#hoping that dropping the class i wanna drop will help

[fridayyy-13th]

siiiiiigh.

[kiss2012]

always skeptical of anyone who says doing something specific makes you a bad writer. sure that applies for some things, like you need to read to write and there are things you should keep in mind. but the cardinal rule of writing to me is know all the rules so you know when to break them.

[orcelito]

Actually it is SO weird to me to remember that I was an engineering student and that later on I had been pursuing a minor in statistics

I may be a IT & com person in the end, but I do have the foundations of engineering and statistics in my brain too. Wild !

[fatelcved]

i just remembered spring semester starts in two days...

[ambersky0319]

Applying for jobs is weird

Applying for jobs is even weirder when I have passed the initial interview stage of a paid internship application

[flopsxii]

tokyo revengers boys with their crush (aka you!) <3

feat. sano ‘mikey’ manjiro, ryuguji ‘draken’ ken, hanagaki takemichi, baji keisuke, matsuno chifuyu, hanemiya kazutora, mitsuya takashi, inui seishu && kokonoi hajime

notes: first time writing for so many characters and some for the first time :0 i hope it isn’t ass!!! sorry if some characters i haven’t written for before are ooc and inaccurate! ALSO I HATE SQUID GAME BUT TRANS BADDIE.

— i will release a part two soon :)

sano ‘mikey’ manjiro

ꪆৎ i think mikey would be somewhat upfront with you about his crush. of course, he wouldn’t outright confess until he knew you shared the same sentiment. however, he’d make it fairly obvious that he thought highly of you and how he loves spending time with you over anyone else.

ꪆৎ he’d definitely ‘kidnap’ you from classes, begging you to leave because it’s an “emergency”, but really he just wanted to spend time with you. you’d scold him after, reminding him about the importance of school, but he’d just stand there with a love struck smile on his face. it didn’t matter wether you were lecturing him or ignoring him, being in your presence was enough to bring him happiness.

ꪆৎ his crush is blankly obvious to all of toman and probably other gangs in the near vicinity. no one dared to talk to you in a negative way, a bonus of having mike’s affections. and suddenly, if anyone was mean to you, it didn’t happen anymore… sometimes you wondered why but mikey would shush you immediately. “maybe they just realised that bringing down such an amazing person was a reflection of themselves, y/n-chan!”

ꪆৎ would love it when you accompany him on foodie ‘dates’, rides on his motorbike and even accompanying him to toman’s meetings. it genuinely shocked everyone when mikey would interrupt himself to stick his tongue out at you just to make you giggle. truly toman’s royalty!

ꪆৎ also would most likely pitch up at your house at random points of the day. even as ‘friends’, he’d want to nap together and just hang out alone where he wouldn’t have to maintain his reputation as the ‘invincible mikey’. with you, he could just be manjiro.

ꪆৎ in terms of confession, i think mikey would let it slip out when he’s most vulnerable. either when he’s super sleepy or just generally having a rough time. small whispers of how much he appreciates you and likes you would fall from his lips. once he realised what he had done, it was most likely too late to take it back. he just hoped you shared the same feelings.

ryuguji ‘draken’ ken

ꪆৎ unlike his best friend and captain, draken would keep his feelings to himself and it probably would stay that way for a while. it’s not because he doesn’t wanna be with you, in fact, it’s the opposite! he’d most likely think that a relationship with him would come hand in hand with people jeopardising your safety. so more likely than most, he’d stick to being your friend (a very close friend) until he knew you’d be safe.

ꪆৎ probably would trail behind you whilst you’d go shopping, a unreadable expression on his face but instead, his mind was overwhelmed by the thought of you! how adorable you looked as you pointed out cute things, making a mental note of items to buy you for your birthday.

ꪆৎ definitely would be the first one at your door if you came down with any sickness. even if it was a common cold! he’d remind you that sickness could get worse if left untreated and you should ‘stop denying him and just accept his help.’

ꪆৎ he’s immensely protective over you, even if he doesn’t necessarily need to be. other toman members would try and remind draken that he doesn’t need to be worried over your safety, after all the whole of toman would take care of you!

ꪆৎ i also feel like draken would be the type to pick you up and drop you off before and after school. even if the walk was 10 minutes and under, he’d remind you it could be dangerous alone! it’s purely just an excuse to spend more time with you even if he does act like it’s a chore.

ꪆৎ would probably confess to you if there’s imminent danger towards you or it would slip out without him realising. he’d definitely have to take a couple moments to compose himself if it was the latter, a furious blush erupting over his cheeks causing you to giggle.

hanagaki takemichi

ꪆৎ he’s so so shy around you! however, no matter how much he makes a fool of himself in front of you, he just can’t stay away. it’s like he’s in a constant state of fluster whenever he’s in your presence.

ꪆৎ definitely walks you to and from school, holding your hand if you initiate it first. he would probably also try carry your school books for you, even if you remind him that your arms work just fine. he just wants to help you in anyway he can!

ꪆৎ would also 100% feel awful when he sees the sad expression on your face whenever he turns up with new bruises and cuts covering his face. his heart would break when you graze your fingers over the wounds, asking a meek “do they hurt, michi-kun?”

ꪆৎ also the type to try show off to you whenever he can but fail miserably. although, if he sees that amazing smile, the humiliation he feels is always worth it! even if he ends up hurting himself, he won’t mind if you make sure he’s okay after. maybe a hug wouldn’t hurt also…

ꪆৎ speaking of hugs, he’d probably malfunction the first time that your arms wrap around him. even if you were doing it out of worry for his wellbeing, he cherishes the moment for the rest of his life.

ꪆৎ he doesn’t confess… it’s actually you who tells him how you feel. it’s a heartfelt conversation you two share after you see the boy beaten to a bloody pulp so that his friends would be alright. his loyalty and tenacity being one of the few reasons why you adore him so much!

baji keisuke

ꪆৎ honestly, he’s the definition of whipped. even chifuyu is surprised when he sees how baji acts in your presence. it’s so impossibly clear how much baji likes you to anyone else in the room, except you!

ꪆৎ he’d probably start fancying you if you helped with his studies and actually persevered with him despite how difficult he tried to make it. initially, he’d deny your help, grumpily saying he can handle it and to leave him alone. however, when you sit across from him and start reading through your notes and helping him correct his wrong answers, he’s floored. any other person would’ve left after his shitty response but you stayed.

ꪆৎ would act like your best friend but to anyone else, they view you as baji’s partner (albeit unofficially). is fiercely protective over you and if anyone makes you upset (even a little bit) are met with baji’s anger and very soon after, his fists. of course, you lecture him for jumping into action without consulting you but the fact he cares so much makes your heart beat impossibly faster.

ꪆৎ would definitely invite you over to his house to hang out, just so he could have some time alone with you. even if it’s just you reading and him silently laying beside you, it’s almost heaven to baji. if it was heaven, you’d be spilling your undying love for him but he thinks he wouldn’t be so lucky.

ꪆৎ would also end up sometimes bringing you to toman meetings if he absolutely has no other choice. but you’d stick by his side the whole time and if he’s not available for some reason, chifuyu is there to stand in!

ꪆৎ much like takemichi, you’d have to confess to baji first or you’d be playing cat and mouse with him for the rest of eternity. even his mum knows how he feels but he’ll deny every accusation. however, she’s just happy her hot headed son has someone he cares about and she’s so happy it’s you!

matsuno chifuyu

ꪆৎ chifuyu is definitely the type to crush on his best friend! someone he shares such a deep bond with and trusts on an immensely deep level. i doubt he’d fancy someone he knows on a surface level, he doesn’t know them well enough. however, he knows you inside and out, it never feels awkward around you (despite the constant blush on his cheeks that he hides everytime).

ꪆৎ he’s definitely protective over you, along side baji who will take care of you if chifuyu isn’t around. if he sees anyone hassling you, he’s the first to jump in and defend your honour!

ꪆৎ he always invites you round to his house just to see you cuddle peke j. furthermore, he’ll take you to the zoo, aquariums or just pet shops to hang out since you both share the same sentiment towards animals. it’s one of the reasons he’s fallen so hard for you.

ꪆৎ his mum adores your ‘friendship’ with her son, she’s never seen him so happy (in a romantic way!). she will buy food specially for you to share and even sometimes drop devious hints in your ears about her sons feelings; you don’t take it seriously at first.

ꪆৎ he probably doesn’t initiate physical contact with you too much, it makes his brain overload. but, the option is there… he will without a doubt wrap you in a bear hug; savouring the feeling for as long as possible.

ꪆৎ chifuyu is definitely the type to try reenact scenes from his favourite mangas then make a complete fool of himself. however, he doesn’t know that you appreciate him trying nonetheless, no matter how silly he looks doing so.

ꪆৎ following his shoujo manga’s ideology, he’d confess in a subtle but heartfelt way. i think either using peke j as a messenger, a small note tucked into his little collar. or he’d tell you up front and be as sincere with his words as his silly brain would allow.

hanemiya kazutora

ꪆৎ it’s likely that no one knows that kazutora has a crush on anyone, most of all you. i think he wouldn’t interact with you that much in public, instead opting to spend time with you in private when he could truly be himself.

ꪆৎ the amount of times kazutora has to cover his raging blush on his cheeks each time you hang out is insane! he never knew that compliments he hears on the daily about his appearance could make his heart beat so fast, until they came out of your mouth.

ꪆৎ he definitely visits you if you have a job, sneaking in and surprising you with a huge smile on his face! he’s also the type to stay until your shift ends and make sure you get home safely, wether you ride on his motorcycle or not.

ꪆৎ he may also sometimes slip you unexpected gifts, only small ones though that have sentimental value. maybe it’s cinema tickets from the time you dragged him out after his release from juvie.

ꪆৎ he doesn’t want you involved with any gang activity so it’s quite unlikely that you find out he’s still involved with that stuff. however, he would tell you flat out if you heard any rumours about him and would reassure you that he’d keep you seperate.

ꪆৎ it’s unlikely he’d confess, liking things how they are, no matter how much he wishes your relationship could progress. either he’s worried you’d see him as a monster, due to things he did in the past and in the present or he just wouldn’t know how to say it so it’s better left unsaid anyways. it would have to be you to lay your feelings out for him to see and decide what to do next.

mitsuya takashi

ꪆৎ i think mitsuya would be one of the most upfront about his feelings on this list without saying it directly. toman can clearly see the sentiment he shares for you, even girls in his class and sewing club know that he’s essentially spoken for!

ꪆৎ he loves inviting you along to his days out with his sisters. not only because he loves spending time with you but also because the two girls adore you as much as he does! one of his favourite photographs is the four of you on one of your days out, a scarf he made wrapped around your neck.

ꪆৎ speaking of clothes he’s made; mitsuya definitely surprises you with new pieces every so often. even if you’d try refuse, telling him he should try sell them as they’re just that good, he’d remind you that he’d much rather see them on you and wants no payment in return (no matter how much you insist).

ꪆৎ gentleman mitsuya always gives you a ride no matter where you need to go! even if you mention in passing that you’re going shopping in the coming days, he will insist that he’s your ride! after all, he can’t stand by whilst you lug heavy bags home.

ꪆৎ once mitsuya is certain about your feelings reflecting his, he’d be direct with his words. “i have feelings for you, y/n-chan.” a simple statement that gets the biggest weight off his chest. he can only hope you accept his confession…

inui seishu

ꪆৎ you’re most likely a childhood friend to seishu, i find it unlikely he’d fancy a classmate or a passing stranger. perhaps, a childhood friends sibling? that way, he’s able to determine wether you actually like him for who he is.

ꪆৎ alongside kokonoi, he trusts you immensely. i highly doubt he’s able to form romantic feelings for anyone without the formation of trust. you’re his confident and he’s yours, and it has always been that way. at this point, seishu is unable to see himself confiding with anyone else the way he does with you.

ꪆৎ when he first started gaining feelings for you, i think he probably would give you the cold shoulder, not understanding how he feels. but, he’ll make things right with you once his minds less foggy!

ꪆৎ if you don’t exactly share the same interests, such as how he’s very interested in motorbikes and mechanics, he will try very hard to get into your hobbies so you can spend more time together. however, it means an immense amount to him that you’ll sit there and let him ramble about his favourite bike that shinichiro worked on, even if it was so long ago.

ꪆৎ he would probably confess when everything has settled down in his life. that includes his involvement with gang activity. he would hate to put someone so close to his heart in jeopardy. however, if you can’t wait, you could always confess yourself…

kokonoi hajime

ꪆৎ it would take him a long, long time to actually acknowledge his feelings for you. he would probably feel like moving on was a betrayal to akane but there came a point where he couldn’t ignore those feelings anymore.

ꪆৎ he would treat you amazingly, even if he’s battling with the thoughts inside his head about you and akane. he’d offer you money if you needed it (you will most likely hand it straight back), buy you gifts and happen to forget the receipt…

ꪆৎ even after several talks that you like spending time with him because of who he is and not what he can do for you, kokonoi still finds it hard to accept. he probably will see some resemblance to akane in that sense and would probably think she’d want him to be with someone like you.

ꪆৎ one of his favourite things about you is that even if he isn’t in a sociable mood, you will still sit with him and enjoy his company. not to mention he’s floored by how amazing you look everytime he sees you!

ꪆৎ he also loves going on day trips with you and seishu, finding every different place the three of you visit special.

ꪆৎ his confession would be sincere and precise. he would lay his feelings out and would promise to treat you amazingly and of course, take care of you in anyway you’d need.

[ateezscupid]

─── FEB FILTH FEST: I Wanna Be Yours - AGE GAP ♡

SUMMARY / You started to develop a crush on your college professor, but had to distance yourself from him when it turned into more than a silly "crush."

warnings ✩ SMUT, FLUFF, DOM/SUB dynamics, ANGST in the beginning, older!san (35), younger!reader (24), age gap, cliche student x teacher trope, soft dom!san, sub!reader, unprotected sex, vanilla vanilla vanilla, public sex? (nobody sees them but they're in a library), oral (f), praise, size kink, san is basically a gentle giant

word count ✩ 3,89k

tags ✩ @desirehorizon @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @starillusion13 @mingitheskzstan @bbdeongi @dawn-iscozy @xh01bri @mallielovssyou @clxssy1997 @soreberry @nopension @kitten4sannie @faeriehwas @lustfxq @ashistrashhhhhh @hwallazia

ATEEZ MASTERLIST / REQUEST / FEB FILTH FEST

"Y/N? You're my highest ranking student. Do you know the answer?" San's voice cut through the dense silence of the classroom, his gaze landing on you. You felt your cheeks redden as all eyes turned to you. The intensity of his stare made your heart race, and you realized you hadn't heard the question. Panic set in, but you took a deep breath and hoped for the best.

"Um," you blink and sit up straight. "I-I wasn't--I wasn't paying attention." The words tumble out, and you can feel the heat spread from your cheeks to your neck. San's gaze lingers for a moment before he nods and moves on to the next student. You sigh with relief, dropping your eyes to your notebook.

You were only in your 20s, while San was well into his 30s so close to being considered middle aged. Even though, some people consider 35 middle aged, so it honestly didn't matter to you.

Every time you would do as little as fantasize having a life with him, you knew it would never happen. Why would he even date someone that much younger than him? And, even if by some miracle he did, you were his student. It was wrong, unprofessional, and you weren't ready for any rumors to start flying. Plus, he had his career to think about, and you had your future. You had to maintain a respectful distance.

So, one random day, you decided to distance yourself from him and you went as far as to drop out of his class. You switched your major, hoping that would help ease the ache in your heart, but it didn't. San's influence lingered everywhere, in the corridors where you heard his laugh echo, in the library where you had studied together, in the cafeteria where you had shared a table, and even in the quiet solitude of your dorm room where you had dreamed of a life beyond the confines of academia.

And here you were, eating by yourself in the empty library café, surrounded by the ghosts of your past happiness. The scent of stale coffee and dusty books filled your nose, a stark contrast to the fresh scent of San's aftershave that had once made your heart flutter. You pushed the textbook away, unable to focus on the words that blurred before your eyes.

"Y/N?" San's voice called out from behind you, and your heart skipped a beat. You hadn't seen him since the day you dropped his class, and now here he was, standing in the library café, looking more handsome than ever in his tweed jacket and glasses.

"P-Professor-?" you stutter, your voice shaking slightly. You swivel in your chair, trying to compose yourself, but your heart won't cooperate.

"I've been meaning to talk to you but it feels like you're…avoiding me?" San's brow furrowed with genuine concern. His eyes searched yours, looking for an explanation. You felt your throat tighten, unsure of what to say. The truth felt too raw, too embarrassing to admit.

"It's just…I needed to focus on my studies, Professor," you managed to say, hoping the lie wasn't too transparent. "Switching majors has been a bit overwhelming."

"Then why not stay with me?" San asked, his voice gentle but firm. "You had a knack for my class, and I was looking forward to seeing how far you'd go."

"I-It was something personal…" you murmured, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. The lie tasted bitter on your tongue, but you knew you had to protect him and yourself from the mess your feelings could create. San took a step closer, his gaze never leaving yours.

He sits across from you, his eyes filled with curiosity and a hint of confusion. "Is everything okay?" he asks, his voice laced with care. You nod, trying to keep your composure, but his closeness is too much to handle. You can feel the warmth emanating from his body, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

"I can't say, it's…" You stop mid-sentence, the words lodging in your throat. San's eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you thought he might see the truth. But instead, he offered a small, understanding smile.

"You can tell me anything." San's hand reached out and placed itself gently on top of yours, his thumb tracing comforting circles. His touch sent a jolt of electricity through you, and you had to resist the urge to pull away.

"…I-It's you." The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you felt your cheeks flush even hotter.

San's hand stilled on yours, and he looked surprised, then a soft smile spread across his face. "What do you mean, 'it's me'?" he asked, his voice gentle.

"I mean… I had a crush on you," you blurted out, feeling your heart pound in your chest. The words hung in the air like a confession in a quiet church, and you waited for his reaction, bracing yourself for the worst. "Well, I thought it was a crush until it got…worse."

San's expression grew serious, his smile fading slightly. He removed his hand from yours and leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Worse?" he repeated.

"I know it's inappropriate and wrong," you rushed to explain, your voice barely a whisper. "But I couldn't help it. I had to get away, so I switched majors. I'm sorry if I disappointed you or made things awkward."

San leaned in, his eyes locking onto yours, and for a moment, the world around you faded into the background. "Y/N, it's not awkward. It's…unexpected," he said, his voice filled with a hint of something you hadn't heard before—vulnerability. "But it's not unwelcome."

Your heart stuttered in your chest, and you felt your eyes widen. "What do you mean?"

San took a deep breath, his gaze never leaving yours. "I mean that I've noticed the way you look at me, the way you hang on my every word. And I've felt something too." His voice was low, almost a murmur, as if he was sharing a secret.

The confession hit you like a sledgehammer, leaving you momentarily speechless. You stared at him, trying to process what he had just said. Could it be possible that he felt the same way?

"I've noticed it too, Y/N," San continued, his voice soft and measured. "But I never acted on it because I knew it would be wrong. I've always respected my students' boundaries, and I respect you more than anyone."

"San, please." You whispered his name, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. "I don't care if I'm your student."

He leaned back again, his gaze dropping to the table. "But I do." His voice was firm, yet tinged with sadness. "It's not just about us. There's the university policy, our careers, and-"

"I've literally fantasized about you." The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you felt the air thicken around you. San's eyes widened for a fraction of a second before his expression softened.

