#why perform end to end testing

[nozomijoestar]

i really like the dichotomy of everyone respecting Nana as their friend off stage (and the darker feeling she has that they All take from her in one way or another except Karen) but inside the stage duels as performers with her as their ultimate test, they're all still prideful enough to treat it as every man's glory for themselves, making it so they can't hold a grudge against Nana outside the Revues because to everyone the Revues are Just Business and a space for words that don't belong outside it- which plays into the repression that's hurting all their relationships, they really thought of everything making this series

[em1i2a3]

Supersonic

Pairing: CollegeAU!Bob Floyd x Fem!Reader!

Summary: When you ask Bob Floyd to tutor you after not doing so well on your first Advanced Theoretical Physics test, you never expected him to say yes, nor did you expect him to be so enthusiastic to teach you the material either.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut and Fluff, Reader is an Engineering Major who is just trying to take a required elective that doesn’t tank their average, Bob is a Physics Major who is an overachiever and is top of his class. We love a good tutor trope y’all, and technically it’s friends to lovers hehehehe

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (y’all, wrap it up), Bob’s a certified munch…What Can I Say? It’s in the holy scripture lol, Oral Sex (fem! Receiving), Fingering, Dirty Talk, Teasing, Hair Pulling, Face Grinding, Bob’s got a bit of performance anxiety (and loves praise, but the man also likes worshipping hehehe), Breast Play, Bob’s giving sub vibes in this, Handjob (I don’t think I’m missing anything)

Author’s Note: Alright. Alright. I heard the crowd lol. I heard the masses, and I finally got around to writing for THE Bob Floyd....And I came out guns blazing on this one. I hope it’s not a let down, I know y’all have been waiting for something from me regarding this cutie patootie, so I’m glad I can please the masses 😂Enjoy!!! (Side note: I’m not a physics major but I took a few courses here and there, don’t strike me down if I don’t get certain things right about the questions please! lol) This was also a request by @shewhocallstothestars but I did modify it a bit (hopefully that's okay.) 😏

P.S: Evil stuff dropping this so casually on a Wednesday afternoon! Lol Surprise tho!

Word Count: 19,626 (HA!)

The first time Bob Floyd saw you, you were late for Advanced Theoretical Physics.

Not embarrassingly late–but just enough for the heavy lecture hall door to groan open and click shut behind you with a sound that echoed far too loudly in the cavernous space. Just enough to make the professor falter mid-sentence, his marker hovering above the whiteboard as heads turned in your direction like a wave.

Your chin stayed tucked, gaze low as you moved up the steps with a quick, purposeful stride that practically whispered “please for the love of god don’t look at me.” Still, it was a walk that carried weight. Not flustered or apologetic–just sharp. Like you were used to showing up in the middle of things and moving through rooms without needing to explain why.

But even if you didn’t owe anyone an apology, you didn’t want the attention.

Especially not in the outfit you were wearing.

You didn’t mean to put on anything eye-catching, but laundry day had come and gone without mercy. Between leading three straight days of exhausting freshman orientation–clipboard, whistle, and all–and trying to get your textbooks, syllabi, and housing situation in order before classes began, your options had run out. So you’d thrown on a slightly-too-tight zip-up hoodie, your college’s emblem half-hidden under the worn zipper, and the only clean bottom you had left: a black skirt you hadn’t touched since the first day of summer.

It rode a little higher than you remembered, and paired with your bare legs and sneakers, it was far from inappropriate, but in a room where everyone else was in jeans and sweats, it made you feel seen. And not in a way you liked.

You spotted a half-empty row about midway up the lecture hall, three seats in from the aisle, and made a beeline for it, holding your skirt down as you made quick strides towards the spot that had your name written all over it. The weight of dozens of eyes prickled against your skin, but you kept moving, zeroed in on that opening like it might swallow you whole and hide you from the ogling stares.

Bob was seated near the end of that row.

His notebook was open, half a page of densely packed notes already filled in with that small, impossibly neat handwriting of his. A mechanical pencil twitched in his right hand as you approached–still mid-spin from the distraction you had caused. He looked like someone who took school seriously, but not obnoxiously so. His light brown hair was cropped short and a little mussed on the top, as though he hadn’t quite decided whether to tame it or not–or the wind got to it and messed it up on the way to class.

He was wearing a white t-shirt–simple, fitted just enough to hint at the softness of muscle underneath, but crisp in that way cotton gets when it’s been folded with care. Not stiff, but starched just slightly from the wash, like maybe he had just done his laundry the night before. His jeans were a classic blue–not faded or overly worn, but comfortably lived-in. No rips or frays.

His glasses were perched low on the bridge of his nose, the thin metal frames glinting faintly beneath the harsh overhead lights–almost silver against the warm tones of his skin. They sat just crooked enough to suggest he’d pushed them up one-handed without really thinking about it. Lenses wide and clear, catching reflections of the whiteboard, but not enough to shield the way his eyes flicked toward you the moment your footsteps slowed beside him.

He looked sun-kissed from the dying summer–like August had clung to him a little longer than it should have. His skin was a shade deeper than it would be in a few weeks’ time, golden along his forearms and the high points of his face, like he’d spent the end of break outside–on rooftops, maybe, or walking alone down sidewalks still radiating heat. His lips were a touch dry, his knuckles faintly rough. But he looked steady. Bright-eyed and well-rested. Like he wanted to start the semester with good intentions and achievable goals.

You stopped just beside him–hovering for half a second, your bag shifting on your shoulder as you nodded toward the empty seat a few spots in.

”Sorry, just gotta get by,” You murmured, voice low and unassuming.

Bob looked up fully then and immediately shifted forward, pulling his legs in without hesitation. His knee brushed the underside of the desk as he tucked himself close to make room for you, the motion smooth but stiff like he hadn’t quite expected you to speak to him. Or maybe he hadn’t expected you to sound like that–soft, a little breathless from the walk up the gauntlet of steps, but still sharp.

You moved past him in one fluid step whispering a thanks, then your scent hit him.

It wasn’t overpowering. It wasn’t the cloying kind of perfume that lingered too long in a hallway. It was just…You. Soft and sweet, but grounded–like vanilla left to steep in warm skin, the subtle warmth of almond or cream trailing just behind it. Lotion maybe. Something gentle. Something worn, not sprayed on. Like it had been absorbed into your hoodie, your neck, the backs of your knees in the early September heat.

But then there was something brighter, just beneath it–like sugar and citrus had melted into the mix. Not sharp. Not tart. Just the idea of lemon. A barely-there twist of brightness that reminded him of the first sip of a drink on a hot day. Cool. Balanced. Memorable.

It made Bob lose all his grip on the pencil in his hand, and made him straighten slightly, as his eyes glanced over to you slipping into the seat three down from his, holding your skirt against yourself so it didn’t ride up when you settled. When you shifted–once, just enough to adjust your bag or maybe smooth your hoodie–his eyes dropped quickly to your legs.

Bare and warm-looking in the stale lecture hall light. The skin smooth, catching little glints of reflection in a way that made him stare too long before he realized what he was doing.

His gaze jerked back up, and his pencil fell out of his hands. He fumbled to catch it before it rolled off the desk and clattered to the floor, and somehow he barely managed to do it. He cleared his throat so quietly that it didn’t even echo under the dome of the lecture hall. And then he exhaled once, trying to shake off the heat that creeped up his neck, fingers curling tight around the side of his notebook.

You didn’t look at him. Not once.

Not even when you pulled out your pen and your fresh, untouched notebook and started scribbling quick, efficient notes in handwriting he couldn’t quite see. Not even when your fingers fidgeted once at the hem of your hoodie like you weren’t sure if it was covering enough. Not even when you tilted your head slightly to the left, exposing the faint shape of your jaw and that one stubborn wisp of hair behind your ear.

You didn’t look back.

But he couldn’t stop glancing.

Every time there was a lull in the lecture–every time the professor turned toward the whiteboard or paused to answer a question from across the room–Bob’s eyes slid sideways. Just for a second. Just to check.

He told himself it was just curiosity. That he hadn’t seen you around before, and that this class wasn’t usually the kind that brought in new faces. Not Advanced Theoretical Physics. Not on day one. And especially not someone like you.

You didn’t fit the mold–not in the way you moved, not in the way you sat. There was a presence to you, even when you were quiet. Like you weren’t just taking space–you owned it. It made him curious. It made him distracted.

It made the last half of his notes nearly unreadable.

He’d rewrite them later. He always did.

But he’d still remember the scent you left behind when you passed him. The subtle trace of sweetness and skin-warmed citrus that had settled in the air like something meant to haunt him.

And he’d remember that you never once looked back.

—————————

You didn’t speak to Bob until the third week of classes, when you got your first ‘mini’ test back and got hit with the harsh realities of the choice you had made in picking Advanced Theoretical Physics for your upper elective.

You got a 68. You had never got a 68 in your life.

Not in high school, not in your other college courses, not in anything that involved formulas or numbers or mental gymnastics you were usually proud to be good at. Being an engineering student was supposed to make classes like this feel natural. Calculation, logic, technical problem solving–it was your bread and butter.

But this? This was humbling.

You stared down at the note the professor had written in red just beneath the grade:

”Revisit your derivations–conceptual understanding needs tightening.” You didn’t even know what the hell that meant. You had studied everything possible to prepare yourself, you knew you had been on the right track, there was no possible way this was the right grade. Your jaw flexed, and you tapped your pen once against the corner of your desk before you forced yourself to still.

You tried to breathe through the sting crawling up the back of your neck, the tightness that formed just under your ribs. This wasn’t even a midterm–it wasn’t supposed to matter. But to you, it did. You prided yourself on being able to handle anything. Being the kind of student professors leaned on. A leader. Someone who could run orientation like a sergeant and still ace quantum mechanics in the same week.

And here you were. With a 68 circled at the top of your page like a slap.

You let the paper fall face-down across your notebook and sighed hard through your nose.

Then you glanced over.

Three seats down, Bob was sitting quietly, glasses low on his nose again, flipping his test booklet over to the back like he wanted to get one more long look at it before class officially started.

You caught a glimpse of the front page as he did–and there it was. Written in the same red your grade was given in, unmistakable in the overhead light.

97.

Clean, confident. Circled big enough to make a statement.

He didn’t look smug about it. Not exactly. But there was something in the way he stared at that number, his brows lifting faintly as if confirming to himself, Yeah, that sounds right. His lips were pressed together in a close-lipped smile, the kind people wear when they’ve worked hard and know it paid off. He tapped the eraser end of his pencil against the bottom of the page once. Then again.

Pleased as punch.

You didn’t mean to keep staring–but it was hard to look away.

His black t-shirt was tucked just barely into the waistband of his jeans today, like he’d rushed to get dressed but still managed to look clean and composed. His hair looked softer, freshly washed maybe, curling a little more than normal without any product in his hair. The sun-kissed flush along his cheekbones hadn’t faded just yet, but it was slowly revealing little patches of paleness beneath it. The silver frames of his glasses caught the light again as he leaned slightly forward, flipping to a fresh page in his notebook to take pre-class notes even though nothing had started yet.

He was…Prepared. Calm, and clearly good at this.

And you were not evidently.

You sat back slowly in your seat, gaze flicking toward the whiteboard, but your mind was still racing. Not with formulas. Not with panic. But with something slower, more deliberate.

You needed help. That much was obvious.

And unfortunately–or maybe fortunately–the only person who hadn’t fumbled through the last three weeks with shaky handwriting and unsure eyes was sitting just three seats away.

Then…You made a decision you never thought you would be making in a class you expected to be good in.

You were going to ask him for help.

It went against every fibre in your being–the pride you carried like a shield, the belief that if you just studied harder, dug deeper, figured it out on your own, you’d make it through. That’s how it had always worked before. You didn’t need tutors. You didn’t ask for things.

But your test score was still burning a hole through your notebook, and Bob Floyd was still sitting three seats down, calmly annotating equations while half the class looked like they were on the verge of weeping. He definitely had the highest mark and there was no denying that, and you had to pick his brain to see if you could emulate the same genius level thinking. Maybe there was a secret to it all, and he would somehow share it with you so you could make a quick recovery and still grasp honours at the end of the semester…At this point you’d take even the craziest solutions to save yourself from another embarrassing mark.

So…You waited until the end of the lecture.

It took everything in you not to bolt out the second the professor dismissed the room. You always left quickly–efficiently–avoiding the post-class shuffle of students with questions or headphones already in. But today you stayed seated, even as the sound of backpacks zipping and notebooks slamming shut rose around you like thunder. You didn’t move, just flicked your pen closed and kept your eyes on the spiral binding of your notes until most of the room had emptied.

You packed up faster than usual, sweeping your things into your bag in quiet, practiced movements–but you left your test out, folded once, red ink still just barely visible beneath the crease. Your hands felt warm. A little clammy. The kind of nervous energy you hadn’t felt since your very first midterm in undergrad. But you stood anyway.

Bob was still at his desk, leaning forward, transcribing the last few formulas the professor had scribbled across the bottom corner of the board. His notebook looked the same as always–clean lines, small print, mechanical pencil pressed tight to the paper like he didn’t know how to be imprecise.

You made your way down the row, test in hand, and stopped just short of his space. The words were already forming in your mouth, even before he noticed you.

You cleared your throat. “Hey… Sorry to bother you. You’re Bob, right?”

His head snapped up fast, and his eyes locked onto yours like he hadn’t expected you to actually exist this close.

“Uh–yeah,” He replied, “Yeah. Bob Floyd.”

You’d caught him off guard. You could tell by the way he blinked, like he had to reset. His mouth parted slightly, lips soft and chapped in the middle, and then–almost as if he remembered he was supposed to be someone in this moment–he cleared his throat and sat up straighter.

“You’re…Y/N? Right?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He held out his hand, a little unsure. “Nice to meet you.”

You hesitated for a beat–because it wasn’t every day someone in a physics class offered a handshake–but you took it. His palm was warm and dry, his grip a little firm at first, like he hadn’t meant for it to feel that strong.

His fingers were long. His nails clean, almost manicured in a way that surprised you. His thumb brushed yours briefly, and for a second, the contact lingered just a little too long.

You let go, and Bob rubbed his hand on the knee of his jeans as you both sat in the pause that followed, air slightly charged.

You weren’t wearing anything special today–just an old cropped t-shirt that rode up when you lifted your arms and a pair of low-slung sweatpants that had long since given up trying to cling to your hips. A hoodie hung open over it all, soft with wear. It wasn’t much. Just lazy comfort. But something in the way Bob’s eyes dropped for half a second–just below the hem to a flicker of skin at your waist–told you it wasn’t invisible either.

He gulped again, trying to recover from being caught.

You cleared your throat. “So, uh… I was wondering if you offer tutoring or something. I kinda bombed that first mini quiz.” His brows lifted over the rim of his glasses–an expression halfway between surprise and amusement.

“I…I don’t offer it or anything,” He said, already fumbling a little, “But I can help, if that’s what you’re looking for…How bad did you do?” He asked, trying not to assume the worst, but knowing there was a possibility he was going to see a fairly bad mark, judging by the conversations that happened behind him when the tests were handed out at the beginning of class. You flipped the test open toward him, and he stared at the 68, a smirk drawing up on his lips. He let out a short, soft laugh through his nose, more of a warm exhale than anything mean.

”I mean…It’s not great, but I’ve seen worse.” You raised your eyebrows at him and smirked faintly.

”How comforting.” You mumbled. He shifted in his seat, thumb rubbing across the corner of his notebook like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. His gaze didn’t meet yours directly; it just hovered somewhere around your shoulder, your mouth, and your hair. He was still absorbing the fact you were in front of him asking to be tutored.

“I can definitely help you bring your grade up. It’s early enough in the semester to get it back on track.” He explained. Something in his voice steadied–like the gears in his brain had finally clicked into place. Like this was territory he knew how to navigate. Structure. Process. Solutions. A small smile tugged at your lips. A breath of relief rushed through you before you could stop it.

“Thank you so much,” You replied. And then, already leaning in with eagerness, “When can we get started?” Bob paused, chewing on the inside of his cheek as his eyes flicked slightly upward–thinking, scanning the mental file cabinet of his day.

“We could do today…You could meet me at the library,” He suggested, after a second, “I'm free after four.” You wrinkled your nose a little, already shaking your head.

“The library’s kind of a distraction for me,” You admitted. “It’s always too loud–someone’s always coughing or typing like they’re in a race. Even the reserved study rooms…I don’t know, it never really works for me.”

Bob tilted his head a little, listening closely, waiting for you to present a different option.

You hesitated for just a second before offering, more carefully now, “If you feel okay with it…We could study at my dorm? It’s definitely quieter. And there’s not much to get distracted by.”

You didn’t say it with any kind of tone. No flirt, no implication. Just facts. Just a space.

But Bob’s throat tightened anyway.

His mind, helpful as ever, immediately conjured the image–your dorm. What it looked like. What it might smell like. You curled up in your desk chair, with your hair pushed out of your face, sleeves rolled, and a half-empty mug of tea or coffee next to an open binder. Maybe your bed was still unmade. Maybe there was a bottle of lotion on your nightstand in the same scent that clung to you now, soft and sweet and skin-warmed.

He swallowed.

Hard.

Not because he had any ulterior motives. Not because he thought anything would happen. But because it had been a long time since he’d been invited into someone’s space like that. A woman’s space. A woman like you–all sharp eyes and soft smiles, casual comfort and effortless pull.

“Yeah,” He agreed, clearing his throat and nodding. “Yeah, that’s totally fine. If you’re comfortable with it.”

“I wouldn’t have offered it if I wasn’t,” You said easily, and the way you said it–so certain, so casual–made something tighten low in his stomach again.

“Okay,” He replied, and he finally looked at you. His blue eyes were steady behind his glasses, a little glassy from the fluorescents, but locked on yours. “Just email me your dorm number. I’ll bring the notes, you bring the test, and we’ll make a plan.”

You grinned, and god, it hit him like a sucker punch. Like something he hadn’t braced for.

“Deal.”

And then you turned, backpack swinging over one shoulder, hoodie hem swaying against your hips as you made your way back up the aisle.

Bob sat still for a moment. Longer than he meant to.

He hadn’t even packed up yet.

It took him another ten seconds before he finally exhaled, shoved his pencil into the spiral of his notebook, and muttered to himself under his breath–

“…Way to make this hard for yourself…You dummy.”

————————

Your dorm wasn’t anything glamorous–but it was yours, and that made all the difference.

When you unlocked the door and pushed it open after class, you were immediately met with the familiar scent of fabric softener and the faint citrus-vanilla from the reed diffuser you kept on the dresser. The room was small, technically a single dorm, but it was just enough space for you to carve out your version of comfort. Still, as you stood in the doorway, backpack slipping off one shoulder, you looked around and immediately thought that there was no way in hell it was going to stay like this, especially with a guest coming over.

You dropped your bag near the door, and got to work immediately.

The bed was first. You hadn’t made it this morning–just rolled out with your alarm still going, one arm flung across your eyes as you reached blindly for your phone, groggy and unwilling to admit the day had started. The sheets were still tangled, your navy-blue comforter half-slid to the floor, the corner twisted around your foot in your sleep. You tugged it all back with quick, practiced tugs, smoothing the fitted sheet until the last of the sleep wrinkles vanished under your palm.

Your comforter had a faint rip in the seam on the left side near your hip–stitched up once, badly, with mismatched thread. You’d done it the second week of your freshman year, the night you’d fallen asleep sobbing after a brutal call with your high school boyfriend, and woken up the next morning tangled so tightly in the blanket that it tore when you got up. You never fixed it properly. You kind of liked the scar.

You fluffed the single throw pillow you used for your head–an old one, pillowcase faded with soft clouds printed across pale blue fabric. Not the prettiest, but it felt like home. And the long body pillow you always fell asleep hugging–cream-colored, with one end slightly more smushed than the other–went right in its usual spot against the wall. A comfort thing. You didn’t sleep well without it.

Then you moved to your desk.

It was more shelf than desk, sure–but it held your brain in neat, tiny pieces. Notes, sticky tabs, a single battered wire basket for loose paper, and a coffee mug you never drank out of that just held highlighters, lip balm, and the same pair of scissors you’d had since high school. You stacked your textbooks neatly–physics, mechanics, one painfully dry thermodynamics manual–and slid your notebook on top, flipping it to the most recent page so Bob wouldn’t see your chaotic post-lab scrawl from earlier in the week.

There was a Polaroid pinned to the corkboard just above the workspace–one of you and your best friend from home, taken in your kitchen during winter break. You were both in pajamas, mid-laugh, a sliver of frosting from a baking experiment smeared across your nose. You paused for a moment, fixing the pin to straighten it, and sighed.

Your reed diffuser sat on the corner of the dresser–three pale wooden sticks soaked in a warm citrus-vanilla scent that reminded you of summer mornings and freshly folded laundry. The bottle was nearly empty now. You should’ve replaced it weeks ago, but you kept putting it off. There was something comforting about the familiar scent, even as it faded.

Near it sat a tiny glass tray shaped like a shell, where you kept rings you barely wore and two hair ties you always reached for. One had stretched out completely, the elastic barely holding together–but you refused to throw it away. It had survived too many late-night study sessions, too many chaotic mornings before class. It had history.

You lit your desk lamp–the one with the soft yellow bulb, not the bright blue-white you hated. It cast a glow across the room that made it look gentler, less like a dorm and more like a nook carved from a novel. Cozy. Private. You turned off the overhead light and stood there for a second, letting yourself just look. The soft shadows, the freshly made bed, the diffuser’s scent hanging lightly in the air.

You sigh, satisfied with your work, eyes scanning over the room once more. Everything was in its place. Not perfect, maybe–but it looked lived in, cared for, warm. It looked like you.

With that final breath of approval, you turned toward the door tucked just beside your dresser–the greatest stroke of luck you’d had all year.

An attached bathroom.

Single dorms were hard enough to land as a second-year, but a single with a private bathroom? That was near mythic. Your RA had called it the “housing lottery jackpot,” and you hadn’t argued. No communal showers meant no mildew smell clinging to your towel, no forgotten flip-flops, and–best of all–no awkward small talk with girls brushing their teeth beside you at midnight.

You stepped inside, shutting the door behind you with a soft click, and reached for your phone on the counter. 3:30 PM. Forty-five minutes, give or take.

Bob said “after four,” but something told you he wasn’t the type to be late. You weren’t sure if that meant he’d be early–but either way, you weren’t risking being caught in your towel when he showed up at your door.

Without much thought, you tugged your clothes off in a few quick motions and tossed them into the hamper tucked beside the sink. The hoodie fell in a heap, the fabric heavy with the day’s wear. Your cropped t-shirt was damp at the neckline, your waistband creased from sitting through the afternoon lecture. It all smelled faintly of the campus and the late-summer air–sun-warmed concrete, paper, and the barest hint of classroom chalk.

You flicked on the fan and twisted the shower knob until the water reached the right balance of hot–just shy of scalding.

Steam bloomed in the narrow space like it had been waiting, curling along the top of the curtain and fogging the mirror in soft, slow layers. You stepped in, letting the heat rush over your shoulders in a way that made your muscles go slack and your eyelids flutter briefly closed. You weren’t indulging, not really. You just needed to rinse the day away–strip it off like a second skin, let the tension from your shoulders drain down the tiles and vanish with the suds.

While the water beat down over the back of your neck, your thoughts began to drift.

Even though this was just a tutoring session–just notes, formulas, and a second chance at a first impression–it felt bigger than that.

You hadn’t brought a guy into your room in months.

Not since you’d drawn that invisible line in the sand–the one that said: this space is mine and mine only. Not since you started guarding your time, your energy, and your peace. You weren’t a prude–far from it. You weren’t closed off either. You just…Stopped inviting chaos into your life. And sometimes, chaos looked like someone else’s backpack thrown on your floor, someone else’s hand on your thigh or under the waistband of your sweatpants, or someone else’s voice asking, “Do you mind if I crash here tonight?”

You didn’t miss it.

But still–when you looked Bob Floyd in the eyes and suggested your dorm like it was no big deal, like it didn’t mean anything–something in your chest had fluttered. Not panic. Not excitement. Just a shift.

A crack in the routine.

Now, standing under the steaming pulse of your shower, with the scent of citrus shampoo rising like vapor and the water cascading down your spine, you realized you hadn’t really prepared yourself for that part.

Bob Floyd. In your dorm. Sitting on your bed, or at your desk…Breathing in your space.

You didn’t think it would be weird. He didn’t seem like the type to make things uncomfortable. If anything, he seemed like the kind of guy who’d knock twice even after you told him the door was open. He was polite. Mild-mannered. A little tightly wound in a way that made you think he probably alphabetized his class folders.

But you didn’t know him.

And it was dawning on you, as you tilted your face into the stream and let it blur your vision with heat, that this was only the second conversation you’d had with him. Two conversations, and now you were inviting him into the most intimate space a student could have–your dorm. Your bedroom. Your sanctuary. A place where your throw blanket still held the scent of last week’s laundry, and where your pillowcase had that faint stretch of mascara from the night you fell asleep before washing your face.

What if he thought it was messy?

What if he thought you were messy?

What if he saw the tangled cords beside your bed or the half-finished cup of coffee on your nightstand and assumed you were the kind of person who couldn’t get it together–even when your whole reputation said otherwise?

What if he looked at your 68 again, and thought you were dumb suddenly?

You hated that thought most of all.

You weren’t dumb. You knew you weren’t. You were sharp, resilient, calculated when it mattered–and still, you wondered if he’d already made up his mind about you. Academic ego like his–97s without breaking a sweat–probably came with an equally inflated sense of who could keep up. Maybe he was too polite to say it, but what if he thought you were just another pretty girl in a hard class, grasping for help she hadn’t earned?

You scrubbed your hands over your scalp trying to shake the thought loose, because it didn’t matter what he thought.

Right?

You’d asked for help. That was the whole point. And he’d agreed. He’d said yes without hesitation–well, after a small nervous stammer, but still. He’d seemed open. Kind, even. And if you were being honest with yourself–and not just stewing in self-preservation–you didn’t think he saw you that way. Not as dense. Not as helpless. If anything, he seemed genuinely surprised that you’d asked him at all. Like he hadn’t expected someone like you to even talk to someone like him.

You rinsed the last remnants of soap and shampoo off your body, letting the moment pass.

You weren’t going to overthink this.

He was coming over, he was going to sit down. You were going to go through your test and try and work through the incorrect answers, maybe laugh once or twice, and you’d be one step closer to not failing this class.

That was it.

You shut off the water, the sudden silence deafening in the tiny bathroom.

Steam clung to every surface. You wiped your hand across the mirror, catching your own reflection looking back at you–a few beads of water dripping from your hair, over your collarbones, down over your breasts, the light reflecting off of them like little glowing orbs.

You wrapped yourself in a towel, padded out onto the tile, and toweled your hair dry with slow, deliberate motions. You’d keep things light. Professional. You’d study. You’d ask questions. You’d nod along when he explained something that made sense. And then–

You paused.

Then maybe…Maybe you’d ask what his secret was. The 97. The sharp notes. The calm in his hands. The look in his eyes when he first saw you walking up those lecture hall stairs. Not because you wanted anything from it.

But because part of you was just…Curious.

You stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in the last traces of damp heat, the steam still clinging faintly to your skin like a second breath. The scent of your shampoo followed you into the room–light citrus, clean warmth, a kind of quiet comfort–and you padded barefoot across the tile, leaving soft marks on the floor that vanished almost as soon as they appeared.

Your eyes flicked to the digital clock on your nightstand.

3:55 PM.

Of course it was. Right on the edge of too early, which meant Bob would probably be here right on time–maybe even five minutes ahead, just to be polite. Just to prove he meant it when he said he took this seriously.

You crossed the room in quick, practiced steps, flipping through your clothes without ceremony. You didn’t want to overthink it. You couldn’t overthink it. You were still a little warm from the shower, your skin flushed and hair damp, and the last thing you needed was to feel sweat pooling under a too-thick hoodie while trying to understand whatever theoretical mind game was about to come your way.

So you grabbed a soft t-shirt–a light heather grey, already worn thin in spots from too many washes–and a pair of black workout shorts that hit mid-thigh. Functional. Comfortable. No-nonsense. You pulled them on in a few quick motions, not bothering with makeup or overthinking how the shorts made your legs look in the soft afternoon light that filtered through the slits of your blinds. It wasn’t about that.

You hung up your towels quickly on the hook by the door, turned to your desk, and yanked open the middle drawer with a quiet clatter. Your whiteboard markers were all crammed into a cup at the back–caps loose, labels fading. You pulled out four of them–blue, green, red, and black–and lined them up on your desk next to your notebook like you’d planned it that way all along. Some kind of subconscious need for control, maybe. Or maybe you just didn’t want Bob to see you fumbling for supplies mid-conversation.

Then you reached for the test. The test. The damn 68, still folded and creased and red-inked like a bruise on paper. You slapped it onto the desk with a sigh, the sound small but sharp in the quiet of the room. Your hands slid to your hips. You stared at it for a long second.

This was where it would start. Hopefully where it would turn around.

And then–just as your breath settled and you were about to pull your chair out–

Knock knock.

Two firm taps.

Not tentative. Not obnoxious. Just…Precisely delivered. Like he’d rehearsed it.

You sighed. Not from dread–but from inevitability. From the knowledge that this, right here, was the moment it would all shift. You rolled your shoulders once, exhaled through your nose, and crossed the room in five brisk steps.

You pulled the door open.

And there he was.

Bob Floyd stood just outside, backpack slung over one shoulder, a black three-ring binder hugged awkwardly to his chest like he didn’t quite know what to do with it. He had changed. He was wearing a navy t-shirt that clung just enough to his chest to remind you that he was broader than he looked seated in a lecture hall. His jeans were dark again–clean, cuffed slightly at the ankle because they were a little too long for his legs–and his sneakers looked freshly wiped down, as if he’d paused just outside the dorm building to rub them clean against the concrete.

His glasses were perched on his nose again, slightly fogged at the corners from the outside humidity. His hair was still a little mussed, like the wind had gotten to him–or maybe he’d run his hand through it on the walk over. His eyes met yours instantly, wide and a little unsure, like he was trying to memorize the moment.

“Hey,” He said, and it came out just a little too soft.

You leaned against the doorframe, one hand curled around the edge of it, the other still resting lightly on your hip. You didn’t mean to look casual–but you did. Warm skin. Damp hair. Legs bare in your shorts. You were dressed like comfort, like late afternoon, like a version of home he wasn’t expecting to see.

“Hey,” You returned. A small smile tugged at your lips. “Right on time.”

“I–uh, yeah.” Bob adjusted the strap on his backpack like it gave him something to do. “Didn’t wanna be early. Or, you know, too early. But also didn’t wanna be late.”

You stepped aside. “You’re good. Come on in.”

He hesitated just slightly before crossing the threshold, like he was stepping into a space that demanded a kind of reverence. And maybe, in a way, he was. His eyes swept the room instinctively, slow and deliberate–not nosey, just observant. His gaze skimmed over the bed, the desk, the glow of the warm lamp light, the closed bathroom door. Then back to you.

You watched him take it all in. The details. The neatness. The quiet hum of your diffuser still at work in the corner.

“This is…Nice,” He said finally. And he meant it. “Like, really nice. Kinda cozy.”

You smirked like you hadn’t been panic cleaning for the past hour or two, “I try.”He nodded once, still a little awestruck, like he wasn’t entirely sure how he’d ended up here.

“Smells good too…Like you baked something.” You raised an eyebrow at him and gave a small laugh, motioning behind him.

”It’s just my diffuser.” Bob’s gaze drifted toward the thin plume of steam rising from your dresser, his face going slightly blush.

“Oh…” He blinked. “Didn’t notice that.”

The corners of his mouth twitched upward in a sheepish little smile, soft and crooked. He ran his palm over the front of his jeans like it might smooth over the awkward pause that followed.

You glanced over your shoulder at him, brow arched.

“Well,” You started, already moving toward your desk, “You can sit anywhere you’d like. I’m just gonna pull my whiteboard out so we have somewhere to work.”

He opened his mouth–maybe to respond, maybe to stall–but you cut in before the silence could return. “Do you want anything to drink? I’ve got water, Sprite, or…” you paused with a shrug, “an emergency stash of energy drinks if you’re into heart palpitations.”

Bob let out a short laugh, ducking his head as his fingers scratched the back of his neck. “Water’s good, thank you. Do you… need any help with anything?”

You shook your head with a quiet chuckle, already crouching to slide the whiteboard from behind your desk. “It’s all good, I got it.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” you replied with a grin. “Just get comfortable.”

Bob hesitated for a beat–then nodded once and toed off his shoes with quiet care, tucking them neatly beside the frame of your bed. The soft creak of your mattress followed as he eased himself up onto it, adjusting his binder across his lap. He settled back against your pillows like someone trying not to disturb a shrine. His back met the wall in a slow, deliberate lean, shoulders squaring before his legs stretched out in front of him, one knee bent just slightly.

You were still crouched in front of your desk, tugging the whiteboard forward and flipping the eraser out of the marker tray with practiced ease. When you stood and propped the board upright against the far wall–angled so you could sit beside the bed and still reach it–Bob’s gaze caught on you again.

He wasn’t proud of it. But he couldn’t help it.

The soft sheen on your legs caught the warm light from your desk lamp, the moisture from your shower still clinging in subtle streaks across your skin. Your shorts were tight–they were the kind that followed the natural dip of your thighs when you bent forward, holding you in all the right places. Every angle pulled his attention. The curve where your hip met your waist, the shadow along the back of your knee when you adjusted your weight. You were only wearing a t-shirt and shorts, nothing scandalous, nothing remotely calculated–but Bob felt like he was seeing something private.

Like you’d invited him into something sacred and forgot to mention just how much of you lived here.

He cleared his throat and glanced out the window beside your bed, the blinds slatted just enough to let in the softest touch of late afternoon sun. The light was golden. Low. Hazy in the kind of way that made everything look suspended in time.

He told himself to focus. On the equations. On the test in your hand. On the notes in his binder.

Not on the way your legs moved when you crossed the room again, not on the lotion-sweet smell of you that lingered now even stronger than it had that first day in class, and not on the sight of you–relaxed and warm and totally unguarded–in a way he hadn’t seen before.

You crossed the room with a bottle of water and handed it to him without fuss, and when your fingers brushed, he felt the jolt of it deep in his chest.

“Thanks,” He said quietly, cradling the bottle like a peace offering.

You gave him a smile. Not teasing, not knowing. Just kind. Grounded. Unbothered.

And that made it worse somehow. Made it harder not to stare. Harder not to wonder what this was becoming, and how much trouble he was in already.

Because he could memorize equations. He could build models, ace problem sets, and calculate theoretical orbital mechanics in his sleep.

But none of that had prepared him for you.

You didn’t sit right away.

Instead, you hovered just beside the whiteboard for a moment longer, the test clutched in your hand, thumb brushing over the red mark like maybe you could fade it out with friction alone. But Bob waited patiently–quiet, composed, the bottle of water still nestled in his lap like he didn’t quite know what to do with his hands yet.

You held the test out toward him. “Alright, let’s see how bad it really is.”

Bob offered a faint, crooked smile as he took the folded packet, careful not to smudge the corners with condensation from the bottle. He flipped it open to the first page, eyes scanning the first problem set. His gaze moved quickly–but not dismissively. He was reading, really reading, lips parting slightly as he traced your work with his eyes.

Then his brows lifted, just a touch–not surprise, but curiosity.

“Can you…” He glanced up at you, the glint of his glasses catching the light again, “show me how you got this answer? Go through it with me…I just want to pick your brain first. See your logic a bit.”

You hesitated, just for a beat.

Not because you didn’t remember how you got the answer. You did. You remembered every painful minute of trying to pull it out of thin air, piecing together old lecture notes and half-remembered formulas from late-night readings. But the thought of speaking it out loud? Of saying it in front of him?

That part felt…Vulnerable.

You bit the inside of your lip for a second, eyes flicking from the board to his face, then back again. Then, without a word, you bent down and picked up the black marker.

Bob leaned forward just slightly, shifting the binder onto the mattress beside him as you uncapped it with your teeth and started writing on the board. The soft squeak of dry erase on the surface filled the room.

“Okay,” You said finally, your voice steadier than you expected, “So the question was asking about particle behavior in a non-inertial reference frame, right? So I assumed we were supposed to use the rotating frame model the prof showed us last week. The one with the centrifugal and Coriolis corrections?” Bob nodded slowly, eyes locked on the board, on your hand.

You started to draw–carefully, neatly, the way you always did when trying to make sense of something. A circle. A line to represent the radius. Arrows for velocity, angular acceleration. You wrote out the base equation next to it, then began working through your substitutions.

