#exactly except he would be way more annoyed about it

[patchwork-crow-writes]

Yet again, I find myself humbled beyond measure that you've taken the time to respond to my semi-unhinged rant about Ralsei in such detail. Everyone who has done so, honestly - it's a little overwhelming, in a good way. People REALLY love this kid, don't they? Haha XD

I'm seeing the points you're making, and honestly I can't refute them at all, I think you're entirely correct. Particularly, I am entirely floored by your point that Ralsei is in that "in-between" period of knowing he has to change, and then actually changing for the better, because the second I read it it made total sense. Of COURSE that's exactly what's going on... of course it is. And honestly, seeing it like that makes me feel like even more of a fool than I already did before. He's been so entrenched in this mindset, presumably for his entire life, so of course it's not going to all come undone immediately... of course it's not.

God... that's going to haunt me for a while.

It's certainly an interesting idea to consider that most of Ralsei's "wins" are actually scored offscreen, too. We still don't know what he and Kris were discussing, and that's as intriguing as it is frustrating. I continue to wonder if they're planning something, not necessarily against us, but as a setup to a much grander payoff that we would only end up spoiling if we did know about it. I'm pretty excited to see what they've been cooking up!

And lastly... yeah, I see it. Ralsei laid the groundwork so that Susie had something to springboard off of, and now she's doing her best to help him, the way he helped her. And that was something I kind of knew, but also maybe was conveniently ignoring. Honestly, Susie kind of annoys me as a character at the moment. She seems too perfect. She hasn't put a foot wrong. She's solely responsible for kickstarting everyone else's character development. She's the one with all the big hero moments. She's the one who even makes it possible to fight back against adverseries like the Knight and the Titan. Everyone loves her. And I get why, I get it... but it annoys me, because currently she's carrying the entire operation on her shoulders, and it feels like Kris and Ralsei are just cheerleaders for her. I don't know, something about it seems... unfair, to me. That's probably a stupid reason and I'm being immature about it. And I know that, just as Ralsei is having his lowest moment at this point, Susie's at her zenith, and they'll likely trade places before the final chapter concludes.

I think I'm just being a little bit petty and immature about it. Which is why, again, I'm genuinely shocked that folks like you are actually responding to my rant in earnest.

But yes, I see your point, and obviously neither Susie nor Ralsei see it in terms of "I owe you this and you owe me that." Of course they don't see it like that, so it's stupid of me to frame it in that way. That's not how a friendship works, and I am honestly rather ashamed that I saw it in that light to begin with. I clearly need to rethink how I approach this topic, because I've been viewing it all wrong... which, while humbling, is also strangely exciting. It's like rediscovering everything for the first time, all over again... or something.

I don't really have too much else to say, except thanks for taking the time to respond with your fantastic points and setting me right. I've learned a lot from everyone here... I don't rightly know if I can still call myself a Ralsei-niac after all this! XD

P.s. Please don't feel like you have to apologise for rambling or anything like that! I'm 100% fine with all forms of rambling, especially when it's as well-informed and insightful as this :D

Okay. Ralsei Rant incoming.

I feel like I have to preface this by saying I love Deltarune, i ADORE Ralsei, and I acknowledge that the game is far from complete and there are plenty of things that can happen going forward.

But I lowkey hate how Ralsei just... fails utterly at EVERYTHING he sets out to do. And I do mean EVERYTHING. He is Failure personified, and I kinda hate that for him.

Chapter 1: Tries to establish the prophecy to the heroes (while attempting to subvert it at the same time) and get them onside. He fails at this because Susie initially refuses to cooperate, and when she DOES finally come onside, it's because of Lancer and Kris, not anything Ralsei says to her. He then tries to convince King by healing him - and fails, nearly consigning the heroes to death as a result.

Chapter 2: Tries to keep the more horrifying/existential aspects of their destiny under wraps. Here he fails on two fronts, first because Kris digs too deep with Spamton, and then again because Berdly very nearly creates a Titan and kickstarts the Roaring, necessitating Ralsei to scream at them to stop. This does not endear him to anyone.

Chapter 3: Tries to console Tenna. Fails, because his sense of empathy is so incredibly warped due to his own nonexistent self-esteem that he very nearly drives Tenna to suicide. Alternatively, you could see this as Ralsei getting Tenna to accept his imminent demise at the Knight's hand. This too fails, because Susie immediately undoes that with her own rousing speech.

Chapter 4: Tries to prevent Susie from going to his room and discovering it's empty. Fails, because all he did to stop her was put up one bit of yellow tape. Then he tries to ensure that neither Kris nor Susie will see the result of the final prophecy. Fails, because Susie rushes ahead to look for Gerson and stumbles across it on her own.

Everything significant Ralsei tries to do completely and utterly fails. Events happen and victories are won IN SPITE of his involvement, and not because of it. He has all this knowledge about what's going to happen, he's acutely aware about the dark world and its rules, and he still cannot do a thing. And the worst part? He can't even claim that he had no choice, because he's been working to subvert the prophecy from the very start, meaning it DOESN'T have a cast-iron grip on his actions and choices. Ralsei's failures are all his own.

And what, additionally, does he contribute to major fights, aside from a TP-intensive healing spell? Against King he's an active detriment. Against Queen he does very little, while Kris and Susie are much better at removing Berdly's wires than he is. Against the Knight he can't do meaningful damage, his healing takes valuable TP from Susie's Rude Busters, and he disintegrates if the Knight so much as breathes on him. And against the Titan, his best use is to bring Kris back to life and be one half of a decreasing-effectiveness Dual Heal.

Contrast with Susie - demolishes King's HP with Rude/Red Buster, Throws Kris to cut Berdly's wires the most effectively, AND can demolish Queen's acid shield with Rude/Red Buster, she's the sole MVP of the Knight fight, and her idea is pivotal to defeating the Titan at the end of Chapter 4.

And look, I'm not going to say that Ralsei failing to keep his friends from caring about him and wanting him to be his own person is bad - of course it isn't! We want him to be able to choose for himself what he's (or indeed she) is going to be. But for heaven's sake, he's going 0 for 0 right now. And if my theory about him snapping in Chapter 5 and being the one responsible for the "inferno of jealousy" turns out to be correct, he'll have continued the trend of failing at absolutely everything meaningful he tries to do.

And additionally, I'm not saying that his inability to succeed at anything despite his best efforts makes his character bad! Again, far from it! I Love Ralsei because of his struggles with his identity, his desires fighting against his obligations, and his unflinching kindness and gentleness in the face of a cruel and uncaring world. But Toby, I'm begging you - give us SOMETHING to celebrate over here! Give us SOMETHING we Ralsei stans can point to and go "see! He IS contributing to the team! He IS pulling his weight! He ISN'T just a cute and cuddly guy and/or girl!"

At this point, I think Ralsei's issue is more fundamental than "He has negative self-esteem" or "He's the wrong gender". Put simply, the universe FUCKING HATES HIM. It's like he's destined to fail, destined to die, destined to never amount to anything. And yes, Susie loves him and Susie will save him and Susie will regurgitate meals into his mouth like a baby bird, but all that actually means at the moment is that he's forever doomed to wander in her vast shadow, never able to make anything of himself. What would he even be without her? Nothing? Less than nothing?

People are talking about Ralsei's role in combat becoming completely superfluous, and having to be carried by his friends, and are treating this as an Unambiguously Good Thing. And it kind of blows my mind that anyone can accept that a character in a story - a Main Character, no less! - can serve absolutely no function except to be a mascot and stand at the sidelines doing nothing, contributing nothing, achieving nothing. Do you know what those characters are called? They're called DAMSELS. And people DO NOT LIKE DAMSELS, last I checked!

I don't know, maybe I'm missing something here. Maybe Ralsei's unending litany of failure and ineffectiveness is meant to say something profound that I'm just not picking up on. But would it have killed the developers to let him have ONE unambiguous triumph? ONE thing we can point to and say, yeah, that's all Ralsei, that's his Thing and he rocks for that. And maybe that makes it sound like I hate him, and I have to assure you yet again, I don't. I love this guy to pieces - and it's precisely because I love him that I'm so torn up about this.

I don't hate Ralsei. I hate that he can't catch even a single goddamn break.

[tojicide]

OBSESSED. ☆ SYLUS.

📰 extra, extra! why is your bodyguard so obsessed with you? girl, you wanna know...

warnings. fem!reader, popstar!reader, bodyguard!sylus, established romantic history ( very brief ), pet names, semi-public, fingering, oral ( fem. receiving ), cowgirl, unprotected p in v. wc. 4.6k.

an. reused the header and a bit of the plot from an aaron hotchner fanfic i wrote on wattpad in like… 2021??? tweaked most of the details obvs but ig i was born as a bodyguard au lover

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

Your bodyguard was such a buzzkill.

Dragging you out of every party you make an appearance at, replacing your shots with water once he believes you’ve had one too many, watching you like a hawk no matter where you are or who you’re with...

You despise those who have an inability to have fun, so as far as you’re concerned, Sylus is the devil reincarnated. You aren’t exactly shy about your opinion of him either, and perhaps in hindsight, that is exactly why he was currently pacing through the party you’re in attendance of to try and ruin your night yet again.

(Ruin your night or… do his job? Hell if you care about the logistics of it all. Two sides of the same coin, you think.)

His protective instinct only grew more intense ever since the two of you shared a kiss before a concert of yours that left your lipstick smeared over your face like there was no tomorrow…

And what did that asshole do? Nothing. It was in his nature to make your life miserable after all. Sylus let you walk out in front of your thousands of fans, makeup messy and appearance disheveled all from his mouth on yours alone.

And boy, did the tabloids have a time with that one… Who was the culprit? A new fling of yours? Fiancé? Possible baby daddy? Each and every news outlet had some uniquely wrong to say. Can’t a girl have a makeout session with her bodyguard in peace?

Unfortunately for you, the paparazzi have been hounding you ever since that day, itching to get the 4-1-1 on your love life.

And ever since, you haven’t given many people the time of day—including Sylus. Tonight, you’ve managed to stay two steps ahead of your dear bodyguard and evade eventual capture for just a bit longer. You’re currently surrounded by a few of your friends, socialites and actors alike.

Your lips seem to flap freely when you have a few drinks in you, but tonight, you’re sober but even more talkative than ever. Your chosen topic of conversation? Your overbearing and stupidly handsome bodyguard, of course.

Too lost in your story, waving your arms around to your theatrical pleasure, you hardly noticed the way your friends’ faces paled to a ghostly shade of white, their eyes nearly bulging out of their heads and their lips parted as if they had something to say but… couldn’t.

All the while, you were too busy blowing off the  steam that you’d acquired from your last encounter with the forsaken bodyguard. “…And I was like, why are you so obsessed with me?”

As fate would have it, you hear a throat clear behind you followed by an annoyed sigh that you’ve grown to know like the back of your hand. You spin around, already wearing a scowl.

“Obsessed with you, hm?” Sylus says, his voice low and seemingly dangerous, though your utter distaste for the man rids him of his intimidation. “You’re quite self important. I could never live in a world where I’d fall at the feet of an egotistical popstar.”

You roll your eyes at that. Who does he think he is? Everyone loves you—all except for the disgustingly handsome man standing in front of you.

“Mm… well, you can always die an untimely death and never have to work for me again,” you reply, giving him the most passive aggressive smile known to man. “Hopefully that gives you an ounce of hope.”

“It does,” he replies, returning the same expression that you gave him.

It’s borderline infuriating how undisturbed Sylus was. No, it is infuriating. No matter how many insults you chucked his way, he never cracked. (And the one time he did, it led to the two of you playing tonsil tennis in your dressing room...)

You shake your head, huffing in utter annoyance. You then hold your wrists up for display, cocking your head to the side as you give him a mock puppy dog expression. “Sooo… are you here to take me away, Officer Buzzkill?”

Sylus merely blinks in response to your taunting, taking a firm grasp on one of your wrists before he tugs you through the sea of partygoers. He laces your fingers together, squeezing tight as to not lose hold of you.

“Must you always make things so difficult?” he asks, keeping his eyes ahead.

You shrug your shoulders. “More or less.”

“More or less?” he echoes, glancing over his shoulder to properly look at you. “I suggest you try a different style of communication, sweetness. Your clipped attitude will get you nowhere.”

“Oh? But it’s gotten me so far already…” you trail off, glancing at his lips for a few agonizingly long seconds before a smirk tugs on the corner of your mouth. “In fact, I think it can get me even further.”

Sylus’s jaw tenses, his eyes slipping shut as he tears his gaze away from you. He can’t handle the way you’re looking at him—so unbelievably beautiful with those siren eyes of yours, the mere sight of you already stirring something unwanted within him.

He turns around to continue leading you through the crowd without a reply. You begin to glance around yourself, attempting to plot your brilliant escape.

“Don’t,” he flatly states, his iron grip tightening on your hand.

“Why not?” you ask, your voice holding a strong tone of defiance.

Sylus gives your hand one solid tug before you’re standing in front of him, his free hand pressing onto the small of your back as he keeps you pressed to his chest. “If you haven’t noticed, you brat, I will always chase you. I’ll find you just the same.”

You almost deflate under his intense gaze, his deep red eyes piercing through your own. It wasn’t often that Sylus manhandled you, but when he did, it made you feel… different. Intrigued, maybe.

“How touching,” you deadpan, “but you still get on my nerves.”

Sylus clicks his tongue. “Tch. Oh, I’m sorry… when have I ever cared about what you think?”

“Never,” you say with a dramatic sigh. “You know… if you hate me so much, you should just quit on me.”

Sylus rolls his eyes, his red irises drawing you in like no other. “I don’t… hate you. You should be rather thankful that I don’t, because I’m doubtful that anyone else would want this job of mine—you’re quite the handful.”

“Mm, I’m only saying,” you murmur with a shrug, giving his hand a harsh squeeze as if the roughness of your grasp would make him let go, but he, of course, does not. “You don’t need this job, and yet, here you are.”

He raises a brow. “What do you mean by that?”

You smile, the same shit-eating grin that he has grown to be all too familiar with. “Give me your wallet.”

Sylus huffs, his broad shoulders deflating as he fishes his black leather wallet from his back pocket and hands it over to you. You take it with ease, taking your hand from his as you crack it open.

You slip his Black Card from the sleeve, proving that he truly didn’t need the job for any monetary gain. And then, a triumphant smile graces your lips as you pull out none other than a Polaroid photo taken of you—backstage at your concert just before the kiss you two shared.

“Ooh… what’s this?” you ask, raising your eyebrows.

Sylus reaches forward to try and snatch the tiny photo from you, but you are far too quick. “What are you revealing exactly? That you were secretly snooping in my wallet prior to now?”

“Yes,” you admit without hesitation, “and that you’re secretly rich and in love with me. Does that make us even?”

His jaw sets, his piercing gaze set on yours. He works to snatch the photo from you, tucking his belongings back into his wallet before he slips it into his pocket. “No. Maybe if you were less of a pain, we could be even.”

You wiggle your eyebrows in suggestion. “You’re not denying being in love with me, dear bodyguard of mine.”

Sylus gives you a deadpan expression. “Must you always be so self righteous? God forbid I am proud of you and your success.”

The genuine nature of his words set you back a step, your brows knitting together and your lips parting. If Sylus noticed the shift of your expression, he didn’t mention it. Thankfully. His cold fingers lace with yours once more, continuing the stride towards the exit of the party.

“Rather than putting on this show of yours, you truly should be thanking me for saving your reputation,” he quietly adds, his hand now curled around your waist as you approach the exit. “There is a swarm of paparazzi outside who are desperate to get their grimy hands on a picture of their beloved popstar doing something remotely scandalous.”

(And if Sylus knows anything about you, it’s that you love scandals. According to you, they ‘make life worth living’. Tch. Diva.)

You chuckle. “Aww, you care!”

“Do I care, or is it my job to look after you?” he asks, plucking his sunglasses from his pocket to place them on your face, shielding your eyes from the rapid camera flashes of the paparazzi. “Public intoxication numerous times a week is not a very good look for you, sweetie. Incredibly frowned upon.”

Your jaw sets as you listen to his words. While they are undeniably true, you don’t have any plans for admitting that—not now or in the near future.

“Making out with my bodyguard is frowned upon as well, but you didn’t seem to be complaining about that bit,” you say under your breath.

Your voice was low enough that your weighted words were almost drowned out by the booming music of the party and by the chatter of the photographers you’re about to be engulfed in. Almost. 

Sylus flashes you a glare. “You shouldn’t mumble. I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

“You heard me,” you state.

He did hear you, that was exactly the problem. It was no coincidence that the two of you haven’t spoken much since your very intense lip lock. You’ve been avoiding each other, evading the invisible string that connects the two of you like both an electric current and a noose.

The tension between the two of you was tangible, palpable even—you could practically taste it just as well as you could still taste his lips on your own. It was intoxicating, imprinting, searing.

It managed to distract you from the flashing lights of the cameramen who were swarming you, capturing flick after flick of you being led through the crowd.

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “You know, you can help me out with all of this,” you murmur, gesturing towards the paparazzi. “My publicist came up with an idea that will get them off my back for a while. Give them the answers they need and… whatnot.”

“Is that right?” he asks, glancing your way. “Do tell.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, tuning out all of the chattering paparazzi who are currently surrounding you. “Be my impromptu mystery man for the cameras. I’ll give you anything you want in return, I swear it.”

Sylus hums, the sound omitting a deep rumble into the air. “Anything I want? My, my, sweets, you’ve made me an offer I cannot refuse.”

You huff, grasping onto the collar of his jacket as you pull him into you. “Just go with it.”

“Just go with wh— mmph!” Sylus’s words were muffled by your lips slotting against his in a searing kiss, his hands instinctively finding their home on the curve of your hips.

The kiss was… tame. It was supposed to be, after all. It was merely for the cameras, a way for you to put an answer to the questions that have been flooding your inbox and left your name circulating in the news for days on end.

But when Sylus’s tongue brushes against your bottom lip, you slightly pull away, muttering a faint, “Sylus, what’re you…” before he pulls you right back in, his large hand now resting on your cheek.

“If you’re going to use me like a whore at your disposal, I’d suggest you let me enjoy myself and taste you properly,” he sporadically says into your mouth, his hand shifting to tangle in your hair as he tilts you to his liking, your tongues meeting in with gentle swipes. “See? I knew you could do better than that.”

True to his suggestion, you kissed him like there was no tomorrow, your hands fisting his shirt in your palms as your lips moved in tandem with his. Lipstick and paparazzi long forgotten, you find yourself getting lost in the moment, a soft whimper leaving your mouth as his hands give your hips a firm squeeze.