"Y/N," he began, his voice low and careful. "You know I care about you. You're an incredible student, and as your teacher, it's my job to support and guide you. But these feelings… They're complicated."

"Do you or do you not like me back?" You blurted out, unable to contain your emotions any longer. The question hung in the air, a silent plea for him to confirm what you hoped was true.

San's gaze remained on you, his eyes searching yours. "I do," he admitted, his voice a mere whisper. "But we can't let it affect our professional relationship."

"Then it won't, but please. I don't care if I have to date you in private." You looked at him with hopeful eyes, desperate for some kind of connection.

San sighed heavily, his eyes never leaving yours. "You don't understand, Y/N. It's not that simple."

You sigh and nod, standing up and grabbing your bag. "I understand," you say, trying to sound firm despite the shakiness in your voice.

He reached across the table and grabbed your arm, his grip firm but gentle. "Please, sit." His eyes searched yours, and you felt the weight of his gaze. You sat back down, your heart racing.

You snatch your arm away and walk around the table so you were face-to-face with him, looking into his eyes. "You don't have to say it," you whispered, your voice shaking with emotion. "Y-You want to stay professional so if all I need to do is stay away from you then I will-"

You were interrupted by San's hand, which he placed on your cheek and before you knew it, he was kissing you. It was a gentle kiss, but filled with so much passion and longing that it stole your breath away. Your eyes closed instinctively, and you melted into the kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck. The world outside the library faded into a distant memory, and for a moment, all that mattered was the feeling of his lips against yours.

He pulled away for only a moment, his eyes searching your face, looking for permission to continue. You nodded, your eyes brimming with unshed tears of joy. San leaned back in, his lips meeting yours again in a kiss that spoke of a longing that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long.

The kiss grew more intense, and you felt your knees tremble. It was everything you had ever dreamed of, and the reality was so much better than any fantasy. His hands moved to the small of your back, pulling you closer, and you felt the warmth of his body against yours. The scent of his cologne, something you had secretly come to adore, filled your senses, and you knew you never wanted to be anywhere else.

You tugged at his shirt, pulling him closer, feeling his hands slide down to your waist as the kiss deepened. His fingers traced the curves of your body, sending sparks of pleasure through every nerve. San's eyes searched yours, and you knew he was just as lost in the moment as you were.

"Sir," you murmured, your voice muffled by his shirt. "W-We're still in the library-"

"And it's empty, right? No one's around," San murmured against your lips, his breath warm and comforting. He took another step closer, his body now pressed against yours, leaving no room for doubt or fear. You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest so hard it felt like it might just burst.

He lifted you up without effort, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, and carried you over to a quiet, secluded corner of the library. The soft cushions of an old armchair were a welcome relief as he set you down, his hands never leaving your body. San's gaze was filled with desire, yet tinged with caution.

He started kissing your neck, his hands moving down your body before grabbing your skirt and lifting it. You felt the cold chair against your bare skin and shivered from the excitement. You didn't know what you were doing, but you knew you wanted him.

San's hand slid up your thigh, his thumb brushing against the lace of your panties. You gasped, your eyes snapping open. The reality of the situation hit you like a cold shower. "W-What are we doing?" You whispered, your voice trembling.

He pulled back, his gaze searching yours. "I couldn't help myself. If we do this," he said, his voice hoarse with desire, "we can't take it back."

You bit your bottom lip, contemplating his words. Your mind raced with the consequences, but your body craved his touch. "I know," you murmured, nodding slightly. "But I don't want to take it back."

San studied your face, his eyes filled with a mix of want and hesitation. Finally, with a low groan, he leaned in and claimed your mouth again, his hand moving to cup your breast through your shirt. You arched into the touch, a soft moan escaping you. His fingers deftly unhooked your bra, and his hand moved to caress the soft skin, his thumb flicking over your nipple. The sensation was overwhelming, and you felt a warm wetness spread between your legs.

You reached your hand as far as you could, tugging at his belt and the buttons of his pants. San's hand moved from your waist to your wrist, stopping you gently. He pulled away from the kiss, his breath ragged. "Let me."

He knelt before you, his eyes never leaving yours as he pushed your skirt higher and slid your panties aside. His touch was featherlight, sending waves of pleasure through your body as he kissed and licked at your inner thighs. You whimpered, the anticipation driving you wild.

Finally, his mouth found your center, and you gasped as he took you in. San's tongue danced over your sensitive flesh, tasting and teasing you until you thought you would lose your mind. Your hands gripped the armrests of the chair, knuckles white from the effort of not pushing him away.

"O-Oh my god, San-" you breathed his name, your eyes rolling back in pleasure. You felt your core clench around nothing, and the sensation was like nothing you had ever experienced before. His movements grew more deliberate, and you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

His hands caressing your thighs, his eyes remained locked on yours, watching the play of emotions across your face as he worked his magic. You squirmed, unable to hold back the moans that bubbled up from deep within your chest. The warmth of his breath and the flick of his tongue against your most sensitive spot had you teetering on the edge of a cliff, desperately craving release.

"Mmmh!" you gasped as San's tongue worked its way inside of you, stroking you with the perfect amount of pressure and speed. Your legs tightened around him, and you threw your head back, unable to control the sounds escaping your mouth. The pleasure was unlike anything you had ever felt, and you knew you were close to climaxing.

"I-I'm close," you tug at his hair, making sure to avoid his glasses. "Right there, fuck!" You didn't know how to be quiet, the pleasure was too intense. San's eyes flashed with something primal and he groaned against your pussy, the vibrations making you shiver.

With a final flick of his tongue and a suck on your clit, you felt your orgasm crash over you like a wave, your body convulsing as you rode the peak. You clung to the chair, your nails digging into the fabric as the pleasure washed over you in waves. San didn't stop, instead, he kept licking and kissing until you were panting and begging for mercy.

"Please," you gasped, your voice hoarse. "I can't-"

"One more," San murmured, his eyes dark with desire as he slid a finger inside of you, curling it in a way that made your eyes roll back in your head. The sensation was exquisite, and you could feel yourself climbing again, your muscles tightening around his digit. He watched you, his eyes hooded and focused, as he brought you closer to the brink once more.

With a final, deep thrust of his finger, you came again, your body shaking and quivering as the orgasm ripped through you. San sat back on his haunches, his face flushed with arousal as he took in the sight of you, sprawled out on the chair, panting and glowing.

"W-Where'd you learn to do-" you pause, pointing below. "…That…"

San's eyes crinkled at the corners with a hint of amusement. "Sweetie, I'm ten years older than you." he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a fresh wave of heat through your core. "I've had time to learn a few things." He leaned in, kissing you gently before sitting up.

He undoes his tie with swift, practiced movements, his eyes never leaving yours. "You're so beautiful," he whispers, his voice thick with need. You feel your heart race faster, his words a sweet aphrodisiac.

"Forget what I said earlier about staying professional." he almost growled, fiddling with his belt now. "I could give you everything you need."

You nodded, feeling your own need pulsing through your veins. "But we should be quick," you managed to say, though your voice was thick with lust. "Someone could come in."

"Then you're going to have to stay quiet," San warned with a smoldering look, his eyes dark with desire. He stood up, his pants now unbuttoned, revealing his erection that strained against the fabric of his boxers. You felt your mouth go dry as you stared at him, unable to believe that this was really happening.

He pushed his boxers down just enough for his cock to come out, and you felt your mouth water at the sight of him. San was well endowed, and the way his cock stood proudly before you was incredibly arousing. He stepped closer, and you reached out tentatively to touch him.

Your hand wrapped around his shaft, and he sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "You're so big," you murmured, your voice filled with wonder. "And so…strong."

San's hand covered yours, guiding you in a gentle stroking motion. "Yeah," he said, his voice strained. "But I'll be gentle."

You nodded, feeling a thrill of excitement at his words. He stepped closer, his cock now brushing against your stomach, leaving a trail of wetness. He moves it toward your entrance, and you grip the armrests of the chair tightly, bracing yourself.

"Ready?" San asked, his voice a low growl. You nodded, unable to speak as he pushed into you slowly, filling you up inch by inch. You felt a slight burn, but it was overshadowed by the overwhelming feeling of fullness. He was so much larger than anyone you've been with before, and it was a bit terrifying but mostly exhilarating.

He paused, giving you a moment to adjust before pulling out slightly and pushing back in. You let out a soft whimper, and he leaned in to kiss you again, his hand moving to cup your cheek. The gentle gesture helped to ease the tension in your body, and you started to relax into the sensation.

"You feel amazing." San whispered against your lips, his eyes searching yours as he began to move his hips in a slow, deliberate rhythm. You nodded, biting your bottom lip to keep from crying out as he filled you completely. His movements grew stronger, each thrust sending waves of pleasure rippling through your body.

The sound of the chair creaking under the weight of your passion filled the quiet library, the only other noise the muffled sounds of your breathing and the occasional soft whine that slipped from your mouth. San's grip on your hips tightened, his pace increasing as he lost himself in the moment.

"F-Fuck-" you try your best to stay quiet, but it's getting increasingly difficult as San's hips piston into you. The chair squeaks underneath you, and the thought of getting caught is almost too much to handle. You lean back, arching your back, giving him deeper access. San's eyes never leave yours, his strokes becoming more and more demanding as he chases his own release.

He leaned forward, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts, his thumbs rolling over your nipples. The added sensation was too much, and you bit back a moan as your orgasm began to build once more. San's eyes widened at the sight of you, lost in pleasure, and he picked up the pace, his strokes becoming more urgent.

"Fuck, I love you," you murmur, the words slipping out unbidden. San's eyes flash with something akin to surprise, and then his expression softens.

"I love you too, Y/N," he says, his voice thick with emotion. His thrusts become more urgent, his eyes never leaving yours as he drives you closer to the edge. You feel your body tightening around him, and you know you're about to come again.

"I-I can't-" you whimpered, your voice strained as your second orgasm built up. "Too much-" San's eyes never left yours, his movements becoming more erratic as he felt your muscles tighten around him. You felt his cock swell inside you, and he groaned against your neck.

With one final, deep thrust, San came, his warmth filling you completely. He stilled, his breaths coming out in harsh gasps. You felt your own climax peak and crash over you, your body quivering in his arms. For a moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breathing and the beating of your hearts.

San leaned in and kissed you again, this time more tenderly. "I'm sorry," he murmured against your lips. "I didn't mean to go that far. I really just…couldn't help myself."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. "It's okay," you whispered, your voice still shaky. "I didn't either."

"You're, uh, on birth control right?" San's voice was filled with concern, breaking the momentary silence.

The reality of the situation washed over you, and you nodded. "Yes, I am."

San let out a sigh of relief, his body relaxing slightly as he pulled out of you. You felt the warmth of him leave you and immediately missed the connection. He bent down and kissed you softly before helping you to stand, adjusting your clothing with gentle hands.

"You, um, really love me?" San's voice was a mix of shock and hope. He held you at arm's length, his eyes searching yours for any hint of doubt. The question was a knife to your heart, but you couldn't lie, not now.

"Yeah," you whispered, the truth finally out in the open. "I've been trying to ignore it, but I can't anymore."

San's eyes searched yours for a moment before he sighed happily. "You're adorable." He kissed you again, a smile playing on his lips. "But we have to be careful." He pulled away, looking around the library, reminding you of the precarious situation you were in.

"Whatever, old guy." You playfully punched his arm, trying to lighten the mood. San chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

[shelovesmytears]

“You owe me now!”

Azul's acting far too confident for someone talking about a simple glass of water.

"You can't be serious." You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“That's right! You totally set us up, y'know!” Grim yowls besides you. "Floyd charged at me outta nowhere!”

You weren't even in the room when it all happened. How did Grim supposedly knock Floyd's plate over and break the single glass of ‘extremely fresh’ water on it? A glass that, conveniently, cost a fortune and held some sort of “sentimental value” for Jade on top of that?

You had stepped away to use the restroom. For The Sevens’ sake.

"Now, now," Azul hums, his voice smoother than it has any right to be. "Weren't you and Grim taken in as one student? You truly should take better care of each other. But don't worry—I'm willing to help."

He takes a familiar contract from beneath his desk and slides it across the polished surface.

"Sign here, and your debt's gone."

“There's no way I'm signing any of your contracts,” you deadpan, sliding the paper back. "Not again."

“I assure you,” he says, returning it like a ping-pong ball. "That's the best path you can take."

“Heck, no!” Grim snarls, leaping onto the table and smacking the contract down to the floor. "You just wanna make her work for you! Then who's gonna bring me tuna?”

“Grim!” You drag the gremlin back onto your lap before he can lunge again.

Azul sighs, retrieving his paper with theatrical patience. He dusts it off, lays it flat again, and adjusts his glasses.

“As tempting as this might sound,” he says, his voice now dry. “I had something far less demanding in mind.”

A pause.

"Join me for club activities after class tomorrow. And we'll call this… forgiven.”

Another pause.

“...That's it?” You ask.

"That's really it," he says brightly, gesturing to the signature box on the paper. "No need to read the fine print—your signature's sufficient."

But Grim's quick to cut in. “Don't do it, minion! He's not telling you every—” He scrambles back onto the desk, but you catch him mid-pounce and drop him back on your lap.

“And what if I don't join you?” You turn to Azul—a flicker of curiosity has lit up—and lean in, elbows on the table.

Azul leans in, too, steepling his fingers. "...Then you can either repay me in cash… or work at Mostro Lounge for two months.” He smiles, his voice lower. "And I decide which.”

Well... Play a few board games with Azul or spend two whole months serving overpriced drinks while dodging Floyd's mood swings and Jade's endless rants about mushrooms? Because you simply can't afford that amount of money right now.

...Unfortunately, you'd rather go with the first option.

"Fine." You click your pen. Grim lets out a strangled gasp as you sign.

“Excellent!” Azul snatches the contract like it's made of gold—is it?—eyes shining as he examines your signature. “You won't regret this. I’ll be sure to pick you up after class tomorrow.”

You glance down at Grim. He stares up at you, betrayed, shaking his head.

Just a few games.

That's all this is… You hope.

But the next day?

You definitely didn't expect Azul to be standing right outside your classroom.

“Azul?!” You jerk back, startled.

"Good evening," he greets you far too cheerfully, as if you didn't just feel your soul ascend. "I'm glad to see you. Right on time, as I am!”

“...Right on time?” You echo, frowning.

Wait a second—was he waiting out here the whole time?

Your eyes meet—and for a moment, everything slows. The neatly slicked-back hair, the slightly-too-glossy skin, and… is that cologne?

“Surely, you haven't forgotten,” Azul pauses, then suddenly pulls out the contract from behind his back. "You willingly agreed to join me for club activities.”

His silvery-blue eyes shine with something foreign. But it's the little things that ultimately gave him away—his hand trembles as he holds the contract, a twitch pulls at the corner of his smile, and one bead of sweat trails down his temple.

Oh.

You now understand why he pulled such a dramatic scene yesterday.

Still, a faint smile curls on your lips.

"Of course. I've been looking forward to it all day," you say, your voice sugar-sweet.

Azul blinks. His eyes widen—just for a second—then his composure snaps back into place. He clears his throat. Adjusts his glasses. “...Shall we?”

He reaches for your bag, hoisting it up with a determination as stiff as his posture. His eyes avoid yours completely.

Just a few games.

That's really all this is.

[ghostlycamil4]

Can you make a bf!bakugo in college where after class he's just so tired and annoyed that he goes straight up to readers dorm and lays his head on her chest as he rants about his obnoxious day especially his shitty classmates while reader listens while studying. just pure fluff please ToT I'VE BEEN YEARNING for atleast a oneshot like this but I cant find anything like it anywhere

𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜'𝑠 𝑅𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡: 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑆𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝐻𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡

thank u for being patient i loved the idea sm and i hope u like how it turned out!! and for everyone else, requests are still open btw so if u got a brainrot, drop it in my inbox i’m literally thriving off ur ideas rn

You were lying on the bed, back against the headboard, reading a book you’d later write an essay on. The room was quiet, lit only by the warm glow of the small desk lamp, and the atmosphere felt slow, almost drowsy. There was no sound but the turning of pages and your sighs every time you got lost in dense paragraphs.

You heard footsteps coming down the hallway, loud and heavy, followed by a voice you knew all too well, muttering angrily.

“Where the hell did I—? Tch! Fucking hell…”

You didn’t flinch at the key twisting desperately in the lock, nor at the slam that came right after, because you knew exactly who it was. Only one person had a copy of your room key, and subtle entrances were never their thing.

Bakugo came in as the door slammed open. He looked worn out—messy hair, wrinkled hoodie, and his backpack barely hanging on one shoulder.

He dropped everything by the door with a rough sigh and headed straight for you without saying a word. He just walked over, kicked off his shoes, climbed into bed with you, and, like it was muscle memory, let himself fall beside you, resting his head on your chest with all the weight of his tired body.

A few seconds passed in silence, where only your hand moved slowly through his hair, not rushing him. Until finally, he spoke.

“I’m surrounded by idiots.”

“Group project again?” you asked, keeping your voice low so you wouldn’t push him.

“Fucking morons,” he muttered against your shirt, voice deep and muffled by your body. “I’m doing all the damn work, and on top of that, they tell me I’ve got ‘hostile energy.’ Hostile, huh… what do they expect, a damn clown grin while I carry their lazy asses?”

You couldn’t help a tiny, almost invisible smile. Your fingers didn’t stop moving through his scalp for even a second.

“What’d you do?” you asked gently.

“I ignored them. Because if I opened my mouth, I was gonna kill someone.”

“Nice progress.”

“Tch.”

“You’re so strong for putting up with them,” you said dramatically, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

“I know. I’m a damn victim of the system,” he grumbled theatrically.

There was a short, comfortable silence. His hands were loose at your side now, and his breathing started to fall in sync with yours.

“Stay as long as you need, Katsu,” you whispered.

“Mmhm…” he hummed, settling more comfortably against your chest. “You can keep reading… just don’t stop breathing, I wanna keep hearing that.”

“My heartbeat?”

“Yeah… sounds better than all the bullshit I heard today.”

And that’s how he stayed. Complaining a little more, but with each word, his voice got slower, softer… until he fell asleep, breathing to the rhythm of your heartbeat.

Content @ghostlycamil4 2025. Do not copy or modify.

[absdollievu]

And they were roomates

nerdcollege!abby x femcollege!reader

“Room 302”

You can feel Abby’s eyes on you again—sharp, silent, disapproving. You’re sprawled across your bed, phone raised above your head, fingers moving fast as you send another voice note in the group chat.

“You ever gonna open that textbook?” Abby’s voice cuts through the room like a knife through quiet.

You roll onto your side and glance over. She’s at her desk, back straight, highlighter moving across a page like she’s painting a masterpiece. Her hair is pulled up into a messy bun, a few loose strands sticking to her forehead. She hasn’t looked away from the page, but she doesn’t need to. You already know the look on her face.

“I’m multitasking,” you say, gesturing lazily with your phone.

She finally looks up. “Multitasking?” She lifts an eyebrow. “Pretty sure TikTok doesn’t count as prep for midterms.”

You grin. “Hey, there’s educational content on here. I saw a guy explain quantum physics using cats and Red Bull.”

Abby closes her book with a loud thunk. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’ve been told that before.”

