#But eventually I usually come around to 'actually no. It isn't holding me back. I am because I keep letting define me'

[pumpkinland]

I think actually I know what happened the 2 years of therapy I went to kicked in and everything clicked for me. Like I went to therapy for two years and they essentially told me wow all that shit that happened to you was fucked up. Unfortunately all you can really do is get over it because if you keep holding on to it youre going to be stuck where you are indefinitely. At some point that shit clicked and I went ACTUALLY YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'RE RIGHT I DON'T CARE ANYMORE ALL THST MATTERS TO ME NOW IS GROWING & MAKING PROGRESS & ACTIVELY PARTICIPATING IN MY FUTURE

[scuderiahalf]

(almost) one year with you — c.sainz

pairing. carlos sainz x strategist!norris!fem!reader

summary. your boyfriend is usually so intelligent. when he makes one of the stupidest decisions of his life to break up with you, his best friend (and your idiot brother) decides to take matters into his own hands. 4.3k, 18+

warnings. breakups = makeup sex, oral (fem receiving), fingering, reader is kind of a bitch but carlos is into it

masterlist.

.

"I'm going to kick the door open."

"Please, do not do that," Carlos says from behind you.

"You think I can't?"

Smartly, Carlos chooses not to voice any further opinions.

You kick the door, more out of frustration than an actual attempt to break it open.

"I'm going to murder you when I get out of here, Lando!" you shout against the door, not really caring if your idiot brother has hung around to hear the very real threat.

You may not actually kill him (you're still debating it) but you will definitely hit him. At least five times. Maybe more. And he's not getting any of your late-night stress-baked cookies for several months. Asshole.

You kick the door again, harder. The wood bends near the bottom from the impact, rattling in the doorframe but otherwise unmoving. Your groan turns into a yell of frustration, punctuated by you hitting the still closed door with both hands. You seriously cannot believe Lando would do this.

"Are you finished?"

Carlos sounds almost amused.

If he hadn't been literally thrown into the room by not just Lando but Max and Alex as well, you might think he's in on this whole scheme. Instead, you just glare at him, irritated that he's so calm while you're both being held against your will.

"Is being made to be near me that horrible?" Carlos says.

"Oh, fuck off."

"You are acting as if they will not have to let us out eventually."

"How long is that going to take? Huh? I don't want to be locked in here for hours. It's actually FUCKING RIDICULOUS!"

You're shouting at the door again, hoping your dumbass brother and his stupid fucking friends can hear.

They all better be prepared for the consequences. There's no one better at holding a grudge than you.

You never should have trusted Lando when he had insisted you come to Charles Leclerc’s dumb yacht party. He never wants to be seen in public with you much less all but beg you to attend a party with all his friends who are so much cooler than you because he's an F1 driver and all his friends are, too, and you're just a strategist.

(You never thought that being a trackside strategist at Scuderia Ferrari would be preceded by "just" as though it isn't an impressive feat but with a brother like Lando Norris, nothing you do ever really seems to measure up. You're the reason Lando ever got into racing or F1 in the first place. So really, this is your own fault.)

You give up harassing the door (it locks from the inside so there must be something blocking it in the hallway) and start searching the room for another way out. It's a bedroom, and you're choosing to assume that it just happened to be the easiest place to trap you both and not a purposeful nudge to something untoward. Lando isn't that crude. You think.

After this little stunt, you don't think he deserves the benefit of the doubt.

You start checking all the drawers to see if there's anything useful. You don't actually know what you're looking for. Maybe like a fire axe or a hand saw so you can brute force your way out of here.

"We could talk," Carlos proposes.

"And give Lando what he wants? No, thank you."

"You are so proud. Can we not talk this out?"

"What's there to talk out, Carlos? You dumped me, remember?"

That shuts him up.

You refuse to look at him. Even with your back to him as you search through a completely empty dresser, you can feel the look on his face. Full lips pouting, big brown cow eyes all sad and pitiful. You'd fold like a cheap suit if you saw his pretty eyes right now and you're trying really hard to stay strong and hang onto your anger so you won't give in.

There's nothing in any of the dresser drawers. The nightstands are fruitless, too. The wardrobe houses only empty hangers, and not even the cheap wire ones that could be bent into something useful like a weapon to kill yourself with if things get any more tense in this tiny room.

"I regret it," he says.

You close the wardrobe with a heavy breath.

"I regretted it as soon as I said we should end it."

"Cry me a river, Sainz. Build a bridge. Get over it. You don't get to call me ‘nothing but a distraction’ then tell me you regret it and expect me to forgive you just like that—fuck this. I'm going to swim to shore."

You yank the balcony door open and climb up onto one of the chairs so you can get over the railing.

"Y/N!" Carlos curses in Spanish, scrambles after you and gets an arm around you before you can actually step up onto the railing. "What are you doing?!"

"I just said! I'm going to swim to shore. Let me go!"

Carlos picks you up like a purse dog and carries you back into the room. He stands in front of the balcony door after setting you down, blocking your only escape route.

"You cannot swim to shore. We are miles out of sea!"

"If it gets me out of this room, I'd do it!"

"Can you not just talk to me?"

"No!"

"Why?!"

"Because I don't want to!"

"What are you afraid is to happen?"

"I don't have to explain myself. Especially not to you."

So, you don't explain yourself. You walk over to the couch and take a seat, arms and legs crossed, looking anywhere but at Carlos.

You knew what you were getting into when you agreed to that first date with Carlos last year. You know what you were signing up for. You knew all the judgement would be on you if/when you decided to go public. You knew Ferrari would have many things to say about your relationship, and they did, when you told them earlier in the season before it could potentially get ugly with a reveal from unsasvory sources.

You knew all of that and you went for it, anyway, because could you even call yourself a Norris if you didn't go after what you wanted? You knew what being with Carlos would bring but apparently, you were the only one.

After eleven amazing months together, Carlos got cold feet. You don't know how else to describe it. You had told your family after three months; he'd told his after just one. Everyone was happy for you. Your family loves Carlos, and the Sainz clan accepted you with open arms. You were so happy.

But as your relationship pushed a year, Carlos said you needed to talk, called you a distraction, subsequently hazardous for his line of work, and ended things.

Did you call him an emotionally stunted manchild before storming out of the cafe he asked to meet at? If you did, he surely deserved it.

A few weeks after that, you're where you are now, locked in a bedroom on a yacht while a party rages on several floors above. Carlos says he regrets breaking up with you, that he wanted to take back everything he said, but he already said it and that's how things are now.

You'll not be the girl he comes crawling back to whenever it's convenient for him. If going steady is a hazard for work, then an off again-on again situationship is definitely not OSHA-compliant. You refuse to lower yourself to being a doormat that Carlos wipes his feet on whenever he feels he has the time.

After a while of standing guard at the balcony door, Carlos makes a move to sit on the couch with you.

"No," you say.

He halts midstep.

"You can sit on the bed."

Slowly, as though giving you a chance to change your mind, Carlos sulks over to the bed and sits.

He's moving to Williams next year. He has only a handful of races left in rosso corsa. He doesn't know you're sitting on a job offer that could have you following him, a promotion to head strategist at the Oxfordshire team that you can't believe you're actually debating because of your standing with a man.

You've told no one of Williams's proposition. So, you really don't know why you open your mouth to tell Carlos of all people.

"Williams wants me as their head strategist."

He looks up, eyes bright, surprised but excited for you. "What? That is amazing."

"Yeah, I know it is," you say, glaring at him again. "I haven't accepted yet, though."

Carlos is quiet, then carefully says, "Because of me?"

"No," you say because it's just ridiculous for that to be the reason you're holding up contract negotiations, "Yes, because of you. Obviously. I don't want you thinking I'm following you. I'm not. I'm pursuing my career. So, I know that changes you being all regretful. I just want to clarify things before you hear about it from someone else.”

“Why would it change how I feel?”

“Because we’ll still be coworkers next season.”

“That changes it? What does it change?”

Carlos' accent (hot as fuck) and the way he doesn't always say things 100% correct (cute as fuck) are misleading for his actual understanding of the English language. So, you're really not sure what he's getting confused over.

He's leaving. You were supposed to be staying. No longer working together meant no distractions for him until you would meet up at a hotel after a shitty quali and he would fuck the shit out of you. Or something like that.

It'd feel good in the moment but you don't want him for just sex. You don't want casual. You don't want to be a convenient, low-maintenance, not-quite-official girlfriend. You won't do it. No matter how pretty he is.

And his plan to get you back was ruined now that you'd be moving to Williams for next season, anyway.

“I’d not be a distraction if I was staying at Ferrari. Now, we’ll both still be on the same team. Not convenient for you to still be in a toxic work environment, huh? So, you can cut the crap.”

“That has nothing to do with my regret."

"I won't be a casual fuck buddy who you can't stand to be around when it doesn't work for you."

"I never said that!"

He seems genuinely hurt by your implication but you won't fall for it, won't let it deter you.

"It's kind of implied. You know with the whole 'I have to focus on my driving' thing. Like, what the fuck were you doing for the rest of the time we were together? Nothing changed and you suddenly decided it was too much, then you want me back but I ruined that for you. You'll be seeing me next year, too, so don't even bother with the whole regret speech or whatever."

"I—," Carlos starts, then says nothing.

He can't seem to find the words.

"What? Nothing to say? You wanted to talk. Talk."

"If I am in a team with you or not," he says, slow, calculated, "It does not change that I regret what I said."

Carlos takes a second to think before continuing. That's where you two differ.

Carlos has always been incredibly intelligent. You knew he was gorgeous before you had ever met in person but his mind made him appeal even more to you when you first started working trackside last season. Long, intellectual conversations preceded him asking you out after his masterclass in Singapore.

You nearly started foaming at the mouth when he said "it's on purpose" to keeping your brother within DRS to hold off Mercedes. You were ready to jump his bones right then and there in the middle of the team celebration when he asked you to dinner before you flew back to England.

But he was a gentleman. (He didn't fuck you until after your second date, but it was a close thing that first night when you leaned over the center console to kiss him. You'd have ridden him right there in the front seat of that rental car if your idiot brother hadn't chosen then to walk by and make a scene. Kind of a mood killer.)

The two of you both found fascination in the other's way of thinking, Carlos' smooth logic and your chaotic brilliance. He is all thought and few words while you talk and talk until you find your solution.

You always found beauty in the contrast. You balance each other. Simultaneously alike and disimilar. He is someone you saw yourself building a life with. After nearly a year together, those are the kinds of thoughts you start to have about a partner.

"So, you regret it," you gather, "But do you still think I'm a distraction?"

"Of course, you are a distraction. I am in love with you. There is nothing more distracting than that."

You laugh, disbelieving. "You're in love with me but I'm distracting and you can't be with me? Why? Because you love racing more?"

"I was scared. I was stupid. I am stupid. I am."

"Self deprecation won't do you any favors. But, yeah, you are stupid. You're not making any sense."

"I was scared. You were everything I could think of. I thought I could not find a balance between you and racing. But without you, it is even worse. I want you as a distraction. I know that because I have lost you.”

“You haven’t,” you say before your brain even knows what you’re doing. “Not entirely, yet. Maybe… You’re not allowed to do this again. Ever.”

And you’re crying. Of course.

Carlos is at your side in record time, kneeling in front of you, taking immediate advantage of the crack in your defenses. “Never.”

“You can’t do shit like this. You can’t push me aside like I don’t matter. You can’t call me a distraction.”

“You are a distraction. In the best way.”

Unimpressed and wiping your tears, you say, “Wow. You’re such a poet.”

Carlos laughs thickly. “I love you.”

“Ugh, fuck off.”

You’re still wiping at your face. You didn’t cry when Carlos called it quits, refused to let him have any sort of hold over you when he pushed you aside but now, you’re crying. It’s in relief but you still feel your face getting hot from the embarrassment of it.

He knocks your hands aside to cup your cheeks. “You are the love of my life. I will do whatever it takes to fix what I broke.”

“S’not broken. Just bent. Or whatever the saying is. I don’t fucking care—just kiss me.”

Carlos’ “yes, ma’am” is muffled against your lips.

It’s only been three weeks (three and a half but who’s counting) since he last kissed you but it feels like an eternity.

It’s salty from your tears and wet, also from the tears but more from the way you let his tongue into your mouth after probably not enough time has passed. You don’t care. You just want him.

“I love you," you break the kiss to say. "Don't leave me."

"I won't."

"Say it back."

"I love you. I love you I love you I love you."

.

His words jumble between English and Spanish as he kisses down your body.

Your breath catches as he pulls your hips further down the cushion you're sat on. Stupid F1 driver muscles. You want to sink your teeth into his bicep, make him walk around with the bruise, a reminder of who he belongs to.

He slips his fingers into the waistband of your pants, looks up for permission. You lift your hips. You've missed what his big brown eyes look like when they're all dark with want.

He pulls your pants and underwear down and tosses them aside, tugging you even closer to the edge of the couch. Your legs part. He puts your knees on his shoulders then finally pushes his face between your thighs.

You let your head fall back as you sigh, probably sounding ridiculous but he's always been good at this.

He had you ride his face one time. He practically had to beg to get you to agree. There was a lot of him gripping onto you, arms wrapped around your thighs and hips to force you to stay in place. He'd kept you there until you couldn't stay upright or fight against his hold, coaxing multiple orgasms out of you with just his mouth.

Then, he'd fucked you until you came for a fifth time. (You tell a guy one time about how your last partner hadn't the patience to get more than one orgasm out of you, and he makes it his life's mission to get three or more every time you go at it. How terrible for you. Ha.)

He eats you out like a man starving, like he has something to prove. To be fair, he does but he's not going to be entirely back in your good graces just because he's helping you get off for the first time in three and a half weeks. This is just extra credit.

One of his hands finds yours. He tangles your fingers and holds your hand as he involves his free fingers in slipping past your entrance. You open up for him with obscene ease, legs falling apart even further.

He fucks you with a single finger slow, slow, slow while his tongue licks languidly at your clit.

"Carlos," you whine his name.

You don't need all the pleasure you already know he's more than capable of giving you. You just need to get off already.

"I will get you there, hermosa," he promises with a kiss to your inner thigh.

"Get there faster; I don't want my idiot brother thinking better of his insane plan and letting us out while you're nose-deep in my cunt."

Carlos huffs a laugh. You can feel the air against where you're wet. It makes you squirm.

Usually, Carlos would tell you to stay still and be patient but seems to think better of it this time. You would probably still do as he says, circumstance regardless, but he doesn't need to know that. He just presses his lips back to your pussy.

He sucks on the hardened little bundle of nerves at the joint of your labia just how he knows will make you go limp and needy. He pushes a second then a third finger into you, the stretch just that much more than you can manage with your own, smaller digits.

You could've gotten it with the neglected dildo that lives somewhere mostly forgotten in your closet. There was something that felt so final about bringing out the toy you haven't needed since that second date. Thankfully, you still don't need it. You should consider just pitching it, at this point.

You push your hand through Carlos' hair, brushing the ridiculously perfect locks off his forehead so you can watch his stupid, beautiful face as he goes down on you.

"You're so pretty like this, baby," you praise.

His dark eyes flicker up to you, exhaling against your exposed cunt and shifting his knees on the floor.

You're sure if he had a hand free, he'd be palming himself over his pants. He gets off on you getting off and praise goes straight to his dick. You've got this fantasy of making him come completely untouched but you might need to do actual research on that before it becomes a reality.

He sticks his tongue down with his fingers, lapping at your hole and spitting your wetness onto your clit just because it's hot. Like the way he's slobbering over you isn't enough to make the glide of his tongue over your clit smooth and delectable.

"Come on, baby. Don't tease. Not now."

Carlos makes this little displeased noise in the back on his throat.

Quickies aren't really in Carlos' sexual vocabulary. He occasionally likes it as rough and fast as the next dick-haver but he's more of a spread you open and make love to you for hours at a time kind of guy.

He took you to a secluded little cabana in Mallorca for a week during summer break specifically so you two could spend days on end doing nothing but loving on each other. Then, he took you to meet his family and you had to pretend like you hadn't spent the majority of the week prior with their golden child's dick or fingers or tongue inside of you.

Currently, you're just wanting to find relief without Lando or some other F1 driver walking in on you first.

"Carlos, baby—please."

Carlos likes when you play nice. When you're so desperate for it that your bossy exterior goes away. You tell yourself that you exploit this because your unending pride doesn't like the alternative that you really just are that desperate for it.

He finally starts to finger bang you properly. Combine that with the obscene slurping sounds he's making against your clit and the lack of action for nearly a month and no one could really blame you for not taking long to hit your high.

Heat curls and explodes in your gut and up your spine, back arching, lungs gasping, Carlos' name falling from your mouth as your thighs try to close around his head. He gets his elbows up to hold your legs open. His fingers keep fucking you through your orgasm. He pulls his other hand free of your grip to massage your clit with his thumb, kissing your thighs, pubes, stomach.

He captures your lips in a kiss while you're still riding it out. It's intense and leg-shaking after so long without, emotion-driven, which is the best kind but not worth it after knowing what the fear of losing him is like. You can hardly kiss him back, face pulled in pleausre, moans spilling past your lips that Carlos swallows unburdened.

You tuck your face into his shoulder as he drags it out just to the precipice of overstimulation. You tug him into you, arms around his shoulders, fingers tugging the hair at the base of his skull. He lets his fingers rest inside of you, rests that thumb against your clit so he can hold you back with one arm, at least.

You just breathe for a moment, composing yourself where he can't see your face. The worst may be over but the level of trust you'd built over months together would not be so easily reinstated. He'd have to work hard for that, much harder than a sinlge mind-blowing orgasm.

"Don't leave me," you say in a whisper. "You can't, okay?"

"I won't."

"Promise."

"I promise I will not leave you again. I am the most dumb man if I lose you another time. I will deserve it, then."

"Be smart, then. Like I know you have the capacity to be."

Carlos pulls his fingers out. He catches your shiver, still wrapped up in his one arm. He kisses your cheek before finding something to clean his hands with. You've pulled your pants back on when he's finished.

"Likelihood someone heard us?" you prompt.

"Heard you, you mean?"

You kick at him as he comes back over to you. "Watch it."

He tucks you against his side once he's sat. "Scale?"

"One to a hundred."

"90, at least."

You smack his chest. "Dick."

"You are very loud, mi amor. You talk so much, and you make such pretty noises."

"Don't insult me immediately after I've forgiven you."

You've not drawn away from him at all. In fact, you've tucked your feet up on the couch to curl into him fully.

Carlos knows this. He presses a kiss to your temple.

"I love you. I am sorry I am so stupid."

"I guess I've just got to have enough brains and beauty for the both of us."

"You have always."

You hide your smile in his chest. He holds your thigh when you put your legs across his lap. Now you've got him back, you want to be as close as physically possible. Whoever first said they want to be inside their partner's skin really gets it.

.

George Russell ends up getting sent to let you two out. Evidently, your brother fled the scene of the crime once the yacht returned to port in the early hours of the morning. He dumped the chore of opening Pandora's box on an innocnet bystander.

