#but she just cares SO much which is why she is the way she is

[azullumi]

BUT I’M INTO YOU !! ft. ANAXAGORAS & PHAINON

like paramore’s hit song, “still into you”, some things just make sense and one of those is you and him | gender-neutral reader, established relationship, reassurance, anaxa nurses reader, relationship dynamics (phainon with a constantly stressed and overthinking reader), fluff, not proofread | wc: 3.2k

DIRECTOR NOTES — i need anaxa so bad im going to go crazy

anaxa and the reversed “how are you two not dating yet?”, so it’s just “WHY ARE YOU DATING HIM?”

Some people are just born soulmates, complete halves of each other; the edges of their being meant to fit one another. ANAXAGORAS and you are what you like to believe to be the embodiment of that—two flames from the same fire, burning brighter when together.

“Must you really be troublesome?” His voice echoes, concern written on his often stoic his face as he places the back of his hand against your forehead for a moment. His fleeting touch is cool against your warm skin, a quiet contrast that makes you lean into it instinctively. He exhales softly, almost inaudibly, before retrieving his hand.

“Must you be so handsome?” You beam at him, despite how sickly you look and how your voice is rough and hoarse. The frown he gives you makes you laugh—then choke and cough afterwards. He clicks his tongue, not unkindly, giving you the glass of water then dabbing at your lips with the edge of the towel when you finish, muttering something about how recklessness must be a disease. Still, even with the irritation painted across his face, his hands are careful, his touch gentle. And you feel it again: that unwavering, bone-deep certainty that you were always meant to be right here, with him.

“You’re fussing too much,” you murmur, voice still scratchy, but your smile is unshaken. You let him do what he needs to do for yourself, lest you concur his wrath and get a mile of scolding about your carelessness from him. You don’t want to hear it anymore. He had already talked your ears off when he had arrived and saw that you weren’t resting just like he had wanted you to do.

“You’re ill,” he replies flatly, squeezing the excess water from the towel before folding it anew, placing it over your forehead. “Forgive me for wanting to keep you alive.”

“I’m not dying, Anaxagoras.”

No. If you perished from something as banal as fever, it would be after he’d dragged you back to lucidity and made sure you remembered it was his hand that spared you. And not just once. He’d remind you daily and without shame, that it was he who nursed you through your recklessness, he who kept you from slipping away over something as embarrassingly preventable as he’d once put it; “Next time you have decided to tempt mortality, at least wear a coat.” 

(It was undeniable, however, that underneath all that pride and sharpness, Anaxagoras loves you in the only way he knows how: deeply, deliberately, and with a care that clings to the edges of everything he does for you.)

“And? Shall you be on the deathbed before I begin taking care of you?”

In a world full of almosts and maybes, you and him are the rare certainty—a quiet, unwavering truth as if the stars themselves whispered your names in the same breath long before you ever crossed paths. 

However, others seem to oppose these ideas.

Such as your friend, your dearly beloved Stelle, who finds fascination in trash cans. Over the duration of your friendship—which is roughly from when you saved her when she got her ass stuck in a bin to this very moment and onwards—, you’ve found that embarrassment does not exist in her vocabulary. 

You’ve recalled your conversation with her a few days ago, when she had asked you to: “Blink twice if you need help.” to which was met with just your confusion. You remember the dramatic groan that escaped her—loud, theatrical, and full of despair—as she clutched your shoulders like she’s anchoring herself from being swept away by the tragedy that is your love life. You remember her eyes and how they lock onto yours with the intensity of someone who’s seen too much, recounting horrors no one else can understand, and the rare seriousness painted across her usually unserious face. All of that just to present the grand question that has been repeatedly hammered into your ear drums: “Why are you dating him?”

Was it really unbelievable that you are dating THE Anaxagoras—the demised scholar, the known blasphemer, one of the Seven Sages, and founder of the School of Nousporists?

Stelle’s question then had come out in a raised tone; horror, confusion, and everything that reeks of despair and doubt. She has met your lover many times before and all she got is terrible impressions from him. You get it, you understand her, truly, a hundred million times over. Anaxagoras is difficult in the same way a cryptic crossword or a sudoku puzzle with only five numbers given as clues is difficult; he is maddening, frustrating, and devilishly handsome. Well, that too, and how he often causes people to mutter curses under their breath. He talks as if every word of his is carved from marble and gold and thinks in layers you often need to chisel through.

Although, Stelle was not the first person to express her concerns. No, no, she was not the only one who had questioned you about your romantic ties with the man himself. There had been a long line of them—colleagues, acquaintances, old friends who hadn’t seen you since the two of you got together—each of them offering their unsolicited takes like critics reviewing a painting they couldn’t comprehend. Some were subtle, expressing their skepticism through light jokes or half-serious jabs, dressing their doubts with honeyed laughter, and the repeated statements of “Really?” or “Wow, I could never… believe that.” While others were more direct, eyebrows raised, voices dripping with disbelief. “Him?” they’d ask, like you just dropped the most terrible news in their lives ever.

“How are you feeling now?” Anaxagoras’ voice snapped you out of your daze. You had not noticed you have been staring at him for a while now, recalling the conversation in your head like a script you’ve read a thousand times. You blink, reality trickling back in with the weight of his gaze. It is steady, unreadable, but undeniably attentive, only for you.

“Better,” you rasp, offering him a weak smile, “or at least I will be, once you stop hovering like a mother hen.” He doesn’t react at first, only lifts a brow as he shifts the damp towel slightly to sit more evenly across your forehead.

“Then I suppose you won’t be feeling better anytime soon."

It’s not that they don’t like Anaxagoras—they just don’t know him, not in the way you do, at least. They see the storm but not the calm it leaves behind when it reaches you. They hear the sharpness in his voice but never the softness interlacing between the syllables when he says your name. They witness the way he dismantles arguments with precision but never the way he carefully tucks your hair behind your ear when the wind picks up or remembers exactly how you take your tea without ever needing to ask. 

What none of them seemed to grasp was the way Anaxagoras, for all his cold logic and biting words, treated you as if you were something priceless. Something fragile and worth protecting. You know it, because even with his sharp mind and sharper tongue, he’s gentle with you.

Gentle in this, in him dropping everything that he needed to do just to take care of you, like the world could wait if you so much as whimpered. Gentle in the way he holds your hand, gentle in the way his thumb traces idle circles against your skin like he’s memorizing the heat of it. Gentle in the way his silence filled the room, soft and reassuring. It’s in the quiet moments where he simply exists beside you. You’ve known that the way he shows his affection and adoration for you is not loud, and never will be. It is neither grand nor showy, but it is steady and grounding, and it is yours.

(Anaxa didn’t need to say he loved you for his affections were in every quiet action, in every unspoken gesture that threaded through the ordinary like gold in cloth.)

“What are you thinking now?” Anaxa says, noticing your gaze.

His voice is calm, unhurried, yet carries the weight of someone who’s always listening, even to the things you don’t say. You blink up at him, the corners of your mouth curving, and for a moment, you hesitate. Not because you don’t know what to say, but because putting feelings this big into words feels like trying to catch the sky in your hands.

“That I must’ve done something good in a past life,” you say softly, “to be loved like this.”

Anaxagoras doesn’t speak, but you catch the way his expression shifts. It is the ever-subtle change in his eyes, softer now, like moonlight breaking through cold marble. He doesn’t smile, but there’s something in the way he looks at you that feels louder than joy.

“I don’t love you because of merit,” he murmurs, adjusting the edge of the blanket with care. “You don’t need to earn something that already belongs to you.”

They only saw the philosopher, the blasphemer, the myth himself, while you saw the man who kissed your knuckles when you couldn’t sleep. And something about this feels almost holy, the kindness reserved only for you is sacred, untouched by the noise of the world and tucked safely in the quiet corners of your world. It’s in the way he holds your gaze like it’s the only truth worth believing, in how he tends to your needs before you voice them, as if your comfort is a principle written into his very being. 

To others, he is a riddle wrapped in cold intellect, but to you, he is all the warmth embodies, the tender affection that weaves into the gaps of your fingers, the gentle lull of a tide as it crashes into the shore, and the stains on his cheek when you kiss him; he is the quiet devotion in the spaces between his sighs and your laughs—it is simply, completely, and utterly undeniable that the both of you are truly for one another.

phainon, a laid back guy who takes care of everything, and you, a dramatic person who stresses out a lot.

They say opposites attract, and you and PHAINON are the utter proof of that statement. And much to everyone’s expectations, it works against all odds, though how chaotic everything may be. Where you spiral, he steadies. When your thoughts are loud and messy—which often is—he answers in calm nods, soft chuckles, and gentle touches. In those drastic moments, his arms are already around your shoulders before the panic hits its peak, steadying and guiding you back to solid land.

Phainon just seems to know what to say—or not to say—to bring you back down to the ground when you are overwhelmed and flooded by thousands of (imaginary) disasters running inside your head or when you are frantically pacing around, mumbling to yourself, and doing that small habit (e.g. biting your nails or picking your lip until it bleeds). He’ll tread towards where you are, taking your hands, and offers words of comfort and assurance as if he’s done it a thousand times before—he already has and he will never tire of it, never pull away, never let you down, never treat your panic like a burden but rather like something gentle to cradle until it passes. 

It was as if your mind is a place he knows all too well, like a maze that he had already memorized, navigating through the paths of your thoughts with a tender precision.

“Don’t worry, love.” He tells you, voice warm and soothing as he cups your face affectionately. He holds the same note in his gaze, love and the gentleness that comes with it, that only you know of, that only the both of you share for one another, “You can leave it to me.” You cling to your thoughts, all panic and muddied, that has now lost all meaning under your turmoil and in between his ease. His words tug you back to the brink and somehow when everything feels like it's on fire—oftentimes metaphorically and sometimes literally—he’s already halfway through putting out the flames of your problems. (See? The world didn’t end) You don’t know how he does it, how he holds your mess with such grace, only that he does.

You had asked him once, “Aren’t you tired of me?” Surely, he should be, right? I mean, having to deal with someone who is stressed every minute and needing reassurance every single time can be so draining, right? You’ve already heard about couples breaking up because of those things like their lover was being so much like they didn’t want to be comforted every single time like they never even listen like everything is just the same thing over and over again and it gets so tiring having to deal with those things repeatedly. You’re tiring to deal with, right? Maybe he’s just trying to put up with you because you don’t know?? How would you know???? 

It feels like you’re always too much and never enough at the same time. It was as if you’re clinging too tightly and still somehow slipping away, like one more breakdown, one more late-night anxiety spiral, one more text asking “are you mad at me?” will be the final straw. You replay every conversation in your head, dissect every pause, every sigh, every silence that might not even mean anything but what if it did? What if he’s just too kind to say he’s tired of you? What if he’s just waiting for the right moment to leave quietly? What if you’re reading too much into this—but also, what if you’re not? What if you’re right and he’s just too polite to admit it? You try to shake the thoughts off, but they cling like static. It’s relentless.

What if—”No. Why would I be?” But his voice cuts through it all, clean and sharp like a stone abruptly dropped into a pond, and like the settling ripples that eases into the water’s surface to return to what it once was and what it ought to be, your spiraling thoughts are quiet once more. “You may think that you’re unraveling, confusing, and a mess, that perhaps I am tired of your chaos and thoughts. But I promise that you're only a little tangled right now.” His words settle into you like soft rain. “Sure, it gets tiring sometimes, but love is not about ease, isn’t it? It’s about staying, especially when the wires get crossed and the lights flicker. I don’t mind untangling you. I chose you, mess and all, and I’ll keep choosing you, even on the days you forget how to choose yourself.”

It’s just so simple. For Phainon, loving you means loving the storm and being unbothered by the lightning and everything terrible that comes with it.

Albeit sometimes, he matches your energy. No, more like snatches it from you, spins it in his hands, and throws it back at you. He can be dramatic too—even a hundred times more than you already are. One particular example is when the both of you had a fight—it was nothing major, no broken plates, no screaming, no yelling involved (aeons, he’ll hate himself if even raised his voice at you for a little). But still, it was something that made you upset and turned away from him. 

The silence between you and him had only lasted for less than a day, however, when you heard the sound of something hitting your window, to which you dismissed as nothing at first. Not until it came again, again, and again. Until you get sick of it and decide to check which little kid is playing pranks on you this time, thus you open the window, ready to address the annoyance but…

Spoiler alert: it was not a kid.

It was a man in the form of someone you clearly know, whose lines on his face has been memorized by you, whose hands you had held many times in yours, whose laugh still echoes in your head even when he's not around—and there he was, Phainon, standing a few feet away from your window. You just noticed but there is someone else too, but situated a little further away from your boyfriend who you just had a fight earlier. Wait, are they singing? Was that singing you’re hearing? And is that a water vase that he’s trying to spray on himself to imitate the rain? 

“What are you doing?” You voice out the loudest question inside your head, confused. You’re beyond bewilderment, actually.

Phainon expresses the most exaggeratedly forlorn expression you’ve ever seen on his face. The guy beside him, one that you don’t know but have seen performing in the streets of Okhema several times before, keeps singing into the invisible microphone in his hand. You don’t know what the song is but he sure is hitting those notes.

“I’m suffering, clearly.”  Phainon replies dramatically, placing a hand over his chest like a wounded prince. “I’ve been banished from the kingdom of your heart, and thus I stand here—exiled, soggy, and still utterly devoted.”

“What?” At this point, you are not entirely sure what to say or react, but Phainon does as he rambles on and on with his poor singer accompanying him from the back.

“I have known despair. I have tasted the bitterness of your silence. I have felt the frost of you turning away from me. Please,” he begs, asks, and does everything just for you even if he looks utterly stupid right now. Thankfully, there aren’t any citizens to witness the spectacle of their dazzling Chrysos Heir. “Please come back to me, my love. Allow me to hold you again.”

“Phainon, it was just spilled milk.” Why was he acting as if you were breaking up with him? As if you were truly going to leave him? You had planned on apologizing to him later on and admitting your mistakes, you really were, but he beat you to it with whatever this is.

“And for that,” he declares, without a hint of sarcasm or anything similar lacing into his tone. “I shall atone.” And you could not help but sigh, rubbing your temples as he continues to look at you like a tragic hero awaiting his redemption arc.

“You know it was my fault, right?” You remind him, voice a little softer now. However, his response comes without hesitation, firm and full of that all-consuming affection he never dares to hide:

“You could never do anything wrong in my eyes.”

The ridiculousness of this situation sinks into you now—the man donned in white and gold, half soaked and entirely unserious, staging a melodramatic serenade over something small, with a busker-turned-background vocalist going off like this was their final performance. And yet, in the absurdity of it all, your chest aches from the sheer, overwhelming love you feel for this man who would make a fool of himself just to see you smile again. You lean slightly out the open window, resting your arms on the sill, watching the man with a mixture of exasperation and adoration, wondering how on earth you got lucky enough to be loved like this.

A breath of laughter slipping past your lips. “What are you waiting for?” you say, voice tinged with fondness. “Didn’t you wish to hold me?”

Phainon beams up at you like you’ve just given him the stars and rushes to where you are, despite the fact that there is a perfectly fine door that he can go through.

“Oh, and please, compensate the poor man for your theatrics.”

© AZULLUMI. plagiarism of any form and type, stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms is NOT permitted.

[feelingdozy]

EARLY RISER - Robert Reynolds

Summary: When met with the sunrise of a new day, and always unable to find himself going back to sleep, bob won't admit the reason he never leaves the bed until you do is because he doesn't want to leave your side. What does he get up to before you finally wake up?

Warnings: domestic fluff, established relationship, post movie, hickeys, reader is not a morning person, sassy bob, hint of throwing up (not even), talk of nightmares/void implied (one sentence), sentry serum effects, usual team shenanigans and mishaps, lazy mornings, kissing knuckles, cuddling

w/c: 1.3k ･ a03 ･ prompt list ･

Bob refuses to get out of bed before you do.

It doesn't matter whether he's tossing and turning, phone illuminating his face in the otherwise dark room while he scrolls mindlessly on social media through different apps and posts he doesn't really care about.

He'll stay up, playing an app game that has him struggling to not rage out while you're soundly asleep and quiet except for the little snores that you produce every so often, making him snap out of it and mumble little praises while he struggles not to hold you as close as possible.

Although not always can he stay focused while playing a game- not even enough to be on his phone.

He almost wishes he could go back to sleep if it wasn't for his brain going wild at every second, which is what usually rendered him awake at early times in the morning before the clock even strikes six.

If he could just relax into it like you did, easing slowly into shallow dreams and whispered phrases, he'd be plastered to you, and asleep.

He wanted to get up- that's what he'd convinced himself. That, surely, if you weren't by his side he'd have been able to make an effort within the silent dawns and quiet footsteps across the cold hardwood floors that lined the tower and refused to creak under his gentle strut towards the kitchen.

That if, just maybe, he'd be in the training room right now practicing his punches and stamina by running on the treadmill for an hour or so to get all the energy out of his system before everyone else awoke.

He could even hear the doors beside your room click open, the heavy morning fatigue of Yelena announcing herself as she dragged her feet to the kitchen, and Ava's slippered steps that he could only hear because she had them on- otherwise she's eerily silent.

Because of the serum, if he really focused, he'd hear the blender that he knew Alexei used to do his usual disgusting morning shake he proclaimed helped with 'everything digestive system needs to be strong!' though Bob immediately regretted trying it the one time he was very convincing- he almost didn't make it to the trash can.

He can hear the frying of Bucky's four eggs and John's three with two sausages beside each other, both mumbling curses and withdrawing because of a pop of the egg splashing them, or at the fact that they both 'had to make breakfast at the time the other was' and, 'couldn't help themselves to wait'

Bob accidentally got in the middle of that, too, although it was much more emotionally scarring than physical, when they both looked at him like they were about to pounce and he was going to be the next meat they fried.

Ava opted for toast, and Yelena scounging for whatever she could find that made it quick and easy while she recovered from getting out of bed.

Bob had learned not to question anything anymore, so he just didn't ask.

And, well, he couldn't because he was glued to your mattress.

To his 'dismay' he'd put it, he was always pleasantly curled up into your side, though sweaty somehow ran cold when beside you and your body heat had tended to him like a sickness had given way just because you commanded it.

Like somehow you reversed the way he worked, rewired his clockwork. Maybe because of sentry feeling dialed down when by your side, almost like an off-switch when he also felt at peace- you'd become hotter then he had.

He had a clue that was why, but he didn't want you to soak in the glory of rendering him so down bad you completely changed his newly wired anatomy. Somehow, while deeply in sleep and unconsciousness, were bossing him around and you refused to stop!

Some days while stuck, he bit his lip to stop himself from giggling at the ridiculous yet endearing thoughts to tease you with when you finally wake up, "such a bad example to set", with his badly done pokerface he'd try to retain but broke immediately into his signature teasing smile seeing how you had deadpanned while being met with his antics so early on in the day.

A grumpy, definitely not morning person being met with the earliest riser in the world. He loved seeing you pout. Unless it was caused by someone else, of course.

What he didn't admit was the way he pressed soft kisses to the top of your head while admiring your sleeping form, stroking you while he closed his eyes and breathed you in for a moment, just to relish in the domestic peace of the birds chirping and the way you were beautifully draped across his mattress, smelling like you. Your personal scent. He was obsessed. It was ingrained in his bloodstream.

One hand over his pillow instead of his waist, which, quite frankly, he took very much offense to- he'd frown playfully in the morning and you'd roll your eyes commenting on how dramatic he is.

These mornings were the kindest to him. That's truly what he hadn't said out loud, not yet.

No nightmares alive and constricting him to mental confines while squirming, just easy sighs and the scent of your chapstick still lingering of when he kissed it off your lips, minty and it made him pucker at the unexpected smell.

He reminisced at the night before, both of you undoing the other, even just through sensual rubbing and touches and the act of closeness while your legs were tangled and hands resting underneath shirts just to be there.

He loved finding the hem, hand traveling up your stomach just to rest it on the soft skin, sometimes pushing back your shirt to kiss a path up to your collarbones.

He didn't even mean it sexually, he just loved the feel of you giggling and squirming below at his gentle fingertips, exploring every inch you'd allow him to and resting his head between your breasts like a pillow.

And you loved the closeness of it, how you felt so intertwined and cared for when he kneaded your sides and planted little love bites some places along the way, in a way of saying you're mine. Hidden, and carved out just for you to see and him to admire.

To provide a grounding. A knowing, that you loved his touch- needed it, even.

And when your eyes finally started to blink open, rubbing them awake with your hand, you were met with the sight of your boyfriend dumbly smiling at you like you had made his morning already.

"Baby?" You grumbled, hardly coherent.

"Yes, my love?" He said while cupping your cheek and rubbing it with his thumb, a gesture he had made habit over the last few weeks when you'd eventually wake.

"mm-" you yawned as he huffed out a laugh, grabbing your waist and pulling you over to make you curl up against his soft t-shirt and solid torso, head resting on his collarbone while he stroked your back

"Did you sleep well?" He mumbled in your ear like he couldn't already tell.

"f'course I did- 'cus you're here" you slap a hand over his cheek when reaching up to touch him, lazy and unintentionally harsh.

You graze the stubble that's hardly there and the warmth that encases his face. You trace his jawline, like you're memorizing it in a sleepy trance.

