#that even the universe itself can’t turn away

[tteokdoroki]

nagi has beef with any of your pets cuz why do they get to lay around all day but he doesn’t :(

*ੈ🌩️‧₊˚— feline foe + seishiro nagi.

૮˶ᵕ ༝ᵕ˶ა synopsis — strangers to enemies except it’s nagi and your pet cat.

⭑ warnings — please read + mdni ! characters aged up to 20s, fluff, semi-smutty, mentions of sex, suggestive towards the end, dry humping, owning a cat lol, the cat walks in on you, established relationship, pro player!nagi, fem!reader - not beta read !

⭑ words — 2K.

⭑ notes — thank u lambie for sending me this ! i thought it was too cute an idea not to write! also i queued this to post on nagi’s bday so happy bday to my bf <3!! enjoy! - m.list ✩

it might sound vain, but nagi was sure that before it arrived, he was the centre of your universe.

he had all of your attention, always. you went out of your way to bring him lunches at the stadium during practices and helped him drink water or energy drinks on the pitch at his games because you liked to believe that it would bring him good luck and he let you. his teammates heave with jealousy each and every time.

when your days were done, you’d let nagi settle his head in your lap while you brush back his hair and scratch at his scalp — letting him game to his heart's content in your company. nagi might have been pampered too and much to the point where he expected to have all of your attention… so he doesn’t quite understand why all of it shifts to a brand new presence in your lives. 

your cat. 

miruku. milk.

it’s a ridiculous name for an animal, nagi thinks, it’s a pest. annoying. but he couldn’t say no to you when you’d brought the stray cream-coloured kitty home, soaked in rain from where you’d chased it around his apartment complex trying to bring it inside. if he said no to you, that would’ve been another issue in itself — and nagi hated when you fought. it was bothersome having you play silent treatment.

so you keep it, the kitten, and everything changes for seishiro nagi. for the worst.

miruku can do everything nagi isn’t allowed to nd gets away with it as well. he raids the fridge if you leave it open, doesn’t have to pay to replenish it because of course cats don’t have income. he wakes you up at ungodly hours for playtime which usually consists of you sitting on the edge of the bed and kicking around a ball of yarn for the kitty to play with. it’s irritating for nagi, having your warmth stolen away from him and pulling him out of the depths of slumber by your lack of presence— all because the stupid cat wants to play ball and you just can’t seem to say no to it. 

the feline that’s suspiciously close to looking like your boyfriend if he were to be an animal is also allowed to sleep in. miruku naps where he pleases, in the linen closet, the corner of the kitchen where the water pipes run hot, on top of the drier and especially by the front door where he trips up nagi on the way in from practices. it’s like the cat is purposely trying to make the pro-player’s life even more difficult than it’s meant to be and you find it’s every single movement adorable. 

the worst place miruku could possibly nap is seishiro’s favourite spot— on your chest. nuzzled against your boobs on a warm sunday afternoon where your boyfriend should be, where your boyfriend should be making you giggle by sucking hickies into your neck while he thumbs at the skin underneath your breasts. he should be suckling on the sweet expanse of your skin lazily, working you up just enough to offer yourself up to appease seishiro’s insatiable appetite.

and its so sick that he can’t because of your pampered little pet. you’d just brush him off and tell him ‘you’ll get your turn later, sei,’ which makes nagi hate that stupid fucking cat even more than anything.

you don’t ever let seishiro sleep in these days, ripping the blankets from his tall frame every morning with a slice of toast hanging from between your pretty lips as you say. “get up sei, wake up for me, baby.” you coo sweetly, briefly letting go of your breakfast to kiss his forehead before you rush out of the door. “i won’t be happy if isagi or reo have to wake you up for practice. ‘kay?”

“mmm…lil’ longer. please angel.” he groans but you weave your fingers through his snow white locks to scratch at his scalp before you tug on them slightly. 

“up. seishiro nagi. i’ll see you later!” the tone you use is warning, and prompts nagi to shift int he sheets to get out of bed. 

he huffs, stretching his limbs a little too similarly to your kitty companion before the realisation hits— miruku is laying in your spot, comfy and cosy. sleeping. and it only pisses him off more. that should be him.

“you’re a pain.” seishiro narrows his eyes at the snoozing feline, scratching it under the chin and the twitch of miruku’s ears tells him that he’s been acknowledged as a rival. 

so be it. 

“how come this cat gets away with everythin’ ‘nd i don’t?”

nagi whines into your neck, watching with darkened and narrowed eyes as his feline opponent hops up onto the couch to join you both in your late night cuddle session. miruku makes his presence known, pushing his head under your chin affectionately and clawing at the fluffy blanket draped over you and your boyfriend. you obviously find it adorable, your hands slipping from seishiro’s soft white hair to tickle just behind your pet’s ear— completely discarding the man tucked into your side. 

“what are you talking about, sei?” you mumble absentmindedly — missing the way the striker squirms in his seat and squeezes you close by the waist, as if to pull you away from the offending kitty.

seishiro grumbles out a response. “he gets to sleep in, but when i do it, it’s a bother. same for when he gets in the fridge too, and when i nap on top of you—“

“stop complaining about him, sei. miruku is just a baby!” you scold your boyfriend, hugging your kitten to your chest, cooing down at him as if he really is a baby. nagi seethes from beside you, that should be him in your arms and not some cat-like freeloader from the streets. miruku blinks up at the white-haired pro player slowly, his mouth opening in a petty meow that almost makes nagi hiss back in response. 

“i’m supposed to be your baby.”

“and you are! but you’re just a little more self-sufficient than my precious lil’ kitty— he needs me to take care of him.” 

“why don’t you just take care of me? cats are s’pposed to be independent,” seishiro nuzzles into your neck, his lips still pouty against your skin and you’d be a liar to say you weren’t overwhelmed with affection for your two boys. “‘n looking after the two of us must be a drag…” 

rolling your eyes, you turn your head to capture nagi in a surprise chaste kiss just to sate him— brushing your lips over his delicately. “i do take care of you, seishiro. some might say you’re a little spoilt with how much i do,” smiling into the kiss, you scratch your nails through his scalp in the way that he likes, a lot similar to your feline friend before jumping up from the couch with a clap of your hands. “now which one of my boys is hungry?”

miruku is promptly shooed to the floor beside a frustrated nagi left without your warmth. the pair share a brief moment of eye contact as your boyfriend runs a hand over his face in annoyance. 

“i hate you.”

“meow.”

the final straw for nagi is the night your cat makes it into the bedroom while you’re having sex. 

he’s pent up, training has been more intensive than usual and all he wants to do is come home and lose himself in you. you let him, falling into the sheets with seishiro nagi, your hands lost in his sea of perfectly soft white hair, your mouth on his, your legs wrapped around the small of his waist as he sinks into you for the first time in a long time. you share a moan, muffled by nagi’s tongue working it’s way down your throat and his entire body weight thrown over you. 

somehow he manages to tear through your clothes, tongue hungrily lapping over your pert nipples while you tug his aching cock free from the confines of his shorts. tears sting at your waterline as nagi presses into your cunt without much prep. he’s so big, you feel as though he might already be kissing your cervix without even moving and you tug hard on his hair at the feeling of nagi twitching within your walls.

“s-sei, god. fill me up s’good—!”

he cuts you off with a throaty moan, eyes rolling back as he gives an experimental thrust. “s’no fair…s’pretty. so tight around me, fuck, angel…”

the moment is perfect, he’s dizzy with love and desire and all caught up in the heat it all… that is until your stupid fucking cat starts screaming bloody murder from outside your locked door. 

“leave it,” seishiro grunts, pawing at your sides and languidly rolling his hips into yours. “s’probably nothin’, angel.” 

you gasp and nod, delirious with ecstasy and pull him closer but miruku seems to whine again— scratching pathetically at the door. “sei, what if—?” 

“he’s fine, jus’ focus on me, pretty thing.” and for the most part you try, you let nagi have his way with you— let him pin you to the bed and make you see galaxies and you’re both about to burst when he swears to the fucking stars he feels that cat’s paw between his balls. 

he doesn’t remember what happens next, just that he sees red or turns it and you are equally as embarrassed— shuffling out of the room to deal with your pesky cat, draped in one of sei’s spare hoodies. 

that’s when nagi decides he’s had enough. 

his final plan isn’t to get rid of miruku but instead to steal your attention away from the dumb animal. 

nagi puts a little more effort into cleaning up himself and the house for you once he gets back from practice at blue lock ( after multiple face times to barou and isagi, reo and others ). he stops by a flower shop and puts together an arrangement that he thinks you’ll like because the colours remind him so much of you. 

when you come home, your eyes light up at the bouquet on your sparkling countertops and the sight of your boyfriend lounging around in your kitchen on his phone. “baby, did you get these for me?” you swoon. 

“yeah. on the way back from practice i went to that flower shop you always talk about.”

“sei, that’s not even on the way home,” you smile and his heart flutters in his chest. “you didn’t have to go out of your way for me.”

nagi bristles with happiness as you make your way into his arms of your own accord and hide your face in his toned chest. “i’d do anything for you, angel,” he mumbled into your hairline and uses a finger to tilt your head up for a gentle kiss, quickly distracting you from miruku who’s jumped up onto the counter. “missed you, s’much.” he knows exactly what he’s doing when he presses his cock between your thighs, dropping his lips to your neck wetly. 

“m-missed you too, sei but…gotta feed the cat…” 

your kitten purrs at your side but seishiro rolls you over, nailing your hips down to the countertops and grinds into you feverishly. his plan is working. 

“no buts, need you. god… s’not fair bein’ away from you f’so long. baby…fuck.” he’s whiny and needy, grabbing handfuls of your ass to slide you back and forth on his growing erection so that you become putty in his hands. you’re so lightheaded that you don’t even hear your cat meowing for your attention— clinging onto nagi’s broad shoulders for dear life. “unless you want me to stop?”

you blink up at your boyfriend, teary eyed and ravenous— for once not reaching out instinctively to pet miruku but instead reaching up to tug on seishiro’s soft snowball locks and bring him down to your height. “i don’t want you to stop, seishiro,” you growl, your voice dipping into sensual and sultry territory. “i want you to fuck me.” 

“can do, angel.” he coos, letting you drag him by the hand towards your shared bedroom.

nagi throws a smug look over his shoulder at your unhappy cat, grinning from ear to ear as miruku hisses at him in defeat.

nagi: 1 - miruku: 0

[whosjunglejim4322]

Reconcile- E.M (S)

Smut!, fluff because uhm how could I not, angst! cause you guys are pent up from stress and this is basically a make up sex fic teehee, mentions of weed, brief arguing, Y’all just desperate and gross, Eddie fucks you till you cry and talks you through it like the slut he is, he cums inside of you, makes sure to fuck all that attitude away, PUSSY EATING, very graphic descriptions of passionate n nasty intercourse

You hadn’t foreseen this happening.

Sure, you and Ed’s have gotten into little disputes before. Petty, insignificant quarrels about whether or not the other person actually took out the garbage or who would pay next date night. Two years is still short to some, for you and Eddie it felt like forever and yesterday all in the same universe. Heavenly, and mundane.

But this is a different beast all together. This morning makes day two that you two have had this weird, suffocating energy between both of you. The antagonist of this situation, is undoubtedly the conversation that was had at Steve’s weekend hangout.

A few hits from a joint, a shot or two of tequila and goofy sentences being passed around between two best friends. You and Robin being the spectators, content in your own little bubble, puffing on a spliff of your own. Heavy, fluffy blankets kept you warm, gave you weight to lean on when your head began to feel like it might float away.

The Christmas lights and the hum of the deep freezer in the corner of Steve’s basement almost distracted you completely in your haze, until it didn’t. Until Chrissy Cunningham came up. Until it was an innocent giggling fit about whether or not Chrissy ever had a crush on Eddie, the oxymoron in and of itself.

“Imagine that ever happening,” Steve chuckled, lightheartedly, taking a sip of his Diet Pepsi. “can’t say I can’t see it. She wanted you for sure, dude.”

Your ears twitched. Eyes thinning into inquisitive slits. Nothing about Steve’s tone was meant to be rude, or disrespectful, but the nature of the comment itself felt awkward and uncomfortable underneath your skin.

You almost turned your attention back to the Walkman blasting David Bowie. Almost.

“I saw her the other day, she came in for an oil change. Honestly, I never would’ve even thought she wanted me,” Eddie takes another rip of his bong. “But then she asked me if I do at home visits. Said she wanted to catch up with me.”

Maybe your reptilian brain overreacted. Or, maybe it didn’t. Honestly, you don’t blame yourself completely for the way you reacted after that statement. Nothing else he said after that mattered. All you could hear was your heartbeat in your own ears. Loud, thunderous

“I told her I wouldn’t do that, obviously.”

White noise.

And not only were you intoxicated, but you were already burnt out from work and school, touch starved from not having any time with your boyfriend as of late. A period of your current reality that you know will pass as all things do in life; but it was too much. This hangout was supposed to be somewhat intimate, something for you to both do together. A simplicity that normally wouldn’t even have to be mentioned. You and Eddie exist on the same axis.

The blanket became too heavy and the smoke in the room threatened to choke you further. You all but threw the fluffy cover off of you and stormed out. You heard Robin call after you, and Eddie. A pair of voices that meshed together like the drum line in a song that is so in sync with the guitar chorus that you can barely decipher it. The steps spin, but you manage to stay upright.

Cold November air chilled your face, your neck. You too a deep breath in while marching to the van parked just a few feet away on the newly slabbed pavement of Steve’s home. His parents are at their lake house so often that Steve claims their Hawkins residence as his own.

Predictably, a heavy thump of boots followed closely behind you. The scrape of worn soles and the squeak of an old leather jacket. A billow of smoke follows him, clings onto him like jasmine and rosemary to the freshly bathed. Your back felt like the warning signs at a crossroad. He felt helpless.

“Baby, hey,” he sounded breathless, desperate and confused. He’s never seen you so upset that you’d just walk out unprompted. “stop walking god dammit, please.”

You stopped reluctantly, the tears of frustration in your waterline blurring your vision of the violet, cloudless skyline. A wide, warm palm touched your shoulder and the heat seared you even through your hoodie. You flinched away instinctively, sore in your limbs from your own concoction of emotions. When you met his eyes, they were wide. Like a deer staring down the barrel of a gun in its own home.

Your face must have been something to see. A scowl, a mirror of sadness reflected in his umber eyes. Angry. He’d never seen you look at him that way. It felt like having his intestines twisted between two cold hands.

“You didn’t tell me that happened.”

You stated it plainly, but spitefully in nature. Your voice cracked and it made a brewing tear spill over your waterline and down the plump of your cheek. He had the overwhelming urge to comfort you, but knew he couldn’t. Knew you would likely flinch away like you did five seconds ago and he didn’t think he would physically be able to bear you trying to get away from him again.

He didn’t exactly know what was making you so upset. The conversation wasn’t anything he wouldn’t have said in front of you, which is why all of it was said in front of you. Perhaps his own intoxication made it hard to fully understand the velocity of his words, what they meant and how they could’ve been interpreted from your point of view.

“I didn’t think it was important.” His thick brows scrunched and deepened the wrinkle between them. You looked like your eyes might bulge out of your head.

You nearly choked on your own spit, the words to your reply getting caught square in the middle of your throat; and so you said nothing. You stepped forward, and then past him. And he realized too late that you were walking away from him.

“I’m gonna ask Steve to take me home.”

He was too stunned to speak. To react. To stop you, to plead for you to tell him what he did wrong. Or at least how to fix it. He felt himself crumble on the inside, like his bones were made of ash.

When he got back to the trailer that night, you weren’t there. And that’s when it all really set in. That he fucked up. For the past two weeks you’ve been here with him, playing house while Wayne caught a gig further up north. He thought, he thought that when you said home, maybe you meant here. With him.

He called that night, almost ten times. You answered on the eighth.

“I’m at my apartment Ed’s, I’m fine. I don’t want to argue, or talk. I just need to be by myself right now.”

He felt paralyzed by the pang in his chest. More so, he felt angry. Genuinely angry, and not just at himself, but selfishly, at you.

“Fine, glad you’re safe.”

He nearly broke the fucking landline.

Your eyes have to adjust to the brightness of your living room. Well, your bedroom, slash living room, slash kitchen. A studio in Hawkins is relatively affordable, but they aren’t lying when they say it’s a studio. The events from yesterday scream in your head instantly, along with the pounding of your pulse. Your bed is almost unfamiliar at this point, the blankets not worn enough, the sheets the scent of fresh dryer sheets instead of you and Eddie’s shared scent.

The beeping of your answering machine pulls you back down to reality, though not one you want to participate in currently. Unfortunately, you have no other choice.

They’re all from Eddie of course, and now that you’re not high you feel those wounds from the night before coming back, sticking you in the chest, ribs, liver. Along with the pain, you feel guilty. For your less than mature reaction. Though you know you can’t blame yourself, not having ever been in that situation. You’re human and reacted as so. But he’s your Eddie.

You listen to the last message, sent twenty five minutes ago.

“I’m coming over in thirty minutes, I don’t care if you don’t want to see me. We are going to talk this out. I love you.”

You huff in frustration, though you can’t say you aren’t relieved. Relieved that he’s coming, that he’s not giving up over some quarrel about Chrissy Cunningham. You have a tendency to think the entire world is caving in around you upon one minor inconvenience. This disruption in your daily routine feels like Armageddon.

You have time to brush your teeth and rinse the remaining paste off of your mouth before your front door opens. If you didn’t recognize his footsteps so well, it might be off putting to have someone just waltz into your home.

