end of the shift, but you’re both so exhausted after the first night that you can’t find the energy to push him for answers. So you let it go and head home. 

The next night, you’re on opposite hops, which means you don’t see him until the debrief in the early morning—when, once again, everyone is too wiped out to talk and just wants to wrap up and get home. 

The rest of the week slips by the same way. Every little thing keeps getting in the way of you and Bob actually talking. Even Thursday night, after a routine hop, when you’re both finally in the ready room and the moment couldn’t be more perfect—Trevor bursts in again, and Bob shuts down. 

When you finally leave base on Friday morning—glaring at the well-rested day-shifters on your way out like it’s their fault you’re dead inside—you make a promise to yourself. You’re going to talk to him this weekend. It doesn’t matter when or how or if you have to fake an emergency just to get five uninterrupted minutes. You’re going to do it. Because whatever weird, half-finished thing is hanging between you and Bob has been living rent-free in your head all week—and honestly, it’s starting to redecorate. 

“You sure you don’t mind?” Trevor asks, even though he’s already at your door with a duffel bag and a pillow. 

You roll your eyes. “Why would I mind?” 

He shrugs as he steps into your apartment. “I don’t know. Maybe you were planning to invite that gorgeous little blue-eyed lieutenant over.” He throws a cheeky wink over his shoulder. “You know, the one with the glasses. I’ve seen the way you look at him and—oof—does the man know what he’s in for? I mean, he looks at you just the same but—actually, come to think of it… why haven’t you screwed his brains out yet?” 

You shut your eyes and let out a deep sigh. When you open them again, Trevor is already sprawled across your three-seater couch like he owns the place. 

“First of all, he’s not little—you’re just freakishly tall—and secondly…” You step slowly toward the lounge, shoulders sagging in defeat. “He’s too good.” 

Trevor frowns. “Too good? Like… too good for you or—?” 

“That. And he’s respectful,” you say, flopping onto the end of the couch. “He’s got this thing about our age gap. It’s not a big one, but it’s… there, I guess. Maybe it’s also because we’re in the same squad.” 

Trevor watches you, eyes narrowed slightly, expression unreadable. 

“Wow,” he mutters. 

You frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

He shrugs. “Just never took you for a quitter.” 

You rear back, incredulous. “A quitter?” 

“Yeah,” he says, tone cool and baiting as he casually searches for the TV remote. “I mean, if I was in love with a guy—which, you’re clearly in love with him—I wouldn’t stop until he had a restraining order against me.” 

You snort. “Yeah? Well, I like my job and my squad, so—” 

He lets out an exasperated sigh. “My God, Vex. Don’t take everything so literally. The man’s in love with you too. Just fucking go for it before your whole squad murders both of you for being whiny dumbasses.” 

He finds the remote and flicks the TV on, giving you a very pointed look—brows raised—before settling in and scrolling through streaming apps. 

And God, you hate to admit it, but maybe he’s right. Maybe instead of teasing Bob, you just need to go for it. Cut through the hesitation, stop him from overthinking, and make the damn decision for him. 

“Fine,” you say, standing up with purpose. “I’m going out tonight, by the way.” 

“Good,” he replies, not even glancing your way. “Just keep it down if you bring him home. He might look like an uptight officer, but I can tell that man fucks.” 

“Trev!” 

He chuckles. “What? I’m just saying.” 

You roll your eyes, cheeks burning, and storm off toward your room. 

Tonight, the squad has decided to go bowling. Everyone wanted to shake things up from the usual at The Hard Deck, and the only thing you could all agree on was bowling. 

Even though you hate the gross bowling shoes that have been worn in by a hundred other people—and the sticky holes on the balls after grubby little kids have been shoving their nasty fingers in them. 

But when Bob mentioned that he’s actually pretty good at bowling… well, how could you protest? 

Plus, it’s still short skirt weather—Bob’s favourite, as you’ve come to notice—and bowling in a tiny skirt feels like a fun, flirty little risk you’re more than willing to take. 

All in the name of science, of course. And your hypothesis? Bob doesn’t stand a chance. 

At 7PM, Natasha picks you up, shooting a very pointed look at the flowy little sundress you’re wearing under your denim jacket. But she doesn’t say a word. 

The drive to the bowling alley isn’t far, and soon you’re walking inside with Mickey and Reuben—who arrived around the same time. Jake, Bradley, Javy, and Bob are already there. They’ve got a lane, swapped into their shoes, and Jake is busy squeezing creative versions of everyone’s callsigns into the limited-character name slot. 

“Can’t you just be ‘Roster’?” he asks Bradley. 

Bradley frowns. “Can’t I just be Brad?” 

“Ugh,” Natasha groans. “No way. You’re not a Brad. Just put Roo.” 

Jake’s face lights up like he just solved the mystery of why the sky is blue. “Good one, Phoenix. Thanks.” 

“What am I?” she asks. 

“Phone,” Javy replies, deadpan. 

Natasha blinks. “Phone? As in P-H-O-N-E?” 

“Yep,” Bradley chuckles. 

“What the fuck, Bagman?” She steps up to the little tablet where he’s typing the names. “Move. You’re an idiot.” 

You stifle a laugh and turn to Mickey and Reuben. “Want to get shoes?” 

They both nod, and you head toward the main counter—though not without catching the way Bob’s eyes drop to your legs, his throat working on a swallow as you walk away. 

You grab your shoes and rejoin the group, flopping down beside Bob just close enough to make him squirm. Then you lean forward, swapping your Converse for the white, red, and blue striped Velcro bowling shoes. 

When you’re done, you stand up and put one foot out. “These shoes are hot. Might have to steal them.” 

“You know what,” Jake says with a smirk, “I think you’re just gorgeous enough to make ‘em work. What do you think, Bobby?” 

You glance down at the man sitting beside you. The poor guy who’s basically eye-level—thanks to these ridiculously low seats—with your ass. The man whose glasses are just a little foggy by the bridge of his nose as he breathes a bit faster than usual. His cheeks are pink, lips parted, and his eyes are so wide—and so blatantly glued to your short, short skirt—that you can barely keep from laughing. 

“Bob?” you ask, voice full of faux innocence. 

He clears his throat, blue eyes flicking up to your face. “Y-Yeah. It’s a nice dress.” 

There’s a beat—everyone turns to Bob—and then they all burst out laughing. Mickey curls over, Reuben tips his head back, Jake’s face twists up, and Natasha has to hold on to Bradley’s shoulder to keep from falling over. 

Bob blinks, brow furrowed, looking back at you as the red in his cheeks deepens. “He wasn’t—we weren’t talking about the dress… were we?” 

You shake your head, biting back a smile. And with the way he’s looking at you—wide-eyed, breathless, full of heat—you feel a spark of boldness rise up in your chest. 

You reach out, pinch his chin between your fingers, and tilt his face up toward you. Then you lean in, slow and teasing, until there’s barely an inch of air between you—your voice a soft whisper just for him. 

“Don’t worry, Bobby,” you murmur. “I wore this dress just for you.” 

Then you straighten up with a wicked smile, leaving him speechless, blushing, and absolutely wrecked. 

You resist the urge to look back—even with all the teasing going on behind you—as you browse the rack of bowling balls. You pick one, mostly for its colour rather than its weight, and carry it over to the ball return where the others have already placed theirs. 

“We ready?” Natasha asks, finally tapping ‘finish’ on the tablet. 

The names pop up on the screen above the lane: Roo, Hngmn, Pback, Fboy, Nix, Bob, and Vex. 

“Rooster,” she calls, “you’re up.” 

Bradley steps forward, grabs a ball, and promptly sends it flying into the gutter. That’s all it takes. One terrible bowl and the trash talk ignites—like gasoline on an open flame. 

“Jesus, Rooster,” Reuben says. “My nephew could bowl better than that blindfolded—and he’s six, man.” 

“Yeah, dude,” Mickey laughs, “you sure you should be flying jets with that kind of coordination?” 

Bradley flips them off before picking up the ball again, dialling in his focus and managing to knock over seven pins on his second try. 

“Alright, losers,” Jake says, swaggering up to the ball return. “Time to watch how a real man bowls.” 

Unfortunately for everyone, Jake is obnoxiously good at bowling and casually lands a spare without breaking a sweat. But then Reuben steps up and nails a strike, which earns him an impressive amount of booing. 

“What can I say?” he grins as he drops back into his seat. “I’m just too good.” 

Next up is Mickey, who insists he has a ‘signature move that never fails’. He then immediately wipes himself out and lands on his ass as the ball rolls tragically slow down the lane. It takes everyone a solid few minutes to recover from laughing. 

Natasha follows, and—with terrifying precision—manages to hit a spare, knocking down a seven-ten split like it’s nothing. 

“Alright, Baby,” Jake says, clapping a hand on Bob’s shoulder. “You ready to show us what you got?” 

Bob rolls his eyes and shrugs off Jake’s hand, the corner of his mouth twitching as he stands and heads for the ball return. You’re not sure if it’s intentional, but the jeans hugging his ass are outrageously distracting, and it takes a considerable amount of effort to look at the pins instead of his backside. 

By the time you finally manage to drag your eyes down the lane, the pins are already gone—swept clean away as Bob turns around with just the faintest hint of a smug grin. 

“Fuck,” Reuben mutters. “Bob can bowl.” 

“Oh, damn,” Mickey giggles. “Going after that is gonna suck.” 

You shoot him a look as you push out of your seat. “Thanks, Mick.” 

Bob doesn’t sit down right away—he steps over to the ball return, picks up your ball, and hands it to you with a soft smile. 

You take it, intentionally placing half a hand over his. “Thanks.” 

He nods once, then retreats to where the rest of the squad are waiting. 

“Need a little guidance, Vex?” Jake drawls, voice low and smug. “I give excellent hands-on instruction.” 

You roll your eyes, sliding your fingers into the holes. “I think I’d rather roll a gutter ball than have you breathing down my neck, Bagman. But thanks for the offer.” 

There's a chorus of oohs behind you as you turn back toward the lane. You step forward, swing the ball back, and—thunk—release it way too late. You’re honestly surprised it doesn’t leave a dent in the floor. It wobbles down the lane before veering off and sinking into the gutter just before the pins. 

“Damn,” you sigh, turning around with a sheepish grin. “I’m going to score lower than Rooster.” 

There are a few murmured insults about your lack of bowling skill, but you barely hear them. Bob catches your eye, his lips parted like he’s about to say something—offer to help maybe—but then he just... doesn’t. 

You watch him sink back in his seat as you pick up your ball and turn to the lane—this time with a bit more intention. 

Bending lower than strictly necessary, you wiggle your fingers into the ball’s grip and line up your shot with exaggerated focus. The hem of your dress shifts just enough to tease the tops of your thighs, and you don’t have to look to know Bob’s watching. You can feel it—the weight of his stare, the sudden shift in the air like gravity is a pressing down just little harder. 

You swing the ball back and release with a cleaner motion this time. It rolls straight—miraculously—and clips five pins on the right. Not bad. Not great. But right now, you're more interested in the reaction behind you. 

When you turn, Bob’s gaze jerks up like he’s been caught red-handed. His lips are parted, cheeks flushed, and he looks absolutely wrecked—like someone just knocked the wind out of him with a feather. 

Jake whistles low. “Pretty sure what I just witnessed is actually a crime in several states.” 

Reuben leans forward, eyes on Bob. “Oh, no. I think Bob is broken.” 

Mickey snorts. “Somebody reboot him.” 

Bob blinks hard, still dazed, and mumbles something under his breath. The rest of the squad continue laughing quietly, their eyes flicking between you and the flustered lieutenant—who is now very interested in the floor.  

You smile to yourself as you walk back, fighting the urge to smirk too hard as you drop into the seat beside him. 

“You know,” Bradley says as he steps up to the ball return, “if I’d known this game was about showing as much ass as possible, I would’ve worn my shortest skirt.” 

You roll your eyes and lean back, crossing your arms over your chest. “Please. You would've blinded everyone—and that’s probably the only way you'd have a shot at winning.” 

The squad bursts out laughing again while Bradley shoots you an unimpressed glare. Then he grabs his ball, turns toward the lane, and kicks off the next round. 

You stay quietly pressed to Bob’s side while the others take their turns. And honestly? You don’t care if the game ever continues. With his jean-clad thigh snug against your bare one, you could stay right here all night. 

And Bob doesn’t seem eager to move either. He stays close, legs aligned, knees brushing, arm grazing yours—his warmth wrapped around you like your favourite blanket. 

You’re seconds away from resting your head on his shoulder when Mickey pipes up, announcing that it’s Bob’s turn. He shifts slowly, giving you a soft smile as he stands and walks toward the ball return. 

This time, instead of watching his ass, your eyes track his hands. 

You’ve always had a thing for hands—especially Bob’s. They’re just... really nice hands. Big and steady, with long fingers that look like they could touch you in ways that would rewrite your entire understanding of pleasure. You’ve imagined those hands everywhere—ghosting over your skin, gripping your thighs, digging bruises into your hips, clawing down your back. 

You’ve thought about them more than what could ever be considered healthy. You could write poetry about those hands. Recite sonnets. Start a religion. 

And when those fingers sink into the bowling ball holes? 

Well, fuck. There’s nothing PG about this game—not when your brain is spiralling into fantasies about all the downright filthy ways that Bob Floyd could ruin you. 

“Hey,” Javy nudges your shoulder, knocking you out of your Bob-induced daydream. “It’s your turn, dude.” 

You blink, shaking your head and hoping your blush isn’t as obvious as it feels as you push out of your chair and walk up toward where Bob is. 

“Do you—uh, do you want some help?” he asks, holding your bowling ball in his hands. 

You fight the grin threatening to break across your face, nodding. “Sure.” 

“Hey!” Jake calls from behind you. “I offered first.” 

Reuben snorts. “Yeah, but she doesn’t want to bone you, does she?” 

Both you and Bob ignore them. You take the ball from his hand and move up to the lane, slipping your fingers into the holes and holding it at your chest. 

“Okay, coach,” you say with a small smirk. “Tell me what to do.” 

“Alright, here,” he says, voice barely above a whisper as he reaches out and gently takes your wrists. 

His touch is light, reverent, and it makes your breath catch. He adjusts your hands around the ball, slow and precise, like he’s memorising the shape of you. How warm you are. The way you respond so eagerly to his touch. 

“Fingers like this,” he murmurs. “You want a solid grip. Not too tight.” 

Your heart stutters. His hands are big—warm and rough in the best way—and they settle over yours like they were made to. When he steps closer to correct your stance, his chest brushes your back, and you feel everything. The press of him. The tension in his thighs. The tremble in his exhale. 

“Now,” he says, gently guiding your arm, “swing back like this—smooth, steady…” 

You try to follow, but it’s hard to focus when his hands slide down to your hips, positioning them with the lightest squeeze. You swear he groans under his breath—just barely audible, like he’s suffering. 

“That’s… yeah. Perfect.” 

He freezes. 

You don’t move. Neither does he. His hands are still on your hips, his breath coming faster now, his body just slightly more rigid. 

And then you feel it. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

You shift your hips—just a fraction—and he instantly jerks back like he’s been electrocuted. 

“Shit—uh, yeah, you—you got it. You’ll do great,” he stammers, voice suddenly strangled and two octaves higher. “I—uh—I’ve got to—bathroom. Real quick.” 

You turn just in time to see him rush off, pink in the ears, tripping slightly over a chair leg. 

“Was it something I said?” you call after him sweetly. 

Jake cackles from the bench. “Nah, I think you just short-circuited the poor guy.” 

Natasha leans forward, watching Bob disappear down the hallway. “Oh no,” she says with a grin. “I think Bob is completely falling apart at this point.” 

You grin, still tingling from where his hands touched you, as you turn back toward the lane. You roll the ball and, somehow, end up getting a spare—despite your brain being completely stuck on Bob... and what exactly had made him bolt so fast. 

Bradley gets up for his turn as you move dazedly back to your seat, mind hazy with thoughts of how Bob had felt pressed against you. 

“God, you’re so gone,” Natasha says with a soft laugh. 

You roll your eyes, but the dopey smile refuses to budge. 

“It’s a shame he’s too stupid to do anything about it,” Jake mutters. 

Natasha shoots him a look. “He’s not stupid. He’s cautious.” 

Reuben chuckles. “Yeah, well, if tonight’s anything to go by, Bobby might be throwing caution to the wind pretty soon.” 

You sigh as you sink into one of the low seats. “Not tonight, unfortunately.” 

They all look at you, confused. 

“Trevor’s staying at my place,” you explain simply. 

The group gasps—everyone but Natasha staring at you in disbelief. 

You frown. “What?” 

“I thought—” Mickey glances around like someone else might back him up. “I thought you only liked Bob.” 

You and Natasha—the only two in this group with any emotional intelligence, apparently—exchange a look. 

“She’s not into Trevor,” Nat says dryly. “And he’s definitely not into her.” 

“Yeah,” you add. “He’s gay.” 

“Like, very gay,” Natasha says. “Like, into Hangman gay.” 

Jake’s head snaps toward her. “Excuse me?” 

“Ohhh,” Mickey sighs. “That makes so much sense.” 

Reuben laughs. “Is that why he’s been stopping by every couple nights?” 

You laugh too, nodding. “Yeah. He’s been stuck on nights since getting stationed here, and he’s been bugging me to introduce him to Hangman. Thought it was fate when he found out our squad got moved to nights too.” 

“Excuse me,” Jake repeats. “What exactly makes a man extra gay for being into me?” 

The whole group breaks out laughing—Bradley included as he returns from taking his turn. 

“You’re just... pretty,” Javy says with a shrug. 

“So?” Jake throws up his hands. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It’s a compliment, dude,” Reuben says. “Just take it.” 

Jake huffs, but the rest of the group turns back to you. 

“So, why is he staying at your place?” Mickey asks. 

“Yeah,” Bradley adds, “and why can’t you bring someone home? It’s your place.” 

“His plumbing at the barracks is all messed up, so I offered him my couch,” you explain, before looking at Bradley. “And I could bring someone home, but I’m pretty sure he’d make it weird. Plus, I’m not exactly a fan of… being quiet.” 

Jake tips his head back with a dramatic groan. “God, why is it always the quiet nerds who get the hot freaky girls?” 

You giggle and pat his knee. “Oh, Hangman. You’re delusional if you think Floyd isn’t a freak too.” 

“Ugh,” Natasha groans. “Why does this feel like you’re talking about my brother?” 

“She’s right, though,” Mickey says, thoughtful. “Bob’s got something about him.” 

The rest of the squad nods, unspoken agreement passing between them while Jake’s eyes flick around in horrified disbelief. 

“What’d I miss?” Bob asks, suddenly reappearing at the edge of the group. 

Everyone falls silent. 

“Hangman’s stalling,” Natasha says coolly, “because he realised he’s going to lose.” 

Jake narrows his eyes at her as he stands. “You’re going down, Trace. This next one’s a strike.” 

He stalks off toward the ball return, and the game resumes. 

Thankfully, Bob doesn’t question the odd look Mickey gives him as he sits down beside you. Only this time, he keeps his distance—at least an inch between your bodies, careful not to let even the fabric of his shirt brush your arm. He doesn’t look at you, either. His gaze stays locked on the lane, watching each turn with intense focus. And he definitely doesn’t offer any more hands-on guidance for the rest of the night— though the blush on his cheeks stays stubbornly in place. 

After two games of bowling, a round of hot dogs, and more shit-talking than could possibly be quantified, everyone decides to call it a night. It isn’t even that late, but with your wrecked sleep schedules, you’re all starting to feel a little loopy. 

You swap back into your own shoes, return the bowling pair, duck into the bathroom, and head for the door. Everyone but Bob is already outside, but like the gentleman he is, he’s still inside—waiting by the claw machine with his nose buried in his phone. 

“Hey, superstar,” you say as you approach. “How’s it feel to be the best bowler in the squad?” 

He glances up with a soft smile. “One of the best,” he corrects. “I only won the first game.” 

You smirk, confidence flooding your gut. “Was it first-game luck or my skirt that threw you off during the second?” 

His face flushes bright red, eyes going wide like he’s just been caught in a lie. “I—uh, no, I just—” 

You roll your eyes playfully. “I was joking, Bob. Calm down.” 

He presses his lips together and nods, eyes flicking down to your bare legs for the briefest second before returning to your face. 

You nod toward the doors. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before the others get suspicious.” 

He nods and gestures for you to lead the way—so you do, swinging your hips just a little extra. 

He hesitates for a beat, and you can feel his gaze sear into the exposed skin of your legs before he doubles his steps to catch up and walk beside you. 

“I was wondering,” you say quickly, forcing the words out before you lose your nerve. “Did you—um,” you clear your throat, “want to hang out tomorrow night?” 

He glances at you, blue eyes swimming with something you can’t quite place. 

“Just us,” you clarify, voice dropping. “Kind of like… a date?” 

There’s a pause. An awkward pause. 

The hairs on the back of your neck rise and your stomach twists. 

“Um,” he drops his gaze to the ground, brows knitting. “I—I can’t tomorrow. I’ve got—I mean, I haven’t done laundry like… all week with the shift change, and I really need to catch up before Monday.” 

Heat floods your face, embarrassment settling heavy and sour in your gut. 

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, still staring at the floor. 

You dip your chin and blink hard, swallowing the burn rising behind your eyes. “No problem,” you say, keeping your voice even. “Hope you have fun doing laundry.” 

Then you double your pace and slip out the doors, not bothering to hold it open. You cross the parking lot quickly, making a beeline for Natasha’s car without so much as a glance toward the others. You yank the passenger door open, slide in, and slam it shut. 

- Bob - 

“What’d you do?” Natasha asks, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. 

Bob takes a slow breath as he drags his eyes up to meet her glare. “Nothing,” he mutters. 

“Yeah?” She arches a brow. “So, Vex will say the same thing when I ask her?” 

He pinches the bridge of his nose, rubbing the spot where his glasses sit. “Probably not, Phoenix. But you know what? I don’t really feel like explaining myself to you right now, so please—just drop it.” 

She rolls her eyes and lets her arms fall to her sides, keys jingling in one hand. “I really thought you were one of the good ones, Floyd. I’m a little disappointed.” 

Then she turns and mumbles goodbye to the rest of the squad—who are all watching with wide eyes—before walking to her car and climbing into the driver’s seat. 

Bob can still feel your glare through the windshield, even if the dark night doesn’t let him see you clearly inside the car. 

As soon as Natasha peels out of the lot, Bob feels the shift—the boys’ eyes snap toward him. 

“So,” Jake says, brows raised, “what did you do?” 

Bob exhales and leans back against his car, arms crossing over his chest. “She asked me out,” he says quietly, “and I told her no… because I have laundry to do.” 

There’s a collective intake of breath. The atmosphere sharpens with something unspoken but easily understood: Bob fucked up—bad. 

“You what?” Reuben asks, leaning in. 

Bradley lets out a low chuckle. “Holy shit, Floyd. That was dumb.” 

“I know,” Bob huffs. 

He’s not sure why he couldn’t tell Natasha but has no issue telling the others. Maybe because Natasha was about to get in a car with you and hear the story anyway—so why bother? Or maybe it’s because he’s a little afraid of Nat. And he knows, deep down, that he messed up. He just didn’t feel like getting chewed out by his sharp-tongued pilot tonight. 

“Why the hell wouldn’t you say yes?” Jake frowns. “She’s so into you—it’s almost a joke. And she’s gorgeous. Who cares about the age gap?” 

Bob’s eyes snap toward him, brow furrowed. “You’re the one who always has something to say about it. You literally call me a cradle-snatcher, like… once a week.” 

Jake rolls his eyes. “Because it’s fun to get a rise out of you. I don’t actually mean it.” 

“Yeah, dude,” Javy adds. “If we thought it was wrong, we’d say something. We make fun of you both because it’s obvious you’re obsessed with each other.” 

“Honestly,” Mickey pipes up, “I thought you two were already dating and just keeping it from us.” 

Bob buries his face in his hands, the heat in his cheeks burning against his palms. “For fuck’s sake.” 

“Oh, wow,” Reuben mutters. “Bob just swore.” 

Bradley drops a hand on Bob’s shoulder. “Maybe you should call her. Or—I don’t know—go see her tomorrow. Apologise. You don’t have to date her, but if that’s how you feel, you need to be clear. Don’t lead her on. And you definitely owe her an apology for that shitty laundry excuse.” 

Bob nods slowly, letting his hands drop. “Yeah. I know.” 

Mickey chuckles, pulling his keys from his pocket. “Good luck, dude.” 

They all say their goodbyes and head for their cars, leaving Bob still leaning against the side of his own, a far-off look in his eyes and guilt twisting in his chest. 

He barely sleeps that night. 

Every time he closes his eyes, he sees the profile of your face after he said no—the way your eyes glossed over, your jaw clenched, and your lips pressed into a thin, unshakable line. The memory cuts through him like a blade. 

He hates the thought of hurting you. But more than that, he hates himself—because he knows he did. He knows you cried, whether it happened in the car or the moment you got home. Either way, the result is the same—he made you cry. And that thought alone makes him feel sick. 

Before the sun even rises, he’s out of bed. Sleep abandoned, guilt gnawing at his insides, he laces up his shoes and goes for a run—trying to outrun the tight knot in his chest. He knows he’ll have to sleep later and stay up again tonight, thanks to another stretch of night shifts. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is talking to you. This morning. If you’ll even let him. 

After his run, sweat still cooling on his skin, he finally works up the nerve to text you: ‘Hey, sorry about last night. Are you free this morning?’ 

An hour passes. Nothing. 

And he knows you’re ignoring him—because you’ve reacted to a couple of messages in the group chat. You’re awake. You’re just not answering him. And honestly, he doesn’t blame you. 

By ten o’clock, he can’t stand it anymore. 

The ache in his chest is unbearable. His head is pounding. The guilt in his stomach is curling tighter with every passing second. But it’s not just guilt. It’s not just the regret of hurting a friend’s feelings. 

It’s worse—because it’s you. 

You’re his favourite person in the whole damn world. He can admit that now. You make him laugh. You make him feel like himself. And as much as he’s tried not to need you… he does. Desperately. 

The age gap isn’t the real problem—it never was. Maybe it’s just an excuse, something to hide behind because deep down, he doesn’t think he deserves you. But that’s not good enough anymore. He has to fix this. Even if you never forgive him, even if things can’t go back to how they were—he has to try. 

Because Robert Floyd knows now, without a doubt, that he’s in love with you. 

And God, he hopes he can say it out loud—because it might be the only thing that can save him now. 

Before Bob even knows exactly how he’s going to say everything that’s been spinning through his head, he’s already outside your apartment building. He knows where it is because he helped you move in after the Dagger Squad was made a permanent unit at North Island. 

He still thinks about that day, too. About the exercise tights you wore—how they clung to your ass like a second skin. About the loose tee you eventually peeled off because you were overheating, leaving you in nothing but a sports bra. And when you finally took a break, beer in hand on your new balcony, he watched you cool down… and watched your nipples pebble beneath the Lycra fabric. 

Bob felt like a total creep that day, but that hasn’t stopped him from—repeatedly—getting off to the memory of you on that balcony. Cheeks pink, lips wet with beer, eyes so wide and innocent, even though he’s pretty sure you knew exactly what you were doing to him… 

He shakes his head and forces his feet to move—into the building, into the elevator, and up to your floor. The hallway feels both way too long and not nearly long enough as he approaches your door. Then, with a deep breath, he raises his hand and knocks three times. 

His heart is caught in his throat, hammering like it’s trying to escape. He’s felt pressure in the cockpit, but nothing like this. This is worse than pulling 8 Gs. 

The door swings open, and he opens his mouth to immediately beg you to hear him out—but… it’s not you. 

“Bob,” Trevor says with a sleepy grin and a wicked glint in his eye. “What a surprise to see you here.” 

His hair’s a mess, his cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are half-lidded. He looks like he either just woke up… or just got done doing something naked and personal with someone else. Which might explain why he’s shirtless, wearing nothing but a crooked pair of boxers that—at least in Bob’s opinion—aren’t leaving much to the imagination. 

“I—uh, Trevor?” 

Trevor nods, brow furrowing slightly. “The one and only. You good, man? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

Bob wishes it were a ghost. Because what he’s seeing right now is ten times more horrifying than anything spooky or undead. 

He clears his throat. “Y-Yeah, I’m good. I just—um, I was going to ask Vex if—” 

“Who is it?” you call groggily from deeper inside the apartment, your voice thick with sleep. 

Trevor smirks over his shoulder. “Floyd!” 

“What?” 

He nudges the door open a little wider, revealing you in nothing but an oversized U.S. Navy tee. Your hair is mussed, your cheeks are flushed, and your eyes are narrowed—definitely not surprised. Just… pissed. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask, arms crossed tight against your chest. 

Bob stares, wide-eyed. You’re not shocked. You’re not flustered. You're still mad. How could you still be mad at him now? 

“I—uh, well—” He shakes his head and steps back, his stomach swirling nauseously. “Nothing. It’s fine. Just—forget it. You two have fun.” 

