#who am i to judge (sarcasm)

[torchickentacos]

i will always shout praises of bi4bi but given recent discourse I feel the need to say that I love bi4het too! I just love bisexuality in general in its many forms, and anyone who only likes it when it's 'queer enough' for them is biphobic. Bisexuals should be able to bring their LaMe CiShEt BoYfRiEnD to pride without being made to feel like spectators and outsiders to their own event.

[enwoso]

right swipe, right time | alessia russo

-> based on this request🩷

masterlist

alessia didn't mean to download tinder.

well... okay. technically, she did. but it was through pure peer pressure. elite-level peer pressure.

it was one of those rare, peaceful nights on england camp. no media obligations. no early morning session. just music, snacks, and eight girls crammed into one hotel room in matching lionesses training hoodies, flopped on each other's beds with face masks and football socks still on.

"admit it," ella said, sipping from a bottle of lucozade. "you're hopeless. you haven't even looked at anyone since—what, 2021 when you got with that girl in-?"

"oi," alessia replied, shoving a pillow at her hoping the rest of the sentence wouldn't follow. "not everyone needs a tinder girlfriend and a backup date."

"i need to have a backup," ella scoffed. "just let us be your wing women."

chloe popped her head up from the floor. "you, though, less? you're like a nun with abs."

"excuse me?"

"i'm just saying, you've got biceps and absolutely no one to appreciate them. it's tragic really."

the teasing escalated until ella snatched alessia's phone, cackling. within minutes, the group was huddled around it, swiping through profiles with ruthless commentary.

then chloe stopped. "wait. wait. look at her."

the girl on the screen had sun-warmed skin, a long sleek ponytail with a silver chain around her neck and a smile like it came easy.

the profile read:

y/n, 26.

📍aussie in london

dog mum, football, coffee, beach, sarcasm. swipe right if you can deal with my accent😉

alessia blinked. "she's australian?"

"even better," leah said, not even looking up from her phone. "less commitment, more fun." ella laughed and swiped right before alessia could protest.

it was a match. you messaged first.

you: ‘so... you're the type who let her friends swipe for her?’

alessia: ‘and who told you that??’

you: ‘you did. in your bio. it says not my idea.’

alessia: ‘touché.’

you: ‘how do you feel about a flat white and great company.’

you were clever. funny, but not in the exhausting ‘trying-too-hard’ way. you admitted your accent made ‘no’ sound like ‘naw,’ were fluent in football slang props to having a football mad brother and dad growing up, and had some pretty strong opinions about oat milk.

on the second day you sent a photo of your dog - a tan mutt with ridiculous ears, one permanently flopped sideways.

you: ‘this is roo. he's 40% kangaroo, 60% drama queen.’

alessia: ‘did you really name your dog after a kangaroo?’

you: ‘duh what else am i supposed to name the most aussie thing i've owned while here in london?’

alessia laughed so hard she nearly dropped her phone.

you and alessia talked for hours. that night. the next day. the next. alessia didn't want to jinx it, but something about you stuck in her head.

so when you casually said on facetime, "i know a place that makes coffee almost as good as back home. want to judge it together?", alessia couldn't stop herself before she said yes.

⸻

you arranged to meet just outside of st albans, outside a quiet café nestled between a vinyl shop and a bookstore that always smelled like cedar. the place had one of those wood-paneled signs and hanging plants framing the doorway.

you were already there when alessia arrived — leaning on the railing, sunglasses tucked onto the top of your head, wearing black jeans, a red nike hoodie with a white tee poking out from underneath the hoodie making you look so effortlessly put together.

and you brought roo. a worn blue leash in one hand as roo sat obediently at your side with his tongue lolling out like he owned the street.

"so this is the infamous roo?" alessia asked as she crouched down to scratch behind his ear with a wide grin.

you grinned cheekily, "he wanted to see if you were worth my time."

"and?"

"jury's out, depends on how good your coffee order is"

inside, you and alessia sat at a corner table by the window, roo laid under the table, head on your foot like a sleepy chaperon.

the cafe was cozy, a little too warm with soft music playing and the smell of fresh espresso lingering in the air as the conversation flowed as if they'd known each other longer than a few days.

the two of you talked football, you had played through your youth before switching to the more fitness route of personal trainer. talked music types. favourite food. best goals.

alessia recounted her childhood to you about growing up with two older brothers who tackled her in the garden until she toughened up. you had similar instead yours was more squabbles with your brother about whose turn it was to chose what to watch on the tv.

the two of you laughed, a lot and alessia found herself more relaxed than she had felt in ages.

after coffee turned into a walk through the park, roo trotting between the two of you like he belonged to you and alessia. when you both stoped on a quiet bench, the city loud and buzzing behind them. you gently nudged alessia's shoulder.

"you've got a great laugh," you said, you voice a little softer now - not flirtatious, not teasing. just honest.

alessia blinked, caught off guard a little. "that's random."

you shrugged, but there was a flicker of something more vulnerable in your eyes. "just been thinking it all afternoon. every time you've laughed, i've wanted to hear it again. i dunno. it's like.. it sounds a little like home, even when nothing else here does."

that brought alessia up short — in the best way. her pulse fluttered a little. the wind tugged at a loose strand of hair near her cheek, and you reached out instinctively, brushing it back gently with the back of your hand.

"and," you added, gaze holding hers, "i-i really want to kiss you."

alessia didn't say anything at first. she just stared at you — at the slight flush on your cheeks, the careful tension in your posture, the way your thumb brushed against her own jeans like you were grounding herself.

"i thought you'd never say it," alessia said quietly almost whispering. you smiled, just barely.

alessia leaned in, slow and sure, her hand resting lightly on your arm. your faces hovered close, breath mingling in the space between the two of you. when your lips met, it wasn't fireworks or drama — it was warm, slow, and steady. like the start of something that didn't need to rush to prove itself.

alessia's lips were soft, patient — like she didn't want to take too much, just enough to say this is real.

you smiled into the kiss, nudging your nose against alessia's as she deepened it for just a heartbeat more, letting herself melt into the moment.

roo let out an exaggerated sigh at your feet, flopping down dramatically like he'd seen this all before.

you pulled back with a quiet laugh, your forehead resting lightly against alessia's. "well," you murmured, "guess you passed his test too."

alessia's grin was wide now. "should i be relieved or insulted that your dog is the final judge?"

"trust me," you said, brushing your thumb gently across alessia's hand, "he's got excellent taste."

⸻

fast forward a few weeks — text messages, video calls, one stolen weekend when you and alessia both had a spare weekend — and suddenly it was the champions league final.

most of alessia's teammates had someone in the crowd. family, partners, whole sections of fans in their shirts. alessia didn't expect anyone but her parents and family to be there.

so when alessia jogged out for warm-ups and caught a flash of that same sleek ponytail under a baseball cap, sitting behind the dugout with a massive arsenal flag scarf draped over your shoulders, alessia's heart just stopped.

you grinned at alessia from the stands and sent a message.

you: ‘go win it, star girl. i'm here. you've got this and you deserve this so much🏆’

the final whistle blew.

the roar hit first — a wave of noise so loud it felt like it shook the air itself. arsenal had done it. champions of europe. alessia stood frozen for a second, boots rooted to the grass, blinking up at the stadium lights through tears she hadn't realised were already falling.

a brutal, brilliant final. 90 minutes of fight. blood, grit, and everything they had left in them.

now there were arms around alessia — teammates screaming, laughing, crying — someone pouring champagne over her back, another dragging her into a pile-on. alessia laughed so hard she nearly dropped to her knees, adrenaline flooding her body until she was floating.

confetti exploded from the stands like rain. gold, silver, red — blinding under the floodlights. they lifted the trophy. alessia's medal felt heavy and strange around her neck, like it wasn't real yet.

somewhere in the middle of the chaos, she remembered to look toward the tunnel. and there you were.

you stood just past the barrier, half-hidden by stewards and staff, but alessia saw you instantly. somehow, even through the din, even with a stadium erupting around her, alessia's eyes found yours.

"you came?," alessia said breathlessly as she stumbled toward you, cheeks flushed, hair soaked, half-covered in sweat and sticky champagne. alessia's voice cracked on the last word.

you smiled — wide, proud, and maybe just a little teary yourself. "of course i did. you think i was gonna miss the love of my life win a champions league medal?"

alessia froze mid-step, slightly caught off guard. "you just said—"

you smirked, raising an eyebrow slightly . "too soon? i'm australian. we move fast."

alessia laughed, dazed and glowing, before pulling you into a quick, messy hug. a one you didn't want to end, at least not yet. but before either of you could say more, a voice rang out:

"well, well, well. whose this?"

chloe kelly. grinning like a madwoman, dragging leah along behind her, both still in full kit, cheeks streaked with war paint and joy.

leah narrowed her eyes. "wait hold up... this the aussie?"

"the tinder aussie?" chloe gasped. "you're real?!"

you, cool as ever, extended a hand, voice deadpan with just the right touch of theatricality.

"y/n. from sydney. like coffee, dogs, and a certain blonde striker who wears number 23."

chloe collapsed into giggles so violent she almost dropped her phone. "she's perfect. and you've been hiding her! wait till i tell ella about this!"

alessia groaned, trying to tuck herself partially behind you. "can everyone not make this a thing?"

"too late," leah declared, already snapping a photo. "group chat is getting this in two minutes. tooney is gonna have a field day!"

you leaned toward alessia's ear, your voice low and warm beneath the chaos. "i'm stealing you in five minutes. you've earned my full attention and unlimited kisses for the night and maybe the rest of eternity!"

alessia turned to face you, her medal bumping softly against her chest. her eyes were tired and shining. "only if i get the right side of the bed."

you grinned. "done. whatever you wish, with my hoodie on the side"

and then, right there, in front of teammates, staff, her family, and 60,000 still-cheering fans — you kissed her. it wasn't rushed. it wasn't shy. it was the kind of kiss that told everyone watching: this is real.

alessia leaned into it, one hand finding the hem of your coat, the other curled into your hoodie, grounding herself. you tasted like mint and stadium air and something steadier, something safe.

when you finally pulled back, alessia's smile was soft and breathless. for once — champagne in her hair, confetti in her eyelashes, teammates heckling in the background — alessia didn't care about the noise, the cameras, or what tomorrow would bring.

for once, the chaos was absolutely worth it. alessia had swiped right for the right person. her right person

[daisyomens]

Michael Sheen once said that TV shows are better than movies because there's real character development. And it's true.

Watching Good Omens again, I could see a slight difference between the Aziracrow of today and the Aziracrow of before.

Can't you see how Aziraphale is so much more haughty and arrogant during the Job episode than he is now? He raises his chin on many occasions, allows himself to roll his eyes, openly judges others…

Another example: when Crowley changes his name. I wouldn't say Aziraphale looks down on him, but it seems like it, maybe just jealous that he can change his first name so easily, maybe.

In comparison to Crowley who, if I dare say, clearly doesn't know how to behave with him: aka when he says "you? a demon? with your little curls" when it's clearly not the right time. We can also see his smile fall when he notices the angel's reaction.

Add to that his sarcasm, which seems to weaken over time. Indeed, if we pay attention, at first he is sarcasm all the time (if we exclude his angel time), then every other time, then almost no more or only when Aziraphale really wants him.

“You’re an angel I don’t think you can do the wrong thing.”

“A new thing called a Rainbow.”

“How kind.”

“Come to make fun of him?”

“What a stupid question is that. What else am I gonna be ? An advaark ?”

That's why they need each other. They balance each other. They evolve together and become attuned to each other.

Crowley slows down his sarcasm because it annoys the angel, and vice versa for Aziraphale. Of course, there's the experience of their many years on Earth that plays a role, but other than that…

All this to say that Michael Sheen is right.

[aftertheleaving]

Not A Threat III

Pairing: Damian Wayne x Reader

Warnings: Language, Batfamily chaos, Bruce Wayne being Bruce, sharp sarcasm, weapon nerding

Notes: ok so. here’s part three because apparently y’all want me dead. enjoy your batboys, your chaos, and your overachieving intern. if you cannot tell I suck at labelling so if it is, in fact, mislabelled, I am sorry.

1, 2, 3

SCENE 1: The Test Run

You didn’t expect your first day in R&D to involve Lucius Fox handing you a tray of prototype batarangs and saying, “Make one.”

You stare at the spread. There are like—twelve different types. Folding, impact-reactive, EMP-loaded, carbon-tipped. Half of them are labeled in acronyms no sane person should understand.

You point at one.

“What’s this?”

“Thermal-returning,” Lucius says. “It’s supposed to recalibrate to the user’s handprint when thrown. Doesn’t work right.”

You squint at the blueprints. Study. Cross-check. Frown.

Fifteen minutes later, you hand him a functioning replica.

Lucius blinks. “Already?”

You nod. “Blueprints were messy. Overspec’d. Like, no one simplified the magnetic circuit path. Looked fancy but didn’t need to be.”

He flips it over in his hand. “...You looked at that diagram for thirty minutes.”

“I needed to figure out how not to build it,” you shrug. “Once I knew what not to do, it was easy.”

Lucius just whistles.

“Alright. Remind me never to challenge you to a wiring contest.”

“Please do,” you grin. “I like crushing rich men’s egos.”

From the shadows, you swear you hear someone choke on their coffee.

SCENE 2: The Batboy Gauntlet

They descend one by one.

First Dick, smiling like you’ve already been adopted. Then Tim, who stares at your half-built mini drone with scientific awe. Then Jason, who’s eating something and already calling you “Sparky.”

“Okay,” you say slowly, surrounded. “Why are you all here?”

“Bruce said the new hire was scary smart,” Tim says.

“So we came to judge for ourselves,” Jason adds.

“I brought cookies,” Dick offers. “Bonding food.”

You stare at the plate in his hand.

“...Are those shaped like little bats?”

“I bake when I’m nervous.”

Damian walks in. Sees you surrounded. Immediately bristles.

“Do you not have work?”

“She’s fun,” Jason says. “Can we keep her?”

You blink. “Okay. All of you need therapy.”

“You say that like we haven’t had twelve therapists quit,” Tim mutters.

Dick just hands you a cookie.

You take it.

It’s really good.

SCENE 3: Bruce Wayne Suspicious Dad Mode

You find yourself in a cave. At 2 a.m. Sitting across from Bruce Wayne. Alone.

No coffee. No warning. Just cold Batdad energy and a file with your resume in it.

He doesn’t speak for like… two minutes.

You break first.

“Is this where you ask if I’m evil?”

“No.”

“…Do I look evil?”

“You look efficient.”

You squint. “That’s not a compliment, is it.”

He slides a paper across the table.

“Explain this.”

It’s your sketch of a gauntlet upgrade. You’ve annotated it with profanity and sarcasm.

“Oh,” you say. “That’s just a joke. The original design sucked. It had twelve circuits doing the job of three. I was mad.”

“You redesigned it.”

“Yeah. So it doesn’t explode.”

Bruce studies you.

“What do you know about classified R&D infrastructure?”

“Not enough to break anything. But probably enough to improve it.”

He raises a brow.

“Where’d you learn security protocol?”

“…Reddit.”

He blinks.

“That’s either a lie or concerning.”

“I’m not sure which answer you want, so I’m just gonna say: uhhuh, sure.”

Bruce sits back. Thinks.

Then:

“You’ll do.”

SCENE 4: Rooftops & Blueprints

You’re cross-legged on the floor of the cave’s workshop, pencil in your mouth, blueprints spread around you like chaos incarnate.

Damian’s leaning against the wall. Watching.

“You’re quiet,” you say without looking up.

“You work like a storm,” he says.

You glance up.

“That’s either romantic or an insult.”

“Observation.”

You snort, shifting the page.

“I’m trying to upgrade the Batplane’s stealth field. Your dad’s design works but it’s bulky. If I thread the power matrix through the frame, I can cut the weight and stabilize the cloaking field at lower altitudes.”

Damian steps closer.

“That’s not in any blueprint.”

“I know,” you say, grinning. “That’s why I’m making it.”

He watches you for a long moment. Then sits beside you, cape folding neatly around him.

You don’t say anything. Neither does he.

You just work. Together.

And for once, the cave is quiet.

also—sorry I haven’t been posting these last two days!! I had to go to the optician and was told very seriously not to write or go online for more than 30 minutes a day, because apparently if I keep staring at stuff close-up 24/7, I will literally go blind. so!!

this part was written over the last couple days, only in little 30-minute bursts. I even put a lockdown on my devices and made my younger brother set the password so I couldn’t cheat. dedication or crazy? both. also if you couldn’t tell, I had zero ideas, like zilch, for what to do plot-wise, so instead I just went with a bunch of little snippet scenes instead of one big cohesive thing. most of these were born in the shower and I had to keep repeating them out loud until my next 30-minute writing window opened up.

Anywayyy tags:

@ur-mums-house @datgurl-rhea @corvoqueen

I tried to tag @123-just-ignore-me but it ain't working, so.

[not-the-coffee-machine4]

Ooooh I have thoughts. First off I wanna say that there’s nothing inherently wrong with being promiscuous and anything that happens between consenting adults is their business.

But for the sake of discussion. Given that he himself will readily admit to Getting Some At High Rates, and even Brian called him hedonistic/pleasure seeking, I don’t necessarily think people overplay it…but I DO think people *reduce* him to it, and that’s the real problem

Like they see Mr. Drummer with Blond Hair and Blue Eyes and they see how girls threw themselves at him and they make a great deal of assumptions and—to quote something Brian once said—put two and two together to make five. Thus, not only does his reputation get played up but his intelligence and insane musicianship get played down

To quote Brian again: “Roger is…exceedingly bright. I mean Roger is, intellectually, extremely bright, you cannot keep up with Roger unless you have all your wits about you and you don’t sleep. He’s sharp, he’s bright, he’s witty, and he’s in touch with the world”

First off, if BRIAN MAY is saying that about you, I feel like that’s a good sign. But not only is this Brian saying this about someone, it’s him saying it about someone who we know he’s gone ‘round and ‘round with on anything you care to suggest for the past 50 years. So I feel like he knows what he’s talking about. Roger is a pretty bright bulb. Plus…just listen to him talk, or listen to his lyrics (his solo lyrics, mostly). If you actually do that, he comes across as someone with a great deal of intellect, who is opinionated and informed.

But all this is routinely ignored in favor of his “slutty” reputation. And given the fact that it’s usually him that people focus on nowadays in that regard and not Freddie (who got just as much action if not more, although he was not spared in the press at the time either), I do think it has something to do with the fact that he was “the pretty one” who was sort of soft-looking and somewhat androgynous. And I do wonder if his accent had something to do with it. I find it really cool how all four of them had slightly different accents and Roger I think had the “thickest” or least posh in a way. I’m not British, but here across the pond there’s a stereotype that comes with a Southern accent; that the people who talk like that are all dumb or simple-minded, which obviously is not the case. I think I’ve heard of Brits saying there’s a similar kind of accent hierarchy thing in the UK but I’m not really well-versed so I won’t speak too much on it. But it’s interesting to think about

TLDR: Roger deserves more credit for his big brain which is not, in fact, diminished just because he had a lot of sex and his mainstream legacy as a musician should be focused on things other than his nighttime life which really isn’t anyone’s business anyway 👍🏻

I read an "interview" of Roger's very first girlfriend when he was about 14-15.According to her he was a really gentle boy and shy.She thought that it must've taken a lot of effort for him to appear confident in public.I have also read in some other ask that Roger was kinda low at the early 70s due to issues in his personal life(car crash, parents' divorce etc)In conclusion it stated that his rock slut persona is kinda overplayed.It was usually girls chasing him and not as much the opposite.

She wasn’t really his girlfriend and certainly not his first one though. How his friends + real gf described him is not at all that different from how we know him.

That his sluttery is overplayed is absolutely true though.

[doodle-pops]

Being A Modern Reader In Gondolin And Ending Up As Turgon’s Therapist

A/N: I felt like I was drunk when I wrote this yet hella proud at what I whipped up. Decided to give something humorous for our dear King. I rarely ever write for him. I hope you all enjoy this for Turgon!

Warning: crack, modern reader in Middle Earth, humour, a teeny bit of dark humour

Masterlist | Navigation

˚₊‧꒰ა You didn’t mean to fall into Middle-earth, obviously. One minute you were lying in bed reading The Silmarillion and judging the characters’ decisions with crisps in your lap, the next minute you were standing in the middle of Gondolin’s great square in your hoodie and socks, blinking at a bunch of impossibly pretty elves aiming spears at your face.

˚₊‧꒰ა After the initial panic, miscommunication, and someone declaring you a ‘Maiar of questionable attire,’ you got bundled up and dragged before King Turgon like some kind of weird little cryptid. You weren’t even allowed to finish your sentence explaining that no, you weren’t a threat, just very confused and maybe a bit chilly.

˚₊‧꒰ა They didn’t know what to do with you. You were clearly mortal, clearly odd, and very obviously not from around here. And by the time you were brought to Turgon, you were muttering things like, “Am I in some Renaissance fair simulation?” you’d already convinced three guards that you were a travelling jester, a wandering scholar, and someone named ‘Dave.’

˚₊‧꒰ა But when Turgon tried to question you and you started rambling—a chaotic mix of sarcasm, panic, and unsolicited psychoanalysis of his family issues — he sat there like you’d slapped him. Then nodded slowly and said, “Thou speakest...strangely. But perchance...wisely?”

˚₊‧꒰ა You laughed. Right in his face. “Dude, I have no qualifications for this.”

˚₊‧꒰ა “I have known many with qualifications who have spoken far less sense,” he’d replied dryly.

˚₊‧꒰ა Thus began your absolutely absurd new role in Gondolin as the king’s unofficial therapist. You got a cushy room in the palace, daily food deliveries (even if you missed chocolate and cheesecake terribly), and a schedule that consisted mostly of Turgon showing up unannounced at weird hours with what he called ‘matters of import’ and what you called ‘your weekly emotional constipation’.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Are you certain this is wise?” he asked once, after you interrupted one of his lengthy metaphors about destiny and doom with “Bro, just say you’ve got trust issues and call it a day.”