And he lets you. He watches, doesn't say a word, not until you're back up to his lips and he can successfully draw out a peck to your knuckles, one after the other until you're sighing happily.

And when your breathing evened out again, he didn't shake you or even attempt to wake you up.

He just watched like always, and kept firmly rubbing your back like nothing could ever detach him from you again. He wouldn't let anything- no, he'd stay here with you forever like this. Sleepy and incoherent, all his.

And he'd enjoy every last moment, right up until your alarm rang, and you'd repeat it again the next morning.

thank you for reading :) requests are open! || Marvel Masterlist

[justaz]

yeah no being upset about them doubting his loyalty and trustworthiness is its own little thing. i've just seen so much "bah the seven evil!! they hate nico and want him dead!!" propaganda that it genuinely is so annoying because that's not what happened at all 😭😭

(the below essay isn't me arguing or being mean i'm just yapping because i love dissecting characters and their dynamics, sorry if it sounds mean or passive aggressive at times, it's not meant to be i just don't know how to convey my tone thru text)

they never doubted saving him, they were just wary about how to go about it and yeah jason and leo doubted nico himself which i think is a fair stance for their characters to take considering everything but also just from a pure objective and intellectual stance - that's literally how you make plans. by thinking of any and everything that can go wrong and planning for it. annabeth probably already had micro-plans in the case that something like that was happening. not because she doubts nico as a person but because it pays to plan for literally every possible outcome.

as for the whole nico being a rogue agent and even betraying percy - through percy's eyes, nico did betray him in the last olympian. regardless of the fact that hades manipulated and stabbed nico in the back, nico still took advantage of percy's trust to lure him down into the underworld to gain something from his father - a plan that percy had been fearing since the end of botl. we know that nico didn't expect anything bad to happen to percy, but in percy's eyes, nico still betrayed him and that decision ended up getting percy imprisoned and put literally everything at risk. with percy's fatal flaw being personal loyalty, he was incapable of getting over it and even nico himself says at the end of the river styx scene that percy doesn't trust him anymore.

while i am a firm believer in the complex-brotherly relationship between percy and nico, this is like one of the scenes that strains their dynamic, bianca's death and the "broken promise" (even though percy never broke his promise but that's its own thing) being the other one. the "complex" part really starts to shine here especially because now they've both been "betrayed" by one another but they still do care for one another as nico jumps at the opportunity to make it up to percy and then in the throes of battle percy sends mrs. o'leary to fetch nico. and while they may have made up a little after that and bonded a bit, the next time percy sees nico (in canon text), percy has amnesia and is just trying to find his way home, and nico is lying and pretending he doesn't know percy which was probably so infuriating because percy was grasping at air and here nico was, somene who knew percy but was pretending he didn't.

again, we as the audience know why nico is doing that, but through percy's eyes, nico is consistently being a rogue agent in a way which i think gives his own personal deliberations validation because yeah! to percy, nico's loyalty is always in question because he does his own thing! but he does side with the good guys most of the time! but he did side with minos all those years back which almost resulting in percy and co dying to the titan army. nico sided with hades in luring percy down to his throne room and ended up getting percy imprisoned and putting camp half blood in danger because percy was meant to be their main fighter and kronos and his army were fast approaching. then in camp jupiter, nico was lying and acting shady even though that one turned out alright.

i get being upset about ur fave being doubted, i'm not attacking that at all lol i'm just saying it makes sense in the narrative for these characters to doubt him the way they do. nico is more a rogue agent and always has been. he refuses to stay at either camp and wanders the world and spends more time in the underworld with the dead rather than the living. at least circa mark of athena.

which i can't remember for this part specifically so idk if it was mentioned in canon or not so someone else tap in here - but leo was possessed by the eidolon to fire on new rome. an eidolon being a spirit of the dead. it might offer some more substance to leo's hesitation and doubt in that scene but i can't recall if they figured it out at that point or not so disregard if i'm wrong lol

in conclusion, i don't think it's stupid to be upset abt ur fav character being doubted like this but also from the other characters perspectives it makes sense to question him because from their point of view and limited perceptions of him as well as strategic plan-making processes, doubting him here just makes sense and is completely valid. even with percy. especially with percy imo. i'm honestly surprised annabeth didn't say anything either considering her plan making thing and the whole nico knowing where percy was while she was breaking down for months over his disappearance. but whatever lol

i was honestly just more annoyed at the villanization and hate people spewed regarding the seven for this scene because they want to protect their precious little gay boy who does nothing wrong ever in his life and needs to be coddled because he's perfect and the seven are big evil nasty horrible ugly monsters who laughed in glee when they heard that nico was dying slowly and painfully because they hate him soooooo much. like. no?? that's not what happened?? pick up the books i beg???? nico dickriders and glazers just annoy me so much because they twist canon in order to make nico the perfect angel when he's not!! he's weird and mean and misunderstood and sweet and offputting!!!! stop erasing him and his complex relationships just to make him a perfect sweet little white gay boy!!!! it's like they don't even like the character, just the idea of him. it just feels lowkey fetishizing-y because i swear they only like him because he's gay and dating a boy and white. idk. i enjoy nico's character in canon but nico glazers are the bane of my existence

I beg. Please. Reread the books. I need the reliance on fanon to stop. Canon is right there.

No one “debated saving Nico”. They all agreed immediately to save him:

When Percy was dreaming of Nico trapped in the jar he said: “‘Nico,’ Percy said, ‘where is this place? We'll save you....’” - Literally the first time he sees Nico, he decides that they’re going to save him

Then after Percy tells everyone at the table, their reaction is: “‘The giants are trying to lure us," Annabeth said. ‘They're assuming we'll try to rescue him.’ / ‘Well, they're right!’ Hazel looked around the table, her confidence apparently crumbling. ‘Won't we?’ / ‘Yes!’ Coach Hedge yelled with a mouthful of napkins. ‘It'll involve fighting, right?’ / ‘Hazel, of course we'll help him,’ Frank said. ‘But how long do we have before... uh, I mean, how long can Nico hold out?’” - Of course Hazel agrees immediately, as does Coach Hedge and Frank

After discussing the seeds, Piper says: “‘That's not much time,’ Piper summed up. She put her hand on Hazel's shoulder. ‘We'll find him. At least we know what the lines of the prophecy mean now. 'Twins snuff out the angel's breath, who holds the key to endless death.' Your brother's last name: di Angelo. Angelo is Italian for 'angel.'’” - Piper agrees immediately and brings up the prophecy which reaffirms the importance of Nico and a key part he plays in the quest, which means they need to save him

Percy introspection and final vocal agreement: “Percy stared at his jelly donut. He had a rocky history with Nico di Angelo. The guy had once tricked him into visiting Hades's palace, and Percy had ended up in a cell. But most of the time, Nico sided with the good guys. He certainly didn't deserve slow suffocation in a bronze jar, and Percy couldn't stand seeing Hazel in pain. ‘We'll rescue him,’ he promised her. ‘We have to. The prophecy says he holds the key to endless death.’” - Which is the set up for what people are actually in such an uproar about, the questioning of Nico’s loyalty even though the question is completely valid as Percy points out here. Nico is more a rogue agent, he does his own thing like when he lured Percy down to the Underworld to receive information about his mother. Sure he didn’t know what Hades would do, but Percy didn’t know there was a deviation to the plan in the first place - a plan in which he was already risking his life, trusting in Nico only to be betrayed even if Nico didn’t mean for it to be one.

Argo II scoreboard right now is 5/8 vocally agreeing to save him, no matter what the rest say, the votes are in favor of a rescue mission, especially with the importance the prophecy places on Nico. The only ones who haven’t vocally agreed to save him are Annabeth, Leo, and Jason.

Leo starts the vocal questioning of the safety and security of the plan: “‘Uh...’ Leo shifted in his chair. ‘One thing. The giants are expecting us to do this, right? So we're walking into a trap?’ / Hazel looked at Leo like he'd made a rude gesture. ‘We have no choice!’” - Leo is simply questioning the plan and Hazel reacts viscerally because she’s so focused in on Nico being in danger that the slightest hesitation seems like a worse problem than it is. Nothing against Hazel, I’d react the same way if it was my brother, but still Leo never said “let’s not save this emo loser” he’s just saying that there is a clear threat posed here that they’re walking right up to

Leo and Jason voice the same opinion: “‘Don't get me wrong, Hazel. It's just that your brother, Nico... he knew about both camps, right?’ / ‘Well, yes,’ Hazel said. / ‘He's been going back and forth,’ Leo said, ‘and he didn't tell either side.’ / Jason sat forward, his expression grim. ‘You're wondering if we can trust the guy. So am I.’” - They don’t question saving him, they question the plan and Nico’s loyalty. For good reason. Again, Nico is established more as a rogue agent. Who’s to say he didn’t side with the giants and is in cahoots with them to lure the Seven into this trap for Gaea to bring Bianca or his mother back? They’re pointing out concerns and questions, it’d be idiotic to go into this situation with a half-baked plan and no backups if they don’t consider all possibilities and Nico’s loyalty has always been up in the air which is a huge red flag in this situation

Climax of the “debate”: “Hazel shot to her feet. ‘I don't believe this. He's my brother. He brought me back from the Underworld, and you don't want to help him?’ / Frank put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Nobody's saying that.’ He glared at Leo. ‘Nobody had better be saying that.’ / Leo blinked. ‘Look, guys. All I mean is-‘ / ‘Hazel,’ Jason said. ‘Leo is raising a fair point. I remember Nico from Camp Jupiter. Now I find out he also visited Camp Half-Blood. That does strike me as... well, a little shady. Do we really know where his loyalties lie? We just have to be careful.’” - And then Hazel blows up and storms off. Frank reassured Hazel that no one was saying that then gave Leo the push to make it clear that wasn’t what he was saying and that’s what Leo was going to do (clarifying his point) before Jason cuts in and defends Leo from the offense that Hazel is on. He reaffirms that they’re just questioning his loyalty, they have to be careful when going to rescue him, they never said they would leave him to suffocate and rot.

Please stop this propaganda and reread the books or at least the wiki. I swear fanon has y’all in a goddamn chokehold.

Anyways, here’s the apology scene so y’all will maybe shut up:

“‘…Sometimes demigods make bad choices.’ He looked sheepishly at Hazel. ‘Like sometimes we're too suspicious. And we speak without thinking.’ / Hazel stared at him. Slowly it seemed to dawn on her that he was apologizing. / Jason elbowed Leo. / ‘Ow!’ Leo yelped. ‘I mean, yeah...bad choices. Like not trusting people's brothers who, you know, might need saving. Hypothetically speaking.’” - Apologizing for being suspicious and not trusting Nico, not apologizing for not wanting to save him, apologizing for their suspicious words against Nico’s loyalties hurting Hazel

[authorhjk1]

Please do Seulgi as your aunt who catches you jerking off with her panties for lips series. If you can find it with the red dress she wore last month thank you.

Lips #3

(Seulgi X Male Reader) Wordcount: 1320 words

At first you planned on getting your own place when you got accepted at the college you wanted to study at. But every available apartment close to it was way too expensive for you part time salary. Your mom told you you could stay with her sister for a while, since she lives near campus, until you found a place.

You haven't seen aunt Seulgi in a year or so, but moving in with her wasn't awkward or anything. At least not at first. But it soon became difficult for you to focus around her. Since it was her house she could do whatever she wants of course, but you couldn't keep up with the way she was dressed all the time. You'd eat breakfast and then suddenly have your aunt walk into the kitchen only wearing underwear. The next day she'd come home from the gym only wearing a sports bra and tight leggings. She didn't seem to mind you at all.

You always tried not to look at the beginning, but eventually you couldn't help yourself anymore. Her fit and toned body seemed to be on display for you daily. You couldn't get it out of your head anymore. Her beautiful face, her tits which look like they would perfectly fit into your hands, her tight abs, her cameltoe whenever she wears leggings, her firm ass, her full thighs.

Tonight Seulgi left for a night out. She put on a red off shoulder dress and a pair of heels. You couldn't help but wonder if she was wearing underwear or not. The thought stayed with you as you watched her car pull out of the driveway. For a moment you hesitated, your heart beating quicker than ever before. Should you do it? Just sneak into her room and maybe help yourself get off? You know you won't survive much longer in this house if you have to continue to stare at your hot aunt all the time.

A minute after she's gone you enter her room and reach for her drawer. Pulling it open you're greeted by several sets of her underwear. Different colours. Different fabrics. Different styles. You planned on just carefully taking the first one out and using it. But you have so many choices now. It takes you a good minute to finally decide. Not one, but two panties. You carefully take them out and head back to your room. You get rid of your pants as you sit on your bed

The first one you picked is a simple pink satin thong. Your breath hitches as you slowly wrap the fabric around your cock. It feels way better than you thought it would. You imagine your aunt wearing this while she grinds her ass in your lap. A groan escapes your mouth as you think about that. You reach for the second one a moment later. Black lace with a high waist. You swear Seulgi wore this one like three days ago.

As you are about to wrap it around your cock as well, you heart freezes.

"What's going one here, young man?"

It's your aunts voice. She's standing in the doorframe. Her arms are crossed in front if her chest. But instead of looking angry, you catch a small smile playing around her lips.

"Couldn't help yourself, could you?"

"I... uhm...I..."

You don't know what to say. You can't say anything. Nothing will get you out of this. But instead of yelling at you, Seulgi walks closer.

"I leaves the house for a second and this is what you do?"

She's stopped right in front of you. The edge of the bed feels now very uncomfortable underneath you.

"I...I'm sorry...I"

Seulgi laughs. It's not a cold laugh. It sounds like she's amused.

"It's okay, sweetie. I know you've been staring at me the whole week."

You're sweating by now, still not sure what to do or say.

"You know what? Why don't I help you out? After all, your mom said I should make sure you're taken care of."

"H-Help?"

You watch with wide eyes as Seulgi slowly lowers herself in front of you. You're still very aware that one of her panties is lying right next to you, while her thong is wrapped around your base.

"You know what I mean, honey. Just like this."

She slowly wraps her hand around the pink satin. Then she moves it up and down your length. Her strokes are slow while she looks up at your eyes, watching your reactions.

"I-I don't think..."

"You don't have to think at all, honey."

Seulgi's warm voice seems to calm you while her hand continues to work your length. Your hips are already bucking into it whenever she reaches your base. The soft fabric makes it feel even better.

"I'm here to take care of you."

Before you can say anything, your aunt leans down and places a kiss on your tip. You let out a shaky breath, unable to comprehend what just happened. She follows it up with wrapping her lips around the head of your cock, gently sucking on it while letting her tongue explore every inch.

"Oh god..."

You whimper, unable to do or say anything yet again. You feel her worshipping your tip for a good minute, until she finally retreats again. Her hand continues to stroke you. As you look down, you see your tip coloured in the red of her lipstick.

"But...But you're my-"

Seulgi silences you by letting a trail of saliva leave her lips and letting it fall onto your tip.

"That didn't stop you from looking or stealing these, did it?"

She holds up the black lace with her other hand. Her smile is teasing, calling out your hypocrisy.

Seulgi wraps her lips around your cock again. This time she lets them move past your tip and further down your length. Her grip on your base tightens a little. It makes your thighs tremble. The pink fabric is a little darker now, due to her spit. You feel it coating your shaft as she continues to lick and suck your cock.

"This...This is something different though."

You don't even know why you're still talking. Your insanely hot aunt is giving you head and stroking your cock with her thong. Why can't you just shut up?

Seulgi lifts her head off your cock again and looks up at you.

"It's not, baby. It's fine. It's not like we're having sex, right?"

Even the thought of having sex with your aunt drives you toward your orgasm. You don't want to admit it, but you've thought about it before. Her ass in your lap, or her body bent over in front of you while you use her. The mental image of you and her being intimate is too much for you. Add to that her hand which is continuously stroking your cock with her panties and her mouth which is sucking your cock and you feel the biggest orgasm you ever had build up inside of you. You know you're not lasting long. But you can't even feel ashamed. You can't feel anything but pleasure.

Seulgi senses it too. She feels your cock twitching inside of her as her lips glide up and down your length.

"Seulgi..."

You moan your aunt's name. She lifts her head off your cock the second before your orgasm hits. The last stroke upward of her hand pushes you over the edge. She keeps her pink thong in place around your tip and you finally cum. You ruin it completely, soiling it with your load.

"That's a good boy."

Seulgi watches you shake and moan with an amused smile on her face.

"I would've loved to use my worn panties on you so you could feel how wet I am for you."

Her mischievous eyes sparkle as she shrugs her shoulders.

"Too bad I'm not wearing any."

[reignpage]

❀ In which you're on a mission with Special Agent Nanami

“Stay sharp; we can’t blow our covers,” Nanami reminds you. 

Eyes rolling, you mutter a response under your breath, careful of bodies wandering too close to your spot by the chocolate fountain. “Don’t gotta remind me. I’m not exactly keen to be skinned alive whilst hanging on a meat hoo – Did you know they hang people on meat hooks in a warehouse? Like actual people? Isn’t that sick? ‘Sick’ as in, woahh that’s fucked up, and not ‘sick’ as in, yayyy, by the way.”

Wearing something skintight and red, you’re dressed to stand out, the way the perfect agent would be to fit in, at least, to fit in among the socialites of Tokyo during a casino’s grand opening. This is the definition of glitz and glamour – the huge cascading chandelier, which glitters with gold and diamond, the ten-person orchestra in the corner, the casual throw of thick wads of money onto betting tables, and the giggling women covered head to toe in designer clothes and jewellery. You’d be wowed if you didn’t know the walls and floors were drenched in blood. 

Deep and smooth, his reply shoots straight in your ear. “Yes. I read the files just as you did. Now, focus, agent. You have a job to do.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Always so bossy. 

Nanami waltzes over to the bar, playing with his cufflink as he orders. Blond hair slicked back, glasses gone, and tuxedo pristine, he somehow fits right in and stands out, courtesy of his blessed genes and sharp features. He looks maddeningly handsome, in a ‘end up in my bed and you’ll be sore, bruised, and permanently changed’ kind of way. 

Which is why it comes to no surprise to you that in seconds, a woman is sliding next to him, bare arm grazing the wool of his suit jacket. She flutters her long lashes and introduces herself, you can only assume because his response is, ‘Pleasure to meet you. I’m Takahashi Kaito, but please, call me Kaito.”

“Decided to go with my suggestion, I see. It suits you, though I much prefer ‘Kento.’ It sounds great to moan.” you note. He doesn’t respond, and though he’s too far to know for sure, you do think the corner of his lips twitch. Or maybe he’s reacting to whatever flirtatious thing she’s saying. Hard to say.

A waiter passes by. A glass of champagne finds its way into your hand. Drinking on the job is inadvisable but one, or two, won’t hurt. 

It’s a good thing your role tonight is simply backup; you can take things easy knowing the more experienced man knows what he’s doing. Though, as she throws her head back and laughs like she’s never laughed before, you wonder if he’s too experienced. She squeezes his bicep for balance. Despite how loud it is in the grand hall, with all the music, clinking of glass, rolling of dice, and chattering – no doubt exchanging illegal information and best starting positions for separating skin from flesh – you somehow hear the velvety words leave her mouth.

You’re so strong, Kaito.

He is strong. Kento and not Kaito, well, Kaito, who is Kento, is strong because he’s really Kento, but the point is, you’ve seen the man take down a battalion of cold-blooded killers and come out with not even a single wrinkle in his suit. He’s singlehandedly stopped seven world wars, whereas you’ve stopped none, he’s fluent in all the languages there’s ever been, a black belt in everything there could be a belt for, and he keeps the lochness monster hidden in his moat. 

Okay, so those are all rumours; your partner’s an enigma. Special agents aren’t supposed to ever give out personal information, so naturally there’d be gaps and holes to fill, but none have ever been quite so mysterious as Nanami Kento. 

“And you’re the most beautiful person in the room tonight,” he replies without missing a beat. 

The way he says it, so sweetly, so quickly, and with so much conviction, makes you almost forget you’re on a mission and not watching a romcom. Slinking to a roulette table, you smile at the croupier and place five chips down. “Thirty one to thirty six, please.”

Thank the heavens the organisation is paying for everything; you can afford to lose some money tonight, but if you win, you’re taking it all home. 

Just low enough for your seat neighbours not to hear, you say to Nanami, “Flirt some more and she might tackle you in front of everyone.”

He doesn’t respond. 

“Twenty one. Black. Even,” the croupier announces.

Damn. 

“Your dress is marvellous. Truly,” he continues. “It’s embarrassing to admit, and forgive me for sounding ever so poetic, but from the very first moment I saw you, you were all I could focus on. Nothing could take my eyes off you.”

With a wave of your hand, a waiter hands you a cold, sparkling glass. It disappears in a mere second.

Trying again, you place bets on red.

Suddenly, your dress is too tight, too shiny. Your heels tall and painful. The thrill of action is missing and the withdrawal is making you hyper aware that there are fifty guards around — thirty making themselves known and twenty dressed to blend in. So far, no one has made you.

Missions like these, where you have to play a part and can’t speak openly as you defuse a bomb in a sauna, are somewhat frustrating. They start off fun at first, assuming new identities, playing dress up, and making up backstories where you can, and they eventually turn monotonous once a certain blond walks away to do some world-saving stuff.

