#I don’t even know what exactly I am Processing

[kwnnies]

cafe rookie - 이찬

summary: you’re not exactly stoked after hearing about another new employee joining your cafe - but your feelings quickly change as you get to know chan and you don’t know how to feel about that.

words: 8.4k

warnings: female reader, a few swear words here and there, slightly suggestive at the end, mentions of alcohol, drunk chan, i don’t know anything about how college works, seungkwan compares reader to a chucky doll, mentions of kidneys (is that even a warning?? lmao)

a/n: this was really fun to write but also so tiring lord have mercy

‘there’ll be a new guy joining us tomorrow. i beg of you, be nice to him.’

you heard that particular sentence often; in fact, you heard it every time someone new was rumoured to be joining the humble team of the cafe you worked at. each time jeonghan would come up to you with his signature smirk plastered onto his face you knew exactly what news he was carrying.

and each and every time you couldn’t help the sigh leaving your lips.

you already knew the drill - you’ll be tasked with training the newcomer for the first week, explaining everything thoroughly only for them to resign in less than a month without a word. that was the standard: you didn’t even bother learning their names.

you plopped onto the stool behind the bar, pouring yourself a glass of cold water from the dispenser.

‘wow. you’re beaming with excitement even more than usual.’ seungkwan mumbled from behind you, busy cleaning the coffee machine.

seungkwan was the exception to the rule you had made in your head; he joined in at the same time as you and went through the training process by your side. at first the two of you didn’t see eye to eye, but you’ve grown to appreciate him over the last two years. it was nice having someone to gossip with during a slow day or meet up for drinks whenever the possibility occurred.

‘yeah. i’m definitely over the moon to train another person who’ll probably end up being a no-show within their first week.’ you stated, rubbing your temples. ‘why am i tasked with it anyways?’

‘i ask myself that same question every day.’ seungkwan’s voice was barely audible over the coffee machine’s loud noises as he turned it on. ‘but then again, i don’t blame them for not returning: you’re a total bitch.’

you laughed at seungkwan’s statement.

‘yeah, sure. i just don’t coddle them. it’s not like they’re kids or anything.’

it was still half an hour before opening; morning shifts weren’t your favorite, but you were glad you didn’t have to face the burden of cleaning everything up before customers come in by yourself. doing it with seungkwan was usually so time efficient that the two of you managed to finish everything within the first thirty minutes.

‘joshua told me he goes to our uni.’ seungkwan added, sitting on a stool next to you with his iced americano. ‘if i remember correctly, he’s a choreography major.’

‘well, i’m sure he’ll dance his way out of working here before i even try to remember that.’

you loved joshua - and to love your boss is something that happens so rarely there should be books written about it. he was a great guy, and it only helped that he wasn’t that much older than you. it kept the professional relationship between the boss and his subordinates pleasant, friendly even.

where you questioned his abilities, though, was in picking said subordinates.

he was in charge of reviewing the few job applications and choosing who will come for an in-person meeting to discuss their possible future employment. joshua wasn’t stupid; his judgement regarding other people was good, and he wasn't one to believe someone’s bullshit. you still didn’t fully understand why it was that most of the newcomers would dip after a few days.

joshua boiled it down to you being ‘too intimidating’.

‘you act like you’ll kill them if they don’t remember something after their first hour here.’ he said one time, leaning against the bar. ‘you should be a bit more understanding.’

despite that, joshua insisted that you should be the one to train them, preaching about how he wants all of his subordinates to get along with each other, and if you get along with them, then everyone will.

you appreciated the fact that he trusted you to this extent - but it still didn’t change your negative attitude towards the whole ordeal.

you glanced at your phone to check the time. only twenty minutes left before you open up the cafe. you exhaled deeply, standing up from the stool and stretching your arms.

in just a little under four hours you’ll have to deal with teaching another incompetent idiot the ins and outs of a place they’ll be out of within mere days.

the day was surprisingly busy, especially considering the early hours. usually, the rush would start much later; and you thanked the gods that you and seungkwan were joined by minghao, your barista. had he not been here, you would’ve probably died of exhaustion after the first hour. you almost managed to forget all about the newcomer.

that is, of course, until seungkwan decided to remind you.

you heard your name being called from behind you, turning around almost immediately only to be met with your friend’s vile smile, almost as if he was enjoying seeing you so miserable; and maybe he was, considering how last week you couldn’t contain your laughter when a customer spilled coffee on his new shirt , and you’ve learned that seungkwan is a man who likes to hold petty grudges like these. then, your eyes caught a glimpse of a guy standing right next to him, looking as puzzled as ever.

he was wearing a black sweater and blue jeans - appropriate for the job, unlike some hotshots who would wear the most obnoxious outfits when coming here. you still had no idea who exactly were they trying to impress. his blonde hair was a little messy but he looked presentable nonetheless.

not a bad start, you thought.

‘your new victim is here.’ seungkwan said, almost overly sweetly. you barely managed to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. the guy in question laughed awkwardly at the remark, not really knowing what to do in this rather uncomfortable situation. his eyes drifted to you as he took an unsure step forward.

‘i’m chan.’ he offered you a small smile as he reached out his hand, and you did everything in your power to shake off the grimace from your face, remembering joshua’s words about at least trying to be nice to the new guys.

trying must’ve been the keyword, because you were doing a poor job at covering your dissatisfaction, confirmed by seungkwan trying to contain his laughter while seeing the expression on your face.

‘come on, i’ll show you around.’ you mumbled, making your way through the kitchen and towards the employee room, where everyone kept their belongings. chan quickly followed behind you, almost as if he feared you would disappear if he didn’t.

you grabbed one of the free aprons and threw it towards the guy.

‘wear this for now. you don't want your sweater getting dirty.’ chan quickly obliged, putting the apron on and tying the strings behind his back, making sure it’s not too tight. ‘what position did you apply for?’