“I plugged in the knowns here,” you continued, underlining as you spoke, “and then tried to isolate the pseudo-forces…but I think I misapplied the coordinate system. I used polar, but I think the solution assumed Cartesian.”

Bob made a small hum in the back of his throat–soft, thoughtful. You glanced back at him.

He was watching you. Focused, engaged. Almost the look a professor would give when they saw potential flickering just beneath a student’s mistake, and that made your throat tighten from the nerves that began to bubble over in your stomach.

Bob shifted again, the mattress dipping softly beneath his weight as he leaned forward, one hand braced on the bed beside his binder. “No, that’s good,” He murmured. “That’s actually really good. You weren’t wrong to try it that way. I think the issue’s just here–”He reached for the red marker from your stack, uncapping it with a soft click.

“See how you treated this term?” He pointed gently toward a partial derivative in your equation, careful not to touch the board. “You factored it like it was independent, but because it’s nested in the rotating frame, it still has angular dependence. That’s what threw the rest off.”

You blinked at the board, then at him.

“Wait…So if I’d just accounted for the cross-product instead of canceling it…”

“You would’ve landed within the margin of error,” He finished, smiling softly. “Easily a B. Maybe even B+ depending on how much partial credit he gave.” You stared at your own math like it had betrayed you and then slowly dropped your hand to your side, still holding the marker.

“That…Makes so much more sense,” You said, voice a little quieter now. Not embarrassed. Just a little humbled.

Bob stood up slowly, the mattress giving a soft groan beneath him as he rose. His steps were quiet but sure as he moved to stand beside you at the whiteboard, marker still poised in his hand like a baton he didn’t quite realize he’d taken control of. You stepped slightly to the side to give him space, though your shoulders still nearly brushed.

His voice came low, steady, as he started to rewrite the middle portion of your equation. His handwriting was sharp and balanced–blocky print with just a hint of slant, the kind of penmanship that spoke of hours spent copying down formula after formula with care.

“Your approach wasn’t bad,” He started, glancing at you just briefly before continuing, “Seriously. You just went too fast on the middle step, that’s all…And honestly?” He let out a breathy, half-laugh. “That’s the part that gets everyone.” You let out a quiet, half-aware chuckle–more breath than voice.

“Well…Evidently it doesn’t get you. You’re the one that got a 97.”

Bob flushed immediately. The back of his neck went pink first, then the tips of his ears. He ducked his head as he kept writing, though his next words carried a little laugh of their own.

“I’m a physics major,” He said. “So I better be getting that mark or else I’d be needing a refund from the school.”

You let out a real laugh at that–light, short, amused–and crossed your arms loosely over your chest, watching him scribble through the rest of the correction with a kind of practiced rhythm.

“No wonder you’re so good at this…” You muttered, more to yourself than him, but loud enough for him to catch.

Bob’s head tilted slightly toward you. “What’re you majoring in?”

You scratched the back of your neck, mildly self-conscious. “Engineering.”

He paused–just long enough to let the silence feel deliberate–and then let out a short, knowing laugh. “Ahh. Now it makes sense.”

You raised a brow, narrowing your eyes in mock warning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You guys are chronic overthinkers,” He stated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You scoffed, uncrossing your arms. “And you guys aren’t? Please. Look at all the work you need to do just to get a simple solution. Two extra diagrams and four substitutions just to prove a particle moves left.”

He rolled his eyes, the kind of eye roll that had barely any edge–just enough sass to keep the playfulness alive. “Least if I took an engineering course, I’d still hit an 80 on the tests.”

You blinked at him. “Wow. Bold of you to assume you’d survive statics.”

Bob turned toward you a little more, raising an eyebrow, eyes glittering behind the faint reflection on his glasses. “I’d thrive in statics.”

“Oh, really?” you said, grinning now. “You think you would have a handle on it?” He cleared his throat lightly and gave you a soft smirk, the corner of his mouth curling.

“Maybe if I had the right tutor.” You blinked once. And then…Smiled.

He turned back to the board and finished the last line of the solution with a soft swipe of the marker.

“There,” He said, voice quieter again. “That’s how I did it.”

You stared at the board, then at him. The space between your shoulders eased a little. The knot in your chest began to loosen.

”Well…That’s one question down…At least I know where I went wrong…” Bob nodded, tapping the cap of the red marker softly against his palm.

“Let’s go to the next one.”

You reached over to flip the test packet to the next problem set, fingers skimming over the thin paper before tugging the top page aside. The math was already crowding your vision–variables stacked in tight lines, subscripts nestled between integrals and force vectors–and you let out a breath as you raised the black marker again.

He stepped back slightly to give you room, standing just behind and to your left. You could feel the warmth of him, the quiet energy he held so close to his chest, just skimming your shoulder. You swiped the board clean with the eraser in a few broad, practiced strokes until nothing remained but the faint sheen of leftover marker ghosting the surface.

“I’m gonna admit,” You started, glancing at him from the corner of your eye, “I winged this one. So I’m definitely not gonna have an explanation for it.”

Bob shrugged, unbothered. “Then solve it,” He said casually. “Or attempt to. I’ll guide if you need it.”

There was a subtle shift in his tone–something a little less guarded, a little more drawled than usual. A slight southern cadence that lilted through the last few words, soft but present, like a warm hush pulled from somewhere deeper than lecture hall confidence. You felt your cheeks heat slightly at the sound.

Still, you nodded. “Alright.”

You started from scratch–no notes, no copying, just your best attempt. The marker glided smoothly under your hand as you worked through the logic piece by piece, pausing every few steps to reassess. You murmured quietly to yourself as you went, instinctively talking through the math aloud, and Bob said nothing–just watched. You could feel his eyes trace the path your gaze took, from the top of your diagram down through the first few steps of your math. Then–

“Nope. Wrong,” He interrupted, it came gently but firmly.

You blinked at the board, your hand frozen mid-step, and let out a quiet sigh. “Why?”

He stepped forward again, lifting the red marker. He didn’t correct it for you–just circled one specific term, the ink smooth and patient.

“This,” He pointed out, “You forgot to convert the mass into angular components. You treated it like a point mass.”

Your stomach sank just slightly. Not out of shame, but frustration. You dipped your head and started erasing that line.

“Sorry,” You murmured, almost under your breath.

“No need to apologize,” Bob said immediately, softer now. “Though I’m hopin’ this stuff sinks in…”

Your eyebrows knit, and you turned your head a little toward him. “Do you think it won’t?”

He shrugged, the barest lift of his shoulders. “It takes a while to apply the theory. Knowing it in your head’s one thing…Applying it to a random question is something else…But being able to fix your own mistakes is the first step to understanding things a little better to apply things properly.” You nodded once, pressing your lips together. Then you went back to work, quieter now, more deliberate. He watched you fall into the rhythm of the solution again, only stepping back when you didn’t seem to need his guidance. You could feel his eyes flicking down toward the test for a second before he moved behind you.

You heard the soft scrape of his hand over the textbook as he grabbed it from your desk, flipping it open with a practiced flick of his thumb. Pages whispered past each other as he navigated straight to the chapter you’d been tested on–like he’d memorized the structure without even meaning to. His eyes scanned the problems, fingers tapping the margin of the page as he skimmed.

By the time he turned back around, you were capping the black marker with a little sigh of effort. “I think I got it?”

Bob came closer again and tilted his head to read your work. His gaze moved from line to line, his mouth twitching just slightly before he nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah, you got it.” You caught the smile as it crept over his face–unfiltered this time, soft and a little proud. He adjusted his glasses with one hand, pushing them up the bridge of his nose before holding out the textbook toward you, with his thumb slipped between the pages.

“Try number twelve,” He said, the corner of his mouth still lifted. “New problem. Same concept. Let’s see what you remember.” Your eyes scanned the paragraph of setup–classic physics problem: rotating frame, non-uniform mass distribution, some sly attempt to catch overconfident students slipping past the conversion factor. You clicked your tongue once and let your focus shift back to the whiteboard, grabbing the green marker this time.

He watched you move–quiet, efficient, no hesitation as you picked apart the language of the question, breaking it into manageable parts. You leaned your hip against the desk just slightly, skin catching the late-afternoon light in the softest gleam. Your fingers danced over your phone screen, pulling up the calculator, thumb tapping with precise rhythm as your eyes flicked between the numbers and the formulas.

Bob didn’t even try to pretend he wasn’t staring anymore.

There was a faint shimmer along your shoulder from where the light met your skin, a dewy glow from the shower that hadn’t fully faded. You were chewing softly on the inside of your cheek, eyes narrowed in concentration, and he thought–briefly, helplessly–that he could watch you solve problems forever if it meant watching you like this.

You didn’t say anything. Not for the full ten minutes it took you to work it through.

You just calculated, and wrote, and thought. You whispered a few fragments to yourself as you filled in a diagram at the top right corner of the board, then traced your logic through in smooth, deliberate steps. You stepped back finally, the marker hanging loosely from your fingers, your other hand planted lightly on your hip.

You turned slightly toward him.

“Well?” You asked. “What’s the verdict?”

Bob blinked–once, hard. Then blinked again.

“Right,” He replied quickly, moving forward, the textbook now tucked under one arm. He studied your work for a moment, leaning in just enough to squint at one portion of your substitutions. His lips pressed together.

“You did most of it right,” He murmured, pointing to a midsection of your math. “This part’s good…But you forgot to apply the correction here–” He tapped gently on a bracketed term near the top. “That throws the coefficient off. Still–partial credit would be earned. It’s not like you’d lose all the points.”

You let out a breath and nodded. “Got it.”

Bob uncapped the red marker again and leaned forward, elbow bent as he carefully scribbled a correction in the margin beside your step. His handwriting was still annoyingly neat, even in red, even when rushed. He talked you through it slowly, the pace gentle but firm, breaking down the terms like a translation instead of a reprimand.

Your arms crossed as you leaned against the edge of the desk, chin tilted toward him slightly. He didn’t rush, didn’t sound superior–he just…Taught. Like he wanted you to understand it, not just memorize it.

You smirked.

“You should become a professor with the way you teach.”

Bob glanced over his shoulder at you, an amused little tilt to his head. “Why? Am I boring you?”

You let out a real laugh this time, low and warm and amused. “No. Not yet, at least.”

He turned a little more to face you, one hand still holding the red marker.

“Don’t speak too soon,” He warned, the corners of his mouth pulling into a slow, boyish grin. “I’m sure I’ve got a lot more opportunities to do that.”

And even though the whiteboard still glowed behind him, filled with formulas and diagrams and half-solved questions, all you could see was the quiet crinkle at the corner of his eyes, and the way his voice–soft, sincere–almost sounded like a promise.

————————

Bob’s elbows rested on his knees, fingers loosely laced, binder long forgotten beside him on the bed.

You were pacing.

Again.

Back and forth in front of your desk, your physics textbook open in your hands like it might suddenly say something different if you glared hard enough at the chapter title.

“I don’t understand,” You huffed, fingers tightening around the spine of the book. “We’ve been working through these questions almost every night for the past two weeks. I’m getting them very close to right when I do them here. I know what I’m doing on the whiteboard, I’m getting partial credit in class–but then I sit down during the quiz and it’s like…Like my brain just decides to take a smoke break.”

Bob watched you quietly from the bed, his gaze flicking down briefly as your shirt lifted with your movements. The hem rose just enough to show the waistband of the boxer shorts you’d thrown on after your shower, the edge of soft cotton skimming the top of your thighs as you turned in another sharp step.

He didn’t say anything. Not at first. Just watched. Like he always did when you got worked up–like his stillness might balance out your storm.

You dropped the book onto your desk with a soft thud, dragging both hands through your hair before planting them on your hips in frustration.

“I mean, it’s ridiculous,” You muttered. “I can do it here. I’ve done it. You’ve seen me do it. What the hell happens between here and the classroom?” Bob leaned back slightly, hands now braced behind him against the bedspread, one leg bent, the other stretched long.

“Do you feel anxious when you’re writing the test?” He asked, tilting his head just a little.

You turned to look at him, brow furrowed.

“It’s a normal amount of anxiety,” You said flatly. “What, are you about to tell me that’s why I’m still not doing well on quizzes? A little test stress?”

He shrugged, his lips quirking upward like he knew he was about to toe the line. “Could be,” He replied simply. “Or…Maybe you just need some kind of…Positive reinforcement.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Positive reinforcement?” You repeated slowly, curious and suspicious of how he was bringing up the topic.

He nodded, straight-faced. “Affirmations. Encouragement. Rewards. You know. Psychology stuff.” You crossed your arms, the motion slow and deliberate, as you turned fully to face him. Your hips settled just to one side, weight shifting into that slightly challenging posture–the kind that said you weren’t going to let this slide, but not in the way he should be afraid of. Your head tilted a little, eyes narrowed like you were sizing him up. Watching.

Noticing.

And God, was he blushing.

Not a violent flush, but that creeping kind–the kind that started at the tips of his ears and crawled slowly down the sides of his neck like embarrassment blooming from the inside out. He wasn’t meeting your gaze now. Just staring down at the binder on his lap, his thumbs rubbing over the edge of the plastic like it had something important to say.

You didn’t say anything at first. Just stared. Took him in.

The soft slope of his shoulders where they leaned back into the pillow. The subtle indent his jaw made when he clenched it without meaning to. The flush of red creeping into his cheeks, all while trying to keep that composed, helpful tone–like he was still just your tutor and not someone who thought about kissing you when you leaned too close during derivatives.

The silence held for a beat too long.

Then you spoke.

“So you’re trying to condition me?”

Bob’s head snapped up, and his eyes met yours–wide, startled, and already bracing for the tease he knew was coming. But then, to your surprise, he laughed. A real laugh. Short and soft and so genuine that it made the tips of his ears go even redder.

“N-No!” he said quickly, shaking his head, that lopsided smile overtaking his face. “Jesus–no, I wasn’t–conditioning you?”

You smirked, keeping your arms crossed like a challenge. “It kinda sounds like you’re conditioning me.”

He laughed again–this time accompanied by a quiet snort he couldn’t quite swallow down fast enough. It made your grin widen.

“I’m not trying to train you like a dog,” He commented, wiping a hand down his face with mock-exhaustion. “I just meant…If you associate physics with something good, maybe your brain will stop freaking out every time you’re handed a test.”

You blinked at him once. Raised an eyebrow.

“So…” You started, slowly, carefully, “You’re trying to open my third eye for physics?”

Bob looked at you. Deadpan. “That’s not what I said.”

You stepped closer, a teasing lilt curling into your voice now as you gestured with one hand. “No, no, I think that’s exactly what you said. You want me to transcend. Find academic Nirvana through external praise.” He rolled his eyes.

”Okay. Now you’re just twisting my words.” You raised your eyebrows.

”Am I?” You grinned. He gave you a look. A very Bob look. One part fond, one part I walked into this with my eyes wide open and it’s too late to leave now. But the pink still hadn’t faded from his cheeks.

You leaned your hip against the edge of the desk again, bare thighs catching the warm glow of your desk lamp, watching the way Bob’s eyes flicked toward your legs and then immediately back up again.

“Alright, Professor Floyd,” You said lightly, “I’ll bite. What kind of positive reinforcement are we talking about here? You handing out gold stars? Stickers? Should I bring a report card for you to sign?” Bob cleared his throat. It was soft but unmistakable. A nervous reflex that made him sit up a little straighter on your bed, one hand rising to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose even though they hadn’t really slipped.

“I mean…” He trailed off, eyes fixed on some distant point above your shoulder. “I was thinking more like…A kiss.” Your entire body stilled, hands still loosely clasped in front of you from your teasing posture, your weight half-shifted against the desk. A beat passed–just long enough to wonder if you’d misheard him. But then his eyes flicked back to yours, just for a second, and the heat in his gaze made it impossible to pretend he hadn’t said exactly what you thought he did.

You could feel your cheeks warm–instantly, helplessly–heat blooming beneath your skin like it had been waiting for the right moment to spill forward. But you masked it with a slow raise of your eyebrows and a smirk, playful but laced with that sharp new curiosity curling low in your gut.

“Yeah?” You said, voice softer now. You shifted your weight and tilted your head. “A kiss? That’s what you had in mind?”

Bob’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. Hard. His eyes flicked to the space beside your head before dropping to the floor–then back up to you, like he was trying not to look too long but couldn’t help it. He shifted on the mattress, fingers brushing over the edge of the binder like he needed something to hold onto. “I-I mean…It was just an idea. One of…Several.”

You stepped closer.

“Is that what you’ve had in mind this entire time?” You questioned, voice low, the smile on your lips laced with something sweeter now–teasing, but sincere. “Kissing me?”

Bob let out a nervous little laugh, breath catching as he tried to string together a reply. His knuckles were pale where they gripped the binder now, eyes flicking toward your legs again before jerking back up to your face.

“I–no, I mean, not… I never really got that idea till today,” He muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just thought—I don’t know. It might help.”

You took another step forward.

“You sure about that?” you asked, the words curling in your throat like heat, low and just a little amused. Now you were standing directly in front of him, and the change in height made it impossible not to notice how he looked up at you–head tilted back slightly, wide blue eyes tracking your every move. His glasses slid a fraction down his nose, but he didn’t dare lift a hand to fix them.

His mouth opened and closed once before he found his voice. “I personally…Think it might work,” He murmured.

Your eyes flicked down to his lips–soft, parted slightly, flushed–and then back to his eyes. He was blinking slow now, like your presence this close was physically slowing his thoughts.

You bit your lip. Slowly. Purposefully.

“So you’re telling me,” You said, almost whispering now, “That you want to reward me with kisses…Whenever I get a question right?”

Bob exhaled through his nose. His legs had parted slightly where he sat, not intentionally–but enough to suggest his body was reacting faster than his brain. He nodded once, tentative but clear. His voice dropped lower, barely above a whisper.

“I could…Do a whole lot more than kisses,” He said.

The second the words left his mouth, his eyes widened slightly, like he hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Like he hadn’t even known he was capable of it. His fingers fidgeted with the edge of the binder, his spine curving slightly forward as if he could fold himself up to hide from the boldness that had just escaped him.

Your breath caught–just barely–and something about the way he said it, almost reverent, almost pleading, sent a shiver down your spine. You watched his throat work, his chest rising and falling in subtle, shaky breaths.

He wasn’t cocky. He wasn’t teasing you back with confidence.

He wanted you.

Desperately.

You leaned in, closing that last bit of space between your knees and the edge of the bed until your thighs brushed his. The binder slid from his lap onto the comforter with a soft thud, forgotten.

“Yeah?” You murmured, voice warm, velvety, almost indulgent. “You think you could do more?” Bob nodded, slowly–eyes wide, lips parted, breath coming a little uneven now, fanning over your face.

“If you’d let me,” He said quietly, “I’d do anything.”

The words landed between you like a weight, heavy with longing, trembling with truth.

And you believed him.

Because Bob Floyd didn’t say things he didn’t mean.

He didn’t play games. He didn’t flirt to win. He offered, quietly, completely–like giving a piece of himself to someone felt holy.

Your hands moved before your mind fully caught up, instinct carrying you as you lifted them slowly–deliberately–and rested them against the sides of his neck.

He was warm.

The kind of warmth that radiated from beneath the skin, the kind that felt like it could seep into your palms and settle somewhere inside your chest if you let it. His skin was soft under your thumbs, his pulse fluttering just beneath one, and when your fingers brushed lightly over the edge of his jaw, you felt the tiniest hitch in his breath.

Bob stilled.

Completely.

The kind of stillness that only came when something sacred was happening–like he didn’t want to risk breaking the moment by breathing too loud.

And then you leaned in.

Not rushed. Not hungry. Just slow–measured. Confident in the space he’d given you. Confident in the way his knees shifted to make room for you between them, in the way his lips had parted already, waiting, hoping.

Your nose brushed his cheek softly. His glasses tilted just slightly from the nudge, slipping down the bridge of his nose in a slow, unbothered drift. You felt the ghost of his breath over your mouth, shaky and warm, and then–

You kissed him.

Gently. Just once. Lips pressed to his like the start of a sentence that would take its time to finish.

Bob breathed into it–exhaled a soft, shuddering hum from the back of his throat that vibrated against your mouth. His hands came up slow, tentative, like he didn’t want to assume. But then they settled–one sliding to your lower back, warm and careful, the other ghosting over your hip before stilling there.

And then he kissed you back.

Really kissed you.

Slow at first. So slow it made your knees weak.

He lingered on your upper lip, plush and steady, then pulled back half an inch and tilted–just enough to brush your bottom lip between his with soft, seeking pressure. His lips moved with purpose, not urgency. Thoughtful. Intent. Like he wanted to memorize you in pieces, to map the shape of your mouth one breath at a time.

You made a soft, involuntary sound into him–a quiet, pleased little “mmm”–and he kissed you again like he needed to drink it in. His thumb pressed lightly against the small of your back, grounding him, grounding you. Every motion of his mouth was reverent, restrained, and dripping with a kind of intimacy that made your skin burn.

You pulled back just an inch–lips brushing his, breath warm between you.

His eyes fluttered open slowly, lashes sweeping against flushed cheeks. His pupils were blown wide behind his fogged glasses, lips pink and slightly parted, his chest rising and falling with careful, controlled breaths. He looked dazed. Unmoored.

You smiled.

A quiet, knowing smile, and let your thumbs brush the sides of his jaw.

“Better go get the next question right, huh?” You whispered, teasing but breathless. “Gotta meet my end of the bargain.”

And just as you started to pull back, maybe to reach for the marker again, maybe to hide the way your heart was slamming against your ribs like a drum–

Bob’s hand on your lower back pressed just slightly.

“Wait,” He murmured, voice low and husky now. “How about we suspend the studying for now?”

The words came quiet. Careful. But you could hear the edge beneath them–that hunger he’d tried so hard to suppress now curling softly around the syllables.

You arched an eyebrow at him, still close enough that your noses brushed.

“Hmm…” You started, a smirk pulling at your lips. “Now you’re just going to end up distracting me.”

His eyes flicked down to your mouth. Then back up.

You ran a finger gently down the side of his neck, your voice warm and teasing.

“Let’s stick to the plan…” Bob exhaled slowly. Like it took everything in him not to pull you back in.

His hands didn’t move. But he nodded.

Barely.

And when you stepped away and turned toward the whiteboard again, you could feel the heat of his gaze trailing after you–like he was trying to sear every inch of the moment into memory.

———————

By the second correct answer, you were setting a timer for yourselves.

Ten minutes. That was the new rule.

Ten minutes per problem, per kiss. No exceptions. No shortcuts.

Because the last time you’d leaned in for one–intended to be short, controlled, just enough to make good on the deal–you’d ended up in his lap. His hands had slipped under your shirt almost instinctively, like they knew where to go before he consciously gave them permission. And when his palms flattened against the small of your back, warm and strong and bare, your breath had hitched in a way that surprised you.

Not because it was too much.

But because it was exactly what you hadn’t realized you’d been needing.

His fingers pressed into your skin–not harshly, not possessively, just enough to ground you. Like he couldn’t believe he was touching you and needed to memorize the shape of your body with his hands before you slipped away again. You’d gasped into his mouth, not even meaning to, and felt him inhale like the sound had gone straight to his chest.

And then you kissed him harder.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, wrecking the neatness of it with the kind of carelessness that only came when heat outweighed hesitation. You pulled, just a little–testing, exploring–and he moaned softly against your lips like it cracked him open. His glasses were crooked by then, fogged from your shared breaths, and neither of you bothered fixing them. The world could stay blurry if it meant this stayed sharp.

Somewhere in the haze, Bob’s shirt had come off. You hadn’t meant for it to escalate. It had just…Happened. One minute your hands were sliding beneath the hem, feeling the heat of him, the tension in his abdomen, the ridges of muscle that lined his stomach, and the next, the shirt was gone. Flung off to the side without a single graceful motion. You hadn’t even looked where it landed.

He was solid beneath you. Not chiseled in a gym-rat kind of way, but strong in that natural, everyday way. Like he was built for work. His skin was sun-warmed with just a pinch of colour, a faint line of tan cutting across the middle of his arms where T-shirts always stopped. You touched him like he might disappear. He held you like he never wanted you to.

And God…He was good.

Surprisingly good.

Not in the way of someone who practiced, but someone who paid attention. Someone who kissed with focus. With reverence. Like your mouth was an answer he’d been solving toward for weeks. He kissed like he studied–slow, thorough, intentional. His tongue was gentle at first, coaxing. His teeth grazed your lip once, barely, and you swore you could feel it in your spine. When he kissed you the second time–after the next problem, when your timer dinged again–you already knew it wasn’t going to stay brief.

And it didn’t.

He pulled you in with hands that were just slightly rough from calluses and pencil grooves, fingers curling tight around your waist, your ribs, like he needed to feel you under his hands. And when he slipped those same fingers under the hem of your shirt again—this time slower, surer–you let him. You wanted him to. His touch wasn’t greedy. It was searching. Savoring. Like he was learning every inch of you the way he learned his formulas.

And you didn’t realize how touch-starved you’d been until then.

Until the heat of his hand met the curve of your spine, and you arched into him like your body had been waiting for permission. Until he kissed down the side of your jaw, slowly, reverently, and you felt the hum of it in your chest. Until your own hand traced the broad slope of his shoulder, down over the rise and fall of his ribs, and found nothing but steady strength and gentle restraint.

You didn’t say it out loud–but he could feel it.

The hunger in the way you kissed him. The gratitude in the way your hands explored him. The desperate edge that slipped into your breath every time you whispered his name between kisses like it wasn’t something you’d meant to do.

And maybe it wasn’t about physics anymore.

Maybe it never really was.

Because as Bob pulled back, breathless and flushed, his glasses still askew and hair mussed into soft waves from your fingers pulling and tightening, he looked at you like you’d changed something fundamental inside him. Like you’d opened a door he didn’t know was locked. Like he couldn’t stop even if he tried.

Your timer buzzed again in the background. Neither of you moved.

“…You got that one right,” He whispered, lips brushing your cheek “Think you deserve…A break.” You let out a breathless little laugh, your chest still rising and falling with the aftermath of the last kiss. Your hair was a bit mussed from his hands, your lips slightly swollen from the soft, reverent press of his mouth–and you were dizzy, absolutely dizzy with the way he looked at you.

“Bob…” You murmured, voice playful, warm, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve got some sort of ulterior motive.” Bob, still slightly breathless, hand still planted firm and reverent on your thigh, sat back just a little. Enough to give you a look. One of those boyish, guilty-but-not-really guilty grins that curled slow at the edges and made your heart skip.

He pressed a hand flat to his bare chest, wide-eyed in mock innocence.

“Me?” He said, lips twitching. “No…Definitely no ulterior motives here. I’m just…” He leaned in again, close enough for his breath to dance against your jaw, “Trying to do something I’ve been thinking about for a long time.” Your brows lifted, pulse tripping.

“Oh?” You murmured, teasing but curious. “And what’s that?” He pressed a kiss to your jaw–so gentle it nearly didn’t register as a kiss at all. Just warmth. Just intent. Then another, lower, slower, right beneath the curve of your ear. And then:

“Going down on you,” He whispered.

The words landed hot, like they’d been spoken directly into your bloodstream.

Your breath hitched audibly. You swore you could feel your pulse flutter in places you didn’t think could react to words alone. Heat pooled low in your stomach like syrup spilling into something hollow. Still, you managed a quiet, almost incredulous laugh, voice tightening as you tilted your head to look at him again.

“Now I need to know,” You said, fingers threading back into his hair, “How long you’ve been thinking about that.” Bob let out a soft laugh, one hand splaying open against your hip, the other bracing himself still, like he needed to keep steady before he admitted anything to you. He kissed down your neck again, slower this time–each inch of skin passed over with the kind of devotion that said this wasn’t some spur-of-the-moment confession.

And when he reached the collar of your shirt, where the fabric hung loose from earlier tugging, he nosed at it gently. Not greedy. Just wanting more.

You tugged lightly on his hair, not to stop him, but to coax him to pause–just enough to get him to look up.

“Hey,” You said softly, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “How long have you been thinking about doing that?”

Bob’s eyes flicked up to yours–blue and wide and already glassy with the weight of how badly he wanted you. And then his face turned a shade deeper, that telltale blush painting up his cheeks and crawling behind his ears.

“Since…” He paused, like the words were too embarrassing to say. “Since the first day of class. When you came in late…Dressed in that skirt.”

You blinked, lips parting slowly.

“The black one?”

He nodded, eyes darting to your mouth like it might give him the courage to keep talking.

“It rode up just a little when you walked past. And you sat a few seats down and didn’t look at me once. And I–” He broke off for a second, laughing nervously. “I dropped my pencil because of how you smelled and how your legs looked and because you didn’t even notice me looking.”

You stared at him.

Then grinned, slow and wicked.

“Well,” You murmured, leaning in again until your lips were just barely brushing his, “Guess it’s a good thing you’re getting your chance now.” Bob exhaled a shaky breath–one of awe, of disbelief, of absolutely overwhelmed want.

And then he kissed you again.

The kiss that followed was nothing like the first.

It was deeper. Hungrier. Your lips opened beneath his without hesitation this time, and he drank in the permission like it was oxygen–his hands curling tighter around the backs of your thighs before lifting you effortlessly into his lap. You gasped softly against his mouth as your knees bent around him, your weight settling against the solid warmth of his thighs, your hands sliding up the broad slope of his bare shoulders.

He kissed you like he’d waited for this.

Like every moment you’d spent leaning over equations, brushing fingertips, trading teasing words had led to this exact point–and now he had you here, soft and open in his lap, your legs bare and warm against denim, your breath stuttering into his mouth every time he tugged you closer.

His hands slid beneath the hem of your t-shirt again, palms hot against your back, and this time he didn’t hesitate. The fabric peeled upward in one smooth motion–up, over your ribs, brushing your chest–until you lifted your arms and let him tug it off completely. He tossed it somewhere behind you, neither of you looking to see where it landed.

His eyes dropped.

The moment he saw what you were wearing underneath, his breath hitched—and for a second, he didn’t move. A soft cotton sports bra in a worn, dusky pink–simple, comfortable, a little faded from wash after wash–but the way it hugged you? The way it molded to the curve of your breasts, straps digging gently into your warm skin?

Bob Floyd looked like he’d forgotten how to speak.

He swallowed once. Then again. His glasses had slipped slightly lower on his nose, giving him that boyish, dazed expression he got whenever something completely wrecked his train of thought. You watched his eyes trail over you, caught between reverence and want, and then–

He hummed. A soft, breathy sound from deep in his chest. Something unfiltered. Something warm.

Then he looked back up at you.

And kissed you again.

His hands gripped your hips now, anchoring you down in his lap like he didn’t want you to shift an inch. He kissed you harder–open-mouthed, deep, letting out a quiet groan as your hips rocked forward ever so slightly. He didn’t say anything. Just let the noise fall between you, ragged and raw, swallowing your gasp as he shifted his grip and guided you until your back hit the mattress.

The room spun gently with the motion, soft yellow light from the lamp catching in the lenses of his glasses as he leaned over you. His body followed—broad shoulders, warm bare chest pressing down as he settled between your legs. He braced his hands on either side of your ribcage, framing you like a question he couldn’t stop asking. His eyes searched your face for just a second, but you nodded–softly, wordlessly–already reaching for him again.

He dipped his head.

Kissed your throat.

Then lower.

And lower still.

He took his time.

Every press of his lips trailed down the line of your collarbone, across the top swell of your breasts where the fabric cut gently across your skin. His glasses slipped again, nearly falling off–but he didn’t stop. Didn’t even lift a hand to adjust them. He kissed you through the blur, lips brushing the tops of your breasts like they were something sacred.

You let out a quiet sound–half gasp, half moan–and threaded your fingers into his hair again. His tongue flicked out, tasting the salt of your skin as he groaned softly against you.

“Are you always this sensual?” you whispered, voice thick, dazed, breathless.

Bob let out a quiet sigh, like your question made something in him ease and deepen at the same time.

“Let’s just say I love giving…” He murmured, kissing the center of your chest. “…A lot.”

The way he said it–low, quiet, honest–made your legs clench involuntarily around his waist. Your mind flooded with images far too filthy for someone as sweet as Bob Floyd to inspire.

But then again, the way he looked right now–glasses fogging, lips red and glistening, his chest moving in slow, hungry waves with every breath–maybe he wasn’t that sweet after all.

His fingers reached for the thin straps of your bra.

“Hope you don’t mind,” He whispered against your skin, lips still pressing hot kisses between every word.

You shook your head quickly. “I don’t mind at all…”

With a reverent kind of care, he slipped the straps off your shoulders. One. Then the other. His fingers brushed your arms on the way down, the backs of his knuckles ghosting over your skin like he was memorizing it. Then–slowly, carefully–he tugged the fabric down, baring you to him inch by inch.

His breath hitched.

Your breasts, soft and flushed from heat and touch, rose with every breath you took. Bob didn’t reach for you right away. He just…Looked. Let himself take it in. His hands slid up your sides again–rougher now, purposeful–and when they cupped the curve beneath your breasts, his thumbs brushed upward, stroking slowly until your nipples tightened under the attention.

His glasses fogged completely.

Still, he didn’t take them off.

He leaned in and kissed the soft mound of your left breast, then your right, each kiss dragging slower than the last. His lips were gentle, his hands firm, and when he finally brushed the tip of his tongue over your nipple, your hips bucked without warning.

“God,” You whispered, your hands fisting in the sheets beside you. Bob just smiled. Quietly. Like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Sensitive?” he murmured, lips hovering just over your nipple again, breath warm and teasing.

You shook your head slowly, fingers curling into the sheets. “I call it anticipation.”

His low laugh rumbled against your skin. “Didn’t know we were calling it that now… but okay.”

Then he kissed you again–this time firmer, lips wrapping around your nipple with a slow, aching pull that made your hips twitch beneath him. His tongue was wet and warm, lapping slow circles around the soft peak before closing over it again, sucking just a little deeper now–just enough to make you moan quietly, enough to send a thrum straight between your thighs.

His hands didn’t stop, either–broad palms sliding up and down the sides of your ribcage, thumbs sweeping in careful, reverent passes. He alternated between breasts with the same kind of concentration you’d seen in study sessions: deliberate, measured, like he was solving you.

And when he finally pulled away, lips red and glistening from worship, he blew a soft, chilled stream of air across your saliva-slick nipple–then the other.

Your entire body arched. He watched it happen with wide eyes, completely entranced.

Then–without a word–you sat up.

He blinked in surprise, hands still resting on your sides as you reached behind yourself and unhooked your bra the rest of the way, slipping the fabric down your arms and flinging it off the bed. The second it landed somewhere behind you, you laid back down–bare, flushed, and completely open.

Bob’s breath hitched hard. His glasses had slipped lower again, fogged beyond all reason now, and he still hadn’t touched them. He didn’t even seem aware of the state he was in–just that you were laid out beneath him, chest rising in unsteady waves, eyes soft but daring.

He exhaled shakily.

And then he moved lower.

He kissed the center of your sternum once, then again, trailing down past your navel with slow, reverent care. When he reached the waistband of your boxer shorts, he paused. His hands came to rest just above your hips, fingers curling slightly under the band.

He looked up at you, eyes glassy and dark behind the silver frames.

You nodded–slow, sure.

That was all he needed.

He pulled the fabric down just an inch. Then another. Just enough to reveal the top of your hips, the soft line of your lower stomach. His lips followed–kissing each inch as it was exposed, trailing warmth into places that had never felt this kind of attention before. The contrast between the heat of his mouth and the cool air made your thighs twitch, and he hummed softly against your skin.

“God, you’re beautiful,” He whispered. “You don’t even know, do you…”

You didn’t respond. Couldn’t, really. Your fingers were tangled in the sheets again, breath catching every time his lips brushed lower, every time he said something in that breathless, reverent voice that made you feel like he was seeing you for the first time.

When he reached the base of your hips, he gave the waistband a firmer tug, and you lifted your hips to help him–knees bending slightly, thighs parting as he pulled the shorts down your legs. He slid them off with practiced care, and you watched as he tossed them aside with the same nonchalance he’d flung his shirt–like every barrier between you was one more step toward something sacred.

He paused there.

Just knelt between your legs for a second, hands resting on your thighs, eyes locked on yours like he needed to anchor himself before continuing. Then–without saying anything–he pushed your thighs up gently, spreading you open just enough.

His mouth pressed to the inside of your knee.

You gasped.

It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a claim. A promise. His lips lingered there for a second, and then they moved–trailing up the inside of your thigh in slow, wet presses, each one firmer than the last.