˚₊‧꒰ა “Absolutely not wise,” you said, “but it’s either me or that stone you’ve been brooding at for the past hour. I’m cheaper and marginally more entertaining.”

˚₊‧꒰ა You had zero training in psychology, but you did survive an apartment with a compulsive liar and three philosophy majors, so you considered yourself mentally prepared.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Thou art unlike any healer I have known,” he muttered once as you handed him a mug of herbal tea and told him to sit the hell down and stop monologuing like a Shakespearean ghost.

˚₊‧꒰ა You spoke with modern slang and didn’t bother adjusting it, which confused everyone, especially Turgon. You’d say things like “Bro, that’s a red flag if I’ve ever seen one,” and he’d nod solemnly and ask if red banners were a sign of ill fortune in your realm.

˚₊‧꒰ა Your sense of humour didn’t help either. You told him straight-up that his entire family needed therapy, a good punch-up, and maybe some hugs (though you weren’t going to provide the last bit personally because you had boundaries).

˚₊‧꒰ა “Have you ever considered that maybe your obsession with secrecy and control is rooted in unprocessed grief and inherited trauma?” you asked him once while playing with a fidget spinner you’d had in your hoodie pocket the whole time.

˚₊‧꒰ა He blinked slowly. “What…is that device?”

˚₊‧꒰ა “An artefact of my homeland. Helps me not scream.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He genuinely called you “Wise Counsellor” in public once. You choked on your tea and told him if he didn’t stop, you were going to have a full existential breakdown in front of Idril.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Then would that not be an honest expression of thine inner torment?”

˚₊‧꒰ა “Man, I swear to God.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He would spend hours pacing while you lounged sideways in an oversized chair, biting into whatever Gondolindrim pastry you’d nicked, nodding thoughtfully and going, “Sounds like a classic control freak scenario to me. Have you tried...not bottling up every emotion until you explode and ruin everyone's lives?”

˚₊‧꒰ა “I am the King of Gondolin,” he once said with great dignity.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Yeah,” you replied, “and kings can cry too. It’s character development.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Your slang confused him but delighted Idril, who started repeating your phrases with a weirdly accurate tone. You once heard her tell Maeglin “Pipe down, drama queen,” and felt equal parts proud and terrified.

˚₊‧꒰ა Of course, because of that, Maeglin did not like you. You called him “Captain Red Flag” once and he’s been glaring ever since.

˚₊‧꒰ა “You mock what you do not understand,” he sneered at you during one particularly tense council.

˚₊‧꒰ა “No, I mock what needs mocking, and mate, you’re about five bad decisions away from an evil monologue.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Turgon did take a strange comfort in your irreverence. You didn’t grovel, didn’t put him on a pedestal, and instead talked to him like someone who just happened to be in charge of an entire city and probably needed to calm down before he gave himself an aneurysm.

˚₊‧꒰ა Sometimes he’d get really intense, talking about the Doom of the Noldor and his burden as king and the weight of fate and prophecy. You’d just squint and say, “Right, but when’s the last time you slept?”

˚₊‧꒰ა “Sleep is a gift the weary may not always claim.”

˚₊‧꒰ა “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that or else I’d smack you with this pillow right to sleep…Your Majesty.”

˚₊‧꒰ა You once started writing down some of his problems on a piece of parchment just to map things out, and when he saw your modern shorthand and diagrams, he genuinely thought you were some kind of prophetic scribe.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Why are there tiny arrows drawn between ‘uncle trauma’ and ‘overcompensation’?”

˚₊‧꒰ა “It’s a flowchart, Turgon. Get with the programme.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He didn’t understand your dark humour at first. When you said things like, “Yeah, if I had to run this city I’d simply launch myself off the tower and call it a day,” he’d look vaguely alarmed. You had to explain you weren’t actually suicidal, you were just a bit ‘normal’ and fundamentally tired.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Thou hast a most perplexing way of making light of thy suffering,” he once remarked.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Yeah, it’s either that or scream forever. You’re lucky I’m funny.”

˚₊‧꒰ა The guards got used to you wandering around in odd clothes muttering to yourself and asking things like “What’s the elvish equivalent of a panic attack?” or “If I wanted to prank someone with glitter, where would I find glitter in Gondolin?”

˚₊‧꒰ა You didn’t try to sound wise or mystical. You gave blunt, practical advice that was shockingly effective. When he stressed about Maeglin being weird and secretive, you just said, “Maybe stop being cryptic yourself and just ask him what’s eating him before he grows into a fully-fledged villain.”

˚₊‧꒰ა “Thou thinkest he might turn to darkness?”

˚₊‧꒰ა “I mean, his name literally means ‘sharp glance’ or some edgy nonsense. He broods like it’s his job.”

˚₊‧꒰ა At one point you got into a row with Salgant who thought you were a disgrace to the court. You told him his shoes were ugly and his trumpet playing sounded like a dying goose. You were nearly exiled until Turgon calmly said, “If thou removest my counsellor, I shall be left alone with my thoughts. I do not wish that.”

˚₊‧꒰ა You found out about the whole “Doom of Mandos” situation and yelled at Turgon for about fifteen minutes. “Why is everything in this realm so bloody doom-laden? Haven’t you lot considered just…not dying tragically for once?”

˚₊‧꒰ა “It is not within our power to escape fate.”

˚₊‧꒰ა “Have you tried therapy? Oh shit wait, that’s me. Guess I’m doing a shitty job.”

˚₊‧꒰ა You once gifted him popcorn—after you snuck into Galdor’s kitchen and showed the cook how to take kernels and turn it into tiny puffs of goodness—and told him “Here’s a treat and a weapon. Throw it at the heads of people who annoy you while munching on them.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Glorfindel was mildly obsessed with your vocabulary and kept trying to use modern phrases incorrectly. You once heard him call Ecthelion “a total babe magnet” and nearly choked on your tea.

˚₊‧꒰ა Turgon became oddly attached to your honesty. “You never bow to me,” he said.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Yeah, I’m allergic to kneeling. I look young but I got old people joints. Hear that crack? Good, I’m old in my youth.”

˚₊‧꒰ა “You are not from this world, so very peculiar, and yet you offer comfort as if you know mine.”

˚₊‧꒰ა “Yeah, that’s called trauma bonding. Happens when you hang out with enough emotionally repressed people.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He genuinely thought you had powers for a while because your advice, despite being phrased like Twitter memes, tended to be eerily on point. You told him it was just years of reading fanfiction and overthinking relationships that made you an expert in elf drama.

˚₊‧꒰ა One night he came to your room after a nightmare about the fall of Gondolin. You let him sit there quietly while you poured him a drink and said, “Listen, I don’t know how all this is gonna go down, but worrying yourself sick ain’t gonna stop it. Just means you’ll be fretting when it goes wrong.”

˚₊‧꒰ა “Thy words are…bleak.”

˚₊‧꒰ა “Yeah, but they’re not wrong.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Idril liked you a lot because you make her laugh, referring to her as “the only sane person in this whole glittering nonsense of a city,” and she’d smirk knowingly and say, “You’re not wrong.”

˚₊‧꒰ა You made Turgon take breaks. Actual breaks. You told him he had to have at least one day a week where he didn’t talk about doom, walls, or hidden kingdoms. You’d go on walks and point out birds and say things like “That one’s got main character energy.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Eventually, you stopped correcting people when they referred to you as the king’s seer or counsellor. You figured if the shoe fit (and the pay was good), you might as well run with it.

˚₊‧꒰ა You never forgot where you came from. Occasionally you’d sit alone and mutter things like, “If only Tumblr could see me now.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Turgon once asked, “If thou wert to return to thy world…wouldst thou miss this?”

˚₊‧꒰ა You stared at him, deadpan, and replied, “I’d miss the drama. And the elves. But mostly the food. Sorry.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He actually laughed. A proper, unrestrained laugh. And you knew in that moment you’d accidentally become something of a friend to a man no one else could really talk to.

˚₊‧꒰ა You were still convinced you were going to get someone killed one day with your “advice,” and you told him so regularly. “One day you’re gonna do something I said and it’ll go so wrong, and then it’s on you, sunshine.”

˚₊‧꒰ა “Then I shall accept the blame. But I would still hear thy counsel.”

˚₊‧꒰ა “You’re all mad, but at least you’re funny about it.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Somehow, absurdly, you became a part of Gondolin. A strange, mortal voice in a city of legends, blunt and sarcastic and completely lacking in reverence—but exactly what Turgon needed. Even if he’d never admit it in public.

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @rain-on-my-umbrella @mysticmoomin @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @involuntaryspasms @stormchaser819 @aconstructofamind @addaigio @lamemaster @feanorynz @6esi @will-0-wsps @the0twst0shrimp0mc @ella-error505 @xximmortalkissxx @aghostlywhisper

If you wished to be tagged, click on the Taglist Link to join.

[toxicanonymity]

Hello, Toxy, my darling friend! I am here to bribe you and beg for more of your talent <3 I was so positively shaken by 'Spectators' and the glimpse of lore you gave us, that I just neeeeeeeeeed to know Joel side of this beautiful taboo relationship 🥵

will you be so inclined to tell us more? maybe this gif will inspire you? *slides a battered 20$ bill and all of the change i got in my pocket across the table*

concessions

Joel Miller x f!reader, 1k @iamasaddie ... this gif 🧎‍♀️🫡 ilysm 🪺 WARNINGS: 18+ degradation kink, infidelity, manhandling, jealousy, pussy spank, object insertion, incest mentions. after spectators.

You were just about to walk away when Tommy announced, “Joel's got a second date tonight,” and a pang of jealousy stopped you in your tracks. You turned around, making your short dress twirl out almost a little too high in the breeze.

Behind the bleachers, Joel smoked a cigarette in front of a small, brick building with his feet spread, one arm crossed, hand tucked under his bicep. As you came into view, he mumbled, “here comes trouble.” He threw his cigarette at the gravel and used his boot to smother it before retreating into the concessions kitchen. He started putting a pot of popcorn on.

A group of four women in the bleachers looked down their noses at you and murmured amongst themselves. Their lives must have been so boring. Two men in front of them stared at you until one of the ladies snapped her fingers at them.

Judging eyes be damned, you proceeded confidently around back of the building and let yourself in without knocking.

Joel didn't bother taking his eyes off the stove as he greeted you with sarcasm. “Come on in, make yourself at home.”

“Hey, big boy.” You stood there looking pretty, and finally he glanced up.

“Popcorn won't be ready for a minute, but you can get in line outside,” he said as if he didn't have his cock in you hours ago.

“You know that's not what I'm here for,” you said saucily.

“Bored of terrorizing my brother?” Joel asked.

You scoffed. “That asshole wouldn't even let me sit down.”

“Bet he was nicer than he coulda been,” Joel said with a bit of a snarl, then met your eyes and ranted, “Who do you think you are, showin’ up here tryin’ to give him a goddamn lap dance in front of Maria's friends? In front of his kid, for chrissake.”

“Public game last I checked,” you said.

Disgust tinged Joel's voice. “You get some kinda sick pleasure outta bein’ a homewrecker?”

“Not my fault he can't keep his dick in his pants,” you pointed out.

“No, but it's your fault everybody gotta know about it” Joel snapped.

“You think everybody knows about it?” you asked.

“Anybody with two eyes and two ears,” Joel said.

“Mm” You replied as though in thought. “They don't *really* know, though.”

“They know enough.”

“They know y'all like coatin’ your cocks in each other's cum? Eatin’ each other outta me? You think they know that?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Joel snapped. He abandoned the stove as he got in your face, neck vein throbbing.

Turned on by his anger, you hooked your hands into his belt and dropped to your knees.

He hesitated for a moment, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring with each rise of his chest.

“Ain't doin’ this,” he grabbed both your wrists and shoved them backwards, making you lose your balance and fall to the side.

“What's wrong? Afraid ya can't cum without your little brother's cock smashed against yours?”

“Get up. Get up now.” He grabbed you by your arm, and manhandled you to your feet.

“Just pretend I'm your sister,” You taunted.

He opened his mouth wide and over-enunciated, “Go… home.”

“You know… I dunno who you think YOU are. Couple hours ago you were balls deep in my pussy talking ‘bout the two of you splitting me open tonight. Now you want me to disappear.”

He shifted his weight onto one foot and rested his hands on his hips. “Ain't happenin’ tonight." It sounded more decisive than degrading. As if he did have a date.

And for a moment, pity flickered across his face before he hardened his gaze again.

“Shouldn't make a promise ya can't keep, brother,” you said. “Our mama raised you better than that.”

“God damnit, get off the floor.” He manhandled you to your feet and eyed the bin of empty beer bottles in arm's reach.

He turned you around and shoved you against the counter so you were both facing the sink.

He held you by the back of the neck. “Always runnin’ that whore mouth…”

You spread your feet and tilted your hips for his access, and he announced, “There she is. Jackson's most used hole. Ain't even gotta lift your dress to see it.”

He gave your pussy a spank, and the sting of his fingers between your legs felt like such a relief.

He grabbed a bottle and warned, “If you don't smarten up, next time it's gonna be two of these.” He pressed the lip of the bottle against your cunt then wiggled it into your entrance.

Once the first inch was in, he slid the rest of the bottle neck into you with a twist, making you gasp when the body of the bottle pushed at your entrance. Joel's cum from earlier began to drip into the glass.

“Savin’ that for Tommy?” you asked.

“God damnit.” Joel sighed and slipped the bottle out of you, wrapped a rag around the neck, and turned it upside down. He held by the neck and used his other hand to spread your swollen pussy lips. You were dripping arousal and cum. Bottom-first, he wedged the bottle into you with help from his fingers. When your walls were stretched around the glass circle, he pushed with a grunt, making you whimper with the pressure.

“You don't act right, we’ll find out if you can take two of these. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” you agreed, butterflies in your chest. As if he’d pass up a chance to share a cunt with Tommy.

“Tommy sure as hell won't fuck ya later. Not after that display out there…” He pushed the bottle a little further. “And if I'm gonna bother, gotta know you're tight enough for me to feel somethin’.”

“Felt it earlier didn't you?” You asked.

“Yeah, then I wrecked ya. And if this bottle falls out, I know she's still wrecked.”

He pushed the bottle further into you until your cunt had swallowed the whole fat part of the bottle, and only half the neck was sticking out. It was a remarkable fullness.

“You better pray this dress is long enough, sweetheart,” he chuckled. “Though I reckon you'd get off on it, huh? Get off on the whole town seein’ ya walk around with a bottle hangin’ outta your cunt?” He pushed just a little further, and the curved glass of the bottom was flush against your cervix.

“Ow.”

He chuckled darkly, left it there, and stepped back to admire his work. Hands on his hips, he watched you stand upright and tug down your dress–God, it was obscenely short.

“Joel?” A woman’s voice called from outside.

The popcorn was burning.

“Go on,” he nodded toward the door. Get.” He subtly turned his attention toward the stove, and turned the burner off.

With a few slow steps, your cheeks burned at the sensation that your body wanted to push the foreign object out of you, birth it right onto the ground.

“Joel?” the voice was closer

You tried to tighten your muscles to keep the bottle in place, but it was slipping.

You reached down to feel almost the whole neck was out, and the thought of people seeing it under your short dress made your cunt spasm and gush, sending the bottle onto the concrete just as the door opened.

“There you are–Oh!” the woman said as the bottle shattered into a few pieces onto the cement floor.

Face on fire, you looked at the bottle, then glanced at Joel. His eyes met yours with a half smile and he said, “I got it.”

You looked the woman up and down and thought about telling her to enjoy your sloppy seconds, but you left her with an amused half smile. The same one Joel was wearing.

-

-

-

double play

Ty for reading 🖤

[ltgubler]

Don't let them find out. [lew einstein]

pairing: lew einstein x fem!reader

word count: 4.8k

summary: +18, professor x college student.

warnings: public display of affection, fingering in public, oral sex.

Thursday night at the library, again. Nose buried in your books, no date, no friends, just homework to do and straight A’s to get, same as always since you got into college. Everyone says that you’re just… smart, a nerd probably, but you’re not very social for your own reasons, and between studying and working to pay your tuition, you had no time to go out and experience the college life of a regular girl.

It was a slow night, not many people at the building, but that was better for you, you needed the silence. As you left your things at the table, you went to find a book you needed for an assignment, you searched everywhere, getting to the secluded section known as the “make out section”. And of course, you were the one to catch Professor Einstein humping his latest hook-up on the hallways of the library.

When you saw the girl walking away with teary eyes, blushed cheeks and messy hair, you noticed he saw you there, standing awkwardly, and honestly, a bit disgusted.

“Very classy, don’t you think?” The sarcasm in your voice made him stop on his tracks as he tried to walk away.

“Excuse me?” he looked at you for maybe the first time ever. He noticed your big brown eyes, too judgemental considering how angelic your face looked. “You’re one of my students, aren’t you?” There was a sudden glimpse of amusement creeping in his eyes. “You know… It’s very rude to get your nose in other people’s business.” His comment made you scoff, rolling your eyes, your annoyance awakening something in him.

“Me? Rude?” Your sarcastic tone amused him. “Rude is sticking your tongue in your students’ mouths, especially on campus, but who am I to judge, right?” He laughed at how mean you sounded.

“Oh I'm sticking more than just my tongue.” The repulsion on your face made him laugh. “I’m messing with you. But hey, maybe you can be next, if you're interested.”

A blush creeped on your cheeks, you were too stunned to even say something, and with a pat on your shoulder he walked away, leaving you standing there astonished and… intrigued. His words stayed on your mind for longer than you'd care to admit, not being able to focus as you went back to work on your assignment, laying in front of you as you sat there on that empty table in the silent library.

————

Days passed by and his words were still stuck in your head. *Did he mean that? Was he seriously implying that I could be that easy to get? I’m not an easy girl, right? Well, I don’t really know if I am, no one ever wanted me in that… way.* You shake your head to forget the thought, your own mind getting way ahead of itself.

Around noon you had your second class of the day, his class, and the idea of seeing him after the other night, looking at him in the eyes without making a fool of yourself, felt absurd. A simple sentence had you on edge for days, and being flirty was his normal self, maybe he even forgot about your minor encounter.

“Good morning class, how are we today?” His voice interrupted the murmur of your classmates, getting everyone's attention. His eyes roamed over the room, something he never did before. When he saw your face in the back of the classroom, his gaze lingered over you for a second too long, and pretending he wasn't looking for you, he cleared his throat and continued speaking. “Today is chapter… 6, open your books, your notes, your computers, whatever you have.”

His way of teaching –of interacting with the student body– was fun but effective, something that you picked up since his first class, but now you started to really pay attention to his mannerisms. The way he moved around the classroom, smoothly checking up on everyone, cracking a few jokes here and there, attentive to what was going on around him at all times. From afar he felt your eyes on him, and every few minutes, like clockwork, his own gaze met yours for a second or two. Each time his eyes met yours you weren't able to hold his gaze, looking away every single time. He held back from smiling each time he saw the nervous way you looked away.

The class came to an end and everyone started to leave, you gathered your things and as you started to walk towards the door, he said your name, making every set of eyes in that half full classroom set on you.

“_____, don’t go just yet.” He said without even raising his gaze, leaning over his desk as he read some paperwork. “The rest of you can leave, keep walking people, see you next week if you don’t drop out. I’m joking, don’t drop out.”

Everyone walked away with a smile on their faces, that was the effect he had on his students, a sense of camaraderie no other professor had.

“You wanted to see me, Professor Einstein?” your voice made him look up again, you could feel your own breath getting caught in your throat. When finally the last student left the classroom, he took a breath before speaking, with a smile that could melt anyone, and it surely melted you. “If this is about the other day…” He interrupted before you could finish your sentence.

“Yeah, it is. I’m not gonna apologize or anything. Well, I am gonna apologize for lustful behavior on campus premises, but not about what I was doing exactly.” You rolled your eyes without even realizing. “Ah, that roll of eyes… You shouldn’t do it that much, don't get me wrong, you have beautiful eyes, you could use them to your advantage” Your cheeks were turning red as he kept talking “I know they would work on me.” He confessed in whispers, wanting for you to hear it, but he wouldn’t dare to say it out loud.

You swallowed hard before being able to speak again, he noticed the blush in your cheeks, and the nervous way you were standing in front of him. “Okay, is… Is that it?” he was taken aback by your question, figuring that maybe you weren’t interested in him the way he was about you. “I have other classes today, so…” your words hung in the air for a little longer than expected, while he searched in your eyes for even a glimpse of wanting, of yearning.

“Sure, you’re a very dedicated student.” He straightened up, his tall figure taking your breath away. He noticed the way your gaze dropped to his body, instantly going back to his face, almost if you were afraid to look, to check him up. “See you next week, ____.”

—————

The promise of seeing him next week was broken when you, like never before, went out to a bar with the only two friends you had in college. The place was packed, with barely any room to walk in. Squeezing into the crowd the three of you spotted a table that was just getting available, your friend ran at an amazing speed to get it, pushing away a drunk guy that had the same mission as her. Once settled you took the first trip to the bar, picking mojitos as the first drink of the night.

The music, the alcohol, the lights, the gossip and laughter with your friends, everything felt intoxicating, all your senses were wrecked already, and when some guy took your hand to dance with you, you went with it without hesitation. As he held you by the hips, moving in sync with you and the music, you let yourself get loose for the first time in ages. This guy tried to get further, his lips grazing over your neck, and that repulsed you. Before he could even protest you were back with your friends, and he walked away with a pout on his face.

“Can you believe that guy?” you scoffed as you sipped your drink.

“Men are pigs.” your friend said and the three laughed. “But talking about men… There's a very popular professor over there that couldn't look away from you and that guy…” she said as she pointed surreptitiously to a booth behind her.

“What? Who?” you followed the direction of her finger, and sitting at the booth, there was him, drinking with two friends. “Oh, hell no, I just made a fool of myself in front of him?”