‘barista.’ he said and you couldn’t contain a sigh leaving your lips.

‘i won’t be of much help, then. but i still have to do this stupid training anyways, so that’s fun.’ you mumbled underneath your breath, so quietly you were sure chan didn’t hear you.

spoiler - he did.

‘aren’t you a barista too?’ he asked as you showed him around the kitchen facilities, where the bathroom is and where he can leave his belongings.

‘everyone has to learn to make all the drinks we serve at the beginning of their job here.’ you explained, moving through the towers of boxes to get back to the bar. ‘but i’m surely far from a barista, though. ask minghao; he probably has a list on him of all the reasons i’m not fit to stand behind the bar.’

‘that definitely did not stress me out.’ he mumbled, continuing his thought at the sight of your questioning look. ‘it’s kinda my, uh, first job, you know. don’t wanna make a bad impression.’

not like you’re gonna stay here long anyways, you thought.

‘understandable.’ you didn’t say anything more as the two of you walked back to the main part of the coffee shop. you reached for a pile of laminated papers laying behind the bar, organized neatly in alphabetical order. ‘make sure you learn all of this, then. fast. oh, and don’t forget the lunch menu, too. for emergency purposes.’

considering the sheer amount of papers, chan thought he was done for right then and there.

‘don’t scare another one off.’ minghao chuckled, swiftly opening up a new bag of coffee beans. ‘see? he looks pale as a ghost and he’s only been here for what, fifteen minutes?’

your turned your head towards the newcomer, a small smile tugging at your lips as you saw his slightly terrified expression.

‘all of these are available to you at all times, whether you forget how to make a certain drink or just want to make sure.’ minghao continued, working at the coffee machine to make another order. ‘no one’ll bite your head off if your memory fails from time to time.’

‘she kinda looks like she will.’ chan murmured ever so quietly, gaining a burst of laughter from minghao and a slightly shocked expression from you.

‘anyways.’ you said, deciding to steer the conversation away from the topic. ‘let me show you the things you have to check off during your shift. we also have special sheets for that, and there’s still a lot you need to get a hang of.’

taking a few steps to reach for the blue binder, you reached out to poke minghao in the side, the man flinching in response.

‘that’s for laughing at me.’

you and vernon had known each other ever since you were in kindergarten. and ever since then, he’s had to deal with your non-stop rambling about whatever it was that annoyed you at the moment.

he was your best friend and somehow life led you towards the same passions, same interests and, consequently, the same major in college.

‘it’s suspicious.’ you stated, taking a sip of your energy drink as the two of you walked to your last class of the day. ‘this dude’s been there for five days already and i haven’t seen a single sign of him wanting to leave. he also asks so many questions i’m not even sure i know the answer to all of them. he must be damn good at pretending.’

‘or he just plans on staying.’ vernon mumbled.

you rolled your eyes at your friend’s statement, plopping down on the chair.

chan has managed to, in this short amount of time, win over both seungkwan and minghao; which you’ve found oddly suspicious. that didn’t mean that you’ve warmed up to him, though. you didn’t want him to get too comfortable too quick - you only spoke to him when he was asking you a question, keeping your answers brief and only work related. why bother getting to know him? he was going to leave soon anyways. you were sure of it - although his engagement in the job was, indeed, quite weird.

‘yeah, right. we’re supposed to have a shift together after class; i can bet you five bucks he won’t show up.’

‘deal.’

you arrived at the cafe fifteen minutes before the start of your shift, just enough to get changed and chat with joshua, who sat at one of the tables with his laptop open, seemingly getting some formalities done.

‘i’ll be leaving in half an hour, but there’ll be a delivery later on that i need you to pay for.’ he stated, stopping typing for a second. ‘the money’s in the envelope behind the counter - it should have the exact amount needed inside.’

‘i’ll take care of it.’ you said, busy tying your apron. ‘do you know which delivery it is?’

‘i think it’s fruits and foods for the kitchen.’ his words didn’t seem to get a positive reaction out of you, rather the opposite - you groaned, already annoyed at the mere idea of having to carry all of it inside. ‘yeah, a lot of heavy boxes. you’re lucky you’ll have chan to help you.’

‘if he even shows up. it’s less than five minutes before our shift starts and i don’t see him anywhere.’

joshua sighed, a smile on his lips.

‘not everyone arrives as fashionably early as you. give him a chance.’

‘sure. i already bet five dollars that he won’t show up. i don’t even know whether i want to lose the money or have to carry all these boxes by myself.’

you bid goodbye to the two waiters who just finished their shift, walking behind the counter to pour yourself a glass of water. after that, you went straight to work; there were a few people waiting to be served, and you had no time to waste.

5 minutes.

10 minutes.

20 minutes.

30 goddamn minutes.

as you exhaled deeply, preparing another americano to go, you already planned to text vernon and ask for your money. of course you were right - chan didn’t show up, and probably won’t show up ever again, and you’ll be stuck having to manage this shift alone unless seungkwan agrees to come in at the last minute for some overtime.

you reached for your phone, ready to call your friend. your thumb was hovering right barely over the screen when you heard the door open rapidly.

chan stormed through the door and sprinted right through the room and into the kitchen - you barely even heard him say hi. he was out in no time, messy hair getting into his eyes as he exhaled deeply, like he just ran a marathon.

‘i am so so so so fucking sorry.’ he said, still out of breath as he reached to tie his apron. ‘you won’t even believe how sorry i am. seriously. i was supposed to be here like fourty minutes ago but then my friend’s car crashed and i had to walk-‘

‘it’s fine.’ you cut his rambling off, mid sentence. ‘get to work now and i’ll pretend that didn’t happen.’