Then he turns on his heel and practically jogs down the hall, mashing the elevator button hard enough to hurt. He can hear your voice behind him, Trevor’s too, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to care. He just wants to get the hell out of here before he goddamn cries over the fact that the woman he loves just jumped into bed with the next guy right after he turned her down. 

Does he have any right to be this angry? Probably not. But still—why couldn’t you see it from his point of view? Why couldn’t you understand he was just… hesitant? That he needed some time to wrap his head around it? 

But no. You couldn’t be patient. You couldn’t wait. 

Because maybe you’re not as into him as everyone keeps saying. Maybe you never were. 

God, he should’ve known. He should have known it was too good to be true. Why would someone like you want someone like him? And why would you waste your time waiting—when you could have just about any man you wanted? 

- You - 

“What was that about?” Trevor asks, his head still half-stuck out the door like Bob might suddenly come back. 

You drop onto the couch, shoving aside the blanket Trevor had been using. “Don’t know,” you mutter. “Maybe he was thinking about apologising for being a jerk, but then decided to just keep being one.” 

Trevor turns to you with a puzzled frown. “What?” 

“You heard me.” 

He shuts the door and walks slowly toward to the lounge. “Yeah, but I didn’t understand you. What’s with the attitude?” 

You sigh, rolling your eyes. “I asked him out last night.” 

Trevor gasps—loudly. 

“But he said no.” 

He rears back, brows drawn. “What? Why?” 

“Because he has laundry to do.” 

Trevor’s eyes go wide, his mouth falling open. “No.” 

“Yup,” you mutter, sinking deeper into the cushions. “That’s what the attitude is for.” 

He nods slowly, still staring. “Right… but then why did he show up here?” 

You shrug. “Maybe to apologise. Or maybe he was going to let me down for good. Tell me to stop flirting with him, or whatever.” 

Trevor frowns again, his eyes glazing over like he's lost in thought. 

You nudge his knee with your foot. “What’s that look for?” 

“Nothing,” he says quickly, though the curiosity stays fixed on his face. 

“Trevor…” 

He exhales a short breath. “I mean—do you think he thought… you and I…? You know?” He gestures vaguely between the two of you. “He knows I’m gay, right?” 

You snort. “Yes, Grinder. Bob Floyd, along with all of North Island, is very aware that you’re gay. I was literally talking about it with the squad last night.” 

He nods. “Good. ‘Cause if he didn’t, me opening the door shirtless and you in that ridiculously oversized tee might’ve looked real bad.” 

You barely hear him as he continues to rant about men and miscommunication. Instead, you flick on the TV, letting the background noise of old cartoon reruns wash over you while the memory of last night replays on loop. 

You let yourself feel it—let your chest ache with it—and hope it’s enough to kill off this stupid crush once and for all. 

But deep down, you know the truth. 

Whatever this is, it stopped being just a crush a while ago. 

And you’re starting to fear that maybe—just maybe—you’ve accidentally fallen in love with Bob Floyd. 

You spend the rest of the day sulking on the couch like it’s your full-time job, while Trevor obliterates your kitchen trying to make homemade macarons to ‘cheer you up.’ Normally, you’d be in there with him, correcting his technique and keeping the apartment from burning down, but not today. Today, you’re tired and heartbroken. 

The two of you stay up late trying to adjust to the coming week of night shifts, but by two a.m. you’re passed out on the lounge… and promptly woken at four by Trevor’s snoring. That’s when you give up, throw on your shoes, and go for a run—hoping to burn through enough energy to sleep through the day before shift. 

Trevor is gone by the time your alarm goes off at eight p.m., giving you an hour to tidy the apartment before showering and heading off to base. You stopped living on base when the Dagger Squad was made permanent at North Island, same as most of the others. It’s nice not having to share bathrooms or constantly wonder whether you’re going to get all your socks back from the laundry room. But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss running into your friends all the time—running into Bob. 

The sky is dark and the base is quiet as you park your car and make your way to the squadron building. Your stomach twists nervously at the thought of seeing not just Bob, but your whole squad. You know they’d all know by now—that you asked Bob out and he shut you down. 

Honestly, you wouldn’t even be surprised if Maverick knew. 

“Hey,” Natasha says, meeting you by the stairs before you enter the briefing room. 

You give her a tight smile. 

“Feeling any better?” 

You shake your head, lips still pulled into a watery smile as you push the door open. 

Bob is already in his usual seat—because of course he is—but he doesn’t look up when you walk in. He doesn’t give you that soft smile he usually does whenever he sees you. 

Instead, he keeps his eyes locked on the lid of his travel mug, jaw tight as he flicks the little tab open and closed. 

Natasha gives you a sidelong glance, her brows drawn curiously. She knows what happened—you told her—but you haven’t yet filled her in on the part where he showed up at your apartment and then left in a hurry. 

You shake your head, giving her a silent look that says you’ll fill her in later. Then you turn and make your way to the back of the room, sinking into one of the furthest possible chairs from where Bob is seated. 

It isn’t long before Maverick walks in and starts the briefing. He rambles on about a possible mission on the horizon, which means upcoming hops and drills are going to be more purpose-driven. He wants to work closely with the WSOs, having them and their pilots fly point to spot anything the night might hide from the F/A-18E drivers. 

You’re not particularly bothered by that, because after tonight, the rest of your hops are scheduled with Reuben and Mickey. Which means you only have to deal with Bob for one night. Just one. You only have to pretend to listen to him for one night. Then you get almost a full week’s reprieve. 

“Alright,” Maverick says, shutting his notebook. “Phoenix, Bob, Hangman, Vex—you’re on deck. The rest of you, head to the ready room.” 

Everyone shuffles out, the group splitting down the corridor as half of you head outside and the other half veer toward the ready room. 

You let Natasha and Bob take the lead, half-listening to Jake whine about how much he hates NVGs and how night shifts ruin his gym schedule. 

Then the cart ride is silent—tension so thick that even Maverick doesn’t bother breaking it. 

Once at the hangar, you start gearing up and going through the motions—chatting with ground crew, checking your jet, adjusting your equipment, running internals. You wait until it’s your turn to be taxied out, then climb into the cockpit and try to settle your nerves. 

You take a deep breath and call on every ounce of focus and maturity you have just to stop yourself from shutting off comms. You might be pissed right now, but this is your job. The job you worked way too hard for to let some ridiculously gorgeous lieutenant break your heart badly enough to get you grounded. 

Tonight, the sky is clear but moonless—the darkness heavier than usual. You check your instruments twice—three times—and remind yourself it’s just another hop. You’ve done this a thousand times before. 

But still, your hands stay tight on the controls. 

You fly in relative radio silence for the first twenty minutes, squinting through slightly misaligned NVGs. You’d fiddled with them on the ground until you gave up and told yourself your vision was good enough. It’s quieter than usual, and you’re not sure if that’s because no one has anything to say—or because the night feels eerily still. 

Natasha and Bob are flying point, with you and Jake in the second element. Maverick is out here too, but only observing—watching closely as you run a low-level, terrain-following route meant to simulate a high-risk strike. 

You’ve done this kind of thing a hundred times, even at night. But something about this hop feels off. Or maybe it’s just you, flying like you’ve got something to prove—to yourself, or to someone else. You haven’t decided yet. 

Then Bob’s voice crackles through the comms, steady and low. “Vex, you’re a little wide on your spacing.” 

You don’t answer, but you adjust—barely. 

“Maintain visual, Vex,” Natasha adds, voice firm. “Don’t ride solo tonight.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek and flick your radio toggle. “Copy.” 

You fall back into formation as the terrain-following manoeuvres begin—tight dips, sweeping curves, a mock run on radar targets ahead. You lock in, gripping the stick, head tipped forward, forcing your focus to drown out the simmering frustration. 

It’s not an easy run, but you’ve done it before. You know the tricky spots, and you’re watching out for your team, flying just a little closer than what’s usually comfortable. You’d be flying almost perfectly—if it weren’t for Bob’s corrections crackling through the radio. His voice in your ear every few minutes, low and steady. Commanding. It’s making your skin crawl and your pulse race. 

You know you’re better than this. You’ve trained to handle the worst. To stay sharp pulling 10 Gs, to keep cool weaving through canyons at Mach 2. And yet somehow, Bob Floyd’s maddeningly smooth voice telling you and Jake how not to crash is what’s making you consider pulling the damn ejection handle. 

“Vex, you’ve got a ridge coming up,” Bob says, his tone sharper now, more urgent. “Drop throttle. Adjust heading five degrees right.” 

You hesitate. Your altimeter says you’re good, and your gut says you’re fine. You think—no, you know—you can hold it. 

“Vex—” he tries again. 

“I’ve got it,” you snap, breathless as you press on, trying to hold your line. 

Jake cuts in with something sharp, but you don’t catch it—because suddenly the warning tone in your headset screams. 

Your heart lurches. 

Terrain. Too close. Too fast. 

“Pull up! Pull up!” Bob’s voice slices through the comms. “Vex, you’re too low!” 

You grit your teeth, trying to correct, trying to climb—but it’s too dark, too fast. Everything is a blur. 

“Vex, listen to me—pull up!” His voice cracks. “You’re going to hit—” 

“Eject!” Maverick shouts, raw panic in his tone. “Vex, eject now!” 

“I can save it,” you mutter, voice strained. “I can—" 

Then you see it. A flash of jagged terrain through the cockpit glass—a dark silhouette where there should be sky. And in that split second, the truth hits you like a punch to the chest. 

You’re not going to make it. 

Your hand flies to the ejection handle, pulling it hard. 

The canopy blasts away with a deafening crack, wind slamming into you like a freight train. The violent jolt of the seat launches you skyward, your body wrenched into the dark as the jet disappears in a blur of motion below. 

Then—freefall. 

The sky spins. The world tilts. The parachute deploys with a brutal yank that rattles your spine. 

But you’re too low. Far too low. 

You don’t even have time to brace. 

You hit the ground hard—a bone-snapping impact that knocks every breath from your lungs. The force slams through your leg with a sickening pop. 

White-hot pain detonates through you. 

Your vision flashes. Your stomach turns. You can’t even scream. 

And then… everything goes still. 

Muted. 

Quiet. 

Like the world took a breath—and left you behind. 

- 

You wake to the steady beep of a monitor. Your eyelids are heavy, your mouth is dry, and there’s pain everywhere. It’s not as excruciating as it had been right before you blacked out, but it’s there—dull and throbbing, a bitter reminder of what had happened when you ejected from your jet. 

It feels like it was only seconds ago, but you know better than that. You’re not that out of it. 

The sharp sting of antiseptic hits your nose. There are low murmurs nearby, the shuffle of feet across tile, and the distant sounds of other beeping machines. Even before you manage to open your eyes, you know—you’re in a hospital. 

The white and blue walls are almost blinding, but after a few sticky blinks, your vision finally sharpens. You roll your tongue against the roof of your mouth, searching for moisture. 

You try—and fail—to sit up. Your body is too heavy against the crunchy hospital pillows, and your right leg is pinned down even more by a thick black-and-white brace. 

“Ow,” you mutter, voice hoarse and barely audible. 

There’s a sudden gasp beside you, then a quick shuffle of movement. 

A warm hand wraps around yours as dark blue eyes swim into focus above you, wide and full of concern—rimmed red, with deep purple shadows underneath. 

“You’re awake,” he says, voice rough before he clears his throat, like he's trying to swallow down something heavier. 

“Bob,” you whisper, lips cracking as they stretch into a soft smile. 

He doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you. His face is pale, exhaustion carved into every line, his eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to memorise it. Or maybe—trying to recognise it. Because whatever softness was there fades fast, replaced by something harder. His lips flatten into a thin line. His hand tightens around yours… then lets go. 

He stands straight, jaw clenched, and turns to the wall to press the nurse call button. 

You frown, but before you can speak—if you even could with how dry your mouth is—a nurse rushes in. 

“Oh, you’re awake!” she says brightly, green eyes lighting up as she stops beside the bed. “How are you feeling?” 

You clear your throat. “Thirsty.” 

She nods and quickly wheels the little table over, pouring water from the pitcher into a small plastic cup. She then hands it to you before using the bed remote to ease you into a more upright position. 

“Thanks,” you rasp after a few sips, your voice clearer now. 

The nurse smiles softly, her eyes flicking between you and Bob. “He didn’t leave your side. Not for a second.” 

You turn to look at him, but all traces of warmth are gone. He looks almost angry, his gaze fixed straight ahead—not at you or the nurse, but at the wall. His jaw is tight, his shoulders tense, and his hands are clearly balled into fists in his pockets. 

He’s still in his flight suit, which means he’s been with you since the second search and rescue found you. 

“I’ll give you two a minute,” the nurse says. “I’m just going to grab the doctor, alright?” 

You nod, not even looking at her, and she shuffles out of the room, swinging the door half shut on her way. 

Bob’s eyes flick to you. “Are you in pain?” 

You shift slightly, the dull throb in your leg pulsing back to life. “Yeah,” you wince. “A little. But it’s bearable.” 

He doesn’t move. His whole body is tense, only his eyes locked on you—sharp and unrelenting. 

“You have a hairline fracture in your femur,” he says. 

You glance down at the brace wrapped around your leg. 

“You’re lucky it wasn’t a full break,” he adds. “You’d have been grounded for at least six months—or longer. Probably would’ve had to requalify, if you even got cleared again.” 

You swallow hard. He’s angry—really angry. The way he’s looking at you, it’s like he’s torn between wrapping you in his arms or walking out the door and never looking back. 

“You didn’t listen,” he says, voice cracking as he takes a step forward. “You were supposed to listen to me, and you didn’t. I—I told you just last week that if something happened, it would be my fault.” 

Tears sting your eyes, blurring your vision. “This isn’t your—” 

“No,” he snaps. “It’s not. This is your fault. Because you were reckless, and cocky, and too caught up in your own shit to listen to a perfectly sound call from your WSO.” 

You blink, warm tears slipping down your cheek. “Bob, I—” 

“Don’t,” he says, voice low and raw. “Don’t say my name like that. Don’t look at me like I’m the only person you want to see right now.” He lets out a shaky breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “I’ve been here for two days. I haven’t slept. I haven’t eaten. You scared the shit out of me. I thought you were dead. You went down so fast, you—you—” 

The door swings open and a middle-aged woman with white-blonde hair pulled into a tight bun steps in. “Lieutenants,” she greets briskly. “Sorry to interrupt, but there are a few things we need to go over.” 

Bob straightens immediately. “Thank you, Doctor. I’ll be leaving now.” 

Her brows knit together, but she doesn’t stop him as he turns and walks out. 

His footsteps are heavy. Forced. Like it’s taking everything he’s got to walk away and not look back. 

After a whirlwind of doctors, nurses, and a long debrief with the flight surgeon, you're finally discharged. You can’t drive—of course—so they pack you into a general escort car with your leg still in the brace and a pair of crutches tossed in beside you. Fantastic. 

Once you’re home, you collapse into bed and immediately pass out. But it’s not exactly restful. Your brain won’t shut off—won’t stop replaying the way Bob looked at you, the anger in his voice, the exhaustion written all over his face. How he never left your side. How he still hasn’t responded to your text thanking him for staying. Or the one where you apologised for not listening to him in the air. 

You want to talk to him. Need to talk to him. Because you're not planning on staying grounded forever, and when you’re back on your feet, you’re not transferring out. The Dagger Squad isn’t just a group of friends—they’re your family. Bob included. In a completely non-incestuous way, obviously. Even though there are definitely some things you’d like to do to him that would make a family dinner wildly uncomfortable. 

But first, he has to reply. He has to acknowledge that you exist. 

When you wake again, it’s dark, and your phone is lit up with a flood of messages from the team. You take your time replying to each one, then hobble into the bathroom, ditch the brace, and take the hottest, longest shower your body can tolerate. 

The next few hours are spent on the couch, anxiously watching the clock until Natasha finally texts you to say they’ve been dismissed. Which means Bob is off. Which means he has no excuse. 

But still—nothing. You call. He doesn’t answer. Then Natasha texts again to let you know she watched him decline it. 

Great. Another win. 

Two whole days pass, and still no word. 

You’re supposed to be on bed rest for two weeks before the flight surgeon clears you for light duties, but you’re going stir-crazy. With the squad on night shifts and your circadian rhythm completely fucked, you haven’t spoken to anyone but Trevor—once, over the phone—in forty-eight hours. Unless you count text messages, which you don’t. 

All you want is to talk to Bob. Ask him why the hell he came to your house that day. Why he was so pissed at you that night. And why he thinks it’s okay to spend two full days sitting beside your hospital bed and then just vanish like none of it happened. 

At this point, you don’t even care if he professes his undying love for you—though you’d strongly prefer it—you just want an explanation. You want to know what you did to hurt him so badly, and how to make it right. Because more than anything, you need him. And if friendship is the only version of him you’re allowed to have... then you’ll take it. 

Even if it kills you. 

By the third day… or night—you’re not even sure anymore—you decide to take matters into your own hands. 

Your alarm blares at four a.m., an hour before you know the squad will be dismissed, and you wriggle out of bed and into a loose pair of sweatpants before securing your brace over the top. Then you tug on your stupidly oversized U.S. Navy shirt, grab your crutches, and hobble out the door. 

You know where Bob lives—in the least creepy way possible—because you all moved out of the barracks around the same time, and you helped each other move. So, you call an Uber, hauling your injured self into the back seat with grim determination and only a small amount of whining. 

It’s barely a ten-minute drive, which gives you about half an hour to crutch your way up the fire stairs—because of course the elevator requires a swipe card—to his apartment. 

You know it’s ridiculous. You could’ve just waited in the lobby. But you don’t want to give him the chance to run away—again, in the least creepy way possible. The plan is to corner him at his apartment door, and maybe guilt-trip him a little with how much effort it took just for you to get there. At the very least, he’d have to escort you back down to the lobby with his swipe card… and maybe you could ‘accidentally’ sabotage the lift so it broke down. Then he’d be stuck with you. 

Jesus. Thirty-six hours alone and you’re already in full-blown serial killer mode. 

It takes twenty minutes to reach his floor, with plenty of breaks along the way, but eventually, you make it. You hobble down the hallway and lean against his door, dropping your head back with a soft thunk. 

Not even a minute later, Natasha texts you to say they’ve been dismissed—because of course you filled her in on your plan. 

And then you wait. With a racing pulse, a throbbing leg, and about a thousand thoughts spiralling through your brain. You wait. 

At one point, a neighbour emerges from a nearby door, startling you. They give you a deeply dubious look before slipping into the elevator, and you make a mental note to tell Bob that they might warn him about a crazy, broken-legged woman lurking outside his apartment. 

Your breathing picks up as the minutes pass—faster and faster until it feels impossible to catch. You feel dizzy, like you might pass out just waiting for him. But then—ding. 

The elevator doors slide open, and Bob steps out. 

Seeing him for the first time in three days shouldn’t feel like a religious experience—but it fucking does. God, he looks good. Even sleep-deprived, rumpled, and sporting messy helmet hair, he’s a walking wet dream in a flight suit deliberately designed for your destruction. 

“Hey,” you say quietly, not wanting to startle him. 

He jumps anyway—just a little. His feet still, eyes widening behind his glasses, brows pulling together. 

“What are you doing here?” 

You push off the door, steadying yourself on your crutches. “Good to see you too,” you say dryly. “I’ve been alright. A little lonely, borderline insane. My leg’s killing me after a thousand stairs. But hey—you look... tired. How’s the squad?” 

He studies you for a moment. His frown softens, and you swear the corner of his mouth twitches. 

“I am tired,” he says. “The squad’s fine. Also tired.” 

You nod. “Cool. So... everyone’s tired.” 

He pulls his keys from his pocket and starts walking toward you, closing the distance. 

“That all you came to talk about?” he asks. 

You roll your eyes and shuffle aside. “What do you think?” 

He sighs. “I think I’m not going straight to bed anymore.” 

The door swings inward and he steps through, holding it open for you—wide as possible. 

“That would be correct,” you say, flashing a grin as you hobble inside. 

He shuts the door behind you and slides the chain lock into place. 

You try not to appear as awkward as you feel, but crutches aren’t exactly graceful—and you haven’t had much practice. You make your way past the kitchen toward the small living room, where a plush cream sofa waits with perfectly fluffed pillows and a decorative throw draped neatly over the back. You’re just about to drop onto it when a warm hand catches your elbow. 

“Here,” he says softly, his other hand reaching to take the crutches from you. 

He’s so close you can feel his warmth. You catch his scent—clean linen, a hint of jet fuel, and something subtle and spicy that’s so unmistakably him. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, eyes locked on his lips. 

He helps ease you down slowly onto the couch before straightening and setting your crutches aside, leaning them against the wall beside the TV cabinet. 

“Let me just get changed,” he says, already turning toward his bedroom without a second glance. 

He’s gone less than a minute. When he returns, he’s wearing dark blue joggers and a white sleep shirt worn so thin it’s almost translucent. 

“Water?” he asks, detouring into the kitchen. 

You shake your head. “I’m good—but thanks.” 

He’s stalling. You know it. But you can be patient. 

He pours himself a glass, drains it, then pours another before finally making his way back into the living room. He sits at the very end of the chaise lounge—about as far from you as possible. 

“Okay,” he says. “You want to talk?” 

You nod, adjusting your posture even though you're already stiff with nerves. 

“Look,” you begin, eyes dropping to your lap. “I know why you’re mad about the accident—I get it. It was stupid. I was reckless. I deserve to be in this stupid brace. I shouldn’t have ignored you, and I shouldn’t have let personal shit bleed into work. I’m sorry.” 

You glance up, but he doesn’t react—doesn’t move. He just blinks. 

Still, you press on. “If I could go back, I would. If there was anything I could do to make it up to you—or the squad—I’d do it. But we’re here now, I feel like shit, and the accident is on my record. I’m just glad none of you, or Mav, are in trouble because of me.” 

He’s still silent, but you can see it now—his eyes keep flicking down to your shirt, his frown darkening each time. 

“What I don’t get,” you say, your voice tightening, “is why you were already mad that night. Why you came to my apartment that morning but ran off without—” 

“That’s irrelevant,” he cuts in, voice low—lethal. 

You frown. “What do you mean irrelevant? The whole reason I was in a bad mood that night is because you rejected me and then acted like I did something wrong.” 

His eyes widen. “Oh, so it’s my fault now? That what you’re saying?” 

“No,” you snap. “Of course not. God, Bob, none of this is your fault. It’s mine. It’s all mine. I was the idiot who asked you out, the idiot who got mad when you said no, and the idiot who let it affect her at work. I’m not blaming you. I just want to understand.” 

He takes an infuriatingly calm sip of water, gaze still fixed on your torso. 

“You want to know why I said no when you asked me out?” 

You shake your head. “I know why you said no.” 

His brow creases. “You do?” 

You sigh, eyes falling to your fingers as they toy with the hem of your shirt. “Because you don’t like me. That’s it. And I need to accept that. I shouldn’t have pushed it, or forced myself on you, and—” 

He scoffs—sharp and dry—cutting you off. “You’re joking, right?” 

You look up, blinking slowly. “Um… no. Not really.” 

His laugh is sharp—bitter and cracked—so not Bob. 

“You think I don’t like you?” he says, voice rising—unsteady now. “Are you insane?” 

He stands suddenly, running a hand through his hair as if trying to keep himself from flying apart. 

“I have never cared about anyone the way I care about you. You are the only damn thing I think about. I can’t sleep, I’m not hungry, I can’t focus—I just want you. All the time. Do you know how maddening that is?” His eyes are wild when they meet yours. “And yeah, I said no when you asked me out, but that wasn’t because I didn’t want to. God, I wanted to. I wanted to say yes so badly it hurt. But I was scared.” 

He paces now, voice building like the pressure in a cockpit. 

“It wasn’t about your age—that was just a dumb excuse. It was you. You’re gorgeous, you’re smart, you’re funny, and you’re so sharp. You walk into a room and everything shifts. And I kept thinking, how the hell does someone like you want someone like me?” 

His voice cracks, and he stops pacing, facing you full on. “So yeah. I panicked. I said no. And the second you walked away, I regretted it. I hated myself for it. And that morning—I came to tell you. I was ready to throw it all on the table.” He swallows hard, jaw flexing. “But then he answered the door. Like he lived there. Like he belonged. And you—” 

He gestures at you, helpless. His eyes—dark blue and burning—shine with the storm he’s been holding back. 

“You just stood there. In his shirt. Like you hadn’t just ripped my heart out and stepped over it. Like I was nothing. Like I’d missed my shot and you’d already moved on.” His voice dips—raw now. “And now? You’re here. In the same goddamn shirt.” 

He laughs again, broken this time. 

“And I know I had no right to be angry. I know it. But Jesus Christ, do you have any idea how fucking hard it is to look at the woman you love knowing you’re the one who ruined it? Who let her go?” 

He’s panting now, standing between the couch and the coffee table with wild eyes and flushed cheeks. Just looking at you. Waiting. 

You swallow hard, blinking fast to keep the tears from falling. Your pulse is racing, pounding in your ears like a war drum. You can feel your heart hammering against your ribs, threatening to break bone. You can’t breathe. You can barely think. There’s only one word echoing in your head. 

“Love?” you whisper. 

He rubs his hands down his face, letting out a shaky breath. 

“Yes. Love.” His arms drop to his sides as he meets your eyes again. “I love you.” 

Your heart lurches into your throat. 

“But that doesn’t change anything,” he adds quickly, dropping onto the couch—closer this time, close enough that his knee brushes yours. “I don’t expect it to change anything. I let you down, and you moved on. You had every right to. I should never have been angry about it—and for that, I’m sorry. Just…” He sighs again. “Just give me some time, okay? Just let me—” 

“Trevor’s gay,” you blurt, louder than you mean to. 

He blinks. “What?” 

“Gay,” you repeat. “He’s gay. Like, so incredibly gay he’s into Hangman.” 

Bob’s lips part, a soft breath slipping out. 

You lean forward, brows drawn tight. “His callsign is Grinder. I mean, yes—partly because he’s a hard worker—but mostly because he got caught on Grindr before a briefing once and... it just stuck. But—Bob, I thought you knew—” You cut yourself off, eyes going wide. “Oh my God. You were in the bathroom when I told the squad.” 

The room falls into a heavy, eerie silence. 

The air between you crackles—so thick, so charged, the smallest spark could burn the whole damn building down. 

“Hangman?” he whispers, nose scrunching just slightly. 

You nod. “Hangman.” 

He blinks slowly, wide eyes swimming with emotion. “So, you didn’t—” 

“No,” you snap, frustration flaring hot beneath your skin. “Is that what you thought? That I asked you out, and when you said no I just ran off to find the nearest guy who’d fuck me?” 

He cringes—actually cringes. “That’s just how it looked, I—” 

“So you assumed?” you cut in, voice sharp. “You didn’t even ask. You just decided to get all broody and jealous and pissed off, even though you’re the one who rejected me?” 

You want to pace like he did, storm out, slam a door, something—but you can't. Not with your stupid leg. 

“I know I had no right,” he mutters. 

“Damn straight you didn’t,” you bite out. “You think I’d do that? You think I’d throw myself at someone else just because you said no? Jesus, Bob, I’m looking at a decade-long mourning period after you. I’m in love with you. Do you really think I could move on? Ever? Let alone the next fucking—” 

His mouth is on yours before the word leaves your lips. 

It’s not a kiss—it’s a collision. A detonation. A goddamn freefall. 

His hands are in your hair, on your jaw, trembling as they try to hold you steady while his lips crash into yours with blistering need. It’s hot and desperate and unrestrained, all teeth and tongue and pent-up ache, every ounce of frustration and longing he’s carried igniting in a single breathless second. 

You gasp, shocked by the force of it—your lips parting, letting him in. 

And then it’s chaos. Raw, searing, beautiful chaos. 

His touch is everywhere, frantic and reverent, as if he’s trying to memorise you with his fingertips and palms. Your hands claw into his shirt, his shoulders, his hair, dragging him closer, gasping into his mouth like you’re both trying to breathe each other in. 

You feel like you’re on fire. Like this kiss could split you in half. 

There’s a sharp pain in your leg from how hard you’re leaning in, but you don’t care. You’d burn your whole body just to keep this going. 

Because he kisses you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. Like stopping would kill him. And you kiss him back with the same reckless hunger—because you’ve wanted this forever. Because he’s yours. And you’re his. And nothing else exists anymore but the way he’s holding you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. 

“I love you,” he breathes against your lips. “I love you. I love you. Please don’t go. Don’t ever leave.” 

You press your forehead to his, a breathy laugh slipping out. “I’m not leaving.” 

“Good,” he murmurs, then kisses you again—soft, lingering. 

His lips find the corner of your mouth, then trail down the line of your jaw to your neck. Your skin ignites beneath every brush of his mouth, like your whole body is wired to spark beneath his touch. 

Your stomach flips like you’ve been dropped from a height. Your thoughts dissolve into haze. Limbs weightless, breath shallow. All you can feel is the hot press of his lips and the growing ache in your stupid leg. 

“Bob,” you whisper, broken and breathless, as his tongue traces the hollow where your shoulder meets your neck. “Bob, m—my leg.” 