The moment he hears that sweet, impossibly faint sound of your pleasure, he knows that he’s in for it now. That’ll do it for him.

He abruptly pulls away, clasping his hand onto yours as he continues pulling you through the now stunned crowd of paparazzi. Sporting an erection and your lipstick smeared on his lips makes no difference to Sylus—if anything, he enjoys the world knowing that he has the hots for the woman who he has sworn to protect.

Sylus helps you into the passenger seat of your black SUV, closing the door behind you before making his way to the driver’s seat. He peels off, driving with intention through the streets of the city.

It was now evident to you that he was driving the SUV in pursuit of his favorite lookout spot, one that overlooks the bustling city from a distance. Sylus had taken you there once before as per your request to ‘stay out a bit later’. Nothing happened then, but you have an inclination that your luck has changed.

“I know what I want from you,” he states, placing a hand on your thigh.

How did he already manage to figure out what he wants in return for helping you? A raise? A car? The blood of his enemies? You’re intrigued, raising a brow. “You do?”

“I do,” he confirms without missing a beat. “Get into the backseat.”

A gasp leaves your kiss swollen lips as you mull over the utter implications of his words. It didn’t take a genius to understand them, but you were… surprised to say the least. “I think you’re overstepping your boundaries, Mr. Qin.”

In a literal sense, sure he was. But if the two of you were going to judge based on what you two want, he absolutely wasn’t—you both knew that.

He chuckles, the sound low yet infuriatingly sexy. His hand slips beneath your skirt, his middle finger brushing along the damp spot of your panties. “Your body seems to disagree with you, ma’am.”

And if you weren’t already wet before, hearing him call you ma’am was more than enough to do it for you. “Shut up,” you grumble.

“You can make me,” he suggests, setting the vehicle into park before giving your thigh a few pats. He nods his head towards the backseat. “Go on.”

Without hesitation, you kick your heels off and crawl into the back of the vehicle, thumping down on the seat with a sharp sigh. Sylus follows you within the blink of an eye, his knees settling on the spacious floor of the car.

“What’re you…” you ask, though your eyebrows raise as the pieces of the puzzle click together in your mind. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh,” he repeats, his warm hands rubbing your knees as he spreads your legs apart, his lips finding the tender skin of your inner thigh. “You know… you truly should be resting for your show tomorrow evening.”

“Should I?” You bite on your bottom lip as he leans forward, nosing at your clothed pussy with a muffled moan of his own. He inhales deeply, the scent of your arousal driving him to the brink of insanity.

“You should,” he answers, pressing an open mouthed kiss on your cunt through the fabric of your panties. “You should stop talking too. You need to rest your voice just as much.”

You swallow hard, whimpering ever so softly as his fingers hook beneath the waistband of your panties, pulling them down your legs to give himself access to your glistening core.

His eyes are set on your heat, his cool hands hiking your thighs over his shoulders. He rests his cheek on the warmth of your inner thigh, glancing up at you. “Because believe me, sweetie, the things that I want to do to you will not be in favor of that beautiful voice of yours.”

“Oh?” you ask, titling your head. “What will they be in favor of?”

He grins, wicked and devilishly handsome. “I’m glad you asked, because there’s someone else I’ve been wanting to hear from.”

Before you have the chance to reply, he’s already got his face delving deep between your legs, the filthy sounds of squelches and slurping filling the otherwise silent car.

“Oh, I— mmh, you didn’t answer my… my question,” you stammer out between breathy moans, your head tilting back on the headrest as your eyes flutter shut.

Sylus smiles into your pussy, pointing his tongue to accentuate the squelching noises that your heat was making, entirely wet and dripping for him.

“Can you not hear her?”

Never in your life did you think that having a man on his knees talking to your cunt would be this arousing, but… you’re fucking soaked.

“I-I can,” you gasp, cracking your eyes open to look down at him. “Fuck, you can talk to her in fifty languages for all I care, holy shit.”

He quietly chuckles, the sound sending a spark of vibrations onto your already sensitive clit. Your thighs tense, aching to close on him, but he keeps them spread with his strong hands on your thighs.

Your lips part as a string of breathy sounds leave you, beautiful moans and needy whimpers alike—all of which play as music to Sylus’s ears. It was nice to know that your mouth was good for more than just singing and bickering at him…

Teeth nibbling into your bottom lip, you glance down at him, only to be met with the most crazed eyes known to mankind. So disheveled, your slick leaking down his chin while his tongue delves into your heat like a man starved. He looks like he’s in his own pussy drunk heaven.

When you feel his pointed tongue begin to curve and lick in ways it hadn’t before, you do your best to follow his movements.

S-Y-L-U-S he spells on your puffy cunt with his writing tool of choice—none other than his stupidly talented tongue.

“You’re so—”

“Shh,” he cuts you off, his voice more like a husky whisper now. His pupils were dilated to the size of saucers, sucking on your clit before releasing it with a harsh pop.

Filthy sounds fill the air, your own breathy moans spilling from your swollen lips in tandem with the messy sucks of Sylus’s lips on your cunt. Not to mention, your girl truly was loud.

“Singing so beautifully for me,” he rasps, his eyes flitting up to watch your blissful expression. Lidded eyes, parted lips, flushed skin—an absolute wet dream of his come to life.

You bite your lip, hardly focused on the words coming out of his mouth. “Mmh, what…?”

“Quiet, sweets,” he repeats, hooking his hands even tighter around your thighs as he gives your heat a few more harsh licks. “I told you I was talking to her, didn’t I?”

It doesn’t take much longer for your legs to begin to tremble, your body writhing in his grasp as he sets you any way but loose. Your hips buck up, your core grinding against his wet muscle as you chase your release.

Sylus was more than eager to give it to you, redoubling his efforts while locking his hands over your legs to keep you steady enough for him to pleasure you effectively. The warmth pooling in your belly was far too much, far more intense than anything you had ever experienced before.

“Mmh, I… I’m coming,” you warn through an airy whine.

And when you do, Sylus swoops in even more greedily than before, his flat tongue lapping at your honeyed release. There was no way he would ever be able to go without tasting you like this now that he has. Fuck, he’s such a goner.

As you come down from your high, you grin with a few pants. “Look at you, falling at the feet of your ‘egotistical popstar’—mmph!”

Sylus plunges two fingers into your mouth to shut you up, rising to plant himself onto the seat beside you. “That’s hardly an insult to me anymore, my dear. I know what I am.”

He pulls his spit slick fingers from your mouth, bringing them to your pussy as he gently circles your sensitive clit. His free hand guides you through the motion of straddling his lap. With a simple nod of his head, he gestures for you to lift your shirt up, and you do.

“And what’s that?” you ask, watching as he leans forward to mouth at your breasts through the fabric of your bra.

“I’ve already told you,” he murmurs, bringing his free hand to his belt to free his cock from the confines of his pants. “A whore at your disposal.”

“I knew it,” you chuckle, though the sweet sound is interrupted by a breathy moan that he coaxes out of you once he slides his fat cockhead along your folds.

He clicks his tongue, tilting his head to the side. “Are you not going to reciprocate my affection?” he teases, grasping tightly onto your hips. “Or do I have to work a bit harder for it, ma’am?”

Your knees would have certainly buckled if they weren’t firmly planted on the leather seats of the SUV. Who would have thought that you had a thing for white-haired bodyguards who call you ‘ma’am’?

Sylus raises a brow, a cocky smirk tugging on his lips. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?”

You feel your face heating up more and more the longer you look him in the eyes, shifting your hips so that the tip of his cock finally meets your entrance. “Just… shut up and put it in.”

“How demanding,” he hums, smirking ever so slightly as he uses his grasp on you to make one sharp snap of his hips, burying balls deep inside of your heat. “But as you wish, pretty.”

You cry out immediately, the burn of the stretch fading into unfolding pleasure. Eyes locked on each other’s, breaths mingling with ease, skin slicked with sweat, it was…

“Perfect,” he whispers, smoothing his hands along your hips before one reaches up to cup your cheek. He pulls you into a deep, searing kiss. “So, so perfect.”

Your movements are timid at first, you were merely testing the waters that had yet to be explored. His cock stuffed you full, his tip kissing your deepest points with ease, earning a muffled whimper from your mouth that his lips swallowed up eagerly.

Sylus begins to help you move a bit quicker, rocking your hips forward in smooth rolls, earning moans from the both of you that seemed to come straight from your guts.

“Give it to me how you like it, baby,” he encourages, both of his hands planting firmly on your waist. “Use my cock however you need it, sweets, it’s yours.”

His words have your clit pulsating around his thick shaft, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you begin to work up a pace of your own that has your heart beating wildly.

“I always… fuck—I always knew you were obsessed with me,” you jest, your grin stretching wide.

Sylus hums, the sound low and deep, his iron grip on your hips helping you maintain the intensity of your movements whenever your muscles beg for a break. “Yeah? Needed me to be buried inside of you to have that bit of confirmation?”

You nod with a smile, hands wrapping around his neck as you plant your forehead against his. He smiles too, a breathy moan leaving his mouth as you circle your hips in a way that has him seeing stars.

“Fuck yeah, I’m obsessed with you,” he admits without a semblance of shame, tilting his head back on the headrest.

Already feeling your second orgasm approaching, you bury your face in his neck, inhaling the scent of his cologne and sweat that made a musk that was so beautifully Sylus. His hands smooth over your backside, giving your ass a squeeze.

“Tch, let me see that pretty face,” he demands, nudging you with his shoulder so that you were sitting up once more. “You look so beautiful like this.”

You struggle to form a sentence, bouncing unabashedly on his cock, skin slapping together in an erratic pattern that spurred you even further. A string of whimpers and whines leave your puffy lips. Though your reply lacked words, it perfectly communicated what you wanted to say.

“Oh, I know it, baby,” he rasps, tilting his head back again as his eyes slip shut. “Pussy’s addictive—shit, I’m obsessed with her too.”

You begin to lose yourself all together, reduced to nothing more than a blissed out woman riding her bodyguard’s cock. “Sylus, I… mmh, I’m gonna cum.”

He nods in understanding, smoothing his hand through your hair as he brings you in for another kiss. It’s all teeth and tongue, messy and drooling in the most beautiful way possible.

“Gonna come inside you if you keep riding me like this, baby,” he warns, pulling back to look you in the eyes.

You feel his cock twitch inside of you, as if it were confirming his words. You don’t do this often, contrary to popular belief, but you are on the pill. Luckily. “Please do.”

Sylus pants through a smile, licking his lips as he guides you through a few more fleshed out grinds on his lap. “Huh… you really are something special.”

A deep groan leaves his mouth as he dips his head, grip tightening on your waist as you ride him through your shared orgasm. You aren’t sure where yours ended and his began, or if you had gotten the order wrong entirely. All you know is that in that moment, the two of you became one.

Panting, your hand plants on the fogged up window of the vehicle, leaving your handprint in its wake. Sylus lets out a breathy chuckle, raising his own shaking hand to the window.

You watch through lidded eyes as he draws a tiny heart, writing his and your first initials inside of it with a little + in the middle. How cute.

Sylus then turns to face you again, bringing his hand to your cheek. You nuzzle into his palm, placing a kiss on his skin. “I have something to admit.”

He nods his head a single time, beckoning you to continue. “What is it?”

You give him a wry smile. “My publicist never gave me the idea for that publicity stunt.”

“…I figured that much, sweetie.”

note. bodyguard!sylus, my glorious king… ok i lowkey hate this but it holds no purpose saving up space in my drafts so :D pls interact if you enjoyed, rbs are greatly appreciated <3 thank you for readingggg !!!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

[gaykarstaagforever]

YouTube has this thing now called YouTube Playables (great name as usual, guys; it's not a children's snack pack), that are basically in-app "Flash games"-style things that are just enough game to keep you watching ads.

The ones of these that aren't direct ripoffs of owned IP (very specifically Zuma) are barebones exercises in that bog-standard FTP addictive mobile gaming loop we all know and hate but also LOVE, minus the in-app purchases (for the time being). Like, shallow systems that are fun for exactly 30 minutes, then get stupidly hard so you'll pay to win, though you can't do that yet, so...kind of pointless.

...I still spent FOUR HOURS playing these, because they tapped into my primitive lizard brain's desire to try and master an utterly meaningless task and then feel undooly smug about it.

I didn't get any ads, because I'm a stooge that pays real money to Google every month for this, because once you go adless, you CANNOT go back. Which kind of negates the whole point of these, as addictive time-wasters that keep you glued to the platform and its commercials? But I already pay for YouTube and STILL got caught in these, so I suppose everything is going according to YouTube's plan either way, and I need meaningful human relationships.

But THAT isn't going to happen any time soon! So let me waste another evening on these by reviewing some crap garbage games for idiots that no one cares about, on Tumblr dot com!

1. Totemia: Cursed Marbles

It's Zuma. That's it. With a couple minor tweaks that make it harder and more annoying.

Just license Zuma, YouTube. I think you can afford the, what, $25 that would cost atm?

2. Sword Play

An on-rails sword slashing game (you don't control the movement, just the slashing), and you kill plastic doll guys before they kill you.

At some point they get projectiles that move really fast, that you can only destroy via specific directional QTEs that don't register properly half the time, because this is all relative finger smearing across the screen.

It was fun before that. The guys fall apart specific to how you slash them. That's something.

3. Dessert DIY

This one sucks. You're just picking from very limited options, then doing specific motions to trigger animations that create desserts that don't even look much like the promo art. People request different things, but early game all they ask for is "whatever you want to make" and "do one out of poop with bugs on it to make someone I hate throw up."

And then there's an animation of someone accepting what is obviously poop with bugs on it from their sworn enemy, they eat it anyway, then vomit.

The only fun part about this is the shameless inclusion of NPCs that look like celebrities, specifically Billie Eilish, Kanye West, and Donald Trump.

If you want to make a poop ice cream cone with bugs on it and feed it to Trump until he vomits all over his desk, this is the game for you. Otherwise, this is meh even for one of these meh games.

4. Bowmasters

Dueling Angry Birds, but you have no control of the camera and it focuses on you so you have to trial-and-error the degree of angle and throwing force to figure out how to hit and kill your opponent before they hit and kill you.

There are many colorful pop culture-inspired combatants to unlock, with a huge variety of projectiles of different weights, sizes, and behaviors. This is the most "very nearly a real, good game" one of these.

...Except that the level progression forces you to do Bonus Rounds, and one of those is "knock fruit off the head of an opponent without hitting them, and you have to do this like 5 times in a row, and we move you further away from them another 30 yards every round, and you have to use a wildly different unique projectile every round, and you get 3 chances, and that includes if you miss entirely."

It is basically impossible to do this, because your ever-changing location makes calculating arcs and force, with the ever-changing projectiles, impossible, in this limited amount of attempts. It turns into grinding it out until RNG randomly makes you win.

Which is a shame, because otherwise, this is fun. But you WILL get stuck on a stupid fruit round and stop playing this.

5. Mob Control

You have a cannon that launches blue guys. The NPC opponent does red. You both are trying to bumrush the other's base, taking advantage of buttons and switches and bonus gates that speed you up or slow you down and multiply your number of guys. Guys annihilate each-other when they run into each-other, so you need to overwhelm Red before they overwhelm you.

It's fun until it gets so fast that it becomes a chore to manage where precisely to launch guys specifically to annihilate other guys.

6. Merge Master

This goddamn game. This was 3.5 hours of my 4 hour playtime.

You have a grid board, with you at the bottom and an opponent at the top. You both have an army of warriors and dinosaurs, and a team HP bar. You click go, the warriors fire projectiles and the dinosaurs melee the nearest enemy, and last man standing wins.

Before each round, you can arrange the placement of your army, and use money you won from the last rounds to buy more warriors and dinosaurs. But the kicker is, you can combine like warriors and dinosaurs to make more powerful units, which you keep at the end of every round. They don't gain XP or anything, but as you make more money, you can buy more 1st-level units (that's all you can buy), and gradually combine them and then combine the combinations, and on and on and on, making incredibly powerful new units. And you need a mix of low-level and high-level units to have enough melee dinosaurs and projectile-throwers to overwhelm high-level enemy units, or draw fire away from your own, against the ever-changing enemy army each round.

It's a process of slowly adding more units and combining them to make stronger and stronger units, and as many of them as you can get, accounting for the limited board space. Also the price of units rises exponentially each round, so you may have 1 trillion gold, but at this point a new 1st-level dinosaur costs 245 billion.

I couldn't stop with this. It just got me. I wanted to see new exciting high-level warriors and dinosaurs, and see how fast I could take the other army down. There's more than zero strategy at work here, and battles can vary substantially from round to round, depending on what mix of units the enemy brings to the board.

It's still a rudimentary Flash-esque game, and very much akin to those shitty mobile boss rush games that raid our shadow legends. But it's not PTW yet, and the graphics are a charming and distorted replica of early 2000s 3D games, like Age of Mythology or GTA 3. It felt like something, for awhile.

It isn't, and I wasted valuable battery charge on this stupid shit. But I was having fun. And sometimes, that's enough.

...And posting about it here. It's something to talk about that isn't the world eating itself.

And we all need that sometimes.

[seventeendeer]

it's easy to get emotionally invested in the main plot and characters of Deltarune, but I think one of those quiet little side stories that have fucked me up the most is what happened to Ramb. or didn't happen, I guess

like ... it's such a major theme of both Deltarune and Undertale that everyone has someone who would miss them if they were gone. no one is expendable, no matter how "unimportant" they seem from your perspective. it's one of the first major genre subversions that Undertale explicitly spells out for you

a major twist at the end of Undertale is that even Flowey has the capacity to miss someone who is gone. everyone is connected in some way, no one is truly alone. Deltarune elaborates on this theme; Susie is ostracized in the beginning, but Noelle always wanted to be closer with her, Toriel divorced Asgore, but she still prays for him, Carol is feared by those closest to her, but the town she runs appreciates her efforts, King is a tyrant, but Lancer still loves his dad despite everything, many people in Cyber World are afraid of Queen, but the Swatchlings are devoted to her, Jevil was close with Seam once. if the player allows it, even Tenna, defined by his loneliness and obsolescence, can go on to be exactly what someone else (Mettaton) needs. Tenna himself seems to miss Spamton on some level, who is otherwise widely hated.

but not one character is shown to care about Ramb, and when he "dies", a random colleague shrugs it off and says no one will miss him. and not because he was uniquely evil or anything, he was just kind of annoying and no one around him found a reason to look past it. Tenna's a shitty boss who actively abuses the power he holds over his world to make others' lives miserable, but he's also tragic and fun and charismatic, so those around him warm up to him despite his problems. when the Knight cuts him up, depending on circumstance, there will be people around him to fix him up again, or at least to mourn him.

this even extends to a meta level. Tenna's character is fully explored and his popularity with fans is through the roof. Ramb is a blip on the fandom's radar by comparison. we just don't get to know him that well, and he's just not that engaging. he's just some guy, friendly enough to us, but with much subtler characterization than most of the quirky personalities in this game. Tenna is loved in part because he has a huge, ugly, violent meltdown; it makes him exciting! relatable! Ramb never seems to directly hurt anybody. no doubt if he actually had been chapter 3's secret boss, as was hinted he might be before that pattern was subverted, he would have been more popular. but he wasn't the secret boss. really, there's no solid evidence he ever wanted anything except to help Kris in the only way he knew how.