Rarely ever humouring you, your partner is hardly the most fun person in the world. Still, when he gives a reaction, it’s as if you’ve toppled a crime ring. 

So you make another attempt.

“I wish you were here to blow on my chips, Ken. I bet your Ice Man breath would freeze the bad luck away. Or, actually, better yet, I wish I could blow you,” you mumble to yourself.

Nanami laughs.

It’s so shocking, so sudden, that, stunned, you leave the other gamblers waiting for your next bet. Flashing an apologetic smile, this time, you place five chips on the second dozen. It’s low risk but a good bet, you think.

Meanwhile, you listen to him say, “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Risking a quick glance back, you’re not entirely surprised to find he isn’t looking at you.

“Ouch, Kaito.” 

He still doesn’t respond. For a second, you think maybe the comms aren’t working on your side, but that’s just not possible – Haibara is the best tech guy there is. He’s always on your side. Unlike Lady Luck, you sourly note when your chips are swept away. 

As the kids would say, you’re taking losses left and right.

In a way, you’re grateful that the one person whose opinion you care about in this room isn’t close by to witness your failures. Though, when you both leave the casino later, hopefully with the USB of data you need, you’ll be sure to give him a scolding for ignoring you. After all, what’s a partnership if he won’t do his part and acknowledge your nonstop talking?

Sighing, you do what you can as you wait.

You have twenty remaining chips. The smart move would be to cut your losses on this table and try your hand at something else, maybe poker, you know, since you are a special agent and you’ve been trained to have a deadly poker face, but…smart is overrated. 

Tonight, you’ll let loose a little. 

“All in on three.”

The wheel spins.

Polished mahogany, narrow pockets – thirty-seven of them – like chambers in a used revolver. Ivory, the ball bounces around, clinking, skimming, teasing. All eyes follow. Cold and desperate, some for thrill and others for survival. No matter the background, the reasons for being there, the goals in mind, you all become one in an uncaring machine, distracted as you’re milked for all you’re worth.

There’s a stillness in the air, a silent beating. 

Slower and slower, the wheel soon comes to a halt. Plucking another flute from a passing silver tray, you down it all in one go. 

“You should slow down on the drinking.”

The ball clatters. It, too, stops. 

Blink. Blink. 

Was Nanami talking to you? 

That couldn’t be. When your head whips around, you see him through the crowd. He’s still at the bar, talking to her. Angled away, you can’t see if she’s holding a drink, if she’s been growing dizzy with alcohol.

Wait.

She’s moving.

Shifting. 

No glass in hand. She looks confused. Nanami replies to whatever she says to him, “You must have misheard me. I said, we should keep drinking, only if you’d like, of course.”

So focused on the pair, you don’t realise the result had been announced. Turning back, you come face to face with rows and rows of chips. You don’t need to count to know there’s over seven hundred chips waiting. 

What the hell?

Nods are all the guests at the table give you. It’s a lot of money but for some, it’s pocket change. There’s no way for you to take all of those chips. You couldn’t spend a quarter of it in one night even if you didn’t have a mission to complete.

How did you even win?

“Congratulations.”

You still. There’s only one man whose timbre could elicit a shudder from you. How he got to you so fast is a question you don’t need an answer to. 

Instead, you ask, “Did you get it?”

He offers an arm to you. Both of you slip away from the table, chips left behind. Walking in stride, you weave through the waves of intoxicated guests and slip over to an empty hallway. He flashes you a metal card when the coasts clears. “Ever doubted me?”

The shake of your head answers him. “You got it before she even introduced herself, didn’t you?”

Peeking up at him, you see the ghost of a smile on his stern face. If you were anyone else, maybe you’d miss it, but you’re not anyone else. You’re his partner. So, when he replies, ‘I had her at hello,’ you only roll your eyes and ask another question. 

He says, “I wanted to let you have your fun. It’s not often we’re placed somewhere…stimulating.”

At the reminder of all the different places you’ve been forced to hole up in, you grimace. Although you hope to never be put back into a crate full of dead fish, you know chances are, you’ll be placed somewhere so much worse and so much closer to hell, you’ll wish you were in the crate instead. 

“Could hardly have fun when you weren’t talking to me,” you grumble. 

The hallway comes to an end. Two guards stand, ready to strike. Beyond the doors behind them is where you need to be. Neither of you are quite sure as to what really lies inside, though there’s no doubt about it, you’re going to kick ass regardless. 

What you need to do is clear.

First, get through. Second, find your way to the vault. Third, use the special contact lenses Haibara created to break through the retinal recognition system. Take what you need. And finally, get out. 

Easy.

Nanami flashes the card. The guards nod, mutter something into their wrists, and push the doors open. He glances down at you, blond hair still slicked back, tuxedo still wrinkle-less and perfect-fitting, but glasses back on now. 

Something about his gaze, suddenly defrosted and twinkling with a certain degree of mischief you’ve never seen in his eyes, steals your breath.

“Who says I wasn’t?”

And you walk through. 

Together. 

[lostintransist]

Butterflies in Blood

AO3 | Part 1

You didn’t get a chance to turn in those transfer papers.

Laswell waited for you in your room, finger tracing each line of your form as if confirming the damn thing had been filled out correctly.

“You won’t be needing this,” she tapped her finger twice before looking at you.

Today had already been too much, and you hadn’t even had lunch.

“All undue respect, ma’am, things have gotten so bad I either turn in that fucking paperwork or I am getting shipped home in a box.” Her brow lifted at your harsh tone, which was an opportunity to backstep, to try again. But you’re done.

The silence between you rang in your ears.

Laswell hummed. Turning back to the request, she lifted the pages and folded them before slipping them into a pocket.

“Then I have one final job for you as a member of Task Force 141.”

Giving in to the curiosity biting at your tongue means losing. You’ve already lost too much. You keep silent.

The huff and smirk combo had probably gotten Kate Laswell far in her career. Nothing but nepotism would you any further.

“Pack your bags, sergeant. You’re going solo.”

16 Months Prior

Roach, Bugs as you had started to call him, appeared more often than not at your rooftop hideaway. Sometimes he would seem lost in his own head, even the air moving from his lungs silent. Other times, though?

“I’ve never seen Price’s hair stand on end like that. His damn boonie hat flew so damn far it took two of us to find it.”

You are clenching your stomach from laughter, voice cracking, and tears streaming as you imagine the scenario that would leave the acclaimed Captain Price flat on his ass due to an electric fence.

Bugs grinned at you like making you laugh this hard could be shined and could be shown off like brass candy on his uniform. That might be why you fell for him. He treated you like you were real, like you mattered. He had to know about you, about the medication you took daily to help keep you functioning like you should. The past followed you like a miasma, clinging to the molecules around your head. If someone stared hard enough at your aura, they would see the trauma that was labeled by others as ‘weird’ or ‘you’re just confused’ or ‘that’s not a real thing,’ attempting to suffocate you. A lot of people would be happier if you died and stopped disturbing their worldview with your existence.

Fuck them.

Bugs didn’t ever go out of his way to seek you out. You knew he didn’t like you the way you liked him. It had happened enough times that the stinging pain of perceived rejection felt as good as the ennui and the limerence. Sitting next to him at meals or at meetings was your preference, and not just because you liked to siphon off his presence to fuel your internal desires, but he made a point to include you, to listen to you. It helped. The task force felt less repressive when more than Maria cared.

He didn’t outright defend you from bullshit on base, but he called it out.

“Where is Chuckles?”

Hearing your call sign as you were still far enough from the common room to hide from sight.

“Bitch is probably off whining to the base commander again,” came the reply from a voice you didn’t recognize.

“Now why the hell would an SAS-level soldier complain to the base commander unless there was a problem they couldn’t fix without killing someone?”

Bugs asked the question like the other party was a damn idiot. Though to be fair, they could have been. The sound of someone choking on their words followed you as you about-faced and headed for the roof.

You ran drills twice as hard as the rest of the task force, could outshoot Soap and nearly outshoot Ghost, and could almost match distance with Gaz in running. None of it mattered. Morning after a celebratory visit to a bar close to base, found you sliding into an open spot between Maria and Price in the mess. Bugs sat across from you at mess, eyes blinking heavily at his oatmeal. The man had a hard time waking up when not on missions.

“Hey,” Maria turned to you, her sleek dark brows pulled together. “Where did you go last night? No one saw you make it back to base.”

Soap’s mutter to Ghost shouldn’t have reached you, but due to your poor luck or his, the volume dropped away, so his snark sank into your neck like a guillotine.

“Probably went home with someone.”

You hadn’t. Turned around and everyone was gone. Bugs hadn’t been there that time, but the comment had him glancing from his friend to you. The brown of his eyes reminded you of the dried blood that clung to your collar as your head rolled away from the stump of what you had been. Instead of replying, you scoop up your untouched tray and deliver it to the men working the kitchen. You kept protein drinks and snacks in your room for a reason.

Bugs kept a keener eye on you from then on. You didn’t notice—Maria did.

“Have you seen how Roach watches you? What’s going on between you two?” Maria curled her question down at you from the top bunk. The vine would trap you, sticky as a Sundew.

“Don’t know what you mean. Nothing is up with us, other than the fact he treats me like a human being. But if that’s the qualifier for something going on, the bar must be in hell,” you reply without lifting your eyes from the novel you were reading.

Her disbelieving sound falls on deaf ears; your mind already pulled back to the far-flung stars where what you were had no bearing on what you could be.

Part 5

Masterlist | Taglist

@maraschino-bullet @listen-to-navi @MindsofJade @Infectious_Art @happyfacelol @thelolmomentz @somewhatfantasticalreality @danielle143 @yunchen898 @alli-xsq @nommingonfood @idleviewer @cc-is-here @detectivesparrow @infectious-art

[redsbookshelf]

The wrong girl next door. - Clark Kent

Distant Smallville!Clark Kent x Lover girl!reader

In which... Clark is left to sit with his thoughts after telling you to stop showing up for him. He realizes that he might've just made the biggest mistake of his life, but it was to protect you, and it's not like he's in love with you or anything, right?

Warnings: Angst, use of Y/n, Clark is kind of mean for a bit, but he has a redemption arch, hurt/no comfort (for now), cursing, crying (Is that even a warning lmao), sad clark, written in second person.

series masterlist

Dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

The second you entered your home after walking for about 4 minutes, your father instantly noticed something was up. The smeared mascara, red eyes, stuffy nose, and subtle pout on your lips were all collectively a dead giveaway.

"Baby doll, what's wrong?" Your father was tough man, tall, strong, and grew up on a farm that he came to inherit, but he was a girl dad at heart. Nothing could touch his baby girl without facing the consequences. You knew that.

"Nothing, dad don't worry about it." You force a smile, trying your best to make it buyable. "Y/n-" He begins, "Really dad it's nothing." You turn around quickly, walking towards the safety of your bedroom before he's even able to respond.

The last thing you wanted was for Clark to have to deal with your dad, you weren't mad at him. Not when it was your fault for being too clingy, too bubbly, too loud. You pushed too hard when he was done with you, now you get to deal with the aftermath.

Now, sitting on the floor, after sliding down the door, the breakdown had fully hit you. Crossing your fingers, you're feeling pretty lucky considering your dad hasn't tried to push anymore. But little do you know, your dad is already reaching for the phone.

To say Jonathan was confused when he received that call from your dad is an understatement. After bidding your father goodbye he decided to discuss it with Martha before asking questions.

Meanwhile, in the loft, Clark is pacing back and forth repeatedly. He couldn't stop replaying your words in his head. "...even while you weren't trying to be my person, you still were, you still are.", echos in his head to no end. He can't believe how much you truly care for him, doesn't understand why you think he's so perfect, why you look at him the way you do.

He can't stop seeing the heart broken expression on your sweet face, pouty lips, running tears, pleading eyes, silently begging him to stop breaking your heart, Clark's never felt so guilty in his whole life.

He stops pacing, his heart pounding in his chest realizing what he just did.

He basically collapses on the couch, he stares into nothing, all he can think about is you. Tears start to flow; quiet sobs are released into the air as the final realization settles in. He just pushed you away for good.

Gentle sobs rack throughout his body as he drops his head into his hands, quiet cries being muffled by his palms. He feels the couch shift, the weight of a person gently sitting down next to him. Clark still doesn't move from his position, unable to contain himself.

Jonathan places a gentle hand on his back, feeling his trembling torso beneath calloused fingertips. He lets Clark feel, not saying anything just yet, but he's racking his brain trying to figure out why he walked up to the loft to find his son looking broken and defenseless. Not only that, but so unaware of his surroundings.

When Clark finally lifts his head to half meet his father's gaze, Jonathan softly starts, "What happened, son?" it's not pushy, his tone full of genuine concern.

Clark shakes his head, face twisting in sorrow, "Dad, I think I messed up." Jonathan waits for his son to continue, letting him decide what information he tells him.

"She started bringing up how she missed me, asked me if I was okay, I told her nothing was wrong, and that I've just had a lot on my mind." Clark takes a deep breath, swallowing hard, "but then she just kept pushing, she asked if she did something wrong, I didn't answer, and she told me that it was getting hard to care about me."

Jonathan is looking into his son's tear-filled eyes when he softly asks him, "Well, what did you say?"

"I told her to stop, I told her to stop showing up for me, stop loving me, that I wasn't meant to be her person." The words come flying out of Clarks mouth, tears falling out of his eyes. "I had to; I can't let her get hurt because of me. I can't be the friend she needs, and I can't risk putting her in danger." Your face flashed in his head again, "She was so upset and I just kept going, I didn't mean to hurt her, dad."

His voice breaks at the end of his sentence, dropping his head back down. Jonathan nods understandingly, "Do you want to know what I really think?" he asks. Clark eagerly nods his head, desperate for any way he could stop hurting, stop you from hurting.

"Son, you can't keep pushing people out of your life that care about you because it's easier. You say you did it to protect her, but it sounds a lot like you were just protecting yourself." Jonathan explains the hard truth to Clark with a serious tone; he can't stand to watch his son throw his life away over a fear of what people will think.

Clark sits in what he says for a moment, tears beginning to run dry. "I can't believe I lost her." Clark says under his breath, "Clark, you didn't lose her because of what you are, you lost her because of what you did." Jonathan simply replies.

Clark is internally beating himself up, memories of when you were close begin filling his mind.

Flashback

"Clark, wait for me." You yell while jogging to catch up with him, he wasn't even walking fast, he's just so much taller than you—one step for him was like 2 and a half for you.

"It's not my fault you’re slow" He teases, smiling down at you as you come up beside him. You're walking up to his house from the bus stop, he asked you if you wanted to come over so you could study. Even while agreeing to study, you knew that wasn't going to happen, you would get distracted and before you knew it; he would have to walk you home.

Later that day, your books were spread out on the floor of the loft completely forgotten about, laughter had replaced your conversation about your writing project, a game of uno had replaced your writing assignment.

"Clark! that's cheating you're not allowed to do that." You said between giggles. "I can too, it's allowed I swear" He smiles brightly at you. "Yeah right, what rule book are you using?" You raise an eyebrow at him, "Uhhh, Clark's special edition?" he says like he tried to lie and failed.

Laughter bursts from the two of you, you didn't even know what was so funny, Clark's joke definitely didn't account for how you were both laughing so hard your stomachs hurt—well yours did, if Clarks could, it would, too. It was just the two of you, the presence of each other. It was always like this, like everything was just better when you were around one another. Jokes were funnier, boring errands turned into goofy dares in the middle of town, studying while rarely actually happening even became something you both really enjoyed.

The laughter dies down after a minute, you're leaning against the back of the couch, out of breath. Clark's sweet smile appearing on his face casually, looking at you with nothing but adoration.

You lock eyes, giving him a gentle smile back, "You make me feel like I really belong here, Clark."

That was the day he swore to himself that he would always protect you.

Clark's memory gets cut short by a pang in his chest, knowing he's done just the opposite of that for the last three years, and still, you cared for him so loudly. 'Why couldn't I just return that? she never deserved anything but that.' Echos through his head.

"I don't even know why I care so much, dad. It's always been Lana, hasn't it?" Clark admits, he didn't expect this to feel like it did.

Jonathan sighs, giving Clark a tight-lipped smile while rising to his feet, "That's not for me to tell you, but if you ask me, you've been after the wrong 'girl next door'."

Clark watches as his dad walks down the stairs of the loft while thinking about how he's going to handle this next. "I should just stick my ground and not try to take it back, this is best for us, for her. She'll be safe." "I have to reach out, I have to fix this, she'll never be safer than when I'm right next to her." "I can't ask her to forgive me, especially now that things are going somewhere with Lana, this is exactly what I've been waiting for my whole life, isn't?" His thoughts are running a million miles per hour, arguing with himself, trying to figure out how he's going to function without her.

Three days later...

It's sunny out today, the May showers slowly dissipating, allowing warm beams of bright light to shine through the clouds. The kind of warmth you turn your face to, it feels familiar, comfortable, warm.

Unlike Clark Kent, who broke your heart casually and let you walk out like it meant nothing to him.

If only you knew.

You hadn't heard from Clark at all, but when did you ever? You didn't let that get to you, at least, that's what you told yourself. In reality there was a small ache in your chest, missing the best friend you lost three years ago, but became official Wednesday night.

Lana asked you if you could pick up an extra shift at the Talon, and her being your best friend and your boss, you of course agreed. You needed something to keep your mind busy anyway.

Luckily you scheduled with the same Miss Lana Lang, so you got to work with your best friend. She completely made you forget about Clark, making you laugh, talking about summer plans, wanting you to come over and ride the horses with her next Tuesday before closing shift, and overall helping you remember that life outside of Clark Kent exists, you're your own person. You don't need him.

Right as you and Lana are doing some preclosing things like sweeping in the empty corners of the room, wiping down unoccupied tables, and washing the dishes in the sink, none other than Clark strolls in.

Theres nothing cocky or self-centered about the way he walks in, he actually seems almost mopey. You wonder to yourself about what happened, Clark rarely acts like that infront of people, especially in front of Lana because he of course on his best behavior with her.

You choose to keep at it on the table you're wiping down, pretending you don't notice him. You control your breathing, trying to prevent yourself from getting anxious by his presence. He shouldn't have that much power over you.

Clark takes casual steps towards the counter where Lana is, but what you don't see is the way his eyes follow your every move as he walks, the way his eyebrows are slightly furrowed.

"Hey Clark," You hear Lana's sweet voice ring out through the Talon, slightly tense. She's probably mad at him due to your prior explanations as to why Clark Kent suddenly isn't a topic you're interested in anymore.

"Hey Lana, I, uh," Clark stumbles over his words, his tone sounding unconfident. "I wanted to just pop in and see how everything was going." His back straightening out as the words flow smoother out of his mouth on his second attempt.

Lana gives him one of her signature smiles, which you don't see with your back turned to them as you scrub the table rather harder than needed.

Lana lowers her voice, making sure that you're just out of ear shot. "Why are you really here Clark?"

The question seems to almost catch him off guard, his mouth moving like a fish out of water. He drops his head slightly, shoulders drooping, hands going into his pockets. "She told you." He observes, "She did." Lana confirms with a short nod.

"Look Lana, I know I messed up, but you've got to believe me, I didn't want to hurt her. I didn't have much of a choice." He quietly explains, his eyes pleading for her to understand.

"Clark, when will you learn that nobody is falling for those excuses anymore? No one forced you to say those things to her, no one made you make her feel unimportant, you did those things yourself" Lana emphasizes the word 'you' with a poke to his chest over the counter.

"I'm sorry." Clark's head hung low in shame as the quiet apology escapes. "Yeah, well I'm not the one you should be apologizing to." Lana gives him a tight lip smile and slightly tilts her head sympathetically.

As Clark begins to make his exit, you make the mistake of looking towards him, his eyes feel like they're burning into you, if he had heat vision there would be a hole straight through your head. Little do you know though.

Clark exits the building as you walk over to Lana, avoiding any other accidental looks at each other.

"It's okay to be mad at him, Y/n. He hurt you, you don't have to try to hide that." Lana softly explains as you set the tray with the last of the collected coffee mugs down infront of her. "I'll never hate him for not loving me. But I hate myself for hoping he someday would.” You anxiously bite your lip as you continue, "I think I’ll always love Clark Kent. Even when he never asks me to stay."

Clark's chest feels tight as he hears your confession from outside the Talon, his hyper advanced hearing being a blessing and a curse. He finally realizes for the first time, the extent that your love really goes for him. He's got to get you back.

I hope you guys love it!! Let me know pleaseeeee esp if u want to know anything more about their dynamic or just want to ask about them my inbox is opennnn or if you guys are liking the direction it’s going in so far.

Taglist - @unclearblur

Xoxo - Scar 💋.

[smokebombsandspotlights]

🏁✨ “He’s Number 1.” (F1 Grid x Platonic!Child!Reader) ✨🏁

Genre: Platonic fluff | Slice of Life Characters: Y/N (6 y/o), Lewis Hamilton, Max Verstappen, Ollie Bearman, Kimi Antonelli, Lando Norris, Charles Leclerc, the entire 2025 grid Warnings: None | Just overflowing fluff Word count: 1,236 Summary: Christian Horner's daughter has a favorite Formula 1 driver. It's not who he wants it to be. And unfortunately for Christian, the entire grid finds it hilarious.

