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notjustjavierpena · 6 months ago

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Applied Physics pt. i

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A/N: Long awaited smutty piece with a planned sequel. I hope you enjoy, ya filthy animal 💅🎀💖

Summary: It’s the 60s, you’re three weeks behind on a deadline, and your professor, Doctor Reed Richards, makes you face the consequences.

Pairing: Reed Richards x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: College student/teacher relationship, science talk, Reed has powers, dub con, spanking, dom/sub dynamics, implied dacryphilia, dirty talking, sub drop, aftercare, stern Reed 🥵

Word count: 5.7k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62948440/chapters/161199763

Applied Physics

Dr. Reed N. Richards always wears a tweed jacket with elbow patches that show off his broad shoulders and give him an irresistible swagger. He teaches physics at your college part-time - when he is not out saving the world - and he is equally terrifying as he is warm, a combination of traits that you have learned can actually coexist but only after meeting him.

You have been wanting him since he walked into the classroom that morning many months ago, carrying a black leather binder seemingly filled with little to nothing since everything appears to be stored in his brain.

He has standards, you find, and traditional ways of doing things that somehow emphasize his love for the delicacy of science. For instance, he only grades papers with a fountain pen and therefore expects every assignment to be handwritten instead of done on a typewriter which is tedious and difficult for those who don’t possess a steady hand. The scary part of him comes out when he says he simply won’t grade the papers that aren’t turned in as he wants them to be. The warm part shows itself when he later makes a self-deprecating joke about knocking over whiskey during his grading.

The idea of the paper smelling like his cologne or even, if you are lucky, has a stain of his favorite liquor, makes you hand in each assignment whilst the ink is still drying on the paper. Perhaps you will be the first one to receive notes and feedback from him if you turn in your work before its deadline.

You imagine him hunched over a desk, pen barely able to fit in his rough hand. He wears something casual, maybe even has taken off that jacket, scratching his beard and sipping his drink whilst smiling to himself as he reads words that come from your mind. Your mind makes him smile to himself, makes him single you out from the rest of your class because you are special and he knows this. It’s the image you imagine the first time you come whilst thinking about him, shower head between your thighs and legs against the tiled wall in the shared bathroom at the boarding house you reside in.

When you do finally get your first essay back from him, you read all the comments in the margins during your lunch. You lick a drop of juice from an apple away from your lower lip as your eyes skim over a scribbled good or well done, trying to find an excuse to read more into the way he looks at you when you talk during class. You made him laugh once, that must mean something, right? He clearly has your sense of humor, the same ways of applying theory and reasoning.

You know that it is hardly rational what you are doing, projecting all these things onto him when, in reality, you only know of him what you have seen during his lectures and office hours. Yet you have found yourself noticing the way he smiles faintly when you correct one of your fellow students during group work, and it has spurred you on to become even more insufferable to your classmates only to get his attention. His approval too, if you are lucky.

Yet despite all this, here you are with an assignment running three weeks late, your procrastination having reached its limits and your excuses to your professor wearing thin. It’s a challenging state to be in when you’re so used to ranking your popularity with Dr. Richards higher than everyone else on this course. Sure, his attention is nice when it is rooted in praise but you don’t know if the kind that will follow this lecture, the deadline you’d agreed upon for your paper being yesterday, is the kind that will satisfy something in you like the small smiles have.

You keep bouncing your leg beneath your desk as you wait for Dr. Richards to enter the lecture hall with that cool aura about him and let the fast-paced lecture begin. If anyone sees you, they will recognize it as an itching to suck up to him once more but in reality, it is the first time you’ve been in the room with a nervous tic.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” he greets as he finally arrives and you find yourself jolting with nerves at the fact that he is finally here and inevitable doom is just around the corner. It doesn’t make it better that his brown eyes sweep over the crowd in a hurry until he spots you, his gaze full of concentration until he gains eye contact with you for less than a second. You sit up straighter at the way he measures you and the subconscious movement of your leg stills completely. Frustratingly, the man keeps talking as if nothing happened.

After several attempts to regain your composure, you realize that you have completely missed his introduction to today’s lecture and while trying to ignore the thrill that is simmering beneath your anxiety, you scramble to start taking notes. It’s not to show him that you can go back to being his favorite student but rather a necessity to keep yourself from being three weeks further behind.

You power through the lecture even with your fuzzy mind, scribbling things down and making sure to appreciate the privilege it is to be taught by one of the greatest minds to ever live. This is even if he, multiple times, falls into the usual pattern of diving headfirst into multi-layered explanations of different phenomena and concepts, droning on as if none of you and the rest of your classmates exist to him anymore.

You pretend to keep up when he does this but even you must admit that he loses you. However, you know for a fact that it is not out of disinterest that you stop listening but rather your mind focusing on something else when his words become too difficult to follow. Instead, you end up mapping out the length of his gorgeous neck, the beauty spot where his collar ends. It is enough to leave your mouth dry, but not enough to drag your mind off the scolding you’ll get soon.

When the lecture comes to an end, you have psyched yourself enough to stupidly get up and try to follow the rest of the students out. They trickle out hurriedly though and you find yourself at the back of the school of people heading for the door.

“Hold it right there,” Reed’s voice travels through the room and hits you right in the back, making you falter in your step. Your last name rolls off his tongue with the same kind of confidence and composure that you’d tried to conjure up just an hour ago.

“Sir, I was just—“ you rest your hand on the doorknob to signal that you are leaving but you know already that you have lost the fight to exit the room.

You hear it before you see it; the faint and strange rustling of fabric as something wooshes closer. Suddenly, your teacher’s stretched-out arm moves past you like you have seen it do on television and then his hand attached to said arm splays flat on the door. He closes it with a soft click while you hold your breath.

Slowly, it retracts back to normal and you follow it with your eyes by glancing over your shoulder. Time stands still for a moment at the sight because while Reed Richards has stretched his body multiple times in the past, without much thought behind it and much to his students' shock, he never puts anyone in the position to experience it firsthand.

“Sir, I—“

“Come here,” he says quietly.

You grab the strap of your bag tightly and make your way to the desk where he sits. You decide to beat him to his reprimand, talking even if your voice shakes at his disapproving stare, “I’m sorry I missed this week’s deadline.”

“This week? Try the last three,” he calmly corrects you, “You have done your research on force, impact, and energy transfer in non-elastic collisions, have you not?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And you’ve still not turned anything in? Why?”

“I've been overwhelmed with coursework and–” You trail off when he raises a brow. He is still sitting down but even so, you feel like you are shrinking underneath his authority. You find it hard to believe that anything out your mouth right now will be taken seriously when you have let him down three times already but you try to reassure him anyway, “It won’t happen again, I promise,”

“No, it won’t,” he agrees as he pushes himself to stand. He drags the chair away from the table as if he thinks it is in his way, “You’re brighter than most, so I don’t believe I need to remind you what happens if you keep slacking.”

“No, sir, I’m aware.”

“I mean, we’ve already moved way past force dynamics and energy exchange on this year’s curriculum, so you’re wasting my time,” he goes on with an annoyed sigh that tells you he has better things to do, “What am I supposed to do with you?”

“I don’t know, sir,” you stare at the flooring.

“Come closer,” he orders calmly. He lets his gaze flick down to your hand clutching your bag of books, “Take out your book on core concepts.”

You follow his eyes and pull out the right book before gently letting the strap of your bag slide off your shoulder until the bag hits the floor with a soft thud. Something tells you that you’re not leaving anytime soon.

“Place it on the desk and find the pages on Newton’s Laws,” he continues and your heart slams against your ribs at the thought of an impromptu pop quiz instead of a handed-in paper. Yes, you know these pages but in the presence of him, you’re not so sure.

Behind you, Reed has shrugged off his jacket while you were flipping through the book. He folds it neatly and hangs it over the back of the chair he was displeased with a moment ago, making sure not to crease the fabric. Then he reaches for the sleeves of the white shirt that he is wearing and rolls them up to his elbows, revealing the slightly visible veins of his forearms. Your head swims and you subtly press your thighs together, images of what you’d like him to do to you flooding your mind.

“Bend over,” he says suddenly, murmuring it almost as if he knows he shouldn’t have said it.

Your eyes widen and you glance in the door’s direction. There are so many people on the outside of this room right now but the chances of someone walking in are slim since lectures are rarely started at this hour of the afternoon, “I don’t understand?”

“You don’t have to understand anything. I want you to put your palms on either side of the book and bend over,” he elaborates and clearly notices your hesitation, the direction of your eyes. His arm stretches out in front of you again, snaking its way past the rows of chairs until it reaches the door once more. He locks it, the soft click of it mixing with your unsteady breathing, and then he pulls down the curtain in the window at the top.

When the arm smoothly retracts once more, you naturally think it will stop at his side but instead, you feel his palm on the back of your neck. His other hand joins to lay on the small of your back and then he pushes down gently to maneuver you into the position that he wants.

You exhale shakily as you place your hands on the desk, feeling the smooth wood underneath your fingertips as a way to ground yourself in a moment so electric. Your body is way ahead of you, reacting to the anticipation of his next move by making a dull ache settle right between your legs. Your clit throbs, your walls flutter.

“Your paper was supposed to use Newton’s Laws as a foundation, let me make sure you know them properly,” Reed says simply while removing his hand from your lower back. His other hand, the one on the back of your neck, slips down your spine to take the previous one’s spot, leaving fire in its wake, “Recite them.”

You swallow thickly, “Newton’s First Law states that a body at rest—”

Smack.

A loud gasp leaves you at the surprise of Reed’s free hand coming down on your backside, heat spreading out underneath the fabric of your skirt where it has struck you. Your head whips around to stare at him in disbelief at what he has just done, your mouth hanging open in shock.

“Eyes on the book,” he commands sternly, curling his fingers slightly into the hem of your shirt, “Go on. Newton’s First Law.”

You count three whole breaths before you will yourself to face forward again, looking down at the text in front of you and trying to regain your ability to read. You swallow the lump in your throat, the letters jumbled on the page, “Uhh…”

“Concentrate,” he adds and gives you another blow, one that makes you jolt forward on the desk and send the book almost over the edge. You frantically reach for it, noticing the way your heart leaps into your throat when you consider what would have happened if it had fallen off.

You drag the book back down and try to act cool but your voice tells on you as you start to read out loud, “A-a body at rest stays at rest, and a body in motion stays in motion—”

He spanks you again and elicits another gasp but you seem to have expected it since you don’t go flying forward. This is even if his palm leaves behind a much more painful sting this time and makes your toes curl in your shoes.

“Until…” He sounds impatient.

You act immediately like a dog who is learning about action and consequences, “Until acted upon by an external force.”

“Good girl,” he praises and you don’t know why the softness of his voice makes you tear up. His broad palm traces over the spot that is warming up already and you make a show out of sighing with content.

However, the soothing touch is short-lived and you start struggling just slightly as Reed’s hand descends until he can grab the hem of your pencil skirt and roughly tug it up. He settles it just above the plumpness of your ass, swatting you to make you focus and stop squirming.

“I’m not going to fuck you so stop moving around,” he scolds and surprises you with yet another smack. It feels different now that each slap is skin-on-skin contact, sounds different too as the noise echoes through the empty lecture hall. You whine in slight disappointment, even if you have inappropriately imagined his cock in you during circumstances so different so many times.

“Second Law,” he murmurs, occupied briefly by the bruise forming on your cheek and scraping his nails across it.

“W-what?” You let out a whimper, your thighs pressing together to soothe your pulsing clit. In theory, you know what he has said but it just isn’t registering since your mind is occupied by you knowing exactly what you will be doing back home if he won’t touch you. In fact, a thrill goes through you at the thought of another blow to recall in your bed with your hand stuffed into your underwear.

“Newton’s Second Law,” he repeats with a smaller swat following. You suck in a breath to calm yourself.

“Newton’s Second Law states that the net force on an object is equal to its mass times its acceleration,” you say somewhat confidently, a sense of calm settling over you as you finally feel like you are getting a handle on the situation.

“Apply it to the situation you’re in right now,” he tests you. You feel your face grow hot and hesitation seizes you for a second. It takes a moment too long for him and a much sharper smack lands right on the jiggliest part of your ass, the sharpness of the pain making you moan for the first time and the noise of the blow bouncing off the walls. You almost even swear in your professor’s presence, and you would have if it weren’t for the way tears in your eyes take off the edge.

“You’ll get one more if you don’t open your mouth soon,” he adds. You’re just about to speak, about to follow orders, when he takes a step closer and presses his cock into your hip. You freeze at the size of him, a sound that can only be described as pathetic leaving you. Reed huffs out a chuckle and smacks you once more albeit slightly less maliciously.

“Y–you’re applying a force to me. Your hand is the mass and the acceleration is essentially the swing of your arm. The shorter the time and the greater the velocity of the impact, the bigger the force I feel,” you try not to hiccup through the whole explanation but the words take a longer time to come to you and your backside is hypersensitive, warm, and sore. Your pulse rings in your ears too, and you swear you can almost taste the adrenaline in your mouth from how it is coursing through your body. It might just be salt from your tears though which you realize will simply give you an excuse as to why you stayed behind after class. If you really try, you might be able to conjure up an act of a student who got some terrible feedback.

“Still with me?” You hear him ask, feel him soothe your burning flesh. You wonder if his palm is imprinted on your cheek.

“Yes, sir,” you mumble with a sniffle, your palms sticking to the desk from how clammy they have become.

“Speak up,” he corrects you and his palm leaves you long enough for you to start anticipating another strike. No hands on your body makes it harder to abstain from feeling his hard cock resting against your hip, the heaviness of it making you even wetter and oh God, aching to be filled.

“Yes, sir,” you enunciate without coming off as bratty. The next strike doesn’t come and relief washes over you, allowing you to relish in the cool air brushing your tingling and bruised skin.

“Last but not least. Newton’s Third Law?”

“F-for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction,” you say and rest your forehead on the book that has absorbed a few teardrops, He doesn't give you praise or a soothing touch. It bewilders you, makes you question if your scatterbrained state has accidentally made you say something that is wrong. You go quiet except for your rapid breathing as you go over your answer in your head but nothing comes to mi–

The sudden smack instantly makes you realize where you went wrong, landing across the exact spot that’s already stinging and causing you to hiss and whine through your teeth. Quickly, you scramble to relate Newton to what Reed is doing to you, “If… if you strike me, my body exerts a force back on your hand.”

“Mhm, good,” he hums while your head swims, “And I bet you’re feeling that force right now.”

“It hurts,” you whimper feebly and turn your head to the side. Yes, it’s the truth but your body can’t tell if it’s supposed to register this as pain or pleasure, the sensations overlapping intensely.

“That’s part of the lesson,” Reed’s hand returns in a gentle touch, his large palm settling carefully over the same spot he has just mercilessly spanked, “Why does it hurt?”

You wish he’d move his hand down between your legs and make you come when he realizes how soaked-through your panties are, “B-because when you spank me your hand transfers kinetic energy into my skin. The force and the friction cause heat to build. The tissues and blood vessels react, and it—”

“Gives you that glow. Precisely,” he finishes your sentence and curls his hand around your hip firmly. He sounds enthralled by his work, “And I respond with arousal, meaning it makes me so goddamn hard. Now, hold still. These last three are for the three missed deadlines.”

You know he means business when his finger slips underneath the waistband of your panties. He pulls them down just enough to settle them underneath the globes of your ass without exposing your needy cunt, the elastic of them digging slightly into sore skin. His other hand lifts and you brace yourself even if you know that any human can suffer through even uncontrollable pain if they know there’s an end to it.

The first of three strikes lands right on the curve of your backside, harder than any of the several ones before it and making your entire body seize up. He isn’t playing around this time, your skin immediately blooming with newfound heat and fiery pain. It makes you moan out loud and squeeze your eyes shut until fireworks go off behind your eyelids.

“Count,” he says calmly.

“O-one,” you manage to say in a voice that makes it sound like an apology instead.

The second one makes it feel like there’s a clap of thunder going through your bones. You jolt forward on the desk enough to finally send the damn book flying off the edge to the floor. Reed tightens his grip on your hip to steady you, dragging you back to him again as if to remind you that despite everything he’s got you.

“Two,” you say shakily, “I’m sorry, Professor Richards.”

He rubs the spot to soothe your burning flesh and by now, a part of you wants to crawl into his lap and be held. He coos softly at you and gently squeezes the roundness of your ass, making you bite down on your bottom lip and exhale a needy whine through your nose.

“No need to bring me apologies,” he tells you, “We’ll see if you’ve learned your lesson. Last one.”

He lets you wait for the final smack, but when his hand lands on your skin, a sharp cry rips from your throat. Tears start flowing freely from your eyes now - even if you’re still not fully crying as emotions have not caught up with you yet - but it’s not solely from the pain, but also from the swirl of adrenaline and arousal that tightens below your belly button. You wonder if you should reach up to wipe your eyes but you can’t make yourself let go of the desk underneath you, clutching it in an iron grip because of how wobbly your legs are.

“Three,” you hiccup as Reed loosens his grip on you. You feel the ache of your behind with every heartbeat and want to sob now that it is over. You’re hyper-aware of what is happening in your body which is the adrenaline starting to crash, and the emotions, coming in like a wave, are just about to overwhelm you when—

“Sit up on the desk for me,” Reed says gently.

“But the book,” you glance toward the textbook that you sent flying not long ago. It is a silly thing to cling onto but there’s an emotional wavering in your voice as you say it which Reed seems to catch onto.

“Leave it,” he murmurs, an order but not like the previous ones, “Sit. I need to make sure you’re alright.”

The task seems impossible. You barely manage to push yourself fully upright, your shaking legs nearly not able to hold you up, and when you turn around to lift yourself onto the desk, you feel the edge dig into your sore behind in a way that forces a hiss out of you. A tear that you have no control over rolls slowly down your cheek.

“Easy,” Reed is beside you, catching onto your motive when you get ready to jump up onto the surface in a hurry due to his earlier lack of patience. He has previously had a hovering hand nearby but now, he grabs a hold of you to still you, “Do it carefully.”

When you’re finally perched on the desk, you’re not sure if the calming cool sensation of the wood beneath your thighs outweighs the pressure against your smarting skin. What you are sure of though is the storm of emotions inside your chest, a raging one made up of an overwhelming mix of new pain, embarrassment, and vulnerability, all of which makes your heart feel too big for your rib cage.

“I’m okay,” you lie but you hear yourself and know it isn’t very convincing. He gives you a raised eyebrow.

“Seems like you’re experiencing what is known as a drop. Come on, deep breaths,” he guides you gently when he spots the way your bottom lip wobbles, “If you have to cry, let it out. No one’s going to see you.”

From his words, you realize that your breathing has become unsteady and hitched in very little time. Your shoulders shake and your chest has a ball of unleashed feelings in it that nearly makes you feel sick. It unravels when the tears that you hoped would subside resurface at the permission to let them flow. You feel them brimming at the corners of your eyes.

“I’m sorry, this is so embarrassing,” you say shakily when they finally spill over even if the tension in your torso slowly ebbs away as you let go.

“You’re alright. Just breathe for me,” he says softly. He brings his hands to your thighs and rubs them in an attempt to soothe and ground you, “Slow and steady in through the nose and out the mouth. Right now, you don’t have to do anything but calm down, and then I can take a look at you.”

The room around you seems distant as you try to breathe more steadily but you’re lightheaded, feeling almost as if you’re wrapped in a woolen, fuzzy blanket that blocks everything out besides him. You aren’t sure if it is the adrenaline crash anymore or the way that your whole body is so tightly wound for pleasure that won’t come but you crave his touch, crave him taking care of you.

“You’re okay,” he says over and over, drowning out the static in your ears, “No more crying, sweet angel. I’d rather not see you leave here like this.”

The nickname makes you snap out of it. Angel? Did he just call you an angel? Your tears go on hold when you continuously blink up at him from your seat on the desk, pawing at his chest without knowing what to do with all your longing. He makes you feel all the things you have felt since you met him all at once now, a dizzying flurry of thoughts and feelings.

“That’s better,” he smiles genuinely for the first time and you melt right then and there. He looks so damn handsome when he does it that you go ridiculously doe-eyed at the sight.

“Thank you,” you mumble while playing with the buttons on his white shirt. The butterflies in your belly have nearly made the pulsing ache of your backside disappear.

“Stand up,” he says and removes your hands from his chest which you probably make a much bigger deal out of than him, “I need to take a look at you.”

You stand on wobbly legs. Slowly and carefully, he skims his fingers over the inflamed skin and notes out loud that it is warm. It’s not a soothing caress for the sake of tenderness, but rather a deliberate check-in to take note of how much damage he’s done. He works methodically, like a man who daily works with scientific research and experiments, going over each part of you while humming at his discoveries.

“Right. Cool compress when you get home for the swelling, ten-fifteen minutes on and off. Frozen peas will do,” he instructs in the exact same tone as when he gives out science homework, “The skin is still intact but you’ll be sore if you don’t treat yourself with a little kindness. Lotion if it is too much to bear and loose clothing. Not a pencil skirt like this one, we clear?”

You nod with the hint of a pout.

“And,” he adds and grabs lightly at your chin, his tone suddenly playful, “Try not to miss any more deadlines.”

It’s a joke, you realize, something to lighten the atmosphere in the lecture hall and you barely register it from the way his fingers hold your head in place. Despite your watery eyes and racing heartbeat, you huff out a little laugh.

“There we go,” he coos at the sound of your chuckle, “Not so gloomy anymore.”

With gentle hands, he reaches just below your hips to pull your underwear up over the curve of your ass again, careful not to let the waistband tug at the sensitive skin. He does the same with your skirt, tugging the hem down over your thighs until you look decent once more.

Your lips part slightly as your eyes slide up to look at his face, feeling dumbstruck by his brown intelligent eyes and his aquiline nose straight out of the statues from Ancient Rome. You admire the column of his neck, the mentioned beauty mark just above his collar, and the dip that you want to kiss.

After a moment, you realize that you have gone quiet and when you look back at his eyes, you are dizzyingly meeting his suddenly intense gaze. It is as if he has calculated that you are back with him, lingering with desire albeit still a little shaken by your tears. His eyes are burning into yours and you can feel the restraint behind them. It is as if you can sense the electricity in the air, the warmth that prickles in your cheeks, and the heat that radiates from him.

Without a word, he reaches to tuck your shirt into your skirt until it hugs your figure tightly, a fashion choice different from how you had arrived in his classroom earlier. The dominance of styling your clothes as he prefers it makes you press your thighs together, the dull ache returning between your legs.

“I’ve noticed, seen it all. That’s why I did it,” he says cryptically as he stuffs your shirt down at the back, fingertips brushing the dip of your spine until heat racks up it.

“Noticed what?” You ask foolishly but had you stopped to think, you would have figured it out already.

“All the energy you’ve put into getting me to notice you and getting my undivided attention. Congratulations, you’ve finally got it,” he clarifies and lets both his hands rest on the small of your back for the briefest of moments. When he lets go of you, you follow his touch by leaning in to close the distance with a kiss.