I wonder if Kris cared about him. I want to say "of course they did" because he's an old item they used to love playing with come to life, but there are hints that Kris has a complicated relationship to the Darkners in general, so I actually don't want to say for sure. the player is compelled to care about Ramb at least a little because he's friendly to us and ultimately enables us, but we are not Kris, and the path Ramb enables the player to take is clearly emotionally distressing to Kris.

idk. there's just something about someone dying unloved and unmissed. not because they "deserve" it, but mostly out of happenstance. he didn't meet the right people for him. he was kind of aggravating and nothing about him was interesting or charming enough for anyone to want to look past it. after he's gone, the only person who takes note of his passing takes time out of their day to figuratively spit on his grave. in a story that is so warm and so full of love, where everyone is so connected, he just kind of ... slipped through the cracks

[saeist]

dating a soccer prodigy isn't exactly for the weak.

especially when he's always away for games and even worse, when he lives across the world from you

it was hard at first, obviously. adjusting to the time differences, the long distance and all that. given that the sae itoshi was your first long distance relationship at that

somehow, you two make it work.

it made your relationship even more special whenever he was around. when you actually get to be with him physically and not through a screen

holidays together is another thing. luckily, you aren't too keen with celebrating holidays in general, though there's an exception with celebrating valentines day

throughout your relationship with sae, you had never celebrated valentines day together

yeah sae sends you gifts through the mail, lets you borrow his card for your weekly shopping spree, lets you have a spa day and etc. sae may not be present physically but he relentlessly shows how much he cares about you through gift giving— his love language.

it was valentines day and you had already gotten all your gifts from sae

for this year, sae had gifted you a van cleef jewelry set that matches the color of his hair, 1095 roses bouqet (each rose represents the days you two have been dating) and his recent jersey with his cologne on it

sae can really be romantic if he wanted to

you are now in bed after celebrating love day alone again with sae, who was on the phone

"did you like my gift this year?" you hear him ask through the phone. you let out a hum as you rummage through the giftbox, showing off the green velvet box to the camera

"do i like it? i love it!" you smile widely, "it even matches your hair!"

sae chuckles, watching your face light up like a christmas tree. his heart swoons at the sight. how he wishes that he was with you in that very moment to see your reaction in real time

"had to call every van cleef boutique around the area. heard they sold out fast" sae shares, recalling the time he had to yell at his poor manager to find more van cleef stores that sells that specific color

"i'm sure they had one in case a certain red head soccer prodigy would call at their door" you joke, making sae scoff playfully

"you're pushing it"

"oh, am i?"

sae smiles at the camera before he sighs, muttering "it's so fucking annoying i can't be there right now"

your eyes widen hearing his words that basically translate to "i miss you" and its not all the time you hear sae admit that he misses you

"looks like someone misses me" you say in a sing song voice

sae rolls his eyes, clicking his tongue in annoyance

"would you rather have me not miss you? because i think i can do that"

"you just contradicted yourself. you just said you think you can but in reality you can't"

you let out a loud laugh watching his face contort into annoyance. whether he likes it or not, you were right. he can't nor will he be able to do that

sae itoshi loves you so fucking much that he might give you the whole world if he could

"well, i haven't told you my gift for you yet" you bring up, grabbing something from your bedside table

sae raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to elaborate further. you got him a gift?

you show off an envelope. sae cocks his head to the side, what's that for?

"i can't be the only one to have gifts this valentines so this is my gift to you. i'm coming to spain!" you cheer, showing off your plane ticket to madrid

it takes a few seconds for sae to understand everything as he processed your words carefully. sae is a man of a few words so just seeing his reaction was enough for you to feel his excitement with the way he sat up on his bed, eyes wide

"happy valentines, sae. see you soon"

[naomissecret]

loser!matt jealous…. again ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

this type of plans are always your idea, and everyone always agrees because knowing how much you like parties and living in L.A guess there’s no bad parties, and definitely a big advantage was your pretty privilege which takes you guys to get the best table or get in faster and that’s exactly what it got you guys to the club, your pretty privilege

you guys got to have the best spot at the club thanks to someone, a dj, a guy who’s been on your dms for some time, and when he saw you were in the club he was going to do a session at, he didn’t hesitated a second to move his influences to get you and the group the best spot, as long as he could get a chance to talk to you

everyone was thankful about it, everyone expect one person, matt, and the view of the guy trying so hard to impress you was dead to him and also pathetic at the same time, he got you up and try to teach you how to move some stuff in the mixing table while holding your hand to help you, he would ask for your favorite songs to play them and order free drinks for all of you, that got matt completely annoyed

the night went all good for everyone except matt of course, the guy was really cool, you could tell his intention but you didn’t mind, after all, you’re still single and he wasn’t bad looking so, why not?

the group decided it was time to go home, but for you and jasmine? absolutely no, the guy told you he could find an after party in less than a minute and offered you to find a friend for jasmine so you two could stay together and he could have you for a little while, you immediately thought it was a great idea and went to find them to tell them you weren’t coming home with them

everyone was ready to leave and when you find jasmine and told her the guy’s plan she thought “ jas! the guy says he can find an after party and he’ll find you a guy you can be with, and I’ll be with him ” you speak as you grabbed jasmine’s hand, Matt’s heart quickly drop directly to his stomach, that was definitely not happening, at least not when he’s presence, his face was yelling ‘what the fuck’ and he didn’t thought for a second to let you and jasmine know that he was not allowing it “ no, jas, go with chris now, and you will come with us too ” he talked you and jas in a authority tone

you both stared at matt confused, jasmine looked at you almost asking what to do, you looked back at matt and talked “ um,no? matt you’re not- “ oh he already knew what was about to come out of your mouth “ what? not your boyfriend? i know that but you also have no fucking sense of danger“ when those words came out of Matt’s mouth, jasmine knew it was better to follow Matt’s instructions and just go home with them but she also knew you were the stubbornness person alive, so she did the smartest thing, step aside

“ what danger matt? you’re being so dramatic, damn “ you rolled your eyes, that’s one of the things it annoyed matt the most, but he was still not taking the ‘no’ as an answer, he turned around and more calmly talked to jasmine “ take the keys and give them to chris, tell him to start the car while I talk to her, aight? “ she looked between you and Matt before agreeing and getting out of the club on her way to find chris and the rest of the group, matt sighed and roamed his hand over his face trying to keep calm, but when he turned back to look at you and seeing you walking away to go back with that wack ass dj, he swore he was about to just throw you over his shoulder and drag you out if needed

“ where the fuck are you going? “ he asked frustrated as he gently grabbed your wrist “ obviously to do whatever the fuck I want “ your answer being sassy as always, you turned around to keep walking but matt pulled you back to him, and he was going to use the last thing he wanted to do but he had no other option “ you want a kiss? hm?… I’ll give you a kiss, and all you have to do is come home with me, sounds easy ,ain’t it? “ his tone now soft, and that was low blow, both of you knew it, he made it harder for you and moved his hands, one to your waist and the other one up to cup your cheek as he run his thumb over your cheekbone, his face with a mix of softness a little bit of desperation

you looked up at him annoyed as you internally melted at his suggestion and touch, it gets you frustrated when you can’t do the things the way you want, it’s annoying as fuck but the offer was too good to be rejected “ c’mon, you stay with me and I’ll give you a kiss, then I’ll take you home and you go to sleep, it’s pretty damn easy “ he said in a muttered and breathy tone as he flickered his gaze between your eyes and lips, and when he noticed how your expression changed from annoyance to temptation, he slightly smirked knowingly it was matter of seconds to have your answer “ just nod… I know you want a kiss “ that’s exactly what got you to finally give in and very slightly nod

he nodded and leaned down to tug you closer and press a light kiss on the corner of your lips before moving his hand deeper to the back of your neck and finally kissing you, soft but at the same time with possessiveness, his hand on your waist soflty started to run his thumb up and down as he deepened the kiss

after some moments he pulled away to take a breath and leaving a small peck on your lips before licking his lips and patting your hip “ let’s go “ he muttered breathless, you smiled up at him and hummed, matt took you back from your waist and let you walk first in front of him where he can see you, as you both made your way out of the club he gently lowered his hand to your hip and tug your skirt down, you leaned your head to look at him with a smile but still confused by his action, he looked back at you and chuckled “ it’s riding up, keep walking kiddo “ you laughed too and keep your way until both were outside and spotted the group waiting for you guys

they still haven’t noticed you and matt so he decided to do one last thing before going back to pretending his nonchalance, he stopped you from keep walking and tugged you’re hair to the side, he leaned down and press a kiss between your neck and jaw “ after we drop everyone I’ll buy you some food so you go to sleep good “ he muttered before gently pushing you and letting you go

♱note: I have delivered some loser!matt 🫡

🏷️: @izzylovesmatt @fadedstvrn @sturnvdds @sorrybirds @viviansturns @whore4chris @matthewbernardswife @adorematt

[radenajeng]

Next On the Schedule

Tags: idol!changbin, coordinator!reader, female!reader, soft changbin, comfort, accidental confession, tender moments, pining, workplace romance.

A/N: English is not my first language.

You weren't exactly hard to spot in a crowd—at least not to him.

While others passed by in a blur of deadlines and hurried footsteps, Changbin found himself noticing the one who always walked with urgency, but never with panic. You carried tension like a second skin. Eyes constantly scanning your phone, hand gripping clipboard and iPad at once that rarely left your side, a headset still tucked behind your ear long after calls ended.

At first, it was curiosity. A "who’s that?" muttered to one of the other staff during rehearsals. “The new scheduling coordinator,” someone answered, voice low and preoccupied. "Takes care of timing, transport, confirms with PDs. Basically the reason we haven’t missed a live shoot yet."

After that, he started noticing more. How you muttered under your breath when adjusting schedules. How your foot tapped impatiently when a stylist ran ten minutes late. Once, he overheard you reworking the entire schedule for the next day while crouched behind a speaker, shoulders tense, but voice calm as water.

He thought maybe you were scary. Efficient. A little intense.

Not his type.

And then it happened—quietly, without drama. Just a stupid, unremarkable Wednesday morning at the broadcast building when you handed him a bottle of warm water and said, “Don’t forget to stretch before you go up. You’re third on the cue sheet.”

Not even looking at him. Already typing your next message to someone else. That should’ve been it.

But his fingers brushed yours when he took the bottle. Brief. Barely anything. Your skin was warm, and his brain stalled for one second too long. You didn’t notice. But he did. How his chest suddenly tightened. How everything around him blurred except the outline of you—stressed, distracted, absolutely unaware. He stood there with a bottle in hand and a very annoying realization in his heart.

Another day, you left your iPad carelessly unlocked on a bench—a rare mistake. You were rushing, just for a second.

Changbin didn't mean to look. But the screen caught his attention. Tables, blocks of color-coded times, scribbled notes in the margins.

“Leave 40 min after Music Bank taping — enough time to eat?” “Hyunjin needs rest after Thursday shoot (back-to-back shoots!)” “Changbin looks pale. Ask makeup team to bring ice pack — check lighting for pre-record.”

His name had two underlines.

Next to it, in your handwriting:

“Warn stylists: don’t force tight collar again, he looked uncomfortable on Tuesday.”

Something cracked open inside him. Yes, you took care of all the members. But still, something about that note made his heart ache.

Then you started popping into his head at the most random times. When he was practicing. Eating. Writing lyrics. Once, while trying to pick between two hoodies, he found himself thinking,

"What would she says? Left or right? …Wait, what?"

It didn’t help that you kept being around. Not in the clingy way—never that. You were just… always moving in and out of his line of sight. Always too busy. Always one message away from another fire.

He started learning the little patterns. You skipped lunch but kept three different kinds of instant coffee in your backpack. You scribbled on your palm when you didn’t trust yourself to remember a task. You called his name differently than others did—firm, without hesitation, like someone who didn’t care he was famous, just that he needed to be where he was supposed to be.

He started looking forward to hearing his name like that.

So of course, he messed up eventually.

You were hunched over your iPad in the hallway, typing furiously. Changbin had just finished soundcheck and wandered over, towel still slung over his shoulders. He noticed your fingers were stiff, your lips pressed into a tight line. He crouched next to you slowly, quietly, offering a canned coffee he’d swiped from catering.

“Here. You look like you’re about to break your screen in half.”

You took it without looking up. “Thanks.” Then a pause. You blinked at him, realizing something. “Wait—aren’t you supposed to be with makeup?”

“I am. But I saw you sitting here like you’re negotiating world peace, so… I got curious.”

You chuckled under your breath, rubbing your temple. “Someone moved the call time for the radio shoot, but the car arrangement’s already final. I’m trying to make the whole day not collapse.”

“Isn’t there anyone who can help you?”

“They’re all busy. I’m supposed to do this. I don’t mind. Just wish I had five more hours in the day.”

He stared at you for a second too long.

"You really care, huh?"

You didn’t answer at first. Then looked at him, tired but steady.

“If I mess up, it’s not just me who gets affected. It’s your schedule. The whole team's. Fans waiting at events. I don’t have the luxury to be careless.”

He didn’t know what came over him. Maybe it was how the light flickered over your face. Maybe it was how exhausted you looked saying that. Or maybe it was just the way he was already too full of you.

“Well I care about you.”

Your fingers froze on the keyboard.

Silence stretched. Your brows lifted slowly, unsure if you heard him right.

Changbin blinked, realizing what he just said, and immediately started to backpedal.

“I mean—like—I care that you’re always pushing yourself too hard, you know? You need to sleep, and eat something besides caffeine and guilt, and maybe just… let someone take care of you too sometimes—shit.”

You still weren’t saying anything.

“I didn’t mean to—confess? That sounded like a confession, didn’t it.”

You laughed softly, stunned. “It did.”

He groaned into his hands. “I swear I was gonna keep that to myself until I died.”

You tilted your head, the smile on your lips making his heart throb. “Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know,” he muttered. “I saw you. You looked like the whole world was resting on your shoulders, and I just… wanted you to know someone’s watching too. Someone cares.”

The hallway was too quiet.

You stared at him for a moment longer, then gently closed your laptop.

“Thanks for the coffee,” you said softly. “And for caring.”

He hesitated. “Is that a—like, a polite thanks, or…”

You stood, smiled, leaned just close enough to whisper, “It’s a ‘let’s talk after your today's schedule ends’ kind of thanks.”

He smiled so wide his cheeks hurt.

And even though your schedule was still a mess, your inbox still full, and your coffee still half-warm, you walked away from him feeling a little lighter.

—————

©radenajeng, July 2025.

[chaot1c0]

hard to fall for - atsumu m.

atsumu liked to believe he wouldn't ever fall for anyone- that it'd be the other way around.

yet here he was, grumbling about you to osamu, and realizing that he did, in fact, like you.

◦◦,°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°,◦◦◦◦,°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°,◦◦◦◦,°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°,◦◦

you weren't drawn to him.

it seemed exactly like the opposite.

you were reserved, quiet but not shy, and overall just in your own world. at first atsumu thought you were shy. he thought, "she'll probably fall for me once I talk to her."

oh, how wrong he was.

he walked up to you, mildly flirting, and all you did was give a polite nod and smile. barely answered. no blushing. no stammering. nothing.

just politeness.

he chalked it off as shy, because surely you were just pretending to be uninterested, right?

except he began to doubt himself when you continued.

you weren't interested, and he was beginning to grow more frustrated with the thought.

especially because he kept coming back, for reasons unknown to him.

whatever those reasons were, it definitely wasn't because he liked you.

..right?

◦◦,°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°,◦◦◦◦,°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°,◦◦◦◦,°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°,◦◦

"she gets on my nerves, 'samu! why can't she just be flustered or somethin' when she's talkin' to me?" atsumu grumbled, trudging through the hallways with a bored osamu walking next to him.

osamu shrugged, not even interested in the rant that his twin was going on about. "maybe you just suck," he commented dryly, entirely fed up with his twin brother. atsumu merely grumbled once more.

◦◦,°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°,◦◦◦◦,°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°,◦◦◦◦,°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°,◦◦

atsumu would flirt.

you would merely blink.

he would get annoyed later on.

that's how it routinely went.

until the day you offered him medicine when he was sick. you held it out to him, after you had caught up to him, and as soon as he took it you left without a word.

that was the day atsumu realized something.

you did care, you just cared in your own quiet way. and maybe you just weren't interested in him, but you did notice things.

you noticed him.

and that fact alone wouldn't stop bothering him for the rest of the day.

◦◦,°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°,◦◦◦◦,°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°,◦◦◦◦,°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°,◦◦

after that he started noticing things. like how you gave the tiniest smile when he messed up a line while trying to flirt with you, or how you hummed sometimes when there was a song you just couldn't get out of your head.

he noticed the way your laugh sounded, the exact way you smiled, how your voice sounded, and how your hair framed your face.

he thought that maybe it was just him being hyperaware, that it would go away.

it didn't.

◦◦,°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°,◦◦◦◦,°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°,◦◦◦◦,°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°,◦◦

he didn't know what to do with himself, especially since you were starting to talk to him now that he'd toned down his flirting a bit.

every time he managed to make you laugh, his heart would race.

when you smiled his way, he stuttered and lost his train of thought.

as soon as you walked into the room, his ears would turn red.

but it wasn't a crush, right?

no way. it couldn't be.

◦◦,°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°,◦◦◦◦,°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°,◦◦◦◦,°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°,◦◦

except it is. and he realizes after he sees you, in the crowd, watching his game.

and once he realizes, it only gets worse from there.

whatever reactions he's been having before?

immediately intensified.

now even his whole face turns red sometimes.

worst part? you merely smile at him and ask if he's okay, while he can already hear osamu's teasing voice.

but he'll keep chasing every reaction from you if it meant one day you'll stop and wait for him to finally catch up.