Y/N Horner was six years old, owned a red Ferrari bucket hat, and could not be reasoned with.

“Where is he?” she asked, peeking out from behind the Red Bull hospitality tent. Her tone was urgent, high-pitched, and determined, the kind that usually meant Christian Horner was about to get another PR migraine.

Her security detail—who had long since given up trying to herd her like a regular child—just sighed and said, “Lewis is still in the paddock, Miss Y/N.”

“Then I’ll wait here,” she said, arms crossed, toes tapping in light-up sneakers that blinked red with every bounce. “He’s the fastest man alive.”

Christian Horner, overhearing this from behind a Red Bull fridge, looked like he’d just been told she’d committed treason.

“She’s six,” he muttered to Adrian Newey, who was sipping espresso nearby. “What does she even know about Ferrari?”

“She knows enough,” Adrian replied without looking up. “Smart kid.”

Y/N didn’t care for Red Bull. Despite having their logo stitched onto half her wardrobe (her mother’s doing, not hers), and despite being the literal child of the team principal, her allegiance had always belonged to someone else:

Sir Lewis Hamilton.

It had started small. One Grand Prix weekend when she was three, she’d seen him crouch down to tie his own shoes, smile at the fans, and hand a little boy his hat. Three-year-olds are great at imprinting.

It had become tradition. Whenever Lewis walked into a paddock, she walked after him.

The paddock camera operators loved it—footage of Lewis arriving with a tiny, Ferrari-hat-wearing shadow trailing behind him became a beloved cut-in on race mornings.

The broadcasters even had a segment for her now: “Y/N Watch.”

And every time, no matter the race, no matter the country, she’d find her way to the front of the fan zone or the garages and say the same thing to any driver who asked her why she liked Lewis so much:

“He’s Number One.”

“Y/N!” a familiar voice called out.

She turned, beaming. Ollie Bearman jogged over from the Haas garage, helmet under one arm. “Looking for Lewis again?”

She nodded firmly, holding up her autograph book.

“You know, I drive cars too,” Ollie said, playfully offended. “British, just like him!”

She tilted her head, serious. “But you didn’t win seven championships.”

Ollie gasped, clutching his chest in fake heartbreak. “Savage.”

Just then, Kimi Antonelli appeared beside her. He was still new to the grid, but had quickly learned the routine.

“She’s not gonna switch,” he told Ollie, smirking. “She’s loyal.”

Y/N’s eyes lit up as Lewis Hamilton finally stepped into view, calm and composed in his Ferrari fire suit, braids tight, smile soft.

Y/N immediately bolted across the walkway, autograph book in hand, ignoring the chorus of “Good morning, Y/N!” from the other drivers.

“Lewis!” she squeaked.

He turned instantly, grinning. “Hey, little one!”

He crouched down to her level and offered a fist bump, which she returned with all the strength of her tiny arm.

“I made you a bracelet,” she said, holding up a knotted mess of red yarn and shiny beads. It said “#1” in crooked letters.

Lewis blinked. His smile grew so warm it could’ve melted asphalt.

“For me?” he asked.

She nodded. “Because you’re the best.”

Behind them, Max Verstappen fake-choked on his Red Bull.

“Excuse me?” he called. “Y/N, what about me?”

She turned to him and said sweetly, “You already won a lot. Now it’s Lewis’ turn again.”

Max clutched at his heart and staggered backward into Sergio Pérez like he’d been shot.

“Betrayed,” he whispered.

Sergio just patted his shoulder. “Kids are honest, hermano. Can’t fight the truth.”

Christian Horner looked like he was chewing rocks.

“Do you see this?” he hissed at Helmut Marko, gesturing toward his daughter skipping happily beside Lewis, who now had the #1 bracelet looped around his radio wire. “She’s my child.”

“Clearly, fate had other plans,” Helmut replied, shrugging.

Meanwhile, the rest of the grid was slowly gathering around to say hi to Y/N.

Charles Leclerc gave her a wink. “You know, I’m his teammate now. That makes me cool too, right?”

Y/N blinked. “You crash a lot.”

Charles gasped, stunned into silence.

Lando Norris cackled from behind him. “She got you so good.”

Yuki Tsunoda offered her a sticker from his helmet and said, “Lewis is great, but I bet I’m louder.”

She giggled. “You and my daddy shout the same.”

Somewhere, Christian screamed internally.

Oscar Piastri, quiet as ever, handed her a mini McLaren teddy bear.

“McBear,” she named it on the spot, “but Lewis can hold him.”

Hamilton, still kneeling beside her, took the stuffed bear like it was a trophy and gave her a grateful look.

“I don’t know how you do it,” George Russell said, watching with a smile. “You’ve got the entire paddock in the palm of your hand.”

“She’s just honest,” Lewis replied, eyes soft as he looked at her. “That’s all.”

Later that day, just before qualifying, Christian cornered his daughter in the motorhome.

“Sweetheart,” he began carefully, “I love that you like racing. And it’s… great that you admire Lewis. But maybe we could show a little support for your own family’s team?”

She looked at him, very serious. “I don’t like Red Bull.”

Christian flinched.

“Why not?” he asked, trying not to sound personally attacked.

“You said bad things about Lewis one time. And Max was mean to George. And your drinks taste weird.”

Christian put a hand on the table to steady himself.

“Okay,” he said, “but you live in my house.”

She gave him the same look Lewis gave to rival teams on Turn 1.

“You live in my house,” she corrected.

After qualifying (Lewis on the second row), she waited for him by the Ferrari garage.

Max tried one last time. He knelt down beside her and asked, “If I win this weekend, will you wear a Red Bull hat?”

Y/N leaned in, patted his arm, and said with deadly sincerity:

“I only wear red for Lewis.”

Everyone within earshot screamed.

That night, the official F1 TikTok posted a clip titled: “Y/N Horner Outsmarts Max Verstappen & Co. | Cutest Paddock Moment Ever”

It had 6 million views in four hours.

The comments were filled with:

“She’s so real for choosing Lewis 🫡”

“Protect Y/N at all costs 😭❤️”

“Christian must be crying in the Red Bull HQ rn 😂”

“GIRL STANDARDS ‼️”

“Tell her to run for FIA president”

Race day came, and Y/N was once again trailing behind Lewis like a little red Ferrari duckling.

When he climbed into his car, she gave him a tiny thumbs-up from the side.

“She’s my good luck charm,” he told a Sky Sports interviewer.

Christian Horner, watching from the pit wall, muttered, “She’s supposed to be mine.”

Lewis finished P2 that day, spraying champagne and waving up to where Y/N sat on her mother’s shoulders, McBear in hand.

Max finished P1. But when he came around for interviews, Y/N was nowhere to be found.

“Guess she didn’t like the result,” a reporter joked.

Max just sighed. “She’s gonna make me cry, man.”

Later, in the cool-down room, Lewis unzipped his suit and noticed the yarn bracelet still around his comms wire.

He smiled to himself.

“Number one,” he whispered.

And somewhere outside, Y/N was already planning next week’s bracelet.

Red and black.

With beads that spelled: GOAT.

End.

a/n

this was disgustingly cute & i'm not sorry. also, the grid as a bunch of uncles fighting for a toddler’s approval is my new favorite genre 🫶🏽 pls someone draw Y/N in her little bucket hat & send it to me.

#lewis hamilton supremacy #redbull slander #max is a sore loser (affectionate) #f1 fluff #let her cook

[auroracalisto]

clark kent x gn!reader — not even going to title this one because it is just a self-indulgent blurb. reader having a small panic attack over a phone call they had for their job as a journalist and clark finding them in the stairwell. yay. yes. that is all. word count: 839 a/n: he's just so scrumptious, bro. come onnnnn.

It was punishment enough that Clark Kent was your co-worker. The dorky journalist who had somehow managed to weasel his way into your heart without even trying. Literally. He barely had to look your way for you to get flustered and unable to think straight. But of course, the universe just had to grant you with the ability to have panic attacks on a whim, hm?

A bad lead, a terribly construed phone call, and now you were pacing back and forth at the top of the stairwell, hair mused and bottom lip tightly held between your teeth. Blood would soon blossom if you weren't careful, but at the moment, you cared little for it.

Being a journalist was difficult. You had to be tough, had to be able to do what whatever it was to get the story. That's what you had tried, that's what you always tried, and each time you did, it chipped away at your resolve little by little.

Maybe you'd take up your friend's offer and work at the coffee shop she was at. It would be a hell of a lot better than whatever the hell was going on now.

Anything would be better than your racing mind, your inability to calm it, your inability to hear the stairwell door opening and the shuffling of one Clark Kent. His voice drew you from your thoughts almost instantly.

"You alright there?"

Your eyes widened and you looked over your shoulder, quickly turning to face him. Your hands dropped by your sides, breath hitching in your throat.

"Mhm," you supplied, though the sound alone was enough to let Clark know everything he needed to. He made no move to step closer, brows cinched together in that oh-so-familiar way.

"You sure about that?"

Your lips parted to agree, or object, or God, you didn't know because what left your lips definitely wasn't what you wanted to say.

"I'm quitting. I have to quit. I can't keep doing this, I'm—"

Clark stepped forward, a hand raised in a placating manner. "Hey," he began, your name leaving his lips soon after. "Come on. Take a deep breath. What happened?"

Your hands rubbed your face in frustration and you silently cursed yourself, hoping that the product you had on your face hadn't moved in the slightest. You groaned softly and crossed your arms over your chest, taking a breath.

"Bad call," you said, shaking your head. "Bad lead. I thought... well, I..."

"Did they threaten you?"

His voice catches your attention once more. You glanced up at him, frowning deeply.

"No, I... I don't even know why I'm freaking out like this," you admitted. "I just... I called, asked a few questions, and then they went on this long tirade that only ended because I hung up the phone." You huffed and looked away from Clark once more.

"Surely that's not the only thing that's got you so upset," he said. He glanced over at your bag which laid on the concrete floor. In one swift movement, he picked up the bag and looked at you. He threw the strap over his shoulder.

God, the man could have taken everything in your bag, stolen every last dime, and you think you would have let him without complaint.

"No, I... I guess it's just..." What was it? The way that your life was going at the moment, your landlord, your shitty social life. It was as if everything was collapsing all around you and a phone call at work sent you over the edge.

"Come on," Clark said, motioning to the stairs. "There's a café not too far from here that I've been meaning to try. You think you can manage?"

You snorted softly. "Is caffeine the best thing for me right now?"

"They have other things," he said, haphazardly mentioning your favorite beverage in the process. "They have pretty much anything you could think of. May even be a good place to write an article for if you needed to."

You eyed him warily for a moment. "You want to go with me?"

"Wouldn't have asked you if I didn't," he said, a soft smile on his lips.

For all the faults of your job, it sure as hell had some pretty people floating through the reports and keyboards.

"That... sounds nice," you said.

As he began to descend down the stairs, you followed.

"You're not going to tell anyone about my meltdown, are you?" you asked.

He glanced up at you, a slightly admonished look on his handsome face. "Do I look like the kind of guy who would do that?" His smile alone was enough to placate your momentary fears, reminding you why you had taken a liking to the man in the first place.

He was kind to you even when it didn't matter. He had calmed you down with just his presence, even if you had yet to realize it.

Oh, yeah, fourth freakout of the month aside, you were down bad for the man.

[mingiatz]

Y/N is a shy transfer student navigating her first year at a university in Seoul, where everything feels too loud, too fast, and too unfamiliar. Assigned to tutor the campus heartthrob — Mingi, a wildly popular frat boy with a reputation as reckless as his laugh — she expects a headache, not heart flutters. But between chaotic study sessions, frat parties, anime confessions, and quiet snowstorms, something starts to shift. He’s more than just the loud guy in black. And she might be more than just his tutor.

Pairing: Song Mingi (ATEEZ) × Female Reader (Y/N)

Trope(s): College AU, Tutor x Student, Friends-to-Lovers, Opposites Attract, Mutual Pining, Hurt/Comfort, First Love Energy™, Plus-Size!Reader, Soft!Fratboy!Mingi supremacy

Genre: Romantic Comedy | Coming-of-Age | Slow Burn with Payoff | Soft Angst with a Happy Ending

Featuring: All ATEEZ members as part of Mingi’s chaotic frat house, Tender male friendships, Low-key commentary on body image, culture shock, and finding belonging

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

Y/N had never paid much attention to how Mingi moved through campus.

Until now.

Once she started noticing him, it became impossible not to. The way his laugh carried across the courtyard. The way he always wore his hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, exposing forearms she had no business staring at. The way he greeted everyone like they were his favorite person in the world.

Mingi didn’t walk — he strolled, like the world was his to exist in, and people just happened to orbit him.

And they did.

Especially girls.

She’d watched them — from a distance, at first. Swarming him like moths to a flame. Flipping their hair, leaning too close, looping arms through his. Sometimes Mingi laughed it off, sometimes he didn’t notice. But most of the time, he smiled. Friendly. Effortless. Familiar.

Like he was used to being wanted.

And why wouldn’t he be?

He was tall, beautiful in that devastatingly boyish way, funny without trying, and — as if that weren’t enough — sweet. He held doors. Walked girls home. Offered you banana milk without asking if you liked it, like he just knew you did.

And Y/N?

She was just the tutor.

The quiet foreign girl with chubby thighs and a nervous laugh and a brain that sometimes got in the way of her feelings.

She wasn’t one of them.

She probably never would be.

She felt stupid for even feeling a certain way about it.

Because he wasn’t hers.

He was her tutor partner. Her friend. Her occasional ride to campus when it snowed. Nothing more.

Except she’d started to wish it was more.

Which was exactly why it hurt when she heard what she did.

The café was crowded, and her drink was taking forever, so she loitered near the pick-up counter, pretending to scroll on her phone. That’s when two girls sat at the table behind her, voices high and sugar-sweet.

“Did you hear about Mingi and Nari?”

“You mean that night? Yeah. She said he was unreal in bed.”

“God, I bet. He’s huge. Like… everywhere.”

“I swear, if I ever get a chance with him—”

Y/N felt her stomach twist.

She didn’t want to care.

She really didn’t.

But something cold and sour settled deep in her chest and refused to leave.

Their next tutoring session started as usual. Mingi greeted her at the door with a grin and a snack bag already opened.

“Okay, I actually studied this time,” he announced proudly, waving his notebook like a flag.

She gave a small nod and sat down.

He blinked. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure? You look like someone told you ramen got banned.”

“I’m fine, Mingi.”

She opened her notebook and pulled out the textbook, avoiding his gaze.

He tilted his head, obviously trying to read her mood. “Okay, uh… let’s do conditional probability then?”

Ten minutes passed. Mingi tried to keep it light—making stupid jokes about dice and hypothetical vampire attacks—but Y/N didn’t bite. She barely responded, just kept writing, eyes never quite meeting his.

He fidgeted in his seat. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“No, Mingi.”

“Then what—”

“Can you please just take this seriously for once?”

That made him blink.

She snapped her book shut. “I came here to help, not to babysit. If you don’t want to study, just say so.”

He looked completely thrown. “Wait—what? I am trying.”

“Really?” she said, standing up and grabbing her bag. “Because it doesn’t feel like it.”

Mingi stood too, eyes wide. “Y/N, where is this coming from?”

“I don’t know,” she lied, heart pounding. “Maybe I’m just tired.”

She wasn’t even sure if she meant physically or emotionally.

Before he could stop her, she was halfway to the door.

“Wait,” he said, softer now. “Did something happen?”

She paused, hand on the doorknob.

Her back stayed turned. “I just need to go.”

Then she left—too quickly, too embarrassed, too confused to stay and explain the real reason she was unraveling.

Because deep down, she knew it had nothing to do with probability.

She knew she overreacted.

The moment she slammed the door behind her and felt the cold air sting her cheeks, she knew. But it wasn’t until she was curled up on her bed, hoodie still zipped up and backpack half-unpacked on the floor, that the guilt really settled.

It wasn’t his fault.

Mingi hadn’t done anything wrong.

He hadn’t asked to be the center of her emotional chaos. He hadn’t promised anything. He didn’t even know how twisted her thoughts had become.

All she wanted to do was cry into her pillow and forget how completely idiotic she’d been.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

She hesitated before grabbing it.

Mingi [7:18 PM]: Hey. If i did something wrong, i’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I just don’t want you to be mad at me.

Her throat tightened.

He was apologizing.

For what? For being himself? For existing in the exact way that had made her fall for him without permission?

She typed slowly, fingers trembling.

You [7:21 PM]: You didn’t do anything. I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. I just… had a bad day. Please don’t feel bad.

She hit send and then immediately curled up tighter, dragging her blanket up over her face.

“I didn’t come to Korea to fall in love,” she mumbled into her pillow.

Not with a giant, ridiculous, soft-hearted idiot who bought her snacks and waited for her after class and wore hoodies that made her heart race.

“Stupid. So stupid.”

A tear slipped down her cheek. Then another.

“I don’t know what to do with this,” she whispered.

And for the first time since she arrived in Seoul, the loneliness didn’t feel like a foreign ache.

It felt like heartbreak waiting to happen.

Mingi sat on the couch, phone in his lap, eyes glued to the three grey dots that had been blinking on and off for the past two minutes

When the reply finally came in, he read it twice.

She wasn’t mad at him.

But she’d left like she was.

And now he didn’t know what to do with the ache sitting behind his ribs.

“You look like someone kicked your puppy,” Jongho said from across the room.

“I don’t have a puppy.”

“You are the puppy,” Wooyoung added, dropping onto the armrest beside him. “And that pout is tragic.”

San peeked around the doorway. “Did your tutor finally snap and throw a book at you?”

“No,” Mingi mumbled. “She just… left.”

The room went quiet.

Hongjoong looked up from his laptop. “You fought?”

“I don’t think so?” Mingi sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “She just got mad. I mean, not mad-mad, but… upset. I think.”

“Over what?” Seonghwa asked gently.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s not like her,” Yeosang said, frowning.

“Exactly.” Mingi slumped down into the cushions. “I tried to joke like usual. She just looked… done. Like I wasn’t taking her seriously.”

“Were you?” San asked.

“I thought I was!” Mingi groaned. “I don’t get it. Everything was fine until suddenly it wasn’t.”

The others exchanged looks but said nothing.

Mingi stared up at the ceiling.

“I don’t want her to be upset because of me.”

Wooyoung gave him a look. “You like her, huh?”

Mingi didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

They all saw it.

What he didn’t know—what he couldn’t figure out—was if she felt the same.

Mingi wasn’t nervous.

He was just… highly alert. Aware. Emotionally caffeinated.

And okay, maybe a little nervous.

He’d cleaned the living room. Twice. Rearranged the snack tray she always reached for. Worn a hoodie he was 80% sure she once said made him look “weirdly soft.”

Not that he cared.

He definitely didn’t care.

Until the door knocked.

And suddenly he cared a lot.

She stood there with her backpack slung over one shoulder, oversized scarf half-eaten by the wind, and her fingers fidgeting with the zipper on her sleeve.

“Hi,” she said, not quite looking at him.

He smiled. “Hey.”

She stepped inside, pulled her shoes off, and stood awkwardly in the entryway.

Mingi shut the door gently.

Then she turned to face him, cheeks already pink.

“I wanted to say sorry. Again. For… the last time.”

He tilted his head. “You already did.”

“I know, but I wasn’t really being honest. I just… I was having a weird week. And I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair.”

She looked up finally, and the second their eyes met, he forgot how to breathe for a second.

Because she looked so flustered. And so sincere.

And entirely too cute for his brain to handle.

He scratched the back of his neck. “It’s okay. Really.”

She gave a tiny smile. “Still. I’m sorry.”

Mingi smiled back. “You’re forgiven. But only if you help me understand how the hell standard deviation works because I swear it’s made up.”

Her laughter broke the tension like a window opening.

And for the first time in days, things felt okay again.

The session started like usual. Her voice soft but steady as she explained concepts. His handwriting messy as ever. But there was something different in the air this time.

A pause that lingered too long.

A brush of fingers when they reached for the same pen.

A glance that held a beat too much meaning.

And Mingi noticed.

Every bit of it.

It happened during a pause. She leaned over to point something out in his notes, one hand braced beside his on the table. Their shoulders touched. Just lightly.

But it sent a shiver down his spine.

He turned toward her without thinking.

And she turned at the same time.

Their faces were close. Too close.

Y/N froze, eyes wide, her breath brushing his lips.

Mingi’s heart thudded loud in his chest.

He could kiss her. Right now.

He wanted to.

But—

He pulled back.

Too fast. Too sharp.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to—uh—yeah.”

She blinked. “It’s okay.”

“Right. Cool. Okay.”

He cleared his throat, stood up, and walked to the other side of the room like he needed air even though he was indoors.

Think, idiot. Say something normal.

“Oh!” he said, turning back. “We’re having another party this weekend. You should come.”

She looked surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, you don’t have to, obviously. But you’re invited. Officially. Like, capital ‘I’ Invited.”

Her lips twitched like she was trying not to smile. “Okay. Maybe.”

“Cool. Yeah. Cool.”

Silence.

Then she returned to the notes, flipping to the next page.