“You’ve got no idea,” He murmured against your skin. “How long I’ve wanted to do this… How many times I’ve imagined being between your thighs just like this…”

His teeth grazed the sensitive skin just above your inner thigh, and your hips jerked slightly at the contact. He didn’t move away. Just kissed the spot he’d grazed. Then again. Higher this time.

“Wanted to take my time with you,” He whispered, voice low, breath hot. “Make sure you know what it feels like when someone actually wants to do this…” Your hands gripped the comforter.

“I want to hear the way you sound when it’s good. When it’s real. When it’s slow…”

He kissed the top of your inner thigh–right at the edge of where you needed him most.

Then, finally, he glanced up–his glasses slightly crooked, cheeks flushed, mouth slick with his saliva and swollen.

“I’m gonna take such good care of you,” He said softly. “You’ll never forget it.”

His tongue moved with devastating precision–slow, savoring, like he had all the time in the world and wasn’t about to waste a single second.

He started with a kiss-low, just at the edge of your folds, then dragged his tongue up in one long, warm stripe that made your legs twitch. You gasped, hands flying instinctively to his hair as he groaned into you, deep and low, like he’d been starving for this.

“Jesus–Bob–” You whispered, voice cracking on the edge of a moan.

He didn’t answer. Just licked you again, slower this time, tongue flattening against you with such gentleness it made your stomach tighten. Then he did it again. And again. Until the room dissolved into heat and breath and the wet, obscene sound of him eating you like you were the only thing he’d ever wanted.

And maybe you were.

He used his mouth like a worshipper—like this wasn’t about getting you off, but about tasting everything he’d been dreaming of for weeks. He kissed your clit softly at first, then circled it with his tongue—just enough pressure to make you cry out, just enough to leave you chasing more. Your hips rocked against his mouth before you could stop them, and instead of pulling back, he moaned again, deeper this time, and grabbed your thighs—holding you open like a man possessed.

His fingers dug gently into your hips as he sucked on you now, lips wrapped around your clit with wet, deliberate pulls. His glasses were fogged beyond saving, the lenses glinting in the dorm light as they slipped further down his nose. He didn’t stop. Didn’t lift his head once. Just kept tasting and kissing and groaning like your body was the only thing he needed to study for the rest of his life.

You whimpered.

“F-Fuck, Bob–too good–”

That finally earned a reaction. He groaned again, louder, like your words were gasoline, and then–God–he slipped two fingers between your thighs, slick with your arousal, and pushed them in with a slow, practiced ease.

Your back arched.

The stretch was perfect. His fingers curled immediately, searching for that spot–and finding it like he’d mapped it out ahead of time. His mouth never left your clit, tongue flicking faster now, suction intensifying just slightly, just enough to send a full-body tremor through you.

“C’mon,” He murmured between strokes, voice ragged, lips brushing against you with every syllable. “That’s it… Just like that. Let me hear you.”

You did.

You let go of any remaining shred of restraint and moaned–loud, broken, lost to the rhythm of his fingers and the warmth of his mouth. Your thighs shook, your body tightening, unraveling. The dorm room felt like it might dissolve around you.

“G-Gonna–”

“I know,” he whispered, breath hot, eyes glassy as he looked up at you from between your thighs. “Go ahead. I got you.”

And then he did something devastating.

He sucked harder.

Curled his fingers deeper.

And moaned into you like your orgasm was his reward.

You shattered.

Your hands clutched his hair, your legs tensed around his head, and your breath broke into a stuttering cry as he licked you through it–never stopping, never letting up. He worshipped you all the way through your high, his mouth messy, eager, lips slick with you as he kept kissing, kept groaning, like your pleasure was the only thing that mattered.

When you finally slumped back, shaking, panting, spent–he didn’t move right away.

He kissed your inner thigh.

Then again. And again.

Then trailed up your body with soft, slow presses of his mouth, leaving a trail of your own taste on his lips as he made his way back up. His chest hovered over yours, his weight warm and solid, and when he finally kissed your mouth again–full and deep–you could taste yourself on his tongue.

And he let you.

Let you feel it.

Let you know exactly what he’d just done to you.

He pulled back from the kiss, hovering above you, mouth swollen from all the work he had done, lips slightly parted. He looked wrecked in the most beautiful way–hair mussed from your fingers, flushed cheeks, chest rising with the weight of restraint.

Then, like a flicker of light through the haze, he let out a breathy laugh. Quiet. Disbelieving. Joyful.

You laughed too–soft, breathless, dazed–your palm dragging slowly down his bare chest before reaching up to push his glasses back up his nose. The lenses had slipped almost entirely off his face, smudged and misted at the edges. You caught the little fingerprints and streaks near the bottom and smiled, chest still heaving slightly as you murmured:

“Where…The hell did you learn that?”

Bob’s laugh deepened this time, short and warm, his entire face flushing deeper crimson. He covered his face with one hand for a second, then dropped it to your waist, eyes shining with both amusement and bashfulness.

“From…My past partners?” He said, half like a question, half like a confession. “I told you I’m a giver. I may look timid but…As you can tell, I know my stuff.”

You grinned, your heart skipping at how proud–but still modest–he sounded. You leaned up, catching his mouth in another kiss, slower now, languid. He hummed against your lips, eyes fluttering shut as his hands pulled you just a little closer.

“Bit surprising,” you whispered against his mouth.

He nodded, kissing you again, hands smoothing down your sides. “I know.”

And it would’ve stayed gentle, dreamy, lazy like that–until your hand drifted between your bodies.

You hadn’t been trying to tease. Not really. But when your palm brushed over the thick bulge in his jeans, the way his breath hitched immediately had you curling your fingers lightly around him, just enough to feel the weight of him. The heat. The hardness pressing insistently behind the denim.

You smiled, eyes soft but mischievous. “Your turn?”

But to your surprise, Bob flinched—barely, but it was there. His hand caught your wrist gently, not to push you away, but to pause.

“It’s okay,” he said softly.

You blinked, your palm still resting against him. “What?” You tilted your head. “You don’t… even want to have sex?”

“It’s not that,” he said quickly, eyes darting to yours before lowering again. “I just…It’s really okay. You don’t have to.”

You sat up slightly, just enough to bring your faces closer again, concern slipping behind your smile.

“Are you…” Your voice gentle. “Are you nervous?”

His lashes fluttered. A breath stalled in his throat. And that was all the answer you needed.

You reached for his cheek, thumb brushing gently beneath his eye. His skin was hot, his jaw tight, but he leaned into your touch like he needed it.

“Bob,” You said softly, a smile curling into your voice. “How can you be nervous after you just gave me the best orgasm of my life?”

That made his eyes shoot open–just a little. You watched his expression shift. Like he’d heard something he hadn’t expected. Like praise landed harder than touch ever could.

“Seriously,” you continued, your voice warm and slow, “That was unreal. No one’s ever touched me like that. Not like they wanted to. Not like they were…Memorizing it.”

His mouth parted. You didn’t miss the way his breath trembled now. His hips shifted slightly against yours, and when you glanced down, you could see he was getting harder from your words alone.

You kissed the corner of his jaw. “You’re incredible, Bob.”

A sound left him–barely a sound, more of a low exhale, like it physically knocked something loose in him. His hand tightened slightly on your waist.

“You made me feel so good,” You whispered. “Safe. Wanted. Perfect.”

His eyes closed, lips parting with a shaky breath, and his hips rolled the tiniest bit into your palm. You could feel how much he wanted it now. How much he wanted you. He just hadn’t known if he was allowed.

And God, the way he responded to praise–it made something ache inside you.

Your foreheads rested together, breath shared in the quiet space between words, between heartbeats.

“Let’s do it together, hm?” You murmured, your voice warm and coaxing–softened with affection, laced with intent.

Bob let out the tiniest breath of a laugh, and his lips brushed yours as he smiled. “Okay.”

The word was nearly a whisper, but it carried weight–an unspoken trust folding itself into the syllables.

You leaned back just enough to reach between your bodies, your fingers brushing against the button of his jeans. He inhaled, shaky and quiet, watching you as you popped it open, then tugged the zipper down. The sound broke the hush of the room, loud in the stillness.

Bob shifted, lifting himself up just enough to hook his thumbs into the waistband. He wriggled out of his jeans with a little bit of awkwardness, and when the denim bunched at his ankles, he kicked them off with a grunt.

You both laughed. Low and breathless, the kind of laughter that came when something was too intimate not to be a little bit funny.

His glasses slid further down his nose.

“Sexy,” You teased, bumping your knee gently against his side.

He rolled his eyes–blushing, flustered, but grinning–and settled back between your thighs, his hands bracing himself on either side of your hips now. The closeness allowed you a better view of him, and you didn’t waste the opportunity.

Your gaze drifted downward. His boxer briefs were tented–straining. You could see the thick outline of him pressed against the fabric, the darkened patch of wetness at the tip where he was already leaking.

Your hand slid slowly down the middle of his torso–over the soft rise and fall of his stomach, the faint ridges of muscle, the trail of hair beneath his navel. Bob held perfectly still, his breath shallow, watching you.

When your fingers ghosted along the inside of his waistband, just above the swell of him, he sucked in a breath through his teeth.

“Tease,” He muttered, voice tight.

You didn’t deny it.

Instead, you slid your fingers a little deeper. Tugged the fabric down just enough to expose him.

He sprang free with a soft, needy sound escaping his throat.

Your eyes widened slightly.

He was…Big. Thick, flushed, already glistening with precum. The head was ruddy and swollen, shiny with need, and your stomach fluttered at the realization that he’d gotten like this just from pleasuring you.

He looked desperate.

You wrapped your fingers around him slowly, your palm sliding up his length with soft pressure. His breath hitched immediately, head tilting back slightly. His glasses slid another fraction down his nose, but he didn’t move to fix them–just closed his eyes for a moment, his chest lifting in a shallow, shivering inhale.

You stroked him again–long, slow, deliberate. Your grip was just firm enough to make him twitch, your thumb swiping over the slick bead at his tip.

His hips bucked. He gasped, and then let out a shaky laugh.

“Sensitive?” you murmured, lips tugging into a knowing smirk.

Bob’s head dropped forward a bit, cheeks flushed to hell. His voice cracked slightly.

“N-no…Anticipation.” He corrected jokingly, using your own words against you.

You laughed softly. So did he.

But you didn’t stop.

You kept stroking him, slow and sensual, your hand gliding up and down the length of him, savoring every tremble in his thighs, every shift in his breath, every twitch of his fingers against the mattress beside you. He was fully braced now, arms trembling slightly as he rocked into your touch.

His voice came out thin, frayed at the edges.

“I’m really…Really not gonna last if you keep doing that, and…” He swallowed hard, voice dropping to a whisper, “And I really do want to have sex with you…”

His eyes met yours. Wide. Pleading. Vulnerable.

Like he wanted to say more but couldn’t figure out how.

You leaned up slowly, hand still wrapped around him, lips brushing his ear.

“No need to beg…” You whispered, voice thick with heat. “But if you want to come inside me, Bob…Then you better hurry up and get these off.”

His whole body jolted.

A groan–low, raw, helpless–escaped him.

His boxer briefs were gone a second later. Pushed down and kicked away without a single thought, like he couldn’t bear another second of distance.

He came back over you with reverent slowness–climbing the length of your body like he was rediscovering it inch by inch.

His bare chest skimmed yours, warm and solid. His hips dipped low, the hard length of him brushing against the inside of your thigh, and your breath hitched at the contact.

“God,” he whispered, voice raw as his lips brushed against your neck. “You feel so good already.”

You arched into him just slightly, your hands finding his shoulders–broad and warm beneath your palms, still trembling faintly from restraint. His glasses were fogging again, slipping lower, but he didn’t seem to notice. Didn’t care.

He kissed the side of your neck.

Then your jaw.

Then your cheek–lingering there with a kind of gentleness that made your stomach twist.

And then he kissed your mouth again. Slow. Sweet. Deep.

You moaned softly into him.

The tops of his thighs pressed flush to the backs of yours now, his cock resting heavily between your legs–leaking precum that smeared slightly against your inner thigh as he shifted to fit himself against you perfectly.

His hand rose to your cheek, cradling it, thumb stroking lightly against your skin as he pulled back just enough to speak.

“You sure?” He asked softly, voice shaking with the weight of everything he was holding in. His eyes searched yours, pupils blown, cheeks flushed.

You nodded. Slow. Certain.

“I’m sure,” You whispered. He let out a shaky breath, then he reached down between the both of you, eyes never leaving yours.

You felt the warm glide of his knuckles against your folds first, then the soft, slick drag of his cock as he slowly ran the tip of himself through your arousal.

Your breath caught.

He swirled it over your clit once, twice–just enough to make your thighs twitch.

And God, the way he looked at you while he did it.

Eyes locked. Lips parted. Worship written into every line of his face, made you feel dizzy.

“You’re so wet,” He murmured. “You feel…Unreal.” You whimpered, your nails digging lightly into his shoulder as your other hand wrapped tighter around his bicep.

“Bob…” You whispered, voice already trembling. “Please.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your lips–soft and slow and steady.

Then–finally–he began to push in.

You both moaned.

The stretch hit immediately, slow and burning, a delicious ache that made your spine arch and your mouth fall open.

“F-fuck,” Bob gasped, his forehead dropping briefly to yours as he sank in inch by inch. “God, you’re–you’re so tight. So warm. You feel so good…Wow…” Your hips shifted, trying to take more, and his hands immediately gripped your thighs, grounding you.

“Easy,” He said, kissing the corner of your mouth. “I got you. Just breathe.”

You nodded, your head swimming.

He pushed deeper.

You could feel every inch–every throb of him, every shudder in his breath as your walls stretched around him.

“Just like that,” He murmured. “Doing so good. Taking me so well.” You whimpered, and the sound cracked open something in him.

“You like that?” He whispered, kissing your cheek again, his hips rolling just the slightest bit deeper. “You like hearing how perfect you feel around me?”

“Yes,” you gasped. “God, yes, Bob–keep talking–please–”

“Fuck,” He breathed, his voice breaking again. “You’re gonna kill me.”

He rocked forward the last inch with a soft, helpless moan. Your body trembled beneath his as you adjusted, your thighs hugging his hips, your hands gripping him tightly. Bob groaned into your neck, voice ragged.

“God…You’re perfect. I swear, you’re–Jesus, I don’t even know how to describe this–” You turned your head, catching his mouth again in a deep, desperate kiss. You could feel him trembling above you, his muscles taut, breath stuttering with the effort of staying still.

“You feel so fucking good, Bob–so full–so deep–” His breath hitched.

“Say that again,” He whimpered, “Please.”

You kissed his neck, your voice thick with heat.

“You fill me up so good…God it feels amazing.” Bob let out a deep moan.

Then he began to move.

Just a tiny thrust at first–barely pulling out before pressing back in, the friction slow and hot and devastating.

Your mouth fell open.

His lips ghosted over your cheek as he whispered, “Gonna make you come on me just like this…” Your back arched at the words, your cheek bumping against his glasses. “You like the sound of that?” He added. Your fingers curled into his shoulder blades, nails dragging softly over warm skin as you nodded, breath catching on a moan.

“Yes…Yes, please.”

The quiet plea cracked something open in him.

He kissed you again–mouth hot, searching, needier this time–and his hips began to move.

Slow at first.

A deep roll forward, dragging his length out almost completely before easing back in, the friction molten, smooth, aching. You gasped into his mouth, your body lifting slightly to meet the next thrust. Bob groaned–low and husky–and pulled back just enough to look at you.

His pupils were blown wide, sweat dampening the hair at his temples, glasses fogging up again from your breath. Still, he didn’t take them off. He looked wrecked. Gorgeous. Reverent.

“God, you feel…” He whispered, voice thick and ruined as he rocked into you again, a little harder this time, “So good…So tight around me, baby–oh god.” Your breath stuttered. The nickname, unintentional or not, hit low and warm and made you clench involuntarily around him.

He felt it.

He swore softly–“Jesus”–and dropped his head to your shoulder, the next thrust coming sharper, more instinctual.

Your hands roamed—up his back, over the rise of his shoulders, down to his hips where your fingers dug in just slightly. He kissed your neck between thrusts, then bit gently just beneath your ear, and the second his teeth grazed your skin, you gasped.

Your body clenched again.

Bob moaned, full and broken.

“Fuck, that–You like that?” He murmured, voice hot and desperate against your ear. “You like when I do that?”

“Y-Yeah,” You whispered, trembling, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “You feel so good, Bob…You’re hitting every part of me.”

He groaned–long, low, filthy in how soft it sounded. His hips began to move faster now, deeper, each thrust dragging a moan from your throat, and his hands slid beneath your thighs, hiking them higher around his waist so he could sink in even further.

“God, you’re perfect,” He praised. “You’re so perfect for me. Every inch of you–I swear–fuck–”

Your head fell back against the pillow. You were gasping now, barely able to respond, but you tried. You wanted him to hear it. You wanted him to know.

“You’re so good at this,” You panted, voice trembling. “So good at making me feel good–God, you’re incredible, Bob–”

His whole body stilled for half a second, as if praise struck something too deep.

Then he moved faster.

A rougher thrust–still controlled, still measured, but heavier now, thicker with want. He let out a moan against your neck, raw and hot, and your back arched at the sound.

You could feel him everywhere–his chest brushing yours, his lips at your throat, his hands gripping you tight like he needed to feel every part of you at once.

You cried out, hips lifting into his, clenching around him with every thick, slick stroke. He felt it. Groaned again. Slid one hand up your body to cradle the side of your face.

“Look at me,” he breathed, voice hoarse.

You did.

And the second your eyes locked, his pace stuttered–just for a heartbeat–like the sight of you, soft and dazed and open beneath him, was enough to make him lose rhythm.

Then he started thrusting again. Deep. Steady. Hot.

“I want you to come on me,” He whispered, voice cracking with the weight of it. “I want to feel you come again–want to hear how good it feels.”

Your lips parted. Your thighs trembled.

“Bob,” You gasped, desperate now. “You’re so good–please don’t stop–please–”

He kissed you again. Deep. Desperate. All tongue and breath and heat. His thrusts got heavier, faster, until you could feel your climax curling up your spine like a fuse.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” He murmured, hips stuttering with restraint. “I can feel it, baby… You’re so tight–so fucking wet–come for me–please–“

You shattered.

With a cry that broke in the middle, your walls clenched around him, waves of heat and release rolling through you so hard your vision blurred. Bob moaned your name–ragged, reverent–thrusting into you a few more times before he groaned loud against your shoulder and came with a shuddering, broken gasp. Bob’s entire body tensed as he came–his cock pulsing deep inside you, hips stuttering against yours in involuntary thrusts as thick, hot ropes of cum filled you.

You felt everything.

The way his muscles tensed above you, taut and trembling. The low, broken sound he made as he buried his face in your neck. The way his arms curled tighter around your waist like he needed to hold onto something to stay connected to consciousness

“F-Fuck,” He choked out, hips giving one more weak, slow push. His release was hot and endless, spreading warmth low in your belly as his body finally started to give in. His breathing was ragged, the heat of it ghosting over your skin. He didn’t pull out right away.

Didn’t move at all for a long moment.

Just slumped forward, his bare chest sticky against yours, the last tremors of orgasm still rolling through him. His forehead pressed into your shoulder, and you felt him exhale with all the weight of a man undone.

Even the frames of his glasses were warm.

You let your arms slide around his back, hands splayed wide across the muscles there, sticky with sweat, anchoring you both. The only sounds in the room were your shallow, echoing breaths, and the soft hum of a distant hallway light buzzing just outside your dorm door.

Bob’s weight against you felt right. Heavy in the best way. Settled. Natural.

Your fingertips traced slow, thoughtless patterns over his back as you both lay tangled together, letting the afterglow settle around your limbs like warm syrup. Your heartbeats synced slowly–yours still fluttering, his gradually calming.

And then–

He shifted.

Lifted himself slightly on one trembling arm, the other brushing your hair back from your forehead. His cheeks were flushed, his lips pink, and his glasses crooked beyond saving. His smile was dazed. Soft. Glowing.

He leaned in and kissed you again. A soft kiss. Lingering. The kind of kiss that said thank you, and also more, and also stay.

When he pulled back, still breathless, still inside you, he murmured:

“We’re gonna have to start going to the library to study.”

You blinked. Confused. Flushed and blinking at him through the haze, your breath still catching a little in your throat.

“…Why?” You asked, voice hoarse but amused, one hand reaching up to gently smooth the short, light brown strands of his hair that were now sticking out in every direction.

His smile widened–lopsided and boyish, just a little cocky.

“Because we’re never going to get any studying done if we’re near a bed…” He murmured, pressing a kiss to your jaw. “The temptation will be too strong.”

You laughed–light, breathless, your chest shaking under his with the sound.

“Well,” You teased, trailing your fingertips down the curve of his back, “There goes that positive reinforcement idea, then.”

Bob leaned in and kissed your cheek. Then the tip of your nose.

“I’m sure we can figure out a replacement,” He replied, “Something that can be done in public spaces.”

You burst out laughing.

He did too.

And you stayed like that–wrapped up in each other, laughter echoing soft and breathless into the quiet room.

[fionnaskyborn]

every day (overstatement) i come up with increasingly more ridiculous ideas on how to approach fighting games

[lissdiary]

can you please do something with a clingy and jealous katsuki?

you asked, i delivered!

katsuki being jealous? always.

he’ll never show it in public of course until you guys are alone, that’s when he starts being clingy. you and denki are close friends, have been since before you and katsuki started dating. says he was the one that “put you on” or whatever. katsuki has never had a problem with him, besides his awful teasing he never saw him as competition.

“denki give it back, i need it!” you slapped denki’s arm, he was testing your patience. denki stole your mirror, which you needed in order to finish getting ready. mina had rushed you out of your apartment in order to get to the local fair on time. you both had somehow convinced the others to join you so there you were, seated in between katsuki and denki while mina was in the passenger seat and kirishima driving. “hello i need it too! jirou’s performing tonight y’know.” he extended his arm out further, making it impossible for you to reach.

“give it ba-“

kirishima made a sharp turn, causing you to put your hand on denki’s thigh while the other was still reaching for your mirror. katsuki immediately took notice of your hand placement and crossed his arms, only giving you a typical “tch”. you quickly readjusted yourself back into your seat, denki giving you your mirror back. “my bad ..” the rest of the car ride was silent, the only noise playing was mina’s music.

as the group got out of the car, you realized you needed a few more minutes before you were ready. “go on without me, i just need to fix my hair!” katsuki waited for you to finish, he watched you in silence. “can you help me suki?” you turned to look at him, he was still watching you. he sat there manspreading, arms crossed, and with a pout on his face. you always notice when katsuki’s jealous, he makes it so obvious to you. “katsuki baby, are you jealous?” you turned on your side, putting your legs over his thigh. “‘m sorry.” he turned to look at you, uncrossing his arms. there’s just something about you that he can’t stay mad at.

he grabbed you, placing you on his lap. you were stunned by his sudden action, but katsuki was always like this when he was jealous. he wanted to remind you who you belong to, obviously him. you wrapped your arms around his lean, muscular neck, while his hands trailed down to your hips. he put his head on the crook of your neck.

“just put your hands on me next time, tch.” you grabbed his cheeks, rubbing them with your thumb. “i always put my hands on you, how can i make it up to you?” you placed a kiss on his temple, but before you can pull away he presses his lips against yours. he puts his hand on the back of your neck the other caressing your hip, as he’s pulling you closer. he’s addicted to your lips, the way they feel, their shape, everything about them. you pull away, he’s gasping for air. “suki you’re gonna take my makeup off .." you wipe your lips with the back of your hand. "yer’ too pretty sitting on my lap like this, baby. can’t get enough of ya” his hands trailing up to your waist, you both knew the group was waiting but they can go on a couple rides without you.

you both ended up having to use a shitty excuse to explain why you took so long.

[tobiosbbyghorl]

The Rink Where I Found You | psh

500 followers special

pairing: figure skater! sunghoon x reader

genre: strangers to best friend to lovers

wc:9.8k

synopsis: From the moment nine-year-old Y/N threw a tiny penguin plushie onto the rink after Sunghoon’s first skating performance, their story began quietly, sweetly, and on ice. Growing up side by side in the same school and at the rink, their bond deepened through late-night practices, shared sweaters, and unspoken feelings that glided just beneath the surface. As Sunghoon’s figure skating career took off, distance tested them, but love rooted in years of small moments, soft routines, and heartfelt surprises never wavered. Through arguments, long-distance calls, surprise visits, and tearful airport hugs, they learned that some love stories don’t need dramatic confessions just one constant person at the edge of the rink, waiting with a penguin in hand.

At nine years old, Park Sunghoon had just begun his journey in figure skating. He was small but determined, gliding across the ice with a focus far beyond his years. Every practice, every competition, he poured his heart into it, dreaming of becoming the best. But no matter how hard he trained, no matter how nervous he got before a routine, there was always one thing that made him smile a little girl in the audience who never missed a single one of his performances.

You.

You didn’t know much about figure skating, but you knew that Sunghoon was incredible at it. He was fast, graceful, and when he jumped, it looked like he could fly. So, without fail, at every one of his performances, you’d be there, watching with wide, excited eyes. And at the end of each routine, when the audience clapped and cheered, you would carefully pick up your favorite penguin plushie and toss it onto the ice for him.l

It started as a random gesture. You just thought Sunghoon looked really cool, and the penguin was your favorite, so why not give it to him? But when you saw how his eyes would always search for that plushie among the flowers and gifts, something in you knew he noticed.

And then one day, after a local showcase, something unexpected happened.

Instead of just picking up the plushie and skating off, Sunghoon skated straight toward the edge of the rink right where you were standing. You gasped as he bent down, picking up the familiar penguin, then looking up at you with a curious expression.

“You always throw this,” he said, turning the plushie in his hands. His voice was soft, almost shy.

You nodded enthusiastically. “Because you’re really good! And penguins are the best, like you on the ice.”

A small smile tugged at his lips. He didn’t usually talk to people much during competitions, but something about your excitement made him stay a little longer.

“Thank you,” he said after a moment. Then, glancing down at the penguin, he added, “Do you want it back?”

You shook your head quickly. “Nope! That one’s for you. But I have more, so I’ll bring another next time!”

Sunghoon blinked at you in surprise before a soft laugh escaped him. “You have more?”

You grinned. “Lots! I love penguins.”

He looked down at the plushie again, then back at you. “Then… I’ll keep it.”

And from that day on, every time Sunghoon performed, he would secretly look out for you in the crowd. Because no matter what, he knew that when he finished his routine, a little penguin plushie would be waiting for him and so would you.

After that day at the rink, Sunghoon started noticing you more both on and off the ice.

It turned out you went to the same elementary school, though you were in a different class. Before, he had never really paid attention to the other kids outside his skating practice, but now, whenever he saw you in the hallway, you would wave at him excitedly.

“Morning, Sunghoon!” you would greet him, always cheerful, as if the two of you had been best friends forever.

At first, he didn’t know how to respond. He wasn’t used to people outside of skating being so interested in him. But soon enough, he found himself waving back sometimes even waiting in the hallway just to see you before class started.

Your friendship grew naturally. You always had something to say, whether it was about a new penguin plushie you got or how you tried skating once but fell on your butt “at least a hundred times.” Sunghoon, usually quiet with most kids, found himself laughing around you more than he expected.

During recess, you would drag him to play on the swings or challenge him to silly races though, of course, Sunghoon always won.

“That’s not fair! You’re fast because you skate all the time!” you pouted.

Sunghoon just smirked. “You should train more.”

And even though he was serious about skating, he still let you win sometimes not that he’d ever admit it.

At lunch, you would trade snacks, and on the days he had practice after school, you’d wish him luck, always reminding him: “Don’t forget! I’ll be there watching!”

Sure enough, every time he had a performance, you were right there in the crowd. And without fail, a penguin plushie would land on the ice just for him.

One day, as the two of you sat together during lunch, Sunghoon held up the newest penguin you had given him. “Why do you always bring these?” he asked, tilting his head.

You grinned. “Because penguins are cool. And you’re cool.”

His ears turned a little pink, and he quickly looked down at his food. “…They’re cute, I guess.”

You gasped dramatically. “Sunghoon! Did you just admit that you like them?”

He huffed. “I didn’t say that.”

But after that, whenever you gave him a new plushie, he never once complained. And in his room, neatly lined up on his shelf, was every single penguin you had ever thrown onto the ice for him.

As the years passed, your friendship with Sunghoon only grew stronger. You were always there for him—through every competition, every late-night practice, and every win or loss. And in return, Sunghoon became your closest friend, the one who always made sure you didn’t trip over your own feet when running too fast and the one who quietly waited for you after school just so you wouldn’t have to walk home alone.

By the time you were both twelve, you had watched Sunghoon skate so many times that you practically memorized his routines. But there was one thing you had never done—step onto the ice yourself.

“You watch skating all the time, but you’ve never tried it?” Sunghoon asked one afternoon, frowning in disbelief. The two of you were sitting outside the rink after his practice, sipping on hot chocolate.

“I have!” you protested. “That one time in first grade, remember?”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes. “You mean the time you fell on your butt five seconds after stepping onto the ice?”

You huffed. “That still counts.”

He set his drink down and stood up, holding out a hand. “Come on.”

You blinked at him. “Come on where?”

“To the ice.”

Your eyes widened. “What? No way, I’ll just embarrass myself.”

Sunghoon sighed, grabbing your wrist and pulling you up. “I’ll teach you.”

The next thing you knew, you were clumsily stepping onto the ice, gripping the rink’s barrier for dear life. Sunghoon skated backward in front of you, his arms crossed as he watched you struggle.

“You look like a baby penguin,” he snickered.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you muttered.

Sunghoon shook his head, skating closer. “Okay, let go.”

You stared at him like he was crazy. “Let go? And do what? Fall?”

He rolled his eyes. “I won’t let you fall. Just trust me.”

Hesitantly, you removed your hands from the barrier, wobbling immediately. Sunghoon grabbed your hands before you could panic, steadying you. “There. Now, just bend your knees a little and push forward.”

With his guidance, you managed to take a few shaky steps. It wasn’t anything impressive, but the fact that you were moving without falling made you grin.

“I’m doing it!” you cheered.

Sunghoon smirked. “Yeah, yeah. Barely.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, and for the first time, you understood why he loved skating so much. It was hard, but with him beside you, it was fun.

From that day on, whenever he had free time, he would teach you little by little. You weren’t great, but you got better—and every time you managed to skate without toppling over, Sunghoon looked just as proud as if he had landed a triple axel himself.

And even though he never said it out loud, he liked that you were learning something that had always been his world because, in the end, he wanted you to be part of it, too.

A few weeks after Sunghoon started teaching you to skate, something unexpected happened.

You were at the rink as usual, clinging to his hands as he guided you across the ice. He had been extra patient with you today, slowing down just enough so you wouldn’t stumble. It was fun until a voice called out from the stands.

“Sunghoon!”

The two of you turned to see a woman standing by the entrance of the rink. She was beautiful, with warm eyes and a kind smile. You had seen her before, always watching Sunghoon’s performances from afar, but you had never actually spoken to her.

“Mom?” Sunghoon blinked, looking slightly surprised.

“I finished work early, so I thought I’d stop by,” his mom said as she walked closer, her gaze flickering to you curiously. “And who’s this?”

You froze. No one had ever asked before. Usually, you were just “that friend who throws penguins onto the ice.” But before you could open your mouth, Sunghoon did something surprising.

He gently let go of your hands and turned to his mom. “This is Y/N,” he said, his voice clear and certain. “She’s my best friend.”

Your eyes widened. Sure, you had been friends for years, but hearing him say it so straightforwardly made your face heat up. His mom’s expression softened, and she smiled warmly at you.

“Oh, so you’re the one who’s always cheering for him,” she said knowingly.

You nodded quickly. “Yep! And I’m learning to skate now, too.”

Sunghoon scoffed. “Barely.”

His mom chuckled. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you properly, Y/N. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

You looked at Sunghoon in surprise. “You talk about me?”

His ears turned pink, and he looked away. “Not really.”

His mom raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything, just giving you another warm smile. “It’s good to know Sunghoon has such a supportive friend.”

You grinned. “Of course! Someone has to be there to throw penguins.”

Sunghoon groaned. “Not this again.”

His mom laughed, watching the way Sunghoon nudged your shoulder in fake annoyance—though the small smile tugging at his lips gave him away. And as she observed the way you two interacted, she realized something:

Her son, who usually kept to himself, had found someone he truly cared about.

After that day, something changed.

Sunghoon had always been comfortable around you, but after officially introducing you to his mom, it was like he finally acknowledged out loud how important you were to him. He didn’t just tolerate your presence at the rink anymore he expected it. If you missed a day, he would text you:

Sunghoon🐧: Where are you?

You: I had extra homework today. You miss me already?

Sunghoon🐧: No. You just need more practice.

But the next time you showed up, there was always an extra snack waiting for you beside him.

His mom also started treating you like you belonged there. Whenever she visited the rink, she would ask about your skating progress, sometimes bringing an extra hot chocolate for you. “You’re practically part of the family at this point,” she joked once, making Sunghoon cough awkwardly.

One afternoon, while Sunghoon was packing up after practice, you sat beside his mom in the stands, swinging your legs.

“You know, Sunghoon’s always been a bit reserved,” she said suddenly, watching him from afar. “He’s focused, serious, and doesn’t let a lot of people get close to him.”

You turned to her curiously. “Really? He’s never like that with me.”

She smiled knowingly. “Exactly. That’s why I was surprised when he introduced you as his best friend.” Your cheeks warmed slightly. You had never really thought about it, but Sunghoon did act differently around you compared to others. Even when he teased you about skating, he was patient. Even when he claimed he didn’t care, he always waited for you after school.

Sunghoon skated toward the barrier, giving you a pointed look. “Are you just going to sit there, or are you actually going to practice?” You grinned, hopping to your feet. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

As you hurried over, his mom watched with fond amusement. Even if Sunghoon hadn’t realized it yet, she could already see it whatever you and her son had, it wasn’t just childhood friendship. It was something deeper, something that would only grow with time.

Sunghoon’s birthday dinner at his house was a little nerve-wracking at first. It wasn’t that you had never been over before you had but this time, it felt more special. His mom had personally invited you, and Sunghoon hadn’t protested, which meant (in his language) that he actually wanted you there.

When you arrived, his mom greeted you warmly. “Y/N! I’m so glad you could make it. Sunghoon’s upstairs in his room if you want to go see him before dinner.”You hesitated for a second. Sunghoon wasn’t the type to let just anyone into his room, but you nodded and made your way up, knocking on his door.

“It’s open,” came his voice from inside.

You pushed the door open and stepped in, only to freeze at what you saw.

Lined up neatly on a shelf above his desk were all the penguin plushies you had ever given him. Some were big, some were small, and some were slightly worn from being hugged or squished over the years. But the fact that they were there displayed so carefully made your heart feel a little funny.

“You kept all of them?” you blurted out.

Sunghoon, who was sitting on his bed scrolling through his phone, glanced up before following your gaze. His eyes widened slightly before he quickly looked away, pretending to be uninterested. “Yeah. So?” You grinned, stepping closer to poke at one of the plushies. “I don’t know, I just thought maybe you threw some of them away or something.”

He scoffed. “Why would I do that?”

Your smile softened. You didn’t say it out loud, but the fact that he had kept everything meant more to you than you expected.“Anyway,” you said, shaking off the warmth creeping up your neck. “I got you a present!”

Sunghoon raised a brow as you pulled out a wrapped package and handed it to him. He tore it open, and when he saw what was inside, his lips parted slightly in surprise.

It was a matching set of sweaters one for you, one for him. Both were navy blue, with a little embroidered penguin on the chest.

“I figured since you secretly love penguins—”

“I don’t,” he muttered.

“—we should have something to match,” you continued, ignoring him. “You don’t have to wear it, but—”

Sunghoon stood up, unfolding the sweater to look at it properly. He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, then, to your surprise, he pulled it over his head, adjusting it before looking at you.

“It’s… nice,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks.”

Your grin widened. “Nice? Just nice? I spent so long picking this out, you know.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, which meant he actually liked it.

Before you could tease him more, his mom called from downstairs. “Dinner’s ready!”

Sunghoon glanced at you, then grabbed the second sweater the one meant for you and tossed it at you. “Wear it.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“If we’re matching, we’re matching now,” he said simply before heading for the door.

Your face burned, but you quickly pulled it on and followed him downstairs, feeling lighter than ever.