I have no idea what I wrote thank you and goodbye

[pullmecloseman]

Bob Floyd x Reader One-Shot

Prompt: 8.“You’re really gonna make me beg?”

A dare taken too far. Neither of you wants to stop.

Word count: 4.3k

A/N: i did a little twist on this one, i hope you like it! I will be making another one tmrw though with the same prompt just a little different and this time it’ll actually be a dare between them. Also this was inspired by “the plan” by @geminiwritten my absolute fav writer !

Warnings: suggestive language, mutual pining, sexual tension, teasing/flirty texting, implied smut, lingerie (thong mention), slowburn setup, whiny!Bob (“you’re really gonna make me beg?”), squad chaos, Love Island references, bets on your sex life, emotionally repressed naval aviators.

From the archives of this

If someone were to describe a typical Dagger Squad lunch hour, it would probably sound like a mix between a sitcom and a group therapy session—equal parts chaos and comfort, with way too many opinions about fictional characters. This particular Thursday afternoon in the mess hall was no exception.

“I’m just saying,” Fanboy said through a mouthful of mac and cheese, “if I were on Love Island, I’d clean up.”

Phoenix blinked at him. “You? You’d be the first one dumped. You’d be in the villa for, like, six hours.”

“Incorrect,” he declared. “I would be a fan favorite. Strategic alliances, shock confessionals, a sensitive side revealed by episode three—”

“Oh my god,” you laughed, stabbing a carrot with your fork. “You’ve definitely thought about this before.”

“I have a brand, okay?”

“You have delusion,” Payback said, lounging on the bench beside him. “There’s a difference.”

You were halfway through laughing at that when your eyes flicked—completely on instinct—to the table across the room.

There sat Bob.

He wasn’t doing anything particularly noteworthy. Just sitting between Rooster and Coyote, listening to Hangman talk with his usual blend of arrogance and drama. Bob’s glasses had slipped a little down the bridge of his nose, and he pushed them up absentmindedly as he reached for his drink.

Your gaze lingered a second too long.

He looked good. The way he always looked good—quiet, composed, slightly flushed from the sun, all long limbs and soft features and that constant undercurrent of gentleness. The kind of good that made your stomach do annoying little flips even though you were a grown-ass adult who should be over this kind of thing.

You blinked and looked back at your tray, trying to focus on the carrots again. Didn’t help. They tasted like betrayal.

“…Y/N?” Phoenix said.

“Huh?”

Phoenix was looking at you, one brow raised.

“So what you’re saying is,” Fanboy chimed in, grinning, “you didn’t hear a word of that last conversation because you were too busy eye-fucking Lieutenant Floyd across the mess hall?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Shut up.”

“Oh, she so was,” Payback added, turning toward Phoenix. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Phoenix just gave you a knowing smile and propped her chin on her hand. “It’s been going on for weeks, by the way. You’re not exactly subtle.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

“I don’t—It’s not like that.”

“Oh my god,” Fanboy groaned, throwing his hands up. “It’s exactly like that!”

“You’ve got Floyd fever,” Payback said solemnly, as if diagnosing a terminal illness. “Symptoms include longing glances, delayed text replies, and wardrobe choices designed to make him squirm.”

“I’m gonna kill all of you,” you muttered.

Phoenix leaned in, voice quieter now, more serious beneath the teasing. “He likes you, you know.”

You looked down at your tray.

“No, he doesn’t.”

“He does,” Payback said. “But he’s Bob. He’d rather suffer in silence than admit it.”

“He probably has a spreadsheet about it,” Fanboy added. “Projected rejection outcomes. Emotional contingency plans. Backup PowerPoints.”

“I’m serious,” Phoenix said, her voice gentler now. “You guys have this… thing. And everyone sees it. He looks at you like you hung the damn moon.”

You stayed quiet for a second, pushing food around on your plate.

“I just… I don’t want to ruin it. What if I misread it? What if I go for it and he doesn’t feel the same? Then it’s weird forever.”

“He does feel the same,” Payback said.

“And even if he didn’t,” Fanboy added, “it wouldn’t be weird. You’d bounce back. But he does.”

A beat of silence.

“Okay,” Phoenix said, her voice shifting into that tone that usually meant someone was about to get dared to do something unhinged. “New proposal.”

“Oh no,” you said.

“We each put down a hundred bucks,” she continued. “That’s three hundred dollars total—”

“Four,” Fanboy corrected. “I’m in.”

“Four,” she agreed. “You’ve got one week. Get Bob to crack. Admit he likes you. Bonus points if he’s the one who finally makes a move.”

You blinked. “You’re betting money on my love life?”

“You were too chicken to do it yourself,” Payback shrugged. “We’re just giving you motivation.”

“And bragging rights,” Fanboy added. “And cash. Imagine the serotonin hit.”

You hesitated.

Then, slowly, a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth.

“One week?”

“One week.”

“And if I win, I get four hundred dollars?”

Phoenix nodded. “Unless Hangman finds out and wants in.”

You laughed. “Then I guess I better make it worth the show.”

From across the room, Bob glanced up and caught your eye.

You smiled.

He blinked, a little startled, then gave you a small, crooked smile back before turning back to whatever Rooster was saying.

You felt your heart do a traitorous little jump.

Let the games begin.

By the next morning, the group chat was already on fire.

Operation Bob Hits 👅👅😈

Fanboy: operation make bob flinch begins now

Payback: who’s bringing the emotional warfare

Phoenix: I already laid out the outfit she’s wearing today. soft girl summer.

You: You guys are so dramatic. I’m literally just going to training.

Phoenix: With a tank top that makes men stupid.

Fanboy: i give it three days before bob combusts

You: We’re going slow remember???

Payback: Yeah yeah. Reel him in like a shy little trout.

You locked your phone, grinning against your coffee cup.

Okay. Game on.

-

The plan wasn’t to come on strong. You weren’t about to throw yourself into Bob’s lap and confess your undying love—not your style, and definitely not his. You had to ease into it. Gentle touches. Flirty texts. Casual compliments that felt like jokes… until they didn’t.

And it started with conversation.

After training that afternoon, you caught up to him outside the locker rooms, still breathing a little hard from drills, sweat sticking to your back beneath your tank top. Bob was toweling off, cheeks flushed, hair messy and damp.

You offered him your water bottle with a grin. “You looked like you were dying back there.”

He accepted it with a grateful nod, tilting it back. “Didn’t realize this squad was running a boot camp today.”

“I only come here for the pain,” you said dryly. “Also the free sunscreen.”

Bob chuckled, handing the bottle back. “You looked good out there. Quick.”

The compliment caught you off guard for half a second—but you recovered.

“You watching me, Floyd?”

He blinked. “I mean—just during drills. I was—”

“I’m kidding,” you said, nudging his elbow. “But thanks.”

He gave you that small, tight-lipped smile again—the one that never quite reached his eyes unless he really meant it. This time it did.

“Any big plans tonight?” he asked, voice casual.

“Laundry. Watching trash TV. Fighting off the urge to order pizza I don’t need.”

Bob nodded like that was a noble and respectable agenda. “What show?”

You squinted at him. “Promise not to judge?”

“No.”

“Fair enough. Love Island.”

That actually made him laugh—fully, softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“I figured you were more of a Succession person.”

“Please. If I wanted cold billionaires being emotionally distant I’d text my ex.”

Bob shook his head, still smiling. “Let me know if anything dramatic happens. I live for secondhand mess.”

“Oh, you’re getting updates.”

You left it there. You didn’t push. But when you got home that night, you sent him a picture of your dinner—half-burned frozen pizza and a glass of boxed wine—with the caption:

“Your girl is thriving. Ready for island drama and bad decisions.”

Bob replied ten minutes later:

“Nothing says self-care like processed cheese and hot people with no emotional intelligence.”

You grinned. Your fingers hovered over your phone for a second… then you sent back:

“You’d be the quiet guy who wins. Girls would go nuts over you. I’d vote for you.”

No reply for a while. Then—

“You’re just saying that so I’ll owe you pizza.”

You laughed. But your heart was fluttering a little too fast for that to be all.

-

Two days later, it escalated.

Not a lot. Just a little.

You wore a cropped tee to game night at Phoenix’s place. Innocent enough. But it did rise a little higher than usual when you lifted your arms. You also may have “accidentally” sat down beside Bob on the floor, thigh brushing his.

When your knees touched, he didn’t move.

The squad noticed—obviously. Payback and Fanboy kept exchanging looks across the room like they were watching the Bachelor finale.

“You’re real chatty tonight,” Bob said at one point, glancing down at you after your third sarcastic comment in a row.

You shrugged. “Maybe you just bring it out in me.”

Bob looked at you a second too long.

Later that night, when you texted him a Love Island meme of a guy yelling “I know what I bring to the table, and I’m not afraid to eat alone,” he replied:

“You’re chaos.”

“Good chaos or bad chaos?”

“…Unclear.”

You smiled so hard you dropped your phone on your face.

The next day, it rained during drills. You and Bob ended up ducking under the same overhang, soaked and breathless.

He looked at you, blinking water from his lashes. “You look like a drowned rat.”

You shoved his arm. “You look like an accountant who fell in a lake.”

“I’ll take it.”

He hesitated—just long enough for you to notice—before asking: “You cold?”

You nodded, hugging your arms around yourself.

Without a word, Bob shrugged off his outer layer and draped it over your shoulders. It smelled like laundry detergent and jet fuel.

Your fingers brushed as you adjusted the sleeves.

You didn’t say thank you. He didn’t ask for it.

Back in the group chat, the bets were heating up.

Phoenix: he gave her his jacket. it’s OVER.

Fanboy: tell me he didn’t just FRIENDLY FLIRT.

Payback: how’s it feel to be bob’s downfall

You: it’s like slow cooking a roast. trust the process.

Hangman: what did i just walk into

Fanboy: ohhh no one told him

Phoenix: he needs to buy in, i added him to the gc

You: you in for $100 or what

Hangman: if she pulls it off, i’ll give her TWO

You grinned.

-

You weren’t even the one who planned the pier hangout. That had been Fanboy’s idea—something about summer winding down, fried food cravings, and a dire need to prove he could win the giant stuffed shark from the rigged claw machine. But somehow, it turned into a full squad thing, like it always did.

“Sunset pier vibes only,” Phoenix had declared in the group chat. “Wear something cute. Or I’m disowning you.”

Which, of course, meant she also sent you three outfit options to pick from.

You stood in front of your mirror for way too long that afternoon, finally settling on the one she labeled “this will make him forget how to breathe.”

The dress was simple: pale pink, soft, barely-there straps. Short. Like, really short. And underneath—because your friends were evil and persuasive and very invested in your sex life—you wore a matching lacy thong.

“Manifesting chaos,” Fanboy had texted, accompanied by three fire emojis.

You slid your lip gloss on, checked your reflection, and muttered to yourself:

“I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m just wearing a dress.”

Sure. Just a dress. And a mission.

-

The pier was already buzzing by the time you got there—sea breeze drifting through strings of glowing lights, the distant sound of crashing waves beneath the boards, music bleeding out from every arcade and funnel cake stand. You spotted the squad near the food trucks, the guys already halfway through their first round of fried things on sticks.

Bob was there. Of course he was.

And the second he saw you, everything in his face shifted.

It was subtle—he didn’t drop his drink or trip over his feet or anything. But his expression stuttered. Eyes dropped. Flicked back up. Paused. Blinked. And then he immediately looked away like he was trying not to.

Got him.

“Jesus,” Fanboy muttered beside you. “He’s already sweating.”

“Didn’t even take ten seconds,” Payback grinned.

Phoenix gave your outfit one final approving nod. “Perfect. Now go be hot and mysterious.”

You rolled your eyes, but your stomach was flipping as you walked toward the group.

“Hey, Bob,” you said when you reached him, all sunshine and nonchalance.

He cleared his throat. “Hey. You, uh—nice dress.”

You tilted your head, smiling. “You think?”

“Yeah. Looks… comfortable.”

You bit back a laugh. “Thanks.”

Rooster and Coyote were already elbowing each other behind him.

-

The night unfolded in bursts of color and chaos.

Hangman got into a heated argument with a six-year-old about whether the milk bottle toss was rigged. Fanboy ate his own weight in fried Oreos. Payback won a light-up toy sword and declared himself King of the Pier.

You stayed close to Bob—just close enough.

At one point, you both wandered over to the edge of the boardwalk, leaning against the railing, watching the tide.

“It’s nice out,” he said, voice soft.

“Yeah,” you replied. “You like the beach?”

Bob shrugged. “I like quiet.”

You looked at him out of the corner of your eye. “I can be quiet.”

He smirked. “Since when?”

You nudged his shoulder. “Rude.”

But then—wind. Sharp, sudden, ocean-strong. It swept through the pier, catching the hem of your dress and flipping it just enough to be dangerous.

You gasped, scrambling to hold it down—too late.

Bob’s eyes widened, then immediately, violently snapped away. His ears turned bright red.

You’d seen him flustered before. But this? This was next-level.

“Everything okay?” you asked innocently.

“Fine,” he said quickly. Too quickly.

You bit back a smirk.

From a few feet behind, you could hear Fanboy absolutely choking with laughter.

Back with the group, things only got worse (for Bob) and better (for your bet).

Payback was barely holding it together.

“You’re looking a little pink, Floyd,” he said casually, offering Bob a bottle of water.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Hangman added. “You look like someone just told you your favorite airplane model was discontinued.”

Phoenix coughed, not at all hiding her grin. “Poor guy’s overheating.”

Bob just shook his head and busied himself with his soda, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. He had to know they were teasing him—but there was no way he knew why.

That made it better.

-

Later, the squad gathered around a cart serving hand-scooped ice cream. You ended up with a cone of strawberry, leaning back against the railing as the sky shifted into that perfect late-summer purple.

You weren’t trying to be seductive. Not really.

But it was hot out, and the ice cream was melting fast, and maybe you licked a bit off your thumb slowly. Maybe your tongue ran along the edge of the cone a little more than necessary. Maybe your teeth scraped the tip—

“God,” Hangman muttered behind Bob. “What a sight.”

Bob didn’t say anything. But his grip on his cup tightened.

No one noticed.

Except you.

As the sun fully disappeared and the group started to drift apart—plans for late-night snacks and crashing back at various apartments—you lingered near Bob again, shoulder brushing his for just a second longer than needed.

“Thanks for hanging out tonight,” you said softly.

He glanced at you. That same flicker of something half-said behind his eyes.

“Always.”

You smiled.

And you were so close to leaning in and saying something that might ruin everything—but you didn’t.

Not yet.

Operation Bob Hits 👅👅😈

Phoenix: he’s going to explode

Fanboy: bob saw PINK and forgot what year it was

Payback: I’m going to start charging admission

You: this is so much more fun than dating apps

Hangman: if he doesn’t fold on sunday i’m changing my name

You: he’s cracking. i can feel it.

-

You didn’t text him right away.

You waited until you were home, dress peeled off, hair messy from the wind, lying across your bed in that tiny pink thong that had absolutely ruined Bob Floyd’s entire evening.

Then you took a mirror pic.

Not a scandalous one—nothing too obvious. Just you in an oversized tee (his, technically, from the last squad sleepover you “forgot” to give back), messy hair, thighs tucked under you on the bed. The thong wasn’t visible unless he was really looking.

You hit send.

You: survived the wind. barely.

You: i’m blaming you if i catch a cold

Bob: blaming me for the weather? harsh.

You: you distracted me. you and your quiet hotness.

Bob: quiet hotness?

You: you know. the glasses. the whole soft-spoken, “i could pin you without saying a word” thing. it’s a lot to handle.

Dot dot dot. You waited. You could practically feel him staring at his phone.

Then—

Bob: you think about me pinning you a lot?

You blinked.

Sat up.

Reread it twice.

Then you grinned, fully feral.

You: maybe.

Bob: dangerous game you’re playing.

He was folding.

-

The next few days turned into an emotional endurance sport.

During training, Bob barely looked at you. Not in the avoidance way—more like he was trying to act like he wasn’t thinking about your legs in that dress. Or your texts. Or the fact that your hand lingered on his arm for a second too long when you passed him a clipboard.

You caught him staring more than once. At your lips. Your thighs. Your mouth when you chewed gum.

And he didn’t flinch anymore when you caught him.

He just held eye contact and licked his lips.

The group chat was on fire.

Phoenix: oh he’s spiraling

Fanboy: bob is one text away from losing his religion

Hangman: i think she broke his brain

You: he literally asked if i think about him pinning me

Payback: DO you??

You: not the point

Phoenix: okay but do you have an outfit for sunday

You: it’s already laid out

Fanboy: what color’s the thong

You: red

Hangman: pour one out for bob

-

Sunday came faster than expected.

You cleaned your apartment, lit a candle that smelled like vanilla and sin, laid out snacks like it was a totally normal evening and not the night you planned to break Bob Floyd’s entire self-control.

The dress was barely a dress at all—thin red straps, soft clingy fabric, hem brushing the tops of your thighs. The matching red lace underneath made you feel borderline illegal.

You were still in the kitchen when the knock came.

When you opened the door, Bob blinked like he forgot what he came for.

“Hi,” you said, smiling too softly. “Come in.”

He did. Slowly. Carefully. Like the air was thinner inside your apartment than it was outside.

You flopped onto the couch, flipping the TV on.

“I queued up the episode,” you said. “You’re not allowed to skip the recaps. They’re sacred.”

Bob sat beside you—not close, but not far either. His thigh brushed yours when he shifted.

“I never skip the drama,” he said.

You grabbed your blanket, the one you always shared with him, and draped it over your legs like nothing was different. Like you weren’t practically radiating heat just from being near him.

The show started. You made it maybe ten minutes before your hand grazed his under the blanket.

You didn’t move it.

Neither did he.

-

Somewhere between the third cheating scandal and the fourth crying fit, you stood to grab more snacks. You had to.

You bent over slightly to reach the lower cabinet—and you knew what you were doing. The hem of your dress lifted just enough to flash that tiny red lace triangle, and you didn’t adjust it right away.

Behind you, the room went silent.

You stood up slowly, taking your time. Turned around. Bob looked like he was dying.

“You good?” you asked, voice light.

He blinked. “Yeah. Just—wasn’t expecting the dress. You look… really nice.”

You tilted your head. “You said I always look nice.”

“I—yeah.” He swallowed. “But this is… extra.”