"I am so sorry—"

"Oh, clever," you say when you spot the poor Brit, "He sends an uninvolved party to let me out like I couldn't track him anywhere in the world. I've his trainer's phone number and Jon likes me more than him. I am going to beat his skinny little muppet ass. When I find him—"

You trip over the tangle of chairs that had been used to barricade the bedroom door from the outside.

Carlos catches your elbow.

"Amor, it is late," he says. "Sleep, first, hm?"

You relax into his hold a bit, a silent concession. It'll be easier to murder your little brother after a good night's sleep, anyway.

"So, are you two...?" George trails off.

You cut him a glare.

"Nothing. Never mind. Apologies."

He speeds around the two of you and off the boat.

"The 2019 rookies are all terrified of you."

"Good."

Carlos laughs. "I am excited to see what Alex is like with you next year."

You smile.

Next year, you'll still be working with Carlos. It'll be at a different team, a midfielder at best but at least Carlos will still be on the grid. He'll still find increasingly laughable excuses to be in engineering just to see you. He'll still come home to you, the same that you'll come home to him.

A future with Carlos is still in the cards. He'll be damned if he messes it up again, you know that much.

[authorhjk1]

Teaching their hoebae the “real” side of the industry. They heard rumors of you making your “rounds” through different idols around your age/generation. And decided they want to see what the fuss was all about. “You’ve fucking all these cute girls trying to act like grown women. So why don’t I show you what a real woman can do with a beautiful cock like this”

You guys send me so many great ideas for SNSD, so I just had to get at least this one off my chest. This got way out of hand, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.

Sunbae

(Choi Sooyoung X Male Reader)

"Oh god, yes!"

Ningning's voice echoes through the changing room as you take her from behind.

You usually don't meet other idols that often, since you are in boy group that is mostly keeping to itself within the industry. Your own practice room, your own schedules, your own recording studio and so on. For the last three years, your group has taken Korea and the rest of the world by storm, so you do deserve this special treatment.

And there are more benefits. For example, being very popular with the female idols. Especially the ones your age. They all have busy schedules themselves, so there is no time for boyfriends. You are happy to help out though. Between schedules, you enjoy the company of Korea's most beautiful idols. You remember Wonyoung from three weeks ago. She is insanely pretty and the sex was great. The only downside is your own busy schedule. Not enough time to actually become proper fuck buddies with one if the girls, your schedules mostly conflicting.

But not on a day like this. The company got a great deal with a clothing brand. A big deal. And that's why a lot of idols are here, at this photoshoot location.

Just like you and Ningning.

"Right there, please!"

She cries out again as you hold her by her waist, her upper body resting atop the makeup table.

"And now turn right, please!"

You do as you are told, barely hearing the director's voice over the shutters of the cameras.

Your group already finished it's photoshoot half an hour ago. Your individual shoot is coming to an end too. Not knowing who it is, you are still waiting for your partner for the next couple of photos.

Since your agency isn't the only one now signed with the brand, you are not completely surprised, when you see that the idol approaching you is from another company.

"Hello, sunbae."

You bow respectfully. Trying not not stare. Choi Sooyoung. From SNSD. You can't believe your luck. Your favorite girl group. And Sooyoung herself. In that dress. You have to stop yourself, before you start drooling.

"Hello. (Y/n) is it, right?"

"Yeah."

You smile back at her, honored that she knows your name. The two of you haven't met before.

"I've heard a lot about you."

Her smile is genuine, but you could swear, her eyes are trying to tell you something. Like a secret. A secret only the two of you know.

"I'm honored."

You bow again, before turning towards the camera again. Wanting to hide your nervousness, you try to be professional.

The two of you just stand next to each other for a couple of shots at the beginning. Sooyoung, in that gorgeous, pink, shoulder less dress and golden heels and you, black suit, black vest, and a burgundy tie, which matches the red watch on your wrist.

Eventually, you find yourself holding onto her waist, while Sooyoung's hand rest on your right shoulder. It's only show of course. Trying to be respectful, you don't actually touch her, your hand just above the pink fabric.

She takes a couple of shots alone with the chair, your leader sat on during your group's shots. Afterwards, you take your place on that chair, while Sooyoung lifts her leg. You are captivated by its length and smoothness for a moment, until you feel her heel, slightly digging into your thigh.

A couple of camera shutters later, Sooyoung places her hand on her knee, bending forward. You are very aware of the fact that, with one look in the right direction, you would be seeing something that would keep you up all night. Instead, you stay focused on the camera.

"Now, (y/n)! Please place your hand on Sooyoung's thigh! Sooyoung, put your hand on his head!"

She does what she is told, immediately. You hesitate for a moment.

"You can touch me."

You look at her face for the first time in a while. Then you nod, wrapping your hand around her warm thigh.

"You are cute when you are being respectful."

You bite your lip, hoping the heat in your cheeks won't show in the photos later on.

"Just like that!"

The two of you look into the camera, until Sooyoung drops her first bomb on you.

"Don't look into the camera. Look straight ahead."

"What?"

In her position, she is almost pushing her chest into your face and now she asking you to look?

"Trust me. It's gonna come out great. Plus, you can see it as a reward. For making me look so good next to you in those pictures."

You gulp, debating internally, if you want to put your career on the line or not. But the temptation quickly proves to be too much. You only glance at her cleavage once, her smooth skin tempting you to lean in closer. You eventually do turn your head.

But instead of staying in place, Sooyoung suddenly changes position. Her lower body stands still. She removes her hand from your head and places her elbow on her naked knee, her chin now resting on her bend pointer finger and middle finger, as if she is thinking about something. You could still look at her cleavage if you wanted to, but now, Sooyoung's eyes are on the same level as yours.

And you can't escape her gaze. The camera crew gives you two applause and complements for your amazing chemistry, but you barely hear them. Sooyoung stares into your eyes, into your body, into your soul. You don't even dare to breathe, yet alone bluntly stare at her chest.

"Bad boy. Did you just try to look at your noona's tits?"

Your head starts spinning as if you have been dancing for ten hours straight. What is going on? You do, what you do best in these kind of situations, when you don't know what to do. Try to be funny.

"I didn't know I already have noona privileges."

You do make her chuckle as you point out her slip up. She just indirectly offered you a less formal way of talking with her.

The unwavering, sexy look she had put on, turns into a loving smile.

"From what I hear, you already have your fair share of privileges."

Her teasing and her overall sexy look makes it difficult for you to not become hard in public. A taks that proofs to be very difficult to pull off.

For everyone outside your little bubble, it must look like the two of you changed your concept from seductive strangers, to loving couple.

Unbeknownst to them, Sooyoung keeps talking in that voice of hers, sweet honey seems to be dripping from her lips.

"Do you enjoy your privileges so far?"

You are not slow, when it comes to thinking. And you desperately hope that your guess is correct. That Sooyoung isn't talking about actual privileges anymore.

"I-I do."

You can't help but let a shaky breath escape your lips. This is too good to be true.

"Oh, really?"

Sooyoung seems genuinely surprised.

"You don't care for noona privileges, then?"

She almost sounds hurt.

Like a well oiled machine, Sooyoung changes her position again, without even waiting for directions. A true model to outsiders. A skilful seductress to you.

She spins around and sits down on your right thigh. Instinctively, you reach for her waist, but hesitate, not knowing if you should touch her or not.

"Since you're my hoobae, I expect you to do as I say, from now on."

She suddenly sounds cold. And since you can't see her face anymore, you're afraid that you just blew your one and only chance of getting intimate with Choi Sooyoung.

But your worries of missing out are quickly replaced by new ones as she takes your hand and places it on top of her dress. But not around her waist, where you first intended to put it. Your palm rests on the hem of her pink one piece, your fingertips touching her upper thigh, which is draped over her left one. You are aware that only that piece of fabric and a couple of centimeters separate you from her core.

Eventually, your personal torture ends. The crew thanks the two of you for your hard work, promising you that your pictures will captivate the world, thanks to your chemistry.

You find it a little over the top, but you don't have the energy, or will, to argue.

"Come."

Sooyoung tells you, after saying goodbye to the staff. You walk after her, heading towards your changing room. But you never make it there. In the middle of the small hallway, Sooyoung turns around. Her arms now crossed in front of her body, she looks you up and down.

"Did you have fun with Ningning, earlier?'

You are stunned and visibly embarrassed.

"Well, I did hear her having fun, but I'm wondering about you. How often did she make you cum?"

"S-Sunbae... I-"

"Oh please. Don't play innocent. I heard about you more than I should've."

"Y-You did?"

You thought she was referring to your group's music, when she first said that an hour ago.

"Yes. I can even tell you their names, if you don't believe me. You seem to be leaving behind quite the impression."

"N-No I-I'm good, thanks."

Sooyoung ignores you with ease.

"Huh Yunjin, Shin Yuna,..."

You close your eyes in embarrassment, while she keeps counting with her fingers.

"...Baek Jiheon, Jang Wonyoung, Ningning..."

Sooyoung's eyes move from her fingers to you.

"You are going through these girls, like they go through their shoes, playboy."

"I-It's not like that."

What kind of stupid defense is that?

"Oh really? All these young girls seem to fall so easily for your tricks, is it that?"

"Sunbae, please..."

Sooyoung chuckles.

"Have you even been with a proper woman before?"

You get what she means. Someone older than yourself. You shake your head.

Sooyoung shakes her head in disappointment.

"Those girls are inexperienced themselves. How could they take care of my hoobae properly?"

She takes a step closer, slightly tilting her head as if she is trying to figure out what you could be possibly seeing in those girls.

"You've been fucking all these cute girls acting like grown women. So why don't I show you what a real woman can do with that big cock of yours?"

A wave of pleasure and anticipation rushes down your spine. For a brief moment, you wonder why Sooyoung would call you big, specifically. But you see her glancing down, biting her lip. You do the same, realizing that you have a hard on. You don't know for how long already.

Without waiting for an answer, Sooyoung reaches forward, cupping your cock over your pants

"I like the feeling of that. Maybe it's not only tricks you have going for you."

She gives you a quick peck on the lips, a cheeky smile playing around hers.

"I want a proper taste of you. All these rumors I hear sound way too exaggerated."

"Wait, sunbae. I-"

"Shush."

Sooyoung glares at you. Instead of her lips, her finger is now sealing your lips.

"You thought you were sleeping with all the female idols, right?"

You give her a weak nod.

"You are so naive. I'm gonna show you the real side of this industry."

You expect another kiss, when Sooyoung leans towards you. Instead, your lips only graze hers as she makes you miss, heading straight for your ear.

"Let me give you some senior advice, hoobae."

She nibbles on your earlobe for a second, before she continues to whisper into your ear.

"When someone offers you noona privileges, you take them."

Sooyoung takes your face into her hands, now looking at you again.

"Because real women like me, know what a boy like you wants."

She leans forward once again. Your lips barely touching hers as she keeps talking.

"We have what you need."

A moan almost escapes your lips.

Sooyoung pulls away, giving you a victorious smile.

"Follow me."

You do as she says and soon find yourself inside a spacious kitchen. Way bigger than your dressing room. Probably for the staff, if they have to work here the whole day.

"Isn't this kinda public?"

Sooyoung rolls her eyes. In that moment, you promise yourself not to say anything stupid ever again. She almost looked terrifying.

"Lesson one, playboy."

She placed her hands on the counter, slightly leaning over it. It takes an incredible amount of self control to not glance at her cleavage.

"Learn how to take a blowjob."

"What?"

You are mentally not quite there yet. You are still trying to figure out, how you went from a simple photoshoot to this.

"What do you-"

Sooyoung cuts you off with a gesture, motioning for you to come closer. Following her order, you find yourself trapped between the older woman and the countertop behind you.

"You are asking, what do I mean?"

You swallow your reply.

"I mean, that you have to learn how it feels like to receive proper head. We don't want you to cum too quickly."

Sooyoung leans in. Instead of kissing you, she tilts her head, kissing your neck.

"You see..."

Her words are interrupted by another kiss.

"Your noonas know how to worship cock. We know how important your pleasure is."

Sooyoung now moves towards your lips, leaving a trail of kisses behind.

"Now, try to hold on."

She whispers against your lips, before giving you a quick but deep kiss that leaves you breathless.

You watch in amazement as Sooyoung lets her finger wander from your cheek to your chin, along your throat, past your chest, until she reaches the hem of your shirt. At the same time, she lowers herself further and further, until she is squatting in front of you.

With a lustful look in her eyes, Sooyoung holds your stare as she opens your pants, without having to look at them. They glide down your legs and a moment later, you feel her give your clothed cock a kiss.

"Not half bad for a boy."

Sooyoung licks her lips, before she slowly pulls down your underwear.

"Hmmm."

Her warm breath plays around your cock as she hums in satisfaction.

"Girls your age don't know how to appreciate a dick like this."

Sooyoung closes her eyes, savouring the first taste of your cock as she lets her tongue glide over your tip. She follows that up with a couple of quick kisses along your shaft, before placing her tongue at your base. Your breath hitches as she drags her tongue along the underside of your cock.

"You really are blessed. It tastes amazing."

Sooyoung purrs, before finally opening her mouth wider. You bite your lip, watching how she slowly moves forward, her mouth around your cock without touching it. Once she reaches the second half of your length, Sooyoung finally closes her mouth around your cock, her lips forming an airtight seal.

"Oh, god."

You groan out, your head rolling back.

She starts to let her lips glide along your shaft as she pulls back, her tongue pressing against it from underneath. Once she reaches your tip, her tongue swirls around it, before she starts to take you into her mouth again.

Sooyoung doesn't stop doing these motions. Back and forth. Her head moves back and forth. Her lips glide along your shaft, back and forth. Her tongue drags along the underside of your shaft, back and forth.

Your knuckles quickly turn white as you hold onto the countertop behind you. Sooyoung is doing this at a way slower pace than all of the girls you've been with so far. She visibly enjoys sucking you off. You can tell by how her eyes are closed. How a slight smile plays around her lips. How she slightly hums around your cock, whenever she is about to take you in again.

It becomes harder and harder for you to keep your composure. There is no way in hell you're gonna last much longer. You try to tell her that, but your words are suddenly stuck in your throat, when Sooyoung decides to up her game even more.

You are now forced to take heavy breaths as the woman in front of you takes more of your cock. She glides further down you length than before. And soon, you realize that you've hit the back of her throat.

"Oh, shit."

You can't help but groan as the muscles of her throat flex around you. The act makes her throat squeeze you even more than before. Sooyoung slowly retreats, this time only halfway, before she pushes forward again.

"S-Sunbae."

You groan again, wanting to tell her to stop. If this is only the appetizer and you actually have a chance of feeling her pussy around you, you don't want to blow this. No pun intended.

Sooyoung does eventually listen to your warnings, feeling your cock throbbing in her throat. She leans back, until your tip only rests on her parted lips. She lets it fall off. Now, only a string of saliva connects her lips with your cock.

"That was..."

You can't find the right words.

"Good?"

Sooyoung shoots you a mocking grin.

"Good."

You repeat after her as you try to hold onto the feeling you just experienced.

"Judging from your reaction, these girls don't know how to take a cock down their throats. "

You weakly shake your head, confirming her assumption.

"A shame."

She mumbles to herself, before wrapping her hand around your cock.

"Time for lesson two, then."

Sooyoung stands back up again, her face inches away from yours.

"Learn to be patient. Older women don't like quick and meaningless wild sex. They like to take their time."

She pushes you towards your left, signaling you to sit down on the chair that is standing in the corner. After having done so, you watch Sooyoung stepping in front of you, before leaning down, her hands rest on your knees.

"This is also the perfect time for you to recover. Don't rush into this. Let me take the lead and enjoy the show."

Sooyoung puts her heel onto your thigh again, just like during the photoshoot. Except this time, she puts her finger on the top if her foot and slowly starts to drag it upwards. You watch it move along her smooth skin. Once it reaches her knee, Sooyoung speaks again.

"Learn to appreciate a woman's body. How it looks, how it feels and how it responds to your touch."

She reaches down again to take your hand. Slowly your fingers move up her leg and past her knee. Her thigh feels incredible as you explore more of her body. You eventually reach the hem of her dress. Before you can even try to push further, Sooyoung swats your hand away. In a swift motion, as if she is dancing to an inaudible tune, she lifts her foot off your thigh and spins around.

Her back is now facing you. Sooyoung raises her hands and then, slowly, lets them travel down the sides of her body. At the same time, she sways her hips seductively, until her hands reach her waist. She slightly bends forward as they run over her ass.

You almost reach out to grab a handful of her cheeks. But Sooyoung now lowers herself and sits on your lap. Her ass slightly grinds against you. She reaches behind herself, finding the back of your head, before forcing you to lean it forward. Your lips land on her naked shoulder and you start to kiss her skin. Thanks to the angle, you finally have a clear view of her cleavage for the first time. No bra, you notice. The dress seems to be tight enough to keep her breasts in place by itself.

Sooyoung must've caught you staring somehow, because she now place another finger on her collarbone. Her pink nail glides over skin, eventually reaching the upper hem of her dress. She hooks her finger into it, slowly pulling it down.

Just enough to make you drool, without revealing everything.

Sooyoung seems to have enough of your kisses. She gets off your lap and turns around again. While maintaining eye contact, she hooks both her thumbs into her dress on either of her sides. Sooyoung starts to strip in front of you. When she is about to free her tits entirely, she leans forward and lets them fall out of her dress. You watch with a dry mouth, unable to say a word.

She wiggles her hips as she gets the rest of the dress off, until she is standing completely naked in front of you. Her pink dress a pile of cloth around her ankles. She steps out of it and towards you.

"Good boy."

She straddles your lap again. Your cock is now resting on her stomach at the hight of her belly button.

"Lesson three."

Sooyoung reaches down to slowly stroke your cock. Her other hand grazes your cheek, before she lets it rest on your shoulder.

"Be a good fuck toy for your noona. Trust me, I know how to ride you so well, that you pass out from the pleasure."

She gives you another kiss on the lips, before she lifts herself off your lap.

"And feel free to explore a real woman's body."

With that, Sooyoung aligns her pussy with your cock. She slowly sinks back down.

"Oh, god!"

You immediately groan.

"Fuck!"

Even Sooyoung lets out a loud moan.

"You feel way bigger than before."

She now places the other hand on your shoulder as well, only your tip resting inside of her right now. That changes, when Sooyoung slowly lowers herself further. Looking down, you watch more and more of your cock disappear inside of her.

"Were you even able to fit all of this into your cute little girls?"

Despite her mocking tone, you can tell that Sooyoung is struggling. She stops for a couple of seconds halfway down, before she eventually keeps going.

When she does reach your base, her eyes roll to the back of her head.

"Damn, I can feel your cock push my organs out of the way."

Before you are able to reply, Sooyoung starts to lift herself off of you again. When only your tip remains inside her core, she lowers herself back onto you.

You grit your teeth at the pleasure and you remember what Sooyoung told you earlier. Your hands start from her hips. They move across her midriff and sides, until they reach her tits. You begin to grope them, while Sooyoung keeps her slow pace. Maybe you are a little too much to handle. Even for her.