He places a hand on your chest, holding you back just when you are pressing the ghost of a kiss to his lips. He has given you so much by now. Why not this? A ball of frustration settles in your chest and comes out as a little whine of impatience, “Why can’t we?”

He doesn’t pull away, simply speaks less than an inch from your face so you can feel his breath on your mouth, “Because you need to learn restraint, sweet angel. I can’t have you missing your deadlines three weeks in a row - or at all really - due to some little crush.”

You want to defend yourself, say that it has nothing to do with him but deep down, you know it would be a lie straight to his face. So instead, you swallow thickly, “I want you. I’ve wanted you since I saw you.”

“And you will have me,” he kisses you so softly that you want to sink to your knees, “Just not until I say so, and certainly not before you’ve been a good girl and turned in that paper.”

“Sir,” you try one last time.

“I’ll teach you to be patient, to have restraint,” he tells you and makes you realize your attempt was to no avail, “Whether you like it or not.”

You give in, buzzing with the need for more, “I can turn my paper in on Monday. Would that suffice?”

“I’ll hold you to that, but no late nights and last-minute scrambling. If I find you’ve rushed through it…” he lets the sentence drift off, letting your imagination figure out the consequence, “And it best be your best work yet.”

“Yes, sir,” you reluctantly pull back when nothing seems to work, “Whatever you want.”

“Hand it to me during office hours before class,” he instructs to which you nod.

“But what now?” You ask with a tiny impatient noise, letting him know just how much you’ve got against his reluctance to touch you.

His hand flexes by his side, “Now you go home. You lock your door and you touch that pretty thing between your thighs just how you like it most. I want you to come for me until you’re hoarse. Three times for three weeks but no more than that, not until we see each other again.”

It is Wednesday and you won’t see him until Monday. How on Earth are you going to survive on only three orgasms after this? Your mind races with protests but you don’t get to voice your concern about the limit he has set because he has already stepped back to pick up his jacket from his desk chair.

You decide to circle the table to pick up your book and stuff it into your bag. Behind you, Reed’s eyes are definitely on you as you lean forward with a hand on the desk. He is fixing the cuffs of his sleeves and putting on his tweed jacket, trying to come off as if letting you have a private moment to compose yourself.

“Monday,” he reminds you when you stand upright again. His arm stretches out between the rows of chairs and tables once more so he can unlock the door for you.

“Yes, sir,” you answer obediently.

You swing your bag over your shoulder and then you leave.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

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hongjoongspoetry · 4 months ago

Text

Just Another Night, Until You | Choi San

❤️‍🔥 Summary: Hectic nights at work is nothing out of the ordinary for you, but when a man is wheeled into the Intensive Care Unit with second degree burns all over his body and in the need of immediate medical attention, your life takes a turn as his body heals on his own by the mere presence of you. Shocked by the discovery, you stay by his side as he recovers and together you come to terms with your unexpected connection.

❤️‍🔥 Pairing(s): Firefighter!San x Emergency physician!Reader

❤️‍🔥 Genres/Tropes: Soulmate AU, non-idol AU, best friend's brother, oldest daughter and youngest son, slice of life, fluff

❤️‍🔥 Warnings/Tags: female reader, no use of (Y/N), brief description of burn injuries, medical setting, san is living up to his romance-cat title, pet names (darling, my love, love, honey), MC is a Jeong, a lot of physical intimacy, kisses gallore, san is down bad for the MC, brief description of motorcycle accident and fractured bones (not explicit), the fear of losing loved ones, emotional exhaustion, a few swear words, not beta read!

❤️‍🔥 Wordcount: 7.5K

❤️‍🔥 Author's Note: Click the image for a better resolution (Tumblr I hate you). Wihooo! And there goes the second to last instalment of the March Event ;-; im lowkey sad it's ending soon although it gives me more time to work on other stuff!! anyhow, this one was really fun to write and I hope you'll enjoy it, be prepared for a lot of love sick sannie 🥹 Btw I'm not a nurse/doctor or have any "proper" knowledge regarding how things go down in the E.R or hospital for that matter either, so this is all based on excessive research. Thank you for your understanding!

This is all fiction and not meant to represent any idols involved in any way or form. This work is rated SFW, however it contains mature scenes such as descriptions of serious injuries, medical procedures as well as adult language. Minors, please, read at your own risk and refrain from interacting or following my blog!

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It was an exceptionally calm hour in Seoul National University Hospital. Most nights were bustling with life, whether it’d be residential patients abusing the call button, relatives refusing to leave after visiting hours were over or an incoming emergency putting the whole hospital in a fit. But not tonight. The clock hanging on the wall opposite of the nurse’s station in the emergency department recently struck midnight. You slumped down by your desk as Haneul, your roommate, best friend and fellow colleague, dragged her legs behind her and nearly toppled over her seat. You finished off the last rounds of checking in on the inpatients on your floor, yet your social batteries were already drained and the nightshift had just started.

Haneul blew a raspberry before her head dropped onto the desk with a soft thud. She groaned and threw herself back on the chair, her arms extended and legs elevated. Her slip-on shoes barely hung onto her feet and she wasn’t faring any better.

“I’m so tired,” she complained and went limp in her seat. “I can’t wait to clock out and return to my boyfriend.”

You let out an amused huff, the pencil twirling in your fingers coming to a stop as you caught it mid air. “You mean your bed?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Ha-ha, really funny Haneul.”

“It’s a bit funny, admit it!”

You rolled your eyes at her, but couldn’t fight off the smile that spread across your face. It was never a dull moment when in Haneul’s company. You were certain that even if death were around the corner, she’d still find a way to make the situation feel light. That was probably why you two had hit it off at university. She was mostly, if not always, in a cheerful mood, while you walked around with a dark cloud over your head. Had it not been for Haneul approaching you solely because your shirt was similar to one of her favorite character’s outfits in a drama, you probably would never have become friends. A decade later and you were tighter than two peas in a pod, and even decided — after your first semester — to move into a flat together which was still your current home.

“Whatever… I can’t complain as it’s at least a quiet night.”

The unspoken rule of never mentioning the obvious flashed before your eyes and you cowered from the blazing look Haneul shot your way. The air was caught in your throats and neither dared to move an inch from your places. You slowly turned your head sideways, waiting for a patient to peek their head out or scream that their pillow needed puffing up. As the empty hallway continued staying silent and the motion sensor lights didn’t turn on, you exhaled in relief.

“You got lucky there,” she said and logged into her computer.

As you parted your mouth to answer, a voice broke through from the radio placed on the wall-mounted brackets. A report concerning a handful of people who were hurt in a fire set loose in an apartment came through and everyone ditched their tasks to get ready for the newcomers. You and Haneul, along with other nurses, ran to the trauma bay and occupied a room each where you, hopefully not, would get a patient each. The sound of multiple sirens grew louder the faster the ambulances sped toward the hospital and didn’t stop until the flashes of red and blue colored the building. Despite being employed for two years and counting, you never got accustomed to the ear piercing noise or blinding lights.

“Nurse Kim, could you prepare the wound care kit? Nurse Hwang, bring the respiratory support system. We don’t know what we’re dealing with so we need to expect the worst!”

The commotion from the triage area reached your room as the patients were being rolled into the hospital and underwent the initial assessment of their conditions. The code red patients would fall into your hands and you, together with your team, would do your utmost to lessen their injuries. You put the other glove on and waited by the door of your room. The sight before you was jarring to say the least. The victims of the fire were all in different conditions. Some crying and wincing from the burnmarks while others lay completely still as if the burned skin wasn’t a painful inconvenience. The wonders of falling unconscious. An elderly nurse with a couple of years beneath her belt pushed a stretcher toward you and you hastily moved out of the way.

Nurse Yeon quickly spewed the little information she knew of the unconscious patient, but you couldn’t focus on her words. Your entire attention was given to the man before you. He looked peaceful despite the soot smudged across his face and several burn marks littering the majority of his body. He was also handsome — very handsome. That, you couldn’t deny. His black strands fell over his closed eyes and brows. Most of his features were sharp and defined, red heart-shaped lips in a slight pout, a long nose with a prominent bridge, high cheekbones and a few beauty marks peeking out from beneath the smeared ash. But you knew that, out of everything, his most alluring feature was his eyes — even when closed. You could see the feline-like shape that reminded you of a panther in the wild and you found yourself wondering what color they were. A tingle erupted along the pads of your fingers, almost begging you to move his hair out of the way.

“...He was found unconscious in the building after being caught in the fire. Red category. He has second-degree burns on twenty percent of his body, severe smoke inhalation and is currently in respiratory distress. We’ve initiated oxygen therapy. BP is low and bolus fluids were administered to stabilize circulation. He is unresponsive, likely due to hypoxia.”

Nurse Yeon brought you back to the present and you ignored the highly unprofessional thought. With the help of Nurse Kim, you connected him to a monitoring machine and proceeded with the remaining steps of the protocol drilled into your spine. You administered high-flow oxygen via a non-rebreather mask to address the smoke inhalation and to prevent breathing issues later on.

Facing away from the patient to grab a scalpel in order to cut his already torn shirt, you just about turned your head and called out, “Nurse Kim, give him an IV fluid with saline to prevent shock and maintain blood pressure as well as a light dose of morphine to relieve him of pain. Nurse Hwang, hand me the scalpel, please.”

The nurses wasted no time following your orders. While Nurse Kim stabilized the patient’s blood pressure, you drove the sharp end of the scalpel through the center of his shirt to expose the injured area and assess what else you had to work with. As expected, there were blotches of irritated, red skin all over his upper body. It didn’t look too bad but would scar if left untreated. Your main concern was the smoke inhalation, but the high-flow oxygen proved effective, as the pulse oximeter showed that the oxygen saturation in his blood was slowly improving and you could swiftly move on to treat his wounds.

“Nurse Hwang, hand me the antiseptic soluti–”

A horrified gasp cut you off mid sentence and your head flung to the doorway where a nurse — a trainee at that — stood with her wide eyes and mouth hanging open behind her health mask. The interruption crawled beneath your skin like electricity. You glanced down at her nametag.

“Trainee Park?”

The student didn’t budge nor make a noise of acknowledgement and you had half a mind to terminate the established contract between the hospital and nursing school. You understood the weight of students gaining hands-on experience in a hospital setting, but it was beyond the agreement for a student to interrupt a life alternating moment for the patient.

“Trainee Park I won’t ask you a second time, what is it?!”

Antiseptic solution in hand, you faced the student again, though her focus wasn’t on you but on something behind you. A line formed between your brows as you followed her gaze, leading to what she was staring at. Your patient still lay unconscious, his chest rising and falling in rhythmic motion, but you weren’t caught off guard by his regulated breathing. The patches of glaring red skin that previously looked painful to the eye were replaced with a lighter hue as if his body was recovering on its own. It was inhumane and in all your years as both a student and a licensed doctor, you had never seen anything like it. However, everyone in the room knew exactly what it meant.

“Fuck…”

One of the male nurses found the patient’s ID-card in the cardholder neatly tucked in the pocket of his pants while changing him into a hospital gown, but it was the teary look on Haneul after seeing the man’s face that everything clicked in place. Choi San, the little brother of your best friend, was your soulmate.

The realization didn’t hit you while standing in the center of the trauma room or when his injuries healed more quickly beneath the touch of your finger. The fact that you had found your soulmate dawned on you early one morning, as you were making rounds between the remaining victims of the apartment fire and came across his room — the last patient to be checked on. The thought of finding your soulmate hadn’t crossed your mind in years. It was locked away in your old high school classroom, along with your youth, when you used to fret over who your soulmate might be. Would they be a foreigner? A celebrity? A boy or a girl? Rich, kind, or rude? The possibilities seemed endless, and you often spent more time daydreaming about the different outcomes than focusing on your studies. It was a miracle you didn’t fail most of your classes.

It was only when you set a goal that you lost interest in who your soulmate was and dedicated more of your time to studying. Little by little, as assignments piled up, you pushed the thought of your other half to the back of your mind and forgot about it. Of course, there were instances when the topic would come up every now and then — meeting distant relatives for the first time in forever and having them ask about your partner, or going out to dinner with Haneul and watching her get so drunk she forgets her own name, but still manages to make bets. Looks like you’d be treating her to that BBQ after all.

You entered the room and stopped at the end of the patient bed staring at San’s sleeping form. The harmless jealousy seeped into your bones as he lay there oblivious to the turmoil wrecking havoc inside of you and you wondered if, despite his unconscious state, he could feel even a glimpse of your emotions. Because you could feel him throughout your entire shift. The change in breathing, eyes fluttering, the subtle rise and fall of his chest as if he was right there with you.

The joke you once cracked to Haneul when you first started working there, something along the lines of finding your soulmate while tending to their wounds, wasn’t funny anymore and left a bitter aftertaste on your tongue. You sighed and glanced down at the patient chart hanging off the bedside. His vitals were good. More than good considering he was being driven straight from a burning building. Doctor Jung ran some tests on him during the night and they confirmed that San suffered greatly until he arrived at the hospital, until he reached you.

The doors of the room were violently pushed open and the eldest Choi entered as if her brother wasn’t lying there unconscious. Her unexpected arrival stopped your thoughts from spiraling further and your heart from racing into palpitations. It was weird to see her lips pressed into a thin line and eyes void of light, replacing her usual dimpled smile that would brighten your day.

“How is he?” She eventually asked and buried her hands in the pockets of her white coat.

You cleared your throat and mimicked her stance, both of you focused on the resting man. “He’s healthier than a newborn baby.”

Five hours of constantly being on your feet, moving around and not having the chance to take a five minute toilet break put you in a hazy mist. It wasn’t until now that you felt the weight of the situation sink in. Who would’ve thought your best friend’s brother was your soulmate?

“You know,” Haneul started and broke you out of your thoughts. “I’m happy it’s you. Someone I know and trust as much as I trust myself.”

The words were oddly warm and spread a branch of hope through you. While you were too caught up with your work and then your own feelings, you didn’t stop to think what Haneul thought of everything. Her two worlds were colliding and it could either be good or bad.

“Is it weird?”

“Not at all… It’s the best thing I could ask for. That my best friend and brother get along… Just…” Haneul gnawed on the side of her bottom lip and turned to you, “Just don’t hurt him, Jeong. San is a tough cookie, but he has a fragile heart and I really don’t want to ever choose between you. You are both very dear to me.”

“You won’t have to. I’m pretty sure I couldn’t hurt him even if I tried.”

Haneul chuckled despite the tears making their escape down her cheeks. “Is it really like how they say? Are you already… affected by him?”

You breathed out a laugh at that. The countless nights spent talking and making fun of other couples who had already found their happily ever after were sure biting you in the ass, because it was, in fact, exactly how they said it would be. The unexplainable pull drawing you toward him, the yearning to be by his side and feeling him everywhere. Every skip of his heart, harsh intake of air and twitch of his fingers were all transferred to you

“Yeah, it’s exactly how they say it is.”

Haneul eventually left to do her last rounds and finish writing reports until the sun peeked over the horizon, signaling the end of your second night shift that week. San didn’t wake up until a few hours later and despite being hooked to a monitor regulating his state and showing nothing out of the ordinary, you didn’t leave his side for even a second. The dread of another emergency report coming through squeezed your abdomen until you were on the verge of puking. Just the thought of parting from him almost sent you hurling your insides in the guest bathroom. You were lucky to have wonderful colleagues who understood the circumstances and reassured you multiple times not to worry about finishing your reports or doing rounds. Nurse Hwang and Kim even passed by with snacks and water before returning to work.

The clock struck early morning when your chin slid off your knuckles and you were unpleasantly awoken from your slumber. The fear of falling to your death had you jumping out of your seat and taking in your surroundings. The sun gently shone through the windows occupying the entire left side of the room and filled the space with auburn streaks kissing your face. The warm rays seeped through the cherry blossom trees planted along the outskirts of the hospital. You found the view to be exceptionally beautiful during the early mornings when the pink petals detached from the branches, swirling in the air like snowflakes and covering the boring cement pavement..

A laser like heat bored into the side of your head and you scanned the room to find the source, only to get lost in the eyes of your soulmate. A wide smile stretched across his face and you realized the dimple gene ran deep in the Choi family as an identical pair to Haneul’s popped on San’s cheeks. You couldn’t shake away the image of a content and well fed cat at the sight of him.

San immediately shifted the blanket to the side and had one bare foot planted on the floor, ready to leap out of bed and wrap you in his arms. The man just about managed to stand on both legs when you rushed from your seat and gently pushed him back down.

“No, no, please, sit!”

San fell back on the mattress without much of a fight. The moment your hand made contact with his shoulder, an explosion of tingles erupted along your palm, spreading like wildfire through your arm and out to the rest of your limbs, reaching the tips of your toes and fingers. The air caught in your throat and, like magnets forced together, your eyes found his again. Neither of you had to vocalize the question balancing on the tip of your tongues, asking if the other felt that crackling fire. San sensed the twinge of worry squeezing at your heart and hummed in content, he reached out and grabbed one of your hands in his to ease the burden atop your shoulders. He smiled so hard his eyes turned into crescent moons and hadn’t you known better, you’d think he’d start purring like a cat receiving ear scratches.

“I’m fine. I don’t need rest because you are here.”

You ignored the heat pooling beneath your cheeks at his rather flamboyant response and steered the conversation elsewhere. “What were you thinking running into a burning building?”

The words came out effortlessly, as if you had known him since your youth.

“I didn’t do it on purpose…” He began and jutted out his bottom lip. “My feet just moved on their own, call it an instinct. Besides, I couldn’t just leave everyone inside. I’d put shame on the entire fire department!”

“Curse you for being reckless and kind hearted, San.”

“Yet thanks to my recklessness, I landed in the hospital and found you.”

The cheeky reply nearly made you pop a blood vessel. You didn’t understand how he could be so calm after facing death less than eight hours ago. The monitor attached to him shouldn’t have been stable. Based on your past experience with burn victims, San should’ve been startled and shaken up, and in some uncomfortable pain. Instead, he remained unnervingly composed, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made you question your own knowledge. His calmness felt unnatural, given the circumstances. The heart rate monitor, which should’ve shown elevated readings due to stress, stayed oddly steady and only spiked up when you spoke, moved or looked at him for too long.

“San… we are soulmates. We would’ve met eventually,” you hissed, trying to mask the look of realization on your face. The soulmate bond explained his calm demeanor. As he said, he was fine now that you were there, while you just wanted to cover him in bubble wrap and not let him out of your sight.

“Yes, but not soon enough.”

You abandoned the conversation for now as it wouldn’t lead anywhere. San was deadset on his decision being correct even though it was a foolish one and you still had a job to do. Ignoring the way he followed your every movement, a polite smile and creased eyes never leaving your form, you adjusted his pillows and checked the IV attached to his forearm.

“Do you need anything else?”

“Hmmm, just you.”

Had you met under different circumstances, perhaps in a grocery store where you'd bump carts together or on a packed bus where he’d give up his seat for you and stand by your side to shield you from the other commuters, his charms would’ve worked. But you didn’t. Instead San decided to search the burning building for others with no gear, just his strong will and hope clinging onto his back, and all his attempts at flirting were futile as you couldn’t get the image of his unconscious body out of your head.

“Too bad,” you settle on saying. “You can’t have me before twelve PM.”

The pout intensified and he even crossed his arms in retaliation. Seeing a man in his late twenties throw a silent tantrum wasn’t something you thought you’d ever find endearing, but there you were, suppressing a laugh and yearning to smooth out the wrinkles on his forehead.

“Do you have to go?” He whispered and looked up at you through his lashes.

“Yes, unless you want me to be fired?”

“Fine! But the second that clock hits twelve, you and I are both getting out of here.”

“You can’t just leave, San, they have to run tests and–”

“I’ve never felt better and I think every doctor in the building can agree with me. What I will be if I don’t get to spend time with you is sick, and sad, and heartbroken and–”

“I get it, I get it!”

San lived up to his promise of spending time with you. In fact, he wasted no time running down the hallway the moment the minute hand switched to twelve, asking everyone dressed in white cloaks where Doctor Jeong was. The question left his mouth for the tenth time that minute just as you rounded the corner, ready to check out. San gave you all of three seconds to bid your colleagues goodbye before whisking you away. His plan of getting to know you consisted of lying tangled up on his sofa with a meaningless movie playing in the background, while his fingers caressed your back and his eyes shifted back to you every other second, as if he couldn’t believe you were real.

You weren’t faring any better. Your head was neatly tucked beneath his chin, and your hand was splayed over his right pectoral, the tips of your fingers gently rubbing soothing motions beneath the curve of his collarbone. Had you known your soulmate would be a kitten with separation anxiety, you’d have stalled on meeting him for a little while longer. Although, deep down, you knew that was a lie. San was everything you needed him to be and more: attentive, gentle, sweet, kind, caring — the list was truly endless.

The days spent cocooned together — San on sick leave to recover from the accident and you having the next two days off from work — made up for the thirty-something years you hadn’t been in each other’s lives. In just forty-eight hours, you created a bond that most lifelong best friends would envy. He shared embarrassing stories from his and Haneul’s childhood days — sweet memories of how his mother dressed him in Haneul’s hand-me-downs, despite her closet mainly consisting of flower dresses and cute skirts. In return, you told him about that one time you accidentally locked your parents out on the balcony and then hurled your breakfast back out from the anxiety and fear of never seeing them again. If only little you could have understood the wonders of spare keys and that your grandmother was already on her way to solve the issue.

The first night was spent staying up late, talking about heartfelt stories and niche interests to the point where you both passed out and didn’t wake up until late afternoon the next day. Who knew your hunk of a fireman liked collecting sweet plushies and was adamant on learning how to crochet?

That wasn’t everything though. A week into your freshly established relationship and San hadn’t missed to stop by your workplace once to give you lunch, coffee, midnight snacks or a quick peck on the cheek. It was easy in the beginning when San didn’t return to work for an entire week. The soulmate bond proved that he wasn’t in need of resting as much as his company thought and he eventually had to return earlier than expected. It was weird to be glued to each other for hours on end to then not be able to see each other because of your hectic schedules that never seemed to align. When you’d return home from a long night shift, he was dressed and ready to leave.

You voiced your worries to Haneul during a lunch break, saying how you were afraid of moving too fast, but now that you barely got to spend time together, it felt like you were moving at a snail’s pace. She mildly reassured you that it craved more than some social distance for your soulmate bond to break and that it would take some time for you to find your footing in the relationship.

However, working multiple shifts a week while running on little to no sleep left you too exhausted to plan an outing whenever an opportunity for the two of you to spend time together appeared. Date-night looked different in the Choi-and-Jeong books. Instead of glamming up and booking a reservation at a fancy restaurant, you decided to stay in and watch a movie that would sooner or later be forgotten as you’d be too enamoured with each other. Haneul walked in on one too many make-out sessions, and thus, you came to the decision to host movie nights strictly at San’s apartment.