You walked back toward him, snackless, sitting down just a little closer than before.

For a while, neither of you said anything.

Then the girl onscreen started yelling about how she was “loyal, babes, SO loyal,” and you turned toward him.

Bob looked at you.

And something cracked.

“I’m not stupid,” he said softly.

Your breath hitched.

“What?”

His voice was low, barely audible over the TV. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

You smiled slowly. “I’m just watching Love Island.”

“You’re trying to kill me.”

“Bob—”

His hand reached under the blanket, fingers wrapping around your thigh.

Your pulse spiked.

“You’re really gonna make me beg?” he asked, voice rough now. Strained. Wrecked.

Everything stopped. The air between you burned.

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t have to.

Because a second later, he was on you.

Mouth on yours, fingers gripping your waist, pulling you into his lap like he’d been waiting a year to do it. His lips were hot and urgent, breath ragged, body pressed flush against yours. You moaned into his mouth, hands sliding into his hair, and his growl was so quiet it barely registered before he was kissing you harder.

There was nothing soft about it. It was hunger. Frustration. A week’s worth of tension crashing down all at once.

He pulled back just enough to breathe.

“I’ve been trying so hard,” he whispered, forehead against yours. “You drive me insane.”

You kissed him again.

Harder.

And when his hand slid beneath your dress, when he found the red lace and groaned like he might actually lose his mind—you smiled against his lips.

Finally.

-

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was Bob’s arm, heavy and warm across your waist.

The second was that you weren’t wearing the dress anymore.

The sheets were tangled around your legs, your cheek was pressed to his bare chest, and one of your thighs was still slotted between his. His skin was warm, his breathing steady, and your entire body ached—in the best possible way.

You smiled into his shoulder.

Victory had never felt so good.

Last night had been… a blur. A fever dream. One long rush of kisses and whispers and clothing hitting the floor, of tangled limbs and breathless laughter, of Bob finally letting go and pulling you under with him. You remembered him lifting you like you weighed nothing. You remembered him moaning against your neck. You remembered the sound he made when you bit his shoulder right before—

You bit your lip, eyes fluttering shut.

Yeah. You remembered everything.

Bob shifted slightly behind you, his voice a sleepy mumble. “You awake?”

“Mm-hmm.”

His fingers grazed your hip. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not done with you yet.”

You blinked.

“What?”

Before you could even turn around, he flipped you onto your back in one smooth motion and settled between your thighs, grinning like a man who had not just spent the entire night making you see stars.

You gasped. “Bob!”

“You think I forgot about that little red thong?”

“I—”

“Mm,” he hummed, pressing a kiss to your neck. “I’ve been patient long enough.”

And then you weren’t talking anymore.

An hour later, after Bob had finally let you crawl out of bed (on wobbly legs, thank you very much), you made it to the kitchen in his T-shirt and nothing else. He was behind you a minute later, wrapped around you like he hadn’t just thoroughly ruined your life.

You were sipping coffee when it hit you.

The bet.

You won.

You almost choked on your drink.

“What’s wrong?” Bob asked, instantly alert.

You turned around slowly, setting your cup down with the kind of smug grin that made men fear you.

“Nothing, lieutenant.”

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You look evil.”

“I am.”

You padded back to the bedroom, grabbed your phone off the nightstand, and opened the OBH GC.

The message you sent was simple.

You: sooo… who’s Venmo-ing me first?

Attached: a picture of Bob’s neatly folded flight suit on your bedroom floor.

There was a pause. One beat of silence.

Then all hell broke loose.

Operation Bob Hits 👅👅😈

Phoenix: OH MY GOD

Fanboy: HOLY SHIT

Payback: SHE DID IT

Hangman: this is the greatest day of my life

Phoenix: bob folded like a lawn chair

Fanboy: HE FOLDED LIKE A DELTA FLIGHT MAP

Payback: i’m sending my hundred with HONOR

Hangman: sending two, as promised. worth every penny.

Phoenix: ask him if he needs a fan. or CPR. or a therapist.

You: he’s busy making me breakfast and kissing my neck so maybe later

Hangman: RUDE

Fanboy: tell bob i said congrats on finally growing a pair

You: i will. right after he makes me see stars again 🫶

Phoenix: I’M LOGGING OFF

Payback: YOU’RE A MENACE

Hangman: and my hero

Bob leaned over your shoulder while you grinned at your screen.

He blinked. “What is this?”

You hit the lock button.

“Nothing.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Want me to read you my favorite messages?”

“Nope.”

“Because Hangman said—”

“Absolutely not.”

You laughed, and he kissed your temple.

“Remind me to never get on your bad side,” he murmured.

You leaned into him, heart still fluttering.

“Don’t worry,” you whispered back. “You’re way too good at being on top of me instead.”

Bob groaned.

And in the OBH (Operation Bob Hits) GC, another $100 hit your account.

Victory tasted like coffee, kisses, and the soft moan Bob made when you dragged him back into bed for Round Three.

[coriihanniee]

RIDICULOUSLY YOURS ‧₊ ᵎᵎ ⋅ ˚✮

۶ৎ ALTERNATIVE : Woonhak's Crash Course on Loving You !!

۶ৎ PAIRING : class clown!woonhak x academic burnout!reader ۶ৎ GENRE(S) : fluff, comfort ۶ৎ WARNING(S) : academic stress, mentions of low self esteem ۶ৎ WORD COUNT : 4.9k words

۶ৎ A/N : wrote this in class bcs why can't the men in my class be like the ones I write in my fics? 😒

Finished reading? Read the spin-off, 'Vive la Crush' here! : 🌹

 Step 1 :

The fluorescent lights in Chemistry class are doing that annoying flicker thing again, and you're pretty sure the migraine building behind your eyes is less about the lights and more about the fact that you've been running on three hours of sleep and spite for the past week.

Your notebook is open to a page that's supposed to contain notes about molecular bonds, but instead it's just a series of increasingly illegible scribbles that look like your sanity slowly deteriorating in real time. You're staring at the equations with the same energy as someone watching paint dry, except paint drying would probably be more engaging at this point.

"You look like you need a personality reboot."

The voice comes from your right, and you don't even have to look to know it's Woonhak. Kim Woonhak, who somehow ended up as your seatmate in Chemistry, Biology, and Math this semester, a cruel joke from the universe, considering he's basically the human embodiment of a golden retriever while you're currently channelling the energy of a dying houseplant.

You turn to look at him, and he's got that concerned-but-trying-to-be-casual expression that people get when they're not sure if you're going to laugh or cry.

"Excuse me?" you deadpan.

"I'm just saying," he continues, completely unfazed by your tone, "you've been looking like you're planning the demise of that textbook for the past twenty minutes. It's giving very 'final boss' energy."

"Maybe I am."

"See, this is what I'm talking about." He leans back in his chair, studying you with those annoyingly perceptive eyes. "When's the last time you smiled? And I don't mean that polite customer service smile you do when teachers ask if you understand the material by the way."

You open your mouth to answer, then close it. Because honestly? You can't remember.

"That's what I thought," Woonhak says gently. "Don't worry, though. I'm gonna fix this."

"Fix what?"

"Your whole..." he waves his hand vaguely in your direction, "...situation."

"I don't have a situation."

"Everyone has a situation. Yours is just particularly tragic."

Before you can respond with something appropriately sarcastic, your teacher clears her throat at the front of the class, and Woonhak turns his attention back to the lesson with a satisfied little smile that makes you want to throw your eraser at his head.

You have no idea what you've just gotten yourself into.

Step 2 : 

The first sticky note appears on your desk the next morning, stuck to your water bottle in handwriting that's somehow both messy and oddly neat.

"Don't die today 💗"

You stare at it for a full thirty seconds, then look around the classroom. Woonhak is already at his desk, chin propped on his hand, watching you with barely contained glee.

"Seriously?" you mouth at him.

He just grins and gives you a thumbs up.

The second note shows up during lunch, somehow tucked into your locker despite the fact that you're pretty sure you didn't give him your combination.

"You're hotter than midterms"

This one makes you snort despite yourself, which is apparently exactly the reaction Woonhak was hoping for, because when you turn around, he's standing three lockers down with the most smug expression you've ever seen.

"How did you even—"

"I have my ways," he says mysteriously, then pulls a bag of your favorite chips from his backpack. "Want some?"

You freeze. You've never told anyone what your favorite chips are. Hell, you're not even sure you've eaten them at school before.

"How do you know these are my favourite?"

"Lucky guess?" he offers, but he's doing that thing where he's trying not to smile, which means he's absolutely lying.

"Woonhak."

"Fine, fine. I asked Sungho what you usually buy from the vending machine. He said you always get the same thing."

"You asked Sungho about my snacking habits?"

"I asked Sungho about your preferences. There's a difference."

You want to be annoyed, but the chips are already open and they smell heavenly, and you haven't eaten anything since your sad breakfast of coffee and a toast with jam.

"This is weird," you tell him, but you take the bag anyway.

"Weird how?"

"Weird like... why do you care?"

Woonhak is quiet for a moment, and you notice a slight shift in his expression. "Because you look like you're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, and I don't think anyone's bothered enough to ask if you need help."

The chips suddenly taste like cardboard.

"I'm fine," you say automatically.

"Yeah," Woonhak says softly, "that's what I figured you'd say."

Step 3 :

"For When You Wanna Punch a Textbook" shows up in your Spotify notifications at 11:29pm on a Tuesday, right when you're in the middle of having a breakdown over calculus homework.

You almost don't click on it, the last thing you need is Woonhak's chaotic energy in musical form when you're already barely holding it together. However, your curiosity wins, and you tap the notification.

The first song is something you've never heard before, but it's got this driving beat that somehow perfectly matches the frustration you're feeling. The second is a song you forgot you loved. The third makes you stop writing entirely and just listen.

By the time you reach the end of the playlist, it's past midnight and your calculus homework is still unfinished, but something in your chest feels a little lighter.

You screenshot the playlist and send it to Woonhak with a simple "Thanks."

His response comes back immediately, despite the late hour : "Told you it was good 😌"

"How did you know?" you type back.

"Know what?”

"What music I'd like, we've never talked about music."

The typing indicator appears and disappears several times before his response finally comes through : "You hum sometimes when you're concentrating, figured out your vibe from there."

You stare at your phone screen, a warm and uncomfortable feeling settling in your stomach. You hum when you concentrate? You didn't even know you did that. But somehow Woonhak noticed, and not only noticed but cared enough to remember.

"That's creepy" you send back, because you don't know how else to respond.

"That's friendship, omg just like My Little Pony! 🦄🤩 " he replies, and then immediately after : "Anyways, get some sleep. you have bags under your eyes the size of my future."

"Your future is probably pretty small then"

"Ouch, and here I am trying to save your academic career."

Despite all the weight you’ve been carrying, you smile, for the first time in weeks.

"Goodnight woonhak"

"Goodnight!! Sweet dreams of not punching textbooks 💗"

Step 4 : 

"What's the square root of you plus me?" Woonhak asks on a Thursday morning, sliding into his seat next to you just as the bell rings.

"Shut up," you reply automatically, not looking up from your notes.

"Incorrect. The answer is destiny."

This time you do look up, fixing him with your most deadpan stare. "That doesn't even make mathematical sense."

"Love rarely does."

"Who said anything about love?"

"I did. Just now. Keep up."

You want to be annoyed, but with the way he’s looking at you, like he can see through all the walls you’ve built, every crack you've plastered over, makes it impossible to stay irritated.

"You're ridiculous," you tell him.

"Ridiculously charming?"

"Ridiculously loud."

"I'll take it." He pulls out his notebook, then glances at you sideways. "You know, for someone who claims to hate my company, you sure do smile a lot when I'm around."

"I do not—"

"You're smiling right now."

You immediately try to school your expression into something more neutral, but it's too late. Woonhak's grin is so wide it looks like it might split his face in half.

"I knew it," he says triumphantly. "You like me."

"I tolerate you."

"Same thing."

"It's really not."

"Agree to disagree." He leans back in his chair, looking incredibly pleased with himself. "So, what's the plan for lunch today? More sad vending machine food, or are you finally going to let me introduce you to the cafeteria's surprisingly decent pizza?"

"I don't eat cafeteria food."

"Why not?"

"Because it's..." you pause, trying to find the right words. "It's loud and crowded in there. Plus, everyone's always staring."

"Staring at what?"

"At... I don't know. Everything… everyone."

Woonhak's expression softens slightly. "What if I told you that most people are too busy worrying about their own stuff to pay attention to anyone else?"

"I'd say you're being optimistic."

"What if I told you that even if they were staring, they'd probably just be thinking about how cool your hair looks today?"

"I'd say you're being ridiculous."

"What if I told you that I'd sit with you and make stupid jokes until you forgot to be nervous?"

Your pen paused and hovered over the pages at his words, and there's a softness in his eyes that makes your chest feel tight. "I'd say... maybe that would be okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, but if you make any more math puns, I'm leaving."

"Deal, but I'm not promising anything about chemistry puns."

"Woonhak."

"Fine, fine. No science puns. You're really limiting my material here."

"Good."

Step 5 : 

The midterm grade stares back at you from your phone screen like a personal attack :

67%.

In Biology, which is supposed to be your good subject.

You've been staring at the email for ten minutes now, sitting in your car in the school parking lot, and you still can't quite process it. You studied for this test. You studied for weeks. You gave up sleep, meals, social interaction, what little you had to begin with, and somehow it still wasn't enough.

Your phone buzzes with a text from your mom: "How did your test go? Dad's making your favourite dinner tonight!"

The favourite dinner you won't be able to enjoy because you'll have to tell them about this grade. The disappointment in their voices when they realize their kid isn't as smart as they thought. The way they'll try to hide their concern while asking if you need a tutor, if you're struggling, if there's something wrong.

Your phone buzzes again. This time it's Woonhak: "Hey!! Saw you in the parking lot, you okay?”

You don't respond. You can't respond. You're too busy trying to figure out where you went wrong, or how everything went wrong so fast.

Another text: "Heading over"

You want to tell him not to, want to drive away before he reaches your car, but you can't seem to make your body move. You just sit there, staring at that stupid number on your screen, until there's a gentle tap on your passenger window.

Woonhak's face appears, upside down, as he bends to peer through the glass. His expression immediately shifts when he sees you.

You hesitantly unlock the door for him. 

"Hey," he says softly, sliding into the passenger seat. "What's wrong?"

You hold up your phone without a word.

Woonhak looks at the screen, then back at you. "Okay. That sucks. But it's not the end of the world."

"It feels like it."

"I know." He's quiet for a moment. "You want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"Okay. You want to sit here and be miserable for a while?"

"Yeah."

"Cool. I'm good at that too."

And he… surprisingly is. He sits there, not trying to fix anything or make you feel better, just being present while you fall apart. It's more comforting than it should be.

"I studied so hard," you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I know you did."

"I gave up everything. Sleep, food, time with my friends, not that I have many to begin with."

"I know."

"And it still wasn't enough." Your voice cracks on the last word, and you hate how pathetic you sound.

"Hey." Woonhak's voice is gentle. "Look at me."

You don't want to, but you force yourself to look into his eyes.

"One grade doesn't define you," he says. "I know it feels like it does right now, but it doesn't. You're smart, and you're dedicated, and you work harder than anyone I know. This is just one test."

"It's not just one test, though. It's everything. I'm tired all the time, I can't focus, I feel like I'm drowning and everyone else is just... swimming."

"Then maybe it's time to learn how to float."

"What?"

"You don't have to be swimming all the time. Sometimes you can just float. Let the current carry you for a while."

You stare at him. "That's surprisingly deep for someone who makes puns about molecular bonds."

"I contain multitudes."

Despite everything, you laugh. It's a small, broken sound, but it's enough to make Woonhak fondly smile back at the sound. 

"There she is," Woonhak says softly, and the way he's looking at you makes your chest ache in a completely different way in ways you can't explain. 

"I should go home," you say eventually. "Face the music."

"Want me to come with you?"

"What?"

"Not inside," he clarifies quickly. "Just... moral support. I can wait in the car, make sure you don't drive into a tree on the way home."

"I'm not going to drive into a tree."

"Humour me."

You consider it. The idea of going home alone, of sitting through dinner with your parents while trying to pretend everything's fine, feels overwhelming. But the idea of Woonhak being there, even just in the driveway, feels like something you could handle.

"Okay," you say finally. "But you're not allowed to make any jokes about my house."

"Deal. But if your parents invite me in for dinner, I'm not saying no."

"They won't."

"We'll see."

Step 6 : 

You don't show up to school the next day, or the day after that.

By the third day, Woonhak is starting to worry. Your desk sits empty in all three classes you share, and none of your friends, the few you have, seem to know where you are. He asks Sungho, who just shrugs and says you're probably sick. He asks Jaehyun, who says he thinks he saw your car in your driveway yesterday but isn't sure.

On the fourth day, Woonhak decides he's had enough.

He's never been to your house before, but he's got your address from when you exchanged contact info for a group project last month. It's a fifteen minute walk from school, through a neighbourhood that's nicer than his but not fancy.

Your house is blue with white trim, and there's a car in the driveway that he assumes is yours. The curtains are drawn, but he can see light coming from what he thinks might be your bedroom window.

He stands on your front porch for a full minute, trying to figure out what to say. 

Hey, I know we're not that close but I was worried about you? I brought snacks and emotional support? I miss making fun of your math skills?

In the end, he just knocks.

The door opens after a long moment, and you're standing there in pajamas that look like you've been wearing them for days, hair messy, eyes red-rimmed.

"Woonhak?" Your voice is hoarse, like you haven't used it in a while.

"Hey," he says softly. "Can I come in?"

You stare at him for a moment, then step aside.

Your house is quiet, so quiet that he could hear the hum of the refrigerator, the tick of a clock somewhere, but no voices, no TV, no signs of life.

"Where are your parents?" he asks.

"Work. They think I have the flu."

"Do you?"

"No."

You lead him to your room, which is somehow exactly what he expected and nothing like he imagined at the same time. It's neat but lived-in, with fairy lights strung around the ceiling and books stacked everywhere. Your desk is covered in papers and highlighters, evidence of study sessions that went nowhere.

"I brought supplies," Woonhak says, holding up a bag he's been carrying. "Snacks, tissues, that face mask thing you mentioned liking once, and—" He pulls out a small stuffed animal, a ridiculous-looking cat with a grumpy expression. "Emotional support."

You stare at the cat, then at him, then back at the cat.

"You brought me a stuffed animal?"

"His name is Professor Dubu. He's here to judge your life choices in a supportive way."