He jolts back like he’s touched a live wire, eyes wide. The sudden loss of him leaves you cold, shivering in the space he’s no longer filling. 

“I’m so sorry,” he gasps. 

You shake your head quickly. “It’s fine. I’m okay.” 

He looks so heartbreakingly beautiful it makes your chest tighten. His glasses are askew, his cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen and wet. His eyes are wild and wide, pupils blown so far they swallow the blue. 

Then he frowns, glancing down at your shirt. “So... whose shirt is that?” 

You blink, then glance down. “Oh. No idea. Barracks laundry mix-up, I think. Makes a good sleep shirt, though.” 

He chuckles softly, the pink in his cheeks creeping all the way to the tips of his ears as his eyes lock on yours. “It looks good on you,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, “but I think I prefer the short skirts.” 

Your heart trips, racing straight into your throat. “Bob Floyd,” you gasp, eyes wide with faux scandal, “did you just admit how much you love short skirt weather?” 

He rolls his eyes, all sheepish charm. “Only when the skirts are on you.” 

“That so?” Your lips curl into a slow smirk. “Well, unfortunately, I think this—” you tap the brace on your leg “—means short skirts are officially out. For now, at least.” 

He exhales hard, gaze dropping for just a second before snapping back to yours—burning now. There’s a hunger there, dark and open and unfiltered, something you’ve maybe only glimpsed before. It sparks heat low in your belly, your thighs aching to clench—if it weren’t for your stupid goddamn injury. 

Then, low and shameless and deadly serious, he asks, “What about sex?” 

The question punches the breath right from your lungs. Your cheeks flush hot as you bite your lip to hide the grin already threatening. 

“Can you be gentle?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. 

“I can try,” he mutters, so deep and rough it settles right between your legs and spreads like wildfire. 

Your head is spinning. Logic fading fast. You don’t care how sore your leg might be—you want him. All of him. Finally. 

So you lean in, brushing your lips to his in a soft, teasing kiss as you murmur against his mouth, “Then what the fuck are you waiting for, Floyd?”

END.

[astonmartinii]

feel you | lando norris social media au

pairing: lando norris x fem blind!reader

a long awaited reveal is more than meets the eye

MASTERLIST | LANDO NORRIS MASTERLIST

kymillman

liked by user3, user4 and 45,281 others

kymillman: a new pup in the paddock … and they belong to this mystery woman? she’s been seen in and around the mclaren hospitality so could she been the super secret girlfriend of one lando norris!

view all comments

user5: …. that’s it?

user6: yeah i’m kinda underwhelmed after this long of a soft launch

user7: does he know he’s lando norris? that he could get anyone he wants?

user8: well isn’t this comment section a barrel of laughs

user9: people on the internet be normal about f1 drivers challenge (failed)

user10: i mean she’s brave as fuck in my opinion because the way people are insane about him, oh i know her DMs will be horrifying

user11: also - yall actually don’t know these f1 drivers you know? your opinions on their love lives actually have no impact whatsoever

user12: shush you’re making too much sense for them

user13: hiding behind a bush i think she looks cute!

user14: also they’re clearly somewhat serious if they have a dog together

user15: i mean i wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve been together a lot longer than we think - he knows some of his fans are crazy, it would make sense if he waited to show her off

user16: i feel so bad for them honestly

user17: since no one else is saying it… stunning!

user18: seriously how did he get her?

user19: maybe the lando norris charm does really work?

user20: as much as those sunglasses slay… did she take them off at any point this weekend?

user21: not as far as i have seen with like the broadcast and fanpage posts

user22: does this rub anyone else the wrong way?

user23: no i think it’s real snobby to not even take your sunglasses off to greet your boyfriend and his family

user24: also the way she just walked past everyone in the paddock, like not even turning her head to acknowledge fans or workers ???

user25: ugh i thought lando had gotten better with his love choices

yourusername

liked by alexalbon, oscarpiastri and 182,943 others

tagged: lando

yourusername: finally decided to turn up to ‘bring your gf to work day’

view all comments

user26: SLAY

user27: ohhh the unseen pics of lando… we’re being fed

user28: i need her to unleash the files

lando: love you baby

yourusername: i love you too !!!!

lando: i promise i’ll be out of this boring debrief soon…

yourusername: how boring can it be? you won?

lando: any room without you bores me

yourusername: oh!

yourusername: i’m sat next to your momma, she can see all of these comments

lando: whoops! eh, they’ve heard worse

yourusername: just hurry up, peaches is getting sleepy

lando: anything for my two girls

user29: they’re so stinking cute

user30: her being with his family constantly + peaches… how long have they actually been together

user31: well we can defo deduce that she’s been to the norris family home plenty of times

user32: too many times by the sound of it, poor cisca

carlossainz55: why have i been deprived of my peaches time?

yourusername: she’s been working mister - not everything is about you :P

carlossainz55: god forbid a guy wants to cuddle the cutest dog in the world

charles_leclerc: you are no longer welcome back in the ferrari garage

yourusername: but i am?

charles_leclerc: can peaches teach leo to actually listen to me please ???

lando: she’s not a miracle worker…

user33: is she ever gonna take those damn sunglasses off?

user34: ZERO respect for those around her

user35: and those comments about peaches 'working' ... omg reeks of those girls who claim emotional support animals because they think the rules don't apply to them

user36: yeah something weird is going on here

lando

liked by oscarpiastri, carlossainz55 and 1,094,388 others

tagged: yourusername

lando: weekends like this

view all comments

user39: the fucking sunglasses… yall are going to have to sedate me

user40: it’s a crime to be stylish now guys

user41: god a girl gets with an athlete and all of a sudden they’re ‘stylish’

yourusername: bestest weekend ever!

yourusername: after your race wins of course

lando: nice save there

yourusername: i didn’t save anything, you know i love being with you when you win

lando: and i love seeing your beautiful face when i get out of the car

lando: and the fact that you get all up in my sweat

yourusername: dude…

lando: sorry, it just slipped out after hiding for so long

yourusername: worth it in the end though

lando: anything is worth it for you

user42: yeah there’s something wrong with this girl

user43: “being with you” instead of you know watching him race… way to expose you’re with him for one reason and one reason only

user44: ding ding ding gold digger alert

user45: imagine being that desperate for a person and still being rude as fuck to his family/coworkers - not even taking off sunglasses or making eye contact

yourusername: omfg you people are pissing me the fuck off

yourusername: I’M BLIND?

yourusername: i prefer to wear sunglasses in new environments?

yourusername: take ‘be kind’ out of your bio because as soon as someone doesn’t conform to what you think lando deserves you are so fucking hateful

oscarpiastri: FUCKING FINALLY

oscarpiastri: obviously i wanted you to share your business but i was so ready to fight the people in these comment sections

lando: awwwww osc so protective

alexalbon: he’s not the only one

alexalbon: coming for y/n was bad enough but PEACHES AS WELL?

yourusername: the jobless hate to see a working girl

lando: oop.

user46: YALL ARE SO FUCKING DUMB

user47: peaches being a guide dog makes so much sense and the sunglasses thing was such a non controversy to like normal people ?

user48: y/n should’ve been allowed to shoot yall idc

mclarenf1

liked by oscarpiastri, adamnorris and 1,754,034 others

tagged: lando & yourusername

mclarenf1: look who’s back in the garage! y/n always has a unique race day experience, due to her visual impairment, y/n cann’ watch the race but she sure knows what’s going on! instead of having the commentary in her headset, she has the noise of lando’s car. based on the sound of the engine, upshifts, downshifts and braking, y/n knows exactly where he is on the track!

view all comments

user49: so she’s basically a superhero is what you’re telling me

user50: imagine being so in love with a boy you learn the sounds of his engine i can’t

lando: erm actually she loved the sport before she loved me

yourusername: but i love you even more now

lando: i know you do because you learnt the sounds of the … MCL36 for me

yourusername: guilty!

user51: THEY’VE BEEN TOGETHER THAT LONG?

user52: oh so they’re locked in for life?

lando: 100%

yourusername: we threw away the key a long time ago

maxverstappen1: this is so freaking cute

lando: you’ve known the whole time?

lando: you helped teach y/n to do this

maxverstappen1: still cute as fuck

yourusername: not as cute when i hear a big whack to the side from a certain red bull

maxverstappen1: just because I think yall are cute doesn’t mean I’m gonna give lando a break

user53: i’ve known about this couple for a couple weeks and i would already die for them

user54: they’ve raised the bar FAR too much for the remaining dating pool

user55: the men or women on hinge would NEVER do something like that for me

user56: yall speaking all about this like y/n isn’t moving mountains for lando… wtf does he do for her?

yourusername: not that i need to prove that he’s a good boyfriend to you guys but he does way more than you all think, including learning braille and completely rearranging any rooms i go into for optimal movement

user57: this comment just shot me in the face

yourusername: thank you guys for being the loveliest ever!!!

mclarenf1: anything for our no 1 fan

yourusername: not this peaches erasure

mclarenf1: i think she only likes us because everyone keeps slipping her treats…

lando: STOP BRIBING MY DAUGHTER

yourusername

liked by alexalbon, georgerussell63 and 406,345 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: my beautiful boy shot by me (yes i know he’s beautiful, a man with a soul like his has to be)

view all comments

user61: user61 found dead, cause of death: this post

user62: the way this is not dramatic at all lol

georgerussell63: you sure you want to be stuck with … that?

yourusername: i don’t like your tone mr russell

georgerussell63: does lando … have a soul?

yourusername: you’ve got ten seconds to delete that tweet before i strangle you

yourusername: and don’t think peaches won’t lead me to you

georgerussell63: bullying george russell… you people are made for each other

lando: ‘you people’? i’ll put you in the barriers

user63: i love how all of the photos are clearly taken by y/n because they’re slightly off centre

user64: omg i didn’t notice… if you go through loads of his old posts they all look like this :0

user65: they’re so in love

alexalbon: oh how i remember coaching lando to ask you out - how times fly

lando: when you’re having fun!

alexalbon: i was having fun, you were a trainwreck

lando: no i was SMOOTH

yourusername: you did your best

lando: but i didn’t even stutter?

yourusername: i could hear you shuffling constantly and wiping your hands on your trousers…

lando: but you love me now so WHO CARES

yourusername: yes i do!

lando: you what?

yourusername: i love you

lando: i love you tooooooooooooo

user66: they’re parents for real

user67: can’t believe some people wanted them to break up over SUNGLASSES

user68: at least there’s silence in these comment sections now

oscarpiastri: as much as i love you guys… y/n can you turn off the feature that reads the texts from lando aloud in my vicinity

yourusername: how was i meant to know what he wrote?

oscarpiastri: i’m not blaming you i’m blaming hIM

lando: my bad… winning makes me horny

yourusername: just winning?

lando: any you too. mainly you. just you

yourusername: HEHEHEHEHEHEHe

oscarpiastri: free me omg

fin.

note: AHHHHHHH I HOPE THIS IS FUN !!!

[mahi-wayy]

𝐈 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐀 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐀 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝...

summary : butcher - a friend of your friend hughie - calls in a favor to watch ben. the timing was a little bad when you consider ben and his ability to charm any woman into his bed.

warnings : p in v sex, creampie, unprotected sex ( guys no! bad! use protection!! ) dirty talk ( it's ben guys ) overstimulation, mention of drugs (?) mention of multiple orgasms, yet another one of clumsy attempt at smut, not proofread.

library

In hindsight you should've known Butcher calling in a favor will end up in some kind of mess. Trouble followed that man like a loyal dog refusing to leave its master but the man has saved your best friend Hughie's life more than once so you had said. Only this once.

The second warning should've been your own damn body that went into some sort of lust triggered shut down the minute you saw Ben. As if locking him as a man of choice to mate or shit.

The century something old supe was stretched lazily on the motel bed like he owned the damn place in a blue shirt and sweats, sipping on his beer and the sight went straight to your high on hormone body making you feel all sorts of things.

You should've known you'll end up in that bed.

▪︎ ☆ ▪︎

Ben was old. He doesn't look it but he is. The man has lived through century worth of time all while sticking to his prime and all those years came with experience.

Experience in combat, in languages, in strategies but most importantly. It came with experience in women. He knew women and what they wanted just like he knew how to roll a joint with his eyes closed.

So when Butcher's rather pretty friend gave him a once over she thought he didn't catch he can't help but smirk behind the mouth of beer he was drinking. Like he said he knew what women want and this one?

This one wanted him.

▪︎ ☆ ▪︎

So like you were saying you should've known you'll end up in a bed with Ben when the supe smirked. But you can't give it much thought right now - not when all you can manage is how good Ben felt.

On your knees on the bed with the only thing that held you upright was Ben's grip on your chin. His cock spearing your post orgasm sensitive pussy open again and again.

“That's a good girl, takin’ me so well.”

He rasped right in your ear and all you could manage was a whine-ish moan in reply.

“Aren't you all pretty with no thoughts whatsoever.”

He chuckled in that deep gruff which just made your walls clench tighter around his dick making the man groan. The hand around your chin moves away and without it your upper body flops down on the mattress like a string cut puppet.

“Gonna shape your walls for my dick doll, just for me.”

Ben growled before his hand clasped your waist and pulled your hips back on his brutal thrusts making you scream and hold onto the bedsheets for dear life.

The sound of skin slapping mixed with groans from Ben and whines and moans from you filled the motel room for a while before the man grabbed your hair and pulled your head up.

“Gonna cum in you babygirl, gonna fill ya up good. You wan’ that yeah?”

He drawled with an underlying tone of loosening restraint. You moan louder when his dick hits that one spot for the nth time sending your eyes rolling back in your head while your walls clamp down milking Ben of all he was worth.

You hear Ben curse rather colorfully before he lets your drop on the mattress again - panting and well fucked - it was barely fifteen minutes before he was flipping you to be your back his thumb swipping at the drool on your chin before pressing against your tongue.

“This ain't over yet.”

You should've known.

a/n : your welcome

tags : @bluemerakis @deansbeer @daylighted @soldiersgirl @h8aaz @samslovebug @littlesoulshine @titsout4jackles let me know if you wanna be added or removed!!!

[b0nten]

HOW ARE BABIES MADE?

[SYNOPSIS] ˚⁀➷｡ ran, rindou, sanzu, takeomi, kakucho, mikey and izana being asked by their children how babies are made.

[NOTES] ˚⁀➷｡ reader is implied to be fem, reader is called “mother”, “mommy” etc. this was so fun to write!!! thank you anon for requesting <3 also, i used tenjiku&bonten characters but everything’s taking place in the final timeline.

RAN is definitely the type to try to explain the entire thing, without any second thoughts whatsoever. He’d definitely hear the question, and open his mouth but before gets to say ‘sex’ he feels a book flat against his head. “what do you think you’re doing?” you whisper-yell from the kitchen, curry udon long forgotten on the stove. “explaining to your daughter how she spawned into the world?” he answers, dodging another decor item that you aimed toward him. upon asking, dramatically and over-exaggeratedly of course, so offended because he just doesn’t know what he was doing wrong, you just stare at him. “we agreed to tell her when she’s 14. she doesn’t even know boys have dicks and you want to explain the entirety of sex and how it goes to her? do you even know how it works?” he sighs, defeated, “let’s go eat, sweetheart, i think i made mommy a lil mad.” he says, picking up his daughter, “that last part was uncalled for, by the way.” “suck it up, mr. club owner. ”

meanwhile, RINDOU simply freezes: “daddy, how are babies made?” what? excuse him? oh my lord, he did not expect this to happen this early. why the hell is his five year old son asking him about coital activity, right when you’re not around? fuck him (himself), fuck this situation, fuck you for not being around right now (both figuratively and literally). “you see! when… uhm.. when two people love each other and they kiss, they make a baby!” he mentally face-palms for what the fuck he just said. “so you can’t kiss girls until you’re twenty-one, yeah?” finally, thankfully, his phone rings, and thank the heavens it’s you. “oh my god, y/n—” “rindou, what did i just hear on the baby cam?” “haha, my love! funny story!!!!”

SANZU just goes feral. he’s having a fucking anxiety attack or whatever so he just texts you while your daughter asks her daddy about how babies are made.

TAKEOMI plays it safe, using the infamous stork. “and it just comes flying?” “yeah, it carries a little basket with its beak and gives it to us!” he smiles, playing into his baby girl’s fantasy. “you sound just like my parents.” you smile and his gaze averts to yours, from his seat on the living room carpet. “well, your own stories inspired me, because, to be honest, i was about to shit myself.” “daddy!” the little one yells, stretching out her palm, “1000 yen!” and her father exasperates “god put me out of this misery of only being an atm, you’re just like your mother. ow! what’d i deserve that punch for?”

KAKUCHO handles it like a pro. “papa.” one of his little girls walks up to him, younger twin following her right behind. “yes, pretty girl?” he straightens his back and crouches down, still sitting on the couch. “how are babies made, papa?” the shyer one asks and his face drops for a split second. “i promise to tell you when you’re older, right now it’s classified information!” he jokes, and the girls giggle. “now… who wants to watch doraemon!!” he does the jazz hands and the twins jump into his lap. not long after, you sit down next to them. “if i didn’t know any better, i would have said you rehearsed those lines from the moment you were born.” you laugh, resting your head on his shoulder. he wraps an arm around you, chuckling, and kisses the crown of your head.

if there’s someone (who thinks they’re) escaping this question, it’s MIKEY. “ ‘tou-chan, how are babies made?” blond locks spin toward him, and the big eyes of his daughter look him up and down. “ ‘tou-chan?” she says again, a bit annoyed. mikey sacrifices the motorbike races he’s watching and looks back at her. “ask ‘kaa-chan, i’m not really good at biology.” he smiles when she jumps from her place and runs into your bedroom, where you’re blow-drying your hair. confident that he’s just dodged a bullet, manjiro returns to his priority — the tv. moments later you storm in, hair half wet, still in your bath robe with the kid in your arms, visibly furious. he knows he’s dodged a bullet but is about to get hit by a cannon.

IZANA is at the dining table doing some paper-work for tenjiku and you’re watching tv when your oldest marches into the kitchen, determined. “daddy.” the blond looks up, eyeing back at the spitting image of himself. “yes?” he answers, and you also look back to see what’s going on. slamming a big book on the table, the toddler points to the cover “how are babies made?” you burst out laughing and your husband snatches the book away, making you laugh hysterically. “where’d you find this?!” he questions, and his forehead is already soaked with sweat and he wants to bury himself into the ground. “your office.” he can’t believe his five year old son walked in there and just so happened to find this book: effective positions for baby-making. his cheeks redden and he scans the room to find you and request your help, but he’s greeted with the sight of you rolling around on the living room floor, trying to calm your laughter down. yay.

[usedpidemo]

Getting closer (Kang Hyewon)

“All I’m saying is—” Hyewon looks away, drink in hand, taking a little sip, calm and alluring as ever, “if you only want to see me naked, then you could have just said so.”

You widely stare back, silent, indifferent—or at least pretend to be. It’s gotten you a fair amount of awards, after all. It’s not the slightest bit of convincing whatsoever.  

She laughs, softly, as if this was the expected outcome. “So I’m taking that as an admission.” 

Setting down the near-empty wine glass on the bathroom sink, Hyewon attempts to walk away, only to be stopped by a sudden pull. Your hand appears tightly wrapped around her dainty wrist, unwilling to let go. Your eyes aimlessly wander up and down the empty void that is her black dress. There are hardly any thoughts behind that predictably empty head of yours, only the simplest of desires.

You catch the subtlest grin forming on her saccharine lips. You fucking hate how she makes you feel. How she makes your heart race with every exchange.

Despite all the time you’ve spent together, you wish you got to know her better.

—————

The last year and a half of your career has mostly centered around one thing, or in this case, one person: Kang Hyewon. There’s also this drama starring your pairing as co-leads, and you’ve been promoting together, but your names make up more of the headlines than the very show. Your names are synonymously tied together akin to an actual couple.

Unsurprisingly, Hyewon is damn gorgeous. It’s how she’s getting the calls to begin with. Another one of those former singers turned actors looking to be taken seriously within the larger entertainment industry. Most never make it past their first project and fall back on their old careers, with some completely flaming out of the spotlight altogether. She’s an exception. A minor part here, a supporting cameo there—until she’s more than pleasant eye candy. A starlet who knows how to pick what roles would showcase her talents the most. 

She’s the perfect blend of beauty goddess and hotshot young star that the internet can get behind.

So it comes as a surprise when she’s casted as second fiddle to you, the first billing—and everyone comes away talking about her more. The scene stealer. 

(This plucky rival agent, investigating a case your character has been trailing for years, barely scraping by with the thinnest of clues, only for her to uncover the mystery only days after starting the investigation. The writing screams Mary Sue, but she acts convincing and vulnerable enough to escape the scathing think pieces that’s commonly associated with such characters. Not to mention: you both look damn good together on screen and during your public appearances.

It’s a team that sailed a thousand ships—both for your characters and in the real world.)

The consummate professional you are, you don’t think much of it. Your filming experience can only be described as businesslike. Except for the scenes where you’re together on screen, you’ve been separated at arms’ length, only exchanging words between takes to keep any further relationship from developing. It’s only during the press tour where you’ve finally gotten somewhat close.

Perhaps a little too close for comfort. Enough to make video compilations by overzealous fans who think you and Hyewon are really an item. The evidence is everywhere—in interviews, behind the scenes content, and on both your Instagram pages. At least, that’s what they want to believe. Everyone else brushes it off as two hot people being hot together, and not much else.

Here’s the thing: you love Hyewon—that much is true. The question now is: does she love you back?

Thankfully, your duo doesn’t get in the way of the show being lauded, despite making up a majority of its fandom. Positive reviews from both critics and viewers, especially in regards to your chemistry. The connection between you two is one in a million, something that can’t be built over years and years of working together. It also helps your performances sell the dynamic incredibly well—well enough to create those delusional shippers that form the bedrock of your partnership. 

Your names were positioned to go far during awards season. Not the consensus top pick, but as dark horse contenders to steal one every now and then. And while you both won your fair share of accolades, neither of you ended up walking away with the top prize. The conversation during the final ceremony of the year consisted primarily of the media and viewers talking about how your appearances together these last few months—and how you’re a match made in heaven. 

Everyone’s gonna miss this pairing—and so will you.

Now you’re back at square one. Having snuck away from the afterparty currently celebrating the dozen or so awards your show won earlier tonight, you’ve brought Hyewon back to your hotel room. Neither of you cared once you both lost your respective categories. The pundits thought you each only had the slimmest of odds to win, so why bother. Hell, you were both itching to leave as soon as the red carpet concluded. 

It’s all behind you now. You’re finally free from the glitz, glamor, and chaos of these vanity ceremonies and can really focus on what really matters—the pretty girl that you most likely won’t be seeing starring tomorrow. Your careers and interests couldn’t be any further apart: your main focus is movies, while hers are dramas. Both of you remain booked and busy for the next few years with different projects, with not a single one reuniting you two for the foreseeable future.

Back to Hyewon. She’s looking down at her wrist, tightly held by your hand. She allows it. You can feel her pulse. You sense that your hearts are racing in unison, tense and anxious.

“Are you gonna do something?” she questions, daring you to pull the trigger. She knows something you don’t—or maybe you do. You’re blinded by fear to realize it. “The night is fleeting. If not now, then when?”

Her words ring through your head. 

If not now, then when?

The same five words, ordered in the exact same way—etched in tiny letters on her skin.

You still remember everything—frame by frame, down to the last details. On screen, it’s implied. In your mind, it canonically happened. She took her shirt off, exposing herself and the scars of battle, and you were gonna go there. In your characters’ supposed words, ‘Clean’’ in your own unique way.

It was ultimately never shot. Bare minimum of fanservice and completely unnecessary, the director said. 

The tattoo sticks out, not only because of how it's deeply embedded on her otherwise pristine, lithe figure, but also because it represents the last 18 months of your career.

During this period, there are a lot of things that you’ve regret—and will regret. The fact you’ve kept contact with her during filming at a minimum, keeping your interactions strictly between takes and creating a negative air around you in her eyes. The fact it took you so long to exchange numbers, only getting it done during the press tour. The fact that you never return her messages when she constantly reaches out to you, whether through text or on your Instagram. The fact you haven’t thanked her enough times during your acceptance speeches, even when you mention her name in almost every other sentence. If there’s anything you want to admit, it’s that Hyewon is everything.

Most importantly, the fact that you fucking love her, to the point where you’d yearn moments when you’re not beside her—and you still lack the will to confess to her. Even right now. When she’s right at your fingertips.

Perhaps she knows this. The signs were there all along. How she often posts your red carpet photos together and tags you in them. How she also mentions you as much during her acceptance speeches and credits you as a reason for her improvements in acting, even referencing specific advice you’ve given her. The biggest hint, however, are the dresses she’s been wearing to these galas, most evident being tonight. Simple all black, tailor made for her frame, showing off her assets for flaunting to the cameras. 

Earlier, she led you to an empty part of the theater to say something in private. “I wore this just for you,” she said—and from that point, you had to get her alone, whatever it takes.

Really, Hyewon has no intention to leave tonight. She’s just waiting for those magic words. There’s no other logical reason for her to be here, other than for you.

She might as well be holding up a huge signpost with all her requests written in capital letters. 

“If you’re not gonna do anything,” she says, tone casual, slipping one strap of her dress down her shoulder, the one half of the fabric dropping a fair amount. “Then I might as well do it myself. I was hoping you’d take this off me—”

“Stop.” 

You grab her other hand, close to touching the other strap, the dress more than ready to fall down. She raises her eyebrows in amusement. Afterward, she puts the seized hand down, convincing you to release the grip. 

Another win for Hyewon. You’ve lost count as to how many times she’s been messing with you throughout awards season. Probably in the hundreds. Thousands if you count the interviews and little jabs during her speeches. Every mention of your name is an immediate sign of trouble. You can sense she’s enjoying every single moment, relishing the remaining time you have left. Meanwhile, it’s clear on your face that you’re stressed. 

But for what?

“If it hasn’t gotten through your thick skull, then I have no choice but to explain it.” Hyewon climbs atop the bathroom sink, strong enough to lift herself off the ground. She pours the glass with new wine; it’s not meant for you. Her attitude flips instantaneously like a switch, composed and readying herself as if it were another photoshoot. 

Taking a sip of the drink, she pours the rest all over her dress. It serves no purpose anymore. it’s undeniable that she knows what she’s doing. That elegant yet cocky smile is permanently seared into your brain. Someone this haughty shouldn’t be this beautiful and seductive. “You can stand there and waste the night away, or you can do something about it. All up to you.”

You can only sigh. Whether out of wistfulness or annoyance is up for interpretation. You can add taking her back to your hotel room and taking this role in your ever growing list of regrets. When it’s all said and done, it’ll definitely be as long as the career documentary they’ll make about you in 50 years.

What more do you have to lose? 

This will all be behind you soon enough.

You finally stop giving her the cold shoulder. “God, I really wish you weren’t such a tease,” you remark, pulling on the dress strap she previously slid down. “Because otherwise, it would have been so much easier.”

Hyewon seems to have taken your words seriously, because she suddenly kisses you—as in, relentlessly smothers you. Her arms wrap around your neck, slowly pulling you close into an embrace. She smells of alcohol and perfume. An unusual concoction that you can drown yourself in.

“Only if you say the magic word,” she says, gently laughing between kisses. The lower half of your face is full of pale lipstick marks. It was foolish to think she had turned a new leaf, knowing how intentional Hyewon can be with everything.

You’ve really got no other choice.

“I love you,” you confess, but in the smallest audible voice imaginable—hiding that reluctance behind your tone. 

Hyewon pulls herself back, smiling toothily at you, borderline snorting. Her expressions convey the idea that you told her a joke, which it may as well be. 

“That’s it? Doesn’t sound like someone who loves me,” she remarks, tone evidently disparaging.

“Fuck me.” The groan comes out instinctively, as if this wasn’t your first time getting burned like this. Your head is raised to the ceiling, asking the gods for an out.

“That’s my line,” she spouts, her response almost as instantaneous. Wit comes naturally to Hyewon. The countless viewers and interviewers who’ve laughed can speak on her behalf.

“You’re gonna turn everything I say into a joke, are you?” you ask, knowing you’ve willingly fallen for the easiest bait in the entire world.

“You’re gonna turn everything I say into a joke, are you?” she repeats, mockingly imitating your voice, much to your utter chagrin. This isn’t part of some romcom or a sketch. This is real. Everything comes back around to Hyewon. She laughs—basks in your suffering.

It’s the kind of trait that would leave you second guessing whether you really love her or not. As it turns out, the public loves celebrities with a playful sense of humor. Not even you are innocent—you’ve been caught red-handed on camera a few times. Hyewon doesn’t need to reaffirm herself.

But she would love to hear it straight from the source.

“Say it. Say it.” Hyewon is urging you—demanding you—as if it were a matter of life or death. Her hands are everywhere, gripping you by the cheek and the throat like her prized possessions, threatening to choke the life out of you. 

Truthfully, this was coming the moment she stepped through those doors for the first table read. Hyewon’s gravity is inescapable.