The bathroom door is open, so he spots you immediately, slipping off his worn in boots and placing them beside the door. He takes his leather jacket off and puts it over the stool that sits at your kitchen island. It makes your face hot, still. The ease in which you two have melded into each others lives. Even if you’re angry at him.

“I don’t know what to say, Ed’s.” It’s a lie. You walk past him to the kitchen and open the fridge, hiding from his gaze as you pretend to search for something. He clears his throat and you reluctantly close the refrigerator door, staring at the floor and backing yourself against the sink.

“I just - you’ve never left. Without telling me. Or talking to me. And, fuck I-“ he’s stammering already, taking steady breaths and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t think I had to tell you about an insignificant interaction with Chrissy Cunningham.”

You scoff, although it’s more of a giggle. And he looks at you like you’ve just lost your mind. Rare, for Eddie Munson to think someone else has lost their mind.

“Well you and Steve sure seemed to enjoy talking about it. You both were pretty giddy discussing whether or not Chrissy wanted to, or, sorry -“ you’re being defensive. Rude. You can’t help it. “wants to fuck you. Why would I want to hear about that? Why would I want to hear you guys talk about whether or not you both can see you and Chrissy together? Does that not sound incredibly fucked up, Ed’s?”

So much for not talking. Now it’s spilling out like a cracked flower vase. Your chest is heaving rapidly, face and body hot with anger. Your arms are crossed across your chest, a protection against whatever it is he might say, despite the fact that you’re the one who’s being rhetorical.

He shoves his ringed fingers into his hair, scratching his scalp and pulling lightly at the roots as he closes his eyes, contemplating. Seeing things through your eyes, attempting to. He winces.

“That’s not what we were trying to say,” he bites his cheek. “I mean I know it doesn’t matter what we were trying to say, the conversation shouldn’t have happened, but I can’t take it back. For fucks sake.”

He’s murmuring to himself, rubbing his rough palms over his tired face. He’s wearing one of your favorite tee shirts of his to steal. Iron Maiden. The sleeves are short enough to reveal the splattering of ink that crawls up his biceps. When his muscles move underneath his skin, the ink moves with them. It’s captured your attention suddenly, and now you’re raking your eyes over his entire figure.

Familiar black sweats cling onto his lower half. They fit perfectly on his lithe waist, loose on the rest. Except for his ass. He has a really cute ass. And these sweats specifically accentuate the shape before billowing down his thighs.

“Baby? You with me?”

The low timbre of his voice shakes you from your reverie. You’ve simmered off, the anger replaced with a different heat. It’s been too long since the two of you have just been together, this fight might be the most communication you’ve had in the past week due to your jobs, and school. Or the worries of the world, the overwhelming need to sleep when you aren’t working, to work when you aren’t sleeping.

You’ve forgotten about each other. Briefly, but not inevitably. Never that. You feel like you may collapse.

“I’m- yeah I’m with you.”

You let out a sigh, uncrossing your arms. You look and sound as defeated as you feel. He can’t pretend to not have noticed your silky, thin sleeping gown, but he is just a man. And your nipples are hard underneath the garment and he has never not thought you’re one of the most beautiful creatures he’s ever seen. You haven’t worn it in a while, preferring his clothes to sleep in since you’ve been staying with him. He missed seeing you like this.

He steps closer. Tentatively, afraid you might run away from him. You sense his hesitancy and a piece of your heart breaks, the piece where he lives. You meet his eyes, silently inviting him, glancing from his mouth then back up to his softening gaze. You watch his Adam’s Apple bob in his throat.

“I’m sorry.” He says, earnestly. His hands threaten to tremble when you reach out and grab them, heavy in your own. He hovers above you the closer he gets, your limbs connecting in a symbiotic way. One you feel the others skin, you can’t get away from it. Not until you’re pressed together, belly to belly, your chin tilted upward.

“You - ugh.” You can’t get words out anymore. They dissolve in your larynx and your head falls, the need to cry or scream or kiss him an overwhelming choice.

“I know baby, I know. I’m sorry.” He pats down your hair, rough thumbs caressing the softness of your cheeks. He pulls your face upwards again, staring down at you with regret, adoration, hunger.

“I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have just left.”

He leans closer, till you smell the coffee on his breath and the hazelnut creamer alike. Your noses bump and rub against the other, his thick eyelashes fanning across his own cheekbones - casting a fluttery shadow.

“It’s okay now. We’re okay now.” He says it softly, just between the little space left between you two. “Let me take care of it. Please.” He closes the gap.

Some people assume it’s not supposed to feel as good as it does, kissing someone who’s lips you’ve mapped out like an atlas. That couldn’t be further from the truth, because kissing Eddie feels like being consumed.

And not just metaphorically, because it’s evident in the nips to your bottom lip, the sucking of your tongue whenever he feels it lick his teeth; that your small period of separation, and longer period of not having indulged each other, has weighed heavily on him as well. He’s starving.

You’re overtaken within seconds by the veracity of his mouth, your fingers taking purchase in the curls at his crown. Smacks and kisses and wet noises fill the small space, and the center of your stomach swells with a simmering heat. A reminder of how neglectful you both have been. Your nipples harden against him, as his dick twitches between his legs.

You feel nervous. Tentative. Excited.

His hands implore you like a new discovery, grasping at your back, and then down the sensitive slopes of your sides and over the plushness of your hips. Through the silky nightgown the sensation is riveting, enough to drive a person insane. You arch against him, and a whimper escapes your mouth into his throat.

“Mmm, mhm.” He groans.

“Eddie,” it’s a cry, wanton sound that makes him rut himself against you instinctively. Anything to relieve you. Anything to relieve himself. “baby.”

He smiles against your mouth, pecking it a few times before departing only for a second to see your kiss bitten lips, his and your spit coating your mouth. Your blown out pupils. He mirrors your appearance, like a wild creature.

“Never again,” his index fingers knuckle strokes the inside of your thigh, and you shudder, holding onto his broad shoulders for an anchor. You separate your legs without thinking. “we will never go through this again. I’m gonna make sure of it.”

Three knuckles stroke your pubic mound, then down your covered slit where dampness threatens to leak. Your fingernails grip his shirt, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted in anticipation. He’s so warm, so palpable. You want him to bury himself inside of you.

He’s in front of you, and then he’s not. You blink, and hair tickles your thighs like you’re frolicking through an overgrown field. Strong, rough hands lift the delicate silk of your nightie until it’s being bunched between ringed fingers above your navel. He’s on his knees, devout for you.

You gasp when his tongue broadens against your center. Your panties are just enough barrier to make you wanna cry out in desperation, while also offering enough sensation to not dare stop for even a moment to pull them off. You’re at his mercy. Or is he at yours? Neither of you know anymore, and it’s not important.

Not when he gets a taste of you. Not when he peers up at you between lust sodden lashes and sees you looking down at him like you’re about to crumble. Your knees shake and he bunches the nightie in one fist instead of two, placing his free hand on the back of your thighs to steady you while he soaks your underwear with the spit from his tongue.

The shape of your slit and the plump lips around it begins to show its phantom form through the material from the soaking. He sucks, prods with the tip of his wet muscle.

“Ed’s, fuck.” Your voice is so weak. His cock weeps in his sweats, dribbling with copious amounts of precum. It’s torturous to not touch himself but he’s too focused on watching you, pleasing you. You hums against your mound, mocking you.

He pulls the elastic to the side, not patient enough to take them off all the way. You get to see his face for a split second, cherry red cheeks and a messy halo of hair and stubble on his chin. And then, you feel it.

His nose keeps your lips separated, his tongue already splayed against the soft, sensitive flesh between them. You’re slick and sticky and coating the lower half of his face, though you have trouble grasping onto the helms of reality when he’s licking your pussy like this. He shakes his head from side to side, tongue still flat until he’s spreading your thighs farther, so that he can lick your honey from the source.

“Hold it.” He mumbles, struggling to hand the falling material of your night gown to your shaking hands, though you get the memo when it threatens to cover his head completely. You use one hand to hold it, and the other to tug at his hair.

You can barely hear anything another than the sloppy wetness of his mouth working on you, and the sound of your own heartbeat, but you’re sure you’re whining. You can feel the rawness of your throat as you let your head fall back and cry to the ceiling, feeling the need to tear up.

You grip the roots of his locks, rocking against his mouth like you’ve got no other choice. He hums, encouraged by every squeak and moan that comes out of you, by every drip of your cunt and tensing of your muscles.

He doesn’t care that your thighs are squeezing around his head, or that you can barely hold yourself together. You’re using his face like second nature and his cock weeps in his pants. He feels himself throbbing in tandem with the pulsing of your hole around his tongue.

Then he pulls your lips apart with his thumbs, revealing the pink bud that resides underneath your hood, suckling and coating it with enough spit to drip onto the floor.

“Oh god,” you pant “m’gonna cum. Please don’t stop please please please.” 

You’re throttled, and not just by the pleasure but by how fast you’re descending into your own madness. You can’t hear much of anything, see anything but the back of your own eyelids - and your boyfriend is using half of his strength to keep your body upwards as you threaten to wilt.

He doesn’t stop, per your request but to your ultimate demise. You feel yourself leaking as your clit throbs from the aftershocks of a powerful - much needed and thoroughly missed, orgasm.

You think you might pass out, but he feels the trembling in your body and despite his need to keep going until you’re completely done for, all but comatose- he stops.

Through your clouded and hazy senses, your hands tug at his face, his head, his neck. Lazily you attempt to pull him up from his knees, and it’s not your strength that does it, it’s his own. But he lets you believe you pulled him to your mouth, before he even has the chance to wipe your essence off. Not that he cares to.

Your tongues collide in a messy exploration, he’s rough and saccharine and sweet all at once. Your paw at him like you’ve never felt him before, like he didn’t just have his mouth on your most private of parts.

“I need you in me.” You slur the words between open mouthed kisses. He’s pressed so flush against you that you can feel his dick throbbing, and you’re not sure if the wetness is your own or his. Perhaps both.

You’re hungry for it. He’s still starving, and your fingers clumsily pull the waistband of his sweats down until they’re pooled at his ankles. You wrap your hand around the thick member, angrily red at the tip, veins bulging from either side. The thatch of curly hair at his base is covered by his shirt but you don’t have the energy to remove it- to do anything other than ogle at the blood rushing through him, the feel of his pulse through his manhood. He throws his head back for a split second, taking a deep breath.

You turn around, facing the sink and resting your cheek against the cool metal of the edge. You offer yourself to him like this, an invitation in the form of a leaking cunt and buckling knees. His hands, rough and wide pull this godforsaken nightgown up and over the swell of your ass, knuckles grazing the back of your thighs in the process.

You want to look at him but you’re far too flustered, ironically. It’s completely idiotic to still be embarrassed at your own need for your own boyfriend - but someone as beautiful as Eddie doesn’t come around very often. Getting to do this feels like retribution.

“You’re so pretty,” he groans, out of breath. He crudely spits on his cock, you can hear the slick sounds of his precum mixing with his saliva as he strokes himself a few times, one hand on your left hip while he guides his mauve tip to your slit.

“I’m gonna fuck all that attitude away baby.”

The stretch is jarring and unexpected, but the sounds you both make as he sticks himself passed your gummy entrance isn’t. You grip the counter, and he leans his weight over you so that he can mouth at your shoulders while he pushes himself in to the hilt- kissing your cervix before his cock moved around it.

“Yeah?” He taunts, hair tickling your back and lips smearing kisses against your nape. “You’re so goddamn wet, this is all you needed huh?”

He’s genuine within the ruggedness of his voice. Within seconds he’s pulling himself out and shoving himself back in with something fierce driving him. He’s unforgiving in his pace once he gets into a comfortable stance, kicking his sweats off of his ankles and planting his feet behind you.

It’s a symphony of sticky, wet sounds, and grunts with compositions of skin against skin in your small kitchen. It’s been so long since you’ve felt him, since he’s felt you. He’s not just fucking you from the back, he’s mounting you - panting lewdly in your ear while his hands snake themselves around your shoulders.

You cry out, nothing coherent leaving your mouth. Your poor cunt was still contracting from the orgasm he gave you with his mouth when shoved himself inside of you, and now that little spongey spot is being brutally massaged over and over again with each stroke.

“That’s - s-so - good.” Your words are staccato, followed by petulant whines. You’re thankful for his hit breath on your neck, the groans leaving him, the weight of his body behind you. He’s close while still delivering a delicious punishment - a fucking that’s meant to make you forget about anything that’s happened this past week.

“Awe baby, it feels good hmm? You - fucking hell-“

His balls tighten and he knows he’s gonna cum soon, he’s too caught up in how you’re squeezing around him, throbbing from the inside out with your admiration for him. You try to reach back and touch him, but he holds your arms in front of you, a sort of embrace and restraint all in one.

“need to cum baby, need to show you how much I love you. Need to fill you - oh baby - need to fill you all the way. That’s it - there you go there you go, I know.”

He kisses your cheek where a tear falls down, your knees beginning to tremble again in tandem with his own. He ruts and ruts and ruts, your cream coating his cock, your warmth swallowing him whole.

He pulls out, and you think you might start weeping, till he turns you around by your waist and licks the inside of your parted lips. He hiked your leg up around his lithe waist, bends his knees and maneuvers his hips forward so that he can slide back into you.

Now that he can see your face, and you can see his, you both feel cathartic.

You hang onto his shoulders, clawing at his curls and he holds your face, damp lips centimeters away from your own while your foreheads rest against each other. You look down to watch him disappear inside of you, and you marvel at it. Your juices and the sounds they make, how pretty his dick looks coated in your release and his own pre ejaculate.

“M’so fucking deep,” he’s shaking now, sweat beading down his neck. His bottom lip quivers and you begin to realize how this must feel for him as well. How badly you both needed the other. “it feels so fucking good, so good so good so good.”

He’s babbling and you pull his mouth to yours again, suckling on his tongue. With some foreign strength, you use your voice.

“Please cum, I love you Eddie. I want you to cum for me please please, I can’t take it. Cum for me cum for me cum for me I love you.”

He thinks he might cry, he’s so fucking deep when you wrap your arms around him, when your hips are connected so closely that you can’t tell where one of you begins and the other one ends - when the sweet lullaby that is your voice serenades him, begs him to let go.

“Oh god, oh fuck I’m - fuuuuck.”

He tightens, stuttering inside of you while small gasps of pleasure leave him like hiccups. You inhale the scent of his hair, feel the rise and fall of his breath from between his shoulder blades. You’re both twitching, barely standing. A mess, and certainly a sight to see.

He stays like that for a few moments, just enough for all of his cum to dribble out from the tip and into you. When he pulls out, the sound is audible and crude, and he swears to himself he will clean the mess on your kitchen floor.

You don’t know who kisses who first.

Both of you go for the others neck, cheeks, forehead. Gently, with enough love to fill an entire universe itself. It’s a juxtaposition to the way you just had each other. It’s love. Pure, unadulterated, sickeningly sweet to the melancholy.

“I’m staying here tonight,” he kisses your eyelids, then your nose, out of breath. “and I’m gonna make breakfast in the morning. We are never letting this happen again.”

You scratch his scalp.

“Which part? Cause-“ he rolls his eyes, smiling boyishly. Enough to show his dimples, flash his teeth.

“You know which part, I’ll give you whatever you want. But I’m never going this long without being around you. Not ever.”

He’s devout, sincere in a way that is irrevocable. You don’t argue, don’t wince, don’t make a face. You nod, suckling his bottom lip.

You listen.

[wishmemel]

cherry blossom springs, ft. fushiguro megumi

synopsis: megumi's oblivious to a lot of things. he's just never seen or lived. not really, not like you do. the sky is blue, the grass is green, and you’re sunshine. but what is he supposed to do with that and when did he get so lucky to be able to call you his? tags: megumi x f! reader, non-curse au, megumi’s pov, established relationship, fluff, characters are in uni (2nd year?) but have known each other since high school, sanrio lover! reader as always, reader is a spring baby cw: i don't think there's any! wc. almost 1.2k posted: 08/03/24 a/n: i've had this in my drafts forever, just felt iffy posting it since the word count is so low and it doesn't exactly come off as a story :(( but then i thought it was too poetic not to and it'd be a shame if no one else saw megumi the way i do so enjoy!!

Your pinky is interlaced with Megumi’s and even though you’re here—at your class, where you’re supposed to be—he’s reluctant to let go.

He’s only just found you, how is he supposed to let go so soon?

The two of you pause outside the door, locking eyes with each other shyly.

Megumi’s gaze softens, his tone hesitant and cautious, as if he’s still afraid that you’ll turn tail and reject him. “You’re… you’re my girlfriend, right?”

You blink at him, then giggle a little in response at his insecure question. “Duh, of course. What, you want a kiss to make sure?”

He’s already protesting, eyes wide, ears red, but you plant a quick kiss on his cheek before he can say anything, and he just watches, dumbstruck, as you wave goodbye at him, still giggling to yourself, before heading inside the classroom.

He blinks, dazed, and wipes his cheek, staring at the pink lipstick smeared on his fingers with a stupid smile.

You chatter off about your classes and he nods, pretending to listen while he’s captivated by the sight of your lit eyes and your bright smile. The high pitch of your excited voice is music to his ears and he's convinced he must’ve been unable to hear before he met you.

It’s like seeing love take form in a person. He can’t help but be drawn to you, and, more than that, he’s still dazed, head spinning from trying to wrap itself around the mere idea that you were his and he was yours.