And Mingi sat back down, heart still hammering, trying to figure out if he was relieved or disappointed.

Mingi wasn’t sure when her leaving started to feel like a deadline.

Maybe it was the way she’d said it — offhand, like a reminder while packing her notes after one of their study sessions.

“Next week’s our last official meeting, huh?”

“What?”

“The program ends next Friday.”

She’d said it so casually.

Like it wasn’t about to knock the wind out of him.

He saw her three more times that week.

Each time, she showed up with her laptop, her scribbled notes, and that same scarf she always tugged tighter when she got nervous. Each time, they sat closer. Laughed more. And every time she leaned over to explain something, Mingi’s brain short-circuited a little more.

He tried to play it cool.

He really did.

But it was like… everything about her had become his favorite detail.

The way she hummed softly when reading. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when concentrating. How she always called him “Mingi” in this specific tone when he made a bad joke, like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to scold him or laugh.

She hadn’t brought up the “end of the program” again.

But Mingi couldn’t stop thinking about it.

By the time the night of the party rolled around, he was a mess of nerves disguised in cologne and a slightly-too-tight black shirt.

The music was already pounding. The main room was full. Someone had brought a fog machine again, which was a terrible idea but now a tradition. Hongjoong was DJing. San was dancing like he had no bones. Jongho was judging everyone with a drink in hand.

And Mingi?

Mingi was staring at the door.

Waiting.

“She’s not here yet?” Seonghwa asked, appearing at his side.

“No.”

Seonghwa handed him a drink. “You’ve been staring at the door for twenty minutes.”

Mingi took the cup but didn’t sip. “I invited her.”

“I figured.”

“I don’t know if she’ll come.”

Seonghwa gave him a look. “You know this isn’t just about the party.”

Mingi sighed, rubbing his thumb over the rim of the cup. “She said the program ends next week.”

“It does.”

“She hasn’t said anything about seeing each other after that.”

“Have you?”

“No.”

“Maybe you should.”

Mingi looked at him. “I think I like her.”

Seonghwa smirked. “You think?”

“I—” Mingi huffed. “Okay. I do. I like her. A lot.”

“And?”

“I don’t know. I want to tell her. But I don’t want to ruin it. What if I tell her, and she ghosts me? Or feels weird? Or—”

“Or,” Seonghwa said gently, “what if she’s just waiting for you to say something first?”

Mingi didn’t answer.

He just looked back at the door.

And hoped.

She’d told herself it was nothing.

That it would pass.

That once the tutoring program ended, everything would go back to normal.

Except… she didn’t want it to.

Mingi had become something like gravity in her life. Constant, pulling her in no matter how much she tried to resist it. His smile, his ridiculous jokes, the way he always noticed when she was off — it had all tangled around her so gently she hadn’t even realized she was caught.

And now?

She couldn’t untangle herself if she tried.

But he would never like her like that.

Not when he could have anyone. And most days, it looked like he already did. Girls were always around him, laughing a little too loud, leaning in a little too close. She’d seen him smile at them, chat like it was easy. He was warm, magnetic, and just so much—and she was…

Just her.

Too quiet. Too foreign. Too soft in places Korea didn’t like.

And still, she’d fallen for him.

Hard.

So she made herself a deal.

She would go to the party.

Tell him how she felt.

And then walk away.

It would be over soon anyway.

One more study session. One last goodbye.

Better to just say it now — before she chickened out.

Getting ready took too long.

She tried on four outfits. All of them ended up in a pile on her bed. She settled on a soft sweater that hugged her figure and a flowy skirt that hit mid-thigh. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t flashy. But it was her. And it felt cute.

That was enough.

She fixed her hair. Put on lip gloss. Took a deep breath in the mirror and muttered, “Don’t be a coward.”

Then she left.

The frat house was buzzing when she arrived. Lights glowing through the windows. Music pulsing underfoot. She almost turned around twice before reaching the steps.

But she didn’t.

And the second she stepped inside, the warmth of the party hit her — noise, chatter, movement.

And then—

“Mingi.”

He saw her immediately.

His face lit up like someone flipped a switch.

She couldn’t help the way her breath caught.

Because he didn’t just smile — he beamed.

And then he started walking toward her, weaving through the crowd like she was the only person in the room.

Her heart flipped.

It did a full somersault when she realized his eyes were locked on hers the entire way. Like he hadn’t seen anyone else.

And God—his shirt.

Tight black cotton that clung to his chest and arms like it was barely holding on. His hair slightly messy, like he’d run his hands through it too many times.

She felt butterflies explode in her stomach, fluttering so violently it made her want to bolt.

But she stayed.

He stopped in front of her, grinning like she’d just made his whole night.

“You came.”

“You invited me.”

“Yeah,” he said, eyes softening. “But I wasn’t sure you would.”

“I almost didn’t,” she admitted.

“I’m glad you did.”

She bit her lip.

His eyes flicked there, just for a second.

And suddenly the music was too loud. The lights too dim. And her confession — the one she’d been practicing in her head for days — felt like it was caught in her throat.

But this was it.

She just had to say it.

One time.

And then she’d let it go.

She’d meant to tell him.

She really had.

But then she saw his smile — that brilliant, boyish smile that lit up the whole damn room — and her brain completely short-circuited.

Just like that, every practiced line, every late-night drafted version of her confession vanished.

And all she could do was smile back.

Because it hit her, in that moment — something so terrifyingly soft:

If this is the last time, I just want to enjoy it.

So she didn’t say anything.

Didn’t confess.

Didn’t ruin it.

Instead, she let herself stand there, soaking in the way he looked at her like she belonged in the crowd. Like she was worth noticing in a room full of prettier, louder, thinner girls. Like she was the only one who mattered.

And for now… that was enough.

God, she looked good.

Cute, obviously. She was always cute.

But tonight? There was something else. Something different. The skirt, the soft sweater, the way her hair curled around her cheeks, slightly flushed from the cold — it short-circuited his brain, too.

He wanted to stare forever.

But instead, he tried to act normal. Which, apparently, meant becoming a one-man comfort committee.

“Are you warm enough?”

“You want a drink? I’ll get it.”

“Don’t stand here. Come sit. You want to sit? C’mon, you’ll like the couch.”

She laughed and let herself be guided to the corner sofa, nestled safely between two armchairs. San gave Mingi a knowing look. Mingi ignored him.

“I’ll be right back,” he said to her, and she nodded with a soft smile that absolutely murdered him on the spot.

He weaved through the crowd toward the drink table, heart thudding, brain trying to remember how to mix anything at all. He was still deciding between soda and something stronger when a girl stepped up beside him.

“Hey, Mingi.”

He glanced over. Short skirt. Long lashes. Familiar face from his sociology class, maybe.

“Oh. Hey.”

“You’re looking good tonight.”

He offered a polite smile. “Thanks. You too.”

She twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “I heard you’re single.”

Mingi blinked. “Um. I guess?”

“You guess?”

He laughed awkwardly. “I’m not really… dating right now.”

“Right,” she said, smile widening. “Just hanging out.”

Before he could reply, she picked up two cups and followed him back toward the sofa.

He sat down next to Y/N and handed her the drink he’d made. The other girl dropped onto the other side of him, way too close, practically draping herself across the cushions.

“So who’s this?” she asked, looking at Y/N with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Y/N stiffened.

Mingi opened his mouth to introduce her, but Y/N beat him to it.

“Just a friend,” she said quickly, taking a small sip of her drink.

“Oh,” the girl replied, voice syrupy. “That’s cute.”

Mingi frowned.

Something about her tone rubbed him the wrong way.

But then he heard San yell something about spilled wine and napkins.

“I’ll be right back,” Mingi said, getting up from the couch. “Someone spilled something on the table—I’ll grab some napkins before it spreads.”

Y/N gave him a small nod, wrapping both hands around her drink as she watched him disappear into the kitchen.

The girl beside her shifted, angling her body toward Y/N.

“You’re cute,” she said, smiling. “Really brave, coming here.”

Y/N blinked. “…Thanks?”

The girl sipped her drink and leaned in a little closer, voice soft but sharp.

“I mean, it’s kind of sweet. You must really believe in fairytales or something.”

Y/N’s stomach turned.

The girl tilted her head, feigning innocence. “But let’s be real. Guys like Mingi don’t usually go for girls like you.”

Before Y/N could respond—or crumble—another voice cut through.

“Excuse me?” Yeosang.

He’d walked past just in time to catch it. His tone was deceptively calm, but his eyes were cold.

“I didn’t mean it like—” the girl began.

“You meant it exactly like that,” he snapped.

Seonghwa appeared a moment later, his gaze sweeping over the scene with quiet understanding.

“I think you should go,” he said to the girl, voice even but laced with finality.

The girl faltered, then rolled her eyes and walked off, heels clicking against the floor.

Yeosang turned to Y/N. “You okay?”

Y/N stared at her drink.

“She’s right,” she said quietly. “It’s fine.”

“Y/N—” Seonghwa started.

“She’s right,” Y/N repeated, standing slowly. “Mingi would never look at someone like me like that. It’s not a big deal. I should go.”

Yeosang reached out, but she was already pulling away.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “But I’m fine.”

Neither of them believed her.

And neither of them tried to stop her as she walked out the front door and into the cold, her chest heavier than the night air.

Mingi returned to the sofa with a handful of napkins, ready to wipe up the spill and settle back into whatever this was becoming between him and Y/N.

But she wasn’t there.

Instead, the flirty girl from earlier was sprawled in her spot, twirling her hair and smirking up at him.

He blinked. “Where’d Y/N go?”

The girl shrugged, her smile too smug. “No idea. Guess she didn’t feel like competing.”

Mingi’s stomach dropped. “What?”

“You know,” she said, inching closer. “It’s kinda cute that you let her hang around. Makes you look nice.”

He stepped back slightly. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Mingi.” She laughed, like it was all some joke. “Are you really into chubby little gremlins like that? Or is this some weird frat charity thing?”

Everything in him went quiet.

Dead quiet.

And then something in his chest snapped.

“Get the fuck away from me.”

The girl blinked, startled. “Excuse me?”

He didn’t repeat it. Just glared, jaw tight, eyes hard.

Her smirk wavered. “Wow. Over her?”

Mingi’s gaze cut to the corner of the couch — and his heart dropped lower.

Y/N’s coat was still there.

She left without it.

Without him.

Shit.

He shoved the napkins into the girl’s hands without another word, snatched the coat, and turned on his heel.

Yeosang spotted him in the hall. “You okay?”

“Did she say anything to Y/N?”

Yeosang hesitated. “…Yeah.”

“What did she say?”

Yeosang’s jaw clenched. “Enough.”

Mingi didn’t wait for more.

He was already out the door.

The night air hit him like a slap — sharp and biting. He scanned the street, heart racing, eyes flicking between shadowed corners and passing figures.

Nothing.

He turned the corner.

Still nothing.

Another street. Then another.

And then—

There.

A block ahead, just past the intersection.

Her shoulders were hunched. Her steps slow. Her arms wrapped tightly around herself, clearly freezing.

And coatless.

Mingi took off running.

“Y/N!”

She didn’t turn.

“Y/N!”

This time she paused — just enough for him to catch up.

Panting, breath misting in the air, he reached out and gently caught her arm.

“You forgot your coat,” he said, holding it out like a peace offering.

She stared at him, wide-eyed, cheeks red from wind and something else.

“Mingi—”

“You left without saying anything.”

Her expression crumpled.

He held out the coat again. “You’re freezing.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

She didn’t take it, so he carefully stepped closer and wrapped it around her shoulders himself.

“Why did you leave?” he asked softly.

She looked away. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.“

He told her it mattered.

Those words echoed in her chest like a heartbeat she didn’t know was hers.

“It matters to me.”

It shouldn't have meant so much. But it did.

Because for a second—just one, stupid second—it made her think there was a chance. That maybe all the moments she thought she imagined between them were real.

That maybe she wasn’t crazy.

That maybe Mingi… liked her.

But reality was faster than hope.

And sharper.

She looked away before he could see too much. Before her face betrayed the small, desperate flicker in her chest that was already trying to grow.

“Thanks,” she mumbled. “For bringing me my coat.”

He didn’t say anything.

She pulled the fabric tighter around herself and took a step back. “You should probably get back to your party. Your… friend is probably waiting.”

“Friend?”

“The girl. The one who said—” She cut herself off, biting the inside of her cheek. “Never mind.”

She turned to go.

But his voice caught her mid-step.

“I don’t want to go back if you’re not there.”

She froze.

Wind tugged at the hem of her coat. Her fingers clenched the fabric tighter.

“Y/N.”

She turned her head slightly, just enough to see him. His breath was misting in the air. His brows were pulled together, his lips slightly parted like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

“I like spending time with you,” he said. “It’s not fun if you’re not there.”

And that—

That broke her.

Because he didn’t sound like he was just trying to make her feel better.

He sounded like he meant it.

Her shoulders dropped.

She turned fully, tears stinging at her eyes, throat closing before she could stop it.

“Mingi,” she said quietly, voice cracking. “Don’t say things like that.”

He blinked. “Why not?”

“Because…” She swallowed. “Because it makes me hopeful.”

He stepped closer.

She took a small step back.

“It makes me think you might like me too,” she whispered. “And I know that’s stupid, okay? I know you don’t. But when you say stuff like that…”

She pressed a hand over her heart like it could hold it together.

“…it hurts.”

And for the first time since they met, she let herself look at him with everything she was feeling written all over her face.

Raw. Vulnerable. Exposed.

If he didn’t feel the same, she’d survive.

But she couldn’t keep pretending it didn’t hurt when he said things that made her feel like maybe—just maybe—he did.

He hadn’t expected her to say it.

Not like that. Not with that soft, breaking voice. Not with those wide, watery eyes that looked like she was bracing for pain.

“Because it makes me hopeful… it makes me think you might like me too…”

She looked like she was waiting for a rejection.

Like she was already trying to swallow it.

And Mingi—

Mingi could barely breathe.

Because all this time, he’d been the one holding it in. Hiding it in jokes. Burying it under study notes and casual texts. Letting himself believe she couldn’t possibly feel the same.

But she did.

She liked him.

And she thought it was stupid.

His heart stuttered.

He opened his mouth—tried to form words—but nothing came out fast enough.

And then—

“It’s okay,” she said, voice quieter now, as she turned away. “I’ll see you next Friday. For the last session.”

She started walking.

Like nothing had happened.

Like she hadn’t just cracked her chest open in front of him and offered her heart on trembling hands.

Mingi blinked once—twice—

Then lunged after her.

“Y/N, wait!”

She stopped, but didn’t turn around.

He caught up to her, stepping in front of her this time. Blocking her path, heart pounding so loud he could barely hear his own voice.

“I like you,” he said.

She froze.

Mingi took a breath. Then another.

“I like you,” he repeated, more solidly this time. “I’ve liked you for months.”

Her eyes lifted, lips parted, stunned.

“I just…” He laughed once, breathless. “I didn’t think you felt the same. I thought I was just… the guy you had to tutor. Or maybe just a friend.”

“You’re not just anything,” she whispered.

Mingi stepped closer, gently brushing her hair back from her face.

“I thought you were too good for me,” he said. “Like, way out of my league.”

She let out a disbelieving breath. “You’re Mingi.”

“Exactly,” he grinned. “I’m a disaster.”

She laughed, half a sob caught in the sound, and Mingi felt the whole world shift around them.

He reached for her hand—slowly, carefully—and she let him.

And for a moment, they just stood there.

Breathing in the same cold air. Hearts exposed. Futures uncertain.

But hands finally held.

Together.

He didn’t let go of her hand.

Not when she looked at him like he was someone she’d only just started to see.

Not when the air between them buzzed with something fragile and new.

And especially not when she gave his fingers the slightest squeeze back.

Mingi smiled, cheeks flushed, heart so full it felt like it could lift him off the ground.

“Let me walk you home,” he said, still holding her hand. “It’s freezing.”

She nodded silently, still a little dazed, like she was walking in a dream.

They started moving slowly through the quiet street, her hand tucked warm in his, and Mingi felt like everything had shifted — like he wasn’t just some guy anymore. Like she wasn’t just some girl he thought about more than he should’ve.

Like this was real now.

A few minutes passed in silence — peaceful, but full of unspoken things. He could tell she was still sorting through what just happened.

Then, suddenly, she spoke.

“Why?”

Mingi glanced at her. “Hm?”

She didn’t look at him when she asked, “Why would you fall for someone like me?”

He stopped walking.

“Wait—what?”

She finally turned, expression soft but uncertain, like she wasn’t trying to fish for compliments — like she truly didn’t get it.

And that broke him a little.

“What do you mean?” he asked gently.

“I just…” she trailed off, shrugging a little. “I don’t look like the girls you usually talk to. I’m not confident like them, or cool, or… I don’t know. I’m not really—”

“Stop.”

Mingi’s voice was quiet but firm. His thumb brushed gently along her knuckles.

“I don’t think you get it,” he said, looking straight at her. “I didn’t fall for you despite who you are. I fell for you because of it.”

She blinked.

“I like that you’re honest,” he said. “That you’re thoughtful. That you actually listen when people talk.”

He took a step closer, still holding her hand.

“I like that you’re funny — not loud funny, but the kind of funny that sneaks up on people and catches them off guard. Like that time you roasted me in statistics and didn’t even realize it.”

She smiled a little at that.

“I like how you get all focused when you’re explaining something — your eyebrows scrunch, and you wave your hands around like you’re conducting a damn orchestra.”

She laughed, surprised, and that sound wrecked him in the best way.

“I like your laugh,” he said. “And the way you look when you’re trying not to.”

Her smile started to fade — not in a bad way, but like it was melting into something softer. Something vulnerable.

“And I like your hair,” he added, quieter now. “It always looks soft. I think about touching it more than I should.”

Her breath caught.

“I like how smart you are. I like how you make me want to be smarter.”

He swallowed, heart thudding.

“And I like how you make me feel.”

She was staring at him now. Eyes wide, lips parted, barely breathing.

“You make me feel like…” He let out a small, almost helpless laugh. “Like I’m not just some guy in a frat house.”

Y/N looked at him like he was a sunrise.

Like she didn’t know what to do with any of this.

So Mingi did the only thing his heart could manage.

He leaned in.

And kissed her.

Soft. Careful. Gentle.

Her lips were warm. She tasted like the lingering hint of cherry soda. She didn’t move for a second — frozen in shock.

Then she kissed him back.

Just once.

And it was perfect.

Their lips parted, but Mingi didn’t move far.

He kept her close — so close their foreheads touched, warm breath mingling in the winter air.

His hand gently brushed her cheek, thumb tracing the edge like it was the most precious thing he’d ever touched.

She looked at him like she still couldn’t believe this was real.

So he told her again.

Softly. Honestly. Everything that mattered.

“I like the way you see the world,” he whispered, eyes half-lidded. “You notice things other people don’t. Like how you always remember when one of the guys says they’ve got a test coming up… or how you bring snacks without being asked.”

His fingers moved gently, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

“I like how you treat people. Even when they don’t deserve it.”

Her breath hitched.

“I like the way you talk about home. You always sound like you miss it, but like you’re proud too.”

She blinked quickly, and he saw it — the shimmer in her eyes. The way her chest rose like she was holding something in.

“And I like your voice,” he said. “Especially when you’re sleepy. You don’t even know how soft it gets.”

She let out a tiny laugh, barely there.

Mingi smiled.

“I could keep going,” he murmured. “I will, if you let me.”

She nodded.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Keep going.”

And he did.

Right there under the streetlight, hand on her cheek, forehead resting against hers — he gave her every reason he’d fallen, one after another.

Because she deserved to know.

Because he’d been holding it in for too long.

And because finally — finally — she believed him.

They didn’t say much on the walk back.

Mingi kept her hand in his the whole time, humming a little under his breath, smiling like a fool.

Y/N couldn’t stop glancing at him from the corner of her eye. He was tall and broad and so completely there, walking beside her like they’d done this a thousand times.

When they reached her building, she hesitated outside the door, thumb brushing over her keys.

“You wanna come up?” she asked softly, peeking up at him through her lashes.

Mingi’s head shot up like a puppy hearing a treat bag crinkle. “Really?”

She nodded.

His grin grew impossibly wide. “Only if I get to cuddle you to death.”

Y/N laughed — loud and unfiltered — and that only made Mingi look more pleased with himself.

“Come on, dork,” she said, unlocking the door.

Her place was small but warm — a mix of old posters, fairy lights, and a faint vanilla scent she hoped he liked.

“Here,” she said, tugging a drawer open. “These should fit you.”

She handed him a black oversized tee and a pair of grey joggers that used to belong to her cousin.

Without hesitation, Mingi peeled his hoodie off, then his shirt.

Right there. In her room.

Y/N blinked.

And blinked again.

Oh.

He was built.

Muscles under soft skin, broad shoulders, that dip where his waist narrowed — and absolutely zero shame.

He noticed her staring and smirked a little. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she squeaked, turning around way too fast. “Totally fine. Not combusting at all.”

Mingi chuckled behind her, clearly enjoying himself.

“Okay,” he said after pulling the shirt on. “Now come here.”

They curled up on her bed, under the fluffiest blanket she owned. Mingi clicked through his phone and pulled up a K-drama.