“Love you—Hyem, please—” 

Struggling to push back against her hold, you can tell that she’s taking pleasure in every moment she has you like this: wrapped around her finger, so whipped over her that it’s alarming. There’s little use in trying to be coy or subtle. If she wanted you to go down to the afterparty in nothing but your boxers, you’d fold in a heartbeat. She’s the kind of girl you’d happily end up in a scandal with, someone you’d throw your career away in exchange for one timeless night, against the advice of everyone who knows better.

She knows this too. Look at the coy grin spreading on her face. A smile perfect for the front cover of any magazine or commercial. It’s the perfect facade for the attitude hiding beneath.

“I love you Hyem,” you repeat, showing a bit more desperation and sincerity this time. You’re breathing against her neck, the idea of pressing your lips against her skin a dire need. It’s unfortunate you can’t make it look like an accident—as is the idea of your bodies sinking down on the bathroom countertop. “For the longest time, I wanted you, but—”

Only now do you come to the simplest realization: there are no accidents.

Normally, you should feel some shame for being this oblivious. How a girl like Hyewon is giving out all these hints, to the point where she might as well be spreading her legs wide and pointing down at her cunt with a colorful sign. Hell, a thigh is peeking through her dress, pressing on your leg right now. If there’s one thing you’ve learned about working with other actors, it’s that chemistry comes naturally—it can’t be taught.

And your bodies are doing exactly that. The friction between you can’t be any more tense.

“Then show me.” She sighs against your ear, pulling on the topmost button of your suit, pushing down the matching coat. Her leg extends around your limb, goading you to pull away, even though leaving the pretty sight right in front of you is the last thing on your mind. 

You can only breathe. Slow. Hesitant. There's not a lot of hours left, and you’re wasting more by taking your sweet time—resting your gaze on her pale shoulder, admiring all the little details. In essence, you’re doing the complete opposite of what Hyewon wants. She’s showing a little frustration, proving how much better of an actress she is than you. Imagine being in her shoes, beckoning to someone astronomically unaware for months. So much energy and effort could have been saved if she chose to leave you out to dry. If you weren’t so preoccupied with thoughts of her, the many ways this little scene can go, you’d be wondering why she’s this persistent. 

Maybe you’re just as important of a character in her story too, or you’re both stubborn in your own ways. Perhaps both.

None of that is your concern right now. You’re cupping Hyewon’s face, kissing her, nibbling down on her creamy skin, reaching up to her lips by the way of her neck, pulling on the strap of her dress little by little. In response, she’s whispering sweet nothings into your ear, removing your dress shirt one button at a time. It feels like you’re going through the motions, acting under the words of an intimacy coordinator and a director. Slowly but surely, it’s all coming together, until—

“Stop.” 

You pull back, noticing your shirt is nearly undone as you look past her and at the mirror. Both dress straps are halfway down her arms, the fabric a mess, waiting to be swept away. 

You raise an eyebrow, puzzled. “What’s up?” 

Hyewon tilts her head at an angle, unsatisfied. She’s staring at you intently, taking a moment to analyze you like you’re a problem to solve—which you are—before coming to a rather alarming conclusion. “You don’t seem like you want me that bad.”

The remark doesn’t register in your brain. “What do you mean—”

She yanks you forward for a deep kiss, cutting you off. Reciprocating her passion comes naturally—and so does everything else. The movement of your hands, taking lease of her back, tearing through the fabric of her dress, coming back to her cheeks, until you stop feeling cloth and register more flesh. Feeling her skin becomes your new addiction, something you can’t get enough of. 

Watching her other movies—for research purposes—you knew she was well endowed, even when they were not on full display.  Some of her previous gala dresses truly put a spotlight on her cleavage. Part of you thought it was editing trickery, a perfectly taken photo at the right time, or a bra doing the heavy lifting. All three even. But holding them now, with nothing in between, you simply couldn’t believe how well they’ve been hidden from you. 

Her tits fold, go flush, and her nipples stiffen at your touch. They feel so right—as if they were handmade for you.

“God, Hyem—” you breathe out, savoring the sensation of her mounds in your clasp, unwilling to let go. Her taut nipples jerk with every run of your palms. If only you could rest your head between them, but your current position won’t allow you. 

“They feel so good right?” Hyewon moans in response, shedding your unbuttoned shirt off your body and tossing it to the floor, taking lease of your muscles and back. Her dress bunches up around her waist, practically collapsing when she decides to get up from the sink. Although an expected outcome, you’re both surprised that you’ve managed to get each other’s clothes off.

And you’re only getting started.

Pushing you away, Hyewon meets you at your level. Gravity does the rest. She stands before you in nothing but heels. What a mental image to remember her after tonight. She leaves you frozen and trembling, jaw agape, your eyes in a daze, unable to find a place to settle your fleeting gaze on—until she rests her hands around your shoulders. You’re caught up in your own disbelief to meet her lovely gaze and that rather sweet smile, quite the difference from her bare state.

She lifts up a leg, pushing herself onto you for another passionate kiss. Taking advantage, her legs eventually wrap around your waist, bearing all her weight on your grasp. Despite her surprise attack, she’s feathery enough to carry around. It certainly helps that she’s not the heaviest girl you’ve lifted before; you have some experience—mostly unpleasant and usually backbreaking. Still, you’ll treat her like some delicate object that crumbles at the slightest touch. Something—or someone—you can’t ruin, or else you’d be ruined too.

You both end up in the living room, deeply engrossed in a fiery passion that’s too hot for cameras. Lifting her high, your lips find their way to her chest, pressing them in the place where they rightfully belong. Hyewon is stubborn, pushing your head further up to meet your lips in a direct, frantic kiss. Back and forth, you take turns between her tits and her lips, unintentionally slamming her against a wall, eliciting a few yelps out of her. 

It doesn’t bother you both in the slightest. You hold her there, kissing down her abdomen and ribs, coming to the tiny inked part of her figure. The same tattoo that’s been ingrained in your head since you first saw them.

You mutter the very words against her skin. 

“If not now, then when.”

They’ve never been so relevant till right now. You softly kiss the ink, silently thanking her for saving you from a lifetime’s worth of regret.

Hyewon winces, throws her head back, moans up to the ceiling. Her nails brush through your hair, then claw at your nape as you remain fixated on her tattooed rib. She deserves to be adored and worshiped.

“Look at me babe,” she murmurs, gently tilting you up, faint at your touch. Against your desires, you follow. “Put me down. You know why I’m here.”

You oblige without a second thought—and you’re both on a level playing field again.

Still, you can’t help but kiss her right after. She reciprocates the favor. You’re a perfect match. Even as you’re making out, you’re thinking of ways to get messy and get the jump on her while she’s preoccupied. 

It ends up being your biggest mistake.

Both of you wrestle for control over the other, a scuffle that ends up knocking down a few appliances and tableware. The sound of glass shattering rips through the hotel room floor louder than your collective moans ever will. For someone with a lithe figure, Hyewon proves to be much stronger than you were led to believe. It shows when you try to push her onto another table; you both end up crashing to the floor seconds later. 

From there, it’s whoever is the first to get up, and you knew it was all over from there.

Hyewon leads you into the sole bedroom, shoving you onto the mattress. Unrelenting, she slams onto you right after, pinning you down with her bare hands. Surprising her with your own strength, you reach for her raven locks through her ironclad grip of your wrists. Your lips continue to crash like waves against rocks, neither of you willing to back down. There’s a clear disparity between you: she wants you more.

To further prove her point, she presses her palms down on your chest, sitting over you upright, straddled on your lap. She’s never looked better.

Making quick work of your trousers, your cock is freed from its confines, only to be immediately caught up in Hyewon’s hand. Her grip spreads through your groin, turning breathing into an absolute nightmare. The one fear that’s been haunting your mind these last few months, finally realized. 

And it’s staring you down with an innocent yet wicked smile.

“You have no idea how long I wanted this,” she remarks, her sultry voice sending shivers down your spine. Arching down, she presses her tongue forward on your throbbing tip. Combined with the pressure she’s building with her hand, holes puncture through your lungs. And right on command, you’re leaking. She’s lapping your cock in circles, slow and agonizing, taking every little drop of precum seeping. You can only tremble beneath her, utterly defenseless. “Remembering when I was tapping your foot with my heel earlier tonight?”

She leaves you in such a dizzying spiral that you can’t even look directly at her, let alone formulate a reply. Meanwhile, her eyes remain fixed on you, doe-eyed with innocence, yet her actions are cruel. Breathing proves to be a struggle, let alone returning with a response. “What about it?”

“I wanted you to follow me to the bathroom. And I wanted you to fuck me in there.”

Honest to God, that was not the first thought on your mind. If anything, the presence of many proved to be the ideal shield in keeping yourself away from Hyewon. Losing best actor was the greatest blessing in disguise, as it meant you didn’t have to look straight into her magnetic eyes during your theoretical speech and make an embarrassment of yourself in front of hundreds in attendance, and millions watching on television. 

Now that you’re in bed with no way to escape, you can only accept your fate.

“I’m not the best at reading the room,” you comment, sheepishly shaking your head.

“Not surprising, honestly,” she says, rewarding your candor with a kiss—on your tip. Then another. More heartwarming than arousing, if anything. “Anyone ever told you that you’re kind of a dork?”

“Not the first time I’ve heard it from a girl,” you say, in an attempt to show some wit, only to be met with a stiff grip on your cock. “Ah—fuck—”

A bit more force and Hyewon could break you in half with her mere hand alone. She’s cold, calculating, and cruel. Her expression seems apathetic, yet deep down, you can tell she’s having so much fun toying and teasing you, stealing what little semblance of willpower you have. And to think she’s this demure, sometimes funny celebrity with a certain image that’s universally admired by many. 

Behind that gaze, she’s thinking of more ways to further ruin you.

“I don’t think a dork like you has been with other girls,” she remarks, leaning forward to tease a kiss, only to leave you dry. “But looking at this cock—”

She stops to admire your shaft once more. Ultimately, she can’t help herself. She has to give your tip another ceremonious flick with her parched tongue in appreciation. Two, actually. If she doesn’t stop, you’ll soon be deep in her throat, and you know she’s not letting you go. Thankfully, she finally regains sight of what she wants in the first place.

Lifting herself ever so slightly, Hyewon takes a deep breath—then slowly melts into you. 

It’s a car crash you can’t look away from. It’s inevitable, but you’re completely powerless to stop her. You can only groan in agony as your bodies intertwine, creating a union that only she can break. Inch by inch, you helplessly watch as Hyewon slowly takes you into her suffocating heat. The sensation is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before: vicious, intense, and painful. 

It doesn’t help that she’s taking her sweet time, keeping you on edge for what may as well be an eternity, bracing for the certain explosion she’s going to leave in her wake. 

“Oh—fuck—it’s so perfect,” Hyewon throws her head back, her jaw dropping slow, every word delivered in a near-inaudible sigh. Eventually, she buries herself in you deep to the hilt—and she keens. “That—that’s it—that’s the fucking spot—”

Your hands cling to her waist, your maw similarly agape, breathing tensely as the pleasure slowly courses through your muscles. “God—you’re fucking tight—”

She hums in return, satisfied by your response, before losing herself in the sensation of your cock impaling her—and she begins to move.

As you fight the urge to cum right then and there, Hyewon slowly lifts herself off your lap, your cock reappearing with a fresh coat of her drenched pussy, before sinking back down. She rips the breath right from your lungs, while you’re forced to shut your eyes. Anything to keep your brain firing as the pleasure rushing throughout your body sends you into overdrive. 

You’re an outlet of ecstasy, a conduit for her to loosen all her pent-up frustration and lust. Her palms grip to your thighs, keeping you in place—as if you’re in any condition to move anywhere except for her whim. She’s crashing into you at a punishing pace as a result of keeping yourself away for so long. And she’s being open about it too: “Why did it take us so long—ugh—”

You can only moan back. Truthfully, you’re wondering the same thing too. 

As your eyes alternate between wide open and completely shut, you catch glimpses of Hyewon using every inch of you to fill her wanton pussy with cock. When she’s not cursing or screaming your name, her moans fill your ears with sweet, sultry music. It’s a sound not of her high class image. She’s riding you like it’s life or death, like her heart will stop beating if her cunt isn’t being stretched out.

With every bounce, so do her breasts. Up and down, settling into a rhythm, forming a hypnotic motion that your eyes get lost in. Your obsession reaches a point to where the movement of her tits stirs you on, reigniting your tired muscles. You can’t lie there and be a helpless viewer any longer.

And so, you meet Hyewon halfway, matching the grind of her hips with your thrust at the apex, setting her alight. This particular stroke. The hot sensation. It utterly shatters her. Her voice cracks. She trembles violently, giving you breathing room to sit upward and lean close to her chest. 

So while she staggers back, overwhelmed by your cock spearing her cunt, you go down on her succulent breasts, squishing your face between them. Despite having Hyewon’s body all to yourself, the friction between your bodies creates this wracking storm that drives you insane. It isn’t enough that you’re feasting on her tits, that her boobs are bouncing so hard it’s downright pornographic, and that she’s screaming her heart out in response to each stroke. This will be headline news tomorrow. Yet, none of that is your concern. You have to pour everything into her. It’s now or never.

“Fuck yes—oh fuck—fucking take me—fuck—” Hyewon’s riding your cock, forcing all the air out your lungs, rendering you speechless. Doesn’t matter, you’re drowning in her slick and her tits, pounding away with twice the effort. She’s swearing through her tongue like she’s a cop in a crime picture, biting down on her lip in a flimsy attempt to restrain herself, but anyone with a good ear nearby could have easily identified her voice through the four walls of this hotel room. Knowing her, it’s intentional. She’s determined to put you through a world of trouble, leaving you with no other choice but to shut her up.

And you’re going to do just that.

You end up yanking her by the waist as your bodies repeatedly collide with each other. Each impact the equivalent of a cosmic explosion, the aftermath echoing through the room. The sound of skin slapping skin fills your ears louder than what it seems in the movies. Sex with Hyewon is much, much better than in your fantasies. Here’s another thing that can’t be found on camera: her soft pleas begging you to keep going, interlaced between harsh whines and airy moans that can’t be faked.

“God, I’m gonna fucking cum, Hyewon.” There you go, your silly side showing at such a serious moment. Everyone knows you don’t proclaim your impending climax. Rookie mistake. You’re not shooting a porno, but you might as well be with how hard you’re fucking her. She can’t help but cackle even as you relentlessly pound into her cunt. What should be a moment of weakness immediately gets brushed aside as you hold her when she slams down, and you finally fall apart.

Impaling your cock hilt deep inside Hyewon, you’re digging your palms deep into her soft flesh, unwilling to let go. She rests her head beside yours as you blast her with thick, warm cum. Her prolonged, saccharine-sounding moan is nothing compared to the loaded groan that ripples through the room. The supplication she makes, demanding you to fill her with every little drop goes through deaf ears. Your dick seems to have heard it loud and clear, though. The amount you’re filling her is enough to rip through her body violently too. She follows with her own peak afterwards, hitting a previously unheard octave higher, your bodies finally melting into one. 

Just like that, she’s clinging to you like you’re her personal life support, completely drained of all her strength. 

The ecstasy lasts for a brief moment. The fall off happens too soon for your liking. Like her, you’re sapped of energy and you fall down to earth with Hyewon in your arms. The end comes—not with grandiose drama or spectacle, but by a calm, uneventful stir.

You should be done at this point. It’s been a long day. You’ve been up as early as sunrise, spent hours behind makeup and measuring tape for a suit you won’t wear more than once. Smiling comes natural, if not downright fake; in front of the cameras, on the red carpet, on screen, and even during the afterparties. Every time you step out in public, there’s an image, a reputation to uphold. You’ve done this a dozen times in the past few months alone, bearing a lifetime’s worth of and it never gets more comfortable or easier. It’s a miracle you haven’t cracked or had a public breakdown, even though your mind is calling for it.

And yet, all that labor and agony is worth it for what you have now. The awards, the recognition, the adoration—but most especially the girl. What are you now, taken out of a story. One that feels all too familiar and done to death, but it never grows old or tired. 

By all accounts, it should be a happy ending. 

Except you’re not done. You’re not satisfied, and so is Hyewon. Even though she’s settling down in your embrace, resting her head against your heartbeats, mumbling these sweet nothings about how much you’ve ruined her and fucked her to shreds, she’s quietly begging for more. It isn’t about keeping a sanctimonious image anymore; it’s about how far you’ll push her and use her. Your throbbing cock buried inside her cunt says it too.

If there’s anything you’ve learned about acting, it’s that one take isn’t enough.

Like a damsel in distress, you scoop Hyewon into your arms. Through what you might consider a second wind, you carry her into the bathroom again on wobbly legs, stepping into the shower, showing that you’re ready to take your relationship a step further. You’ll hash out the details in the morning—if she hasn’t left by then.

The sound of running water serves as background for the airy, lewd noises that quickly fill the shower. 

Hyewon feels incredibly soft to touch. Pliable in your grasp, like a doll to bend, twist, and use at your whim. You’re squeezing her flesh, fondling her mounds tightly till you’re seeing red everywhere. Her tits, her shapely ass, and everything in between. Kissing down her body, giving every little part its much needed attention. You’ve fucked her to pieces, yes, but she’s still housing a divine figure that deserves the same level of praise. 

With two fingers stroking at her cunt, she’s keening, her head tilted up to meet the relentless downpour rushing down over your bodies. Her voice is in tatters after an hour of tireless screaming, in addition to all the mindless chatter from earlier tonight. Part of you wishes to have taken up her offer. Something this good shouldn’t be kept secret, but you’re more than selfish enough to keep Hyewon all to yourself. 

Your raging impulse gets the better of you, and you slap her tits from behind. She yelps a cry of pain and pleasure. The recoil and sound activates something in your brain like a sleeper agent. You do it a second time, then a third. You stop counting after, indulging yourself in the satisfying noise of her mounds smacked over and over, every squeal, every strike equally as gratifying as your cock slamming into her pussy. She’s clinging to the walls as a respite, her body shuddering vigorously, but you don’t give her a moment to breathe. It’s what she would have wanted: to be used and taken like a ragdoll.

Hyewon screams again when you swing her around, lifting one leg around your waist, and slam your cock inside her. No pleasantries, no talking through the process—only a desire to fuck. Burying your face against her neck, growling into her skin like a ravenous beast, you hammer away without care for neither your comfort nor hers. You’re counting the hours, minutes, seconds before she disappears from your life, and you’re gonna make sure that years from now, she remembers this night in particular.

You’re too engrossed to see her expressions twist in impossible ways that average humans can make. But that’s the point: Hyewon is no ordinary person. She’s one actress, something that can be found in others who are more talented and have more resounding qualities, but more than that, to you, she’s everything. The clench of her cunt on your cock continues to invigorate you and push you further. With every thrust, she jumps and sends aftershocks coursing through your veins. God, you love how incredibly well she fucking takes it, and the slightest tilt of her lips struggling to form a grin reinforce this. You’ve got nothing else to say, really; you easily lose yourself in your own lust, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

It doesn’t take too long before you feel it again. The end. It’s approaching faster than you can react. You knew it wasn’t going to be a drawn out affair, but you’re so desperate to reach that high, no matter how brief it may be. It was too good to pass up, and you’re beyond waiting a second more.

You’d give everything up for even a single minute longer, but the period of bargaining has long passed you by.

“Gonna cum again—fuck—” is all you can muster, your first words after a long while. Her pussy feels so good to form coherent words. Lust has utterly consumed your brain more than anything. The entire time, Hyewon’s mewling, keening in every direction, trying to find purchase on the walls or the shower door, only to fall a few inches short. She ends up coming back to you, hanging on for dear life. You’ve never let up, terrified that she’ll magically disappear into nothing at any second. 

Acting fast, as if you’ve got a ticking bomb in hand, you draw your cock out, coated in a thick sheen of your own cum and hers, pumping yourself with a few strokes of your hand until you finally explode. The shower washes down the milky white blot you’re unloading on her skin, never leaving a permanent mark. It does, however, bring you back to the place that began your undoing.

The tattoo on her rib. 

Water wipes the cum blocking the view. Despite those same five words occupying your mind for the last few hours, it still hits like a fresh revelation. You hear her voice repeating them inside your head as you come to your senses, your lust being satiated—for now. Even when Hyewon is completely broken before you, reduced to a quiet pile of flesh. One hand on the surrounding wall, the other in limbo, her leg still coiled around your waist, forcing oxygen into her tired lungs wherever she can. 

With the ‘quick’ shower done, and after hardly any cleaning was made, you carry her back to the bedroom. 

You don’t even make it past the living room before your legs finally give up. You end up crashing onto the floor together before you both finally call it a night.

—————

“This is your fault you know,” says Hyewon, drawing circles on your chest, over your calm heartbeats. “I’m supposed to be in London tomorrow for my table read. And yet I’m still here. My flight was five hours ago by the way.”

It’s already high noon when you finally regain consciousness, your head still spinning despite not taking more than one alcoholic drink the night before. Hyewon’s doing marginally better, having woken up 30 minutes earlier. No wonder it feels so hot; her body is snuggled up on you, your limbs tangled. Despite the urgency she’s speaking about, she doesn’t seem to be interested in moving any time soon.

At least you’re awake and sensible enough to fire back. “Who’s fault is that? I wasn’t the one inviting you to come over and have you fucked senseless.”

She chuckles into your skin, little ripples forming where her lips are gently pressed. “And I wasn’t the one who spent the last 18 months saying we’re just friends.”

You’re already lying flat on the floor, but the rebuttal only makes you want to get up only to fall back down. So you settle with an expressive sigh. 

Hyewon laughs. It’s what won over millions, including you. You’re taken back to that fateful day you first met. Right then and there, you knew there’d be no one else like her. If given an opportunity to go back and change a few things here and there or, you’d do it over again, mistakes included. Last night was worth all the waiting and teasing. 

“So—about that show,” you lean up, pushing her closer to your face, “What was it again? Something about you being a nymphomaniac? Delete what?”

“You mean Delete This? Let’s not.” 

Mention of the premise alone is enough to set her gummy cheeks on fire. For someone whose career has been built up on mostly more general audience friendly programming, leading a sexual soap opera is quite the jump.  

She buries her head on your neck, embarrassed, feeling guilty. “Yeah. I mean, last night was—different, you know? I’ve shown my tits and body already, but I’ve never had sex—on screen before.”

You should have known. She needed a reason to get in your pants without your working relationship only centering around your bodies. And those were clearly stand-ins based on how her face is never shown during her older scenes.

“Jesus, Hyem. If you wanted to have sex, you could have asked anytime. You have no idea how annoyed I was when they scrapped our scene last minute. It was only you taking off your shirt too.”

“On the bright side, we didn’t have an intimacy director getting in the way, right?”

She does have a point. Still, your personal cold war didn’t need to last 18 months before either of you would make the first move.

But with all that tension a thing of the past, the chains are unfettered. Now both of you have the ability to take this little secret in any direction you desire. You could simply be a workplace couple; it’s been the story of your year so far. Or you could take things a step further. The possibilities are truly endless.

Hyewon’s cheeky grin slowly reforms, her hand snaking up to cup your cheek. “Shame we only had one night. I could spend the rest of the day here, but—” she huffs, “I’m running late. Too bad I won’t get to have this cock for a long, long time.”

You lift an amused eyebrow, barely able to keep your new cockiness from showing. “Will you, though?”

She’s taken completely by surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Check your phone.”

After rising to her feet, Hyewon walks over to the console table where her purse is set. Fishing her phone from the handbag, she scrolls through the apps, her attention di–vided between the screen and you on the floor, finally getting up as well. 

Her stare then lingers on the phone, as if whatever headline of the day has caught her attention. 

Next thing you know, she’s grabbing you by the chest, dragging you back to the bedroom before shoving you back onto the mattress—right where you belong. Pinning you down and dead to rights, Hyewon mounts herself on your lap, your cock pressed against her aching core, ready to receive a fresh beating.

Some jokes can go a little too far.

“You fucking asshole. You mean that—”

“Yep.”

“And it’s not—”

“It’s not.”

You can feel her hips slowly grinding against yours. You’re gonna love—and hate—the next 18 months with Hyewon.

“I’m going to kill you. And I mean: kill you.”

“No better way to go out.”

—————

(A/N: Thank you for the commission! That Hyewon dress is so ripe for material, and I had to incorporate her tattoos into it somehow. She doesn't show them quite often—heck, she hasn't publicly addressed them even once, I believe. That little nod at the end is for everyone still waiting for Delete this to return. At this point, a reimagining or remake must happen first before the next actual episode because good God my writing back then versus now is night & day. Even comparing the last update from 2022(?) to today is also radically different in style. I'm still interested in reviving it; it's just a matter of when, not if. Thank you for reading!)

[cherryredstars]

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Age Gap, Fingering, Slapping, Oral Sex, Penetrative Sex 

Summary: You didn't forget about her, did you?

A/N: The final part!!!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

You're fed up!

You're so tired of that miserable woman and her threats about getting you evicted from your apartment with no valid excuses whatsoever! She just gets you so frustrated! It's to the point you can't even think straight with all your anger blinding you. You just seem so angry at everyone lately with your shitty week! First it's your stupid professors and their shitty assignments, then it's Miguel fucking O'Hara and his tendencies to give you the best orgasms of your life and then run away, and now this cranky old bitch who doesn't want to hop off your-

It's just too much in too little time. So rationally, with the clearest thoughts you've had all week, you'll give her something to complain about. And you know exactly the person to help you. You help him, he helps you, after all. Plus, he wasn't paid you back for helping him put away his groceries three weeks ago (no, that orgasm he gave you did not count!)

Your hand throws a rapid succession of sharp knocks at his door, your brows furrowing in impatience when he doesn't answer right away. You huff, instead slapping your hand against the door. You almost fall when the door is roughly yanked open, a shirtless Miguel appearing with a scowl marring his face until his eyes land on you. The anger instantly dissipates into concern, his mind running thousands of different scenarios through his head about the reason why you would be beating down his door so desperately. He opens his mouth, ready to ask when your palm lands flat against his toned stomach, pushing him back into the apartment.

"Need your help." You say flatly as you slam the door behind you.

"My- what? With what?" Miguel asks, his eyes dropping to where your hand is still pressed into his warm skin. He has to fight the urge to grab you by the wrist and force your hand further down.

"Noise complaint."

Miguel is even more confused now, eyes shooting up to yours in surprise. Why would you need to file a noise complaint? He hasn't heard anything obnoxious on their floor or the ones below and above. "About who?"

"Me."

Miguel's head is reeling when your lips crash into his. There is no sweet, calm period, it's straight messy and desperate. Your lips move frantically over his, your hand reaching up to twist the hair at the nape of his neck as you pull his head down. One of you moan- he's not quite sure if it's you or him- when you tilt your head to the side, allowing your tongue to push through the seam of his lips. Miguel's hands blindly grab for your hips, his exhales filling your mouth as he squeezes his eyes shut. Your tongue feels so warm wrapping around his, and his mind floats to how it would feel on his cock. It would be absolute heaven he's sure. Heaven with a high risk of him cumming in seconds like a teenage boy. His mind briefly drifts to the dream he had of you sucking him off, and his dick fucking cries.

His hands shift down your hips, reaching back until your ass is in his large hands. This time he knows he's the one moaning as he kneads the flesh through your pants, pulling you closer against his body. The kiss is sloppy, tongues fighting and saliva coating both of your lips. Your hand, still resting on his stomach, travels up. His skin burns under your touch, enticing and begging to be marked with hickies and bite marks.

You yelp into his mouth when he picks you up, forcing your legs to wrap around his waist to keep yourself from falling. Your ass is right above his straining erection, and you can already tell he's bigger, maybe even thicker, than what you've fantasized about all those days ago when you tried to stuff yourself full with your fingers. The train of thought crosses over to something else as Miguel sets you on the nearest surface. He places you on the dining table, and you know that you would be able to see the counter where he first played with your cunt over his shoulder. Your cunt that still has that untouched spot deep within you and you can't fit more than your two fingers into. Your two fingers that are the equivalent of one of his fingers. The fingers that are sliding into your panties.

His mouth parts from yours as his fingers brush over you clit, your hips bucking into his hand. He trails his mouth along your jaw, sucking right below your ear.

"You want a noise complaint?" He asks, his fingers circling your already weeping hole. "Then I'll make sure everyone on this fucking floor reports you."

On cue, you let out a high pitched squeal as Miguel suddenly thrusts two thick fingers into your tight pussy, your walls stretching rapidly to accommodate the intrusion. Your mouth falls open as your hands grab desperately at his shoulders, your nails digging crescents into the skin as he begins pumping his shoulder rapidly. There isn't a single ounce of preparation, your mind splitting in two as it tries to process the rapid pleasure overcoming your senses. You barely register anything besides the way Miguel curls his fingers into your cunt, eyes rolling back as the anger slowly melts into euphoria.

Your moans are loud and candid as you slowly buck into his fingers, head falling back as you take your pleasure from him. It makes Miguel chuckles, it's so easy to make you sing for him. He rewards you with a bite to your neck, causing you to gasp as it ignites a fire in your soul. He laps at the mark, soothing the burn as your thighs begin to shake. His fingers are abusing your cunt with the way they're pushing in and out of your cunt, effortlessly finding that gummy spot that has your toes curling. Your orgasm rips through you as your body jolts and shivers, pretty moans leaving your mouth as your orgasm washes over you.