She exhales—more tired than annoyed. You think she might actually be used to you by now. It’s been three months, and despite your late-night voice calls, early morning music blasts, and a general aversion to productivity, she hasn’t requested a room change. Not once.

You sit up and cross your legs. “Wanna watch a movie instead? You look like you need a break.”

Abby narrows her eyes. “You’re trying to corrupt me.”

“I’m trying to save you. You’ve been studying since lunch. Your brain is gonna melt.”

She hesitates, and for a second, you think she might say no. But then she sighs, pushes back from her desk, and grabs the remote.

“If I fail this test because of you, I’m writing your name on my scantron.”

You snort. “At least we’ll go down together.”

And as the movie starts, and she finally smiles for the first time all day, you can’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—being annoying has its perks.

⸻

You’re out of breath, hoodie half-zipped, and the panic in your chest is loud enough to drown out your thoughts as you bang on the dorm door like your life depends on it. Because, honestly? It kind of does.

“Abby! Abby, open up! Please! I’m gonna die!”

The door swings open a few seconds later. Abby stands there in sweatpants and an oversized shirt, glasses perched low on her nose, a protein bar in one hand and her usual look of exhausted patience in the other.

You’re practically vibrating. “Midterms. Abby. I don’t know anything. I looked at my notes and it’s like ancient Greek.”

She blinks once. “So you’re finally realizing you’re screwed.”

“Yes! And I need you to unscrew me. Academically. Please.”

Abby takes a long, dramatic bite of her protein bar, chews, and then says, “No.”

Your jaw drops. “No?!”

“No,” she repeats, adjusting her glasses. “I’m walking to the café. I need caffeine. And distance.”

And with that, she steps past you and starts walking down the hallway like some calm, towering goddess of discipline and disappointment. You scramble to catch up.

“Abby. Abby, come on. You’re, like, my only hope. Everyone else is worse than me. Paulina thought the French Revolution was about baguettes. Please.”

She keeps walking, not even sparing you a glance as she pushes through the dorm exit and into the brisk air. “Should’ve thought about that before you decided to major in group chat politics instead of psychology.”

You groan. Loudly. The café’s across campus. It’s going to be a long walk. But you’re committed now. You trail after her, spewing every excuse and half-baked promise you can think of.

“I’ll buy you coffee! I’ll clean our whole room! I’ll go to class! I’ll—”

You reach the café’s doors just as Abby pulls one open. You tug gently on her arm, face scrunched in a dramatic plea. “Abby. If I fail, I’ll have to retake the class. With a professor who hates me. And I’ll cry. You hate when I cry.”

She pauses, hand still on the door. Her expression softens—just a little—and she exhales like this is the most exhausting favor anyone’s ever asked of her.

“Fine,” she mutters, holding the door open wider. “But I’m quizzing you over coffee. And if you get one question wrong, I’m making you delete TikTok for the rest of the semester.”

You gasp. “You are cruel. You’re cruel, Abby Anderson.”

And yet, as you both step into the warm, espresso-scented air of the café, you can’t help but grin. Because even when she rolls her eyes and pretends to hate you, she still shows up.

⸻

It’s been a few days since the café. Abby hasn’t said anything about how well you did, or how she’s been quietly rewriting her study materials so they make more sense to you—not the textbook. But you can feel it in the way she starts pausing after each card, letting you come to the answer in your own weird, roundabout way. She doesn’t roll her eyes as much. Doesn’t sigh as dramatically. Sometimes she even lets your ridiculous examples stand without correction.

Tonight, you’re in the dorm. Your side’s a mess, as usual. Her side? Not a single thing out of place—except for the fact that her desk is currently occupied by both your notebooks, two mugs of tea (hers mostly untouched), and a bowl of chocolate covered pretzels you brought in as a peace offering.

Abby sits across from you, legs crossed, pen tapping against her knee. Her glasses are slipping again. You wonder if she knows how often she pushes them up when she’s trying to hide a smile.

“Okay,” she says, holding up a card. “Explain confirmation bias.”

You lean back on your elbows and smirk. “That’s when you only look for stuff that proves you’re right. Like how I keep ignoring my grades and focusing on the one time a professor said I had potential.”

She snorts. “That’s… not wrong.”

“You’re smiling.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

She looks down at the flashcard. “Next question.”

But the corners of her mouth are still tugged upward, just a bit. She flips the card and throws you another one. “Defense mechanisms. Give me two.”

You hold up a finger. “Projection. Like when you get mad at me for not studying, but really you’re mad at yourself for how much you secretly enjoy our study sessions.”

Abby raises an eyebrow.

You add a second finger. “And denial. Like how you’re pretending you don’t love my sense of humor.”

She rolls her eyes so hard it almost counts as a stretch. “That’s not how those work.”

“It’s how I work.”

She looks up at you then, chin tilted slightly, and there’s something unreadable flickering behind her glasses—like she’s trying to figure you out, again. You hold her gaze a second too long before she glances away and pretends to reorganize the cards.

The air shifts, just a little. Not a full change. Not serious. But enough that the room feels warmer, more charged.

You break the moment with a grin. “What, no lecture this time?”

“I’m saving it for when you inevitably crash mid-sentence because you’ve been running on caffeine and chaos.”

“You care.”

“I’m invested in not watching you spiral.”

“You care a lot.”

She looks at you again. This time, it lingers. “Shut up and read the next definition.”

You don’t. Not right away. You study her instead—how she bites the inside of her cheek when she’s holding something back, how her fingers flex slightly when she’s annoyed and trying not to show it. How she doesn’t push you away when the flirting starts to sneak in like a slow drip. She just… lets it hang in the air.

You flip a flashcard.

“Okay,” you say. “Final question: which defense mechanism is it when you pretend not to like your annoyingly charming roommate?”

Abby lets out a sharp breath through her nose. Her mouth quirks into a reluctant smile, but she doesn’t look up. “That’s called repression,” she mutters, scribbling something in her notebook.

You’re grinning. “Interesting. Very, very interesting.”

She doesn’t say anything.

But her ears are a little red.

And she still hasn’t told you to stop.

⸻

The dorm’s gone quiet. Flashcards are stacked neatly on Abby’s desk, tea mugs mostly drained, and the study buzz has simmered into something slower, more still. You stretch, groaning dramatically, then grab your towel and shower caddy.

“I’ll be quick,” you say, already halfway to the door.

Abby doesn’t look up. “Please don’t flood the hallway again.”

“No promises.”

You disappear down the hall, the sound of the shower starting a minute later.

Abby brushes her teeth in silence in the bathroom while you’re showering. Taking a quick glance outside to your side of the room—half a disaster zone, half a lived-in mess she’s begrudgingly gotten used to. She spits, rinses, and wipes her mouth on the towel hanging by her bunk.

The shower shuts off.

You return, wrapped in a towel and rubbing at your damp hair, cheeks pink from the heat. You don’t say anything as you dig through your drawer for a sleep shirt, but Abby catches the slight grin on your face when you realize she’s watching and turns quickly back toward her bed.

You change with your back to her. Nothing dramatic—just cotton and routine and maybe a heartbeat that’s a little too loud for no real reason. You crawl into bed, exhale, and reach to turn off the lamp.

Darkness swallows the room in a soft, shared quiet.

“Goodnight, Ab’s,” you mumble into your pillow.

There’s a beat.

“Don’t call me that,” she says automatically, voice low.

You roll over slightly, just enough to peek through the dark. Waiting.

And then, softer:

“Goodnight.”

You smile, eyes already slipping closed.

Abby turns her face to the wall, tugging the blanket up—and hiding the small, involuntary smirk that’s found its way to her lips.

⸻

[coolwyous]

┈─★ 𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 ( 𝘀𝗼 𝘀𝗮𝘆 𝗶𝘁 𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸 — 𝙙𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙤. )

   ⊹ ࣪ ˖ your professor contacts you to ask if you’d be willing to share your notes with a classmate that has requested a bit of help. you’re more than happy to help, until resident hockey star megan skeindiel is hitting you up every week, expectantly waiting for you to hand them over...

   ˎˊ˗  ❄️  ⊹ ࣪ ˖  🔓୭˚.  ⠀ ᵎᵎ ⠀ 🗝️

   ➴ pairing: hockey player! megan skiendiel x english major!f!reader

   ➴ genre + wc: 10k, college au! one-sided enemies to friends, friends to lovers, dorky hockey jock megan, mostly fluff tbh

   ➴ you might want to tune in...: ditto - njz

┈─★ a/n: wigline was giving boyfriend in that livestream and i was trying to decide what sport before i was struck w the idea of megan and her beanie bros as wanna-be-frat-boy hockey stars. planning on making this part of a larger universe, goalie!lara and captain!dani coming next. enjoy!

eng121: intro to british literature. meets tuesday and thursday from 11:00 to 12:15. 

you’re always a few minutes early, an easy walk considering your world history lecture is just upstairs. you’ve always been punctual, thus why you’re first to class every time. it’s definitely not so you can get a front row seat in the lecture hall to make a good impression on your favorite professor teaching your favorite subject. 

the lecture hall starts to slowly trickle in. you don’t know anyone in this class, which is okay– you’re there to focus anyways, and given that your grade is an impeccable 98% by the end of week 5, you figure you’re doing something right. of course, minji and belle would say you’re doing way too much, every late night study session you pick instead of joining them for another party celebrating the hockey team–

your mind trails to thoughts of that damn women’s hockey team. they’re loud, they’re arrogant, and worst of all, they’re everywhere.

you hope they’re gone on an away game today. it’s so much easier to focus when they’re not there. 

but unfortunately, you’re not that lucky. the idiots come bursting in through the door. a curly haired blonde, a grinning brunette with red tips, and the tallest of the three, a button-nosed ginger. each wearing the team’s signature letterman jacket. you hate the sight of that damn letterman jacket.

they’re rough housing with each other, pushing and shoving, until eventually, one of them crashes into your desk, sending your bookbag and its contents flying. you feel your teeth grit together— any closer and it would have been your coffee all over your brand new laptop. 

“sorry, sorry,” the blonde screech-laughs, scrambling to catch herself before she tumbles. you spot the hickeys shamelessly scattered on her neck. you wouldn’t be the slightest bit surprised if she had showed up half drunk to class.

“bro, pick them up for her at least,” the red-haired one laughs.

“i got it,” you say through gritted teeth. you want to say as little as possible to these idiots.

but it’s the tall one who is kneeling down with you, scooping up your pens in her hands, offering them to you all while avoiding your gaze. “uh, sorry ‘bout that.”

“it’s fine.”

“cool miffy eraser.”

“thanks.”

is she expecting you to thank her? for picking up four pens and an eraser that her friend dropped?

your professor clears his throat once the teaching assistant arrives, signaling the start of class. the three stooges share a look between themselves before hurrying up the steps of the lecture hall, making their way up to a back row where you’re certain they’re planning to just good off and distract everyone for the rest of class.

you sigh as you return to your seat and focus on the words in front of you on your laptop. you hate hockey.

“hi y/n,” sophia, the delightfully nice upperclassman TA of your course approaches you as class ends. “got a minute?”

you nod, packing up your backpack. sophia has taught a few lessons in the course, her powerpoints engaging and meticulous, and you can’t help but admire how perfectly she navigates the content. talk about goals. 

“the university resource center reached out to us and said a student is requesting accommodations. a note-taker is all they’re asking for. that means we can find someone in class to assign to take notes for the student.”

“me?” your eyebrows arch as your realize what she’s asking.

“i’ve been grading your class’ discussion posts. you very clearly love british literature.” she smiles, and you feel your neck burn at the compliment. “it’s a decent pay, and you can just offer whatever notes you’re already taking. we just need to let the student know by friday. let me know?”

minji gives you the push you need when you get home to your dorm later that day and explain your situation to your roommates. 

“you’re already taking the notes. might as well get your bag,” she shrugs from her bed where she’s playing animal crossing.

belle nods in agreement. “plus, you love being helpful. our bleeding heart.”

you roll your eyes and shoot an email to sophia, receiving a smiley face as her reply just a few minutes later. 

-

you printed out your notes up to that point in the quarter to have them ready for thursday’s lecture. sophia said she’ll introduce the two of you at the end of class, all you have to do is hang back. you ruffle through your backpack once class ends, tucking your laptop away as the last of your classmates begin to trickle out the door.

your professor waves to you as he leaves, and you happily get up from your seat to approach sophia.

at least– until you’re cut off by someone clumsily stepping in front of you, in a flash of ginger hair.

your heart drops. no way in hell.

“hi.” she says simply, face unreadable. today, her and the three stooges kept showing tik toks to each other in the middle of lecture, at least three accidentally blasting at full volume. you want to tell her the hell off for always disrupting your favorite class, but sophia’s eyes are eagerly on you, and you want to impress your new mentor.

“hi,” you manage to get out behind gritted teeth.

this girl is way too overdressed for an 11am english lit course. white button up shirt, a messily knotted tie, dickies and that stupid letterman jacket with the leather sleeves. the beanie she usually sports is nowhere to be found, letting you get a better look at her features. 

not that you particularly care to look at her. she’s not even giving you the decency to look you in the eyes, instead, just fixing her glance at your hand and pointing.

“i need that,” she finally says after an awkward pause. she points again. “uh, those.”

“you?” you’re still in disbelief. you’re going to spend every thursday after class giving your beautiful, pristine notes to this entitled fuckboy jock?

“unless uh, if you’re not y/n y/ln, and those aren’t for me,” she adds, peeking down at her phone to confirm the details. 

“i typed today’s lecture.” you feel a scream bubbling in your chest, but you manage to suppress it. “let me send them to you. let me give you my email.”

“ah, cool.” she hands you her phone, already opened to her student email account. you glance at the cinamoroll phone case, when she finally catches you off guard, adding a quick “thank you.”

“no problem.” well, yes problem, but maybe it’s more of an ego thing. at least she finally said thank you.

“if you could send, uh, all of them. that’d be easier.” the athlete scratches awkwardly at the back of her head. you’re a bit irritated that you wasted all that paper trying to print them and be polite, but whatever. bleeding heart or whatever belle said, you figure you can’t exactly be choosy about your good deeds if you want the karma. 

“and we have an away game next week, so i’ll be missing class on tuesday. if you can email me then too…”

“got it.” when did you sign up to be a freaking personal assistant?

“thank you.” she dips her head down, lips pressing together into a fine line. “i’m megan.”

“bye megan,” you wave, before snatching up your backpack and getting the hell out of there.

-

you’re left in peace next week as the three stooges aren’t there on tuesday.

thursday rolls around, and megan is waiting for you in the hallway by the door again, leaning against the wall. you’re starting to feel extremely irritated by the whole situation. she didn’t even reply to your emails from last week or this week to say thank you for the notes you emailed. at the very least, she could let you know that she got them, right?

“you can just email them, all of them, in the future. save the paper,” she tells you as you hand her your annotated paper copy of that week’s powerpoint. you squint at her and walk off without a word.

-

the one good thing that comes out of this arrangement is that sophia invites you to get coffee with her after class, and your mentor becomes one of your favorite friends in the span of a week. 

“i didn’t know you got accommodations for being a jock that misses half a semester’s worth of class,” you say irritatedly as you pick your order up off the counter. 

sophia laughs. “i’m so sorry… they don’t tell me why they need the notes, just that they’re approved for them.”

“ugh, i’d kill for someone to give me all their notes,” minji, who tagged along, complains. “stupid hockey players get everything handed to them.”

“do you think that’s really it though? like they get free access to a notewriter because they miss so much class? and the university obviously wants to keep making money off of them,” you speculate. “holy shit. that’s so unfair.”

“i don’t know anything about how the student athlete system works,” sophia wrinkles her nose. 

you’ve already made up your mind. come this thursday, you’re putting your foot down.

-

thursday’s class comes. megan’s stupid blonde friend does actually spill your coffee this time. now, you’re not only pissed with megan, but pissed with everything that surrounds her. her friends leave the lecture hall with the taller girl trailing behind them, but you grab her by the sleeve to stop her. she’s dressed normally today: beanie, hoodie, sweats, and that stupid jacket on top of it all.

“y/n,” she greets, almost cheerfully. “you don’t have to keep waiting for me, the emails are fine-”

“i don’t think you deserve my notes any more,” you cut her off. you’re waiting for it, the entitlement, the meltdown, whatever it is that shitty people who take advantage of you do, but it never comes.

megan simply wrinkles her nose and shrugs, scratching awkwardly at her forehead.

“well, i’m dyslexic, so there’s that.”

“oh my god.” that’s why she got the accommodation approved. not because she’s a jock. you’re swept over by a wave of instant regret. you pray to god you’ll live this down. “i am so sorry.”

“your notes are also really, really helpful.” megan holds up the paper she had been hiding in her hand. a bright red 72 is circled on the quiz. 

“a C?”

“technically a C minus,” she corrects you playfully. “and it’s the best i’ve done on one of these stupid quizzes since the semester started.”

you feel your nose burn with embarrassment. “i’m sorry.”

“i’d be annoyed too if someone took advantage from all my hard work.” she offers a tilt of her head. “i promise i’ll be more grateful.”

“no, you don’t have to do that.” you’re still reeling from megan’s quiet confession. “i was being neurotic.”

“here, ah, put your number in,” she hands you her silly cinnamoroll phone case. “i’ll send you a QR code, you can scan it for free drinks at the cafe. student athlete discount.”

“i’m sorry again,” you grimace. 

she shakes her head. the smile playing on her lips stirs something in the pit of your stomach.

“it’s no worries. i’ll see you next week.”

-

two weeks after your whole expose on megan, you two have fallen into a cordial rhythm of nodding to each other at the end of every class. you appreciate that she acknowledges you now.

however, this does not diminish your burning hatred for the hockey team as a whole. 

you’re in the middle of impressing your professor, explaining the contrast between romanticism and modern cynicism, bringing in points you had connected from your intro to philosophy class. 

but it’s hard to finish the thoughts when the three stooges are causing a ruckus from their corner of the room. you see lara smack dani in the shoulder, the two struggling to catch their breaths in between silent laughs. megan, stuck in the middle of them, looks clearly distressed. 

your eyes meet, and you swear there’s something apologetic in the way she looks at you. 

your professor is equally as unpleased as you are, glaring at the trio as you finish your thoughts. 

“miss skiendiel? any thoughts?”

you can’t help but feel bad. if anything, megan was the least guilty of the three. it was the other two that were giggling like little stupid frat boys. 

“uh yeah,” megan leans back in her chair, clearing her throat. she’s quiet for a few moments before she simply shrugs and scratches at her nose. “ditto, y/ln.”

dani bursts out into laugher and a few other snickers are heard throughout the lecture hall. you grit your teeth. is she too cool to care? you had started to let yourself think that maybe she was more than a mindless jock just coasting through classes so she could focus on playing. but every chance she gets, megan just feeds the fire. 

she tries to nod at you after class, but you’re not having it. it surprises you when she steps into your way, ducking her head down to meet your gaze. you curse silently at how much taller she is than you.

“hey,” she chirps. 

“what do you want?” 

“i’m sorry about them. they’re—“ she pauses, processing your tone. “hold up, are you annoyed with me?” 

“i shouldn’t be?” you snap. 

“why would you? i was trying to tell them to shut up.”

“and then you opened your mouth, and it was like you couldn’t be bothered. you act like you’re above it all.”

she’s staring at you in disbelief, that stupid beanie obstructing her brows but you can see the confusion in her eyes. those big round puppy dog eyes widen. 