“This one’s kind of ridiculous,” he said. “But I love it.”

Y/N didn’t really care what they watched.

All she could think about was how warm his arms felt around her, how steady his breathing was behind her ear, how his hand lazily traced circles against her side.

“You’re so soft,” he murmured.

She made a sound — half laugh, half flustered whimper — and tried to hide her face in the blanket.

“No hiding,” Mingi said, nuzzling into her hair. “You’re mine now.”

Her heart stuttered.

He kissed her temple.

Then her cheek.

Then the tip of her nose.

And then — slowly, sweetly — her lips again.

He kept kissing her between sentences like he couldn’t help himself.

“I like you so much.”

Kiss

“I still can’t believe you like me back.”

Kiss

“You have no idea what you’ve done to me.”

Kiss

“Mingi,” she whispered, smiling too much to stop it.

He tucked her closer to his chest, resting his chin on top of her head.

They stayed like that, tangled and quiet, the drama flickering in the background and neither of them really paying attention.

Then, just as her eyes started to drift shut, she heard his voice again — softer, sleepier now.

“Hey…”

“Mm?”

“…Does this mean you’re my girlfriend now?”

Y/N opened her eyes slowly, turning her head enough to look at him.

His lashes were fluttering, cheeks pink, expression hopeful and half-asleep.

She smiled.

“I’d love that,” she whispered.

Mingi let out a long, content sigh, tightened his hold around her, and buried his nose into her hair.

And just like that—

They fell asleep.

Wrapped in each other.

Warm.

Happy.

Home.

Mingi didn’t want to move.

Sunlight was starting to peek through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room, and Y/N was still curled into him, one arm tucked under her cheek, the other slung across his waist. Her breathing was slow and steady, lashes fluttering just slightly like she was deep in a dream.

And Mingi just… watched.

Not in a creepy way. In a can’t-believe-this-is-real way.

Her bed smelled like vanilla and shampoo and something sweet that made him never want to leave.

But his phone buzzed.

He groaned and reached over carefully without waking her, squinting at the screen.

Joongie 💢 “Frat cleanup at 10. If you don’t show, it’s toilet duty for a week.”

Mingi scowled and tossed the phone gently onto the nightstand.

No way was he leaving without saying goodbye.

Instead, he settled back down next to her, wrapping his arm more tightly around her middle. She shifted slightly, nestling even closer, her nose brushing his collarbone.

And then — softly — she stirred.

“Mingi?” she mumbled.

He smiled and brushed her hair back from her face. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

She blinked at him, bleary-eyed and adorable. “You’re still here.”

“Of course I’m still here.” He leaned down to kiss her forehead. “You think I’d sneak out on my girlfriend the morning after our first cuddle marathon?”

She let out a little laugh. “Fair point.”

“I have to head back soon,” he said reluctantly. “The guys are doing a cleaning thing, and apparently my presence is mandatory if I want to avoid toilet duty.”

“Ew,” she said, scrunching her nose. “Okay, yeah, go.”

He laughed, then cupped her cheek gently, kissing her once — and then again, slower the second time.

“I had a really good night,” he said.

Y/N smiled sleepily. “Me too.”

“Like… stupidly good.”

“You’re just saying that because I let you pick the drama.”

“Okay, that too,” he admitted, grinning. “But mostly because of you.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she tucked her face against his chest to hide it.

“I’ll text you when I’m back?” he asked.

She nodded into his shirt. “You better.”

He gave her one last kiss — soft, lingering, pressed against the corner of her mouth — then gently slid out of bed and got dressed.

She stayed curled under the blanket, watching him with a fond smile, and when he looked back at her one last time from the door, she whispered, “Bye, boyfriend.”

Mingi’s heart nearly exploded.

“Bye, girlfriend.”

The frat house smelled like cleaning spray and regret by the time he got back. Mingi floated through the front door with the kind of dopey grin that made Yeosang pause mid-window-wipe.

“Why do you look like you just won the lottery and got kissed by Santa?” he asked flatly.

San turned off the vacuum. “Wait, what did I miss?”

Jongho squinted at him. “You didn’t come home last night.”

Mingi dropped his bag near the stairs and stretched, still glowing. “Yeah.”

Seonghwa emerged from the kitchen, towel over his shoulder. “So? You staying at Y/N’s or something?”

Mingi ran a hand through his hair and bit back a grin.

“She’s my girlfriend now.”

Dead silence.

Then—

“WHAT?!”

Busan was loud, bright, and full of salt-scented air.

Wooyoung had somehow convinced everyone to rent a beach house just outside the city, and it had turned into a mini vacation: full of sand, grilled meat, sunscreen wars, and too much iced coffee.

Y/N sat under a wide umbrella on the beach, her feet buried in the warm sand and a book open in her lap. She hadn’t read a single word.

Because Mingi was currently ten feet away, tossing a frisbee with San and Yeosang, shirtless and laughing in the sunshine.

And it was ridiculous how he still made her heart flip.

“Hey.”

She looked up and saw Mingi jogging toward her, cheeks flushed and hair damp with sweat.

He dropped beside her on the towel, breathless and smiling. “You’re not even watching me.”

“I was absolutely watching you,” she said, closing the book. “I just… also like pretending I’m being productive.”

He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I passed.”

Y/N blinked. “Wait, what?”

He grinned. “I just checked my final grades. I passed statistics.”

She squealed and threw her arms around him. “Mingi! That’s amazing!”

“Right?!”

“You were so sure you bombed the final!”

“I was sure I bombed the final.”

She laughed and kissed his temple. “I’m so proud of you.”

He pulled back, eyes sparkling. “You’re the reason I passed, you know.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please. I helped. You’re the one who learned it.”

“I would’ve dropped out crying if not for you,” he insisted, tugging her closer until she was practically in his lap.

They stayed like that — wrapped in each other, sun and breeze wrapping around them — until Mingi spoke again.

“I’m glad we came here,” he said, voice softer now. “I feel like I can actually breathe.”

She looked at him, surprised by the shift in tone.

“You okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Just… this past semester sucked, and now it doesn’t. Because you’re here. And I passed. And now I get to kiss my girlfriend in Busan under an umbrella while Wooyoung yells at Jongho for cheating at beach volleyball.”

As if on cue, a loud “You LIED, you absolute menace!” echoed from the court.

Y/N snorted.

Mingi laughed and rested his forehead against hers. “Thanks for believing in me.”

“Always.”

He kissed her then — sweet and warm, tasting like sunblock and soda, full of everything summer was supposed to feel like.

And for a few moments, the world was just them.

The beach house was quiet at night.

The others had trickled off to bed after hours of laughter, s’mores over the grill, and Yeosang’s surprisingly intense card game tournament.

Y/N stepped outside onto the back porch, blanket wrapped around her shoulders, the ocean breeze brushing against her skin. The sound of the waves was soft now — not loud or crashing, just steady.

A door creaked open behind her.

She smiled before even turning around.

“You always find the quiet spots,” Mingi said, padding toward her in his sweats and hoodie.

She held the blanket open wordlessly, and he stepped right into it, curling around her like he’d always belonged there.

They stood in silence for a moment, his chin resting on her shoulder, his arms warm around her waist.

“I was thinking about our first tutoring session,” she said eventually. “You kept asking if you could nap between chapters.”

He huffed a laugh. “You called me a statistical lost cause.”

“You were.”

“I still passed though.”

She leaned back into him. “You did.”

Mingi’s voice lowered, gentler now. “Do you ever think about what would’ve happened if we hadn’t met?”

She was quiet for a second.

“I think I still would’ve learned to love Seoul,” she said, honestly. “But I don’t think I would’ve laughed as much. Or felt this safe.”

He kissed the top of her head.

“I don’t know what I would’ve done,” he admitted. “You slowed me down. In the best way.”

She turned in his arms so they were face to face.

Mingi looked at her like she was the best thing he’d ever been given.

“You made me believe I could actually finish something,” he whispered. “And not just a class.”

She smiled, heart full.

“Next semester’s gonna be insane,” she said.

“Tell me about it.”

“But I’m not as scared anymore.”

He took her hands, lacing their fingers together. “You shouldn’t be. You’re amazing.”

“So are you,” she replied.

Mingi leaned in, pressed his lips to hers in a kiss that was less about fireworks and more about anchoring — grounding. Familiar. Home.

When they pulled back, he didn’t let go.

“I don’t know what’s gonna happen next year, or the one after that,” he said, voice low. “But if you’re in it, I already know it’s gonna be good.”

Y/N blinked fast.

“Don’t make me cry on a porch like a romcom extra,” she said, laughing softly.

Mingi smiled. “Too late.”

They stood there for a while longer, wrapped in the blanket, listening to the ocean — to the quiet beating of something that felt a lot like forever.

Not flashy.

Not perfect.

But real.

And that was more than enough.

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

[xoxonamgyu]

cheaters

pairing: Thanos (subong) x reader - namgyu x reader

Warnings: cheating on both ends, swears, fluff, use of y/n

summary: your boyfriend thanos has cheated on you countless of times so you go to your bestfriend namgyu for comfort which leads to more.

A/N: I needed to write this idk

————————————————————————

it’s late at night and your dozing off in bed until you hear the door click

Subong is home

you stirr up and get out of bed to go go see him

“hi babe!” You smile at him

“hey.”

you walk closer to him to kiss his cheek and you smell something

another girls perfume.

you also see something on his neck.

a goddamn hickey.

he’s done this before but you thought he changed.

he said he did.

He lied to you again.

“really subong?”

“hm?”

“you asshole.”

“what now y/n.”

“Why are you pretending you don’t know!”

“cause I don’t?”

“YOU FUCKING CHEATED ON ME AGAIN?!”

“oh.”

“Oh? That’s all you have to say?”

“Uhm yeah?”

“fuck you.”

“whatever y/n im tired.” He starts to walk away

“tired from cheating on me with girls at the club.”

“shut the fuck up.”

you start to tear up

you grab you phone and your keys and put your shoes on and go to your car

you couldn’t stay there

not with him

The man you thought you loved

your hands are shaking as you dial the number of your bestfriend namgyu

he picks up instantly

“Y/n?”

“n-namgyu.” your voice is shaky

“what’s wrong?”

“subong c-cheated on me again.”

“are you fucking kidding me?”

“n-no.”

“Where are you. are you still at the house?”

“no I’m in my car. I couldn’t be there with him anymore.”

“y/n come over here.”

“okay.”

you hang up and start your car

you stopped crying but you started to again.

you shouldn’t care this much

you know how he is

but this time it hit like a brick.

your heart broke.

you arrive to namgyus apartment and hes waiting outside for you.

you get out of your car and he runs to you

“Y/n!”

you stop walking and he hugs you tight

you start crying again

“I’m sorry y/n, cmon let’s go inside”

you guys walk inside and you go sit on the couch

he sits next to you

“what do you need y/n?”

you don’t answer you just lean your head on his shoulder

“do you want to watch a show?”

you nod your head

he grabs the remote and puts a random show on

he puts his hand on your thigh

you look up at him

“oh I’m sorry.” He takes his hand off

you smile at him

“no it’s okay.” You take his hand and put it back

he smiles back at you

you knew that was wrong but did you care?

no.

su bong didn’t when he kissed other girls.

it’s not like you were kissing namgyu.

you kinda wish you were.

*snap out of it y/n.* you think to yourself

half way through the movie you feel namgyu looking at you

you look up and he is

“are you staring at me?”

“maybe.”

you giggle

you guys lock eyes and you feel a pull

are you really about to do this?

he leans in and you do the same

he grabs your jaw and you kiss

namgyu hasn’t felt for someone like this before he’s hooked up with random girls when he was working at the club but he didn’t care for them

he cared about you.

he puts his hands on your waist and lies on the couch and holds you on top of him never breaking the kiss

in the middle of the kiss your phone rings

You pull away from the kiss and lift your head to see your phone on the coffee table

it’s subong.

“ughhh” you groan and put your head down on namgyus chest

he chuckles

he grabs your phone

“what are you doing namgyu.”

he answers the call

“namgyu no!” you try to grab your phone

he puts the phone to his ear

“she’s fucking busy.”

he hangs up the phone and throws it to the other side of the couch and smiles at you

your lips crash back on his

————————————————————————

I can’t tell if I like this 🧐

have a good day/night

xoxo

taglist: @willoee @wwwnysm @faeryvelvet

thanos taglist: @i-might-be-vanny

[moonchildxoxx]

Title: Captain Who?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!civilian!reader

Rating: T (suggestive, comedic, fluffy)

Word Count : 5,000

Summary: The Avengers thought Steve Rogers was a wholesome, apple-pie-sweet gentleman. They were wrong. And you’re the reason why.

It was early. Too early for anyone but Steve Rogers to be awake.

Which is why you were surprised to hear the sizzling of something in a pan as you padded barefoot into the Avengers Tower kitchen, still wearing his oversized gray t-shirt and nothing else but a pair of fuzzy socks and a satisfied smirk. Last night had been… well. Worth the sore thighs.

You yawned, rubbing sleep from your eyes as you rounded the corner.

“Morning, sweetheart,” came that warm, smooth voice, laced with a bit too much mischief for someone cracking eggs.

You blinked at the scene: Steve, shirtless, golden skin still faintly flushed from the post-workout shower (or from other more recent activities), flipping pancakes with the kind of casual grace that should not be legal. His sweatpants hung dangerously low on his hips, and his hair was still damp and curling slightly at the nape of his neck.

He turned and grinned at you, dimples and all. “Hungry?”

“For you or the pancakes?”

Steve chuckled, setting down the spatula before strolling over to you. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you in close, not caring one bit that anyone could walk in at any moment.

“Both, but I figured we should replenish our strength before round two,” he murmured, brushing his lips against your jaw.

You laughed, batting at his chest. “You’re incorrigible.”

He leaned in closer. “And you love it.”

He was right. You did.

You stood on tiptoe and kissed him, fingers curling around the back of his neck. He deepened it instantly, one hand sliding down to your lower back and tugging you closer. There was no hiding how much he adored you no hesitant touches, no shy glances. Just warm skin, confident hands, and a cocky smirk when you finally broke apart to breathe.

“Damn, Cap,” came a drawl from the doorway.

Both of you froze.

Steve didn’t look the slightest bit sheepish as he turned toward the voice, still keeping one arm slung lazily around your waist.

Natasha Romanoff stood in the archway, half in shadow, a protein shake in one hand and one finely plucked eyebrow arched in unmasked amusement.

You panicked. Steve did not.

“Nat,” he greeted casually, like she hadn’t just walked in on him full-on making out with someone in the Tower kitchen. “You want pancakes?”

Nat blinked. “I uh. No. No thanks.”

Her eyes dropped to the way Steve’s fingers were still trailing along the hem of your t-shirt, his thumb brushing dangerously close to skin. She took a sip of her drink. “So… you’re not just roommates who like to snuggle?”

Steve grinned. “Roommates don’t usually make each other scream into the pillows.”

You slapped his chest, scandalized. “Steven Grant Rogers!”

He just laughed, delighted with himself.

Natasha, for her part, made a noise that you couldn’t quite decipher half-gag, half-giggle and turned on her heel.

“I’m telling the others,” she called over her shoulder, already pulling out her phone.

Steve didn’t even flinch. He just leaned in to press a kiss behind your ear and murmured, “Five bucks says Tony drops his coffee when he hears.”

Cut to: Natasha’s group text.

“BREAKING: Captain America is not, I repeat, NOT the pure little cherub we thought he was. Spotted this morning tongue-deep in his civilian girlfriend while flipping pancakes like it’s a normal Tuesday.”

Back in the kitchen, you groaned and buried your face in Steve’s chest.

“You’re enjoying this,” you accused.

Steve chuckled, nuzzling your temple. “A little. I’ve been behaving myself for years. Feels nice to let loose.”

You peeked up at him, suspicious. “Wait. Are you saying you planned this?”

He tilted his head, pretending to think about it. “Let’s just say I didn’t not know that Natasha always does a morning recon lap for protein bars.”

“You’re evil.”

He kissed your forehead. “No, sweetheart. I’m just finally off the leash.”

You stared at him, mouth open.

Steve smirked. Full-on, devilish smirk. “Told you I wasn’t as innocent as they thought.”

It started with a text.

And then another.

And then a screenshot.

Within ten minutes of Natasha’s kitchen walk-in, the entire Avengers group chat (ironically titled “Earth’s Mightiest and Most Traumatized”) had exploded.

Tony Stark:

“I demand photographic evidence. Who even ARE you, Rogers??”

Sam Wilson:

“There’s no way. Cap probably tripped and fell into her mouth.”

Wanda Maximoff:

“I what?? Steve?!”

Peter Parker:

“oh my GOD can you put a spoiler warning next time Ms. Romanoff 😭😭😭”

Natasha Romanoff:

[attaches blurry candid of Steve kissing your cheek while flipping a pancake like a smug bastard]

Bruce Banner:

“…That’s a level of multitasking I don’t think I’m ready to analyze.”

Thor Odinson:

“Verily, I knew the Captain had fire beneath that golden helm of manners.”

Steve, of course, remained blissfully unbothered.

He scrolled through the messages on his phone while sipping orange juice and still had the audacity to smirk. You were across from him at the island counter, legs in his lap, lazily sharing bites of pancake.

“They’re freaking out,” he said casually.

You popped a blueberry into your mouth. “You gonna text them back?”

He shrugged. “Nah. Let them spiral.”

You grinned. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Absolutely.” He took a sip of his coffee, then added smugly, “Honestly, I’m impressed it took them this long.”

That made you laugh, and you slid off your stool to lean over and kiss his jaw. He hummed, clearly pleased with himself, and tilted his head to invite more. You obliged.

Of course, that’s when Sam Wilson walked in.

The moment he laid eyes on you draped over Steve, mid-kiss, with his hand firmly planted on your ass like it was his favorite spot in the world, Sam physically stumbled backward into the doorframe.

“WHAT THE HELL?”

Steve looked over his shoulder, completely calm. “Morning.”

Sam just blinked. “Is this real life? Did someone dose me with Loki’s magic dust? What is happening?!”

You just smiled sweetly. “Want a pancake?”

Steve added helpfully, “They’re banana chocolate chip.”

“NO, I DON’T WANT YOUR SEX PANCAKES.”

You burst out laughing. Steve just turned back to his plate, smug as ever.

“I’ve known you for years, man,” Sam said, voice high-pitched in disbelief. “Years. And never not once have I seen you put your hand on anybody’s butt.”

Steve took a bite of pancake. “You’re welcome.”

The next few days were utter madness.

Wherever you and Steve went in the Tower, heads peeked around corners. Conversations hushed. Suspicion reigned.

At one point, Bucky casually tossed out a, “You think this is new?” while doing curls in the gym. “Steve used to flirt like his life depended on it back in the day.”

Tony, mid-protein bar, choked. “Excuse me?”

Bucky just grinned. “There was this one nurse in Brooklyn ”

“Don’t you dare,” Steve cut in, walking past with you tucked under his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You blew Bucky a kiss. He returned it dramatically.

“Jesus Christ,” Tony muttered. “They’re in on it together.”

Wanda seemed the most distressed. Not because she disapproved but because it shattered her entire worldview.

“He’s Captain America,” she said one afternoon, eyes wide as you sat on his lap in the common room, both of you watching TV like it was nothing. “He wears sweaters. He bakes. He knits.”

“He also does that thing with his tongue,” you said cheerfully, popping a piece of popcorn in your mouth.

“I’M RIGHT HERE,” Clint shouted from the kitchen.

Wanda looked like she needed a lie-down. Peter, passing through, turned bright red and walked into a wall.

It escalated.

You made it worse. Intentionally.

Suddenly, you were being extra handsy in shared spaces walking into the rec room and planting yourself on Steve’s lap during movie nights, whispering things in his ear that made him choke on his drink while Bucky cackled in the background.

Steve? Loved it.

He went full chaos-mode with you. Leaning on walls like a goddamn romance novel cover, tossing out cocky winks, dropping casual “baby”s and “sweetheart”s into team briefings. He even walked into a debriefing once with a hickey proudly blooming just under his collar.

Tony nearly had an aneurysm.

“You don’t even try to hide it!” he exclaimed, slamming his tablet down.

Steve arched a brow. “Should I?”

Natasha, sipping tea in the corner, just said, “Called it,” under her breath.

Thor, fascinated, clapped Steve on the back. “You must teach me your ways, Rogers.”

Peter refused to make eye contact with either of you.

And Sam? Sam started keeping a spray bottle nearby to spritz the both of you when things got “too spicy.”

Which, let’s be honest, was often.

Things That Broke the Team in the Following Week:

Steve pulling you into his lap during team lunch and feeding you fries while making eye contact with Sam.

Reader wearing Steve’s actual Captain America uniform jacket like a robe and strolling into the common room to grab a juice.

Steve telling Tony, “I might be a gentleman, but I ain’t a saint.”

You walking past the lab while murmuring something in Steve’s ear that made him grab the doorframe for support.

Wanda hearing Steve say “good girl” through the comms. (The comms were on. THE COMMS WERE ON.)

By Day Five, the team was unraveling.

Bruce had started scheduling his lab hours when he knew you two were out. Peter refused to be in the same room if either of you were touching. Clint kept muttering, “It’s always the quiet ones…” under his breath. Natasha was thriving this was the best entertainment she’d had in months.