Dinner at the Park household was warm and lively. Sunghoon’s parents were kind, asking about school and skating while making sure your plate was always full. His little sister, who had taken a liking to you over the years, kept giggling every time she looked between you and Sunghoon in your matching sweaters.

“You two look like a couple,” she teased, grinning.

You laughed, shaking your head. “We just match because he secretly loves penguins.”

Sunghoon sighed dramatically. “I don’t love penguins.”

His mom chuckled. “Then why do you have a whole collection of them in your room?” His ears turned red, and you couldn’t help but giggle. He looked at you like he wanted to say something sarcastic, but instead, he just sighed in defeat and kept eating.

After dinner, Sunghoon led you back to his room, where the two of you sat on the floor, surrounded by the leftover wrapping paper from his gifts. You leaned back on your hands, watching as he carefully placed your sweater gift in his closet, almost like he wanted to keep it safe.

“You really like it, huh?” you teased.

Sunghoon turned to you, rolling his eyes, but there was something softer in his expression. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “I do.”

Your heart did a weird little flip, but before you could process it, he sat beside you, nudging your shoulder. “Thanks for coming today.”

You smiled. “Of course. You know I wouldn’t miss it.”

There was a beat of silence before he cleared his throat, looking away. “…And for the plushies. And the sweater.”

You blinked, surprised at the rare moment of sincerity. Then, grinning, you bumped your shoulder against his. “You’re welcome, Birthday Boy.”

Sunghoon groaned. “Never call me that again.”

You just laughed, and even though he rolled his eyes, he didn’t push you away. Instead, he sat there, comfortable, as if having you beside him was the most natural thing in the world.

A few weeks after Sunghoon’s birthday, something unexpected happened.You were at school, rummaging through your locker when you noticed something sitting on top of your books. It was a small, neatly wrapped box with a tiny note attached.

“For you. Don’t make a big deal out of it. – Sunghoon.”

Your eyebrows shot up. A gift? From Sunghoon?You turned, scanning the hallway until you spotted him leaning casually against his locker, pretending to be focused on his phone.

“Park Sunghoon,” you called out, marching toward him with the box in hand. “What is this?” He glanced up, completely unfazed. “A gift.”

“I can see that, genius.” You waved the box. “But why? It’s not my birthday.” Sunghoon shrugged, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Do I need a reason?”

You stared at him, suspicious. “You hate giving gifts.” “I don’t hate it,” he muttered. “I just… don’t usually do it.”

Now even more curious, you carefully unwrapped the box right there in the middle of the hallway. Inside was a keychain—a tiny plush penguin, the same size as a charm. But what made your heart flip was the fact that it matched one of the plushies you had given him before.

Your fingers brushed over it gently. “Sunghoon…”

He shifted on his feet, looking anywhere but at you. “You’re always giving me stuff, so… I thought I should get you something too.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. Sunghoon wasn’t the type to go out of his way for just anyone. The fact that he had picked something so specific something that reminded you of all the years you’d been by his side meant more than words could say.

Slowly, you smiled. “You’re really soft underneath all that ice, huh?”

Sunghoon groaned. “Forget it. Give it back.”

You laughed, clutching the keychain to your chest. “No way! It’s mine now.” He sighed, but there was the tiniest ghost of a smile on his lips.

Later that day, you attached the penguin keychain to your bag, making sure it was visible. When Sunghoon noticed, he didn’t say anything but you caught the way his lips twitched upward, just for a second.

By the time you and Sunghoon reached middle school, things had changed but at the same time, they hadn’t.

He had grown taller (annoyingly so), his skating had become more intense, and he had started getting more attention from classmates and even strangers at the rink. Meanwhile, you had found your own interests, but no matter what, the two of you always made time for each other.

Sunghoon still waited for you after school, still grumbled whenever you teased him, and still pretended he didn’t care when you cheered the loudest at his competitions.

But then, something unexpected happened.

One afternoon, you were at your locker when you overheard two classmates whispering nearby.

“Did you hear? Some girl from another school confessed to Sunghoon after practice yesterday.”

“Really? What did he say?”

“He rejected her, obviously.”

Your fingers paused over your books as your brain processed the information.

Someone had confessed to Sunghoon? And he had rejected them?

You weren’t sure why, but your chest felt a little weird. You shook it off, shutting your locker just as Sunghoon walked up beside you, hands in his pockets. “Ready to go?”

You glanced at him, wondering if he’d say anything about what you just heard. But, of course, he looked the same as always calm, cool, and completely unbothered.

As the two of you walked outside, you couldn’t hold it in any longer. “So… you got confessed to?” Sunghoon blinked, caught off guard. “How do you know that?”

You shrugged. “People talk. So? What happened?”He exhaled through his nose, looking forward. “Nothing. I just told her I wasn’t interested.”

For some reason, that made your stomach untwist a little. You kicked a rock on the sidewalk. “Why not? She was probably pretty.” Sunghoon shot you a look. “What does that have to do with anything?”You shrugged again. “I don’t know. Don’t guys usually like it when girls confess?”

“I don’t care about stuff like that.” His voice was firm, as if the idea itself was exhausting. Then, quieter, he added, “Besides… she wasn’t you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you almost tripped over your own feet. “Huh?” Sunghoon kept walking like he hadn’t just casually said something that made your heart pound.

You stared at him, trying to figure out if he was jokingbut he wasn’t smirking, and his ears were turning pink.

Realization hit you all at once.

Sunghoon didn’t just keep your penguin plushies because he liked them. He didn’t just wear the matching sweater because you told him to. He didn’t just get you a gift because he felt like it.

And suddenly, everything made sense.

Your feet moved before your brain could process what was happening.

“Hey—wait!” You jogged to catch up, grabbing Sunghoon’s sleeve to make him stop. He turned slightly, his expression unreadable, though you didn’t miss the way his jaw tensed.

“What did you just say?” Your voice came out quieter than you intended.

He stared at you for a moment, his lips parting slightly like he was debating whether to brush it off. But then, he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “You heard me.”

You had heard him. And it wasn’t like Sunghoon to say things he didn’t mean.

Your heart was hammering, but you managed to swallow down the nervous energy bubbling inside you. “So…” You tried to sound casual. “You rejected her because she wasn’t me?”

Sunghoon exhaled sharply, as if frustrated but not with you. More like with himself. “Yeah.” His voice was quieter now, more uncertain. “Is that weird?”

Weird?

You didn’t know what to say. You had always been close, always shared an unspoken bond, but this was something new. Something different. Slowly, you shook your head. “No. It’s… not weird.” His gaze flickered to yours, searching. “Then what is it?”

You felt warmth creeping up your neck, your fingers still clutching the fabric of his sleeve. The truth was, you didn’t have an answer yet. But what you did know was that Sunghoon had been by your side for years, and somehow, the idea of anyone else standing where you stood felt… wrong.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t think I want anyone else to be there either.”

Sunghoon’s breath hitched slightly.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you felt different now charged, uncertain, but not uncomfortable.

Then, in true Sunghoon fashion, he scoffed lightly and nudged your forehead with his fingers. “You’re so dramatic.”

You laughed, the tension easing just enough. “Says you!”

But as you both continued walking home, your hand brushed against his just slightly. And this time, neither of you pulled away.

Even without a label, there was something different between you and Sunghoon now something soft, something unspoken, but always there.

Stealing Each Other’s Food

“Yah, that’s mine,” you scolded, swatting at Sunghoon’s hand as he stole a fry from your tray. He popped it into his mouth without remorse, chewing lazily. “You weren’t eating it.”

You narrowed your eyes, then reached over and snatched a piece of his sandwich.Sunghoon blinked. “Did you just—” “You weren’t eating it,” you repeated, grinning. He stared at you for a second, then let out a small, amused scoff. “Okay. So this is how it is now.”

From that day on, it became a habit stealing each other’s food without a second thought.

Sunghoon Carrying Your Stuff Without You Asking

It started with your schoolbag. One day, you complained about how heavy it was, and without saying anything, Sunghoon just took it from you and slung it over his shoulder.

At first, you were too stunned to react. “Uh… you don’t have to—”

“I know,” he said simply. “But it’s annoying watching you struggle.”

You rolled your eyes but secretly smiled.

From then on, Sunghoon always carried your bag when it looked too heavy, held your books when you were organizing your locker, and even grabbed your water bottle at the rink before you could reach for it.

It wasn’t a big deal. Just… something he did.

Late-Night Calls That Lasted Until One of You Fell Asleep

“I should sleep,” you mumbled, your voice thick with drowsiness.

Sunghoon hummed on the other end of the line. “Then sleep.”

“You hang up first.”

“You called me.”

You sighed, too tired to argue. “You’re annoying.”

“Then why are you still talking to me?”

Silence. Then a soft, sleepy giggle from your side. Sunghoon smirked, knowing he won. “Goodnight, dummy,” you murmured before your breathing evened out.

He didn’t hang up immediately. He just listened for a little while longer before whispering, “Goodnight.”

Then, and only then, did he end the call.

Sunghoon Letting You Put Stickers on His Belongings (Even Though He Complained)

“You’re ruining my skates,” Sunghoon deadpanned as you carefully stuck a tiny penguin sticker on the side. “You can barely see it,” you defended. “Besides, it makes them cuter.”

“I don’t want them to be cute.”

You just smiled sweetly. “Then why haven’t you peeled off the stickers I put on your water bottle?”

Sunghoon shut his mouth, ears turning slightly pink.

You grinned

Knowing Each Other’s Schedules Better Than Your Own

You groaned as you shuffled through your bag. “Ugh, I forgot we have a quiz today.”

Sunghoon, sitting beside you, didn’t even look up from his book. “No, that’s tomorrow. Today is the presentation.”

You blinked. “Oh… wait, are you sure?”

Sunghoon sighed, finally glancing at you. “You’d be failing if I wasn’t around.”

You pouted. “That’s not true! I—”

“The English quiz is on Thursday, your club meeting got moved to Friday, and you have to turn in your history project by next Monday.”

You stared at him, stunned. “Do you memorize my schedule?”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes. “You don’t, so someone has to.”

Your heart did a little flip, but you played it cool. “Well… what’s your schedule?”

Sunghoon smirked. “Why? Are you gonna memorize mine now?”

You huffed, cheeks warming. “Forget it.”

But secretly, you did.

Walking Home Together, Even When It Was Out of His Way

Your house was not on the way to Sunghoon’s, but somehow, he always found an excuse to walk you home.

“It’s fine,” you told him once. “You can just go straight home.”Sunghoon shrugged. “Nah. I don’t mind.” And that was that.

Even when it was cold, even when it was late, even when he had practice the next morning—Sunghoon always made sure you got home first.

Because no matter what you were to each other—friends, something more, something undefined—Sunghoon always showed up.

And you never needed a label to know what that meant.

—

It happened so casually that you almost didn’t register it at first.

“Hey, Y/N,” a classmate—Jisung—called out as you grabbed your books from your locker. “Are you free this weekend?”

You blinked, looking up. “Uh… I think so? Why?”

Jisung smiled, a little nervous but confident. “I was wondering if you’d like to go out with me. You know… like a date?”

Oh.

You stood there, caught off guard, processing his words. It wasn’t like you had never been asked out before, but something about this felt… different.

Before you could answer, a voice way too familiar cut in.

“She’s busy.”

You turned just in time to see Sunghoon walking up beside you, his bag slung over his shoulder and his expression completely unreadable.

Jisung blinked. “Wait, really?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but Sunghoon spoke first. “Yeah,” he said coolly. “She has plans.”

Your brows furrowed. “I do?”

Sunghoon shot you a look one that screamed ‘play along’ before turning back to Jisung. “Sorry, man. Maybe another time.”

Jisung hesitated, clearly confused but not wanting to push. “Oh… okay. No worries.” He gave you a polite nod before walking away, leaving you alone with Sunghoon.

As soon as Jisung was out of earshot, you turned to Sunghoon, arms crossed. “Excuse me?”Sunghoon sighed like he knew this was coming. “What?”

“You just told him I have plans,” you accused. “I don’t.”

“Well, now you do.”

You scoffed. “With who?”

Sunghoon looked at you like you were being dense. “Me.”

Your heart did something weird, but you ignored it. “Oh, really? And what are we doing?”

“I don’t know,” Sunghoon said nonchalantly. “Skating. Eating. Something.” Then, more seriously, “Why? Did you actually want to go out with him?”

You hesitated. Did you?

The truth was, no, not really. Jisung was nice, but… he wasn’t Sunghoon.

You sighed, shaking your head. “That’s not the point. You didn’t even let me answer.”

Sunghoon exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just—” He stopped, glancing away before muttering, “It would’ve been annoying.”

You stared at him, piecing everything together. “Annoying?” you echoed. Then, with a small smirk, “Sunghoon, were you jealous?”

His jaw clenched slightly, but his ears gave him away a soft shade of pink.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, looking anywhere but at you.

You grinned. “Oh my God. You were jealous.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You totally were.”

Sunghoon sighed heavily, then grabbed your wrist, tugging you forward. “Come on.”

You blinked. “Where are we going?”

He glanced back, his lips twitching slightly. “On our date, obviously.”

Your heart stuttered, but you let him pull you along, the warmth of his hand lingering on your skin.

And just like that, you realized Sunghoon had always been your first choice.

The so-called “date” turned out to be a mix of things you had always done together except this time, it felt different.

Maybe it was because Sunghoon was still acting like his usual self, but now you were aware of every little thing he did.

The way he casually adjusted your scarf when the wind blew. The way he slowed his pace when he noticed your shoelace was untied. The way he kept looking at you when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

It wasn’t like this was new. Sunghoon had always been… Sunghoon. But now, the moments you once brushed off felt intentional.

And the realization made your heart feel so, so full.

— At the Ice Rink

“Let’s make a bet,” Sunghoon said as you laced up your skates.

You raised a brow. “What kind of bet?”

“If you can land a spin without falling, I’ll buy you hot chocolate.”

You scoffed. “That’s easy.”

Sunghoon smirked. “Then do it.”

You pushed off onto the ice, focusing as you gained momentum. The moment you attempted the spin, your balance wavered and before you could fully recover, your skates slipped, sending you straight toward Sunghoon.

“Hoon—!”

He caught you instantly, his arms firm around your waist.

For a second, neither of you moved. You felt his warmth, felt the way his fingers curled slightly into your jacket, felt the way his heartbeat was steady but maybe a little too fast.

Your face was inches from his, close enough to see the flecks of brown in his eyes.

“Guess I won,” he said, voice quieter than before.

You swallowed. “You didn’t say what you’d get if you won.”

Sunghoon tilted his head, the corner of his lips lifting slightly. “You’ll figure it out.”

And just like that, he skated off, leaving you flustered and completely distracted.

— After the Rink

True to his word, Sunghoon still bought you hot chocolate.

You sipped it happily as you walked together, the night air crisp but comfortable.

“By the way,” you started, glancing at him, “are you going to explain why you hijacked my date?”

Sunghoon sighed. “You’re still on that?”

You smirked. “Yes.”

He was quiet for a moment before shrugging. “I didn’t like the idea of you going out with him.”

Your grip tightened around your cup. “…Why?”

Sunghoon stopped walking. You turned to face him, heart pounding.

“Do I really have to spell it out?” he asked, his voice softer now.

The air felt different. He felt different.

And suddenly, all the small things the little glances, the stolen touches, the way he always showed up clicked.

Sunghoon was never just your best friend.

He was so much more.

You swallowed, your fingers curling into your sleeves. “No,” you said quietly. “I think I get it.”

Sunghoon let out a breath, almost like he had been holding it.

Then, with a small smirk, he bumped his cup lightly against yours.

“Good,” he said.

And though neither of you said it outright, you both knew this was something real.

— The Day Before Sunghoon’s Competition

The excitement in the air was almost tangible. Sunghoon’s upcoming competition was a big deal, not just for him, but for you too. You had been watching him skate for years, supporting him in every way you could, and tomorrow was no different.

Except… this time, you wanted to do something special.

Which is how you ended up in a toy store, standing in front of the largest penguin plushie you had ever seen.

It was almost half your size, ridiculously soft, and absolutely perfect.

The arena was packed, filled with murmurs of anticipation as competitors warmed up on the ice. You sat in the stands, gripping the giant penguin in your arms, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement.

Sunghoon had been training so hard for this. You had seen him push himself past exhaustion, had heard him mutter routines under his breath in class, had witnessed him skate until his muscles burned.

This was his moment.

When his name was called, the entire arena buzzed and so did your heart.

Sunghoon stepped onto the ice, his movements effortlessly smooth, his expression unreadable but focused.

And then the music started.

You had seen him practice this routine countless times, but watching it now under the lights, in front of a crowd felt different. He moved like he was born for this, each jump, each spin, flawless.

It was impossible not to be captivated.

And when he landed his final jump perfectly, the arena erupted.

You practically launched the giant penguin onto the ice.

Sunghoon, still catching his breath, looked up just in time to see it land near him. His expression faltered for a second before he let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head in amusement.

But then, when he spotted you in the stands grinning, eyes shining something in his face softened.

A moment later, he skated over to retrieve the plushie, holding it up as if inspecting it. Then, to your absolute horror, he turned toward the cameras and held up the penguin like a trophy.

The audience loved it.

You, on the other hand, hid your face in your hands.

Later, when you met him outside the rink, he was still holding the penguin.

“You really went all out, huh?” Sunghoon teased, tapping the plushie’s beak.

You huffed. “It’s for good luck.”

His smirk softened. “Guess it worked.”

Before you could respond, he surprised you by stepping closer so close you could feel the chill from the ice still lingering on him.

Then, in a voice quieter than before, he said, “Thanks for always believing in me.”

Your chest tightened, warmth blooming in your heart.

“Always,” you murmured.

Sunghoon stared at you for a moment, eyes flickering with something unreadable. Then, without another word, he tugged you into a hug right there, in front of everyone.

And even though the competition was over, you were pretty sure your heart was still doing triple axels.

—

Sunghoon had never been the most expressive person. He had his ways of showing he cared small things, subtle gestures, unspoken words.

But right now?

Right now, he wasn’t subtle at all.

You noticed it the second you finished laughing at something Jaemin said. Sunghoon, who had been quiet for the past few minutes, suddenly stood up and grabbed his bag.

You frowned. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” he muttered, his jaw tight.

You blinked, confused. “Wait—what? You said you’d walk me back.”

“Find someone else to do it,” he said, pointedly not looking at you.

Jaemin gave you a look like, uh… what just happened? but wisely chose to stay out of it.

You, however, were not letting this slide.

“Sunghoon,” you called, quickly following him out of café. “Hey—stop walking so fast!”

He didn’t stop. If anything, he sped up.

“What is your problem?” you demanded, grabbing his sleeve.

Sunghoon finally turned to face you, his expression unreadable but his eyes? His eyes were burning with something unmistakable.

“Nothing,” he said flatly. “Go back to your little date.”

You reeled back. “Date? What are you talking about?”

He scoffed, looking away. “You and Jaemin. You two looked cozy.”

Realization hit you like a truck.

Oh.

Oh, he was jealous.

You exhaled, half annoyed, half amused. “Sunghoon, Jaemin is just a friend.” “Sure he is,” he muttered, voice laced with irritation. “They’re always just ‘friends,’ right? And yet, every time, I have to sit there and—”

He cut himself off, running a frustrated hand through his hair. Your brows furrowed. “Wait. What do you mean ‘every time’?”

Sunghoon’s jaw tightened. “Forget it.”

“No,” you snapped. “Say it.”

His eyes flashed as he finally met your gaze.

“I mean I’m sick of watching other guys act like they have a chance with you,” he said, voice low, heated. “I’m sick of standing on the sidelines when I—”

He stopped himself again, his expression torn between frustration and something else.

Something vulnerable.

And suddenly, you were tired too.

Tired of dancing around something that was so clearly there.

“Then stop standing on the sidelines,” you said quietly.

Sunghoon tensed. “What?”

You swallowed. “You don’t want other guys to think they have a chance with me? Then give me a reason why they don’t.”

Silence.

The tension between you was thick, the unspoken words finally out in the open.

“Sunghoon,” you whispered, heart pounding. “What are we?”

He exhaled sharply, like he had been waiting for this question but dreading it at the same time.

Then, in a voice so soft you almost didn’t hear it, he said—

“You’re mine.”

Your breath caught.

His hands found your waist, hesitant but firm. “I don’t want to be just ‘whatever this is’ anymore,” he admitted. “I don’t want to be just your best friend, or just the guy who skates, or just—”

He broke off, his eyes locking onto yours. “I just… I want it to be us.”

A shaky exhale left your lips.

And then, with a small, breathless laugh, you said

“Took you long enough.”

Sunghoon blinked before letting out a quiet chuckle, his forehead resting against yours.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I guess it did.”

And just like that, there were no more sidelines.

—

The thought of meeting Sunghoon’s family as his actual girlfriend instead of just his childhood best friend was enough to send your nerves through the roof.

You had been to his house countless times before, had sat through family dinners, had even spent entire days hanging out in his room. But now? Now, you weren’t just “Y/N, the girl who always throws penguin plushies at his competitions.”

Now, you were his girlfriend.

And that changed everything.

Sunghoon’s mom immediately pulled you into a warm hug the second she saw you.

“Finally!” she gushed, squeezing you tight. “I was wondering when you two would come to your senses.”

You blinked, surprised. “You… knew?”

She pulled back, raising an eyebrow. “Sweetheart, we’ve all known. Sunghoon’s had ‘I’m in love with my best friend’ written all over his face for years.”

Sunghoon groaned from beside you. “Mom.”

She simply patted his cheek. “Oh, hush. Just be grateful she put up with you long enough to date you.”

You laughed, feeling way more at ease than you expected. Sunghoon’s dad, though much quieter than his mom, gave you an approving nod. “Good to have you officially in the family, Y/N.”

The words made your chest warm.

Then, just when you thought you had survived the introduction, Sunghoon’s sister waltzed into the room.

She took one look at you two standing close together and smirked. “I knew it.”

Sunghoon sighed. “Not you too.”

“Of course me too.” She crossed her arms, looking smug. “You’re the worst at hiding things, Hoon.”

He scoffed. “That’s not true.”

You snorted. “Babe, you held up a giant penguin plushie to the cameras after your last competition. You weren’t exactly subtle.”

His sister cackled. “Oh my god, wait—that was from Y/N? That makes it even funnier.”

Sunghoon groaned, running a hand down his face while you and his family lost it.

Despite your nerves, the night turned out to be easy, warm, and full of laughter.

And when Sunghoon walked you home later, lacing his fingers through yours, he murmured“I told you they’d love you.”

And you smiled, squeezing his hand.

“Yeah. But I kinda love you more.”

Sunghoon flushed, his ears tinged pink. “Yeah, well. I guess that’s fair.”

And then, in the soft glow of the streetlights, he leaned in and kissed you officially yours, officially his.

—

Senior year was supposed to be stressful, with exams, college applications, and the looming uncertainty of the future.

But with Sunghoon by your side?

It felt easier.

It had been almost a year since he officially introduced you as his girlfriend, and while not much had changed in your day-to-day lives, there was an undeniable shift in the way he looked at you, held you, and treated you.

You weren’t just his best friend anymore.

You were his person.

—

Despite his packed training schedule, Sunghoon always made time for you—especially during late-night skate sessions when the rink was empty.

“You’re not balancing right,” he murmured, standing behind you with his hands on your waist.

You huffed, wobbling on your skates. “Maybe I’d balance better if someone wasn’t breathing down my neck.”

He chuckled. “Fine, princess. Try it on your own then.”

You regretted it instantly.

The second he let go, you yelped as your feet slipped out from under you- only for Sunghoon to effortlessly catch you before you could hit the ice.

You clung to him, heart racing. “I almost died.”

He rolled his eyes, amusement dancing in his gaze. “Dramatic.”

Then, with a smirk, he scooped you up bridal-style and skated across the rink with ease.

You gasped, laughing as you clung to him. “Put me down, Hoon!”

He only tightened his hold. “Nah. You like being carried, don’t lie.”

You buried your face in his chest, both of you grinning like idiots.

—

Neither of you were huge on school dances, but somehow, Sunghoon ended up asking you to homecoming in the most Sunghoon way possible.

With a giant penguin plushie and a note that read: Be my date? Or do I need to land a triple axel first?

You had laughed so hard before tackling him into a hug and saying yes.

That night, with his hand resting firmly on your waist as you slow danced under the dim lights, he whispered—

“I think I wanna do this forever, you know? You and me.”

Your heart stuttered.

And when he walked you home, when he pressed you against your front door and kissed you like he never wanted to stop, you believed him.

—

College acceptances came in. Decisions had to be made. Sunghoon’s skating career was only getting bigger.

One night, as you both lay on the hood of his car, staring at the stars, you whispered—

“What if we end up in different places?”

Sunghoon turned his head toward you, his brows furrowing.

“What do you mean?”

You bit your lip. “You’re getting offers from international skating programs. What if you have to move? What if we—”

He cut you off, lacing his fingers through yours.

“We’ll figure it out.” His voice was steady, certain. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily,princess.”

Tears burned your eyes, but you smiled, squeezing his hand.

“Promise?”

Sunghoon shifted closer, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Promise.”

And in that moment, under the endless sky, you knew—

No matter where life took you, you would always find your way back to each other.

—

The day of graduation was supposed to be bittersweet.

For years, high school had been your constant. Late-night study sessions, spontaneous dates at the ice rink, stolen kisses in empty hallways it was all about to become a memory.

And the biggest change of all? Sunghoon was leaving.

He had accepted an offer to train overseas, an opportunity he couldn’t pass up. You were unbelievably proud of him, but that didn’t make the idea of being apart any easier.

Yet, when you spotted him standing in his graduation gown, holding a penguin plushie just for you, he still looked at you like you were his entire world.

“Why do you look like you’re gonna cry?” he teased, handing you the plushie.

You sniffed dramatically. “Because my boyfriend is abandoning me.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes but softened when he saw the real emotion in your gaze.

He reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Hey,” he murmured. “I’m not abandoning you.”

Your throat tightened. “Then why does it feel like you are?”

Sunghoon sighed, shifting closer. “Because it sucks,” he admitted. “But you know what sucks more?”

You looked up at him, waiting.

“Not having you in my life at all.”

His voice was quiet, but firm.

“We’re gonna make this work, Y/N. No matter how hard it gets.”

You swallowed, trying to keep your tears at bay. “What if we change? What if—”

Sunghoon cut you off with a kiss, slow and deep, filled with every unspoken promise.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours.

“Then we change together.”

And right there, in the middle of the chaos of graduation, surrounded by families and friends, you believed him.

Because this wasn’t just a high school romance.

This was you and Sunghoon.

And no amount of distance was going to change that.

—

The airport was too cold, too loud, too unforgiving.

Sunghoon’s flight was in less than an hour, and no matter how tightly you held onto him, time refused to slow down.

Your fingers curled around the sleeve of his hoodie, the one you had stolen more times than you could count. It smelled like him like fresh laundry and the faintest hint of his cologne.

“You’re really leaving,” you whispered, voice barely audible over the announcements echoing through the terminal.

Sunghoon sighed, his hands tightening around yours. “Not forever, Y/N.”

You tried to smile, but it felt weak. “Feels like it.”

His jaw clenched, and for the first time, you saw the cracks in his usual composure. He was always the steady one, the one who reassured you. But now?

Now, he looked just as lost as you felt.

“You could come with me,” he blurted suddenly.

Your eyes widened. “Hoon—”

“I know you have school, but maybe—maybe you can transfer later, or—” He exhaled sharply, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “I just don’t want to do this without you.”

Tears pricked at your eyes. “I don’t want to do this without you either.”

But you both knew the reality. You had your own dreams, just like he had his.

You reached up, cupping his face. “Hey,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

Sunghoon swallowed hard. “What if you get tired of waiting for me?”

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice.

Instead of answering, you reached into your bag and pulled out a matching penguin keychain the one you had gotten for both of you. You clipped it onto his backpack.

“Every time you see this,” you said softly, “just remember, I’m waiting.”

Something in his expression broke.

And before you could react, he pulled you into him, kissing you like it was the last time he ever would.

Like he needed to memorize the way you felt, the way you tasted, the way your hands trembled against his chest.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead pressed against yours.

“I love you.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks. “I love you too.”

The final boarding call rang overhead.

Sunghoon exhaled shakily before pressing one last lingering kiss to your forehead. Then, with one last look, he picked up his bag and the plushie you had given him all those years ago.

Your breath hitched when you realized. He brought it with him.

“You’re taking it?” your voice cracked.

He glanced at the worn-out penguin plushie,the first one you ever threw onto the rink for him when you were kids. The same one he never let go of.

“Of course,” he said softly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

And with that, he turned toward the gate.

You watched him go, your heart splitting in two.

But in your pocket, your fingers curled around your own matching keychain.

And you knew—this wasn’t the end.

—

Being in a long-distance relationship with Sunghoon wasn’t easy.

Some days, it felt like the distance didn’t matter you stayed up late on video calls, watched movies together from different time zones, and sent each other photos of things that reminded you of one another. Other days, it felt unbearable missed calls, canceled plans, and the aching loneliness of not being able to hold him when you needed to.

But through it all, one thing never changed: you loved him.

—

Falling Asleep on Calls

“You’re tired, Hoon,” you murmured, watching as he struggled to keep his eyes open on your late-night video call.

“M’not,” he slurred, blinking sluggishly. “Just wanna see you a little longer.”

You smiled, heart swelling. “I’ll still be here tomorrow, dummy.”

He hummed, the sound drowsy but content. “Yeah, but I miss you now.”

A few minutes later, his slow breathing filled the call. You stayed for a while, watching his peaceful expression through the screen before whispering, “I miss you too.”

—

Surprise Deliveries

Sunghoon wasn’t always the best with words, but he had his own way of showing you he cared.

One day, after a particularly rough week, you received a package at your doorstep. Inside was a stuffed penguin (because he knew you missed hugging him), your favorite snacks, and a handwritten letter.

“I know I can’t be there to make things better, but I hope this makes you smile. Keep being strong for us, okay? I love you.” – Hoon.”

You hugged the plushie close, already feeling a little better.

⸻

Watching His Competitions Online

You never missed a single one of his competitions, no matter what time zone he was in. You stayed up at ridiculous hours, cheering at your laptop screen and throwing a small plushie at it “for good luck” just like you used to at the rink.

After his performance, you’d always get a call.

“Did you see me land that jump?” he’d ask, breathless and excited.

“Saw it? I screamed so loud I think my neighbors hate me now,” you’d joke, making him laugh.

“I wish you were here,” he’d admit softly.

“Me too,” you’d whisper back.

—

The Missed Date Night (Virtual)

“You forgot, didn’t you?” your voice was quiet, but Sunghoon could hear the hurt in it.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Y/N, I didn’t forget, I just—training ran late, and I was exhausted—”

“You could’ve at least texted,” you cut in, frustration bubbling.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

Silence stretched between you.

“It’s just hard sometimes, Hoon,” you admitted, voice cracking. “I don’t need much, but I need to feel like I still matter.”

His heart sank. “You do. You always do.”

That night, he stayed up with you, making it up to you by talking for hours, promising he’d do better.

⸻

The Jealousy Fight

“So who’s that guy always commenting on your posts?” Sunghoon asked one night, his tone sharp despite his effort to sound casual.

You blinked. “What?”

“You know who I’m talking about. That guy from your class. He’s always—”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Sunghoon, are you serious? He’s just a friend.”

“Does he know that?”

Your patience snapped. “Are you really doubting me right now?”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, I just—”

“Just what, Hoon? Because it sounds a lot like you don’t trust me.”

Silence.

He exhaled shakily. “I trust you. I just… Baby I hate not being there with you.”

Your expression softened. “I hate it too.”

After a moment, he sighed. “I’m sorry. I just miss you, that’s all.”

You smiled slightly. “I miss you too, dummy. But next time, talk to me instead of getting jealous over nothing, okay?”

⸻

Long-distance wasn’t perfect.

There were lonely nights and frustrating misunderstandings, but there were also love-filled calls, thoughtful surprises, and unwavering promises.

And no matter how hard it got, you both knew one thing

It was worth it.

—

Sunghoon’s birthday had always been special to you.

For years, you had spent it together whether it was a simple dinner, skating at the rink, or even just staying in and watching movies. But this year was different. This year, he was half a world away, and the only thing you could do was send a video call and a package.

Or so he thought.

Because this year, you had a different plan.

—

The cold December air bit at your skin as you stepped out of the airport, your heart pounding with excitement and nerves. You clutched the wrapped gift tightly in your hands a present you had picked out months ago, waiting for the perfect moment to give it to him.

With the help of his coach (and a little sneaky planning), you found out where he would be that evening. A small gathering, nothing too big—just his close friends and teammates.

And you were about to be the best surprise of the night.

⸻

Sunghoon was mid-conversation, holding a cup of hot chocolate in one hand when he froze.

His sharp eyes landed on the figure standing at the entrance.

His mind stuttered. His grip on the cup slipped.

“No way,” he whispered.

Before he could even process it fully, you grinned and that was all it took for him to come back to life.

“Surprise, birthday boy!” you called out, holding up the gift.

For a second, no one moved. Then, in the next heartbeat

Sunghoon crossed the room in three long strides, grabbed your face, and kissed you.

The cheers and whistles from his friends faded into the background as he pulled you so tightly against him, like he was afraid you’d disappear.

“You’re really here?” he murmured, forehead pressed against yours.

You laughed, cupping his cold cheeks. “I am. Happy birthday, Hoon.”

He exhaled shakily, eyes shining. “Best birthday ever.”

⸻

Later that night, after the celebrations settled, the two of you sat by his window, watching the snow fall over the city.

“Okay, now open this,” you said, handing him the gift.

He unwrapped it carefully, his brows furrowing until he finally saw what it was—

A hoodie. A matching one, just like the penguin sweaters you gave him years ago. But this time, it had both your initials embroidered on the sleeve.

“So you don’t forget me while you’re here,” you teased, nudging him.

Sunghoon chuckled, but then his expression softened.

“I could never forget you.”

He set the hoodie aside and instead pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your shoulder.

“You have no idea how much I missed you.”

You smiled, running your fingers through his hair. “I do. Because I missed you just as much.”

And for the first time in months, the distance between you was finally gone.

—

Sunghoon was still holding onto you like he was afraid you’d vanish when you pulled back slightly, a teasing smile playing on your lips.

“I have one more surprise for you,” you murmured.

He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head. “Another one? What could possibly top you showing up out of nowhere?”

You bit your lip, dragging out the moment for dramatic effect before whispering, “I’m staying for a month.”

Silence.

His brain short-circuited.

“You’re—” he started, but his voice cracked, so he swallowed and tried again. “You’re staying? For a whole month?”

You nodded, beaming. “Merry early Christmas?”

For the first time, Park Sunghoon, the composed and effortlessly cool figure skater, was completely and utterly speechless.

And then—

“You’re dead.”

Before you could react, he tackled you onto the couch, wrapping you up in the tightest hug imaginable. You yelped, laughing as he buried his face into your neck, his arms locked around you like a vice.

“Sunghoon, I can’t breathe—”

“Good. Maybe then you’ll know how I felt all these months.” His voice was muffled, but you could hear the smile in it.

Eventually, he pulled back just enough to cup your face, studying you like he still couldn’t believe you were real. His thumb brushed over your cheek before he whispered, “You’re really staying?”

You nodded again, softer this time. “Yeah. I missed you too much.”

His lips curled into a smirk. “You’re obsessed with me, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, shoving his shoulder. “Shut up.”

But Sunghoon just laughed, happier than he had been in months.

“Best birthday ever.”

©️tobiosbbyghorl - all rights reserved

permanent taglist: @ijustwannareadstuff20 @hoonielvv @rjssierjrie @firstclassjaylee @morganaawriterr @rikifever @daisyintherainsposts @cyjhhyj

taglist: @sunghoonsprincessstuff @kimmm3-blog2 @tinyteezer @invsomnixa1 @maewphoria @sseishiross @dearmyfavoritepeople-bts @moon368

[verstappenverse]

The Price of the Podium

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: In the relentless pursuit of racing glory, Max faces the emotional fallout of missing an important weekend in his relationship, leaving your future uncertain.

1.5k words / Part 2 / Masterlist

Max's heart raced as the engine of his RedBull roared beneath him. The familiar hum had become a source of comfort, a steady rhythm that guided him through countless laps and countless victories. But today it felt different, a harbinger of an approaching storm that threatened to dismantle everything he held dear.

The season had been merciless. Each race had been a relentless pursuit of perfection, each lap a battle against time and competitors. Max understood that this world demanded sacrifices, but lately the weight of those sacrifices had changed.