Like many times before, you lay atop San, his legs parted, giving you the option to cage his left one between yours. One of his arms was bent and propped behind his head to act as a cushion, while the other was curled around you, his hand pressing against the small of your back in a comforting embrace. Your cheek was mushed against his chest and your hand limply rested on his bicep. A movie played on the big screen and a plethora of snacks were strewn out on the coffee table but left untouched. You joked about how, ever since San entered your life, your sugar cravings had dramatically decreased because he was bringing too much sweetness into it.

“Honey?” San broke the comfortable silence and spoke over the characters on the TV. You hummed in reply and he continued. “I want to ask you something.”

As you shifted to get a better look at him, he pulled you in a tight embrace and you immediately stopped moving. “Don't look at me, just… listen? Please?”

“Okay, Sannie, what is it?”

“How do you feel about… moving in… with me? Or me with you!” You could hear the blush attacking his cheeks and embarrassment clinging onto his voice as it grew higher in the end and the words came out in a rush.

Joy tugged at your lips and you couldn’t stop the light hearted chuckle from slipping out in the room. You broke out of his gentle hold and grabbed his hand in yours, and planted a chaste kiss on it.

“I think I’d love that.”

Without warning, he squeezed your cheeks between his palms and captured your lips in a tender kiss, leaving your insides warm and mushy. Despite having muscles the size of a watermelon and broad shoulders that could carry the entirety of Noah’s ark, San was a real softie. He had the habit of holding you as if you were the most valuable possession on the earth, a feather which could crumble at contact or a cube of sugar that would melt beneath the rain. The shared kisses were brief but left a tingle on your lips that you couldn't get enough of and nearly whined in retaliation as San withdrew to catch his breath.

“I adore you, like really, really much,” he confessed and kissed you again, and again, and again. The peppered kisses were planted all over your face — nose, cheeks, mouth, chin, eyes, forehead. The endearing act of love pulled a string of giggles straight out of your tummy, cursing you with an ache that your grandmother would call remedy for the soul.

One moment he was on you and the next, he turned you over to lay against the couch while he scrambled to his bedroom on the other side of the apartment. You pushed yourself up on your forearms with only your upper body lifted as you curiously watched San runoff as if his rear caught on fire.

“Sannie?”

“Just a second, honey!”

Rough shuffling reached the living room, but it was the loud crash of objects clattering on the ground that you almost headed to see the commotion yourself. San’s reassuring voice telling you everything was okay didn’t help you relax, but you trusted his judgement and remained seated. The eager wait was short lived as San returned with something tightly clutched in his right hand and stopped by the end of the couch, back uncomfortably straight and face pinched into a serious expression. Hadn’t you known him for a little shorter than a month, you’d assume he was about to get down on one knee and ask you to live the rest of your life by his side.

San cleared his throat and extended his arm low enough for you to see his well manicured fingernails. You shuffled over closer to the end of the sofa and sat up on your knees. His fingers unfolded and exposed the trinket laying in the center of his palm. An apartment key. The spare key to his apartment to be precise.

“I know we haven’t known each other for that long, but I’ve never been sure of anything more than this and I really want to take this next step with you.”

“Are you asking me to marry you or move in with you?”

Red dusted his cheeks and he had to look away. Your own lips curved up as his eyes creased into crescent moons, a telltale of his dimpled smile making an appearance. San covered his mouth as if it would make his smile disappear. Testing the waters, he asked, “Would you say yes?”

“I guess you’ll have to find out.”

San was sure he could pass out right then and there. His cheeks hurt from smiling too much, but it was the only pain he would ever welcome with open arms. You climbed onto the couch and jumped into San's arms and he effortlessly caught you, his hands finding their designated place on your hips and thighs while your arms slid around his neck like a koala. Your fronts were pressed against each other, but you continued pulling him toward you, as if the chance of becoming one entity was higher than inventing flying cars. San dipped you down princess-style and stole a long kiss, one that you were more than eager to reciprocate. Your fingers tangled in his black hair, nails soothingly scratching his scalp, and your heart swelled with so much love and happiness it felt like it could explode and fill the living room with colorful confetti.

It was a shame the human needed air every few minutes because all you wanted to do in that moment was feel him everywhere. Breaking apart, you rested your forehead against his, hot breaths fanning across each other’s lower faces, chests rising with fervor as your bodies desperately tried to reclaim the lost oxygen."

“I’d say yes a hundred times over,” you breathed out, “but let’s save that for after we meet the in-laws.”

“My parents have already scheduled a day for when we can go to Namhae,” he eagerly replied to which you hastily leaned back, nearly sending you both tumbling over.

“San! I swear you’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably in love with you.”

Lips swollen, eyes welling with joy and hearts beating erratically, the world paused as you looked at each other. The diploma neatly placed on your desk and the knowledge you had collected over the years seemed insignificant when the love you harbored for San could regrow burned forests, mend broken bridges and heal even the most shattered of hearts.

Living with San was nothing out of the ordinary, except that you saw each other more now that you lived under the same roof. Considering your shared apartment with Haneul was bigger than San’s, it only made sense for the Choi siblings to switch places. That way you kept your room and San took Haneul’s. You quickly realized you could’ve just moved into San’s apartment instead as neither ever went to sleep alone. More often than not, San would crawl into your bed, claiming it was cozier than his, but you knew even the ground would be a great sleeping place as long as you were in his arms. That was precisely what you wanted — to be in San’s arms. Instead you were working another night shift, the most hectic one since the fire incident a couple of weeks ago.

A young man, no older than twenty, had been in a motorcycle crash, leaving him with severe pain and swelling in his right leg, which was pushed into an unnatural position. The skin was entirely torn off, exposing blood and muscle tissue. You had a suspicion about how severe the situation was, but it still called for an X-ray examination. As expected, the results confirmed multiple fractures of the femur and tibia, requiring surgery the next day at the latest. Changmin, as his driver’s license indicated, was in immense pain and even struggled with breathing difficulties into the night. This left you and your co-workers with no choice but to monitor him closely throughout the remainder of your shift. To say it was tiring would be an understatement. Your feet were so sore it felt like walking on a rug of medical needles and your back ached, begging you to lie in bed and not get up until the birds returned from Southeast Asia.

The only thing pushing you through the long day was the fact that you knew San was waiting on you at home. It didn’t matter if he was awake or not. Your tense muscles relaxed by the thought of burying your face in his chest and forget the world until your batteries were restored again. It became a routine for the both of you. When one had a more physically draining day at work, the other was ready to pamper them and make them feel completely taken care of.

After a few failed attempts to insert the key into the door, you finally managed to unlock it. A stream of blue light illuminated the otherwise dark apartment and was accompanied by muffled voices coming from the living room. You haphazardly threw your shoes off, not bothering to neatly place them next to one of San’s hundred pairs of sneakers, and instinctively followed the animated sounds that belonged in a cartoon.

The scene you were met with nearly brought you to tears. San was seated in the middle of the sofa, a fuzzy blanket thrown over his head and shoulders, with two mugs of hot cocoa steaming on the table in front of him. The bag slung over your shoulder slipped off and fell to the floor with a gentle thud. Your jacket — a gift from San’s closet — was at least two sizes too big, making you look like a bear ready to hibernate. The colorful scarf you had been wearing since your teenage years reached up to your nose. San whipped his head in your direction and his stoic expression softened into one of understanding at the sight of fresh tears coating your waterline. His lips curled into a small, reassuring smile that spoke more of compassion than words ever could.

He quickly lifted one side of the blanket and beckoned you over with a gentle command. “C’mere honey.”

That was the last straw for your tears to start rolling. You wasted no time shedding your outer layers of clothing and curling into San’s side. A sob that you had been holding in throughout the entire car ride home vibrated against his chest. San ran his hand up and down your back while whispered praises tickled your ear. He planted a kiss on your crown and pulled you over him as he fell back against the couch. You adjusted yourself more comfortably, both legs falling on either side of his hips so as not to fall, and he swiftly maneuvered the blanket to shield you from the chilly atmosphere. The minutes ticked by and you had no perception of how long you stayed in that position, but your sobs eventually subdued to soft sniffling.

“How did you know?” You whispered, a tremble hanging onto your vocal chords, and sat up.

San’s hands travelled to rest on your waist, thumbs rubbing circular motions into your flesh. “I just… felt you.”

“Felt me?”

He hummed, “I still do. Happiness, sadness, fear, anger — everything, right here.” His hand hovered over your heart and you understood. You really did.

There was no scientific explanation for the emotional connection that kept you in tune with each other’s feelings. The unexpected pressure weighing down on your lungs at even the slightest discomfort or worry he experienced, like when he stumbled upon a video of a duckling being separated from its mother. It was uncanny how your heart soared hours before he came home with good news about a promotion, or the unexplainable sense of pride you had been carrying all day — only to discover it was coming from San, who had helped a kitten down from a tree. You’d never forget the day the bitter taste of dandelion greens spread across your tongue, only to find San lying in bed, caving under the weight of his blue emotions. The best part of the connection, though, would be the buckets of love pouring into your bucket as he hugged, kissed and worshipped you. However, there was one emotion you hadn’t received any signs of.

Your fingers found purchase on the hem of his shirt that rode up his stomach and revealed a sliver of the toned skin beneath. “I don’t feel… your anger.”

San flashed you a blinding smile and spurts of daffodils curved around your heart. “That’s because nothing makes me angry, love.”

“Really? Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

A beat passed and you sighed, “I’m always angry.”

“I wouldn’t say you’re angry, just… frustrated.”

“It’s practically the same thing,” you argued and continued fiddling with his shirt. He captured your hands in his and halted your anxious picking.

“It isn’t, not by definition. We feel frustrated when we are unable to progress, while anger is the response to something we perceive as wrong or harmful… You’re not angry, my love, you’re frustrated and probably overworked too.”

Your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you mulled over his words. It made sense, and you didn’t need to voice the comfort it brought you; he felt it. The unruly waves quieted to a steady push-and-pull, letting you breathe as the knot of emotions slowly untangled to nothing.

“You know, I’m supposed to be the older one out of the two of us.”

A hearty laugh filled the previously gloomy room, immediately illuminating the four cold walls, and San caught your waist again as he shifted, the echoes of his laughter filling the space.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that. It'd be my honor to make you feel like a teenage girl again.”

That he did. It was almost embarrassing how his sweet gestures had you leaping face first into your pillows and rapidly firing your feet against the comforter. One would believe you were closer to being fifteen than thirty, and while you had a mild crisis, you were still grateful San brought that youthfulness out of you again.

“Was it a rough day?”

The sentimental moment burst like a fragile soap bubble at the slightest of touches. You took a breath of air and San slid his hand further up your wrists, placing his thumbs in the center of your palms while the remainder of his fingers wrapped around the back of your hand. It was grounding and kept you from re-visiting the gut wrenching thoughts that plagued your mind while tending to the young patient.

“A young guy was rushed to the ER… He got into a motorcycle accident and flew maybe a good ten meters from the crash place, and totally fucked up his leg. It was by sheer luck he didn’t suffer head injuries, let alone injuries to the rest of his body.”

You still saw the image of his bloodied body and torn clothes, a sight that would leave you with nightmares for days.

“He was in really critical condition, San. We couldn’t leave him alone for even one second. I’m talking about twenty four-hour care… He’s going into surgery tomorrow. He’ll survive, but it’s just... He reminded me of you. How you’re literally in danger every time you go to work and– and how easily I could lose– lose– lose–”

The words caught in your throat as your voice grew higher in pitch. San gave your hands another squeeze and pulled you back down onto him. You wasted no time burying your face in his neck and his arms automatically wrapped around you — one finding purchase at the back of your head while the other securely encircled your back.

“I don’t want to lose you, San.”

“You won’t lose me, love.”

“You don’t know that!”

“What I know is that I always do my best to come back to you in one piece. To my home, no?” The hand that had been placed against your head wrapped around the back of your neck and gently massaged it.

Like a flower opening up to catch the first few sun rays of the day, you put your heart out and allowed San a glimpse of what was inside.

“It just scared me,” you said between shuddering breaths. “Anything could happen, San, and I don’t know what I’d do with myself if you–”

“Honey.” His voice wasn’t stern, but it held a certain finality to it. As gentle as a newborn kitten, he carefully eased you back, pulling you away from where your face had been pressed against his neck. With a soft motion, he tilted your head slightly, getting a better look at your face.“Thinking of the what ifs isn’t good for anyone.”

You wanted to reply with an ‘I know’, but you knew better than to lie to him.

He wiped a stray tear off your cheek and you nuzzled against his palm. “Look, I love that you think you need me, but it’s not true. We managed more than fine on our own and just because we’ve found each other doesn’t mean we can’t function alone anymore… I love that you feel comfortable enough to lean on me, darling, but at the end of the day, you’re strong because of who you are and not because I’m here.

“And if, but just if, anything were to happen to me, I need you to know that you aren’t alone. You’d still have Haneul there. My parents. Your parents. Nurse Kim and Nurse Hwang too. That’s eight more people than me.”

Your hand enveloped his cradling your cheek. “I don’t want to think of a life without you in it.”

“Good because you’re stuck with me forever and ever and ever and ever!”

A wet giggle sounded through the living room and San’s rough chuckle blended perfectly with your sweet hiccups. Overwhelmed by the affection filling your humble abode, successfully warming every corner of the apartment, you intertwined your fingers behind San’s neck and determinedly pulled him into a heart-searing kiss. Your mouths molded together in a perfect fit, much like the famous art piece by Auguste Rodin. The sculpture representing a pair of lovers destined to remain together forever, until parted by death.

San breathed life into you with simple gestures that could restore chivalry. His eyes finding yours in a crowded room, silently checking up on you as you were both tugged in opposite directions by your mutual friends. Walking the empty streets after a successful date night, the gentle brush of his fingers skimming over yours before slipping between the gaps and pulling your hand into the pocket of his coat with the excuse of keeping you warm. Slothing his front to your back in the solitude of your home as you’d be too busy for a long cuddle session on the couch. Not to mention the kisses spread throughout the day—morning, noon, and night. He’d see you off with a peck and welcome you with the same sentiment, wishing you a good night or day before taking off.

The memories you collected during your still-new relationship pushed you forward, giving you hope and belief that you were going to get through this. San’s promise of never leaving — intentionally or unintentionally — comforted you and the dreadful thoughts hadn't returned, and hopefully, they wouldn’t ever. But if they ever did reoccur, you knew San would be there to chase them away.

#[🌸] cherry blossom march event #cromernet #choi san x reader #choi san #ateez x reader #ateez #soulmate #soulmate oneshot #soulmate au #firefighter san #oneshot #fanfiction #fluff #romance #drabble #firefighter au #hospital au #a bit of angst #angst

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boopshoops · 4 months ago

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TERRITORY AU: UNITS: HEARTSLABYUL

Find more lore/info here, on the masterpost! click on the images for better quality <3

DIVIDERS

TAG LIST! <33 ask to be added or removed

@lowcallyfruity @skriblee-ksk @justm3di0cr3 @cecilebutcher @kitwasnothere

@techno-danger @scint1llat3 @thehollowwriter @distant-velleity @the-trinket-witch

@qsoap @prince-kallisto @twsted-canvas @kathxrat-01 @jadelover69

@sillyslipperybananapeel @twstinginthewind @nemisisnemi @tixdixl @beneathsakurashade

@twistedwonderlandshenanigans @lumdays @waitlexist @croshelee @axel-the-goat-guy-and-gal

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #twst wonderland #boopshoopsart #boopshoopswriting #territory au #twst au #heartslabyul #riddle rosehearts #ace trappola #deuce spade #cater diamond #trey clover

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elkkiel · 8 months ago

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if people are okay with compilation posts:

(full tags = fanart tags like #sleep token fanart, and member tags like #sleep token vessel)

okay quick question bc I don't want to spam tags/clog up ur dashes

#full tags on masterpost for reach/searchability #there's a couple of images that won't come out for a while and/or didn't make it to anyone #so yeah

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bigification · 1 month ago

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Bigification's Masterpost

Fat Transformations;

Oscorp Burger: A green goblin gas attack leaves New York fat and ready to buy the new oscorp burger.

Shredders New Goon: Bebop and Rocksteady come to collect your debt, but money won't cut it anymore so they turn you into an animalistic goon just like them.

Dadbod: A man is finally ready to become a father as him and his husband's bodies grow into fatherhood.

Preston's 21st: Inspired by Fattystoriez. A young man attempts to reconnect with his biological father, only to discover his family's fatty traditions.

Bigger and Better X Men: In an attempt to strengthen mutants, Magneto accidentally dooms all mutants to an obese fate.

Nice Throw; Part 1; Part 2: A football team is sabotaged before their big game, turning them into obese versions of themselves.

Just Like Them: In the apocalypse, you're cornered against a horde of obese men who want nothing more than to make you just like them.

Big Bears Beer: A Twinkish model gets booked for a beer commercial and grows into the role.

A Dad's Brew: Two young men buy some beer from a creepy old guy, quickly growing in age and in weight as they become beer lovin' dad's.

Somethings in the Water: Team captain takes on a coaching role for his newly fattened team after drinking some spiked water.

X Factor: Wolverine is in for a rough time while investigating the sudden fattening of Cyclops.

Corporate: A rich party animal is forced to take on a job at his father's company, turning him into a fat and complacent office worker.

Hiking Clothes: Man transforms into the original owner of his newly acquired hiking clothes, before gifting his clothes to the next man he comes across.

Careful What You Wish For; Mark 1, Mark 2: A mischievous genie transforms some naive men into much fatter and older versions of themselves.

How to Deal With the Cops: A criminal spreads a fattening virus around the local police station.

Carrier: A mosquito carrying a fattening disease bites a man during a hike. Comes with 5 alternative stories.

New Salesman: Man shows up to buy a new horse for his ranch, but is transformed into a fat salesman.

American Tourist: A tour guide mistakes a British man for a fat American, but he's no longer mistaken by the end of the tour.

Step Daddy: A young man transforms his stepdad into a horny bear.

Jealousy, Jealousy: Jealous army recruit transforms his overachieving roommate into a fat lazy slob.

Tag You're Fat: Frat bros play a fun game of tag you're fat, where you transform into fat slobs when tagged.

Just One of the Boys: A young man hitchhikes with a group of rowdy older men on their way to a fishing trip, but he slowly becomes more and more like them until he joins them on their trip.

Sculptor: Artist sculps a man's body in his image of beauty.

Family Business: Young man doesn't want to take over his family business, but he changes his mind, and body, rather quickly after grabbing the keys.

Gamer Dad: Man becomes a dad like he always wanted, at the cost of his waistline.

Coach's New Uniforms: Team captain despises their new obese coach, but his new uniforms change the team's minds and bodies.

Whale Beach: An envious man brings his coworker to Whale Beach with the intent of turning him into an obese slob, but the plan doesn't go exactly as intended.

Fit to Fat to Fit: A couple is sad about becoming fat in their thirties, so they hire a trainer and make him fat so they can all lose the weight together.

Forced Popping: Man uses a 'popping powder' to make another man obese, but the man tracks him down and returns the favour.

Fat Transference: A dad uses his power to transfer fat between himself and others to ruin the career of his sons college rugby rival.

The Ex-Jockifier: A football team is gifted the 'ex-jockifier' which one by one transforms them into fat and loyal football players.

Road Rage: A group of reckless drivers transforms an angry driver into a fat slob.

Muscle Transformations;

Awaken The Beast: A beast of a man entrances a gym goer, awakening his inner beast and turning him into a muscled hunk.

Boss' Side Hustle: A rookie police officer becomes a ripped wrestler after finding too much about his boss' side Hustle.

Sports Car: A depressed gym goer becomes a rich cocky gym bro after entering the wrong car.

Bodybuilder Expo: After a charming encounter with a bodybuilder, a young construction worker is transformed into a hunky bodybuilder.

Father of the Group: The most reserved guy in the group transforms into a father figure for the friend group.

You Look Like Your Father: After joining the football team, the young man is transformed into his football prodigy father.

Spreading Leather: A leather clad cop arrests you, slowly turning you into a soldier with the sole purpose of spreading leather.

Special Perfume: A sketchy guy offers you a perfume with promises of muscle growth, with a few insignificant side effects.

Lumberjack: A young man tries to escape his family's lumberjacking business, but one trip to the hardware store changes his mind.

The Trailer: You dare your friend to break into a creepy abandoned trailer, but the man who exits the trailer is unrecognizable.

Pretty Eyes: Your manipulative boyfriend transforms you into his ideal man.

Handlebars: College freshman starts to become more like his older jock roommate than he thought.

Star of the Show: The assistant of an asshole billionaire accidentally activates a machine that turns him into a hunky bodybuilder.

Coach's Emergency Line: The team's benchwarmer activates the coach's emergency line when he doesn't show up for their game, transforming him into the coach.

Under New Management: A white man shows up for an interview to become the new manager of an Arab-owned gym. He's shocked to find out he got the job, soon becoming the proud Arab owner of his gym.

Love, Lust, and Leather: Two cops are transformed into gay leather daddies.

Fat and Muscle Transformations;

Gym Dad: After a recommendation from your doctor, you get a membership at a gym that is guaranteed to help you gain weight.... Among other things.

High Stakes DnD: A group of men panic to finish their campaign as the dungeon master transforms them into altered versions of their characters.

Click: A group of young men find a reality warping remote that transforms them into the future versions of themselves.

Military Entertainment: After being kidnapped, you are transformed into the greasy manager of a military strip club.

Twisted Valentines: Cupid transforms two couples at the request of a mysterious man.

A Large Pair of Swim Shorts: A group of men find a comically large pair of swim shorts on the beach, but one of them grows into them after putting them on as a joke.

New Years Resolutions: As a new family tradition, you write down three new years resolutions and watch your reality change to match them.

Avengers Assemble: A group of young men grow into their costumes after being invited to an avengers themed Halloween party.

Prom King: A man desperately tries to lose fat before his high school reunion, but his body pays the price.

New Recruit: A young man is transformed into a biker gang's latest recruit.

Beach Bears: Two young men make advances towards a pair of older women at the beach, in response the women transform them into two hunky gay bears.

Haunted: A couple tours a house they want to move into, but the ghosts of the previous owners possess and transform their bodies into their own images.

Bear Darts: College student transforms all of his profs into hunky bears using darts he bought online, but soon gets the favour returned to him.

Giants: Man is kidnapped by giants and transformed into one of them.

Gainers Roulette: Six darts, four increase muscle mass, and two increase age and fat mass. Will you risk it for a better body?

Malleable: Human is transformed many times to test the human body's flexibility.

Hot Coaches: College student imagines his coaches transforming into stronger, fatter, and hotter versions of themselves.

Spiked: Man is starved of attention from his roommate, so he spikes his drinks with a fattening powder to make him less likely to hook up with other guys, but the plan somewhat backfires.

Midas Touch - Prologue: Three men discover they have transformative powers after a car accident.