The deep shade of red that covered your face was even more embarrassing than the show you put on in front of your professor. He raised his beer with a cheeky smile, letting you know that he was, in fact, absolutely entertained by you. You couldn't take your eyes away from him, the way his glasses sat flawlessly on the bridge of his perfect nose, the way his curls fell messy and wild on the top of his head, his rosy lips that grinned at you, and God, that smile…

“Girl, focus, get back to us” Your friend snapped her finger in your face, awakening you from your trance. “You should go talk to him, bag him, for shit and giggles you know?” your eyes widened at your friend's words, but you were seriously considering it.

“Should I, shouldn't I?” you mumbled, your eyes every few seconds going back to him, magnetic.

“Go!” they both said in unison and laughed, almost pushing you in his direction. As you walked to his booth, his friends magically went away to get more drinks, mysteriously leaving him alone.

“What a nice surprise.” he smiled and invited you to sit next to him. He watched you intently as you nervously sat there, your eyes going back between him and your friends that giggled from afar. “I thought of you more like a bookworm, this is different coming from you.” His words hung in the air for a second.

“Well, you don't know me that well, professor.” He smiled, looking down when you called him that outside the classroom.

“I guess not. You're a party girl now?” His mocking tone got a reaction from you, that goddamn roll of eyes, making his heart skip a beat. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

“I'm whatever you want me to be.” Your blunt confession made him short-circuit, but even when you said that, you couldn't hold his gaze, and he found that endearing, and extremely captivating. He boosted himself closer to you, his leg pressing against yours.

“Why's that? What makes you think I want you that way?” His hand dropped from the top of the table to your thigh, resting there, cold against your warm skin. You didn't answer. “You already have the perfect grades, the perfect reputation… What’s in it for you?” He kept pushing to know what was on your mind.

“how do you know about my grades and reputation?” you finally looked at him, pure curiosity in those breathtaking eyes, he was going crazy getting lost in them. He shook his head slightly before speaking again.

“I did some digging, not because I'm interested,” he paused, “but let's say I am… interested.” His fingers on your thigh moved in their place, lazily caressing your skin.

Your eyes dropped to his hand, and back to his face. The proximity made you feel drunk, more drunk than any mojito could get you. The mix of beer and his perfume ignited something in you. “About your question… What's in it for me? You.” your words take him by surprise, he narrowed his eyes at your response.

“Like I'm a trophy for you to get? A land to concord?” He asked as he laughed, his hand lightly squeezed your flesh. He knew exactly what he was doing to you with his touch, with all those questions, with his closeness, and you let him do it.

“Does that bother you? That I want you…” you looked around to make sure no one could hear you. “... just to fuck?” He smiled, shaking his head.

“Considering that I want you for the same purposes, no, it doesn’t bother me at all.” His tone was getting lower, and his hand on your thigh was going higher. His fingers hid under the hem of your skirt, closer and closer to where he wanted to be, where he craved to be.

“Here?” you asked in a barely hearable whisper. He smiled, amused.

“Here what, darling?” He asked with an innocent tone, while his hand squeezed your inner thigh. “Use your words… Do you want me to start here? On this bar where anyone can see us?” Your eyes darted towards the crowd out there, no one was paying attention to you two in that dark booth.

“Y-yes.” you mumbled and he pulled your underwear to the side, but not touching you just yet. “I’ll be quiet, I promise.” He was drunk in your desperation.

“Oh no, you can be loud, you can moan and whimper, the music is gonna muffle your cries.” as the words rolled down his tongue, his middle finger started to play with you, so slowly it felt like a punishment. “Are you this wet because of me?”

“Can you blame me?” you smiled with a ragged breath. Two of his fingers were now playing with you, touching you in gentle and soft circles, with the perfect pressure to make you squirm under his touch.

“You're so pretty, letting me feel you, taste you.” With that, he pushed those two fingers inside, making you hide your face in the crook of his neck to stop your moans. “That's it, let me take care of you, you deserve it, don't you?” His hand picked up pace, his finger slightly curled up, like he knows exactly what to do, exactly how you like it. You were overstimulated, the music, the voices, his movements, his praising, the alcohol… A build up of emotions that made you melt against your seat, with him moving his fingers almost all the way out, just to push them deeper, making you lose your mind. The way he was controlling your body with just two fingers, not even a kiss and he already knew how to make you whimper and cry. “Let go for me, darling, don't hold back.”

A high pitched moan rasped your throat as you came undone in his hand, your legs shaking, your hips thrusting forward to meet his touch. “Oh, fuck me…” you breathed out, cursing, your orgasm washing over you.

“Good girl.” he smiled and withdrew his fingers. “And yes, I'm planning to fuck you if you'll have me.” he had a winning smile on his face that made you chuckle, and once again you rolled your eyes. “Stop doing that… I get hard every time you do it.” he confessed as he cleaned the residues of your orgasm with a napkin.

“I'm definitely gonna do it more often, especially considering how much you annoy me.” his eyes shined with amusement at your words, making him laugh.

“Let's get out of here, what do you say?” he asked. You thought about it for a second. “Here's too crowded, there's too much noise, and I deserve to hear you without any ambient sound.” He took your hand in his, fingers entwined. “Don't make me beg, because I will, I'm great at it.”

“Fine, okay, I'll go.”

With excitement he stood up and pulled you out of that booth and out that bar, forgetting about his friends and you forgetting about yours. The cold autumn night chilled your bones the second you stood in the street and he noticed how you crossed your arms, hugging yourself. Without saying a word he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to keep you warm. With a shy “thank you” you wrapped your arm around his waist, letting him guide you to his apartment. Once in his building he led you up the stairs to his flat, opening the door for you.

“What a gentleman, Professor Einstein, I didn’t think you had it in you.” your little tease made him laugh. He closed the door and walked straight to you, towering over you. His fingers gently but firmly grabbed you by the chin, making you look up at him.

“That’s mean, I am a gentleman, do you want me to prove myself?” He leaned closer, his breath brushing against your cold skin. “Because I wouldn’t mind proving myself to you.” His lips grazed over your cheek. You closed your eyes at the feeling.

“Go ahead then, Professor.” You whispered, trying hard to not sound too eager. He smiled before finally giving in to the need to kiss you. His lips moved slowly, tenderly, tasting you for the first time, drawing in the soft sensation of your lips. He buried his hand in your hair, holding you impossibly close, his other hand pulled up your top just a bit for his hand to rest on top of your skin.

His kisses grow more desperate, needy, starting to feel like a drug, a fix you're gonna come back to over and over, addicted to the taste of his lips. A whine escaped your lips the second he stopped kissing you, his mouth trailed up your jawline -leaving a bite here and there, he wasn’t able to resist- and down your neck, getting from you sweet and soft little moans on his wake.

“I like the way you keep calling me Professor…” His voice was muffled by the closeness of his mouth on your neck. The heat of his breath brushing against your skin was intoxicating.

“Oh, so all this is to feed your ego?” The implications of your question plus your heavy breathing made him chuckle. “Is it a power thing? You're capable of ruining my life, is that it?” Your feisty tone only fueled him further, getting him even more worked up.

“Maybe it is, but doesn't that turn you on a little? That your reputation depends on how I feel about you?” His voice was a low murmur, an agonic reminder that –in fact– it did turn you on, his proximity making your heart jump out of your chest.

“It 's scary…” you confessed, slightly throwing your head to the side. His eyes dropped to your pulse point, he wasn't even able to focus on what you were saying. He pulled back a little to meet your eyes, his fingers firmly yet delicately grabbed your chin to make you look at him.

“It is. Scary, I mean. But you like it, _____. Don't you?” As the words rolled down his mouth, his thumb traced over your bottom lip. “The adrenaline, the fear of getting caught.”

He kissed you again, more desperate than before, yearning to take you further, to make you his, to dive and get lost in you. Without breaking the kiss he led you to his bedroom, in the way he bumped with every piece of furniture he had, making you giggle between kisses.

Once in his bedroom, he stopped right beside his bed, he let go of your lips to look you in the eyes, searching for even a glimpse of regret, anything that could make him stop in a heartbeat, but all he found was the same desire he felt. His hands trailed from your hips to your waist, his touch delicate, reverent. Hooking his fingers on the hem of your top, he pulled the piece of fabric up your head, throwing it on his hardwood floor, you mimicked his action, taking off his shirt. His eyes dropped to your bare chest, almost drooling at the sight. With gentle touch he cupped your breasts, his thumbs caressing your nipples. You watched his every move, letting him explore you.

“You are…” he started to say, kissing your neck, going down your collarbone. He knelt in front of you, his breath hot against the delicate skin of your chest. “... so goddamn beautiful.”

His lips trapped one of your nipples, his tongue circling around it, he smiled at the sound of your moan. After a few minutes he kept going down, trailing a path of hot wet kisses down your stomach. He pulled down your skirt, his lips stopping at the edge of your underwear.

“This seems like the perfect moment to ask if you want me to keep going.” He looked up with a cheeky smile, messing with you. “Do you want me to keep going, ___?” He caught you so off guard that it made you laugh.

“Oh, shut up.” At the sight of you rolling your eyes at him again, he took your words as a dare and with a laugh of his own, he threw you on top of his bed, kneeling between your thighs. You propped yourself up on your elbows to look at him, while he, with ease, removed the last piece of clothing you had on. With his eyes fixed on you and your reaction, he started to kiss up your thigh, sloppy, wet, hungry kisses, and when he finally got to where you wanted him the most, it felt incredible. His tongue moved with expertise, he knew exactly where to kiss, where to lick, where to suck. He took his time to please you, your moans and whines only fueling him further, it was music for his ears, the only thing he wanted to hear tonight.

He noticed your body tensing up, the way you squirmed under his mouth, how your legs wanted to shut close, squeezing his head. He knew how close you were, but he wasn’t gonna let it happen. “Not yet, darling.” he whispered from down there, grinning as you pouted.

He got up from the floor, and as you looked at him with pleading eyes, he took his time to remove his pants, making you more desperate. His boxers were tight, his erection throbbing for you and only you. He removed and kicked them somewhere in his bedroom. His hand stroked his cock as he moved closer, his hips fitting perfectly between your thighs.

“Is this what you want?” he asked with a low murmur, teasing you with the tip. You had no words, nothing came out of your mouth no matter how hard you tried. “Use your words, ____.”

“I want it, please.” your shaky whimper almost made him growl.

The sight of you, naked on his bed, with your hair spread all over his sheets, with those big desperate eyes. His self control was slipping, and when you cried for him, he lost the last bit of restraint he had. After aligning himself, he slowly thrusted forward, burying himself in you. He held himself up with a hand next to your head, reaching down to kiss you as you adjusted yourself to him. He took a second, enjoying the way you felt before starting moving, thrusting at a slow pace to not hurt you.

“I’m not gonna break, Lew.” you whispered against his lips, making him smile.

“I know… I’m just enjoying how good you feel right now.” His lips landed on your neck as he moved painfully slowly, making you squirm under him for more. “You are so eager, aren't you?” he chuckled against your skin and pulled it almost all the way out, just to thrust back in even deeper, setting a new pace, less gentle, more primal.

Your moans echoed on the walls of his room, your nails digging on his back as he took care of you like no one ever did before. His movements became more erratic, his hips slapping against you, the sound of skin on skin flooded your senses, his own low moans and groans each time he thrusted deeper took you to the edge of release. His fingers found your clit as he kept moving, the overstimulation was way too much for you to handle.

“Be a good girl and let go for me.” A loud, animalistic cry tore up your throat as you climaxed. The feeling of you twitching and shaking around him -plus the sound that came out of you- was all he needed to get lost in you, feeling his own orgasm wash over him, he pulled out quickly, relieving himself all over your stomach.

He fell to your side on the bed, his body covered in sweat as he breathed heavily. You both laid there for a while, until your heartbeats got back to normal. He stood up and took you with him, guiding you to the bathroom, turning on the shower. The warm water relaxed you, no words were needed now, his actions spoke louder than anything he could say. With tenderness he shampooed your hair, washed you and himself, and once he was done, he wrapped you in his bathrobe, kissing your forehead.

Taking you back to his bedroom, he helped you get settled in, and he lay next to you. You rested your head on his chest, his fingers caressed the soft skin of your back.

“How can this not affect you at all?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

“What do you mean?” he sounded genuinely confused by your question.

“Being with your students, knowing you can lose your job, your reputation.” you looked up at him. “Aren’t you afraid someone is gonna betray your trust?”

“Are you gonna betray my trust?” he didn’t respond to your question, you shook your head saying no. “Then I’m not scared.”

“That’s not really an answer…” your whisper got him all tense.

“I’m not sure what you want me to say, ____.” his tone -that moments ago was sweet and gentle- was now sharp and cold.

“Okay, I’m sorry I asked.” you tried to pull back, thinking you did something wrong, but he pulled you back against him.

“No, I’m sorry, your curiosity is valid.” He said as he hugged you, burying his nose on your hair. “I’m not scared of it because all the parties involved have something to lose, not just me, you know?”

“I guess you’re right…” you whispered and yawned, your eyelids falling heavy, your breath getting softer.

“Let’s get some sleep, darling. And if you want we can keep talking about this in the morning, what do you say?” When he got no answer for you, he knew you were already gone to the land of dreams.

______________________

The smell of coffee and the soft sound of music woke you up, it took you a second to recognize where you were, and the flashback of last night came to you in a blur. You got up and walked to the kitchen, his apartment looked so different in the morning light, it had a midcentury vibe, mismatched furniture, a lot of art on his walls, it even surprised you a little.

“Good morning.” your voice distracted him as he was making eggs.

“Hey, I didn’t want to wake you up, you are a very peaceful sleeper.” He looked at you from over his shoulder, his hair was messy, his skin glowed in the morning light.

“That doesn’t make any sense, but thank you?” you chuckled and walked to him, standing beside him, leaning on the kitchen counter.

You observed his mannerisms, watching him move with ease, like he was in his element when he was at home, and it warmed your heart that he let you see this part of him, but that also made you wonder.

“I bet you bring all your dates to your apartment.” your tone was playful, but deep down you wanted more information.

“Uhm, no, not really.” His words were not what you expected. “I don’t really like bringing people back here, it’s my space, and I like to preserve my peace.”

“Then what am I doing here?” His eyes didn’t look at you, like he was shy all of the sudden.

“It felt different with you.” He just said, no explanation, no excuses, nothing. “I just went with my gut.”

You went silent for a second, doubting if he was even telling the truth. “So maybe this can happen again? You and me?” A little smile appeared on his lips, he seemed sincere.

“Don’t get your hopes up, ____.” He joked, calling you by your last name. “But yeah, I guess it can happen again.”

He got you in his kitchen giggling at his jokes, the knowledge that this was wrong sat at the back of your mind and before you even realized, the thing you had with your Professor turned into something more than just a one night stand. Every little gesture he had towards you made you fall deeper into the rabbit hole, you needed to remind yourself that this wasn’t love. This was wrong, you knew that, nothing that is meant to be hidden can be good. But it didn’t matter, there was no going back now.

hi hi hi :) i hope u like this one, or at least i hope u don't hate it lol. Since Lew Einstein doesn't exist yet I took some liberties with his personality, I see him as a good professor, dedicated (sometimes too dedicated with those he wants to f*ck), funny but firm, etc.

[itendtothinkalot]

just navigating

summary: soobin’s always thought of you as his little sister. but now, things are starting to feel… different. with soobin off studying to become a pilot, the distance only makes things more confusing.

genre: fluff!!! slight angst, not too bad

characters: childhood bestfriend!soobin x f!reader

words: 12.5k

warnings: implied sex but no smut

a/n: kinda based on caleb from lnds bec im obsessed LMFAO ;-;

“Guess who?”

Your vision darkened as two hands gently covered your eyes. The warmth of familiar fingers sent a nostalgic tingle down your spine, and you immediately recognized the tiny calluses on them.

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Judging by the lack of moisture in your hands, I’d say it’s a loser.”

A dramatic gasp came from behind you. “Boo, you're no fun.” Soobin removed his hands with an exaggerated sigh before nudging you with his shoulder. “Y’know, I’d assume you’d be happier to see me.” He spun you around so you were facing him, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You hated to admit it, but he looked good—better than when you last saw him. His hair was slightly longer, brushing just above his brows, but still neatly styled like the perfectionist he was. He wore his pilot uniform with effortless confidence—the crisp navy-blue jacket adorned with insignia, gold stripes neatly embroidered on the cuffs, and a pressed white shirt underneath. The matching trousers completed the look, making him appear every bit the disciplined and ambitious aviator he had always dreamed of becoming.

“And why would I be?” You crossed your arms, looking up at your childhood friend, who stood nearly two heads taller than you.

Soobin placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Wow. So cold. Let’s see… The last time we saw each other was a month ago, before your exams. That means the stress is over. You probably missed your favorite person on Earth—me—and now here I am, gracing you with my presence.” He grinned, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm. “So, I don’t see why you’re not grinning like the peach that you are.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile was already creeping onto your face. “You’re insufferable.”

“Ah, there it is! A smile!” He pointed at you triumphantly. “See? You did miss me.”

You groaned, lightly shoving his shoulder. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He chuckled, slinging an arm over your shoulder like old times. “Too late, Kiddo.”

“You’ve got to stop calling me that.” You brushed his arm off your shoulder before narrowing your eyes at him. “Also, why the hell are you here? In your uniform, no less… You’re attracting way too much attention.”

Your gaze flickered around, noticing your schoolmates whispering, gasping, and outright staring. Some pointed in disbelief, eyes wide as they took in the sight of your unfortunately handsome best friend—now made even more infuriatingly attractive in his full pilot uniform.

“I didn’t have time to change if I wanted to pick you up,” he said casually.

“You didn’t have to pick me up.”

“Oh? And who’s gonna drive you home then?”

“I’ve been taking the bus since you left.”

“Don’t say it like I abandoned you.”

You wanted to say but you did, but you swallowed the words instead.

“Alright,” he sighed, nodding. “Fine. Next time, I’ll wear a tank top and jeans when I pick you up. How about that?”

—

On the way back, you couldn’t help but steal glances at him. How was work? How was his training? How was—well, how was everything? But somehow, you couldn’t bring yourself to ask any of those questions. Still, Soobin knew you well enough.

“I’m okay,” he said, as if reading your thoughts. “I’ll always be okay.” He grinned, his eyes curling into full crescents.

You nodded. “Good. I don’t need the only person in my life to—”

“I won’t.” He ruffled your hair. “C’mon. I’m me. Do you really think something’s gonna—”

“Don’t.” You glared at him.

Soobin, with his towering height, sharp vision, and unshakable determination, had always dreamed of becoming a pilot. Ever since you were kids, he had talked about flying—how he wanted to touch the clouds, how the sky felt like the only place vast enough to hold his ambitions. You had always supported him, picturing him in a crisp commercial pilot’s uniform, announcing flight routes in his deep, steady voice.

But that wasn’t enough for him. He didn’t just want to fly; he wanted to soar. Instead of charting safe routes in passenger planes, he had set his sights on something more dangerous, more demanding. He had signed up to be a fighter pilot—a career that meant grueling training, high-stakes missions, and a future teetering between triumph and risk.

You had argued with him about it before, pleaded with him to reconsider. But Soobin, stubborn as ever, had only grinned and said, “If I’m going to fly, I might as well reach for the impossible, right?” 

“Soobin,” You attempted to argue but you knew him better than anyone else. He was just as stubborn as he was perfect. 

“I’m gonna be fine and I’m always gonna be beside you. I promise.”

And here he was, right beside you. Just like he promised.

—

The two of you sat at the dinner table, your legs swinging back and forth, occasionally bumping against Soobin’s calves.

“I like what you’ve done with the apartment,” Soobin remarked, glancing around.

“Nothing’s changed.”

“I beg to differ.” He shoved a piece of chicken into his mouth before standing up, making his way toward a single flower sitting in a makeshift vase. He tilted his head, inspecting it with amusement. “And hey, you even buy flowers now.”

“I didn’t get them,” you replied, shrugging. “You know me and flowers… I say it’ll be dead in a few days.”

“Three, max.” He chuckled before giving the flower another once-over, noticing a small tag tied on the stalk of the rose. “Beomgyu?” He turned back to you, raising a brow. “Who’s that?”

“A classmate,” you said casually. “He gave me those flowers for Valentine’s. It’s nothing, really.”

“A boy?” He muttered, his expression shifting as he sauntered over to you. “Kiddo’s all grown up.”

“He’s just a classmate, Soobin.”

You knew better than to admit that Beomgyu had actually shown interest in you. The last time Soobin found out someone had potential feelings for you, the poor boy had shown up to school looking visibly distressed—and nearly teared up every time you so much as glanced at him.

“He gave them to everyone then?” Soobin pressed.

You stayed silent.

"Oh," he smirked, his voice dripping with amusement. "So Kiddo’s got an admirer."

"It’s not like that," you tried to explain, shaking your head. "We just worked together on an assignment, and we did really well. He’s a good guy."

"A good guy," Soobin repeated, nodding slowly. "Not your favorite though, right?"

You laughed, tilting your head at him. "Are you jealous?"

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Kinda, yeah. I’m worried someone’s gonna take my place."

You hadn’t expected him to be so blunt. Rolling your eyes, you kicked his ankle under the table. He groaned, grabbing his leg dramatically.

"As if anyone could replace you," you scoffed. "Look… you’ve been gone for a month, we barely see each other—maybe two weeks total in an entire year—but I’m still wearing the necklace you got me. Every day. Just in case you actually remember me and decide to show up."

His playful demeanor shifted in an instant. His eyes darkened, lips pressing together as he took a step closer.

"Kiddo," he said, voice quieter now. "I do remember you."

"Sure you do."

His jaw clenched, and before you could react, he was moving—slow, deliberate steps closing the space between you.

"Do you think," his voice was low, almost dangerous, "that a single day goes by where I don’t think about you?"

Your breath hitched. The last time he was this serious was when you had accidentally shut off the electricity in the middle of his ranked game. But this was different.

Soobin stopped at the leg of your chair, leaning down until his face was mere inches from yours. His cologne—clean, crisp, a little like rain—filled your senses. His gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips, lingering there just long enough for your pulse to stutter.

"Because if you do," he murmured, his voice dropping lower, "you’d be lying to yourself."

"Wh-why so?" Your voice came out weaker than you intended.