And Tony?

Tony was spiraling.

“I built him a shield,” he muttered over dinner. “An indestructible, vibranium, one-of-a-kind, multi-million-dollar shield. For this.”

You leaned your head on Steve’s shoulder and sighed dreamily. “He’s worth it.”

Tony actually facepalmed.

Steve just slid his hand under the table and rested it on your thigh, smirking as you tried not to squirm.

You leaned in. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Not possible,” he murmured back, brushing his lips against your temple. “They’ve made me a Boy Scout for too long. Let them suffer.”

The Avengers gym was usually empty mid-morning.

Which is exactly why you and Steve ended up there again. You’d been play-sparring, working up a light sweat, and trading teasing jabs back and forth. What started as innocent grappling had very quickly escalated into a slightly more hands-on form of exercise.

And by hands-on, you meant: you were currently pinned to the mat beneath a very shirtless, very smug Captain America, your legs wrapped around his waist and your wrists trapped in one of his hands above your head.

“You were saying?” he asked, voice low and teasing, that ridiculous eyebrow quirked like he knew he was hot shit.

You huffed, pretending to be annoyed while your heart pounded out of your chest.

“I was saying I could take you.”

Steve leaned down, lips just brushing yours. “Oh, sweetheart. You can. But not in the way you meant.”

Before you could think of a comeback, his free hand slid under the hem of your tank top, fingertips skimming your side in a way that made you squirm.

“Steve ”

“What?” he said innocently. “I’m helping you stretch.”

“You’re a menace.”

He grinned. “Takes one to date one.”

Then he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It was messy, hungry, a little cocky. His chest was warm and solid against yours, and you melted into him without resistance. You felt his hand tighten around your wrists, and

“OH MY GOD, WHAT THE HELL?”

The sound of six different voices crashing into each other in a horrified chorus made both of you freeze.

You turned your head upside down, from your position on the mat and saw the entire team standing just inside the doorway.

Tony was holding a smoothie and immediately dropped it.

Sam looked like he’d just witnessed a crime.

Peter audibly gasped. “Is this rated R?!”

Wanda had her hands half-over her eyes.

Natasha was grinning like she’d won the lottery.

Bucky didn’t even flinch. “Called it.”

Thor let out a booming laugh. “I knew the Captain’s storms ran deep.”

You groaned and dropped your head back onto the mat with a thud.

Steve didn’t even blink. He casually sat up on his knees, still straddling your hips, his abs gleaming with sweat, and offered the group a raised brow and a calm, “Can we help you?”

“HELP?!” Sam squawked. “I need to unsee that. Twice.”

Peter turned around and walked directly into the wall. Again.

Wanda started muttering in Sokovian.

Tony dragged a hand down his face like he’d aged five years. “You know what? Nope. I’m out. I refuse to live in this timeline.”

“You knew this would happen,” Natasha said to him with a smug shrug. “You just didn’t want to believe.”

“I’m traumatized,” Peter whispered from behind his hands. “Trauma. Actual trauma.”

Steve helped you up off the mat with a lazy grin and no sense of urgency whatsoever. You were flushed, out of breath, and very aware of the fact that your tank top had definitely ridden up and your hair was a disaster.

Tony pointed dramatically. “That is not Captain America. That’s some alternate-universe version where Steve Rogers flirts and touches people in public and is that a hickey?!”

Steve reached for his water bottle. “Could be.”

“I’m gonna be sick.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” you said, tugging your shirt down and straightening your ponytail. “We were sparring.”

Sam gestured wildly. “Is that what we’re calling it now?!”

Bucky walked over, clapped Steve on the back, and said, “Proud of you, punk.”

Peter slowly backed out of the room without breaking eye contact. “I’ll… I’ll come back never.”

“Good choice,” you called after him.

Tony threw his arms up. “You brought her into the gym, Rogers? Is nothing sacred?”

“We cleaned the mats first,” Steve offered helpfully.

Wanda made a distressed noise.

Natasha sipped her coffee. “You guys are acting like you just walked in on your parents.”

Sam gagged.

Steve leaned over to you, still entirely too composed, and whispered, “Told you they’d freak out.”

You snorted. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

He winked.

You smacked his chest. “Steve!”

“What? You said you wanted them to find out eventually.”

“Not while you were straddling me on the floor!”

“Pretty sure they’ve seen worse.”

Thor, still beaming, gave you both a hearty thumbs-up. “Your combat is most vigorous. I approve.”

“I can’t be here,” Tony muttered, already walking out. “Friday, delete the last five minutes of my memory.”

“Done,” the AI chimed back. “Would you like a sedative as well?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

The rest of the team slowly filtered out, still muttering, while Steve just casually toweled off his face and helped you gather your things.

Natasha lingered at the door, smirking.

“Nice form,” she told you. “You’re surprisingly flexible.”

You smirked back. “Thanks. Steve’s been helping me stretch.”

Steve nearly choked on his water.

Later that day, the group chat was chaos incarnate.

Tony Stark:

“There’s no God.”

Peter Parker:

“I have never wanted to be less informed in my life.”

Wanda Maximoff:

“Do they know the cameras in the gym record?!”

Natasha Romanoff:

“Don’t act like you’re deleting it.”

Sam Wilson:

“WHO IS HE. WHAT DID YOU DO TO OUR STEVE.”

Steve Rogers:

[attaches smug selfie of himself shirtless in the gym, with you kissing his cheek]

“Just keeping things interesting.”

“Too much?” you asked that night, curled up beside Steve on the couch, a blanket over your legs and your fingers tracing the lines on his forearm.

“Not enough,” he said, dropping a kiss to your shoulder.

You laughed softly. “I think Peter’s going to need therapy.”

Steve chuckled. “He’ll be fine. It builds character.”

You paused, then looked up at him. “You sure you’re okay with them knowing?”

His eyes softened. He brushed a piece of hair behind your ear. “I’m not hiding how happy I am. Not for anyone.”

Your chest warmed.

“I meant it when I said I’d waited a long time to be myself again,” he continued. “And you… you make it feel easy.”

You kissed him. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“I’m lucky you’re mine.”

From down the hall, Bucky’s voice echoed faintly:

“I CAN HEAR YOU MAKING OUT THROUGH THE VENTS.”

Steve grinned. “Let him suffer.”

It was only a matter of time before they cornered him.

You’d gone out to lunch with Darcy and Jane that afternoon blissfully unaware of the growing coup within Avengers Tower and came back to find your boyfriend being dragged into the main conference room by a fully-assembled, deeply unsettled Avengers team.

Steve looked entirely unbothered.

You paused at the door, watching the spectacle unfold as Sam slammed a file down on the table.

“This is an intervention.”

“For what?” Steve asked, not sitting. “Wearing fewer sweaters?”

“For whatever the hell this new personality is,” Sam snapped. “You’re flirting. You’re smirking. You’re tossing out wink-and-a-prayer one-liners like you’re auditioning for a romcom.”

Tony pointed with both hands. “You dropped a ‘good girl’ over comms!”

Steve shrugged. “Comms were on. Not my fault.”

Peter whimpered from behind a notepad. “It burned into my brain. I’ll never recover.”

“You’ve corrupted America’s youth,” Bruce said, only half joking.

“Why is no one questioning the real issue here?” Wanda asked, genuinely distressed. “Where has he been hiding this for a decade?!”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Sam gestured wildly. “This man used to blush if you said the word date!”

Steve finally sat, completely relaxed, arms folded. “You done?”

“No!” Tony barked. “This is DEFCON 1! This is Steve Rogers: The Flirt Edition! This is Captain Cocky!”

Steve smiled. “That’s got a nice ring to it.”

Sam slammed the water bottle on the table and pointed threateningly. “Don’t test me.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing as you quietly slipped in and took the seat beside Steve.

“You’re here for moral support?” Natasha asked, looking far too entertained.

You shrugged. “More like quality entertainment.”

Steve leaned back and slid an arm around your shoulders. “She already knew I was like this.”

“Yeah, and I tried to warn you all,” Bucky piped up from his corner seat, feet kicked up on the table. “But nooo, you were all so sure Cap was a choirboy.”

Tony threw a hand toward Bucky. “You’re telling me this isn’t new?!”

Bucky grinned. “Buddy, Steve used to flirt like it was a sport. He had half the nurses at the Brooklyn infirmary leaving extra gauze just so he’d visit again.”

“That’s not true,” Steve muttered, face pinking slightly.

Bucky leaned forward, finger up. “Betty. Sylvia. Doris. The one that slapped you? Helen.”

Steve groaned. You just turned to stare at him.

“She slapped you?” you whispered, delighted.

“In my defense,” Steve said quickly, “I was trying to get information about her brother. I might’ve… overplayed the charm card.”

Natasha cackled.

Thor looked thrilled. “Truly, your mortal past is filled with intrigue!”

“Hold on,” Sam said, narrowing his eyes. “Are you telling us Steve Rogers Steve ‘Yes Ma’am, No Ma’am, Apple Pie’ Rogers was a menace back in the day?”

“He had game,” Bucky confirmed. “Classic 1940s gentleman, sure but behind closed doors? He was an unholy blend of charm, mischief, and thirst.”

Wanda looked like she was re-evaluating her entire understanding of reality. “I need to sit down.”

“You are sitting,” Bruce told her.

“Emotionally,” she clarified.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish for the first time in days. “Look, it’s not like I was hiding it on purpose. I just… toned it down when I woke up in the 21st century. Didn’t know how people would take it.”

You turned toward him, squeezing his knee. “Babe, you make finger guns at me when I’m in a towel.”

He shrugged. “That’s just good manners.”

Sam groaned into his hands. “Why does the image of you being sexy feel illegal?”

“You want me to stop?” Steve asked innocently.

“YES,” Sam, Tony, and Peter said at the same time.

You leaned over to Natasha and whispered, “I love this for us.”

She nodded, sipping her coffee. “Ten bucks says he escalates it just to spite them.”

“Done.”

Tony leaned across the table, eyes narrowed. “Okay. Let’s say you’ve always been secretly flirty and dangerous. Why now? Why show us?”

Steve looked over at you. And then he smiled.

The kind of smile that could knock the wind out of your lungs if you weren’t used to it.

“Because I finally found someone worth showing it for.”

The entire room exploded.

“OH MY GOD ”

“Gross.”

“STOP.”

Peter physically melted into the table. “I’m just a kid, Mr. Rogers…”

Sam squirted the water bottle directly at Steve. “Down, boy!”

Steve batted it away like an annoyed cat and just pulled you closer, completely unbothered.

“Honestly?” Bucky said, stretching. “I give it another week before they catch him dry humping her on the couch.”

You choked.

Tony pointed a finger. “DON’T. GIVE. HIM. IDEAS.”

Steve kissed your temple. “Too late.”

You winked at Bucky. “We’ve already broken in the couch.”

Tony actually screamed.

You were under the impression that everyone had left the Tower.

Tony had an offsite meeting, Sam was on a PR tour, Wanda and Peter were on mission support with Doctor Strange, and Natasha had said she was going to “visit a contact in Prague,” which could mean anything from a SHIELD recon op to a weekend spa trip with Yelena.

So naturally, you and Steve decided to make the most of the rare, quiet afternoon.

And by “make the most of,” you meant:

Couch. Shirtless Steve. Your legs wrapped around his waist. A throw blanket doing barely enough to keep things PG-13.

“God, I missed this,” he murmured, dragging his lips down your throat, his hands firmly gripping your hips.

You tugged at his dog tags, voice breathy. “You saw me three hours ago.”

“And it felt like a year,” he said dramatically, before resuming his mission to kiss every square inch of your neck.

The way his body pressed against yours warm, solid, heavy was enough to make your thoughts blur. The arm he had braced under your back kept you close, and when he whispered, “You drive me crazy, sweetheart,” you nearly

Beep.

The sound of the elevator arriving barely registered.

Steve didn’t even stop kissing you.

But then: footsteps.

And a voice that would haunt you for weeks.

“WHAT IN THE HOLY HELL?!”

You and Steve both jerked upward like startled teenagers caught by a parent.

Standing in the middle of the room, holding a coffee and a very betrayed expression, was Tony Stark.

“OH MY GOD,” he shouted, spinning around like it would erase the last five seconds from existence. “WHY. WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS ON THE COUCH?!”

Steve, breathing a little heavy and looking far too composed for someone caught mid-make-out, just reached over and tugged the blanket up around you a bit more.

“This is a shared space!” Tony hissed, shielding his eyes. “There are rules! Implied rules! Upholstery!”

You opened your mouth to apologize or maybe make a joke but that was when the elevator dinged again.

“Oh no,” you muttered.

“Oh yes,” Steve whispered smugly.

One by one, the team filed in like an unfortunate Scooby-Doo hallway bit: first Sam (with tacos), then Bucky and Natasha (arguing over who won their sparring match), Peter (mid-sentence about some new tech he was building), and finally Wanda and Bruce in matching stunned silence.

Everyone. Stopped. Dead.

There you were, flushed, dazed, clinging to Steve’s very shirtless body like your life depended on it.

The tacos hit the floor.

Peter dropped his backpack.

Bruce dropped his jaw.

Wanda actually screamed.

Natasha just took one look at the scene, gave you a thumbs-up, and whispered to Bucky, “Pay up.”

Sam staggered backward. “NOT AGAIN. NOT IN 4K.”

Peter yelped, turned around so fast he nearly slipped. “IS THIS A SEX HOUSE?!”

Steve sighed like this was so inconvenient and kissed your forehead.

“Hey, guys.”

“HEY GUYS?!” Tony shouted, absolutely feral. “I live here! My couch lives here! This couch has seen things now! Unholy things!”

Wanda had her hands over her face again. “They were making sounds.”

Sam whipped out the water bottle and sprayed wildly in your direction. “CEASE. IMMEDIATELY.”

Steve caught the bottle mid-spray and calmly turned it off.

“I feel like you guys are overreacting,” he said, completely deadpan.

Bucky plopped onto the armchair, munching on a taco like he was watching a live reality show. “I tried to warn you all. But nooo, Cap’s so innocent.”

Peter made the sign of the cross.

Tony paced like a man about to combust. “We need to fumigate the room. We need to burn the room.”

You sat up slightly, hiding your laughter in Steve’s shoulder. He slid an arm around you protectively.

“Relax,” you said. “We weren’t doing anything too scandalous.”

“Tell that to the deep breathing and eye contact!” Sam hollered.

“Why is he always shirtless?!” Peter wailed.

Thor strolled in late, took one look, and just said, “Ah. The couch scene. I was wondering when it would happen.”

“You knew?” Tony cried.

“Of course. The tension was unbearable.”

Steve finally stood up still shirtless, still smug and reached for your hand.

Tony held out a hand to block him. “Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say some flirty line like this is my fault for leaving the Tower.”

Steve tilted his head. “I was gonna say ”

“NO.”

“ you should really put a sock on the door next time.”

Tony actually screamed.

Later That Night

The Tower had recovered. Barely.

You and Steve were curled up in bed, the chaos of the day behind you, both still laughing quietly under the covers.

“Think they’ll ever let us live this down?” you asked, tracing lazy circles on his chest.

He pulled you closer, voice full of sleepy pride. “Absolutely not. But it was worth it.”

You smiled. “You really waited this long to show them the real you?”

He kissed your forehead. “I didn’t want to scare them.”

“You terrified them.”

“Even better.”

You snorted. “I love you, you know.”

He tilted your chin up and kissed you slow. “I know. But say it again anyway.”

You whispered it against his mouth, and he smiled.

Team Group Chat: 11:47 PM

Peter Parker:

“I can still hear the kissing from my floor.”

Tony Stark:

“I’m building a wall around the living room. A physical wall. Like West Berlin.”

Natasha Romanoff:

“They’re adorable. Leave them alone.”

Sam Wilson:

“We’re not mad that Cap’s dating. We’re mad he’s HOT and FLAUNTING IT.”

Wanda Maximoff:

“There is no god. There is only Steve’s abs.”

Bucky Barnes:

“This is the best thing that’s happened since I got unfrozen.”

Steve Rogers:

[sends photo of himself biting your shoulder with the caption: “Night, team.”]

Sam Wilson:

“I HATE YOU.”

[newbieschaos]

Chapter II: A New Feeling

Description: While working and stressing out at her work as Manager of the Saja Boys. Our Demon Princess Manager realizes how different humanity is. Specifically how different their families are leading to her realizing her loneliness.

Pairing: Saja Boys x Manager!Reader

Warnings: Fem Reader! Feelings of loneliness, cursing, and Poly Relationship.

Authors Note: I apologize for such a delay once again. I’ve been incredibly busy and I’ve been really trying to make these chapters longer. I hope you all enjoy this update let me know what y’all think! Thank you so much for reading and enjoy!!!

Masterlist

Previous: Chapter I

At this point, you were going to beat your head down on the table out of frustration. It had been a week since the boys had their debut. Which meant more and more companies wanted to become involved. They were obsessed and wanted to connect with them in any way possible. This meant loads of contracts, phone calls, and scheduling. Something you had never experienced before this. You were a demon not just any demon Gwi-Ma’s daughter. When would you have found time to learn about proper formatting and business regulations while assisting your father in collecting souls? Or torturing those ‘deserving’.

However, you now had the title of the Saja Boys Manager and you would do anything to make it work. After all the consequences of this failure could potentially impact you if you don’t play your cards right. While you may be the Princess of Demons. Your father is above all including what could happen to you as a result of your success. He wasn’t one to accept any excuse either. So you looked back down at your laptop took a quick sip of your third drink from the coffee shop you were in. And began to organize to the best of your abilities. Thankfully and unknowingly you were doing a fantastic job. But no demon would know what would make it a horrible job or a good one. You were just doing what you thought was right. (It was and even more work than most managers would do.)

After another half an hour of your eyes straining against a screen. You decide to take a break. After all, there’s not much work you can get done by losing your eyesight and overexerting yourself (This is very true readers please take this advice.) You slightly push your device away before deciding to observe your surroundings. You had decided to do your work in a coffee shop. The house was filled with the boys rushing to get ready and arguing that morning about heading to another show. Keeping you from completely focusing on your work. Once you saw Baby working his way towards Romance’s room. You heard the word trouble scream into your head. You had decided to work in another location.

The coffee shop you had found was quaint and cozy. The dark tones made it perfect for studying or getting work done. While the windows allowed for just the right amount of light that everything seemed golden. Overall it was an environment you were unfamiliar with before this so you decided to embrace it while you could.

As you’re looking around you notice a father and a daughter walk in. You notice he has an arm on her shoulder as he guides her towards the front. He helps her order by herself and as he walks towards a table you hear him congratulating her. You watch this happen confused. Apparently, she had accomplished something big and he was supporting her. You couldn’t help but think back to your father. While you had no reason to. You knew you cared for your father. At least you cared about his opinion of you. Whether he thought you were successful or not mattered.

However, he had never shown you anything similar to what you were witnessing. You had actually witnessed many of your siblings die because they were too weak according to your father. They held no right to continue the bloodline if they would simply weaken it. Due to this you couldn’t help but be confused. Why did this father appear to care so much for something so simple? Why was he helping her drink her likely overly sugary drink? And celebrating her success. You try to focus somewhere else before you’re hit by another scene.

This time a family of three is sitting outside. You notice this time it was different. Two mothers and a son. You watched as one of the mothers fixed his hair kissing his forehead as the other one was making the child laugh. Immediately your mind returns to your mother. While you had such few moments with her you remembered them vividly. Her holding you and whispering instructions in the dark on how to survive. Her tips on how to satisfy your father before she was finally taken from you.

You felt your heart begin to ache. You didn’t understand why. This was unfamiliar to you. The dropping of your heart as it began to ache in your chest. You began to realize that perhaps it had to do with what you were witnessing. You knew that you had never experienced what was in front of you. And as you continued to watch people couples and friends you realized you had no relationships of any kind. Family, friends, lovers it was all foreign to you. Kept away from you like you weren’t allowed such a luxury.

Finally looking down you decide to gather your stuff and return to the house. The others should have left already so it would be quiet enough to work there. You were nearly finished either way. You quickly gather your things before making your way back.

As you walk into the empty home you couldn’t help but feel as if it were too quiet. You made your way to the living room feeling the silence become heavy on your shoulders. You noticed how this was how majority of your life was. It was silent except for the background noise of what was beyond your home. Things that had nothing to do with you while you stayed inside quietly. Alone.

Sitting there in the large place you set up you couldn’t help but feel it hit you. You are in a completely foreign world. You don’t truly understand everything around you nor will you feel what everyone else does. Most of all in every world you’ve been in the only consistency has been this one thing. You’re alone.

Forcing yourself to finish your work you couldn’t help but feel a sigh of relief as you hear the door open. The boys had returned. You watch as they make their way inside hunched over exhausted from their long day of fan service and maintaining their facade. “You wouldn’t believe how many drawings I handed out today.” You rolled your eyes at Abby. Thankfully after witnessing you express an actual emotion, the boys began to open up a lot more. You felt someone sit next to you and begin to reach an arm around you. “They were certainly enthusiastic today but nothing could keep me from you.” You shove Romance away at his attempt at flirting.