When Max glanced at his phone during a fleeting moment of respite his stomach dropped as a surge of guilt swept over him. A string of missed calls and urgent messages from you filled the screen, each one more desperate than the last.

Hey, can you please call me when you get a chance? I need to talk to you.

Max, you’re really starting to worry me. I don’t understand what's going on?

It’s been three days since we spoke properly. Can you at least let me know you’re okay?

Max’s gaze fell on the calendar, he had promised again to visit your extended family this weekend, a significant step for you both that had been previously filled with excitement and anticipation. Your family were eager to meet him, and Max had been looking forward to it as well. But now with the punishing schedule of the season, he was struggling to find even a moment to breathe, let alone make the trip.

He knew he was being a coward, but it was easier to avoid the situation than confront it directly and risk letting down the person who mattered most.

As Max approached the racetrack for another testing session, the weight of his choices hit him like a sledgehammer. He was about to miss an important milestone in your life together and he didn't think you'd be so forgiving this time.

His mind was full of conflicting emotions. He wanted to be there for you, to prove to your family that he was serious about your relationship, but the world of racing had a way of consuming everything in its path leaving no room for personal commitments.

The testing session was a blur. Max’s driving was flawless, but his thoughts were elsewhere. The track blurred into an endless ribbon of asphalt. He pushed himself to the limit, hoping that the adrenaline would drown out the guilt gnawing at his conscience.

Finally, the session ended. Max’s team were in high spirits celebrating the improved performance. He barely registered their enthusiasm, his mind was occupied with the image of you waiting for him in a small town, wondering why he had not shown up. He could picture you there, waiting for him, checking the clock, wondering if he’d even bothered to leave. And it wasn’t just about this weekend, it was about every missed call, every text he hadn’t answered, every promise he’d let slide.

The moment Max stepped out of the car he took a deep breath and pulled out his phone. He dialed your number hoping against hope that you would answer. After a few rings your voice came through the line tinged with weariness and frustration.

“Max?”

“Hey, I’m so sorry. I know I’ve been out of touch.”

“Out of touch? You’ve been completely absent! I was supposed to introduce you to my family this weekend. It was important to me.”

“I know. I wanted to be there, but things just got out of hand here. I’ve been trying to make time, but…”

“But what Max? You keep saying you’re trying, but you’re never here. There's always an excuse.”

“I’m really sorry, I’ve been working so hard this season...I thought I could make it work, I just…”

“You know what? I don’t want to hear more excuses right now. You’ve missed something important to me again, and it hurts. I needed you here, and you weren’t.”

The silence on the other end of the line was heavy, almost unbearable. Max could feel the pain that you were struggling to mask, like a knife twisting in his gut. It cut him deeper than any criticism he’d ever faced on the track.

“Please. I know I messed up, I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

“Make it up to me? I don’t even know if that’s possible anymore. This wasn’t like the other times when you just forgot or lost track of time; you made the choice not to come. I’ve tried to be understanding... I know how hard this season has been, and I know how much time and dedication it takes. I never wanted to undermine that. But I don’t know how much longer we can do this. I get it, you have to make tough choices sometimes, and I’ve done my best to support you, to step back and let you focus on your goals. But it’s happening too often now and it feels like every time, you’re choosing this… this life over us. Over me. Every single time.”

Max’s throat tightened. He wanted to argue, to explain more, but he also knew that he couldn't keep making excuses for his absence, and he couldn’t bear to hurt you anymore. He’d run out of explanations, out of promises he knew he couldn’t keep.

He wanted to say something, anything to fix it, but he could hear the finality in your voice. You’d reached a breaking point, one he’d seen coming but had been too afraid to acknowledge.

“I don’t know what to say,” he finally whispered, the words feeling hollow even as he spoke them.

The silence stretched on.

“I understand if you need space.” he murmured, barely able to get the words out, blinking back tears.

Your voice was barely a whisper throat locking up, it felt like he was giving up. Was this even worth fighting for if he wasn't?

Then, in a voice so small it broke his heart all over again, you whispered, “You’re right. Maybe space is what we need right now.'

The line went dead, leaving Max alone in the garage. The celebration of the session’s success felt hollow. The echoes of the track still rang in his ears mingling with the ache of your absence.

In the days that followed Max tried to bury himself in the upcoming races, hoping that the endless rush would drown out the regret gnawing at him. He avoided reaching out to you honouring your request for space.

Each day felt like an endless rotation of driving, media commitments, and sleepless nights. The thrill of racing was overshadowed by the growing distance between you and him.

You had always been patient and understanding of the demands of Max’s career. You had supported him through the highs and lows, celebrating his victories and comforting him through the losses, but it hadn’t been enough. Each missed call and unanswered message chipped away at your resolve. You couldn’t keep repeating the same cycles and expecting a different result.

The weekend you had planned for Max to meet your family was meant to be a milestone, a step toward a future together. Instead, it felt like a crushing disappointment.

You replayed the conversations you had with Max in your mind, trying to reconcile the man you loved with the absence he had become. You had pictured this weekend as a chance for Max to understand the importance of your family, to see the life you had outside of his world.

The hurt and frustration you felt were compounded by a growing sense of doubt, doubt that maybe this life of constant motion had created a rift too wide to bridge.

You needed time to process the hurt, to focus on yourself and figure out where to go from here. The support you had hoped for seemed distant and unreliable, and the future you had envisioned together felt uncertain.

Loving him had been a beautiful dream, but you knew it was time, you hesitated just a moment before hitting send.

Max,

I need you to know that I’m not angry anymore. I’m just… tired. I need to focus on myself right now.

Max read the message over and over, his hands trembling. The message was brief and seemingly final. The reality of your words sank in, there was no dramatic declarations, no harsh accusations, just a simple statement of exhaustion, a quiet resignation that tore through him. He wanted to call, to beg you to come back, but he knew it was too late.

As the season drew to a close, Max stood on the podium, the roar of the crowd a distant echo, his gaze searching as if somehow he’d see you there. The trophy was in his hands, but it didn't feel like he had expected. He looked out over the crowd searching for a sense of fulfilment that seemed to elude him, it all felt like ashes without you beside him.

Max only thought of you as he stood amidst the celebrations, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that in the pursuit of his dreams he had sacrificed something far more precious, and wondered if there was a path back to what he had lost.

[kisses4themissus]

Suprises | M.R X Reader

a/n: ahh pt 9 finally finished and ready to post!! Pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Single mom!Reader wc: 2.2k

prev | masterlist | send me a love letter

Your stomach had been in knots as you danced on stage, being careful not to express your worries on your face. Throughout bowing you had impatiently tapped your foot, anxious of the results.

Your thoughts stopped as your mother announced lacey’s first performance as a petal, she walked to the center of the stage, the lights beaming down on her face, she smiled brightly and took a dramatic bow to the crowd. She smiled and played with the ends of her dress while everyone clapped for her.

You watched with a wide smile, proud of your little ballerina. 

“We did that y’know!” Nick whispered into your ear making you roll your eyes. “I did that..” You scoffed, shaking your head, trying to ignore him before sparking a smile as lacey motioned for your own applause.

Doing the same you walked to the center and smiled as the crowd cheered before bowing, taking lacey’s hand and bowing together once more before joining the other dancers and doing one last bow.

You smiled and waited as the curtain finally dropped, you turned to see lacey already letting go of your hand to go listen for your mother’s corrections on the show; Without skipping a beat, you ran off to your dressing room

“Where are they?!” You muttered to yourself as you tore the bathroom apart, looking for where your pregnancy tests could’ve gone. Crouching down to glance behind the toilet, checking the trash over again.

Your heart pounded against your chest as you began to have tunnel vision as you began searching your dressing room.

A knock on the door made you stop, your mom walked in, concern on her face. “What are they reading?” She asked, you had asked marissa to tell your mom of your last minute request as you were finishing off the waltz. 

“Its not here..” You explained, sighing to yourself as you dropped your makeup bag onto the counter, defeated. 

“You can take another test honey, why do those matter so much?” You mom sighed, walking over to you. “Because they were in my restroom, that means some purposefully walked in and found them and now they know my test results first..” You whined, covering your face with your hands.

“Maybe those tests weren’t meant to be, maybe you’re meant to take them with your boyfriend present?” Your mom theorized making you nod before looking at her. “Maybe you’re right..” Your tongue poked your cheek as you sat in thought.

“Your little lovebug is already ripping off her costume to go say hello.” Your mom told you, making you laugh before turning to the mirror, grabbing the wipes to take off your stage makeup, your body yearning for comfy clothing other than leg warmers and a zip up sweater.

- - - - - - - -

Little pigtails bounced as lacey ran over to robby, smiling as he handed her a small bouquet of flowers. “These are for me?” She asked, smiling as he held her up. 

“Yeah, you like ‘em?” Robby asked, smiling softly at lacey’s expressions. She nodded and smelt the flowers before turning to see the other things the workers had brought for her.

“Candy?!” She squealed as jake handed her a party size bag of sour candy. Robby looked around the lobby, hoping to catch a glimpse of you.

“Where’s your mommy?” Robby asked, chuckling as lacey attempted to open the bag of candy. 

“Hear aunty marissa said mommy was taking some tests..” Lacey said in between her breaths, letting out little sound of agitation as she failed once more on the bag. “Tests, what tests?” Robby asked, trying to catch lacey’s gaze, once he had she just shrugged and turned to jake, the candy outstretched.

“Open please!” She asked, smiling charmingly at him. Jake laughed and opened the bag, grabbing one for himself. 

Before robby could ask more, you walked out from backstage, now in your sweatpants and a warm jacket. 

You greeted everyone and thanked them for their gifts before turning to robby, quickly planting a kiss on his cheek and whispered into his ear.

“She forgave you?” You motioned towards lacey who had relaxed and was now slowly eating her candy with her free hand while her other held tightly to her flowers.

Robby pulled away and nodded, he stared at you lovingly before turning to jake and motioned for your flowers. You fanned yourself, acting flustered before accepting them. “You didn’t have too.” You sighed, smushing yourself against robby’s bicep.

Dana motioned for jake to join you three, her phone in hand.

“Lemme get a photo of you four!” Dana smiled, standing back as she opened the camera app and counted down.

You wrapped an arm around jake and smiled cheesily. “Beautiful smile there lovebug!” Dana laughed, showing the photo of you four but zoomed in on robby and lovebug; lacey showed her teeth off in the photo earning a snicker from you.

“Perfect pearly whites.” Robby smiled and rubbed her back before turning to you.

As he stood beside you, out of the blue he had tensed up and watched with a straight face as nick walked over to you all.

“Relax green bean giant, i’m coming to say bye to MY daughter!” Nicholas scoffed at robby before attempting to grab lacey from his hold. Lacey quickly held onto robby’s arm tightly and melted against him as robby tightened his hold on lovebug. 

“Goodbye nicholas.” Robby spoke up, the others quickly gave nick dirtiest of looks as he backed away and left, muttering under his breath.

You sensed the tension and turned to robby, noticing as the workers began to say goodbye.

“Dinner?” 

- - - - - - - -

Lacey sat by the window, her little face smushed against robby’s side, on her tablet as he looked through the menu. “What do you want to eat?” Robby asked, looking over to see lacey taking selfies on her tablet.

“Mac ’n cheesy!” She mumbled, sitting up from robby’s side to pose for another picture, robby in the frame as well.

You chuckled from the other side of the table as the pair both took a photo together. 

“Let me take a picture of mommy!” Lacey announced, flipping her camera to show yourself. With a simple pose lacey giggled and turned her tablet to show her work off.

You smiled at the photo before nodding. “What’s with the blue dog on your tablet?” Robby asked lacey, who looked up from her bright screen. She held her tablet to her chest to look at her bluey ipad case.

“It’s bluey!” She looked at robby with a short smile, “She’s a girl! Not a boy!” Lacey clairfed making robby raise his hands and nod.

“Understood.” He chuckled and watched as lacey began to play her apps, turning his head to see you looking out the window, your mind elsewhere.

He leaned further towards you across the table and reached to grab your colder hand. 

At the sudden warmth you looked back to see robby’s concerned brown eyes looking at you. You squeezed his hand in reassurance. “You alright?” He asked, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand.

“Yeah, just thinking of stuff..” You smiled, not noticing as lacey placed her tablet down to listen. 

“Did you fail those tests?” She asked, a frown on her face.

Your heart stopped at her words, turning to her. “What tests honey?” You asked, nervous for her answer. 

“Aunty marissa said you had to take some tests..” She shrugged, you felt flustered as robby looked at you, a question on the tip of his tongue.

Thankfully you had been saved by your waiter asking for your table’s order. 

- - - - - - - -

Once dinner had ended, robby followed you and lovebug to your apartment. Not questioning as you stopped at the pharmacy, assuming it was for lacey.

You had been grateful for robby being there, you had wrangle lacey into a bath and fresh pajamas. She sat on your couch, remote in her hand as she watched max and ruby. Robby sat beside her, rubbing her head as she dozed off.

You smiled at the sight, robby had also changed into pajamas he had left there. Robby smiled as lacey’s grip fell, dropping the remote on the plush carpet.

Robby looked at you, a smile on his face. “I was forced to catch up on max and ruby with her.” He explained, lightly chuckling before turning to pick her up.

“I’ll tuck her in, go relax.” Robby motioned for your bedroom with a tilt of his head as he carried lacey to her room. Her little body draped over him.

You had wordlessly agreed and grabbed the pregnancy tests you had stashed once you had gotten home. Setting them on the bed, you sat down on the mattress and waited, it had been a bit before robby entered your room, you didn’t speak of it, assuming lacey had just woken up and requested a bedtime story.

A smile on his face as he laid beside you and placed his head on your shoulder, his eyes finally catching the pregnancy test that were laid out. You sighed and pick one up.

“I haven’t gotten my period in two-ish months micheal..” You explained, robby nodded and took the test from your hands. “I’ll support you through this in anyway you wish me too.” He reassured you.

“Wait with me?” You asked, looking at him in the eye, he just bit his lip and nodded as you got up and left to go take both tests.

Time had felt like forever while both you and robby waited, you both sat on the bed, your phone flipped over as your timer rang out, you sighed and stopped it.

You looked up at robby and motioned to the bathroom where you had left everything. “Come with me?” You asked, feeling shy under his eyes.

He wordlessly nodded and followed behind into the small bathroom, he pick up the turned over tests and held them in front of you.

Feeling anxious you took a deep breath from flipped the tests over and looked at the results. 

Positive

Positive

You felt a smile grown on your face, looking at robby who held a smile at the results. You quickly launched yourself into his arms, tears falling from your eyes. “I’m actually pregnant..” You muttered, a smile stuck on your face.

“I’m all for whatever you want to do.” Robby told you, holding you tightly, his hand running over the back of your head.

“I-I think I wanna keep it..” You spoke, turning to see a teary smile from robby as he just nodded and placed his forehead to yours.

Emotions filled the bathroom as you and robby celebrated your news quietly, remembering lacey had been sound asleep across the hall. “She’s gonna be a big sister!” You realized, tears slowly stopping as robby kissed your cheeks, smiling in between kisses.

“She’ll be the best older sister, and jake’s gonna have his hands full.” Robby chuckled, making you gasp. 

“Poor jake...” You giggled, slowly you and robby had made your way to the bed, laying down robby smiled and knelt down before your stomach.

He pressed his lips to the skin and kissed it, making you smile at him. You both made eye contact, robby bowed his head down and mumbled something.

“What did you say?” You asked, lightly holding his head up, robby avoided your gaze and smirked as he spoke up.

“..I already knew it.” He confessed, it was a moment before your brain had caught up with what he said. “How did you know!?” You asked, a bit shocked. Robby sighed and placed your shirt down back in place.

“A believe a certain bug took something from your bathroom and hid them away..” Robby smiled as your mouth opened in shock.

“Lacey took them?!” You said in shock, all the panic that day of the missing tests had been due to your own child. 

“She asked me what they were, thought you had covid.” He laughed, making you grin. “I had the worst anxiety over those tests..turns out my child just through i caught covid!” You laughed, rubbing your hands over your face.

Robby just laughed as he eased you into bed for the night.

- - - - - - - -

Weeks had passed since you had gotten four positive tests, both yourself and robby had sworn to keep the pregnancy a secret for the first trimester before telling everyone the news. 

You had sighed, trying to ignore robby’s presence in the corner of the room. It had been rare you had gone down to the ED when transporting patients between floors, it had been a rare sight to see you enter the floor in a navy blue compress jacket, a matching color with robby’s occasional navy sweater he wore.

“You shouldn't be doing the stressful jobs right now.” Robby sighed, thankful it was just yourself and robby in the room, cleaning up as the ICU team had began to take the patient upstairs.

“Oh yes, i should wait til i pop a bump to do my job!” You huffed, picking up an extra tube from intubation they had did at the last minute. 

“I didn’t say that..” Robby sighed, you just rolled your eyes and exited the room, sighing as robby followed you to central.

Leaned over the desk as you talked with dana, robby sighed and sat down to begin charting for the moment.

As you and dana talked, you felt a tap on the shoulder. You turned to see a young woman in causal wear. She asked for your legal name, once you had given it to her she handed you a manilla envelope. 

“Nicholas callahan is requesting full custody of your shared child.”

lovebug taglist!! @nerdgirljen @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange @snowflames-world @whimsicalfungiforager @lovebuggyies @itschelseacisneros @kmc1989 @foolishseven @rhysology @delicatetrashtree @evans-dejong @equallyshaw @qardasngan @fallout-girl219 @dantemorenatalie @18lkpeters @ohmystrawberrycheesecake @blackblueberries @swiftie-4-lifes-stuff @isla-finke-blog @baileythepenguin @khaleesibeach @obfuscateyummy @li22ie2017 @hagarsays @catmomstyles3 @antisocialfiore @journalism2004 @capswife @obsessed-fan-alert @sabrinaselina55 @katydunn047-blog @jazzimac1967 @1mverstappen

[crancisfrozier]

Why so many different ways to play same notes on guitar strings

[othernightslikethis]

SPRING LOVE

3,6k words

Smut, Bf x Gf

Kim Minju x Male Reader

Ahhhh she is so beautiful 😍😍😍

As the current centre-back for Paris Saint-Germain, you’ve become the missing piece in the squad, which now sits comfortably in Ligue 1 and advances in the Champions League after knocking out Liverpool. With solid performances and impeccable skills, the press and fans don’t hesitate to call you "the new Maldini."

But none of that mattered. Not when you were with her.

Kim Minju.

She was your girlfriend. You met through mutual friends when you were both just nineteen. Back then, she was still a K-pop idol, and you were a rising star in Korean football—much skinnier than you are now. To say it was love at first sight would be... a lie. You got along well, but at the time, you agreed to stay just friends, as too many things between you seemed too different.

But everything changed after six months of deep conversations, shared laughter, and moments that brought you closer. That was when you finally confessed your feelings for each other. Your relationship was celebrated with joy, and your teammates were incredibly kind, offering advice—some of them a bit too much.

You never got to meet the members of Minju’s group, but it was never an issue. When IZ*ONE disbanded, it was a tough time for her, but you supported her unconditionally as she pursued an acting career.However, there was a moment when your relationship became fragile: when you received the offer from Paris Saint-Germain at twenty-two. The club was restructuring after the departures of Neymar, Messi, and Verratti—brilliant players who hadn’t managed to secure PSG’s long-awaited Champions League title.

You told Minju about the offer, and she celebrated with you, but both of you knew the distance would be an immense challenge. It wasn’t just moving cities—it was continents, cultures, routines. After many emotional conversations, you decided to break up and remain friends.

But that decision didn’t last long. At the start of 2025, you rekindled things, choosing to try a long-distance relationship. You agreed that if it didn’t work out, you’d part ways peacefully, with no regrets. Since then, whenever your schedule allowed, you’d fly to Korea to see her. And when she wasn’t busy filming, she’d appear in Paris, bringing a piece of home to your life in Europe.

It was hard, yes. The long nights and hectic days tested both of your patience. But every video call, every message exchanged in the dead of night, every reunion—it was all worth it. Because, in the end, no title, no trophy, no praise from the fans could compare to her smile.

That was what mattered. Her.

Kim Minju.

That was why your lovely girlfriend was there, in your mansion in France, a few days before the match against Aston Villa.

Minju had managed to carve out a break from her hectic schedule to spend four days exclusively by your side, especially to watch the game. Everything seemed perfect—the romantic atmosphere, the breathtaking view of the Eiffel Tower framed by the mansion’s large window, the cosy silence of the evening... But in that moment, none of those details mattered.

What dominated the dimly lit room were Minju’s soft, breathy moans, echoing off the walls like a forbidden melody. She was lying on the sofa, completely naked from the waist down, wearing only an oversized hoodie of yours that barely covered her delicate frame. The muted light accentuated the glistening wetness on her thighs, where a tantalising slick had begun to trickle, betraying just how aroused she was. Her fingers moved with perfect precision inside herself, curling in just the right way to draw out another high-pitched sigh.

— Baby... Just like that... — She arched her back, lips parting in a mix of pleasure and frustration. — fuck, it’s not fair, ahnn... You promised you’d let me be on top today!

Her voice was a blend of complaint and provocation, but she barely managed to finish the sentence before throwing her head back, fingers clawing at the sheets as her thighs clamped involuntarily around your hand. Her eyes, usually so sweet and bright, were now darkened with desire, locked onto you with an intensity that nearly made you give in.

She was right, of course. You had promised. But the truth was, Minju was rubbish at being dominant. There was something irresistibly adorable about the way she’d try to take control, only to crumble minutes later, whimpering and writhing beneath you. It was as if her submissive nature always betrayed her attempts at command—and you loved every second of that contradiction.

— You say that like I have a choice... — you murmured, leaning over her as your fingers deepened their movements, feeling her shudder. — But we both know you prefer it this way.

Minju let out a sound between a moan and a protest, but the shiver that ran through her body and the way her legs fell open even wider were answer enough.

— Ah! No— not like this, baby...

Minju gasped as your third finger joined the other two, pressing lightly against her entrance before sliding in all at once, filling her completely. You weren’t exactly experienced with women—Minju was only your second girlfriend—but your time in Paris had granted you a few casual encounters. Minju, however, was different. She was the only one who could take three fingers. Her soft, slender frame might have been deceiving, but you knew just how well she could handle every inch of what you gave her.

— It’s too... ahn... much— she moaned, her fingers digging into your shoulder, nails biting into your skin.

You smirked, feeling how she was already clenching around your fingers, hot and tight, even as she complained.

— Bollocks. You fit just fine.

And then you began moving your hand with a firmer rhythm, three fingers sinking deep before pulling almost all the way out, only to push back in, faster this time. Minju cried out, her voice breaking into a sharp whine, and you felt her pulse quicken, her body twisting between the urge to pull away and the desperate need to press even closer.

— Fuck, stop! Stop for a bit! — she whined, but the trembling in her legs and the way her cunt pulsed betrayed her real plea: don’t you dare stop.You leaned over her, whispering against her neck as your fingers kept working, now with a curling motion that made her shudder.

— You can take three, can’t you? Want me to take one out?

— N-no! — She shook her head, eyes glazed with pleasure. Just— ahn— slower...

But you already knew she didn’t want slower. She wanted to be pushed to the edge, even if she pretended to resist. So instead of easing up, you added a slight twist of your fingers inside her, your thumb finding her clit at the same time.

Minju screamed your name, her body arching violently, and then—she fell apart.

Her muscles clenched like a fist, hips jerking uncontrollably, and you felt the warm rush of her release spilling over your fingers as she came, desperate moans tearing from her throat.When she finally stopped trembling, she was panting, face flushed, lips swollen from biting down on them.

— You... wanker... — she breathed out, still trying to recover.

You laughed, bringing your wet fingers to your mouth and licking them slowly, never breaking eye contact.

— Promise you’ll be on top next time.She let out a weak chuckle, both of you knowing full well neither believed that.

— Shut up and pull it out, come on.

Minju was still breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling rapidly, but her gaze challenged you even as her body trembled with post-orgasm sensitivity. You obeyed, slowly withdrawing your fingers, feeling how she still pulsed around them—warm and soft. A trickle of desire dripped between her thighs, and you couldn’t resist—you ran your thumb over her, gathering some of that nectar before bringing it to your mouth, keeping your eyes locked on hers.

— Disgusting... — she murmured, but the blush creeping up to her ears and the way her legs shyly pressed together betrayed her words.You smirked, leaning over her, bracing yourself on your arms to avoid crushing her completely.

— You love it.

She tried to look away, but you gently cupped her chin, forcing her to meet your gaze. — Do you really want me to stop?

Minju bit her lower lip, hesitating. You knew that expression—it was the face she made when torn between what she should want and what she actually desired.

—...No.

The answer came in an almost ashamed whisper, and it was enough to make your blood boil. You captured her lips in a voracious kiss, feeling her melt against you, her hands gripping your back as if afraid you might vanish.

When you pulled apart, she was even more breathless, her eyes glazed.

— Then show me how you want it.

Minju hesitated for a second before rolling over, pushing you back against the sofa cushions. She settled onto your lap, still wearing that oversized hoodie that only amplified her aura of perverse innocence. Her hands trembled slightly as she undid your trousers, but when she finally freed your erection, her gaze darkened with desire.

— You’re... Big today. — She murmured, wrapping her hand around you experimentally.

You clenched your teeth, feeling her heat even in that minimal contact.

— Your fault.

Minju smiled then—one of those rare, wicked smiles that only appeared when she was especially confident or aroused.

— Then I should apologise properly, yeah?

Before you could respond, she leaned forward, taking you between her lips in a slow, deliberate motion. You groaned, your hands instinctively tangling in her hair. She wasn’t the most experienced, but the way she looked up at you with those big, pleading eyes as she sucked you like you were her last sip of water in the desert—fuck.

— Minju... Your warning came out more as a moan.

She ignored you, deepening the movement until you felt her throat constrict around the head. You arched your back, muscles tensing.

— If you don’t stop, I’m gonna—

Minju pulled back at the last second, letting you slip from her mouth with an audible pop. Her face was flushed, lips glossy and swollen.

— I want you inside me.

She didn’t need to ask twice.

In one fluid motion, you pulled her up, aligning her with your length. She was already so wet that she slid down without resistance, taking you all in one smooth movement. The two of you moaned in unison—her, at the sensation of being stretched open again; you, at the unbearable heat of her tightening around you.

— fuck… — Minju arched her back, her hands gripping your shoulders. — So full…

You held her hips, helping her find a rhythm.

— You can take it. You always can.

She began to move, hesitant at first, but soon gaining confidence. You watched, mesmerised—the way her breasts swayed slightly under her hoodie, the mix of concentration and pleasure on her face, the obscenely wet sound every time she sank down to the base.

It was beautiful. It was filthy. It was Minju.And when she started losing her breath, her movements growing uncoordinated, you took control, flipping your positions in one swift motion. She gasped in surprise, but you were already between her legs, lifting one over your shoulder to plunge even deeper.

— I said you could be on top… — you growled, thrusting hard. — Didn’t say for how long.

Minju cried out, nails digging into your back, but her hips were already meeting yours. She was close again—you could tell by the way she clenched around you, by the way her moans turned higher, more desperate.

— Come on. — You ordered, rubbing her clit between your fingers. — Come for me.

She obeyed with a sharp cry, her body arching violently as the wave hit her. You held her through it, drawing out every spasm until your own back tingled, the pressure becoming unbearable.

— Inside? — You asked, already knowing the answer.

Minju nodded frantically, eyes brimming with tears.

— Inside, inside, please—

That was enough. You pulled her flush against you, burying yourself to the hilt as you came, her name spilling from your lips like a mantra.

When the haze of pleasure finally began to fade, Minju lay sprawled across your chest, utterly spent, her fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin.

— Still think I don’t let you be on top? — You teased, brushing sweat-damp hair from her face.

She gave your chest a weak slap, no real force behind it. — Prat…

Minju mumbled against you, but the satisfied smile on her lips gave her away. She was exhausted, but you knew her body would still respond to touch, always so sensitive after the first climax. Your hands slid down her back, exploring every curve, before gripping her arse firmly.

— Think we’re done? — You whispered in her ear, feeling her shiver.

She lifted her head, eyes slightly unfocused. —You still not satisfied?

You laughed, rolling onto your side to face her. —Not even close.

Your fingers found her clit again, rubbing slow circles as she writhed against you.

— Let’s try it like this. — You suggested, guiding her leg over your hip.

Minju understood what you wanted and adjusted, letting you slide back into her. She was so soft and warm inside, still sensitive but ready for more. You started with slow, deep strokes, feeling every inch of her stretch around you.

— This good?

She bit her lip and nodded, fingers clutching your arm. — Slower… just a bit…

You obliged, keeping the pace steady, but after a few minutes, she began rocking her hips against yours, asking for more.

— Fancy a different position? You asked, already knowing the answer.

She shook her head, breathless. — Want you… from behind.

You didn’t need convincing. Gently, you helped her turn, positioning her on all fours on the sofa. She arched her back perfectly, and you couldn’t resist—running your hands over her curves before lining up and sliding in smoothly.

—Fuck… You groaned, feeling her even tighter like this.

Minju buried her face in the sofa, muffling her moans, but you knew she loved it. You gripped her hips and picked up the pace, each thrust harder than the last.

— More… more… — She begged between ragged breaths.You gave in, losing yourself to the rhythm until she trembled again, her body clenching around yours. This time, you didn’t hold back—letting yourself go with her—until a wicked idea struck.You leaned down, letting saliva drip onto her even tighter hole, her arse, feeling her tense and glance sharply over her shoulder.

— Wait, what? Hang on, we’ve never done anything there! You can’t just assume I’d—

You raised a brow and smirked, pulling back and lining up against her again.

— You can take it.

— Like hell I can, you’re big, really huge! I’ll die if you—

She cut off with a gasp as the head of your cock pressed slowly into her arse.

— Relax… — you murmur, holding her hips firmly as you slide just the tip inside her, feeling her initial resistance. — Take a deep breath… like this…

Minju moaned, her fingers digging into the sofa cushions, but she obeyed, inhaling slowly as her body adjusted to the gradual intrusion. You could feel the tension in her muscles, the near-suffocating heat, and you had to restrain yourself from losing control right then. Your heart pounded wildly, as if trying to escape your chest, and the air around you felt charged with electricity.

— Does it hurt? — you asked, stopping completely to let her adjust, your eyes fixed on her face for any sign of discomfort.

She shook her head, breathless, her lips slightly parted.

— No… just strange. Keep going, but… slowly.

Her voice was a silken thread, trembling faintly, sending a shiver down your spine.

You obeyed, advancing inch by inch, each movement calculated not to startle her. Until, finally, her body yielded and accepted you fully. A rough groan escaped your throat when she was completely filled, and Minju arched her back, her lips forming a perfect ‘o’ of surprise and pleasure.

— Fuck… you fit so perfectly here… — you muttered, almost breathless, the words gritted between your teeth. The sensation was indescribable—as if she enveloped you in a completely new way, tighter, more intense, as if she’d been moulded just for you.

She didn’t respond, but the flush on her cheeks and the way her muscles clenched around you said it all. You began to move, slowly at first, testing her limits, but soon found a rhythm that drew higher, more desperate moans from her. Your bodies intertwined, creating a symphony of muffled sounds and skin against skin.

— That’s it… just like that… — she whispered, tossing her head back when you hit that spot, her hands gripping the sheets tightly.

You smirked, mischievous, and repeated the motion, firmer this time, making her cry out.

— You like that, don’t you? Want me to go deeper? — Your voice was rough, thick with desire, and you felt your own pulse quicken further at her reaction to your tone.

She nodded frantically, her fingers now clutching the arm of the sofa as if it were her only anchor.

— Don’t stop… please, don’t stop…

Her plea was almost childlike in its sincerity, and a wave of possessiveness surged through your chest.You had no intention of stopping. Your hips rocked against her with increasing force, each thrust deeper than the last, until she began trembling uncontrollably, her moans turning almost tearful. The sound was intoxicating, and you leaned down to drag your tongue along her neck, savouring the salt of her sweat.

— Gonna come again? — you teased, feeling her walls clench around you. — Want to feel you squeezing me like this… all of you…

She couldn’t answer, only let out a high-pitched moan as her orgasm hit, her entire body curving as she clung to you like she was drowning. You held her steady, prolonging every spasm, until your own resistance gave way and you buried yourself to the hilt, spilling inside her with a muffled growl against her shoulder.

For a long moment, the two of you stayed like that, panting, glued together by sweat and body heat. The air around you seemed frozen in time, and you closed your eyes, committing every detail to memory—her scent, the sound of her breathing, the way your bodies fit together perfectly.You finally pulled out, and Minju collapsed onto the sofa, utterly spent, her eyes closed.

— I… hate you… — she murmured, without any conviction, her voice hoarse from moaning.

You laughed, lying beside her and pulling her against your chest. — Liar. You love me.She didn’t reply, but the small, satisfied smile on her lips was answer enough.

— You were insatiable today...

Minju breathed deeply, still catching her breath, her body relaxed and heavy against yours. You could feel her warmth mingling with yours, their skin slightly sticky with sweat. Gently, you ran your hand along her back, tracing soft lines up to her nape, where the muscles were still tense.

— You alright? — you asked quietly, your fingers massaging slow circles into the spot, loosening invisible knots.

She let out a barely-there sigh, sinking further into your embrace. — Mm-hmm… just tired.

Her voice was drowsy, and you felt such overwhelming fondness it almost hurt.You smiled, understanding perfectly. You knew that even after the high, her body would still be sensitive—especially after what you’d done. Without hurry, you reached for the hoodie that had been discarded earlier and draped it over the two of you, covering yourselves partially. The soft fabric was warm and familiar, and Minju nuzzled into it with a murmur of contentment.

— Hang on. — You got up for a moment, heading to the bathroom to fetch a damp cloth and a clean towel. When you returned, she was lying on her side, eyes half-lidded but still awake. — Come here.

Minju turned with slight hesitation, and you began cleaning her skin with gentle strokes, running the warm cloth over her thighs, her stomach, her breasts—all with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the intensity from before. She watched in silence, but you noticed the gleam in her eyes, the wordless gratitude.

— Did it hurt? — you asked, pausing when she winced slightly as you wiped between her legs.

— Just a bit… but that’s normal, right?

She shrugged, as if trying to downplay it, but you knew every microexpression of hers.

You didn’t reply, just leaned down and pressed a light kiss to the inside of her thigh, almost paternal. — Here.

You grabbed some lotion from the coffee table and dabbed a bit onto your fingertips before applying it where you knew she’d be most tender. The massage was slow, almost therapeutic, and she let out a deep sigh, melting under your touch.

— You’re good at this… — she murmured, her eyes fluttering shut, her voice fading to a whisper.

— It’s the least I can do. — You chuckled softly, finishing up before lying back down beside her. You pulled the hoodie over both of you, creating a cocoon of warmth between your bodies, and wrapped your arms around her. — Sleep. I’ll stay here. Night.

— Mhm, night. Love you.

Her voice was so soft you almost missed it, but the words reverberated in your chest like a bell. Within seconds, her breathing slowed, her face finally relaxed. You stayed there, listening to the quiet rhythm, your fingers playing with strands of her hair as the night passed slowly. The world outside could wait.

— Love you too.

[jennaflare]

So Disco Elysium is the only game you've ever really liked

I get it! It's a phenomenal game with superb art and writing, and its themes are consistent and deeply explored. It sets a high bar for video games. But there are other really, really fantastic games out there. This is a list that is 100% my own taste of things that aren't necessarily similar, other than the fact that they're really fucking good. (A lot of these are on sale for the Steam Summer Sale until July 11 2024!)

In Stars and Time

In Stars and Time is a time loop game where you play as Siffrin, the rogue of a party at the end of their quest to save the day by defeating the King, who is freezing everybody in time! But something is wrong: every time you die, you loop back to the day before you fight the King. You're the only one who remembers the loops, so it's up to you to figure out why it's happening, and how to break out.

In Stars and Time is a heart-wrenching dive into mental health, friendship, and love. It's about feeling alone, and how awful it is when the people who love you don't notice (and how awful it is when they do). It's about falling deeper and deeper into your worst self and your worst tendencies, and how to come back from it.

The creator also did one of my favorite Disco Elysium comics ever, which is only tangentially relevant but worth mentioning.

Roadwarden

In Roadwarden, you play as the titular Roadwarden for an undeveloped and "wild" part of the kingdom. Monsters roam the forests and roads, and it's your job to keep people safe. On paper, anyway. Your real mission is to find out what is of value in the area, and how to take it from its people. How well you perform this task is up to you. It's an oldschool text-based RPG, and I take a lot of notes by hand when I play.