Inside Out: The app that transforms the outside to match the inside. Mo - Elijah - Blake and Will

A Collection of Link Transformation: A series of four short stories where link from the Legend of Zelda is transformed into other Zelda characters.

Mysterious Potions: Two men break into their boss's evil lair and drink random potions they find inside, transforming them into miscellaneous things.

A Dad's World: A man reports his findings of a disease that has transformed almost every man on Earth into various classes of 'Dads'.

The Distributor: The god of time, Chronos, uses the distributor to transfer traits including fat and muscle mass, height, race, and age between all of the gym goers.

Animated Transformations;

Animated Muscle TF

Animated Fat TF

#male tf #male transformation

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dustyhyena · 10 months ago

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hi!

please don't scroll if you can- i've gotten alot of messages from palestinians reaching out to me and i've decided it'd do more justice to compile them all into a masterpost to gain traction and to get more eyes on them. please reblog and consider donating to these campaigns! your money would go towards saving the lives of innocent families that have been under threat for almost a year now! 🍉

slight edit 9/20/24: i've updated this post to add those who have previously reached out to me, as well as those who have reached out to me since then. you'll find them below. alot of them are still low on funds, and a few have been deactivated. and i do not want to assume that they were scammers but please take caution and let me know if i need to change anything.

edit 10/2/24: this post has gotten too long, check the reblogs to see the more recent version of this post with more people added!

Lina @lina-gaza | post (has been vetted) | gofundme link

Asmaa @asmaayyad | post (has been vetted) | gofundme link (asmaa's sisters has also reached out to me, so i will tag them here as well. all donations will help them! @samaayyad15 @deyaa-97)

Dr. Husam Farhat @shamfarhat1 and @husamfarht | post (has been vetted) | gofundme link

Ola @olagaza | post (has been vetted) | gofundme link

Amal @helpamalm | post (unvetted, legit images) | gofundme link

Lama @lamahourani7 | post (has been vetted) | gofundme link

Mariam @mariam-gaza | post (has been vetted) | gofundme link

Dina @dinamahammed99 | post (has been vetted) | gofundme link

Muhammed Musa @mhammedmosa | post (has been vetted) | gofundme link

Ahmed @ahmeddahlancampaign | post (unvetted, legit images) | gofundme link

(ahmed's sister also has an account at @azeza-dhlan)

Mahmoud @mohmoud-j | post (has been vetted) | gofundme link

(mahmoud's wife also has an account at @jomana-ha)

Mohammed @mohammedswierh2 | post (unvetted, legit images) | gofundme link

(mohammed's account has been terminated before, this is his new one, please reblog his posts if possible)

Sondos @sondos220 | post (unvetted, legit images) | gofundme link

Yaser Mohammad @yasermohammad | post (vetted) | gofundme link

Majed (deactivated account, was @majedgaza1. post gone but was vetted previously, let me know if there's been changes) | gofundme link

Juliet (deactivated account, was @keensaladbanana. previously unvetted, images reverse image checked and gfm is donation protected) | gofundme link

Eslam @eslamfamily | post (vetted) | gofundme link

Omar @omerfathi | post (unvetted, legit images) | gofundme link

Maria @maria-mahdy | post (vetted) | gofundme link

Mohamad Smeer @mohamadsmeer34 | post (vetted) | gofundme link

Abd Alhadi @abedalhdihesham, previous account terminated | post (vetted recently) | gofundme link

Aseel @aseelo680 | post (vetted) | gofundme link

Aya @ayayassir | post (vetted) | gofundme link

Mohi @mohiy-gaza | post (vetted) | gofundme link

Bilal @shadowyavenuetaco | post (vetted) | gofundme link

Amira (deactivated, was @amira-world. unsure of any new accounts) | post lost, unsure if vetted | gofundme link

Kefah @kefahfamily | post (vetted) | gofundme link

Doaa @free-gaza2 | post (vetted) | gofundme link

Doaa/Fidaa @fedao (unsure if both this and above accounts are the same person, different gfms) | post (vetted) | gofundme link

Munna @monashamali90 | post (vetted) | gofundme link

Falestine Yousef @falestine-yousef | post (vetted) | gofundme link

Mohammed Tayseer @yazanfamilly | post (vetted) | gofundme link

Atallah Family @mohammed-atallah | post (vetted) | gofundme link

Abdel Muti Al-Habil @abdelmutei | post (vetted) | gofundme link

Ahmed @ahmadresh | post (vetted) | gofundme link

Mahmoud Ayyad @mahmoudayyad | post (vetted) | gofundme link

Mohammad Bakroun @save-salam-family | posts on tumblr deleted, unsure if vetted | gofundme link

Mohammed Hijazi (deactivated account, was @save-hijazi-family2) | posts lost, vetted previously | gofundme link

Haya @hayanahed | post (vetted) | gofundme link

Sameer Al Khaldi (deactivated, was @sameer-24) | post lost, unsure if vetted | gofundme link

Ehab Ayyad @ehabayyad23 | post (unvetted, legit images) | gofundme link

Islam @islamgazaaccount2 | post (vetted) | gofundme link

Aya (deactivated account, was @ayaalanqarsblog) | post lost, unsure if vetted | gofundme link

Raneen (deactivated account, was @ranin3344) | post lost, unsure if vetted | gofundme link

Tamer Aldeeb @tameraldeebs-blog | post (vetted) | gofundme link

Laila @lailashaqoura | post (vetted) | gofundme link

Majed | @majedalgherbawi, was previously @majedgaza1 | post (unvetted, legit images) | gofundme link

Shadia @shadiafamily | post (vetted) | gofundme link

Ahmed Halas @ahmedhellis22 | post (unvetted, legit images) | gofundme link

Khalid's Sisters @khalid-sisters (and relatives of @olagaza) | post (vetted) | gofundme link

Mohammed Al-Habil @aya2mohammed and @alhabil | post (vetted) | gofundme link

Lubna @lobnaalseer | post (vetted) | gofundme link

Ali Miqdad @alimeq92 | post (vetted) | gofundme link

thank you for taking the time to read this, i hope this post helps all who i've tagged. please let me know if i've messed up any links or account tags, and please reblog! from the river to the sea!

POST LAST UPDATED: 9/26/24

#palestine #palestine gfm #palestine masterpost #gaza gfm #i hope this is helpful- ive seen a few other people do this and i think having one post get big will help instead of a few smaller ones #to everyone ive tagged- my heart goes out to you and i hope this helps #as of posting this im not in a position to donate anything. but i hope that can change soon

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omagpies · 9 days ago

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does she have cute little Corpse Bride (2005) moments where she casually loses her hand and picks it up like “teehee silly me ☺️☺️” ?

^ this isn't a very canon image alas; as anya is fundamentally Alive, losing body parts would definitely cause her distress. but as it's been mentioned before, the feedback system of her body is pretty wack and not always accurate, so she would definitely feel a wound like that in a less painful and more, er, detached way. so she'd probably fall somewhere between a normal person and the corpse bride!

not to mention that curly does a thorough job making sure everything is attached in the first place

(more au posts in the tag // masterpost)

#mouthwashing #curly mouthwashing #anya mouthwashing #curlya #frankenstein au #chac chac

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creaturecon · 1 month ago

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CREATURE CON MASTERPOST

Before we get started, please note that Creature Con is not a competition. There is no "winner" or "loser," but you can earn achievements! It'll be an online convention so that people can interact, share their stories, and make new friends!

Where and Who

Creature Con will be hosted on Discord! Both AU creators and guests are more than welcome to join.

However, guests do need to wait until all AU's are in and submissions are done for the Discord to be open to the public.

All TMNT generations are welcome!

What Counts As A Creature

For the purpose of this con, a creature counts as a character being a different thing, having something happening, or both! Here's a list:

Extra Mutations

Human Characters [April, Casey, ect.] Mutating

Curses [Vampire, Werewolf, ect.]

Mythical Creatures

Feral

Krangified

Ghosts/Spirits

Undead

Animal

AU's will be separated based on category. If an AU fits multiple categories, the AU owner will be allowed to pick the one it goes in.

If your AU doesn't fit on here but you think they may apply or have a questions, contact one of the mods on the list below or send us an ask! However, do note some may count but might not be included as to not overwork the mods.

Participation

Their are many ways to participate! Interacting with AU's is the main one, but there are many ways to do this. Some ways include:

Making art

Writing

Roleplay [The Discord will have Tupperbox for Roleplay purposes!]

Gold Stars [Each AU participating gets one Gold Star that they can use/gift]

Asks [Both Discord and Tumblr]

If you do decide to make an ask on Tumblr, @ us and use event tags! We might miss it if you don't.

General Tags: #tmnt creature con #tmntcc

Specific Tags: #tmntcc art #tmntcc ask #tmntcc asks #tmntcc participant #tmntcc guest #tmntcc news

Interacting gets you achievements! Some will even be AU specific. Stay on the lookout for hints on hidden achievements as well, you never know what you might find.

Rules

While more rules will be available in the Discord once the server is open, here are some of the basics.

NO Tcest [This includes showing images/art with the intention of mocking it].

NO directed racism, ableism, transphobia, homophobia or sexism. If your AU contains these themes, they must be tagged and have the according TW/CW's.

Sensitive topics MUST be blocked out [In Discord, this means having || on either side of the word/sentence, which covers it] and tagged with TW/CW's.

NO Arguing, harassment, bullying, ect. If you have a problem with someone talk in private to sort things out, or contact a mod if they are causing issues.

NO heavy venting in the server.

NO spamming the server.

Want To Submit An AU?

When the forms are open, anyone is welcome to apply if their AU fits! As said above, it can be an AU from any generation. However, there are only 30 spots as to not overwhelm the mods with too many people!

SUBMISSION FORM

SUMISSIONS WILL BE OPEN FROM 6/19/2025 - 7/3/2025, WE WILL NOT BE TAKING ANY MORE SUBMISSIONS AFTER JULY 3RD AT 11:59PM UTC OR 6:59PM EST.

Once submissions are complete, there will be a break so everything can get set up and so invites can be sent out.

Some creators may be asked extra questions, here is where we'll ask if they are any extra TW/CW's forgotten when the form was filled out, along with things like custom achievements for the AU.

To make sure every AU has it's time to shine, there will be Spotlight Segments. During these, certain AU's from different categories will get focus put onto them. Think of it like a panel in an in person convention. This way, no AU gets overlooked!

Time of Spotlight Segments will vary depending on how many AU's we have attending.

DISCORD LINK - 🚧 [Under construction! Come back later!] 🚧

Mods

@calebscornerofart ( 🐈 ) @uncannyalien ( 🔵 ) @nights-flying-fox ( ✨ ) @noxvee6 ( 🌑 ) @the-most-neon-leon ( 🐢 ) @whyamiheretumbled ( 🪐 )

#tmnt creature con #tmntcc #tmntcc masterpost #rise of the tmnt #tmnt #tmnt 1987 #tmnt 2003 #tmnt 2018 #tmnt 2012 #tmnt bayverse #tmnt 2k12 #tmnt 2k3 #tmnt fandom #teenage mutant ninja turtles

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diamondpastry · 4 months ago

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trainwreckshipping submas dia au masterpost (in order <3)

in order of the sequence, not the date posted ... so you can have the definitive slop eating experience of the timeline im building... those in BOLD are important key moments, but the others still provide some needed context in a way ...

quick summary is that this is the usual ingo disappears to hisui while volos immortal and lived long enough to eventually come across emmet ... then they do the usual plate collecting stuff. this is just my interpretation of it

also note this isnt all my works of the series!! there are some that i dont know where to put ... you may consult the '#dia au' tag to see wips and rambles and such

PRE-DISAPPEARANCE (before ingo disappeared. mostly junk to establish the twin's fun little dynamic)

who is this? - fun aftermath to an interactive post ...

sweaty emmet - nimbasa trio <3

disagreement in the multi line ...

breakfast - SHORT COMIC.

breakfast revenge - SHORT COMIC.

GRIEVING ERA (lasted 1 year, emmet on his own coping with ingo's disappearance)

unattended - 2 days no ingo

leftovers

emmet forgets elesas birthday - 2 months no ingo

stupid alcoholic - 3 months no ingo

emmet with a bong - 4 months no ingo

day drinking - 5 months no ingo

searching - 7 months no ingo

i'm normal - 1 year no ingo

PLATE COLLECTING ERA (volo finds emmet and convinces him to collect plates with him)

this is why i fuck with you - SHITPOST

pads - SHORT COMIC.

immortality - emmet finds out about volo's 'curse'. they talk about it.

gaah my cheeks gaaah - ART

non canon rp thing but its silly - SHITPOST/DOODLES

wash your clothes - SHORT COMIC. just a silly thing.

happy valentines guys - ART

volo's so damn tall - DOODLES

emmet straight up kills volo - volo using his immortality and emmet's fear of straying too far from ingo's image to manipulate/break him down into someone more vulnerable. this also comes in fanfic form, which provides more context to volo's point of view

ROSE-TINTED ERA (emmet falling in love with volo while volo continuously rejects his advances)

volo gets mauled by a bear - FANFIC. emmet is a lot less aggressive with his interactions, now growing a sort of concern/affection for volo. volo thinks it's disgusting. short doodle comic version here.

emmet cockblocks volo - FANFIC. has suggestive elements but no intercourse is actually observed (still mind the tags, however!). volo rejects emmet's affections, feeling that he is unworthy/is losing control. showcases his tendencies to self-sabotage.

not even worth it - SHORT COMIC. alternative summary to the previous one in case you aren't a fan of suggestive fanfics.

enough casual sex - SHITPOST/DOODLE

ugly - SHITPOST/DOODLE. emmet craving validation from volo.

frown upside-down - SHITPOST/DOODLE. emmet trying to cheer volo up.

need you - ART.

short as hell - DOODLES

he dgaf - ART. emmet seeking comfort from volo.

hairdryer - SHITPOST/DOODLE. emmet pranks volo.

CONFESSION CHAPTER 1 - also comes in fanfic form, which provides more context than the comic. emmet confesses his love to volo, volo confesses a different thing entirely.

CONFESSION CHAPTER 2 - FANFIC. after emmet left, volo is struck with a realization. he looks for solutions to get ingo back, but unfortunately it led him back to plate hunting. while he still plans on rewriting the world, he swore to reunite the twins. comes with little doodles!

FALLING OUT

phone call - 2 years no ingo. emmet takes all the plates from volo and returns them to their rightful place. he then finally accepts that theres no more hope for ingo and that hes never getting him back.

stalled train - emmet setting a healthier routine for himself. though, it seems a part of him is still missing.

EPISTLE - 1 year after the phone call. volo has succeeded in collecting all the plates by himself. emmet hears about it and set off to try and stop him from fulfilling his plans.

REVELATION ERA

REVELATION 1

REVELATION 2

mild concern - quick mellingo as a treat

melli attempt no 1 out of 3

melli attempt no 2 out of 3

sorry

melli attempt no 3 out of 3

AFTERMATH

emmet breaks ingos back - he misses him

ingo brought home a sneasel ...

but your thighs - SHITPOST/DOODLES. emmet and volo are still seeing each other despite what happened. ingo is not a fan.

miss me, emmie? - ART. just a small visit while emmets working

awkwar - SHITPOST/DOODLE. ingo catches the two during work

and you still see him? - SHITPOST/DOODLE.

little crush - ART + DOODLES

can they calm down - more of ingo being a hater. understandable

big ass emoji - DOODLES/SHITPOST. ingo utilizing his new phone <3 and emmet is drunk

friendmaxxing - SHITPOST/DOODLES.

ingo in the modern world - ingo constantly being overstimulated during his transition from hisui to unova. emmet clinging on to their past routine, in hopes of returning back to 'normal'.

nightmare - comes directly after the previous comic.

ingo volo interaction - they do not get along

trainwreckshipping divorce - reveals that emmet and volo often end up in physical fights, yet still continue seeing each other. emmet gets fed up.

moving on - after the fight with volo, emmet learns to accept that things are never going back to normal.

together breakfast

these are still updating !! there are plenty of puzzle pieces ive yet to reveal ... i do accept asks discussing theories though i eat that up...

also i'd love to showcase my awesome trainwreckshipping playlist if you're interested in listening to that stuff.

#submas #subway boss ingo #subway boss emmet #trainwreckshipping #volo x emmet #pokemon #dia au #masterpost #kudari #nobori

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starlit-writer · 6 months ago

Text

in sickness and in health, ch. 3 - alpha!simon riley x omega!reader

here is chapter three!!!! this chapter did NOT go the way i thought it would, but i promise we're getting to the whole simon groveling and begging and all that lovely stuff soon - i just cant seem to stop writing these two FIGHTING! as always, if you want to be added to the tag list to make sure you stay up-to-date, let me know in the replies! eat well, lovelies <3

if you want to understand more about my omegaverse au, you can look at my masterpost here, and it'll help explain all of the intricacies that may or may not be explained well enough in these short-form fics!

word count: 4,208 chapter two chapter four masterlist ao3 link

You were in a forest, surrounded by pines. Snow was drifting down slowly, coating the needles around you in light flakes before they melted from the heat of your breath as you stared up at the grey sky. You felt… at peace, for the first time in a long time. You were wrapped securely in the knotted roots of one of the pine trees as they wrapped themselves over and between the straps of your tactical vest, the wood gently resting against a sticky scarlet mark where your heart was supposed to be. You turned your head as much as the roots would allow, and you could see flames in the distance of the forest, a cacophony of gunshots and explosions ricocheting through your ears as the scent of smoking pine and wet gunpowder reaches your nostrils-

You woke up with a start, a gasp of air drawing through your dry, chapped lips sharply, the movement causing your aching ribs to spasm in a coughing fit. Your hands flew up to your chest to check for the wound that you were so convinced would be there, only to be met with the soft, warm, flesh of a massive tattooed bicep that was flung across your chest. But the everpresent scent of smoked pine, wet gunpowder, and a freshly-lit cigarette was still burned into your nostrils.

It was just a dream.

You blinked a few times, the light filtering through the blinds too bright for your blurry eyes to handle. You tried to lift your head, to move, but your body felt far too heavy and sluggish. You were reduced to your basest of instincts - you felt better than you had in months, but it felt like your omega side had completely overridden your logical one. You tried again to speak, to move, anything, but all that came out from your too-dry mouth was a cracking, reedy omega whine.

That made the heavy arm that was draped over your chest move. It quickly lifted off of you, the bed that you were laying on dipping and shifting like sand underfoot as the massive bulk next to you moved. You flinched slightly as rough fingertips gently touched your cheek, the image of Simon’s face swimming above you as a look of concern furrowed his brow. Oh. That would explain why that scent was swimming around you. If you two had been in a normal, healthy mating bond, it probably would have been easier to recognize. But after the months of distance, and neglect, you had forgotten your own alpha’s scent.

You felt it as your own face morphed into a matching expression. Where were you? Why is Simon here? What the fuck happened? You opened your mouth to say something scathing, the words nipping at the tip of your tongue, but before you could speak, the back of Simon’s hand traced down your cheek, almost reverent in his guilt.

“Shh, shh, love. You’re okay, you’re okay. ‘M ‘ere. Just don’t… don’t move, okay? I’ve got some water here for ya-” his voice broke off as he twisted his torso, keeping one hand securely under your head while the other grabbed a white styrofoam cup with a bright white plastic straw sticking up from the lid and brought it back over to the bed. You had to fight to keep your expression neutral, as the sight of the sterile-looking aerated plastic and the very thought of drinking the disgusting water contained inside made your stomach dip in disgust.

Simon could have cried when he felt your disgust through the bond, the cavernous darkness that had shrouded you from him in his mind finally lifting enough to allow him to feel you again. However, that didn’t stop your feeling of disgust, even if it was directed at the apparently devil-like cup in his hands and not at him, from lodging into his chest like the blade of a knife. He winced and quickly moved the cup away from you, frantically looking around his quarters for some other source of water. When he didn’t find one, a short curse fell from his lips as he glanced back at you sympathetically, regret and guilt shining in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I- I just grabbed this from medbay… there’s some vitamins and electrolytes and whatever else you combat medics throw in it, and I figured that that would help since, you know, you’ve been asleep for three days.”

Your eyes widened in shock. Three days? Three days!? You could vomit, and you probably would have if there had been anything in your stomach.

Simon sighed, screwing his eyes shut as he realized that was probably not the best way to tell you that information. He brought his hand - the one still holding that damn cup - up to his face, rubbing his eyes with the back of his thumb. Gods, he sucked at this. He ran his hand down his face and moved to get up from the bed. “I’ll just… yeah, I’ll just go get you some, um, different water in a different glass and… yeah, I’ll be right back.”

As he moved to get up from the bed, your hand weakly shot out, your fingers feebly wrapping around his wrist. Simon glanced down at your hand in thinly-veiled shock before he looked at you. You were just as shocked. You were still angry, at least, you knew you should be, but the only thing you could focus on was the way your omega writhed in pain at the mere thought of Simon walking away from you again.

“You need to drink some water. And if you won’t drink it out of this,” he said as he raised the cup, “then I gotta get you something else.”

You looked up at him pleadingly, an absolutely pathetic look on your face. You didn’t have the strength or energy to fight against the instincts right now. Everything in you was screaming and clawing at the idea of Simon leaving, even just to get you more water, and your instincts didn’t care about how it looked, or if it made you seem like you forgave him and were willing to forget everything that happened. You knew, logically, that you weren’t, but logic was so far out of the realm of control, the only thing reacting in your mind was your wounded omega, desperate for the proximity of her alpha.

“I don’t wanna force you to drink this if it grosses you out that bad.”

Another needy, desperate whine was his only response as you let go of his wrist, your shaking hand held outstretched to take the cup. It was a clear message - I’ll drink it. Just don’t leave.

Simon’s gaze softened as he sat back down on the edge of the bed, bringing the straw close to your lips. You closed your eyes, the moment feeling far too intimate for the reality of your relationship with Simon as your dry, chapped lips wrapped around the plastic of the straw. After a few moments of forcing down the polluted-dirt tasting water, Simon slowly and gently pulled the straw away from you, his free hand coming up to your face to brush an errant strand of your hair behind your ear. His heart ached as your eyes fluttered open, still cold and guarded even as he could feel your omega pleading for him to stay through the bond.

“Feel better?”

You nodded slowly, the movement disjointed and sluggish as you brought a shaking hand up to wipe a small droplet of water off of your lips. “Yeah,” you muttered, the words thick and gruff with disuse. The thanks that should have followed that response stayed stuck in your throat like a pill that was much too big to swallow.

Simon nodded in response as he sat the cup back down on the bedside table. He then grabbed a wrapped protein bar, and tore open the packaging with his teeth. With the unwrapped protein bar in hand, he turned back to you, holding the bar near your face. “Eat.”

A pause, a short breath leaving Simon’s lips as he realized that a demand was probably not the best way to get you to do something at the moment.

“Please,” he amended, his voice softer, gentler. “You need to get your strength up,” he added, shifting the bar a little closer to your lips.