‘i’m sorry either way. you must’ve thought that i left you alone with all this work.’

‘i did.’

he smiled awkwardly, checking which orders still need to be done.

‘i don’t blame you. seungkwan explained to me what it looked like with my predecessors i guess, so it’s entirely understandable.’

‘yeah, yeah. less talking and more working - get ready to carry multiple boxes of foods to restock.’ you murmured, noticing new customers coming in. ‘also, that strawberry iced matcha won’t make itself.’

chan sighed quietly at the mention of the heavy labor, opening one of the drawers to get the correct glass for the drink.

‘ready in a minute.’

as you turned to greet the new customers you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. had seungkwan seen you in that moment, he would probably never let you live it down.

immediately after writing the new orders down, you sent vernon five bucks.

‘do you guys also go to uni?’

chan asked once, during a particularly slow shift, both of you sitting on bar stools as you sipped the coffee you had made for yourself earlier. seungkwan stood on the other side of the bar, cleaning up the counter and humming a tune quietly.

‘yup.’ seungkwan answered immediately. ‘musical theatre major.’

‘woah, you must have strong lungs for that.’

‘and he chooses to use them to talk your ear off for hours on end.’ you mumbled, soon met with a kitchen cloth being thrown at your head. ‘what? i’m telling the truth.’

‘you dare complain and yet you love listening to me.’ your friend said, hand on his heart as if he was doing some dramatic monologue. ‘my heart is shattered at this betrayal. i shall never speak to you again.’

‘good.’

seungkwan pretended to be sulky, the entire interaction gaining a hearty laugh from chan who tried his best to keep it in.

‘i wanted to ask because i thought you might help me.’ he said after his laughter died down. ‘i need to find someone who’s good with, uh, camerawork.’

‘pornstar?’ seungkwan joked, and chan almost spat out his drink.

‘no! no! god no.’ he immediately defended himself, standing up from his seat. ‘not that i’m judging people who work in this field. i need it for a project. for one of my classes.’

you exchanged glances with your friend and by the look on his face you knew the exact words that were going to leave his mouth next.

‘well, you have someone perfect for this right here.’ seungkwan exclaimed with excitement, motioning to you with his hands, almost as if you were some valuable goods he tried to sell to chan. ‘she’s a cinematography major - trust me, you’ll get the best angles and everything.’

‘yeah. given that i agree.’ you mumbled, over the almost empty glass.

you took a glance towards the younger boy whose lips formed into a slight pout hearing your words. you exhaled sharply.

‘alright, i’ll help you. just text me the details.’

‘i don't have your number.’

you chuckled, hand motioning towards the inner side of the counter, where a few sticky notes were displayed for those working behind the bar. most of them were there solely for fun - a caricature of seungkwan that minghao drew on one of his shifts, a drawing of a cat with a cup of coffee. between these various doodles was a red note written in bold, black letters.

emergency contact!! (dial at your own risk).

chan quickly began writing the digits down on his phone, a smile tugging on his lips at the note.

‘you can go home earlier today. the shift is really slow, and i think me and seungkwan will manage on our own. just sign off on all the lists in the binder.’

the boy looked almost too excited to be off the job, immediately running out to the employee room after signing off and saying a quick goodbye.

‘huh? you’d never let me leave early.’ seungkwan murmured quietly, walking to the coffee machine to make another iced americano for himself.

‘that’s because i would die of boredom without you, thomas the tank engine.’

seungkwan rolled his eyes theatrically at the nickname.

‘also, you’re being suspiciously…. nice. to chan. it’s unsettling.’ he stated, eyes narrowing as he stared you up and down. he looked downright comical.

‘what? no.’ your response was quick, almost too quick for seungkwan’s liking. ‘you kinda threw me under the bus so i had no choice but to agree to help.’

seungkwan took a step closer, eyes not leaving you for a second.

‘you let him leave early, you would never do that.’

‘it’s a slow day. the two of us are enough to manage all the nonexistent orders.’

‘i smell a love story brewing in real time here. hatred turned to love.’ seungkwan’s words echoed through the room, hands gesturing dramatically as he tried to imitate a movie trailer voice to add some tension to what he was saying.

‘don't even start.’

you gave seungkwan a look that he knew all too well; one more word from him and he would probably have to deal with a coffee stain on his freshly cleaned white t-shirt. seungkwan laughed at your reaction, deciding not to push any further as he saw your displeased face.

‘no love story here. is it really that surprising that i’m nice to someone?’ you asked, standing up from your seat to get some of the tasks for the day done.

‘yes. absolutely.’ seungkwan stated, ready to greet the two customers who just came in. ‘it’s like watching chucky be nice to someone. makes no sense.’

‘what makes no sense is that comparison.’

seungkwan laughed, shaking his head.

‘you just don’t wanna admit that it’s spot on. you also look like an ugly murderous doll who would probably jump me with a knife here if we were alone.’

‘whatever you say, guy who looks like an animated train.’ you mumbled, chuckling quietly. ‘get the orders before i steal all your tips and use them to pay someone to kidnap you.’

that very same day you agreed to help chan out with his project he texted you the details; a video of a self made choreography for his class that was due in a week’s time.

you were opposed to helping him - still a bit skeptical towards the guy - but you had no other choice at that point. it was three days before the deadline and it was much too late to flunk out and leave chan without any options and with a (probably) failed class. he did mention that it was worth a big chunk of his grade, after all.

so now here you were; pacing anxiously in front of some building you were supposed to meet chan at. by the looks of it it seemed to be a dance studio: you could tell by the posters on the inner side of the windows advertising dance classes in different styles and the few people walking past you to enter the building, either already appropriately dressed or carrying their clothes in sports bags.

you pulled out your phone to check the time: it was a quarter past five. the two of you agreed to meet up at five o’clock sharp. you looked around, one of your favorite tunes playing in your headphones. chan was still nowhere to be seen; not in the crowd of people leaving the underground metro station, not in the group of college kids walking by on the other side of the road.

being late must be chan’s shtick, you thought.

well, that was until someone tapped you on your shoulder.