He can call you his girlfriend now. He can talk about you all he wants without feeling guilty or self-conscious about the idea. He can hold your hand like this in public, your thumb softly stroking against the back of his hand in ways that make his heart race. He can stare at you like this for hours, enchanted by what you’re saying and not have you question him because you’re his girlfriend and he can look and no one’s going to stop him.

Is this what love is?

He can never tear his eyes off of you—things that should be embarrassing, he finds endearing. He has the urge to stare at you all the time and he’s always resisting the urge to reach out and touch you, even in small ways, even a little, like brushing the hair out of your eyes or making you pause so he can wipe away a stray eyelash. You have this way of keeping his face constantly hot and red—he’s always blushing and it’s so humiliating, but it feels like love.

He swears he can see little hearts floating next to your head when you speak to him, and it’s like all your words come out as music, lyrics that wrap around his head and go through his ears like some kind of alluring song he can never get enough of.

He sees Hello Kitty themed things and immediately thinks of you, wondering if you’d like a keychain that he spots on a student’s bag or some large sunglasses on another—all so ridiculous and shameless and so utterly you.

He finds it senseless how you don’t care about anyone else’s opinion, how you flaunt your style and your likes. He finds it ridiculous that he’s stopped caring the longer he’s with you too. But why look at anyone else, why think of anyone else, when you’re right there?

You’re his sun, the centre of his universe—life without you would go back to being dark and gloomy and unbearable.

You tap his shoulder. He flinches.

“Megumi,” you giggle enchantingly. “You’re not paying attention to me.”

Has he ever stopped?

“Come on, we’re going to miss our next class!”

Spring brings with it cherry blossoms and it seems like you can’t get enough of the beautiful pink flowers that decorate every corner of campus.

You love spring for more reasons than one—it’s your favourite season and you love to see the blossoming flowers, always stopping in awe to point out each new bud to him with buzzing excitement. He finds it contagious, he can’t help the smile that twitches at the corners of his mouth.

When the two of you are apart and he’s missing you, he sends you pictures of the pink petals fluttering to the ground to remind you that he’s always thinking of you. You send him selfies of half your face in class, barely concealing the wide smile that you bear.

Before your dates, he plucks flowers from the courtyard of your university, late at night so he won’t be caught, and brings them home to colour coordinate into blooming bouquets tied with white ribbons. But when he shows up he never tells you where he brings the bouquets from and you never ask, though you must have noticed the coincidences.

Instead, you have on your brightest smile, this tender look in your eyes that says, for me? you did this for me? every time and it makes it so worth it that he forgets the bleeding palms and the thorn scratches and the hours he spent coming up with arrangements until his eyes started mixing up colours.

Spring brings with it your birthday and you haven’t said a word about it.

He’s sure you think nothing of the event—he wonders how you’ve spent it in earlier years—but he’s determined to make it everything you want, gaudy heart balloons, tacky surprise party, and all. Even if he hates such events. There’s nothing that isn’t worth sacrificing for you.

You're always giving—you insist on paying for his meals when the two of you go out together (though he never lets you), you're the one to initiate any physical contact between you and him, and it's because of you that the two of you are able to talk through your problems (because lord knows Megumi is the type to remain silent and ruminate over such things.) For once, he wants to take the first step, he wants to give you something that'll light up your face. More than just "seeing him smile" like you claim. Something satisfying and worthy. He's sure he'll come up with something in time for your special day.

Spring brings with it rain and it means, more often than not, that you two forget your umbrellas at home and have to run to classes on the other side of campus. Still, you’re always laughing beside him as he uses his jacket as a cover, and he finds his head whipping at the sight, trying to take you in as much as he can.

You see him staring. You laugh harder. You tell him to look ahead before he trips and falls.

He thinks it’s too late, but he’s afraid to say that out loud.

Spring brings with it blossoming, blooming love like the flowers you adore and the growing smile he can’t wipe off his face.

Under the cherry blossoms, Megumi thinks he could love you like this forever. This is his third spring loving you, but it can’t be his last. He wants to make sure this love continues forevermore.

comments and reblogs are appreciated!

[keisins]

gojo satoru x reader. fwb!au. angst to comfort/fluff

kind of a sequel to this

You’ve been ghosted.

To be fair, you had kind of expected this. Key work: kind of. You try to not let your heart constrict itself into an organ of loathe, depression and hatred for the past 3 weeks.

Unfortunately, the agony still sits on your granite kitchen counter three weeks later. It’s in the box of his stuff he had the nerve to leave behind, along with all the thread-like semblance of hope you had for your future together. (How foolish of you, really.)

The kitchen itself, however, is empty. The living room you’re standing in — also empty. Your family and friends who came to help you move your stuff to your new apartment left a few minutes ago. They’re on their way there first to pick up some food before all of you move more heavy boxes into the place. And you’re grateful.

Grateful that you have people in your life that don’t ghost you, even if you can count them on a hand. People that care. That are consistent in your life. That aren’t curse-bound.

God, you hated him for the first week. Hated how even though you tried to make his habitual appearances not a part of your routine, you find yourself missing the white hair that tickles your neck when you search for a fresh set of pajamas, the clingy hands that harbor not-so-innocent touches as you put on skin care, and even sometimes, in the morning when you didn’t have the heart to kick him out the last night, the most amateur brewing of coffee you’ve ever had because who needs coffee when you have Gojo Satoru to keep you energized.

You shake your head to rid your thoughts. You take a deep breath in, ready to say goodbye to the place, goodbye to the memories, ready to let the box be discarded away just like he has done to you.

And just as you almost let go, you feel it.

You feel him. You don’t turn. You can’t. Because it cannot be real. You know what’s real and it’s not tender kisses and hands intertwined, it’s a job in a new city, in a new position. Life is not Gojo Satoru, it’s a new apartment.

Yet, there in your old apartment, you come to life upon hearing his voice.

“I see you’ve changed the place.”

His joke comes soft and light, as if to not scare you. Because he has to know that you are livid. He keeps his distance. Though, everything in Satoru is compelled to hold you. He thinks your name must be carved into his bones, with the way it urges his joints to reach for you, always always drawn to you.

You still haven’t turned. Still in shock, because this has to be a hallucination. Some sick joke from the universe, maybe. He calls your name, but before he can close his mouth, you turn around and ask harshly, “What are you doing here?”

Tears are already brimming at your eyes. You find yourself looking at him for the first time in a long time and it makes your heart ache. You could hear him out, but there is something in you that doesn’t want to. You had been raised with impatient needs, always in a rush to satisfy the ones who claimed to love you. Love is patient, love is kind, and you want it so bad to not be love.

A moment of silence passes by as Gojo bores into you, until his heart caves and takes a big step toward you, tests the water by taking your hand in his.

And you cry, weakly shrugging away, before he’s pulling you into the warmest embrace of your life.

“I’m sorry.��� He catches sight of the box on the counter and can only guess what it could be. He’s been so selfish with his love for you, that he had forgotten about the treachery that so greatly tries to seep through his infinity. Gojo hadn’t accounted for it, didn’t ever in his life think he could feel afford to be humbled. But, as he stands there with you falling apart in his arms, he feels intimidated. “I’m so sorry.”

“I hate you.” Are you okay? How have you been? Where did you go? He hums softly, still caging you with his arms. You dare to ask, because to love is to be vulnerable, “Where were you?”

He holds you tighter, his eyes threatening to drop some tears of their own. He laughs and you can hear how watery it is when he tells you, “A box.”

You pull away, brows furrowed as you look up at him. He wipes away a falling tear on your cheek before pulling you into him again, desperate for you to not see him cry.

“I’ll explain later… Just let me hold you right now.”

[kaleldobrev]

Daddy in a Different Way

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Summary: A simple misunderstanding leads an older woman to believe that you and Jack are together, not you and Dean. But Dean does a “very good job” at clearing things up...But maybe not in the best way.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Age Gap, Light Smut, Daddy kink (if you squint)

Authors Note: Takes place in the same universe as Old Man | Flashbacks are in italics | Even though it’s light smut 18+ only please | MDNI | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

You grabbed your black leather crossbody handbag from the hook next to the floor length mirror that Dean had installed in your shared room about two months after you had moved in.

“Our room is missing something.” You stated as you rolled onto your side, propping yourself up with your elbow and the palm of your hand.

“Oh yeah?” Dean asked, his eyes were still closed, not yet wanting to fully commit to waking up just yet. “What’s that Princess?”

“Floor length mirror.” Your tone serious.

Dean’s eyes shot open, automatically looking at you. “You’re serious?” He asked, not actually wanting you to answer.

You gave him your ‘of course I’m serious Dean’ face, followed by a simple smile. “It’s one mirror Dean.” You said, as you started to trace your pointer finger on his bare chest. “It’s the least you can do.” You paused, tilting his chin toward you. “I’ll make it worth your while.” You leaned in, barely brushing your bottom lip on his.

“You don’t have to owe me anything Sweetheart. You know I can’t say no to you.” He replied, closing the gap between you and kissed you.

As you looked at yourself in the mirror, you heard Dean come into the room. Seeing him come up behind you, you gave me a soft smile. “You look beautiful today, Sunshine.” His compliment genuine. Wrapping his arms around your waist, you placed your hands on his arms, enjoying the embrace that he had around you. His chin found itself on your bare shoulder before he gave your neck a somewhat seductive like kiss that sent a shiver down your spine. “You and sundresses always do it for me. I don’t know why.” The sundress that you were currently wearing in particular happened to be Dean’s favorite on you, even though he loved every single one that you owned. But for some reason, this sage colored one seemed to be one that he gravitated toward the most.

“I think you like the easy access that they give you.” You turned your head toward him, meeting his gaze; your lips inches away from each other, slightly smelling his spearmint toothpaste.

“That’s one of the reasons.” He confessed, gently starting to lift your dress up. He had gotten pretty far, getting to the point where you could see the waistband of your panties – green lace, the same color as your dress. One of Dean’s fingers found its way into the waistband, and your breath hitched, waiting for the contact that you were craving, despite just having sex with him a few hours before. Yours and his lips touched then, the kiss feeling just as needy and desperate as it was a couple hours before. Dean added another finger as he was hovering over your clit.

“Dean…” You moaned, his two fingers finally making contact as they barely dipped inside you.

“Aw Sweetheart, you’re wet ready?” He voice sounded like honey to you in that moment. “Was this morning not enough for you?” He smirked, slightly feeling how hard he already was against your ass.

“Clearly it wasn’t enough for you either handsome.” Your lips curving into a smirk. You started to move your hand behind you now, gently palming the front of his jeans.

“I’m ready to go when you two are.” Jack said, as you were midway through unzipping Dean’s pants. You and Dean froze in place for a moment, feeling yourself tense up around Dean’s fingers.

“Dammit.” Dean said, his voice sounding more frustrated than he probably intended it to be. He removed his fingers along with his embrace around you; your dress falling back into place.

Jack looked between the two of you, confused at Dean’s reaction. All of a sudden, realization hit them. “Oh.” Jack simply said. “You two were in the middle of having sex and I interrupted.”

You turned to face Jack, ready to say something to them, but Dean was the first one to talk. “We…We weren’t having sex Jack but…we were…being…intimate.”

“With the door open?” Jack asked. Their point was valid, but at the same time, you also weren’t expecting Dean to come up behind you and start fingering you.

“You didn’t see anything right?” You asked. Not that you were embarrassed if Jack had seen anything, but you also didn’t feel like explaining every single sexual thing that you and Dean had done right now to them. To your relief, Jack shook their head, indicating that they in fact didn’t see anything that you two had done.

“Does this mean you two are going to have sex when we get back?” Jack asked, very bluntly.

Dean walked over to Jack, placing the hand that he didn’t use on you, and patted Jack’s shoulder. “Oh, you bet we are.” He winked, before walking out of the room, leaving just you and Jack.

The drive to Target went by quickly, the entire drive filled with song after song that you had requested, as you were the only one besides Dean who had any say in the music that was to be listened to or enjoyed in Baby. “You’re the only shotgun that will always have a say.” Dean once told you.

Once Dean parked Baby, the three of you got out and made your way into the store. Getting inside, you grabbed a shopping cart, despite the fact that you knew you probably didn’t need it; but it was just a force of habit that you did each time you walked into the store, much to Dean’s dismay. “Can I push the cart?” Jack asked, a childish type smile on their face.

“Of course.” You gave them a smile back, releasing your hands from the cart so they could start pushing it. You didn’t know why, but you had loved seeing the enjoyment on Jack’s face when you had told them they could push the cart. With everything that has happened over the years, it was nice to see someone get excited over something so simple.

With no use for your hands now, you went to hold the strap of your crossbody. Seeing this, Dean held out one of his hands. “Hold my hand so you don’t get lost.” He teased. You playfully swatted his arm before taking his hand.

“This is so cute.” You said, grabbing a graphic tree from one of the racks and showed it to Jack. “Do you like this? I think it would look nice on you.” The shirt that you held in your hands was a nice mint color and had an array of different succulents.

“While you two do this, I’m gonna go look at the flannels.” Dean pointed to the small variety of mainly red flannels a few feet away.

“Dean, it’s July…in Kansas.” Kansas in July was honestly one of the worst months. It was always over 100 degrees, and the feels like made it 10 degrees warmer than that; and let’s not forget about the humidity: that was the worst part. Whenever you had left the comfortableness of the Bunker, you instantly felt like you were melting, despite the minimal clothing sometimes you left the Bunker in to try and conquer the Kansas heat.

“It’s always flannel season Sweetheart.” Dean smiled before leaving you and Jack in the graphic tee section.

You let out a frustrated sigh. You were happy to at least convince Dean not to wear his usual jacket today, even if he was still wearing Timberlands and jeans. Before you had met him, him along with Sam would tell you how they both wore jackets no matter the weather, and that honestly baffled you. You had no idea how two grown men would willingly wear heavy jackets in summer, let alone summer in Kansas no less. After you had become more of a stable being in his life, and the other boys lives, you had found yourself gently – sometimes aggressively – convincing Dean that maybe wearing a heavy ass leather jacket in 100 degree weather wasn’t the smartest move; that it was okay to wear a t-shirt and shorts. He had worn shorts in the Bunker, but refused to wear them outside; the place that you had told him that he needed to wear them. “I don’t want people staring at my legs.” He told you.

“I don’t believe flannel is a season.” Jack commented, interrupting your train of thought. “It’s a material last time I checked.” You adored Jack’s slight innocence at times like these.

“You would be correct. But, wearing any kind of flannel, despite a heat wave, is a long-standing Winchester tradition.” You held up the shirt again, holding it up against Jack’s body so you could try and imagine what it would look like on them without having to try it on in the store; something you knew Jack would be uncomfortable with doing. “I think you’d look cute in this.” You nodded to yourself and placed the t-shirt in the cart.

“Can I pick something out for you?” Jack asked.

“Sure. Let’s see what you got.” You smiled, both of you turning around to look at the rack.

As Jack looked through the t-shirts trying to find one that they thought you would like, you couldn’t help but look over at Dean who had quite a few flannels draped over his arm that he would be able to add to his ever growing collection; a few even looked to be in your size, something that made you smile. “I think you’d look nice in this one.” Jack said, holding out the black t-shirt for you to see. It was faded black in color and had the logo for one of your favorite bands: The Clash. “A very fine choice Jack.” You smiled.

Jack handed you the shirt and you placed it in the cart. “Can we listen to them when we get home? Or are you and Dean going to have sex?” Jack asked bluntly, but quiet enough so only you would be able to hear the question.

You placed your hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I’ll tell you what, we can listen to them on the drive home. How does that sound?” You smiled, coming up with a compromise that you knew they’d be good with. Jack nodded, liking your compromise.

“Well aren’t you two just the cutest.” An older woman who appeared to be in her mid to late 70s said. At first, you and Jack looked around to see if she was talking about anyone else that was around you, but the two of you were the only ones in sight. Seeing you two looking around, she laughed gently, amused. “Yes, I’m talking about you two.” She walked closer to you. “How long have you cuties been together?”

“Oh, we’re not together.” You stated.

The woman gave you and Jack a rather confused expression, as if she didn’t understand why you had said you two weren’t together. “Oh sweetie, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Trust me,” she leaned in to whisper, so only you could hear her. “I know true love when I see it.” You couldn’t help but give her a wide-eyed expression. “I used to look at my Harold like that.”

“We aren’t together.” You firmly said again. You looked over at Jack who simply just held their hands on the shopping cart, trying their best not to make eye contact with the woman. You knew that they were starting to get uncomfortable. “We get it all the time though.” You stated. Which was true. Whenever you and Jack did things together without Dean, it almost seemed like you and Jack were together given the fact that you two relatively appeared to be the same age, despite you being a few years older than they were. “I’m actually with that handsome man over there.” You directed her attention to Dean, who was currently holding up an interesting looking colored flannel with a disgusted look on his face. You had never seen a man look so disgusted while looking at flannels before.

The older woman turned back to you after looking over at Dean. “Sweetie, there’s no way. He’s old enough to be your father.” Her comment made your heart sink a bit, but it was a comment that you were relatively used to hearing whenever people had seen you and Dean together. You and Dean had a 15 year age gap, and you didn’t particularly look your age at times; it all depended on if you were wearing make-up or not, and the type of clothing you had on at the time.

“He’s not actually.” You firmly stated. “I know it looks like he is but –” You started to say, but the woman seemed to have no interest in your explanation, simply ignoring what you had to say because she seemed too invested in the ‘relationship’ that you and Jack apparently were in, in her eyes.