You knew he was right, ultimately, but it wounded your ego, accepting his help after all of the neglect he had put you through. You sighed softly and shifted on the bed with a groan as your muscles protested against the tiniest of movements. Simon’s hand quickly wrapped around your aching shoulder to help shift you on to your side, and you settled back down into the bed, lifting your head up slightly to take a small bite out of the protein bar. You figured it would be impossible to swallow, as all food had been the last few months, but you were shocked to find it easy to get down. You sat up slowly, achingly, agonizingly slowly, but Simon, shockingly, was there to support you. You reached out and took the bar from him, suddenly ravenous.

Simon watched as you all but scarfed down the protein bar, his gaze softening with guilt. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, looking down at his now-empty hands. He hated himself, the guilt and regret of being so blind to you throughout the entirety of your marriage, your mating bond, eating him alive.

You froze, mid-chew of the last bite as you heard his murmured apology. You didn’t know how to respond, feeling like a deer in the headlights of his sin.

“Simon…”

“No, I… I am. Gods, angel, you have no idea how sorry I am. I was such a dick to you, such a bad fuckin’ alpha, and I know that my words probably don’t mean much, or, really, anything to you, but… if I could reverse time, do it all over again, I…”

“Simon, stop,” you croaked out, your gaze fixated on the comforter that pooled against your sweatpant-clad legs, anything to keep your eyes off of him. You couldn’t look at him. It was all too much, far too quickly, and you had nowhere to even begin to parse through the emotions and pain that still existed under your skin like a thrashing beast, even if it felt more subdued than it did three days ago. You didn’t want to think too hard on that, though, wanted to ignore the way your alpha’s presence, his scent calmed the ugly thing, if only slightly.

You couldn’t - wouldn’t - forgive him. Not right now. Sure, he had kept one promise; he had stayed with you, but in the grand scheme of things? It didn’t mean much. You smoothed your hand over the soft comforter, balling the now-empty wrapper of the protein bar in your other hand. Too many emotions, too little time. You felt like you were trapped between your base omega desires and the reality of your situation. The wrapper crinkled in your hand louder as your grip became tighter, the atrophied muscles in your arms shaking with exertion and emotion.

You felt Simon’s hand as it inched closer to you, more than likely to try and bring you comfort, but you couldn’t take it. Right before his hand touched yours, you jerked it away, throwing the wrapper into some random corner of his room in your panic. You quickly scrambled out of the bed, your need to get away from him, from the situation, much greater than any of the aches and pains of your neglected body. You stood in the center of the room, your chest heaving from the exertion as you steadied yourself on your feet, your legs wobbling beneath you.

Simon just stared at you, wide-eyed and frozen.

You stared right back. Your mind was a mess, fractured between your omega and your logical, rational side. Your omega was screaming, tearing at the confines of your skin at the very idea of leaving your alpha, but you pushed it away. You felt cornered, and you were lashing out like a feral cat.

“I- I gotta go.”

And with that, you turned on your heel, and all but ran out of the room. Simon was still sitting on the edge of the bed, shellshocked and staring at the space in the center of his quarters that you were just occupying.

–

It had been about a week since you had left Simon’s quarters. That first day, after you had left, you were violent, volatile - your own quarters destroyed as you tried to release all of the pent-up emotions by throwing anything and everything you could get your hands on before you collapsed into little more than a heap of tears in the middle of all of the broken glass and ripped papers. You had slept there that night, on your floor, but when you woke up, there was one of Simon’s sweatshirts outside of the door of your quarters with a note.

I know you don’t want to see me right now. I know you’re pissed, and you have every right to be. But the bond is still fragile. Just keep this around, please? -Simon

Part of you wanted to burn it, still so full of rage and pain, but the desperation of your omega had you pressing your face into the soft, plush fabric, a small omega purr unconsciously pulling past your lips. As soon as the sound of your purr reached your ears, you threw the article of clothing onto the ground as if it was a ticking incendiary bomb. It was still there, in that corner, but it cursed the entirety of your quarters to smell like Simon, the scent of smokey pine, wet gunpowder, and the first drag of a cigarette cloying to everything, no matter how many of your own clothes you piled on top of it.

The rest of that week had passed by you like a blur. You had mostly stayed in your quarters, focusing on how to control and push down your omega desires, instead replacing them with the rage you knew you should feel towards Simon, definitely not because it was the only place that you could still smell him, certainly not. It was just that the thought of being seen out and about when your emotions and physical health were so volatile seemed like it wouldn’t be the best of ideas, and that was definitely the only reason.

But, today was the first day that you had actually gotten up and took a shower. Looking in the mirror, you noticed that your skin looked much more lively, the sickly grey of the bond sickness had dissipated, and the bruises that had covered your skin had all but faded away. It made you feel… wrong almost, to be, to look, “fixed”. The torment that you had undergone still lived and breathed in your very bones, and seeing yourself without the physical marks of it, even if they were self-inflicted, felt wrong. So, you quickly tugged on some workout gear, grabbed your keys, and left your quarters, determined to make someone pay for the grief and rage that thrummed under your skin.

You dumped your keys and your sweatshirt in a corner by the sparring ring, stretching for a moment as you scanned the gym. Plenty of people to spar with, but, more importantly, no Simon. And, before you knew it, an unsuspecting, far too cocky beta recruit was swaggering up to you. He was new to the base, you could tell. Fresh out of basic training, by the looks of it. You pushed a smirk down off of your lips, as you wanted the challenge. Wanted him to fuck up just so you could absolutely let loose. You batted your eyelashes up at him, really playing into the whole weak omega stereotype.

You ran your gaze up and down the recruit, sinking your teeth into your plush lower lip. You watched as the recruit’s eyes lit up at your actions, obviously taking them as flirtatious. Meanwhile, all you had wanted to do was knock him off his axis, get him thinking hazy.

The recruit smirked, rubbing his hands together. “Name’s Conwell. James Conwell. Need a sparring partner?”

You grinned up at him, the expression so fake and sickly-sweet as you leaned towards him slightly, clasping your hands in front of you. If it pushed your tits together, what was the harm in that?

“Oh, yeah, James, that’d be great! I might need a few pointers though. You okay with that?” The grin that the recruit gave you was downright predatory as he nodded and slipped between the ropes, bouncing around and shadowboxing, obviously trying to show off. You quickly stifled a laugh behind your hand, clearing your throat before you slipped between the ropes as well. Gods, new recruits, especially new beta recruits, were such easy marks. They always had such a chip on their shoulder, desperate to prove themselves, and certainly not above pretending to be something they weren’t to do so. And as you settled into your side of the ring, you could smell just how desperate this recruit was to be something he wasn’t.

He had sprayed fake alpha pheromones on himself. The scent was nauseating, making your stomach roll. But, you pushed it down. You’d play the part, let him get one or two good hits in, then it would be game over for the poor boy.

“How do I start this?” You asked innocently, looking down at the smooth vinyl that coated the floor of the ring. The beta’s (Jim?) grin widened as he sunk into his own fighting stance.

“Just like this, pretty girl.”

You suppressed a disgusted shudder at his words, painting that saccharine faux-innocence on your expression as you pretended to copy him, sinking into your own stance. Yours was a much stronger base, your legs spread wider to better accommodate your movement, your fists actually tucked up to your face as protection, unlike the way the beta kept his hands low over his bare chest, obviously believing the lie that you were no threat.

“You should probably swing first, you know, show an omega like me how an alpha does it.”

That did it. His eyes glinted with that repulsive possessiveness that every douchebag gets when you stroke their ego just right, when you pretend to believe a lie that they’ve tried so hard to force to be truth. And so he did, but it arched wide, giving you the perfect opportunity to dodge under and land a jab right in the left side of his ribs. You popped up, a glee-filled smile on your lips, genuine this time, as you looked at him as he gasped for air, bouncing on the balls of your feet.

He blinked, bewildered, as his head swiveled from side to side in an effort to find where you went. Once his eyes zeroed in on you, his lips pressed into a thin, angry smile, the kind that someone would give an annoying child after they spilt their snack for the third time in a row. “Wow, quick learner, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess!” Your words were bright, your eyes filled with a predatory glint that you tried to hide as you beckoned him tauntingly. “C’mon! That was fun!”

The beta growled in a terrible impression of an alpha rumble, swinging out in the exact same way. It forced you to wonder what the fuck they were teaching these kids in basic training nowadays. The velocity of this punch was slow, and you knew you had to let him get at least one punch in if you wanted this to last any longer than a few minutes before he stormed off with his tail tucked between his legs in embarrassment. Normally, you would have braced yourself for a hit that you knew was coming, but something else hit you before the punch could. Smoked pine. Wet gunpowder. First hit of a cigarette after a stressful mission. It pulled your attention just long enough to allow the beta’s punch to land squarely in your ribs, the force of the impact much greater than the velocity, which promptly knocked all of the air from your lungs. You stumbled back a little, but you forced your gaze to stay on your opponent, not allowing yourself to get distracted by the pheromones that had settled over you like an oppressive coat.

That was, until, you heard an actual alpha growl emanating from the door of the gym. It was so loud, so full of anger, that it caused everyone to stop what they were doing. You rolled your eyes, shaking out your shoulders as you sank back down into your fighting stance, but your opponent was frozen, his hands dropped as he turned to look at where the growl had come from. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who he was staring at. You sighed, your head dropping as you saw Simon’s long, purposeful strides carrying his massive bulk up to the ring. You heard your opponent get pulled from the ring, and before you knew it, Simon was in front of you, lifting your head up with gentle fingers.

“Did he hurt-”

You forcefully knocked his hand off of your chin, your eyes hardening. A small omega growl ripped past your lips as they curled up in displeasure. “Oh my gods, fuck off! We were just sparring!”

Simon’s gaze darkened as he looked down at you, but he, thankfully, didn’t touch you again. “You smell like fuckin’ shit. What, fake pheromones are what does it for ya now, huh?”

Your growl increased in volume as you shoved against his chest. The anger, pain, and guilt that swam between the two of you was almost tangible, the tension thick enough to cut through with a knife. You didn’t care. “Don’t pretend like you know anything about what ‘does it for me’,” you mocked as you put sarcastic air quotes around the repeated words.

Most of the gym had cleared out by now. Everyone knew how volatile the two of you could be separately, and when they sensed the heightened anger and emotions between you two, they quickly disappeared. For the few stragglers that were left, Simon fixed them with a glare hard enough to freeze an ocean, and they quickly packed their things and also scurried away.

“You wanna fucking punch something?” Simon growled as he took a step closer to you. “Punch me. Not some stupid prick tryna peacock around as if he’s an alpha. You fuckin’ smell like that shit ass cologne he was trying to pass off as his own.”

A downright predatory grin spread over your lips. You were pissed. Pissed that he was here, that he had taken away the one outlet that you knew you had to work through all of these emotions. So, you bit back. You knew you were playing with fire. It was one thing you were always good at, part of the reason the team, especially Simon, called you spitfire.

“Oh, is that what that was? It smelled so good, I thought it was real.”

You were lying, and the smirk that spread over Simon’s lips confirmed that he knew it too. You shook your head, blowing out a frustrated breath as you moved to step around Simon. You didn’t want to be around him right now. His hand shot out to grab at your wrist, but you jerked it away from him.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch me,” you bit out as your teeth ground together. “I didn’t need you to come save me, and you had no right to storm in here like this.”

“No right?” Simon seethed lowly as he turned his head to look at you. “No right? Pretty sure that’s my fucking teeth marking that mating gland right there on the side of your neck!”

You froze, slowly turning to fully face him now. Your expression was set into a mask of absolute, unbridled rage that Simon had never been on the receiving end of. Your fists were clenched impossibly tight at your sides, and you could feel the anger rolling off of you in hot, tangible waves. You had known Simon didn’t know how to be a mate, but you had never imagined that this is the way he would deem acceptable to treat you. No matter what, you were a soldier first, more than capable of taking care of yourself, you didn’t need him breathing down your neck like some sort of denmother. It almost seemed like he was trying to overcorrect from his mistakes, becoming overbearing and overprotective. That almost pissed you off more.

“If that is how you think this bond is going to go, especially after everything you did, I will cut this mating bond out myself. Do not test me.”

You didn’t wait for a response. With that, you stepped off of the mat, grabbed your things, and walked out, not even bothering to look behind you as your hand rubbed harshly over the mating bite on your neck.

---------------------------------

as always, thank you so so much for the support, and keep an eye out for chapter four! tag list: @kerst666 @misscaller06 @letaliabane @sai-int @itsmeamysworld @massivescissorsthingperson @aeeliy @alkalineapparition @cringeycookies

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notjustjavierpena · 6 days ago

Note

imagine javi comes home grumpy and tired from work, and you decide to make his night a little bit better. by cooking his favorite meal and giving him some good head

Good Enough

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Hi anon! Did you know it has been nearly two months? Well, Hubby has been asleep in my mind but he is finally back. I wrote this over the weekend. Enjoy!

Summary: You turn Javi’s day around, knowing what he needs. Some TLC!

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: Domestic, humor, fluff, life with kids, reader is pregnant, hurt/comfort, banter, kisses!!, cuddling, devotion, blowjob, come swallowing, dirty talk, praise kink, whimpering javier needs its own warning

Word count: 4.7k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/67874396

Good Enough

You know something is wrong when you receive a text from Javier during his lunch hours. He isn’t much of a texter, never has been, except for those first few months when you started dating back in the day and he frantically tried to make himself interesting and available. With defeat, he had admitted that he hates the T9 system, pressing ‘7’ four times just to get a goddamn S, so now texts between you consist mostly of grocery lists, funny things that the kids do, and perhaps a risky one-liner or two.

You are lounging on the couch with the remote in hand, half-watching TV, distracted by the way your screen lights up. You think through the possible scenarios, but you shopped for dinner yesterday, the oldest kids are at school, Sebastian is coloring in the living room, and it has been a regular morning without much flirtation.

“Let’s see what Daddy’s rambling about,” you say out loud to Sebastian, unlocking your phone after your eyebrows have risen into your hair at the sight of four unread messages.

Hubby [11:42 AM]: tell me why milton got the project instead of me today

Hubby [11:42 AM]: Ive been doing the work for three fucking months and this pendejo (loser) gets to be in charge because he wears a necktie better?

Hubby [11:42 AM]: i feel like shit baby i hope he chokes on his dryass sandwiches

Hubby [11:43 AM]: didn’t even get to kiss you this morning and that’s probably the whole fucking problem

You stare at the screen for a moment, rereading the way he called you ‘baby’ like he needs some tender loving care that he doesn’t quite know how to ask for when he’s downtown at the university. You can feel yourself starting to miss him, can feel yourself yearn to make him feel good.

“Jesus, Sebby,” you huff out a small laugh in disbelief as you read it a fourth time. You look at your son, your snickers making your pregnant belly jump a little. Sebastian doesn’t put down the crayon to look at you, too concerned about making the sky orange by nearly snapping the coloring pencil in half from the pressure, “Daddy used a whole bunch of adult words in this.”

You ponder a reply just long enough for those three dots that indicate another text is going to pop up at the bottom. You quickly write something back, halting the next rapid-fire texts, not because Javier will have a tantrum if you don’t, but rather because it is clear what kind of day he is having, and you want to be the one who turns things around for him.

You [11:45 AM]: If Milton ever cured his sandwiches of being dry, he’d have a permanent mustard stain on his necktie.

Hubby [11:45 AM]: u are an evil woman

Hubby [11:45 AM]: i love you

You [11:46 AM]: I know ;) Let me kiss it all better when you come home.

Satisfaction rushes through you at the image of him snorting a laugh, his shoulders slumping in relief as he reads your message. You miss your grumpy husband even more now. You call for Sebastian, watching your babbling toddler waddle excitedly towards you and tumbling into your arms with a huge, delighted grin at getting your attention. You kiss his chubby cheeks, earning yourself a high-pitched giggle, and can’t help thinking that Javier always makes beautiful, tiny clones.

“Do you miss Daddy as much as I?” You ask him in a soft, dreamy sigh when you’ve dragged him into your lap. He smiles a near-toothless smile, reaching for the straps on your dress with a clumsy hand. You press your nose into his fine hair and inhale the familiar smell of baby, doubting if Javier could ever top this one, “Hmhm, of course, you do.”

You sit there for a while, blowing raspberries on Sebastian’s round cheeks while he rests against the twins in your belly. You think about how he must feel right now, unappreciated, inferior, and overlooked, and ponder what to do about his horrible mood. You decide that you will have his favorite food ready for dinner. After all, he’s told you many stories of his mother preaching that good food fixes nearly everything.

That and something else that isn’t appropriate to think about in the company of your son, something that is ignited in your lower half as you think about the kiss that you owe him. You’ll give him that and more.

You look at the time on your phone, suddenly realizing that you need to get a move on if you want dinner to be ready on time. You get up from the couch with a grunt, Sebastian on your hip.

“Your Dad’s pissed off, Sebby,” you say in a serious manner, but the playfulness shines through when you can’t help the smile that spreads on your face. Sebastian grins back, “But don’t worry. I’ve got plans.”

—

You make a call that day, but it isn’t for Javier. Instead, you dial Chucho with a special request. His smile is evident from his tone, able to be heard in the way he says your name.

Later, you place Sebastian in his carrier, strap him to your back, and head out with a grocery list. The day passes quickly with shopping for dinner and packed lunches, conversations with a 1-year-old, and picking up the kids from school.

By dinner time, the house smells of browned beef, toasted herbs, and the classic mix of sautéed garlic and onion that makes people curiously ask what you are cooking because it smells heavenly.

On top of it, you’re slow-cooking everything, which means that you have time to make flour tortillas from scratch. It is an easy way to gather the kids around an activity, so when Javier steps inside the house and drops his bag with a relieved sigh, the whole dining table has been turned into a tortilla-making station. A mess, really.

No one notices him at first, too busy flattening out small pieces of dough or clapping hands together until flour explodes like fireworks before falling like snow. He tiptoes towards the kitchen, catching a glimpse of you all in silence.

There are specks of bread flour in your hair, dried tortilla dough on your forehead from where you have tried to brush your hair away, and a look of concentration on your face as you try to keep control of the chaos by giving guidance over everyone’s excitement.

Sebastian is making toy car tracks in a finished tortilla that Inés has stolen from Lucas’ already impressive stack. On her side of the dining table, she has her own stack of finished tortillas, but in a totally different shape than the traditional round ones.

You gather finished products or flatten out the ones still too thick, occasionally pressing your hand into a surprising kick from the twins. You don’t even hear him either, giggling lovingly as you pull a piece of sticky dough from Seb’s mouth in an echo of ews from his siblings.

“What’s going on here?” He announces his presence with a grin but, you can see the tiredness in his eyes.

“Daddy!” Inés registers him immediately. She tenses up in excitement before she leaps off her seat and runs to him, bending her knees to spring into his arms. He catches her with a grunt, settling her on his hip.

“Papá! Look what I made!” Lucas joins and holds up a perfectly round tortilla with both hands. He grins and runs to him too afterwards, sporting a missing front tooth that he proudly announced he was missing last week.

“You’ve been busy for dinner,” Javier ruffles his son’s hair as he hugs his side. Your husband smiles at you with all the love he has for this moment, telling you paragraph-long sonnets of affection without even saying anything. He looks calmer already, like the tension is slowly seeping out of him until his shoulders come down completely.

“Alright, monitos (little monkeys), let mamá and the babies come through,” you cut through the noise of their eager voices. You step forward to place your palms flat on his chest, scratching slightly as you lean in for the long-awaited kiss.

It’s soft, sweet, and slow, a kiss that drags on a little longer than usual because you both have so much to make up for after the rushing during everyone’s morning ritual. Javier kisses you a second time the moment you try to draw back, hands cupping your waist, and you let him with a surprised snicker. It elicits a loud ’bleurgh’ from your kids, their feet shuffling back to the table where your youngest squeaks happily at seeing them again.

“This is what I get for throwing a tantrum, huh?” He jokes after you finally pull away, but there's guilt of having complained when he gets to come home to this, and his colleague probably doesn’t.

“Tantrum? This is just what you get for coming home to us,” you tease, but you still mean it. On days like these, Javier needs to know that he doesn’t have to do anything to earn the comfort of home, that if he feels unappreciated at work, he only needs to enter through the front door to know that life will stop moving without him here; the place where everyone is always happy to see him.

He visibly softens, rewards you with another longing kiss, sliding his hands around your body until they rest on your lower back. The sound of your kids fades into the background, butterflies roaming around in your chest.

It takes a few more heartbeats before you part. He looks at you, at the tortilla factory, and then at you again for comedic value, “So what’re you making exactly?”

“Carne guisada,” you reply and turn to follow his gaze. Inés is making a flower shape, and Lucas is picking up Seb’s truck after he has dropped it on the table from his highchair, “I called your dad for the recipe.”

Javier’s brows shoot up, “Mom’s?”

“Mhm, and there’s dessert if you’re good,” you reply in a whisper as if it is nothing, leaving him with the same shocked expression to go check on the pot that has been sitting on low heat for an hour. It is bordering on perfection at this point, needing just a little more time for you to be able to cook the tortillas on a skillet pan next to it.

Javier regains his composure shortly thereafter. He finally walks to say hello to Seb, who flaps his arms excitedly when he is picked up from his high chair. Javier sits by the dining table with his second son in his lap. Life’s good, you think to yourself as he asks the kids about their day.

—

The second Javier takes his first bite, scooping some of the meat onto a wonky tortilla, his eyes widen slightly, and he lets out a surprised hum.

He chews for barely a second before he takes another bite that makes his eyes roll back into his skull, arms dropping to his side as he slouches back into his chair and groans exaggeratedly. You know this move, know that he does it to make the kids laugh, and sure enough, tiny giggles fill the air as they parrot him by digging into their dinner.

“I can’t believe Pops gave you the secret ingredient. It tastes just like hers,” Javier says in playful exasperation after everyone has started to eat.

Inés wolfs down her plate. Lucas tries to copy his father. You help Sebastian tear his tortilla into much smaller chunks, placing them all over the meat and rice on his plate. He curiously grabs whatever he can, gripping his dinner with force, and eating until his face is covered in sauce.

“I could charm myself to his credit card number,” you tease, wiping sauce from Sebastian’s face with a napkin. You make faces at him as he grins at you, smacking his palms on the table.

“You probably could,” Javier admits softly and reaches for his glasses of water, speaking around the rim, “He is under your spell too.”

“Mom’s a witch!” Inés exclaims excitedly, proud of her joke. Javier chokes on his water, and you snort, but mostly, both of you are just thankful that the word didn’t start with a B.

However, Lucas looks horrified and nearly drops his tortilla, “You can’t say that! That’s mean!”

“It’s not mean,” Inés retorts matter-of-factly and picks a piece of onion that she thinks is too big off her plate, “They have cats and I want a cat.”

“Only girls who eat their dinner get to be witches,” Javier reaches to tap her plate, “And I know for a fact that this witch is still hungry.”

As Inés starts eating with her hands again, Lucas wipes his fingers on his napkin, “Mom, can I have a fork?”