You're so lost in your high that you don't realize Miguel's fingers aren't inside of you anymore and your lower half is bare. Your shaking thighs closing when a loud slap resonates in the room as his palm makes contact with your sensitive pussy. The most pornographic sound he's ever heard leaves your lips as you register the pain and pleasure coursing through you, glassy eyes staring down at Miguel's new position on the floor as he kneels. He forces your thighs open, eyes dark as he studies your quivering cunt. It's so adorable that he can't resist pressing a tiny peck to your twitchy clit, moaning as he gets a preview of your sweet arousal. It's addicting, and he's finally getting a chance to taste it again. He hasn't stopped thinking about it since that day in your apartment, the taste lingering in his mouth as he jerked himself off.

He pulls away again, giving another slap to your cunt before diving into his meal. Your mouth falls open in a shocked moan as he desperately sucks at your folds, your hands falling to his hair to press him closer. His tongue swipes at every inch of your skin, getting drunk on your sweet nectar and your string of noises. It's so, so sweet. His grip on your thighs tighten, loving the sticky juices that begin to coat his chin as he shakes his head between your thighs. His nose swipes against your cunt as he takes long licks along your cunt, making your body jump. You push him closer into you as you try to pull away, caught between the sensitivity running through your body and the need for more. Not that he would allow you to escape, he isn't quite down with his fill yet.

You cry out when his tongue pushes through your hole, scooping the cum and shiny arousal out of your cunt and into his eager mouth. He moans against you, sending vibrations through your body. Your body is getting so weak, forcing you to slowly lower yourself onto your back on the table. Your legs slowly lift to hang off his shoulders, your fingers knotting in his hair as you slowly ride his tongue. Miguel hums in approval, sticky clicks of his tongue attacking your clit as your body shakes harder. Your back arches as you calm again, riding his face frantically as you squirt over his face. Miguel thinks he could die like this, drowning in your juices as high pitched keens leave your lips.

Your skin feels sticky and gross against his table, your limbs weak and slightly aching from how intense your two orgasms were. You're sure you'll get plenty of complaints now, just as he promised. Your chest heaves with the effort to catch your breath, and your chin presses into your chest to look down at him. Your cheeks flush when his droopy eyes meet yours, his face dripping with your release. You open your mouth in a shy attempt to thank him, but your mouth runs dry when he stands up and his heavy dick lays hard and eager in his hands.

Your eyes can't leave his red, leaking head. He really is big, impossibly thick too. He chuckles at the wide look in your eyes, his hips leaning forward to swipe his precum over your sensitive clit.

"Don't fool y'self into thinking I was done, nena." He grins, slapping his dick against your cunt to watch the way your clit jumps. "Can't let y'go without feeling you gush around my cock."

You whimper when he pushes his tip against your hole, stretching it wider than it has even been stretched before. Your body twists in an effort to get away as he pushes further in, his hands holding your thigh and hip to keep you in place. Your nails try to dig into the polished wood of his table, only a sharp screeching noise being the result of your effort. Miguel pushes you closer to him, enjoying the scream you let out as your cunt swallows his dick to the hilt. Your walls are already pulsating around him, trying to push him out and pull him in deeper at the same time.

Miguel grits his teeth as he slowly pulls his hips back, slowly sinking into your plush warmth. He bites his lip as he groans, eyes focusing on the way he disappears into you. This is far better than what he could have ever imagined, with the way you hiccup moans and your cunt flushes around his length. He's fucked after this, and he'll be damned if he ever lets you leave his bed, or kitchen table, after this.

Miguel leans forward, his forearms planting on either side of your head. His pelvis is flush with yours, and you can feel his muscles pressing down on your stomach. You whimper at the feeling, slightly breathless at how intense everything is. With the new position, Miguel begins drilling into you at a steady pace. Faintly, you register the scrapping of wooden legs against tile, and you only feel slightly bad for his downstairs neighbors. On the other hand, Miguel is too focused on the obscene squelches leaving your cunt as he bullies his cock into you, his mind fogging. Both of you are slightly delirious, lost in the feeling of his dick pressing against your cervix. Miguel is babbling in your ear, gruff promises about something involving a credit card and tuition and tying you to his bed forever that you barely register over your own moans. You think something about a baby might have been thrown into the mix, but you don't quite care outside the need to have him fill you.

Your hands rack raised, red lines down his back as your body jolts with each thrust. Your eyes are squeezed shut as your body burns to the point of being uncomfortable. You call out to Miguel, only to be answered with a rough grunt. Your eyes slowly peel open, taking in the slightly blurred frame of Miguel. If you thought you looked like a hot mess, then you have nothing on Miguel. His hair, damp from sweat, hangs over his glowing eyes, a dark flush covering his face. His lips are parted slightly, heavy exhales leaving his lips as he basks in the feeling of having your walls sucked around him. The sight alone triggers your orgasm, head being thrown back as your walls clamp around him. Miguel groans, his hips stuttering before he's pressing flush against you as he cock twitches with release.

Both of your heavy breathing fill the room, Miguel's body slumped against yours. Your hands slowly trail up and down his back as you both try to calm down, and you whine from both sensitivity and disappointment when Miguel slowly pulls out of you. His hand pushes his limp hair back, a slightly dazed smile on his face as he takes in your body. Your shirt clings to your body from the sweat the two of you have built up, your thighs still open to reveal your abused cunt. Miguel has to look away, too tempted to see how hard he would have to thrust into you to make the table break.

Even with your body feeling heavy, you push yourself up as Miguel moves to turn away. Your body gets a shot of adrenaline as panic courses through you. Your hand snaps to his wrist, keeping him in place. Your eyes are wide as you look at him, and the fear is clear as day. Miguel chuckles at your silly reaction, taking your chin and pressing a kiss to your lips. This one is slower than the last, but just as consuming.

"Relax, gonna clean y'up. That's all." He reassures, pushing your hair out of your face. "Not planning on leaving."

He doesn't plan on letting you leave either, you'll need a place to stay after you get all those noise complaints anyways.

Extra 1

THE END!!!!! Request what you will with these two, I wouldn't mind doing little side stories about them hehe.

[yutassweetangel]

𐙚 my hero

ii. saturdays

{spiderman!scaramouche x reader}

YOUR POV

As you woke up that morning, you were immediately sick in the gut. Lumine likes scaramouche. Sweet baby lumine, likes disgusting wretched scaramouche.

The thought alone made your stomach turn and twisting in knots. And she, expected you, you, to be kind to him of all people. At least show some decency, she said which made your stomach churn the more.

You would have to commit the impossible for your best friend.

_

Trudging into the school building, you feel something hard bumps into you. To no surprise at all, it's Scaramouche.

Right, decent.

"Hey, Scara." You greeted, bitting the inside of your teeth—and tasting iron in the process— in an effort to not curse at him.

He, immediately, raised a brow, not sure to believe what he just heard. You guys were rivals, you never exchanged greeting. Only curses, middle fingers and insults.

He looked around, as though trying to find some kind of hidden camera in the school hall, nope. none. You were actually greeting Scaramouche Kunikuzushi Raiden.

"This is a joke, right?" He asked, like he was still trying to see the joke behind all this. "Is this some sort of prank?" you shook your head, and he snickered.

"if your trying to be nice to me for, some reason beyond me, like, trying to get me to like you? then forget it." He said, folding his hands with mockery written all over his face.

Ah, now that's why you hated him,

He was an irritating, egotistical, narcissistic jerk.

"Well, it's not for that reason. Believe me I wouldn't want you liking me for any reason whatsoever." you pointed out, matter—of—factly

"Whatever makes you kill yourself." how about you kill yourself, huh? You said, silently. "I don't have your time so I'll go to class now, if you don't mind." not that you needed his permission. You huffed walking away from Scara when he opened his stupid big mouth again to saying another meaningless thing.

"You know no one's in the school except for us, right?" he said, crossing his hands and doing that sassy stance he always did to make you feel dumber.

You retorted, "and so?" You turned on your heel, eyeing him up and down. "What are you insisting?" You questioned him. He followed your actions—eyeing you up and down—before responding. "There is no class as of now, you fatuous idiot."

this.... ugh.

He scoffed seeing the annoyed and angry look on your face."I guess your smarter in those pictures the principle loves hanging around." He insulted you before walking off his back turned to you and you had resist the urge to hit the back of his head with a rock.

If there were a day where you could kill anyone on earth, Scara would be the first on your fucking list.

Decent my ass.

I mean, what did lumine see in this guy?

_

_

Well, you friends were of no help.

You peaked over the book that covered your face to see Scaramouche, either listening to music, or chatting with friends on his phone.

It felt so.... awkward. You would wished for someone, anyone to break the silence. And unlucky for you, he did.

"will you stop ogling your eyes over me? It's annoying." He leered and you kinda wished he'd just continued to shut up.

"if you don't like me looking at you then why'd you follow me here?" You retorted, gritting your teeth in between your words. You also slam the book on the table to cause some sort of reaction from him—but he remained unfazed, not even jolting or flinching.

"Excuse you? You followed me, remember? Your afraid of the dark." He said, narrowing his eyes at you in disgust.

And that was true, you were afraid of the dark and it was just becoming morning, and it was still very dark, and you'd rather be with the worst person in the world than being alone, but how did he remember?

You told him you were afraid of the dark years ago when you were on a camp trip in tenth grade and you, Venti, Lumi, Childe and him got lost and you just started venting about the dark because, one, it was dark, two you thought you'd die that day.

It wasn't really a secret, but you didn't expect him to remember, and if he did you expected him to be taunting you.

You pushed these thoughts away though.

"I'm not. I just... prefer to be around people." You said, denying the further—very true—claim. He scoffed, tauntingly. "Then go to a cemetery, there are plenty of people there."

you'd know, huh? You mused, silently.

"Didn't know little miss. perfect could bite." He said and you then realised you said that out loud. Curse his good hearing.

"Whatever, how did remember that I was scared of the dark anyways?" You asked, you curiosity getting the best of you. You just wanted to know, you wanted to stretch the rubber, the rubber that your relationship with him stretched.

In your head, you had a rubber for everyone—friends, family, enemies—to stretch your comfort zone. For every time you ask something weird, or out of place, or uncomfortable.

And right now, this one might just snap.

He looked at you, both amused and unreadable, only Scara could do both at the same time. "What would I gain if I told you?" Of course he wouldn't tell you. He was so.. stubborn. "Come one. Don't be so childish, tell me."

"Childish?" He looked almost offended. Guess you hurt his ego with that one, heh. "Yes, childish." You took a deep breath. This is exactly what you were talking about. Childish. Then, forcefully,continued, "you should really grow up a bit, Scara. We're in our senior year after all."

Then, it hit you like a fucking train. It was your senior year. The final year. And maybe, the last time you'd see scara. I mean you were happy! You really were. But another part of you, was sad.

Again, you shoved all that bullshit away. "Grow up? I think I have clearly grown a lot better compared to you." You clenched your fist. "You've been, what? Five foot three since middle school?" Unclench. Take a deep breath. Don't talk mindlessly.

Nobody—excluding the librarian—was in this room. But the walls had ears, they said. If whatever you say to Scara spread out, before you graduated, your done. Deep friend to the crisp done.

"I could fit you in my luggage., you know?" The rubber might now have snapped, but your patience, you dignity, you sanity—is about to snap. "Look at you! So small, so petite, so frail, so—"

"if I'm so short—" you paused, huffing in anger and emphasising on the short—"then why don't you out some inches in me?" You smirked, as if you solved a difficult equation before everyone else in the class.

What you said wasn't your fault though. Venti, who you realised wasnt a very good influence, used to say this to Zhongli when he used to fancily say he was short. This comment would shut him up.

But then, you realised—Scara isn't Zhongli.

No no no nonononononononono. You didn't mean that. You didn't actually mean to say that. It was a slip of tongue! You kinda—really—hoped he'd ignore it, but telling from his shocked face to smirk, you knew he'd taunt you for this till you die.

"Please ignore tha—" unexpectedly, Scara interrupts you and says something to embarrass you more.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

You. wanted. to. die. That was the last thing both of you said before you went back to both your businesses in the library—even in the awkward silence—before students started pouring in, tired and mumbling curses either at the universe, Adam and Eve for eating that goddamn apple, or the school.

You stood up, ready to get to class before you caught, from your peripheral vision, Scara sleeping peacefully, slumped over with his head resting on the surface of the table.

At first, you snickered. Thinking of the devious things you could write on his face with a Sharpie while he slept, but then another train hit you—this time a little harder than the first time—he was actually.... cute? When he didn't speak, of course.

However, you realised—WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING? Scara? Cute? Haha, kill yourself.

You quickly pulled a Sharpie out, and drew on his face, a little cat nose and whiskers before walking triumphantly to class, ignoring any of those... things you thought earlier. You'd rather walk dead than thing that vacuous imbecile cute. Ha, cute. Don't make me laugh.

_

"wait, wait, wait. Slow down." Your friend, Hu Tao stopped you mid-ranting. "Your telling me, he remembered you were afraid of your the dark.. and you didn't hop on his dick right then and there?" She said and you couldn't help but roll your eyes.

"Not helping, one and Lumine likes him, two." You said before continuing on to the part where you... told him to put some inches in you.

Despite this being the most horrifying thing to ever happen to you, this caused Hu Tao to let out a fit of laughter. "Wait, what? LMAO did you actually say that?" She exclaimed, causing people to side–eye you from afar.

"Shhh, be quiet, and yes unfortunately, I did." You drag your hand into your hair in frustration and embarrassment. "Damn, why didn't he fuck you then?"

"Bro!" Why did you have such senseless friends? This is why you talk to lumi about this stuff, but you couldn't tell your best friend that you told her crush—your enemy—to fuck some inches into you.

"Ok, ok," she raised her hands up as if in surrender. "Uh, just, let it pass?" You groan. Knowing Scara, the last thing he'd do is let you forget you ever said that. He'd the type of person to post a tweet saying: remember that time you said that thing in the library and tag you with a smiling face with three hearts. That's just Scara for you.

You bury your face in your hands and groan at the thought. You slide your hands down your face, wiping your palms on your face and sighed in frustration. "I'm going to go to class." You say, already getting up.

"Why?" She asked, looking like a five year old asking you how sex worked. "Because I don't want to speak to you anymore." Is what you would've said if you weren't such a nice friend. "I need to help the teacher with something earlier." Hu Tao nodded, opening a box of cookies and cream pocky she had been saving since.

You walk towards class, your friends still filled with thoughts of the incident in the library—what if he tells Lumine? Or worst, if he tells the whole school. What if he actually takes it seriously? gasp what if he tells Childe.

All these filled your mind before the scent of something burning crossed last your nostrils, squeezing your lungs of the stench. Smoke. Was something burning?

You rushed quickly to where the scent was more prominent, making your way to the school garden filled with multiple non-toxic flowers like tulips and jasmine's—the multicoloured tulips of blue, orange, pink, complimenting the plain white jasmines. It was... surreal to look at.

The garden was popular for confessions, or where couples hung out, or where wanna-be-influencers took sceneric photos of themselves. Or where you stayed when you wanted some peace and quiet. The birds chirping, the sky greeting you, the fairy lights on the fences—which only glowed at night—making it looks aesthetically pleasing.

And not to mention, the most important part of this whole garden, the big oak tree in the middle of the tulips and jasmines, surrounded by fairy lights covered fences. It was magical. If you were younger, you would've wanted to build a tree house on that tree and never leave.

Either way, you approach the tree, scrunching up your nose when you realise the scent is coming from behind the tree. And what was behind the tree didn't shock you all too much, but it did amaze you: Scara, that purple headed bastard, under the tree smoking a cigar in the morning.

You watched as he inhaled and exhaled the intoxicated air like it was a breathe of fresh air. You could never understand smokers. What you thought was burning was not the school, but rather Scara's lungs.

You watched immensely as he repeated his actions, watching as his lung probably cried for help and cried for him to stop before he dies, but he continues anyways, unaware of how much damage was going on to his body. And he was a biology major for that matter.

"Gonna continue watching me or are you gonna come over here?" said the gremlin. "What—im not watching! In my defense, I thought something was burning. I didn't know a biology student who knew what smoking does to his lungs was smoking up a blunt here. If I did, I wouldn't have even come here—" You explained, stopping when you realised you were talking too much, and two, he probably didn't even care.

So, you approached him, resting beside him on the tree, your hands behind your back and propping you off the tree. "Is that so." He finally said, eyeing you from beside you and suddenly making you self-conscious before continuing to smoke.

The air was filled with silence—and smoke—and you didn't even realise why you were here, sharing your morning with Scaramouche. Again.

It filled with much rage that your body and mind worked like two different people.

You decided to speak, since he didn't do much of that. "So, you still smoke?" You asked, as if it weren't obvious. You expected a, "no shit, Sherlock." or a, "and grass is green." Comment to come out of him. Maybe even "what do you think I'm doing?" Instead, you given a simple, "yeah.

Yeah. Maybe the cigar did something to him. You were used to his nonchalant attitude, but not towards you.

"Oh, is that so." You should really stop talking and go to class, but another question itched at the back of your brain, and you suddenly didn't want to leave until you had asked it. "Just say it." Scara said, as if knowing you wanted to say something.

"Oh...b—but it's kind of—" he cut you off, smirking, "personal? Just spill it. If I'm uncomfortable then I won't answer." Wow. You surely weren't expecting Scara of all people to be mature about this.

"Unless your asking me to fuck you again." There it is. The teasing Scara you were accustomed to. You take a deep, staggered breath before speaking, "do you.. still do drugs?" You immediately wanted to stop. You weren't close enough to be doing this. The rubber band was snapping slowly.

"No, I try not to." He said simply and you wanted to kill yourself. Maybe you should take Kokomi's advice. "Oh, well, that's cool." That was all you said before the two of you went back to silence.

Why were you even here? Weren't you going class or something? How did you get here?

Suddenly, Scara throws the cigar in the ground, crushing it under his designer shoes and tucking his hands into his even more designer jacket.

And all of a sudden you felt self-conscious, but kept affirming yourself that you didn't need designer to look cute—you thought in your baggy grey sweatshirt and jeans.

A smile creeps up on his face, "Race you too class?"

"What—?" Before you could even process the challenge, he's already sprinting to class, looking back at you to stick his tongue out before facing forward. You immediately followed his actions, sprinting forward, a few spaces behind him.

Looking at the nape of his neck and wishing you could stab into it and watch blood gush out it.

When you get to class, panting and bent down with your hands on your knees to catch your breath. You see Scara leaning on the wall beside the class door, arms folded and a triumph look on his face. He was sweaty, but not breathless. At least not as you were.

"I won, you lost." He declared before smirking his smirk of mockery and entering class while you stood there, still panting.

Twenty-fifth. That was the twenty-fifth time Scara best you at something. You always counted it in your head mentally how many times you best him—how many he beat you. It was stupid, dumb even. But it felt so good when you rang in your head a twenty or a score higher than that in your head every time you beat him.

Right now, you two were tied. You didn't want to count it as a win, but a win was a win. If you were better, faster, you would've won him despite being far behind.

You let a grunt that came out more like a whimper due to just running to class without even stretching. You cursed Scara's name.

To your delite, the class door opens again, and without looking up, you immediately start insulting the person in front of you, thinking it to be Scara. "You vacuous asshole! That was an unfair race! I call for a rematch."

You suddenly look up to find a longer pair of legs wearing blue, torn jeans, a plain button up shirt and a confused look on his face. Childe. His ginger hair bounces as he tilts his head slightly, face flushed and his veiny arm—which you would would choke you, in a non-kinky way of course—reach to the back of his head, scratching it.

"Ohmyfuckinggosh—" you cursed, standing straight now and a hand slapped over your mouth in both shock and for shutting yourself up. "Hey yn—"

"That wasn't meant for you." You cut him off, not meaning to. A pause of silence passes. "Huh?" He said, almost dumbfounded, as though he didn't hear you just curse out his purple-headed friend earlier.

"What I'm saying is—i mean— sorry?" You apologised, coming out like a question. You didn't know whether you should kill yourself or kill Scara for this mess. For one, you were sweating, patches of visible on your forehead and underarm. Second, you were caught not being... The brightest person in front of your crush.

"Oh, no. no, no, no." He repeated his no's, getting lower each time he did. You wished you could make his voice your new alarm in the morning.

"You don't have to do that. Your not insulting me, right?" He reassured, giving that that rivalled even summer. A smile that made flowers grow in your stomach and your heart to kick the heck out your ribcage. "Oh, yeah. Of course." You said, trying to sound calm and leaning on an imaginary armrest.

"Anyways," he continued, letting the awkwardness pass, "I just wanted to know if your still on Saturday. I heard your a pretty busy person—" "of course, I'll be there."

Pause. That sounded too eager. Like you were dying to see him on Saturday (Which you were.)

"I mean—yeah, yeah. I'll see if I'm still free on Saturday. And if I'm busy I'll inform you." You went on. "Great! Would love to see you there." Love. He said he'd love to see you there.

And suddenly your day was ten times better. He gave you that signature wink, which looked more like he was blinking than a wink—but it was still cute.

Saturday started to sound like a show which only aired once in while which you were dying to watch.

_

Class was casual. It was normal, until the end where you got a 87.90% on a test.

Hold the phone.

While other cheered at getting just a 60 percent and above, you debated with your teacher, asking him to have a reconsideration, give you a make-up test, at least approximate your score to 90 percent instead that outrageous and selfish 86.90.

Meanwhile, Scara made fun of your desperate from his seat, waving his 98 with his tongue stuck out. It's like the universe was fucking with you today.

"I can give you then 90 percent and that's it." Professor. Alhaitham, your philosophy teacher said, pushing his glasses the met the bridge of his nose. You gave him an exasperated thank's before leaving the classroom to find Scara there, leaning against the wall opposite the door.

Had he been standing there? That's embarrassing.

You snorted at the thought of him just standing here for the past five,ten, maybe twenty minutes, just waiting as people walked passed him, giving him weird looks.

He cleared his throat. "Anything funny?" You shake your head, rolling your head in the process. "Yeah, but I wouldn't tell you." He repeats your action, rolling his eyes too. "Whatever."

He pushes himself off the wall, and was now standing a few inches away from you. He wasn't that tall, but you still had to look up to see his unbearable and disgusting face. "Two points for me, zero for you. How does it feel to be a loser?" He said, egotistically, and you couldn't help but scoff. "I expect a award, you know, maybe a gift." You answered jokingly and it was his time to scoff. "Wouldn't you be a good girl and like to get a reward?"

This bitch. Why did he have to make everything kinky.

"I didn't—i didn't mean it like that." You sudden confidence wavered. Your face was now heated. "Aha!" He exclaimed, like he just discovered something that could change the world forever. "So, you're a prude."

"What—" you said in disbelief. "I am not! I'm just... Shocked." You defended yourself, hugging yourself and tugging at your sleeve.

"Prude." He repeated.

A frown, soon followed by a deep sigh escapes your lips, "not."

"Prude."

"Not."

"Then you have a praise kink."

"The fuck. No."

"Yes, you do."

"No."

"Yes—"

The both of you go back and forth for a while before you realise—what was the point of this. You sighed, pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration. He was stubborn, you'd give him that. "Ugh. I don't have time for this." You groan, kind of admitting defeat. "So, you admit you have a praise kink and a prude?" /

"That's not what i—ugh, forget it. Reasoning with you is as round as circle." You bellowed, your patience wearing thin. "What's that meant to mean?" He asked, brow raised. You didn't know what it meant either. "I guess I'm saying is that... It's like going in circles." You explained as though you were explaining maths to a second grader.

He snorted, "that's dumb."

"Whatever." Was all you said before walking away.

_

_

You rolled in your bed, curled up with your dove covering your whole body, leaving your head pocking out, head and phone buried under it. I

In the dark, the other source of light provided was the blue ray of your phone as you let out a sigh. You don't know how many you've let out just today. Suddenly you get a text from Childe.

_

_

Right. Saturday. Saturday might just be your new favourite thing. Maybe name your child Saturday and explain to them why. "Well, mommy and daddy actually fell in love on a Saturday."

But you were getting ahead of yourself. Saturday hadn't even come yet. You just had to wait.

_

Soon enough, Saturday comes rolling around. When you wake up, you breathe in the fresh air which smelled like—a dead rat?

You sniffed the air some more, confirming what you just smelled. Yep, that's definitely a dead rat roaming around your room. You moved closer to find the rat under your sink plumbing system.

You scrunched up your nose, pinching it your hand and picking up the rat with a piece of paper you found nearby your coffee table. Looked like an old newspaper which you never read.

When that was done you trashed the rat with the rest of your disgusting trash—old paper, black nylon probably filled with a dried, smelly period blood stained pad, mushy, wet rice, rotten apple and other trash considered things.

At 4:31 am (cause you woke up early), you brushed your teeth thoroughly, using that new mint toothpaste that your grandma bought you, took a bath using a body scrub you bought on sale, washed your hair, applying a leave-in conditioner to make it smell nice.

Afterwards, you do your skin care which included a cheap variety of products also bought on sale—a cleanser, a moisturizer you stole from your older sister and sunscreen so you don't, you know, burn.

Then you applied light, clean makeup, apply a fruity perfume dressed in a strawberry print pattern on a white background with a red long sleeved cardigan on top. You paired this with a thin gold necklace and earrings.

By 5:08 you were out with a white messenger bag filled with a laptop, notes and a few necessities—mini makeup bag, lip gloss, perfume, mirror, water etc.

Once you were outside, you regretted your choice of clothing. It was cold once you entered campus grounds—since childe was a boarder.

The cold wind of autumn caresses your skin and you shiver. Suddenly, someone bumps into you and a tired "oh, sorry." Comes from beside you. Followed by the sound of your phone collapsing to the ground.

You reach down to pick it up, reassuring the person when they had already bent down to pick it up for you. You reach up to collect your phone and say thank you when you realise who it was—Scaramouche.

Yep you guessed it.

You immediately change and narrow your eyes. "What are you doing here?" You asked, snatching your phone from him. "Not even a thank you?" He ignored your question, sighing and looking away for a bit before looking back at you.

He wore a black basketball jacket with the letter "S" imprinted onto it paired with a black button up shirt, one button undone. It was a simple choice of fashion, but it still looked expensive and model perfect.

Everything he wore looked expensive and model perfect.

Suddenly, his eyes roamed around your body. And you felt self-conscious, tugging your short red cardigan to cover your—whatever you could cover up.

He looked back at your face, and you swore something flicked in his eyes, or you saw his ears turn a slight shade of pink. Maybe it was the cold or your head playing games with you.

"Well?" You asked again. "Why are you here?" You interrogated him, folding your arms. "Huh? Oh, I live here." He responded hurriedly, pointing at the boarder building which you look over at.

"Oh." Was all you let out, realising you were stupid for questioning him like he was a stalker. "Well—why aren't you in your room?" You continued to question him, like he didn't have the right to walk around where he lived. "Uhh, I was taking a walk."

"Why?"

"Hey, why are you questioning me? Why are you here?" You stayed silent for a moment, almost forgetting your purpose for being here. "I'm here for Childe." You simply said.

"Oh, your date thingy. Well, congratufuckunglations." You knew he didn't meant it. So you huffed when you walked past him before he grabs your wrist, pulling you back in front of him causing you to let out an "ack!"

"What gives?" You asked, the warmth of his hand on your wrist still burning his wrist and out of nowhere, you stopped being cold. "You can't enter in there." He warned.

The fuck? Was this fucker out of his mind?

"Why can't it?" You asked. "Because, it's a male boarding house." He stated, and suddenly you felt stupid. "Oh." Was all escaped your lips. And you almost winced when you felt the warmth of his hand leave your wrist.

"So, what? You expect me to stand and wait for him to come?" You asked, your patience wearing thin. "Pretty much." He answered. You scoffed. "This is ridiculous!" You exclaimed, making a little hmph sound.

He rolls his eyes before the next line fall from his lips to your ears, "I can escort you to our room, your royal highness." He said, the nick–name said with every ounce of sarcasm, causing a rush of agitation to rush to your neck.

"Fine. Whatever." You said simply. You walk down the campus at it was there—when you weren't rushing to class or the library to finish a last minute assignment—that you take in, fully, the beauty of the campus.

Like, as of now, the two of you stood at the car park where whites lined were formed to assist the drivers to park properly, patches of grass, covered with cobble were rowed Infront of each parked car and empty slot for a potential parked car with the smell of mother nature—dog shit, flowers and grass—mixed into the air.

Soon the air shifted as you enter the boarding house. It becomes... More tense to say the least. Or maybe it was you. You shifted uncomfortably in the male boarding house. Chandeliers that hung above you which glowed gold and coated the white walls a similar colour, the smell of... Male up in the air—which consist of socks, dirty clothes and male perfumes.

It wasn't a home you'd like to live in, but a home Childe lived in. Even the bastard beside you lived here.