Her soft skin underneath your palms and her tight pussy around your cock send spikes of pleasure through your system. When Sooyoung finally does get used to your size, she starts to ride you, just like she promised.

Her pace increases with every other thrust. A minute or so later, she is bouncing on your cock, a satisfied smile on her face. You lean forward to catch one of her nipples with your mouth, which makes her moan.

Sucking on her tits, you enjoy the ride Sooyoung is giving you. Once in a while, she changes it up a little. Instead of constantly impaling herself on your cock, she occasionally stays glued to your hips. She would then move hers in a circle motion, making your dick rub against all kind of places inside of her.

Sooyoung alternates between both styles of riding, making sure you are on a steady way towards your orgasm. But you manage to catch her off guard with how well you suck on her tits. Sooyoung moans more and more, never having expected you to be this good. She doesn't lose her rhythm, but it's obvious she is beginning to struggle to keep it together.

"Yes, keep sucking on them! Good boy!"

She praises you, while her hips smash down onto yours. You can't tell how long it as been, but Sooyoung's prediction might actually become true. Her pussy keeps draining your composure out of you. Whenever she circles her hips, your legs quiver. Your hands have found their way back to her waist by now. You are squeezing her sides, trying to not lose grip on reality.

Sooyoung is in no better condition. Your cock keeps hitting just the right spots. Whenever she impales herself on your cock, she can feel it push upwards against her guts, forcing the air out of her lungs. Eventually, she can't take it anymore. Only able to grind herself on top of you, back and forth, she becomes a mess in your lap, while you keep sucking on her breasts.

"Ah, fuck! (Y/n)!"

She didn't call you by a nickname for the first time in quite a while. Her pussy pulsates around you, trying to make you orgasm too. Her nails dig into your shoulders, probably leaving stinging marks behind. Sooyoung shivers and shakes on top of you.

Once she finally does come down, she gives you a lustful stare.

"Not bad, playboy."

She captures your lips with hers. You instinctively wait for her to announce another lesson.

"Last lesson."

There it is.

"Learning how to cream pie your sunbaes."

"Cream pie?"

"You heard me the first time."

Sooyoung bites her lip and resumes her riding.

You've never done this before, for obvious reasons. Your career, the other idol's career and so on and so on. But now, she isn't really giving you much of a choice. And it's not like you're complaining. Every fan would dream of having a chance to cream pie Choi Sooyoung.

That dream becomes reality a couple of minutes later.

"Oh, god! Sunbae!"

Now it's your turn to shout out her name. Well, at least the formal version of it. Your heels dig into the floor, you thrust upwards into her waiting pussy. And then, you start to fill her up.

A deep moan rolls off Sooyoung's tongue as she feels herself getting cream pied by someone way younger than herself. Your warmth enters her stomach and she makes sure that nothing of your precious cum escapes, by not moving at all.

"You did a great job, playboy. You are a fast learner."

After her praise, Sooyoung gives you a curious look.

"How many more rounds do you have in you? I won't be leaving this place, until I've made sure that you are taken care of properly."

She leans down to kiss you again, her tongue dancing with yours for a while.

"And there is one more thing older women do, that younger girls don't."

After breaking the kiss, Sooyoung whispers into your ear again.

"Swallow."

[luveline]

how about some domestic stuff of post-prison reid and stripper!reader??? that one fic broke my heart in the best way

Prison changes a lot of things about Spencer, so when you get back to his place after a quick run to the grocery store and find him packing away some of his things into boxes, you're not alarmed. “Spring cleaning?” you ask, stepping around him carefully where he's kneeling by the TV stand. 

“Making room,” he says. 

He must have bought something. You put your tote bag in the crook of your arm and bend a touch to kiss his cheek, his hair brushing your face. “You have so many things, Spence, you need a storage locker. You need two.” 

He feels blindly up your arm. 

You put the groceries away, wash your hands, and cut some veggies. You season them and put them in the oven to roast, calling Spencer to see what he wants with it. “You could have the leftover chicken, or I can make, like… anything you want, actually. Pork chops, or maybe forget that and we'll have pasta, I can frankenstein the– Hey, Spence? You listening?” 

You're not mad. He's always been prone to deep thought, but usually he isn't looking straight at you while you talk. “Spencer?” 

“You'll move in with me, right? If I ask?” 

You wring your hands. “You've asked me a hundred times.” 

“But this time, you'll say yes.” He's staring at you. He already knows. 

“You can at least pretend to ask me.” 

Spencer closes the box in front of him. “Please, move in with me. I can't spend that long away from you ever again.” 

“You see me almost every day when you're not working.” 

He shrugs, smiles. “It's not enough.” 

You sit on the couch. He leans over his box to hold your leg. Spencer's asked you a bunch of times, first because he worried about your safety, then because he felt it was a good option as his friend, and then again because he loved you. And you always said no because you didn't want to depend on him, and because some nagging voice in the back of your mind kept telling you he'd realise he didn't want you as soon as you got close enough. But it's been a long time since you thought that way, and his stint in prison emphasised how badly you need each other. 

“So, it'll be equal?” you ask in answer. 

“I'm not saying that. The rent is ridiculous, and you didn't sign up for that, and I have no idea where we'll put all your clothes. But it'll be half yours, absolutely.” He looks especially happy though apprehensive; he hasn't realised you don't need convincing this time.

“I want to bring my pink lamp for the bedroom.”

Spencer's smile changes his entire face. Puppy dog eyes turn thinner, his lips part, his perfect teeth like pearls. “I want you to bring the pink lamp. Bring everything. No one will ever understand our decor.” 

You sink down on the floor in front of him and nudge aside his box for a hug. He gives it to you, and, in a slightly uncharacteristic move for him, he cuts the embrace short to kiss you soundly, his hand on your cheek. He kisses you again and again until you're laughing into his mouth. 

“Does this mean you'll let me propose?” he asks softly. 

Your breath catches. He doesn't sound particularly put together himself, bringing his second hand to your face, holding your forehead to this. 

“I don't think it's something I have much choice in,” you say eventually, your smile audible and immovable. 

You get to say yes or no, but his wanting to ask is all on him. He's flustered you unexpectedly, and the quiet laugh coming from what feels to be the deepest recess of his chest tips you over. You dip down into his neck slowly, hiding away in the curve of his shoulder as his arms come heavy behind you. 

“All I could think was how much stuff I didn't get to say to you, or do with you,” he says. “If they couldn't clear my name, I kept thinking about how much time I wouldn't get back.” 

You breathe out in a rush against his neck. “But you're out.” 

“Yeah. I am.” He strokes your back. “Lucky me.” 

[goldsbitch]

Past lives

Charles Leclerc is opening an ice-cream shop...And nobody knows why.

romantic, soulmate au, one shot, short

"Past lives couldn't ever hold me down Lost love is sweeter when it's finally found I've got the strangest feeling This isn't our first time around" - Past Lives, Børns

It's the little things that resonate for no apparent reason.

The fact he would always lean towards a perfume with bergamot undertones - because ages ago, the love of his life was obsessed with bergamot tea.

The fact she would have the windows open at any possible occasion - because in her past, she and the love of her life lived in a small house at the top of a windy hill.

The fact he hated alcohol, because in one their lifetimes, the love of his life drowned her sorrows a little too often and lost herself in it.

The fact she could not watch war time movies, because in one of their past lives he died tragically, and a little too early for them to build a proper life together.

They did not get to meet in each life. But when they did, it was one for the history books. Not the ones about grandiose, history changing events, but the little sweet ones, usually to be found at the back of the antique bookstores. The mundane miracles that are hard to describe to the unlucky ones, who do not get to experience them. Some of them end up with a happy end, some of them with the biggest life lessons human soul can swallow.

It's the strange feeling of "I belong here" or "I think this will taste good". Why? Because you had seen it in the past, because you had been there in a different life time.

Fate plays a funny little game. Has one and their soulmate born just in time for them to be able to find each other, but likes to put obstacles in between. Distance, social barriers, conflicting dreams.

This kind of love leaves traces around the history. Songs, poems, buildings and initials carved into stones and benches. Wedding rings passed on in families and eventually sold once everyone has forgotten. Portraits of unknown faces and photos found at the bottom of old wardrobes. The ancient piping in an old house that still works because he built it for her to live in.

The soul keeps a memory, unreachable to the simple mind of the body, as it travelled from one lifetime to another.

That's how she found herself staring at a random, actually not that important, painting hung in a gallery exhibition dedicated to landscapes from the romantic era. She wasn't exactly a galleries type of person, but a girls trip to Paris had to include something more than parties and shopping. She stood there for good five minutes, totally mesmerised by a painting that did not particularly stood out from the rest. Little did she know that the silhouette standing in the field was one of her past self and that the painting had been done by her soulmate in one of their luckier past lives. It was like she could smell the summer weeds growing, hear the ground under her feet and understood what the author wanted to capture. And he was successful enough to capture the attention of his love throughout centuries once again. As her friends dragged her away to end their artsy part of their trip, she made sure to mark the name of the artist.

For some inexplicable reason, Charles Leclerc, in this life a racing driver, was opening an ice cream shop in in Milan. It probably would have made more sense to everyone, himself included, if he'd known that in one of their luckier past lives, he and his soulmate met in a small café in that city, few decades before that. He would come in one day, order an ice-cream and then did not stop coming until he managed to charm her.

[yandecifi]

sex isn't about have to's

aizawa/reader

~4500 words

mild smut, angst, hurt/comfort

cw; implied rape/noncon, implied incest, implied child abuse

You've managed to avoid nights at the house by running the door at a local strip club. The bouncer you usually work with, Aizawa, is a sarcastic, unusually tall smoker. He's sweet, sweet enough to drive you home most nights — and to pick up on your subtleties.

“Hope all the girls are as hot as you.”

It’s twelve in the morning and your dress is short enough that you’ll flash everybody if you bend over. You don’t mind, though, because that’s kind of the idea; the all black, skin tight nature of your chosen work uniform is meant to draw attention to… well, the parts that matter.

You laugh sweetly as you scan the young man’s ID. Your coworker, Aizawa, looms behind you, eyeing up the crowd in front of the club and rolling a cigarette between his fingers. He’s one of the better bouncers you work with, if not your favorite — not only does he actually do his job when things get rowdy, but he doesn’t snitch on your rather immoral side hustle.

“Oh, trust me, they’re even better,” you say, passing the ID back with a flick of your fingers. You shift your weight so that your breasts squish together a little more. “Wanna come and tell me about it after?”

You flutter your lashes. Distant club music swims through your body. The guy grins and nods.

That’s gotta be at least forty bucks. Score.

You turn to flash Aizawa a little shit eating grin. He just shakes his head and takes a puff of his cigarette.

You don’t bother wearing perfume. Why would you when Aizawa’s always got smoke curling up from his lips and fingers? A year into this job and you can’t even scrub the scent out of your hair anymore. When you grumbled that you stink thanks to him, he just said you’re welcome and held out a cigarette, half-lidded eyes full of mirth.

He takes that dry approach to just about everything. Maybe it’s because he’s so much older than you, what with his inky, messily tied hair and rough stubble adorning his chin, but he doesn’t care about much aside from his paycheck and getting home. You’ve seen him take a punch to the face and just sigh with annoyance.

Still smiling up at your coworker, you ring up the next guy in line.

“Y’know, I think this is gonna be a good night, ‘Zawa.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You stay ‘till close?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Nice — oh, yeah, you’re good to go in — I’m here ‘till close, too. Think you could drive me home?”

“Uh-huh. Focus on the customers.”

“Oops.” You whip around to see an older man holding out his credit. You take it with a laugh. “Sorry, sir. I’d make it up to you with a kiss, but you’ll get plenty of that inside.”

“Ha! Didn’t expect the service to start out here. I’m paying for all five of us, by the way.”

“Of course.”

You blow a kiss at the men as they pass you, their loud laughter ensuing. Aizawa blows smoke into your face. You cough and smack his arm.

The monotony of greeting and ringing up, of flirting and scanning, continues. This is how most of your weekend nights go; clock in at nine, run the door with Aizawa (usually) and dick around with him until three, and then give a blowjob or two before heading back to your apartment. It’s a pretty good gig for somebody like you — it doesn’t clash with your other jobs while still making enough cash.

The line dwindles as the night goes on. Eventually, ten minutes go by without a group, and you’re squatting and fixing the straps of the stilettos you’re wearing. An unlit cigarette hangs between your teeth. Goosebumps run up your arms from the night air as you chat about everything and nothing.

“No, yeah, I haven’t seen her since. Do you think she got fired?”

“Probably.” Aizawa’s leaning against the wall, lighter in hand. “People show up high all the time, but not that high.”

“Yeah. I swear to God she was turning blue.” The strap you’re fiddling with slips from your fingers for the — what, fifth time? You groan. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Aizawa scoffs. “What’d I say? You’ve gotta —“

“You’ve gotta stop wearing the fucking heels, I know, I know!”

You’re kneeling now, knees scraping the concrete. Every time you jam the strap into the buckle it comes right out, no matter how much your nails wedge it in tight. You sigh and resign yourself to the floor.

“This is what I get for thrifting shitty shoes.”

Aizawa hums in agreement and yet squats next to you. He squints at your bratty straps. Then, he hands you his lighter.

“Try putting your leg out straight.”

“Okay,” you murmur, butt hitting the ground as you lean back on your hands and straighten your legs. “I’ll literally love you forever if you fix this.”

“Uh-huh.”

He fiddles with the strap, one hand wrapped around your calf to hold you still. Now that he’s this close, you realize you’ve never been this equal in height to him. Like, the guy is built like a damn tree. His jawline is pretty nice, too, and his hands are warm —

“Lighter.”

“Oh, yeah, here.”

Aizawa brings the lighter to your strap and fiddles some more with the flame. Then, he stands up, already reaching into his pocket for another cigarette, though he manages to catch himself.

“Oh my God,” you say, rolling your ankle around and around. “You actually fixed it. What the hell. And with the lighter, too.”

“Uh-huh,” he grunts, holding out his free hand. You take it with a grin.

“You’re smarter than you look.”

He huffs. “Watch it.”

You laugh and the two of you separate, only to come together again — you lean towards him so that he can light the cigarette in your mouth.

“Thank you,” you say, breathing the smoke out.

“For making you stink,” he responds, breathing the smoke in.

The two of you loiter around the doors. They open occasionally, drunk men stumbling out to catch their Ubers. One guy vomits across the street. You look away with a grimace.

“Ew.”

“You should be used to this by now.”

“It’s still ew.”

“Uh-huh.”

“How long have you worked here that you don’t care about that sorta stuff?”

Aizawa rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck and all the joints there. “I’ve been here three years. Had other places before, though.”

“Haha. Old.”

“I’m thirty-nine. I’ve seen you hook up with guys in their fifties.”

You shrug, pass your cigarette to Aizawa. “They pay better.”

“Mhm,” he hums, breathing the nicotine in. He’s kinda pretty when he smokes. It’s something about the veins in his hands. “Your parents don’t care that you’re doing this?”

Your face scrunches up. “My parents?”

“Yeah?”

“How old do you think I am, dude?”

“I don’t know. Eighteen?”

“Excuse you, I’m nineteen.”

He lets out a laugh. Like, an actual laugh, sticking the cigarette back out at you. You take it and smoke, face hot.

“That’s basically the same thing,” he says, laughter dead.

“Yeah, whatever, jeez. They don’t care.”

Aizawa nods slowly. You watch your smoke dissolve in the air.

“Just be careful with it,” he says.

You sneak a glance at your coworker. He’s leaning against the wall of the strip club the both of you work at, arms crossed, his black dress shirt unbuttoned at the top and sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms.

You cough and look down at your stilettos. “Thanks.”

“Your dress is riding.”

“Fuck.” You bite on the cig and yank your dress down. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“I didn’t, uh, mean to,” you mutter.

“I know.” He clears his throat and nods towards the door. “Your guy.”

Just like Aizawa says, the young guy from earlier is coming out the doors with his group of friends. They’re snickering as he says bye and splits off towards you. You’ve always been kind of a joke to everybody else, but Aizawa’s never laughed at you.

You get up with a stumble, adjust yourself. The guy reaches you and you snatch up his hand, snuff your cigarette out on your thigh with a sizzle. You can feel Aizawa’s eyes on you as you drag him around back.

Maybe it’s because you’ve done this since you were a kid, but sucking off guys like the one you’re kneeled in front of doesn’t make you feel or think as much as it probably should. It goes by fast, actually, which you don’t mention (you’ve learned that ruins the mood), a blur of motions and groaning and zippers. He gives you some cash and you’re alone, standing behind your workplace, wiping cum off of your face. It’s quiet except for the muffled music.

You pass Aizawa on your way to the breakroom. He’s checking the IDs of some guys — your responsibility, fuck — and spots you as you try to rush past. You’re wiping off the mess that’s your lip gloss, manicured fingertips running circles around your mouth. He gives you a once over, like he always does, but this time he lingers on your fingers.

The guy called you some names during it. They ring in your ears as you brush your teeth in the employee bathroom. Slut. Whore. Slut. Whore. Slut, slut, slut.

You spit into the sink. You wash your face. You don’t recognize yourself without your makeup. You rummage through your ziploc baggie of product, reapply everything. You fix your hair. Your mouth never does feel clean.

Your lip wobbles. You keep running your fingers through your hair and staring at yourself in the mirror.

When you make it back to your post, the night air biting your calves, your coworker is alone at his usual spot on the wall. You stand next to him with your arms crossed. His voice comes out startlingly even compared to the voices in your head.

“You were in there a while.”

You nibble on your lip. “It got in my hair.”

He hums.

“Sorry for making you do my job,” you whisper.

“It’s boring out here. I don’t mind.” A car drives by. Somebody laughs loudly from inside the club.

“Okay.” You want to swallow but you spit instead. “Thanks.”

Slut. Whore. Slut, slut, slut.

It hits three in the morning and you’re giggling with Aizawa in his beat-up car. A cheap air freshener hangs from his mirror, twirling about as he drives you home, an empty energy drink rattling in one of his cupholders.

“Okay, um, would you kill your cat to end traffic?” You ask, smiling, watching him as he rolls his eyes from the driver's seat.

“You’ve asked me this already.”

“Just answer!”

“No, I wouldn’t.” He taps his cigarette ash out the window, his other hand guiding the steering wheel. “Anybody who says otherwise is a psychopath.”

“Okay, yeah, I agree. What if it was a dog?”

“Still no.”

“A fish?”

“Maybe.” He narrows his eyes. “Actually, yes.”

“Why?”

“You ask the weirdest questions.” He cracks a smile as he says that, shaking his head. “I guess I feel like the fish wouldn’t care as much.”

“Okay. Yeah.” He’s taking you into your neighborhood, now. It’s the kind of place that’s pretty obviously subsidized — it’s all one-story apartments, lawns that are either dead or severely overgrown, and potholes or cracked asphalt. Aizawa slows to a stop in front of your parents’ apartment, puts his hazards on. You should unbuckle your seatbelt and say goodnight with a giggle but you’re stuck.

The lights are still on. Your windows are glowing like eyes.

“Um.” You glance at Aizawa and he’s looking at you funny, fuck. Your fingers fumble with the seatbelt and undo it with a clack. “Sorry.”