He exhaled softly, his hand resting on the back of your chair, effectively trapping you between him and the table.

"You always say you know me better than anyone." His eyes never left yours. "So if you really do… then you’d know just how much this—" he motioned between the two of you, his fingers grazing your wrist "—means to me."

Your heart pounded.

"I think about you before I sleep. When I wake up. When I’m in class. Hell, even when I’m up in the sky."

You swallowed hard, your breath shaky. "That’s… a lot."

"And that’s only half of it." His voice had grown impossibly deep, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your fingers curled into your lap. The tension between you crackled, thick, suffocating. Your lips parted involuntarily, and for a second—just a second—you swore he was about to close the distance.

Then, suddenly, his smile returned, effortlessly lazy.

"But of course," he mused, pulling back just enough to make your chest tighten, "I do think of other things."

Just like that, the moment was gone. The breath you’d been holding escaped in a rush, your head spinning from the heat of it all.

Soobin, ever the tease, just grinned—like he hadn’t just turned your entire world upside down.

—

When you were nine, lost and alone for the first time, Soobin’s mother took you in. You were angry—at the world, at the circumstances that had ripped you away from everything familiar. And Soobin, a few years older, became the unfortunate target of your fury. You lashed out, pushed him away every time he tried to get close. You hated everything.

But Soobin never stopped trying.

At ten, something shifted. One morning, you woke up feeling just a little less angry. The walls you had built weren’t gone, but they had cracks. That day, for the first time, you ate the bowl of cereal Soobin had prepared for you. It was soggy by the time you finally touched it, but he didn’t care. His grin stretched wide, brighter than the morning sun, because it was the first thing you had accepted from him.

At eleven, you started lingering in his room. You never asked, never said a word, just sat there as he played video games or flipped through a book. He never questioned it. He’d toss you a controller, let you pick the next movie, slide half of his blanket over when the air got too cold.

By twelve, the two of you were inseparable. He was the older brother you never had, the one who understood your silences, who never pried but always stayed. The one who made a home feel a little less lonely.

“Soobin,” you called out, your voice barely above a whisper. The room was dark, shadows stretching across the walls as the faint glow of the streetlights seeped through the curtains. You had just woken up, your hair a tangled mess, your pink pajamas standing out starkly against the dimly lit space. But Soobin wasn’t there.

You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, shifting uncomfortably on your feet. “Soobin?” you tried again, a little louder this time.

“Kiddo.”

You jumped at the sudden voice behind you, your heart nearly leaping out of your chest. You turned to see him standing by the door, arms crossed, his expression amused. “What’re you doing up so late?”

You felt ridiculous admitting the truth—that the thunder had startled you, that the loud crashes outside had made the emptiness of the room feel unbearable.

“Nothing,” you muttered, hugging your pillow tighter.

Soobin tilted his head, unconvinced. “The thunder scare you?”

You stayed silent, refusing to confirm it, but he knew you too well.

With a small sigh, he walked over and patted the bed. “C’mon. Sleep here.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “What about you?”

He nodded toward the couch in the corner of his room. “I’ll sleep there. It’s fine.”

You hesitated, but the warmth of his presence was comforting. “Are you sure?”

Soobin smiled, the kind of smile that made you feel safe. “Just call my name if you need anything.”

At age 19, when Soobin told you he had been accepted into flight school, it felt like the ground beneath you shifted. You were happy for him, of course, proud even. But the truth was, a deep, overwhelming sense of devastation settled in your chest. Your rock—your anchor—was leaving. The one constant in your life, the person you could always count on, was being pulled away. 

He’d be gone for months at a time, and when he came back, it would only be for a few weekends. Maybe a week in total over the span of a year. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you turned away, not wanting to face him. Soobin, standing there in his oversized jacket, the duffel bag slung over his shoulder, looked more like a stranger than the best friend you’d grown up with. You couldn’t bear to watch him leave.

He tapped your shoulder gently, but you shrugged it off, determined to keep your composure. You didn’t want him to see how much it hurt, how much you would miss him.

“I’m fine,” you hiccuped, your voice cracking as you tried to stifle the sobs. But the tears kept coming, breaking through the facade you were desperately trying to maintain.

Soobin stepped closer, his hand resting gently on your back. “It’ll just be for a few months,” he said softly, his voice steady, though you could hear the weight of his own emotions beneath it. “I’ll come back to you the moment I can.”

But even then, it didn’t feel like enough.

—

There was something unnerving about people who could sleep through anything, even in the midst of a distressing situation. You watched as Soobin—always so unbothered, so calm—drifted off easily, his breathing steady and deep, while you lay wide awake, caught in your own thoughts.

Your relationship with Soobin had always been easy to define—older brother and younger sister. It was simple, comfortable, and familiar. But as the years passed, as you both grew older, the lines started to blur. You had friends with older brothers, but none of them had the same dynamic you shared with Soobin. Sure, Soobin wasn’t your biological brother, but he had always felt like one. And maybe that was part of the problem.

Lately, you found yourself tossing and turning in bed, wondering exactly what your relationship with Soobin was. You could be yourself around him, no question there. But somehow, there was a hesitation now, a wariness. You walked on eggshells, careful of every word, every movement. Always afraid that you might accidentally do something that would make him see you differently—make him find you... well, embarrassing.

But the thing was, it didn’t matter how careful you were. You always ended up embarrassing yourself anyway. Whether it was a slip-up in conversation or a stupid mistake that left you red-faced, it seemed like there was no escaping it. Soobin never made you feel bad for it, though. He never pointed out how awkward you could be. But that only made the moments of embarrassment sting more, because you weren’t sure if he noticed and just didn’t say anything—or if he actually didn’t mind. Or worse, if he didn’t even care at all.

You sighed, burying your face in the pillow. Whatever it was, it was complicated. And tonight, it felt heavier than usual.

—

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You muttered to yourself, standing at the entrance of your campus, staring at the sky as the rain came pouring down in thick sheets. Your bright dress, now damp and clinging to your skin, felt like a cruel joke in the face of nature's wrath. Of all the days to forget your umbrella, it had to be the day the sky opened up like hell itself.

“Need some shade?” A voice broke through your frustration. You turned to find Beomgyu, his familiar grin plastered across his face.

You sighed in relief. “Oh, thank God. I thought I was going to be stuck in this stupid rain forever. Not to mention, I have about three assignments from Mr. Kang due today.”

“You’re not done?” Beomgyu’s laughter rang out, clearly amused by your predicament.

“No,” you groaned, “I stayed up all night yesterday, playing ranked with someone who wouldn’t let me sleep.” You shot a side-eye at him.

“Weren’t you the one who kept saying, ‘one more! One more!’” Beomgyu teased, nudging you lightly as he stood beside you.

“Actually—”

A throat cleared from in front of you.

You froze, recognizing the deep, familiar voice before you even had the chance to look up. There he was. Soobin. The last time you'd seen him, he had almost kissed you at the dining table, leaving you in a whirlwind of confusion.

And now, there he stood—dressed in his aviator uniform, the same one he’d promised not to wear around your campus. It was a strange mix of familiar and foreign, making your heart skip a beat. In his hand, he held a yellow umbrella, an offering that seemed to make the rain somehow less threatening.

“Soobin,” you blinked, still caught off guard by the unexpected encounter.

“Kiddo,” he said, your nickname slipping from his lips with such bite that it almost felt like a curse, the venom in his tone thick enough to feel.

“Hey, Beom. Why don’t we just catch up next time? I think... I’ll head out with my brother.” You fumbled over the words, the awkwardness of the situation sinking in.

Beomgyu looked between you and Soobin, brows furrowing. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“She doesn’t,” Soobin responded, his voice colder than usual as he tugged at your wrist, pulling you under the shelter of his umbrella and away from Beomgyu’s.

As you walked side by side, the weight of the silence between you and Soobin grew thicker with each step. The rain pelted down around you, but somehow, it only intensified the tension that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Every step you took toward his car felt like it carried an unspoken question hanging in the air, something that neither of you were ready to address.

The usual playful banter, the comfortable teasing, was nowhere to be found. It was just you, him, and the storm.

“Brother,” he repeated, his voice low, a strange edge to it. “Is that what I am?”

You bit your tongue, resisting the urge to say, Isn’t that what you are? but you held back. The last thing you wanted was for him to be even angrier than he already was.

“You can’t always barge into my school—” you started, but he cut you off.

“I didn’t barge in. And it’s not like I’m always around. I only get to see you three times a year,” he shot back, frustration clear in his voice.

“And whose fault is that?” You raised your voice, the heat of your own irritation rising.

The words hung in the air between you, charged with the unspoken resentment that had been building for months, maybe even longer. Each sentence felt like it was leading somewhere neither of you were ready to go.

“You don’t think this is driving me crazy?” His voice cracked, the frustration in his tone raw and desperate.

“What?” you asked, unable to understand where he was going.

“This…” He stopped walking, turning to face you fully, his eyes dark with emotion. The rain hammered down on both of you, the world around you drowned in the heavy downpour. “I dread every single time I have to go back to school, but you—" He took a breath, his chest rising and falling as if the words were physically painful. "You don’t understand how hard it is for me, do you?"

You shook your head, fighting the urge to pull away. "Then why’d you have to leave?"

His face softened, but there was still tension, thick and unresolved between you two. “This is my dream, kiddo. I can’t just give it up.”

In your head, when you were rational, you understood him. You knew this was his dream, knew he was doing what he needed for himself. But the irrational part of you—the selfish, bitter part—hated him for leaving you behind.

And right now, that irrational part was winning.

—-

Two months passed, and Soobin kept his promise, making an effort to call you, FaceTime you, and stay connected. His presence, even from miles away, felt constant, like he was always there, right beside you, despite the distance.

“My school’s having an open house next week. Care for a tour?” Soobin’s voice came through the speaker of your phone, his eyes bright as he grinned at you through the screen.

You were getting ready to go out with your friends, carefully applying your makeup, with Soobin’s FaceTime open in the background. Every so often, you'd catch him staring at you. A small smile tugged at your lips as you caught him watching.

“Sounds boring,” you teased, tilting your head as you brushed on mascara.

“C’mon. You finally get to see what I’ve been doing!” he pressed, leaning in closer to the screen. The playful glint in his eyes was impossible to miss.

“A bunch of men in sunglasses, walking around—how’s that fun?” you joked, giving him a look.

“You get to see me,” Soobin grinned, his expression softening as if that was the only reason you’d need.

You paused for a second, the playful tension between you two flickering in the air. Soobin never seemed to shy away from making you smile, and just hearing his voice was a comfort, even if it was through a screen.

“Fine. But what do I get out of this?” you challenged, a smirk playing on your lips.

Soobin’s face lit up, his eyes gleaming mischievously. “I’ll treat you to the best steak dinner in town,” he sang, practically grinning ear to ear.

“Fine.”

—

You tiptoed, scanning the expansive campus before you, feeling like a small fish in an ocean of ivy-covered buildings and sleek modern structures. This wasn’t anything like your school. While your own college had its charm—basic yet cozy—this place was a whole new level. Soobin had told you countless stories about his prestigious flight school, but you hadn’t quite grasped the sheer scale of it until now.

You scratched the back of your head, feeling entirely out of place. The student helper had handed you a map with a bright smile, showing you the way, but now, standing here, all you felt was confusion. The buildings were enormous, towering over you in their stark, polished splendor.

Your eyes scanned the map again, trying to make sense of it. "For Pete's sake," you muttered under your breath, "I'm a marketing major, not a map reader." The arrows, the numbers, the squiggly lines—they all blurred together as you tried to figure out where to go next.

You tilted your head, feeling even more disoriented. Maybe it wasn’t the worst idea to just follow the crowd and hope they were heading in the right direction, but the thought of getting lost in this campus—alone—didn’t sit well with you. Soobin had warned you it was big, but you had no idea it was this... overwhelming.

With a sigh, you stuffed the map into your bag and made your way toward the nearest building, hoping for some sort of sign. You were here for him, after all, so you might as well try to make the most of it.

“I knew you'd get lost.” You heard Soobin’s voice before you saw him, and when you turned around, he was standing there, hands casually tucked in his pockets, a grin already playing at his lips.

“Soobin!” you exclaimed, rushing toward him without thinking. You jumped into his arms, and before you knew it, his strong arms were securely around your waist, lifting you off the ground. You wrapped your legs around his waist, holding onto his shoulders tightly as he spun you around with a surprised laugh.

“Whoa there!” Soobin chuckled, his voice low but warm. He adjusted you in his arms, steadying you as you both laughed. “Miss me that much?” he teased, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

“No idea what you’re talking about,” you grinned, playfully pretending to look away as if it was no big deal, even though your heart was racing just a little faster from being so close to him.

“Well, I didn’t know our captain had a little girlfriend,” Soobin heard the teasing voice, and as he turned, he spotted his classmate, Yeonjun, casually strolling over with a knowing grin on his face.

Soobin’s cheeks flushed slightly at the comment, and he quickly shifted his gaze back to you, still holding you in his arms. You, in turn, gave him an exaggerated pout, sensing the awkwardness creeping in but unable to hide your playful smile.

"Hey!" Soobin called out, waving at Yeonjun, and then turning to you with a sheepish smile. "Uh, this is Yeonjun, my buddy from school, and this is my..." Soobin trailed off, his words hanging in the air for a moment as he awkwardly fumbled for a way to introduce you.

You raised an eyebrow, waiting for the rest of his sentence. Your hands still resting on his shoulders, you felt a playful tug at your lips, enjoying the teasing moment.

“Well?” you prompted with a teasing grin, your heart fluttering with excitement.

Soobin let out a small sigh, clearly not expecting the teasing tone in your voice. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, glancing between you and Yeonjun before simply introducing you with just your name.

You smiled, though there was a hint of disappointment in the simplicity of his introduction. It was no surprise, really. After all, things between you and Soobin had never been clear-cut. The bond between the two of you had always felt different than any friendship you’d had before. You weren't sure if it was just the history, the closeness, or something more. And maybe he didn’t either.

But for a moment, you wondered if that was the problem. Maybe Soobin was as unsure as you were about the lines between friendship and something else. You tried to push the thought away, not wanting to make things awkward with his friend or with Soobin, but you couldn't help the way your heart sank a little.

You could feel your cheeks heating up. It was funny, wasn't it? How a few words could stir up so many feelings.

You decided to let it go, brushing it off with a small laugh, not wanting to make things weird. “Well, nice to meet you, Yeonjun,” you said with a smile, even though a small part of you was still wondering what you really meant to Soobin.

—

Soobin was practically beaming as he led you through the bustling campus, introducing you to what seemed like every single person he passed. You were taken aback by how popular he was—lecturers waving at him from across the hall, students stopping to chat, and even the cafeteria lady greeting him by name. 

As he continued to show you around, he gestured toward a large open area ahead of you. Your eyes widened in awe as you saw rows of jets and small planes lined up, gleaming in the sunlight. 

“And this is, of course, where the magic happens,” Soobin said.

You stood in awe, unable to hide your excitement. "This is so cool. I had no idea it would be this... massive," you said, still taking it all in.

Then, with that mischievous glint in his eyes, Soobin shot you a confident smirk. "Wanna see me go for a spin?" he asked, clearly enjoying the attention his world was getting from you.

You blinked, taken aback by his sudden offer. “Is that allowed?” you asked, your voice almost timid as you tried to understand the logistics of what he was suggesting.

Soobin waved off your concern with a casual shrug, the cocky grin still firmly in place. “Yeah, I just gotta make sure the control tower knows what’s up.” He nodded.

You laughed nervously, but the thrill of being with Soobin in his element started to take over. “Alright, Mr. Confident. Show me what you got.” You crossed your arms, trying to look more composed than you felt, but your heart was racing. 

Soobin's world was so far beyond anything you had ever imagined, and yet, somehow, being here with him made everything feel... a little more exciting.

“Soobin, what are you—” you started to ask, but he was already pulling you toward one of the planes, his grip firm but gentle on your wrist.

“C’mon,” he urged with a playful smile. “Just sit here and wear this. It’s gonna get… a little loud.” He handed you a pair of large headphones, the kind you might wear at a concert or a race track, and gently placed them on your head before you could protest.

You adjusted the thick, padded ear covers, feeling a bit out of place but oddly excited. "Loud? What do you mean by loud?" you asked, eyeing him skeptically, though the thrill was starting to build inside you.

With a grin, Soobin gave you a wink. “Trust me, you’ll see,” he said, giving you one last reassuring squeeze on your wrist before heading to the cockpit.

You watched as he climbed into the plane, his movements smooth and confident. He looked like someone born to be up there, and for a moment, you forgot about everything else, just taking in the sight of him preparing for takeoff.

“Ready to feel the wind?” Soobin called out, his voice barely audible but still full of that familiar playful tone.

You gave him a thumbs up, a nervous smile tugging at your lips. “I guess I am now!”

The engine roared to life, vibrations running through the ground as the plane’s power surged forward, filling the air with an electric buzz. The noise was deafening, and the plane’s tires rolled across the runway, lifting off into the sky with incredible speed.

There he was, soaring higher and higher, the once small figure on the ground now a speck in the vast expanse above you. The excitement in your chest bloomed as you watched, a mix of awe and pride flooding over you. Soobin was up there, living his dream, and you could only watch.

As you watched him soar higher into the sky, your chest swelled with pride. The frustration, the anger, all the times you had felt hurt by his absence seemed so small now, like distant memories fading in the vastness of the present moment. Watching him take off, you realized something: those petty arguments, those moments of selfishness, they didn’t matter anymore.

“I’m really proud of you,” you said, speaking into the headphones as if the words might somehow reach him in the air. You meant it with every ounce of your being.

Through the muffled sound, Soobin’s voice came back, light but filled with warmth. “You are?”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “I am.”

You didn’t know if he could hear the emotion in your voice, but it didn’t matter. He had always known how you felt, even when words were hard to come by. 

—

“Do you really have to go back so soon?” Soobin’s voice carried a mix of reluctance and something deeper, something unspoken.

You glanced at your phone and sighed. “Soobin, you have class at 5, and it’s already 4:30. I’ve overstayed my welcome. The open house ended two hours ago. It’s time for me to go.”

“Where’s your hotel? I’ll come see you after my training,” he offered quickly, his words almost spilling out too fast, as if he were trying to find a way to keep you here longer.

You gave him a small, understanding smile. “Doesn’t your training end at night?”

“It’s only two hours, I’ll be done by 8 at the latest,” he replied, his voice sounding more desperate, though he tried to mask it with that confident tone you were so used to.

You shook your head softly, though your heart fluttered at his insistence. “Then you should get some rest. You have that flying test tomorrow, and I don’t want to be the reason you’re too tired to focus—”

“You sound like you’re trying to get rid of me,” Soobin muttered, a sigh slipping from his lips, though there was a clear sadness in his voice that made your heart ache.

“Trust me, that’s the last thing on my mind,” you said quickly, your voice soft but sincere. “I just want you to be safe, sound, and well-rested. You’re only half a year away from graduating. You need to ace this test, Soobin. You’ve got to be the best.”

“Fine. You’re right,” Soobin sighed again, but this time, there was an underlying weight to his words. He took a step closer to you, his gaze softening as his eyes lingered on your face. It was almost as if he wanted to say more, something deeper, something that was building between the two of you.

You could see it in the way he looked at you, the way his lips parted slightly, as though he was debating whether to kiss you then and there. But instead, he pulled back, running a hand through his hair in frustration, as if trying to push away the overwhelming emotions he was feeling.

“Alright. I’ll rest. But... I’ll miss you, you know,” Soobin added quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled softly, a warmth spreading through your chest. “I’ll miss you too, Soobin. Just take care of yourself. You’ve got this.”

–

At the hotel, you paced around, your thoughts tangled in a mess of emotions. It was your last night in town, and as much as you tried to enjoy the moments you had left, something gnawed at you. You missed Soobin. You craved more of those quiet, private moments with him, just the two of you. 

The selfish thoughts crept in again. You thought about how he was always the one picking you up from school, how he was always there for you when you needed him. But now, you wanted to do something for him. You wanted to surprise him. Maybe, just maybe, you could be the one to pick him up for once. He deserved it.

Without thinking twice, you grabbed your jacket, quickly dashing through the hotel lobby. The buzz of the night was fading around you as your heart raced with the urgency of the impulse.

“Taxi!” you called, waving your hand for the nearest one.

The cab pulled over, and you hopped in without a second thought. It was impulsive, reckless even, but you didn’t care. Tonight, you were going to make sure he knew how much you cared, how much you wanted to be there for him—just like he had always been for you.

You knew Soobin took the bus to his rented apartment across town from his school, so you waited at the bus stop for him. 

A few kids stood beside you, their laughter filling the air as they played with a strange contraption you couldn't quite identify. It looked like some kind of toy, and every minute or so, you could hear them squealing with excitement. It was adorable. For a moment, it reminded you of you and Soobin—the way you both would joke around and get lost in your little world.

“Hey, do you think I can be a pilot when I grow up?” the boy asked, gesturing toward the school in front of you.

“Sure, if you magically had good eyesight,” the girl giggled, flicking his glasses.

“That’s not very nice!” the boy pouted, clearly offended.

“I’m kidding! I just don’t want you to go. My mummy says that if you go to flight school, you’ll have to stay here for almost three years. You can’t leave me!” the girl yelled, her tone playful but filled with sincerity.

“I won’t! You’re my friend!” the boy reassured her.

“Friend?” she asked with a dramatic pause.

“Okay, fine. Best friend. But I have lots of best friends. One of them can draw really well, and another one can run really fast,” the boy bragged, puffing out his chest.

“You’re not the only one with many friends. I have one too! A friend who can do a backflip! So I think my friend’s definitely cooler than yours!” the girl argued confidently.

“Nuh-uh,” the boy shot back.

“Yuh-huh!” the girl retorted, sticking her tongue out.

“MISS!” Both kids suddenly turned and looked at you in unison, startling you.

You blinked in surprise, eyes widening. “Huh?”

“Can you please tell us whose best friend you think is the coolest?” they both asked, their little eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Just as you were about to answer, a familiar voice called out from behind you.