“that? y/n, you think my dumb ass is gonna be able to come up with something on the spot right after you just sounded so smart? much less in front of everyone?”

“you’re always so over it.”  you roll your eyes, reaching down to grab your backpack. “care at least a little.”

“y/n, listen to me.” megan holds her hand out to stop you and her voice drops, but it’s not threatening. it’s almost… shy?  “y/n, you scare the fucking shit out of me. that’s why i’m so quiet. i’m trying to think of what to say.”

you blink back in confusion. “i’m not scary.”

“you’re like a super genius.” the athlete gives you a pleading look. “my brain feels like i dropped it in the toilet and soaked it in rice.”

you laugh at her comparison. she grins and you figure you can forgive her, at least this time. 

“that’s dramatic.”

“i’m hopeless. your notes are the only thing keeping me holding on.”

you feel an ache in your chest. megan isn’t all that bad— just a girl desperate to make progress even if she’s sinking. 

“are you busy tonight? i can come help you study,” you offer, and you can already hear belle clowning you for your charity work. 

her grin widens, exposing the whites of her extremely nice teeth. you feel yourself soften, even if just for a moment.

“you’d be saving my life. i’ll text you my dorm after practice.”

“don’t stand me up,” you warn. you wonder if it went to your head, hearing megan admit you intimidate her.

but then her lips curl into a playful smile, nodding as she strides backwards out of the classroom. “yeah, ditto, y/n. i better see you then.”

you’re in her building as soon as she texts you that she’s out just a few hours later. you double check the number on the door and feel your heart pound as her neighbor walks out, eyeing you up and down before heading down the hall. ugh, you pray you don’t look desperate.

“megan?” you call out, knocking on the door. the door gives way, clearly not locked or even closed all the way, and you immediately spot the flash of bright orange hair. she’s hunched over in front of her bed, eyes fixed on the laptop with a set of headphones covering her ears. her hair is in two braids falling over her shoulders.

“y/n! sorry, these things are noise cancelling,” she apologizes, motioning for you to come join her. you step in, and she tries to turn the laptop away from you, which you flag as suspicious. “i got started without you.”

you lean over a little further and roll your eyes as you see what’s actually pulled up. it’s a hockey game. 

“so much for studying time, skiendiel.”

“no, no,” she says hurriedly, pulling the headphones completely off her head.  “i’m listening to your notes. look.”

she pulls up her phone and true to her word, she’s using speech to text to read the document out through her headphones. 

your heart breaks at her brows furrowing together, those dark eyes pleading up at you. she’s just a fucking puppy. 

“it’s the only way i can focus. i have to watch my games back to relax. i already did my workouts, ate, packed for tomorrow. it’s the only way i can fit everything in and not go crazy.”

“i can read them to you,” you offer.

“i can read,” megan wrinkles her nose. “i just waste more energy trying to figure it out than actually retaining anything.”

“i can read, and explain it to you,” you modify your initial suggestion, before you even realize what you’re doing. why are you so eager to help this girl? a month ago you were complete strangers, and she was the bane of your existence.

but there she is, the jock you hoped would never show up to class again, looking up at you with the most round brown eyes that keep rustling something in you. is it pity?

“you must think i’m so fucking stupid,” she grimaces, shaking her head. 

“i think you’re willing to work hard,” you tell her gently. “that counts for a lot in my book, actually.”

she says nothing, flipping open her copy of the class textbook. but the look she gives you, warm and full of gratitude, says everything.

you two spend the next hour, criss crossed on her floor, papers and books strewn around you. your review is going better than you anticipated: she’s quiet, focused, and attentive to all the comparisons you draw.

“i hate this fuckass romantic period,” megan hisses as you finish your next reading of a lord byron piece. you noticed her brows furrowing halfway through as she tries to keep up. “so much poetry bullshit.”

“you’re good at poetry. it’s all metaphors for big feelings,” you encourage her, before a memory that comes to mind helps carry your point across. “the thing you said about your brain the other day was an amazing metaphor.”

“that? my brainrot? i speak like that ‘cause i can’t figure out how to say what i really want.”

you realize what it is, your question from earlier. it isn’t pity. megan is just a nervous, hard-on-herself girl, stuck in the expectations of others, a victim even to your unfair judgement. literature has always come easily to you– you can’t imagine how hard it must be for someone to be trying to navigate that at a disadvantage and still give it their all. 

you put a finger on it. it’s not pity. it’s admiration. 

“it paints a picture, perfectly,” you tell her, pushing back against what you realize is her constant cloud of self-doubt. she shakes her head, but the smile is there, telling you you’ve broken through to her. you press on, preparing the next passage to read out loud. “just imagine these old white dudes are trying to do the same.”

you don’t finish up until 10pm, when her roommate enters and seems genuinely surprised to see you both.

“hi marsh,” she greets.

“ah, i was wondering why our neighbor warned me that you had a girl over,” the accented girl greets, grinning cheekily. “they couldn’t possibly imagine you’d just be studying.”

you see megan’s face burn red. you laugh to cover up the flash of heat that takes to your neck from the speculation. 

“they’re conspiring against me ‘cause i’m really not like that,” megan groans, standing up hurriedly. “you’re gonna make my tutor think i’m a piece of shit.”

“don’t let her fool you,” the brunette smiles warmly, pointing at megan. “heart of gold, this one.”

“ah okay, now that’s too much.” megan tries to bury her face in her shoulder awkwardly, handing you your shoes. “let me walk you out.”

belle texts you to remind you that she’s outside the dorm to pick up dinner with you, like you had agreed. megan walks you down, waving awkwardly to your roommate before turning to you with that same awkward wave. 

“uh, bye. thank you again. made a lot of sense when you broke it down.”

“i’m happy to come by again soon, if it made a difference,” you smile.

“only if you were already planning to study by yourself. don’t go out of your way for me,” she tells you forcefully.

“i’m happy to,” you reassure her. “good night megan.”

maybe you catch her off guard by saying her name, but the way her eyes widen makes you laugh. there’s something charming about her undeniable awkwardness. she waves again, and watches carefully from the building doors as you stride up to belle, waiting for you on a nearby bench.

“that’s your charity project?” she questions, “your horrible hockey jock?”

“i might’ve been quick to judge,” you admit, looking over your shoulder. megan is still there, leaning against the doorframe, watching you guys walk off. “she’s not all bad.”

“not all bad? you made her seem irredeemable,” belle laughs, looping her arm in yours. 

her only crime is liking hockey and being awkward. you sigh, and belle changes the subject, but you’re stuck thinking about it for the rest of the night. megan deserves a chance to show you who she is before you decide it for her.

-

and she does exactly that. megan, once she feels more comfortable, turns out to be a complete goofball. you’re laughing so hard at her stupid jokes one study session that you cough up red bull out of your nose and megan nearly passes out laughing with you. megan exposes that despite the hockey player stereotype, she is completely harmless. you watch her awkwardly let people cut her in line, or sip a drink made incorrectly when you get coffee together, all because she’s too nervous to speak up. megan is a mama’s girl and has nightly calls with her mom, sometimes interrupting your sessions, but she’s quick to mumble an ‘i love you too, mom,’ when she thinks you can’t hear her. and you learn that  megan, more than anything, loves hockey.

megan is also insanely humble, and is used to hard work. you start to realize just how much the athlete has on her plate.

you guys are leaving class one day, trying to decide when your next study session should be, when she explains what a normal day looks like for her. conditioning, nutrition, physical therapy for an old back strain, at least a half hour every night of reviewing her game tapes to see how she could have played better. and that’s not even including the hour-and-a-half practices she attends every day. and in megan’s case, you realized, she shows up an hour early to get a head start. that’s not even to mention the travel time involved with away games.

no wonder she only hangs around those stupid jock friends of hers. with the exception of her roommate, it doesn’t seem like she’d have much time to make friends outside of that. 

you’ll admit, however, that lara and daniela are slowly growing on you. dani lives in your dorm building, and lara is the only one with a car on campus, so megan will sometimes end up inviting them to come and study with you guys. lara, confident and forward, is extremely friendly and makes you feel at ease once you stop seeing her as some frat boy wanna-be. dani, a self-proclaimed attention whore that you discover also is extremely emotional, has a laugh so infectious it’s easy to see why her and lara are usually distracted in class.

and then megan, tagging along like their dorky little sibling, constantly begging them to stop drawing attention to themselves. you start to read her face, noticing when she’s dying of embarrassment from something they do.

you start to really know megan, and she lets herself be known, an open and honest response for every question you ask as your friendship deepens over the weeks.

“why do you come to class so dressed up sometimes?” you ask one night, trying to figure out how to help her pre-loop up her tie for the next day. you’re sick of seeing that crooked knot on her neck and offered to teach yourself on youtube to help her out.

“you’re supposed to dress formal on game days.” she explains. “like, to respect the sport or whatever.”

“i see,” you hum, trying to focus on remembering where the next loop goes through. you realize on the days megan is dressed up, you see a ton of people wearing their fan merch. you finally connect the dots. “i didn’t realize this many people liked hockey.”

“yeah, ‘cause you’re a giant nerd and don’t pay attention to sports. hockey is our biggest sport here.” megan teases. “half of our graduates go pro.”

“oh,” you blink. you’re becoming painfully aware of how close you two are, your fingers sliding behind her neck to tuck the tie behind her collar. “you must like the attention.”

“no. i like the game.” megan’s still awkward, but as your friendship has grown, she’s gotten better at correcting your incorrect assumptions. “the attention makes me lose focus.”

“do you wanna go pro?” you ask.

“yes,” megan says, and it’s quiet like a confession. 

“i think you can do it.” you say it so confidently, but megan lets out a deep breath that tells you she’s doubted this. you hope she takes your faith in her to heart.

“i would say you should come see a game, but you wouldn’t know the difference if i played great or got my ass beat out there,” she laughs. 

“i think you’re the hardest working person i know. you’ll make anything happen.”

“that’s really nice, y/n.” she watches as your fingers finish the final loop, pulling the knot into her collar snugly. “you’ve always been so down to believe in me.”

“promise you won’t forget about me when you make it big?” you grin teasingly. you smooth out her collar around her tie before feeling your neck burn at the proximity between you two. and yet, you don’t find yourself rushing to move away.

megan’s eyes draw to you with something in them, something gentle and different than before. 

“of course,” she smiles, but there’s something more. you’re not brave enough to ask her about it. 

-

your phone buzzes you awake. you don’t bother to reach for your glasses, simply seeing 1:29am is enough to irritate you. but then you see the contact photo, a goofy candid of megan with her beanie pulled down over her eyes, and you figure you can’t be that mad.

you slip into the hallway to not wake belle and minji before picking up.

“hi.”

“y/n?” her voice is raspy and so, so sweet. you wonder if she’s just as tired as you are. “what’s up, what do you need?”

“you called me, dumbass.” you laugh. “in the middle of the night, i might add.”

“oh shit, right right,” she says cooly. 

you laugh again. megan’s humor is so, so stupid, and you have no clue how she can manage to make you laugh every single time.

“how’s the hotel?” you ask. it’s an away game against washington state.

“too stuffy, and we have a red-eye in like three hours.” she sighs. “daniela just got back from partying and woke me up.”

“at least she didn’t bring anyone back to the room this time,” you say.

“god, please do not remind me of that, y/n,” megan pleads, and you can picture the way she’d give you that panicked glare at the memory. you laugh at the way she told the story when it had first happened– rooming with dani for a game against oregon when the blonde made megan sleep in the bathroom so she could hook up with a sorority girl. megan described being traumatized by what she could hear through the door, and you nearly died of laughter.

“try to sleep. red-eyes can be brutal.”

“i’ll nap when i’m back home,” she reassures you. you’re already planning out what you’ll bring her for lunch as a celebration. you didn’t know much, but you knew that these semi-finals were no joke. 

(you don’t mention minji clowning you for tracking the score of the game, and sophia giving you a questioning look when you screamed in the middle of the dining hall once megan’s team had won.)

“i’m literally whispering and dani says i’m making too much noise. i’ll kill her,” megan adds, and you can practically hear the eye-roll.

“you’re not killing anybody, you big dork,” you laugh. “you should go to sleep.”

“fine fine, bye hater.”

“good night, megan.”

“good night, y/n.” 

you attempt to pay no mind to the flutter in your chest as you make your way back into your dorm, diving into your bed. before you close your eyes, a text from megan makes that flutter even harder to ignore.

wanted to hear your voice

yeah?

i get homesick on the road :/

aw you poor baby

thanks for picking up

sure jsyk u can call whenever, you big baby

ditto

-

“what are you doing tomorrow?” she asks you, after a session in your room where you’ve finished drilling the different dates of publications into her head with a stupid memorization song. 

“i don’t have any plans besides–”

“besides reading books by boring dead dudes,” megan gripes. “some of the older girls are having a party to celebrate making it to the championships. you should come. you can bring your roommates. the house is so close, it’s like a 20 minute walk from the dorms.”

“i’ll think about it,” you smile.

“think about what?” belle’s voice rings out as she enters the room at the perfect time. 

“just a small house party. i’ve never seen you out before, y/n,” megan says.

“y/n’s a homebody, but i’ll get her there. send me the details?” belle grins. 

you groan as the two exchange numbers, seeming much too devious for your liking. but the night ends, the next day passes by, and you won’t give megan the satisfaction of letting her know how excited you are about this as your uber drops you and your roomies off far later in the night than you’d like to be awake. 

minji squints as the music pounds from the house, barely containing the people that you see through each window. the three of you let yourselves in, immediately met by familiar faces. 

“i thought you said small?” belle laughs as lara and daniela greet you with hugs.

“dani posted it to her public story instead of her private,” lara snorts. “half the university is here.”

“if my crime is to love being surrounded by beautiful women, fuckin’ arrest me,” dani defends herself, hands in the air. 

“y/n.” megan’s voice rings out from behind you. your heart thuds as she stands there smiling, like a puppy wagging its tail. “you made it.”

“take this with me!” dani grins, handing you a cup of god knows what. you haven’t had enough experience to know your tolerance, but you figure you can start with one and go from there. the blonde cheers as the drink disappears down your throat, megan giving you a concerned yet amused look.

“you’ll die if you try to keep up with her,” she laughs. “she’s fucking crazy.”

“thanks for the tip,” you smile back. you see the cup in her hand. “should i keep up with you instead?”

“it’s gatorade,” she grins sheepishly. “i’m play to win, and i don’t like to take risks the week of such a big game. i try not to even let myself get upset. gotta focus, y’know.”

“well let’s pour one out for baby megs,” lara toasts, pouring from a bottle into everyone’s cups. “and y/n, who saved our girl from academic probation!”

“alright lar, not too much now,” megan wrinkles her nose. 

you laugh, and her eyes meet yours, a smile behind their warmth. you’re surrounded by some of the most exciting people you’ve ever met, and yet all you want to do is find a quiet corner and talk to this dork. you feel your chest tense with a weight of something, but you shake your head before the thoughts can develop.

“gonna go get another drink,” you excuse yourself quickly. maybe you need something stronger, just for tonight.

you’re in the kitchen pouring yourself something random when the flash of ginger hair catches your attention from the other room. except, megan’s not alone, and there’s a girl standing a bit too close, touching something on megan’s forearm.

your mouth goes dry. you’d spent so long getting to know the side of megan the world doesn’t see, it hadn’t occurred to you that she could still have a bad side to her. is it even a bad side to be flirting with a cute girl at a college party? you swallow a lump in your throat and drink whatever you’ve put in your cup. of course she’s allowed to do what she wants, and that doesn’t make her a bad person.

you look up again, and megan leans down to whisper something in the girl’s ear. the girl laughs a little too hard, touching her arm again in the process. megan’s funny, but there’s no way she’s that funny, and plus, the only person who ever laughs that hard–

you pause. the only person that laughs that hard at her is you. 

the shots you took are catching up to you. you race outside to the front yard to try and get some fresh air, accidentally shoving into a guy who’s lingering by the door.

“woah, slow down there,” he snaps.

“please don’t talk to me,” you reply quickly, head still spinning

“don’t come to my house and be rude as shit,” he growls in response. “i’ll stop talking to you when i want to stop talking to you.”

you try to diffuse it by walking away, but he grabs you by the arm to make you look at him. you feel hot tears spring from your eyes. an angry frat boy is the last thing you can handle right now.

“no smartass comebacks? c’mon, push back you little bitch.”

before you can even do anything, she’s there, like a knight in shining armor, the outside of her forearm crushing against his windpipe as she shoves him into the wall. the movement comes easily to megan, no doubt her 15 years of aggression on the ice. her eyes are wide, darker than you’ve ever seen them before.

she barely registers him before those brown eyes come to you. you feel your breath catch in your chest with the way she looks at you.

megan drops him in an instant, instead coming to chase you down. 

“i couldn’t think of anything cool to say to scare him.” you realize she’s shaking, her voice quivering. she’s unnerved, but her presence is so so comforting, her rambles are somehow exactly what you need. “i wanted to say ‘i’ll fucking kill you’ and then ‘i’ll kick your ass’ but instead i almost said ‘i’ll fuck your ass.’”

you manage a snort through your tears. somehow, megan makes you laugh even through this.

“‘i’ll fuck your ass’ may have been scarier, actually,” you laugh, sniffling. 

“god, y/n.” her brows are knit together in concern. she looks up at the sidewalk, the dorm lights barely visible down the street. “can i make sure you get home okay?”

“it’s so late already, i can’t let you walk back alone.” you shake your head.

“i’m sure as hell not letting you walk alone.” she scoffs, before giving you a nod of reassurance. “dani lives in your building, i’ll sleep at her’s once i’m in the dorm, i have her keycode. please.”

somehow, despite it being god knows how late, you know nothing is going to happen as long as megan is there. she insists on giving you her jacket and as much as you push back, she ignores you and drapes the zip-up over your shoulders anyways. she chats your ear off about how excited she is for friday’s game and before you know it, you’re back in your room, wobbling on unsteady feet through the dorm, grateful your roommates are still partying it up.

“thank you, for everything,” you tell her, watching as you sit on your bed and she quietly unlaces your shoes. 

“i owe you a lot, that was nothing.” she shrugs, tossing your shoes into the corner. “if i’m good for anything, i’m good for shoulder checking weirdos.”

you laugh. “hopefully that’s the last time i’ll need your services.”

“you can need me forever,” megan tells you softly, smile on her lips. “i’m here.”

“i judged you so hard when i first met you,” you confess, falling backwards onto your bed. you blink, staring up at the ceiling.  “i was so wrong about you.”

“yeah?” she laughs, taking a seat next to you to help put your hair into a bun. 

“you’re such a sweetheart,” you sigh, sitting up. your hand brushes a tress of her hair out of her face. “biggest, most thoughtful dork i know.”

“i’m not dorky,” megan furrows her brow. you laugh as her nose scrunches up. 

“you were talking to someone, i’m sorry.” 

“she was talking to herself and calling it a conversation. i promise, as soon as i saw you walk out, i followed you asap.”

you feel yourself studying her, your heart pressing against your ribcage with something eager to come out.

“i bet you kiss so many girls.” the words spill out of you as the alcohol takes its toll. “how come you’ve never tried to kiss me?”

you see megan’s cheeks flush red, her gaze fixed on the tv as she pulls up a 10 hour dancing fruit video to leave on in the background. 