"That's..." You take the cat, holding it against your chest. "That's really weird."

"Good weird or bad weird?"

"I don't know yet."

Woonhak sits on the edge of your bed, careful to maintain some distance. "You want to talk about what's going on?"

"Not really."

"Okay. You want me to talk about random stuff until you get annoyed and tell me to leave?"

"Maybe."

"Cool. Did you know that octopuses have three hearts? And that they're technically aliens because their DNA is so different from everything else on Earth? Also, I'm pretty sure Jaehyun has been trying to ask out the girl from our History class for three weeks now, but every time he sees her, he just starts talking about the French Revolution instead."

Despite yourself, you smile a little. "That sounds like Jaehyun."

"Right? It's painful to watch. Anyways, Taesan thinks we should just lock them in a closet together until one of them breaks, but I'm pretty sure that's illegal."

"Probably."

"Definitely." He pauses. "You know, everyone's been asking about you. Teachers, classmates, even some people I didn't know you knew."

"Really?"

"Really. Turns out you're more popular than you think."

You're quiet for a moment, holding Professor Dubu and staring at your hands. "I don't feel popular. I feel... invisible."

"You're not invisible to me."

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with meaning you're not sure either of you is ready to examine.

"I know," you say finally. "And I don't understand why."

"Why what?"

"Why you..." You gesture vaguely between the two of you. "Why you care. Why you notice me. Why you're here."

Woonhak is quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is softer than you've ever heard it.

"You know how some people are like... background music? Like, they're nice, and they're fine, but they don't really stick with you?"

You nod.

"You're not background music. You're like... the song that gets stuck in your head. The one you find yourself humming without realizing it. The one that you play on repeat and never get bored or tired of."

Your chest feels tight again, but in a different way than before.

"I don't know what to do with that," you admit.

"You don't have to do anything with it. Just... don't disappear, okay? Don't make yourself invisible just because things get hard."

"What if I can't help it?"

"Then I'll keep showing up until you remember how to be seen."

You stopped cold at his confession and stare directly at him. For once, you see past the carefully maintained cheerfulness you've known him for. Behind the exterior, you see someone who's genuinely worried about you, someone who cares enough to skip school and show up at your door with snacks and… emotional support cat plushies.

"Woonhak?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For... caring. For seeing me when I can't see myself."

"You don't have to thank me for that."

"I know, but I want to."

He smiles, different from his usual grins. This time, it’s smaller, softer, sincere. 

"Come back tomorrow?" he asks.

"I'll try."

"That's all I'm asking for."

Step 7 : 

You do come back the next day, although you're not sure why. Maybe it's because of what Woonhak said, or maybe it's because Professor Dubu spent the night judging you from your nightstand, or maybe it's just because staying home feels more exhausting than facing the world.

Woonhak lights up when he sees you walk into Chemistry, and the genuine relief on his face makes your heart flutter.

"You came back," he says as you slide into your seat.

"I said I'd try."

"Yeah, but you actually did it."

"Don't make a big deal out of it."

"Too late. I'm already planning the celebration."

You roll your eyes, but you're smiling a little. "Please don't."

"Fine, fine. But I'm at least buying you lunch."

"You don't need to—"

"I want to."

You catch the tone in his voice that makes you look at him more carefully. He's doing that thing again where he's trying not to smile, but this time, his composure seems… nervous?

"Okay," you say, because you don't know what else to say.

"Okay?"

"Okay, you can buy me lunch."

"Cool. Great. Perfect." He's definitely nervous now, fidgeting with his pen and avoiding eye contact.

"Are you okay?"

"Me? Yeah, I'm fine. Totally fine. Why wouldn't I be fine?"

"Because you're acting weird."

"I'm not acting weird. This is how I always act."

"No, this is how you act when you're planning something."

"I'm not planning anything."

"Woonhak."

"Okay, fine. Maybe I'm planning something. But it's not a big something. It's like... a medium something."

"What kind of medium something?"

"The kind you'll find out about at lunch."

You spend the rest of Chemistry trying to figure out what he's up to, but he's remarkably good at deflecting your questions. By the time lunch rolls around, you're more curious than worried.

He leads you to a spot you've never been before, a small courtyard behind the library that's somehow managed to stay hidden from most of the student body. There's a picnic table under a tree, and he's already spread out what looks like an entire convenience store's worth of snacks.

"This is your medium something?" you ask.

"Part of it." He's definitely nervous now, running his hands through his hair and avoiding eye contact. "The other part is... um..."

"Woonhak, you're scaring me."

"I don't want to scare you. That's literally the opposite of what I want."

"Then just tell me what's going on."

He takes a deep breath, then looks at you directly for the first time all day. "I like you."

"I know. We're friends."

"No, I mean... I like you like you."

The words hang in the air between you, and you feel like you've been hit by a truck. Not in a bad way, exactly, but in a way that makes everything suddenly make sense and no sense at all.

"Oh," you say.

"Oh?"

"I... oh."

"That's not exactly the response I was hoping for."

You stare at him, trying to process what he just said. "You like me?"

"Yeah."

"Like... romantically?"

"Yeah."

"Since when?"

"Since..." He thinks for a moment. "Since you fell asleep in Biology and started drooling on your notes. You looked so peaceful, and I realized I wanted to be the person who made sure you got enough sleep so you wouldn't have to sleep in class."

"That's... specific."

"I'm a specific person."

"You are." You're quiet for a moment, trying to figure out how you feel about this revelation. "Why are you telling me now?"

"Because you disappeared for four days and I realized that the thought of you not being in my life anymore was actually terrifying."

"I wasn't going to disappear forever."

"But you could have. And I didn't want you to disappear without knowing that someone thinks you're amazing."

You feel heat rise in your cheeks. "I'm not amazing."

"You are, though. You're smart, funny and you care about things more deeply than anyone I know. You hum when you concentrate and you get this little crease between your eyebrows when you're thinking hard about something. You remember people's birthdays and you always have extra pens and you make these little jokes that are so dry I'm never sure if you're being serious or not."

"Those aren't amazing things. Those are just... things."

"They're amazing to me."

He's looking at you in the way that makes your chest feel tight again, but it's not uncomfortable this time. It's like something warm and bright is expanding inside you, filling spaces you didn't know were empty.

"I don't know what to say," you admit.

"You don't have to say anything. I just wanted you to know."

"But what if I want to say something?"

"I'm all ears."

You take a deep breath, trying to organize your thoughts. "I think... I think I like you too. I'm just scared…"

"Scared of what?"

"Scared that I'm not good at this, that I'll mess it up, that you'll figure out I'm not as amazing as you think I am."

"What if I told you I'm scared too?"

"You? Scared of what?"

"Scared that you'll realize you can do better than the class clown who makes too many puns and cares too much about whether you're eating enough."

"You don't make too many puns."

"I absolutely make too many puns."

"Okay, yeah, you do. But I kind of like them."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. They're... endearing."

"Endearing enough to maybe give this a shot?"

You look at him, sitting there surrounded by an absurd amount of snacks, looking nervous, hopeful and completely sincere, and you realize that maybe you've been approaching this whole thing wrong. Perhaps instead of trying to figure out if you're good enough or ready enough or brave enough, you should just... try.

"Yeah," you say. "I think I'd like that."

The smile that spreads across Woonhak's face is brighter than the sun.

Step 8 : 

Few weeks later, you're standing in the hallway after school, shoving books into your locker, when Woonhak appears beside you like he always does.

"How was your day?" he asks, leaning against the lockers.

"Better," you say. "I got my Biology test back."

"And?"

"B+."

"That's amazing!" He looks genuinely proud, and a familiar warmth settles in your chest.

"It's not amazing, but it's better."

"It's progress. Progress is amazing."

You roll your eyes, but you're smiling. "You're ridiculous."

"Ridiculously proud of you."

"You can't just add 'ridiculously' to everything I say."

"Ridiculously yes I can."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"Ridiculously doesn't have to."

You slam your locker shut and turn to face him fully. "You're the worst."

"Ridiculously the worst."

"I'm going to hit you."

"Ridiculously hit me."

"Woonhak."

"Ridiculously Woonhak."

Instead of hitting him, you do something that surprises both of you, you step forward and wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his shoulder.

He freezes for a moment, then his arms come up around you, holding you close.

"What's this for?" he asks softly.

"For being ridiculous," you say into his shoulder. "For being annoying. For not giving up on me when I gave up on myself."

"You don't have to thank me for that."

"I know, but I want to."

You pull back slightly to look at him. He's got that soft expression again, the same one that makes your chest feel tight in the best way.

"I'm really glad you decided to fix my personality," you tell him.

"I didn't fix anything. I just helped you remember who you already were."

"Same thing."

"Ridiculously not the same thing."

You laugh, and Woonhak's expression shifts.

"There she is," he says quietly.

"There who is?"

"The girl I fell for. The one who was always hidden underneath all that nonchalant exterior, just buried under all the stress and exhaustion."

Before you can respond, someone shouts from down the hallway.

 "FINALLY!"

You both turn to see Jaehyun and Taesan standing by the water fountain, grinning like idiots.

"Seriously?" Jaehyun calls out. "We've been waiting for this for months."

"Pay up," Taesan says, holding out his hand.

Jaehyun grumbles but pulls out his wallet. "I thought it would take at least another week."

"You bet on us?" you ask, incredulous.

"Of course we bet on you," Taesan says. "It was painful watching you two dance around each other."

"We weren't dancing around each other," Woonhak protests.

"You made her a playlist," Jaehyun points out.

"So?"

"You learned her favorite snacks."

"That's just being observant."

"You skipped school to check on her."

"That's just being a good friend."

"You bought her a stuffed animal."

Woonhak opens his mouth to argue, then closes it. "Okay, that one might have been a little obvious."

"A little?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Fine. Very obvious. Ridiculously obvious."

"There you go again with the ridiculously."

"It's my thing now."

"It's ridiculous."

"Ridiculously ridiculous."

Jaehyun and Taesan are still standing there, watching this exchange with matching grins.

"You two are disgusting," Taesan says, but he sounds fond.

"Ridiculously disgusting," Woonhak agrees cheerfully.

You look around at your friends, somehow, somewhere along the way, that's what they became. 

You lay your eyes on Woonhak, who's still got his arms around you and is looking at you like he couldn't believe someone like you could ever exist in his life.

"You know what?" you say.

"What?"

"I think I'm okay with ridiculous."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. As long as it's your ridiculous."

The smile that spreads across Woonhak's face is ridiculously bright, and before you could even process it, he kisses you right there in the hallway, and your chest feels like it would explode with happiness that you forgot you were capable of feeling.

From somewhere behind you, you hear Jaehyun mutter, "I should have bet on the kiss too."

You ignore it, who cares? 

You're too busy being ridiculously, impossibly, completely happy in love. 

Ridiculously Woonhak’s.

@coriihanniee 💌

˖➴ reblogs are appreciated! ty for reading! <3

taglist: @lvlyhiyyih @supi-wupi @tinyelfperson @8makes1atom @s0shroe @imhereonlytoreadxoxo @mydeepestsecrects @brownetry @pumpkg @heeheesang @jungwonbropls @prodkwh @reibelhearts @beomev

[hsnlv]

caught in the act (of falling) | y.jw

req!: jungwon with fake dating trope (and like he wants to make it a real relationship or smth like that)

pairing: jungwon x fem!reader

synopsis: what started as a fake dating scheme to fend off jungwon’s ex turns into stolen kisses, lingering touches, and feelings neither of you expected. when “pretend” starts to feel a little too real, jungwon’s flustered confession might just change everything.

warnings/others: fake dating trope!, cute flustered jungwon🤭, jungwon’s ex is obsessive (i would be too if i were one actually)

w/c: 1.07k

here’s my masterlist!

you honestly can’t figure out how you and jungwon ended up here—tangled in each other’s arms in his room, no one around but the two of you. his chest is warm against your back, his chin perched lazily on your shoulder, and his hands are wrapped around yours, helping hold the comic you’re both supposed to be reading. except neither of you is paying attention. how could you, when you can feel his breath tickling your neck every time he exhales?

this whole thing started as a joke—or at least, that’s what you tell yourself. jungwon’s ex had been haunting him like a particularly clingy ghost, and out of sheer desperation, he asked you to pretend to be his girlfriend. fake dating, he called it. to drive her away.

at first, you thought he was out of his mind.

<<<<<<<<<<<<

“jungwon, have you completely lost it?” you whisper-shouted, darting nervous glances at his ex, who was seated way too close to your table in the cafeteria. her glare was sharp enough to cut through steel. “she’s going to end me.”

“she’s not going to end you,” jungwon whispered back, though his tone wasn’t exactly convincing. “look, it’s a foolproof plan. a few hugs, maybe hold hands—just when she’s around! it’ll be fine.”

“fine? jungwon, she’s been staring at me like i ran over her cat.”

he winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “okay, fair. but you’ll be doing me the biggest favor ever. i’ll owe you one. please?”

you crossed your arms. “and what exactly does fake dating involve? because i swear if this gets weird—”

“it won’t!” he exclaimed quickly, his face scrunching up in that stupidly cute way that made you want to throttle him and pinch his cheeks at the same time. “just little stuff. harmless things. like holding hands. maybe linking arms. y’know, couple things.”

you eyed him warily. “define ‘couple things.’”

<<<<<<<<<

“couple things” turned out to be… a lot. jungwon, in his infinite wisdom, decided you both needed to “practice” being a convincing couple. this involved a series of increasingly absurd activities that had you questioning his sanity—and yours for agreeing to any of it.

“okay,” jungwon said one afternoon, pacing in front of you like a drill sergeant. “let’s practice nicknames. couples always have nicknames.”

“we already have nicknames,” you pointed out. “you call me by my name, and i call you uwon to annoy you.”

“no, no, no.” he waved his hand dramatically. “those aren’t cute nicknames. i mean things like ‘baby,’ or ‘sweetheart,’ or… or ‘honeybuns.’”

you nearly choked. “honeybuns? jungwon, if you call me honeybuns in public, i will personally make sure your life is a living nightmare.”

“noted,” he said with a laugh. “okay, let’s keep it simple. i’ll call you… babe. and you can call me—”

“uwon,” you interrupted, grinning. “i’m sticking with uwon.”

he sighed but didn’t argue. “fine. but we still need to work on PDA. let’s practice holding hands.”

you raised an eyebrow. “jungwon, we’ve held hands before.”

“yeah, but not like this,” he said, reaching out to intertwine your fingers with his. his grip was warm and secure, and he gave your hand a small squeeze. “see? it’s all about the squeeze. it makes it look more real.”

“this is ridiculous,” you muttered, though your cheeks felt suspiciously warm.

<<<<<<<<<<<<

present.

weeks passed, and jungwon’s ex finally got the message. her death stares became less frequent until she eventually stopped showing up altogether. mission accomplished. but the fake dating didn’t stop.

“uwon,” you call softly, the nickname slipping out naturally as you shift in his arms. he hums, his chin still resting on your shoulder, but his hold on you tightens slightly.

you put the comic down and turn to face him, his hands automatically settling on your waist like it’s second nature. “what are we doing?” you ask, your tone light but pointed.

he blinks at you, his brows furrowing in confusion. “reading?”

you sigh, rolling your eyes. “not the comic. this.” you gesture between the two of you. “what is this, jungwon? because i’m pretty sure your ex isn’t spying on us anymore.”

jungwon freezes, his eyes darting away like he’s suddenly very interested in the corner of his room. “uh… practice?” he says weakly.

“practice for what?” you press, crossing your arms. “you said the whole point was to convince your ex. but she’s gone now. so why are we still… doing this?”

he scratches the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at you. “well, you know… just in case.”

“just in case of what?” you shoot back, leaning in slightly. “jungwon, are you hiding something?”

his face flushes, his mouth opening and closing like he’s searching for an excuse and coming up empty. finally, he blurts out, “okay, fine! i like you, alright?”

your brain short-circuits. “you… what?”

jungwon immediately panics, his hands flailing as he starts to babble. “oh my god, i’m sorry! i didn’t mean to just—i mean, i did, but not like this! and i totally get it if you don’t like me back, but—oh no, wait, please like me? or don’t? no, wait, maybe you could? or we could just pretend this never happened? or—”

“jungwon,” you interrupt, your voice sharp enough to cut through his spiral.

“yes?” he squeaks, his wide eyes meeting yours.

instead of answering, you grab the front of his shirt and pull him into a kiss. he freezes for a split second before melting against you, his lips moving softly against yours. the kiss deepens, and his eagerness makes you giggle into his mouth, causing him to pull back slightly, breathless.

“what’s so funny?” he asks, pouting.

“you,” you tease, your fingers still gripping his shirt. “you’re way too eager.”

his cheeks flush, but he doesn’t back down. instead, he grins mischievously and suddenly hovers over you, gently pushing you onto your back. “you stole a kiss from me,” he says, his voice low and playful, “so now you’re stuck with me. forever.”

before you can respond, he leans down and captures your lips again, this time with more confidence. his hands cradle your face, and the weight of him above you is both grounding and electrifying. when he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his smile soft but radiant.

“so…” he whispers, his tone teasing, “can we drop the ‘fake’ part now?”

you laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck. “yeah, i think we can.”

[cece693]

Could I request some Hannigram for a reader who operates on a backwards schedule? Like eating breakfast at 9pm and dinner at 7am.

Anytime they’re seen during the daytime they just look exhausted, lol

My Morning vs. Your Night

pairing: hannigram x gender neutral reader tags: hannigram are worried, your job is vague so it's up to your interpretation, you look dead and are exhausted, caring hannigram

You didn’t mind the hours at first. Working through the night suited your quiet nature, and the city seemed more peaceful under fluorescent lights and moonlit streets. You liked the dark, the hush it carried, and the way no one needed anything from you except your job’s unrelenting demands. But even you had to admit it was taking a toll.

You could feel your body fraying at the edges. Nights had become days—your sun rose while others slept, and your “good morning” was usually a mumbled greeting at 7 p.m. Then, when the world was waking up, you were crawling under the blankets.

Will was the first to notice the strain. He always noticed things—something about the way your eyes lost their usual spark, the way your head would loll forward in the middle of conversation. He’d be sitting at the kitchen table, feeding the dogs in the early morning, while you stumbled into the house just before dawn. His brows would crease in that concerned way, the same gentle worry he wore when coaxing stray animals to trust him.