‘hi.’ chan’s voice echoed from behind you and you quickly turned around to greet him. ‘why didn’t you come inside? i’ve been waiting there for the past fifteen minutes.’

oh.

‘sorry. i assumed you’ll be waiting outside the building.’

‘oh, right. i should’ve texted you to tell you that i’ll already be there.’ the boy mumbled, an awkward laugh leaving his lips.

‘it’s fine. let’s not waste any more time and get inside.’

chan seemed to agree with that statement, holding the door open for you to come in. once inside, he led you towards one of the empty rooms: the lights were dim and you noticed his things already laying in the corner of the room, right by the big mirror which took up one entire wall.

‘you rented out the whole room?’ you asked as you closed the door behind yourself, putting down your bags as you looked around. chan shook his head.

‘i didn’t have to. my dad owns this dance studio; he let me use it for a few hours before the senior belly dance class starts.’

you tilted your head, surprised at chan’s words - the second part, specifically.

‘senior belly dance class?’

‘yeah. it’s exactly what it sounds like. looks kind of uncanny, if i’m being honest.’

‘i’m surprised so many old women want to learn that.’ you mumbled as you sat down on the floor, legs crossed. ‘anyways, don’t you need to, like, stretch or anything? before i record the dance.’

‘oh yeah, you’re right. i should warm up.’

you stay on your phone as chan begins to stretch his limbs and replay parts of the choreography while either quietly humming the song under his breath or letting out a bunch of noises that you’ve once learned from your friend were called vocalisations: you still didn’t quite understand them, but you just decided you didn’t need to get deeper into that.

you’ve found yourself watching him closely as he went over the entire choreography a few times; how his body moved with fluidity and lightness, how he was capable of precisely hitting every beat with such ease that he made it look effortless. it was something truly astounding.

chan stopped in his movements, hand reaching up to wipe the sweat off of his forehead, shirt lifting up just the tiniest bit.

‘i’m gonna go change and wash up a bit and we can start, alright?’ he said, strands of hair sticking to his forehead. ‘it’ll take like, fifteen minutes. probably.’

you nodded, standing up to get your tools ready. a small chuckle escaped your lips as you noticed that you probably brought one too many reflectors than needed, but you wanted to be as prepared as possible. you gently set everything up, being extra careful with your camera - it wasn’t anything too fancy, but it was gifted to you before college started and you treated it with utmost love and care.

just as you finished setting everything up, making sure the tripod is steady, chan came back. you thought things would go swiftly from there on out; you record a few takes of the dance from different angles, in different ways and you’ll both be good to go for the evening. but one thing you forgot to add to the equation was that chan was a perfectionist - not only when making coffees he expected to be perfect at first try, but also in dance.

‘shit, that’s not it.’ he mumbled after the first two takes, walking towards his bag to grab a water bottle. ‘something feels off. i just can’t place it.’

a moment of silence took over the room, with both you and chan thinking of a possible way to fix it. you had no idea at all, and by the looks of it, he didn’t either.

‘maybe i should change up the choreo?’ he murmured quietly, seemingly talking to himself. ‘but then i’d make more mistakes while trying to remember the changes. no, that’s not it… maybe the problem’s not in the dance itself-

‘you should take your shirt off.’

‘excuse me?’

chan stared at you for a solid few seconds as his face heated up, completely dumbfounded by your sudden words. only then did you realize how it sounded.

‘no no not like that!’ you quickly jumped to defend yourself, cursing yourself out in your head for making a stupid comment like that. usually you weren’t one to do such things. ‘this dance is in a contemporary style, right? i’ve seen more contemporary dancers with their shirts off than on. but i’m not the expert here.’

‘we could try that.’ he said after a minute of thought, a smile on his face. ‘as long as you’re comfortable with it, obviously.’

‘whatever helps us finish this faster. it’s not like i’m going to ogle at you, chan.’

chan chuckled, reached to pull the shirt over his head and your breath hitched for a second, eyes skimming over his figure.

you’ve expected him to be in good shape, but he looked even better than you thought he would. his stomach was slightly toned; not too much but just enough to see his abs. arms , which were earlier covered by the long sleeves were now in full display and you caught yourself staring for a second too long. you looked away immediately.

‘let’s get this over with.’ you mumbled to yourself, adjusting the camera on the tripod.

the image of shirtless chan haunted you even while on the job. and it didn’t help that the culprit had the same shifts as you for the entire week.

your thoughts on him shifted slightly since that day; not only did you notice more and more of his positive qualities, you’ve also become painfully aware of just how attractive he was.

over the course of the past few days he’s been nothing but a gentleman. helping you wait tables on a particularly busy day, offering to carry all the boxes delivered during morning shifts, showing fifteen minutes earlier to his every shift, making you coffee under the excuse of practicing his latte art skills. hell, he even managed to steal the hearts of all the older ladies who frequented the cafe.

the fact that you’ve warmed up to him so quickly annoyed you to great extents.

the fact that each time your eyes landed on him they stayed there a bit too long annoyed you even more.

‘why do people keep ordering boring americanos?’ chan whined behind the bar, looking at another order you just received. ‘can’t they, i don’t know, be more creative? i’m bored of making the same thing over and over.’

‘still better than being asked about 7 different drinks only to write down ‘americano’ for the hundredth time.’ you stated, sitting down at the bar stool and waiting for chan to finish making the order.

‘let’s just erase it from the menu.’ he said, taking out two small plates for the coffee cups. you scoffed at his idea.