“i don’t kiss that many girls,” she defends herself softly. 

“you’re so special. megan the future superstar.” you groan, realizing how fleeting your friendship is. all you’ll probably be is a footnote in her life’s story. you furrow your brows. “i want a kiss from megan the future superstar.” 

as drunk as you are, you’re shocked when she seems to comply.

your breath hitches as she leans in. her lips press gently against your temple. 

“there.” she whispers, checking down at her phone. “minji and belle will be here soon, okay? good night, y/n.”

she pulls your blanket up over your shoulders and slips into the hallway. you’re too out of it to ask her to stay.

-

you wake up, and realize someone is in your bed.

you panic for a brief second before you realize that person is playing animal crossing on their switch, completely unbothered by you gaining consciousness. you’ve never been so grateful to see minji before, even if she is smothering you as you cram into the twin sized bed.

“she’s alive,” minji calls out from next to you. belle comes out of the bathroom, freshly showered, and pulls something out of the mini-fridge for you. a pedialyte in your favorite flavor and some pain relievers. 

“thank you,” you sigh to your roommates, feeling your head pound as you sit up and start to chug, swearing off college parties for the rest of your years.

“can’t take credit. your jock left them for you this morning,” belle informs you, a teasing grin.

“oh god, megan,” you wince, recalling your behavior from the night before. 

“she wouldn’t go away,” minji complains. “not until i texted her a picture of me in your bed so she knew i was there.”

“she does the same thing when i walk home with y/n from their study dates.” belle says.  “just watches us from the doorway until we can’t see her any more.”

“y/n adopted a stray,” minji teases.

“if you say some shit about a bleeding heart, i’ll throw up in your bed specifically,” you threaten belle, and your roommates laugh at you as you let out another groan. you figure skipping class for the first time all semester won’t kill you as you lay back down.

-

after skipping all your classes, you’re at a table in the dining hall, meal untouched, your focus instead on trying to draft a text to megan that even begins to fix the mess you left behind last night. you’ve been at the same table for at least an hour, trying to figure out how to even start.

“hey, y/ln.” you recognize the voice as dani’s, calling out from behind your booth. “can’t hang?”

“leave her alone, dani.” the voice makes you freeze in place. you didn’t even get a chance to send your text.

“we missed you last night for spin the bottle,” dani grins. “meg had to get it on with that cheerleader.”

despite all the work you did last night to remember megan’s allowed to do what she wants, your stomach drops at dani’s reveal. 

“yeah, okay, go away,” megan groans, shooing the blonde. dani complies, and megan sits so you’re alone in the booth together, side by side. she rests her head in her hand on the table. “so…”

“i’m really sorry about all i put you through last night,” you immediately start, feeling the regret press in your ribs.

“you don’t have to be,” she tells you softly, head shaking.

“no, i am.” you insist, realizing how stupid it was of you to think anything would ever come of this. megan doesn’t see you as anything but a tutor, a familiar face at best who she’ll leave behind as soon as she makes it big. “i got so caught up. in the game, the party, the celebration.”

“oh. um, yeah?” she asks quietly.

“you’re not a hockey star to me. you’re just megan.” you furrow your brows. “i’m sorry again for all that.”

you were hoping it would clear things up. but it’s like a cloud comes over megan, her gaze hard and more importantly, avoiding yours.

“no yeah, totally,” she wrinkles her nose, eyes clamping shut. you wonder what’s coming over her and panic that you’ve done something you can’t take back. you try to pivot away quickly.

“your game’s tonight, right?” you ask, but she’s already getting up from the table, gathering her bookbag in her hand.

“megan?” you check in.

“yeah, don’t worry about coming,” she tells you, shaking her head. “i know it’s not your thing.”

and before you can utter a single word more, she’s gone.

-

you take a couple of hours to try to do homework in the library, but you couldn’t possibly focus. not with megan’s final expression haunting you, the pained scrunch of her nose, her inability to bring herself to look at you. you have a tab open to a youtube livestream of the game that you can’t seem to draw your eyes away from.

“you look constipated,” minji says plainly as you get back to the dorm. 

“you are such a-” you stop yourself. you’re not angry at minji, you’re angry at yourself. no need to take out a civilian in the crossfire. you suck in a deep breath and try again. “minji, please be nice to me for once. i’m having a shit day.”

“cheer up.” she says so devoid of emotion, you wonder if she was dropped as a baby. but then she’s handing you a card, in handwriting familiar to you but definitely not minji’s own. “your puppy dog gave this to me when we got coffee.”

your eyes nearly bug out of your head. “you got coffee together? today? since when do you hang out?”

“when you were passed out this morning. and i said she was determined, not that i didn’t like her.” you’ll never understand how this girl’s brain works. “anyways, letter, for you.”

you want to ask so many more questions, but a lightbulb goes off as you try to think about the web of connections at this university. 

“and your friendship has nothing to do with the fact that you’ve been admiring her roommate from afar with absolutely zero rizz to approach her with? are you trying to have her put in a good word?”

you would pay to watch minji’s demeanor crack like this again. 

“wah, shut up. you spread lies on my good name.” she shakes her head furiously, but nothing ever triggers minji, so you know you’ve hit a soft spot when she gets this worked up. “megan is…”

“the closest you’re ever going to get to danielle marsh,” you burst out laughing. 

“shut up and read your letter.”

you open the envelope and a ticket falls out. today’s date, 7pm, the championship game at your university ice arena. 

y/n. i wrote this by hand and took my time. thank you for everything this semester. i think meeting you was my favorite part of this year. i’m grateful you saw me, the way you really saw me. hope that makes sense. hanging out with you felt like being a book that someone finally took off the shelf and opened up. hope to see you at my big game. i saved you a seat by the box, so you can help me study in between plays.

 – megan

ps. just kidding about the studying thing, don’t you dare bring a book into my sacred space. anyways, thanks again.

“minji, i think i fucked up,” you breathe quietly. how unfair to keep judging megan when this whole time, she’s shown you exactly who she is. was it easier to say megan was this or that in order to soothe your own confused feelings? who did it ultimately hurt in the end? 

“what would belle say?” the girl asks. “go bleed your heart out or whatever.”

you don’t correct her. it’s honestly the perfect advice. 

you check your phone and see the game is at halftime, and they’re down 0-2. the stadium is on the other side of campus, but you remember megan’s words from the party. she doesn’t even try to let herself feel upset the week of a game, and there you are on the night of her team’s championship game, being the worst friend possible to her.

your heart races, then aches. you have to make this right, the sooner the better. you order an uber and pray this is the right call.

you race into the stadium and realize it’s absolutely packed with thousands of people, and thunderously loud. it looks like a professional stadium, even at the college level. the game is tied now, 2-2, but you remember enough of what megan’s told you to recognize that they’ve gone into overtime. next to score wins.

you stumble hurriedly down the steps before you make it to the front row. just as the note said, there’s an open seat directly in front of the player box. you see the flash of ginger hair from under a helmet, hunched over on the bench as she watches the play, clearly nervous. you lock your gaze on her and run up to the plexiglass wall. 

there’s a tiny slot in the glass, usually where the players hand a dead puck or a broken stick through the slot to an eager fan, but you’re too desperate to get a hold of megan that you yell to her through it, hoping she can hear you over all the noise.

“megan!”

she looks around confusedly, before turning around to see you against the glass. 

“y/n?”

“you deserve so much more than an apology, but i can at least start with saying i’m sorry,” you know the confession is terrible timing wise, but you’ll never live with yourself if you don’t get it off your chest, especially on such an important night for megan. “i’ve been so horrible to you, assuming all the worst, and you’ve been nothing but an angel to me. ugh, i just…i feel so stupid, because i know how this ends, and i don’t want to get hurt, but i feel like i’ll regret it if i don’t say something.”

“how this ends?” you see megan’s brows furrow together underneath her face guard. “y/n, i could never even dream of hurting you.”

“you didn’t want to kiss me,” you remind her, but you don’t want it to feel like a guilt trip. “and that’s okay, i just know that changed a lot and-”

“because you were drunk.” she cuts you off, shaking her head quickly, her nose wrinkling as she clamps her eyes shut. “that’s- it’s just- fuck.”

“what?” you ask, but before you can finish, daniela slams into the player box and leans in towards megan.

“kazuha’s getting killed out there. she needs a stronger center out, coach is gonna put you in,” dani yells over the roar of the crowd, reaching over to grab a fast sip of water. she shoots a look at you, then a warning glare at megan to wrap it up. “30 seconds.”

“y/n—“

30 seconds is all you need. you won’t waste your shot. 

“megan, i really like you. as in, really like you.” you feel the hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you finally hear the words out loud. “as in, i think i’m falling for you, which is so scary. i’m sorry for messing up our friendship. these feelings are way too huge for me to push away. knowing you was amazing and i don’t want you thinking for a second that it wasn’t.”

“skiendiel, in for center. push up and get that puck into that damn net!” coach yells, tapping the back of the ginger’s helmet to get her attention. 

megan gives you a look, your confession hanging in the air, before she leaps over the door and back onto the ice. 

she’s so insanely fast. you don’t have to know hockey to know she’s zipping circles around the other team, their yells of frustration loud and clear as megan swipes in to intercept pass after pass. 

she’s so focused. you watch in awe. 

dani is yelling something to which kazuha nods, dropping her shoulders to book it towards megan. megan uses their proximity to take the pass, running the puck once more up the ice. the defense of the other team are playing dirty, a high stick to the eye immediately taking daniela flat down onto the ice. lara calls for a foul from her spot in the goalie’s box, but the ref didn’t see it, so the play goes on at break-neck speed. 

despite the chaos, megan is locked in to what she needs to do. 

she spits the puck back out in a blazing pass back to kazuha, spinning off an incoming check from another player. she eyes the goal for a split moment, the clock trickling down into its final seconds, before kazuha’s pass is already blasting towards her. 

megan shows no hesitation. she checks a defense into the wall before spinning off, stick lifting into the air to take the most perfect shot off kazuha’s pass. 

your breath catches in your throat as the puck seems to suspend in air, everything going in slow motion. then, your eyes meet, in the middle of it all. 

the goal lights up red just as the buzzer hits. the entire stadium erupts into a deafening roar as you watch megan get swarmed by her entire team. final score 3-2. 

they’re cheering as a team, but you see the flash of ginger hair as a helmet comes off and a body starts skating back towards you. you move to the tunnel, where megan comes off the ice and can finally be face to face with you. she’s breathing heavy, stray hairs clinging to her face through the sweat. 

“i didn’t kiss you that night because i wanted it to be perfect.” megan’s still catching her breath, but she seems desperate to clear her name. you feel frozen in front of her, but she presses on earnestly. “i didn’t want it to be another kiss with a random stranger i’d forget about in a week. i’ve spent too much time thinking about kissing you. i didn’t want it to be anything less than perfect for you.”

“i’m crazy about you, y/n,” she gasps breathlessly, arm wrapping around your waist without hesitation. “i like everything about you. i like you so much it scares me.”

“why didn’t you say anything?” is all you can manage, shaking your head in disbelief. 

“are you serious?” megan lets out a high pitched laugh. “look at you. you’re the most brilliant, incredible, hilarious, kind person i know. i didn’t think i stood a chance. i’m nowhere near cool enough or smart enough to think i was good enough to talk to you, let alone getting to be your friend. it was so worth it to just be your friend. i would have been happy with that forever.”

you feel your head spin. megan thinks all this about you?

“i literally asked you to kiss me,” you press, confused about how it could have been misread.

“i didn’t think you were being weird about me being popular. when you cleared that up, my next thought was that you were pitying me, like how you pity-tutored me.” she confesses. “i overthought and it messed me up. i’m sorry.”

“if you don’t just damn kiss already,” lara barks at you guys as the team starts to trickle off the ice and into the tunnel, daniela grinning teasingly right behind her as she ices her eye. you wince at how bad her eye looks following that high stick, but then you realize what she’s teasing you about. 

you look back at megan, those perfect brown eyes searching for something in yours. you can’t possibly understand how someone who just won her team a national championship can still seem so hesitant. 

“may i?” she tilts her head eagerly. 

“oh my god, asking permission after all that.” you groan and wrap your arms around her neck, head reeling from all that’s just unfolded. “megan, you chivalrous loser, i swear to god.”

she grins something so angelic, you choose to forgive her. 

and the kiss she gives you, gentle yet eager, her arms wrapping around your waist to anchor you in place, is so, so perfect. so insanely worth the wait. 

-

you walk into your 11am intro to british literature class that tuesday, door held open for you by your chivalrous loser. 

sophia’s grading papers at the professor’s desk when eyes drop to your hands (your interlaced, holding-hands-with-megan hands) and smiles at you so giddily, you can’t help but smile back at her just as big. she’s never going to let you live this down. 

dani and lara sit in the row directly behind you guys, hooting and making kissy noises to taunt their younger teammate. you won’t admit how much these idiots have grown on you. 

megan’s arm snakes behind your shoulders as she leans back in her seat next to you. her laptop is already out, open to a new document. you’re so insanely proud of her for her determination. 

you’re too busy admiring her to realize you’re staring, and by the time you’re aware, she’s side-eyeing you. 

“eyes on your own paper, cheater.”

“oh my god, class hasn’t even started yet. you literally haven’t even typed anything.”

her fingers quickly hit the keyboard, a few strokes before she turns the computer to face you. 

i <3 my super cool gf

girlfriend. your heart races at the memory of how you made it official over the weekend after being her date to all the celebratory dinners. you smile and type something back. 

i <3 my dorky sweet gf

megan won’t ever let you catch a break. “oh, so you get to be cool and i’m just a dork again?”

“my dork now,” you remind her. 

“you’re on thin ice,” she rolls her eyes. “you’ll have to take me on a date to make up for it.”

she reaches forward to take your hand in hers, letting them dangle between the desks. you give her hand a gentle squeeze. she peers at you from the corner of her eye, scrunches her nose, and re-focuses on the board as the professor sets up his presentation. 

this stupid letterman jacket you’ve always talked shit about is actually kinda warm. at least, you like it a whole lot better when you’re the one wearing it. 

“i like you so much,” you breathe quietly as the lecture begins.

she smiles eagerly, bringing your hand up to plant a kiss along your knuckles. she’s been so open about her affection for you, you feel like you’re in a dream.

“the guy is trying to teach,” she chastizes you, and you roll your eyes at the change in roles. the way she looks at you tells you she has so, so much to say, and your heart pounds as she focuses back on the lecture. your responsible girl. 

she doesn’t leave you hanging, however, adding a final thought.

 “but yeah, ditto.”

[honeekyuu]

talk too much. [suna rintarou x reader]

twelve. lipstick

previous || masterlist || next

a/n. you ever just miss a man so much you pick up a hobby again?

warnings: suna rintarou

✗ !!! minors do not interact !!! ✗

✗ !!! ignore timestamps !!! ✗

“We’re still on for Saturday, right?”

You swallow down the bite of dinner, smiling nervously into the camera. Suna’s got two fries in his mouth, and he’s not looking at you. His gaze focused very carefully on his drawing pad, stylus gripped loosely between his fingers and following the path his wrist sets with care.

It’s just after seven o’clock, but you’d been on the phone since two. He’d clocked quite a few extra hours in the studio this week due to some project deadlines, and you’d dutifully sat on the other end of a facetime call every night. Your own work remains undone, the problem set haunting you from the corner of your desk. You have a draft of a chapter for your writing class up on your monitor, your messy notes open on your laptop. 

You’d been doing that more recently, too. Blatantly ignoring the responsibilities of your major to actually invest in your electives, this one in particular. You’d always been interested in writing, but it’d been more of a passing hobby than anything else. This class – and the encouraging feedback from your professor – had made it scarily real for you in the last few weeks, with a terrible, lingering hope filling you. A terrible hope that this might be what you’ve wanted to do this whole time. A terrible, nagging thought that the unopened problem set on your desk might be indicative of something bigger that you’ve been trying not to acknowledge.

You’re more than happy to set that issue aside to engage Suna’s conversation.

“Saturday?” you say, spooning more of your rice bowl into your mouth while you give him your attention. He only glances at you, eyes dropping to your mouth before flitting toward his own dinner shyly. He shoves nearly half of his burger in his mouth, only snorting when you watch in horror, before nodding.

“‘aturday,” he mumbles plainly, and you have to pull up your calendar because you know that’s all you’re getting.

PUMPKIN PATCH – DON’T FREAK.

Well, that’s not helpful.

Your chest swarms with nerves, and you do your best to appear as though a brick of fear hasn’t just come down over your head.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.”

He sees right through it, swallowing while he cuts you a disbelieving glance. “You’re so nonchalant and cool.”

You laugh, hiding behind a hand. “Sorry, I’m freaking out.”

“Me, too.”

His honesty is disarming as always. 

“Yeah?”

“Incredibly. But I still wanna do it.”

You purse your lips, warming. “Me, too.”

A beat passes, and then a voice full of fond amusement. “Yeah? You sure?” 

A roll of your eyes, the draw of his laugh when he sees it.

“Yes, Rinnie. I’m sure.”

A sigh of frustration masked as a laugh. “You’re so cruel for that.”

It’s hard to focus on your draft that night.

–

You take a deep breath and exhale slow. Slow. 

Breathe in, turn to look at yourself in the mirror, this way and that. 

Breathe out slow. Slow. 

“It’s okay,” you say to yourself, breathing in slow and then breathing out slower. “It’s okay, it’s Suna.”

It’s Suna, the same boy you’ve been talking to for weeks – months, really. The same boy who’s proven again and again that he’s not like any boy you’ve ever met before. The same boy who’d asked to pick you up this morning, who’d asked to walk entirely out of his way to pick you up for a date. A date that he’d been pushing for since before either of you could consider it one.

“It’s Suna,” you breathe again, forcing yourself to be okay with how your hair looks. “Just a first date. With Suna.” 

There are three quiet knocks on the front door, echoing around your apartment and into your bedroom.

Just a first date with Suna.

You start to sweat almost immediately.

“Okay,” you breathe, fanning your face with nervous hands and walking on shaky legs to your bedroom door. “Okay, I can do this.” You look around the living room as you cross it, making sure the space is tidy and lacking anything potentially embarrassing. You’d already checked five times, but one more couldn’t hurt.

By the time your hand is on the doorknob, your face is burning and your hands are clammy.

The man on the other side of the door doesn’t look much better.

It’s weird, meeting someone you’ve known for months.

The first thing you notice is that he’s tall. You’d known. You’d known he’d be tall, but fuck, he’s tall.

The second thing you notice is that he’s got dark features but light eyes. Green eyes, but black hair, black eyebrows. Green eyes, but inky black eyelashes that flutter over them. You’d known that too, from the photos and the calls, but his eyes are greener and his hair is darker in person. His clothes are just as dark, grey shirt tucked into black jeans and dark plaid flannel thrown over the top.

You notice the piercings and tattoos, too. The lip ring he tugs nervously between his teeth, the uneven number of piercings on his left ear and right ear, glinting in the light of your apartment hallway. The black ink peeking out from under the sleeves of his flannel, dark ink and pale, ringed fingers.

Pale, ringed fingers that are shaking just slightly, wrapped tight around a bouquet of flowers.

He looks exactly the same as he does in his photos – the familiarity is nearly overwhelming – but everything is new, intense. The reality of Suna Rintarou is stronger than it had been before.