“How long have you two been together?” She repeated her question. You and Jack looked at each other, their cheeks starting to get a slightly light pink out of embarrassment.

“Again, we aren’t together.” Your voice sounding more firm this time.

In that moment out of your peripheral you noticed Dean starting to make his way back over to the three of you. His once happy expression quickly turned into what seemed like concern. “Everything okay here Sweetheart?” He asked you.

“Oh, everything’s fine dear.” The woman stated, not realizing that he was calling you Sweetheart and not her. She gently took hold of his arm, almost as if she was flirting with him; which you were pretty sure she was. “I was just complimenting your daughter here on how nicely her and her boyfriend looked together.”

Dean looked at the woman’s arm on his before looking at you and Jack for a moment. Dean let out one of the biggest laughs you had heard from him in a while. “What’s so funny?” The older woman asked.

Dean wiped his eyes, as if he had just been cry laughing. “What you just said.” He pointed at you and Jack. “Them two? Now that’s…wow, I needed that laugh today, thank you.” He said. The old woman’s expression grew even more confused than it was before.

“You’re not…her father?” She looked at the three of you, removing her hand finally from his arm.

“Biologically? No. But she does call me daddy sometimes in the bedroom.” He winked at the older woman, his comment making her gasp quietly before she left the three of you alone.

“Dean!” You couldn’t believe what he had just said. Well, you could, but you didn’t think he would say something like that to a woman that just seemed to be a bit too nosy for her own good.

“What?” He asked.

“Y/N, do you really call Dean your father?” Jack asked very seriously. Jack was aware of some of the nicknames that you and Dean had or would call each other. Sweetheart, Hon, Honey, Babe, Baby, Sunshine. But Daddy was a new one for them.

Dean was about to open his mouth to answer Jack, but you quickly covered it with your hand. “We’re not gonna talk about that.” You simply said, sounding just a bit defensive in your response.

Tag List: @roseblue373​

If you’d like to be added to a tag list, let me know ♡

[sky-scribbles]

All right, BG3 gang, let me tell you about the incredible, accidental drama that happened when I went to save everyone in the iron Throne.

I messed up my first two attempts spectacularly, so when I reloaded for my third try, I was resolved. I was going to stick with the results of this run, no matter what. The countdown starts; Karlach runs off to grab the Gondians, my Tav Wildshapes and goes sprinting away to save Omeluum, and Gale Dimension Doors himself and Wyll right to Ulder.

As the boys take Ulder back up the corridor, Mizora appears with her exploding spiders. Gale drops a Globe of Invulnerability over Ulder, and runs off to save the last few Gondians while Wyll starts mopping up spiders. ‘This is great!’ I say to myself.

Then the last spiders run into the Globe of Invulnerability. They can’t hurt Ulder, but Wyll can’t hurt them, and if Ulder leaves the globe, they can explode him.

‘This is not great,’ I say, as Wyll spends several rounds shoving spiders out of the globe so he can kill them.

I finally kill the spiders. Wyll and Ulder sprint for the exit. It’s the final round, everybody else is safe, if they can just make it to the ladder –

They are ten feet of movement short. Everyone who could possibly help has already taken their turn in initiative – except for Omeluum.

Omeluum can teleport itself and one other person to the submersible.

And I realise what I’m going to have to do. Mechanically, the choice is clear: Withers can resurrect Wyll, but not Ulder. And from an in-universe perspective, the choice is even more obvious. Even in a world where, as in my game, Wyll has broken his pact. Even when he’s resigned himself to losing his father. Even when he signed Ulder’s life away in the hope of being free. There’s no question what he’d do in that moment, is there? When the choice is Wyll lives, but his father definitely dies or Wyll maybe dies, but his father definitely lives – with a second left to choose –

Wyll would shove his father to Omeluum and say, ‘Go.’

Omeluum teleports Ulder to safety. The submersible leaves, the facility comes crashing down, and Wyll is gone. To save his father.

And you know what absolutely destroyed me? Because the dev team can't possibly think of everything, especially this extremely specific and devastating scenario I've just landed myself in... there's no change in the dialogue with Ulder once I resurrect Wyll. He still tells Wyll he’s ashamed to have his blood run in his veins. He still accuses Wyll, who just traded his life to save him, of running off to chase a devil and her power.

I cannot even begin to describe how devastating that was to watch. Because it made me think – would Ulder change his tune in that scenario? I don’t know if he would. Oh, he’d be shaken, for certain, as he watches Tav and the gang sobbing, banging on the submersible hatch. As the tadpole’s grip loosens, the awful realisation would sink in – my son, my son – but how long before he tries to shield himself from that pain? How long before he says to himself – even says out loud, to Wyll’s grieving, furious friends, he was not my son, not anymore – I saw his face, and it was the face of a devil –

And even after he knows the truth, and Wyll is back, what then? Wyll still drowned in fire and iron and water to save his father’s life, and Ulder still said, he was a devil, as if that made Wyll deserve it – and he can never, ever take that back.

(In sleepless moments, Wyll wonders: would he?)

[torusbitch]

“I can’t wait to get you all alone, once I’m in there ain’t no letting go, watch me turn your mind into my own.” Mind games.

content: just Gojo Satoru fucking you, Nsfw.

“No, this one wasn’t good enough.” He tuts, tone dissatisfied. “S-Satoru, fuck. You’re so cruel.” He grins, pulling you tighter against him, this was your third orgasm, you were so spent. You had half the mind to pass out right there, but the harsh, rhythmic thrusts of his hips into your core had you in a heavenly daze.

You whine, tears falling down your face. “Baby you look s’pretty, cryin’ for this dick.” He laughs, face flushed and eyes wide with lust. You shake your head, you were already sensitive enough. The nasty sex sounds echoed in the room, you were too tired to moan as you’d usually do, lips parted in an ‘o’ shape, trying to catch your breath. He hissed sharply, nuzzling his head in your neck and mindlessly biting at your skin. “Mm, fuck. Milk my fuckin’ cock just like that.” He gave a wanton moan, lips parted as he let out pleasure-full grunts.

Satoru being Saturo— who never once shuts up, even during sex— made fun of how out-of-it you were. “Look at you baby, s’like I fucked you into another universe.” He laughs smugly, whining when he started nearing another orgasm.

“Baby.” Satoru grunted in your ear, cock thrusting into the deepest parts of you, strong arms wrapped around your frame. He looks down with fluttering eyes, lips wet from saliva, he leans down and kisses you sinfully, his near pornographic moans swallowed by your mouth.

His tongue forces itself down your throat, he was wholly devouring your mouth. He pulls away with a satisfied grunt, grinning when he saw the string of saliva that connected both your lips. You lay there almost limply, fingers curling into the thick muscles of his biceps, lips parted in a seemingly never ending silent scream. You squeeze your eyes shut, only to open them again when he snaps his hips harshly.

“Don’t.” He warns, “look at me when I’m fucking you.” He grunts, ruthlessly thrusting in and out of you, the wetness of both your orgasms combined making it much easier for him to enter you. “Look at me when I’m making you feel good.” Cerulean eyes twinkle at you, you blink dumbly, breath coming out in soft moans. “And don’t you dare look away.” He hisses, moaning when your walls clenched around him tightly.

“Fuck baby.” He whines, “pussy so good f’me.” He licks his lips, eyes almost rolling to the back of his head. “Squeezin’ me like a fuckin slut.” His nasty words make you moan pathetically, feeling the rush of your fourth orgasm overcome you. “G-god. You’re so tight, s-squeezing me so tight.” He moans loudly, his noises making yours seem silent.

He whimpers, shamelessly vocalizing how good you were making him feel. “Ngh- baby, all mine yeah?” He asks, making you mindlessly nod. He clicks his tongue, fucking you deeper and harsher. “Fucking say it, say it.” He urges, “mine, you’re mine, this puss- oh god.. this pussy’s mine.”

“Yours, all yours ‘Toru-fuck, I’m gonna come.” You moan mindlessly, arching your back. Satoru grins, kissing your neck, “yeah baby? Gonna cum just f’me? Gonna cum cause this cock’s making you feel good, hm? You look so pretty, all fucked out.. ggh.” His words were going from one ear to your other, you could barely focus on what he was saying.

“Mm, fuck.. me too angel. G-god..” he licked his lips, moaning shamelessly into your ear, making sure you heard how good he was feeling. “Fuck, this pussy’s making me all loud, it’s all you babe.” He grunts, face pink. “Pussy’s a fucking trophy.” He moans loudly, thrusts becoming sloppy.

“Baby, cum with me, yeah? Cum on this- cum on your cock.” He kisses you, moaning into your lips. You feel your orgasm taking over, back arching and fingers tightly gripping his bulky biceps. You moan into his mouth, he filled you up so good, so deep.

“Come on me baby.” Your body listens to him, reaching your fourth orgasm of the night, he comes too. Seed filling up your pussy so good till it dripped onto the sheets, “mm, filling you up so good, hm?” You nod, too tired to open your eyes. He moans, hips stuttering, fucking you through your orgasm.

His body falls on top of yours, suffocating you in the best way possible. “I love you s’much baby.” He murmurs, kissing the corners of your lips. A weak smile stretches your lips, “Mm, love you more baby.” He smiles at your words, nuzzling into you for a moment. “C’mon now, let’s clean you up.”

🐳Lol y’all, I need this man so bad.

SEND REQUESTS

[neo-nomatrix]

Rule No. 19

never fall in love with the same person twice, the second time you’ll be falling in love with the memories not the person.

Miguel O’hara x reader

word count: 1056

synopsis: You were Miguel’s wife in another universe and he just can’t come to terms that you’re not his.

a/n: i know a lot of people are asking for part twos of my other stories but i just can’t think of anything 😭

Your death was a horrible day for Miguel. He easily blamed himself for what had happened to you. Shot twice by a random mugger off the side of the street. And he, Spiderman of all people, couldn't save you. How could he even call himself a hero after that? He held your lifeless body in his arms as he came to terms with the incident.

Miguel wouldn’t allow your killer to get away. Chasing him down the block, cornering him in an alley and slowly, almost torturing, beat the life out of him. Miguel tore at his skin with his claws, used all his strength to break his teeth, and practically ripped off the man’s hand from the wrist.

Miguel so desperately wanted him to feel pain he would do anything. But that wouldn’t bring you back, and he knew that.

Miguel had fallen in love with you for many reasons. You were beautiful, smart, funny, and the kindest person he had ever met. He knew that if you saw the person he was now you would not have fallen in love with him. When he looks at himself in the mirror he doesn’t see the man he once was, he doesn’t see the man you loved but a distorted ugly image of that man.

He knew he had changed for the worse but truthfully he didn’t care. If changing meant he got what he was after he didn’t care how it made him look.

The first time Miguel found you in another universe he was ecstatic. You had a family, a beautiful daughter and a life worth being a part of. “Your” Miguel had recently died and he thought he could replace him.

“Oh, I'm so glad you’re home. I was starting to get worried,” You kissed your husband as he walked through the door.

“Im here,” Miguel whispered as a response.

He didn’t know what to do. You were there, in front of him. Alive.

He pulled you in for the strongest kiss he had ever given you. You were slightly shocked but melted into the kiss with such love. Failing to see the tears building up in his eyes.

You were happy, so happy. Until the day it all came crashing down on him. Your world started to collapse within itself, Miguel felt like Atlas trying to hold up the universe on his shoulders. He didn’t know what to do, he was lost. Running from an inescapable situation with you and your daughter. You fell to your knees as you were running. You were glitching. Slowly, in the most painful way he could imagine both you and your daughter disappeared from his arms.

For the second time Miguel lost you, and it was his fault. From then on he vowed to only watch you from afar.

“She isn’t yours, Miguel,” Jess reminded him for what? the tenth time today?

“I know that Jess,” he practically rolled his eyes at her.

“Y’know it’s creepy. You’re basically stalking this girl who has no idea you exist. There are just some things you have to let go,” She offers her advice.

Miguel clenches his jaw at her words.

“I don’t need a therapist, alright? I’m fine dealing with this,” he says.

He’s had enough of Jess and her advice for today. Even though he won’t let himself interfere he can’t help but watch you from the rooftops. He agrees that it’s creepy but he can’t let anything else bad happen to you, he just can’t.

From everything telling him not to, he swings down to try and get closer to you. He enters the coffee shop you just went into. He doesn’t know why. He shouldn’t be here behind you in the long line. It’s not right. He’s about to turn before he’s greeted with your sweet voice. Your voice that sounds like honey and all the good things on this planet and the next.

“Hey, sorry to bother you, but I was just wondering what you usually order? I’ve never been here before and I'm sort of lost,” you giggle. God, he could melt on the spot.

He knows you're lying, of course. He’s seen you in here more times than he can count. And you always get the same exact thing, every single time. In fact, you refuse to get anything different. He wants to believe you’re asking him as a way to flirt but he can’t get attached, not again.

“Oh uhm, i usually get their vienna latte,” His eyes flick up to the first thing on their menu, never having gone to this shop himself.

“And then their bear claw,” if there’s one thing he noticed about you it’s that in every universe you love a bear claw with your drink.

“Great! I’ll get that then!” You smile happily as the barista asks for the next person in line.

He didn’t realize how in love with you he really was until he spoke to you all these years later.

“Do you maybe want to sit down together? I know a park nearby,” You approach him after both of you have gotten your drinks.

“I’d…” he trails off remembering Jess’ words. He can’t, he shouldn’t, no matter how much he wants to. “I don’t think I can. I’m really sorry,” he feels horrible after seeing the look on your face. He wants to crumble up into a million pieces seeing you disappointed like that.

“No worries then. It’s okay,” you smile kindly at him. A clear tinge of sadness in your voice.

You walk off leaving him there unsure of his choice. Would one conversation really do anything? Would it tear the world apart like last time? Was he willing to risk it just to talk to you again?

The truth was yes, he was absolutely willing to risk everything for the chance to have you fall in love with him again. But he couldn’t do that to you. He stands there, heartbroken for a third time.

Even though he loves you he’s well aware you’re not his, not really. He knows that if he were to fall in love with this version of you it would be compensation for what he had lost. He would simply be trying to recreate something he couldn’t have.

Miguel loves you, but he can’t have you.

[andejoe]

What do you think would happen if humans are the only species that believes in luck.

What if aliens never correlated crossing fingers, walking under ladders, seeing melanistic felines, as things that can affect an outcome of a project (or life's) success? What if humans are the only ones who believe in that kind of stuff?

Even non-superstitious humans cross their fingers for good luck, just because that's what you do.

Human right before they're doing something dangerous: Cross your fingers.

Alien: *visibly confused*

Brall headed down the corridor, stepping lightly around the larger debris. The corridor was still under construction after last weeks’ earthquake shook loose a ‘hobby room’ the humans had installed against regulation and without permission. How the humans managed to get weighted iron bars as tall as they were onto the base was impressive in itself, how they managed to get them into the crawl space in between floors was even more so.

“Stop!”

Brall froze, a quick response he learned after being around humans for so long. He saw no danger, no problems, or any reason for his quick change. He turned around to face the human who’d called for him.

“Why can i not continue down the corridor?”

Thane was moving quickly towards Brall. He was trying to protect Brall from, something.

“The ladder.” Thane grabbed it and lifted. He carried it to one side, collapsing it against the wall. “You can’t walk under ladders.”

“It was sufficiently high enough. I would not have bumped it,” Brall assured him.

Thane shook his head. “No, it’s bad luck.”

Brall wasn’t aware of what luck was, or even the concept of it. He was in a hurry though. “Can you walk with me and explain what ‘bad luck’ is?”

Thane nodded. “Course.”

Brall kept going, but diverted half his attention to the human.

“Luck is an invisible force that can change the outcome of anything regardless of what actions have been taken. You can have good luck or bad luck. Good luck is when things work out for you for no reason. Bad luck is when terrible things happen for no reason.”

“But walking under a ladder causes bad luck?”

“Yes, because you can attract good or bad luck based on what you do. Black cats carry bad luck with them, so if you see one, boom, bad luck. On the other hand, horseshoes are good luck. Bad luck is easier to get though, so you have to be extra careful not to attract it. Good luck is a lot harder to manifest.”

They stepped through the doors and headed for the next building.

“But are humans not known for their preparedness and tenacity? Why would a species believe in mindless chance when they are, well, human. It seems counterintuitive that a species who routinely looks death in the eyes and laughs would allow themselves to fall victim to such a hollow belief.”

They stepped into the next building. It was much smaller, only two rooms large. The first room acted as a barrier to protect the sensitive equipment in the second. Another human, Vikram, stood there waiting for Brall.

Thane frowned. “It’s not a hollow belief. There are things that happen that can’t be explained. Despite everything that is prepped or done, sometimes things happen and people don’t make it. It’s bad luck.”

Vikram laughed. “Dude, stop filling his head with nonsense. Luck isn’t real. It’s a small mind ignoring the butterfly effect. Things happen and just because you don’t know what caused them doesn’t mean nothing caused it. The universe doesn’t have an opinion.”

Brall was now very confused. Thane spoke as if luck was a human constant but Vikram refused it outright.

“Oh yeah?” Thane challenged.

Vikram shrugged. “Yeah. Luck is for dummies.”

“Cool.” Thane nodded. “Then I’ll just go ahead and take the narwhal toy with me then.”

Vikram’s face changed so quickly Brall almost expected to see a weapon appear.

“You touch that narwhal and I’ll snap your finger.”

Brall took a step away from Thane first, distancing himself from the potential danger.

“Ha! Now who’s superstitious?”