‘seungkwan would send a hitman after you for even suggesting that.’

chan laughed, pulling up the sleeves of his sweatshirt and consequently exposing his arms. he handed you the coffee carefully, making sure he won’t spill anything. you reached for it to place it down on the plates, fingers accidentally grazing against his for just a second.

you could still feel the faint remnants of his touch after you brought the coffee to the customers, even after you went to check the state of the bathrooms.

this isn’t good.

you ignored it to the best of your ability, trying to focus on the job and not chan’s stupidly nice looking arms, but it was difficult and you hated your mind for not letting you work in peace.

you pulled out your phone, shooting vernon a quick message.

‘takeout after work? gotta rant a bit.’

not even a minute passed before you got your answer.

‘sure. but you’re paying.’

‘when the fuck did you get a buzzcut?’ were the first words vernon heard as he opened the door for you, your face more shocked than if seungkwan were to tell you he’ll stop drinking americanos.

‘today. uh, surprise?’ he said as he let you inside, taking the bags of takeout from your hands and walking away to put them on the counter. ‘does it look bad?’

‘horrendous.’ you mumbled, laughing at your friend. ‘kidding. it’s great. the fact that you can pull that off is annoying, though.’

vernon chuckled, opening the boxes of fried chicken and digging in immediately.

‘not my fault i have better genes than you.’

‘i hope you choke on this chicken.’

you plopped down on the couch, a groan leaving your lips as vernon handed you the other box and utensils.

‘it’s so annoying. ever since i’ve helped chan with this choreography project it’s like he’s haunting me every living second.’ you stated, taking a bite out of your food. ‘every single time he comes to work with that dumb smile of his, i can’t shake off the image of his stupidly perfect body. i feel like i’m going insane.’

‘i’m sure you finding someone attractive is not the end of the world. give it a week or two and you’ll be back to usual.’

‘i hope so. i can’t just start malfunctioning every time he rolls up his sleeves.’

vernon thought for a second, finishing up his food - you still don’t know how he managed to gobble it up so quickly.

‘if it really bothers you, can't you just switch shifts with seungkwan?’

you sighed deeply, laying down with your head on the armrest.

‘nope. they’re curated according to our classes.’

‘alright. change of topic then.’ vernon murmured, reaching for the remote. ‘wanna watch a movie?’

your friend laughed immediately as he saw you shooting up at his words.

‘i’m surprised you even asked.’ your voice echoed through the room excitedly. ‘i still have a whole list of ones we haven’t yet reviewed on letterboxd.’

you loved vernon like a brother; you always cherished having a friend like him in your life, someone who you knew would always stay by your side and listen to everything you had to say. he absorbed your gossip, rants and nonsense talks like a sponge and, surprisingly, never complained. that being said, there was only one situation where vernon wouldn’t agree with you for his life: picking movies.

picking something to watch never stopped on the two of you agreeing on one film - it always turned into a conversation seungkwan once called a ‘battle of two pretentious young filmmakers whose favorite movie is a fifteen hour long french piece on a girl peeling fruit because it’s so revolutionary and different.’

he was, of course, right, which has been proven multiple times; one of them being tonight, as you and vernon went at it for two hours straight without being able to come to an agreement.

‘you say you have refined taste and you want to rewatch night at the museum for the hundredth time?’

‘it’s a classic!’ vernon exclaimed loudly, rubbing his temples. ‘as if you’re any better. one of your favorite movies is confessions of a shopaholic.’

‘say one bad thing about it and i’ll kick you out.

‘it’s literally my apartment.’

your phone started buzzing in your pocket all of a sudden, a dozen messages coming in at once.

‘jeez, turn that vibrator off.’ vernon mumbled, standing up from his seat to go throw out the empty fried chicken box.

you ignored his comment, opening up your phone to see the notifications.

all of the 13 unread messages were from chan.

‘holy shit’

‘hply SHIT’

‘yeah i just got my grade for the project esrlier today’

‘i passed (obvy)’

‘but!!!’

‘i got the HIGHEST VUCKING SCORE WTFFFFFF’

‘this is like so so so thsnks to you’

‘wow idk how to thank you diva what do i dooooo’

‘sr rambling a lil bit i’m drnk’

‘drunk’

‘idk how i’m gonna get back to my dorm lolz’

‘not bothering u anymore love ya’

‘wait not love ya but yk wait MORE SOJU OMG’

your brows furrowed as you looked through the texts, vernon’s eyes also scanning each of them over your shoulder. the boy huffed out a laugh.

‘well, he’ll surely feel embarrassed about that during your next shift.’

you reread the messages a few times. it wasn’t your obligation to make sure he didn’t get too wasted nor were you responsible for chan; he was an adult, after all. after reading the texts for the fifth time, though, your mind started to wander.

you called chan before you even processed all your thoughts. he picked up after a few seconds.

‘hello-‘

‘how drunk are you?’

you were met with a solid minute of silence on chan’s end, the only sounds heard on the other side of the phone being those of his friends arguing over who pays for the next round. a sigh left your lips.

‘i don’t know.’ he mumbled, words a little slurry. ‘pick me up, please.’

‘i can’t do that if i don’t know where you are.’

‘ugh, it’s the- uh, what is it called?’ you were surprised you could still understand chan’s words through the phone, a small smile tugging at your lips. ‘the bar. across our cafe. dunno the name.’

it made sense now. the bar chan was talking about was frequented by most students from your college; including you, occasionally. the alcohol was cheap and therefore not very good, but it didn’t stop the students from drinking there at any given occasion. you looked at the time, then at vernon, who was obviously listening to the whole conversation.

‘i’ll let you take my car.’ your friend murmured quietly, already handing you the keys. ‘just make sure he doesn’t throw up in there, or he’s paying for new upholstery.’