“Hi,” you whisper, staring up at him with wide eyes. He stares back, looking just as stunned.

“Hi-” he breathes, cutting short and swallowing hard. You watch his Adam’s apple bob, ink on his throat moving with it. “-pretty girl.”

You’re not sure you’ll survive this day.

You shiver, breaking eye contact nervously and trying not to let the chills that his voice induces run rampant on your skin. “Do…” You glance over your shoulder and then back at him. “D’you wanna come in? For coffee or something?”

You watch his face redden in real time, watch his ears turn pink as he looks away from you. 

He’s as nervous as you are.

“Sure,” he says quietly. “That sounds nice.” He follows you inside, stepping carefully into your foyer and looking around curiously while he takes his shoes off. “I like your place.”

You warm, padding into the kitchen to start making coffee. You’re distracted beyond belief, distracted by the overwhelming sense of Suna’s presence. It only worsens when you glance back to thank him and realize that he’d followed you down the hall. “Oh. Hi.”

His eyes scan your face – your wide eyes and surprised blush – and then he bites down on his lip ring, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “Hi. Am I making you nervous?”

Laughter bubbles out of you, and that wave of familiarity returns, washing away some of your anxiety about meeting him. You already know him.

“Maybe,” you tease, nodding back at the bouquet hanging limply in his hand. “But not any more nervous than I’m making you.”

Suna glances down, realizing that his hand is gripped so tight around it that petals are starting to shed off of the flowers onto your floor. “Oh-” He holds out the bouquet, grimacing when more petals float down between you. “This is for you.”

You smile, feeling a swell of giddiness rise in your chest – the one that you’ve always gotten with him, from the moment you started to fall for him. “I have some vases in that cabinet over the fridge,” you say, still grinning stupidly at him. His eyes twinkle, and you know he’s caught the tinge of domesticity in the way you talk to him. “Help me out, 6’3”?”

He sets the bouquet on the counter, never taking his eyes off of you. “Whatever you say, pretty girl.”

Oh, good lord.

You press a clammy hand to your heated face, watching him cross the kitchen toward you. You lean into the corner of the counter when he stops close enough to you that his scent washes over you, warm and comforting and so Suna and new that you have to fight not to gravitate toward him. 

Suna reaches up with ease, pulling the cabinet open and plucking a small vase from inside. He smirks to himself while he does. “Why d’you keep these up here if you can’t reach?”

“So I can get pretty boys like you to do it for me,” you joke, basking in the nervous flutter of those inky black lashes and the sharp cut of those green eyes down to yours.

“Got a lot of pretty boys on your roster?” His voice drips in annoyance, but his face is a lovely pink color and he can’t seem to keep eye contact with you.

“Just one,” you say, your confidence leaving you when he hands over the vase. Your fingers brush against his, and your heart flies to your throat, the nerves unbearable. You turn away, filling the vase with water from the tap and putting far too much care into arranging the bouquet. You feel him behind you, feel his eyes burning through your skin as he takes you in.

“I like your jeans,” is all he says. 

You glance down, taking in the light denim jeans and burnt orange cardigan you’d spent way too much time picking out last night. You’re not the biggest fan of how the jeans fit you, mainly because they’re much more form-fitting than you’re used to, but you’d really wanted to try something new for him. To show him how far you’ve come.

“Thanks,” you whisper nervously. “I’m still getting used to them.” He doesn’t say anything, but there’s a large part of you knows that he doesn’t need to. You can feel his pride from here, washing over you in waves of heat.

You turn back to him, leaning all your weight on the counter so you don’t collapse. “I like your outfit, too.”

His grin is torture, you’re sure of it.

“Thanks,” he mumbles. “I tried really hard today.” When you just beam up at him playfully, he sighs in defeat and looks away. He scans over all the things on your fridge, lingering on the polaroids of you with your friends while he speaks. “‘s probably better if we skip the coffee and just go.”

Your face drops, and you blink in confusion. “Why?”

He just smiles in a way that feels self-deprecating, eyes locked on a photo of Alisa and Suga kissing each of your cheeks while you laugh. He swallows, staring down at it with something warm in his gaze. “If we stay here much longer, I’m not gonna wanna leave.”

He has no idea how okay with that you just might be.

Still, he’d promised you a pumpkin patch.

You step toward him, closing the distance and watching as his gaze flits to yours nervously. You press your chest to his while you reach past him for the fridge, pretending you don’t feel his breath stutter or the fingers that brush against your waist.

There’s another photo, just under the one he’d fixated on – it had been taken the same night, just last week in fact. A weeknight when the three of you had decided that bellinis and Breakfast Club could be the only cure to your end-of-semester stress. When Alisa had whipped out a cheap polaroid camera and demanded a photoshoot, when Suga had only been so glad to order delivery for more alcohol and raid your closet for stupid photoshoot outfits. When the three of you had gotten drunk and giddy enough for your newfound confidence – still shy and small and in no small way nurtured by the very man in front of you now – to make an appearance, encouraged in the whoops and hollers of your friends when they’d seen the new you come out.

When you’d climbed drunkenly into Alisa’s lap and let her take a sexy – incredibly blurry, but still sexy – snapshot of you, the memory of Suga cheering in the background while shaking his ass to the end track of Breakfast Club embedded in the glossy film of your smeared lipstick. 

You’d kept the photo, too in love with the memories that had come with it. But you think maybe it would belong better elsewhere.

“Here,” you say, pressing the front of the photo to his chest while you back away, watching with warm ears when he takes it but keeps his eyes on yours. “You can keep that one in your wallet, if you want.”

His eyebrows lift in surprise, but you turn away and move back down the hall before you can watch him look at it. 

Still, the hushed ‘holy shit’ echoes all the way to the foyer while you put your shoes on, and you bite down a laugh.

“Ready to go?” you call, tying up your sneakers and hearing Suna rush unsteadily out of the kitchen. 

“Y-Yeah, sorry,” he calls back distractedly. Glancing up through your lashes, heart pounding in your ears at your own courage, you catch as he tucks the photo away in his wallet, just behind his ID. He folds his wallet carefully and slips it in his front pocket, inked fingers still trembling slightly. 

You walk out after him, locking the door and following him down to the nearest bus stop. He can’t seem to decide if he should stand a friendly distance from you while you wait or if he should press his side against yours, so you linger closer to him to let him know it’s okay. He flushes but steps right up to you, facing you and using his frame to block the wind when he sees how you tense against it. 

You stand in a silence that’s somehow both comforting and unnerving, meeting his eyes and then looking away nervously. He just watches you, lips pulling into a fond smile every few moments before he remembers to smother it. He reaches out to you after a while, running cold fingers over your ears and tapping the tips of his fingers against your done-up hair, grinning when you give him an empty glare.

“I like these,” he mumbles, toying with your dangly pumpkin earrings. His thumb brushes over your jaw and then your cheek, and then he finally drags it lightly against your bottom lip, your lipstick coming off a little on his skin. “Pretty.”

You inhale sharply, head swimming with the feel of his fingers and the smell of him – of his clothes and his cologne. So gentle and warm, yet so goddamn overwhelming.

You look up at him through your lashes, parting your lips just slightly, and his eyes grow wide as he stares down at you. He blinks in surprise, and you’re not totally sure what’s just happened. But his thumb leaves your lip, and you find yourself turning toward it, chasing the feeling for just a moment longer. Chasing him for just a moment longer.

The sound of the bus turning the corner breaks the spell Suna Rintarou’s put you under.

You blink rapidly, taking a small step back and watching Suna swallow hard. His face is redder than you think the wind can be blamed for, but he just turns and holds a hand out to help you onto the bus. Your skin burns where it touches his, and you shyly show the driver your student ID before leading Suna down the aisle, his fingers interlacing with yours the moment you start to pull away.

He’s grinning to himself when you finally choose a seat. You roll your eyes but let him rest your hands in his lap. 

After a moment where he’s checking how many stops are left, he pulls out a pair of corded headphones, holding one out to you.

“Want me to show you my sick music taste?”

You laugh, thankful you’d chosen a seat in the back, because the way you’re looking up at him is nothing short of pathetic.

He unlocks his phone, but it opens immediately to a paused YouTube video of a famous Pokemon gamer streaming a playthrough. You lift your brows, staring up at Suna with knowing eyes. He flushes and hurries to close it out.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “I was watching it on my walk over to calm my nerves.”

You giggle and point down to his screen. “Put it on, then.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, okay.”

“No, really,” you insist. “Put it on. I wanna watch it.”

He turns to you with wide eyes. “There’s no way in hell you want to watch this.”

You roll your eyes and take his phone, rewinding the video a bit and pressing play. You try to catch up with all the new information while Suna just stares down at you. You hum after a second.

“So, it’s a Nuzlocke?” 

He doesn’t answer you, only blurting out, “You’re the girl of my dreams”. You laugh, glancing around the crowded bus before shaking your head and returning to the video.

“Yeah, you mighta mentioned that once or twice.”

–

The wind is sharp out in the middle of the pumpkin patch, but you can’t tell if your cheeks are red and stinging from that or from the sheer force of smiling so much.

Suna makes you laugh like it’s his job. He whispers quick one-liners in your ear or into your hair, smiling against the crown of your head when you hide your grin behind your hand.

He treats you like a princess, holding your hand so you don’t trip on the vines and uneven ground while you pick out a pumpkin to take home. He carries everything for you, despite your complaints, and makes a point of still holding your hand. 

And when you finally manage to find a large tote bag to shove all your souvenirs into – designated home pumpkin, popcorn, apple cider donuts, and a variety of knick knacks – he all but fights you for possession of it in the middle of the gift shop. You let him win, and as a reward, he keeps his chest pressed against your back while you wait in line for a short hay ride, one hand – fingers cold and rings colder – pressed to your waist under your cardigan, your skin pebbling under his touch.

He leans down to listen to you talk about nothing in particular, and you wonder, as the line trudges slowly along, if he realizes that his other arm is wrapped tight around you, his thumb hooked through one of your belt loops. You wonder if he realizes that the quiet push and pull of mutual nerves that had kept its hold on you all day is finally falling away, his comfort shown in the way he grabs and holds you like you’re his.

You wouldn’t mind that so much.

You finally reach the front, and he helps you up onto the hay ride, the two of you finding a little spot in the corner. Suna sets your bag between his knees but lets it sit right on his feet, the cloth tote never touching the floor of the wagon. You hum, watching him do it.

“Do you have sisters?”

He blinks, glancing at you in surprise. “A younger one, yeah.”

“Are you close with her?”

He smiles, still confused. “Sometimes…?”

You just laugh, looking away and taking in the view outside the ride. “I can tell. You don’t let bags touch the floor.”

He glances down at his feet. “I-” He laughs. “She told me it was bad luck. Smacked me over the head with her purse once.”

You grin fully, your cheeks hurting again, and shake your head. “Not tryna risk any bad luck today, Rinnie?”

He barks out a laugh, hiding his face in your hair when a couple glances back in amusement.

“I’m still not sure how I got you to like me,” he whispers against you. “I’m not risking shit.”

The ride stops outside of a large corn maze, and other people file off of the wagon slowly. You wait until it’s nearly empty to stand, taking him with you, but you stop him from leaving, pulling him back quickly and rising onto your tiptoes to whisper in his ear.

“You can afford to risk a little bit more.” 

And then you plant your lips on the corner of his mouth in a kiss so chaste that he barely has time to inhale before you’re gone. You hop off the ride on your own, taking off toward the maze. He calls after you loudly, laughing when you just disappear into a wall of corn.

You race through a whirlwind of corn stalks and trip over the uneven ground, hearing as Suna crashes into the maze behind you. Your heart jumps to your throat, and you lead him deeper into the middle of nowhere, accidentally scaring no fewer than three other groups of people and apologizing quietly while your name echoes behind you. 

You stop after a few minutes in a clearing, instantly regretting the decision to run and doing your best not to pass out right there. You barely hear him behind you, slowing to a stop and watching as you bend over to catch your breath.

“You lost, pretty girl?”

You jump, whirling on one foot, only to find Suna’s already crossed over to you. There’s a smudge of lipstick on the corner of his mouth.

“Okay, listen,” you start, laughing wildly as you back away. “Just listen for a sec-”

He grabs your outstretched hand and yanks you toward him, keeping you there with one arm wrapped around your waist.

“Did you mean that?” he asks, smiling as you try to wriggle free. “That I should risk more?”

“Okay, listen-” you laugh, pushing your hands against his chest. “I was just playing around-”

Suna’s mouth on yours tells you that he’s not.

The chills start in the crown of your head and wash down over you in an instant. Your heart stops in your chest, and when it starts again, it’s everywhere, all at once. His lip ring is cold on your mouth, but his lips are so unbelievably warm. And when he pulls away just enough to whisper to you, his breath triggers every nerve ending in your body.

“Fuck,” he whispers, breath unsteady in his chest. Your head swims at the feeling of his heartbeat under your fingers. “Was that okay?”

You can only nod, your vision hazy and your mind completely blank. He shuffles against you harshly, and you realize belatedly that your bag had slipped off his shoulder and he’d fumbled to catch it.

“Sorry,” he breathes. “Didn’t want to let it touch the ground.”

You stare up at him, wondering how you could have possibly gotten so lucky with Suna Rintarou.

You take his face in your hands, pushing your lips against his and swallowing the quiet whine he breathes into your mouth. 

He pulls you tight against him, and you push onto your tiptoes anytime he starts to lift too high, and he nearly drops you when you tug his lip ring between your teeth, your tongue passing nervously against it when he makes a sound that makes your toes curl. 

You only realize that maybe this isn’t totally appropriate for a family-friendly venue when you hear a family in the distance, trying to figure out the way out of the maze. You push against Suna’s chest, watching as he takes a moment longer to process what’s going on. When he does, all he can do is blink down at you dumbly. 

“Huh?” he breathes, face gradually burning a beautiful, rosy red that makes you want to do terrible things to this man.

You swallow your nerves.

“I think I’m ready to go,” you whisper, watching as confusion and then concern passes over his face. “If you’re ready to go.”

It clicks in an instant, and your heart skips when his eyes flick between yours before dropping to your lips, swollen and warm and completely his.

“Your place or mine?”

[darlingdaisyfarm]

BOY GENIUS IN LOVE

tags: nsfw, college!Ford, first relationship, fem reader, obsessive behavior, “good girl” (forgive me im weak), reader wears skirts, first time, fingering, oral sex, public sex, both u and Ford are virgins

this was a request from anon that i saved to drafts but tumblr deleted it (i’m so sorry). it was about college Ford getting addicted to you after you start dating. i hope you see this anon :(( im so sad tumblr deleted my draft + ur ask

ᯓᡣ𐭩 you met him in the back of the library, of course. because Stanford wanted silence in its purest form, though it looked like he was hiding. you were the only other person who’d choose the fifth floor annex by choice. most people thought it was dusty, haunted or simply boring. but you liked how the lamps gave off that golden-honey glow, and how the windows were always cracked open. it was pretty there.

Ford noticed you first. not that you were hard to notice. . . your soft knits and pleated skirts and glossy stockings that clung to your thighs, Ford thought you’d been dipped in onyx. always with a pen tucked behind your ear. such a smart little thing. but more than that, you read. properly. Ford watched your lips moving faintly when you hit a complicated passage, head tilted, looking like a lost kitten.

Fiddleford said he was being stupid, lurking in the same row as you day after day and never saying a word. “yer gonna pass out from sheer repression,” he said, rolling his eyes as Ford scribbled in the margins of his notebook rather than say hi. but Ford couldn’t help it. he was already enchanted. smth about the way your eyes lit up when you found the answer to your own question in the footnotes of some scientific text. how you bit your lip and tapped the page when you were trying to commit a theory to memory. adorable.

you noticed him the day he dropped his bag, books exploded across the linoleum, so you knelt down to help before he could even stammer out an apology. your hands brushed and both of you looked up at the same time. his glasses awkwardly slid down his nose. you gave him a smile. “you’re always back here, i was starting to think you were a ghost.”

Ford laughed but it came out like a cough at first because he was still so damn nervous. then he relaxed into it, eyes crinkling at the corners behind those big, sweet lenses. “you’re the ghost,” he blurted and then panicked. “i mean— not like that! i just mean, you always vanish before i can say anything. not that i’ve tried. well, i have. in my head. you know.”

“wanna study together sometime?” you asked, and to him it was the most romantic thing you could’ve possibly offered. Ford nodded so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. the next time you sat together, he brought you coffee and three backup pens. and you caught him staring at your stockings every time you crossed your legs. it was adorable.

the first time he noticed, it was unintentional. purely visual input. you were sitting across from him in the tiny study alcove you’d both claimed. he brought the books, you brought the snacks. and you leaned back to stretch so the hem of your skirt fluttered. the sunlight from the library window lit you up, letting a slow golden spill across your thighs, where your stockings ended and soft skin began. Ford saw garters. he saw lace. and immediately forgot the square root of negative one.

very weird cough escaped him as if he'd choked on the dust. get yourself together, Stanford! you didn’t seem to notice though, but it sat with him for the rest of the afternoon, searing into his hippocampus. you were wearing different stockings every day. he hadn’t imagined it. he knew he hadn’t.

and every time, he told himself: don’t look. don’t think. don’t you dare be the kind of man who makes this weird. you were his friend now. study partners, even. you brought him your class notes when he was sick, and he helped you fix your calculator when you dropped it, and sometimes you brushed lint off his sweater without even thinking about it and he had to pretend his brain wasn’t screaming inside his mind every time it happened.

and it got worse. because you liked him. you liked liked him. you smiled when he said smth about gravitational waves. you leaned in when he explained interdimensional theoreticals. you brought him muffins. you poked his shoulder when he got smth right. you played with the strap of your bag when you were nervous. and eventually, finally, you asked him if he wanted to get coffee with you, but, like, not as a study thing.

he said yes so fast he knocked over his water bottle.

Ford didn’t know how to behave around you after that. it wasn't because you were different, but because he was. Ford felt like he’d touched something radioactive as he was sweating through his t-shirt, short-circuiting when you showed up in a plaid skirt and wine-red tights. the coffee date turned into a bookstore visit. the bookstore turned into a walk. the walk turned into a shared burrito at that food truck you liked, both of you giggling and wiping salsa off each other’s mouths.

and then there was the second date. where you wore lip gloss that shimmered beautifully when you smiled, and you said, “you look cute when you fidget,” and Ford had to literally reboot his nervous system. he was so tense he dropped his fork. couldn’t stop rubbing the edge of his coat sleeve between his fingers.

your thighs are right there. you know what you're doing. you have to. right? no! no, you're just pretty. girls are pretty. you don’t have to turn into a werewolf about it, Stanford. but god, what if you'll sit on his lap. what if you'll climb into his lap and Ford would feel the fabric of your stockings against his—

stop. stop. stop. stop.

you laughed at smth he said about string theory. he was sweating because you crossed your legs. unexpectedly, you handed him a piece of your dessert and Ford stared at your lips for five seconds too long before he let you feed him.

you weren’t trying to kill him. probably. maybe. but you liked how shy he got. how he pushed his glasses up when you leaned in too close, and how he flinched every time your thigh brushed his under the table. and when you walked home together that night and your fingers barely touched, you heard him swallow so loud it made you giggle.