“You’re fine,” he says slowly. You need to get out of the car, you’re gripping the door handle, all you need to do is open it.

Your father is awake and he shouldn’t be.

You’ve done this hundreds of times, thousands, even. It’s not even the act that’s the worst part anymore. It's looking at your apartment, knowing what’s going to happen, and knowing you can’t do anything about it. No, no, not even — it isn’t even that, it’s that you won’t do anything about it. You will do nothing. You will walk in and let it happen.

Slut, whore. Slut, slut, slut.

You open your mouth to say something more — another apology, maybe — but you just let out something like a whimper. Your back hits the car seat, you smile, you frown, you shake your head and take a sharp breath. Open the fucking door.

Aizawa turns off his hazards and you’re rolling past your apartment. On and on the two of you go, further into your neighborhood, until you can’t see your windows anymore.

“Anywhere else you want me to drop you off?”

“Uh.” You can’t catch up to all your thoughts. You’ve always been slow; the hot, dumb bitch, the whore, the slut. “What?”

“Do you have a friend you can stay with or something?”

Friends? You? You dropped out of school over a year ago. All you ever do is work.

“I mean, no.”

He takes a moment to look at you instead of the road. His jaw clenches. He passes you his nearly done cigarette as he loops the roundabout at the end of your street.

“I have a couch.”

You look at him with wide eyes. You’re speechless for a second because nobody has ever, ever said to you what he’s saying.

“Uh, no, no. It’s okay. I can go home.”

He grips the steering wheel with both hands, squinting at the road. He seems to be rolling your words around on his tongue, considering, analyzing.

“You can,” he offers, “but you don’t have to.”

Your brows raise as you stare at the dash. Your lips pull into a frown. You know that, you’ve thought it every single time, but it’s so different hearing it out loud.

“Okay. I — yeah. Yeah.”

And he’s pulling out of your neighborhood. You smoke until you’re burning your fingertips. He merges onto the freeway.

Aizawa lives in a concrete apartment complex the next town over. He’s on the third floor, number three-hundred-fifty-three. You stand behind him, your backpack slung over your shoulder. Your hands wring behind your back. His keys jingle and jangle as he unlocks his front door. He’s got a chibi cat keychain.

The door swings open and bounces off a wall with a thud. The first thing you notice is that it smells like citrus air freshener mixed with weed and cigarettes. Aizawa closes the door behind you, toeing his shoes off.

“You can put your shoes over here.” He gestures to the little closet by his front door. It’s empty aside from a coat or two and a few pairs of shoes. You nod, unbuckle your stilettos. Aizawa grows in height as you step out of them.

You smile a little. “How’s the weather up there?”

He sighs. “Very funny.”

His vinyl floor is cold on your feet as you follow him further into the apartment. It’s simple: a kitchen, a living room with the couch you suppose you’ll be sleeping in, and then two doors that lead to his bathroom and bedroom, respectively.

It’s not as dirty as your place. His kitchen is kept tidy, the sink empty and dry, the counters littered with spices and cooking instruments but well taken care of. He doesn’t have trash piling up or mold lining the backsplash. He doesn’t have empty beer bottles sitting on his coffee table, just an ashtray. A weighted blanket is folded neatly on his couch.

“You have a nice place.”

“I appreciate the sentiment.”

“No, seriously.” You set your bag on his coffee table while he hunts through the fridge. “I’ve got black mold, like, all over my bathroom ceiling.”

“That’s disgusting.”

You laugh, sit on the couch. “I know.”

Aizawa brings you a tall glass of water. You sip at it, tug down your dress. He averts his eyes.

“I’m going to go shower.” He undoes his hair as he speaks. It falls down to his shoulders, all fluffy and rather tangled. He rakes a hand through the blackest of it. “I have some leftovers in the fridge, help yourself. I have extra towels if you’d like to shower, too.” Then, he pauses, opens and shuts his mouth, his head cocked at you. You can’t help but lean back and giggle.

“What?”

“Are you fine with sleeping in that?”

You look down. He’s referring to your dress that, even now, you can’t help but fidget with.

“I can give you some of my pajamas.” Aizawa blinks tiredly at you. “If you want.”

Your face warms. “Uh, yeah. That’d be great. Thank you.”

Aizawa disappears into his bedroom and then returns a couple moments later with a large black t-shirt and some sweats. He hands them to you, all folded neatly on top of one another.

“Thank you,” you say again. “You’re really sweet.”

He heads towards the bathroom. “Just knock if you need anything.”

It feels weird to change in the middle of his living room so you go into his bedroom. You close the door, lock it just in case, and then lay his pajamas on the bed. It isn’t made, the comforter folded back like he just rolled out of it. He’s got shelves with a variety of books and knick-knacks on one wall, a desk with similar items against another. His closet is open, his wardrobe basically all black. How emo.

The pajamas are comically large on you. The t-shirt ends at your midthigh, the sleeves at your elbows. The collar goes off your shoulder. You had to tie the sweats’ drawstring tight around your hips so that they wouldn’t slip.

You slap your hands against your face. It’s definitely better than flashing him every five seconds, but why the fuck did you have to end up in his clothes?

You fold your dress up and exit the bedroom, the sound of the shower running filling the apartment. Sitting back down on the couch, you stuff your dress in your bag. You don’t have any makeup remover with you, but a wet paper towel or two from the kitchen works well enough at removing your makeup.

Pitter-patter, pitter-patter. The shower runs and runs. You don’t have much else to do aside from sit on the couch and sip at your water.

And think.

Slut, whore. Slut, slut, slut.

But what is sex, anyway? It’s the same as everything else if you think about it. You rub each other like you’re petting a dog, get close like you’re hugging, and kissing is kind of like eating. Nobody cares about holding hands or bumping into one another, so why isn’t it the same with sex? It’s just touching. It’s just touching until it’s over.

Aizawa emerges from the bathroom an unknowable amount of time later. He’s dressed similarly to you, though his pants are plaid and it all fits better. His hair is damp.

“Did you eat?” He asks, eyeing the unchanged kitchen counters.

“I’m not really hungry.”

He trudges over to sit on the other side of the couch, picking up his pack of cigarettes on the way. “You should still eat.”

“You say that while grabbing your lighter?”

He lights up with a snort. “Don’t use me for reference.”

You roll your eyes. You outstretch a hand and make a grabby motion towards him.

“No.” The smoke seeps out of his mouth and nose as he speaks. “You’ve smoked enough for a day.”

You groan. “Literally every time I see you you’re smoking.”

“What did I just say?”

You cross your arms, look away. Aizawa leans back into the couch cushions and continues blowing smoke. You peek at him from the corner of your eye. He’s doing the same thing.

He sits up. “Are you feeling better? Oh.” He blinks a little, gets up and goes to the bathroom. He comes back and stands in front of you, holding out some bandaids and a disinfectant spray. You just stare at them.

“For what?” You glance between the items and his heavily lidded eyes.

“You put out a cigarette on your leg earlier and your knees got scraped when you went with the guy.”

You take the bandaids and spray. You lay them in your lap, stare at them. He just continues to smoke, peering down at you, unmoving. Then, you let out a little laugh, your face crumpled despite your smile.

“Y’know, if you want a blow job, you can just ask.”

“I do not,” Aizawa blurts loudly, “want a fucking blow job.”

He drops to a crouch in front of you. He sticks his cigarette in the ashtray, pushes the legs of your sweats up to your knees, grabs the disinfectant off your thighs.

You sit and watch stupidly. Of course you do, you’re stupid. You’re stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why would he want something like that from somebody like you? What’s wrong with you? You’re not a hot bitch, just a dumb one. Nobody wants somebody that’s been with their own dad. You’re disgusting.

Your face is hot, head hanging while Aizawa sprays your knees. The scrapes tingle and burn. He peels the bandaids free and tears are dripping onto the sweats he gave you.

His head jerks up. You turn away in response, wipe roughly at your eyes.

You’re stupid. You’re stupid. You’re stupid.

Slut. Whore.

“It’s not that I—” He sighs, sticking the bandaid onto one of your knees. “It’s—” He sighs again, louder this time. He rakes a hand through his hair, turns around to take a drag from whatever’s left in his discarded cig.

“It’s not that I wouldn’t do those sorts of things with you,” he settles with. His hands come up to balance himself on your knees. He blows smoke. You sniffle.

“You would?”

Aizawa gazes up at you with hard eyes.

“Yeah, I would.”

Warmth blooms in your face. Aizawa searches your face for something, you don’t know, before sighing even louder and resting his head on his elbow.

“What?”

“I want to kiss you.”

Your brow wrinkles. “You shouldn’t.”

He raises his head. “Why?”

“I sucked off that guy earlier and — just — I’m dirty.”

“And I’m a deadbeat. The only person who should be worried here is me.”

“You don’t get it.” The tears start to well up again. “You don’t know the disgusting shit I’ve done.”

“Great, then we’re on the same level.”

Your fingers twitch in your lap. Before you know it, you’re leaning down and kissing him on the lips.

He tastes like cigarettes. Your hands come up to hold his face that’s all dry and scratchy with stubble. He starts to rise; he leans over, over, over, until your head hits the cushions and you’re making out with him on the couch you were supposed to be sleeping in.

He pulls aside the collar of your shirt and starts kissing along your collarbone. Your legs are tangled together, bandaged knees knocking unscathed ones. Aizawa has one hand attached to your hip, the thumb there rubbing soothing circles through the fabric of your sweats.

Buried in his mess of hair, your lip wobbles. People don’t just do things like that. He’s acting like he’s into this not just because you’re willing to fuck him, but because it’s you.

You wrap your arms around his neck and hold him close. You grind against his thigh, make breathy, little noises the closer his kisses get to your chest. His other hand slides under your shirt and starts to creep up your midriff, wrapping around your back —

Aizawa pauses, lifts his head. He tugs up your shirt slightly to reveal the start of a patchwork of little circular scars and divots. They climb up the sides of your torso, cigarette burns, trailing from your hip to your chest. Some are faded while others are yellow with pus.

He pulls your shirt back down, holds it there. “Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.” You squirm beneath him, chest tight. His hands are more hesitant now. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to take my shirt off.”

Aizawa’s still so close as he speaks, hovering over you. He brushes some of your hair out of your face. “Do you want me to?”

“I mean,” you stutter. “It’s kind of weird to look at.”

“I have them on my legs.”

“What?”

“My foster mom put them out there.” He swallows. “A long time ago.”

Your face crumples. You wrap your arms around him again, pull him into the crook of your neck. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. They’re almost all gone now.” He slowly hugs you back. “Yours will go away eventually, too.”

“Yeah?” Your fingers comb through his hair, snagging on the knots.

“Yeah.” Aizawa lifts himself off of you.

You smile, sit up, and pull your shirt off. You push Aizawa into sitting against the couch before straddling him. His hands come up to rest on your hips. It’s just your bra and sweats on now, your discarded shirt on the floor.

“Your scars are like leopard spots.” Aizawa’s fingers trail up and down some of the older ones. “You’re pretty.”

You’ve been called hot, sexy, cute, but not often pretty.

“Thank you.” You wipe at your face again. “You really are sweet.”

The two of you start making out again, hands cupping each other's cheeks or pulling the other closer. Aizawa ends up taking his shirt off soon after.

“These pants are ridiculous.” Aizawa laughs a little, kissing your shoulder. You’re leaning against him while he helps you shimmy out of the sweats he gave you, chest to chest. It’s different when there’s nothing but your bra keeping the two of you apart; he’s so warm, hot like a furnace, cozy.

The sweats finally join the growing pile of clothes on the floor. You plop back down on him and immediately feel it — he’s hard. You rub yourself against him. Aizawa takes a sharp breath and grabs your hips in response.

“Cheeky,” he mutters, eyeing your grin before starting to kiss you again. One of his hands drags from your hip, down your stomach, and into your underwear.

He starts rubbing featherlight circles around your clit. Soon enough, you’re grinding into his hand, sweating, leaning into his shoulder. Aizawa grips your hip harder with his other hand.

“Stop moving so much.”

You nose his ear, out of breath. “Please?”

He shudders, releases his grip on you. Instead, that hand trails up your back to fumble with the clasp of your bra. You let him slide it off of you, let him kiss and nibble at your chest, let him do anything so long he keeps letting you come undone in his lap like this.

He holds you, arm around your torso, when he dips his fingers into you. He thrusts them upwards sluggishly, brows furrowed, until he’s up to his knuckles. You chew on your lip.

“You don’t have to do all this,” you murmur. Aizawa curls his fingers and your thighs clench around him.

“Sex isn’t about have to’s.”

You close your eyes and focus on his hands, on the warmth of him, instead of what that means.

[suugarbabe]

Hi! If it's not too much to ask can you do a Mattheo Riddle x reader with insomnia. Like really bad hasn't slept in 4 days kind of insomnia, and no spells or potions are working. Mattheo notices her lack of sleep and offers to try and help. You don't have to if you don't want to, have a lovely day :)

hope this isn't indicative of what you're going through, lovie. sleep is so so so important <3 hope you like it!

mattheo x gn!reader

Whichever founder decided on the amount of fucking stairs in each dorm could rightfully fuck off in your opinion. They were irritating on a normal day, but the lack of sleep you'd been experiencing made each step feel like you were stepping off the edge of a cliff.

Your routine had been the same the last several nights. Making your way up the stairs to do your nightly routine, tossing around in your bed for several hours, then making your way down to the common room to stare at the fire until you eventually pass out for a few hours before others started to come down and start their day.

Whether it was your dorm mate that tipped him off, or just his annoyingly good intuition he's developed with you, a mop of black curls was sitting on your usual sofa; fire already blazing in the fireplace before him. Rounding the edge of the couch Mattheo held out his hand, "Cuppa?"

He makes sure you have a hold on it as you sit down before he lets go himself, "Still not sleeping?" You shake your head, lifting the cup to your lips and breathing in deeply. "It's just how you take it, dip of milk and a smidge of honey." You take a long sip, "Valerian root?" Mattheo smiled slightly, shrugging his shoulders, "I know you've tried basically everything else. Dunno how sleep drought isn't knocking you out to be perfectly honest but I just thought...well if potions and spells aren't helping, maybe it was time to try the greenhouse."

You couldn't help the curious glint in your eye, "Matty...you're terrible at herbology, I've seen your revisions." Mattheo rolled his eyes, taking your now empty mug with his and settling them both on the side table. "I may have consulted Berkshire," he turned back to face you. You hummed in acknowledgement, "Mmm, yes, that does sound more correct." Mattheo scoffed, hand now gripping your waist, "Yeah, yeah, lay back now, love."

You did as told, but not without a quirked brow, "Correct me if i'm wrong, but shouldn't I get to be cuddled up to you, ya know, as I'm the one who's struggling with sleep?" Mattheo tutted as he crawled on top of you, settling his head on your chest as he hooked his arms under your shoulders, "Wrong. I am now your human weighted blanket."

Opening your mouth to rebuttal, you had to fight off a yawn, "That's not...I don't think that's how this...works." You could nearly feel Mattheo smile against you, "Seems to be working to me." Instinctually your fingers laced themselves in his curls, lightly scratching at his scalp. Mattheo hummed against you, further burying his face into your chest.

It would've killed you to say it, but everything he was doing was actually working. You eyes fluttered shut, and your breathing seemed to slow. The feelings was so foreign to you after not getting enough sleep this week you almost wanted to fight it, but you just didn't have enough energy. Your last conscious thought before drifting playfully being that you could never tell Mattheo that he was right.

[hwaslayer]

vivrant thing (jwy) | one.

—SPOTIFY PLAYLIST / SERIES MASTERLIST

—SUMMARY: after getting into a little accident, wooyoung decides to do his sister a favor by pretending to be your date at the company summer party. as soon as the night ends, wooyoung would go back to his usual routine of hanging out with his boys, keeping his distance from committed relationships and being a typical brother to jiwoo. except, the favor comes with more than what wooyoung expects and he finds you occupying his mind more than usual. 

—PAIRING: jung wooyoung x f. reader

—GENRE: (18+ - minors dni) bestfriend’s brother au | fluff, angst, eventual smut

—WORD COUNT: 6.7k

—CHAPTER WARNINGS: cussing, mature language/sexually implied content, mentions of a small car accident due to texting & driving (pls do not ever do this), lots of sibling bickering (i promise they love each other ok), alcohol consumption and intoxication, mentions of toxic relationships (not oc), mentions of sickness and death in immediate family

"Are you actually fucking kidding me?!" Jiwoo yells as she heads outside to meet her brother. "Wooyoung, you had one job!"

"And I got the job done, didn't I?" Wooyoung holds the grocery bag up. "Just got into a little accident, that's all." He points to the dent on the front of her car. 

"A little?! It's a huge dent! What did you do?! Mom!" Jiwoo yells as she heads back into the house. "I told you I didn't want Wooyoung driving my car!"

"Your car was already out in the driveway." Wooyoung adds, rolling his eyes as he leaves the grocery bag on the counter.

"Yeah, so ask me to move next time!"

"Stop yelling, your voice is giving me a headache. It's annoying."

"Mom! Dad!"

"Jiwoo, stop yelling." Their mom comes from out of the room, followed by their father. "You don't need to yell—"

"I do, because Wooyoung took my car and dented it!"

"What happened?" Their father asks, his hands on his hips.

"It was an accident—"

"You haven't even said sorry!"

"And I won't if you keep cutting me off and yelling." Wooyoung glares at her. "Yeah, fucking keep it up—"

"Hey!" Their father chimes in, cutting Wooyoung off. "The both of you, be quiet! I'm not going to ask again. What happened to your sister's car?"

"It was an accident." Jiwoo crosses her arms as Wooyoung repeats. "I just didn't brake in time so I gave the car in front of me a 'lil love tap."

"You were texting and driving, weren't you?"

"For the record, I responded to one text."

"Ugh." Jiwoo groans loudly. "I literally just got the car, Wooyoung!"

"Say sorry to your sister."

"Now, is that necessary? Cause I'll—"

"Jung Wooyoung." Their mother sternly calls for him, making Wooyoung let out a deep sigh.

"I'm sorry." He looks at Jiwoo.

"You make sure that car gets fixed, Wooyoung. And take care of the costs. Your sister needs her car."

"What am I supposed to drive in the meantime?! Wooyoung's car?" Jiwoo smirks at him.

"Hell no!" Wooyoung spits. "You'll probably try and crash it into a tree the first chance you get."

"You can drive our SUV until it gets fixed."

"No!" Jiwoo looks at Wooyoung. "Wooyoung can just drive me around."

"I have shit to do that isn't on your time. Take the SUV." Jiwoo groans and rolls her eyes, brushing past her brother to get ready for the party.

"You're unbelievable. Seriously, what kind of brother are you?"

"Enough! Can we finally get ready for the bbq, please? People are going to be over soon. Can't get one moment of peace in this house when you two are home." Their mom checks the time, walking off to the kitchen with a loud sigh. "I hope you got everything from the list, Wooyoung." She yells just as she's about to dig into the bag.

"Wooyoung."

"What?"

"Be a little nicer to your sister."