‘thank you.’ you mouthed back to vernon, walking towards the door to get your shoes. you then turned your attention back to the boy on the other side of the phone.

‘i’ll pick you up in five minutes. wait outside.’

by the time you got out of vernon’s car, chan was already outside, as he was supposed to be, sitting with his back against the wall. when his eyes found you his smile grew almost instantly, his energy back all of a sudden.

‘you’re here!’ he exclaimed, trying his best not to trip as he stood up, immediately making his way to throw his arms around you. you struggled not to fall back under his weight, somewhat surprised at his actions although knowing very well about his drunken state.

you helped him stand up straight, taking his arms off of you.

‘alright, let’s get you to the car.’ you mumbled quietly, opening the door on the passenger’s side. ‘unless you want to throw up. then i’m not letting you inside.’

chan blinked a few times, as if he needed more time to process your words, before shaking his head slowly as he headed towards the car, body swaying slightly.

‘all good.’

seeing him get inside, you quickly got to your side, making sure to fasten your seatbelt before you started the car. seeing how exhausted chan seemed to be before you appeared you expected him to fall asleep during the drive - but you were quickly proven wrong.

your eyes were focused on the road, one of vernon’s playlists playing quietly. fortunately for both you and chan, the dorms weren’t all that far from the bar - not only that, but at this hour of the night the streets were almost empty. your perfect driving conditions.

well, almost.

‘why don’t you like me?’ your eyes drifted to the side for just a split second, noticing chan’s sulky expression.

‘huh?’

‘you’re nice to everyone. you’re not nice to me.’ he mumbled, somehow sulking even more. ‘why don’t you like me?’

‘first of all, i’m not nice to everyone. i’m definitely not nice to seungkwan.’ you said, eyes back on the road. ‘second of all, it’s not that i don’t like you, chan. you’re alright, i guess.’

‘but seungkwan gets the mean but i actually like you and would give you my kidney if you needed it treatment and i get the mean because oooh look at me i’m so unattainable and won’t let you in treatment. maybe i also want your kidney!’

‘that comparison makes absolutely no sense.’ a small smile formed on your face, trying hard to hold back a laugh in case it’d upset chan. ‘besides, it’s a little too early for me to be giving you my kidneys.’

you parked the car, turning the engine off as you undid your seatbelt.

‘so you hate me and want me to die, huh?’

the laugh that left your lips was so sudden that even you were surprised.

‘didn’t know alcohol could make someone this dramatic.’ you said, walking out of the car to open the door on the passenger’s side, letting chan outside. ‘let’s get you to your dorm, alright? you’re speaking nonsense.’

‘no.’

‘and why is that?’

chan whined as he got out of the car, one arm resting on you to keep his balance.

‘because then you’ll leave and i’ll have to miss you until our next shift.’

you thanked the night sky for hiding the redness of your cheeks, the sudden heat hitting your face.

‘yup. enough nonsense, chan.’ you said quickly, one hand on his back as you guided him down the sidewalk.

‘but i love y-‘

‘not a word more or i’ll leave you to sleep in the bushes. we’ll talk about this another time.’

if he remembers anything he said, that is.

you were surprised to see him comply, letting you walk him back to his dorm in silence. you left him at the building entrance, turning back to get to the car the moment you saw the doors closing.

as you drove back to vernon’s to give him his car back, the words chan almost said clouded your every thought.

the next day, you called in sick. and the day after that, too.

you had to sit down with your thoughts for a bit. you’ve thrown yourself into your studies, phone on do not disturb and headphones on to turn off all the outside voices trying to creep their way into your thoughts - and yet, no matter how much you tried, chan has managed to find himself a temporary place in your brain.

what on earth was he thinking trying to confess to you while drunk? probably very little, considering the alcohol’s influence on his mind. the worst thing was that you were left with the knowledge of what his feelings are without even knowing if he’s aware that he’s stated them out loud.

you weren’t even sure you wanted to believe what he said. one side of you begged for it to be just a mistake - you wanted nothing more than to believe his words weren’t true, that all of it was just the alcohol playing tricks on his and, consequently, your mind.

but the other side, the one you tried your best to ignore, dared to wish these words to be true.

you weren’t sure whether you were ready to admit it yet - not to yourself, not to anyone - but somewhere between the lines the light in which you saw chan has shifted. your eyes, once wary and cautious, almost suspicious of the boy have now looked at him with something so scarily reminiscent of adoration you had to remind yourself to look away.

your plan was for you to just pretend it never happened and ignore the thoughts (and chan) to the best of your abilities. you knew it wouldn’t be easy, considering that the two of you were still working together. especially considering that today you were supposed to have a closing shift with him.

you never really liked closing shifts - too many people being too loud, too many mugs to wash before going home, too many tables to clean and crumbs of sweet treats and coffee stains to wipe off of the tables. it was all very mundane work and considering the hour and the lack of energy, it became even more draining.

you walked into the cafe five minutes before the start of your shift, greeting minghao and seungkwan who were busy with customers. the moment you put your apron on and reached to open the door to leave the employee room, you felt it being opened from the other side.

chan stood there as he took out his earphones, putting them in their little box as he stepped inside. you left the room without even saying hello and dipped to start your job and check the bathrooms for customers to see if anything needs restocking. not your favorite task, but at least you didn’t have to be interacting with the barista on duty.

you smiled at customers, writing down their orders and typing them into the system, mind focusing on each task as if you were a character in the sims - as if that was your only objective for the time given, only to be replaced with a new one the moment you finish doing the one before. you avoided staying behind the counter too long. you even cleaned some of the windows, even though you always complained about not reaching all the edges and having to crouch down to clean them in their entirety.

chan noticed.

he took the new batch of dirty mugs that you’ve carried from your hands, placing them down in the sink carefully before turning towards you to ask you a question, but you were already busy doing something entirely different. when he tried to strike up a conversation while handing you the drinks you were meant to serve, you only mumbled a quick ‘thanks’ before disappearing between customers.

you thanked the universe that it was a busy evening and that your hands were full of work that needed to be done. time passed by surprisingly fast when you were so engaged in your work - you didn’t even notice when the sun started to set and when the last customer left the place for the day, the kitchen clocking out just mere minutes later.

chan took that as his chance.