“Sure, mijo (my son),” you say softly and suppress a small smile, “You don’t like your fingers getting sticky?”

“No, thank you,” he pushes his chair away from the table. You caress his back as he passes you. He steps through to the kitchen, rummages through the utensil drawer, and returns a moment later.

“Witches are only real in movies,” he argues after sitting down again as if he’s thought about it the whole way, “You can’t just become one.”

Inés is smug with conviction as she holds her glass with both hands, nearly forgetting not to talk while she drinks, “Luke is just scared because I am hexing him first.”

“Mom!” Lucas complains, and Sebastian reacts to the word with a squeal.

“Inés, no hexing your brother at the dinner table,” Javier takes over just when you’re about to say something, giving you a breather after having dealt with them all afternoon. The frown line on Javier’s forehead has faded away since he came home earlier.

You lean back and watch with a soft expression of gratitude, letting your palm repeatedly skim over the rounding of your pregnant belly.

—

Close to ten, you step through to the bedroom after a soothing hot bath that Javier told you to take when one of the twins got the hiccups in your stomach. He had completely taken over the winding-down routine; bathed the kids, helped Inés brush her teeth at the back, cuddled and tucked them in, read Buenas Noches, Luna, and kissed the tops of their heads.

You emerge wrapped in a towel, skin still warm and damp, and find him sitting on the edge of the bed, undoing his wristwatch. He looks tired and ready for bed after the hassle of today, but he’s still only taken off his jeans.

“You’re still dressed,” you point out. You pass him to get to the dresser and ruffle his hair affectionately.

He gives you a tiny smile, reaches for his tie after placing the watch next to himself, “Wanted to see you before I fell asleep.”

You guide your hand over the many fabrics and eventually pick out a pair of sleep shorts and a tank top. You turn to face him again, dressing as fast as your body allows and steadying yourself against the furniture, “You okay after today? You were grumpy.”

“You should have seen me at the office, mi amor (my love). I was ready to call them fucking idiots to their faces,” Javier snorts a laugh, but he’s clearly still not over it, “Sorry, but it just pissed me off.”

You walk to stand between his knees and lay your hands on his slumped shoulders, massaging the tension in them absentmindedly while you speak gently, “It’s okay. You can vent, if you need to.”

He looks up at you briefly before he leans forward to rest his forehead against your chest. He sighs, but it is not only from defeat; there’s some contentment in it too, “I was the goddamn sheriff of Laredo for ten years and now I have to get used to not being the boss, living with the fact that other people make stupid fucking decisions, and… I don’t know, maybe I did too when I was in charge, but I would have never let someone like Milton take all the goddamn credit after jumping onto the project last minute. Makes me feel like a failure.”

You lean down to kiss his hair multiple times, forearms on his shoulders, “You’re not a failure, Javi. The project is one of many. You’re still a rookie at the university, and that’s okay. You’ll get your turn.”

He tilts his head backwards until he is staring into your eyes, the hurt of it all evident in his tired gaze, his bruised ego. He is grieving, but it is the loss of the part of himself that was sharp, authoritative, and most importantly, respected.

“It’s not just about the project, mi vida (my life). It’s like… I know what I’m talking about. I know how to teach but I still feel like a cop playing dress-up, like they’re just waiting for me to slip up so they can say I never belonged in the first place,” he almost looks pleading, like he needs your words and kisses as a balm to his hurt pride, “I’m just the loser guy who used to chase loser guys across rooftops and now uses true crime to get undergrads to care about criminal theory.”

“That’s ridiculous, Javi, baby,” you coo softly like he’s a kid who has scraped his knees. You peck his lips but draw back with a smirk, “You’re so much more than just a loser.”

“Ha-ha,” he deadpans and pouts.

“You’re a husband, a father, a friend… a son, but with that, we could argue if you’re a good one,” you kiss his face with each title. A peck to his cheek, to his jawline, the corner of his mouth. It’s the kiss to his lips that makes his hands slide to your hips as it develops into something more, something grateful and hungry. He holds you close afterwards, heavy against your chest as you cradle him gently.

“You always know how to fix me,” he says softly.

“Yes, if you were broken, I would, but you’re not,” you reply with the same kind of softness, and he responds by kissing you again, words failing him.

There’s a million thank yous in the way that he kisses you, a million I love yous too. He skims his hands up your arms to cup your face while you work at the buttons of his shirt, quickly undoing them so you can get the collar away from his neck.

You kiss him featherlight right by where his pulse beats beneath the skin, spoiling him, making him shudder in your arms with a moan. He reaches downwards again, starts pulling at the hem of your top, but you have other plans. Plans of getting him out of his head, treating him, showing him devotion.

You stop him by moving out of reach, slowly sinking to your knees in front of him and sighing as soon as your knees hit the floor. You’ve been cooking all afternoon with a baby on your arm, so this position is your reward. That and getting to spoil your husband, wrap your lips around his cock, and hear him whine.

Javier says your name, “You don’t have to.”

“I know,” you kiss the part of his thighs that are exposed below his briefs, “But I want to give you something that Milton definitely doesn’t get to have.”

“What?” He furrows his brow, still on the brink of another attempt at getting you up from the floor, but you have already spotted how he is half-hard from merely getting his neck kissed.

You look up at him, grinning mischievously with a stare that means nothing but sex, “Me.”

“Oh fuck,” he groans, composure slipping away as he slowly gives in. He reaches back to rest on his hands, leaning back a little to scoot towards the edge of the bed.

“And besides,” you continue, hands sliding up his broad thighs until they tense beneath your touch, “I bet dryass Milton doesn’t get head from his wife.”

“That poor fucker,” he chuckles breathlessly in reply, voice strained as you drag his briefs down, “Probably only for his birthday out of pity.”

“If ever,” you say smugly. You tug a little harder at the elastic until it nearly snaps, and he gets the hint, lifts his hips so you can undress him. He’s not just semi-hard anymore, his cock standing at full attention from the anticipation of what is about to happen as it bounces free.

Your mouth waters at the sight of him so needy for you, the thought of teasing him in the beginning disappearing quickly. Not because he wouldn’t be able to take it, but because you can’t wait to feel the weight of him in your mouth.

“Listen to me, baby,” you say with your eyes locked on his. You lick your fingers before you wrap your hand around his girth, stroking him a few times before squeezing gently. Javier moans, but he doesn’t look away; you have his attention, “You are worth ten Miltons, okay? And if they can’t see that, that’s not your fault.”

“O-okay,” he groans, mouth falling open in an o-shape when you nose along the length of him, “Jesus.”

“You’re smart, funny, sexy, a damn good dad, and you make me come so fucking hard,” you repeat the act of kissing him after each label but this time, it’s your warm lips that finds all the sensitive spots along the underside of his dick, “Who else can brag about that?”

It feels so good that he starts leaking at the tip, a bead of precome trailing down along one of the veins that you catch with your tongue on your way up again. When you’re at the head, you kiss it with love, but then take it into your mouth without hesitation.

“Fuck, baby, just like that,” his head tips back at the feel, his hips twitching, his fingers curling into the sheets, “Didn’t think this was gonna be my end of the day. You are filthy.”

You release him with a pop, still working him with your hand to keep him right where he is. You smile up at him through your lashes, the way his neck muscles flex at the loss of warm, wet heat.

“You taste so good, baby,” you praise with a needy moan, brushing your lips along the skin not covered by your hand. You kiss his length open-mouthed and hot, “Wanna have you in my mouth all day. You always make me feel so good, wanna return the favor.”

“Yeah?” He pants softly, mouth dropped slightly open, and his eyes fluttering closed. He may not look at you, but his hand finds your hair, sliding through it until he can grip it without being harsh.

“Yeah,” you reply, swirling your tongue around the head afterwards, teasing the slit that’s still drooling with precome before you swallow him down again.

You go deeper this time, all the way down to where your fist sits until he reaches the far back of your throat, sliding into the tight space there. Expertly, you breathe deeply through your nose to keep going and block out the signs of your jaw starting to ache.

He dares look down at you again, but the sight makes him twitch in your mouth, making you gag slightly on his length. He huffs out an apologetic laugh, “Fuck, I’m sorry. You just look so sexy right now, I can’t even think.”

You hum as a thank you, letting him feel the vibrations through his cock. Tears cling to your eyelashes, spit shines along the rim of your mouth, and your lips are puffy from being stretched around him. You’re on a mission, sure that he can see it in your eyes, and you hollow your cheeks as you suck his aching cock a little harder. You don’t have to move with speed. Intensity will get him there, and sure enough, his breathing changes when you drag your lips up and down in this newfound rhythm.

Just a moment earlier, he was moaning and groaning, but the shift in your pressure and determination makes him whimper for the first time without realizing it, the noise high and airy as it barely fills the room. You moan softly as an encouragement for him to do it again, your cunt clenching in interest at his surrender.

Your saliva has dribbled down to slick your hand even more, still wrapped around the base of his cock, making it easier to work him as you concentrate on getting him to the point of no return.

“That’s it. S-shit, that’s it. I’m gonna come for you. It’s yours, baby. It’s fucking yours,” he barely talks anymore, voice breathy and cracking. His eyes burn with desire, his brows furrowed as he nears the edge. You place a hand on his trembling thighs, feeling him shudder as everything climbs.

It happens a moment after. You know it from the way his breath halts for less than a second and his hand tightens in your hair just to the point of it being painful, almost like he is bracing for impact. Then he whines, teeth gritted, and comes so hard that all tension in him must have evaporated into thin air.

“I’m coming, baby, oh— fuck, I’m coming,” he whimpers feebly, helplessly. You milk him dry with your hand and keep him in your mouth through it all, savoring each drop of salt like it is your favorite treat and feeling every twitch and tremble of his body beneath your fingertips, hips lifting, stomach jumping.

After a moment of heavy breathing, his hand falls from your hair. He collapses forward a little, slumps in marvel and exhaustion. You rest your cheek against his thigh and smile affectionately like you haven’t just committed something so sinful, feeling the coarse hairs there against your skin.

“That was a good one, huh?” You press a kiss against the top of his thigh and rub the other one soothingly while he breathes heavily, “I think you saw God for a sec there.”

“Quizá no fue Dios, pero sí una diosa (Maybe not God but a goddess),” he flirts with a smug look, but it is laced with genuine awe, like you must be a divine and celestial creature. You want to say that maybe you’re just a mother.

You hide your face, forehead pressed against his thigh, and giggle until your belly jumps. You press a hand against a foot kicking in protest, “Ow.”

“C’mere,” Javier holds his hand out in sympathy. You take it, but only after you receive The Look after a few failed attempts at getting up on your own.

With a tired groan, you let yourself be hauled off the floor and caught in Javier’s arms, who lets out an ‘oomph’ followed by a breathless chuckle. He is still naked, has used his discarded briefs to wipe himself down, and doesn’t seem bothered to dress himself again.

In a heartbeat, you would choose to sleep naked with him if everything about your body wasn’t so sensitive and sore. However, it is still nice to feel him like this as you both move towards the headboard and get under the covers together.

After getting comfortable, you face each other with your hands lying between your heads, close enough to count the other’s eyelashes. You can feel his breath on your cheek, your eyes moving around his face where the gentlest of smiles is displayed.

“I love you,” you whisper because of the burning intimacy of it all, the small giant truth that feels like it should only belong to you two right now.

“Te quiero tanto, mi amor (I love you so much, my love)” he whispers back, then after a beat, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you slide your hand into his hand, slip your fingers between his until he responds by squeezing your grip, “Still thinking about el pendejo (the loser)?”

Javier laughs softly, playfully, “Who?”

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

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hongjoongspoetry · 4 months ago

Text

Sparks and Bruises | Song Mingi

🥊 Summary: In a world where everyone at the age of eighteen gets a metal meter implanted on their wrist that shows the amount of danger your soulmate is in. You and Mingi have known each other since high school, but went through a nasty fallout after his love for boxing turned into a dangerous gamble with his life as the price. Years later, you stumble over his injured form on the doorstep of your apartment building. Not having the heart to turn him away like all those years ago, you invite him inside with the intention to clean his wounds, but get a lot more than you bargained for.

🥊 Pairing(s): Underground boxer!Mingi x Real estate agent!Reader, brief Hongjoong x Seonghwa

🥊 Genres/Tropes: Soulmate AU, non-idol AU, second chance AU, fluff, exes to friends to lovers, angst (more than what I planned on)

🥊 Warnings/Tags: female reader, no use of (Y/N), reader is allergic to peanuts so go with it for the plot, brief description of bruises and cuts, explicit language, crying, kissing, car accident, pet names (love, sugar, sweets), mentioned hospital, flashbacks, not beta read

🥊 Wordcount: 12.5K

🥊 Author's Note: Click the image for a better resolution (Tumblr I hate you). I just got off work (it's like 10 pm here), so I'm super tired and can barely keep my eyes open. Anyway, this is the last instalment of the Cherry Blossom March Event and while I'm sad it's over, I'm also happy because now I can focus on finishing my other stories!! A big thank you to everyone who took the time out of their day to read, leave notes and comments on my works <3 Btw I am no real estate agent and everything you read in this fic is based on excessive research (which could very well be wrong).

This is all fiction and not meant to represent any idols involved in any way or form. This work is rated SFW, however it contains explicit scenes, not sexual content but descriptions of minor injuries as well as matures themes. Minors, please, read at your own risk and refrain from interacting or following my blog!

AO3 Masterpost Moodboard

The arrow inside the plate on your wrist, no bigger than a lighter, irregularly traveled back and forth, going from one end of the meter to the other. For some, it would be worrisome and concerning, but for you, it was the opposite. You had yet to meet your soulmate. The person responsible for the occasional spike in your soulometer — the metal chip showing how much danger your soulmate was in. A mandatory procedure ordered by the government a couple of decades ago, probably one of the dumbest things the rulers of the world ever implemented into society.

“We have thought it over and… We’ll sign the contract!”

You were startled as the couple attending your showing returned from their not-so-private discussion on the other side of the kitchen. The faceless person you were supposedly destined to be with — as much as a machine could decide your destiny — occupied your thoughts more often than not, even while at work.

You put on your million-dollar smile and clasped your hands together. “Perfect. Shall we set a date for you to sign the papers then?”

The couple was expecting and in need of a bigger place than their flat, which could barely fit the two of them. After many buts and ifs, the newly wed pair eagerly agreed and a date was set. You didn’t usually have showings late into the night, but considering the husband worked early mornings until late evenings, and the wife wanted him to be present, you made an exception. Money was money, after all, and you were always in need of it.

Declining their offer to drive you home, you bid the happy couple goodbye and locked up after yourself. The apartment wasn’t too far from your place and you didn't think it would be necessary to order a cab for a ten minute walk despite it being quite late. The stiletto heels you decided to wear that morning made it feel like thirty instead and you quickly regretted being a cheapskate. Why did you have to make your life more insufferable than it already was? You only needed the sky to open up and let a waterfall of rain seep down on Seoul. At least you were smart enough to wear pants and a turtleneck instead of a dress or skirt. Despite it being late March where flowers decorated the bland parks and the trees grew out their long-awaited hair again, it felt like the start of winter.

“This is what you get for listening to Iggy Azalea,” you hissed to yourself as a familiar burn spread through your pinky toes and the back of your feet.

A crazed laughter cut through the chilly air and you automatically reached for the phone in your purse. Setting the ringtone as your best friend’s giggle was a good idea when you were still in high school and just recently turned eighteen. It wasn’t as fun when you were a woman of twenty-something-something years old with an image to uphold and your face plastered on a few boards all through town with your phone number scribbled beneath in big, bold font followed by a text literally begging people to reach out. You swore to change it every time someone called, but the thought always got lost in the shuffle of your other hundred tasks waiting to be done.

You braced yourself for it to be another client calling in the dead of night, but it turned out to be one of your saved contacts. Swiping right and putting the phone up to your ear, you answered with a tired, “Hello.”

“Finally! She answers!”

“Some of us still have work, Hongjoong. Do you know how many times I had to apologize for my ringtone?”

The identical maniac laugh recorded into your phone years ago, erupted from the device and you rolled your eyes.

“And yet you never change it. After all these years, you still have my voice as your ringtone… That’s quite romantic.”

“Watch it or I’ll have a wild Park come for my head.”

“Seonghwa would never do that.” You let the line fall silent and Hongjoong could hear your pointed look on the other side. “Okay, he probably would. Where are you anyways?! I can hear cars in the background.”

So the bass boosted headphones hadn’t ruined his hearing yet. All those times he ignored you were on purpose then. Good to know.

“I’m on my way home from work. Had a showing a few minutes ago and it went well actually.”

Another voice accompanied Hongjoong on the other line, but you couldn’t quite make out the words.

“Seonghwa is scolding you for not calling one of us to drive you home and I have to agree with him, sprout. It’s not safe to be out this late.”

The nickname sent you down memory lane dating all the way back to middle school, when you and Hongjoong were the shortest kids in class but didn’t let that hinder you from showing off your talents and wits. Hongjoong a smart kid who excelled in everything from math to musical history while you burned everyone in debates, presentations, speeches, basically anything relate to public speaking. Hence your choice of profession.

“I know, but it really slipped my mind and it’s not even that far from my flat, I promise. Like I’m almost there, just a few more minutes. I can practically see the building lights from here.”

“Good. Stay with me on the call until you enter though. Now, let me tell you about this guy who tried to steal my laptop…”

If he could, Hongjoong would have talked for hours which was quite rare. The man was usually drained from being cooped up in his studio all day, running on zero sleep and five iced coffees. It was in fact how you became friends.

The kid with round chipmunk cheeks and a menacing smile approached the girl sitting in the back of the class, not making a peep. Hongjoong kicked up a conversation by complimenting the pink bows in your hair — a little detail none of your other classmates had noticed, let alone found them pretty — and offering you a peanut butter cookie that you sadly had to decline because of your allergies. Instead of ending the interaction at your meek thank you, Hongjoong took it as an official proposition of becoming friends. Seven year old Hongjong refused to go back to his seat and even nearly threw a tantrum in class, leaving the homeroom teacher with no other choice than to make you seatmates.

You and Hongjoong quickly became a duo. Wherever you went, he followed. It marked the start of a long lasting friendship you wouldn’t trade for the world.

“...Can you imagine that?! He grabbed my stuff and proceeded to lie straight to my face!”

You hummed into the phone at his rambling. A smile graced your face as you neared your apartment building, but disappeared quickly. Hongjoong’s voice became background noise as you slowed down. A figure dressed in all black and a hood thrown over their head sat at the doorsteps. Both arms planted on their knees and head shoved into the palms of their hands. The person was on the taller side and looked quite buff beneath the baggy clothes. You didn’t recognize them as one of your neighbours, but the swooping feeling in your stomach hinted on something else.

Not heeding Hongjoong’s previous warning of being cautious, you decided to approach the stranger. The clicking of your heels interrupted the peaceful silence of the night and the person immediately looked in your direction. Sharp and angry eyes met yours, and the furious spark swirling in them morphed into surprise. Your heart jumped in your throat as you recognized the person. Of all the people in the world, you certainly didn’t expect to find him at your doorstep.

“Hongjoong? I’ll have to call you back.”

“What? Why? What happened?”

“Nothing– Or well, something, but nothing dangerous– I’ll just call you back okay?”

“...You sure?”

“Yes, one hundred percent.”

“Okay. Talk to you later then.”

You quickly pressed the red button and lowered your phone. The man was still staring at you, the fear that his imagination was playing a trick on him lingering. That if he looked away, you’d disappear from his line of sight.

Sweat spread along your palms and your pulse was loud in your ears as you walked up to the man.

“Mingi?”

He scrambled up to his feet and took hold of the railing with one hand while the other pressed against his left rib and a surprised wince slipped through his lips.

“Long time no see, huh?”

Your eyes darted all over him. Red and blue blemishes covered almost the entire surface of his face and trickles of sweat ran down the side of his face. You didn’t want to think what hid beneath his clothes.

The last time you saw him was all the way back in high school. A scrawny boy with legs for days, but the coordination of a newborn foal and a smile that lit up your world. The man before you grew into his big features and lost the youthful look. The pointy nose and plump lips were still there, but accompanied by prominent cheekbones, a sharp jaw, a piercing gaze and a chiseled face that wasn’t the shape of a triangle. His hair, once black and short, was now a dark shade of brown and longer than ever, reaching below his nape and bangs falling over his brows. A lot in his appearance changed, but the cuts and bruises remained, pouring acid on your tongue.

Ignoring the bitterness pooling in your stomach, you decided to keep the conversation civil. A stark contrast to how your last encounter went.

”Are you… alright?”

“Yeah, no, I was on my way home, but just needed to sit down…”

You weren’t going to pry despite clearly seeing he was anything but alright. If he didn’t want to tell you, who were you to force him?

Offering him a light smile, you tried keeping the tone light. “What are the odds of you sitting on my doorstep, huh?”

“Yeah… How long has it been since…”

“Four? Five? Five years.”

Mingi whistled lowly and a silence occupied the street. Everyone decided to stay in as no cars or other people lingered around. You wouldn’t say it was uncomfortable, but it wasn’t pleasant either and you didn’t know what to do. Leaving him out in the cold wasn’t an option, but inviting him didn’t sound right either. After a long fight between your brain and heart, you decided to listen to the beating organ in your chest.

“Wanna… come up? To my apartment.”

Mingi looked up at you through his fringe and the soft roundness to his eyes teleported you back to high school. Keeping your composure, you hastily added on to the sentence.

“T-To, to clean up and maybe have something to eat?”

Had someone asked you five years ago what you’d say to Mingi if the opportunity presented itself, you surely wouldn’t have invited him to your home or offered him a free meal. The most he’d get out of you would be a one-finger salute. Fast forward one thousand eight hundred and twenty five days and Mingi was lent a helping hand instead. It was enough time for you to mature into a more rational woman who could, for better or for worse, put her feelings aside and think with her brain.

Mirrors surrounded the entire inside of the elevator, even on the doors, and you held back from laughing at the reflection. There couldn’t have been an odder pair than you two. Mingi, dressed in all black with colorful blotches decorating his intimidating face, and you, wearing designer from head to toe. Even your bags were opposites — his a dingy gym bag that was a thread away from falling apart and yours from the recent Louis Vuitton collection. It was quite a funny look, but not a bone in your body vibrated with glee.

As the elevator doors closed and the mechanism carried you up the many flights of stairs, the reality dawned upon you. A multitude of questions you hadn’t thought of before inviting Mingi inside popped up like mosquitoes during summer nights — annoying, but unavoidable. The poor attempt of convincing yourself it was just a kind gesture, a friend helping a friend, you couldn’t shoo away the nagging fact that nothing of your and Mingi’s past was platonic. Shame and guilt curled in the pit of your stomach. Knowing your soulmate was out there somewhere, probably waiting for you, while you were cozying up to a man who wasn’t meant to be yours in the first place was sickening.