Hannibal, in contrast, observed you more subtly. He measured the dark circles under your eyes, the slump in your posture. He noted the times you arrived too late or too early for a meal, rummaging for breakfast at nine in the evening. He witnessed how exhaustion made you forget to eat proper dinners, your last substantial meal too many hours in the past. Their worry was shared—spoken in Will’s gentle voice and in Hannibal’s carefully worded suggestions.

Hannibal was a blur of precision as he artfully arranged your plate—a culinary masterpiece that qualified as breakfast by your schedule. Hash browns with a fried egg, a delicate drizzle of sauce that smelled faintly of herbs. He placed the plate in front of you, leaning in with an elegant posture. “You must eat,” he said softly, voice like silk on porcelain. “Your body needs care even if your hours are reversed.”

You tried to give him a small smile of gratitude, but your eyes slid closed for just a moment of rest. It felt like even blinking took more energy than you had. “I am eating,” you replied, forcing cheer into your tone. You sank your fork into the food, and as always, it was divine. This didn’t escape your notice, but your taste buds and Hannibal’s cooking had begun to take a backseat to pure fatigue.

Will hovered by your side. He still wore a sweater with a few dog hairs clinging to the sleeves, and the usual shadows of his own weariness had nothing on the purple bruises beneath your eyes. “I’m worried about you,” he said, gently patting your shoulder. “This isn’t healthy. You’re coming home in the morning and not even sleeping properly. You hardly rest before you go back out again.”

Your gaze shifted to him, and your heart clenched at the genuine concern carved into his expression. “It’s just the nature of the work,” you said quietly. “I can’t exactly turn it down. They need me.” Will exhaled, and Hannibal placed a hand on Will’s shoulder as if reminding him to tread carefully.

A week later, the inevitable crash came. Maybe it was a double shift that turned into a triple. Maybe it was the pounding headache that refused to relent. You wound up driving home while the sun was already high in the sky—past 7 a.m., well into your typical “dinnertime,” but you’d missed all your usual signals.

You stumbled into the house, tears of frustration threatening to fall. You kicked off your shoes, ignoring the annoyed whine of your tired muscles, and almost collapsed in the foyer.

Will was there in an instant, arms catching you around the waist. “Whoa, easy,” he said, voice thick with concern. “Let me help you—just breathe.”

Hannibal appeared like a shadow, as swift as a heartbeat, pressing a gentle hand to your forehead. You saw the flicker of alarm in his eyes. You must have looked truly terrible. Your eyelids fluttered, the world turning blurry. “I’m so tired,” you mumbled, as if your exhaustion was something new and shocking.

Will and Hannibal exchanged a look above your hunched form, and Will gently scooped you into his arms, carrying you to the couch. You sank into it like a wilted flower. Before you could register it, Hannibal disappeared into the kitchen, returning moments later with a glass of water. No one spoke until you took a few sips, water dribbling down your chin. Your hands shook so hard it was difficult to hold the glass.

Then Hannibal, with a low, steady voice, said, “We can’t watch you do this to yourself any longer.”

Will nodded. “We talked about it and we think you should quit this job. Please. For your own sake.”

It wasn’t an easy decision. You’d put so much into this job. But you remembered all those times you nearly passed out at your desk, times you neglected meals, the nights you promised Will you’d be home by dawn only to arrive in the bright glare of midday. So you stood in your supervisor’s office the next afternoon (evening, by your internal clock) and handed over your resignation. A wave of conflicting emotions washed over you—fear, relief, regret, and anticipation. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen a proper sunrise while wide awake.

Stepping out of that building for the last time, you felt lighter. Your phone buzzed with a waiting text from Will:

We’re so proud of you. Come home safe.

It took a while to reset your routine. At first, you still found yourself awake at bizarre hours—your stomach growling at midnight, craving what it had learned to call breakfast. But now, when you emerged from the bedroom at odd times, you were greeted by Will in the living room, dozing lightly, as though waiting for you. Hannibal often had a small snack prepared, an elegant amuse-bouche to tide you over while your body adjusted.

Some nights, Hannibal would read aloud from a book of poetry while you rested your head in Will’s lap, focusing on the cadence of Hannibal’s voice to soothe your restless mind. Will’s fingers combed absently through your hair, grounding you. Slowly, you found yourself drifting off earlier and waking closer to what most people called “morning.” You’d have breakfast around nine—actual nine in the morning. Will smiled at you over a cup of coffee, and Hannibal offered you a plate of fresh fruit and delicate pastries.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had breakfast with both Will and Hannibal in natural morning light. It felt surreal, a luxury you hadn’t realized you’d been missing for so long. The kitchen was bathed in a gentle glow from the rising sun, and for once, you didn’t have to squint against it, half-conscious from a grueling shift.

“How do you feel?” Will asked, sliding you a cup of tea.

You paused, steam rising into your face, the warmth of the mug cupped in your hands. “I feel…rested.” The word sounded alien, but it made you laugh a little. “I forgot what that was like.”

Hannibal, perched elegantly across from you, inclined his head. “It is good to see color in your cheeks again. You have a natural glow this morning.”

Will’s foot nudged yours under the table, an affectionate gesture. “Not that you aren't handsome/beautiful, of course,” he teased in his soft, playful way, “but you did look like a ghost for a while there.”

A shy laugh escaped you, and you reached across to squeeze his hand briefly. “It’s strange, but i’m glad I quit.”

“Good,” Hannibal responded, his smile as subtle as ever. “Because your well-being is paramount. To both of us.” A comfortable silence settled among the three of you. It was only broken by the quiet clink of silverware on plates and the soft hum of the dogs in the next room. You took in the moment, letting your shoulders relax in a way they hadn’t in ages. The day stretched ahead of you—not night, not the sleepless hours, but a real day full of possibilities and the promise of healthy routines. Will winked at you before biting into a piece of toast, and Hannibal sipped his coffee with measured elegance.

[lynbels]

jake eyp for the first time (except it’s both your first times and he doesn’t know), and ends up being really really good at it

https://x.com/kinulta/status/1773321520892293383?s=46 (this is what i’m imagining it as 🫠)

down bad - sjy (m)

pairing sim jake x reader

୨ৎ synopsis: locked in a room with the one guy who swore he’d never eat pussy, you didn’t expect Jake Sim to drop to his knees—and sure as hell didn’t expect him to make you cum harder than anyone ever has. ✉️ 1879wc

tw ‼️ smut, oral sex, public teasing, enemies to lovers, alcohol mention, locked room scenario, dominance, light degradation, Jake being a bratty top, reluctant attraction, dirty talk, teasing, tension-filled buildup

💌: pls like I need him to eat me out like that so bad IM DOWN BAD

Y didn’t even want to be at the party.

Loud music, sticky floors, and drunk people you barely liked didn’t exactly scream good time. But your friends begged, guilt-tripped, and eventually bribed you with promises of free drinks and drama, so here you were—perched on the arm of an old couch in someone’s too-packed living room, sipping something way too sweet out of a red cup.

And of course, he was there.

Jake Sim. Walking contradiction. Annoying, smug, insufferable. He was the guy who rolled his eyes whenever you spoke in class, always had a snarky comeback ready, and acted like the mere sound of your voice gave him a headache. You didn’t know when the rivalry started, but it had built into something solid—something sharp. Something no one dared get in the middle of.

So when someone yelled, “Let’s play Would You Rather!” and your name got paired with his, you should’ve just walked away.

But you didn’t.

Now you were sitting side by side on the carpet, your leg brushing his every so often, and the room was buzzing with laughter and half-drunken dares. Jake’s eyes were already on you—lazy, smug, like he was waiting for you to say something stupid.

“Y/N, ask him something!” someone giggled.

You turned toward him, taking a slow sip from your drink before tilting your head. “Alright. Jake. Would you rather… give head or receive it?”

The room gasped and laughed, voices echoing in a mix of “Oh my god!” and “No way she asked that!” but you just stared at him, expression unreadable.

Jake didn’t even flinch.

He gave a small shrug, lips twitching. “Receive,” he said easily, like he’d already thought about it. “Obviously.”

You raised a brow. “Obviously?”

He smirked, leaning back on his hands. “Yeah. I’m not about to put my mouth on someone. That’s just—” he gave a mock shudder. “Nah. Not for me.”

Your smile didn’t reach your eyes. “You think going down on someone is gross?”

“Didn’t say gross,” he said, glancing around like the conversation was beneath him. “Just not interested. Why would I, when I could sit back and enjoy instead?”

Laughter rippled through the group again, but you didn’t laugh. You just looked at him—really looked at him—and smiled like you knew something he didn’t.

He noticed.

“Truth or dare, Sim?”

Jake didn’t even hesitate. “Dare.”

That smirk of his never changed—always cocky, always sure of himself. You expected something harmless. Maybe a dumb dance or a ridiculous drink combo. But the second the dare was spoken, the room shifted

“I dare you to give Y/N head.”

Everything went still for half a second. Then chaos.

People were yelling, laughing, already moving closer like they expected a show. Your eyes snapped to Jake’s face—his brows lifted in surprise, then furrowed like he misheard.

“What?” he scoffed. “No. Hell no.”

“Aww, come on,” one of the guys cackled. “Didn’t you just say you don’t do that? This is your chance to prove you’re not scared.”

“I’m not scared,” Jake snapped. “I just don’t do that. It’s gross.”

More teasing. More shouting. Someone shouted, “He’s gonna chicken out!” and someone else yelled, “LET’S LOCK ‘EM IN A ROOM!”

Before you could react, Jake was being dragged up by two of the guys. He yelled in protest, swearing under his breath, but they were already laughing, pushing him down the hallway.

“Wait—what the fuck—guys, I’m not—this is stupid—“

“Come on, Sim! Live a little!”

You didn’t even know what was happening until someone grabbed your hand and tugged you along. The next thing you knew, you were shoved into one of the bedrooms—Jake stumbling in right after you, catching himself on the edge of the bed. The door slammed shut behind you.

Click.

Locked.

You blinked. Jake spun around and banged on the door.

“Are you serious right now?!”

“Not getting out ‘til you go down on her!” one of the guys yelled through the door, howling with laughter.

You stood awkwardly by the bed, arms crossed, heart pounding. Jake ran a hand through his hair, pacing in a circle like he couldn’t believe what just happened.

“They’re insane,” he muttered, avoiding your eyes. “This is fucking stupid.”

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh even though your chest was tight with nerves. “So… you’re really that grossed out by it?”

He paused. Glanced at you.

“I just don’t see the appeal,” he said stiffly. “Why would I want to…”

His voice trailed off. His eyes dropped to your lips for half a second before darting away.

You tilted your head. “Then why do you look like you’re thinking about it?”

He flinched. “I’m not.”

But the flush creeping up his neck said otherwise.

Jake groaned, flopping down on the edge of the bed like someone had just sentenced him to death. You stayed on the other side, watching him through your lashes, both of you lit in the dim yellow glow from the hallway light that filtered under the door.

“They’re not gonna let us out,” you muttered, folding your arms. “They’re probably outside right now, listening.”

Jake didn’t respond, just stared down at the floor, brows furrowed, mouth tight. His thigh bounced—nervous energy he didn’t know where to put.

You tilted your head. “So… you’ve never gone down on anyone before?”

His head snapped up, offended. “What?”

You smirked. “That wasn’t a no.”

“I just don’t see the point of it,” he said stiffly. “It’s… weird.”

You raised a brow, unimpressed. “Or maybe you’re just scared you wouldn’t be good at it.”

Jake scoffed, rolling his eyes—but his jaw clenched, just a little.

You pressed, voice slow and teasing. “You said you’ve never done it, right? But you still think it’s gross? Maybe you’re just intimidated.”

He glared at you like he wanted to argue, but there was hesitation behind his eyes—hesitation and curiosity. “Girls don’t expect it from me,” he muttered, quieter now. “No one’s ever asked me to.”

You blinked. “That’s… actually kind of depressing, Sim.”

He looked downright offended. “Excuse me?”

“Not even kidding,” you said with a shrug. “It’s kind of hot, you know—someone wantingto make you feel good just because. Like, no strings attached. Not every part of sex is supposed to be about getting off. Sometimes, it’s just about watching someone fall apartbecause of you.”

Your voice softened on that last part, laced with something a little darker, a little heavier—and Jake’s gaze snapped back to yours like it physically grabbed him.

You held his stare. “You’d probably be good at it.”

He scoffed again, but this time, he looked away too fast. “Sure I would.”

“No, really. You’ve got that whole perfectionist, try-hard thing going on. Bet you’d go down on someone for the first time and make them come without even knowing how you did it.”

Jake’s throat bobbed.

You saw it happen—the way his shoulders shifted, tension rising, war playing out in his head. And then, finally, he cursed under his breath and dropped to his knees in front of you.

“This is so stupid,” he muttered, not meeting your gaze. “Only doing this so they’ll open the door.”

“Right,” you said softly, pulse thudding. “Just for the dare.”

His hands hovered at the edge of your thighs before moving up, warm palms dragging along your skin as he pushed your skirt higher, revealing the soaked cotton of your underwear. He hesitated, fingers curling around the waistband, eyes flicking up to yours one last time.

You gave him a nod, breath caught in your throat.

He slid them down slowly, pausing when you shivered, then leaned in with an uncertain breath. His mouth met you gently—awkward at first, a little unsure, but then his tongue licked a slow, hesitant stripe through your folds.

You sucked in a breath.

Jake paused like he was surprised by your reaction—then did it again, firmer this time.

And again.

And again.

Until your head fell back with a whimper and your fingers knotted in his hair, grounding yourself.

The shift was subtle, but it was there—his grip on your thighs tightened, and his mouth moved lower, tongue teasing your entrance, dragging up and circling your clit, flicking slow and then fast, gauging every noise you made. He was focused. He was learning you in real-time.

Your thighs were shaking. Your moans were slipping out between clenched teeth. And Jake?

Jake groaned into you.

The vibration made your back arch, and he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. His face was buried in your pussy, tongue working with practiced ease that didn’t make sense for a first time—but the way he kept adjusting, fine-tuning every motion to the way you gasped or moaned or whimpered told you the truth.

He’d never done this before.

He was just that good.

“Fuck, Jake,” you whispered, breathless, thighs tightening around his head. “What the hell…”

He pulled back for a second, lips slick and eyes dazed. “Good?”

You looked down at him, still panting. “So good.”

Something flickered in his expression—pride, maybe. Or something warmer.

Jake didn’t say a word. He dove back in.

Jake drops to his knees like it physically pains him, muttering something under his breath that you don’t quite catch—but the frustration is clear in the way his hands grip your thighs, not gentle, not soft, like he’s punishing you for putting him in this position.

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he hisses, fingers sliding up under your skirt, shoving the fabric up to your waist.

You smirk, breath catching. “And yet here you are eating my pussy like a pathetic loser.”

He glares at you one last time, but there’s something unsteady behind it—like he’s already drowning and doesn’t even realize it. His hands tremble slightly as they hook around your panties and tug them down your legs, slow at first, then impatient, frustrated, like he’s angry at how wet you already are.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, eyeing the slick mess between your thighs. “You’re soaked.”

“And you haven’t even touched me properly yet,” you say, tone smug, but it ends in a gasp when he suddenly leans in and drags his tongue up your slit, slow and deliberate.

Your hips jerk. “Oh—fuck—Jake—”

He doesn’t respond. He just groans low into your pussy, and the vibrations shoot straight through you like electricity. His tongue licks another firm stripe up your folds, then circles your clit experimentally. You let out a breathy moan, and that’s all it takes—his hesitation evaporates, replaced by something darker, more determined.

His hands spread your thighs wider as he leans in closer, mouth hot and hungry, licking into you like he’s starved. His tongue dips into your entrance, swirling and fucking you shallowly before gliding back up to suck your clit into his mouth. The wet, obscene sounds echo off the walls, and your fingers tangle in his hair on instinct, anchoring yourself as your hips grind helplessly against his face.

He moans again—fucking moans—like the taste of you is addicting, and he can’t get enough. Spit and slick drip down your thighs as he eats you out like it’s his fucking job, like he’s trying to ruin you for anyone else.

You gasp, hand flying to cover your mouth. “Jake—shit—you sure it’s your first time?”

He grunts, pulling back for just a second, lips glistening, chin wet. “Does it feel like it?”

“No,” you breathe, body trembling. “It feels fucking amazing.”

He flashes you a cocky grin, face flushed, eyes heavy with lust. “Then shut up and let me finish.”

And then he’s back on you, rougher now, more confident—his tongue flicking faster, lips wrapped around your clit as he sucks hard enough to make your knees buckle. You cry out, thighs trembling, body burning as the pressure builds and builds and breaks, pleasure crashing over you so violently your vision blurs.

You’re still gasping, legs shaking, when he finally pulls back, lips swollen, breathing hard. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark and locked on you.

You’re wrecked. Your panties are on the floor. Your skirt’s bunched around your waist. And Jake?

Jake is staring at you like he just found his new favorite hobby.

The door creaks open and Jake steps out, lips pink and swollen, cheeks flushed, hair a fucking mess—and he walks straight into a crowd of smirking friends, waiting just outside.

“Damn, bro,” Sunghoon whistles, raising a brow. “You look like you just got your soul sucked out.”

“Or like you sucked something,” Jay adds, grinning wide. “Did she make you see God or what?”

Jake stiffens, jaw clenched, ears turning red. “Shut up.”

“Oh, he’s blushing,” Heeseung cackles, pointing at the obvious wet spot on Jake’s shirt where your slick left its mark. “Is that—bro—is that her all over your face?”

Jake wipes his mouth roughly with his sleeve, mortified. “Drop it.”

“Just admit it,” Sunoo chimes in with a dramatic gasp, “You liked it.”

Jake doesn’t say anything—he can’t. His mind’s still replaying how you sounded when you moaned his name, how you trembled under his tongue, how sweet you tasted. He wanted to hate it. He wanted to be grossed out. But now?

Now he’s painfully hard in his jeans, jaw tight, heart racing, and all he can think about is how much he wants to do it again.

He shoots a glare over his shoulder at the closed door, where you’re still inside, breathless and smug and probably laughing to yourself. And despite the teasing, despite the embarrassment, Jake feels it—deep in his gut.

He’s fucked. You’ve got him.

req prompt list here

enjoy my drabbles and wanna read longer fics? check out @shy9-29

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

NOT YOUR BRO

drew starkey x fem!reader

SUMMARY: y/n decides to use some ‘unusual’ nicknames for her boyfriend, drew, except it drives him insane.

based on this ask !! you come up with the CUTEST requests @xoxosblogsblog so thank you for this :) i hope it’s what you wanted, i tried to make it more of a one-shot than a drabble so i hope it’s okay <3

WARNINGS: just some fluffy goodness, one f bomb, and i believe that’s it !! (lmk if i missed anything !!)