‘will you stop ignoring me now?’ he stood near the entrance to the bar, mop in one hand and a bucket in the other, watching as you wiped another table clean. ‘please.’

‘i have no idea what you’re talking about.’ you mumbled and you could clearly hear him let out a huff of air.

‘we both know that’s not true.’ he said, getting to his part of the job. ‘you didn’t even look at me all day.’ he then added, quietly, just barely audible.

the silence lingering between the two of you as you cleaned the cafe was almost sickening to chan.

‘i’m sorry if i said something that upset you while i was drunk.’ he broke the silence and you froze for a second after hearing his words. ‘that’s probably it, isn’t it? i must’ve said something really mean.’

you looked down at the table in front of you, a glimpse of your reflection in the freshly cleaned glass.

‘you said you loved me. i cut you off before you could finish because i know that’s nonsense.’

silence.

the lack of a verbal response made you look at him - for the first time that day - and as your eyes caught a glimpse of chan’s face, you were surprised to see him so… conflicted. chan’s eyes were focused on you, staring blankly at your face, and you couldn’t decipher the feelings hiding behind them.

he didn’t remember.

‘i’m sorry.’

‘you also talked about wanting to take my kidney.’

‘i- what now?’

you smiled for a brief second, lips curving up ever so slightly amidst his reaction. chan put the mop back, trying not to die from embarrassment as he stopped in front of the sink, letting the water run as he started cleaning the dirty mugs. you accompanied him in the task quietly, occupying the sink next to his as you got started on the same task.

he took a breath, as if to say something, but he hesitated for a second before actually letting any words leave his mouth.

‘it wasn’t nonsense, what i said that day. well, uh, maybe the kidney part was- yeah, it probably was, but i meant that other one.’

the truth hit you so hard you didn’t know what to do with it. you spent the last two days thinking about this - about the possible outcomes, the paths this relationship could take based on the answer given. your mind was processing it all over like a broken record player. this time, though, you had the answer right in front of you and yet you were still unsure.

‘i wanted to dislike you so much.’ you started quietly, hands reaching for the tall glass to clean it next. ‘but i can’t. i can’t bring myself to dislike you when all the feelings i bear for you have turned out to be the exact opposite of that. you have too good of a personality for anyone to ever dislike you.’

‘i don’t care about just anyone. right now i only care about what you think of me.’ chan’s words followed yours almost without a pause. ‘about- whether i actually have a chance.’

he was now facing you, hands wet as he awaited your response. you put down the now clean glass right next to the sink, turning towards chan as you wiped the excess water into the apron.

the small part of you that wished chan’s feelings towards you were true took over you entirely, kicking any future and previous possible doubts out the window - or maybe it was just you coming to terms with your feelings, finally embracing them fully. but one thing was certain: you now knew what you wanted to do.

‘i think there’s only one way to find out.’

his lips were on yours in no time, wet hands reaching to rest on both sides of your waist, leaving water stains on the sides of your clothes. the kiss, although having a sudden start, was soft and delicate; chan enjoyed every second of it, humming in satisfaction when he felt your hand rest upon his chest.

chan backed you up towards the inner part of the counter, lifting you up with ease to let you sit down as he stood between your legs, one of his hands toying with the hem of your shirt.

‘is that okay?’ he mumbled, lips not wanting to leave yours for too long as he waited for a response. hearing the quiet ‘mhm’ from your lips was enough of an indicator that you enjoyed yourself, too, and chan had to hold himself from smiling into the kiss too much.

you pulled him closer - if that was even possible at this point - noses bumping into each other as the kiss deepened, your arms thrown around his neck as one of his hands slid under your shirt, the faint touch just below your bra making you shiver.

you were the first one to pull away.

‘as nice as it is, i think we should get back to work.’ you mumbled, forehead resting on chan’s as he leaned in for another kiss, a quick peck to just feel your lips on his again. ‘you know, uh, we still have to close up the cafe.’

chan took a step back, helping you get off the counter.’

‘yeah. right. closing up the cafe.’ he mumbled, cheeks red as he turned to get back to his previous task. ‘will i get another kiss after that?’

you smiled, giving chan a kiss on the cheek.

‘however many you’d like.’

‘i am curious, though.’ chan added before going back to washing dishes. ‘why exactly was i talking about wanting your kidneys?’

‘beats me.’ you laughed, shrugging. ‘lets focus on the work now, though. the sooner we finish, the sooner you’ll get another kiss.’

next day joshua decided against bringing up what he saw on the camera footage from the closing shift - but he did make a mental footnote of bringing up ‘proper workplace etiquette’ at the next employee meeting.

[nymphaura777]

HELLO, THIS IS A SUCCESS STORY!!!