“You guys can tell me more about it later you should get as much rest as you can.” You feel them glance over at you. “Are you worried about us gorgeous?” Romance is already leaning towards you. “You have even more scheduled for tomorrow. I’m gonna have to join and assist since you have a packed schedule. So I recommend you rest as much as you can so you don’t have dark circles tomorrow.” They all groan at the idea of more work. You ignore them moving to sit on the floor facing the window as you look out.

You hear them all make their way to their rooms. Well, all except one. “Are you okay?” You look back to see Romance still where you left him. You look at him confused “Of course.” He nods accepting your answer before making his way to sit next to you. Deciding to look out the window as well. Trying to see what you saw. As you continue to observe you couldn’t help but let a question slip by. “Is having families and like people normal for humans?” He looks at you only to find your gaze locked on the window. “Like is it normal to have humans look after other humans?” He begins to think.

“Yes of course it isn’t the case for everyone but normally humans have caretakers or parents when they’re young. Or at least they have friends and stuff.” A beat of silence happens. “Why?” You take a moment to think. You were always taught that having these discussions or emotions was a sign of weakness. This wasn’t something you were used to and you couldn’t imagine telling anyone much less Romance about this. After all, he was always a flirt normally things like this would go over in Jinu’s department. But when he asked if you were alright before you even said anything. You couldn’t help but feel slightly cared for. Not only that but Romance was the first one to feel comfortable with you. And whether you acknowledged it or not you appreciated that from him.

You’re no coward. Fuck it. “I had been out earlier today and I noticed many human families. It appeared like they cared for one another and were happy.” You pause to look over at him only to see him listening intently. “Honestly, I noticed it was something I’ve never experienced. I just- I’m unsure of what to do with that.” You hadn’t noticed you were holding your breath through that. Finally letting a sigh of relief out once you finish. You felt a bit of the weight you had all day become lifted. You look at Romance only to see his hand going towards your cheek. You look at him confused but allow him to continue. You feel him rub at your cheek before removing the tears that made their way down your face. You look at the liquid confused. “What is that?”

He softly smiles at you. “These are tears. People cry whenever they feel upset sometimes when they’re happy. But usually when they’re sad. Something you’re too beautiful to be feeling.” You slightly smile rolling your eyes. This was a new side of Romance one that was trying to show that he cared. But even then he couldn’t stop his flirting. “Feeling that way is normal. I mean while most of us demons had that before becoming what we are. Often a lot of us had problems with those relationships and we often seek what we watched from afar too. Sometimes those relationships aren’t what they’re cut out to be. Most of us became demons because of feelings and situations like that.” You look at him curiously while you didn’t completely understand you still felt the comfort. And felt like he could relate in some way even if he didn’t say it.

You quietly thanked him. Shocked he hadn’t judged you or called you weak for your outburst. Even if it was small and very few tears were shed. To you, that was already more than you’d done your entire lifetime. You made sure to clear any evidence from your face and tried to erase the emotional moment. You watched Romance turn to you. “I may not be the best about this but if you ever need to talk to us about stuff we get it. Plus this is your first experience away from the demon world we don’t mind helping you understand stuff.” You smile at his idea “Plus I never mind spending extra time with you gorgeous.” There it is you roll your eyes letting a small laugh slip out.

You pause before turning to him. “I hope you all know even if I don’t understand all of it. And even if I may seem pretty cold at times. I can listen too.” You had no idea what you were doing but it felt right in that moment. You see him smile at you emotions shining through his eyes as he looks at you.

You hear the bell ring as you watch Abby run out to get the food. You hear the other boys make their way to the living room as you set up to eat on the couch. Finding it easier to eat while watching a show or a movie rather than allowing the boys to bicker. They all sit in their respective spots while you remain on the floor. Abby tried to grab the controller before Baby grabs it from the center of the couch. “I was trying to use that!” Baby rolls his eyes “You picked last time and I shouldn’t have to remind you about how bad it was.”

Last time Abby found a workout routine video thinking it was a show and made us watch every minute of it. Insisting it was a show trying to prove us wrong. Swearing the plot would start in a few minutes. Not to mention the week before that he had accidentally selected a kids' show which wouldn’t have been bad if it hadn’t creeped you all out for the rest of the week. You swear you felt like something was watching you after that.

You watch as Mystery sits on the floor across from you. You make sure to push his preferred food closer to him so he won’t have to fight for it. He sends you a smile for that. Finally, Jinu makes his way pushing his way into the center of the couch before asking the dreaded question. “So what are we watching?” And allow the bickering to begin. You watch as they start to argue over what show they should watch and what would be better. You swear you watch them prepare to brawl over this discussion. Until finally Jinu made them unanimously vote for something. (Well not everyone agreed but the majority rules)

Watching them work their way back to their spots and prepare for the movie and dinner. It made you think. You look out the window once again before looking back. Slowly you began to realize that while you may never have a family both in the demon world and the human world. Right now in this unfamiliar realm, you’re not alone. Not while they’re here.

Tag list: @trashcannotbealive @uniquecutie-puffs @yourmom132 @katzline @lunajay33 @justwantsleepandcoffee @moonjellyfishie @creativecupcake @tmrs-basilisk @fries11 @rubyninja1 @holaaaf

[evilwoman18]

Flowers?

Konig X Fem Reader

The flat was quiet.

Y/N sat curled on her worn-out couch, one leg tucked under her, nursing a mug of something warm she didn’t remember making. Her shoulder still ached, a dull, persistent throb that pulsed with every breath, but she wasn’t one to complain.

She had taken a bullet for König.

A clean shot. Center mass. Would’ve shattered his ribs if she hadn’t stepped in.

She hadn’t even meant to.

Reflex. Pure instinct. Move first, process later.

You don’t get to think. You finish the mission.

And then...

Thunk.

The mug paused halfway to her lips.

Thunk.

Y/N blinked and turned her head slowly toward the window. The curtains were drawn, but something enormous just smacked against the glass.

She slid the mug onto the coffee table, stood with a practiced calm, and padded over in her socks. The heavy blackout curtain shifted aside just enough for her to peek through.

There he was.

Seven feet of guilt and awkwardness.

König.

Standing sheepishly outside her third-floor flat on the fire escape, clutching a bouquet of slightly-wilted daisies, tulips, and, was that a daffodil?

Y/N didn’t move.

König raised the flowers slowly. Like a man offering a live grenade to a bear.

Her lips twitched. She opened the window just a crack. “You do know the front door works, right?”

He flinched. “I panicked.”

“Clearly.”

“I knocked. Twice.”

“I didn’t hear it.”

He hesitated, hand still hovering in the air with the flowers. “I can go…”

“You climbed a fire escape with an apology bouquet and a 260-pound frame. You’re staying.”

He stilled.

Y/N stepped back. “Window’s open. Watch your knees.”

König climbed in carefully. Like he thought her apartment might snap in half under his weight. He ducked, shoulders hunched, holding the flowers out like they were made of glass.

She took them slowly. “These are from two different seasons.”

He looked stricken. “I didn’t know which ones you liked.”

Y/N sniffed them. “… they’re nice.”

Silence. Thick enough to cut.

She set the bouquet down. Turned toward him, arms crossed.

König looked anywhere but at her. “You shouldn’t have jumped in front of me.”

“And you shouldn’t have frozen. Yet here we are.”

His mask bobbed with the faintest nod.

Y/N watched him. Eyes flicking over the way his gloved fingers tapped against his thigh. The tension in his neck. The way he hovered, always a little unsure if he was welcome or moments from being dismissed.

“I wasn’t thinking,” she admitted. “It just… happened.”

“That’s worse,” König said quietly. “You got hurt on instinct. Because of me.”

“You’re not that special, König.”

A pause.

He blinked.

Y/N mouth curled into a crooked smile. “You’re not the first idiot I’ve caught a bullet for. You might be the tallest, though.”

Something behind the mask huffed. It might’ve been a laugh.

Y/N lowered herself carefully back onto the couch, patting the cushion beside her. “Sit, Sniper. Before you implode.”

He sat like a man expecting the furniture to scream.

They didn’t speak for a few minutes. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, just… loaded. König sat with his knees too high, hands folded neatly in his lap like a child in detention. Y/N leaned her head back and stared at the ceiling.

“I read,” he said suddenly, “that bullet wounds can sometimes cause phantom pain. Even after they heal.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“I researched it. After the mission. With… you.”

Y/N blinked. Slowly. “You researched bullet wounds?”

His shoulders lifted a fraction. “I needed to understand. What I caused.”

Her expression softened. Just a hair.

“I’ve had worse,” she murmured.

“That doesn’t mean it’s okay.”

Another pause.

“Why do you care so much?” she asked, not unkindly.

König hesitated, then reached up and tugged at his hood, just slightly. Enough to meet her gaze without the safety of fabric between them.

“Because you shouldn’t have to be made of flowers to be worth protecting.”

Y/N froze.

No one had ever said that to her before. Not in those words. Not with that kind of truth behind it.

And König, towering, anxious, brilliant König, looked at her like he meant every syllable.

“…You’re late,” she said at last, voice low.

“Late?”

“People usually figure that out by the second time I save their life.”

König smiled.

Just barely.

~

Thank you for reading!💚

Tag list✨

@emilyyyyyys-stuff

@jovialwerewolfarcade

@friendly-neighborhood-bug

@quinn-munson

@stxrbyte

@graybird320

[partiallysame]

This has been in my notes since (checks watch) February whoops but anyway. Did not proofread it

Johnny should’ve known the second he stepped subtle scent of lavender amid the normal sweat smell. No one else seemed to notice the floral scent, but lavender used to be Johnny’s favorite smell, it used to give him a sense of comfort. All of his years of training and instincts should’ve told him he was in trouble but it wasn’t until he locked eyes with you that the panic set in. If the look in your eye didn’t tell him to run for his life, the knife you threw into his shoulder sure did. His feet hit the ground heavy as he sprinted down the hallways, pushing anyone and everyone, despite rank, out of his way. Fuck fuck fuck. Protection, need protection. Johnny’s eyes darted into each room he passed looking for someone of the proper caliber to help him, to save him. Ghost. Perfect. The Sargent’s hands gripped onto the doorway to help him turn into the room as fast as possible, shutting and locking the door behind him. Wheezing, Johnny ran behind Ghost, his hands gripping the bulletproof vest his human shield was wearing. “Fuck Lieutenant ye gotta help me” Riley barely had time to ask “Is that a knife in your shoulder?” before the door was kicked open, revealing you, gun drawn in one hand and a second knife in the other.

“Stop fucking running from me John.” Soap stayed hidden behind Ghost, who immediately reached for his gun realizing Soap deciding to use him as a shield.

“Save me Riley.” Soap did not care one bit how pathetic he sounded or looked right now.

“You wanna tell me why you’re tryna kill my Sergeant here?” Ghost asked, voice calm but genuinely curious as to how this ordeal got this fucking far in a miltary base.

“Because he deserves it.” That was very much not the answer Ghost was expecting, it made him laugh a little and contemplate stepping to the side to expose Soap. Feet could be heard padding down the hallway until Price and Gaz stepped into the room. Finally Johnny was saved. Thank god.

“Hey Captain.” You said with weapons still drawn.

“Hey lieutenant.” Price’s response was far too casual for this situation. Fuck fuck ok maybe Johnny wasnt saved. Ghost looked to his Captain who looked confused but not necessarily concerned.

“You wanna tell me who this is?” Ghost asked the man cowering behind him. A very small “My wife .”

“Ex. Ex fucking wife John.” You said through gritted teeth. The audacity of this man.

“Not technically” and with his response a bullet grazed Ghost’s shoulder strap and took a chunk of Soap’s mohawk with it.

“Sorry Lieutenant but I don’t mind collateral damage. I’m going to suggest you step to the side.”

Price cleared his throat to break the building tension. “Lower the weapon Ghost.” Both Ghost and Soap are protesting the order their captain just gave him. He’s got to be kidding right. “If it's a fight between Ghost and her, sorry Ghost but you’re not the one who I think would come out standing.” Ghost was looking around for the hidden camera when Soap added “it's true she’d have you begging for mercy LT.” Price moved until he was standing in front of you and your gun. A sweet smile coming to your face, “Hey cap’n, long time no see.” Price returned your smile before requesting Soap to come out, front and center. 30 seconds of “no” “thats an order” “No” “Sargent” “she’s gonna kill me” and then finally your target is in front of you.

Now standing so close, Soap could swear he could see the steam coming off of you, you had never looked this mad before. Did he think this would be the way his reunion with his betrothed would go after 4 years apart? Absolutely not. After a few questions from Price you explained the reason for your hostility. Years ago after a short and failed marriage, you gave Johnny divorce papers, which he refused to sign, and then fucking disappeared never to be seen again. “I was young” He tried to defend himself. “So was I, John,” Your hand quickly reached out to pull the knife from his shoulder, eliciting a scream. Price stepped between you two to prevent you from sticking back in the man. “Sign the papers in the next hour, or it really will be until death do us part John.” and with that you left the room, leaving all sets of eyes to land on Soap who was holding his bleeding arm.

[friendly-rabid-toad]

Let Me In || Ona Batlle

Ona Batlle x Reader

Summary: Your girlfriend is sick and doesn't want to be taken care of, but you're there for her regardless.

Warnings: I think I swore at some point in this, a wee bit o' angst & a wee bit o' fluff

Word count: 1.8k words

A/N: Bringing this one back as well :) I'm planning on reposting some more in between new fics. I'm working on an Alessia fic that's taking forever, but I also worked 80 hours last week, got cheated on, and fell down a flight of stairs so we're going to stick to reposting already written things for now!

Believe it or not, knocking at the front door of your girlfriend of three months’ like a mad person had not been in your plans for the day. You thought you were getting weird looks from some of the people walking by, but decided to ignore them as your concern for your teammate and girlfriend persevered. 

Last night, Ona had texted you telling you that she wouldn’t be at training the next morning. When you had asked why, she said she had just been feeling a little under the weather. You’d wanted to head over to her apartment immediately, but she’d told you not to come because she didn’t want to get you sick and said that she’d be back and over it within a day or so. Trusting her word and deciding to respect her decision, you hadn’t gone to see her and now you were regretting it. She hadn’t responded to your texts from the night before, or from this morning, or your call after training. A quick talk with the other girls on the Barcelona team told you that Ona hadn’t responded to any of her teammates in over a day. 

Seconds from bursting down the other girls’ door, you heard footsteps on the other side and took a quick step back as the door cracked open. You were met with a small view of the side of your girlfriends’ exhausted-looking face and you swore you felt a little bit of you crack within yourself as you took in her pitiful expression. 

“Oh, querida, ¿estás bien?” The Spanish term of endearment leaked through your voice. 

“Si. Why are you here?” Your girlfriend was unusually snippy with her words, and you nearly flinched at the irritation within them. Pushing away your hurt for now, you frowned briefly before responding. 

“You haven’t responded to anyone so I told the team I’d come see if you were alright.” You answered softly, trying to ease your way past Ona’s emotional barriers. Over the past few months, you’d gotten to know the fiercely motivated and independent woman even better, discovering a side of her that was tenderly affectionate, goofy, and observantly kind. 

You’d discovered that her love language was physical touch– whether it be holding pinkies, an arm swung around your shoulder during training, or just fully flopping on top of you during team bonding nights, she was always touching you. You’d learned her love for dancing and singing and, while she wasn’t particularly good at either, the two of you had a lot of fun trying to do both. You’d also noticed how she always had an eye out for you, which had become especially apparent when you’d been taken down on the pitch during a match and she’d been the first one to run to you and help you up, giving your opponent several choice words as she did so. 

As much as you’d gotten to know the Spanish woman, you still felt like there were many things that she was trying to keep from you. She had yet to truly let her walls down around you, and it was incredibly noticeable at times like these. She talked very little about feelings or struggles, and it was almost as if she was afraid of what you’d think about her if she did speak about them, despite your reassurances. 

“Well, I am alright, so you can go.” Ona snapped back, though the fight had gone out of her voice. You sighed, shaking your head as Ona sniffled pitifully.

“Cariño, please let me in. I’d like to help you,” You whispered, taking a step closer to the door that separated you from the girl you’d very much like to be holding right now.

“I don’t want you to see me like this, I’m sick. You should leave before you catch what I have.” Ona whispered, voice hoarse from all the coughing that she’d been doing. You just shook your head, resting your hand on the door to Ona’s apartment but not applying any pressure to it. 

“Ona, when will you finally start to understand that I don’t want to just be with you, I want to be there for you. On your good days and on your bad, on your healthy days and your sick ones. I want to be there for you when you’re on the top of the world, and when you’re at the bottom. Please– let me in so I can be there for you?” The speech had been one that had been circulating through your mind for quite a long time, ever since you’d first realized that Ona was holding herself back from you. 

Ona sniffled, and there were a few seconds of silence between the two of you before she fully opened the door that separated the two of you. You took in her being, from her brown hair that was pulled into a messy bun, to her red-rimmed and tired-looking eyes, to the large baggy sweatshirt and shorts that you think may have been yours. 

“Oh, Ona. C’mere, dear. I’ve got you, you can relax now, bebé.” You weren’t usually so affectionate with your words, but the pet names kept slipping from your lips as you tried to reassure your girlfriend. Taking a step inside the apartment, you allowed the door to close behind you as you took Ona into your embrace, pulling her into you gently and planting a kiss to her warm forehead. 

You held her like that for a few seconds, hands coming up to rest on her shoulders and massage the tension away from them. She was like putty in your hands, relaxing with a quiet groan into your arms and you smiled at her gently. Slowly, you began to guide her towards the couch in the corner of her house, sitting her down onto the cushions and pecking her forehead gently with the promise of coming right back to her side. You bustled about her house, rushing about to make some tea and honey, something your own mother had made for you when you were sick. You also grabbed her a gatorade for some options, bringing both items back for her and setting them down on the table beside the couch. 

“Ona, querida. Have you taken your temperature recently?” You asked, moderately concerned about the heat radiating from her body. Ona just shook her head slowly with a tired groan, turning towards you and cracking an eye open. 

“Lay down with me, por favor. I miss you, amor.” Ona said, and an affectionate smile slipped onto your face before you shook your head. 

“Not quite yet, dear. I’ll be right back though, and then you and I can cuddle all you want.” You promised yet again, going to grab some medicine and a thermometer for your sickly girlfriend and coming back to her side rather quickly. Taking her temperature, clicked your tongue a few times and decided to see if the tea and medicine would do something to make her feel better. If not, you had no problems shoving her into a lukewarm shower to try and lower her temperature, though you didn’t think she needed it as of yet. 

Giving her the medicine and getting her to take a few sips of the tea, you had to leave her side yet again to put the thermometer and medicine back in her bathroom, which was apparently quite irritating to your girlfriend as she whined.

“You promised last time that we could lay here together when you came back and now you’re leaving again! You are una mentirosa!” Deciding to play up to her words, you simply planted another kiss to her cheek with another promise to be back very quickly, much to the exaggerated disappointment of your girlfriend. 

Once you dropped the thermometer and medicine off where you’d gotten them from, you paused for a second and looked around to see if you were forgetting anything else. Taking the moment to think, you pulled out your phone and sent a text to your Barcelona captain to give her an update on Ona’s condition, knowing that the woman had taken Ona under her wing and cared for her deeply. Alexia had wanted to come with you to take care of Ona, but had had some media duties to take care of for the club, so you’d told her that you’d keep her updated. 

After sending out your text to the captain, you made your way back to Ona’s side. She was half asleep, but the second she heard you coming her eyes opened again. 

“Y/N–” She drawled out sleepily. “Come hereeee!” You giggled at her but made your way over, lifting her upper body up and slipping yourself beneath her, figuring that it may help her breathe a little better. You shifted so that one of your legs was on each side of her body, resting against the armrest of the couch with Ona laying back against you. Gently, you pulled her hair from the bun it was in and carded your hands through her hair, pressing another kiss to her forehead. You were beyond content to lay there and comfort your girl.

After a few moments of soft silence, Ona spoke up. “I’m sorry I didn’t respond to you, I didn’t want to be a burden to you or the girls.”

You hesitated on the right wording for the strong emotions that you were feeling. Finally, you figured out what you wanted to say, “You are not a burden to me or any of the other girls, amor. I know what I signed up for when I asked you on a date. There is nowhere I’d rather be than by your side, supporting you in each and every way I can, and that includes caring for you when you’re struggling.”

You saw Ona smile at your words and felt her relax into you even more, taking your free hand between her own and holding it gently. As you continued to gently pull your fingers through her hair, she played with the fingers of your other hand. You could tell that she was falling asleep against you, but you could also tell that she was nervous to do so. Gently, you whispered, “Sleep, querida. I’ll be right here when you wake again.”

As the other girl nodded off, you could feel yourself starting to slip. Checking that Ona was comfortable and wouldn't fall off, you allowed yourself to fall into a fitful sleep with your girlfriend in your arms.

-----

Just a few days later, Ona was back to feeling much better and kicking ass on the pitch once again. The days you’d spent taking care of her had you much closer to her than you had been before, and you felt like you were getting past the walls that she’d built around herself. The more you got to know the Spanish defender, the more you found yourself falling deeply in love with her. 

You had told her you would be by her side through everything, and had meant every single word of it.