Roadwarden explores exploitation and industrialization by making you look in the face of your potential victims. You can only learn what your bosses want you to report on by getting close to the residents, after all. There are mysteries to be solved, secrets to be gathered, and hearts to win.

The Longing

The Longing is an adventure-idle game where you play as the solitary servant of a sleeping king. Your task is to wait for him, for four hundred days. Time in the game passes in realtime (for the most part). There are caves to explore, books to be read, and drawings to make.

The Longing is about loneliness and depression. It's about whether or not you decide to stay in that hole, and if you do, what you do with yourself while you're there. Maybe you'll wander. Maybe you'll stare at a wall. Maybe you'll just sleep until it's all over.

Papers, Please

Papers, Please casts you as a newly hired customs officer in a country that is rapidly tightening its borders as its fascist government tightens its fist. This game is stressful. Sometimes you intend to help out the revolutionaries when they asked, but then you got so stressed out trying to make your quota so you can feed your family and pay your bills that you didn't notice the name of the person they were hoping to contact while going through their papers. Sometimes someone puts a bomb in front of you and expects you to defuse it. Sometimes someone suggests you steal people's passports so you can get your family out, and with the horror you see daily, the idea tempts you more than you'd like.

Papers, Please is all about hard choices and testing your moral fortitude. Everything you do has consequences. Being a good person in this game is hardly ever rewarded, but not in a way that feels overly cynical. Papers, Please asks you what kind of person you want to be and what you're willing to sacrifice to get there.

The Return of the Obra Dinn

From the creator of Papers, Please, The Return of the Obra Dinn is a game where you play as an insurance investigator for the East India Trading Company. The ship the Obra Dinn has just floated back into port, its entire crew missing or dead. It's your job to figure out what happened aboard the vessel. For insurance reasons.

I don't know how to go into the themes of this too deeply without giving away too much, but the mechanics of the game itself make the game worth playing. You have a magic stopwatch that allows you to go back to the moment of a person's death, allowing you to try and figure out who (or what) killed them, and how. And the soundtrack is extremely good.

Outer Wilds

In Outer Wilds you play as an unnamed alien, and it's your first day going to space! Your planet's space program is pretty new still, so there's still lots to explore and discover on the planets within your system. There are ancient ruins from a mysterious race that once lived in your system, long before your species began to record history. Why were they here? Where did they go? How are they connected to the weird thing that keeps happening to you?

The fun of Outer Wilds is in the discovery and answering your own questions. The game never tells you where to go, and it never outright tells you anything. There are clues scattered through the system, and it's up to you to put them together and figure out your next steps. It's about the way that life always goes on, no matter what, even when it seems like the end of everything, forever. I'd recommend NOT reading anything else about this game. Just go play it. Seriously, the less you know, the more fun this is.

If on a Winter's Night, Four Travelers

In If on a Winter's Night, Four Travelers, you explore the circumstances of the deaths of four individuals.

This is a short one that took me about two and a half hours to play. If for no other reason, play it for the stunning pixel art. The game explores sexism, racism, and homophobia in the Victorian era and leans heavily into horror themes. Best of all: it's completely free!

Pentiment

Pentiment takes you to the 16th century, where you take the role of Andreas Maler, a journeyman artist working on his masterwork in the scriptorium of an abbey. When someone is murdered, Andreas takes responsibility for finding the culprit.

The game is set over 20~ years and you get to watch how Andreas' actions affect the village in various ways (who's alive the next time you come by, have people gotten married and had children...). It's an exploration of how the past affects the future, and what parts of that past we choose to keep or discard. It has beautiful art, and fans of both Disco and Pentiment often compare them.

Other games you might wanna check out

Night in the Woods, Dredge, Oxenfree, A House of Many Doors, Inscryption, Slay the Princess, Citizen Sleeper, Chants of Sennar, Loop Hero, The Cosmic Wheel Sisterhood, The Pale Beyond, Where the Water Tastes Like Wine, Elsinore, Her Story, Before Your Eyes, Pathologic (not delved into above because the venn diagram of Pathologic fans and Disco fans is basically a circle)

[xoxolaw]

+ DISCOVER YOUR SECRETS

in which seong-je happens to discover secrets about his school's student council president, who happens to have a spotless personality.

Geum Seong-je x reader

secret 2 :- skipping classes

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 final

Fourth period had just ended. The air was thick with lazy chatter and scraping chairs, students halfway out of their seats.

Seong-je lounged at the back, head tilted, expression bored as his minions cackled over some joke that had already lost its punch.

Then—

Click.

The classroom door slid open.

Every head turned like it was instinct.

Y/N stood in the doorway, the kind of still that demanded attention without a single word. Her uniform immaculate, her eyes razor-sharp. A folder in one hand. Her posture screamed control.

Her gaze swept the room like a blade.

“Geum Seong-je,” she said, tone flat. “Council room. Now.”

The room froze.

One of Seong-je’s boys, cocky and broad-shouldered, stepped forward. “You think you can just barge in here—?”

Y/N didn’t blink. “Sit down.”

He faltered. “What did you say—?”

She took one step into the room.

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

Her voice wasn’t loud.

But it cut.

Cold. Icy. Absolute.

The room felt smaller. Tighter. Her presence wrapped around them like barbed wire.

Seong-je’s smirk returned, slow and dangerous. He rose from his seat in one fluid motion, brushing imaginary dust from his pants.

“She outranks all of you,” he said casually. “Do what she says.”

“But—”

“Sit. Down.”

They sat.

He walked past her, barely a glance, but the tension between them sparked as their shoulders brushed—this time his.

She didn’t flinch.

He raised a brow. “Formal summons, President?”

“You were reported for intimidation,” she replied coolly, already turning. “Let’s not make it worse.”

Whispers exploded behind them as they exited.

One of his boys stood up fast. “Who the hell reported him?! I’ll break their—”

“Stand down,” Seong-je said, without even looking back.

Silence.

---

The hallway between them was silent, but it pulsed—like two storms circling the same center.

The door to the council room closed behind them with a soft, final click.

Seong-je didn’t move from where he stood, back to the door, arms crossed, eyes locked on her.

“There’s no complaint,” he said, voice low and certain. “No one’s stupid enough to file one against me.”

Y/N didn’t respond. She walked to the center of the room, every step calculated, placed the folder down on the long polished table like it didn’t matter—and turned to face him.

But something about her had shifted.

Not her stance—still perfectly straight, chin high.

But her silence.

It wasn’t defensive.

It was daring.

He narrowed his eyes slightly. “So what’s this, then? A performance?”

She reached behind the council chair. Pulled something out.

His blazer.

The dark red one. Neatly folded. Slightly faded now. Washed.

The scent of smoke, of him, replaced with sterile lavender detergent and starch.

She held it out between them like an offering.

“I came to return it,” she said quietly. “Didn’t want anyone else handling it.”

He didn’t move. Just looked at it. At her.

“And you needed an audience for that?”

“I needed to make sure you listened.”

His eyes sharpened. “You could’ve waited.”

“I didn’t want to.”

A long pause stretched.

He finally pushed off the door and crossed the room—slow, controlled, like every step was a test.

He stopped a breath away from her.

Didn’t take the blazer yet.

Instead, his voice dropped, edged now. “You washed it.”

“Yes.”

“You erased the scent.”

“Yes.”

“It smelled like me.”

She didn’t flinch. “That’s why.”

His lip curled—something between a smirk and a challenge. But it didn’t reach his eyes.

“You always this sentimental, President?”

“No,” she said. “Just careful.”

“Of me?”

“Of what people would say.”

“And what do you say?”

She hesitated.

Then handed him the blazer fully.

Their fingers brushed—hot. Deliberate.

Still, neither pulled away immediately.

He stared at her, that unreadable expression softening just slightly.

“I didn’t step in last night for your sake,” he said finally. “Those guys—random trash. It wasn’t about you.”

She tilted her head. “Then what was it about?”

His jaw flexed. “They were hunting for weakness. I don’t like people like that.”

“You think I was weak?”

“I think you were alone.”

Something flickered across her face. Something real.

“You didn’t have to help,” she said, more quietly now.

“I didn’t plan to.”

“Then why?”

He looked at her, the weight in his stare heavier now.

“Because it pissed me off.”

“That they came after a girl?”

“That they thought no one would stop them.”

Silence pressed in between them—tight, hot, full of everything they weren’t saying.

She folded her arms slowly, voice cooler now.

“Well. You got your blazer.”

He glanced down at it, then back at her.

“It looked better on you.”

Her breath caught—just barely.

He grinned at that—quick, crooked.

Then turned to the door.

But before opening it, he paused—just enough to make it feel like a choice.

“Try not to get cornered again, President.”

She didn’t move. “Try not to care so much next time.”

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes gleaming with something dangerous.

“I don’t care.”

But neither of them believed it.

He left.

And this time, she stood perfectly still—but her fist clenched at her side.

Not from fear.

Not from anger.

But because for the first time…

She wasn’t sure who had crossed the line between enemy and something else.

---

Evening draped the city in a slow hush, like a secret unfolding under the blur of neon lights and distant traffic. Kanghak’s prim, polished world dissolved after hours—uniforms untucked, rules discarded in favor of shadows and glowing screens.

Down a side street pulsing with fluorescent signs and the occasional muffled shout from an arcade, X-Net Cyber Café buzzed softly. Inside, the lights were dim and cold, the kind that made everyone look a little more ruthless and a little less teenage.

Seong-je was in his element.

Back row. Corner setup. The hum of the processor steady beneath his hand.

His eyes tracked the screen, sharp and focused, posture slouched with calculated indifference.

He was here because he liked the thrill of a killstreak.

He was here because a few of the other Union boys were.

He didn’t need space. He owned it.

A burst of laughter came from the row ahead—one of the older guys from another school, another Union-linked player. He and Seong-je traded lazy smirks across the monitors. All quiet acknowledgment. Nothing sentimental.

Just the usual.

Then—

“You little ratspawn glitch abusing sore loser—learn to aim before you talk shit, dumbass.”

The voice cut through the low hum of the café. Loud. Furious.

Female.

Seong-je paused mid-scroll.

He turned his head slightly, tracking the sound like a predator catching movement in tall grass.

The setup next to his flared with activity. A girl slammed her headset down, hoodie slipping off in the same motion.

Y/N.

Hair slightly disheveled from the headset. Mouth still curling around the last of a muttered curse. Her expression was sharp, coiled tight, cheeks flushed from adrenaline. She sat forward, hands still twitching like she wanted to punch the keyboard through the desk.

He blinked.

Once.

Then leaned back in his chair, one eyebrow lifting slowly, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

She had no idea he was there.

Not until she froze.

Like a sixth sense had whispered that someone was watching.

Her head snapped sideways.

Their eyes locked.

Tension, immediate. Alive.

He didn’t say anything at first—just let the smirk deepen.

She stared. Blinked. Then groaned under her breath.

“I knew this place had cockroaches.”

Seong-je chuckled low. “Didn’t know exorcism was one of your after-school activities, President.”

She looked away, muttering something that sounded vaguely murderous as she grabbed her drink.

He tilted his head, amused. “Didn’t peg you for the gamer type.”

“And I didn’t peg you for the alive-after-midnight type.”

“I’m full of surprises.”

“So is arsenic.”

He laughed at that. Really laughed. A sound so rare and unguarded it caught the attention of the Union guy two seats down, who looked over but said nothing.

Seong-je leaned forward now, elbows on his knees, eyes narrowed with interest.

“You know,” he said, voice low, “most students are in cram school at this hour.”

Y/N didn’t look at him. “Most students are sheep.”

“That right?”

“I needed a break.”

His gaze sharpened. “From what?”

She didn’t answer right away. Just clicked through the post-game stats, fingers moving too fast, too practiced.

From being perfect.

From being watched.

From herself.

But she only said, “I didn’t feel like going.”

He leaned closer. “You skipped.”

“I didn’t ask for your commentary.”

“You knew I was here?”

“No.”

“You sure?” His voice was almost a whisper now. “Because if you did—and you still came—”

She turned to him, slowly. “I can pay you. If that's what you want to shut up.”

That gave him pause.

Not because it wasn’t true.

And he wasn’t sure he liked how that sounded in her mouth.

She looked back at her screen, the heat still rising from her skin.

Then, almost without thinking, she added, “He called me slurs. I shot him through a wall. He couldn’t handle it.”

“That’s why you yelled?”

“I don’t yell. I inform.”

He snorted. “Whatever you say, Prez.”

She turned, met his gaze fully this time. Her eyes were glass and fire.

“You don’t get to act smug, Seong-je. You’re no better.”

His grin faded slightly. “Never said I was.”

They sat like that.

Two rulers from two worlds.

Face to face in flickering light, neither blinking first.

Then—

“You game solo?” he asked.

“Sometimes.”

“You just snipe kids into rage-quits for fun?”

“It’s not fun when they deserve it. It’s justice.”

He grinned again. “You’d fit right in.”

She scoffed. “With them?” She nodded toward the group of Union boys mid-game on the opposite side.

“I’d rather lick a subway pole.”

A beat.

“You think we’re all villains?”

She hesitated. Just long enough for him to catch it.

“No,” she said. “Villains usually have better style.”

“Careful,” he said softly. “You’re sounding more like me every second.”

She glared, but there was no real fire behind it now.

More smoke.

More confusion.

He leaned back, satisfied.

“You come here again tomorrow?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“Decide now.”

“You giving me orders?”

“An invitation,” he said. “We could play a match.”

“Against?”

“Together.”

She looked at him. Really looked.

Then gave a tiny, bitter smile.

“You want to team up?”

He tilted his head, expression unreadable. “Don’t you?”

Another beat.

Then—

“Fine,” she said, logging out. “But if you camp again, I’ll snipe you.”

He grinned wide.

“Deal.”

And for a moment—just a moment—the line between war and alliance blurred.

---

The next evening settled over the city like a hush, golden light fading into dull blue. The cyber café buzzed faintly, a hum of monitors, quiet smack talk, and fingers flying across keyboards.

Seong-je was already there.

He sat at his usual station, one leg stretched beneath the desk, headset tilted around his neck as he half-listened to his Union teammates bickering nearby.

“You rushed mid again, dumbass,” one groaned.

“It worked!”

“It never works!”

Seong-je didn’t chime in. His eyes were on the screen, but his mind—somewhere else.

He kept checking the corner of his screen. As if expecting something to appear.

Or someone.

Then—

The soft creak of the café door.

He didn’t even have to look.

He knew it was her.

Still, he turned.

And there she was.

Y/N, stepping into the neon haze like she didn’t belong—and yet somehow made the room shift to accommodate her.

Still in uniform.

But not stiff or polished like she was at school. Her blazer clung to her loosely now, sleeves pushed slightly up her arms. Her hair was down. Her bag hung off one shoulder, the strap sliding like it didn’t dare rest too long.

She looked like the same person—and yet nothing like the President everyone knew.

Seong-je leaned back in his chair, arms crossing behind his head. “Didn’t know cram school let out this early,” he drawled, eyes sliding over to her as she approached.

Her lips curled—barely. “It doesn’t.”

A beat.

He tilted his head. “So… you ditched?

“It ended early.”

“You left for me.”

“I didn’t.”

“You left,” he said, tone playful but cutting, “to show up at the exact time I’d be here.”

She sat in the station beside him, not bothering to argue. Instead, she turned on her monitor, pulled her headset down over her ears.

“Whatever helps your ego sleep at night.”

He grinned at that, genuine this time. Something about her tonight was looser. Not soft—but unraveled. In small, subtle ways. He watched the way she moved—still efficient, still precise—but now, without the sharp corners.

She was fluid.

She was here.

With him.

They entered the match lobby, and the moment the game loaded, the rest of the world fell away. Again.

Their plays matched like instinct. No callouts. No commands. Just a rhythm they didn’t need to speak to understand.

By round two, they were in the zone.

By round five, they were untouchable.

And when the final kill exploded across the screen—when the “Victory” banner flashed in bold gold letters—Y/N threw her hands up with a quiet, breathless laugh.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” she muttered, elated.

Seong-je turned to her, watching her cheeks flushed from the rush, her lips curved in a way he’d never seen at school.

He held out his hand, casual.

“Good game.”

She stared at it for half a second.

Then matched it with her own.

But it wasn’t just a high five.

Their hands clasped.

Fingers curled around fingers.

Too long. Too tight. Too aware.

Her breath hitched. Just a little.

And then—they both let go.

Quickly.

But not fast enough to pretend it didn’t matter.

Y/N coughed once and turned back to her screen. “We should queue again.”

Seong-je didn’t look away. “You’re good at this.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m not. Just…” His gaze lingered on her side profile. “Didn’t expect you’d trade your spotless image for pixelated blood and trash talk.”

She smirked. “What image?”

“The one where you’re above it all.”

“Maybe I’m just good at hiding what matters.”

He leaned in slightly, voice low. “What does matter, President?”

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t have to.

Because the next round started, and they fell into that rhythm again.

Only this time—every brush of their arms, every flicker of eye contact across glowing monitors—felt thicker. More dangerous.

Like they were toeing a line neither of them wanted to acknowledge.

At one point, Y/N leaned over his keyboard, pointing at his screen. “Don’t engage there—take the side route.”

Her voice was close to his ear. Her arm grazed his. Her breath tickled his jaw.

He didn’t move.

“Bossy,” he murmured.

“Effective.”

“You like telling me what to do?”

She didn’t blink. “Only when you listen.”

He turned to her then, their faces only inches apart. The glow of the monitors lit her eyes—clear, sharp, unshaken.

He opened his mouth. Maybe to tease. Maybe to say something real.

But the round timer ticked down.

They both looked away.

Later, when they won another match—narrow, brutal, sweaty—they almost did it again.

Reached for each other.

But this time, their hands stopped halfway.

Hovered.

She stared at his fingers.

He stared at hers.

Then slowly, she pulled hers back.

And without a word, so did he.

The air between them—charged.

Volatile.

But unbroken.

They didn’t speak much after that.

They played.

Silently, relentlessly.

And when they both logged off, near closing time, neither of them mentioned that they had stayed too long.

Or that tomorrow, they’d probably do it again.

Because somehow, in this quiet, flickering corner of the city…

They’d found something neither of them could name.

Not yet.

But it was there.

Between them.

Unspoken.

Unshakable.

And dangerously close to catching fire.

---

AUTHOR'S NOTE + MASTERLIST

Hope you enjoyed the second part as well <33

[leahsfavefics]

Mr. Park is an Asshole

Author: leahsfavefics

Rating/Genre: M (18+); reverse tropes: nice guy who hates only you, academic rivals, but it's two teachers competing to have the best class. Both reverse tropes come from this post: https://www.tumblr.com/out-of-jams/747204416306806784/reverse-trope-writing-prompts

Pairing: Jimin x Reader (f)

Word Count: 11.5K

Author's Note: Part of the In Bloom collaboration with @kithtaehyung, @yoonia, @syllviere, @kpopfanfictrash, @suga-kookiemonster, and @cybrsan. Sorry, I'm bad at moodboards.

Summary: Ever since you joined the team as Darling Elementary's new art teacher, you've been welcomed with open arms. By everyone except Mr Park, the music teacher. Jimin seems to be the school's golden child, beloved by all (except you), and the organizer of the school's most popular event, the annual Spring Recital. When the school's poor budget planning requires Jimin to enlist your help on the recital, you wonder how you're going to manage working with your sworn enemy.

Warnings (explicit content): hot tub sexy time, fingering, Jimin talking you through it, 'good girl,' penetrative sex

Y/N:

“Winter break just flew by so fast, I can’t believe it’s already mid-January. Hopefully the rest of the year goes by this quickly,” you said, pouring two cups of coffee from the break room coffee pot. Despite the cheap and horrendous taste, the caffeine was a necessity and the warmth of the drink helped stave off that bitter winter chill that fought through all layers of cloth and skin to get right to the bone.

“Ugh but the second half of the school year always drags,” Heather complained, taking the mug you offered from your hands. “At least we’ll have the spring performance to look forward to. Jimin always does such a great job working with the kids to put on a good show. And it helps that spring break follows right after.”

“Winter break ended not two weeks ago and you’re already anxious for spring break?” you replied with a laugh, ignoring the bit about Jimin she mentioned. Mr. Park, the music teacher, was essentially the school’s golden boy. Beloved by everyone, faculty and students alike, kind, warm hearted, generous, talented beyond belief. Or at least that’s what you’ve been told. While you have witnessed that side of Jimin, it’s never been directed at you. In fact, you didn’t really seem to exist in his world, though you had no idea why. You’d seen him go out of his way at holiday parties to talk to everyone, including newcomers that he makes feel welcome. Yet ever since you accepted the role as art teacher at Darling Elementary he has not spoken more than two words to you.

“I’m always anxious for the next break. Oh, hi Jimin. Good Morning!” she turned her focus to the blonde haired teacher that just entered the break room. He wore a suit, his usual work attire, and his straight hair was tucked behind one ear. You hated how handsome he was. It was harder to dislike someone that was so beautiful.

“Good morning Mrs. Bailey!” He said, a charming smile on his face as he looked at her. “How did yesterday’s spelling test go? The kids were so focused on throwing words out to each other to spell during music class that we barely got to learning the songs for the spring recital.”

Heather winced, “Sorry about that! It went well, all that practicing during music must have helped.”

“No apologies necessary, it’s nice to see the kids excited like that about a test of all things. We’ve got plenty of time to learn the songs.” He poured himself a coffee of his own as he spoke. Once he was finished, he glanced at the black watch around his wrist. “I better head back, I have to meet with the principal about the budget for the show before class starts. I’ll catch up with you later.” He ducked out of the break room, leaving you and Heather alone once again.

“He hates me,” you said sullenly.

“What?! Oh my god y/n no, Jimin is the nicest guy ever. There’s no way he hates anyone.”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s the nicest guy to everyone else. He just ignores me.”

Heather laughed. “That is ridiculous, he was just talking to you.”

“No, he was talking to you,” you retort. “Didn’t you notice that he didn’t address me once? He barely even glanced at me!”

“Well have you talked to him much? It’s a two way street.”

“No,” you grumbled. “How am I supposed to? I’m still kinda new here, and he has made no effort.”

“Y/n, this has got to be in your head. He’s literally an angel. Just try talking to him.” 

You checked the time on your phone, internally celebrating when you realized you could use it as a way to weasel out of this conversation. “Oh, look at that, class is going to start in 10 minutes. I better get the supplies ready in my room!” 

Heather laughed, seeing right through you. “You can avoid it if you want, I just think you’re being silly.”

“Yeah yeah,” you waved dismissively. “Whatever. Have a good day! Send me calm children when it’s art time.”

JIMIN:

“We just don’t have it in the budget this year, I’m sorry.” 

Seething, Jimin sat across from Principal Walker and tried to keep his shit together. Flying off the handle wouldn’t solve anything; it wouldn’t get him the funds he needed to get decor for the annual spring recital, nor would it prove his point. It would only get him into trouble. He took a deep breath, his knuckles white where they gripped his knees beneath the desk.

“Mr Walker, the kids look forward to this show every year. The parents, the faculty, so many people look forward to this show, despite the fact that I’ve been funding it personally every year. You promised after last year that it would be worked into the budget this time. I can’t afford to keep paying for everything myself with a teacher’s salary.”

Mr Walker at least had the decency to wince and seem apologetic. “I know, and like I said, I’m sorry. What exactly do you need the money for again? Decorations?”

“Loads of decorations. It’s a winter turned to spring theme, we need dozens of snowflakes and flowers to sprinkle across the stage. I want it to be interactive this year, so the seats will start off with snowflakes and the kids will go around and hand flowers to the audience during one of the songs.”

“Well why don’t you ask Miss Y/L/N for help? Maybe she can add these snowflakes and flowers to the art curriculum.”

“No,” Jimin bit back sharply, bristling. He didn’t want that job thief anywhere near his recital. 

“It wasn’t a request, Mr Park. Talk to Y/N and tell her to work it into her curriculum. You have months, the kids can make the decorations.” He spoke with resolve that left no room for argument. “This will be better anyway, they’ll get to hand out flowers they made themselves to their parents and everyone. And then you don’t have to spend your own money again this year.”

Glancing out at the snow through the frosted window, Jimin sighed, clenching his jaw. He didn’t want to ask Y/N for a favor, he didn’t even want to talk to her. He found it difficult to even be in the same room with her, and it was only partly because he found her to be the most gorgeous woman he’d even seen. Erick had been let go for no reason and she had the audacity to come into school after taking his job, acting all nice and chipper with no remorse whatsoever. “Do I really need to ask Miss Y/L/N? Is there no other option?”

“You could buy the decorations yourself, but once again it has not been approved in the budget. I suggest you stop pressing the matter.”

“Fine,” Jimin said, grinding his teeth.

“I suggest you get going. Class starts in just a few minutes.”

He was being dismissed, and Principal Walker did not seem happy. That was only fair, Jimin wasn’t exactly happy either. Why did she have to be the art teacher? He would be fine asking literally anyone else at school. He stood, gave one sharp nod to Mr Walker, and left for the music classroom.

Y/N:

A knock at your door startled you, causing you to drop the bean salad you’d been all but shoveling into your mouth, trying to finish in the short lunch break between classes. You cursed, grabbing a napkin and whirling in your chair to face the intruder. 

“Jimin?” You balked, eyebrows creasing as you wonder why on earth he is in your classroom. 

“Miss Y/L/N. Do you have a moment?” he didn’t look any happier to see you than you were to find him at your door. Now that you knew he was the culprit of your spilled salad, you were even more irritated. Not only was he interrupting the one bit of time in the day you have to yourself, but he made you lose nearly half your lunch!

Grunting in response, you gestured to the many chairs in your classroom. He eyed them dubiously before finally strolling over and taking an uncomfortable seat on a chair meant for an 8 year old. If you weren’t so annoyed, you’d find it comical. 

“Why are you here?” you finally asked after a moment of awkward silence.

He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “I need to ask a favor.”

You couldn’t help the bark of laughter that came out of you. “A favor? From me?”

“Look, I don’t like it, but I don’t really have any other choices here.” He took a deep breath and leaned his elbows on the table before him, hunching awkwardly to try to get comfortable in the elementary furniture. “You know the recital?”

“The one you put on every year that everyone raves about, that is a glorified choir concert?” you said. “Of course I know it.”

His brows furrowed angrily at your description. He opened his mouth to retort, but seemed to  think better of it, closing his mouth and clenching his jaw until you could see the muscles twitch. It was… unfortunately, extremely attractive. Why does the biggest asshole at work also have to be the hottest? You thought.

“Well,” Jimin started, snapping you out of ogling him. You looked away, embarrassed. He continued unphased, his voice low and angry. “Despite being promised some sort of budget to put on the show this year, I’ve been left high and dry again. Principal Walker told me to talk to you about making decorations for the performance. We need snowflakes and flowers, at least two of each for each kid but likely more if you have time.”

“You want me to make decorations for your show myself?” you asked, incredulous. 

“No, of course not,” he answered. “The kids should make them. Work it into the curriculum. You already have supplies- glue, construction paper, pipe cleaners, and so on.”

“Jimin,” you said, setting the remains of your salad to the side to focus on this absurd conversation. “I already have the curriculum planned out for the rest of the year. We only have time for a few more projects, and especially clay will take at least a few weeks. I don’t have time, sorry.” You added the sorry as an afterthought, not really feeling the sentiment but following the urge to be polite despite your dislike of him.

He cleared his throat, fidgeting awkwardly in his seat again. 

“What?” you barked, wanting him to spit out whatever he was clearly fighting with himself about saying.

“Mr Walker told me that it wasn’t a request. That the kids will like making the decorations and will be proud of them. We’ve been tasked to work together on this.” 

You gaped at him and he looked down, refusing to meet your eyes. Swirling rage welled up in you. “So I have to re-plan the entire rest of the year?”

“The recital is in March, so not the whole year,” he offered. “Just like, the next two months.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh okay, just half the remaining year then, as if that’s so much better. Unbelievable.”

A moment rolled by, tension thick in the air as both of you sat glaring at each other. 

“Miss Y/L/N?” your head whipped over to the door, where one of your students had arrived early. Her face broke out into a grin when her eyes landed on Jimin. “Mr Park?! My two favorite teachers are in one room!” she exclaimed, bounding over to her seat. 

“Mr Park, will you be here for class today?” she asked. 

Jimin extricated himself out of the small chair and stood. His face was lit with a smile, an expression so wholly different from the way he’d just been looking at you that it was hard to believe it was even the same person. “No, I’m sorry, Anjelica. I was just leaving. But I will see you tomorrow at music class! Your favorite.” He shot the words over this shoulder with a smirk. All the kids always raved about music class with Mr Park, but since you took over the art class there’d been rumblings that the kids were doing the same with your class. You bristled, feeling competitive. If he was going to behave this way- always cold, demanding favors- you were going to do your damndest to steal his title of ‘Favorite Class.’

Y/N:

A long conversation with Principal Walker confirmed what Jimin had told you. Despite your protests, he refused to budge from his decree and you spent the entire weekend re-writing lesson plans and rearranging your curriculum for the remainder of the year. When you weren’t working on school stuff or sleeping, you were on the phone with your long distance bestie, Lisa, complaining ad nauseam about Jimin and the fact that you were being essentially forced to help him. 

By the time Monday rolled around, you felt as if you hadn’t even had a weekend. That exhaustion made you angry, and that anger fueled you as you stomped over to the music room before the school day had started and banged on the door. 

“Wha- Oh.” His expression changed from curiosity to a barely concealed glower as soon as he opened the door and saw you. “What do you need?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, bristling at his tone whilst simultaneously trying not to let your eyes dart down to his plump lips. They looked so soft, you wanted to bite them and draw blood. 

Clearing your throat, you met his dark eyes and tried to focus on why you were there. “If we’re going to have to work together on this, I need some direction.”

“Why? Do you really not know how to teach kids to make snowflakes and flowers? How did you get the art teacher gig if you don’t know that?” He sat on the edge of his desk as he spoke, black pants stretching across what were surely muscular thighs. He folded his arms, mimicking your stance, and you couldn’t help but notice as the sleeves of his jacket rose revealing veiny forearms. Focus, y/n. Focus on how much of an asshole he is.

“Of course I know how to teach kids to make that stuff. What I need to know are details. Do you need one or more specific kinds of flowers? Is there a color theme we need to stick to? Should the snowflakes be plain like made with white paper or should they have glitter or other decorations? Do you want me to keep going or do you get it now?” you finished, trying to refrain from grinding your teeth. He just made you so angry with this condescension. It was almost better when he wasn’t talking to you at all. 

“I see,” he said pointedly. “The kids can do whatever they want with the snowflakes, glitter, string, whatever else. As long as they stay mostly white. For the flowers, they need to be spring flowers. Tulips, daffodils, lilacs, lily of the valley.”

“A bunch of 7 year olds are not going to be able to make lilacs out of elementary art supplies.”

Jimin rolled his eyes. “Okay well you get the picture. Spring flowers only.”

“Got it.”

“Don’t screw this up, y/n. This performance is the highlight of the year for some of these kids. I’m trusting you with this huge part of it. The decorations better not wreck the show.”

If this were a cartoon, red would be rising up your body, whistling steam coming out of your ears. “My decorations will make the show. They’ll outshine your songs. And art class will become the new favorite class.”

He smirked, gesturing to the door. “It’s a contest then? May the best man win. Class is about to start, I suggest you head back to the art room.”

JIMIN:

“2 Iced Americanos for Jimin!” the barista announced over the cafe loudspeaker. Jimin got up from his seat to grab his drink. As soon as his hands closed over the iced coffees he regretted his choice. It was far too cold outside, and it would have been nice to wrap his hands around a warm drink. But, Erick always drank iced no matter the weather and Jimin had panic ordered, being too stressed with work to put any thought into anything else. Even something as simple as a coffee order. 

Just as he resumed his seat, a familiar face walked through the door. Jimin held his hand up to catch Erick’s eye, who smiled and took his seat across from his old university roommate.

“Chim! It’s been a minute. I’m glad we found time to grab a coffee and catch up,” he said, beaming at his old friend. 

Jimin took a sip of his drink and shivered. “I know! We’ve barely had time to see each other since you left Darling. I miss working together.”

Erick winced. “I do and I don’t miss it. I hated that job. I was so happy when they let me go.”

“What?” Jimin coughed, choking on his next sip of coffee. “You were happy? It was so slimy though, letting you go so they could hire a new art teacher instead of giving you tenure.”

“Well, yeah, it was slimy, but it was a relief. I was thinking about quitting anyway. Stacey and I want to start trying to have kids, and I just couldn’t imagine being around kids all day and then going home and taking care of more kids. I needed a career shift.”

Jimin sat for a moment, reordering events in his mind. This whole time he had been villainizing Y/n in his mind, thinking she came in and stole Erick’s job right from under him. Now he was finding out that Erick was not only relieved to go, but was likely going to quit anyway? 

“What is that look for? What are you thinking so hard about?” Erick asked. 

“I just didn’t know that.”

“I told you we were trying to have kids.”

Jimin waved this away. “I knew that, you guys told me at your holiday party. I didn’t know you wanted to leave Darling. I didn’t know you were happy to get laid off.”

“Yeah it was honestly great.” Erick said with a shrug. “But what does that matter?”

“Well…” Jimin cringed. “I haven’t exactly been very nice to your replacement…”

Erick’s jaw dropped. Jimin was almost never not nice. 

“I thought she stole your job!” Jimin said, defensive. 

“Dude, even if she did, it wouldn’t be her fault that the school did something shitty.”

Jimin wanted to fold into himself, suddenly ashamed for his behavior the last few months. Sure, he hadn’t been outwardly mean to y/n, but he had pointedly ignored her. Given how friendly he was to everyone else, surely she would have noticed. 

“You should probably fix that,” Erick said, laughing. “Also, if you’re that upset at how they treated me, maybe you should look for another job.”

“I was over winter break. Right now I’m so focused on the recital it’s hard to think about much else.”

Erick paused, then chuckled again. “I can’t believe you weren’t nice to someone. We roomed together for 2 years in college, I never saw you be anything but nice.”

“I was trying to be a good friend. Loyal,” Jimin whined. “Now I feel like a dick.”

“You might have been a little bit of a dick, but it’s not too late to fix it. You see her every day at work I’m sure, just start being nice.”

“Not too nice though, she is trying to steal my thunder at the performance.” Jimin explained to Erick that he once again got no budget for the recital, and had to resort to asking y/n for help from the art class. 

“So let me ask you this,” Erick said, once Jimin had told him the entire story. “Is this girl hot?”

Jimin blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Um,” he coughed, unsure how to answer. “I mean. Sure, she is attractive.”

Erick smirked. “I think you have a crush on her.”

“What?! No, I don’t even like her.”

“You thought you didn’t like her because you thought she stole my job. She didn’t. You think you’re annoyed at her for saying her decorations will outshine your songs, but you don’t hear yourself talk about her. She’s helping you with the show.”

“Because she has to-”

“Sure she has to but she clearly wants to do a good job.  I don’t know, Chim, maybe I’m wrong, but the only other time I’ve seen you be this animated talking about someone was when you dated Clarissa back in college. I think there could be something here with this girl if you pull your head out of your ass.”

“Ughhh,” Jimin groaned, disliking nearly everything Erick was saying. But, as one of Jimin’s oldest friends, Erick knew how to read him better than most, despite the fact that they hadn’t spent much time together since Erick left Darling Elementary. Maybe he was onto something… but that was a possibility Jimin didn’t feel like considering at the moment. 

“Let’s talk about something else,” he grumbled.

Y/N:

You leaned against the break room counters, blowing on your coffee as Heather walked into the room.

“Hey!” Heather said, grinning. “Will you be at the teacher’s retreat next weekend?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there. I’m still so new, I don’t want to skip out on things like that and inadvertently ruffle any more feathers than I’ve already ruffled just by being here.”

She rolled her eyes, laughing as she poured herself a cup. “Are you referring to Jimin? You’re still convinced he doesn’t like you? I thought you were working together on the recital or something.”

“Is that what the rumor mill is saying? It’s more like I’m being forced by him and Principal Walker to rearrange my curriculum for the rest of the year to have the students make all the decorations.”  Several weeks had passed, and each day the students were getting more and more excited about the spring performance. They’d made all their snowflakes and were working on their flowers now, and it hadn’t cut into your normal curriculum as much as you’d thought. However, it was still disruptive to your flow and you were determined to stay annoyed at Jimin and Jimin only for it. 