“What are you doing here?” Soobin’s voice rang out, and you turned to see him standing there, looking both surprised and slightly out of breath. His uniform clung to his sweaty body, his hair tousled from a long day’s work. Despite it all, he looked… really good.

“Surprise!” you smiled, the excitement bubbling inside you at the sight of him.

He blinked, clearly caught off guard, and then his lips curved into a smile as he took in the scene—the two kids staring at you, waiting for an answer, and you standing there, grinning like you were up to something mischievous.

“Well, now I’m curious too,” he chuckled, his voice softening as he stepped closer, his gaze never leaving you. The tension between you two seemed to fill the air as he stood there, waiting for you to respond to the kids’ question. “Who has the coolest best friend?” 

Your eyes flicked from top to bottom, taking in Soobin as if you were seeing him for the first time. He was a pilot, for Pete’s sake. A damn pilot who looked like he belonged in a magazine. The way his uniform clung to his body, the way his disheveled hair still made him look effortlessly perfect—it made your heart ache in ways you couldn’t explain.

And then, beyond all the looks, there was everything else.

He was the one who cooked for you when you were hungry (even if it wasn’t the greatest, you appreciated the effort). The one who would call you every time a thunderstorm rolled in just to make sure you could sleep through the noise. He was the one who ordered food for you during exam weeks when you’d forget to eat, completely consumed by your studies.

Soobin was the kind of person who thought of you before himself, every single time. And as you stood there, watching him, it hit you just how lucky you were to have him in your life. But it also left you wondering why you had been so reluctant to admit it.

“Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to tell us whose best friend is cooler?” the little boy’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts, his eager gaze pulling you back to reality.

You blinked, a small laugh escaping your lips as you glanced between Soobin and the kids. There was no contest. “Well, I think,” you paused, locking eyes with Soobin. “My best friend is definitely the coolest.”

The girl rolled her eyes, crossing her arms with an exaggerated sigh. “You’re just saying that because he’s handsome,” she muttered, clearly unimpressed.

“Oh please, my best friend’s a pilot—that’s way cooler than whatever you’ve got going on!” you shot back, sticking your tongue out at her.

The boy gasped dramatically, pointing at you. “You’re a grown woman fighting a child!” he accused, his finger still aimed in your direction.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning mock offense. “I’ll have you know, I’m just a grown woman with excellent taste.” You turned to Soobin, who was standing there, slightly amused by the whole interaction. "Don’t worry, they’re just jealous."

The kids both groaned in unison, clearly giving up on the argument. They turned away, muttering something about how unfair the world was.

“You’re such a loser.” Soobin laughed.

—

"So, this is your bachelor pad?" you asked, glancing around the apartment as you took it all in. The black and white decor was sleek and minimalist, just like Soobin himself. It was everything you'd imagined, yet still somehow more.

You hadn’t seen this place in person before, only catching glimpses of it through his Facetime calls. But now, it was real—and you were here.

Soobin had been quiet ever since the bus stop. You didn’t think much of it. He was probably just tired.

"I can cook dinner for you!" you offered, standing up from the couch, eager to do something.

But before you could take a step, Soobin reached out and pulled you back down, making you sit beside him again.

"Huh?" you blinked, confused by the sudden action. "You okay?"

He nodded slowly, but his eyes were heavy, his exhaustion evident. He reached up, his hand gently cupping your cheek before sliding through your hair.

You froze as his face came closer to yours. For a moment, you didn’t quite understand what was happening. But then, your cheeks flushed crimson as you realized. Your heart started to race, and you felt the weight of his presence more than ever before.

"Soobin?" you whispered, voice barely a sound.

"You don’t know what you do to me," he murmured, his voice low and rough. His gaze dropped to your lips, and his thumb brushed gently across them, sending a shiver through your body. "You have no idea how much I want you."

"Soobin?" The whisper left your lips again, barely audible, as you looked up into his eyes, searching for something—clarity, maybe. You weren’t sure.

His hand tightened its hold on your hair, pulling you closer. His breath was warm against your skin, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

“I’ve been wanting this for so long,” he confessed, his voice barely a whisper, but it felt like the heaviest thing you’d ever heard. His fingers trailed down your jaw, before resting on your neck, gently tracing the curve.

"Soobin..." your voice was barely a breath, filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite name, but your body knew. His face was so close now, his lips hovering just above yours. 

But before anything could happen, Soobin fell back into the couch, his eyes shutting, his body sinking with a soft exhale. The tension in the air seemed to evaporate, replaced by a quiet exhaustion you hadn’t noticed before.

You froze, caught off guard. Soobin's chest rose and fell steadily, his body heavy with the weight of the day.

You sat there for a moment, unsure of what to do next. His hand still rested near your face, but his focus was elsewhere now. His lips were parted slightly as he breathed deeply, clearly drained.

"Soobin?" You tried shaking him gently, your voice soft, but he didn’t stir.

He was asleep. Fully asleep. The weight of the day must've finally caught up with him. You let out a small chuckle, watching the way he looked so peaceful, the kind of tiredness that only came after giving so much of himself.

—

The next morning came with a jarring sound. You jolted awake as loud pans clattered together, and your eyes quickly flicked to the kitchen.

"Soobin?" You called out groggily.

"Shit, did I wake you?" His voice floated back to you, and you spotted him shirtless, moving around the kitchen with a slight sense of chaos in the air.

A part of you wanted to shield your eyes, but another part of you couldn’t help but appreciate the sight. You quickly turned away, reminding yourself that this was Soobin.

"Kinda," you muttered, still avoiding his gaze.

"I was just gonna make you some eggs before you head back to the city," he said, nonchalant, like the situation was completely normal.

You nodded, still looking away, eyes glued on the floor. "Oh."

You heard him chuckle softly as his footsteps grew louder, and then his large palm was suddenly resting on top of your head. You stiffened, feeling the warmth of his touch.

"Something on the floor, kiddo?" Soobin teased, his voice light. "I can put a shirt on if you like."

"It’s okay. It’s your house. I’m just a guest," you mumbled, your voice small as you tried to hide the way your heart was racing from the proximity.

"You’re not even looking at me," he continued, playful.

“It’s not my fault you're walking around half-naked in the apartment–” You looked up, intending to be annoyed, but your words died as you met his gaze, realizing how close your faces were. The air between you felt charged, and your eyes briefly flicked to his abs — defined, sculpted, distracting — before your face turned beet red.

“Cover up,” you muttered quickly, reaching for his shirt and tossing it to him.

He caught it with a grin, but didn’t immediately put it on, still teasing you with that mischievous glint in his eyes. "What’s the rush, kiddo? It’s just me."

You could barely manage a glare, your hands fumbling awkwardly in your lap. "Just... put it on," you repeated, your voice quieter this time.

As you sat on his dining table, you swung your legs, nudging his ankles with yours.

“You still do this?” he said, glancing at you.

“Huh?” you replied, not fully realizing what you were doing.

“Swinging your feet,” he mumbled, glancing at your legs.

“Oh right,” you quickly stopped, suddenly self-conscious.

“I wasn’t complaining,” Soobin said with a small chuckle. “In fact, I kinda miss it. Do you remember how much Mom used to scold you for that?”

You nodded with a smirk. “And you didn’t help when you constantly complained about it to her!”

He grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Hey, someone had to take the fall. It wasn’t like you were going to stop on your own.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Right, like you were any better. Always tattling on me.”

Soobin laughed softly. “I wasn’t tattling. I was just... helping Mom keep track of your chaos.”

“I wasn’t that bad!” you protested, though you both knew that wasn’t entirely true. You both had your moments as kids.

“You were always full of energy,” he said with a fond smile. “But I think I miss that. The energy, I mean. Things were simpler back then, weren’t they?”

You paused, the weight of his words settling in. “Yeah... simpler,” you echoed, realizing he was right. Those moments, despite the annoyance at the time, had a kind of warmth to them that you missed.

Soobin glanced at you, his expression softening. "You know, you’re still my little sister, right? Even if you’ve changed a lot, I’ll always see you like that."

You looked up at him, a swirl of emotions swirling in your chest. "I know," you said quietly, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

It was funny—little sister. The words rang in your ears, and though they should’ve comforted you, they did something else entirely. You’d always taken comfort in his protective nature, his constant care, but today, the familiar title struck a chord inside you. Little sister. The term felt almost too distant now. A part of you realized, maybe for the first time, that you didn’t want to be just his little sister anymore. Maybe that wasn’t the role you wanted to play in his life.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, glancing down at the table. “I guess I’m still that little kid to you, huh?” you said, trying to keep your tone light.

Soobin’s lips twitched, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Always will be,” he said, his voice playful but with an undertone of warmth.

But as you sat there across from him, something shifted inside of you. You weren’t sure exactly when it happened, but in that moment—sitting at his dining table, surrounded by the comfort of the past—you realized something that made your heart race a little faster. It wasn’t just the memories, the shared history, that made you feel so drawn to him. It wasn’t just because you’d always seen him as the older brother who took care of you.

No, there was something more. Something deeper.

The realization hit you like a wave, and you almost choked on your breath. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, looking anywhere but at him. But you couldn’t shake the truth from your mind.

You looked up at him again, but this time, it wasn’t the same. You couldn’t look at him and think of him as just Soobin, your older brother. There was an undeniable pull between you that made your heart ache with confusion, longing, and something else you couldn’t quite name.

“I don’t get it.” You felt something stirring in your chest, that uncomfortable mix of desire and confusion. “You call me your little sister…”

“Soobin looked up, brow furrowed. “Hm?”

“You call me your little sister. But we’ve kissed.” you continued, your voice tinged with frustration. You let out a bitter laugh, trying to hide how vulnerable you felt. “How is that… how does that work?”

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your emotions in check. The questions were swirling in your mind, and you couldn't stop them from spilling out. "I just—" You stopped yourself, realizing how tangled your feelings had become. You didn’t want to push him away, but you also didn’t want to continue pretending that there was nothing more than what you thought you had.

Soobin watched you closely, his expression softening. “Isn’t that what you want to be?” His voice was quieter now, more sincere.

You blinked, confused. “What?”

"Isn’t that what you want to be?” Soobin repeated, his gaze searching yours. “That’s what you called me…when Beomgyu was there.”

You stayed quiet, knowing what he had said was true.

Soobin’s expression shifted, his eyes searching yours. For a moment, the room was silent, the weight of your words hanging between you both.

“So, what are we then?” His voice was barely a whisper, as if he feared saying the wrong thing.

You swirled your spoon around the oatmeal Soobin had made for you, the warm steam rising as you avoided looking directly at him. You were just as afraid of saying something wrong—afraid you might ruin everything. The delicate balance of the relationship you two had built, the connection you shared.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of silence, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. “I like you. More than I should. You’re not my brother. And I don’t want you to be.”

—

The door slammed open, and there stood Soobin, eyes wild with something you couldn’t quite place. Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly pulled away from Kai, one of your neighbours friends, the tension in the room thickening in an instant.

Soobin glared at Kai, and it was like a switch flipped inside of him. “What do you think you’re doing?” he spat, his voice low and filled with an emotion that stung.

Kai, clearly startled by Soobin's intense reaction, scrambled to get up. “I—I wasn’t doing anything. I swear, we were just—uh, talking—”

“Talking?” Soobin sneered, his eyes darkening with jealousy. “You think I’m stupid?”

You stared, frozen, watching as Kai stumbled over his words, trying to explain himself. But Soobin didn’t let him.

“I don’t want you here. Leave.” His voice was firm, and even though it was directed at Kai, the words cut deeper than they should.

Kai, terrified now, stood up quickly, nodding vigorously. “Okay, okay! I’m sorry!” He turned and practically bolted out of the room, leaving you alone with Soobin, your blood boiling.

You stared at Soobin, unable to find the words for a moment, but then you exploded. “What the hell, Soobin? Are you really that possessive of me?”

“I’m not being possessive! I’m just trying to protect you,” Soobin snapped back, but you could see the way his fists were clenched, the frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

You crossed your arms over your chest. “Protect me? From what? Him? I can protect myself, Soobin!”

Soobin took a deep breath, clearly struggling with his emotions. “You don’t get it,” he muttered, his voice softer now. “Guys... guys always have screwed-up intentions.”

Your eyes widened with frustration. “Aren’t you a guy?” you spat, your anger rising with each word.

Soobin froze. His expression faltered, and he was silent for a moment, looking at you like he was trying to process what you had just said. His face hardened.

“I’m your brother,” he finally said, his voice gruff.

“No, you’re not, Soobin,” you snapped. “We don’t even have the same parents. I’m only here because I was left alone.”

Soobin looked like you slapped him. His fists clenched tighter, and his jaw tightened. “Alone? What am I then? A doll?”

The words hit harder than you expected, and it stung more than you wanted to admit. You glared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “You’re being annoying, and you can’t stand to see me happy, can you?”

Soobin’s face turned red, and he took a step closer, towering over you. His voice cracked with frustration. “Can’t stand to see you happy? Every. Single. Day, I spend my life trying to make you happy. Can’t you see that?”

You knew he was right. You knew he was always trying to make you happy, but you couldn’t let him win. Not now. Not like this.

“Whatever,” you muttered, turning to leave his room. But before you could even step away, Soobin spun you around, his hand gripping your wrist, pulling you toward him. Your breath caught in your throat as his hand pressed against the wall beside you, his body dangerously close.

“Tell me to stop, and I will,” he said, his voice harsh, but there was something more behind it. It was almost like he was giving you one last chance to run.

You opened your mouth to protest, to push him away, but your words died on your tongue. The air was thick between you, and before you could even register what was happening, his lips crashed against yours.

The kiss was rough, heated with months of tension, with everything unspoken between you. It was a kiss that demanded something—something you didn’t know how to respond to. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, his grip on you firm, like he was afraid you would disappear if he let go.

Your heart raced, your body frozen between wanting to push him away and pull him closer. Your mind screamed at you to stop, to break free, but you were too lost in the feeling of his lips on yours.

Soobin pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, both of you gasping for air. He didn’t say anything at first. Neither of you did. It was like you were both waiting for the storm to pass.

And maybe it would, or maybe it wouldn’t. But you knew one thing for sure now: everything had changed.

—-

Four years had passed since that day, since Soobin had left for flight school. You’d buried the memory deep, locked it away like a secret too dangerous to acknowledge. After all, how could you look him in the eye again after that moment? The kiss. The way his lips had felt against yours, as if the whole world had shifted in that one breathless instant.

Kai had been a distraction, maybe. Or perhaps he had been a way for you to cope with Soobin’s impending absence, a rebellion against something you didn’t know how to deal with. After all, Soobin had been your anchor, your family, your “older brother” — until he wasn’t. Until he’d crossed that line, and left you hanging in a way you didn’t know how to understand.

You never brought it up to him. You couldn’t. How could you, when the next morning, Soobin acted like nothing had happened? He was back to being your “older brother,” carrying on like it was just another regular day. As if he hadn’t just kissed you like that, like it was nothing. And so, you pretended too. You pretended it was normal. You pretended like you hadn’t spent days afterward replaying that moment in your head, each time wondering what it meant, what it had been.

—-

The silence between the two of you was deafening. After breakfast, Soobin hadn’t uttered a single word. He was lost in his own thoughts, and it felt like the air between you had thickened, each unspoken word hanging in the space between you both.

You quickly excused yourself, heading to the shower in an attempt to clear your mind. The hot water didn’t wash away the discomfort, though. It only seemed to magnify the embarrassing tension that still lingered. You couldn’t even look at him without feeling the weight of your confession bearing down on you. You had told him everything — that you liked him, more than you should — and now he was just… silent.

When you finished, you grabbed your things, stuffing them into your bag a little more aggressively than you intended. You were angry, frustrated, and honestly just tired of the awkwardness.

Soobin hadn’t spoken to you since you’d laid it all out there. Not even a simple acknowledgment of what you’d said, what you’d put yourself through. It was as if it had never happened. And it made you want to scream.

“Asshole,” you muttered to yourself as you slung your bag over your shoulder.

You couldn’t stay here. Not with him acting like a mute pilot. You didn’t need his silence, didn’t need the awkward tension that came with it. It was too much. You couldn’t handle it.

Just as you were about to leave, you heard the faintest rustle of movement behind you. You spun around, ready to give him a piece of your mind, but he was still there, standing by the couch, looking like he was trying to find something to say. But of course, nothing came out.

“Really, Soobin?” you snapped, your voice cracking slightly. "You’re not going to say anything? Not even after everything?"

Your hand reached for the doorknob, shame settling in your chest, when, just as you were about to leave, Soobin suddenly stood up, rushing toward you. In a flash, he locked you between the wall and his arms, trapping you.

“How could I possibly put into words how much I’ve loved you and yearned for you?” His voice was strained, raw, like every word was fighting to break free.

You froze, your breath caught in your throat. This was the moment you’d been waiting for, yet it felt as though time had stopped. The tension between you both was thick, suffocating almost, but there was something undeniable in the way he looked at you — something that made your heart race despite the anger and confusion swirling inside you.

“What?” you whispered, your voice trembling with the mix of emotions you couldn’t quite sort through.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to say it for so long,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours, “but I don’t know how to make it make sense. I don’t know how to explain how much I’ve wanted you — wanted this — without completely screwing it all up.”

Your heart thudded in your chest. You could feel the warmth of his body close to yours, his breath hot against your skin. You wanted to pull away, to push him out of your personal space, but something held you there. Something inside of you, a pull that you couldn’t deny.

“Then why... why didn’t you say anything before?” You could feel the frustration rising in you, mixing with the vulnerability of his confession.

“I was scared,” he admitted, his voice low. “Scared that it would ruin everything — everything we have. I never wanted to make things weird, especially not with you. But I can’t keep pretending that I don’t feel this way.”

You swallowed hard, your eyes desperately searching his, trying to make sense of the storm of emotions swirling inside you. Was this real? You wanted to understand, to make it all make sense, but you were lost in the intensity of the moment.

“You’re my brother, Soobin,” you said, your voice trembling with the weight of what you were trying to deny. “You can’t just—”

But he interrupted you, his voice steady yet filled with raw emotion. “But I’m not. We’re not siblings. You came into my life like a whirlwind, and now... now you’ve completely changed everything. I think about you every night, every night. How the hell am I supposed to put all this... all these emotions, these feelings, into words when nothing... nothing in the dictionary can explain how much I feel for you?”

His face was inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin. You could feel the heat radiating from him, his presence consuming you. It was as though the air between you both had thickened, each word hanging in the space like a confession, unspoken yet loud in its silence.

“Soobin...” You whispered, your heart hammering in your chest, trying to find something to say, something to stop this, but you were rendered speechless by the intensity in his eyes.

“You—” His voice dropped, thick with emotion, his breath shallow. “You, who flipped my world upside down. You, who I can’t ever stop thinking about, even when I try.” He closed the gap between you, his lips so close you could almost feel them on your skin. “You, who took my first kiss.”

Your pulse quickened, and your chest tightened. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to step away, but you couldn’t. His words were pulling you in, drawing you closer despite the storm inside you. The tension between you was almost unbearable, the words unsaid, but felt deeply in the space that separated you both.

“Soobin,” you gasped, your voice cracking. “This... this isn’t... we can’t.”

But his eyes locked onto yours, unrelenting. “We can. If you’d just let me show you.” His voice was barely a whisper, but it held so much weight, so much desire. He moved just enough to make your breath catch, his body a breath away from yours. The space between you was nonexistent now.

You could feel the heat radiating between the two of you, the space narrowing as Soobin's breath mixed with yours. His hands, firm yet gentle, found their way to your wrists, pulling your arms above your head and locking them there. His eyes were searching yours, his lips barely a breath away. 

Without a word, his lips pressed against yours, tentative at first, as if testing the waters. But then, as if something within him snapped, the kiss deepened. It was slow, deliberate, and all-encompassing. His hand moved to the back of your head, pulling you closer, while your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt.

You felt the world tilt, as though everything in your life had led to this exact moment. The warmth of his lips, the pressure of his body against yours, made you forget everything else.

Soobin pulled away, his forehead resting against yours, both of you gasping for breath. “I don’t want to stop,” he whispered, voice low and hoarse.

You couldn’t even respond. Your heart was racing, your thoughts a blur. The emotions flooding your chest were overwhelming, but one thing was certain—there was no turning back now.

He slowly guided you toward the bedroom, still holding you close.

—

It had been hours since the two of you went to bed. You slowly woke up, peeking under the blanket and realizing what had transpired between you two. "Oh," you murmured, quickly looking away. Your eyes landed on Soobin, who was lying beside you in nothing but the sheets, his back turned.

You glanced at the clock beside you. It had been two hours since your class started, and you were in a completely different city now. One day of missed classes wouldn’t be the end of the world, but your grades? You weren’t sure.

In a panic, your hand reached for your phone to text Beomgyu and ask him to take notes for you. But before you could, you felt Soobin’s eyes on you.

"Texting another guy when we’ve just done it is crazy," he said, his voice deep with a touch of teasing.

You stiffened, quickly responding, "I’m making sure I don’t fail."

Soobin chuckled, his lips lightly pressing against your bare shoulder, sending a shiver down your spine. "You can’t text a Cassandra or a Layla or something? Why does it have to be Beomgyu?"

"Because he’s my friend," you muttered, flustered.

A playful, almost possessive glint flashed in Soobin's eyes. "Right…a friend…" he said, his voice low and teasing as his arms pulled you closer.

Rolling your eyes, you sighed. "Okay, okay. I get it. You’re jealous." You leaned in to kiss his cheek, a gesture of reassurance.

But then, as if to make it right, you softly placed your hand on his chest. "You know, you should really go to class. You need to keep your grades up too, Mr. Pilot."

Soobin pouted slightly, his eyebrows furrowing in frustration. "I don’t want to go to class without you," he grumbled.

You smiled, running a hand through his messy hair. "Well, I can’t exactly go now can I?" you teased, pushing him toward the edge of the bed.

"Fine," Soobin said with a heavy sigh, pretending to be put out but the smile on his lips was unmistakable. "But only because you told me to."

"Good," you said, kissing his cheek once more. "Now go, and maybe I’ll make it up to you later."