As you walk up the luxurious boarding house, Scara comes to a halt and you bump into his back. You quickly stand straight, quirking a brow at him when he turns to face you.

"Here it is. Me and Childe's room. Rule number one, don't peep into my stuff while I'm gone. Rule two, don't steal snacks that specifically read "scara's food don't eat or I'll cut your fingers off. Rule three—" you cut him off before he could continue his rambling. "What makes you think we're going to stay here?" You asked, anger laced in your voice.

Arrogant asshole.

"I'm aware of that," He says, rolling his eyes. "I just don't want you peeking at my stuff, you know since you asked me to fuck you—" Scara is cut off by the sound of the door clicking and flying open.

There, you saw your dream man at your door; messy ginger curls, black hoodie, dark grey puffer jacket, dark grey baggy jeans.

You swapped your hand over Scara's mouth before he says something to fuck you up as usual. "Hey yn," it was like lights flooded behind him as angels sung. "Ready to go?"

prev || next

╰┈➤ my hero materialist

synops𝐢s → scara was many things to you—the cause of all your headaches, the stone in your shoe that could never seem to get out, the reason you go to sleep crying—but definitely, very obviously, you hated him. maybe 'hate' is strong, it's just some rivalry. and spiderman was the opposite of that. he was muscular, his suit tugging at his biceps and quadriceps you couldn't help notice. He was heroic, friendly—like you said, the opposite of scaramouche. But soon,the truth is revealed and you find out the secret identity of your superhero was actually your worst enemy?

૧ᵘᵉᵘⁱⁿᵍ : ˢᵒ ʰⁱᵍʰ, ᵈᵒʲᵃ ᶜᵃᵗ

notes - sorry this took so long AUGH I was hyper fixating about Caleb and my body was not resonating with my mind

Caleb is just so AUGH. making a fic about him the

This is so short and so bad help. Next chapter is better trust 😭

Had to watch a venom movie for prt 3 to be good can somebody say power 😔

also childe whas curls and no one can prove me wrong 👹😡

Also the reason the screenshots are so big is cus I'm using a tablet. No, I am not an ipad kid. Yes, I don't have a phone. LET ME BE. 👹

Also, scara bio major? Anyone??? Tell me this isn't canon.

And anyone digging the rubber band thingy? Like relationships so thin it can cut like a rubber band if not taken care of 😭 idk how to explain it but you get it.

a/𝐧 → thank you all SM for the love and support couldn't have done it without yall mwah mwah THANK U FOR 90 FOLLOWERS TH IM JUST A GIRL HELPPPPPP this one is SM better than the last draft I think the world was basically saying that it was bad. Sorry the smau is so short, I'll try to do more next chapter

p.s - next chapter has HEAVY angst and my indecisive ass decided to make it dual pov instead of one for each night or chapters or whatever 😭

taglist (open):

@kyouzki, @rumitome @wandereryumee, @procacao, @w2atissense, @erebhs, @fuhrasloves, @lyzisbitchingagain, @emvss, @anaxugoras, @yu-yumi, @mywillt0live, @key2yourheart, @franaby, @lxkeeeee, @hanakokunzz, @marivaudages

[rayasslicker]

xv. young blood spills tonight (written work)

It's a really, really beautiful fucking day. That's no doubt. Like, at all.

Why's that, you ask?

Well, simply because the endless sea above you is winking at the little organisms with their clear blue skies devoid of the usual cotton white. Then, there’s also the breeze that has been blessing (bugging) everyone's asses by flipping skirts and sending papers flying.

And well, yeah, those are the usual signs that your day is going to go well.

The biggest catch, whatsoever?

Shitty Asshole (Scaramouche) finally decided to stop acting like there was a permanent stick up his ass with every interaction he had with you.

Or in simpler terms, he stopped bothering you.

And hey, going by your definition, it really means that he hasn't called you names nor did he prolong a conversation by unabashedly acting like a fuckboy to grind your gears.

And, well. That? That's really fucking strange.

Some people (Hu tao) may suggest going to the person, and asking, “hey, are you okay?” considering that the asshole looks like he got hired by a shitty animation studio and was overworked during the weekdays, but considering how much he irritates you on a normal day?

You would dare say; hell, no. You don't have any damn plans in crossing the lines of rivalry just to reignite the spark of hatred that's holding your relationship with him. You also don't got any damn clue if he stopped simply because he felt guilty for pushing you down (which, going by your interactions with him on Monday, doesn't seem to be the case at all) nor if he stopped because his ginger friend is finally shooting his shot (which also doesn't seem to be the case since it's unreasonable as hell).

Either way, you'd rather enjoy this blissful predicament rather than finding the catalyst behind it.

(You completely, and resolutely ignore the gnawing itchy bitch inside of you that keeps moaning about the fact that you haven't had a proper argument with the Asshole since Monday.)

And besides, it's not like it's any of your business to pry on his personal problems, right?

So yeah, the angel on your shoulder (that annoyingly sounds a lot like Hu tao) can fuck off, and the beautiful day you spoke of can continue on without any grape-hair bothering you.

A giggle left your lips, the sound utterly high. If you were in the right state of mind, you would've been nauseated with how you're acting.

But.. right now? You’re quite literally bouncing off from, holy shit, I'm gonna go on a date with Childe—to—Oh my god, what am I even gonna wear!?—to—He’s such a flirt, god, he's so attractive–

—and then, finally—wait, hold on, I need to fulfill that damn request, fuck!

With that, disgust burns your esophagus and you're instantly upset, because fucking hell. You have to hang out with the guy that's been avoiding you for.. what? A fucking week? Just ‘cause of some shitty obscure reason?

Like, seriously, come on. Pushing you off the stairs is nothing but a damn stepping stone for your hatred to go onward, right? It's really nothing, so why the fuck is he doing this cold-shoulder thing?

You scoff as you turn on your phone, opening the contacts app, then scrolling until you see the infamous, “the insufferable asshole whom i shall not dare interact”.

God, the nickname was such a great idea.

The conversation that lit against your face brings some sort of annoying churning in your stomach, and you scowl at the feeling. Don't tell me I'm feeling sentimental about this shit.

Then, as you shudder from the prick needles poking at your skin, you instantly chuck the thought to the murkiest depths of your mind; hoping to never be seen again because, holy fuck.

Deeply sighing, you clicked on the call button, index finger lightly tapping and making circles on the counter as you pressed the phone to your ear.

The phone luckily rings until it makes a familiar clicking sound.

“What—”

“Shut up, where are yo—actually, no, scratch that. Come here early, like right now, ASAP.”

A notable silence on the other line. You briefly wonder if you should've let him finish, but then again, any pleasant business the other had could fucking wait.

“Yeah, no. I'm on my way to the entrance road, dipshit,” the other bit out after a moment. There's light sweeps of air in the background, and a fleeting thought occurs to you that the Asshole might be walking considering the lack of engine noise.

You cross your legs, squinting at the door because wasn't the entrance road atleast 3 miles away from the café? isn't that so far?

“...Don’t tell me the Grand Scaramouche is actually walking? Whatever happened to your Porsche, hm?”

Scaramouche simply chuckled, the sound reverberating through your spine, sending shudders along the way. You end up reaching for the blanket that, fuck, was currently perched on a damn desk chair a feet away from you.

For a few seconds, the words simply hung in the air.

You have half a mind to ask what the fuck was up with him, only to absolutely shrug it off as you finally snatch the blanket, fabric warm and just so fucking perfect, goddamnit.

It's then the Asshole finally makes a noise and—

“Well, might as well enjoy the shitty scenery before I quit, right?

Your entire world stops. Not in the sense like those shitty romantic scenes, of course, but in the sense that you just discovered something so fucking shocking that your world quite literally stops functioning for a second.

Because, seriously, what the ever-loving fuck?

Don't tell me I fucking did something wrong? I didn't even do anything. Like, shit. But didn't we just have a talk in monday? didn't we, like err, fucking.. glare at each other in wednesday? What the fuck is up with this guy? Is he jealous? Wait no, that's not really reasonable. Is it Childe? Is he avoiding me because Childe told him to just so he could shoot his shot? Wait, maybe it was the push—no, fuck, wait. What was all that talk about, ‘wanting to stay here a little bit fucking longer, then—

A snort. A really, ugly and mocking snort, “you do realize you've been muttering all that like a stupid ass ESPN commentator, right?”

And right now, as tempting as the idea of screaming, “what the fuck do you mean!? what was all that beating for then!?” to him really is: you, a beloved fuckin’ saint, instead, made the very difficult and extremely mature decision to not push your luck.

And that is to hang the fuck up, LMAO.

Might be an overreaction considering that you once chanted a whole ass pseudo-manifestation on Scaramouche quitting for some inexplicable reason but..

..It's an embarrassment to your dignity to admit—but, fuck it, anyway.

You'd rather take a barrel of a sailor’s vocabulary ebbing out of his mouth rather than this odd silent treatment he's been doing with you.

It's not that you missed him or anything—god, no—it’s just.. really anticlimactic considering that the only connection the two of you have is your rivalry with him; with all the shitty remarks he makes, the brawls you have with him, and the constant bickerings that happens on a daily basis now that you were coworkers.

At some point, you've always kept the notion of having a relationship more than just hatred in the damn Pandora’s box, simply because you couldn't really fathom something stable and promising with him, especially with the Asshole’s personality being equivalent to having a fire up your buttcrack.

Not only that, there's no fucking way that asshole is getting away after pushing you off down the stairs (1), doing a whole pep-talk about wanting to stay in the café longer (2), offhandedly showing up to the first day with his goddamn porsche whom you haven't seen in a few days now and you miss it so bad (3), get into a brawl only to have your beloved grandmother see it and force the two of you into a 30-minute lecture on why fighting brings bad benefits (4), and be one of the sole witnesses of you having a panic attack (5) only to fucking leave?

Well, atleast he's got the fucking balls.

Feeling the rush of adrenaline, you pocketed your phone, the initial plan of changing out of your clothes completely and utterly forgotten as you hurriedly scurried to put on your shoes and bursted out of the room.

Your grandmother furrowed her brow at the sight and sound of the door slamming against the wall, “dear? where are you headed to? why are you still in your clothes?”

You grabbed your necessities (phone, check, money, check, food.. nah, scratch that), and sent a reluctant glance at your confused grandmother, “can I take the shift off today? I.. need to catch up with a friend super, duper quickly and apparently the ass—ass.. something is leaving today. And they didn't even tell me about it so—”

“Alright, alright,” Your grandmother gently interjected, attention now fixated on whatever was on the counter, “you ought to tell me these earlier though, okay? I'll call Xiao to help out.”

A groan left your lips, hand already twisting the knob as you turned one last time, “tell him to not act like a stuck-up dick though!”

And distantly, “make sure to bring an umbrella!” along with the cracked laughter resonating in the air as you took off.

–

The wind howled through the trees, sending chills up your spine. Your grandmother was fucking right. You should've bought a damn umbrella.

You rubbed at your arms, slowly contemplating whether to go back to the café and just endure the agonizing back pain for a couple of days, or wait in the goddamn bus stop since most likely, the Asshole will probably go through there.

The latter is so, so fucking tempting, especially with how there's light rain dotting the pavement now—

Wait, light rain?

Panic strikes, you cautiously and hesitantly glanced up at the sky, as if it was some blood-curdling demon drooling at the sight of a frightened prey. Fuck, you should've known it was going to fucking rain cats and dogs the moment you saw the skies being abundantly clear as fuck.

And, holy shit. The café is atleast a mile away and the bus stop is still at least 3 blocks down, fuck wait, what do I do!? Should I call the Asshole? Surely, he brought a fucking umbrella, right? Hold on, shit. Fuck this motherfucking—

Just as you’re about to curse the entire fucking mother nature bloodline, the featherlight droplets tapping onto your shoulders turns into something much, much more overwhelmingly heavier, soaking your head then your clothes.

A fleeting thought of jumping off the river near the café crosses your mind, but you immediately shrug it off.

Eventually, an exasperated groan left your lips, gaze now facing forward as you stared at the foggy mist that now started to descend on your way. Your back still aching even after a few days doesn't help, and the heavy rain patting your clothes, gradually soaking it certainly doesn't fucking help either.

God, a sick leave on Monday doesn't really sound like a happy-go-lucky choice, doesn't it? Sighing, you reach for your skirt pockets, rummaging through until you find the familiar device.

Immediately just as you take it out, it gets drenched.

Am I really going stupid?

You annoyingly frowned, slightly lowering your body to cover it from the rain as you frantically pressed the power button and—

Fucking voila! It's fucking dead! The bright 0% winking at you like a delicious fucking meal on the table!

For several fucking seconds, you frigidly stood there, hand loosely clutched around the jackshit motherfucking device, with your nervous system going haywire, and the absolute urge to snap your spine in half coursing through your body like blood flow.

Oh, and there's also the impending chill down there that holy fuck, you're going to get sick.

What a fuck-up day this is. All because of that damn Ass—

Okay, that's too unreasonable. You did choose this, after all.

Still. You shouldn't have fucking gone out. Hell, you should've listened to your grandmother.

A crackle above snaps you out of your thoughts, all suddenly aware of the fabric clinging to your skin with the coldest motherfucking sensation, and you shudder, pocketing your phone.

Right. Shelter.

–

After squeaky shoes, near-death instances (one of which being almost tripping over a damn dead toad in the middle of the street), and the occasional middle fingers from Mother Nature, you finally reached the bus stop. And as per usual, it's devoid of the crowd that used to piss you off when you were a kid.

Muscle movement from all over the years has you reaching out to the bench and lightly dusting it, only to realize what you were doing, deadpanned, then reluctantly sat at the wet bench. An embarrassing squeak of your shoes bringing heat to your cheeks.

Years ago, these roads, now looking as if they've been deserted, used to be the lone passageway to Qingce Village. A small, remote town near the Inazuma borders. However, because there were a shit ton of animals running around bare-assed (take the shitty toad as an example), the officials or whatever had to force the roads to shut down.

Now, it's officially been recognized as a restricted area.

Well, not really. Considering that some kids can still do shitty hide n’ seek once in a while, but it's often discouraged.

Well, fuck the discouragement, you can do whatever you want. Besides, it's not like the Liyue Qixing actually gives two fucks about it, especially now that Qingce village looks more like an abandoned town rather than an actual village.

Though, some tourists and occasional students seem to like the idea of abandoned places, so they’re often seen in the area doing whatever.

Your eye twitches when a drop falls just right in front of your nose, thoughts immediately halted. Fuck, should you really wait here for Scaramouche to show up? The biting cold fabric against your skin is really, really not comfortable. But in some way, it does kind of help with your back ache, so there's some benefits to that.

A shiver. Then, a sneeze.

Man.

You're so dead the moment you come back. You don't even know what time it is for fuck’s sake! But guessing from the time you left and the time you walked to get here, it must be around 4:35PM already. The rain is still moderately heavy, and the shitty roof, that's basically worn out rust, has holes in it, so it barely just does the job right.

The faint pattering of the rain against your shoulder feels soothing in some way, and the slight fog seems to disperse from all that shitty walk so now, the area is a bit visible.

And man, what a fucking calming shitshow. You ought to thank Scaramouche for this.

Wait, hold on, speaking of Scaramouche, hasn't it been at least an hour since you called him? And 3 miles is atleast..

You nervously chuckle, no way, right?

No way he reached the café while you were out here, shivering and dying from the rain, right?

It's been an hour. A full fucking hour!

No way. Yeah, nope. Nope. Nope, no, fucking nope.

There's just no way. You’ll see him in the street, wave him over, reprimand him until he stays, then force him to hang out to fulfill the request.

Yeah. Definitely.

And, anyway. What the hell was the Asshole up to? Out of nowhere, he just wants to.. quit?? What is up with that? You certainly know it's not about the environment, or anything. So, what the fuck was it? Not only that, he seemed casual about the ‘pushing’ incident too, so, really, what the fuck is he really up to—

A hand. A shadow of a hand creepily loomed over your form, creating a shadow just below your toes, and you jolted, heart suddenly skipping a few beats as you hastily turn around and holy shit—

“Scaramouche!?”

He carefully surveys you, the seconds feeling like an eternity as his hand idly floated mid-air, before he leered in disgust, “god, you look so fucking horrible right now.”

A dull ache throbbed in your temple, already feeling the Scaramouche-Induced-Migraine settling in the hypothalamus of your brain, “yeah, no shit. I look terrible, and ugly. Ever wondered why that is?”

Right now, the Asshole is clutching a beautiful, useful umbrella and there's a plastic bag hanging off of his forearm. A droplet falls right on top of your head, kindly reminding you once again of the beautiful, useful umbrella in his hold.

“Are you going to stop looking at my umbrella, or what? I'll share with you, don't worry.”

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion, “you didn't bring an extra one?”

He rolled his eyes, turning to the side, then to you, “are you stupid? your granny chased me out of the café to ‘find’ you. what idiot even goes out in a weather like this?”

His head tilts slightly upward in gesture, while you spiralled down in the fact that, fuck yeah, I was right. He really did reach the café first.

“Well?”

“Got bored,” you easily lied, shrugging your shoulders for the extra effect, “I didn't think it'd rain this.. hard.”

“So, you really are stupid.”

"Shut up! I just got bored, okay?"

“Well, blah blah, anyway. Let's go back to the shitty café,” he turned sideways, reckoning you over with his head like you were some shitty dog.

It only struck you as your eyes drifted to his in pensiveness that—this was the first conversation you've ever had with him since Monday. And, he was going to leave. Just like that.

And, god. You've gone two years. Two years without talking to him except the occasional blistering arguments on social media that still pissed you off to this day. Hell, you even went on four days without having a proper conversation albeit the fact that you saw him everyday in that.

You've managed just fine. Felt no difference. Felt nothing.

But.. fuck?

Why does it feel different when he's talking to you, then?

Why the fucking motherfuck does your heart feel the fucking need to feel fucking restless to the fucking point of fucking beating so fucking loudly?

You suddenly, and viciously regretted locking gazes with him, considering how there was now a huge ass stretch in silence as you two stared each other down; the gaze neither intense nor did it ebb hatred.

Though, the way his eyes settled over to yours do feel like he's stripping you down from your skin to your heart, and oh fuck, don't tell me he can hear my heartbeat? holy fuck, this is embarrassing, what the fuck do I do? why is he staring at me like that? don't tell me I have a leaf over my head?? wait, hold on. should I break the stare or what? this is so fucking embarrassing—

An amused sound between a snort and a laugh. Presumably an involuntary one as he covers his mouth in reciprocated shock.

“What's so funny?”

An slight smirk creeps at his face “you're such a mumbler.”

A frown, “that's not even a word—”

“Are we going back to the café, or are you going to keep standing there like an idiot who just got dumped? Because you really look like you got stood up by a piece of shit right now.”

Okay. Calm. One, two, three..

You tried not to let the indignance take over your face as you held up a pseudo smile in agreement. Scaramouche eyed you for a moment, and then sighed before turning around.

There goes my plan in taking him to hang out. Maybe I'll ask him after school tomorr—

Wait. Hold on.

“Wait, uh. Do you—”

His feet halted, just right in the center of your vision and only then did you realize you were looking down like an idiot. God, this is so embarrassing.

You hesitantly looked up, confidently glared at him square in the eye (since glaring has always been your forte with him) and blurted, “hang out with me. like, right now.”

Silence. You can already feel the regret creeping in when all he does is fucking watch, and watch with those shitty fucking ass purple motherfucking eyes with the imperceptible fucking glint shining in them and—

“What on the fucking earth,” his expression was flat, but he did have that aghast-amused tilt to his eyebrows.

That's how you knew it was a success. All doubt and humility instantly drained out of you as you grinned, the mean and confident one that you knew made your features look devilish, “what? it's gonna be your last shift anyway, and I had to take a shift off—don’t give me that look and don't ask why—so, why not just hang out with me? I'm sure grandma would let you off.”

“O..kay?” he drawled in incredulity, a brow curiously quirking up as he turned to you fully, “so, what the fuck are we doing today, Dora the Explorer?”

“Uh, we could—erm,” you tried. you failed, “I don't know! I haven't thought that far!”

“Okay, jack-ass. We're going back to the café—”

“No!”

“And drink some shitty warm water—”

“Nope!”

“And—”

Before he could fucking finish because it really was starting to piss you off, you tore the beautiful, useful umbrella from his hold, stumbling him forward as you slowly took a step back.

You watched the realization slash amusement crawl over his pale features, twisting it up to a scowl, “give it back.”

A blink, then an idea came to you along with an impish grin, “well.. you'd just have to get it from me, then.”

And with that, you took off.

Scaramouche gaped at you, looking absolutely debauched as he realized what you were the fuck up to. And at that moment, you smiled.

You give it at least three counts.

One… his head swerves left and right.

Two… his gaze locked onto you.

Three… then, he made a break for it.

A wet ass road isn't really a good place to run a marathon in along with the (still) heavy rain blurring your vision as you dashed to who-the-fuck knows where, but right now?

As the cold nips against your skin like some sort of fucking leech and the Asshole few meters away from behind you chasing like a madman..

It feels like a whole otherworldly experience.

You'd never imagined running in the rain, soaked and absolutely feeling the impending doom already, with your rival, out of all people.

–

“You're a real fucking idiot, you know that, right?”

Okay. Maybe you are a fucking idiot by, what? Running into the rain with what you presume was one of the best experiences you've ever had but had the shittiest fucking consequences? Yeah.

Presently, the two of you are fortunately situated on a cliff with a bench. Totally I-Know-a-Spot vibes with an abandoned ass gasoline station just right off the side. Though, how did the two of you manage that? Well, your dumbass decided to run off the forest and somehow managed to end up here.

At some point during your whole life living in these parts, you've always seen the cliff in your peripherals but never had actually gone through the effort of going to it. So, yeah more or less, it's really your first time being here and, holy fuck is it divine.

The sun kissed the area with gold, blessing the two of you with the warmth it gives. The scenery is really the fucking catch though; with the sun infront of you, half of the village seen just below, café being literally quite just under the cliff and whatnot.

Oh, and yeah. The rain stopped mid-way as the two of you ran, so right now, you're currently dying with the left-over chill.

A shiver runs through your body, and you breathed out a sigh, “you enjoyed it, anyway. you can't really complain, you know?”

He glares at you, awfully looking like a stray hissing after being dumped with water, “fuck, no. I almost tripped twice. Heard that? Fucking twice, [Name]. That was not fun.”

As if he didn't stifle a laugh when you accidentally dropped the umbrella, “yeah, sure, Mr. Nonchalant. Also, I stepped on a dead toad on the way here, so.. again. you can't complain, I've had it worse.”

A roll of his eyes, and god, one more roll and I swear to the universe, I'm gonna make that permanent, “okay, piss grenade.”

“Piss—excuse me, what?”

“You know, explosive and lethal piss? Stuck in a grenade, and when you throw it, it becomes a piss shower?”

Silence.

“Yeah,” a scowl formed on your face as you conjured an image, “that's not really..”

He narrowed his eyes, “don't kinkshame me.”

“What—”

“So, when is the hang-out actually gonna start?” you can see the shiver creepily crawling over his body, and he tensed like a cat.

Ha, cat. Cat…

You awkwardly cleared your throat, murmuring, “I don't know.. actually. Wanna—uh. Wanna stay here and like, I don't know, watch the shitty sunset, or something?”

And again, his face comically deadpans. You can probably see the iconic SFX behind the background as he watches you with keen, fucking purple eyes.

“Is this really the same [Name] [Last Name] that told me to fuck myself on Monday?”

A snort escapes your lips as you nudge him by the ribs, “haha, very funny. Yes, I am, you asshole. God, you really do have a derogatory kink, don't you?”

His eyes glint in mischief, voice raising a playful lint, “oh, yeah? don't tell me you have a praise kink? Come on, don't get turned off, I'll praise you just fine.”

Your jaw gapes, like absolutely gapes and drops, before dramatically scooting further away from him, “yeah, no. I'd rather eat my own hand than have you praise me like that ever. Please stop the harassment.”

“Sure, fruitcake. And we're soaking up the entire bench, and it feels so fucking disgusting. When are we gonna get back?”

Oh. That's right.

“Are you…” you gulp, heart fucking doing somersaults, “are you actually going to resign?”

And at that—a glimmer in his eyes caught your attention as he turned to you; a permission to open up, to spill whatever bullshit he wanted, and you? Well, who are you to refuse?

“No,” he answers, “well, after today and that shitty run, I decided to shove the middle finger to my mom and maybe ask to postpone the offer.”

A hum left your lips, swaying your feet back and forth, “what’s the offer about anyway?”

“A modeling offer. I was given a chance to undergo some sort-of fuckin’ teaching class about modelling—which, I don't fucking want, by the fucking way. But. Ugh, my mom forced me. After that, I'll probably inherit her company or some shit.”

That doesn't really..

As if reading your mind, he continues, clutching the edge of the bench a little tighter, “and the reason why I don't want to take it is because it completely fucks up my schedule; after-school hours? fucked, cowgirl style. weekends? fucked, missionary style. Hell, even holidays? fucked, mating press style.”

He sharply chuckled as you gaped at him, and you mumbled, “your mom is too..”

“Selfish? Annoying? Fucking overbearing? Yeah,” he interrupted with a scoff, the sound laced with so much bitterness, “and anyway, I think I'll postpone it until I'm done with Senior High School. I have plenty of reasons anyway.”

You slowly blinked, still trying to process how.. weirdly dictatorial his mom was. You don't really give a fuck in that part of the industry, considering that you're way too focused on school to actually give a fuck about anything else other than being a barista (and speaking of school, fuck, you still had that physics assignment that's due by 11:59PM).

And, anyway. Holy fuck, you're absolutely going to have a hard time processing the fact that you just had your first ever official uninterrupted emotional conversation with Scaramouche. Or anything that involved non-rivalry things at all. The others are definitely going to have a field day with this and, ugghhh, you can already feel the undeniable burn in your eyes and the sting in your throat—

“Okay, thanks for listening,” he states dryly, eye-judging you as a droplet from his hair falls, “so awesome of you to go on a mumbling tirade while I was pouring my whole shitty sou—”

“Shut up, you asshole! Jeez, my grandma’s gonna kill me after this. I left without saying anything, I didn't even bring the umbrella she gave me! All because I chose to hang out with you, ugh."

“Aww, scared I'd be out of your sight, fruitcake? you must love me that much, huh.”

“No,” you bluntly say, “absolutely fucking not. Gross, by the way. I was just worried about you since we stopped talking for a week, and now you're dipping? no way, you're still my rival and I'm not letting you go until I see you in second place in the final rankings.”

He raised a brow, “we could still be—”

“Shut it.”

“..Okay, you sap.”

“Gross.”

And for the first fucking time ever, a comfortable silence settles in and goddamn, you missed the sunset. Slowly though as you watched from above, the blue-ish fog dissipated from the sky, leaving an endless sea of ink with dotted white.

And of course, as usual, the Asshole opens his gasbag mouth with his gaze transfixed on the skies above, “I really don't like stars.”

Just as you're about to retort, or atleast shove him to the sides and tease him, he continues, eyes still fixed to the sky but this time with a frown, “it looks so unreal, sometimes. Like, what the fuck do you mean those are just huge balls of hot gases winking at us like we're some useless specimen? I'm not useless, goddamnit.”

You blinked slowly, then levelled the Asshole with such a deadpanned look, “are you really saying that.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Of course, it would involve your ego. Of course. At this point, it's probably as big as the whole space.”

Scaramouche smugly smirked, “Yeah, ‘cause the fucking space is as big as my dic—”

“—Well, how else do you spend your time than just.. sit and not contemplate about life then?"

“..I don't fucken know? I don't spend my time looking at shit like this and going, “oh! I'm gonna think about my life and how utterly depressing it is!” like most people do. I just do whatever shit that is worth my time.”

You gave him a blank look, “so pessimistic. You must be so fun at parties. And, hey, we don't just immediately start thinking about life and all that. Sometimes, we just, you know, come here to relax.”

“If we're talking about that, then I’d rather look at city lights from above.”

A shrug, “guess that's more like you.”

He scoffed with a smirk, “makes me feel like I'm the star looking down in all those shitty specimens.”

“Ooh,” you cooed absentmindedly, “okay, city-boy.”

That familiar scowl settled in and you jolted, not expecting the nickname to hit a nerve, “oh, fuck off!”

A blink. Then, another blink before the drawl of the nickname left your lips with a higher lint, “city-boy!”

“One more and I swear—”

“City-boy!”

“Fuck—”

“City-boy likes to look at species below and—”

“Fuck the fucking hell off, you fucking mumbling gnome!”

You two didn't share a laugh that night, but you did continue the relentless teasing until, until he had to forcefully drag you down all the way back to the café at Eight-Something in the Post Meridian hours.

Needless to say, the lecture that came after was as warm and soothing as chocolate milk with cookies, after a whole evening of teetering between just outrightly dying of hypothermia, or having to go on because life still wants you in its grasp.