“Oh that’s cute! They’ll be personalized and have more meaning. Plus I’m sure it will save Jimin a lot of money. He was determined after last year to have the school supply some funds for the show. I’m guessing they didn’t if he’s asking for homemade decor.”

Your attention was caught on one thing she’d said. “What do you mean, ‘save Jimin a lot of money’ ? Shouldn’t the school be funding this show each year? I assumed the budget was just a bit lower this year.”

“No,” Heather glanced around, making sure the room was empty before leaning in and lowering her voice. “This district notoriously does not give a shit about the arts. Despite all the praise the show gets every year, and how much students and parents and everyone look forward to it, the school has never provided any budget. Last year Jimin told me he ended up spending over $600 out of his own pocket on decor and set designs trying to make it perfect for the kids. But it made the rest of the year difficult for him financially. He put his foot down after that, saying he wasn’t going to spend a dollar of his own money anymore.”

“Oh shit, I didn’t know that,” you murmured, feeling guilty for giving him such a hard time about helping out. You just thought he didn’t get as big of a budget as he wanted or was being over the top. If you’d realized he’d been funding this all himself in years past you would have been more willing to help. Still irritated at reworking all your lesson plans, but you would’ve at least been nicer about it. “That sucks.”

“It does. He works so hard on it each year. I’m sure it’s hard for him to not be spending money to make it the best show possible, but I’m also sure the kids won’t care. They’ll love it anyway, especially if they get to feel like they’re helping with it by making the decorations during art class.”

“Mhmm,” you hummed, lost in thought. This put Jimin into a different light. You’d always just thought he was kind of an asshole. And he was, sometimes, to you. But a true asshole wouldn’t almost bankrupt himself to spend hundreds of dollars on a recital for 2nd graders. Maybe Heather was right, and you did need to lighten up a little when it came to Mr Park…

JIMIN:

Heaving a sigh, Jimin collapsed on the bed. A whirl of conflicting feelings about the weekend’s retreat overwhelmed him. On one hand, he needed a weekend away. He spent nearly all day during the week at school, running the music class as normal and preparing for the recital. On weekends, he stressed about not being able to be at school and get more work done. He hadn’t even chosen the final song yet, let alone taught the kids how to play it on their recorders. He’d just been so focused on a loose script and some makeshift set designs. While he was determined not to spend his own money, that commitment required more time to handcraft. Although y/n was helping immensely by providing the snowflakes and flowers needed, there was still a lot that fell on Jimin’s shoulders, and he alone would bear that burden.

However, as much as he needed a weekend away he would have rather it have been to visit his own friends or family versus spending the whole weekend with the colleagues he saw day in and day out anyway. And y/n. He’d continued to avoid her after his conversation with Erick, not wanting to face her and too embarrassed to admit that he had made a mistake. There would be no avoiding her on this trip, unless he wanted to still send the message he’d been sending since day one, but that wasn’t fair to her. None of it had been fair to her in the first place, and he knew he owed her an apology. 

“Ughhhh,” he groaned to himself, dragging himself off the bed. 

The school must have used the budget they’d refused to give him for the recital on this retreat- it was a nice hotel in the mountains about an hour away from the school. He’d heard some of the rooms even had jacuzzis, but was disappointed to find that his did not. 

While many of his colleagues had carpooled, Jimin drove up himself, wanting to arrive later so he could spend a bit more time getting work done. As much as he appreciated a getaway in a beautiful location, it stung that they were willing to spring for this but not for the kids’ beloved performance. But why would they, when Jimin had always foot the bill himself? They expected that, and intended to take advantage of his desire to do best for the kids as they had always done.

He shook off the thought, it left a terrible taste in his mouth and he hoped to actually use this weekend as a relax, recharge, reset. There were a few teacher workshops sprinkled into the schedule, and dinner as a group each night, but otherwise the teachers and school counsellors, psychs, and other admins had time to themselves. Jimin intended to spend the majority of that time in bed. But before he could do that, he needed to get ready for dinner. 

The first night’s dinner was informal. Rather than a suit such as he wore to school each day, he donned belted black jeans with a white t-shirt loosely tucked in. It was cold, so he slung an oversized yellow flannel and a leather jacket overtop. He slipped into a pair of black boots and pulled a beanie over his blonde locks. Patting his back pockets, he confirmed his wallet and room key were secured before leaving the safety on his room. 

Y/N:

Upon finding your name card on the dinner table, you groaned. Sure, you understood why assigned seats are nice for group events in theory, but when they placed you next to Park Jimin, you cursed their existence. You grabbed your place card, about to whisper shout to Heather across the table to ask her to move, when you heard his voice beside you.

“Hi.”

You froze, turning slowly. Jimin was actually looking at you with something that resembled kindness in his eyes. Blond hair fanned out over his eyes beneath a black beanie. You’d never seen him outside of school, where he was always dressed formally. Your voice caught in your throat, addled by how beautiful he looked and by the shock that he was paying any attention to you. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, his dark brows furrowing in concern as more time went by without you uttering a word, just staring at him dazedly.

“Yep!” you said, a little too loudly. You glanced away, needing to take your eyes off him to be able to string a sentence together. You set the place card back down. Now that he had seen you, there was no escaping the seating arrangements. With a sigh, you took your seat. You saw him hesitate for a brief moment out of the corner of your eye, but then he took his seat beside you. 

Sitting stiffly, you remained silent as your mind raced. Why was he talking to you? Why did he seem… nice? Something weird was going on, you wondered if you’d somehow fallen into an alternate universe.

As you awkwardly sat there taking sips of your water just for something to do, the table began to fill with your colleagues. As more and more people joined, everyone had to scootch in a bit to make room until your arm brushed Jimin’s every so often. 

“So,” Jimin said beside you. “How was your week?”

You glanced over, expecting him to be talking to whoever was seated on his left. However, his dark eyes were fixed on you. “Um,” you cleared your throat, fiddling with the napkin in your lap. You defaulted to talking about the common ground between you, thinking maybe he was just trying to find out where you were at in terms of progress for his show. “It was fine. The kids are excited about making the decorations. Principal Walker was right, they like feeling like they’re included in the creation of the production. And we’re making good progress, we will definitely have everything ready by the time you need it.”

He smiled, and being on the receiving end of that crooked tooth-ed smile took your breath away in a fashion you had not expected. “That’s great, but I wasn’t fishing for information on the status. I just wanted to check in. I-”

“Good evening faculty!” Principal Walker stood at the head of the table, and Jimin grimaced and shut his mouth. You wondered what he’d been starting to say, but didn’t dwell on it long as the principal gave a brief speech about the importance of community and an overview of the weekend’s schedule. 

The food was delivered shortly after the speech and you got to eating. Conversations flowed all across the table, and you found yourself chatting along with Jimin and others normally, as if there had never been any tension or frost between you. Though baffled by this change, the more wine you had the less you cared, just glad to avoid the awkwardness you’d been dreading ahead of the retreat. If Jimin was going to actually play nice for once, you weren’t going to look that gift horse in the mouth. You were, however, still determined to ‘win’ the little not-so-friendly competition between the two of you and be labeled ‘best class.’

JIMIN: 

As the weekend progressed, Jimin found it was just what he had needed. Sure the little work exercises were annoying, but he was finding himself spending more and more time with y/n and, to his surprise, enjoying it. He’d only been able to interact with her in group settings, however, and still hadn’t had the chance to really talk to her one on one and apologize for his prior behavior.

 He didn’t know how to approach that. He couldn’t exactly ask her to come to his room for a talk. That would be wildly inappropriate, and frankly now that he had admitted to Erick, and himself, that she was attractive he didn’t think he’d be able to handle being alone with her. He’d get all giggly and nervous. So, he’d spent his free time taking naps or watching TLC in his hotel room, trying not to think about her.

The final night of the retreat had come, and everyone was meeting at the hotel bar for a final mixer. It was the only ‘formal’ event of the getaway, and Jimin had donned black slacks and white button up with the sleeves rolled up past his forearms due to the blasting heat in the bar. He was one of the first to arrive and ordered a glass of champagne. He was whirling it in it’s glass, taking the occasional sip, when y/n strolled in. 

He froze, swallowing thickly as his eyes roved over her body. Though technically her dress was appropriate in that it did not violate any school dress codes, the way the black satin clung to her curves should have been illegal. She caught him staring and smiled as she raised a hand to wave. He sent her a thin lipped smile before promptly downing the rest of the champs and turning around to order another. If she was going to look like that all night, he needed some more alcohol in him to survive.

As the night wore on Jimin continued to mingle, making sure to talk to everyone at least once. At the start he was carefully avoiding y/n, afraid that he would say something stupid. However he could not deny the draw he felt towards her, especially not when he’d been continuing to drink.

Before long they found themselves leaning against the bar side by side, lost in conversation. One by one their colleagues returned to their rooms, but Jimin and y/n couldn’t pull themselves away until they were the only patrons left in the bar.

“So do you have one of those, uh,” he floundered, searching his mind for the word he was thinking of. “Those things in some of the rooms. Scuzzis?” Jesus Christ, he couldn’t even talk, he was so dazzled by her.

She laughed, and the sound was like the ringing of the most enchanting bells in Jimin’s mind. He couldn’t help but grin, despite the fact that he’d just made a fool of himself. “You mean jacuzzis? Yeah, I do. I haven’t tried it yet, though.”

“I’m jealous. When I heard they were in some of the rooms I hoped I’d get one, but alas. You’ll have to try it tonight and let me know what you think.”

“Excuse me,” the bartender interrupted, sliding two bills before them. “Sorry, but we’re closing.”

“Oh shit,” Jimin cursed, checking the time on his phone. Sure enough, it was nearing bar close. He didn’t know where the night had gone. He didn’t want it to end. He slid his card over onto both bills. “I got this,” he said when y/n started to reach for her own wallet.

“Are you sure?” 

“Of course. It was really nice talking to you,” he said, trying to get himself to say goodbye.

“It was,” she smiled. “Um. Would you want to come to my room for a nightcap? You could try that scuzzi.” She added with a wink, and he couldn’t help the ‘Yes’ that burst from his mouth as soon as she finished speaking.

Y/N:

As you slipped out of your dress and into your bikini, you couldn’t believe how bold you’d been at the bar. You just couldn’t handle the thought of the night ending quiet yet. Jimin was not what you ever would have expected. Before, you knew he could be kind, but being the focal point of his soft voice and his smile had butterflies erupting in your stomach. But he was also silly, stumbling over his words occasionally and whining about how the timeframe in Rings of Power is too compressed, though the cinematography was magnificent. You’d never seen this side of him, dorky and hilarious, and you wanted to see more. 

So you invited him to your room before you could stop yourself. Now, though, as a knock sounded at your door, the nerves were setting in. You took a deep breath and opened the door. 

Jimin stood before you in naught but black swim trunks, a white towel slung over his shoulder. Your eyes roved over his body unwittingly, snagging on a bold lettered tattoo scratched along his side. You’d never even considered that he may be tattooed under those suits he always wore. You had to forcibly drag your eyes away from the way the words stretched over the taut muscles of his abdomen. 

He smiled, catching your gaze. “I’m here for the jacuzzi” he emphasized. “Is that still alright?”

“Of course,” you said, swallowing your nerves and stepping aside from the door to let him in. “I’m ready.”

“I can see that,” he said, eyes darting down and back up as he took in your bikini clad body. 

“Well, let’s get in,” you said, closing the door to your room. The jacuzzi was situated just across from the bed, a button on the wall behind it to start the bubbles. You pushed the button, hoping the bubbles would somehow help dissipate some of the tension in the room. The air between you felt electric with attraction and champagne. 

You slipped beneath the water, groaning as you sunk deeper, becoming encased in warmth. 

“Don’t do that,” Jimin said, shuddering as he climbed in and sat across from you. “It sounds sinful.”

“Sorry,” you said, giggling. “So what do you think? Worth it?”

“Worth what?” he said, eyes half lidded in bliss.

“Worth coming all the way to my room? For the jacuzzi?”

“It was worth coming all the way to your room just to see you in that swimsuit. The scuzzi is just a cherry on top,” his eyes flew open as he spoke, seeming to take even himself by surprise with his words. “I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “That was inappropriate. I’ve had a lot of champagne, my filter is-”

“It’s okay,” you cut him off. “It wasn’t exactly appropriate of me to invite you here anyway, either.”

“But I’m glad you did,” he said. 

“Are you?”

He gazed at you for a long moment, no sound but the bubbling water between you. Finally, he moved, sliding over until he sat by your side. “Is this okay?” he murmured, barely audible above the bubbles. 

“Yes,” you whispered back, breathless with his proximity. He leaned closer until his lips were hovering over yours, nearly touching. Your eyes fluttered shut, breathing him in before closing the small distance. As soon as your lips touched, the tension in the room, between you, burst through whatever dam was holding it back and overwhelmed you both. It was a soft kiss for the briefest of moments before Jimin deepened it, slipping his tongue into your mouth and pulling you into his lap.

“You looked,” he groaned between kisses. “So fucking good in that dress tonight.”

You shivered at his words, heat that even trumped the warmth of the jacuzzi pooling between your legs. “You looked amazing too. So handsome. You always look so handsome.” You ground your hips against his, seeking friction.

He placed his hands on your hips, holding you still. “Please don’t do that unless you want to take this further. I can’t handle it.”

You pulled away just long enough to start peppering kisses along that sharp jaw of his. The one that had fallen open now, despite always being tightly closed in annoyance in your presence. You moved your hips again.

“Do you really want this, y/n?” he said, placing two fingers beneath your chin to make you meet his eyes. They were darkened with lust, his lips red and swollen already from the force of your kissing. 

“Yes,” you said, twisting your fingers around the blond strands of his hair and pulling him close again.

“God,” he moaned, reaching between your bodies to slip his fingers beneath your swimsuit bottoms. “How are you so wet?”

You laughed. “We’re in a jacuzzi, everything is wet.”

“Not like this,” he said, biting your shoulder before licking the same spot. “I can tell the difference between you and the water. The water isn’t so slick. It isn’t even so warm,” a finger slipped inside you and your head fell to his shoulder. “So tight.”

You felt his firm length beneath you and reached down, needing to feel him in your hand. “You’re so hard already,” you moaned. His fingers began to pump slowly inside you, his thumb swirling over your clit in a way that made it hard to think. “Do you want me that bad?”

“I want you. So bad, baby,” he said, shivering as you wrapped your hand around his cock and began to pump. “But I don’t have protection. So I’m going to have to get you off like this. I need to see you cum, I want to see the face you make. I bet it’s so pretty.” You didn’t answer, too lost in the feeling of his fingers inside you, over you. Your eyes fluttered shut as heat began to swirl in your belly.

“Close,” you whimpered, grinding your hips faster to chase the high. 

“Come on baby, you can do it. Come for me. Just like that. So pretty.” The encouragement sent you over the edge along with his voice, low and husky with lust. You trembled as you came apart, gasping at the overwhelming pleasure. When it was over, you slumped against him, taking a moment to catch your breath. Your hand had stilled on his still hard cock, and as soon as you had even remotely recovered, you wanted it.

“I have protection,” you said. “I always keep a condom in my suitcase. Just in case.”

He smiled, leaning in to kiss you. “Smart girl. Responsible girl.” He looked at you carefully, gauging your reaction as he continued to play with your pussy. “Good girl.” He must have felt as you gushed and twitched at his praise, for his smile widened sinfully. “Let’s get out and get on the bed to do this. There has to be some sort of health hazard to sex in a hotel jacuzzi.”

You laughed as you regretfully pulled yourself apart from him to exit the water. That laughter died as soon as his fingers slipped out of you. The sudden emptiness was entirely unacceptable. After rushing to dry off as quickly as possible, you rifled around in your suitcase until you found the condom and tossed it over to Jimin, who was running a towel over himself. You both peeled off your wet swimsuits and hung them up like responsible adults before crawling onto the bed. You glanced down to confirm Jimin had slipped the condom over himself. His dick stood firm, long and thick and ready for you. 

“I need you,” you whispered, sliding under him and pulling his face down until his lips met your own. You slanted your hips upwards, brushing your pussy against his length. 

“So impatient,” he said, running his dick over your folds. “Can you take me? Are you wet enough? I can go down on you first if you want.”

You didn’t answer, couldn’t, so focused on the way his cock was running along your sex. He took your lack of response as a ‘no’ and began to pull away, but you grabbed him. “No, no. I don’t want to wait. I’m plenty wet. Trust me. I don’t know if I’ve ever been this turned on.”

“Me either,” he answered, breathless as he pressed inside you. “God, you feel so good.”

“So do you,” you moaned as he settled his hips against yours, fully inside. 

“Are you good? Can I move?”

You nodded, “So good. Please move.” 

He didn’t waste another second, slowly pulling out before pressing back in and gradually increasing his speed. He pumped with a smooth roll to his hips that had you briefly wondering if he was a dancer. The control he had over his body, the way he was able to reach the innermost parts of you with fluid strokes, had you guessing he was. But then he hit that spot deep inside you that rendered you unable to think much of anything other than the feeling of him.

He grabbed one leg, hoisting it up and resting it over his arm before leaning down to kiss you. “You look so fucking incredible. I wish you could see how well you take my dick. How hot my girl is.”

You could do no more than mewl at his words as he pounded into you, the new position allowing him to reach even deeper. He hammered against your g-spot with every stroke, and you felt yourself almost vibrating with your impending orgasm.

“Are you close, baby? I can feel you getting even tighter.” You closed your eyes, pushing your head into the pillow when he grabbed your chin and slipped his thumb into your mouth. You sucked on instinct, opening your eyes to look into his own hungry ones. “That’s it baby, I want to see that pretty face again. I need to see how your eyes roll back into your head when you come.”

You bit down hard on him when the wave crashed into you, drowning you entirely in pleasure. The world shuddered black and white as you trembled, coming apart so entirely on his cock that you didn’t know if you’d ever be able to put yourself back together. A few more pumps that you barely even felt through the power of your orgasm and Jimin finished, collapsing beside you. 

“I need,” you slurred, drunk with pleasure (and a little bit of champagne, still). “To sleep now. That was incredible.”

Jimin huffed out a breathless laugh. “You have to get cleaned up first, babe.”

“I don’t think I can walk.”

He pressed a kiss to your brow. “Then I did my job well. I’ll take care of it. Just go to sleep.”

You curled into the covers, drifting away almost as soon as he was finished speaking. You vaguely felt as he cleaned you up with a warm, damp cloth, but that was all before you slipped into a deep, restful sleep.

JIMIN:

Jimin was yanked from the best sleep he’d had in ages by the alarm blaring on his phone. Eyes flying open, he felt disoriented as he glanced about the room. He sat in a ruffled, empty bed, but this wasn’t his hotel room, was it? 

As soon as he laid his eyes on the jacuzzi, drunken memories came back in a rush. This was y/n’s hotel room. He and y/n had…. Wait. Where was she?

“Y/n?” he called out, climbing out of bed and checking the bathroom. He checked the closet, there were no clothes. No sign that she had ever even been here. Surely he hadn’t imagined the night before. Even in his wildest dreams he couldn’t have come up with sex that good. And how else would he be waking in a different hotel room? 

Guilt gnawed at him as he thought of her, and why she may have vanished without a word in the morning. He’d never had the chance to explain why he had always been cold to her before. They’d been lost in conversation all night and then… well. Alcohol had lowered his inhibitions and his thought processing. He should have explained, ironed everything out, before jumping into bed with her. What must she think of him? Rude, until he had the chance to fuck her? He cringed, hoping that wasn’t the case. But why else would she be gone now? 

He grabbed his phone, hoping to send her a message before realizing he didn’t even have her number. He was just starting to really like her, becoming more and more enchanted the longer they’d talked, and he already royally fucked this up. With a sigh, he pushed his hand through his hair and grabbed his still damp swimsuit, pulling it on just for coverage before heading back to his room and packing up to head home. 

Y/N:

You’d fought off tears the entire drive home from the retreat, filled with regret. How could you sleep with Jimin, who had always made it clear he didn’t like you? And worse, after spending the weekend with him, getting to know him, you were actually starting to really like him. 

Your first instinct when you got home was to call Heather and tell her since she was only friend of yours that knew you both, but you thought better of it after careful consideration. You were still new to this school, after all, and though you didn’t think Heather would tell anyone else, you didn’t want to risk word getting out that you’d had a one night stand with a coworker. 

So, you picked up the phone and called Lisa instead. Sure, she didn’t know Jimin directly, but you had complained to her enough in the past about your hot asshole coworker, so she had the background to understand the gravity of what had happened. 

“Hey,” Lisa said, answering on the first ring. “‘Sup. How was that retreat? Are you driving home?”

“I’m home now, but I actually called to talk to you about that. The retreat was fine, but do you remember that colleague I told you about that was nice to everyone but me?”

“The music teacher?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course. What happened? Was he a dick to you this weekend? I bet it was awkward having to be at a retreat together.”

“Well that’s the thing. It was weird. He was nice all weekend.”

“What? That is weird. Maybe someone talked to him and told him to stop being an ass?”

That thought had not occurred to you, but you brushed it aside for the moment, focused on telling Lisa the rest of the story. You rushed through it, divulging all the details about how he’d been friendly since the start of the weekend and you’d decided to match his energy to avoid conflict. How you’d been lost in conversation at the bar that final night and drunkenly invited him up to your room for the jacuzzi. How he’d fucked you better than you’d ever been fucked, and lastly how you’d slipped out of bed the next morning and rushed out the door, panicking. 

“Holy fucking shit,” she said when you were finally finished. “So you didn’t say anything?”

“No, I left while he was sleeping.”

“Has he texted you or anything?”

You pulled your phone away from your ear to check for notifications from an unknown number. “No. I’m sure he’s feeling the same way I am this morning. Embarrassed. Maybe he’s also repulsed.”

“You don’t know that, I’m sure that’s not the case. Does he even have your number to reach out if he wants to?”

“Now that I think about it, probably not. I don’t remember ever giving it to him.”

“So he doesn’t even have the opportunity to contact you.”

You merely hummed in response, unsure how to feel about that.

“What do you want to do now, do you like him?”

You chewed your lip, weighing your answer. “That’s part of the reason this sucks. I think I do like him. Especially after last night. I’ve never had that sort of chemistry with someone, especially not the first time having sex. It was crazy. But, he hates me.”

“You don’t know that,” she reiterated. “Maybe whatever was up his ass earlier in the school year died and fell out. I don’t know, y/n, but I think you should talk to him. If you want to. If you don’t, then fuck him.”

“Thats the problem, Lis, I did fuck him,” you said, laughing despite yourself. “I’ll have to talk to him eventually, we’re working on this annual music performance thing together. But that’s not for another couple of weeks, so I think I can avoid him for a while.”

“I’m not sure if avoiding him is the way to go, but I support women’s rights and wrongs so I’ll back you whatever you do.” You smiled, grateful to have someone like her in your corner. “Look, I gotta go, but think about it. And call me tomorrow after you’re back at school, I want to know how it goes.” 

“Will do,” you said, hanging up the phone and heaving a sigh. You had no idea what you were going to do.

JIMIN:

The past week had been agony for Jimin. At first he was looking forward to getting back to school, hoping to see Y/n and speak to her, maybe ask for her number and take her out. But he hadn’t had sight or sound of her on Monday. On Tuesday he bumped into her in the break room before class. His heart soared until he caught the look on her face- pure panic- as she abruptly stood from her seat and rushed out of the room without a word. 

That happened a few more times throughout the week, enough that Jimin got the message that Y/n was avoiding him loud and clear. Clearly, she needed space after what happened. She must regret it, must dislike him after the way he’d treated you for the first half of the school year, and who was he to blame you? He probably would have felt the same way. But that didn’t make it sting any less. 

By the end of the week he simply couldn’t take it any longer. It pained him, he wanted to see her smile again, wanted to hear her laugh and talk to her again. But instead she rushed out of any room he walked into. So he picked up the phone and called the one person who knew about the situation.

“Erick, I fucked up,” he said as soon as his friend answered the phone. “That teacher I told you about, the one that took your job. You were right, when you guessed that I liked her. I didn’t know it then, but we had this retreat last weekend and long story short we had a few drinks and may have ended up hooking up.”

“Really? So you made up for the way you acted before?”

Jimin cringed. “That’s the thing, I didn’t get a chance to talk to her about that. To apologize.”

“What do you mean you didn’t get the chance? If you hooked up clearly you spent some time together. You could have said it then.”

“Well, yeah, I should have said it then. Before having sex with her. But we just got lost in conversation, I didn’t want to spoil the mood. I was enjoying getting to know her.”

“Okay, why didn’t you talk to her after?”

“She’s been avoiding me like the plague ever since. She was gone when I woke up, and I don’t have her number.”

“Get it from someone else. Surely someone at work has it.”

“I don’t want to overstep. She is clearly telling me, without actually telling me, that she needs space. I’ve already crossed a line by sleeping with her. I don’t want to make it worse by disrespecting her boundaries.”

Erick laughed, and Jimin scowled at the noise. “What?” he snapped. 

“Jimin, you’re an idiot. You’re giving her space because you’re afraid to talk to her and you’re making excuses to make yourself feel better about it.”

Jimin was silent, stewing at the truth in the words that he didn’t want to accept. When he didn’t speak for a moment, Erick continued. “You shouldn’t be giving her space right now unless she explicitly asks for it. You were a dick to her all year, then you two slept together, and now you’re not making any effort to talk to her about it? The ball is in your court, man. You need to fix this if you want to get anywhere with her. Even if it’s just to be cordial coworkers.”

“Now that I’ve…” he hesitated, trying to choose the right words. “Now that I’ve been with her, seen a different side to her, I don’t know if I could handle just being coworkers. That night would always be seared into my mind whenever I looked at her.”

“That good, huh?”

“The best.”

“Then you need to fix it.”

Y/N:

The door to the music classroom stood, menacing, before you. You’d been staring at it for the better part of five minutes, trying to work up the courage to knock. Taking a deep breath, you shifted the bag full of the flower decorations the kids had made to one arm and lifted the other, making a fist but stopping just short of the door, freezing once again.

Abruptly the door swung open, leaving you face to face with a startled Jimin. “Oh,” he said stiffly. “Hi.”

You awkwardly laughed, putting your hand down. “Sorry, I was just about to knock. I have the decorations, the kids finished at the end of last week. The flowers are in this bag, the snowflakes in the other. I had them put their names on the backs so they can pick them out and give them to their families.”

His eyes darted down to the two bags in your hands. “Great, thank you. Um, do you want to come inside for a minute?” He asked, stepping aside from the door to make room for you to pass.

“Uh, okay, sure…” you said. “Where do you want these?”

“I’ll take them,” he said, grabbing both bags from you. He opened one, peering inside and smiled. “These are perfect, Y/n. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you said, shifting from foot to foot. You didn’t know if you’d ever felt this uncomfortable before. However, at the same time your body was reacting to being in the same room with him for the first time since you’d left the hotel. Your skin was hot, and you felt tingly in your lower belly. Why did he have to smell so good? Like eucalyptus and winter. 

You needed to get out of here before you did something stupid. “Is that all?” you said. “I should go.” You took a step towards the door but he rushed forward, grabbing your wrist loosely with one hand. 

“Wait, Y/n, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“We don’t have to talk about what happened,” you said, trying and failing to laugh it off. “It’s all good.”

“No, it’s not. Please, just let me explain some things.”

“I-” you hesitated, looking towards the door. You wanted to rush out the door and escape the tension of the situation, but you knew that wouldn’t make anything better. The least you could do is hear him out. “Okay.”

“Alright,” Jimin dropped your hand and stuffed both of his in his pockets before leaning against his desk. “When you got hired, it was on the heels of one of my closest friends being let go.” Your mouth opened in shock, but Jimin held up a hand to stop you from speaking. “Just let me finish, I want to get this right. He was up for tenure, but instead of giving it to him, they laid him off and hired a brand new art teacher.” He gestured towards you. “I… obviously didn’t handle it well. I was angry on his behalf, and rather than taking it out on the school board who was actually responsible, I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair. It wasn’t your fault, and I’m sorry.”

You paused for a moment, digesting his words. “I had no idea, that’s really shitty of the school to do.”

“Yes, it is. This district doesn’t really give a fuck about their teachers, but that’s beside the point. The point is that I was an asshole and I shouldn’t have been. Erick didn’t want this job anyway. When I told him how I’d been acting, he scolded me.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “You deserved it.”

“I know. Y/n, I can’t tell you how sorry I am. Especially after getting to know you better this weekend. I- I think you’re a great person. You’re interesting, and beautiful, and were kind to me even though I definitely didn’t deserve it.”

“Thank you,” you said, feeling your cheeks flush hot with the praise. “I really appreciate it. I’m sorry as well, for being kind of a brat when you asked me to help with the decorations. I know it must have been difficult for you to ask, and it sucks that the school left you in the lurch this year. I should have just helped without complaining. And I’m sorry for saying my kids’ decorations were going to outshine your show. That was childish of me.”

He grinned. It was perhaps the most beautiful smile you’d ever seen. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

You sighed, feeling lighter. “So we’re good?”

“We’re good.”

JIMIN:

The big day had come, and Jimin wiped sweaty palms on his pants nervously. No matter how many times he put on this show, the nerves never got better. Kids were unpredictable, and he always felt pressure to improve upon the year before. That was difficult this year, considering his refusal to spend his own money again.

For the last couple of months, the main focus of each music class was learning the songs and the structure of the performance. The kids had been doing wonderfully at practice the last two weeks, and he could tell how excited they were for the big day. He’d taken the decorations the kids made and sprinkled the snowflakes throughout the seats in the auditoriums. The kids all had their own flowers, so they would give those to their families during the last song, symbolizing the end of winter and the coming of spring. Though they weren’t all perfect, Jimin hoped that the personal touches of the decorations would make up for any flaws. 

“Alright everyone!” Jimin said, addressing the 2nd graders in their choir stands. He whispered behind the curtain, trying to avoid being heard by the audience. “We’ve gone over this, you know these songs like the backs of your hands! Let’s make this the best performance Darling Elementary has ever seen!”

He gave the cue for the music to start and as the children began to sing, the curtains slowly opened. Jimin rushed off to the side, not wanting to block the view. He’d be right there to step in if he was needed, but he felt confident that the kids could rattle off the songs without him. His eyes scanned the crowd, smiling as he gazed out over the grinning faces of teachers and parents. 

His smile widened when his eyes snagged on Y/n out in the audience. He’d felt better since their chat a few weeks back, ironing things out. But, he still had not said everything he’d wanted to say, and he had been too busy with any last minute preparations to slip over to the art room during school. And, damn him, he still hadn’t gotten her number. 

While he knew he should really peel his eyes away from her and focus on the kids, he just couldn’t. She looked so beautiful, eyes shining and lips curled up into a smile as she watched the kids sing and do their hard-practiced little dances. Throughout the entire performance he simply couldn’t take his eyes off her. 

As the last song started, the kids pulled their flowers from their pockets, making their way down into the audience to find their loved ones while still singing. They gave them their flowers and returned back up to the stage as the song came to a close, ending the show. Jimin stepped out to bow along with them, addressing the crowd for the first time. 

“Thank you all for coming! We hope you enjoyed the fifth annual Darling Elementary spring recital.” His eyes followed Y/n as she stood, preparing to leave with the crowd. Compelled to speak to her at once, he rushed off stage to catch up with her. Parents immediately surrounded him, congratulating him on another job well done, another great performance this year, what a wonderful touch having the kids create the props, and though he was grateful, he really was, all he could think of was y/n leaving. He’d missed so many opportunities to say everything he wanted to say, he’d be damned if he missed another. 

“Thank you so much,” he said, smiling and trying his best to be friendly though he felt rushed. “I just have to speak to someone quickly, but I appreciate everyone’s kind words!”

He slipped through the crowd, trying not to be rude as people tried to stop him. He chased her all the way out to the parking lot, shivering in his suit jacket as he called her name. She stopped, hand stretched towards the driver's side door of what must have been her car. 

“Jimin?” she looked startled, brows pinching in confusion as she put her gloved hand above her eyes to block out the sun.

He jogged over, murmuring a breathless “Hi” when he finally reached her.

“What are you doing? You should still be in there, talking to people.” 

“I know, I-” He turned, shooting a glance back towards the school. “I just saw you out there, in the audience. And I knew I needed to talk to you.”

“Okay?” 

“People were complimenting the decorations. Thank you again for helping with those.”

“You said thank you already,” she replied, and if he didn’t know better he’d think she seemed… disappointed. Like she’d been hoping he would say something else. 

“I know. That’s… not really what I wanted to come out here and say.”

She raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to continue. 

“Look, Y/n, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since the retreat. I think you’re amazing, and I want to spend more time with you. Get to know you more.”

Her cheeks were flushed pink, and Jimin wasn’t sure if it was the chill or the effect his words had on her. “I would like that too, but-”

“But?” his heart stuttered in his chest.

“I don’t know how appropriate it would be, us being coworkers and all. If something happened, if it didn’t work out. My reputation could be on the line. What happened at the retreat was amazing, but it was unexpected.”

He smiled. “Is that all? Well I haven’t told Principal Walker yet, but I received an offer from another school. It seems word of the recitals has gotten out, I was approached by a music school. After what happened with Erick and the budget this year I’ve been hoping to switch schools, so the timing seemed perfect. Plus, there’s this incredible woman at my current school that doesn’t want to date a coworker.”

“Jimin,” you gasped. “Really?”

“Really. This will be my last year at this school. So, that being said, will you go out with me?”

“Yes,” she said, smiling up at him. “When?”

“Right now?”

“Now?!” she balked, laughing.

“I’ve been waiting to spend more time with you for weeks, I don’t want to wait any longer. So let’s go grab a drink. We can celebrate the recital.”

“And your new job,” she added. “I’d love to go grab a drink with you.”

“Amazing. I just have one more question.”

“Hmm?” she hummed as he inched closer. He reached up and lightly ran his fingers over her jaw. He did not miss the way her breath hitched at his touch.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered, his lips brushing hers. He felt rather than saw her smile before pressing her lips to his. It was like having water after a drought, getting to touch her again. He’d only had one taste but that was enough to have him addicted. He couldn’t wait to find out what the future would bring for them, together. 

[cowboyschumi]

HEARTLESS

Summary: Lando Norris has entered his heartless era with no intention of leaving it anytime soon. Now he’s hunting for prey on Raya, and that’s where he stumbles upon you.

Author’s note: Y'all really thirst over Mister Norris, my god. English is not my first language. Enjoy the reading lovelies, interactions are much appreciated.

Warnings: Slightly suggestive, cheating mention, cursing ig. Tried to be inclusive, reader's gender is not specified.

————————————————————————

COWBOYSCHUMI | 2025 All rights reserved. Do not copy, translate, or upload on other platforms.

————————————————————————

Luisa was the best Lando ever had, everyone knew it including him, but he wouldn’t admit it out loud. The only ones cheering over their breakup were jealous, parasocial thirteen-year-olds.

But that was long ago. He moved on pretty quickly, not exactly beating the cheating allegations. Russian model this, Brazilian actress that… and it was all true. There was no denying. He was really enjoying his singleness, having a blast every heated Sunday. But beyond that? Nothing. He got scared easily by commitment or brushed off any trace of a slight chance of dating someone seriously.

He didn’t know why, this tendency to avoid and escape. Deep down, he knew he was hurt. Not hurt by someone else, though. He did it all by himself, ruining the only real thing he ever had. Fans who cared pointed it out: 'His spark is missing,' 'We miss silly old Lando!'

And after claiming he didn’t want to mature because he was happy where he was, he finally matured. Or at least, he pretended to, showing himself as nonchalant and bold. Expressiveness and cameras were just a performance, because in his daily life, he still acted like a teenage boy, eager to get laid

Anyone with an average experience on dating apps knew they were the worst—a way to boost egos based on looks, only to end up rejected and discarded. Raya seemed different, more polite, you guessed. You weren’t the dating type, but curiosity got the best of you. You wanted to know what the hype was about.

Lando, on the other hand, spent most of his day on that app. Every girl swiped right on him, but he rarely matched with someone he actually liked. He wasn’t too strict about looks, he was more of a 'the bigger, the better' type of guy.

Raya wasn’t Tinder. Access was limited, and confidentiality was a must. That’s why you were really surprised when you got in after an exhausting approval process. Your friends freaked out, screamed, and practically climbed the walls of your apartment—the excitement was real. Maybe even a little more than yours.

"Hand me the phone." I don’t even know all these people you’re swiping left and right on." Your patience was limited, and your friends knew exactly how to test it. They kept using your Raya like it was theirs while you minded your own business, eating ice cream. You had no intention of swiping, and the girls knew it, that’s why they took matters into their own hands.