WORD COUNT: 1.2k

THIRD PERSON +

The boutique smelled faintly of lavender and citrus, its soft jazz playlist creating a relaxed atmosphere as Y/N and the girls browsed racks of clothes. They had spent the morning shopping, arms now laden with glossy bags from Charleston's trendiest stores. Their conversation had drifted from outfit critiques to relationships as they admired a collection of flowy dresses near the dressing rooms.

"I don't know, it's just hard finding someone who actually gets me," Madelyn said with a shrug, running her fingers over the fabric. "You know, someone who doesn't freak out about my schedule."

"You'll find your person," Carlacia assured her. "Trust me, the right guy won't care how busy you are—he'll hype you up for it."

"True," Y/N chimed in. "Drew's my biggest cheerleader. Sometimes it's annoying how supportive he is."

The group laughed, and Madelyn smiled wistfully. "What do you even call Drew? Do you guys do the whole nickname thing?"

"Oh, for sure," Y/N replied, chuckling. "It's usually just 'babe,' but sometimes I call him 'Drewseph' when I'm feeling extra ridiculous."

"Drewseph?" Carlacia snorted, nearly doubling over. "That's incredible."

"I know, right?" Y/N grinned. "But seriously, I think he'd have a heart attack if I called him anything else. He's so used to those two."

Madelyn raised an eyebrow. "Like what? What would actually make him freak out?"

"I don't know..." Y/N tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Probably something like 'dude' or 'bro.' He'd be so confused."

"Oh my God, you have to try it!" Carlacia said, her eyes lighting up with mischief.

"What?" Y/N laughed, glancing between her friends.

"You should totally call him 'buddy,' 'pal,' or 'dude' tonight—just to see what he does," Carlacia suggested, practically bouncing on her heels.

"I don't know..." Y/N hesitated, though her grin betrayed her intrigue.

Madelyn joined in, nudging Y/N with her elbow. "Come on, it'd be hilarious. You know he'd lose his mind in the funniest way."

"I feel like he'd just be super offended," Y/N admitted, laughing.

"Exactly!" Carlacia said. "That's the point! He'll be all pouty and confused, and we'll all die laughing."

"Okay, but you guys better back me up if he gets mad," Y/N warned, smirking.

"Oh, we will," Madelyn promised, crossing her heart.

"Fine, I'll do it," Y/N said, shaking her head with a grin. "But you owe me if this backfires."

"Deal," Carlacia said, holding out her pinky for Y/N to shake.

As the group headed to the checkout counter, their laughter echoed through the boutique. Y/N could already picture Drew's reaction, and she had to admit—it was going to be fun.

—

The warm glow of sunset filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Drew and Y/N's spacious Charleston apartment. It was the perfect evening to host the Outer Banks cast for dinner and a game night.

The girls entered the apartment, greeted by the savory aroma of roasted chicken, mac and cheese, and freshly baked rolls. Drew met Y/N at the door, leaning down to kiss her. "How was your day, babe?" he asked, his voice soft and warm.

"Perfect," Y/N replied, grinning. "How about you? Are you a certified chef now?"

"Close," he teased, sliding an arm around her waist. "Go wash up; dinner's almost ready."

The girls exchanged knowing glances behind Drew's back, suppressing their giggles. Carlacia nudged Y/N with a wink. "You better deliver tonight," she whispered.

"Oh, I will," Y/N murmured, smirking.

At the long dining table, everyone was buzzing with conversation as Austin laid down the last plate. Drew, seated next to Y/N, had one arm draped casually across the back of her chair. She eyed the mac and cheese near him and decided it was time to set the plan in motion.

"Hey, can you pass the mac and cheese, please, buddy?" Y/N asked, her voice casual.

Drew froze mid-conversation, his head snapping toward her. His brows furrowed in confusion as he glanced at the plate, then back at her. "Uh, sure... babe," he said, emphasizing the word as he slid the dish toward her.

"Thanks, dude," Y/N replied nonchalantly, biting back a grin.

Across the table, Carlacia snorted into her drink, and Madelyn covered her mouth to stifle her laughter. Drew's jaw dropped slightly as he turned to her again, a mixture of offense and bewilderment crossing his face.

"Dude?" he repeated under his breath, as if the word left a bad taste.

"Hmm?" Y/N feigned innocence, loading her plate with mac and cheese.

Shaking his head, Drew tried to let it go, but the girls' muffled laughter didn't escape him. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, but he didn't press further—yet.

The dinner continued with more subtle jabs from Y/N. "Hey, pal, can you pass the salt?" she asked later, earning another baffled look from Drew. When he handed it to her, she responded with a cheerful "Thanks, champ!"

By the time they cleared the table and set up for games, Drew was visibly on edge, his lips pursed as he watched Y/N interact with the group.

They were midway through a heated round of charades when Y/N delivered the final blow. "Your turn, bro!" she called to Drew, grinning widely.

That did it. Drew stopped in his tracks, tossing the game card onto the coffee table. "It's babe! Not 'dude,' not 'buddy,' and CERTAINLY not bro!" he exclaimed, his voice rising an octave in exasperation. His hands flew up in frustration, and he turned to Y/N with wide eyes. "What did I do? Are you mad at me? Why are you calling me that?"

Y/N couldn't hold it in any longer. She burst into laughter, doubling over as tears welled in her eyes. Carlacia and Madelyn followed suit, collapsing against each other in hysterics.

Drew's jaw dropped further. "This—this was a joke?" he asked, his voice wavering between relief and indignation.

Y/N wiped her eyes, reaching for him. "Yes, babe, it was a joke. The girls dared me to do it to see how you'd react."

Drew folded his arms, pouting dramatically. "That's mean. You nearly gave me a heart attack," he muttered.

"Aww, come on," Y/N cooed, scooting closer to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing kisses to his cheek. "You know I love you, babe."

Drew let out a dramatic sigh but couldn't hide the smile creeping onto his face. "You're lucky I'm obsessed with you."

"Lucky?" Y/N teased, kissing him again. "You're the lucky one, Drewseph."

The guys, still confused about what had just transpired, looked at each other. "Are we supposed to get it?" Austin whispered to Chase.

"No clue," Chase replied, shaking his head.

The girls' laughter echoed through the apartment as Drew finally cracked, pulling Y/N closer and resting his forehead against hers. "You owe me," he murmured.

"Anything you want, babe," Y/N whispered back, her grin mischievous. "But admit it—you love me even when I call you dude."

Drew groaned, shaking his head. "Don't push it."

(divider by @kodaswrld !!)

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

this was so sweet and silly !! going to get through to some angst requests soon, i feel like i’ve been drowning you all in fluff which is CRAZY because i’m an angst girly at heart🫣 i have enjoyed writing happy drew & rafe so i can’t complain !!

pls send some angst requests pls !! mainly w/ a happy ending :)

[minswriting]

QUARANTINE - S.R x Reader

About: COVID came with many cons but the one pro? Being able to blow your husband while he’s supposed to be listening to his students presentations.

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, oral (m), giving head while spencer is in a zoom meeting, post bau spencer, post prison spencer, professor spencer, etc.

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: Border is made by @esote-rika !! And thank you to @beenreidingaboutyou for the lovely idea lol. This isn’t proof read at all because proof reading is so lame.

Being locked up in your apartment for months on end sounds horrendous, something outlandish, something meant for only those in house arrest. Yet, it became a reality on March 13th, 2020, when the announcement came that all schools and public facilities would be shut down except for essential workers. And that meant, your husband, who had just recently left the BAU less than a month prior, was home much more often.

At first, it was annoying. Neither of you knew what to do with yourselves. The university had told everyone that they were treating it like spring break and to give it two weeks while your job wasn’t sure exactly what was going to happen to them. While neither of you fought, you weren’t used to having Spencer around so much, especially because he had just left the BAU and immediately jumped into teaching, which caused a bit of irritation because you were used to having things your way for the most part.

But when two weeks became two months, the two of you had gotten into a rhythm, and by early June, the two of you were thriving. Your job had switched to strictly online work while Spencer got to spend time planning for the fall semester. And the best part about it? The sex. You guys were constantly having sex and it was always brilliant, especially in the way that you guys got to try new things. One day, while you were in a Zoom meeting with your coworkers and managers, with your camera off and muted, Spencer crawled underneath the desk and ate you out.

And that day, you knew you needed to get revenge.

It was now mid-October. Spencer had assigned, at the beginning of the semester, a project for the students to work on for a month and a half, and by the eight-week mark, to present what they have so far for a grade. Lockdowns were still in place, especially in D.C. where you guys were located, and therefore, the presentations were to be done on Zoom.

You were innocently sitting on the couch while Spencer was sat at his desk which was located in the living room. Your desk was in your bedroom while Spencer’s was in the living room, allowing the two of you your separate spaces while you both worked. You had a book in your lap though you hardly paid any attention to it as you stared at your husband. His curls were falling all over the place, dressed in his usual dress shirt and sweater vest combo, and his pants? Well, it was the pandemic, after all. He wasn’t wearing anything other than a pair of boxers.

“Okay, guys,” Spencer spoke into the microphone, looking at his students. “Today you guys will be presenting whatever you have so far for your projects while I silently judge them,” he joked, eliciting a few laughs. “We’ll start in alphabetical order with last names. Let’s make sure while people are presenting to keep our cameras and microphones off and uh-I will be emailing my feedback to each of you after class.”

And so, your plan began the moment Spencer muted his microphone and turned off his camera as the first student began presenting their project. You waited a little while, allowing Spencer time to genuinely sit there and take notes on the presentations. But soon, you could tell it was getting redundant and by the seventh student presenting, you could tell Spencer was getting a bit bored.

It was rare of him to be bored from information being spewed at him. But he had realized that many students chose the same topic and it began to get very boring really fast hearing the same things repeated over and over again. Spencer sat back in his chair, looking at the screen in boredom.

You stood up from your place on the couch, stretching for a moment before going down to the floor, crawling your way over to Spencer. You crawled underneath his desk, your husband hadn’t noticed you yet. That was until you put a hand on his knee, causing him to jump and look down. “What are you-“ he stopped when you brought your finger to your lips.

Perhaps you were a bit skeptical of the mute button and if it actually worked or not.

You moved your hand from Spencer’s knee to his thigh, inching your way to his clothed cock. You lightly grazed his cock, causing Spencer’s breath to hitch as the blood began rushing to his length, his cock hardening under your touch. You palmed him slowly, allowing for the tension to build. Spencer took in a shaky breath, looking down at you. He knew it was wrong. He should push you away, tell you to stop because he’s working. But in doing so, he would be a hypocrite and Dr. Spencer Reid may be many things such as an ex addict, undiagnosed autistic, and a man with many mental health problems, but he is not a hypocrite.

Because he, too, has given you head while you were working. So fair is only fair, right?

Right.

And so, once Spencer was completely hard underneath your touch, you slipped your fingers into the opening in the front, wrapping your fingers around his length. You stroked him softly, causing Spencer to let out a low hum, one that he quickly covered his mouth for. You chuckled quietly, pulling his cock out of the fly of his boxers.

The student continued their presentation, droning on about whatever it was they were presenting. You didn’t care. Why should you when your husband’s cock was in front of your face all veiny and red at the tip, begging to be touched?

You properly stroked Spencer’s cock, your hand going up and down his length slowly and rather teasingly before stopping. Your hand went to the base of Spencer’s cock as you leaned in. You licked the tip of Spencer’s length, causing a small whimper to leave his lips as he tried to muffle the noise. He glanced at his computer screen, ensuring that he’s indeed muted, which he was.

You gently wrapped your lips around Spencer’s cock, sucking the tip and swirling your tongue around before slowly easing him into your mouth. “Fuck,” you heard him whisper as you moved your head down his length. You made it about halfway before coming back up.

You bobbed your head up and down slowly, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked Spencer off. You looked up at him through your lashes, seeing the way he was breathing heavily with his cheeks flushed. He brought his hand to your hair, entangling his fingers into it. “Sweetheart,” he breathed out, licking his lips.

You hummed around Spencer’s cock, sending vibrations down the length, making his hips jolt from the sudden pleasure. You moved your head faster, gaining more rhythm. You stroked whatever you couldn’t fit in your mouth. Spencer’s grip on your hair tightened as his eyes fluttered shut, throwing his head back in pleasure.

He began thrusting his hips ever so slightly, causing the tip to hit the back of your throat. You teared up slightly but otherwise continued. The sound of Spencer’s cock in your mouth filled the room along with the droning voice of college kids giving their presentations.

Eventually, you could feel Spencer getting close as his cock stiffened in your mouth and the grip he had on you tightened even more. You hummed around his length, encouraging him to cum down your throat. And just as he was about to cum, pushing his hips upward as he fucked your mouth, his orgasm was interrupted.

“Professor,” a voice came through the laptop, causing you both to pause.

Spencer’s eyes widened as he looked at you and at the computer. He simply pressed the spacebar to unmute himself temporarily. “Y-“ he cleared his throat. “Yes?” He asked, trying to sound more composed.

“Class was supposed to end five minutes ago.”

You took the opportunity to keep swirling your tongue around Spencer’s tip and gently stroking the base of his cock. He bit his lip hard, trying badly not to moan. “Class dismissed then. We’ll continue presentations next week.” He gritted out, trying to sound neutral. “Have a good day guys.” And without waiting, he ended the zoom meeting, shutting his laptop before leaning back in his chair.

With one last swirl of your tongue and stroke of his cock, Spencer began cumming inside of your mouth, using both of his hands to grip your head and keep you still as ropes of cum dripped down your throat. He let out a loud groan, throwing his head back in pleasure. “Fuuuuck,” he moaned.

And when he was finished, you pulled off of his length completely, leaving a trail of cum and saliva as you looked up at him with a smirk. “That was fun,” you said hoarsely.

Spencer let out a breathless laugh, rolling his eyes. “Get out from under there and let me take care of you now,” he said, reaching his hand out for yours.

The rest of your day was spent being properly fucked by your lovely husband.

[d3cay1ngst4tic]

— IN THE HOLLOW OF YOUR THROAT IS WHERE I BELONG.

synopsis. but the thing is, satoru, megumi doesn’t need a parent right now.

contents. satoru gojo x gn!reader. teen!satoru. teen!reader. hurt/comfort. arguments. they’re both kinda going through the whole family thing ngl. we’re all young in the end, aren’t we?

★ jiah’s notes. i’m sorry, i firmly believe in annoying elder bro satoru agenda. c:

series masterlist.

“you’re not listening.”

satoru goes still at that. little shards of glass raining down from the azure cacophony he’s got for eyes— and staining your own. gently, though. gentle is still cracked at the edges for satoru, but he tries. so hard. just for you. and megumi. and tsumiki. and you.

(so why can’t he now?)

“i am,” he says, voice hardening just for a fraction of a second before he’s smoothening it out again, frantic hands flailing in the air to grip onto even a sliver of control. calm, calm, calm, chants the curse at the back of his throat, even though he doesn’t suguru leaving one behind for him to raise, please, you’re supposed to be strong. you’re supposed to protect. you’re supposed to—

“i just don’t know why exactly you’re siding with megumi right now. i don’t joke all the time, y’know. even i have a sense of—”

“oh yeah?” you’re staring at him, eyes narrowed down to a steady stare that seems to hold him in place, tying his hands down. no no no don’t do that please— “siding with megumi, am i? and what would i get off siding in our own damn family, satoru?”

and just like that— every single retort on the tip of satoru’s tongue dies down. quietens. like a storm realizing that the flowers had already been destroyed enough as it is, there was no need to pry and add onto their demise.

you look tired.

unbearably so. eyebrows pinched together like it hurts you to talk, lips parted in a soft exhale, like you knew he’d stop at that— the lines on your face carve a story for to make him see just how burnt you are.

(or how burnt he is.)

“. . i—”

what a useless word, i. barely a letter more than the other alphabets, yet it’s got a knack of thinking too much of itself. like it can handle everything— blind to the futility of the fire it’s so arrogant about. because, in the end, of what use is the fire that burns the sun itself?

“shut up,” you say. you don’t even have to look at the sliver of dark hair that passes by the kitchen, disappearing when you speak.

and, for once, satoru does.

the silence that follows doesn’t bite. at least, not how it should. it just lingers by like some wronged smoke that fills your lungs and his own.

“. . this isn’t like you,” you mutter, and the despite himself, the fire in him flares up once again.

“what isn’t like me?” satoru snaps, “—no, don’t tell me to shut up right now. no. what isn’t like me, huh? am— am i not trying hard enough to be like me? or is this version just not me enough for you?”

you exhale. “satoru—”

“no, you’re not listening,” his voice breaks, and so does a part of you, along with it, “you’re not listening. i don’t see what’s so wrong with me just teaching megumi what’s right and what’s not.”

“if that’s your way of teaching morale, then you should change it,” you can’t help it, not really, when the world is too loud and too quiet and you both are so tired and full of energy. “megumi was crying in his room. crying, satoru. that kid does not cry, and we both know that.”

(a pause.)

you see him chew on his lip. except that he’s not exactly chewing it— more like trapping his words before something too ugly and bloodstained rips its way through.

and when you see tiny bubbles of crimson that follow the words’ demise start to form, you know it’s over.

because you’re already gathering the puzzle pieces and putting him back together again, ash-laden hands and all— your fingertips must’ve stung from the fire, and he feels a lump clog onto his throat at the thought of you bearing the burn. bearing him.

“i don’t know how to do this right,” satoru breathes out into the hollow of your throat, knuckles strained white against the hem of your shirt, “— sorry. ’m sorry. i—i just don’t know how to— . . how to be a good person for him. a good guardian. one he can look up to, not. . not—”

(—not him. or whatever he was. failed god of a sorcerer who’d always been too high up to see what was happening below.)

you sigh. it blows warm air against his skin, and strangely enough, the fire seems to mellow out just the faintest bit.

“megumi doesn’t need a parent right now, satoru,” the words flow down your lips to hold him in place, to make him see, “he just needs someone who won’t. . leave.”

satoru doesn’t say anything.

he just listens to the way his heart thunders against his chest and your own, as if trying to claw its way out of his ribs to merge with yours because that’s where it belongs. that’s where it has always belonged. and that’s where it always will belong.

(and somewhere nearby, you hear little footsteps trail back to their bedroom and shut the door.)

@d3cay1ngst4tic on tumblr. do not copy or post any of my works.