"She's the one always jumping to conclusions and getting all mad. I didn't purposely try to get her car wrecked. At least I'm fine and not hurt, right?" Wooyoung rolls his eyes.

"I know, and yes, thank god. But, still. All you two do is butt heads, jeez. Can't you both try and get along sometimes?" 

"Whatever." Wooyoung heads up to his room, already annoyed by the fact that he has to be here with his family all up on his case about the accident. He can admit, maybe he should've paid better attention on the road. But, it's the way none of them even asked if he was okay— Jiwoo constantly whining and yelling at him, his parents getting on his ass and backing her up. His little sister was definitely the favorite, being the top student and all. Golden child. Was in band and the church choir, never really rebelled. While Wooyoung skipped a class [or the whole day], talked back to his parents, stayed out late and just.. enjoyed having fun. He had his good days, but he also had his bad days. He wasn't necessarily cold, but he wasn't going to sugarcoat shit either.

He's a stark contrast to his little sister.

So, he shouldn't be surprised that his parents are taking her side. He shouldn't be surprised they'd come to her rescue first. He shouldn't be surprised at all. He can't wait to get the fuck up outta here when the bbq is over. He'll be out as soon as the morning hits, before any of them can wake up and pester him about anything else.

You gather your hair back and secure it with a claw clip, running your cherry-flavored chapstick across your lips before pressing them together to spread it out. You check yourself in the mirror once more, not entirely crazy about your outfit for Jiwoo's family bbq today.

But, it'll do.

You had known Jiwoo since elementary school, meeting her in the 2nd grade when you sat for lunch alone and the boisterous girl joined you. She was the new girl, but she surely didn't act like it and you admired that about her. Since then, she never left your side despite your shy nature— not engaging in much in the conversation, only humming a few words or sounds in response when she ran through list of never-ending questions. 

Even though her and Wooyoung were 2 years apart and very different, you felt like they were alike in many ways [which they'd deny until the very end].

That's how Jiwoo became your bestfriend. Because throughout all of life's changes, through your losses, she was your constant. She stayed, never wavered. Was your biggest support system alongside of your grandpa. Without her, you're not sure where you'd be. You owe alot of the push you've done in life to her.

yeosang: i'm downstairs!

you: cooooool, be down in a sec

*yeosang liked your message*

You check your outfit in the mirror once more, smoothing down the fabric before spraying a bit of perfume on your wrists. You press them together and rub it down your neck, down your clothes— a simple yellow floral tube top, white distressed jeans and your tore up chucks. It seemed fitting for a summer bbq; not one to wear dresses, shorts or mini skirts like that.

"Yo." Yeosang quickly scans your outfit just as you plop into the passenger seat and greet him. "You look nice."

"Thank you." You smile. "And thanks for picking me up." He reciprocates the smile, waiting for you to buckle up before driving off to Jiwoo's parents' house. From your tiny studio, it's about 25 minutes of a drive. Yeosang doesn't have to take the highway or anything, but he does have to navigate through the busy streets of the city before reaching their neighborhood. Jiwoo's parents celebrate their birthdays a day apart from each other, but it fell during the work week this year. So, they decided to throw a bbq with family and close friends on the weekend in order to be with everyone.

"What'd you do today?"

"I just went to get some groceries and bought a little gift for Jiwoo's parents. What about you?"

"Uh yeah, I just got their gift right before I picked you up." Yeosang chuckles. "Otherwise, I slept in a bit too much and by the time I knew it, half of my day was gone." You laugh.

"Yeo." You laugh. "You should really try waking up early. It's nice to get the most out of your day."

"It is, but you know what's also nice? Being under my covers." You laugh and shake your head, eyes fixed on the view through your window. The rest of the ride is comfortably silent with Yeosang's music playing in the background, especially since it isn't much of a drive. He does chime in here and there when he's reminded of random things he has to do or thinks about. Besides that, Yeosang is good at leaving you to your peace. When he pulls up to the street, he's having to park across from the house— Jiwoo's family and their close family friends already filling the spaces nearby.

"Oh! Y/N, Yeosang!" Jiwoo's mom sees you first, pulling you both into a hug before gesturing towards the kitchen. "Jiwoo is in here!" You both greet her happy birthday before following her into the chaotic scene that is the kitchen, Wooyoung quickly brushing past with a huge bowl of marinated beef in his hands and almost bumping into Jiwoo as she holds a huge pitcher filled with juice in her own.

"Wooyoung, move!" Jiwoo nudges him away and he glares at her.

"Stop! You'll make me drop this."

"What about me, butterfingers?"

"What about me, butterfingers?" He mocks her with a look before rolling his eyes and heading out to the backyard to meet his dad by the grill.

"I swear to God." She groans, before finally shifting her attention to you and Yeosang.

"Hi." You smile at her and you expect her mood to be lifted, but she continues to pout.

"Y/N, Yeo. Finally. Get me out of here. Please, let's just slip through the front door, no one will notice."

"Where's Joong? He has to come on our escape plan, too." You playfully go along with it.

"He's not here yet." She sighs.

"What's wrong?" Yeosang asks with a small chuckle. You look at Jiwoo with a slight head tilt, reading into the frustration in her eyes.

"Today is just so messy." She whines a bit, setting the pitcher down onto the main dining table. "Wooyoung's dumbass used my car and got into a little accident earlier."

"Oh, is he okay?"

"Yeah, look at him! He's the fucking same. But, you know what isn't? My car! The bumper is all dented and everything. You didn't see it walking into the house?" She lets out another frustrated groan and shakes her head. "Whatever, anyway, he's gonna make sure it gets fixed. He better."

"Was it his fault?"

"Yes." She sighs. "Texting and driving. Like an idiot."

"It'll be fine, Jiwoo. It's unfortunate, but I'm glad he's okay. I'm sure your brother will make sure it gets fixed in time." You add.

"He's so frustrating sometimes. Can't trust him with anything." You both follow her out to the backyard that is already filled with familiar faces. 

"It's okay, it'll get fixed." You give her a small smile and squeeze her arm. "Let's just enjoy today, okay?" She gives you a small smile and throws her arm around you, bringing you over to one of the free couches near the back corner of the yard. Some of her family members are playing badminton on the other side of the backyard, while another cousin is playing music and has Wooyoung and his friends hovering around, conveniently close to the grill.

"Oh, Y/N. I wish I could be like you, sometimes. So much patience and grace. Things I need to be successfully related to Wooyoung."

"You have it. Just.. needs more practice." Yeosang responds, making you chuckle. You finally find her dad and greet him happy birthday before greeting the rest of her family members. You, Jiwoo and Yeosang hang around the backyard for a bit, talking about work and the upcoming summer party. You don't chime in much, nor do you want to being that it'll be your third year not attending. Luckily, at this point, Jiwoo's boyfriend, Hongjoong, walks into the backyard and starts greeting everyone before he plops himself right next to Jiwoo.

"Yo! Sorry I'm a little late." He looks at you and Yeosang. "Friends! I missed you, guys. It's nice to see your faces." You laugh.

"Hi Joong."

"Where were you? I was texting and calling you!" She pouts. "We had an escape plan ready."

"Escape plan?" Joong cocks a brow up.

"Yes, so I can get away from this mess named Wooyoung and cry to myself in peace." 

"Baby, I'm sorry. I was caught up with my dad, he needed help with a few errands. The car will get fixed, okay? Glad no one was badly hurt." You smile to yourself as he kisses her on the temple. Hongjoong is a really good guy. He's perfect for Jiwoo and has a lot of patience for her. He cares for her a lot, and it's so clear you wouldn't ever second guess his feelings for her. He's selfless and would do anything for his lady without question.

You wonder what it'd be like to experience genuine true love like that. You've been in a relationship before but you couldn't exactly say it was love. Not a genuine, raw form of love, not a deep connection. Just a relationship where you learned about your partner and they learned about you, but that was far as it went. You don't remember feeling like the relationship was special, or like it was meant for you. It was more so another experience, another lesson in your book.

How does it feel to be completely, utterly, disgustingly in love and smitten with someone?

"I'll be back, I'm gonna get a drink." You mutter mid-conversation, getting up from the seat to head back into the kitchen. To your surprise, Wooyoung is there, sorting through some of the drinks set out.

"Oh, hey." Wooyoung gives you a small smile while you silently wait for him to move away from the counter where all the drinks are sitting— soda, juice and hard alcohol bottles spread across the surface. "Want me to make you something to drink?"

"Um." You softly respond. "It's alright, I was just gonna grab some juice." You point at the pitcher.

"You sure? You aren't driving anyway, right?" He points to Yeosang who is now talking to one of their cousins near the wading pool. 

"Mmyeah, I came here with Yeo."

"Alright then." He smirks. "I'll make it pretty light, hm?"

"Okay." You smile sweetly at him. You've always had the sweetest smile and Wooyoung does enjoy seeing it, he won't lie. "Thank you, Wooyoung."

"Course." You twiddle with your fingers as you watch Wooyoung make a pretty concoction in a cocktail shaker, pouring in peach schnapps and cranberry juice with a dash of vodka. He transfers the drink into a fresh cup, handing it over with a smile on his face. "Wanna taste it before you go?" You sip on the drink, eyes lighting up at how good it tasted. You weren't exactly a fan of cocktails [or alcohol in general], though you wouldn't turn down a drink or two on some occasions.

"Mm, it's good!" He chuckles.

"Yeah? Kinda pulled the measurements out of my ass but I didn't put too much vodka."

"What're you doing?" Jiwoo walks into the kitchen.

"Listening to Y/N tell me how good my drink is." She looks at you with a brow cocked up.

"You don't have to lie to him." You giggle.

"It's actually good." You hand her your cup to taste the drink. She takes a good sip and nods in approval, shifting her attention to her brother.

"She wouldn't lie to me." Wooyoung winks at you.

"Can you make me one?"

"Nah. Bar's closed now. See what all that doubting does?" Wooyoung puts the lid back onto the vodka bottle before turning on his heel to walk away.

"You're a dick."

"Love you too." He says as he walks outside and returns to his bestfriend, San.

"You okay?" You ask her as she pours some juice into her cup.

"Yeah, I just came in here wondering why it was taking you so long to get juice." You laugh as you follow her back out into the backyard and to Yeosang and Hongjoong.

"Caught your bartending brother before he closed."

"Bartending brother?" Yeosang and Hongjoong both ask.

"Mm, Wooyoung made Y/N a drink and didn't even make me one." They laugh.

"Of course."

"Anyway, do you guys wanna sit at the wading pool? Dip our feet in and watch my family act a fool?"

"Sure. That sounds fun." Yeosang shrugs.

Throughout the rest of the bbq, you, Jiwoo, Hongjoong and Yeosang engage in a few other activities with her cousins besides hanging around the wading pool with her baby cousins— karaoke, some rounds of badminton, watching Jiwoo go head to head with her brother and older cousins in beer pong. From time to time, you catch Wooyoung looking over at you, giving off tiny smiles to be friendly. It isn't entirely uncommon, Wooyoung was always nice to you despite the distance. You don't talk much, but he doesn't necessarily treat you like a stranger especially after all these years.

It's a nice thing about him, their family— they're there for you.

They're there for you so much that Jiwoo comes up with the most incredible [in her terms] idea while she catches you cheering for Wooyoung during the very last round of beer pong against their cousins. It gets rowdier and rowdier, Wooyoung and his cousins yelling back and forth; their voices echoing into the sky. You try to sink behind Yeosang, jumping at the sudden cheers and random banging.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, it's just a little loud." You scrunch your nose, Yeosang throwing his arm around you to provide some kind of comfort during the round. When evening officially hits, the partying doesn't stop. If anything, it gets a little more rowdy with alcohol running through everyone's system. 

"Oh, fuck!" Wooyoung says, the beer tipping out of his cup when his cousin rams into him and spilling onto your jeans. 

"Jung Wooyoung!" You hear his mom yell while his dad laughs alongside of her, nudging her to let it go.

"Oh shit, Y/N. I'm so sorry." He looks at you before glaring at his cousin. "You dipshit, look at what you did!"

"Wooyoung!" Jiwoo yells, dabbing a napkin to the wet spot on your jeans.

"It's okay, Jiwoo—" You try to chime in, but your response gets drowned within the ruckus.

"It's Sebeom's fault, not mine! Why is everyone calling my name!"

"You both are idiots!" She groans, taking another napkin to your leg.

"The hell is the napkin gonna do, Jiwoo?" Wooyoung sets his cup down before gently grabbing your wrist. "Let's go dab some water on that." You silently follow behind, letting Wooyoung politely drag you into the kitchen. He's clearly drunk, fighting with the paper towel roll before he successfully peels off a few sheets and runs it under the water.

"Wooyoung, it's okay. I can always throw it in the wash."

"Still, it'll get sticky and smell like beer in the meantime." He says, crouching down and dabbing the wet towel to the spilled beer on your jeans. "I'm sorry, Y/N. You know how my family gets."

"It's alright." You watch as he pinches the edge of your jeans and tugs it outwards, widening the surface area as he continues to wipe away. 

"It might look worse at first, but the water will help." He clicks his teeth. "Did it get anywhere else on you?" 

"Just my left arm but it's fine—" He stands, albeit a bit wobbly at first, taking another end of the napkin to dab away at the small wet spots on your arm.

"Okay." He says, tossing the tissue away. "Better." He gives you a toothless smile. "Won't do it again."

"Thank you, Wooyoung. It's fine, it's not a big deal. Really."

"As long as I did a better job than Jiwoo." He says, leading you back out to the backyard.

"You made it worse!" Jiwoo yells.

"It gets worse before it gets better! Plus, the beer smell won't be lingering." Wooyoung scoffs. "At least Y/N is grateful for it." As soon as you've settled next to your friends, everyone begins to sing happy birthday to Wooyoung and Jiwoo's parents before digging in for more food and sharing the ginormous cake Jiwoo ordered from a mutual friend. Wooyoung brushes Jiwoo off to the side, determining that he has the best cake-cutting skills between the both of them.

"Here, Y/N. For you." Wooyoung hands you a hefty slice of cake, eyes still glazed over from the alcohol he had been drinking. You watch as he licks the icing from his thumb, shaking his head in ironic approval. "The cake is so good. Thank god Jiwoo got it right for once—"

"Wooyoung, shut up!" 

"Don't start again!" Their mom yells from the other end of the table, yet the two continue to bicker. You, Hongjoong and Yeosang stay out of it and eat away at the cake, continuing to mingle with their family members for the rest of the night until Yeosang feels his social battery dying.

"You ready? We could stay if you want, though." You shake your head.

"I'm good. Let's go say bye to Jiwoo and her parents." He nods. You find Jiwoo first, talking to one of her aunts off to the side. You squeeze her wrist as a signal that you and Yeo are getting ready to leave, her eyes widening. Bottom lip poking out. Whines ready to leave her lips.

"Nooo, you're leaving me? Please take me with you." You laugh and rub her back as you pull away from the hug.

"You'll see me tomorrow. I'll be expecting you to come over."

"First thing in the morning. Leave some room in your bed." Yeosang shakes his head and turns to Hongjoong to bid him farewell.

"Make sure you bring her girlfriend home safely." Hongjoong says seriously, patting Yeosang on the back. 

"Will do." He nods. You follow Yeosang out towards the front door, clinging onto his sleeve as you navigate the busy house. You almost slip out successfully until Wooyoung pauses in his steps, doing a double-take when he catches you on his way back to the backyard.

"You're leaving?" You nod, chuckling to yourself when you see him drunk-whining just like his sister. "It's early!" He whines a bit. "Were you not gonna say bye to me? I thought we were cool, Y/N."

"Bye Wooyoung." You wrap your arms around his waist as he pulls you into a rough, but tight bear hug. "Bye San." You wave at San, in which he responds with a tiny smile and wave.

"Drive safely!" He calls out before leaving. You finally get out of the house, Yeosang waiting for you by the front door. You're not even gonna lie, you are pretty exhausted already, and you're excited to get washed up to lay in bed and pick up your current read. Jiwoo's family was always fun, so lively and full of energy. They fit so well together, like they were all perfectly molded and crafted as one. They've become like your second family, and you wished you had your own you could be the same with. But, that also goes to say, their parties always leave you exhausted.

When Yeosang gets you home, you thank him for the ride and give him a hug once he's dropped you off at the door. You slowly waddle into the studio, a smile on your face when you see your bed, your nightlight— the smell of incense still lingering in the room. You quickly hop in the shower and get ready for bed, looking at the big, bright 10:27pm in white on your nightstand clock. You slip into bed, getting cozy under your sheets before grabbing your book. Jiwoo is texting you and Yeosang pictures from today, including ones of her cousins getting crazy during beer pong.

Today was fun. It's over, and it was fun.

Today is not over for Jiwoo, though.

A few of their family members linger around while Jiwoo and her mom continue to clean around the house. She orders her lazy ass brother to haul out the bags of trash to the garbage can and to clean up the remaining mess from the beer pong game out in the backyard. Once all of the cleaning as finished, Jiwoo rushes to the bathroom to beat her brother for a shower. She feels like she can finally relax, finally settle down, finally set her plan in motion—

"I need you to do me a favor." Jiwoo leans against the doorframe of Wooyoung's old room as he folds his clothes neatly into his duffle bag, grabbing a new pair of clothes to change into once he's showered.

"Depends." He mutters, not taking his eyes off of his bag.

"No, you at least owe me this." He scoffs.

"Nevermind, I need to shower. Come back to me in 3-5 business days—"

"You didn't even make me a drink earlier!

"Not my fault you doubted my bartending skills." He furrows his brows. "Plus, I already told you I was getting your car fixed."

"Great, then you can do one more favor for me." Wooyoung sighs as he turns to look at her.

"What, Jiwoo?"

"Can you be Y/N's date to our company's summer party?"

"What?" Wooyoung furrows his brows and lets out a pathetic chuckle. "You're kidding, right?"

"What's that supposed to mean? She's my bestfriend."

"Yeah, clearly. Why can't she find someone else to go with her? Like that guy you two are close with, Yeosang?"

"Um, that's weird." She furrows her brows. "That won't do. If she wanted to go with him, she would've done it a long time ago. You know her. She hasn't gone the past two years, I'm not gonna let her pass up on this one."

"So then go ask your man if he has a friend he can spare?"

"She's not gonna wanna go with any of his friends!"

"Too damn bad."

"You cleaned up her jeans like a saint earlier!" 

"Because it was the right thing to do! What does that even have to do with this?!"

"Wooyoung." She whines, almost stomping her foot. Wooyoung pauses to look back up at her.

"Even if I agreed, you do know how awkward this might be, right? Not only for me, but for her, too." Wooyoung shrugs. "I know she's been your bestfriend for years but we aren't exactly close like that. We're two very different people. We can't exactly spend a whole evening together. Alone."

"I'll be there with Hongjoong."

"That's what I said. We'd be alone." Jiwoo groans.

"She'd definitely be more comfortable with you than someone else!"

"Doubt that. She's quiet and shy. Very much the opposite of me?"

"Yeah, big ass mouth."

"That can be useful." He smirks, making Jiwoo wince in disgust.