As he reluctantly stood up, his expression softened. "You owe me, but I’m gonna let you off the hook for now. Go crush your class, alright?"

You grinned, still a little flushed from everything, but feeling lighter now. "I will," you said confidently. "Now go. You’re going to be late."

—-

A few hours later, you had texted Soobin, explaining that you really needed to get back to the city. You had an exam the next week, and your days had been nothing short of a whirlwind with him.

You could almost hear the disappointment in his response when he begged you to stay at least until he got back from his flying test. “Just a little longer, please?” The text read, filled with sincerity and a subtle plea that tugged at your heart.

You sighed, knowing you'd just barely make it in time, but… after everything that had happened, after last night, you found yourself missing him more than usual. The way his presence had wrapped around you in a way that felt so familiar, so right. You weren’t sure if you were even ready to leave just yet.

Tapping your phone screen, you typed back, “Okay, but only because you’re being so insistent. I’ll stay until you’re back.”

His reply was quick, almost instantly: “You won’t regret it. I promise.”

You smiled at the screen, feeling your chest warm at the thought of him. You hadn't expected everything to feel so natural, so different, so good with him, and yet here you were, tangled in the very emotions that made you hesitate to leave.

—

As you waited for Soobin to come home, you decided to cook him his favorite dinner. You weren’t exactly a master chef, but you were determined to try your best. You chopped vegetables, stirred sauces, and even got a little flour on your cheek from the bread you had attempted to bake. It was a mess, but you figured it would be worth it when Soobin walked through the door. You smiled at the thought of his face lighting up at the effort you put in.

The clock ticked away, and you nervously adjusted the plates on the dining table, glancing at the meal you had prepared. It wasn’t perfect—far from it—but you hoped it would be enough. You had tried. That had to count for something, right?

You heard the front door open and the sound of footsteps approaching. Then the familiar sound of Soobin’s voice calling out your name.

“I’m home!”

You quickly wiped your hands on your apron and rushed to greet him, just as he walked into the living room, still in his uniform.

As soon as Soobin walked through the door in his little pilot uniform, you couldn’t help yourself. He looked so good in it—too good. The crispness of the outfit, the way it clung just enough to show off his figure, the way his hair was perfectly messy as if he had just stepped out of a daydream. You immediately found yourself glued to his side, your body instinctively leaning against him as he entered.

Your hand rested on his arm, almost possessively, as if you needed to keep him close. You hadn’t realized how clingy you were being until Soobin, looking slightly confused, glanced at you with raised brows. “Hey, what’s with you today? You’re unusually handsy,” he teased.

You paused, your hand still resting on his arm, your fingers lightly tracing the fabric of his uniform. It wasn’t just that you missed him or that you were excited to have him home—it was something about the uniform itself. You suddenly realized that maybe it wasn’t just the comfort of his presence that was making you cling to him so tightly. You could feel your chest tighten as you looked at him.

“I don’t know,” you muttered, but then it clicked. His uniform. That was it. You shifted uncomfortably as the realization dawned on you.

Soobin’s eyes widened as he caught on. “Wait a second... you’re being extra clingy because of the uniform?”

You couldn’t hide your embarrassment, and your cheeks flushed a deep red. You averted your gaze, fiddling with the edge of your sleeve. “Maybe…”

He chuckled softly, his hand gently brushing your hair away from your face, though his expression still held a hint of confusion. “You’re so weird sometimes.”

But then it hit him—that moment when he pieced it all together. He wasn’t just an adorable sight in the uniform; it was the fact that you felt possessive of him, protective, maybe even a little jealous.

“Wait, is this why you hate it when I wear this to pick you up from school?” He continued, stepping a little closer to you, his hands gently resting on your shoulders. “It’s because you don’t like the idea of other girls looking at me.”

You bit your lip, suddenly feeling exposed. You didn’t want to admit it, but there was no denying it. “Maybe,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. 

Soobin’s gaze softened, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he leaned down to kiss the top of your head. “You don’t need to worry about that. I’m not going anywhere.”

You looked up at him, the conflict in your heart still there, but it eased just a little at the tenderness in his eyes. He really didn’t get it, did he? The fact that you couldn’t bear the thought of sharing him. It wasn’t about other girls; it was about how much you needed him for yourself.

“I know. But still,” you muttered, not quite ready to let go of your insecurities just yet.

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into his side, his warm embrace comforting you more than you expected. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll stop wearing it outside the house,” he teased, but there was no teasing in his voice—just pure affection.

You snuggled closer, burying your face in his chest. “Don’t be ridiculous. You can wear it whenever you want… just… maybe not when you’re picking me up from school.”

Soobin laughed softly, “That’s how I feel every time you walk out of the house.”

“Really?” You rolled your eyes.

“Walking out like that, looking naturally cute, is a heart attack waiting to happen,” Soobin said, his voice almost too serious.

You laughed, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not! You don’t see the stares you get outside?” Soobin sighed.

“No, I don’t, because when we’re out together, I only see you,” you teased.

“All these sugary words, you do know we’re still not dating, right?” Soobin said, raising an eyebrow.

You crossed your arms. “Doesn’t this morning count? I lost my—”

“I still haven’t asked you out, though,” Soobin interrupted, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Okay, go ahead, ask me.”

“Like this? With me in my work uniform and you in a dirty apron?”

“There’s no better timing. Besides, I’d say yes to anything if you ask me in your uniform.”

“Oh, so that’s how I’ll get you to agree with me now?” Soobin grinned.

“Not everything. I still have a conscience and morality.”

“You do now?”

“Mhm,” you nodded playfully.

“Okay then,” he said, pulling you closer. “Wanna be my girlfriend?”

“That’s so lame.”

Soobin chuckled, his hands resting on your waist as he pulled you even closer. “What’s so lame about it?”

“You’ve got this serious, pilot face, and then you hit me with ‘Wanna be my girlfriend?’” You rolled your eyes, but there was a smile tugging at your lips. “You could’ve at least tried to make it more dramatic or something.”

He raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oh, I see how it is. You want the grand, swoon-worthy proposal, huh?”

“Something like that,” you teased, leaning into him.

Soobin smiled, his grip tightening around you as he leaned in close. “Well, if you want drama…” He paused, eyes locking with yours, the air between you thick with tension. “How about this?”

Before you could react, Soobin leaned in and kissed you softly, but with a touch of urgency that left you breathless. When he pulled back, he looked into your eyes, a playful smile on his lips. “Now, will you be my girlfriend?”

You were stunned for a moment, your heartbeat racing. “Okay, fine. Yes,” you said with a laugh, feeling your cheeks flush. “But don’t get used to the cheesy lines.”

“I’ll take it,” he said with a grin, his voice full of satisfaction. “Guess that means we’re officially together now.”

“Yeah,” you replied, smiling back. “Guess we are.”

[bucketgetter535]

This is not a cry for help (but it might be) PART FIVE

WC: 2.9k CW: Ehh like kissing ish Notes: Azzi fudd conformed menace???

The drive to the cabin was long enough for Paige to consider faking a nap. Not because she didn’t like Katie, Katie was actually… nice. Like, suspiciously so. Like, what’s your motive, lady kind of nice. But also, not fake. Not in that plastic-smile, passive-aggressive Minnesota way either. Just… nice in the real, soft, mom way that made Paige kind of want to shrink into herself and never speak again.

Except she couldn’t do that. Because she’d already said “thank you for the ride” and then something sarcastic about mosquito bites being nature’s love language, and Katie had laughed like it was actually funny. So now they had a rhythm. A Paige-has-to-be-funny rhythm. That was dangerous.

“So,” Katie said, eyes still on the road but clearly ready to talk, “Azzi said you’re excited for the big tournament coming up?”

Paige shifted in her seat. She had her feet up on the dash (until Katie had nicely asked her not to, which made Paige feel like she’d kicked a puppy), and now she was just sitting cross-legged and trying to act like she didn’t get carsick when she read texts.

“Yeah,” Paige said. “Well, I mean. Excited to win.”

Katie laughed again. Paige scratched her head and tried not to smile like a dork. She failed. A little.

“I like tournaments,” Paige added. “They’re loud and no one expects me to do homework.”

Katie gave her a side glance. “You don’t like school?”

“Does anyone?” Paige deadpanned.

“Azzi does.”

“Yeah, well, Azzi’s the actual blueprint of a human,” Paige said, which was her way of saying Azzi was the kind of person who didn’t lose their backpack twice a week or forget they had a test until the bell rang. “School’s just… I mean, I go. I’m there.”

She paused.

“But like, mentally? I’m in a different galaxy.”

Katie smiled again, and it made Paige feel weirdly safe and weirdly judged at the same time. Not bad-judged. Just, like, mom-judged. Which… ugh.

Paige slumped further into the passenger seat. The A/C was blasting and she was wearing one of her usual hoodies an d not even because she was cold but because it felt like armor. No one could tell she was tired.

Katie didn’t talk for a few minutes. Just let the music play. Some soft oldies stuff, not even that annoying. Paige watched the trees blur past the window and tried not to think too hard about anything.

Not the fight she left behind. Not her dad or her stepmom or the way Drew’s eyes had looked a little too big and tired when she said goodbye this morning. Not even the tournament, or how many minutes she’d get, or how Tasha had looked at her like she knew things Paige hadn’t said out loud.

She’d think about that later. Or never.

“What are Azzi’s grandparents like?” she asked eventually, just to fill the air.

“Oh, they’re the best,” Katie said. “My dad’s always telling long stories and my mom bakes way too much. You’ll be fed whether you want to be or not.”

“That’s threatening,” Paige said, nodding solemnly.

Katie laughed, which… again? Why was this woman so unbothered by her sarcasm?

“You’ll have fun,” she said. “And we’re really glad you’re coming, Paige.”

Paige stared out the window again.

She didn’t say “thanks.” But she did turn the music up one notch, which was maybe the same thing.

Kind of.

–

Azzi’s grandma didn’t give her a choice.

Like actually. There was no “Are you hungry?” or “Would you like some?” or even a “Let me know if you need anything.” It was just: food. A lot of food. Dropped right in front of her with a smile and a napkin tucked into Paige’s lap before she could even say, “I’m good, thanks.”

“Eat,” She’d said.

So Paige did.

Because you don’t say no to a woman with arms like she could crush walnuts barehanded and an apron that said ‘Kiss the Cook, She Might Bite’.

To be fair, the food was fire. Like… aggressively good. Like am I allowed to have thirds or is that greedy good. There were buttery potatoes and actual corn on the cob (not the frozen kind), and some kind of chicken that had been seasoned by the divine hand of God himself. Paige ate in silence for a while, which was new.

Azzi elbowed her once when she caught Paige licking her fingers, and Paige gave her a dirty look and licked them slower on purpose.

“Real mature,” Azzi muttered.

“Real tasty,” Paige replied with a grin and a mouthful of cornbread.

–

Later, when the sun had gone all orange-pink and the mosquitos were out for blood, Paige ended up on the porch with Azzi. Just the two of them. Everyone else was inside doing card games or cleaning up or drinking.

The air smelled like pine needles and citronella candles. Paige’s hoodie was back on, because obviously. She was sitting cross-legged on the bench swing, swaying just a little, eyes half on the trees.

Azzi was sitting across from her, curled up like some kind of peaceful forest cat. Her hair was still a little damp from her shower, and her skin glowed in that annoying natural way, like she was an ad for fresh air.

“So,” Azzi said, soft. “How were things at home?”

And boom. There it was. The question Paige knew was coming and still hadn’t planned for.

She squinted at Azzi like really, bro? but Azzi just kept looking at her with those eyes.

“Oh, you know,” Paige said, waving her hand. “Just your classic suburban gladiator match. Stepmom screaming about the thermostat. Dad acting like he invented patience. Real riveting stuff. Should’ve sold tickets.”

Azzi didn’t laugh.

She just kept looking at her. Quiet. Almost… patient.

Paige’s smile faltered for like a second, but she caught it and threw sarcasm back on like a life vest.

“It’s fine,” she said. “They love to yell. It’s like… their thing. Their couple’s hobby.”

Azzi still didn’t say anything. Just tilted her head slightly and looked at her. Not through her. Not around her. At her. Like she was really trying to see what was hiding behind the joke.

And that? That was disarming.

“What?” Paige said, a little sharper than she meant.

“Nothing,” Azzi said. “Just… you’re bad at lying.”

That made Paige’s ears heat up. Like… okay. Chill out. It’s just a comment. A true one, maybe, but whatever.

“I’m great at lying,” she said. “I lie all the time. I’m basically an expert.”

Azzi smiled a little, and then went back to staring out at the trees. Paige followed her gaze. They sat like that for a minute, and it should’ve been awkward, but it wasn’t.

Then Azzi looked at her again. Like really looked.

And Paige felt it in her face. Her cheeks did that stupid warm thing they sometimes did, which was so annoying because that only happened when someone looked at her too long and she didn’t know where to put her hands or her eyes or her anything.

Azzi was just sitting there, chill as hell, with her little campfire glow and her annoyingly pretty features, and Paige was suddenly thinking, okay wait.

Azzi was like… really pretty?

Not just “you’re tall and have good skin” pretty. But like… I wanna look at you a little longer than I should pretty.

Paige dropped her gaze fast. Pretended to see a bug or something.

“Don’t make that face,” Azzi said.

“What face?”

“The one you make when you’re blushing and trying to act like you’re not.”

“I’m not blushing,” Paige said immediately, totally lying.

“Okay,” Azzi said, smirking. “Sure.”

Paige kicked the swing into motion with her foot, harder than she meant to.

“I’m just… hot. Like temperature-wise.”

Azzi stretched and yawned and then smirked again.

“You’re ridiculous.”

Paige turned away before her whole face caught fire.

She muttered under her breath, “You’re ridiculous.”

And yeah. Maybe she was.

But also maybe she liked being ridiculous when Azzi was the one looking at her.

–

It’s not a big deal.

Really.

People share beds all the time. Especially girls. Especially at cabins where there aren’t enough rooms and everyone acts like “Oh it’s just like a sleepover!” and you pretend that’s not the most loaded sentence in history when you’re lowkey panicking about where your limbs go.

So yeah. Not a big deal. Paige has done this before. Sort of. 

Whatever. She’s fine.

Azzi brushes her teeth in the world’s slowest, most peaceful, most beautiful way (somehow), and Paige stares at herself in the mirror and tries to psych herself up like she’s walking into the fourth quarter down by ten. She washes her face and puts on lotion and then spends five whole minutes wondering if she used too much lotion and is now shiny. Like if Azzi will notice. Like if it matters.

Azzi’s already in bed by the time Paige comes out of the bathroom. She’s sitting up against the headboard with her phone, wearing a tank top and some baggy shorts like she’s not actively trying to kill Paige.

“Your turn,” Azzi says, without looking up.

“Yeah,” Paige says. “Great.”

She climbs in. The far side. Gives herself an inch of safe distance like that’ll help anything. Azzi doesn’t say anything. Just shifts a little and that’s somehow worse. Because now the blanket moves, and Paige can feel the shift of body heat, and she really shouldn’t be noticing that.

It’s quiet for a while. Just the buzz of someone’s charging phone and the hum of the ceiling fan.

And then Azzi starts talking.

Nothing major. Just little things. A comment about how her cousin got a speeding ticket last week, something about the salad at lunch being fake healthy, a lowkey brag about her Mario Kart record.

But the way she talks?

It’s different. It’s low and soft, like bedtime Azzi has decided to use her nighttime voice. The one with a smile tucked into it. Like she knows it’s late and everything sounds closer in the dark.

And then—THEN—she bumps Paige’s foot under the blanket. On purpose.

“What,” Paige says, half a laugh, because that was illegal.

Azzi shrugs, totally evil. “Just checking if your feet are cold.”

“They’re not.”

“They are now,” Azzi says, and then does it again.

Paige stares at the ceiling. “Okay, chill.”

Azzi hums. “You chill.”

“I am chill.”

“Right,” Azzi says, which is probably code for No you’re not, I can feel your entire soul panicking.

Then Azzi leans back a little more, arms behind her head, and her tank top shifts and—okay. Nope.

Nope nope nope.

Paige is not freaking out. She is just lying in a bed. Next to her teammate. Her friend. Her girl she has kissed before and not thought about every second since. Nope. Not thinking. Not feeling weird. Not—

“Are you gonna just stare at the ceiling all night?” Azzi asks, voice warm.

Paige swallows. “Maybe. It’s a good ceiling.”

Azzi laughs. Quiet but all up in Paige’s chest somehow.

And then—God help her—Azzi turns on her side to face Paige. One arm under the pillow, eyes soft in the dim light. Her foot bumps Paige’s again.

“You’re weird tonight,” Paige says. Because Azzi started this.

Azzi just smiles. Doesn’t blink. “Am I?”

“Yes.”

“You’re the one acting all shy.”

“I’m not shy.”

“You kind of are.”

Paige groans and flops to face away, which only helps until Azzi’s hand brushes her arm under the covers and Paige actually jumps.

Azzi definitely notices.

“Dude,” she says, all amused and full of herself. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Paige mutters into her pillow. “Not even a little.”

Azzi laughs again. And then doesn’t say anything for a while.

And Paige is like… what is even happening? Why does her stomach feel like Pop Rocks in soda? Why does her face feel hot? Why does this feel like a thing?

Azzi shifts closer, just barely, and Paige can feel the edge of her breath on the back of her neck.

“Hey,” Azzi says quietly.

“What.”

“You’re not good at hiding when you feel things.”

“I don’t feel things.”

Azzi’s hand lands light on Paige’s waist. Not weird, just… there.

“Sure,” she says.

Paige closes her eyes.

Yep. She’s toast.

It’s not like Paige can sleep anyway.

That’d be too easy.

Her brain is racing and her heart’s been in overtime since the moment Azzi started with the late-night voice and the foot-touching and the look. The one that’s like I know exactly what I’m doing to you and I’m gonna keep doing it.

So yeah, she turns.

She turns to face Azzi because there’s no way not to, not when Azzi’s being like this, not when it’s dark and quiet and they’re under the same blanket and Paige’s chest is full of lightning.

Azzi looks at her. Just… looks.

Her eyes are soft. And her hand is just resting there, low on Paige’s waist like she belongs there. Like it’s normal. Like Paige isn’t about to go into cardiac arrest.

“You okay?” Azzi says, voice all calm and sweet like she didn’t just knock Paige off her entire axis.

“I’m fine,” Paige says. Or tries to. Her voice cracks halfway through.

Azzi grins. “You don’t sound fine.”

Paige glares. Sort of. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That thing with your face.”

Azzi’s still smiling. She drags her fingers a little, just a little, along Paige’s side, slow and lazy like she’s got all the time in the world to ruin Paige’s life. “You mean this?”

“Yeah,” Paige says. “That’s illegal.”

Azzi hums like she’s thinking about it. Her fingers keep moving. Soft, over Paige’s shirt. Just enough to make her skin crawl in the good way. “I think I’m just being friendly.”

“This isn’t friendly,” Paige says, but she doesn’t mean it. She can’t mean it. She’s not even pulling away.

Azzi lifts one eyebrow. “No?”

“No,” Paige says again, and it comes out way too breathy.

Azzi scoots a little closer. Now they’re actually face to face, noses inches apart, breath all tangled up. Azzi’s hand is still there. Still moving.

And Paige feels so warm. Like every nerve in her body is tuned to Azzi, like she’s hyper-aware of every place they’re touching. Which is way too many places.

Azzi’s voice is low. Dangerous. “You want me to stop?”

And Paige—

Paige should say yes. That’d be the smart thing. The responsible thing. The I-don’t-wanna-ruin-our-team-dynamic thing.

But instead, she just breathes out, “No.”

Azzi looks at her for a second. Like really looks at her. Then her fingers move up—along Paige’s ribs, just under the hem of her shirt, featherlight—and Paige practically shivers.

“I’m definitely crossing a line,” Azzi says, soft like a confession.

Paige nods, heart pounding. “You are.”

Azzi leans in, just enough to let her lips hover by Paige’s ear. “And you’re letting me.”

Paige squeezes her eyes shut. “Yeah. I know.”

Azzi pulls back just enough to look at her again, and Paige has never wanted anything more than she wants whatever’s happening right now.

Azzi’s hand rests gently against her stomach now. Not pushing, not taking. Just there. And Paige swears her whole body is burning.

“You’re hot,” Paige whispers.

Azzi smiles. “So are you.”

Paige doesn’t even blink. “Prove it.”

For a second, Azzi doesn’t move.

Like she’s giving Paige one last chance to back out. One last chance to say wait or stop or never mind, I’m a liar and I can’t handle this.

But Paige doesn’t say any of that.

She’s holding eye contact like it’s oxygen. Her chest is rising and falling faster than she wants it to, and her mouth is kind of open for no reason. She doesn’t breathe. Can’t.

And then Azzi does it.

She leans in the rest of the way and kisses her.

It’s soft at first. Gentle. Barely there.

And Paige  forgets how to exist. She forgets her name. Her dad. Her stepmom. Her house in Hopkins that’s too loud to live in. She forgets everything but this.

Azzi’s lips are warm. Her hand on Paige’s stomach goes still, but her thumb keeps moving. And Paige kisses back without even thinking about it. Just goes. Like her body knew what to do before she did.

It’s slow. Careful. Way too real.

Then Azzi pulls back a little. Just a breath. Paige’s eyes are still closed.

“You okay?” Azzi whispers.

Paige opens them. Blinks a few times. “I—I think I blacked out.”

Azzi laughs. She’s smiling. “Good or bad blackout?”

“Like… good,” Paige says. “The best, actually.”

Azzi tucks a piece of hair behind Paige’s ear. Her fingers are still on Paige’s shirt. Still waiting.

And Paige? She’s still burning. Still full of static. Still very much trying to pretend she knows how to do this when she’s mostly running on adrenaline and vibes.

So she goes for it.

She kisses Azzi this time. She’s the one who leans in, who brushes her lips against hers and holds there. A little less careful. A little more her.

Azzi makes a sound against her mouth. Something pleased. Something that says yeah, okay, you might have some game.

And when they separate again, Paige is red.