Stanford still thought about that first day. your lip gloss. your pretty outfits. the curve of your handwriting. but now he also thought about what it’d feel like to have you sitting in his lap during office hours, flipping through flashcards while he tried not to pass out.

and worst of all? you hadn’t even kissed him yet.

you didn’t talk about it, not really. no one ever said “we’re dating” or “you’re mine” or “i like you like that,” but it was so obvious it almost hurt. your name was always on his lips and his glasses were always smudged with your lip balm. you sat together everywhere, shared drinks, pulled each other close by the elbow, touched fingers when you passed things back and forth. and god forbid you go more than three seconds without feeling some part of each other.

and you grinded. you grinded so much. behind the library stacks. in empty classrooms. in stairwells between lectures. his coat wrapped around both of you, covering to keep it decent while your hips rocked against his, your hands in his brown hair, his handsome face flushed and dazed, breathing into your collar, afraid of making a sound.

his thighs were so solid, wrapped in those tailored wool trousers he wore all the time. cruel things, rough where they shouldn’t be, pressing into your softness, and it made the friction so good, too good, made your breath shake every time you rubbed against the hard shape of him and whispered his name.

“we shouldn’t, we shouldn’t do this here,” he always said but then why his hands stayed on your waist and his hips pressed up into yours? “someone might see,” he’d whisper against your throat, even as he kissed you under your ear, even as you rocked against him slowly, dry humping like crazy and nothing else mattered but the way you could feel him, stiff and thick through all those layers.

you’d whimper and he’d shudder. you’d breathe into each other’s mouths and whisper things like “feels so good” and “you’re so warm” and “i think i might come just like this, fuck, Ford, i’m gonna—“ and he’d hold you tighter, breathing so hard because he was going to die right there if you didn’t stop, except neither of you could stop.

and it just kept happening. the tension wound tighter and tighter. the kissing got hotter. his hand found your ass under your skirt one day and didn’t move. in respond, your fingers brushed the bulge in his pants during a movie night and you both sat frozen, breathless, two dorks in love.

you didn’t mean to give him a hand job. it just. . . happened. you were both in his dorm and he looked so flushed and desperate and pretty, you’d never seen his pupils that blown out before.

“i want,“ he said, eyes fluttering shut. “can i? i want to touch you, no. i want you to touch me.”

“yeah, okay. yeah, Ford, it’s okay.” his cock was warm, so hot through his boxers, twitching when your palm brushed over it, and you both gasped as if it was the end of the world. you watched his needy face while you touched him with slow, trembling and unsure strokes, fingers so nervous but gentle because you didn’t know exactly what you were doing but god, he whimpered and it vanished all your doubts away.

“oh my god,” Ford putted his hand over his mouth, trying to keep it all in. “feels so good, please, don’t stop, that’s s-so—“

he came in your hand. messily and helplessly. with his red face buried in your shoulder as he gasped and gasped and said your name and begged, thrusting into your hand. by the end of it it all was so sticky. heaven on earth. both of you giggling and out of breath and kind of in shock about the whole thing.

and then he wanted to try. his hand went under your clothes, had been aching to go there for weeks. six fingers trembling as he pushed your panties aside and touched your folds, your clit, your soaked softness. “you’re, you’re wet, you’re already so wet,” Stanford kissed you while he fingered you, moaned right into your mouth. and his fingers were so fucking clumsy, but you guided him with gasps and whines and little “right there, baby, like that, oh—fuck, yes—“ and your smart boy just listened, eager and panting, his whole arm flexing as he tried to give you what you needed.

when you came on his fingers it was with your forehead pressed to his, your skirt all rumpled and his name falling from your lips in hoarse sounds. Ford smiled, kissing your cheeks, your nose, your fingers. you both laughed again.

it happens on a tuesday. not a particularly romantic one, not a holiday or a celebration or an anniversary (though you both will end up counting it like one, later). you’d both been studying again, him pacing while he monologued about theories, you curled up on his bed taking notes, your thighs bare and crossed under you. he couldn’t stop staring.

you looked up, caught him. and blushed, chewing your pen cap. “what?” you asked innocently. and Ford just blinked at you, waking from a trance, and answered, softly. “i really want to make love to you.”

and that was it. just two awkward nerds with their hands shaking as they slowly stripped each other down to skin.

the first time he slid inside you, shaky, too slow, panting softly into the crook of your neck, you both cried out at once. “oh my god,” you whimpered, fingernails pressing into his back leaving red marks. “Ford, Ford, it’s so big, it’s so—“ he gasped, body trembling. “youre so tight, darling, didn’t know it would feel like this. . .”

you clung to each other, rocking messy, with no rhythm at all, your shaking legs wrapped around his waist, moaning so loud because neither of you had any idea how to handle it. and when you came with stars behind your eyes, it was so intense you sobbed into his chest. he followed only some minutes after, gasping your name like a man drowning.

that should’ve been the end. but he kept going.

you didn’t mean to fuck again that night, and definitely not twice more the next morning, but Stanford couldn’t help himself. because he’d discovered oxygen and now couldn’t survive without the feel of you around him.

it didn’t take long before Ford’s libido eclipsed all else. poor genius, he’d always been obsessive. hyperfocused, easily fixated, nerd who could talk for hours about things like rifts in spacetime or secrets of the universe without even stopping to breathe. you should’ve known that once he got a taste of you, once he got to feel your thighs clench around him and your cunt flutter so tightly when he moaned your name, he’d treat you like one of his beloved discoveries.

but no one warns you about what happens when a man so smart gets addicted to your pussy.

wednesday is lab day so you lean over the table too much and fiddle with your pencil between your pretty lips. Ford sits across from you hard as a rock, biting his tongue while he tries to listen to Fiddleford talk about transistor configurations. but it’s hopeless. he keeps slipping off to the bathroom just to stroke himself thinking of you, spilling into his palm with a bitten-back moan, forehead pressed to the stall door. he doesn’t even make it back in time for the quiz.

but it’s not enough. it’s never enough.

it’s been two whole days since you last stayed the night in his dorm. two agonizing days of him jerking off under flickering dorm showers, biting his lip to keep quiet while the water beat down on his flushed skin. mondays make him unbearable. he won’t even look at you in class because he knows, if he does, he’ll spend the whole hour with his cock stiff under the desk at the sight of your lipgloss or the shape of your thighs under that skirt.

by 4pm he’s dragging you into the back of the library, shoving you up against the wall between reference books you’re never gonna read, panting against your cheek. “i missed you,” as his fingers fumble to shove your underwear aside. “i need it. i can’t concentrate.” your panties down to your thighs, his cock already pressed between your folds before you can catch your breath. your arms loop tight around his neck, mouthing soft kisses against his jaw as he slides inside.

you started carrying spare panties in your bag. stopped wearing bras under your blouses because he couldn’t keep his hands off you anyway. he’d bend you over his desk, shove a hand over your mouth, fuck you until you were blinking up at him all dazed and dripping. once he even took you right by the astronomy hall, gripping your hips while he fucked you so hard his glasses fogged up.

“you feel too good,” he’d whisper in between thrusts. “i swear, didn’t know it could feel like this—“

and the worst (best) part? he was good at it now. so good. all those fumbling, clumsy first thrusts turned into something downright ravenous.

Ford learned fast, like he always did. one time you were trying to study, nose deep in a textbook, sprawled on your tummy with your feet kicked up behind you, wearing a little sweater and nothing underneath but knee-high socks and. . . that was a mistake.

“Ford, baby, i have to finish this chapter, we got exam tomorrow“ but he was laying kisses on the backs of your thighs, pushing your panties aside and groaning when he saw the shine of you already waiting for him. “don’t worry,” he murmured, pulling his cock free. “i’ll help you concentrate.”

you tried. really tried to keep reading. you bit your lip and gripped the pages. but then he pushed inside and suddenly it was so hot for no reason in the middle of November. your eyes widened, hips tilted up of their own accord, and you whimpered over your textbook while his cock thrusted into your softest parts.

“just read,” Ford whispered, mouth against your ear, one hand pressing on your lower back to keep you tilted up. “be a good girl and study while i fill you up.”

you came like that, making such a mess on his cock, face in your book, ruined your exam notes. and he didn’t stop even after, just rutted slower, deeper, staying inside because “you’re so warm, so perfect, i wanna live here.”

and he meant it. because now, he fucked you every day. sometimes more than once. until your legs shook and your panties were just too damp to wear. while you studied, while he explained theories into your mouth.

you study in his dorm but Ford's too distracted by the way you sit with your legs open so. . . best solution is him fingering you under the table while you review notes, moaning under his breath every time your cunt clenches around his fingers. “this isn’t studying,” you try to protest, biting back a moan. “yes it is,” Ford replies, kissing the shell of your ear. “studying your anatomy, sweetheart. i think i deserve an A.” he makes you finish twice before you even look at the next chapter.

but no, calling it just fucking would be wrong. it was always tender, sensual even. messy hair, flushed cheeks, his voice breathless, telling you how beautiful you were as he pushed inside.

Stanford Filbrick Pines, the boy genius, gets so addicted. he goes from “i’m not sure i’m doing this right” to “i don’t think i can go twenty-four hours without being inside you.”

and it’s every day, every goddamn day. multiple times, if he can swing it. he wakes you up with soft little kisses, a gentle hand already palming at your chest under the blankets, and by the time your eyes flutter open he’s rutting against your hip like a dog in heat.

but thursdays. . . you don’t know what it is about thursday. the schedule? the way he only has one lecture in the morning? whatever it is, it makes him feral. yeah, thursdays are the worst for you, because that’s when he gets bold. when he puts you in his desk chair, throws your leg over the armrest, and kneels in front of you between essays, unbuttoning your blouse. “you’ve been working so hard, love, you deserve this. let me take care of you. please.” he groans, burying his face in your pussy, making you sob and shake and come again and again while your notes flew off the desk and your fingers knotted in his soft brown curls.

and that wasn’t even the beginning. thursdays meant getting bent over the counter before breakfast, groped in the hallway, shoved against the peeling wallpaper and kissed so hard your knees buckled.

by week seven, it’s a game of where. it doesn’t matter when anymore, because any time is fair game. he’s fucked you in the dorm stairwell, in the math department’s basement closet, in the cramped little photo booth at the student union during your lunch break, one leg on the little bench while he thrusted into you.

once, Ford got so riled up mid-lecture he leaned over and whispered, “your skirt’s too short. you’re not wearing anything under that, are you?” and when you didn’t answer fast enough, he stood up, grabbed your wrist, and pulled you into the hallway like a man possessed.

he bent you over a bench by the lockers and fucked you so fast and rough your vision went white at the edges. then he went right back to class with sweat at his temples and still aced the damn presentation. unbelievable

you learned not to wear skirts if you actually wanted to make it through the day without being groped. you learned to bring water and snacks because he’d fuck you until you were lightheaded.

by finals week, he was sliding your underwear off under the table in the library, whispering, “just sit on my lap, please, baby, i’ll be quiet, i swear. i just need to feel you around me.”

there’s no break and no off switch. not that you were complaining, but weekends were dangerous. he makes love to you for hours on sunday mornings, long, slow, thick strokes that have you drooling into the pillows, whispering praises into your mouth while he fucks you so gently it makes you cry from how soft it is. saturday afternoons he’d go down on you until your thighs shook, then hump against you like a boy losing his mind over his first crush.

Ford’s kisses made you weak. no, everything about him made you weak. his hands, his mouth, his voice when he whined in your ear that he couldn’t think straight without your cunt around him.

but every thursday, he shows up behind you, hard already, “you busy? no? good. because i need to be inside you. right now. or i’ll lose my mind.” now, every day's a new excuse to be inside you <𝟑

[cece693]

Ok but like imagine both Billy and Stu with a big tiddy goth! male! reader as their roommate lol

Reader looks intimidating but is actually really nice lol

Looks Can Be Deceiving (Stu and Billy x M! Reader)

Hi! So I'm not really that well informed on the big tiddy slang (English is not my first language) but after a quick google search I think I got the idea????? If not, then I apologize, but I hope you enjoy this :)

tags: oblivious reader, realistic billy and stu (I think), pre-relationship, open ended, might be a part 2 coming

Billy Loomis and Stu Macher weren’t exactly looking for a new friend, let alone a roommate. They’d been fine on their own, thriving in the chaos of their twisted little partnership. But when the college housing office placed them in a three-bedroom rental with some random guy, they couldn’t exactly say no. Rent was cheap, the landlord didn’t ask questions, and besides, how bad could it be?

The first time they saw you, though, they realized this arrangement was going to be…interesting.

You were standing in the living room when they arrived, setting up a bookshelf filled with horror novels and occult knickknacks. At first glance, you looked like something straight out of one of their favorite slasher films—towering, dressed in all black, tattoos peeking out from under your sleeves, with silver jewelry glinting against your pale skin. Your undercut only made you look more dangerous. Stu, never one to keep his thoughts to himself, leaned close to Billy and whispered, “Dude, do you think he’s in, like, a death cult or something?”

Billy didn’t answer, but his sharp eyes lingered on you as you turned to greet them. “Hey,” you said, your voice deep and smooth. “I made brownies. Want some?”

Stu’s jaw dropped. Billy just narrowed his eyes. And just like that, their expectations were shattered.

Over the next few days, it became clear that you weren’t at all what they expected. Despite your intimidating looks, you were ridiculously nice—almost unnervingly so. You always smiled when you saw them, greeted them with “Good morning” even if they ignored you, and even asked if they wanted anything from the grocery store before you went out. When you weren’t at class or work, you were usually in the kitchen, baking cookies or meal-prepping while blasting Bauhaus or The Cure from a tiny speaker.

Stu was instantly smitten. He started following you around like a puppy, throwing his long arms around your shoulders and declaring you his “best goth buddy.” He loved pushing your buttons just to see you scowl—like the time he “borrowed” one of your necklaces and pretended he lost it, only to give it back with an over-the-top apology. “Don’t worry,” he said, grinning up at you. “I’ll make it up to you. Wanna watch a movie? I’ll even let you pick.”

Billy, on the other hand, was harder to read. He spent a lot of time watching you from across the room, his dark eyes following your every move. You caught him staring more than once, but he always looked away before you could say anything. Unlike Stu, who was all loud jokes and obvious flirting, Billy was subtle. He’d make sarcastic comments about your goth aesthetic, only to quietly leave a new horror novel on your desk after you mentioned liking the author. He never admitted it, but you had a feeling he stayed up with you that one night you were stressed about your midterms just because he didn’t want you to be alone.

Stu and Billy’s affections, however, reached a dangerous new peak the day they stumbled into your room at the worst—or best, depending on how you looked at it—possible moment. It started innocently enough, or at least as innocently as things ever got with those two. Stu had been whining about needing help finding a charger, and Billy, clearly annoyed, suggested he ask you. Of course, "asking" wasn’t Stu’s style.

“C’mon, Big Guy!” Stu called as he shoved your door open, Billy trailing behind him. “You seen my—oh my god.”

You froze mid-motion, one arm reaching for the fresh shirt you were about to pull on, the other holding a towel you were using to dry your hair. Time seemed to stop as both of them stood there in the doorway, their eyes glued to your bare chest. No shirt. No barriers. Just you, all soft curves and broad muscle, your big tits on full display.

“Holy shit,” Stu breathed, his voice tinged with awe. His jaw practically hit the floor as he stared, unblinking. “Are you kidding me? Those things are, like, illegal.”

Billy, meanwhile, was much quieter, but no less affected. His dark eyes drank you in, his usual mask of control slipping for a moment as his gaze flicked downward, then back to your face. He swallowed hard, shifting his weight like he was trying to keep himself from stepping closer. His voice, when he finally spoke, was lower than usual. “We didn’t know you were changing.”

“No shit,” you snapped, snatching the shirt and pulling it over your head as quickly as possible. “You ever heard of knocking?”

Stu groaned, flopping dramatically against the doorframe. “Aw, don’t cover up! I was just starting to enjoy the view!”

Billy shot him a glare but didn’t argue. He was still staring at you, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “You’re...built,” he said, his tone almost grudging, like the words were being dragged out of him against his will.

“Thanks, I guess?” you muttered, tugging the hem of your shirt down and crossing your arms over your chest. You could still feel their eyes on you, and it made your skin prickle with a mix of embarrassment and something you couldn’t quite name.

Stu leaned closer, his grin widening. “Dude, do you, like, know how big those are? Like, for real? You could probably drown someone with ‘em. You want to try it out?”

“Stu,” you growled, your patience wearing thin. “Get. Out.”

Billy finally stepped in, grabbing Stu by the back of his shirt and dragging him toward the door. “Come on, idiot. Let's leave him alone.”

“But Billy!” Stu whined, digging his heels in. “I wasn’t done appreciating the—”

The door slammed shut before he could finish, leaving you standing there in stunned silence. You could hear them bickering in the hallway, Stu’s voice loud and animated as always.

“I’m just saying, those are a work of art! It’s like the Mona Lisa, but, you know, better.” “You’re an idiot,” Billy muttered, but his voice was tight, like he was holding something back.

From the moment Billy and Stu got an eyeful of your assets, the dynamic in the house spiraled into utter chaos. You’d barely noticed it at first, chalking up their constant presence to boredom or a newfound interest in hanging out. But as weeks went on, their antics became harder to ignore. The snarky comments, the heated glares exchanged when you weren’t looking, the way they tripped over themselves trying to one-up each other—it was enough to make even the most oblivious person suspicious.

But not you.

Whether it was the gym incident, the pancake debacle, or the never-ending movie night arguments, you remained blissfully unaware of the brewing storm. You were too focused on your studies, your workouts, and making sure the house didn’t descend into complete disorder to notice the increasingly absurd lengths Billy and Stu were going to for your attention.

It all came to a head one particularly tense evening. You’d gone out to grab groceries, leaving Billy and Stu alone in the house. The moment the door closed behind you, the gloves came off.

“Just admit it,” Stu said, pacing the living room like a caged animal. “You’re obsessed with him.”

Billy leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his expression icy. “Says the guy who’s practically glued to his side 24/7.”

Stu spun around, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You’re just mad because he actually laughs at my jokes. When’s the last time he smiled at you?”

Billy’s jaw clenched. “Maybe he doesn’t need a fucking circus act to enjoy someone’s company.”

“Oh, right,” Stu sneered, throwing up his hands. “Because brooding in the corner like some wannabe vampire is so charming.”

“Better than acting like a hyperactive toddler,” Billy shot back, his voice dangerously low.

The argument escalated quickly, voices rising as they hurled insults back and forth. At one point, Stu picked up a couch pillow and launched it at Billy’s head, narrowly missing. Billy retaliated by shoving Stu into the wall, and for a moment, it seemed like things were about to get physical.

But then you walked in.

“Hey, guys—what the hell is going on!?” you asked, staring at the scene in front of you: Stu pinned against the wall, Billy’s hand fisted in his shirt, both of them glaring daggers at each other. They froze, turning to look at you like two kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

“Uh…nothing!” Stu said quickly, plastering on his trademark grin. “Just some light wrestling. Y’know, for fun.”

Billy let go of Stu and stepped back, brushing imaginary dust off his shirt. “Yeah. Just messing around.”

You raised an eyebrow but decided not to press the issue. “Okay...well, I got pizza. It'll be in the kitchen.”

As you disappeared into the other room, the tension between them simmered, but neither of them made another move. Not yet, anyway. It wasn't until later that night, after you'd gone to bed, that Billy and Stu returned to their conversation.