"You're so disgusting, Wooyoung. Maybe I should take this back."

"You really think she'd play along with this?"

"Yes!" Wooyoung squints his eyes.

"You didn't even tell her about this plan, did you?"

"She'll go along with it. Please. I just want her to go and have fun for once."

"Hm." He hums, deep in thought. "Nah."

"Just one night!" Wooyoung sighs.

"No."

"Wooyoung!" She pouts.

"Jiwoo, seriously. Quit."

"You owe me! I've had your back so many times, and I've never asked you for anything else out of the ordinary." He looks at Jiwoo and he actually feels a bit bad about the car situation. And it's true, even though they don't always get along, Jiwoo has always had his back and covered for him when she didn't entirely need to. She's always had his back even when he didn't really deserve it. He subtly nibbles on the inside of his cheek, letting out a deep sigh before shaking his head.

"Whatever. Tell me the details." She squeals and he quickly turns. "And by the way, this is your idea. Not mine. I'm only doing you a favor so you can stop hounding me about the car. It's one night and that's it. If she gets mad, that's all on you."

"Fine. Consider your debt paid." She gives him a small smile. "Thank you."

"What are you talking about, Jiwoo?"

"I want you to go to the party and have fun." She pouts a bit, brushing your hair away from your face. You furrow your brows at her, pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose.

"But, parties aren't really my thing." You shrug. "And besides, I don't really have anyone to go with. I hate to say it, but I don't wanna show up alone. Everyone has dates they can bring. You have Hongjoong." You look over Jiwoo's shoulder and catch Yeosang talking to his team members at the far end of the room. He catches you looking over, flashing you a small smile before returning his attention to his coworker.

Yeosang was great, no lie. He was a good guy, everyone could see that from miles away. He was smart, diligent, kind, and the biggest team player. He started at the same time as your cohort of new hires, Jiwoo starting a couple of months beforehand. When you saw him in person, you did find him attractive. He was at a good height and well-built, black flowy hair framing his chiseled face. At first, you thought Yeosang was just being nice to you. But, slowly, he'd accompany you to the break room for coffee breaks. Bring you coffee and pastries from another shop on random mornings. Occasional outings to lunch. Until finally, he'd accompany you to casual dinners where it felt a little too serious to be considered casual— you just didn't wanna dwell on it. Too shy to say anything or bring it up because your brain goes on overdrive and makes you think you're reading into this more than you should.

He was just your friend, being your friend. So you'd like to think.

You weren't really sure what you wanted out of this, but at this moment in time, you felt like Yeosang was good enough as that. If people found out you weren't entirely into him, they'd probably think you're crazy. And you probably are, but as much as you appreciate Yeosang's company and his kindness, you fear you'd be forcing yourself into something with him.

That's not what you think Yeosang deserves.

If anything were to develop, you'd like it to develop naturally. It hasn't yet, so maybe this was a sign that you two were actually better off as friends? You're not good at this whole dating thing, reading into signs and signals.

"I know you don't really wanna go with him either."

"It's not that. I just feel like it'd be awkward and I'd ruin our friendship. It'd feel way too forced for me."

"Y/N, you're gonna have to tell him sooner or later." You shake your head. "Then?"

"Then, I don't know. I just don't know about him. That's why I'm perfectly fine staying home and being away from all of that."

"What if my brother goes with you?" Your eyes widen.

"W-Wooyoung?" She nods. "No, Jiwoo. Is this what this is all about?"

"Look, don't get mad, okay? Just hear me out." You cross your arms as she lets out a breath. "I asked my brother to accompany you to the party and he agreed to go."

"What?!" You say a bit louder than expected. "Is it because he feels bad for me?"

"No! Shh!" Jiwoo furrows her brows at you. "I mean, he also owes me, but—" 

"Jiwoo, I'm not a charity case!" You harshly whisper.

"I know, I know! You aren't. I just really want you to go." Truthfully, if this were any other person or circumstance, you'd probably feel a little hurt [even with good intentions]. You'd certainly feel like a charity case, and you'd feel sorry for yourself; especially for having to be set up in this way.

But, you're surprisingly not all that hurt by it.

Again, you know Jiwoo has good intentions and she would never do anything to intentionally hurt you. She does have a point— you haven't really gone to any of the big summer parties. You didn't mind it, but now that you think about it, you feel like you can't hide forever. The feeling of missing out settles in the pit of your stomach, and it's awful.

You're probably the only person who ducks out on these things. You're the one to blame for choosing not to be involved and for shielding yourself away from people, any inconvenience, etc. Shielding yourself away from fun, happiness. Life doing its thing.

"Mm yeah." You look at her. "I'm not close to your bother like that, though." It's true despite how he can be in person. Although you and Jiwoo were glued to the hip growing up, Wooyoung had his own group of friends and didn't pay much attention to you and his little sister. You both knew the basics about each other, have gone on trips together, tagged along with Wooyoung when he was the only means of transportation for you and Jiwoo. Why would he be worried about you, anyway? You two were busy fangirling over B2K, young Heath Ledger in 10 Things I Hate About You and Sean Patrick Thomas in Save the Last Dance, screaming at the top of your lungs whenever your favorite songs came on and shopping for hours at the same mall almost every weekend.

Not exactly Wooyoung's cup of tea.

Wooyoung was always rough-housing with his friends or going on casual 'dates' with different girls, blasting his 90s music in his room [like Vivrant Thing by Q-Tip, it's his fave] that'd shake Jiwoo's walls and drive her crazy. He had a few relationships that always ended up crazy toxic and you've seen the girls crying over him on their doorstep or throwing shit at his window to grab his attention after days of no communication. Despite that, he's not entirely a bad brother. He did his best to support Jiwoo throughout all her milestones in life, never missing an important event or being there for her when she needed her brother more than anyone else. They bicker and fight. A lot. But, they'd be there for each other in a heartbeat if needed. No question.

"You are, enough! You know he's full of himself and gross." You give her a look.

"Okay, really? That's supposed to make this better?"

"Sorry, kidding. Just my defense mechanism as his sister." She crosses her arms and sighs. "But, Wooyoung isn't exactly a stranger. And knowing my brother, he'd lead the entire time. Just let him accompany you to the party and call it a night! At least you'll be there with me and we can have fun together."

"You're gonna be busy with Hongjoong." You slowly walk back to your desk.

"I'm not. At least not entirely." 

"Jiwoo." You look at her.

"I won't be too busy with him! I promise." Jiwoo looks at the date on your computer. "It's up to you, Wooyoung already agreed. But, today's the last day to RSVP."

"I feel bad, I told Yeosang I wasn't going."

"This isn't entirely how I'd go about things but hey, he'll see you with my brother. Maybe that'll initiate a talk, and you can tell him you don't want to ruin your friendship."

"Mm." You hum and pull up the email with the RSVP button, not really trying to think about the whole thing too deeply. "I don't have anything to wear."

"It's fine, we'll go shopping soon! We have some time before the party." She softly squeals as she watches you type away and send off your RSVP.

"Jiwoo, I don't know how to get ready for these things. I can't even do my hair and makeup properly."

"Babe. I will help you get this sorted out. Don't even worry. We're gonna have fun! It'll be good. I'm just happy you're finally coming." You give her a small smile.

"I hope it'll be good." Your bottom lip slightly pokes out. "Am I supposed to text your brother and thank him?"

"No. Don't worry about him."

"He's accompanying me to the party, of course—"

"Seriously, don't. It'll be fine. I promise."

"Papa?" You gently open the door and walk in, setting your shoes aside.

"Is that my girl?" Your grandfather comes from around the kitchen, holding two small bowls of rice in his hand. "You made it in time for dinner!"

"I can never miss dinner with you." You giggle, stepping out of your shoes and placing your things down before taking your place at the table. "How was your day today, papa?"

"Good." He sits in front of you with a smile.

"Did you exercise like you promised?"

"Yes." He gives you a look, making you chuckle. Your grandfather was 77 years old and still active, still healthy as can be. When you moved out, you made him promise he'd continue his exercise regimen and that he'd continue to keep himself healthy with wholesome foods. Reading. Going out and exploring the town. After all these years, he's the only one who has taken care of you well— having lost your mom and dad at an early age due to illnesses, same thing with your grandma. Despite the adversity, your grandpa made sure to put you first even if he was hurting, if he was tired, if he was stressed. He never took that out on you. He never made you feel like you were a burden, or like there was love lacking under his roof.

It was time for you to do the same.

"Good." 

"How was the bbq?"

"Good! It was fun. Loud. Chaotic. Per usual at the Jung household." He laughs.

"Sounds like you had a good time." You nod. "How about work?"

"It was okay. It was pretty busy at first, but eventually settled." You avoid contact, digging into your rice when you grab a piece of samgyeopsal sitting in front of you. He watches you closely, seeing how you've gotten quieter in the last few minutes, signaling you were hiding something.

"Did else happen today that's making you watch the rice in your bowl?" You give off a tiny laugh and shake your head.

"Mm, well. Jiwoo convinced me to go to the summer party."

"You're going?" He smiles from ear to ear, happy to hear that you're finally going to enjoy yourself at the summer party you always avoided. He never forced you to do things outside of your comfort zone, but he did wish you'd go and enjoy yourself from time to time. Be happy. Have fun. "Good, I'm happy you're going! Is Jiwoo going with Hongjoong?"

"Mhm!"

"Then.." Papa looks at you with a small smirk. "Are you going with Yeosang?" You shake your head.

"N-no."

"No?" He looks at you, surprised. You've definitely talked to your grandfather about Yeosang and how you were feeling about everything. Even then, he was still surprised you weren't going together as friends.

"I'm going with Wooyoung."

"Jiwoo's brother?" You nod.

"Papa, it's kinda stupid. The way everything happened and how I ended up going."

"Nothing is stupid. Try me. How did you end up with Wooyoung as your date?"

"Well, now I'm gonna sound like a charity case."

"You are not." You give your grandpa a look before stuffing your face with more rice and pork.

"Wooyoung got into a little accident while using Jiwoo's car."

"Is he alright?" You nod.

"Yes, he's okay. Jiwoo is having him cover the car.. but also slipped in another favor." You shyly look up as you continue to nibble on your food, and your grandpa laughs.

"Ah, and that favor is the party, I'm assuming."

"Yeah. It's silly."

"It's not. She's coming from a good place and just wants you there. The whole car thing is unfortunate but for her, seems to be the right stroke of luck to get her bestfriend at the summer party." You giggle.

"I guess you could say that." You sigh. "I'm just worried about Yeosang. I told him I wasn't going and I'm not sure I will."

"You'll just show up with Wooyoung?" You shrug.

"I don't know how to do these things, Papa. I don't wanna hurt him, but I really can't see myself being his date or taking this further. I don't know what to say or how to say it yet."

"Eventually, you're gonna have to, you know that, right? For the sake of your friendship. He seems like a great guy, and I'm sure he'll understand whatever the case is, Y/N."

"I know." You shake your head. "I will. But, not now." Papa nods quietly before eating another spoonful.

"It'll turn out fine, okay? Don't worry about it too much."

"Thank you." You softly smile.

"Anyways, back to Wooyoung—" He pauses to eat some more. "It's not the most common way to find a date. But, weirdly, I'm glad it happened this way. I want you to go and have fun." You silently look at him. "Life doesn't slow down, you don't get any younger. Take the opportunities no matter how silly it may sound at first. Make more memories."

"I know. I'm just.. I feel awful that Wooyoung even has to go with me. He's probably going to have the worst time."

"Don't say that. He's going with you and the both of you will have fun. Let yourself have fun. Plus, it's Wooyoung. You know him. I'm sure he'll do what he can to make sure you are comfortable."

"I guess so."

"Enjoy, and have fun. Don't worry about anything, promise me that?"

"I'll try."

"That's all I can ask for." Because all he wanted was to see you happy. Genuinely happy in your own skin. Enjoying yourself. Having fun. 

All he wanted was to see you smile over life again.

—PERMANENT TAGLIST: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @heyitsmetonid

[echobx]

can you do somno with either rafe or jj

pairing: Rafe Cameron × fem!reader

author's note: I was trying out some things for Kinktober and this wasn't what I was aiming for for it, but I remembered you sent this asked so I thought I might post it here. it's a really short blurb and I haven't edited it, but I hope you still like it.

warnings: smut, oral (fem receiving), p in v (unprotected), somnophilia, cnc, NOT proofread or edited

Rafe knows he’s sick for it, begging you to give him permission to fuck you while you slept. But you don't mind it much as long as it ends with you getting an orgasm and Rafe being happy. That's how he finds himself under you, specifically his face, who would've thought that eating out a stomach sleeper was that hard? He didn't. Rafe thought he could just lift your hips, scooch under a little and get to work, but you didn't make it easy for him. First you kicked him when he tried to spread your legs, eventually you gave in. Then he tried to prop your legs up, you kicked him again. Eventually he managed to roll you on your side and back onto your stomach as soon as his head was in position. But then he could get to work. Hearing your soft moans break through your sleep and how you squirm on top of him. His hands hold onto your hips, making them roll over his face while his tongue fucks you to your first orgasm. Rafe doesn't understand how you can stay asleep like that, but he doesn't care as long as he gets to fuck you. He knows not to kiss you like he usually would after eating you out, because his kisses always rip you out of your dreams, and honestly he wants to know what you dreamt of while he had his way with you.

“My gorgeous girl,” he hums after getting up and wiping his face clean, his hands running over your back, palming your ass and slightly pulling your cheeks apart. He would fuck your ass but that isn't part of the rules you agreed to. Rafe lies down on top of you, lining himself up with your tight cunt and sheathing himself inside you. He's almost scared that his deep, guttural groan will wake you but you stay fast asleep. It feels too good to him how your body reacts without you being actually there to control it. How your pussy squeezes him tight with each thrust. How much wetter you get, the squelching sound filling the room. He can feel you getting closer to an orgasm, can feel your body tremble beneath him and he can't help but kiss your neck and cheek. You're his everything, and you're letting him defile you in the sickest way he can think of without actually hurting you. “Rafe?” you rasp, gasping when his cock hits your cervix again. “It's all good, baby. You're so good to me,” he whispers, his morning voice would turn you on if you didn't already feel him buried deep inside your cunt. His body lies heavy on top of you but you manage to push your hips up to meet his thrusts. “Such a good girl for me,” he sighs, snaking his arm around you and toying with your clit until your body starts to spasm and you come undone. Rafe tries to keep himself together, but with a few heavy thrusts he can't fight against your tight cunt anymore. Long spurts of his hot cum fill you up and you feel like you just ran a marathon with how good he used you.

please don't copy and/or post my work onto other platforms! ~e©ho

taglist: @redhead1180 @spideysimpossiblegirl @drwstarkeyy @princessmaybank @ijustwantttoread @kys4-20 @immyowndefender @julczimozart @hoe4sunarin @m2m2m2 @mochimms @itsme-again @maybankslover

[golden-afternoon]

Yeah I was working on another actual fic but uhhh the 'Nari brainrot took over so uhhh here take me going insane over him and rambling about what comes to my mind. Kay? Kay.

Warnings - nsfw, mating cycle talk from a person who only has google by her side, absolutely not proofread having gone straight from brain to paper, and just know there is a solid chance I'll have more to say about this in the future.

Tighnari, by his very nature, is a very compartmentalized person. His own problems stay within himself to be dealt with later when he is done and everyone else's needs are already attended to. Always concerned with helping others and keeping things in order, even to the point of staying up into the early hours of the morning, less concerned with himself than those around him. If he’s ever struggling with anything at all, he will do absolutely everything in his power to keep anyone from knowing about it, much less something as personal as this.

In the early months of the year, especially as Lantern Rite nears, Tighnari becomes withdrawn. Quieter, more distant. The Forest Watchers have been talking for forever back and forth swapping theories and rumors in not so hushed tones.

“I heard Master Tighnari lost a family member around this time of year.”

“Really? I heard he just reeeeally hates any kind of festivities especially Lantern Rite because it's so noisy, even when not in Liyue.”

“I dunno, maybe he's just sensitive to the cold?”

Unlike the usual case where he was quick to nip such chatter in the bud and tell off the Rangers for gossiping, he remains entirely silent on the issue, otherwise carrying on as usual. Setting up excursions, documenting his findings, helping and guiding wherever he was needed…

Until he just can't stand it anymore. With hardly a word, save perhaps to Collei to ask her to care for things in his absence, he retreats, hiding himself away in his hut, barricading himself in completely so no nosy Rangers have any reason to loiter around.

He hates it.

He understands it's natural and it's going to happen and blah blah blah, but it was such a nuisance to his life he would give anything to not have to put up with it. The worst of it usually lasts a week or two before he can at least carry some semblance of normalcy and feel willing and able to return to work, but while he's in it, it drives him insane.

Some years it's so bad that he can't even focus on anything other than the absolutely filthy thoughts that plague his mind, his hands shaking so hard he can't even hold a pen long enough to attempt any sort of work. Even like this he just doesn't feel right not being productive especially when he's always running around here and there the rest of the year, why should this be any different?

Head slamming into his desk with a groan, a flush curling up his cheeks and neck. Eventually he has to crack, begrudgingly caring for the needs that grow and grow and grow and become nigh insatiable during his rut.

It starts out almost clinical, looking to just take care of a symptom of an illness almost. Face flushed, lips curled into a deep frown, he sits at his desk, fisting his cock with precision, hoping to get it over with as fast as possible by hitting everything just right.

But no. After dealing with this for years you think he would have known by now that just once isn't enough, yet he still hopes year after year. It only gets worse. Over and over and over again until he's just sore and it hurts. Until he can't keep jerking it lest he make his own skin turn raw. By this point he usually finds himself in his bed, ears flat and face buried into some blankets to muffle the pathetic whimpers that left his lips as he kept grinding his hips into the pillows over and over and over and over, chasing even the slightest modicum of relief.

And most of the time, as annoying as it is, it was completely fine for him to just be stuck imagining some faceless, nameless mate beneath him as he struggled to sate these urges. However, if Tighnari has a bit of a crush… Well, he'd be in for a rude awakening if he hadn't already acknowledged his feelings for you.

I could see poor Tighnari getting almost ill as he realized the cute moans he was imagining sounded a little too much like your voice. Everything freezes for a moment, his stomach lurching both from the realization and the sudden loss of friction when he faltered. He tries so hard to brush it aside, chastising himself for pulling you into his filthy mind right then. But it doesn't stop. Your face, your voice, your skin. Everything. Everything stays in his mind and he cannot stop it. He feels such overwhelming shame about it, but… he does eventually give in and just let whatever fantasies take root, especially since it seems to ease the feelings when he does.

But when he sees you after the worst of it is over and he leaves his hut, guilt grips around his heart and memories of those fantasies rush into his head, leaving him turning on his heel to avoid you at all costs, honestly risking you thinking he hates you with how intensely he's ignoring you.

It's even worse because Tighnari considers hiding in his hut again for even longer as usually he was fine when the worst of it passed, he could resume his duties, but with you around, he could feel his hands shaking, the intense urge to find you wherever you were and pin you down immediately was so strong it scared him a little. Sometimes it caught him off guard too, like he would catch your scent on the breeze and while in his rut, he would genuinely get so horny so fast he's gotten lightheaded, having to catch himself on whatever was nearby so he didn't go crashing down.