The ding of your arrival sounded through the speakers and you quickly went first with Mingi hot on your heels. Unlocking your front door, you threw the keys in a bowl the shape of a fish — a housewarming gift from Hongjoong — and stripped your outerwear. It was first when you put your stuff aside that you realized Mingi was still standing by the door and hadn’t moved since crossing the threshold. The man was shamelessly taking in his surroundings and you wondered what he thought of your apartment. Was it to his liking? Did it suit you? Did he like it? Why did you care?

“Uhm, you can just hang your stuff here,” you gestured to the coat rack mounted to the wall, “while I get dinner ready.”

You didn’t wait around to see him subtly nod, instead you made an escape to the safety of your kitchen. It was weird having Mingi over. It was weird being civil to one another. The tension was still there since your last encounter, like static in the air that wouldn’t really go away. The soft pad of feet grew louder and you threw a look over your shoulder to see Mingi in the doorway, his bottom lip caught between his teeth and eyes darting all over the place. Aside from his appearance, it seemed that his habits hadn’t changed — good as bad — but it wasn’t your place to pry. Not anymore.

“Is it alright if I… wash up now?”

A heat crawled up your neck and attacked your cheeks. “Y–Yeah, of course!” You cleared your throat and continued, “The bathroom is on the left of the hallway and there are towels in the cupboard above the washing machine.”

Mingi nodded, but didn’t budge from his spot. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants and leaned against the doorframe to take on a relaxed posture, yet he looked anything but relaxed.

“I… I– Uhm, don’t… I kinda don’t have a spare set of clothes to change into…”

“Oh… Oh!”

“Yeah,” he inhaled sharply through his teeth, a low hiss escaping as he tried to ignore the stiff atmosphere.

“That’s alright! I think I have something you can use. Uhm, you can start washing up while I see what I can do.”

Rummaging through your closet for your brother’s clothes to lend Mingi wasn’t something you ever imagined doing in all your years of living, but here you were. Hunched over, searching like a madwoman for an extra hoodie and some basketball shorts or a pair of sweatpants that wouldn’t be too small on the giant currently occupying your bathroom. Your brother had been in your apartment a grand total of three times and by some stroke of luck, he’d left behind clothes he thought might come in handy for his next visit. Who knew they’d be useful for more than just that?

You didn’t find a hoodie, but you did spot a black compression shirt and a pair of matching sweatpants that would have to do. You just hoped they wouldn’t be too tight. To be on the safe side, you even snagged one of your brother’s boxers. It was one thing to share clothes and another thing to share underwear, but if you got to choose, you’d happily accept the fresh pair instead of reusing your sweaty undies. The choice was up to Mingi in the end. With the clothes neatly folded in your hands, you marched toward the bathroom and triple knocked on the door.

“Uh, I found some clothes you can use!”

The harsh drops of the shower abruptly stopped and you patiently waited for a response, but nothing came. You raised your hand, fingers balled into a fist, and as you swung it forward to knock again, the door suddenly opened. A cloud of steam escaped from the hot bathroom and Mingi’s very naked body appeared in the slight opening. His stomach was a perfect display of muscle, each of the six abs sculpted like marble. You would’ve ogled longer hadn’t the raspberry and plum colored blemishes covered a huge part of his toned skin. His hair dripped on the tiled floor and a white towel hung dangerously low on his hips. The warmth tickling your whole body evaporated into a numbing cold at the bruises. Swallowing nervously, you forced your eyes back up.

Mingi flicked his head sideways to move the wet strands from his face and his tongue darted out to lap at his dry lips, a motion you followed attentively. The raise of his brow, a silent question urging you to speak up, had you stumbling over your words.

“S–So, I... I, uh, found something you can… change into!”

The clothes were thrust harshly into his bare chest, and Mingi nearly dropped the towel in order to catch them. Before he could utter so much as a "thanks," you bolted back to the kitchen and whipped out leftovers from last night. Anything to keep you busy and distracted from the jaw-dropping image that refused to leave you alone. Mingi eventually joined you in the kitchen. He leaned against the counter beside the stove, where you guarded the kimchi stew from overheating, and crossed his arms over his chest. The already prominent muscles grew more defined beneath the tight fabric. It was difficult to ignore his gaze peering down at you, and you couldn’t decide if your cheeks flared from a natural bodily reaction or from the heat of the stove.

The circular table behind you was already set, with a pair of utensils and plates aligned opposite each other. You removed the pot and placed it in the center of the table, silently beckoning Mingi to take a seat. His hair was still wet, but not dripping and despite wearing clothes, you couldn’t muster up the courage to look him in the eyes. The late dinner was done in a deafening silence interrupted by the clink of utensils and lip smacking. Not able to bear the thickness in the air, you cleared your throat and asked the first thing to pop up in your mind.

“Um… do you... want me to treat your bruises?”

The confidence you spent years mastering and using in your daily life deflated like a dramatic balloon flying around the room until it fell limply on the floor. Mingi was mid shoving food into his mouth and froze as soon as the words reached his ears. His lips were parted enough for you to catch a glimpse of his slightly crooked front tooth and a wave of nostalgia hit you square in the nose. The man before you had changed so much, yet not at all.

Mingi took a bite of the kimchi and rice to buy himself time to think your proposal over. It wasn’t a bad shout as you did have experience treating his wounds considering you were the one tending to him back in high school. He slowly chewed and swallowed, and you were starting to regret ever opening your mouth.

“Sure,” he answered while giving his full attention to the bowl of stew before him and you couldn’t have been more relieved. He didn’t have to see the way you bit the inside of your cheek, tightly gripped your spoon or raised your brows to your hairline.

The rest of the meal was eaten in silence and for once, you didn’t care if it wrapped around your throat and suppressed the air from entering your lungs. This was all so surreal. There wasn’t a day where you thought you’d be eating left-over kimchi stew with your ex-boyfriend and then agree to treat his wounds — the thing that drove you apart all those years ago. The universe worked in a funny way. Instead of bringing you closer to your soulmate, it led you straight to the past.

Putting the bowls in the sink, you gestured for Mingi to return to the bathroom while you put away the dishes. It hadn’t dawned on you that by helping Mingi treat his wounds, you’d have to merge your personal bubbles into one and actually touch him, even if it was as much as a graze of your fingertips along his skin.

Rounding the corner of the hallway and stopping before the entrance to the bathroom with a medkit in your hands, you were caught off guard by the image before you. Mingi was seated on the toilet lid, hunched over with his forearms resting on his thighs. You could see the top of his head — something you rarely did back in high school — as he faced the tiled floor. A swoop in your stomach urged you to run your fingers through his strands, but the impulse was quickly shut down. You stepped into the bathroom with feigned confidence. Mingi looked up as your sock-clad feet came into view, your big toes wiggling nervously. You placed the kit on the sink and grabbed the things you needed, starting with alcohol wipes. There wasn’t much you could do about the colored bruises already turning an ugly shade of yellow and purple, but the few cuts — like the one on his bottom lip and around his eyebrows — were easier to treat.

“This may sting,” you whispered, shuffling closer to him.

Mingi parted his legs to give you better access to his face. You put a finger beneath his chin and tilted it upward before gently dabbing the wipe against his brow ridge. A hiss filled the bathroom, but you didn’t stop cleaning the wound. Despite not being in this situation since high school, when Mingi would get his ass beat in the boxing ring and show up at your door with new cuts adorning his face every other weekend, you still remembered all the steps of the treatment. They were etched into your spine and controlled your limbs without a strain.

Your lips were pressed into a thin line, your brows almost touching from how deeply furrowed they were and Mingi wanted to smooth out the skin between them, but did no such thing. Instead, he diverted his attention elsewhere and focused on your lips, which he’d argue was the worse choice of the two. Scooping a generous amount of ointment on a Q-tip, you dabbed it on the cut and finished it off with a small band-aid that smoothly blended in with his hue. You tried to put off treating his lips, but apparently even Mingi had a limit to how many punches to the face he could take, and you eventually had to bite the sour apple and just get it over with.

It had been silent since you warned him about the sting from the alcohol wipes, broken only by a few of his grunts and hisses. Yet, the silence never felt as loud as it did in that moment when you cupped his chin in your left hand and stared intently at his plump lips. A determined heat swirled in your eyes and Mingi couldn’t look away. It took everything in him not to instinctively bite down on his bottom lip or run his tongue over it.

“Relax your lips,” you said, brushing your thumb along the bottom row.

You didn’t realize what you had done until a second later and Mingi couldn’t chuckle at your appalled expression, as he was equally frozen in place. Both of you were left wide-eyed, mouths hanging open and brains going haywire. A pleading sparkle glimmered in his dark eyes, but you refused to give in, keeping your focus on his lips — lips that were so kissable. Warmth washed over you and there was nothing you wanted more than for the ground to swallow you whole. The weight of his burning eyes was too heavy for you to bear, so you tried to redirect the attention by doing the one thing you did best — talking.

“Are you still fighting?”

It seemed to do the trick as Mingi broke out of the captivating spell. In an exhausted tone, the one you’d hear between a couple constantly bickering and reaching their end, he breathed out your name.

“I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

You hastily applied the ointment and retracted your hand, but Mingi was faster. He grabbed your wrist, his thumb landing on the soulometer in the quick act and an electric crackle burst where your skin connected. A beat or two passed before he decided to speak up.

“I am fighting, just not as much… I kinda feel bad for my soulmate.” The corner of his mouth pulled up in a faint smirk and a chuckle followed at his poor attempt of easing the awkward air.

Your heart dropped into your stomach and you didn’t think it was possible for it to go any further from there, but hearing the rest of his sentence proved you wrong. Before the hollow feeling could reflect on your face, you forced the corners of your lips up in a fabricated smile. An identical smile to the one caught in a multiple of billboards all over Seoul.

“I wish mine would do the same. They always seem to find themselves in some trouble.”

A thick gulp ventured down his throat and the shaking panic in his eyes morphed into a forced calm. “I’m sure if they knew you were this worried, they’d stop running headfirst into danger.”

Five years had passed since the soulometer was injected into your wrist, enough time for your soulmate to change their ways, to stop giving their other half constant fear every night. Yet, it wasn’t the distance or the lack of knowledge about each other’s lives that weighed on your heart. The true reason lay deeper — your soulmate simply didn’t care enough to stop or perhaps they lacked the means to break free from the dangerous path they’d chosen. It was never about being physically apart, but about the emotional distance — the helplessness of knowing that, despite everything, they continued to surround themselves with danger. You didn’t have the heart to confide in Mingi about it, to express the quiet ache you carried, because saying it aloud would mean admitting that the person you loved was still caught in a cycle they couldn’t escape, or didn’t want to.

Truthfully, Mingi was also the last person you wanted to confide in about the matter.

“I guess so.”

The brief and accidental encounter with Mingi was supposed to stay a long lost media in your brain, cluttered together with other minor memories. That was what you told yourself as Mingi left your apartment, sweaty clothes in a trash bag and belly full of warm leftovers. The version of him you remembered from all those years ago still lived on in your imagination, the bitter note of how everything ended, a constant reminder as to why the encounter should just be that — short, consistent and insignificant. As the morning sun peeked from between the high buildings and the dark sky bleed out to a baby blue hue, you’d return to your everyday life of selling apartments while the dishwasher rinsed the memory of what occurred in the space of your four walls.

The open PDF on the computer screen illuminated your face and the bazillion numbers would’ve been overwhelming if your mind wasn’t occupied by the thoughts of a certain man with feline-shaped eyes and annoyingly juicy lips. Whatever you did — drown yourself in work, spend time with Hongjoong and Seonghwa, try out the new restaurant in town — nothing was good enough to forget Song Mingi and that night. The situation just felt so right. A domestic reality you yearned for since you graduated high school and moved into your own flat. The wish to have someone by your side, to stuff your face in greasy food, stay up late at night and watch a plethora of rom-coms while cuddled up to them, and sleep until the sun was high in the sky. Mingi re-awakened those feelings you locked away in a chamber behind your heart.

A stack of papers fell on your desk with a thud and pulled you out of your wishful thinking. Jongho, your freakishly strong colleague, plopped down on a vacant plush sofa that was mainly there for clients to use while discussing potential deals.

“You excited to get drinks after work?” He asked, tugging on his perfectly made necktie.

You massaged your forehead, completely having forgotten about the collective outing you and your co-workers had every month. “Is that today?”

“Whoa, don’t tell me you, the most unforgettable person I know, forgot about our end-of-the-month-party!? Woo is gonna have a blast when I tell him!”

Jongho didn’t question your sudden loss of memory at first. The younger agent found the situation perfect for a round of teasing or perhaps even as future blackmail material. Concern flashed in his eyes when you made no attempt to defend your honor and instead buried the rest of your face in the palms of your hands.

“Hey… is everything… alright?”

“Yeah… No? I don’t know.”

Something was really wrong because you were never tired. In fact, Jongho had never seen you without a smile or a spring in your step. You were always collected, whether it was your clothes, hair or mood. Fire alarms went off in his head and plans be damned if he didn’t at least try to figure out what was going on. It was easier said than done, though, because he didn’t know how to approach the topic and ended up sitting there with his mouth parted like a fish out of water. The overthinking was starting to trigger a headache, so he settled on the simplest, but hopefully, most effective question he could think of.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No.” Your reply was instantaneous. “I need to not think about it.”

A mischievous gummy smile spread across his face. “You just signed yourself up for regret, my dear friend.”

As you were about to ask to elaborate, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called out for the biggest menace in the company.

“Wooyoung-ya!”

Albeit curious, the pair didn’t try to fish out context clues or the story behind your emotional state. Wooyoung lived up to Jongho’s promise of making you regret joining them for drinks and it didn't stop there. They both continuously visited your office throughout the rest of the shift. Wooyoung would nonchalantly enter the room as if he didn’t have anything up his sleeve, step up to the window and inspect the wilted plant burning up from being in the sunlight for too long, when he was actually throwing you curious glances from the corner of his eye. Then, before quickly taking his leave, he’d subtly slide you a packet of gummies and run as if his life depended on it. One would believe you were engaging in some shady transaction that would definitely make you both lose your real estate license.

Jongho was a different story. The youngest of the trio wasn’t good with his words, but the affection could be read through his actions. Although they were questionable. He, too, invaded your room in subtle fashion and touched everything that didn’t require human contact — your Sanrio figurines, picture frames, ornaments still up from Christmas. While it was annoying in the moment, their antics kept you from circling back to the one person who had made his grand return after five years of radio silence. Good thing you hadn’t planned on rekindling that flame ever again. But what was written in your calendar didn’t align with the universe.

The happy hour had ended a while ago, and while Jongho and Wooyoung made sure to get you home first, your stomach rumbled the second you stepped foot into the apartment. What better meal to have in a tipsy state than some ramen?

The trip to the corner shop was supposed to be quick and relaxing — a weak attempt to distract yourself from the headache blooming at the back of your head. Perhaps that was why you weren’t fully aware of your surroundings, stumbling into racks displaying different flavors of chips and accidentally knocking things out of place. You purposefully ignored the scorching gaze of the cashier and hastily moved to hide between the aisles. But what you didn’t expect was for another figure to round the opposite corner, causing you to bump headfirst into them. The ramen cups and energy drinks piled up in their basket tumbled to the floor, and you quickly crouched down to gather as many things as your arms would allow.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!”

The person didn’t say anything and you expected them to be very annoyed, but that wasn’t the case. The familiar face looking down at you with a tight-lipped smile caused you to freeze on the spot.

“Hey.” Mingi flared his fingers in what was supposed to resemble a wave, but it came off more awkward than intended.

A painful cramp fluttered at the back of your neck as the position wasn’t the most comfortable, your head craned uncomfortably as you looked up at him, the strain making it feel like it might snap at any moment. Yeah, the university wasn’t on your side.

“Here.”

He knelt down to be at your level, though it would never really match, and urged you to place the belongings in the basket. It was impossible to tear your eyes from him, but Mingi didn’t notice your stare as he gathered the unscattered snacks and drinks in the carrier. Once was a coincidence, twice is a pattern, you thought and swallowed thickly.

“Alright, let’s stand up.”

He rested his arm on his propped-up knee, while the other hand was held out for you to take. On a count of three, you both stood up simultaneously and your hand immediately returned to your side.

“What are you doing here?”

The question came off more like an interrogation than a casual inquiry and you winced at your loose tongue. Mingi didn’t seem to care though.

“Nothing much, just wanted a late night snack.” As if you didn’t understand, he grabbed one of the ten ramen cups in his basket and gently shook it. The contents rattling together and overpowering the whirring sound of the freezers. “What about you?”

“Ah, same here…”

Mingi glanced down at your empty hands and smacked his lips together, “Cool.”

“Yeah…”

The young cashier who couldn’t be older than a high school graduate nearly suffocated from the sudden thickness in the convenience store.

“Uhm, you gonna get anything?”

“What? Oh! Right! Let me just…” You trailed off and darted over to the refrigerators, grabbing the first thing that came into view.

You snagged a bag of shrimp chips on your way back too. Banana milk and shrimp chips, what a combination! The reasons for your late-night adventure had started with the craving for ramen, but somewhere between the aisle mishap and the distraction of other snacks, the noodles had been completely forgotten. In the meantime, Mingi moved over to the cashier register and patiently waited for the kid to scan his items.

You shuffled behind him and Mingi turned sideways, one of his brows cocked up. “Here, give me that.”

Before you could protest or dodge his advances, the items in your hands were stolen from beneath your nose and placed on the counter.

“Hey, no, I can pay for that.”

“Don’t worry.”

“Mingi–”

“I said don’t worry about it.” There was a certain finality to his tone that told you there was no point in further arguing. Mingi swiped his card as the cashier packed your things in two separate plastic bags.

Standing outside the Seven-Eleven, you stuffed your hands into the pockets of your coat, the handles of the bag clinging to your wrist. “You didn’t have to do that. I can pay for myself.”

Mingi’s breath escaped in a cloud of vapor, lingering in the cold air before it dissolved into the sky. The corner of his mouth lifted into a one-sided grin.

“I know.”

Never letting you pay for anything was just another addition to the long list of habits he still clung to since high school. Mingi really hadn’t changed, and you couldn’t deny the disappointment that settled in as you witnessed it.

“Good. Then I’m leaving now. Good night.” You turned on your heel and began walking in the direction of your home.

“W–Wait! Let me walk you home.”

You didn’t spare him a glance. “No need for that. This is one of the safest neighborhoods in Seoul, actually.”

Another ‘I know’ died on his lips. If anyone on this earth knew how out of danger you were, it would be Mingi.

“T–That’s good, but... it would help me sleep at night if I knew you got home safely.”

After all this time, you still had a hard time telling him no. Sighing, you shrugged your shoulders in defeat, your resistance crumbling despite yourself. “Fine, you can walk me home.”

The walk was short, but lasted longer than ever and you were regretting your choices of not standing your ground against him. You would never admit it out loud, but his dimpled smile and two moles were your greatest weakness and there was no way you’d ever win against them.

Mingi cleared his throat. “What have you been up to? You know, since high school.”

“Have you thought about what college to apply for?” Mingi asked and intertwined his fingers across his abdomen.

“I don’t know,” you told him truthfully.

You lay on the grass, staring up at the night sky. The black canvas was dotted with a million, billion stars, leaving no space untouched. It had been Mingi’s idea to go stargazing, but considering neither of you had a driver’s license or the energy to trek up a mountain in the middle of the night, you figured the view wouldn’t be any different from your backyard.

He turned to you and followed the outline of your profile. God, you were beautiful. “Really? How come?”

“I don’t know. I feel like there are so many options, like how will I know what’s good for me.”

“Whatever you choose, sugar, you’ll figure it out. You always do.” Now it was your turn to face him and he flashed you a reassuring smile.“Sometimes, the best choice is the one that feels right in the moment.”

“...Being with you feels right.”

Nothing could compare to back then. Sure, you experienced fleeting moments of happiness, but they didn’t last longer than the life of a snowflake. Did Mingi ask that to see if you were still stuck in the past? If your time together was the peak of your happiness? He didn’t get to do that. To slither his way into your heart and admire everything you had been through without him by your side.

“Nothing special. I’m a real estate agent, so I’ve been busy selling houses and apartments.”

“Nothing special my ass. That’s amazing. But what is expected of the smartest girl in our high school, huh? I always knew you’d achieve great things.”

Blood pooled beneath your cheeks, burning hotter than a fever of thirty-nine degrees, and you hated how, despite everything, he still turned you into a giddy high school girl who made eye contact with her crush. To be fair, it wasn’t too far from the truth and that was a scary realization on its own. All it took was a measly compliment and you turned to mush.

“What about you? What are you doing these days?”

A silence stretched between you far heavier than anything you had ever felt before. It was as if the question had torn through some fragile barrier, leaving him exposed. His eyes, once sharp and filled with glee, now seemed distant, as though searching for something lost. You could feel the weight of the pause, like a storm brewing in the space between you. What was he really doing these days? More importantly, what had he been doing all this time out of your reach?

“A little bit of everything. Anything I can get my hands on, really.”

“You didn’t study after high school?”

“You know school wasn’t my strongest suit. Stuffy classrooms and obnoxious teachers talking my ear off never got me anywhere, I mean, I barely passed high school. I was more comfortable with my hands in motion and figuring things out as I went. School was ever it for me. It always felt like I was waiting for something that never came.”

Mingi wasn’t wrong. Although he was a smart kid, staying awake studying until the dead of night and then working an underpaid nine-to-five job wasn’t for him. But you couldn’t shake away the bitterness of how he threw away the opportunity of a normal life with you for a bloody ring and a life of unpredictability. The punches he took in that world weren’t just physical — they hit somewhere deeper, somewhere you couldn’t reach. You had always wanted something more stable, something real to hold on to, but Mingi had chosen the chaos, the fight, over everything else. Perhaps that was why the universe decided not to tie your red string to his pinky, knowing it would hurt you more than his decision.

Coming to a stop outside your apartment, the memory of your first encounter after a few years still fresh in your mind.

“Like boxing?”

Mingi’s eyes softened, but he didn’t speak, his mouth pressing into a thin line. The silence between you both was heavy, filled with things unsaid. It was the kind of silence that made your heart ache, knowing that there was so much left unresolved between you, yet you couldn’t find the words to fix it.

“Good night, Mingi,” you finally said, taking a shaky breath as you turned back to your door again.

The finality in your tone hung in the air like a weight neither of you could lift. You didn’t look back as you reached for the door handle, but you knew Mingi was still there, standing in the same place, holding onto the same regrets.

Reaching your apartment, you flicked on the lights and quickly discarded your outerwear. You turned on the switches in every room and placed the bag of goods on the kitchen table.

Disappointment fueled every movement. Grabbing a pot from the lower cupboard, you filled it with water, not caring as it splashed everywhere. When you set it down on the stove, you didn’t bother being careful, letting it thud onto the surface. You waited — oh-so-patiently — for the water to reach its boiling point and shoved a hand into the plastic bag. The expected rustling of plastic and cold drinks didn’t come. Instead, you felt the hard, smooth texture of something else. Knitting your brows together, you took hold of the square object, no bigger than a container of pudding.