Vikram frowned. “I’m not superstitious. But if you move that narwhal then Brall and I won’t be able to fix anything.”

“How does the piece of plastic help us?” Brall asked.

Vikram shrugged. “Don’t know, but it does. So don’t touch it.”

“Brall, if you need any more information about luck, I’ll gladly give you some reference material to look up later. Because at least I’m honest about my beliefs.” Thane left, smirking.

Vikram shook his head. “Alright, let’s just get to work.”

———————

“I still don’t understand why the repairs aren’t holding. We worked out all the bugs.”

Vikram had been complaining for the last ten minutes. Nothing they did was working.

“You didn’t touch anything, did you?” Vikram asked.

Brall couldn’t lie. It was an unknown quirk of he species that humans discovered. So he knew he was caught.

Brall pulled the narwhal from his pocket. “You said luck was not real so I wished to see for myself.”

Vikram lunged for the narwhal, frightening Brall. Brall flicked the toy into the air and jumped backwards. Vikram grabbed the toy with a hunter’s focus and immediately rushed it back to its rightful place.

“I told you not to touch the narwhal!”

Vikram began scolding Brall, but Brall was distracted. All the red, orange, and black indicators were shifting to blue and purple behind Vikram’s back. The human was going on about how personifying the equipment and placating it was important, but Brall was only partially listening.

“It’s working.” Brall was in disbelief. Replacing the toy somehow fixed everything.

Vikram turned and smiled. He exhaled all the pent up stress. “Of course it’s working. We gave the toy back. It’s happy now.”

Brall made the mental note to request the reading material from Thane later.

[seat-safety-switch]

Have you heard about this new scam the banks have going? No, I don’t mean all of global capitalism, because that will just take too long to write about in this word hole. What I’m talking about is the purchase of distressed debt.

When someone can’t pay their student debt, or health debt, or student lunch debt, the faceless institution who gave them the money will eventually give up on getting them to pay it. They turn around and sell the rights to that debt to some other faceless institution, one that can afford to put a little more effort into it. Eventually, they give up too, and turn around and sell the bad debt in a big soup of other bad debt to some other, even more vicious asshole, who will turn a profit if they can collect, like, seventeen bucks of it, because that’s what they paid.

On the face of it, this is kind of insulting. How can someone who paid seventeen bucks for your debt turn around and demand that you give them fifty grand for that university degree that taught you several French words for “butthole” but couldn’t help you find a job or even a grad student position? If you think about it a little more, however, this is a grand opportunity. A lot of well-meaning individuals are buying up this debt... and then forgiving it. If you can buy $50k worth of student debt for $17, ripping that shit up will give you a lot more than $17 worth of good karma. Which will maybe convince the universe to give you that small little bit of an edge the next time you need it – negotiating for a good deal on a shitbox, blowing past a state trooper doing a large integer multiple of the speed limit, or getting into some dicey times with a malevolent operator of a logging truck while you’re working on your first screenplay.

Correcting the impulses of usurious monsters sounded like a good idea to get into, in order to benefit the human race. Unfortunately, yours truly is not exactly a fiscal mastermind, and the Banking Types can see him coming from a mile away. Even if I were to hose off the old man stench and hair from a Brooks Brothers suit I found at Goodwill, they’d know instantly that it’s not this year’s style and clam up. This is, of course, where the ominously-named proxy corporation comes in. My shark of an attorney, Max, set one up for me just for the purpose of buying debt, and then doing the corporate equivalent of shitting itself to death. For just a few bucks that I would otherwise have spent on old Plymouths, I helped a couple people out with their struggles.

Did I do it for a good reason? No. Am I telling you this to brag about it? Absolutely not. Is this a big, complicated story, intended to distract you from writing that ticket just long enough for my accomplice to finish cutting the transmission out of your patrol cruiser? You’ll have a lot of time on the walk home to think about it, officer.

[buggysangel17]

The Bride of A Warlord

Summary: You have arrived to what you now call your new home, it was scary and confusing, but at least you have someone else to keep you company. Characters: Dracule Mihawk x Wife!Female Reader (Amihan). Perona Word Count: 1,198 Chapter Warnings:  Alternate Universe-Canon Divergence (I am still in episode 20 of OP Anime so please bear with me on the fucked up timeline of events here)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist || Send Me An Ask?

You were consumed by a cocktail of fear and excitement.

But that was only natural to feel in your current predicament. Taken from your home due to circumstance that was no longer in your control. You turned to what you now call your husband. Dracule Mihawk was a man not to be trifled with, one of the Seven Warlords and dubbed the Greatest Swordsman in the world.

“I will have your room prepared as soon as possible.” Mihawk spoke, interrupting you from your train of thoughts.

All you could do was nod. You were taken from your own home, miles away from what you had once been so familiar with, a place that you had deemed had become your own prison. Any form of freedom you would take, even if it means being under the circumstantial marriage with one Warlord such as Mihawk.

“Yes, Sir.” You nodded, having no right to complain or react negatively for a short wait.

Even without looking at him, you’ve noticed his sharp yellow eyes glued fall to you. Turning to looking up at him, you noticed his narrowed eyes, a frown that was something you had gotten so used to rest on his lips.

“You will call me by my name, I do not agree to have you calling me of anything else while under you are under my care.”

You gulped, but nodded your head in agreement. This man, as handsome as he was, still scared you. Having caught firsthand the destruction his sword could make to your entire island should his will make it.

“You are not here as my prisoner, you can freely explore the castle should you wish to do so. All I ask is you not to leave unless you tell me or have me to accompany you, is that understood?”

“Yes—Mihawk.” You responded quickly.

As you step off the grandiose boat onto the rocky shore of Kuraigana Island, your heard races with anticipation and uncertainty. The sea breeze carries the scent of salt and new adventure, but it’s the sight before you that leaves you breathless. Your new husband’s castle, looms high above, perched on a ragged cliff that seems to defy gravity.

The castle is a dark, imposing fortress, its jagged spires reaching towards the heavens like the fingers of a giant’s skeletal hands. The stone walls are as grey and foreboding as the thunderclouds that hover over the island. You can’t help but shudder at the stark contrast between the castle and the vibrant, tropical island that surrounds it.

Your arrival has not gone unnoticed. From the castle's towering parapets, you catch glimpses of shadowy figures watching your every move. As you start to climb the narrow, winding path that leads to the castle gates, your footsteps echo in the eerie silence.

The closer you get, the more details you can make out. The castle is adorned with intricate, Gothic architecture, with gargoyles leering down from the eaves. The windows are narrow and slit-like, like the eyes of a predator, and they seem to be keeping a watchful gaze on you. The walls are covered in ivy and moss, as if nature itself is trying to reclaim this imposing structure.

You can't help but feel a sense of unease as you approach the massive, iron-bound gates. The air feels heavy with centuries of history, and you can't shake the feeling that the castle holds secrets, both wondrous and sinister, within its ancient walls.

As the gates slowly creak open, revealing the cavernous darkness beyond, your heart pounds in your chest. You have entered a world unlike any you have ever known, a world of mystery and danger. And as you step across the threshold, you can't help but wonder what awaits you in this forbidding castle on Kuraigana Island.

As you step through the imposing gates of Mihawk's castle, your heart is still pounding with trepidation. The exterior of the castle had filled you with a sense of foreboding, but as you cross the threshold and enter the grand foyer, you are struck by a stark contrast.

The interior of the castle is a complete surprise. The space is bathed in warm, inviting light that spills from ornate chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings. Elaborate tapestries hang on the walls, depicting scenes of epic battles and exotic landscapes. The polished marble floors beneath your feet reflect the glow of the many candles that line the corridor leading deeper into the castle.

Your husband, Mihawk, takes your hand and leads you forward, his expression unreadable. His grip is reassuring, grounding you in this unexpected change of atmosphere. You exchange a glance with him, and for a moment, you both share a silent understanding of the paradoxical nature of the castle.

The air inside is fragrant with the scent of fresh flowers, and the walls are adorned with vibrant paintings and delicate porcelain vases filled with blossoms.

As you explore the interior of the castle, you discover cozy sitting rooms with plush sofas and grand dining halls set with opulent feasts. The contrast between the grim exterior and the opulent interior is almost surreal, and you can't help but marvel at the transformation.

Mihawk guides you to a balcony overlooking a breathtaking garden bathed in moonlight. The sight of it takes your breath away, and you realize that the castle holds a world of beauty and wonder that you could not have imagined.

As you stand together on the balcony, surrounded by the enchanting sights and sounds of the castle, you can't help but feel a glimmer of hope and excitement for the future that awaits you here, in this magical, enigmatic place.

It wasn’t your home, no, far from it, but with this new found freedom, all you could think of right now is what the world could possibly be able to give you now.

“You have a guest along? That’s surprising from you.”

You tensed, immediately finding yourself stepping closer to the man you now call your husband. Turning to the owner of the voice, the sight of a pink-haired girl over a decade younger than you had floated towards your direction with what you think were ghost accompanying her.

“Not a guest.” Mihawk explained his gaze was on you, you tensed as his hand had rested on the small of your back. “My wife.” He introduce without much of a hesitation in his tone.

“Wife?!” The girl gaped and was immediately all over you, questioning you and your life decisions and how much of a sour sport Mihawk was to her especially as he had left her all alone in the castle.

“You have a daughter?” You inquired.

“No, just an unwelcomed guest.” He explained earning the offense of the girl that you now learned was named Perona. “But she will keep you company for the instance that I will be out for a while.”

You nodded turning your attention to the package that came with now living in the same home, in the same castle, and in the same Island as your new husband. It was a chaos that you were slowly but surely coming to enjoy as time goes by.

[contract-crawdad]

Before next week’s Fionna and Cake episode, we can really only guess as to why exactly the Lich explicitly didn’t kill Simon and company, but I wanted to compile all the ideas I’ve already seen!

Spoilers, obviously!

•The most common idea I’ve seen is that, due to the Lich’s connection to Golb, Golbetty is actively intervening to protect Simon. As if telling the Lich ‘No, bad disciple, don’t turn my failwife into ash’.

But that doesn’t quite track.

Golbetty hasn’t really made any visible moves to protect Simon (save for possibly preventing him from putting on the crown) at all up to this point, and even if the Lich not killing him was Betty’s doing, she’s still just leaving Simin alive but otherwise stranded in a dead world in which he will die of starvation.

Additionally, any protection from Golbetty would absolutely not have extended to Fionna and Cake!

•I’ve also seen a lot of people assume the Lich let them live and was playing possum like he did in the Time Room in order to gain access to multiversal travel: sure his own world is out of life, but there’s always more to snuff out in other universes!

But I don’t think there’s any plan here. The Lich makes it very clear that he isn’t initially aware that this is a Simon from another universe, he just thinks his world’s Ice King has come back from the dead.

Even then! Assuming he very quickly did the math and came to the conclusion that there could only be living beings in this world if they came from elsewhere and that waiting would let him hitch a ride out of this world with them and into a new one, he simply does not do that. The portal in the back of Simon’s head is wide open and the Lich does not spring into action and seize the opportunity.

•Similarly flawed is the idea that the Lich cannot harm them due to being in a similar ‘purposeless’ state as when he was stuck in the Time Room.

This one has the least going for it. Jerry is very much able to kill, and Simon Fionna and Cake are all very much able to die.

•This leads into the final possibility that would be really interesting if it were the case. The idea that the Lich just… decided not to do the one thing he’s been known to do, which is murder really good.

Sure, he seems to sputter and fade, but that’s only after seemingly very deliberately releasing the gang from his hold. But why?

Aside from being Golb’s last scholar, the Lich identifies himself twice as the ‘ceaseless wheel’. The imagery that puts to mind is both that of a grinding wheel, constantly grinding away at the life of the world, but also the imagery of moving forward. Progressing. ‘Ceaselessly’ moving towards his goal no matter what.

The Lich himself even goes as far as to say that something has changed. ‘In days of old’ he would have killed them… but then he can’t even finish one of his iconic monologues, even to explain what’s changed. It’s the biggest ‘Eh, why even bother?’ the Lich could give.

He’s eradicated the thing he’s defined himself as. The wheel has ground to a halt, it can’t get itself turning again.

In other words. Simon got it in one: the Lich is (very uniquely) depressed.

[yoona-jnr]

Slut! - By Taylor Swift

Pairing: Itadori Yuji x Female Reader

Prompt: In a world of boys he’s a, gentleman.

His reaction to accidentally kissing you mid-conversation.

Tags: Fluffiest of the fluff, humour, canon based plot with a slight change by the author

“Sooo..” A mischievous grin spread across the face of one of your friends, leaning in before asking- “Out of every guy in this school, who did you say was your type again?” Your face flushes as you turn to hit her shoulder, knowing that she was well aware of the answer. However, you understood her motive for asking aloud- he was here.

“Oh?” The pink-haired boy perks up from his seat, his eyes immediately drawn to you. “(Name)-san, you have a crush on someone?” he inquired, his brow lifting. Before you could deny it, your friend intervenes by placing a hand over your mouth, insisting that you were just shy. “Yeah! And guess what, I’ll give you a hint… he’s in our class,” she snickers, causing you to discreetly pinch her thigh under the table that makes her shriek. “AGH-“

“In this class, huh? Umm..” He ponders, crossing one arm over the other. “Is it him?” Yuji nods over to a boy sitting a couple seats away, engrossed in a conversation with his friends and completely oblivious to the ongoing discussion the three of you had. “No.” Your friend deadpans.

As the game of ‘guess who’ was about to resume, the sound of the dismissal bell echoed through the halls, signaling the end of school for both staff and students. “I’ll see you tomorrow (Name),” she chuckles as she walks by, skillfully evading your playful attempt to kick her leg. This girl..

Rising from your chair, you let out a weary sigh and begin tidying up your belongings scattered across the desk, carefully placing them back into your bag one by one. “It’s raining.” You hear Itadori comment, standing with his back to you, watching how the rain gets heavier by the second.

Mesmerized, you can’t help but be captivated by the way his hair gracefully dances in the breeze that enters through the open window. Itadori, your childhood friend whom you’ve secretly admired for what felt like eternity, has always held a special place in your heart. His perfection, encompassing both his demeanor and appearance, sets him apart from the other guys your age, making him the epitome of a gentleman.

“Wanna walk home together?” His voice interrupts your reverie, causing your eyes to widen as his question registers in your mind. You find yourself momentarily taken aback by his unexpected proposal, resorting to a simple ‘what?’ to his question. “-walk home together. You know, like how we used to.” Yuji turns to face you, a gentle smile gracing his features.

Since entering high school, Itadori and you have grown apart. The fact that you both had your own separate friend groups made it even more challenging to maintain a close bond. While you still talked during class, any interaction outside of school was limited to your own circle of friends or spending time alone.

After another beat of silence goes by, you respond with a hesitant “Sure.” feeling a rush of warmth spread across your face as the word spills out. You shift your focus on packing up your bag, failing to notice Itadori quietly approaching you from behind. He leans his head over your shoulder, a gesture that he’s gotten used to doing since you guys became friends. “By the way,” he starts, causing you to turn your head towards his voice. However, you didn’t anticipate how close he was, and before you know it, his height aligns perfectly for a simple yet unexpected gesture - a kiss.

You feel your lips gently brush against his, ultimately making the both of you forget how to breathe. The intensity of the moment was heightened as your eyes locked together, creating a connection that seemed to transcend time and space. It felt as if the world had paused for a brief moment, as if the universe itself had acknowledged the significance of this encounter.

The rush of emotions painted your face with a deep shade of crimson, betraying the calmness of which your eyes provided. “..Sorry.” He mumbles as he reluctantly breaks the contact, lifting an arm to hide the bottom half of his face. “It’s okay.” You turn around, desperately trying to ignore the longing in your heart that yearned for more of those stolen kisses.

His mind was going in spirals, he wasn’t stupid. He knew very well about the feelings you harbored for him. However, being the person he is, he refrained from making any advances towards you, preferring instead to give you the space and time needed to build up your own self-assurance before pursuing a relationship with him. From as far back as he could recall, he had been smitten with you since childhood. In fact, he could even go as far as to describe it as love at first sight, a feeling that persisted throughout the years.

Upon the initial encounter with his mother’s friend bringing you over for a playdate, he couldn’t help but notice you peeking over your mother’s legs, sparking an immediate interest within him. ‘Why is she hiding?’ he thought at the time, watching as you clutch onto your mother’s jeans.

His curiosity shifted from simply wondering about your behavior to a genuine interest in both your likes and dislikes. He found himself intrigued by the things that brought a smile to your face and those that made you uncomfortable. This newfound curiosity led him to be more mindful of his actions, especially when he was around you.

Over time, the initial curiosity transformed into a deep desire. The progression was gradual, yet undeniably significant, leading him to regard you as his first love. “Here,” Hesitantly, he extends his hand towards you, offering an umbrella. The memory of your tender lips touching his continues to occupy his thoughts, leaving him in a state of bewilderment. What drove him insane was the fact that this wasn’t the first time you both accidentally kissed. “If you feel weirded out walking with me after that then I understand. Just take my umbrella, I can run-” he trails off, but the sound of his name leaving your lips causes him to pause. “Yuji” Shit, his name sounded so sweet on your tongue.

Abruptly, he comes to a halt, interrupting his rambling to meet your gaze directly. His attention gets drawn to the way your lips gloss over, probably from one of the lip-gloss you bought and showed him just yesterday. “Like I said, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

And just like that, the two of you walked home together under the same umbrella, his side being much smaller than yours as he aims for you to be completely sheltered from the rain. Even if it means his shoulder ends up getting soaked. As you stroll along, engaged in conversation, both of you find moments of laughter, catching up on each other’s lives. The absence of your friends whisking you away creates a sense of intimacy and comfort, making the experience all the more enjoyable.