If he hated his rut before, the shame of all this made him absolutely loathe it.

Maybe one day you can find a way to make it a liiiiittle more bearable for him ♡

[lila-went-missing]

Can I have a whipped!Clarisse x sunshine!reader headcannons or one shot idk (could reader be either a Hecate daughter or just unspecified?) :3

Have a nice day/night

Ugh, I love Grumpy X Sunshine.

Clarisse x Sunshine!Reader Headcannons

Okay, literally no one expected you two to start dating.

Plot-twist of the century vibes.

You're so sweet and kind to everyone, offering your magical insight to anyone who asks you.

And she's so tough and brutal all the time, always picking fights with people over the smallest things.

Literal polar opposites, but opposites attract.

I feel like she would be pining over you from the moment you met.

Something about you drew her in. Maybe the way you carried yourself, maybe it was your natural talent for magic.

Either way, she's so whipped for you.

You have her wrapped around your finger without even trying.

I feel like she's the kind of person to practice what she's going to say to you before she actually asks you out.

I can just imagine her pacing around her cabin when no one is around whispering the script she made in preparation.

Because of her dad constantly ignoring her, and what little attention she does get being him telling her that she'll never be good enough, or never as good as her brothers, she has a MASSIVE fear of rejection.

That really plays a role in how she asks you out.

She'd literally be so nervous it's not even funny.

When she does eventually ask you out there is a lot of stuttering and stumbling over words.

You would probably be in your cabin, just finishing brewing a potion when she comes to you.

You can't help but laugh at how nervous she is, finding it rather adorable.

Obviously she gets really offended and tries to leave, telling you to forget she said anything in the first place.

You pull her back to you and kiss her.

"I wasn't laughing to make fun of you, I was laughing because you're cute."

From that moment on, her protectiveness SKYROCKETS.

Someone looks at you wrong? They're in the infirmary getting stitches.

Someone calls you a freak because of your mom being Hecate? She's lost dessert privileges for the next five months.

Eventually you do have to talk to her and tell her to tone it down.

But that just ends in y'all making out on her bed.

How is she supposed to be serious when her girlfriend is sitting there looking so pretty and perfect, and her lips are just so kissable.

SPEAKING OF, you can't tell me this girl isn't obsessed with kissing you.

Doesn't matter where you are or who you're with, she will kiss you at any point in time.

Lips, forehead, nose, cheek, neck, shoulder, you name it.

She could literally be about to break someones bones until you come up.

The mood switch is IMMEDIATE.

From "I will literally murder you." to "Oh hey baby, how was your day." and just kissing all over your face.

It gives everyone whiplash.

But they get used to it eventually.

She's just so in love with you.

You're literally the first person to ever show her what it's like to genuinely be loved and not just wanted as a weapon.

You're the first and only person she says "I love you" to.

You're especially the first person and only person she means it to.

It takes her a while to open up because she hates being perceived as weak or soft. After a while though, she will start coming to you with her problems.

She'll occasionally come to your cabin in the middle of the night after having a nightmare, usually about you dying.

She never wants to talk about it, she just wants you to hold her until she falls back asleep.

Everyone in both of your cabins comes to love y'all.

I like to think that Ares cabin is sworn to a mutual secrecy because almost all of them have someone they sneak in at night to cuddle.

But they all have a reputation to uphold no one talks about it.

If you think regular Clarisse likes to cuddle, Whipped!Clarisse is 10x worse.

She'll never admit it, but cuddling you is one of her favorite things ever.

Her guilty pleasure is laying on your chest or being the little spoon.

She just likes the feeling of being held by the only person she's ever loved.

This ended up being A LOT longer than expected. Sorry (not really) y'all, went on a tangent.

[charliedawn]

(is it alright if I send a request?! Feel free to ignore this if not. I've heard there are some new rules regarding that?) So what if their s/o had to travel somewhere outside the country/state (could be something work/family related) for like a week or so, which Slashers would take it the hardest/easiest (basically who has separation anxiety and who is chill lol)?! Hopefully this makes sense, sorry for bad english?! I have a feeling Brahms (and maybe Jason) are in the first category, but your stories are always full of suprises so 🤷

Mature themes mentioned. You've been warned.

Jason would be the worst when it comes to abandonment issues. He would be too afraid of you leaving him forever.

He'd come up with various excuses to make you stay.

He'd wrap his arms around you and refuse to let you go. The man is touch-starved. He'd beg to come with you.

If you didn't let him ? Well...I think he'd be miserable.

Jason *whines and cries against your shoulder while holding you close* : "Stay. Please. Stay."

For him, to speak takes tremendous effort—so when he does ? That means it is important.

Do not leave the poor man alone without anything to contact you with, or you'd come back to a mess. He'd have turned the whole house into a target practice.

And believe me, you don't want to be in the way of his machete...

Brahms would be close second after Jason. He'd make you stay by any means necessary.

Brahms *breathes heavily* : "DO NOT LEAVE ME !"

His parents told him they would be gone for only a few days—but they never came back.

He wouldn't let you do the same.

He tried to get Greta to stay, but it failed. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

Brahms *grabs you and groans* : "If you leave me, I'll find you...I'll find you, Y/N."

The way he uttered your name made you shiver. Brahms would be close to a break down if you were gone for a few minutes. Imagine his state if it was for more than a few days ?

The moment you got back, he'd be borderline hysterical and crush you in a bear hug—crying and sobbing for you to never leave him again.

Bo has serious abandonment issues as well but—unlike Brahms or Jason—he would be more radical in his ways to make you stay.

Bo *grabs your arm and grits his teeth* "OH NO YOU DON'T !"

Bo was hated by his mother and it only aggravated his loneliness until he became...well...very self-centred and afraid of the pain.

The moment he gets attached to someone—their freedom is of no interest to him whatsoever.

Bo would rather tackle you to the ground, attach you or even have sex with you for you not to leave him.

That redneck isn't a quitter. Good luck trying to make him stay away.

"WHO THE F*CK GAVE YOU PERMISSION TO LEAVE ME, HUH ?!"

Yeah...He's not going to cry, but you might. Sorry.

And in the category worse abandonment issues we also have Vincent. Of course the other twin wouldn't be very far from the first.

Vincent is...gentler than Bo ? He wasn't hated by his family. He was actually rather liked.

So, his wouldn't be as bad—but still.

There is a reason he wanted to make all his wax statues from actual people. He is scared of being lonely...He likes to be surrounded.

And since all the people in his town treated him and his family as freaks—he couldn't make a lot of connections apart to his brothers.

He was lonely. And hence, he'd be afraid to lose the only person he ever cared about than them. You.

So, he'd be very hesitant to let you go and try to make you stay with gifts and soft touches. Try to make you understand how much you mean to him before eventually letting you go. Just so you know that you'd be taking a part of him with you.

You might be surprised, but Pennywise belongs to the category of the slashers who would be very upset by the lack of physical proximity.

Indeed, even though he hates physical touch, he is still clingy when it comes to the presence of the people he loves—one of the reasons why he stays with Penny.

So, he'd be upset, a little bit more moody than usual without you around. He'd be constantly looking at the road and unconsciously hoping you'd come back.

Pennywise *sighs deeply to himself* : "Come on, you old clown...Don't be so stupid. Come on. Stop thinking about...about..."

He'd fight against his inner demons and believe that you'd come back on your own...until the very end.

"...Oh, you're leaving, human ?"

Surprisingly enough, Penny isn't as clingy as people think he is.

He does like physical contact a lot and would be very sad to see you go, but he also knows he is a god and would be able to get to you whatever happens.

Penny is confident in his abilities, maybe too much.

So, he'd keep a smile on and giggle while waving to you when you go.

But, remember...

He's always watching.

You try to escape ? He'd know.

And he'd hunt you down. He'd make you regret ever trying to escape. He'd drag you back if he has to.

Penny *giggles darkly* : "Aww...Poor poor Y/N. Don't look so sad. We'll be together forever. Isn't that what we wanted ?"

Freddy would take it badly, but old habits die hard. He'd find a way to blame you and move on...no matter what.

"Ya think you can hurt me, huh ? Well, I've got news for you, ~sweetheart. You can go. I can always find ya a replacement."

Douchebag attitude is Freddy's defense mechanism.

You want to leave ? Fine. He'll find a way to fill the hole. Booze. Brothels. Chaos...

Whatever he can do, he'll do. Freddy needs a moral compass in order to stay in check. You and Michael fill that position.

But, if you're gone ? Then, Freddy would be missing an important part of his functioning mechanism and would go back to his old ways.

He'd be lost. Trying to find himself all the wrong ways all over again...

For his safety and others, make sure to remind him that you care for him from time to time—especially if you're going somewhere he can't follow.

And be sure to invite him into your dreams from time to time. 😉

Michael would remain himself. He'd watch you go and stay impassive. Because he knows it wouldn't change a thing.

He expects you to never come back. It would be better.

Every time he takes a knife in his hand, he wouldn't find that tingling feeling...the little voice in his head telling him to kill you.

He wouldn't be so afraid of hurting you every single day. He wouldn't have to lock his door every night because he's afraid he might wake up with your blood on his hands.

He'd even tense up when you come back.

You *smile when you see him* : "Well, hello there. Missed me ?"

Michael : "..."

You *smile falter* : "Oh...Well, okay then."

Michel *slowly approaches you and slowly hugs you*

He did miss you. He just didn't know how to tell you...or stop himself from grabbing the kitchen knife and plunging it into your heart over and over.

Michael would die before hurting you, but it doesn't mean he isn't a slasher. Or that your love for him isn't dangerous.

Arthur would put his feelings aside and try to appear cruel.

"You think I care ? ~Oh, sweetie. I've spent most of my life caring about people. Not anymore. Not ever again...So, if you want to leave me ? Go ahead. There's the door."

You have to understand, Arthur has been hurt most of his life...by life itself.

He was never lucky. He never had any friends. He was basically alone most of his life.

He wouldn't want to be kept down, and so wouldn't want the same for you. He understands the need to leave. More than anyone else.

He'd prefer you leave than stay and be miserable—like he was. So, he would never stop you from leaving, no matter if there was a risk you wouldn't come back.

Arthur *smiles and holds your hand* "...Please. Don't let me stop you. Be free."

If you want to leave ? He won't stop you.

Because that's how much he loves you.

He'd let you have your freedom. No matter what.

"I'm going out.", you said.

"Have fun, honey.", he replied. He didn't even look up from his newspapers.

"I may be out for a couple of days.", you added—waiting for a reaction.

"Sure. I'll be right here when you come back.", he answered and smiled—but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

Jack is a ghost. He doesn't really have feelings anymore and can sound cold sometimes. But, it's not because he doesn't care. It's just he knows what it is to have responsibilities.

He failed at being human—and he wouldn't want the same for you.

He would of course be worried that you'd leave forever, but honestly ? He'd be happy to let you live your life as you intend.

He doesn't have abandonment issues.

Matter-of-fact, he's the one who leaves most of the time. Of course, he wouldn't want your relation to stop so suddenly and would prefer you to come clear to him.

He wouldn't get mad, but he'd feel a little more dull and emotionless inside.

He'd become even more of a ghost than he was—but wouldn't let you see.

Jack *smiles before you close the door* : "...Bring back a souvenir, alright ? Something...something nice."

And that would probably be the only attempt he'd do to hint that he wants you to come back.

[volturissideslut]

The Voltori guard(separate) beside their mate in the hospital or in a room and they brought in a doctor. Their mate is in a coma after an accident(in or outside of the castle). Could be a few weeks or months but their mate finally wakes from the coma. Please and thank you!!

𝖁𝖔𝖑𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖎 𝖌𝖚𝖆𝖗𝖉

Alec

He point blank refuses to leave your room, starving himself of blood. The only thing he can think of is that in there is a chance you could wake up in the moments he's gone for and that he wouldn't be there for you.

It becomes his worst fear

Because of his status (and the fact the they honestly can't so anything to stop him) he's allowed to stay

He can't focus on anything or even read a book the whole time you're in a coma, left to just stare blankly at the white walls and beg whatever diety there may be that you please come back to him

And whatever may be out there seemed to have listened to him

"... alec?" your voice is groggy from the lack of use

"Cara mia!" and just like that, you're locked kn his embrace for at least a week. And he's not letting you out of his sight for at least a century

Jane

It kills her to sit in that room with you, but it kills her even more to be apart from you

Tag teams with Alex on watching over you. There is never a moment that you're not guarded

And it's only Alec because he's the only one she trusts enough

Is way more snappy with everyone than ever before, she's just is a constant frenzied state and doesn't know what to do with herself

Her chest physically aches so badly the whole time you're in a coma, and though she doesn't need to breathe she still finds herself hyperventilating frequently

The day you wake up her shoulders tremble like when humans sob, only no tears can come to her eyes

"My darling, please come back to me"

Demetri

For the longest time, he stays in denial.

And by 'denial' I mean lashing out in hurt, frustration and rage at all of those around him

He loses his shit without you. Point blank. He can't handle it

God forbid any of the nurses or carers looking after you fuck up anything

He's murderous without you. You ground him

He only really breaks down when he sees you

Obviously, he'd seen you in this state before, but eventually he let's his guard down and really sees you

And it breaks him in a whole new way

He feels vulnerable, and you're not here. You're always here when he needs you. And now you're not

When you finally wake up he's begging and pleading with you to let him turn you because he can't go through that again. Ever.

He can't lose you

Felix

Dry sobs, shoulders shaking, throat heaving and body trembling

He may not be able to cry, but the sounds he makes are more heartbreaking then real tears

He can't even find comfort in the emotional release of actually crying

Tragic, isn't it?

For the time you're under, he's completely inconsolable

The only thing that usually cheers him usp is spending time with you, his mate, and he can't even do that anymore so there is not comfort to be given

The day you wake up, he trembles in your hold. His head is buried in your neck and your hands are his his hair and you just embrace eachother

It's all you can do

[luveline]

hi lovely :) i have a request for you!!

i’m thinking spencer reid x reader (and platonic!bau team if you don’t mind!!) where reader is having a bit of a rough time with mental health, but is 1 year clean and they have a lil celebration? thank you!!

-🍓 (this is my application for being an emoji anon lmao)

hi, thank you! ♡ fem 1k

cw implied drug use

You're expecting your boyfriend's voice when a hand touches your shoulder, but it's actually Hotch that speaks. "Good morning. Are you feeling alright?" 

You meet his furrowed brow with a softer expression. "Morning, Hotch. I'm good, I'm," —you stretch your arms out in front of you in a lie— "just really tired." 

"Take it easy today, okay?" You nod quickly. "Okay. And Y/N? Well done." 

You enjoy the shoulder squeeze he gives you and hide your abject puzzlement as he heads up the steps to his office, briefcase in hand. It's always nice to be doted on, but what's today? 

"Hello," a new voice says, a hand again on your shoulder, ducking down to kiss you behind the ear. Here's your expected boyfriend, Spencer's voice low and spectacularly sweet, "Good morning. You're here early, I haven't even made you coffee." 

"That's okay, I can make it." 

His arms cross over your chest. He touches you so confidently, his lack of hesitance a great encouragement; it's hard to find room to feel insecure about things when Spencer seems to see no faults in you. Hard, but not impossible. 

As though he can sense your rough morning (rough week, rough month), he holds you that second longer than usual, lips like angora silk where they touch to your cheek. "I'll make it, thanks. It's the least you deserve today." 

"Right," you say. He strokes your shoulder with his thumb in farewell, leaving you wondering. Today isn't your birthday, you'd probably know if it were. 

"Hey, good morning!" Emily says as she arrives, thrusting her bag and her travel mug onto her desk before she descends on you. 

It's her hug that breaks the camel's back, so to speak. You give her hands an absent minded hold but pull back in her embrace. "Emily," you say, frowning at her, "what's so special about today?" 

She blinks like she's worried to tell you, but she gets it together and hugs you again. "You're one year clean today. Everybody's so proud of you," she says quietly. 

You almost bite the tip of your tongue off. "How do you know that?" you ask. The thing about staying clean is that it haunts you until it doesn't. Some people can't ever beat it, and some people can. It's been a huge struggle for you, but eventually relapsing stopped feeling like an option, especially while you've been with Spencer. You can't do anything to jeopardise your safety while you're with him, you just can't. (That doesn't mean you haven't desperately wanted to.)

"Well, I knew it would've been around now, but Spencer sent us a memo. Nothing too detailed, you know, but we all…" She smiles at you wryly. "We care about you so much, and we didn't get it right with Spencer." 

No, they didn't. Spencer didn't get half the support he deserved, so he's making sure you do. 

There's something of a mental block in you that doesn't allow you to cry, but this shakes you roughly. Emily gives you a sorry smile and a last quick hug, apologising that she has to go and speak to Hotch before the work day officially begins. You lean back in your chair and click dazedly on an email from Penelope detailing how deeply loved you are and wondering if you'd like to go shopping. I know today might be really hard, so if you need me you know where I am. Love Pen. 

"You okay?" Spencer asks, placing your coffee in front of you on the desk. 

"Come and sit with me for a bit." 

You don't sound like you're asking, but you are. Spencer hears the need in your demand and immediately grabs his chair to sit next to you. You're surprised he didn't squat. 

You turn your face, lay your cheek on the short back of the chair uncomfortably, and take him in. He looks great these days, the memory of a young man firmly buried beneath a well-fitting suit, a cropping of facial hair, and the subtle, lean lines of muscle especially evident as he sits back to copy you, curls falling into his eyes. "You told everyone about my anniversary." 

"Your accomplishment," he corrects quietly. "I did." 

"I do want them to know, just… I feel a bit raw." You hardly remembered yourself, though you knew it was soon. 

Spencer takes your hand, pulling the joined pair between his knees. "It's something to be extremely proud of. And there's nothing wrong with celebrating it." 

"It's embarrassing–" 

"It isn't." He sits up as someone comes closer and you follow suit. This is a complicated conversation and your simple intimacies are necessary but inappropriate in the workplace. "I'm sure there are a ton of people who find sobriety embarrassing, but those are all people who don't know what it feels like to have to do it. We," —his voice softens— "do. I know exactly how it feels, and I know exactly how you've been feeling lately, so I'm proud of you and everyone else should be too." 

"How I've been feeling lately?" you ask. 

"Come on." Spencer stands and takes your face into his hands. One is warmer than the other, and he uses it to stroke the baby hair's at your ear very gently. "You do a really good job at hiding how you feel, but you can't hide from me." 

"I'm not trying to." 

"Good," he says, leaning down to kiss you. A soft, brisk connection. "I love you." 

"Not as much as I do, loverboy!" Morgan says as he arrives, giving Spencer a little nudge as he needles his arms behind your back and kisses your cheek. 

"You're squeezing me." 

"Have I told you lately how much I love you?" Morgan asks, squeezing your harder. 

"Morgan, she knows you know." 

"Know what?" 

"You didn't see the memo?" Spencer asks. 