"Oh. My. God. Shut up."

"That’s Lando Norris!" One of them immediately snatched the phone from your friend’s hands.

"Who’s Lando Norris?"

They looked at you like you had just committed a crime, or like they’d seen a ghost behind you. You weren’t sure if your question was out of place or if it was the fact that you had just spoken with a spoonful of ice cream in your mouth

"You’re kidding, right?" Finally, one of them spoke after a long, awkward silence.

FOMO—a word used by chronically online people to describe the fear of missing out, not knowing what’s going on, feeling excluded. That was exactly how you felt for not knowing who Lando Norris was.

"Formula One driver?" Now the phone was in your hands. You were reading his description with the screen practically glued to your face, like a mom who can’t see a thing unless it’s that close.

"That guy beat Verstappen a few times, right?" That was the only thing you could come up with, just from scrolling through Twitter and catching bits of the news. You didn’t know a single thing about the sport.

And sometimes, famous people liked that: their love interests not knowing anything about them, their jobs, the rumors, or the creepy facts.

Your Raya profile didn’t have anything special, aside from your picture-perfect photos. Celebrities didn’t actually care about you deep down—only if you fit their beauty standards. Being active and checking profiles wasn’t on your to-do list. It was just pure curiosity.

But somehow, you two matched. May the universe know under what circumstances and why.

————————————————————————

"When will I have the chance to meet you?"

His text was blunt, like you already knew each other. Maybe even a little desperate.

"What happened to 'Hello, how are you, my name is…'?"

You answered sarcastically, but truthfully. Not introducing yourselves was kind of rude. But you got the point, Lando didn’t care about who you were or what you had to say. The quicker you ended up in his bed, the better.

He laughed at your text, you had the kind of sense of humor he’d fall for. He wouldn’t lie, he enjoyed how obsessed girls were with him and how quickly the dirty talk escalated with just one message. But to his surprise, you weren’t that easy to win over.

"Haha, sorry. Is dinner fine with you?"

Wow, he was really a bad texter. The driest you’d ever seen, dare you say. Was it a guy thing or just a wannabe mysterious famous person thing? You hoped the conversation would be better in person because, damn, it’d be a shame if his pretty face had nothing to say.

"Send me the addy. I don’t need an F1 driver picking me up, I’d rather pass."

Your fear of speed was a thing.

————————————————————————

Lando was attractive. You weren’t exactly interested, but nervousness ran through your veins. Dates always did this over you—stuttering, sweaty palms, and way too much overthinking. You even considered canceling, but your friends wouldn’t let you.

You were a fashion design student, meaning you had some knowledge of trends and what suited your silhouette. Lately, silky long attires were your go-to for night fits; simple, elegant. You dressed for yourself, for comfort, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the attention and the flattering compliments on your fashion sense.

Monaco was small. Getting anywhere was a short drive, so the Uber didn’t take long. But as you stepped out of the car, your stomach twisted. The restaurant in front of you was huge, glowing with warm lights, yet no people coming in or out. The classic internet trap flashed through your mind—what if there was no Lando Norris waiting for you at all?

“Y/N?”

His voice sounded unsure. He was glued to his phone, shamelessly checking if you actually looked like the pictures he’d been thirsting over on that awful app.

You turned around slowly, mentally cursing yourself, and then your friends. And there he was.

He really screamed Formula One driver. The expensive car gave him away immediately. You had boots on, and he was wearing sneakers, making him not nearly as tall as you expected. You bit your cheek, trying not to laugh at the fact that you were practically the same height.

How were you supposed to act on a date with someone worldwide famous?

Lando leaned in to kiss your cheek, but you instinctively extended your hand for a handshake instead. The night hadn’t even started, and you already wanted the earth to swallow you.

“Shall we?”

He offered his arm, effortlessly charming. Gentleman, innit?

You hesitated before looping your arm through his, still not saying a word. But as you stepped into the restaurant, your stomach dropped.

The place was empty. No other customers. Just you and him.

Your face went pale because there was only one explanation.

He did not…

“Mister Norris!”

A well-dressed waiter greeted him with familiarity. They knew each other. With a simple hand gesture, he led you both to your table. The level of formality made you feel like royalty.

Dim lighting, soft music. A candle flickered in the center of the round table, it had the scent of chocolate, if your nostrils weren’t failing you. The ambiance was undeniably beautiful.

He really outdid himself.

You sat down, eyes narrowing at him. "You did not rent out this whole place just for us."

"Yeah, I did."

Lando chuckled, his smile boyish—like a kid caught red-handed. You playfully shoved his shoulder, you hated surprises and gifts in any format.

Your face burned red, so you instinctively hid behind the menu. Of course, he noticed. He found it adorable.

His foot lightly tapped yours under the table, trying to get your attention. "Are we playing hide and seek now?"

You sighed, setting the menu down just so he could see you roll your eyes. "What are you ordering?" you asked in a hushed tone, like it was some kind of secret, despite the fact that no one else was around.

Your elbows rested on the table as you leaned slightly toward him. He did the same. The tiny candle was the only thing between you.

There was no need for flirtation or innuendos—the tension was already there.

For you two, banter was enough.

————————————————————————

"So, fashion designer, huh?" He asked, cutting his food, trying to throw the conversation toward you.

"So, Formula One driver, huh?" You mocked him, mimicking his tone—because, seriously, that was the most basic question ever. Your background was more than obvious; it was explicitly written on Raya. But you got it—he was just as nervous as you were.

One thing Lando was sure of: you weren’t like his other dates. My god, you were hard to get. An hour in, and there had been no physical contact at all—just chatter, chatter. Not that he was complaining. You were an interesting and undecipherable human being.

"How many girls have you brought here?"

You loved making people uncomfortable with your questions, especially when you already knew the answer—you just wanted to see their reaction. Lando practically choked on his food at your out-of-the-blue assumption.

"W-what?"

It was hilarious how fast he grabbed his water, like he couldn’t believe how unfiltered you were. You repeated the question, and he had no choice but to answer.

"I don’t know… two or three?"

At least he was honest. Or tried to be.

————————————————————————

Dinner happened, to your surprise, quickly—because time moved fast when you were really enjoying yourself, losing track of it completely. Luckily, the Formula One driver caught up with your jokes, knowing exactly how to turn them back on you. Like an Uno reverse card. For you, there was nothing more intimate than teasing each other mutually and just the right amount. Some people couldn’t take a joke, and that was such a turn-off. But Lando simply got you.

Now, you were exiting the glamorous restaurant, shoulders covered by his huge coat. Your laughter was loud, and in just two hours, you had already built inside jokes between the two of you.

"Looking forward to seeing your replacement next Sunday if you catch a cold."

"And I'm looking forward to seeing your pretty face again."

He ended all the joking with a cheeky, flirtatious remark—he knew exactly how to make a girl’s legs weak using nothing but his natural charisma.

"You never shut up, do you?"

And then you did the unthinkable.

Without thinking twice, you pulled him in, your lips merging into one. Your heart was pounding out of your chest, finally releasing all the tension and need that had been weighing on you.

————————————————————————

The car you once eyed as luxurious was now the place where you were making out frenetically. The kissing was obscene, neither of you knew where all that passion came from, but it was addictive.

His firm hands gripped the fabric of your branded clothing, holding your hips in place, not wanting you to make any movement against his lap. It’d be the death of him—he was already suffering a nightmare between his legs.

Your fingers instantly got lost in his curls, tangling and pulling them mid-kiss. Lando’s mouth was practically fighting against yours, turning it into the sloppiest mess. Heaven had never felt this chaotic. You took your time exploring every corner of his mouth with your tongue, while his hands traveled deliberately across your body, wishing there was no fabric separating you two. His fingertips traced you as if you were as fragile as a sculpture, slow and delicate. You melted under his touch, squirming on top of him at the barest touch. It was inoffensive, yet he knew exactly how to caress all the right places.

A shiver ran down your spine as your body suddenly felt colder than seconds ago—a thin breeze brushed against your right thigh. He was sliding up your outfit, eager to go further.

"Easy, driver." A whisper escaped your lips, breathy from all the intense air-exchanging. Your lips brushed against each other, expectant but unmoving. "I know you like adrenaline and fast things, but not tonight."

Fucking on the first date wasn’t your thing, you had at least some dignity. This wasn’t just a hook-up; a few butterflies were already flying around in your stomach, and you despised it.

With half-lidded eyes, he looked up at you, locking gazes. His puppy-blue eyes were now dark with lust. His swollen, glossy lips formed a slight pout. If you kept staring at him—at his pathetic, needy, almost convincing face—you’d be stripping down quicker than lightning.

Trying to put an end to his little show, you placed a hand over his face and shoved him away, cutting off all dangerous eye contact.

"Not tonight gives me a free pass for a second date, according to my understanding." He contradicted you, attempting to sound smart with a cocky grin spread across his face.

"You really are something else, Lando Norris." You did your thing to keep him quiet, preventing any cringey pick-up line from escaping his lips, and restarted the make-out session.

He was relieved that you’d shut him up quickly, because the longer it went on, the more he felt like verbalizing the flying feelings in his stomach.

[sv3t1ana]

thinking about Trueform bf! Sukuna who only gives you head with his real mouth.

Trueform bf! Sukuna who always performs oral with his real mouth.

Trueform bf! Sukuna who gets real pissed off when you ask about it, which only makes you ask about it more. “Must you pester me with such incessant questions every minute of the day?” It was a rhetorical question, because yes, you had to know why.

Trueform bf! Sukuna who’s confused when you ask him if he has stronger tastebuds across his four different tongues. Of all the ridiculous things you’ve bothered him with, this might be the most absurd. Why does it matter?

Trueform bf! Sukuna who, despite his initial aggravation, goes along with your little “test” when you shove a piece of fruit toward his palm, watching expectantly as the mouth there snaps it up without hesitation. You squint, waiting for some kind of reaction, but there’s none.

Trueform bf! Sukuna who lets out a slow, exaggerated sigh when you lift his shirt, pressing the next piece of fruit against the waiting maw. He chews, swallows, and again, remains unimpressed.

Trueform bf! Sukuna who watches you with barely concealed amusement when you reach closer, eyes flicking up to meet his as you finally bring the last piece to his real mouth.

Trueform bf! Sukuna who just stares at you, flat expression as you study him closely, scrutinizing the way his brow twitches juuust slightly when the sweetness of the strawberry spreads across his tongue.

Trueform bf! Sukuna who clicks his tongue, all unbothered, but you saw it, his nearly imperceptible wince. “Hah!” you yell victoriously.

Trueform bf! Sukuna who scowls when you point at him all smug. “You felt that one more, didn’t you?”

Trueform bf! Sukuna who tilts his head dramatically before murmuring, “So what if I did?”

Trueform bf! Sukuna who rolls his eyes, crosses his arms, and tilts his head away from you when you dare accuse him. “So that’s why you only eat me out with your real mouth,” climbing atop him. “Because you like the way I taste?”

Trueform bf! Sukuna who just sneers, exhaling through his nose slowly. You can’t help but giggle, leaning into his face as you bring a finger to your chin, “or maybe, you have more nerve endings on that tongue?” You ask, snickering when his firm hands grip your hips a little too tight. “I think you really love me, ‘Kuna.”

Trueform bf! Sukuna who says, “you have truly pushed it now, woman,” as he flips you over, nearly ripping your clothes at the seams. “Do you truly think you can provoke me without consequence?”

[himasgod]

Hello! I’m here to make a request!

Can you do headcanons of Jade Leech, Floyd Leech and Leona Kingscholar x Child! Reader (11-12 years old) headcanons where the Tweels younger brother (same age as reader) and Leona’s older nephew (same age as reader) has a crush on reader and their reaction to it? I can 100% see Octavinelle shipping the Tweels younger brother with reader

If this request seems weird or uncomfortable, feel free to ignore this!

Where the Tweels' little brother and Leona's nephew have a crush on you

At NRC, special festivities have been held to commemorate family, where students are allowed to bring their younger relatives to NRC for a month to spend time with them. You, as the younger relative of a student, meet the Tweels' younger brother and Loena's nephew, who also came to visit NRC, in two different scenarios, and they fall in love with you. Now, how would Jade, Floyd, and Leona act?

Floyd and Jade Leech

The Tweels' younger brother has a crush on you, and Octavinelle supports him 100%.

Both Jade and Floyd find it hilarious. If their younger brother has a crush on you, then of course they're going to make his life miserable… but in a good way (or at least, that's what they say).

Floyd is the most annoying about this. He'll hug you every chance he gets, pick you up, and spin you around while saying things like:

"Heh~, if I hug you like this, you'll definitely fall for me instead of my little bro, right~?"

His younger brother yells at him to let you go immediately.

Floyd especially enjoys putting you in situations where his younger brother has to talk to you, just to see him stutter.

"Heh, did you know my little brother is learning how to cook~? He'd love to make you something special, right?"

His younger brother throws a pillow in his face and yells at him to stop saying weird things.

Jade is more discreet, but he's incredibly amused to see his younger brother turn red every time he hints things like:

"Oh~. Looks like someone's very interested in our dear guest. How cute."

When his younger brother tries to impress you with something—like swimming fast or performing a trick in the water—Jade simply says:

"What a coincidence, I was just thinking they like people with unique abilities. Maybe you should show them more."

Azul is already thinking about how to monetize the relationship, because if the younger brother likes you that much, then he can make a good deal with him… or with you.

At the Monstro Lounge, mysteriously, they always end up giving you the best seats or a free dish. When you ask why, everyone answers with a suspicious smile:

"Courtesy of someone special~"

Octavinelle generally supports this “couple.” All the Monstro Lounge employees make comments like:

“What a cute couple~!” “You two look good together.” “You can tell young Leech is in love.”

When the twins' brother tries to say, “We're nothing!” they simply ignore him and continue with their plot.

Meanwhile, the younger Tweel brother is dying of embarrassment, and you don't know whether to laugh or hide.

If anyone tries to tease his younger brother about his crush on you, Floyd and Jade won't allow it.

One breaks bones, and the other silently plots revenge.

If any other child tries to get too close to you, Floyd changes his attitude instantly.

“And who is this~? He's not trying to steal something that doesn't belong to him, right~?”

Jade smiles kindly, but his tone is just as threatening.

“It would be a shame if it ended in an… unfortunate arrangement.”

The poor kid runs off before they finish speaking.

The younger Tweel brother wants to die right then.

"Will you all stop scaring people?! I'm not a mobster!"

Floyd just laughs, and Jade tells him it's a "loyalty test."

If it ever seems like you're loyal to him, Azul starts planning a theme party at the Monstro Lounge to "celebrate the Leech family's first love."

The younger Tweel brother swears he'll run away from Octavinelle if that happens.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona's nephew, Cheka's older brother, has a crush on you, and Leona notices it instantly.

The first thing Leona does when he realizes it is make fun of his nephew.

"What, you get all nervous when you talk to them now? I didn't know you were so clumsy."

His nephew pretends not to hear, but the poor kid is already red-faced, and Leona is already crystal clear.

Leona becomes the worst possible spectator. If you and his nephew are together, he's always in the background, arms crossed and smirking.

Sometimes he even gives sarcastic advice:

"If you're going to act so useless, at least bring gifts. People like thoughtful details, or do you want them to notice some other brat?" "Stop standing so stiff, it's not like you're standing in front of a hungry lion… Oh, wait."

His nephew throws sand in his face, but Leona just yawns and continues bothering him.

He doesn't interfere too much, but he enjoys watching him suffer. If you ever see Leona smiling suspiciously when you're with his nephew, it's because he's enjoying watching him try to impress you.

Ruggie also teases him a bit. Sometimes he says things like:

"Oooh~, the little prince likes someone~!" "Come on, kiddo, if you get so worked up, you'll never win them over." "If you need help winning someone over, I can make you a deal. Nothing comes for free, you know."

Leona laughs as his nephew throws the first thing he has in his hand at Ruggie.

If you start showing signs that you also have feelings for his nephew, Leona watches you more closely.

He doesn't say much, but makes comments like:

"Hmph. I guess someone in the family had to get lucky."

His nephew pretends not to care, but inside he's screaming with happiness.

However, if another child tries to bother you or talk badly about you, Leona glares at them.

"Tsk. Who let this trash come here?"

And since no one wants to confront Leona Kingscholar, they quickly shut up and run away.

At the end of the day, even if Leona teases his nephew, he's silently protective of him.

If he senses that he really cares about you, he might even give him some real advice.

Although he makes it seem like he's a complete pain in the ass.

"If you like them, do something about it. Or continue being useless brat, not my problem."

His nephew complains, "That's not how you give advice, uncle!" but Leona just yawns and goes to sleep.

[smuttysabina]

Motherly Impregnations with Yiren

(Male Reader x Yiren/Jihyo(short), 4.3k words) Tags: More mommy time, You don't need massive tits to be a mommy, Slight incest, Stern mothering, Oral and vaginal sex, Erotic dancing, Disappointing sex, Premature ejaculation, Impregnation, Setup chapter for the tropical incest bonanza

Previous Chapter

You had always had Mommy issues, though to be fair, you had recently acquired more than a few "Mommies", who were more than willing to scratch that particular itch. As it turned out, your dear cousin Jihyo had a plethora of fellow idols who were only too happy to help satisfy your lack of motherly attention; in a manner that usually left you emotionally fulfilled, while testicularly drained. Even Jihyo herself had joined in on the fun, though she had coyly forbidden you from penetrative sex, her hands, thighs, and breasts had milked you multiple times over the months; and it had left you even further enthralled by her than you had been before Gahyun had popped your cherry. Now your cousin dragged you along to all sorts of events, and sometimes you didn't end up getting pampered by some amorous idol and drained of your seed simply for being Jihyo's relative. So that was how you found yourself backstage at a recital, while a beautiful vixen salaciously danced in front of you, her every movement an advertisement in lust; you quite honestly had not expected you would be getting fucked tonight, but Yiren seemed intent on making it happen.

Like most evenings these days, Jihyo had arrived after the sun had set, and cheerfully told you what you both would be doing this evening. Ordinarily you would have chafed at such tight control over your social life, but so you had grown so obsessed in your quest to fuck your cousin that you readily agreed to her every whim if it got you one step closer to that goal. Of course, Jihyo knew what you wanted, but was more that willing to use your arousal to mold you into the kind of man she wanted you to be; and it wasn't as if she was ignoring your sexual needs. Why, just last night... You moan pitifully as Jihyo's soft lips slowly move down your shaft, kissing every inch of your length until your tip is drooling precum. Your cousin smiles knowingly while she continues to stroke your cock, evidently you would not be lasting long enough for her to need to use her breasts, let alone her thighs, to bring you to orgasm. She still opens her mouth in pretend shock though when your load erupts all over her face, "Oh! Good boy..." she coos as she licks up the mess she made on your manhood... Next thing you knew you had been bundled into a car with the heavily pregnant Jihyo and driven to a nearby theatre, where an idol from a group you were not very familiar with was putting on a performance of sorts.

Jihyo had never been very close with the idols of Everglow, even if she had been extremely keen on assisting them with matters regarding... breeding. So you had been somewhat perplexed when she announced during the ride to the venue that Yiren had been practicing for a show of sorts, and had wanted to test her abilities in front of a live audience of discerning skill; which obviously meant Jihyo. Still, your cousin was usually far too busy with normal idol tasks for such a trivial request, and not from one of her favorites no less, so something about Yiren's offer must have caught her attention. You had never even met the girl before, and most of what you knew about her had come from watching a video of her and the other members of Everglow getting bred by some guy with a truly monstrous cock. Yiren had been quite dignified, and had indeed mounted it first, arrogant even while her belly was bulging obscenely and she looked on the verge of passing out. As for the rest of the girls, well, watching a girl so short you could rest you arm on her head taking a dick as long as her torso to the hilt had been... an experience to say the least. Even Jihyo had seemed somewhat queasy at the frantic glee those perverts had shown when stretching their bodies far past the breaking point.

So it was a touch awkward when you finally meet Yiren in person, after she effusively greets Jihyo, she turns her attention towards you; and it felt embarrassing to give her a polite hug after having watched her getting violated in such a visceral fashion. But she seemed none the worse for wear as she guides you through the modest venue and into the familiar surroundings of a practice room. Her attendants pull up comfortable chairs for you to sit in while you wait, as Yiren bows in gratitude before hurriedly leaving to get changed for you two; it seems like you and Jihyo would be getting a private performance of sorts before the main event began. The pair of you settle in, chatting idly like normal cousins would, though Jihyo's hand seemed oddly intent on stroking your thigh from time to time. The minutes swing by, until the idol's phone starts buzzing energetically, she idly answers it, her eyebrows narrowing as she glances intently to the side, before sighing and simply saying, "On my way," she pats your leg apologetically, "Sorry dear, Yeji broke into the intern pens again, so I'll have to go handle that, be a good boy and stay for me, okay? I'll be back once I get things settled down back at the office" Jihyo, kisses you on the forehead before marching out of the room, annoyance clearly written on her features as she waddles out; graceful even with a massive belly. Leaving you to enjoy the coming performance alone.

Yiren looks miffed when she waltzes back into the room and finds her feted spectator missing, looking accusingly at you as if you were the one who caused her to leave. Her fury only makes her look all the more attractive though, displeasure looks good on her, and her elegantly applied makeup only heightens the effect. Yiren was dressed like a courtesan of old, her taut stomach on display while her breasts were demurely pushed up, and her limber legs obscured by a tasseled dress. It made you feel as if you were in one of those period dramas, a nobleman indulgently allowing some peasant to dance for him only for her to catch his interest, as well as his seed later that night. In those shows though, the dancer tended to be humble and kindly compared to her competition while Yiren was... "Oh that fucking slut is at it again? Typical, she never could control herself," Yiren sniffs pointedly, as if she had never enjoyed sexual relations with several fans at once. And to be fair to her, you had also been shocked that the bumbling and cheerful Yeji harbored nigh sociopathic levels of nymphomania; her fear of Jihyo's displeasure was likely the only thing that stopped you from being ravaged long before those two Mommies ushered you into manhood.

With a resigned sigh, Yiren puts her hands on her hips and appraises you more closely, though judging by her raised eyebrow she was none too impressed by what she was seeing, "You are... Jihyo's cousin, aren't you?" she muses upon this, before nodding with slight satisfaction, her complex hairdo bobbing slightly atop her head, "Very well, I had wanted her feedback on my dance, but you will have to do. The show officially starts in an hour, so we have more than enough time," Yiren claps her hands to catch her attendant's attention, and they scurry to ignite scented braziers and lower the overhead lights to set the proper ambiance. A low, warbling undertone starts up from speakers bolted to the ceiling, tickling your eardrums in a not entirely unpleasant fashion, as Yiren leans down over you. She smiles as you awkwardly shift in your seat, "Don't worry, I won't bite, just... relax," she affectionately pats your cheek before whirling about and sauntering back to the center of the room. Yiren smoothly twists and bows towards you, her long, red armbands dangling as she demurely supplicates herself; giving you the barest peak of her modest cleavage before she sweeps back into an upright stance. The performance, had begun.

Yiren moves in long, languid movements, unhurriedly showing off her lithe body, wordlessly introducing herself to you as she glides around the floor. A slow, pounding drumbeat accentuates her every step, her hips swaying from side to side in time with it, her skirt rustling tantalizingly, emphasizing her slightest motion. The beat suddenly increases, and Yiren's dress swirls about her as she spins, her leg lifting up to briefly reveal a hint of pinkish skin amidst the roiling folds of her outfit before it is hidden once more as her leg lowers. You lean forward, your interest piqued by that flash of glistening flesh... Yiren, a light smile gracing her elegant features, returns to her sensually lazy movements; but now that you were fully acquainted with her body, she shows what she is going to do with it. The drums pound once more as the idol prances lasciviously about the floor, her limber legs swinging wildly as she draws ever closer to where you are sitting. You are dumbstruck as her skirts ride gradually higher on her hips, pushed upwards by her violent movements, giving you ever more glimpses of that unmistakable slash between her thighs. Your heart slams in your chest in primal sympathy with the beat, and you are utterly enthralled by Yiren, addicted to every seductive flourish of her legs. Your brain is fogged by desire that you do not notice how close she is until her foot sails over your head, granting you an unobstructed view for the first time, as well as the heady scent of a woman in heat. Yiren turns the motion into a spin, smoothly flicking her skirt about herself to reveal her bare bottom before ending in an arched pose; her arms above her head, with one leg raised just enough to, finally, show you what you hungered for.

You are almost drooling as you drink in the sight of Yiren's perfectly formed pussy. Her delicate clit heralding the smoothest set of lips you had ever seen, her modest folds demanding to be pampered and worshipped before you could even consider entering them. Yiren stares down at you, her chest heaving as she lowers her arms, "I take it... you enjoyed... my performance?" she glances pointedly down at the conspicuous bulge in your pants, a weary smile upon her face. Your manhood is all the response she needs, but you are still unable to stop yourself from moaning an affirmative. Yiren cocks her head as she slips into your lap, her arms draping themselves around the back of your chair, "Mommy?" she inquires, "Your mother is far from here, but I would be... happy to take her place," she slides a hand across your shoulders and down your chest, "Now then, Mommy needs something from you, do try and not disappoint, hm?" The strain in your pants grows even greater in response, and she steps back, hands on hips, "Well? Pants off. Now." You shakily shove your pants down your legs, your cock springing energetically as it tastes the humid air of the room. You both look awkwardly at one another for several breaths, before Yiren sighs once more, "I see, I had hoped the father of my first child would have a little more... gumption to him. I suppose I will be on top then."

You attempt to get up out of your seat in protest, but Yiren's hand firmly stops you before you can rise, "Oh, stop. You forfeited your chance to breed me in a dignified fashion the moment you did not fall to your knees and prepare me like a proper man would. So sit back, shut up, and let Mommy do all the work, since apparently you can't." You stammer out a question as she sits upon your lap once more, and Yiren frowns, "What do you mean, 'Already pregnant'? Why would- Oh. There was a video, wasn't there?" You nod shyly, causing the idol to roll her eyes, "Please, as if I would let a fucking peasant like that impregnate me? I had E:U clean me out afterwards, my womb deserves the seed of... worthy men," Yiren pats your cheek, "But you'll do," She smirks haughtily, clearly reveling in her superiority over you, but it wasn't as if you could do anything about; after all, your cock cared little about your wounded pride. Her hand grasps your now thoroughly erect member, orienting it towards her slick entrance, "Feel free to finish whenever you'd like," Yiren informs you, "But do try and impress me..."

Muggy warmth engulfs your cock as Yiren sits on it, her pampered pussy devouring your length, causing you to groan plaintively as you struggle to hold on. She politely pauses when she reaches your hilt, allowing you to collect yourself before she starts moving again, a slow grind that morphs into a languid bounce. Yiren skirt rasps against your legs as she arrogantly rides your dick, displaying not even an ounce of pleasure as she methodically fucks you. Her face remains serene as her folds clench tightly around your shaft, and only when you start to moan for her does a half-smile graces her lips, "Is Mommy too tight for you? I can feel your balls pulsating, are you going to let go? Go on," Yiren purrs, "Disappoint me..." You shudder as you feel yourself giving in, you were so used to being showered with praise during sex, but being sternly scolded was surprisingly arousing; and your traitorous testicles seemed more than eager to fill this fertile princess... Yiren plants herself firmly against you when you creampie her, callously ruining your orgasm to produce the largest load possible, your semen flooding her pussy as you twitch beneath her., "My," Yiren smirks as she strokes your face, "I had low expectations, but you truly managed to reach even those. Surely this wasn't your first time? Whatever," Yiren places her finger on your lips to forestall any protests, "Now hush, Mommy needs to open her cervix."

Yiren breathes deeply, concentrating upon her body's little used muscles, and flexing her exposed core muscles rhythmically until she lets out the softest of moans, "I can feel it..." she kisses your sweaty forehead, "Congratulations, you're going to be a parent, I imagine Jihyo will be pleased," With that she gracefully unmounts you, allowing your excess cum to drip down her slender thighs, and glances at the clock on the wall, and lets out an unlady-like snort, "It seems we are blessed with a surfeit of time, at this rate we will be able to fit several rounds in with ease," she glances at you, "Well? Get it up again. You might have impregnated me, but I will be damned if I let the father of my child be such an embarrassment in bed," You blush brightly from her scornful words, it was hardly your fault that Mommy's pussy had been so breedable... But Yiren's tongue lashing made not only your cheeks flush with blood, as your manhood rises once more to the challenge, still slick with her juices and slathered with your own. The idol nods in satisfaction, "Well, at least you still have your youthful vigor," she stalks over to the abandoned chair and bends over it, sweeping her skirt up over the side of her hip to give you an unobscured view of her perky rear, "Pleasure your Mommy. I am curious to see how you perform with a bit more stamina in you."

Filled with fresh determination, you approach Yiren eager to prove her wrong with a more forceful showing. Her pussy was on clear display between her petite cheeks, its delicate lips already glistening from your earlier sex, primly shut once more as it awaits your member. With one hand on her hip, you press your cock against Yiren's slit, attempting to find her entrance, until a resigned sigh halts your efforts. Yiren looks back at you, "Oh. It's worse than I thought, Jihyo truly has been indulging you hasn't she?" Your face crumples in confusion, causing Yiren to roll her eyes, "Let me guess, whenever you're with a 'Mommy' you grope them for a time, they touch you a little, then they guide you between their thighs, and after a few pumps you fill them, and they tell you what a 'good boy' you are for not just fucking exploding on them before entering?" Your embarrassed silence is all the answer Yiren needs, "Has Jihyo not trained you at all?" she asks in exasperation, "You would think she would want her cousin to at least be serviceable between the sheets..." you mumble a pitiful response, "Oh, she hasn't let you fuck her yet? I'm honestly surprised," Yiren shrugs and waves her hand dismissively, "Whatever, it's time for you to learn how to pleasure a woman, dear."

"My pussy," Yiren lectures, "Is more than just some rude hole for you to shove your sweaty meat into. Rub it, spank it, poke at it with your cock, if you do not make me feel good, then I will simply ruin your next orgasm onto the floor," With that stern warning in mind, you do as she says, brushing your cockhead against her slit, relishing in the way it gushes juices around it as you stroke your tip up and down her lower lips. Yiren lets out a speculative noise, "Hmm, decent enough I suppose, now penetrate me, slowly this time. You are not pounding away at some cheap fleshlight, you are having sex with a lady, do try to treat me like one." Blushing, you try and do as she instructed, and having spent the last several minutes exploring her folds with your dick, you have a much better idea where you are supposed to insert it. The angle is still poor though, and Yiren eventually has to help guide you inside of her, the heat of her pussy welcoming your tip back into it. It is all you can do to stop yourself from immediately shoving yourself balls-deep inside of your Mommy, and you manage to push into her gradually. Yiren lets out a pleased sigh, "Very good, now begin thrusting, also if you finish inside of me before I let you, Mommy will be very displeased, understand? Good, now fuck me."

With your hands wrapped around Yiren's tiny waist, you do your best to please her. Her tiny ass barely even squishes against your crotch as you thrust into her, and the easy view of your cock filling her modestly sized pussy drives you wild; it looks as if you were impaling her with every pump. Your Mommy seems unperturbed by your efforts however, and her folds grip tightly around your shaft, the pink flesh of her sex dragging along it whenever you pull back. Much like a courtesan of old, Yiren's pussy is supremely skilled at pleasuring cocks, and soon you are once more on the edge, and are forced to slow down. Yiren giggles demurely, "Well, at least you learned to control yourself somewhat. Now then, angle your penis downwards, and hit my sensitive spot when you thrust," She obligingly lowers her butt to make things easier for you, but it still takes a few minutes of ineffectual thrusting before you are finally able to get it right. But of course, a few minutes fucking an idol's sublime pussy was enough to once more have you leaking precum inside of Yiren. Who clucks in annoyance when you slow down once more, "Again? Pity, it was actually starting to feel a touch pleasant," Yiren's surprising approval is enough to cause another welter of watery fluid to gush into her, and she sighs indulgently, "Oh very well, I suppose it is too much to hope you would actually become competent in bed so quickly," she slaps your hand, "Pull out, now. I have a reward for you..."

Following your Mommy's instructions, you stand awkwardly against the chair while she gracefully settles herself in front of you. Yiren stares up at you with that familiar half-smile of hers, no doubt amused by your obvious hesitation, her delicate makeup still immaculate even after her exhausting performance, as well as her less intensive sex with you. With seductive laziness, she pulls down her top, revealing her perky breasts, her smirk widening as you hump the air; they might be of modest size, but the sight of any Mommy's breasts was enough to excite you. Yiren languidly places her hand onto your cock, causing you to shiver, her nimble fingers wrapping themselves around your slick skin. Without warning she jerks you off, skillfully stroking your dick while maintaining stern eye contact with you. You gasp, pant, whine, shuddering from the intense stimulation of your Mommy's hand squeezing your cock mercilessly as she works your load out; it was all too much, you were going to get ruined on the floor for being a bad boy! But Yiren had other plans for your load, as she brings her face close to your oozing tip, "Cum for me. Now," she demands, and you blissfully comply.

Yiren's refined makeup, an entire hour of the beautician's hard work, is obliterated as vast ropes of steaming semen spew all over the idol's face. She purrs with pleasure as her face is inundated with jizz, her eyes drowning in it, her patrician nose covered in it, her elegant hairdo soaked in it, and all the while she continues to work your shaft until the final trickles of sludge burble out of your reddened tip and into her mouth. Yiren lets out a pleased noise as she cleans your cockhead with her tongue, "Impressive, your stamina might be lacking, but at least your loads are pleasantly sized," You beam at her praise, but her grip remains tight upon your manhood when you try and move back, "Did I say I was finished, that was not your reward, this is," and Yiren promptly puts it in her mouth. Your cock was still sensitive from its recent climax, so the stimulation from the idol's blowjob was enough to have you gibbering with pleasure. You write against the chair as Yiren expertly sucks you off, your seed drying upon her face even as she salaciously works yet more out of you. Her tongue swirls around your shaft while her head bobs up and down your length, her lips locked tightly around it even as her hands massage your balls and press against your taint. Not even a minute after your last orgasm, your next load is already spraying directly into Yiren's stomach; and being a dignified lady, she swallows every last drop without even a cough.

When Yiren finally releases you from her clutches, you collapse back into the chair, utterly exhausted even though you had really not put all that much work in. Your balls ached horribly, and your manhood was stained red with her lipstick, "You have been marked," your Mommy explains, "So when Jihyo spots it she will know it was me..." Yiren snorts at your confusion, "I'm teasing, she'll smell my pussy on you, and know exactly just who you've been inside." She lithely gets back onto her feet, clapping her hands for her attendants once more; honestly, you had not even noticed they had left. You scramble to cover yourself as the girls rush inside, adjusting the idol's outfit, but abstaining from cleaning off the jizz coating the various parts of her body. Noting your curiosity, Yiren explains, "It is an old custom for courtesans to receive their lover's last load upon their faces, both as evidence of their sexual prowess, as well as their lover's virility. I shall wear yours in celebration of my impregnation. Stand proud dear, I wouldn't let any common dross breed me." And with that, Yiren sweeps out of the room, trailing her attendants like a comet's tail behind her as she hurries to the stage. If her performance was anything like your private one, then the reception would be a rather sticky one.

Left to your own devices, your pull your clothes back on, but before you can leave, your cousin bustles through the door, no doubt out of breath from hurrying back from the company building. She pouts as she notices that you are alone, "Aw, did I miss it? Why did they leave you here..." Jihyo sniffs the air, her eyes narrowing, before looking pointedly at you, "I see, so you enjoyed yourself then?" You nod shyly, unsure as to what her reaction would be, but she nods in satisfaction, "Good, I was worried she wouldn't get knocked up from a few weeks ago, she always has been a prissy little bitch." Jihyo pats your head endearingly, "Well done, I'm proud of you, good boy!" You blush with pleasure as your cousin leads you back out to the car, passing by various finely dressed people as they hurry to reach their seats in time. Most of them stop to stare at the obviously pregnant and deliciously voluptuous idol as she saunters by, causing the slightest stirrings of jealousy in you. Jihyo allows your hands to roam where they should not during the car ride back, but she gently pries them off of her when they attempt to slip down her pants, "Patience, dear," she reassures you, "I'm due in a few weeks, and then after that we have our trip with Lisa and some other girls. Don't look so glum! Momo will be staying over to help with things while I'm busy pushing the baby out, and you know how much she enjoys pampering you..."

It was to your surprise, later that night when showering off, that you were unable to remove Yiren's lipstick from around your shaft; it seems like she had not been teasing after all about marking you...