───────────────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────────────────

|| previous episode - next episode. ||

───〃★tunes of your heartbeat masterlist

synopsis: in which your fate somehow gets entangled into a messy jumble between punk music in cozy cafés, intense rivalry, cherished yakults, parallelograms and quantum physics, competitions in contests and rainy days. or in other words; the universe seems to fucking hate your guts for whatever reason and decided to curse your love life with your awful crass emo twink-a-fuck rival. the question is; did the curse work?

taglist (50/50): @toekissers , @raineyun @localscarasimp , @potteraep , @shutingstar , @feiherp , @scaraenthusiast1 @dazqa , @wraithisd3adinside , @x-hihihi-x , @court-jester-stuff , @automaticpatroltragedy , @lalalaloveallmydays , @trulyylee , @jayzioxx , @featuredtofu @kazemiya @help-whatdoimakemyusername , @skyoverkill1 @phoenix-eclipses , @anqelkoz , @miyakomari @saechiro @franaby , @swivi , @vixialuvs , @heusalettle @kunikissr @yomishen @mywillt0live , @baldrapunzel @jiminscarmex @sushitushi, @liuaneee , @shynsgore , @mechanicalbeat1 , @marivaudages , @okukura , @azzumei @lucid1tty @iloveescara @usagiarchive @kyouzki @theunhingedmf @kangyeonie @mi2ukiss @bubblebellaz @eternallykira-143 @lumiicch

• featured song - into the night by benny mardones

• notes - i've been planning to use this exact song for this chapter for MONTHS like i swear it was one of the first ideas that came to me when i first started the drafr outline for this smau LIKE UGHHH

• "i'd take you into the night," [name] taking scara to the cliff

• "and show you a love like you've never, ever seen," [name] and scara hanging out there and talking about life and silly shit hajdnsjn

• "it's like having a dream," cue "You'd never imagined running in the rain, soaked and absolutely feeling the impending doom already, with your rival, out of all people." HELLO??? I COOKED CHAT I FUCKING COOKED

so yeah that shit above was what i wrote in the draft LMAO

authors' notes - hey freaks guess who's back😝 supposedly, i was gonna post this like two days ago but then BUT THEN a shitty migraine fucked me ten times over the course of two days leaving me absolutely dead ass on my bed so. yeah. and anyhoo, any comments about this is SO much appreciated considering i spent the last week making this while in writer slump (5,3k WORDS BABYYY) and holy shit chat??? we're 50-notes away from??? ONE THOUSAND??? WHATTTTTTTT that was so fugkcing fast HRLP ME thank you for all the support regardless tho😞

p.s - might update more now since WOOHOO SUMMER BREAK IS FINALLY FUCKING HERE

(ask to be added or removed)

[brain4stew]

PUPPETEER READER CRUMBS PLEAASSEEE ,,, ,,,,, like what would the forsaken killer cast do if the reader decides to be merciful and turn the round into a peaceful one then proceed to goof around

Interesting… I’ll see what I can do with your request for puppeteer reader, dear anon. 🙂‍↕️

(Note; Characters may be ooc, as I do not know how they’ll react, think or speak. I do not know their personalities, actions and behavior whatsoever!)

Killers reacting to Puppeteer reader going friendly, and making them do silly stuff!

(And what happens after the rounds!)

1x1x1x1 (1x4). ⚔️

The first time it happened they were arguably very confused. But, they thought you wanted to give the survivors false hope, so they just, went along with it.

However, when she sees your figure (avatar) goof around with the survivors, whilst she’s nearby, and can’t do anything?

Oh, he’s mad. (And a bit jealous. Though, don’t tell him I told you this!)

Why’d you make him go friendly? Do you like the survivors that much?

They’re glaring. Glaring at the survivors with pure hatred, especially Shedletsky. They think he did something to you.

Her glare does soften when it’s directed towards you however, but hardens when a survivor is nearby.

He gets practically forced into doing silly, and stupid things. Like, randomly attacking, just to see the survivors scramble a bit, and etc, etc. you get the gist.

So, when the rounds over, you (your avatar) is practically forced to stay within their room. Only to be let out a few minutes afterwards. They can’t stay too long away from you anyway, that’d break the helper and killer bond you two have.

(She’s just greedy when it comes to you.)

C00lkidd, Bluudud, Pr33typrincess, Mafioso. 🧱

They’re annoyed, sure. Especially C00lkidd and Mafioso.

Pr33typrincess is mostly annoyed because she’s not allowed to kill Two Time. (Fuckass nonbinary dagger person. /hj)

Bluudud doesn’t exactly care, even though he’d love to win each and every round.

Mafioso is annoyed because he cannot take care of those in debt. He does not fuck around when it comes to debt, which, is quite obvious with his occupation.

C00lkidd is annoyed because he can’t play tag and hide and seek with his father or the others! He just wants to have fun is all!!

Nonetheless, they all, especially the kids, enjoy the silly and stupid moments that happen. Mafioso, not so much, but he still likes the liveliness.

Mafioso is the one to be the most near you, just in case something happens to you. (He just likes being near you.)

The kids are well, being kids. They flock around 007n7 however, and of course, Elliot and Guest 1337.

C00lkidd actually once fell asleep by his father in one or a few rounds when it’s friendly.

Bluudud just, admiring Guest 1337.

Pr33typrincess just, playing dress up and all that with the others.

Mafioso kind of glaring at the survivors going near you. (He scared Noob on accident, poor guy.)

After rounds, it’s just a huge cuddle pile.

Basically; Mafioso behind you, as you lay against him, or on him. C00lkidd and Bluudud on either side of you and Mafioso, whilst Pr33typrincess is laying on you.

The kids end up falling asleep of course, since they had fun in the rounds and became drowsy afterwards.

Mafioso just giving you tips for future rounds, unless you decide to go friendly again, then he gives you random facts about him, his goons or bunnies and rabbits. Quietly of course, as to not wake the kids.

Jason. 🔪

He does not care if you go friendly or not.

If you go friendly, then he’s glad, you’re letting his mother rest for a bit!

As usual, he’s always quiet. The most he’ll say is just his usual; “Kill, kill” and “ma, ma”.

He doesn’t understand what you’re doing, but trusts you enough to just, make him go ftiendly.

Considering the silly stuff, you make Jason do gashing wound, just to get a survivor or two… Or more… Stuck in a wall.

The panic, and the struggle to get free from the walls makes you laugh, and it brings a faint small smile and laugh from Jason.

When the rounds are over, you will be helping Jason tend to his mother, to see if she still has energy to communicate with him when you’re not the one controlling him.

John Doe. 1️⃣0️⃣0️⃣1️⃣1️⃣

He’s a bit annoyed, but not too annoyed. At least it feels like you’re giving him a break, which he appreciates. Although his corruption is being a b***h to him still…

You practically force him to go around one of the survivors, trapping them in a trail of corruption.

You also force him to fling survivors with his spikes when the survivors are in a corner, or not.

You’ll laugh of course, but John Doe doesn’t understand what’s gotten you laughing. Nonetheless, he smiles faintly. (As if he’s not already smiling like crazy…)

After the rounds, you’ll end up tired, and dozed off. John Doe just, being near you, while you lean against him to rest.

He glares at any killer that tries to wake you up. It works for most of the killers… Just… Not Guest 666 or Noli. (Just a few zaps of corruption on those two, and they’ll back off!)

Noli. 👾

This prick does not understand what you’re doing, or thinking of. But hey, at least he can silently admire 007n7 when he’s in a round too with you both!

You make Noli scare the survivors time from time, which, earns a small laugh from him, and a huge laugh from you, as you both watch the survivors flinch, and practically spin.

You’re mostly just, staying by Noli, or 007n7 whenever you’re controlling Noli.

Noli’s a bit annoyed, but oh well! At least he gets to hear you laugh, and you make him laugh too! So… Win-win!

After the rounds, Noli will surprisingly be tired, and he’ll lay on or lean against you, occasionally yawning as he tells you about the voidstar he has. Before he eventually dozes off, and falls asleep.

You of course, just let him. You do occasionally poke him and the voidstar for fun, which earns a grumble of annoyance from him, before he goes quiet again.

Azure. 🪻

He’s glad that you made him go friendly. He doesn’t really want to kill any survivors. Sure, he’d hurt them a little at least, but not full on kill!

He does occasionally steal glances at Two Time, from time to time.

You do make them use their tendrils to just, pick up a survivor or two, and just juggle them. Which earns a snicker from the both of you.

Otherwise, you’d be near Azure for a long while. Not like you can go freely, as you need to stay near the one you’re controlling to understand what to do, and all that.

They do wrap a tendril around you however, whenever Two Time is nearby, or too close for their liking. They don’t want you to get stabbed like them after all.

After rounds, Azure will wrap his tendrils around you, like a blanket, which makes you drowsy, and fall asleep. (He slaps Noli and Guest 666 with one or two of his tendrils, just to get them to leave you alone while you sleep.)

Guest 666. 👹

This guy… Feels like a puppy at most times. But he’s quite annoyed that you decided to go friendly.

He does look at Noob for a while, before looking back at you again when Noob looks at him.

You make them fling the survivors from time to time. Earning a chuckle and a cackle from him, and laughter from you.

You stay by him, or, well, his tail is wrapped around you, and carrying you around with it.

After rounds, they’ll be cuddling you, almost wrapping themselves around you, as much as they can that is. Like a dog or a cat cuddling up or around their favorite thing, place or someone.

They end up falling asleep by then, especially if you’re petting their head, and scratching behind their horns. They enjoy it quite a lot, surprisingly.

[sxcret-garden]

Morning Sex with Ateez

ღ Ateez all members x fem!bodied reader ღ genre: (mostly soft) smut ღ warnings: none

Hongjoong:

you realize he's in the mood as soon as you wake up

won't let you get out of bed and instead grabs you by your wrist

half lidded eyes glued to your lips before he leans in and kisses you softly

but don't be fooled - he has no filter whatsoever right after waking up and he's gonna make you feel that he doesn't just want you, he needs you

crawls on top of you while scattering lazy kisses wherever he can reach, with his hands roaming your body

a firm grip that keeps you in place, and eventually he'll pin your wrists above your head with one hand, starting to tease you through your panties with the other

won't bother to take off your pajamas fully and instead just pulls them down as far as needed to fuck you

surprisingly rough but makes sure it's not uncomfortable for you

nails digging into your flesh and his face buried in the crook of your neck to nibble on the skin there as he holds you close until you come undone in his arms

Seonghwa:

soooo flustered at himself when he wakes up letting out a tiny whine at the way you're pleasuring him

you thought since you were awake before your boyfriend for once, you wanted to give him a little surprise and started palming him through his pajama pants

but now that he's looking up at you with a deep blush on his face even you're wondering what's happening to your boyfriend all of a sudden...

you take your hand away as you ask him whether he's okay, but he's quick to get a hold of your wrist in order to lead you back to his hardened length

"Don't stop..." whispers those words while he gazes at you as if he was completely drunk on you

and when you pull down his pants to touch him directly only the sweetest of moans will fall from his lips

you crawl on top of him after removing your own clothes eventually, and you bet he'll cum the second you've taken him in fully

but you don't stop there, finding this new side of your boyfriend way too interesting

and so you ride him until he's hard again, fucking him slowly to see what other noises you can draw out of him

Yunho:

sometimes when you wake up before he does and you notice his morning wood you decide to help him out a bit

waking him up with innocent kisses first to see if he's in the mood too, you're eventually met with sleepy eyes gazing up at you, his expression filling with warmth the second you come into sight

simply sighs at the way you run your hands down his chest and abdomen, scattering some more kisses in his neck at which he chuckles, voice still raspy from having only just woken up

you fingertips dance further south eventually, and when you ask whether you should lend him a hand or not, all he can do is nod

lips slightly parted, he watches you crawl on top of him - you know he loves it when you ride him and he can have his hands on your hips for an opportunity to control your pace

however, because it's so early in the morning he'll simply watch, running his hands up your torso under your shirt, and while you're still fully clothed you start rolling your hips on top of him

will throw his head back and moan at the way you're dry humping him, and you both know he won't last long at this rate

makes you lean down because the need to kiss you is overwhelming, and eventually he'll come undone underneath you

will certainly promise you round two once he's woken up properly, because he wants to make you feel good too in return

Yeosang:

waking you up with morning sex hasn't even crossed his mind, until one day he wakes up spooning you, his morning wood pressing against your ass

usually he'd get up quietly to take care of it himself so he wouldn't wake you up, but one particular morning you too awaken before he can get out of bed

you sleepily tell him to just get off on you instead as you catch him by his wrist, and when he settles in behind you to do as told, you feel yourself getting turned on as well

with the way he's holding onto your hips to keep you in place as you hear him trying and failing to suppress quiet moans, you find yourself mewling at his actions too, and eventually you’re in need for pleasure too

he halts for but a second when you tell him to just fuck you, but once you pull down your pants and lead his hand around your waist, he understands what you want

fucks you from behind while having his arms tightly wrapped around you, while you're rubbing your own clit for extra stimulation

you're gonna become moaning messes in no time and when you've both finished you may or may not feel the need for an extra round or two...

San:

soso soft and sleepy

will whine in your ear from behind as he snakes his arms around your frame so you don't escape him

mumbles things like how he doesn't want you to get up yet and how you're so warm 

even when he simply wants to cuddle with you before starting the day he's clingy, but he'll be much more needy when he's horny

will be the absolute happiest and all over you when you do decide to stay in bed with him for a bit longer

lips brushing feathery light kisses onto yours while his touches grow more passionate

just needs to feel you close to him, and so eventually clothes will be peeled off and he'll have his hands all over you in no time

becomes impatient as he's starting to pleasure you, making sure you're wet and stretched out enough to take him

and the noises he makes when he finally gets to be inside you!!

from sweet little whines to desperate groans, he could make you go crazy from how vocal he gets alone

will collapse on top of you after you're done, and if you start playing with his hair or massaging his scalp he might even fall back asleep

Mingi:

it's when one night you mention to him that you'd be curious what it feels like to be woken up by someone eating you out that he sets his mind to trying it out once the chance arises

and so now you're stirring awake with heat coursing through your body, and it takes you a while to realize that your boyfriend has settled in between your legs

having thrown them over his shoulders, he looks up at you immediately when he hears you calling out his name

"You don't like it...?" he assumes at first, but when you shake your head and urge him on to keep going, he becomes the most eager you've ever seen him

the way his tongue is drawing circles on your clit makes your head spin, and with your body being only just in the process of waking up, you can feel that it'll be an easy task for him to make you cum

you reach for his hair as you sleepily whine about how amazing you feel, and with every praise falling from your lips, Mingi becomes more determined to make you feel the best he can

hums at your taste and eventually uses his fingers on you too

feels so proud when he can feel you clenching around them in no time

needless to say this becomes a regular thing for you two from now on, sometimes even switching up the roles when you're awake before him

Wooyoung:

the type to love pressing his hard on against your ass, waking you up with teasing touches and kisses in your neck

"Good morning sweetheart" - showers you in praises from the moment you open your eyes, and will let his hands roam

if you don't tell him to stop it won't take long for his hand to be down your pants

soft, fleeting touches against your clit are meant to tease you, and you can bet he won't go further than that until he hears you beg for more in that sleepy voice of yours

whether you whine for it or become bossy when telling him to do it properly already - he'll love it all the same

grinds against your ass while he fingers you, and won't let it be taken away from him to tease you about how little it took him to get you all wet....

little kisses and nibbles all over your neck and shoulders, and he'll eventually become frustrated that your shirt is covering so much of your skin

he's wide awake before you are, now pulling off your clothes in a haste so he can worship your body with kisses and his palms all over you

makes sure you cum at least once before getting his own share, and will for sure convince you to stay in bed with him for as long as possible

Jongho:

it's not something that happens often with him, but sometimes you two just can't help yourselves

usually when one of you had a sexual dream and you wake up horny, you're just immediately reaching for the other

merely half opening your eyes to make out what position the other is still sleeping in, and otherwise using your fingertips to find the other's lips so you could wake each other with a kiss

mumbling sweet nothings with your lips still touching, and you both immediately know what's going on

hands are roaming each other's body with your eyes still closed, merely needing to feel each other in your still not fully awake state

he'll wrap his arms around you eventually and bring you as close as possible

lips attached to your neck, he'll tend to your chest first, while you start palming him through his pants

however, his fingers will find their way towards your core eventually

only taking in the other's moans and groans, you're getting each other off like that

you're finally looking at each other when you've both finished, but soon mutually agree that it's both too bright with the sun coming in through the curtains and too early to get up

so instead of getting up you merely snuggle up to each other and stay in bed for a while longer

[luvleyk]

.・。.・゜✭・ Pervert

|CW: G!p Bada x reader, corruption kink, vaginal sex, fingering and a bit of cunnilingus, just Bada being a perv and taking li'l innocent reader's virginity

|A/N: lots of y'all were asking for g!p, perverted, roommate Bada, so here... All in one fic, your welcome 😞 (y'all are wild fr.. But anyway.. I'm spoiling y'all so-)

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Having a roommate has its perks; one, you had someone to have you accompany with. Two, have a share when it comes to rent. And three, hmm... Let's just say... Someone who just wants to entertain themselves by fantasizing you. And that's Bada, your roommate and also your classmates on that one subject in performing arts.

She's a very attentive and nice, maybe that's what you thought about her, based on how she acts when she's around you. But what if? She's different when you're not around? Freaky, delusional and a pervert??

She would imagine you beneath her, your cunt sucking her cock so well, juices dripping on your thighs, you mumbling incoherent words for her.. Mm.. That must be heaven, but not really... Unless she's touching you, for real..

Sometimes, if you're not looking, she would check you out. Memorizing each of your details, from the smell of your hair, your eyes to your curves and thighs. Oh how she's desperate to be squished by those thighs of yours while she's eating you out like a starved person.

She shook her head when she heard you calling out her name and asking something that is related to the subject that you're studying. She would stare at you for a bit before chuckling slightly and teach you a bit about the subject, giving you a recap..

"If you need help with something else.. Just ask.."

She said. Of course she meant otherwise, but you're too naive to understand. And that's what she likes about you. So easy to corrupt, so pure, naive and innocent.. Her cock throbbed at the thought.

Compared to her, you're much more sane if I say so... You're few inches smaller than her, have this bubbly personality and fashion style.. You're just in the vanilla, type.. Said Bada.. While she's just.. In the opposite.

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One night, you came back to the apartment, late due to the school project that you're forced to stay at the library for a few hours just to finish it..

"Unnie... I'm back" you called.. It became a habit to greet each other when you both got home or whatsoever. You saw her get up from the couch to greet you... "There's the little rabbit.. Why so late?" She asked while tilting her head, feigning innocence..

You sighed in response... "I had to finish this one project on history so I got forced to stay in library" you groaned as you take off your shoes and she helped you with your bag..

"Ohh... Project, that kinda sucks" she said and you just nodded as you flopped down on the couch, laying down on your stomach.. She went behind the couch as leaned towards the headboard, looking at you intently, silently checking you out.. Even tho you're wearing a sweater and a tight jeans, she can still see how beautiful your body is. And how badly she wants to hold your hips while fucking you from behind.. "How about you take a rest and forget that li'l project of yours?"

She suggested as you looked up at her.. "Don't worry, I'll help you, yeah?" She added so you just nodded as a response.. You slowly get up from the couch and sit, you watched her walk around it and now facing you.. "So.. You must be tired, li'l rabbit.. Hungry? I cooked dinner for us since I expected for you to go home late" she sits on the floor, in front of you as she gently massages your feet..

"I'm fine.. Not that hungry tho... I'll eat later if I'm hungry.." You replied before a soft hum escaped your lips, when Bada soothe the tensed muscle..

"Hmm.. Alright.."

She continued massaging your feet before glancing up at you, seeing how you look at her with such innocence, makes her riled up with desire..

You two were now watching a movie, you suggested it at first after she's done and she quickly agreed. Maybe because she had plans while you're distract. But in any case. She loves spending her time, with you.

After a while, you're attention was focused on the screen. And for her. She can't take it anymore. She slowly leaned towards you, planting a kiss on your head, to your neck. You shivered in response, as to which she continues. But you quickly stopped her when you realized that she's getting too intimate...

"W.. What are you doing, unnie...?" You stuttered as she smirked before playing with your hair as she leaned a bit more closer... "Y/n-ah... You know how I've been wanting to just taint you, to corrupt you here and there. Until you could only remember was me.." She said, until you're laying flat on the couch. She grabbed you by the ankle, causing you to yelp as she pulled your hips closer to her..

You're grown adult, but when it comes to this sort of things. You're completely clueless, not knowing what to do next... And Bada, was willing to teach you more. "I don't... I don't think this is a good idea—" you shivered as you felt something against your clothed core...

You felt your cheeks burn as you watch her grind her growing arousal against you.. "Fuck..." You heard her cursed... "You know how I've been fantasizing this shit and you're here saying that this isn't a good idea?" She asked as loomed over you.. You suddenly feel a burning sensation between your legs and it felt weird. You gulped as you looked up at her.. "Mmn... Just want to take this li'l rabbit out of its tiny hole.." She muttered. Her gaze was went to your face, down to your body. It made you feel so small... Like a prey that has been caught by the hunter..

A shiver went down your spine, when you felt her calloused hand went under your sweater, squeezing your hips as she leaned down, planting a kiss on your neck before gently nipping it. Making sure that you'll grow sensitive and became a mess before she even fucks you into oblivion..

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You gripped on her hair, tugging on it harshly, whining out a moan as she lap out on your clit as she pushed two digits, spreading it slightly to stretch you out.. "B.. Bada.. —" you gasped as you tried to push her away but she didn't budge... "I.. It feels weird... Stop..."

She hummed as she looked at you with her hooded eyes. She looks so drunk. "Mm... Your body was telling me otherwise, bunny.." She muttered as she licked your cunt like it's a dessert that she's been craving for years... Her eyes rolled as she felt your body arched and moaning against her before letting out a guttural moan in response. She soon stopped as she gets up, positioning herself between your legs...

Your eyes widened when she revealed her huge throbbing cock underneath her sweatpants... The thought of that, being inside of you, made you shivered.. Seeing your reaction made her chuckle... "Mmn... Don't worry, I'll be gentle.." Maybe for a few minutes, once you fully adjusted to her.

"I don't.... Think that would fit..." You muttered, enough for her to hear. You slowly move away from her but she quickly grabbed you by the hips and pulled you closer.. "Don't run away now, we're not even in the most satisfying part.." She said..

You let out a muffled whimper once you feel her rubbing her swollen tip against your entrance before pushing it slowly. A choked up whine, escape your lips as you instinctively arched you back. Tears starts to form as the feeling of her filling your insides, overwhelms you..

A sting feeling started to form as you gripped tightly on couch, muffling a sob when she's fully inside... "Fuck... So tight..." She muttered, rubbing her thumb against your thigh as if she's soothing you... She shushed you, as her other hand went to your cheeks, wiping away the tears that slowly flows down... "I'll move, yeah..? You'll feel so good, don't worry.." She muttered.. You clenched around her as a response and she chuckled.. You jolt up when she started moving in a slow, gentle pace. As much as she wants to fuck you, she had to be gentle since it's your first, and also... Trying to be on your good side, so that she can fuck you again next time.

Her mind becoming daze as her hooded eyes we're focused on how your chest rise and fall heavily, arching your back and your hips bucking. The sight makes her lose all of her self-control. "S... So— fuck... So tight... So good.." She mumbled as her grip on your hips, tightens. She'll fuck you good. That's what her mind keeps reminding her to do. Just you, becoming a mess, moaning her name, and became incoherent...

"B... It feels so weird, unnie" you cried. She quickly shushed you by capturing your lips in hungry kiss. Her hand, that was on your hip went to your leg, slightly lifting it up as she starts to thrust in a fast pace.. The kiss became sloppy, drool starts to drip in your mouth.. Your hands gripped tightly on her shoulder, nails digging through her shirt, causing her to pull away and letting out a guttural moan. Her gaze went down between your thighs, seeing how you suck her cock so well, your warm around around her throbbing cock. She bit her bottom lip, almost harshly, it might get a bruise later. You feel the spongy tip of her cock, hitting the same spot that makes you tremble and cry in pleasure.. Her breath became huffs and puffs, words became incoherent, her vision became hazed, gripping on your thigh, almost tightly as both bodies were blinded by the pleasure..

You clenched around her as you arched your back, as if signalling her that your awfully close.. She let out a muffled moan before chuckling, weakly... "Mm... Close, yeah? Mhm.. 'M too... Me too... Fuck.." She grunted as her thrust became a bit too harsh and deep, seemingly desperate for both of you to cum.

She felt you clenching against her, her balls tightened as listened to your long cries and watches you tremble, as the orgasm courses through you. Heavy breathes escape your mouth as you let out weak sobs while she continues to thrust into you, prolonging your orgasm before she pulled out, resting her cock against your stomach. She trembled slightly as cum starts to stream down from her tip, making a mess. Her hand grip on her cock as she tries to prolong her orgasm, head were tilted up as she let out a sigh before stopping..

Once you gained your composure, you looked up at her, seeing her slowly pulled her sweat pants up as she grabbed a tissue on the coffee table and slowly cleaning the mess on your stomach. You can see a subtle smirk on her face, as if what she did made her proud..

After that, she quickly pulled you for a cuddle, her face were buried against the crook of your neck, leaving a light kisses. You're still dumbfounded at what just happened.. You're still processing everything. You just had sex..! Your mind screamed. Bada noticed your expression which she chuckled. "Did I fuck you good, to the point that you can't process anything?" She asked in a teasing manner.

"You took my—"

"I know. So proud of myself" she said, a hint of cockiness can be heard in her voice. You stared at her in disbelief. "I should clean the couch later... There's a bit of blood on it.." She muttered before nuzzling her face against your neck.. "Should we take a shower? Or maybe another round? You know how I've been wanting to do this?" She started to ramble while leaving some light kisses on your skin.. "I love your moans earlier, tho.. I guess I did good, no? Mmn... Can't believe you made that kind of erotic sound, and it's because of m—"

"Okay shut up..." You said once you quickly pulled away and covered her mouth.. Your cheek reddens when she reminded you of what happened earlier.. She didn't remove your hand and just stare at you with those, hungry eyes.

She felt herself getting hard again. And maybe she can fuck you again, in the bed or maybe in the bathroom.

[seventeenficsformalereader]

Wonwoo NSFW ABC's

REMINDER THAT ALL OF THIS IS FICTION! NONE OF THIS IS REAL OR REPRESENT THE REAL PERSON IN ANY WAYS WHATSOEVER‼️

Aftercare - How and how much

Wonwoo seems like a very caring type. He would gently clean up everything and maybe even change the sheets if you were too messy. Will give you cuddles afterwards, no questions asked.

Body parts - Fav body part on himself and his partner

Wonwoo likes his hands the most. He loves making you moan and cum with only his hands. Just watching your face as he fingers your hole is enough to make him reach his high, too

On your body, he loves your stomach area. Whether you're chubby, skinny, you have marks or anything like that, he absolutely adores your stomach area. It's also his favorite place to leave hickeys on.

Cum - Where, How, etc.

Like I said, Wonwoo loves your stomach area. That's why he usually likes to pull out and cum on your stomach. He might sometimes also finish inside of you if you ask him to.

Dirty Secret

Wonwoo once secretly took a video of him fucking you from behind and he keeps it in his phone buried so deep inside his gallery that no one could find it. He watches it sometimes to get himself off.

Experience

Wonwoo is the quiet guy, so I think back in high school he didn't get that much action. He probably had your first time with you and he was really nervous. Like REALLY nervous. But he wanted to make you feel good. And he did.

Favorite Position

Wonwoo loves missionary position the most. Mostly because it's easier to cum on your stomach, but also because he can look at your face as he pleasures you. There's nothing better than having your legs spread wide and on his shoulders as he rails into you at an animalistic pace.

Goofy - How serious or goofy is he during sex

Wonwoo is really serious during sex. It's a pretty new concept for him and he holds it as a important thing in his life. That's why he barely teases or jokes during it. He also might get embarrassed talking about it afterwards.

Hair - How groomed is he

Wonwoo doesn't bother shaving down there, but he does it occasionally. He just doesn't see the point since he's not the one who loves recieving oral so much. He would prefer you to keep it pretty clean down there though, because he likes to suck you more.

Intimacy - Is he romantic or rough, etc.

Wonwoo is a bit of both. If he's at a time in his life where he's not stressed, he can be really romantic and pleasure you in every way possible so gently that it makes you cry. But if he's stressed out or has a lot of pent up anger in him, he can and will take it out on you (only if you allow him to, which you usually do. You can't say no to rough sex once in a while)

Jack off - How often does he do so

Wonwoo didn't jerk off before he started dating you. He just didn't see the appeal of it. But after his first time with you, he realized that he probably needs go do it once in a while. He just sometimes can't keep his thoughts away from you and your body and can't help but get hard at the thought of it. Usually just jerks off while looking at the secret video he has of you or just looks at your nudes or just pictures of you.

Kink - What kinks does he have

Wonwoo isn't a super kinky guy, but he might have a few.

Wonwoo seems like the type of guy to like breath play. Something about restricting you from breathing occasionally by wrapping a hand around your neck while he fucks you deeply is what makes him want to continue even more. And the noises you make are so lovely, he wants to hear those more. He loves to hit all the right spots to make the most sounds out of you.