Her ears are hot. Her face is on fire. But she’s smiling.

Azzi looks at her like she’s just solved a puzzle.

Paige buries her face in the pillow for a second. “I swear to God, if I just ruined everything—”

“You didn’t,” Azzi says, already pulling her back by the shirt sleeve. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

Paige lifts her eyes. “That was you proving it?”

Azzi smirks, leaning in again but stopping just before their lips meet. “Mmm for now. Might have to prove it again later.”

[hyakujuuou]

Ninjago pilots: so Zane is just sort of a strange guy but y’know he’s got his thing and we’ve got our things and who are we to judge? He’s probably autistic, but we’re not going to out and say it. You have eyes and ears, though.

Seasons 1-2: so actually the reason Zane seems like a strange guy is because he’s a robot! He’s much more than that, though, and he’s his own unique person, and the other ninja are going to continue to love him for that. This changes nothing about the character we know and love :) he’s got his thing and we’ve got ours he walks like a person he talks like a person he’s just like us really. This is a metaphor for autism

Season 3: so there are actually other robots like him but Zane is still special among them. This season is about robots actually so we’re going to think about his robot thing more but that’s mostly cool things he can do. It doesn’t disqualify him from doing cool human things, too, and he’s really still the same awesome guy and his friends still love him and there’s never a question that the whole city mourns him like a person in the end.

Seasons 4-8: Alright he looks a little more undeniably robotic now but y’know he had to rebuild his body and maybe he’s more comfortable not looking like a human and it’s become such a core part of his character and the worldbuilding that it’s going to have to be there all the time so it might as well be visible

8-onwards: beep boop I am robot what is sarcasm

[rose24207]

Simp sessions and sliding into DM’s

Summary: Y/N openly simps for Lando Norris during a Beta Squad video, and he surprises her by sliding into her DMs.

Genre: humor

TW: filly (?)

A/N: English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

The Beta Squad filming day was already off to a chaotic start, as usual. Cameras were rolling, the boys were bantering, and you were doing what you did best: keeping them in check while simultaneously embarrassing yourself over Lando Norris.

You were the heart of the group—a mix of sass, sarcasm, and too much energy. But when it came to Lando? You couldn’t help yourself. The guys loved it, though, because your relentless simping made for prime content.

“Alright, next challenge,” Sharky announced as the crew prepped for the next scene. “We’ve got trivia, and the loser has to wear this ridiculous chicken suit for the rest of the video.”

“I am not losing this,” Chunkz said, crossing his arms.

“You better not,” AJ quipped. “Because we already know Y/N losing the second we bring up Formula 1.”

You rolled your eyes but grinned. “Listen, I might fail general trivia, but if the question’s about Lando Norris, I’ll ace it.”

“Of course you will,” Kenny teased, smirking at the camera. “You’d probably marry him if you could.”

“Who says I wouldn’t?” you shot back, flipping your hair dramatically. Then, looking directly into the lens, you added, “Lando, if you’re watching this, hi. I’m single, funny, and an excellent cook. Call me.”

The room erupted with laughter as the guys doubled over at your boldness.

“You’re shameless!” Niko said, wiping tears from his eyes.

“Don’t act like you’re not jealous,” you retorted, pointing at him. “Lando’s a catch, and I’m just shooting my shot.”

The filming continued, but the Lando jokes didn’t stop. Every time a question remotely related to racing or McLaren came up, you’d light up like a Christmas tree.

“Which F1 team has won the most championships?” AJ read aloud during the trivia round.

“McLaren!” you shouted.

Chunkz groaned. “It’s Ferrari, you muppet.”

You pouted, ignoring the laughter and leaning into the camera again. “I tried, Lando. I swear I did. Don’t judge me.”

Unbeknownst to you, Lando was watching.

Ever since Filly introduced him to Beta Squad’s videos, he’d been a quiet fan. At first, he watched for the laughs, but after seeing you roast the boys with razor-sharp wit and your constant jokes about him, he became... intrigued.

“Mate, she’s proper funny,” Lando had told Filly after a particularly chaotic episode.

“Yeah, Y/N’s a legend,” Filly said with a grin. “You should DM her, bro. She’d lose it.”

“I don’t know,” Lando had said, trying to play it cool. But secretly, he couldn’t get the idea out of his head.

Back at the Beta Squad shoot, you were sitting on the sofa during a break, scrolling through Instagram. The guys were busy setting up for the next segment, but you were glued to your screen, giggling at Lando’s latest post.

“What’s so funny?” Chunkz asked, leaning over your shoulder.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, turning your phone away.

“Bet it’s Lando,” Sharky teased, walking past.

“Of course it is,” AJ said. “She’s been staring at her phone like it’s a picture of her future husband.”

“Leave me alone,” you said, laughing. “It’s not my fault he’s perfect.”

“Perfect at crashing,” Niko said, and you threw a cushion at him.

“Say that again, and I’ll fight you,” you warned, grinning.

Just then, Sharky’s phone buzzed, and he let out a surprised laugh. “No way.”

“What?” Chunkz asked, curious.

“Lando just posted a story. He’s watching our video.”

Your eyes widened. “Wait, what?”

The guys crowded around Sharky’s phone, and sure enough, there was Lando’s story—a clip of you dramatically declaring your love for him, with the caption: “I’m flattered. Trivia next time?”

You froze, your face burning. “Oh my god.”

“Y/N, you’ve made it!” AJ shouted, shaking your shoulders.

“Wait, this is big,” Kenny said, laughing. “What are you gonna do?”

Before you could answer, your phone buzzed. You picked it up hesitantly, and your jaw dropped.

@landonorris: Followed you.

The room went silent for about three seconds before the guys erupted into chaos.

“He followed you?!” Chunkz yelled.

“This is better than any prank we’ve ever done,” Sharky said, grinning.

“Alright, everyone, calm down!” you said, though you were anything but calm. Your heart was pounding as you opened Instagram, and sure enough, there it was—Lando’s name sitting at the top of your followers list.

“DM him!” AJ urged.

“No, wait,” Kenny said, smirking. “Let’s see if he DMs her first.”

As if on cue, another notification popped up.

Lando Norris: Hey, Y/N. Love the videos. Also, I’m offended you got the McLaren question wrong.

You let out a strangled laugh, holding up your phone. “He DMed me.”

The guys lost it again, shouting and cheering as you stared at the screen in disbelief.

“Reply!” Niko said, practically shoving you back onto the sofa.

Taking a deep breath, you typed out a response:

You: In my defense, I panicked. But thanks for watching! Let me know when you want to collab on trivia.

His reply came quickly:

Lando Norris: Deal. But only if I get to be on your team.

You couldn’t stop smiling, and the guys teased you relentlessly for the rest of the day. But for once, you didn’t care.

Because maybe, just maybe, your shameless simping was about to pay off.

Thank you for reading!

[himasgod]

Where they see your sh scars

Ch: Scaramouche, Kinich, Heizou and Lyney.

CW: 700 per character

TG: It's been a long time since I last wrote, sorry! I've been very busy with my studies lately, and I'll continue to be, but I hope to get back to my activity! Regarding this, there have been many people who have asked me for help in requests, and as I usually say in this type of request, you are not alone. Ask for help if you are going through a bad time. Even if you see it as dark, there are people, entities, associations, laws… protecting you. You will be able to get through this, and when you do, the scars will be nothing more than memories of your bravery that will heal little by little.

Scaramouche

The wind blew hard in the cold night, rustling the branches of the dry trees around you.

You stood in front of him, your body rigid with tension, as the dim moonlight illuminated Scaramouche’s porcelain unchanging face. His expression was the same as ever: an impenetrable mask of disdain mixed with indifference. But his eyes, dark and heavy with repressed emotions, stared at you as if he was trying to decipher a riddle he couldn’t solve.

You had made the mistake of carelessly rolling down your sleeves.

Now he knew.

“What are those marks?”

His sharp voice broke the silence, chilling your blood.

“It’s none of your business.”

You took a step back, clutching your arms to your chest as if you could protect yourself from his piercing gaze. But you knew it was useless. Scaramouche was a master at dismantling defenses, at ripping out the most painful truths without an ounce of mercy.

“Answer me.” He took a step toward you, his tone lower, but no less menacing.

“Why do you care?” you shot back, trying to stand your ground, though your voice trembled.

He stopped just a step away from you, his eyes boring into yours. There was something beyond the usual anger in his gaze: something he couldn’t or wouldn’t name.

“I don’t care,” he lied, with that biting sarcasm he used to hide any vulnerability. “I just want to know if you’re lying to me. If you’re weaker than I thought.”

The wound his words left was immediate, like a knife wound to your chest. You clenched your fists, your nails digging into the palms of your hands as you tried to hold back tears.

“Is that what you think? That I’m weak because… because I hurted myself?”

“Aren't you?” He replied cruelly, but there was something broken in his voice.

“You have no idea what I’ve been through!” you screamed, your words filled with rage and pain. “You have no idea what it feels like to live with the weight of not being enough, of feeling like nothing matters! You have no right to judge me!”

He recoiled slightly, surprised by the intensity of your words. But he didn’t respond.

He couldn’t.

“You know what, Scaramouche? Maybe I am weak,” you continued, your voice breaking. “But at least I’m brave enough to admit it. And you? How long are you going to keep hiding behind that mask, pretending you don’t feel anything, that you don’t care about anyone?”

The silence stretched between the two of you, so thick you could almost hear your heartbeat.

Finally, Scaramouche looked away.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know more than you think.”

He looked at you again, this time without the barrier of his sarcasm. There was something raw in his expression, something you had never seen before: fear.

Not for you, but for what you meant to him.

“Those scars,” he murmured finally, his voice barely audible, “make me remember that I can’t protect you. I can’t even protect myself.”

Your eyes filled with tears as you moved closer to him, ignoring the urge to keep your distance.

“I don’t need you to protect me, Scaramouche. I just need you to be here. To let me be with you, even when it hurts.”

He didn’t respond, but when you took his hand, he didn’t pull away. His fingers were cold, but they held onto yours with a desperate strength.

“Maybe we’re both broken,” you whispered. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t find some peace together.”

Scaramouche closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. He didn't say anything else, but in that moment, you knew that, even though it was hard, he wasn't going to let you go.

Kinich

The jungle was silent, save for the crackling of the campfire and the distant echo of some nocturnal saurian.

Kinich sat across from you, his claymore resting to one side. He wasn’t sharpening it this time; he was simply watching you, his gaze fixed on your nervous movements. You had been silent all night, the sleeves of your robe pulled down to cover your hands, as if you wanted to disappear beneath the fabric.

“Are you going to keep staring at me or say something?” you blurted, your voice higher than you intended.

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes narrowed, studying you with that irritating calm that seemed unfazed. Finally, he spoke.

“Why are you hiding it?”

The air stopped in your lungs.

Your hands shook slightly as you clenched your sleeves, as if by doing so you could erase what you knew he had seen.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Kinich leaned forward, his movements deliberately slow. His fingers, rough from years of hunting and surviving, caught your wrist before you could pull away. The fabric of your sleeve gave way, exposing the scars that marked your skin like a map of old and new pain.

“Of this,” he said quietly, his tone devoid of judgment, but filled with something you couldn’t quite place.

“Let me go!” you struggled, your voice cracking in the attempt to sound strong.

“No.”

The firmness of his response disarmed you. There was no anger in his tone, no pity. But no softness either. It was as if he were confronting you, forcing you to see something you’d been avoiding for too long.

“What do you want me to say?” you blurted, tears threatening to spill over. “That I did it because I couldn’t take it anymore? That each of these scar is a reminder of how little I’m worth? How broken I am? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Kinich didn’t look away for a second. His grip on your wrist didn’t loosen, but it wasn’t aggressive either.

He was holding you back, yes, but not to hurt you, but to make sure you didn’t run away from this conversation.

“What I want,” he said, his voice deeper, almost like a growl, “is for you to stop talking about yourself like you’re less than nothing. Because you’re not.”

“And what do you know?” you screamed, the pent-up pain bursting out in every word. “You weren’t there! You don’t know what it feels like to live with this weight, this shit on your head every day! You don’t know what it feels like to want to disappear because nothing matters and no one notices, because no one stops you…”

“I noticed,” he interrupted, his tone sharp as a leaf.

The silence fell between the two of you, so heavy you could barely breathe. Tears finally fell, hot and treacherous, as you dropped to your knees in front of him.

“Why can’t you just ignore it like everyone else?” You whispered, your voice cracking.

Kinich let go of your wrist, only to slide his rough hands up to your shoulders. He forced you to lift your head, to look into his eyes.

“Because I’m not everyone else. Because when I see this,” he said, pointing to your scars, “I don’t see someone weak. I see someone who fought against herself and is here, breathing, alive. That’s not weakness. That’s strength.”

“I don’t feel strong…” you confessed between sobs.

“It doesn’t matter how you feel right now,” he said firmly, “because I know. And if I have to stay by your side until you understand, I will. But don’t ever say that you don’t matter, because to me, you matter more than my own life.”

The weight of his words fell on you like an avalanche. You couldn’t respond, you couldn’t say anything. You could only cry as he wrapped you in his arms, holding you as if he was afraid you would fade away.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn't feel like you were alone in the battle.

Heizou

It was early morning, and the dim light of dawn was beginning to filter through the cracks in the windows.

You sat at the table in his small office, watching as Heizou flipped through some reports with that carefree smile he always seemed to have. But tonight something was different. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and the air between you was thick with a tension you couldn’t quite explain.

“You know,” he began, his tone casual as he closed the report, “I have a theory.”

Your heart instantly sank. That phrase, which normally meant he was about to dazzle you with his intelligence, this time filled you with irrational fear.

“Oh yeah? What kind of theory?” you tried to sound carefree, but your voice trembled slightly.

Heizou didn’t respond right away. Instead, he stood up from his chair and slowly approached you, his eyes locked on yours. His gaze, always shrewd, was now deeper, as if he was seeing something you were desperately trying to hide.

“A theory about you,” he finally said, his voice soft but heavy with intent.

You tried to laugh, but it sounded forced.

“What about me? I’m not interesting enough for a great detective to waste time analyzing my life.”

“No?” His smile faded, revealing a seriousness he rarely displayed. “Then explain this to me.”

Before you could react, he grabbed your wrist carefully but firmly, lifting your sleeve to reveal the scars you had tried to hide.

The air left your lungs as you tried to pull your arm away, but Heizou didn’t let you. Not roughly, but with unwavering determination.

“Why, my love?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper, but the weight of his words unbearable.

“It’s… it’s not what it seems,” you stammered, though you both knew it was a lie.

“It’s not what it seems?” he repeated, his tone firmer now. “Then explain to me, because I see someone who carries more pain than she should carry alone.”

Your throat closed up, and tears began to pool in your eyes. You tried to look away, but Heizou leaned in close, his expression filled with a mix of pain and concern that completely disarmed you.

“You can’t solve this, Heizou,” you murmured, your voice cracking. “It’s not a case you can close with a brilliant theory or a perfect deduction.”

“Maybe not,” he admitted, letting go of your wrist to gently take your hand. “But I’m not going to stand by while you wallow in this.”

“Why do you care so much?” you cried, your emotions finally spilling over. “You have no idea what this feels like! You can’t just come into my life and fix everything like you’re a hero!”

“You think I’m trying to be a hero?” His voice rose, but not in anger, but in a desperation he rarely showed. “I’m not a hero, but you're my girlfriend. And I’m also not someone who can ignore the fact that the person I love is hurting.”

His words hit you like a bolt of lightning. You tried to say something, anything, but tears were already streaming down your cheeks.

“I don’t understand why you do this,” you finally murmured, your voice barely audible. “I’m not… I’m not enough.”

Heizou let out a deep sigh, leaning in even closer until his forehead touched yours.

“You are enough. You always have been. But you have to let me be here for you. I can’t promise that everything will be easy, but I’m not going to leave. No matter how hard you try to push me away.”

His words, spoken with such honesty, broke through the barriers you had built around your heart. And in that moment, as he held you, you felt something you hadn't felt in a long time: hope.

Lyney

The theater tent was empty, the only sound being the faint echo of your footsteps on the wood.

Lyney stood in the center of the stage, under the dim light of a lantern that barely illuminated his silhouette. There was something unusually tense about his posture, as if the charismatic and self-assured magician you knew had vanished, leaving only a boy burdened with silences.

You watched him from a distance, your long sleeves hiding the marks you had learned to conceal all too well.

But this time, he had noticed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice broke the silence, but it wasn’t filled with the usual sweetness he used to captivate crowds. It sounded broken, as if each word cost him more than he wanted to admit.

“Tell you what?” you tried to dodge, your tone defensive.

Lyney turned to you, his gaze trapping you as if you were part of one of his tricks. But this time there was no play in his eyes, only a mix of hurt and frustration that disarmed you.

“Don’t play with me, love.” He took a step towards you, and you instinctively recoiled. “I saw your arms.”

The air seemed to stop.

You had been careless, you knew it.

But you never thought Lyney, always busy with his illusions and shows, would notice.

“It’s not what you think,” you murmured, though you both knew it was a lie.

“Oh, no?” His voice rose slightly, laden with a desperation he rarely showed. “Then explain it to me. Explain to me why someone like you, someone who lights up my life more than any spotlight, feels like she has to…”

He trailed off, unable to get the words out.

“Why do you care?” you blurted out, your voice shaking as you fought to maintain control. “You only show what you want others to see. Why can’t you let me do the same?”

Lyney clenched his fists, his jaw tight as he tried to maintain his composure. But you could see his perfect facade beginning to crack.

“Because it’s not a trick.” He took another step towards you, his eyes shining with something you couldn’t quite place. “This isn’t a show. You can’t just hide behind a curtain and hope it all goes away. I’m not going to disappear!”

“But I should!” you cried, your voice cracking as tears began to run down your cheeks. “You should disappear like everyone else. Because no matter how hard you try to fix it, I’m always going to be broken.”

Lyney looked at you, and for a moment, you thought he was going to back away, that he was going to let you sink into the abyss you’d built around yourself. But instead, he crossed the distance between the two of you in one step and took your hands, pulling at the sleeves that hid the scars.

“Broken?” He murmured, his voice now barely a whisper. His fingers brushed the marks on your skin with a gentleness that almost broke you completely. “Is that what you think?”

“I don’t know what else to be…” you began, but your voice trailed off when he looked up.

“No.” His tone was firm, as if he were uttering a spell. “You are not broken. You are strong, even if you don’t see it. And if I have to remind you of that every day, I will.”

“Why?” you sobbed, unable to understand why someone like him, bright and full of life, would want to be burdened with someone like you.

“Because I love you.”

The words came out unvarnished, without tricks or artifice. It was the rawest truth Lyney had ever spoken, and it hit you with an intensity that took your breath away.

“I am not what you deserve,” you whispered, trying to pull away, but he held you tighter.

“Maybe you’re not,” he said with a bitter smile, his own vulnerability reflected in his eyes. “But I’m not what others think I am either. We both wear masks, my dear. The difference is that I want to take them off with you.”

And with those words, Lyney hugged you, holding you as if you were the only reality in a world full of illusions.

[dyns33]

Family honor

So Alfie x Y/N Shelby wife will be a little series now

There were several differences between a Gypsy wedding and a Jewish wedding.

The most obvious being that gypsy marriage was not recognized by anyone except gypsies.

But if it wasn't celebrated, you could walk past a priest, a rabbi, an imam or the fucking King himself, to live for years with the same person, under the same roof, with children, that would not have the slightest importance for the gypsies.

Alfie Solomons muttered several times that none of this was kosher, but he respected all the rites and traditions of Y/N's family. Even drinking alcohol, he who hated having a foggy mind.

"Already quite foggy the rest of the time, love. But if your savages of brothers insist…"

“The savages insist.” John said, giving him a whole bottle of whiskey.

“I can’t believe this asshole is going to become one of us.”

"Oh, Arthur, I'm touched that you accept me so quickly into your heart."

It took several people besides Tommy and Y/N to stop them from killing each other, when they were completely drunk.

Then they insisted on walking together in the horse field, the older Shelby brother ending up giving his blessing before falling asleep under a tree, making it clear that he would slit Alfie's throat if he did not treat his beloved little sister correctly.

The wandering jew left him to return with the others, who were dancing and singing. A perfect wedding, completely normal.

If he was offended when Y/N told him that the Jewish marriage was practically the same, he didn't show it, just made a strange sound with his nose.

There may have been less alcohol, and it was legally recognized, but the rest was a gathering of a lot of loud people, not speaking English, jumping around and congratulating them on their union.

Y/N, however, quickly noticed the biggest difference between gypsy marriage and Jewish marriage.

Although they had been a little surprised and worried by her choice of husband, her family had decided to give a chance to Alfie Solomons, whom they judged solely because of his actions. The rest didn't matter in the slightest.

With the Camden community, it wasn’t so simple.

“Your lovely wife is going to convert ?” an old woman asked, although it sounded more like an order than a question.

"Ah, frau Aldermann. It is true that I am such a pious man myself, it is a very important subject that my wife and I have talked about a lot. Isn't that right, treacle ?"

“Good, good.” sighed a man, patting his shoulder, not seeming to understand Alfie's sarcasm. "This is very important, especially for such an admired member. Perhaps your mother was of Jewish parentage ?"

She could have replied that she had not really known her mother, and therefore even less her family, but her husband saved her from this discussion, which he considered ridiculous, by inviting her to dance.

A true act of love, for him who hated dancing, in addition to suffering terribly because of his back.

It didn't take long for her entire family tree to be dissected in every way. The old harpies of Camden were like all the harpies of London.

The fact that she couldn't answer their question was almost a good thing. This mystery made it possible to say that if we could not verify that she was Jewish through her mother, we could not verify that she was not either. And everything always went through the mother.

The deplorable past of her father and the Shelby family could then have been forgotten.

The problem was mainly that her mother was not Mr. Arthur Shelby Sr. wife, which made Y/N a bastard. A gypsy bastard at that.

Even when she didn't understand the language, she guessed that people were talking about her. These looks and these laughter, she knew them well. Her brothers had suffered them when they were younger, before they used their fists to silence the ignorant and conquer Birmingham.