"What memo?" Morgan grins at you with pearly white teeth and scrubs at your shoulders until you're squirming at the pressure. It's nice. "Looking good, gorgeous." 

[appleblueberry-pie]

I just read your fic and my brain went into thinking mode again :(

Reader just being wholesome with children. Like using Mayday as a therapy method for self-trust issues.. Def babysits May to trust herself with touching other people 😭❤

IT'S 3 AM HELP ME.

What Isn't There To Love About You?

im just writing these for pure amusement now. HATE being formal with my own writing and realized i can literally have fun.

"So, this was where he was last night." Miguel pulls up footage from last nights fail at capturing some random universe's villain. It wasn't that doing investigation work was boring or anything. It's just that it's been four hours trying to get to the bottom of this disappearance into some other universe. And then trying to find the probability of capturing this villain and the whole shazam. You don't know how Miguel did it. Maybe it was the 6 coffees he had in one day or the random sass and anger fueling him to keep running, but you weren't made out of whatever he was made out of.

You kept your stone face as you watched the footage and leaned forward to point out his glitches here and other possible universes that had a strange pop-up weirdo at around the same time frame. "...because right here..." You zoomed in and before you could further explain, a childish squeal broke you out of your trance. You and Miguel look up and see the beautiful baby girl that was Mayday hanging off of her few webs from above.

You dramatically gasped and called out to her. "Now, who left you here hanging unattended?? Who would do such a thing??" You playfully placed your hands on your hips and she babbled back at you, lighting up your clouded mind. Miguel rolls his eyes. "Actually, she's been there for about 30 minutes." He grumbles. You turn around to glare at him. "You let her stay up there for that long?" "She's a distraction."

You scoff and hold your arms out to her. She wastes no time in dropping down to you, letting you squeeze her like the teddy bear she was. "There's my favorite girl! How've you been?? Aww, look at your hair, you messed it up again. Where's that brush I had, Miguel??" You held her on one hip, bouncing her as you dig through the drawers to find the comb that was no longer in the room. "......." Miguel tries to slyly steal glances at you as you handle Mayday like she was your own child.

Your loud and bubbly talking to her eventually calm down to you holding her to your chest as you calmly talk to her. "I wonder how you'll be when you start school. You're already so smart, swinging around the place like it's nothing." You laugh to yourself and instead comb your fingers through her hair. It was honestly such a breath of fresh air compared to staring at screens at hours on end. You stop leaning on the desk and hum quietly to her, looking back over to the monitors, only to find Miguel staring down at you over his shoulder.

".....What?" He sighs and turns back around, typing again. "......it's her nap time." You raise your eyebrows and look down to actually see the girl falling asleep in your arms. You wonder why Peter left her unattended like this. Speaking of the devil, the man comes swinging onto the platform before you can go down and sees his daughter asleep. "Oh my god, Y/n, you are a lifesaver. I was looking for her everywhere. And you are a magician to get her asleep on time. She usually makes a fuss...." He goes on to talk for the next few minutes, not before shifting her into his arms to take her back to his universe.

This time, you couldn't really pay attention to his long speech, instead staring longingly at the girl asleep in his arms. When he leaves, Miguel is already leaning back on his work table, staring longingly at you. ".....I've always wanted a little girl." Miguel smiles at you and walks up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, burying his face into your neck. "Yeah? Serías una madre increíble." (You would be an amazing mother)

You smile at his words. "Me vuelves loco con lo talentoso que eres. Y verte así con ella me enloqueció. Déjame tenerte." He almost seemed to growl the words, making your stomach flutter with butterflies. He holds you tighter and trails his hands to where your zipper began. "Here?" Miguel groans at the fact that he's still at work and stops himself from unzipping you. He removes himself from you entirely to angrily type up another report and you instead stand behind him and rub his back. "That's okay, you can just show me how you feel when you get home." A growl erupts at his throat and you laugh. (You drive me crazy with how talented you are. And seeing you with her like that drove me wild. Let me have you.)

Miguel looks over his shoulder and down at you to glare into your mischievous eyes. "Watch that mouth." "I'm serious." Miguel doesn't like hiding from you. Seeing him stare down at you like you were a piece of meat made you look away and he curses under his breath. He hated how restricted he was to just sit with his cock hard until he had the option to leave. And how it seemed like you were free to torture him with your bratty attitude and beautiful face and body. He hates this and loves you. The only angel he'll let fall into his arms down from what he calls heaven.

[sameschmidtdiffname]

Can I get a Derek Danforth x shorter Male Reader where reader is like the only person Derek cares about. Reader is very cuddly but Derek isn’t big on PDA but when they are alone Derek loves holding the reader in his arms.

If not it’s ok!

OFC YOU CAN!!!

I had like fifteen different drafts for how this story could go and I couldn't make up my mind until literally last night, thus why it took so long. I hope this is okay!!!

Tangled

Derek Danforth x Male! Reader

Summery: The holidays are a miserable time of year, especially when ones mother won't even talk to them to let them know she's not coming, sending Derek into a breakdown and wrapping you up in the process.

Tags: No use of Y/N, short! Reader, hurt/comfort, mommy issues, drug use (marijuana), arguing, breakdown, banter, comedy, injury, eventual fluff, holiday fic. (I don't give a fuck that it's Febuary, shut it.)

Notes: honestly I was HYPED when I saw this request. I fucken GOT YOU babe and I am so sorry it took this long. I hope this was worth the wait <3

•°○《▪︎☆▪︎》○°•

I'm going to ask you a question and I want you to be honest; who likes the holidays?

The decorations are nice. The food's better. But in the matter of family and visitation, could anyone honestly say they liked the whole routine? Picking who to see, booking flights, trying not to lose yourself in a bottle of liquor that you bought on the way to their house.

Maybe not every detail is the same, but you get the general idea.

"Please sit down," I begged Derek, watching him pace the floor. All week Derek had been in a mood, which isn't totally uncommon I will admit. But usually he could be coaxed out of it, sweet words whispered in his ear finally bringing him off whatever edge he was ready to fling off of and convince him death was for another day. This week however was different, Derek always tapping his foot, glaring at something. And pacing. Neverending, always thinking, lasts through the night pacing. I was beginning to feel sick from the anxiety, and my mood was making Derek even shorter in his.

"I'm fine," he snapped.

"You're clearly not," I said. In his hand he gripped his pen, clicking it to life with five rapid clicks before taking a long pull like he couldn't breathe without it. "Derek."

"I said I'm fucking fine."

"I have never seen you as more of a mess, will you please just sit down for one moment?" I pleaded, shifting closer to the edge of the plush loveseat kept in front of our bed. "I'm worried about you."

He wants to snap. His jaw is tight, teeth gritted as he spins on the heel of his black, pointed boot, mouth opening as he begins to point one finger at me. But the minute he actually makes eye contact the edge drains, his shoulders sagging slightly as he exhales his smoke, bags appearing under his eyes. Derek had a reputation for being a hard-ass, but when we were alone and I grabbed his attention, his demeanor would shift into one more gentle, more honest. He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he finally crossed over to me, sitting beside me and wrapping his arms around my waist.

"I'm fine," he said quietly, tucking my head under his chin. His hand strokes up and down my back, his heart still pounding but beginning to calm as the smoke begins to work into his bloodstream, allowing him to focus on me more than his thoughts. His cologne compliments mine, smelling mostly of cinnamon to match the winter season. The silk material of his red shirt is soothing against my skin, little silver snowflakes decorating it. Always a pattern with him.

"Is it your mother?" I asked quietly. He stiffened, his heart rate picking back up against my ear.

"I don't want to talk about this," he said quickly, beginning to pull away. I gently grab his arms, making him look down at me before he can close off once more.

"We've been together for almost a year and you won't say anything about your-"

"I said I don't want to talk about this."

"We have to talk about this at some point or you're going to have a giant fit and I won't be able to help you."

It isn't meant as an insult, but I hear it as soon as the words come out. Derek's eyes narrow into slits, bitterness seeping through.

"Fuck you. I don't throw fucking fits." He pulled away quickly, the battery of his pen glowing as he took another hit, long and deep, blinking rapidly to show he's hit his limit.

"You are on the cusp of one right now. You're in denial," I said concerningly.

This time he really is about to snap when someone knocks on the door, popping her head in to announce dinner will be ready shortly.

"Is she on her way?" Derek asked the redheaded assistant, blowing his smoke out through his nose, hands on his cocked hips. The woman presses her lips together tightly, glancing between the two of us before speaking.

"I haven't heard anything from President Danforth for a few hours, sir," she finally said. Derek sighed deeply, looking down and pinching the bridge of his straight nose as he taps his foot at impressive speed.

"Thank you," he said quickly, not meeting anyone's eyes. She takes the opportunity, quickly nodding at me and ducking out of the room with the quick click of the door, leaving us alone again.

I simply stare at him, hands folded on top of my lap as I wait for him to say something, do something. When he goes to take a third blinker, I finally stand.

"Don't you fuckin' dare," Derek warns me, holding out his palm.

"You are going to get stoned to the point that you'll fuck up this dinner the you have been worried over for the past week. What the fuck is wrong with you?" I hiss, stepping closer.

"There's no fuckin' point, she's not coming," he said, shrugging harshly and scoffing.

"And that bothers you. Will you just admit that?" I said. I step closer, close enough to reach for the pen, but I wait, letting him narrow his glazing eyes at me first.

"What is your obsession? You want me to break down? Cry? You wanna fix me, huh?" His tone is harsh, paranoia settling in as he takes a step towards me. "Whatever savior shit this is, I'm not taking."

I snatch the pen quickly from his grasp, only to have his hand grab my wrist without any real thought. Derek towers over me, gripping me tightly enough it hurts.

"Drop it," he growled.

"No," I growled back.

"I'm not asking."

"Tough shit."

"What is your-"

"Derek." The snap does something, my voice bouncing around in his ears as he glares at me, but releases my wrist nonetheless. I step away quickly, tucking the pen into the inside pocket of my evergreen blazer. "You'll get this back tonight," I tell him, not looking back. Derek mutters under his breath, brushing past me to exit the suite. Fine. Let him hate me. See if I care.

Derek never liked public affection in the first place. Growing up in a house with a politician for a mother he was hyperaware of all the right and wrongs to a public reputation. I think he also just had no desire to be seen as any kind of vulnerable in a crowd. But tonight it's different. Tonight there is a tinge of hate with the distance he creates, and my side feels cold without him. With each step forward he takes five back. People filter in and out of each room, some I'm sure just here with a friend of a friend for the free food. But if there's anyone I never see through the passing hours, it's Derek's mother. I can see him checking his phone every five, three, then every other minute.

It was a touchy subject. Derek loved his mother, adored the ground she walked on. And when she would visit him or welcome us over to wherever it was she was staying it was obvious she loved him too, allowing him to get away with things most mothers wouldn't. But her head was always in work, her eyes always scanning a document with a pen in her hand to sign off on anything at any given moment. There were times we'd spend the visit gathered in silence lest she retreat to an actual study, claiming she could not focus with our chatter. Derek loved his mother, but it was obvious he was neglected by her too.

He'd been planning the party meticulously. Ordering dozens of sample just for garland, asking my input on plates. Yes, Derek was known for throwing elaborate and wonderfully tasteful parties, but if he thought his mother would be in attendance he would go the extra mile, not sparing an inch of detail and making sure that it was so perfect she'd have no choice but to attend.

Problem is, Madame President has many choices for her perfect Christmas party.

It isn't until the clock strikes ten and security begins to push people out that he finally locks eyes with me, the hate draining and giving way to the exhaustion underneath. He disappears through a doorway, and I follow after him, watching his snow white suit that matches my shirt perfectly work its way quickly through the endless halls as I chase him down the rabbit hole. Oh yes, don't think I escaped his scrutiny just because I'm a living being. I didn't even know we'd have complimenting outfits until I stepped out of the shower that morning while he worked on a cigarette, waving it around between his fingers on one hand with the hangers in the other and a phone pressed between his shoulder as he shouted something in Spanish at the poor assistant on the other line.

He doesn't bother shutting the bedroom door behind him whether he knows I'm following him or not. But when I gently push the door shut behind me, finally turning away from him, I feel his warm body press against mine from behind. His arms wrap around me, one around my waist and the other around my shoulders, alcohol thick on his breath as he buries his head into the crook of my neck. His hand finds my hair, burying his long fingers in it as he takes a deep inhale of the pine scented cologne dabbled on my neck. His body is heavy against mine, swaying slightly from exhaustion.

"Hi," he says softly.

"Hi," I say just as soft, reaching up to find his curls. I smile slightly at the feeling of his fried ends, tainted from overprocessing. "You wanna talk?"

"No," he maintained. But his voice cracks, and the collar my shirt is starting to feel wet. Not to mention his arms are shaking.

"You wanna not talk on the bed?" I ask him.

"I'm fine right here," he says in a broken voice. But when he softly sniffles and takes a tiny gasp for air, he's finally done in and dragging me towards the oversized bed, not bothering to actually open the canopy as he flops himself down onto the lush, green and gold duvet.

"It's fine, I'm fine," he insists even though he's dragged half of a gold chiffon curtain down and around him and he's too high to figure out how to get it off. "She has meetings, this happens."

"Yeah, well. It happens a little too often," I say gently, trying to help him before he gets this thing wrapped around his neck. In his vulnerable and understandable fit he's making this curtain situation much worse, actively reweaving whatever I untangle from him in his blind confusion.

"I mean, I get it. Running the country, having a conversation with your own son, it's fine," Derek hiccuped as he gestures his hands like scales weighing the options, one drastically higher than the other. His face is as red as his shirt, large tears streaming down his face as he paws uselessly at the fabric. He swipes frantically at them, clearly becoming frustrated at being unable to control his raw emotions. "I mean, priorities shift so what the fuck am I complaining about?"

"Honey, I think you're sitting on it."

"What?"

"The curtain."

Derek moans inconsolably as he throws himself against the bed, taking down the rest of the gold chiffon and covering us both in the material.

"What does it matter?" Derek cries pathetically. "I could hang myself with this and she'd have a fucking meeting in Germany!"

"Your mother would come to your funeral," I say softly, stroking his hair as I press my lips together, letting him heave out his sobs. He brings a bundle of the fabric to his face, bunching it up and sobbing into it before raising his head once more for another comment.

"Probably have a flood in Uganda day of. I'd fuck up my own suicide day," he snaps to no one in particular.

"No you wouldn't," I say, continuing to run my hand through his hair. Derek sinks into the golden bundle once more, curling in on himself like a child. Then suddenly his eyes grow cold again.

"And the fucking appetizers were cold!"

The comment is so out of left field that a short laugh escapes me, my hand immediately covering my mouth. I instantly feel awful, looking away as I try to compose myself from the dramatic change in complaint.

"Don't laugh at me," Derek snaps. "I paid good money for those."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry, that was just a bit random. Would you like to get off of the curtains you also paid for?" I ask him softly, fighting the fit of giggles his hateful eyes inspire to continue. I try to wrap my arms around him in comfort but he moves away in irritation. Or tries. This curtain is keeping us pretty close, which only adds to the whole thing.

"No," he says as he finally gives up. He crosses his arms in irritation and huffs, but after a long moment and a glance at my bemused face he moves to get the curtain off of his own. "Yes. Get this off of me!"

"Okay, I'm coming."

"Where the fuck is the end?"

"I told you, I think you're sitting on it."

"Your mother is sitting on it!"

"Let's not bring anymore mothers into this-"

We struggle in the cocoon of chiffon, twisting and turning in the same and opposite directions, both of us bickering over who has what and who's preventing our freedom.

"This shouldn't be fucking hard!"

"Quit moving, you're making it worse."

"Fuck you!"

"Fuck you!"

"Hang on, I think I-"

With a forceful tug I pull the end out from underneath of Derek. Unfortunately, Derek had shifted himself to move off of the end at the same time, leaving me to fling off the side of the tall bed and hit the lush rug underneath that hardly cushions the oak floor with a loud 'thud' that makes the artifical blond gasp.

"Fuck! Are you okay-?"

Derek scrambles to the edge to look down at me, but he's too high to realize he's overshot his position and sends his larger body crashing on top of mine, making me cry out as I break his fall.

"Eat a salad," I groan, curling in on myself as I try to catch my breath.

"I did, that's why I'm the tall one." Derek and I are once again tangled in the curtain, laying on the floor in a pile of limbs and half of Derek's face is burned from the rug. "Are you okay?" He asks worriedly, looking over my body for obvious injury.

"Have roses at my funeral," I cough, clutching my stomach.

"Rose's are cliché."

"Rose's are fucking iconic."

"If you have basic taste, then yes."

"I don't mix snake and cheeta."

"It's French."

"Then get fucking cheeta print rose's."

"Don't be hysterical."

I shoot him a look and finally he manages a laugh, wiping at his nose with the cuff of his blazer and smiling.

"Maybe I'm a little hysterical," he offers.

"I think I have a concussion."

"Oh, you don't have a concussion," Derek says dismissively. He cups my cheeks gently, his soft hands forcing my eyelids open wide as he checks my eyes. "Oh, fuck. Yeah, you have a concussion."

I laugh, pulling him close and keeping my eyes closed to keep from getting sick.

"Mister 'I Don't Throw Fits,'" I tease.

"I can just not take you to the hospital."

"Bitch."

"Cunt."

"Dickhead."

"Fuckface."

"Fashionably handicapped."

"Poor."

Derek finally figures out how to free us from our prison, pulling away the fabric and looking down at me from above with a gentle smile on his tear stained face. "You've got good bone structure, though," he says.

"It's my daddy's," I tell him.

"I don't remember buying you that."

I smack Derek's chest playfully, groaning as I try (and fail) to sit up. "You're awful."

"You love me," Derek says softly, sitting beside me. The statement is true and meant as a playful reminder, but it's the way his bloodshot eyes still glisten with leftover moisture that makes me cup his face. Or try. I can't see.

"I love you," I say softly.

"That's my chest."

My hand moves.

"Knee."

My hand moves again.

"That's my dick."

"Jolly good friend," I say with a squeeze and overexaggerated British accent. This knocks the last bit of sorrow out of Derek, making him laugh loudly as he finally lays down beside me. He wraps his arms around my smaller frame, pulling me close to him as he presses a soft kiss to my forehead.

"I'm sorry,' he says softly.

"We really do need to talk about your mother at some point," I tell him, stroking his arm that lays across my chest.

"I know." Derek's voice is soft, his fingers playing with one of the buttons on my blazer.

The silence is sweet, the sound of Derek and I's breathing the only sound in the room. And the slight ringing in my head.

"I think you need to call someone," I tell him.

"My problems aren't that bad," Derek says in a hurt voice, moving to look down at me.

"For me."

"Oh!"

▪︎《•☆•》▪︎

I'm going to be so fr, I haven't watched 'The Beekeeper' since it was in theaters so if the mommy issues are inaccurate that's on me. But y'know what it works better for his character so it's °~*accurate to meee*~°

Taglist:

@cassiecasluciluce @gh0u1ishly @joshhutchersons-slut @schmidtsbimbo @sugarevans @wompwompwomp57 . Thank you for your support pookies!!! <3

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