“This has to stop,” Billy hissed, his voice low and cold.

Stu crossed his arms, still bristling from their earlier fight. “You think I don’t know that? But what’s your solution, huh? Scare him off so neither of us gets him? Not happening, Billy Boy.”

Billy was silent for a long moment, his jaw working as he mulled over his options. He hated the idea of sharing you—hated it almost as much as he hated the thought of Stu winning. But the alternative was losing you completely, and that wasn’t something he was willing to risk. “Fine.”

Stu blinked, caught off guard. “Fine what?”

“We share him,” Billy ground out, his teeth clenched.

Stu stared at him, and then a slow grin spread across his face. “Well, well, well. Didn’t think you had it in you to play nice.”

“Don’t push it,” Billy warned, his voice sharp. “This doesn’t mean I like you. It just means I like him more.”

Stu snickered. “Whatever you say, buddy. But hey, at least now we’re on the same team, right?”

Billy didn’t answer, turning on his heel and stalking off. Stu watched him go, still grinning to himself.

From that day forward, things…changed.

You didn’t notice the difference at first. If anything, Billy and Stu seemed to get along better, their bickering replaced with an odd sort of pact. They started spending more time together, which you figured was just a natural byproduct of living in close quarters. What you didn’t realize was that they were coordinating their efforts.

Stu would distract you with jokes and games while Billy silently took note of what you liked, using that information to his advantage later. Billy would lure you into long, intense conversations about movies and books, giving Stu time to swoop in with grand gestures—like the time he surprised you with a ridiculously elaborate cake “just because.”

If you were confused by their sudden teamwork, you didn’t show it. You just kept being your usual, oblivious self, completely unaware of the quiet, unspoken truce between them—or the way they both watched you like wolves circling their prey.

It wasn’t perfect. Billy still bristled every time Stu got a little too handsy with you, and Stu couldn’t resist making snide comments whenever Billy monopolized your time. But for the most part, they made it work. Because at the end of the day, they both wanted the same thing.

You.

And if sharing was the only way to keep you close, then so be it.

For now.

[bucketbueckers]

LAYUPS & LAYOVERS

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

wc: 2.9k

content warnings: language, fluff, author is southern and doesn't understand how snow or marketing works, plot where there doesn’t need to be plot

synopsis: It’s Christmas Eve and you’re in Connecticut, exhausted and just trying to get to Minnesota for a work conference. You could cry when it’s announced that all flights are being halted due to the incoming blizzard. Irritated, tired, and overworked, you pray for a miracle, although it takes an unnatural shape in the form of a six foot blonde athlete who’s just trying to make it home, too. Late night airport conversations lead to something more.

notes: merry christmas eve from my delusions to yours! the last chapter of irp was super heavy so here's my apology and christmas gift (do i drop another one tmr...i really dont wanna write chapter 8 😩). i hope you all enjoy this short n sweet lil ramble i threw together and happy holidays 🫶

This can not be your life right now.

It’s actually kind of impressive how all of the stars aligned on this one particular night to fuck you over. You’re not a terrible person. You hold the doors for everyone, give up your seat on the bus for sweet old ladies, and you always allocate a portion of your paychecks to donate to Wikipedia. By all accounts, you should be overwhelmed with good karma, although it seems your luck has depleted on this night and this night alone.

It all started on the 20th when you flew out to Connecticut. You work a cushy job as a marketing consultant for the WNBA, which means you spend a lot of time in the air and across the country trying to unfuck – sorry, trying to optimize and rejuvenate – the state of the league and its teams. It’s a task easier said than done. Nobody seems to want to listen to you until they realize that your master’s degrees in marketing and business analytics actually mean something and aren’t just really expensive pieces of paper that you hang in your office. You spend a couple of days in Uncasville talking strategies to boost ticket sales and to gain more traction; they’re the only professional team the state has – it should not be hard to get people to show up if you can market it right, but here you are.

Connecticut is nearly a bust. It’s cold and you spend two full days in meetings getting talked over by men who think they understand numbers and branding. Then, on the third day, the front office suddenly realizes what you’ve been talking about (this shit was covered in your sophomore year intro to marketing class, but hey, the less people know, the more you get paid, so who’s really complaining?) and the trajectory of your trip makes a sudden turnaround. On the 23rd and early on the 24th, you help the Sun roll out the new optimizations, and what do you know? Ticket sales surge by 17%, including some season tickets, all is well in the world and it’s a goddamn Christmas miracle.

Then, all is suddenly not well and you remember that Christmas miracles are for people not surrounded by idiots. Your boss emails you just before you leave for the airport: The Lynx need your help. I’ve sent you tickets for the first flight out of Connecticut. Meet with them on the 26th. Said “flight” departs from Connecticut at 8:30pm on Christmas Eve, which means you’re not even in Minnesota until 12am if you’re lucky, which means you have to figure out hotel arrangements so you can take a nap because you’ve barely slept in five days, which means you have to figure out how to be nice to people again because the Sun front office has you pissed all the way the fuck off.

So, you’re tired, overworked, extremely irritated, and hungry, although that last problem is solved by airport Subway. You just hope that doesn’t come back to bite you in the ass, either – you firmly believed that you were better off betting all of your money on black rather than taking the chance on airport food, but you didn’t have much of a choice and your stomach was growling. You eat, settling in a chair at your gate, and patiently await for your plane to arrive.

Then, the overhead PA clicks on with some static noise, announcing, “Flight 932 to Minneapolis and all other flights exiting Hartford will be delayed due to inclement weather. I repeat–”

The blood rushes to your head. Your eye twitches. There’s a crying baby somewhere in the airport and you can’t take it anymore. Honestly, what’s stopping you? Flying a plane cannot be that difficult. You’re pretty persuasive. You can tell TSA you’re just young for a pilot and you’re not wearing a pilot’s uniform because it’s Christmas Eve and what are you, the feds? All you’re really asking for at this point is a nap but there’s no way in hell you’re making it to a hotel in these conditions and the chances of you sleeping in an airport with all of your belongings out for someone to grab are even lower.

A commotion towards the check in counter commands your attention. You turn, dreading the eventual crash out of an airport Karen, but it’s better than the crying baby who still hasn’t shut the fuck up.

“Please, there’s gotta be something else you can do,” a tall, broad-shouldered blonde is begging, her hair pulled into a loose ponytail. “It’s Christmas Eve, I have to get home.”

The lady at the check in counter sounds sympathetic when she responds. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but our hands are tied. We can’t send our planes out in this weather, but if it eases up, the next flight out should have you arriving in Minneapolis by tomorrow afternoon.”

You hear the blonde groan, her tone sounding something like, I can’t fucking believe this is my life, which is a sentiment you whole-heartedly agree with. “Can you please lemme know if there’s anything earlier?” she pleads. “Like, if by the grace of God this weather clears and we can leave sooner.”

“Of course, ma’am. All updates will be announced.”

The response is almost robotical, but you can tell the receptionist is trying her best, too, and the last place she wants to be is hanging out at the airport on Christmas Eve. The blonde sighs, thanking her, and from the corner of your eye, you watch her hike her bag up over her shoulder and she moves to sit directly in front of you. That’s when you truly get a good look at her, at the dejected blue of her eyes, the chisel of her jaw, the logo on her hoodie. Paige Bueckers is no stranger to you. You grew up watching ball, so obviously you’re familiar with her game – any self-respecting basketball fan is. But by virtue of your job, Paige Bueckers is a name that makes your marketing heart beat just a little faster. Ever since Dallas won the lottery, you’ve been all over their marketing team. Paige’s entire existence and the chance she gets drafted to Dallas is the sole reason the Wings’ tickets are flying off the shelves. She’s the most marketable college athlete there is right now, one of the top rookie prospects for the league, but one look at her face in person and you’re forgetting all about your job. Her jaw is tight with a simmering anger, and honestly, you feel terrible for her – she already spends so much time away from her family and here she is trying to get out of Bumfuck, Connecticut, so she can be home in time for Christmas.

You find a little bit of bravery when you raise your voice slightly to ask her, “No luck?”

She looks up, glancing at you and taking in your features, and laughing slightly when she realizes you’re genuinely just trying to make conversation and not trying to get a soundbite out of her. “You heard that?” she asks sheepishly, sinking a little in her seat to get comfortable. You pretend to not notice her manspread.

“Well,” you begin, glancing over at the receptionist. “The desk is like, ten feet away.” She laughs again and nods, murmuring touche under her breath. “932 Minneapolis?” you ask, referring to your flight.

Paige nods again, quirking a smile. “You stalking me or sum’?”

You shrug your shoulders, a coy smile on your face. “Just observant,” you quip.

Paige grins fully. “What about you?” she asks. “You work for the league?”

At that, you can’t help your surprise, raising a brow. “How’d you know that?”

“Just observant,” she throws your words back at you. You laugh. “Kidding. I see your ID pokin’ out of your bag. You from here, or they got you workin’ on the holidays?”

“Work,” you respond. Paige whistles lowly. “I’m a marketing consultant. Been up here for a few days working with the Sun, then I’m heading to Minnesota to fix the Lynx’s bullshit.” You blink, registering your words, blushing as Paige laughs. “You did not hear that. I’m usually nicer to my employers.”

“They got you workin’ and flyin’ out on Christmas Eve,” Paige points out. “You should be meaner.”

You incline your head in a nod, huffing. “All of this for office potlucks and dental coverage,” you joke. “Don’t quit basketball.” Paige grins again and you’re suddenly reminded of your manners. “Sorry, I didn’t even introduce myself.” You do as such, only mildly surprised when she stands to shake your hand and introduces herself, too, which is honestly kind of endearing. Then, she plops into the empty seat next to yours, smiling widely.

“So, marketing consultant,” she says, her tone nonchalant as she gets comfortable next to you, extending her long legs across her suitcase. “How often will I get to see you?”

You glance at her, raising a wry eyebrow. “Are you flirting with me?” you ask.

Paige shrugs a shoulder, smirking. “A little. Is it working?”

“Maybe a little,” you admit. You can see the pride that shines in her eyes. You roll your eyes in amusement, still in slight disbelief, but you redirect back to her question. “Honestly, probably a lot. The league is super messy from a business perspective and their actual marketing sphere isn’t that great, either. As soon as you get drafted I’ll probably have to fly down to whichever poverty team you land at and teach them how to market you.”

“Yeah?” she asks, and despite the tease in her tone, she does seem interested. “How would you market me?”

“How much time do you have?”

“Well…” Paige glances down to her watch, then out the windows where snow falls in heavy sheets. “Looks like a lot.”

You snicker. “Alright. Bear with me, okay?” Paige nods in earnest, her attention fully on you as you begin to ramble. Truthfully, you did like your job when you were able to do it. The issue is and always will be the idiots you have to work with who overlook your credentials. “So, I’m not thinking about your personal brand at all. Like, that one’s already incredible. Your PR team did their big one with you. But the issue with athletes like you, wide-eyed and fresh out of college with an insane resume of endorsements, followers, deals, whatever – the issue is that whatever team you get drafted to is gonna want to rebuild their entire image around you. Think Clark, Brink, Reese, Jackson, Cardoso. It’s textbook – you advertise the person who’s gonna get you the most clicks, the most sales. So, how can we use that to actually grow the game, the league? I’m talking about longevity. There’s so many people tuning in for you that don’t know shit about basketball, and honestly, they’re gonna be scared to ask questions.

“So we push something corny. Social media segments with a catchy name like Ball With Bueckers or some shit where you break down basketball plays, rules, the stuff you’re gonna see and hear when you watch a game. What’s a pick and roll? A screen? Why is she getting fouled for blocking that shot, isn’t that what she’s supposed to do? Education, interest, loyalty, and competition sells. Stories sell, too, which is why the league is still trying to push the Clark/Reese rivalry. That’s old news, though. A more compelling story would have been the Fever/Sun rivalry, especially after the Sun beat the Fever and the Fever hired their coach. Or Fever/Wings, for reasons I’m not gonna ruin your night with.” Paige laughs at that, and you smile, clearing your throat and trying to find your train of thought. “So, when I’m undoubtedly called in to fix your team’s mess, that’s what I’d be suggesting. People already love you. Using that connection to get them to love ball, too, is my goal.”

“You’re really passionate about this,” Paige comments, her lips quirking into a slight smile. You can’t help but preen a little, flushing. “Like, about basketball. You really care about the sport. Feels like that’s harder to find lately.”

“Well, I was too short to play it, so gotta settle for something, right?” you joke.

Paige looks you up and down. You’re wearing sweatpants and a baggy sweatshirt from college, but her gaze is shameless, appreciative despite your casual airport wear. She chuckles, a disbelieving noise building in the back of her throat. “Nah. You’re what, 6’5?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Try a foot less. But I appreciate you for believing in me.”

Paige smiles, nudging you a little. “I was serious, though. You’re super passionate. I like that.”

“Still flirting?”

“S’not everyday you get snowed in at the airport with a pretty girl,” Paige says, her gaze warm, and you can’t help but blush again. “Gotta shoot my shot, you know?” She mimes throwing a ball, her wrist bent, and you shake your head fondly. Admittedly, she did have you – hook, line, and sinker. You enjoyed the conversation, her company. There were certainly worse people to be stuck with, but you’re glad it was with her.

You shrug your shoulders. “Shoot away,” you say. Her subsequent grin is wide and you find yourself drawn in just a little further.

She asks you virtually everything under the sun – where you grew up, where you went to college, the team you were rooting for, and you answer. You tell her you’re an Atlanta native, born and raised, although you moved up north to study at Columbia. You were 8 when the Dream was founded and that was your team, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. At 10, you watched them win the eastern conference finals on your birthday and that was easily the moment your life changed. Basketball was your future and that much was certain. She asks how you landed the league job (connections, a thick resume, and lots of persuading), how you adjusted to the constant traveling (lots of caffeine and really good concealer), and the hard-hitting question of, are you satisfied?

For that, you really had no answer. Sure, you’re always busy, and that’s better than the alternative of sitting in your office and watching the seconds tick by. You’re good at what you do and your job makes a positive impact on the league. Your colleagues will be who they are; your work speaks for itself and that’s what you pride yourself on. But there’s always going to be a small part of you that yearns for something more, like someone else to share your life with. Someone who sits, and listens, and engages with you; someone who loves basketball just as much as you do (even if it’s a different type of love), someone who’s steady and spontaneous and adaptable.

Then Paige is smiling at you, her gaze warm and soft despite the below freezing temperatures outside; she’s listening, and engaging, steady, spontaneous, adaptable, and probably the only person in the world whose love for basketball could rival your own. You’ve known Paige for all of three hours and it’s nearing midnight in an airport in Connecticut, but it’s Christmas Eve and she feels so right. You would really like to see where this goes, and judging by the way her fingertips brush your knuckles, you think she might like to see that, too.

The two of you talk all through the night, waiting for the weather to ease up. The conversation never slows and you’re certain you’ve never smiled or laughed this much in a long time. It takes you twelve hours of delirious conversation to realize that your luck never depleted. Paige was your overwhelming karma, sent by some sort of Christmas miracle to answer all of the wishes you’d kept to yourself for years. The stars aligned not to fuck you over, but to trap you in an airport with Paige Bueckers, and you find that she’s possibly the best Christmas gift you could have ever gotten.

When the weather finally clears and your plane arrives, you find that your seats are right next to each other – and, well, fate works in funny ways, doesn’t it? You’re both exhausted, but when she pushes the armrest up and wraps her arm around your shoulders, pulling you into your side, you can’t help your relieved sigh, leaning into her chest. You and Paige sleep through the entire flight. You dream of soft blue eyes, the lingering scent of her cologne, the promise of how this could last.

You land in Minneapolis and you eventually have to go your separate ways. The two of you exchange numbers, saying your goodbyes, although Paige doesn’t let you get anymore than three feet away from her before she’s catching you by the wrist and pulling you into her. Her hands are cold against your cheeks as she kisses you gently, something deep and lingering and a confirmation that tastes like ‘you and I aren’t done here.’ The falling snow lands gently on your cheeks, melting under the heat of your blush, and you can’t help your smile, interrupting your kiss as the both of you dissolve into laughter. Paige kisses you again, something softer that leaves you feeling warm all over despite the chill, and you thank your Christmas miracle for leading you here.

[yukioos]

helllllooooo!! just wondering if you could do something for shinso with a reader that has a sleep quirk (she can put anyone she touches/speaks to/looks at to sleep with her quirk) who helps him sleep? lots of fluff!!

thanks!! :))))

insomniac hitoshi only falls asleep with his s/o’s sleep quirk

hitoshi has never had a good relationship with sleep. ever since he was little, he’s had to take pills to fall asleep, and as time passed, they began to fail more often. eventually, he was diagnosed with insomnia in middle school, and at U.A., he hardly has the time to sleep because of his extracurriculars and training with aizawa.

eventually, when hitoshi sought out and formed a friendship with you, you quickly found out about his condition and offered to help him out. not too late at night, around ten, was the first time you held a hand on his back, and watched his tired eyes flutter close. he fell asleep so quickly, and you tucked him into bed.

it was undoubtedly the best sleep he’s had in his entire life, and he came to class with lighter circles under his eyes.

so it became routine to always put him to sleep, even if you weren’t on the best of terms, and it’s still lasted throughout your relationship.

even as you lie on hitoshi’s bed, scrolling on your phone, you wonder if he’s okay. sometimes his schedule gets a bit hectic when he trains with aizawa, as sometimes they go on outings for meals when hitoshi has achieved one of his goals. nothing too much to worry about.

but you hear a key turning in the doorknob, and the heavy footsteps tell you it’s hitoshi walking in, although you and he are the only ones who have access to his room. he has a towel slung on his shoulder and water droplets still drop down his face and arms from showering, probably after a long day of training with aizawa.

he makes eye contact with you and softly smiles, hanging his towel on a rack and climbing into bed with you. his cheeks are a bit flushed as he looks at you, and he wraps an arm around your waist. he looks a bit more worn out than usual.

“tough day?” you ask.

“a little,” he murmurs, “the guys were real annoying today, ‘n i missed you.”

your lips turn upwards and you run a hand through his untangled hair, causing him to let out a soft sigh. hitoshi places a plush kiss on your neck, then hovers over you, staring at your eyes then lips.

once you become too impatient, you gently grab his face and pull him down to you, giving him a long and loving kiss. you feel him grin into the kiss, and after a couple more kisses, he lets out a groan.

though after the intimate moment, hitoshi curls up into you once again and swings an arm and leg over your body. he always feels so comfortable like this, so vulnerable and wanted, like he doesn’t have to pretend to have a whole different persona around you. you love him for being him.

so when he feels your hand nearing his cheek, something you’d do right before putting him to sleep, he turns his head away, “no,” he mumbles, “not yet. wanna stay here for a bit.”

his eyes are closed and his breathing evens, and although the two of you hardly talked when he came back to his dorm, your actions and his words say enough.

when he’s ready, he lightly squeezes your hip, and he curls up more into you, wanting to feel your body heat. as you get the signal that he wants to sleep, you put a hand on his cheek and rub it gently, and he shyly smiles, cheeks turning heated and red.

once your quirk comes to power, his grip on you is still tight, but he doesn’t talk or mumble as much anymore.

as always, hitoshi falls asleep with only you on his mind.

i love this request so much, i hope i executed it well!