Regrettably, your stroll ended upon arriving at your residence, the feeling of your heart sinking making it harder for you to jog towards your front door. Glancing back, you notice Itadori standing by the gate, gesturing for you to enter. Doesn’t he live on the other side of town? You give him a short ‘goodbye’ before entering your house, gently shutting the door behind you. Fuck, is that it? A brief moment of stillness ensues as you find yourself fixated at the polished wooden floor, a surge of frustration overwhelming you.

Fuck it.

Acting on impulse, you push the door open and dash out into the pouring rain, determined to catch up to his distant figure. You had forgotten how fast he walked, always making sure to slow down his pace whenever you were around– your heart flutters at the thought.

It was as if he could feel your presence approaching, quickly turning around before you could even manage to shout his name. “Yuji!” Your voice cuts through the sound of heavy rain, his eyes widening in surprise. He hadn’t expected you to call out to him, let alone see you run so desperately towards where he stood still, waiting, just for you.

He meets you halfway with a brisk jog, arms open ready to welcome you in. As if you belonged there. Yuji observes the way you press your hands on his chest, feeling the weight of your breath. “You’re soaked,” he chuckles, gently pulling you by the waist to move you under the umbrella. His thumb caresses the damp fabric of your jacket, brows furrowing with concern. “You might get sic-”

Without letting him finish his sentence, your lips meet his, catching him completely off guard. Who was he to fight against it? Instead, he leans into the kiss, closing his eyes and using the arm he had wrapped around you to draw you in closer. Hungry for more- savouring every last second you had as your lips connected.

He loved you so much.

[peachsayshi]

➳ (minors, ageless, blank blogs dni) 

okay, okay, but imagine having a crush on your big brother/sister’s best friend, suguru.

geto knows all about it, by the way, because you make it impossible to prove to him otherwise with the way you act so shy and coy around him, and it really just makes him grow to have the softest little heart for you, and only you.

you were always close enough to admire him but he lures you away before you even get a chance to crack the surface of his beautiful shell. for five years you watch with envious eyes as he navigates his romances, basking other girls with attention that you only ever dreamed of. 

at twenty-two, you didn’t waste away your precious focus with any other guys (not yet anyway) - you were too busy with your university studies to even consider the possibility of a relationship...but an opportunity presented itself suddenly, a chance of something new when a friend lightly brushed their lips over your own in the middle of a study session. 

your face is hot by the time you arrive at suguru’s apartment. you’ve remained connected since your first meeting, but you only started getting closer to him in the last year. 

you know that you’re always welcome, but he’s still surprised to see you when he opens his front door. 

he invites you in, let’s you lounge on his comfortable sofa while he makes you tea. meanwhile, you soak in his bachelor pad, taking in the details of the balance between his modern and traditional taste. by the time he sits next to you, you feel so very small, forgetting that he’s now grown into the man that he is. 

broad shoulders, strong physique, the shine of wisdom and age brightening his eyes, and yet, he’s still somehow remained so fucking breathtaking...

...still makes your heart trip over itself with just a simple smile. 

it takes you a while to tell him what happened, but the words pour out of you like you’re an open faucet. you don’t even realize that he’s inched himself closer to you, concern and curiosity tugging at his expression as he hears you ramble on about how you turned your face away so your friend could just aim for your cheek, about your pathetic apology as you quickly excused yourself out the door, and about your frustrations on not knowing how to kiss. 

“it’ll happen for you when the time is right, sweetheart,” suguru consoles with a serious kindness. 

“but what if I'm ready now?” 

he laughs under his breath, your innocent question only brightening his wolfish grin. “then you’ve just got to wait for the right person...” 

you can’t help but lean into him, lifting your gaze so your faces were a few inches apart.

it takes all the courage in the world for you to ask, the fear of rejection a reflection in your anxious eyes. 

“can...can you show me, sugu?” 

geto’s expression falls, indicating that he’s clearly caught off guard, but what sends a tremor down your spine is how his eyes immediately shift to your lips. 

there’s a visible tension tugging his shoulders, and his jaw twitches when you confess that you’ve seen him kiss other girls before. he can’t believe that you’ve caught him during such intimate moments with his previous partners, but the blush that highlights the tips of his cheekbones happens when you admit that you’re just really curious to know what it would feel like. 

“I’m safe with you,” you point out, “If I’m being honest, just can’t imagine sharing this with anyone else...nobody else knows me like you do” 

the more you talk, the more his eyes deepen with a desire that’s never made itself known, a desire that forces your ribs to squeeze tightly around your lungs. 

everything around you melts like a surreal painting when he complies with your request; you can’t even think when you feel him cradle your cheek in his palm while glides his nose down the bridge of yours. you swallow hard feeling his thumb softly stroke your neck, the fan of his warm breath on your skin making your lashes flutter close as he traces over your pretty, pouted lips. 

“kissing you will be different,” he murmurs, his captivating words entrancing you in a spell. “because I’ve never kissed anybody like the way I’m about to right now...” 

just as you part your lips to question the meaning behind his declaration, he presses his mouth onto yours and tenderly ignites your soul. 

[yeonboy]

𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐞𝐬 ♡ choi soobin.

If it was up to you, you would worship the very ground Choi Soobin walks. No, you’re not a simp, he’s just that amazing – the star of your college’s broadcasting club, your role model, the reason why you even have a dream career, and…someone you’d really like to make out with if he’d allow it. But the first ever conversation you have with him has your rose-tinted, star-studded glasses shattering to pieces when he turns out to be a huge jerk. Is this just a misunderstanding or is it the end?

❧ choi soobin x f. reader | 16+ | college!au ♡ strangers to lovers!au ♡ angst ♡ fluff

❧ 10 k words

❧ warnings! inaccuracies wrt broadcasting journalism majors & college broadcasting clubs, profanity, some suggestive language, misunderstandings, allusions to slut-shaming, soobin being an accidental (?) asshole, some heartbreak, some conflict, some yelling, insecurities wrt social standing in college, yn is a certified soob simp™ but goes thru a hater era for half a day </3, stinky cute fluff later on, some cringe, so much blushinG it’ll make u sick, a make out sesh, cameo by yj & his girl from fic 1 bec i love them sm :(

❧ note! set in the same universe as no one but you. i’ve been working on this since marCh, idk why it took me so long to finish? the wc def ran away from me a little whoops! anyways, this gets rough in the middle – soobin might shock u with his behavior but it will all get resolved, i promise!

leave me feedback if you like this! follow for more! (:

❧ masterlist | inbox ⁘

“I’m sorry, the tryouts are closed!”

You blink. Take a step away. Peek at the huge poster stuck on the huger double doors to the auditorium. The notice says the tryouts would run from four to six in the evening – it’s presently five minutes past five. What the heck?

Around you, you notice a number of girls looking as disgruntled as you feel. You approach one. “Uh, hey…did you already do your piece?”

The girl twirls a vibrant purple strand of hair around her finger and rolls her eyes. “Nope. Choi’s bitch ass shut the doors unannounced ’cause he’s pissed off for some reason.”

Choi? Bitch ass? This girl can’t possibly be talking about the Choi Soobin, right? The prince of the university’s broadcasting club who always emcees every single stage performance the university hosts?

No, she can’t be. No one would refer to the Choi Soobin’s glorious behind as ‘bitch ass.’ Besides, you really don’t think he’d sit around judging freshmen entrants to the club when he’s got so many better, so much cooler things on his schedule.

Choi Soobin the Great has been in this club for three years, two of which he has spent as its president. That, in itself, should be pretty explanatory with regards to how skilled he is at the whole announcer, emcee, broadcast business. 

His extraordinary talent with the mic is what inspired you to pick broadcast journalism as your major, in fact. You'd entered the university on jittery, scared steps because you didn't believe you would actually find something that interested you enough to make a career out of. You spent a whole academic year fluttering between psych and communication, aimless and despaired.

But then came sophomore year where you volunteered to set things up for the new freshman batch's orientation week – and that is when you saw Choi Soobin, a fellow sophomore, take the stage and blow everyone away. He was so good with his audience of the new admittees, providing them with all the important information without making them feel nervous because he used the perfect amount of jokes as a buffer.

It was love at first sight for you.

Okay, like, not like that. You did end up making an altar for Choi Soobin the Great where you continue to worship on the daily because he's a god on stage, but what you actually fell in love with was the art of emceeing.

So you registered your major in your third semester and began to work on polishing your skills. Now, two semesters later and midway through the junior year, you finally feel confident and prepared enough to enter your God's actual, holy shrine and join his praying circle.

…maybe you should stop with these metaphors before it gets weird.

Anyways.

Case in point – unlike this uninformed rodent of a girl who found it fit to disrespect your role model and gave up on these tryouts in favor of rolling her eyes and complaining in the hallway, you are nothing if not strong-willed. 

You are finally ready to do something about your one true passion that you can actually see yourself pursuing professionally after college. Being part of the university's broadcasting club means guaranteed dream job; you've seen it happen with your eyes for two consecutive years. You're finally ready to follow suit; finally ready to join the ranks of the elite and learn from Choi Soobin the Great himself – and you are not about to let a gruff call of  "tryouts are closed" from an overworked janitor deter you.

Checking this way and that for any onlookers, you sneak off to the narrow passage to the side that you know connects to this auditorium's back door, and in turn, the cafeteria. You're just gonna casually stroll through it, maybe loiter a bit around the doors until someone from the judges panel steps out so that you can beg them to give you a chance. And if someone catches you? You were just looking for the cafe!

It's the perfect plan.

Until, that is, your loitering ends with the legend himself, Choi Soobin the Great stepping out of the backdoor and freezing you to a statue.

You've seen the man from afar more times than you can count on both hands. You're a true fan, a great admirer, a semi-obsessed devotee (?) of his. But never once have you seen the guy from this up close. Needless to say, your brain's short circuiting a little.

Three things strike you all at one – that the university's emcee prince did, in fact, sit in to judge freshman entrants to the broadcasting club despite his various busy schedules; that the purple haired female auditionee actually did call this great man's glorious behind 'bitch ass' like an uncultured heathen; and finally, that Choi Soobin sporting a combination of dark black hair, bright red lips and stark white t-shirt should be banned because it can cause brain malfunctions in people.

Because while the guy's eyes widen and then squint as he looks at you, and mouth opens as if to say something to you – you stay absolutely frozen, literally turned to stone without a single muscle moving in your body. Including your lungs that are jammed because you're pretty sure you aren't breathing.

"Um… can I help you?"

Oh shit, his dimples…

His dimples!

You realise this is entering borderline creepy territory but you can't help staring at him. He's just so pretty. Though your brain functions are still experiencing a slight lag, you're starting to realize that your crush on the guy is winning over the admiration and respect you have for his talents, at the moment.

He's ethereal. He's unearthly. He's the most beautiful guy you've ever met. You're a simp.

"Excuse me?" Soobin's head tilts to the side in confusion. "Can I help you?"

He definitely can, in more ways than one, but that conversation is for another time.

His impatiently raised eyebrows suddenly push you back into motion, breaking your frozen state, but now you're on an overdrive, very close to hyperventilating in front of him.

"H–hey! I mean, h–hi. I mean, fancy bumping into you here! N–not that we bumped, just, uh—haha, you know? Fancy – fancy seeing you here, how have you been?"

Oh

God.

Did all of that just exit your mouth?

You need a shovel because this calls for digging up a hole and burying yourself alive. What the fuck is wrong with you?

Your entire face feels like it's caught on fire, and all the nerve endings in your body are tingling from embarrassment. You feel like you're vibrating. Wait, if you vibrate at a frequency that's outside of the visible range, can you voluntarily make yourself disappear?

The only thing holding you back from combusting into flames is the amused smile that replaces the previously formal tilt on Soobin's lips. "Hi. I'm sorry, where do I know you from? You look very familiar, but I'm just missing it…"

You look familiar? So he does notice you in class! Maybe getting that hair spa last month has worked in your favor, after all. You're getting a little googly eyed, but you do your best to control your reactions as you gauge his.

He looks so darn cute with his dimpled smile that makes his eyes squint, that you're left gaping for a couple of seconds before you're able to notice the hand he is forwarding you. Nodding haphazardly, you forward yours and let him wrap his huge palm around your significantly smaller one. Even though you try to repress it, the warmth his skin emanates sends a shiver running through you.

If Soobin notices the subtle shake your body gives, he doesn't comment on it.

He's being so angelically patient and kind, you need to get it together! 

So you clap your hands in front of your face and pull your lips up in a smile, preparing yourself to say your thing without any unnecessary words this time. 

"Uh, I'm – I'm in your class? I don't know if you know me, but I know you! I'm, um, I'm here for the broadcasting club. And – and I noticed that the banner said that the tryouts would run from four to six, but I've been told that the gates have been closed when it is barely past five, so I was… w–wondering…" You slowly trail off, stuttering a little when Soobin's facial expressions do a sudden one-eighty.

Gone is the sweet, dimpled, kind guy who was smiling at you with his eyes. Now his lips are pursed and eyebrows furrowed, a clear look of irritation on his face. Well, he's still got a dimple showing, but this one's part of his frowny face so you're not sure if you should be admiring it anymore.

"Wow. You're gutsy." His tone has changed now, too, really stiff with an underlying scoff in words. "Did you follow me here?"

You blink in surprise. "What? Of course not! The – the main doors were closed, so I was looking for another way in and—"

"Good God, please stop talking," he interrupts you with a groan, rolling his eyes as he tilts his head to look skywards – and you're fully paralyzed now, clueless and a little scared because Soobin looks so mean and intimidating with his eyebrows scrunched up like that. "I don't get what you guys' problem is. I'm – I'm trying to do something serious here. Why the hell do you not get it?"

Blinking slowly, you gape at your idol, your icon, the deity of all things broadcasting as he yells at you about something you can make neither head nor tail of. 

'You guys'? Who? 

You know that you of all people definitely get that he's doing something serious. You're as much, if not more, serious about the club yourself; the reason why you've taken so long to decide to audition for it. Besides, how's he judging you when you've never met before?

Willing your frozen lips to move, you attempt to clear the air. "We've – we've never met before. You don't know me. I'm—"

"Oh, I know you enough." This time there is vitriol in his eyes as he spits the words, and you take an actual, vary step away from Soobin. "I've been through twenty auditions and seen fifty applications in the past hour and every single one of the girls like you is dying to get to interview the hockey team and talk to Yeonjun about his strategy for his final season in college. So I know exactly who you are and exactly what you're after."

He is rolling his eyes again, this time with both his hands braced on his waist.

But his words are very confusing and a little hurtful. Why is he grouping you with whatever 'girls like you' he's seen so far? You've been a fan of Soobin for a while now, but you've never encountered any instance of even a mention of him being anything less than courteous and big hearted.

This attitude from him feels like living a fever dream – and not of the good kind.

"So for the last time – I'm not taking any of you groupies into this club because it is not a means to get into the hockey captain's pants! I need serious people who look at announcing and broadcasting with respect and not as something they can use as cover for their ulterior motives. Oh, and if it means anything to you at all, Yeonjun hyung has a girlfriend now. We probably won't even be covering him at all because his fangirls are always a bit too much."

Your head is spinning a little now. 

Did he call you a groupie? Yeonjun's groupie? He thinks you're doing this to get into Yeonjun's… what the hell?

While you're still processing his previous words, Soobin gives a wince. "Look, I'm sorry if all this sounds harsh, but you've left me no choice. Trying to corner me was a really low blow, okay? There's a limit to acting desperate and you're clearly crossing the line, here. If you can't respect me or the club, at least respect yourself."

The pieces have finally fallen in place in your head. You couldn't make sense of it earlier because you didn't really allow yourself to think Soobin would go there. But given his last statement, now you have no doubts.

You don't live under a rock – you really can't afford to when you dream of joining the broadcasting club, of all things – so you obviously know hockey captain Choi Yeonjun and the hype surrounding him. And because you always do your homework well, you also know that he used to be somewhat of a serial dater before he got into a serious relationship with his long time best friend, just last month. All of Yeonjun's fangirls across campus have been disheartened by this development and have been acting desperate ever since.

But why on earth has Soobin pegged you as one of them escapes you. You did not say a word about the hockey team. You didn't get to tell him what your goals actually are. Hell, you didn't even get to tell him your name before he shut you down.

This is a very overwhelming generalization, and you really wanna give Soobin the benefit of the doubt here because going through fifty bullshit applications can be a lot – but he needs to hear you out for you to do that.

"Soobin," you try again, raising both your palms up in an attempt to placate him, "I don't know how you're getting this idea, but I'm not one of – one of Yeonjun's groupies, or whatever, okay? I literally told you I'm in your class."

“Look, I really don’t have time for all these tales,” Soobin interrupts you with a sigh, a huge hand raised up to shut you up – so you do. “You’re dressed… too prettily to be trying out for the broadcasting club, anyways. Is that a cheerleading skirt?”

He's looking down his nose at your miniskirt that you felt very pretty in, annoyance on his face, and now –

Now you're hurt. Now you're hurt beyond giving him the benefit of the doubt. Now you're hurt enough for your eyes to sting with offense.

“Are you trying to pass a judgment on my…clothes?” you ask him in shock, your voice low and a frown creasing your forehead. 

He looks a little uncomfortable as he clears his throat. “I’ve seen the way Yeonjun’s fangirls dress, and you kinda… fit the description.”