Location - Favorite place

Wonwoo prefers the bed. In his own bedroom. That's where he feels like he won't be interrupted and be embarrassed with someone catching him and his partner in the act.

Motivation - Turn ons

Again, Wonwoo loves the sounds you make. You sound so pretty maoning his name under him. And covering you in his cum is just a must every time. When he sees your body glistening under the dim lights of his room because of his cum, it makes him want to go for another round always.

No - Turn offs or things he wouldn't do or be into

He wouldn't like leaving the bedroom. Having sex anywhere else where someone might catch you is a no go for him. He's a pretty jealous guy when he's with you, and wouldn't want anyone else seeing your body the way he does. Sometimes he joins you in the shower, but only if he's sure that absolutely no one else can get in when you aren't wearing any clothes.

Oral - preferences on it

Wonwoo loves to give you head. He isn't a fan of recieving it.

Pace - How fast or rough during sex

Like I said before, Wonwoo can be slow and gentle, but he can also be very rough and merciless with you. It depends on his mood, and if you are willing to let him be rough. But even when he is rough, he's still constantly checking up on you. If he goes too fast that makes you cry out, he immediately stops and asks if you are okay. Once you reassure him that you're okay, he continues with his fast pace.

Quickie - His thoughts on quickies

Wonwoo prefers to take his time with you, and he usually isn't THAT needy, but if you are, he understands and takes you to a secluded area where there's a little to none chance that someone catches you. He's willing to move out of his comfort zone and fuck you in semi public if you are too needy

Risk - How risky is he

Like mentioned, he doesn't like having sex in public. He prefers his own bedroom or someplace else where no one can catch you.

Stamina - How long can he last, How many rounds

Wonwoo is used to dancing for many hours so he has a pretty good stamina. He can go for rounds, making you cum many times in the process and watching your body get covered in cum.

Toys - Use or Own any

Wonwoo doesn't like to use toys since he wants you all to himself. Except might put an anal plug on you sometimes just to remind you who you belong to.

Unfair - How much does he tease

Wonwoo is a very serious guy. He doesn't tease you a lot, but he might show his weird side for you sometimes, maybe during sex but also just because he can.

Volume - Volume during sex

Wonwoo might let out a few moans if he's close or if he goes many rounds. But usually just gets embarrassed and tries to keep his voice more quiet to hear you better.

Wild card

Wonwoo absolutely loves you riding him. Sometimes he's horny but too lazy to do anything so he makes you do all the work and let you ride him until your legs give out.

He's also pretty freaky with hickeys. Especially on your stomach area. He loves to leave hickeys there so he knows you are his even when no one else sees it. Bonus if you wear a a shirt that exposes your stomach and the hickeys are visible for everyone. He secretly enjoys it.

X-ray - Lenght, Girth, Curve

Wonwoo is a quiet kid. Need I say more? Everything about this man is so big dick energy and he definitely has one.

Yearning - Sex drive, horniness

Wonwoo has a high sex drive. When he's alone with you even for a bit, he will not keep his hands off of you. Whether it's giving you hickeys, touching your thighs, pushing his fingers inside you, grinding against you, or making you ride him.

Zzz - How fast does he fall asleep

Wonwoo is pretty sleepy after being satisfied. He cleans up the mess and falls asleep almost immediately once he has you in his arms.

[paddedlittleparadise]

"What are you doing in here, baby?"

It was Sylvie's emphasis on the last word that set Amber's stomach lurching. "Uh- uhm, nothing! I was just, um-" Her eyes dropped to the bathroom floor, as if they might find a plausible excuse written there among the tiles. "I was just, uh, washing my hands-"

"Washing your hands, hmm? Your dirty, dirty hands?" Sylvie stepped forward, her tone lowering in husky amusement. "Aww, it's so good to see my girlfriend taking hygiene so seriously! Though I can't help but wonder, you know…" A wry smile flitted across her face. "Why is it you decided to walk right past the kitchen sink and wash here instead? You know… in the room you're not supposed to be in without supervision?"

Her last words lowered dangerously, and Amber felt a shiver of adrenaline ripple through her. It was the thrill of being reprimanded, of being caught red-handed, of being hunted and cornered like helpless prey. And in her quavering reply could be heard the faltering whimper of said prey, already acknowledging her hunter as the victor.

"I- I'm sorry…" she whispered, but Sylvie was behind her now, pressing her warm body close and running her hands teasingly up and down her hips. A soft, almost imperceptible rustle sounded in the silence, and Amber bit her lip in silent chagrin. "I- I know I shouldn't have! It's just that- well, I- I had to go-"

"You had to go." Sylvie repeated drily. "You had to go. Go where, I wonder? Hmm? There's no car in here, sweetie. No bicycles or skates or anything. Where on earth could my darling little Amber be going, hmm?"

Her hands were kneading rhythmically now at Amber's hips, and Amber's breath caught at the sensation. Oh, fuck-! Sylvie knew damn well what she meant, of course. She just wanted her to say it, to confess, to mouth those mortifying words. She gripped the hand towel tighter, awash in the delicious sensation of being so effortlessly teased… dominated… humiliated…

"To the potty," she whispered, a little lisp slipping unheeded into her suddenly high voice. "I- I hafta go potty! An' an I don't wanna make an accident-"

"An accident?" Sylvie was laughing softly now, her lusty voice warm in Amber's ear as she drew her closer. "Aww, were you scared you were going to make a great big mess in your pants? But sweetie, I thought we talked about this, didn't we?" Her hands were slipping under Amber's perilously short skirt, and with one quick tug the material was up around her waist. "Let's see here. Hmm… what's this? What's this pretty little thing you're wearing, baby? Tell me."

Amber trembled in place, her eyes dropping down to the puffy bulk on display between her legs. "I- uh- a- a- dia- a dia-" She let out a pathetic little squeal as Sylvie's hand pressed the padding deep into her most sensitive regions. "A diaper," she faltered, and at that simple little word Sylvie let out a throaty laugh.

"A diaper, hmm? That's right. My sweet, grownup, adult girlfriend is wearing a diaper! Isn't she?" She murmured affectionately into Amber's ear, stroking all the while. "It's what she needs, after all. It's what she deserves. Because I know that deep down inside, she's not an adult at all. She's just… a sweet little baby. And you know, there's one thing about being a little baby…"

She paused, and Amber let out a meek, questioning whimper. "When you're wearing your diaper, sweetie," Sylvie whispered, and every syllable rang with sultry authority. "It's because it's where you're supposed do your business. So there's no such thing as accidents, sweetie. No accidents whatsoever. Because when little baby girls like you squat down and fill their pretty, soft diapers…"

She chuckled, and deep within her Amber felt her stupid, subby pussy clench in ardent desire. "It's not an accident at all. In fact… it's exactly what I want you to do."

Well, at that Amber could only whimper once more. Nod. And turn her groveling, longing eyes up at last to meet Sylvie's… just like the sweet, submissive girlfriend she'd always known herself to be.

Image Credit: UKDiaperGirls.com

Be sure to check out my Ream Stories if you want to read more of my naughty fiction!

[haechanniessgirl]

pretty when you cry part 2 *ੈ✩‧₊˚ y.jw

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

long awaited part 2!!!

summary: you were always sensitive growing up, crying and weeping in your mother's arms over things in a way that few understood, until you met a boy, whose only true goal was to protect you, but failed in doing so as he got overwhelmed by his high school teenage years and left you behind

pairing ✧˚ · . yang jungwon x reader ( some enha members are mentioned )

genre ! established friendship, fluff and angst, arguments, friends to lovers! word count:

AUTHORS NOTE:: sorry for the delay but here is part 2!! i hope you enjoyed! im gonna start taking requests, so please send me anything <3

italic text: flashbacks ( in case of confusion )

fuck , your heart felt like bursting through your chest. sliding down the bathroom stall door, you clutched tightly your bag that has now slid down next to your shaking form. you couldnt breathe, your eyes blurred with tears that continuously slid down your already stained cheeks, your other hand gripping the roots of your hair as you struggled to keep quiet.

the air felt suffocating, the bathroom stall sending you into a claustrophobic frenzy, the lingering bathroom smell making it even harder to breathe. your phone started ringing, but in that moment, you couldnt focus on anything else, other than the fact that you have officially lost your best friend, the only person that felt like home to you, your anchor through hardships in life, your person.

but no matter how hard you tried to ignore the constant buzzing from your phone, the screen illuminating every so often, it almost irritated you. for a moment, you looked boringly at the toilet in front of you, huffing at how pathetic you felt, but the endless stream of messages you were receiving once again lulled you out of your head space, and you hastily wiped your tears and turned over to your phone laid out on the floor. he had texted you, even called you.

you couldnt help but let out a forced laugh, so this is what it takes for him to finally contact you. your feelings were hurt, you felt like your soul had espaced your body, hell even your heart clenched at the mere thought of jungwon, but you had to look at his messages that were left notified on your phone, carefully not opening them in case you werent ready to answer him just yet.

wonie: im so sorry wonie: please, im so sorry wonie: i promise please, ill keep my promise, im not leaving you, ill never do that, im so sorry y/n, please answer wonie: where are you? i need to see you, please let me explain myself wonie: god even if you dont want to see me, please let me make it up to you, im sorry for hurting you, im sorry for ruining us, im so so sorry for fucking up so bad that i lost you 7 missed calls from wonie

you didn't want to continue, you felt incoming tears and stopped reading. he didn't want you anymore, he didnt want to be your person anymore, he didn't want to protect you anymore, and he made that so clear. but why now? why after a month? where you painstakingly waited for him, gave him the benefit of the doubt, continued to love him, despite pushing you away the way he did?

admittedly, you wanted to answer him, but you weren't ready, whatsoever, you needed time, to think this through, and it was your turn to walk away from him.

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

jungwon sat in the cafeteria, legs bouncing, breathing ragged as he prayed and hoped to catch a glimpse of you, even a for a mere second. to desperately beg for your forgiveness, kneel down in front of you, to once again worship the ground you walked on, to love you the way that you deserved to be loved.

he couldnt think straight, his mind constantly replaying the image of you, of how the second those repulsive words left his mouth, you crumbled in front of him, how that being the first time he's ever seen so much despair and hopelessness paint your beautiful face.

he always thought you were beautiful, he admired you from afar so much that thats all he could ever think about, you. the way your eyes sparkle, the way you smile despite the tears running down your reddened cheeks. he loves you, with all his being, and he only now realized how irreplaceable you are. you mean the entire world time, and he's so in love with you, with your whole nature. it has always been you.

jungwon was lost in thought, until a feather-light tap on his shoulder pulled him from his thoughts. he turned quickly, hope flaring that it might be you. but it wasn’t. of course it wasn't you. It was jake, looking at him with concern. "hey, you okay?" jake asked gently.

jungwon blinked, finally taking in his surroundings, the table was quiet. his friends were all silently looking at him with worry etched on their faces, almost like they pitied him for looking so miserable. he hadn’t even realized he had been crying until jake pointed it out, by passing him a tissue. "do you need some fresh air?" jake suggested, his voice soft, a small smile on his face. "let’s take a walk."

he nodded numbly, allowing jake and sunghoon to guide him out of the cafeteria. they walked in silence, jungwon in the middle as he looked at the ground, until they reached the quiet of the school courtyard. the clear air helped clear jungwon's mind a little, only for a moment, but the guilt still weighed heavily on him.

sunghoon broke the silence first. "you wanna tell us whats going on between you and y/n? i mean we're worried, we've never seen you like this, and this is the first time we've seen you interact with y/n."

jungwon took a deep breath, feeling the tears well up again. he almost laughed, you, the love of his life, his person, was kept hidden from his friends, the one he cherished the most. it was almost funny to him, how your friendship lasted a decade, yet none of his friends have ever heard about you. he was a screw up.

"y/n and i have been best friends since we were kids." he began, sliding down the brick wall as he kept his gaze on the ground, "she’s... she’s always been there for me, and vice versa, and growing up, we had always promised to be there for each other. but ever since high school started, i’ve been neglecting our friendship, her. i got so caught up with football and everything else that i put her second. and now... now i messed up."

jake and sunghoon couldn't help but exchange confused glances, their concern deepening. "what do you mean" jake asked, mirroring the boy, as he slid down the wall and accompanied jungwon now slumped over his knees.

jungwon wiped at his slowly eyes, trying to steady himself, "she confronted me today, you both saw..." he continued, "and told me how much she missed me, how she felt like she was losing me. and instead of being there for her, reassuring her, i lashed out. i said things... terrible things. i promised to never make her cry, but i did, i made her cry, and she left."

he looked down, his voice barely above a whisper. "i love her. i’ve always loved her. but i fucked up, i fucked up so badly" he heaved, his chest so heavy with guilt that he couldn't shake the feeling off, despite finally opening up to his friends, the weight what was supposed to be lifted off his shoulders remained, almost weighing him down and he felt like he could be buried alive at any moment.

the air was tense now, as silence lingered, and for a minute, jungwon thought that he had messed up so badly, this even his friends couldnt help him.

but sunghoon was the first to speak up, momentarily, easing the boy, as he knelt down next to jungwon, a hand on the boy's shoulder to keep himself steady and not fall over, "you messed up, i wont lie to you jungwon, you royally messed up, but recognizing that is the first step. of course you'll need to make things right. if she means that much to you, fight for it" he sighed, " and you know her best, whether she feels like talking to you now or not, give her a day, pull her aside and set things straight. let her know how you feel, how much you love her" he continued, " you have nothing to lose at this point, won, go big or go home" jake chimed in, sending the boy a warm smile. " you can do it yeah?"

jungwon nodded, determination settled down on him, but he had this lingering fear that you wouldn’t forgive him, and it crushed him. he knew that laying it all down on you would give you insight into how he felt, and maybe then you would understand, maybe then you would come back to him. he was willing to wait for however long it would take, as long as he could be back in your world as your person, and you his. he never realized how painful losing you was, until it happened, until you walked out of that classroom, crying because of him.

he was ashamed of himself, looking down at the series of text messages he had left you, expecting you to have opened them, at least read them, but nothing. he was left on delivered and slowly his determination started to crack. but there was so much to fight for, to salvage, and he found himself revolting to even look at.

and for the remainder of the day, he looked lifeless, his body moved faster than his mind could think, going through the day for the sake of perfect attendance. however, he never paid attention in class that day, and sat in the back of the classroom, writing and rewriting his words, trying to find the right way to express his remorse and his love.

almost like how you prepared to confront him earlier that morning.

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

you went home after the confrontation, much to your dismay despite hating the fact that you'd have to miss school. but you didnt know if you could handle seeing jungwon, fearing that maybe he'd turn away from you, anger lingering him. you wished you never confronted him, and maybe then things would be okay, maybe you should've been more patient with him. but you told yourself it wasn't entirely your fault, you still had self worth, but for the sake of your heart, you wanted desperately to salvage whatever you had left of your friendship.

upon arriving home, it was about 10:30 am, grinning slightly i have time to go back to bed and tell mom and dad i felt ill and couldn't go to school. and thats exactly what you did, carefully unlocking the door, you made your way inside, and quietly took off your shoes before tip toeing to your room and shutting the door behind you. only then you could breathe, only then you feel serene in the comfort of your room. but that only lasted a second before your mind replayed memories of you and jungwon, in this very room. you felt tears form, but you held it in for the first time that month.

quietly stepping out of your worn clothes, and slid on your pajamas from the night before. you crawled into bed, and closed your eyes. but you couldn't fall asleep despite feeling exhausted from all the crying you did earlier that morning. however you stayed put, refusing to go on your phone, worried that maybe another message from jungwon would appear and all hell would break loose. so you kept your eyes shut, until sleep took over.

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

it was impossible for jungwon to fall asleep, the clock read 2am, and he simply couldnt shut his eyes, tossing and turning, and ever so often opening his chat with you to see if you had read his messages. you have, and you did for the most part. but he didn't know. it was eating him alive, every thought of you sent him spiraling down a rabbit hole, telling himself that this was it tomorrow, or more like today, where he could either win you back or lose it all.

he couldn't wait until morning. every minute felt like an eternity, and the thought of spending another moment without fixing things was unbearable. he knew he had to tell you how he felt, and he had to do it now.

with a sudden burst of energy, jungwon threw on a hoodie and a pair of shoes close by, and slipped out of his house, beelining toward your place. he knew the road by heart, he had taken the same route so many times, and the thought of you being so close by, made him run faster. while the streets were quiet, the world shrouded in the stillness of the early morning, the only sound were of birds, and jungwon's heavy breathing . his heart pounded in his chest from exhaustion and anxiety as he approached your house.

reaching your window, he noticed your night lamp was on, you were awake, he thought. and without a delay, he picked up a few small rocks and began to throw them gently against the glass, hoping to catch your attention without waking your parents. each clink of the rocks echoed in the silence, his breath held as he waited for a sign that you had heard.

inside your dim lit room, you were also wide awake, unable to sleep. the confrontation with jungwon replayed in your mind, the hurt and confusion making it impossible to find solace despite being in the comfort of your room. until you heard the soft tapping at your window, you were initially startled, choosing to ignore it, stupid wind you thought, but the soft clinks never stopped, and frustration took over your body and you jolted out of bed to check. and then you saw him, standing there with a desperate look on his face, close to tears.

your heart skipped a beat, were you imagining things? are you still lucid or was this the result of a fever dream? you reasoned with yourself that maybe you were hallucinating, and that you were just tired. but it looked all to real, the cold night air hitting your face, as your hair blew in the wind. you hesitated for a moment, your heart heavy with the weight of everything that had happened. but seeing jungwon like this, so vulnerable and earnest, you couldn’t ignore him.

“jungwon, what are you doing here?” you whispered, but loud enough for him to hear, trying to keep your voice low to avoid waking your parents.

“please, y/n,” he said, his voice trembling. “i need to talk to you. i couldn’t wait. not when i havent explained myself, not when ive ruined us, please, let me in.”

his eyes were filled with such raw emotion that you couldn’t turn him away. you frankly yearned for his presence, and despite you telling yourself that you weren't ready, you nodded and quickly ran downstairs, unlocking the back door, letting him in. the exchange was quick "go upstairs quietly first, ill lock the door and get you a glass of water" you hummed, while he nodded and headed upstairs.

you took a minute to breathe, not noticing the fact that you held your breath the second you opened to door, and slowly made your way to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and filling it up. your mind was blank, not a single thought.

while jungwon made it safely to your room without causing any disturbance to your parents' slumber, he noticed small changes to your room, like how your bed was now pushed into the corner, or how you reorganized your shelves. but what remained untouched was the images of you and jungwon, pinned to a cork board. he stepped closer, and looked over the images, memories flooding in, and he felt himself shaking, tears forming once again. funny how he's the one crying despite causing this severance in your friendship.

his thoughts were pulled away from him when you entered the room, shutting the door quietly behind you and setting the glass of water on your nearby vanity.

turning around to meet your gaze, he stepped closer, his hands trembling. he couldn’t hold back any longer. tears streamed freely down his face as he reached for you, pulling you into a tight hug. “i’m so sorry,” he sobbed, his voice breaking. “i’m so sorry for everything. ive been horrible to you, i never meant to hurt you, but I did, and I’m so sorry.”

you felt his grip tighten as if he feared you would vanish if he let go. the weight of his apology, the sincerity in his tears, broke down the walls you had built around your heart. you couldnt help but hug him back , your own tears flowing freely.

“I missed you,” you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. “i needed you, jungwon. you were all i had" as you gripped his sweater.

“i know,” he replied, his voice filled with regret. “i know I messed up, but i love you. i’ve always loved you, i love you so much, and I was caught up in my own life to see what I was doing. please, forgive me. i’ll do anything to make it right.”

you pulled back slightly to look into his eyes, seeing the depth of his remorse and love. “i love you too, jungwon,” you said softly. “i always have. but you hurt me, so so bad.”

“i know,” he said for the nth time that evening, nodding through his tears. “and i’ll wait as long as it takes. i’ll prove to you that you mean the world to me, and i’ll never take you for granted again.”

"i've forgiven you the second i saw you at my window won" " you've always looked so pretty when you cry "

in that moment, you both were overwhelmed by the depth of your feelings. jungwon leaned in, his lips trembling as they brushed against yours in a tender, hesitant kiss. it was a kiss filled with the pain of the past, the promise of the present, and the hope for the future. you responded, your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer. the kiss deepened, becoming a silent vow of love and forgiveness. when you finally pulled apart for air, you rested your forehead against his, both of you breathing heavily, tears mingling with smiles.

"stay with me," you whispered, your voice barely audible. " i don't want to lose you again."

"never," Jungwon replied, his voice resolute. "i'll never leave you again."

wrapping his arms around you, pulling you down with him onto your bed. you lay down togethe holding each other tightly, as sleep started to take over. the warmth of his body against yours brought a sense of peace you hadn't felt in a long time, slowly lulling you to sleep.

as he looked over you, your head rested on his chest, he gently stroked your hair, his touch so soothing. "i'm so sorry," he whispered again, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"i know," you murmured. "we'll get through this, together."

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

[kittykattysstuff]

Warning: Incest.

Gojo satoru x fem!reader

“Let’s get married”.

Satoru declared as soon as you both were left alone. And those three words changed your world completely.

Being the sister of ‘The Strongest’ was far more difficult than people would have thought. It was not glamorous, as all your friends used to think. Yes, Satoru-nii was the best big brother you could’ve ever asked for, and you had no complaints whatsoever about him. However, the rest of the Gojo clan wasn’t as perfect as they liked to show to the outside. No. Far from it. In reality, they were a bunch of conceited, hypocrite and misogynistic senile people, whose only concern was to ensure Gojo eventually had an heir to keep the family legacy.

Your brother, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about getting married and giving the Gojo clan the heir they oh so desired. No, he was more concerned with pissing them off and, on the rare occasion he actually bothered to visit the family estate, dote on you.

You see, you were nothing compared to your big brother, who had inherited the most powerful family techniques in centuries. Despite having cursed energy, your abilities were average, nothing special. Therefore, your parents deemed you of no use, and didn’t let you attend Jujutsu High. You were a porcelain doll, collecting dust in the corner and just waiting to be married off to the best suitor your parents could find. To your utmost dismay.

They already had had the perfect heir. You were just an unplanned nuisance. Satoru was the real deal. And you were absolutely fine with that. Really. You saw the pressure your big brother had been subjected to from the moment he was born and opened his eyes.

The expectations the higher ups had on him, the way they wanted him to be a perfect little robot and follow their orders blindly. Satoru’s rebellion, however, was the last thing they expected. And that was your favorite thing about your brother. He never listened to anyone, only ever doing as he pleased. He knew no one would oppose to him. He was the strongest, after all. What could they really do?

As you two grew up, you were always joining Satoru-nii’s mischievous plans of ways to piss your parents off. You were his greatest ally in your household, and he was yours. Satoru-nii was the only thing that made life in the Gojo estate bearable. You were each other’s best friends.

The day he left to attend Jujutsu High, you were a wreck. You remember clinging to him for as long as you could, refusing to leave his arms, and when he got settled into his dorm and it was finally time to say goodbye, you were a sobbing mess. He was just as bad. The last thing he wanted was to leave you behind with your shitty parents, but he had no choice. And, with a heavy heart, tears rolling down his cheeks in a rare moment of vulnerability, he promised he would come back to you and when the day came, you would never be parted again. He pressed a tender, chaste kiss on your forehead to seal his promise. Which leads you to your current predicament.

“I’m sorry, what?”

You asked as you tried in vain to process his words.

“Let’s get married”.

Gojo simply shrugged, a smile on his face as he looked at you through his dark shades.

“How can you say that so nonchalantly? And what are you thinking about? For fuck’s sake, we’re siblings Toru-nii!”

“Oooh, swearing now, are we? You really became a big girl while I was away, huh”. He hummed, shaking his head amusedly.

“Focus, Toru-nii. Where’d you get this crazy idea from?”

You tried to make your big brother come to his senses. You were on the verge of having an aneurysm from the way he seemed so at ease with the whole thing. That wasn’t the worst thing, though. You were more worried with the fact you did not find the idea so bad. What was wrong with you? Maybe all those years living with your family had made you go insane. You shook your head, trying to get rid of such unholy thoughts.

“The higher ups are pressuring me to get married and have an offspring”.

Satoru said seriously, crossing his arms over his chest as he sat on your bed. You followed suit, sensing the shift in the atmosphere as you sat across from him, hugging your pillow close to your chest in an effort to create a wider gap between your bodies.

“They always have, nii-chan”.

You said softly, sympathizing with his displeasure.

“They’ve been trying since you became of age, and you always managed to avoid it in the end”.

Gojo groaned, taking off his sunglasses and rolling his eyes. If the situation wasn’t so serious, you’d be laughing from his childish antics.

“Ugh, I know. But this is not like those stupid dates they used to settle. They actually gave me an ultimatum”.

“Nii-chan-

You tried to placate his anger, before he cut you off.

“I know, right? Like, how dare they threaten the strongest jujutsu sorcerer in recent history?! The audacity of the old farts!”

He started to complain nonstop. This was your time to roll your eyes.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to get out of this situation, Toru-nii. You always do”.

You smiled encouragingly. Your big brother was just blowing it out of proportion, exaggerating and making the details seem worse than they actually were.

“Except that this time I can’t, little sis. They said that if I don’t find a wife in one month, they will find me one themselves”.

Satoru looked you straight in the eyes, and damn, those baby blue eyes of his still made you weak in the knees. Ever since you were kids, he would always talk to you without a blindfold or sunglasses when he wanted you to do something for him. And you caved. Every. Single. Time. Of course, the bastard knew it all too well. Still, you kept your resolve.

“I don’t see what’s the matter. They’ve threatened you many times, and it never worked. Why’s it so different now?”.

“Mom and dad found you a suitor”. He declared, straight to the point.

You gaped at him. How did he know? It was partially true. Although your parents had already decided on the perfect husband for you, it had not been made official yet. And, until the announcement was formally made, you would hold onto every last shred of hope you had.

“It’s not official”. You replied, stubbornly.

“Come on, they already scheduled a date to make the announcement public”.

He said it with such certainty, you knew Satoru couldn’t be lying about this. Fear settled deeply in your heart. They had really scheduled a date? If your nii-chan wasn’t lying to you, and you knew he wasn’t, he never once did, then you were helpless.

“I-I’m sure that if I talk to them…”

“What, they’ll listen to you? They’ve been dictating your whole life since you learned how to walk, sweetheart”.

Unfortunately, Satoru was right. Trying to talk to them would be absolutely useless. You were stupid for even entertaining the idea.

“I know it is not ideal, sweetheart, but this is the best solution for both of us. Do you really want to marry the pervert Zenin Naoya?”.

You grimaced. That was totally repulsive. You could never marry him. The men from the Zenin clan were even worse than your own family.

“But, Toru-nii, this is wrong. We’re siblings!”.

You still tried to reason with him, but the words didn’t seem so firm coming out of your mouth. At this point, you knew you were trying to reason with yourself more than your brother. Oh God, you were just as sick. Picturing yourself getting married to your very own brother shouldn’t feel so good.

“Darling, I thought we had already crossed that line a long time ago”.

Satoru smirked, getting closer to you, your knees touching as he took the pillow from your hands and threw it over his shoulder in the bed. You gasped, eyes huge and mouth open like a fish out of water. You two swore you would never speak of this again.

“Toru-nii!”

You admonished him, refusing to face his bewitching blue orbs, instead focusing on the sage green wall in front of you.

“Oh yeah, I still remember when you came to my room in the middle of the night, wide eyed and with the cutest pout on your pretty little lips, begging me to teach you how to kiss-“

You put both hands on his mouth, silencing him.

“I was just fifteen!”.

“Well, you came to the right person. I’ve always been a great teacher, if you know what I mean”.

Satoru winked.

“Ugh, stop being so cocky”.

A beat of silence passed before Satoru cleared his throat.

“So, what do you say, sweet sis? It’s either you live the rest of your life in a loveless marriage, or you become the wife of your mature, amazing, sexy Toru-nii…”.

“Okay, okay, I get it!”. You stopped him before he got carried away.

“Say, if I agreed to this”. You eyed him carefully.

“Mhmmm”. Gojo encouraged you to continue.

“How would you make it work? I mean, last time I checked, marrying your sibling was illegal”.

Your nii-chan smiled widely, already knowing he had won the discussion.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ve got it all covered!”. He clapped, pleased with himself.

“You arranged it all before knowing whether or not I would agree?”.

“Is that a yes?”.

Satoru leaned even closer, playing with a strand of your hair while watching your face intently all the while. You immediately felt your cheeks grow warm. Being close to Toru-nii always made you nervous. He looked like a predator analyzing its prey, a hungry expression on his handsome face. You gulped.

“Toru-nii, stop teasing me”. You pleaded.

“You need to say the words, sweetheart”.

He whispered, face mere inches from yours. His hand was now caressing your cheek.

“Yes, nii-chan. I will marry you”.

“Good girl. Now, how about we put the lessons I gave you back then to use? I don’t want my future wife to feel neglected”.

Those were the last words he said before he pressed your lips together.