But she wasn't in Birmingham. Her brothers were not there, and it was her husband's kingdom.

Alfie wasn't the last to comment on gypsies.

"You know, I expected to have to sleep in a caravan for our honeymoon. It would have been terrible for my back, I don't know if Thomas took pity on us or if his petty posh side is to be thanked."

“They had a tent for us, but Finn threw up in it.”

"Fuck off, love. You're kidding me !"

“Then we would have danced naked around a fire asking the moon to give us happiness, health and above all a lot of fucking money.”

"… Yeah, you're totally kidding me, you little rascal." Alfie said, mock irritated, pulling her in for a kiss.

He didn't seem to notice that every little word spoken against her family and their traditions was beginning to weigh on her.

At least it was never completely mean when it was him. Almost innocent, full of prejudice and stupidity, but not crossing certain limits.

The rest of the community was not so kind. Many had not appreciated that the King of Camden, such a prized party, war hero, respected gangster, charming man, ended up with a girl like her. It must have been business, blackmail, or black magic.

There was no other possible explanation.

For several months, she decided to be the reasonable adult, remaining calm and polite, taking the blows as best she could. Tommy had taught her how to do it.

He had also taught her the pride of gypsies. Honor.

So there came a day when she was walking through the bakery, and some of the employees made a little joke about stealing and fortune telling, laughing like the idiots they were.

Normally, she would have ignored him. But Y/N was exhausted, and Polly's voice repeated in her head that no Shelby would ever allow themselves to be treated like this, so before they had time to react, she grabbed the hair of one of them, placing a knife to his throat.

"Tell me another joke about gypsies. Then I'll tell you a joke about Jews. Then I'll kill you."

The boy squealed, calling to his colleagues for help with his big, frightening eyes, but no one dared to move. Because they knew she would go faster. And even if she wasn't moving fast enough, she was Tommy Shelby's sister and Alfie Solomons' wife. Literally untouchable.

"Come on." she whispered in his ear. "Make me laugh. No ? No more jokes ? You're going to play the victim. It's funny, people who complain about being mistreated, then do exactly the same thing to others while thinking they're superior. You're all the same."

She didn't comment on the puddle under his legs, nor the little cry of panic when she released him.

Everyone stood still, watching her leave, and when she met Ollie's gaze, she knew she had just made a mistake. She only proved that she was indeed the savage they all described, the bad person.

Alfie probably wouldn't be happy when his right hand man told him what happened.

He did indeed seem to be in a terrible mood when she found him waiting for her in the living room, sunk into the sofa, indicating that his back was hurting badly, but that he would refuse to talk about it.

"Come, love, have a sit. Come on, sit down here."

Not wanting to act like a child, she remained silent as she took a seat in the chair he indicated to her.

This was obviously not what he expected, because he didn't speak either, staring at her intensely, hands crossed, displaying a small pout.

“Do you want to tell me what happened at the bakery today ?”

“Why ask if you already know ?”

“I would like your version.”

"I threatened to slit the throat of one of your workers and disrupted production. Do you want to spank me ?"

"Tempting. Why did you want to slit his throat ?"

“Unimportant.”

"Unimportant, uh ? Unimportant, love ? Because Ollie came to tell me that some guys were talking bad about me wife."

Groaning slightly, Alfie stood up just enough to push a piece of paper and pencil in her direction onto the table between them.

"Names."

“Alfie…”

"I want the names, treacle. I've already gone around the bakery telling everyone that insulting me wife and her family was insulting me, and I don't like being insulted. Names."

“You always make fun of gypsies.”

"Wrong." he retorted, holding up a finger as if that proved his point. "I do it when your brothers are around, because Thomas can be a little prick, and it's hilarious to see Arthur react like a mad dog. But I have nothing against gypsies. Lovely people. The proof, look at you. And look at me. The two most wonderful creatures our communities could spawn, right ?"

Despite all her strength, Y/N couldn't help but smile, which seemed to please her husband. He then placed his victorious finger on the paper, insisting on names.

If she had shown mercy by not cutting, this would not be the case with the wandering jew, king of Camden Town.

No one insulted his wife. No one looked at his wife badly, no one criticized her, no one tried to take away from her, no one thought of her with bad thoughts.

“Not even you ?” Y/N asked with a mischievous smile.

"Not at all. Now you brought up spanking. You brought it up first, love, not me."

“My brothers would be furious to hear that you beat me.”

"Don't tempt me, I can spread false rumors all the way to Birmingham just for the thrill of them all running here, and finding us…"

“You’re the one who deserves a spanking.”

"Ungrateful wife. Threatening me, under my own roof, when my back is killing me and I have just condemned half the city for the love of her."

The Shelbys never knew about their sister's difficult first months in Camden. Tommy noticed that he seemed to be treated with a little more respect when he walked the streets, but neither Y/N nor Alfie talked about what had happened before this outpouring of acceptance from the community.

On the other hand, Arthur noticed marks on his little sister's neck, and he tried to strangle Alfie, even after realizing that it wasn't what he thought, because it wasn't really better for him.

And Solomons reminding him that he was his brother-in-law didn't help at all.

[luvvixu]

mind over matter pt. 6

synopsis: witness how your marriage was bound to fall apart with you on the front seat and your husband gojo had missed the show—now, he gotta figure out the story on his own.

content: arrange marriage au, angst, husband!gojo, mean!gojo, mention of blood, mention of drugs, strong languages, some unsettling scenarios, emotional trauma, read at your own risk

a/n: WE ARE SO, SO BACK!!! also, i am renewing my taglist, so pls just comment if you want to be added :3

previous / masterlist / next

never ever once in her life, yukie michiga could experience the alcohol intoxicating her system vanished in a very short time. was it caused by the adrenaline that surged on her veins when some odd circumstances like this occurred? probably.

the mistress's eyes continued to pin widely at the other female in front of her. she looked like someone who rose from the dead, who escaped the morgue. if you are going to judge her appearance by the choice of clothing, a loose hospital gown along with some thin pair of slippers—looks like she ran away from the hospital.

yukie doesn't need any identification card to identify who was this person that just blasted her walls and mocked her profanities while claiming what seems to be her husband. but the thing is, she need to know who the fuck was that guy standing beside her and holding her back for support.

actually, the man was quite familiar in her eyes, but she couldn't pinpoint it yet since the memory has been buried during the times she was still a student at jujutsu high. regardless, she will soon learn his identity eventually.

yukie watched the two figures enter her terrain with curse energy unnoticeably trailing behind their backs—more specifically on the female, who stopped her tracks when she's ten steps away from her and the love of her life.

instinctively, yukie possessively wrapped her arms around the man's body like he was her greatest prized possession—which he is. yukie did not miss the hardened expression that the female had when her eyes landed on her tight grip. the mistress wants to smirk proudly at that time but for what reason?

“hello, yukie michiga.” the female calmly enters the room through the hole she plunges.

yukie snorted at her fake attitude. “you know you need to pay for that, y/n hoseki.” she sarcastically pointed at the big hole using her eyes. yukie made sure that she pressed your maiden surname, not your husband's surname.

you ignored her sarcasm but you couldn't deny the rising anger when she mentioned your maiden name. nevertheless, you continue to move forward until you're five steps away from them. you looked at the unconscious male in the other woman's arms and secretly sighs.

meanwhile, yukie gazes up from top to bottom. she examines every part of you just to find any insult that she could use as a weapon to provoke the wife, you, even further. but one thing caught her eyes, you are wearing a loose hospital gown.

“for a girl like you, it was surprising you don't do fashion.” yukie chuckles at herself cockily, indicating your alleged type of clothing.

you wanted to laugh at her joke too, but it came out as forced. “yeah… i could have said the same thing to you after this.”

the mistress twitches angrily at your remark. you just grin at her reaction and secretly consider this a part of your victory. meanwhile, yukie badly wanted to wipe that smugness on your face.

“okay, cut with this bullshit. you won't be getting your husband back.” you raised an eyebrow at her words. gently, you let go of nanami’s hand support as you prop your knees until both of your eyes are on the same level. you made sure that looking yukie is looking at you dead straight.

“listen here, woman.” you started, making sure that you are speaking slowly so she would get your words precisely. “i’m not here for my husband. i'm here for a sorcerer.” a frown of confusion displays undeniably on the other woman's face.

what facade are you trying to imply?

“oh? thought you're already divorced?” beyond her confusion, yukie played safe, not wanting to jump to conclusions first because it might get her into a hot position. but seriously, the mistress was puzzled at your words.

“why? so you can marry him?” you sarcastically questioned back.

yukie thought this was an opportunity to provoke you. “what do you think?”

“i suggest you should not.” face turns sour, you actually don't know what comes into your mind and it just blurted out like that. now you sounded like you don't want your husband to marry another one.

but one thing for sure, you're not saying that because you don't want to see other females being with satoru, but because you don't want to see them being on the same fate of marriage as yours.

yukie seems to think the same as your first conclusion judging how aggressive she gets. “why? because you're in love with him? because you want him to be yours when he's clearly not into you—”

“because i’d pity you more, that's why.”

“...”

“what the fuck are you saying?!” a cartoonish flash of smoke seemingly cake out from her head and nose because of your words.

you raise your eyebrow in defense. “i'm not lying though.”

“bit—”

a hand pulled you back gently and made you stand up, it was nanami who was looking at you with hidden concern behind those stoic eyes. “y/n, let's just get this over with. you still haven't fully healed.” he said.

“i'm fine, nanami.” you patted his arm for assurance.

after a few seconds of scanning your face, he sighs and turns back to the villain of this moment. “give gojo satoru back, michiga yukie. this is an order from the higher ups of the jujutsu, and i suggest you would not do anything stupid because that would make your sentence longer.” you were amused at how fast his voice changes. from the soft and gentle tone he uses at you, to the hard and cold tone he shifted at yukie.

“what the hell are you saying?! i'm gonna give him back! he's mine…satoru is mine.” oh yukie michiga is a really hard headed and obsessive person, her hands are still wrapped around satoru and your nose scrunch up at the sight.

nanami comes into defense. “go believe what you believe. but yukie michiga, what you're doing right now is a crime and i have the power to kill you right now.”

“go on! let's see how long it'll take for you to kill me.” a wide crazy smile appears on her face, finding his threat so little that she thinks he's picking a child fight at some random playground.

“oh, i'm not letting you do that. no one is allowed to kill you, unless i said so.” two heads turn towards you with wide eyes at your sudden calm outburst. for someone who's named y/n hoseki-gojo, you are known for your utmost composure and wouldn't just use a risky tone to someone. nanami was a little bit bewildered at your words, you sounded like…a vengeful spirit at some point and it's making his hair stand up straight, a goosebumps.

“what…”

you stare at her, not blinking a bit. “michiga, death is too good for you and it's too early for me to see you burn in the pits of hell. that's why by keeping you alive, i’m bringing hell with me so i could watch you suffer.”

“now, let him go and come with us. we could end this peacefully.” you said, but yukie refused to move an inch and it made you sigh.

“no? okay, don't mind me if i do.”

yukie frowned, “do what—”

bam!

yukie's eyes rolled on the roof of her head as she collapsed from the impact. nanami looked at you in shock. “what?” you shrugged it off.

“did you just…?” nanami blinked, watching yukie michiga’s limp body slump to the floor like a discarded doll. her arms finally unwrapped from gojo, whose unconscious form gently leaned into you. you held him firmly, eyes flickering toward nanami as if daring him to question your methods.

“you didn’t have to hit her that hard,” nanami finally said, his voice a mix of concern and awe.

“she talks too much,” you muttered, gently adjusting gojo’s position in your arms. “sesides, she’ll live. unfortunately.”

nanami sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “i’ll call for backup. we need to secure her and transport both of them safely.”

you nodded but your gaze didn’t leave satoru. his face was pale, framed by white strands that had lost their usual arrogant charm. he looked so…peaceful, but not in the way you used to adore. this was the kind of peace that only came after trauma—after being mentally shackled.

nanami caught your expression. “y/n…”

“i’m fine,” you said a little too quickly.

“you’ve been through enough already.”

you offered a humorless smile. “and still breathing.”

nanami walked past you, crouching to check yukie’s pulse and binding her arms with a cursed energy seal. “you said you weren’t here for your husband. you sure fooled her.”

“i’m not.” you lowered gojo onto the couch carefully, brushing a hand through his hair. “i came for the sorcerer who is said to be the strongest…not the man who i married.”

silence fell like heavy snow.

then, as if on cue, gojo stirred, making you and nanami froze. his fingers twitched first, then his eyes fluttered open—weakly. slowly. but it was unmistakable.

“y/n…?” his voice was hoarse, dry, and barely above a whisper.

you swallowed the lump in your throat, stepping back instinctively. “don’t talk. you need to rest.”

gojo’s gaze wavered. he blinked slowly, confusion clouding his usually clear eyes. “is this…real?”

before you could answer, yukie groaned from the floor.

nanami cursed under his breath. “we need to move now.”

you gave one last look at gojo. “we'll talk when you're stronger.”

“no y/n, wait—” he tried to sit up, reaching a hand toward you, but he was too weak to lift his arm fully.

“rest,” you repeated, more firmly this time, before turning your back and walking out of the room, leaving gojo staring after you in pained silence.

nanami gently pushed him back down. “you’re lucky she still cares enough to save you.”

gojo’s breath hitched. “but she shouldn’t though, i don't deserve it.”

nanami raised an eyebrow. “you’re right. but she did.”

—©luvvixu2025

taglists: @mistymuii @kalopsia-flaneur @sherryuki-callmeyuki @aish777 @tttttttf @slyhersophia @rirk-ke @labelt-san @shinruo @testrella @sad-darksoul @kurookinnie @mountvesuvu @chwesuh-imnida @cole-silas @elernity @maddie-jayne @yozora7154 @kawaiivillainess98 @forourpoets @aishies-stuff @numblytemporary @souyasplushie @catarinemirandax @aerithsthingss @h1gh4ru @ssetsuka @jskoejdn @khoiyyu @the2ndl @vebbiewuzhere @kouyoumarryme @dreamyescapesfromreality @local-mr-frog @haesify @blkmystery @babybarbs12 @bleppt @leavem3alon3 @arminlover @shirabane @sheismaryy @tragicgirl444 @vampsins @miizuzu @kurobo @anxious-chick @p1nkliquor @mshitachin @chxvr @lolsasuke @username23345 @neteyxms @lvstru @roscpctals99 @buttermilktea99 @berevenstarzetaestelar @megumisthirdog @jiupark @hotsauce247 @veryverysadauthor @skepticalleo @openthenyoor01 @slowlyshycomputer @thickemadame @yaninnaacu @foggypostshark @redbirdeagle @lemonintrovert01 @michelleeveline @anniegojo @spencerrxids

[szarina]

boyfriend yuuji who coaxes you in thinking that megumi is kind under that cold exterior of his, which he is, and he just wants megumi to meet people, well not exactly people but get closer to itadori's chubby gf.

under that cold/blunt nature of megumi. he's a huge perv. always thinking about how cute and soft you are. stares at you with nothing but the most filthiest thought anyone can think about you.

itadori may be an idiot and act like an idiot but he's no idiot when it comes to anyone who shows the slightest interest in his cute, chubby gf. itadori knows all too well the effect you can have on people despite your skittish behavior. a simple tug on his shirt, chewing your lips or whenever you need comfort from him in situations you're uncomfortable with. you're just too cute not to draw people attention to you and that includes megumi.

stoic megumi who can't help but be jealous to itadori for having a cutie like you. who dotes on him, gives the sweetest kisses before and after missions, who have you in his lap in every minute. it's almost annoying for him but it always starts in denial and like any other denials, megumi also wants that.

it doesn't take long before itadori noticed the stares megumi steals when you weren't looking. the abrupt change of his gaze when he caught him and the sudden redness of his cheeks. megumi thinks he's discreet but he's not so subtle in hiding this from him and with the little interest megumi had on you, compiled all the common sense he have, megumi likes you and it doesn't bother him at all. confrontation is what he needed to confirm all of it.

and so here they are. itadori cradling your sleeping form. your chubby cheeks smooched in his chest, his hand on your plush waist and megumi sits a few meters apart. your little snooze can be heard in the room.

"fushiguro." he calls out to the boy in front of him and megumi's emerald eyes looks back at him. the tension is thick and megumi knows it would be something more, judging from how itadori's voice sound. the seriousness and megumi may know what will be the center of this.

"say fushiguro, do you like my girlfriend?"

there's a silence followed by a pin being dropped somewhere. he contemplates for a bit. he sees this an opportunity but what of his and itadori's companionship. ruined by his desire of something's not his let alone belonging to someone else. itadori asked, could he lie? the cat's out of the box now so need for denial. megumi's narrowed eyes looking directly at itadori any signs for sarcasm but it doesn't. itadori was serious at the question. megumi coughs, closing the book he was holding in before straightening his posture in the chair and without a beat, fushiguro drops the answer itadori was waiting for.

"what if i say, i do." he says with no hesitation. there's that anticipation of being swung by itadori's fist in a heartbeat but it never happened. itadori blinks then his lips curl in a smile before chuckling. his brows furrowing at itadori's reaction, that's it? aren't you supposed to be upset or jealous that someone is telling you openly about desiring your girlfriend.

"i am too, fushiguro. thanks for being honest." itadori mutters, admiring at your sleeping form.

that was days ago and itadori couldn't shake the thought of megumi openly admitting he likes you. he did asked the question and megumi have been his friend for a long time now and he's open of megumi going down of you, only if you wishes so.

there's much more things to worry about when you're moving your hips sensually against his bulge. the friction leaving him to sink his fingers deeper in the flesh of your hips. guiding you to the depths of pleasure you were trying to get out from him, in which he gladly do so. teeth almost clashing and spits exchanging until your lips are wet from it. gripping his hair, making him groan and the sweet, breathy moans coming from you.

"c-cumming yuu!" you moan, signalling your impending orgasm and he coos, sings you praises how you were doing so good for him. his teeth finding home in the crook of your neck. biting into the flesh and your hands finding it's way to the strands of his pale pink hair and with a scream. grinding roughly on his length, hips moving into circles and with the rutting of his hips, you came undone. soiling your panties damp with your essence and his followed suit. busting his nut inside and he groans, feeling the stickiness of it. you both stared at each other. catching your breaths from the dry high.

itadori kisses your nose, then to your cherubic cheeks. eliciting the most sweetest giggles coming from you and he doesn't waste in telling you about something, someone.

"what do you think of fushiguro?" he brought up and the name earning a frown from you. confusion and your brows crinkles at the question. "what about fushiguro?" you asked back at him. he draws patterns at the skin of your waist. averting his gaze at you whenever in deep thought.

a silly but a possible idea popped up in your mind. "do you have hots for megumi, yuuji?" making a disbelief expression in your face as a way to tease him and a horrified expression morphs into his face. sputtering a quick no and shaking his head. "it's not like that, actually talked about you." he confesses.

"me?" he nods then explains the whole situation to you. about megumi liking you and his want for you to be with him. "are you pimping me to your friend?" you asked confused at the absurdity of the whole ordeal. "no, it's not like that. i just want him to be happy."

"and do you think it's the best idea?" he nods, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. the idea scares you and it will be megumi out of all people. it's not like you hated the guy. you were just simply intimated at his nature but he's a good guy and yuuji and him openly discussing he desires you. you're yuuji's girlfriend and admitting he likes you in front of yuuji. he sure have guts. it made you unsure and how itadori agrees with this. your mind running in gears with the question is this totally fine? in which itadori says so.

"will it make you happy?" the sound of your voice gentle and his heart skips a beat. considerate of what he wants, such a doting girlfriend he have. "if it is, okay." you added and that's the confirmation he need before swooping you for a heated kiss. the night ending in a good note.

there's a nagging voice inside his head. the gulps of a invisible lump in his throat and did the air seems to be humid than it is? he's speechless. you were kneeling, hands in your lap while you look at him. you were presented to him like a gift.

is this for real? he thought itadori was just kidding when he presented the idea of sharing you with him and with your consent. he can barely wait to sink his teeth into yours.

"be good for us." itadori whispers, biting the shell of your ear before dipping for a kiss, peering at his classmate, disbelief painting in his face. "come on fushiguro." the pink-haired boy calls out to him. moving to the side and megumi hesitantly sinks into the mattress. facing the girl he desires for months.

biting your lips unconsciously and megumi instinctively caress your cheeks with his hands and so ever gently pressed a kiss to your lips. he waits for a reaction, you never pushed him and he moves his lips, nibbles your lower lip and you're already in a daze.

itadori smiles at your reaction. looking relax and you're already accepting megumi. he can't help but to cup your jaw and move it to the side to kiss you deeply. there's that whine and mewling. your spit connecting to his and megumi finds it hot. looking so adorable and needy for the both of them. pushing you down to the soft mattress and he sucks on the skin in your pulse point in which earned him a delectable moan from you.

his nimble fingers unbuttoning your top and did he find the sight so appetizing. your chest in display, stomach riddled with stretch marks. you're a temptation. he can't help but to lick his lips. discarding his shirt and throwing it to the other side of the room.

you peered at your boyfriend and he meet your gaze in which he smiled. telling how good you are and it make your heart flutters. holding his hands for what to come when the spiked-haired boy is already nipping on your soft skin.

itadori joins in. his tongue swirling all over the expanse of your body. he looks at fushiguro. "you're not the only one who can enjoy my baby, fushiguro." in which the latter grunted. focusing on the way your body reacts to his ministrations.

it's to good to be a dream and megumi swallows your moans while swirling his tongue inside your mouth. your eyes turning glossy and there's a cry. itadori making his way to your sopping cunt. in which he didn't let your boyfriend do as he pleases with his tongue. his fingers replacing and that your cries gets louder while he pumps his thick fingers inside you.

it starts to get competitive between the two. their greediness baring it's fangs and there's a silent clash between them who can bring you the most pleasure. megumi could get more what he bargained for but it doesn't mean he couldn't be greedy when you're presented in front of him. itadori who knows your body than you, agrees with him.

let's just hope you can take what they'll give to you.