He really isn’t giving up on the groupie allegations…

In any other scenario, you would honestly take that as a compliment. Because you have seen these girls as well and their appearance is honestly on another level. But this guy in front of you definitely means it as an insult. And he is still scowling, as if you have dressed up to personally offend him.

You’re at a complete loss now. He hasn’t let you talk, you haven’t even told him your name, and he is acting like knows everything about you. His mind seems fully made up too. 

What are you supposed to do?

"You know what? Maybe I… I should leave through the front door,” he murmurs in your general direction and then moves to step back through the gates he’d emerged from.

You just stay rooted to your place, offended at his dismissal and still in partial disbelief. 

Choi Soobin is nothing like anything you thought he was. 

The smiling, giggling, squinty-eyed guy that you always heard being called kind-hearted, warm, understanding and sweet? Cannot be the same guy you just met. Part of the reason why you like him so much has been the overwhelming amount of praises you have heard about him. 

At times, you found yourself wondering how such an important and busy guy could muster enough patience to be a sweetheart to everyone. Now you know that it’s all a sham – a character he has created to showcase. It’s all pretend. 

This, the version of him you just met, is what the real Choi Soobin is like when no one’s looking. 

Not just your crush, but your idol has broken your heart. 

How are you gonna move on from this?

"Y/N!"

The sudden shout of your name makes you jump in surprise, wide, watery eyes turning to the end of the hallway. Soobin has stopped in his place as well, a frown on his forehead as he attempts to follow your gaze – but he's a little off center from the curved hallway to be able to locate a bubbly looking Yeji excitedly waving at you. 

Oh fuck. Not right now. You don't need your best friend to witness you experiencing the worst moment of your entire life.

But Yeji being the loudass clown she is, doesn't stop speaking at the top of her voice as she marches down the hallway to you. "Where have you been? The janitor says they closed the tryouts? Did you pass? Oh, and a girl told me Choi Soobin was in the judging panel! Did you get to see him?"

Your eyes jump wide, traveling to the said guy involuntarily to witness the way confusion overtakes his face. He isn't moving, though, probably out of intrigue now that he has heard his name, and you're halfway scared to death that Yeji is about to reveal your secret and bathe you in the kind of embarrassment that you will never be able to live down.

"Yeji, I'm just—"

"Babe, why do you look so pale?" she cuts you off, squinting as she nears you, and before you can get another word out, her lips are tilting mischievously and eyebrows are wiggling. "Did Choi find out about your obsessive crush on him? Did he kick you out? Are you hiding from him?"

Yeji is done walking up to you and is now standing with her back to the still open door to the auditorium to look at you with her head tilted and hands braced on her waist. But your gaze is stuck to the person whose face you can easily see over her shoulder.

Soobin's eyes are impossibly wide and mouth is parted to allow his bunny-like front teeth to peek out. There's a subtle flush covering the top of his cheekbones, ears and the bridge of his nose – a sight that would've had you cooing in adoration if you weren’t so distraught, right now.

And then his lips move to form a broken sentence that makes you want to stab Yeji and then yourself: "You… obsessive crush… me?"

To her credit, Yeji seems to recognise the guy's voice and also the context of this ridiculous situation pretty quickly. Her eyes grow wide immediately before a wince overtakes her face as she mouths the word 'sorry' to you, probably mistaking your fallen expressions to be a reaction to the chaos she has caused. Little does she know.

Just as she has stepped aside, Soobin takes a step closer to you, heavy guilt and bewilderment sewn into the lines of his forehead and the twist of his lips. It's so weird that your heart is still skipping a beat when his gaze searches yours. 

It's so unfair. 

You inhale deeply and shake your head, though, steeling yourself against his deceitful innocent eyes. His dimples are just a facade to hide his arrogance. You know better now.

"Not anymore, don't you worry," you tell him with your chin lifted and eyes narrowed.

And damn, you feel so brave for that one. Especially because the words aren't even true. Getting over him will be a hefty task and you have no idea where to even begin, because your life has pretty much revolved around the guy for over a year.

Soobin frowns at that, looking almost hurt, and you want to laugh in his face at the hypocrisy. But you've had enough of him judging you and you're also ninety-eight percent sure you will end up crying if you tried to laugh, so you choose to just grab onto an embarrassed and confused looking Yeji's wrist and tug her with you to the other end of the hallway, exiting into the college's cafeteria.

"Babe, that was—ow!"

Yeji is cut off by you smacking her upside the head. "You're so fucking stupid, Hwang."

"I know… I'm sorry?" 

"Shut up, you’re buying me lunch."

The next day, while you’re supposed to be attending your Media Law class, a mandatory course in your major, you find yourself sitting (read: sulking) in a corner of the library by yourself, staring at the laptop in front of you unseeingly. Your attendance is good enough to save your grades and you can beg Chaewon for notes later in the week. 

But you truly don’t have enough mental strength to face the class’ star student after the shitshow that went down, yesterday.

While Yeji bought you lunch yesterday, you filled her in on everything that happened. Your best friend provided you with a shoulder for your tears, some tissues for your snot and four golden words of advice: never meet your heroes. Because now everything is ruined, and you’re beginning to wonder if picking this major was even worth it when the reason why you did has turned out to be a sham himself.

Your phone suddenly pings with a message, breaking your chain of spiraling thoughts.

11:03 | yeji 💘 dood. guess who i bumped into omw to the chem lab and guess what he asked me for

You blink and then squint at your phone. Why is your best friend trying to be so mysterious? 

↪ wtf ji…? ↪ who asked u for what? ↪ are u okay?

11:05 | yeji 💘 what? yeah i’m okay choi soobin asked for your number

What? 

↪ yeji… ↪ tell me u didn’t give it to him

11:06 | yeji 💘 of course not bestie <3 i told him to talk to you in person he’ll be there in a min good luck! 💋💋💋

You hadn’t even fully inhaled your breath of relief at Yeji’s first text when she cut it short with the next one. In person? In a minute? 

Did Yeji tell him where you are?

“Uh, hey… Can we talk?”

She did. Shit.

Even if you don’t lift your gaze from your phone, Soobin’s tall form blocks the incoming light from the window you were seated next to and casts such an obvious shadow on your form that you cannot ignore him without making it weird. So you lick your lips and collect your nerves, preparing yourself to face the guy who single-handedly inspired and then shattered your future plans.

Soobin looks as devastatingly handsome as ever, dressed in a white, collared shirt. His hair is just as black, lips just as red, but there’s an additional pair of thick, black, round-framed glasses sitting on his eyes this time that make your heart beat faster. He just had to look like a runway model in glasses. The universe hates you. Figures.

The expressions on his face scream clear distress and the guilt you saw yesterday. He’s nibbling on his bottom lip, which is a great sign because his bitch ass should be antsy about his audacity of talking to you now when he didn’t wanna listen to you yesterday.

Wow. Maybe that purple haired girl really was onto something, yesterday. Choi Soobin’s derriere is most definitely a rude and a bitch ass.

Looking down at your laptop, you clear your throat and ask him, “What do you wanna talk about?”

You don’t ask him to sit, you do not smile, don’t even wave back in response to his lame ass ‘hey’ – just cut straight to business. You’re proud of the way your voice sounds the right amount of impatient and careless.

“I… I owe you an apology.”

That has you looking at him again. He’s frowning now, looking so conflicted, you almost soften. But then you stop yourself. This is probably not even that heartfelt. He heard about your crush on him and now he pities you. You won’t be a vessel for him to pretend to clear his conscience when he wasn’t even willing to get off his judgemental high horse for you.

“Soobin… don’t.”

He takes the seat opposite yours, ignoring your eyebrows that rise up in shocked outrage. "I have to. Please."

"You really don't—"

"I was horribly out of line, ridiculously ignorant, unprofessional and – and an asshole."

You blink at him in mild surprise. At least he knows; that’s an oddly good start. "You can say that again."

He removes his glasses and rests his elbows on the table, leaning towards you with wide, desperate eyes. "I do not expect you to forgive me, I just need you to – to know that I'm not… I'm not who I was yesterday. That's not – I was under pressure and I felt irritated, insecure and a little jealous? And I said everything I didn't mean. Especially that comment about your dress up! I didn't mean it, I swear! You looked pretty, your skirt was really cute, okay? I – I didn't mean to insult you, I would never stoop to that level."

Your cheeks involuntarily heat up at the compliment he tosses at you so casually. "Why say it when you didn't mean it?" you mumble, attempting to hold your ground and stay mad because he's saying all the right things to weaken your resolve and give him an ear.

He hangs his head as if in shame. "Because I'm a moron. None of the stuff I said was aimed at you. As you said, we hadn't even met before, and… I was frustrated and tired and just drew all these wrong conclusions about you and went off like an idiot. I feel so horrible. I'm so fucking sorry..."

Very slowly, you lean back in your chair and shut your laptop. He really knows how to apologize, damn. 

You were preparing to knock Choi Soobin off the throne you had him sitting on, mentally, and then crush that very throne to pieces because if he could disappoint you like this, you were determined to never look for another role model. You were preparing yourself to leave Choi Soobin and his arrogance in dust and move on with your life.

But now here he is – apologizing like the decent human being you always thought him to be, saying everything you’d never admit you needed to hear.

He’s climbing back upon the throne that took you a whole day to make up your mind to remove him from. 

You’re kinda pathetic, to be honest…

In an attempt to regain some of the dignity your inner monologue has stripped you of, you frown at him. But you are definitely intrigued now because if the kindness and sweetness he shows everyone is a facade, why is he being kind and sweet to you in private?

Could there possibly be… an explanation for his behavior yesterday? He said he was under pressure and frustrated. Although you understand the former, given his position and the auditions yesterday, you don’t really get why he would be frustrated.

When you meet his gaze again, you find Soobin looking at you with those wide eyes of his spilling desperate hope. So you decide to bite.

 "You – you keep saying you were frustrated… Why was that? "

He thumps his head against the table with a groan, making you jump a little in surprise, and then looks up with a determined expression on his face. "I'll begin from the beginning. I owe you that much."

"You really don't owe me any—"

"Please, Y/N."

Oh. Did he say your name? Oh.

Wow, this is why crushes are horrible. Now your heart is thumping wildly and your face feels really hot. Honestly, there should be a system where one can run a background check on an individual before they can be deemed safe enough to be crushed on so that one doesn’t end up embarrassing oneself.

You can only hope your face hasn’t heated up to a noticeable degree.

"I… Since the day I was made President of the Broadcasting Club and was given the duty to conduct interviews for the different sports teams our college has, there’s been this – this recurring pattern. Huge throngs of girls that want to join the club for a chance to interview the hockey team and get close to Captain Choi.” He gives a tired exhale and runs a hand down his face. “I’ve seen it repeat every semester. And this time it got really out of hand because I actually decided to sit in for the tryouts…”

You didn’t even notice when you leaned on your elbows to mirror Soobin’s seating position and focused your eyes on his face, so when he looks up to meet your gaze, your breath catches for a moment. And then you see absolute, sheer tiredness reflected by his brown orbs.

He cannot be this good of an actor, can he be? That would mean that he's really been going through something with this whole insincere signing up for the club thing.

"It was really wrong of me to explode on you the way I did," he continues in a softer voice, looking down at the table next to his palms. "I assumed you were one of the girls that had been giving me a hard time and… didn't even let you say your thing. I'm really, terribly sorry for being a jerk to you."

Your jaw drops a little at the sincerity that spills from his apology. He doesn't sound like he's doing this to clear his conscience or out of pity – he sounds really regretful. He almost sounds like he's in pain, in fact. 

Does he really feel that guilty?

He would only be feeling so bad about this if… everything he has said so far is the truth and he’s actually not the kind of person he painted himself as, yesterday. You can sense the way your previously drawn conclusions begin to dissipate little by little.

"After you left," Soobin begins again, this time with a slight twinkle in his eyes and a tilt to his lips that makes his dimples pop, "I went looking for your application form and read about your interest in announcing. You… you picked your major because of me?"

Your cheeks are definitely on fire now and there’s no way Soobin can’t see that. Why did you put that in your form, you embarrassing imbecile? 

Well. If Soobin has been gusty and virtuous enough to come looking for you and make an attempt to honestly explain himself and apologize, maybe you can be a little honest with him as well.

"You see… the freshman orientation you hosted last year left an impact on me," you reveal, unable to look at him. "And then I saw your sports coverage and realized that I want to be a sports announcer in future."

Soobin says your name, making you look up and meet his soft gaze. "I never thought I would do anything in life that would be worth an inspiration… so this means a lot to me. A lot.” His eyes are shining with sincerity and emotion, and you’re looking into them, spellbound. “I am so sorry I hurt you and I’m ready to try and make it up to you for as long as needed. I don’t really expect you to accept my apology, like I told you, but if you would please give me another chance, I would like to show you who I really am. And maybe initiate you, if you’d like?"

He finishes with a sweet, dimpled smile and maybe that is to be blamed for the way his question bounces right off of you.

"Initiate…me?" You cluelessly blink at him.

"Yeah. Into the club. All the members went through your application and some samples of you emceeing. So it’s not just mine, but everybody’s decision. Insistence, if you will. Request? We – we’d really really like to have you on our team."

Your eyes jump open very wide at that. Join the club of your dreams? He’s finally offering you the spot you thought you’d lost forever? 

Wait, did he say samples? Of you emceeing?  What?

"I’m sorry, what samples?"

A blush tinges his ears. "I contacted your friend Yeji about this, last evening. Please don’t be mad at her, she just wanted to help you. She told me how much this means to you… and then sent me a couple of clips of you managing a stage during a kids’ talent show in your neighborhood. You were really impressive, Y/N."

Holy fucking hell, you're going to scream. 

First at Hwang Yeji for going behind your back and selling you to the enemy, no matter what her motivation might’ve been. And then because your idol just complimented you on something you've learned from him.

"Th–thank you, Soobin." You bite your lip at the stutter in your voice, peering up at him with hesitant eyes. And then you decide to be honest with him again: "Your praise… means a lot to me."

Soobin's eyes sparkle at that, a warm smile pulling at his lips. "And I promise to always remember, respect and honor that. Just one chance?”

You stay like that for the next few moments, looking at him with a soft gaze.

You’ve been polishing your skills to prepare yourself for a spot in this club for a year. If you had gotten the chance to audition normally yesterday, there is no doubt in your mind that you would’ve made the cut. So wouldn’t it be unfair if you give up now?

And then there’s Soobin, of course. It’s going to take you some time to trust him. But if he says he’s willing to work on it, says it with a sincerity in his eyes that gives you goosebumps, you believe it’s worth giving him a chance to correct the misunderstanding he caused yesterday.

You exhale, mind made up, and nod at the guy tentatively. “Promise me you will hear what I have to say before you draw any conclusions?”

He leans closer to you, bringing his face at the same level as yours and nods eagerly. “I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die. Do I take this as a yes to joining the club?”

His eagerness makes you crack a smile, which causes Soobin to scrunch his nose bashfully. You inhale deeply and give him another nod. “Yes, you may.”

Time flies really fast after that day as you attempt to find a stable way of juggling your classes and the club duties. 

The work isn’t as much in bulk as it is in the details. Soobin is, as you’d known beforehand, a meticulous perfectionist. Every single activity the club is involved in has to be fully planned in bullet points and a step-wise-step itinerary, and uploaded to the club’s shared Google Drive, days in advance, or Mr. President begins to lose his calm . You, being the newest addition to the bunch of six experienced members, are mostly tasked with assisting the guy on building this very itinerary.

Not that you mind.

The more time you spend next to him, witnessing him in his element up close and actually getting to peer into the creative wonderland that his mind is, the more you find yourself in awe of him. He has been a role model to you for a reason, after all.

With each passing day, you pat yourself on the back for taking a chance by accepting his apology as you slowly begin to see the real him – the version of him that is absolutely nothing like the asshole you met that day. And little by little, your trust in him begins to grow.

Soobin, to his credit, doesn’t leave a single stone unturned to make you feel welcome into the club. He is incredibly patient and delicate with you – always pausing to check whether you have been keeping up with all the new stuff or if you need any guidance.

You’re beginning to understand that it is in his nature to be kind. The word that got around about him has been correct all along – he really is gentle, understanding and sweet. And if he is going an extra mile for you with the intention of appeasing you because he is apologetic? Well… he’s damn well succeeding. 

The two of you have quickly fallen into a routine where you attend your 10 am Media Law class together, collect the communication majors Karina and Jongho from their block, and then report to Arin—the only senior in the club and known to be an effortless ace—in the broadcasting room. After a short briefing about the previous days’ tasks and a rundown of the fresh day’s checklist, you and Soobin depart to the library to work on it. 

After that you both attend your separate afternoon classes, meet up at the broadcasting room at four in the evening for the college announcements that are alternated between Yunjin and Jongin, sophomores and the final two members of the club, and the lot of you finally take your leave some time around six.

The first week is so exhausting for you that you are barely left with enough strength to feed yourself before you collapse into bed every night, let alone think about your academics. You don’t even text Yeji for three whole days, until she accosts you in the library. 

Soobin texts you, that evening, sharing tips on time management, task management as well as a small list of snacks that he munches on to retain energy. To say your heart nearly beats out of your chest at the gesture would be an understatement. 

The following weeks are full of you being on the receiving end of more such thoughtful acts by Soobin. Getting you coffee – one that is made exactly the way you like it – before the evening meet-up, walking you to your dorm if you don’t have anyone from your building accompanying you, repeatedly checking in to ensure you’re well-rested and not overwhelmed by the sudden change in your routine.