In your palm was a plastic box of peeled and cut oranges.

Your head rested on your folded arms, eyes cast on the baby-blue sky taunting you from behind the windows. It was a beautiful day. What a shame you were stuck in a room with thirty other kids and no air conditioning. Your homeroom teacher was late — an uncanny occurrence, considering she always emphasized the importance of being on time and never failed to follow through. Until today.

The door to the classroom slid open with a thud, but the class had yet to quiet down, and by that single reaction, you knew it wasn’t Ms. Choi who had entered. The previously loud chatter of your friend group turned into hushed whispers and skittish snickers that reached your ears, but you didn’t bother to see what had gotten them so giggly. It was probably Jihoon, the new boy in class, who effortlessly managed to twirl every girl around his finger with just a look. He wasn’t your type — you preferred them tall, lanky, and clumsy. Jihoon was on the shorter side and had muscles that seemed unnatural for a sixteen-year-old. Plus, you weren’t into soccer boys. No, your style was more martial arts.

A hand, twice the size of yours, appeared out of nowhere and placed a clementine — your favorite fruit — on your desk, just inches from your face. Your eyes widened, staring at the bright fruit in disbelief. Groggily, you pushed away from the comfortable spot against the desk, only to quickly notice the figure looming over you.

Song Mingi.

“You skipped lunch,” he stated nonchalantly, offering an explanation for the sudden appearance of the fruit.

The muffled squeals of your friends, combined with Mingi’s unexpected act of chivalry, sent heat rushing to your cheeks, leaving you flustered and unsure of how to react. Gift-giving and small acts of service weren’t foreign between you and Mingi. He always seemed to know your cravings, bringing you peeled fruit and sugary snacks without you ever having to ask. In return, you tended to his cuts, massaged the tension from his neck and shoulders after heavy training, and always seemed to find ways to care for him without words. But that was done in private, never in public. Especially not in front of your friends who were having a field day with his new revelation.

“Ah,” Mingi breathed out, picking up the orange once more.

Silently, he peeled off the thin skin, revealing the vibrant fruit hidden beneath. But he wasn’t done yet. With a casual movement, he stuffed the citrus-scented rind into the pocket of his school uniform before carefully removing the white pith wedged between the clementine’s segments. You didn’t like the white parts. His towering form caught the attention of the rest of the class and by now everyone intently watched the exchange.

The clementine looked bare now. He held out the fruit again, waiting for you to extend your hand, careful not to let it touch the surface of your desk. A yellowish stain colored his nails, a discoloration that wouldn't fade with just one wash, and the acidic smell lingered, even stronger now. It was the main reason you didn’t like peeling them in the first place.

Mingi, having heard your confession a few weeks ago, made it his mission to always give you peeled oranges. It warmed your chest to know he was keeping that promise.

Apparently, the universe wasn’t satisfied with your first and second encounters because the third one happened just a little less than a week later. You were meeting up with Hongjoong and Seonghwa at a nearby cafe to catch up on the hecticness of your lives — also known as gossip about your workplaces and bonding over the latest episode of When Life Gives You Tangerines. The name of the drama threw you down a steep hill of memories, but you stood up, dusted off your knees and trekked back up. You didn’t want to associate him with the family of fruit anymore.

The clock had just passed five-thirty AM and you were supposed to be there ten minutes ago. It didn’t help that you hit every red light possible. At least the weather was nice. Not a single cloud occupied the baby-blue sky and the spring breeze scattered butterfly kisses along your body. It could’ve been worse. You thought of gloomy clouds and cold rain, and immediately shuddered. Yeah, it definitely could’ve been worse.

The breath caught in your throat as a bus sped by, just a little over the limit. You exhaled in relief as it passed, but that relief was short-lived when you locked eyes with none other than Mingi on the other end of the sidewalk. It felt as if the universe were laughing in your face, throwing everything you didn’t want right at you. You’d take gloomy clouds and rainy weather over seeing Mingi again. The worst part was that it was a lie because even in the stormiest times, he managed to light up your surroundings, and the erratically beating heart in your chest served as your witness.

A black hoodie swallowed his towering frame and a pair of chunky headphones covered his head. You couldn’t see him that well, but you assumed the shining reflection around his collar was from his stacked necklaces. The cuts along his face had healed nicely — in fact, they were completely gone — and you wondered if your last encounter had anything to do with it or if he had just gotten better at dodging flying fists.

You always seemed to end things on a bitter note, yet you ignored the sourness on your taste buds and raised your hand in a small wave. He returned it with a tight-lipped smile and a subtle tug of his headphones, letting them rest around his neck instead. Mingi bit down on his bottom lip, seemingly contemplating something. Coming to terms with his thoughts, he raised a finger, wordlessly telling you to wait and threw a quick glance at the red light as if it would hurry up from a single look. Although you had every right to ignore him, you just couldn’t. You had always been weak when it came to him, never really able to tell him no and it appeared some things just never changed.

Mingi’s face lit up as the light turned to green. The man was so eager to cross the street — to get to you — that he didn’t bother checking both sides before walking out. Unlike the others, he missed the speeding vehicle zooming through multiple red lights and showing no signs of stopping. You felt it before you saw it. The spike in your left wrist, the rush of the arrow sky rocketing from zero to a hundred. Your legs moved on their own before you could form the first letter of his name. One moment you were rooted to the ground, eyes wide and mouth parted, and in the next you harshly collided with Mingi, hoping your spurt of strength was enough to knock him off balance and away from the dangerous metal chunk on wheels.

The world didn’t stop spinning, but time slowed down as Mingi fell backward. His hand came up to cradle your head, while the other slithered around your waist. Your own arms were pressed against his chest from the push you gave him. The landing was harsh, but Mingi took most of it as his back slammed against the pavement and your face became buried in the crook of his neck and shoulder. The passersby approached you with questions of worry and concern, their faces etched with confusion and anxiety at the entire situation. Everyone was a bit shaken up at the tragedy that could’ve been. Your body refused to cooperate and the only thing you could do was tangle your fingers into the material of his hoodie, clinging to it for dear life, trying to distinguish reality from imagination. How cruel — he had just returned to your life, only to almost be taken out of it again, permanently.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, his fingers massaging your scalp as the other hand scrunched up the back of your shirt.

A stutter of words slipped out, none of which Mingi could make sense of. He sat up, trying to get a better look at you, but you refused to part from the comfort of his chest. You didn’t need to see it to know your soulometer had calmed down — you felt it in every fiber of your being. Your soulmate was safe, and you were too, now that you were in the arms of a living, breathing Mingi.

“Please, sweets, I need to know if you’re alright.”

Desperation dripped from his voice like sticky honey falling from a dipper and it struck sharply in your core, bringing you back to the present.

“Okay,” you mumbled against his clothes, just loud enough for it to reach his ears and Mingi exhaled in relief. He pressed a kiss on your hairline and your heart fluttered at the domestic gesture.

A couple of strangers offered to call an ambulance, but Mingi waved them off, saying it wasn’t necessary and that no one was harmed — just a bit shaken up. He thanked them nonetheless and it did the trick as the crowd dissolved, the people returning to their everyday life, but with a story to slap down on the dinner table.

Mingi placed a palm beneath your left thigh as the other went around your waist to keep you sturdy as he got up from the pavement. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

It didn’t matter how much you wanted to tell him to let you down, that you could walk on your own and didn’t need a chaperone — the words wouldn’t roll off your paralyzed tongue. Feeling the stares of strangers burn into you, you hid your face in the crook of his neck and didn’t pull away until you were safely in your apartment. The entire journey home, you tried to wrap your head around the event: the near-death experience, your body taking over while your mind went slack, the sudden spike in your soulometer. You didn’t dare think about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t reached Mingi in time — if you were just a second too late, if you hadn’t noticed the car. A shiver ran down your spine, and you pressed your lips together to distract yourself from the tears threatening to soak Mingi’s hoodie.

You needed a distraction from the what-ifs, and you needed one pronto. Trying to focus on something other than Mingi being flattened by that stupid car, you racked your brain for something, anything else, when it suddenly hit you. In all the seven years you had your soulometer, it had never even grazed, let alone pushed hard against the other end of the scale.

Back inside your apartment, you plopped down on the sofa and dropped your head into your hands. A throbbing ache pulsed through every part of your head, and the constant buzzing of your phone wasn’t helping. You had an inkling of who it could’ve been, and as you fished it out of your bag, the hundreds of messages and missed calls from both Seonghwa and Hongjoong confirmed your suspicion. You sent them a reassuring text, apologizing for bailing on them and blaming it on your headache. Mingi was leaning against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed over his chest, and his feet crossed at the ankles. His eyes never left your hunched form. He was waiting — for a call, a sign, something that would tell him when to reach your side and offer his help.

In another life, you’d be flustered — happy, ecstatic that he was there, worried for your well-being, wanting to make you feel better. But the nagging thought of the situation — too perfect to be a coincidence — wouldn’t let you go. What were the odds of your soulmate and Mingi both being exposed to danger at the same time? How was it that Mingi’s body was void of bruises just as your soulometer stopped acting up?

Licking your lips, you inhaled shakily and found Mingi’s gaze. The pull to be wrapped in his arms was strong, almost unbearable and you wondered if he felt it too. The need to run your fingers through his hair, to rest your forehead at the junction of his neck and shoulder while he soothingly rubbed circles in your back. The feelings were more intense than back in high school, now full of want and need that you couldn’t satisfy by being in his mere presence. However, you were willing to put it aside in exchange for your question marks to disappear and there was only one person who could give it to you.

Your voice was raspy and weak, breaking mid-sentence as the words struggled to escape. With every ounce of vulnerability, you asked him, “Are we soulmates?”

Mingi didn’t move for a moment. He looked to the side, his jaw clenching as he uncrossed his arms and gripped the edge of the counter. It was inevitable, really. The question was bound to come up sooner or later, and he wasn’t a fool. Mingi didn’t live in a bubble separate from his worries. They were woven into his everyday life, especially since you’d crossed paths again after all these years, with you at the center of them. The anxiety hovered around you like planets orbiting the sun — always there, needing you to survive, but never able to get too close. Mingi never stopped thinking about you. Since your high school graduation, he’d found himself more often than not lying awake in the dead of night, thoughts circling back to you — wondering how you were, what you were doing, if you were happy. You had to be. Mingi only ever brought you pain and hurt, something he loathed himself for. The lies and secrets were the main reason behind it all, but the icing on the cake was his devotion to boxing, which had long surpassed his love for you. At least, in your eyes, because that was what he had allowed you to see — what he wanted you to think. It would make the end of your relationship easier, giving him a lie to hold onto instead of the truth.

But Mingi was tired of lying. He didn’t plan to re-enter your life to keep the same pattern in motion. He wanted to start a-new and whether he deserved it or not was up for debate, but he was going to try. For you. For himself. For your relationship.

“Yes.”

Then it all just stopped. The beat of your heart filled the silence of the world. The flicker of emotions was instant and irregular — shifting from relief and happiness to disbelief and anger. You couldn’t form a single thought, much less say anything. What could one say in such a moment? Realising your first and only love was more than that and had slipped away. The never ending fear and regret of losing the sole good thing in your life washing out to nothing, leaving you empty. It was good and bad. A war broke out in your head, scrambling to come to an understanding, but the tear between the two sides was so grave it was starting to hurt. The relief of finding your soulmate clashed with the idea that he was right beneath your nose this entire time, purposefully avoiding you for who knows how long.

A sting burned behind your eyes followed by a heavy pressure. Your throat closed up and yet you managed to get your question out.

“How… How long have you known?”

Mingi heaved in a breath. The weight of the situation pressed harshly against his chest as he realized the bear trap he set up years ago was beneath his foot.

“A little after the start of our third year in high school… When you were rushed to the hospital.”

You remembered it like it was yesterday. Someone thought it would be a funny prank to leave an opened peanut-chocolate bar in your locker, completely disregarding the gravity of the situation. That was almost a month after his eighteenth birthday — the day his soulometer was permanently injected into his body. Out of those three years, you dated for one and a half, and the last stretch of your relationship was apparently built on secrets and lies because he knew.

He knew and didn’t tell you.

You rose from your seat, your expression shifting from disbelief to frustration. Your brows furrowed, and your lips were pressed tightly together in fury. Mingi had never seen you so angry — not even when some older kids were making fun of Hongjoong for his height or liking boys.

“Why? Why wouldn’t you tell me about it? Mingi, we broke up and you didn’t think to tell me we were, are soulmates?!”

Your voice jumped from a whisper to full-out yelling, loud enough for your neighbors above and below to indulge in the dramatics, and Mingi flinched at the sudden rise in volume. A fire spread from his core to the rest of his body, growing hotter and more intense with each passing second. Despite how familiar the sensation was, it wasn’t his. You were angry beyond salvaging and no amount of water could douse the flames.

Mingi’s chest tightened as the answer to your long-awaited question tumbled out of him. “Because you deserved a better soulmate!”

Like that, a weight lifted off his shoulders. There was a very long pause where you just stared at each other, both waiting for the other to speak.

“Excuse me?” It was meek, barely above a whisper as you spoke and a sharp, breaking sound echoed in Mingi’s heart, like porcelain shattering. “You don’t get to decide that.”

Mingi hesitated, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the right words. You seized the opportunity to step in front of him. Unshed tears lined your waterline, one blink away from spilling over and kissing your burning cheeks. Mingi wasn’t any better. His eyes were glossed over and throat was dry. His fingers turned an alarming shade of white from gripping the counter, the veins in his hands more defined than ever.

“Why?”

“You weren’t happy with me…” Mingi’s voice cracked, tears welling in his eyes as he struggled to continue. “W–with me boxing… and I… I wasn’t ready to give up on that. I thought you d–deserved some happiness before you realized you were stuck with me f–forever.” His words came out choked, his chest heaving as the tears finally spilled over.

The salty tears extinguished the fire that had been brewing in you. What had felt like flames of hell now shrunk to nothing more than a spark, ready to fade. You reached out, your hands trembling slightly as you cupped his face, gently wiping away the tears that had fallen.

“You thought I wouldn’t choose you? Mingi, I was never asking you to give up on what you love. I just couldn’t stand seeing you put yourself in danger, not knowing if you’d come back to me… alive.” Your heart ached as the soulometer inside you throbbed painfully, a constant reminder of how deeply connected you two were.

Mingi had grown up in a boxing family. His father was a boxer, and his grandfathers on both sides were boxers too. It was only natural for the only child of the Song family to step into his relatives’ shoes and fall in love with the gruesome sport. However, it wasn’t the officiated matches or light sparring during training that had you worrying for Mingi. A little after Mingi turned eighteen, he realized that his talent could not only bring him medals, but money. A great sum of money, actually.

As the fortune started to come his way, you began to notice the change in him. He wasn’t just fighting for the thrill or the legacy anymore — it had become a business. The sport he had once loved, the sport that had connected him to his family, was now something more — something dangerous, something that had started to consume him. You watched as he took on bigger opponents, harsher training regimens and increasingly dangerous matches, all in pursuit of a prize that was slowly tearing away at the person you once knew.

You didn’t mean to put him in a tight spot, to choose between his first serious girlfriend and the illegal business that kept him independent. You also didn’t expect him to choose the latter. The decision stung more than you anticipated, the weight of it sinking in as you realized what it said about his priorities.

You were both young and foolish back then, believing the world was beneath your feet and that one wrong decision could crumble it all. Had you known you were bonded, tied together for all eternity, you would’ve approached him differently and you certainly never would’ve let him go.

“I didn’t know about the soulmate bond. I didn’t know you knew... and you still let me walk away. You were willing to let me go without telling me the truth? How could you think I’d leave you forever, knowing we were meant to be?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “I–I swear, I wanted to tell you. So many times. Every time I’d walk past your posters or hear about you from our mutual friends, I’d be one click away from calling you, but…”

The apology hung in the air like a weight, thick with guilt and regret. His voice trembled, each word choked back by the raw emotion clawing at him. The tears streamed down his face, unchecked. He turned his face slightly, the side of his cheek brushing against your palm, as if trying to hide from the pain, but your touch remained steady. You held him there, gently, as his sorrow poured out.

“Don’t hold back, Mingi. I’m not going anywhere, not now, not tomorrow, not ever… So please, talk to me.”

His chest hitched as he struggled to breathe, the weight of the words, the silence and the years of unsaid things crashing over him. Mingi knew he owed you this. An explanation, a reason for his sudden pull back all those years ago. He heaved in a breath and allowed the truth to spill.

“I just… I couldn’t,” he whispered. “Every time, I’d think about it and then–then I’d back out. I thought it was better this way. I thought maybe you’d be better off without knowing… that I wasn’t good enough, that I’d only mess things up. Jongho said you were ha–happy and I didn’t want to ruh–ruin that. ”

“You could never–”

“But I would!” He didn’t mean to shout, but the frustration and sadness, locked up for so long, didn’t hesitate to seize the first opening it saw. “I was still fighting… I never stopped. It only got worse after… after we broke up. The money was good, but the loneliness,” his voice wavered, “the loneliness was unbearable. The only time I ever felt anything was when I saw your face... or when I got beaten to hell.”

Your eyes darted around his face. Jumping from his eyes and lips to his nose and cheeks as if seeking a pressure point that would make all of his suffering evaporate into thin air. Mingi avoided your gaze and you massaged the apple of his cheek to catch his attention again. You never intended for the downfall of your relationship to put its claws in his back and leave a wound so grave it couldn’t heal on its own. In fact, you were so caught up in your own emotions that you didn’t think to take a moment and wonder how it would affect him. The guilt festered in your bones like a leech refusing to let go.

“I never realized how much you were carrying… I thought I was the one who was struggling, but maybe we both were. I’m sorry, Mings.”

“No.”

He shook his head in disagreement and your hand fell from his face. The loss of warmth was close to painful and Mingi, not wanting to be apart from you any more than necessary, grabbed your hand and guided it down to his chest, placing your palm above his beating heart — the organ that pulsed in rhythm to your own. Your fingers twitch to grab his shirt, to claw out his heart and keep it in the safety of your hands. To shield it from hurt and pain and agony. You never wanted him to feel such anguish again and you certainly didn’t want to be the reason behind it either. It tore you from within and the emotion wasn’t even yours to begin with.

“It’s not your fault. It was never your fault.”

“Mingi–”

“Stop it. You know if I’d just listened to you, if I’d stopped getting involved in stupid shit, none of this would’ve happened. There’s no one to blame but me.”

Tears still rolled down his cheeks and clung onto his lashes, though his eyes were sharp and firm as if daring you to challenge his words. If there was one thing you’d learned during the few years you dated Mingi, it was that once his mind was made up, nothing could change it.

“We are both at fault, love.”

The pinched expression on his face crumbled at the familiar call of endearment. His mouth parted slightly, and a constellation twinkled in his eyes — a sight you had missed incredibly. A twinge of hope flickered to life — hope that you could once be again, despite his careless acts of selflessness. His focus shifted between your eyes and with shaking hands he gently cradled your face, his touch not lighter than a ticklish flutter of a butterfly’s wings. Your own hands found purchase on his waist, fingers looping through the pouch of his hoodie as you instinctively leaned into the gentle pressure of his caress.

Mingi wetted his lips and brows scrunched together in a pleading demeanor. Something was plaguing his mind again and you could feel the train of thought reach out and graze your own, as if wanting you to get a glimpse. It didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t pleasant either. It felt full, crowded.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, Mings?”

“…You.” He took another breath, steadying himself, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can I… May I… I want to kiss you.”

Perhaps you should’ve said no. Perhaps you should’ve ignored him sitting on the steps of your apartment. Perhaps you shouldn’t have let him back into your life at all. But the thought of telling him no — robbing yourself of the feel of Mingi’s lips against yours — burned like hot acid in your stomach. So you did the one thing you were best at when it came to him, you gave in to your heart's desire.

“Then kiss me.”

Mingi didn’t need to hear you say it twice before he pulled your face up to his, lips smashing together as a flood of emotions erupted with the kiss — the kind of feeling only a romantic gesture like this could bring. You rose onto your toes, your hands gripping his wrists as if to anchor yourself in the moment. A low rumble vibrated from the back of his throat and you pushed harder against him. The kiss was intoxicating, yet liberating at the same time. You swiped your tongue along his bottom lip and he wasted no time parting them for you. The heat between you both deepened and each moment felt like it stretched on forever, the world around you fading into the background. His fingers grazing the side of your face, pulled you impossibly closer, as if there was no space left for anything but this shared intimacy.

The pounding of your heart filled your ears, a frantic rhythm that matched the urgency of his touch. You were caught in the gravity of the moment, caught between the need for air and the undeniable pull to stay, to keep kissing him like nothing else mattered and nothing mattered. Just you and him.

You felt one of his hands slither down your spine, a trail of firecrackers following the wake of his fingertips and sending shivers down your body. You couldn’t pull away — not yet. Not when everything inside you was screaming for more. Mingi pushed you closer to him, chests touching and hips meeting in a delicious press, that radiated between you both, causing every nerve in your body to hum with anticipation.

It was the need for oxygen that eventually broke you apart before the heated situation could be taken to the bedroom, with you pushed against the soft sheets and your legs tangling together. Your chests rose and fell in synchrony, trying to steady the breath that had been stolen in the heat of the moment. A crackle of electricity snapped around the room, the atmosphere still charged with the energy of your kiss, but both of you knew you couldn’t rush past this — there was so much more to say, the fact that you were soulmates, for one.

Mingi rested his forehead against yours, his breath was warm against your skin, quick and shallow, mirroring your own racing pulse. His eyes searched yours with a mix of intensity and vulnerability. He whispered your name, as if unsure how to bridge the distance between the desire in his chest and the emotions that were beginning to surface.

“We are soulmates,” you whispered before he could say anything else. It was more of a statement, a wake-up call for you than a fact. Your gaze dropped to the strings of his hoodie, the intensity of his stare made your knees feel weak.

Mingi didn’t reply. He rubbed gentle circles over your blouse on your lower back, a relaxing motion. You didn’t need to hear him say the two worded apology, you felt it in his soft touches.

“It was you… every time my meter went up… it was you fighting.”

He nodded, a solemn smile gracing his swollen lips. “Yes.”

“...But it hasn’t… gone up since–”

“Since you found me outside your apartment,” he finished for you. “I stopped shortly after that. I– uh, I realized that I wanted you. Or, well, I always knew, but that… that confirmed it. Mmm, I knew, though, that if I wanted us to be together, I’d have to change– stop! I’d have to stop doing the thing that made me lose you in the first place.”

“So… what does that mean for us?”

“It means… that if you want me to, I’ll peel your oranges for the rest of our lives.”

You wiped a stray tear from his cheek. “Even the white bits?”

The corner of his lips curled up in a grin, giving a glimpse of his crooked front teeth, and his eyes lit up like the night sky in the countryside.

“Especially the white bits.”

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