And then there is that one time, some three weeks later, when you're filling in for an absent Yunjin and make a mistake during the announcement – landing yourself at the receiving end of Arin's ire. You feel really bad about your mistake as it is, and so the addition of a reprimand from the senior you've come to look up to has you immensely low.

"She said it was a mistake, noona."

Your head snaps up at Soobin's firm statement. His eyebrows are furrowed and arms are crossed as he looks at Arin. You, along with three other pairs of eyes, gawk at the rare sight of Soobin getting angry, and the rarer sight of him going against the club's queen.

"She's apologized thrice. What more do you expect?"

Arin looks taken aback at the brusque interruption, but doesn't put up a fight against the president. "She needs to practice her pauses, Soobin."

"And she will. I'll make sure she does." He gives a small nod to her before turning his gaze to you. Put in spot, you stare back at him with wide eyes. "I'll stay with her while she practices."

Flashing you a small smile of reassurance, Soobin turns back to the other girl and pats her shoulder to calm her down. And because no one in powerful enough to maintain a frown when Soobin unleashes the power of his dimples upon them, Arin eventually smiles in defeated acceptance and dismisses the meeting.

But your heart never quite manages to dismiss the way this incident makes you feel.

Because Soobin holds true to the promise he made as well – accompanying you to the college's courtyard whenever you're both free and practicing speech with you. To be really honest, he seems to be wanting to spend all his free time with you. You find yourself having to say no to his texts at times because you have plans with Yeji, or are too tired to function.

You'd be lying if you claimed that having so much of his attention on you doesn't make your heart to somersaults in your chest. Which is why you begin to wonder where his extra mile of apologetic appeasement ends. 

The whole apology acceptance thing happened between the two of you awhile ago. He really shouldn't have a reason to continue to dote on you as if he has been hired to take care of you. Last time you checked, you were the one with a gigantic crush on him and not the other way round.

A few explanations pop up in your head, but none of them feel plausible enough for you to even think about. So you do the next best thing – share your dilemma with Yeji on an impromptu girls’ night in, one Saturday.

For a moment, your best friend squints her eyes in the way she does when she’s analyzing some complex situation. And then she shrugs a shoulder, pops a pretzel in her mouth and announces: “Sounds like he’s got a crush.”

You blink, caught so off-guard that you’re stunned into silence. It is only when she looks at you with her eyebrows raised that you manage to cough out a scoff. “What? Don’t be ridiculous.”

This time Yeji’s the one to scoff. “Excuse me? What’s so ridiculous about him liking you?”

“Dude. I…” You vaguely gesture to yourself. “I’m me. And he’s…him. Choi Soobin the Great, the prince, the God, the emcee of the year.”

“Uh, I’m sorry, what’s that supposed to mean? You’re you – the princess, the goddess, the prettiest girl on campus and the best student in our year.” She tosses a pretzel at you, scowling. “You’re amazing, bff. Choi Soobin is one lucky motherfucker to have the privilege to spend so much time with you. Of course he’d fall in love! I’d date you if I was into girls!”

The last part of her sentence makes you giggle. “Stop, no one’s talking about love just yet. Do you really think he could be doing all of that with… I don’t know… the intention to woo me?”

“Of course! He’d be a fool not to!” Yeji sits up from her recline on the couch, nearly aggressively grabbing onto your shoulders to shake you. “Didn’t you hear the part where I told you I would date—hell, Ryujin would date you!”

You gape at your best friend, feeling uplifted, reassured and confused all at once. “Wha—? Does Ryujin like girls?”

“No, but she’d still date you. She’s open minded that way.”

“Yeji, what the f—”

“My point is!” She raises a finger up to silence your protest. “You’re fabulous and amazing and gorgeous – have you seen your eyes? Bff, they’re fucking pretty. Do you know what that makes you? More fucking pretty. He likes you, boo, and he's probably got a list of reasons why.”

Yeji’s love language might be words of affirmation through… aggression, but it is surely effective at reminding you of the fact that you’re lovable.

And so more time goes by, with things staying mostly normal if you don’t count the way your cheeks seem to get extra warmer with every cup of coffee that Soobin hands you, lately. If your locked gazes stay locked for longer than necessary, or if his goodbye hugs linger a little and cause your heart to nearly beat out of your chest – it is no one’s business but your own. 

You know, deep in your heart, that you never really got over the guy. He left you heartbroken for a total of 36 hours, while he's spent more than 36 days swirling up a swarm of butterflies in your tummy with every action of his.

It is inevitable for you to fall for him all over again.

You have absolutely no plans of doing anything about it, however, because you have come to really cherish the close friendship you share with Soobin. You like the wheel of routine the two of you constantly spin within and don't wanna change a thing about it.

Although, that is not to say that no change ends up happening.

The wheel of routine makes a detour around a week later, some five weeks after your initiation into the broadcasting club, when you find yourself wrapped in a jacket and still shivering, sitting next to the university’s star athlete on the bleachers in the hockey arena, at six in the morning.

“Is that all? For real?” Choi Yeonjun asks you with his eyes wide in pleasant surprise. “That was quick.”

While you just nod with a chuckle, his girlfriend peers at you from his other side and punches him in the side. “I’ve told you the important questions don’t take that long! Your fangirls just wanna extend the interviews because they wanna ogle you longer.”

“You don’t have to worry about that anymore, I promise,” you tell the girl with a grin, which she returns fully.

“Nah, you don’t even have to tell me because I can see it in your body language,” she mumbles, pressing her cheek into her boyfriend’s shoulder, over which he tips his own head affectionately. “You’re the first ever girl to not view him like a piece of meat. I’m not even kidding.”

“Ah, I’m sorry about that. Your man’s okay, but he’s not my type.”

Yeonjun grins widely at your words, while her girlfriend breaks into laughter because she apparently hasn’t heard anyone use the adjective “okay” for Yeonjun ever before. 

Anyone that tries to get between these two must be crazy, you realize, because you’ve sat with them for less than an hour and can already tell how deeply in love they are. And how stinkingly cute they are together.

Well, the general consensus states that Yeonjun is cute, too. Along with being handsome, beautiful, sexy – and a whole plethora of other adjectives that his fans use for him. But it becomes hard for you to agree with the opinion when your heart, instead, chooses to skip a beat for the dimpled cutie seated two steps away from you, smiling at you from behind his camera.

Right as your eyes meet, Soobin waves a hand at you to let you know he has stopped recording. Nodding, you wave goodbye to the couple next to you and leave the spot to walk up to your cameraman. 

“If I get hypothermia, you’re footing my hospital bills,” you announce as you settle next to a laughing Soobin, intentionally shifting closer to him to hopefully absorb some of his body heat. 

“I told you to bring a jacket, didn’t I?”

“And I did, but it was useless.”

“Because it was denim!” He gives a full belly laugh at that, and the sound is so beautiful to your ears that it becomes hard for you to maintain your scowl of annoyance. “Who brings a denim jacket when asked to carry one?”

“Hey, you texted me at five am!” you whine in complaint. “I could barely open my eyes, my brain wasn’t working!”

“Is that why you didn’t question me?” His tone is a little teasing and so are his raised eyebrows as he smirks at you. “I asked you to come downstairs quickly and you arrived within ten minutes, ready to run away to the mountains with me if I asked. What’s up with that, hm?”

Your cheeks feel on fire at the implication of his words. Clearing your throat, you try to come up with a response, but your heartbeat is too loud in your ears and meeting Soobin’s playful gaze might just make it crash due to the onslaught of overwhelming emotions.

Well. At least you’re feeling a little warmer now.

“You – you said it was a surprise and a huge honor that I’d later thank you for… I got excited,” you mumble, entwining your cold fingers and stuffing your hands beneath your knees to warm them up. “Thanks for thinking of me for this honor but honestly…” You gesture towards Yeonjun with your chin. “I don't really care for athletes. They’re not my type. I prefer brains over brawn. This guy’s taken, anyway, so people should really…”

You trail off when you turn to look at Soobin and find him smiling at you almost knowingly, such unabashed affection in his gaze that your throat closes up with nervousness. 

“I… I – I mean—”

“Yeonjun’s not your type?”

Swallowing past your nerves, you very slowly shake your head. “Is that a surprise?”

He shrugs his shoulders, trying to seem nonchalant, but you see the stiffness that enters his spine at the question. “Yeah, kind of. He’s… well, everyone I know either wants him or wants to be him.”

Wants to be him? Oh… Your lips curve up in a small smile as it begins to make sense to you. “Including you?”

His eyes widen in surprise as he looks at you. “He’s the most popular guy at our uni, Y/N. Who wouldn’t wanna be him?”

You should be surprised by his answer but you somehow aren’t. Because this ties up with a number of things you’ve been unable to fully make sense of about Soobin. Most of all, this explains why it would get him so riled up that people would try to use him and his club – one of the most sacred things he holds in his life – just to get close to Yeonjun. It would also explain why he would have felt insecure and jealous about it.

Emotions such as these are hard to navigate. Within the month that you’ve spent working closely with Soobin, you’ve come to know that he cares about his friends a lot – he truly loves them and would go to extreme lengths to help them whenever and wherever. It pains you that he struggles with this burden on the inside.

You need him to know that he shouldn’t. That he doesn’t need to. 

Which is why you shuffle closer to him, to the point where your thighs brush together, and look into his wide, bunny eyes to tell him that: “When I first saw you, I was fully convinced you were the most popular guy at the uni. And it stayed with me for months until I began my research into uni related facts and opinions and found out about our hockey team. This is why I could never gather enough courage to approach you, you know? You were this tall, handsome and sweet guy – textbook university crush material. How could you not be the most popular?”

Soobin’s cheeks turn pink, then pinker, then bright red, and by the end of your confession, he’s got a trail of redness climbing up to his ears. His eyes stay glued to yours, even as he bites down on his bottom lip.

When you see the way he exhales shakily, you finally release a giggle at his flustered state. “What? Are you really blushing that hard? How're you so cool as an emcee but your cheeks go red when a girl compliments you, Soobin?”

Soobin huffs out a laugh through his nose and rolls his eyes, pursing his lips to bite back his smile. Then he shakes his head. “Not just any girl.” 

This time, you feel a similar blush begin to cover your face. You attempt to joke it away. “I… I’m h–honored, I guess?”

Smirking at your stutters, Soobin simply averts his gaze from yours and goes back to packing up the recording equipment. “Speaking of honors, by the way. This isn't exactly what I was talking about.”

You frown in confusion. “Oh? So what is—wait. Why did you wake me up at five, then?!”

“Woah, easy!” he laughs when you get up and brace your fists on your waist, ready to throw hands. “I brought you here because having your first solo interview with Yeonjun would give you a good boost of publicity for your future with the club.”

“Ow, are we using him for clout?” You scrunch your nose up when Soobin proudly nods.

“Precisely. And also to give you a small rehearsal so that you know what all to focus on when you prepare for the freshman orientation that’s coming up soon.”

You freeze in the middle of a nod.

To prepare you for what? 

Your brain refuses to comprehend the words. He couldn’t possibly be talking about the orientation, right? 

Eyes wide and jaw dropped, you stare at Soobin while he seamlessly continues to speak.

“You're pretty comfortable with the mic and you actually enjoy interacting with groups. I still remember the clips your friend had shown me. Orientation stage requires the ability to interact well and improvise upon the script efficiently, because you’re tasked with making sure these bunch of seventeen year olds feel welcome into their new surroundings. And you, ma’am, happen to be an ace at both the arts.”

Still in disbelief, you sit next to him again and forward a hand to hold onto his forearm, bringing his focus back on you. “Soobin… are you sure? I’ve – I’ve been here for a month, and—”

“And you were amazing even before you joined us.” He turns to you to take both your palms between his, and says your name. A surge of sparks passes through your nerve endings at the warm contact, but Soobin’s gaze grounds you – it’s so open and honest that it compels you to believe every word he says to you. “You’ve only improved with each day, right? You will be great, I’m absolutely sure.”

Nodding slowly, you begin to smile when he does.

Giving your hands a jerk, Soobin points at the couple seated a few feet away. “Just you wait and see, you’re about to go viral when this bit is released. The one girl that remains unaffected by Choi Yeonjun’s charm? Oh, you’re gonna pull so many admirers within a week. Get ready for fanboys crushing on you and sliding into your DMs. Bet they’ll have a fan page up and running before your next public appearance.” 

You break into laughter, craning away from him at his teasing. But Soobin tugs at your hands to pull you back up, this time bringing you closer to him than you were before. The previous traces of playfulness have given way to a small, expectant smile on his face.

"Do I get brownie points for being the first in line?"

What? What? An awkward chuckle leaves you, quickly dwindling when Soobin's smile remains unchanged as he continues to look into your eyes. "What… what are you talking about?"

He tilts his head sweetly, giving your hands a small squeeze as he says your name. "As if I haven't been so obvious… You're the most talented member our group has seen in a while, you know? I can't look away from you when you're working and, like, initially I thought I was being a fan… But then I started to daydream about your bright eyes, gorgeous smiles, your cute giggles, your huge fucking heart that is always so kind to everyone, and…" Soobin pauses with a sigh, cheeks turning red and dimples flashing. "Come on, are you really gonna make me say it?"

Your breath comes in stuttered gasps as you try to gather your thoughts. "Soo–Soobin, I… I… Do you really…?"

"Really like you and really want to go out with you? Yeah, I do.” He smiles at you, bringing your faces close enough to boop your nose with his own. "Is there a problem?"

"You… like me?" You feel terribly confused, somewhat lost, and just a bit scared. If Soobin doesn't mean it with one hundred percent sincerity, you'll never recover from this hurt. So you just try to deflect: "But you barely know me?"

He pulls away with a small scoff of disbelief, eyes widening in surprise. "So it's believable for you to have a crush on me when you'd never even held a conversation with me, but you can't accept that I like you because you're the most beautiful, most intelligent and the most caring person I've ever met in my life?"

Your breath hitches on an exhale – and you're unable to breathe in again for long moments after that. 

He thinks you're beautiful, intelligent and caring.

He likes you.

He actually likes you.

Yeji's words of aggressive affirmative circle in your head: He likes you, boo, and he's probably got a list of reasons why.

She was… actually right? Holy shit…

You're so freaking emotional right now, you might cry.

A cross between a chuckle and a sniffle escapes you despite your attempts of stifling it, catching Soobin by surprise. His hands immediately let go of yours to cup your cheeks in concern.

"Hey, hey, what happened? Please don't think too hard about—"

"Soobin," you cut him off with a whisper. "I like you, too. So, so much."

A slow smile begins to curl his lips up, beautifully. "You do?"

"I have for so long. I… don't think I ever stopped."

"Even with the way I hurt you so bad?" His face becomes somber for a moment. 

"Yes, even then. You've shown me who you really are, Soobin, and that person is amazing. You've proven to me that I caught you in a moment of weakness, and… I think I understand it now more than ever." You smile when his lashes flutter, eyes gazing at you as if in wonder. "Besides, I think I forgave you when you first got me my correct coffee order with that cute smile of yours."

He blushes again. "Ah, so my smile is cute?"

"The cutest." You solemnly nod, cheeks still held in his palms. "Your whole face is."

"Well then, I hope you're okay with my cute face doing this?"

You know what is coming as you watch him erase the space between your mouth and his, and yet you're not nearly prepared for the way your blood turns electric the moment his plush, heart-shaped lips make contact with yours. Pure fire surges through you, body strung tight one moment and then fallen pliant in his hold the next.

Soobin's thumbs brush against the heated flesh of your cheeks, as if attempting to comfort your loud heartbeat – but it's to no avail. Your heart works faster and faster with every push of his mouth against yours, so full of giddiness that it eventually seems to levitaties up and above your body, leaving you weightless and breathless.

You try to kiss him back to the best of your abilities, but you feel like you've been entranced – held in a dreamlike state that has rendered you completely immobile and turned your brain to goo.

Soobin seems to recognise your condition, somehow, pulling away from the kiss with a chuckle brushed against your slightly parted lips. Lidded eyes look into yours with a smile held in them, his chocolate irises turned to thin rings due to how dilated his pupils are. 

"You good?"

His voice comes out all hoarse and breathless, making your stomach clench with desire and you're instantly spurred into motion.

Reaching out with both your hands, you grip onto the back of Soobin's neck and the side of his jaw, and this time pull him in for a proper kiss with equal participation. His breath hitches for a moment, but is released in the form of a small grunt when you open your mouth against his – and that is all you need to absolutely lose yourself into the taste and feel of Choi Soobin.

You would've probably stayed lost for quite a bit too, had a loud whistle not echoed around the arena, making both you and Soobin jump apart with startled gasps. Wide eyed, you look at each other, and then two stairs above you.

Yeonjun's girlfriend is grinning at you with her entire teeth on display, while the guy himself has his arm extended towards the two of you, thumb pointed downwards.

"Her first interview isn't even out yet, dude!" he calls out, booing Soobin with his entire arm. "Literally obliterating her popularity before she could even gather bitches, you're so lame and insecure, Soob, boo hoooo!"

Soobin tosses a random plastic case towards the guy, whining into your ear as he rests his chin on your shoulder grumpily. You giggle at his pout, entwining your hands together to bring them up and press a soft kiss to the back of his.

"Are we going on that date before or after the interview is aired, then?" you tease the guy, wiggling your eyebrows.

Soobin glares at you through playfully narrowed eyes beneath lowered eyebrows, until you're giggling again and he's kissing your smile. "Definitely before."

© yeonboy 2023 // do not steal, copy or repost. respect your local content creators, kaythanks.