Right now, as I’m writing these words, I am crying tears of happiness. My biggest dream was to come back to Tumblr one day with a success story. I first learned about Void State in 2022 from an Instagram manifest blog called @/moncherry (whose account is now closed). Since that day, I became obsessed with it. (If there are people obsessed with Void State and as a result delaying their lives and sinking deeper, don’t feel alone because I was exactly like that.) From 2022 until June 14th, if you ask me how many times I truly tried Void State, the count probably wouldn’t exceed the fingers on two hands. “I’ll try tomorrow,” and “I just turned over and fell asleep” were my habits. But I realized that I was constantly postponing my life this way and decided to take the reins of my life back. Since the beginning of June, I stuck to one plan — ‘DON’T MOVE’. I know it sounds like a very limiting belief, but it worked for me. I chose the late hours when I wasn’t sleepy, between 9 pm and 10 pm, to keep my brain awake with caffeine, lying on my back in the starfish position, and I didn’t move after that time. Here’s what I did, step by step:

Wim Hof breathing technique (about 10 minutes)

Any Yoga Nidra meditation (about 30 minutes)

This way, you stay motionless for 40 minutes but your mind remains awake. Then I use a Void State meditation I recorded with my own voice. I’m sharing the text below for you:

Void State Meditation Script: “Find a place where you can feel comfortable. Make sure your body is as comfortable and relaxed as possible. It’s very important to take your time preparing your body for this practice. If needed, pause, take a deep breath, and come back when you feel ready. When you feel ready, lovingly close your beautiful eyes and allow your awareness to gently turn inward. Gently focus your attention on your breath; notice your belly expanding as you inhale and relaxing as you exhale, maybe feeling a sense of relief.

Let gravity do its work. Feel all the muscles in your body relax and release: your head, face, neck, shoulders, arms, hands... your chest, back, belly, hips, legs, and feet becoming heavier. Because right now, they don’t need to do anything. Whisper gently to your body: “Body, it’s time to relax now. I give you permission to relax.”

With each breath in, fill yourself with deep relaxation, and with each breath out, let all tension flow out of your body. Breathe naturally, at a rhythm that feels good to you, without overthinking it. Trust that even if you don’t consciously understand, your body benefits from this process and is doing what’s right for you. Knowing that your body understands, allow yourself to let go even more.

Now, imagine a vast and dark emptiness in your mind. An infinite, silent, shapeless space... This emptiness gently surrounds you, all your thoughts, feelings, and worries dissolve into this darkness. You no longer need to do anything; you simply exist. All remaining thoughts drift away like clouds floating in the sky. Your body’s boundaries become indistinct; you are now pure awareness in this infinite space. This emptiness fills you with peace; here there is no time, no place, no right or wrong.

Allow the darkness to envelop you. In this void, feel a nameless peace slowly wrapping around you. As this peace deepens, notice a light being born inside. This light is soft, warm, and reassuring. It slowly expands, enveloping your entire being, filling you with love and tranquility. Now, realize that this light actually comes from within you. Fully surrender to this moment.

Rest peacefully in this space for a while. Whether you stay in the endless darkness or watch a colorful display within it doesn’t matter. Trust that this moment and space are with you. With every inhale, notice how good this emptiness and light feel, and with every exhale, sink deeper into relaxation.

When you’re ready, on your next inhale, feel deep gratitude for this darkness and emptiness. Hold your breath and feel your body filling with a sense of lightness. When ready, notice this lightness spreading through your entire body and touching every cell. A sense of enlightenment arises within you; you realize you have the power to choose what your mind perceives, choosing non-judgment and acceptance. You can rest in this feeling as long as you want. Carry the peace, trust, and acceptance this experience gives you inside.

Now, I will count down from 10 to 1. With each number, you will feel closer to the void state: 10: Keep focusing on your breath. 9: Feel yourself getting closer. 8: Take one more step closer to the void in your mind, body, and emotional state. 7: Notice how wonderful it feels to breathe. 6: You are entering the void state. No struggle, no problem, no doubt. 5: You’re very close, feel how near you are. 4: You become one with the void. 3: Closer than ever before. 2: Almost fully in the void state. 1: You are now completely in the void state.”

You can either record this with your own voice or use a text-to-speech app to turn it into audio.

After the meditation, the next step is tricking the brain. Without moving, and with eyes closed, move your eyes left, right, down, and up. 1-2 minutes is enough.

Then comes a robotic affirmation: “I am the Void. I am aware that I am in the void state right now.”

Your body will already be relaxed and numb from immobility, your brain between dream and reality. When the moment comes when all sounds fade away, your entire destiny will change. This was my journey. To make your life even better than your dreams, all you need is 1 to 1.5 hours of not moving, relaxing, and affirming. It’s that simple.

What I have achieved:

୨୧ An extraordinary, never-before-seen facial beauty — green feline eyes, Russian lips, and a Cindy Crawford nose.

୨୧ Slim, narrow shoulders and rib cage, a slender waist and abdomen, proportionate wide hips, and long model-like legs.

୨୧ Hairless, crystal-clear skin free from all skin issues (Goodbye to eczema I had for years).

୨୧ Perfect, flawless, full, soft, shiny, non-frizzy, never breaking, never smelling bad, never greasy, healthy, and always beautifully scented thick wavy light brown hair.

୨୧ Always super clean, attractive, sexy, and sweet-smelling everywhere. Never sweat or smell bad. No sweat stains ever. My clothes and underwear always smell very clean, nice, and sexy. Both my bathroom visits always smell good. No sounds from the bathroom, no discharge, no gas or burps. This doesn’t harm my health.

୨୧ Graduated from Yale Law School and currently accepted to Harvard Law School for my master’s degree.

୨୧ A passive income job earning $15,000 per month and a $5,000 scholarship for my master’s degree.

୨୧ Currently living in a Bosphorus-view loft apartment in Istanbul, with a Mercedes iX.

୨୧ All the skincare products, Dyson, Apple devices, luxury cosmetics, books, cameras, and more from my Pinterest wishlist.

୨୧ My sister overcoming PCOS, and a summer house in Muğla for my mother.

୨୧ Meeting the man of my dreams in the summer of 2026.

And countless other details I can’t list here…

Learning Void State — even if years pass — never lose hope, and remember that something that has never happened before might just happen in one day. Let this be the moment your luck turns around. Thanks to all the Tumblr blogs, I am grateful beyond words. Now, to live the best summer of my life, I’m going to the Bahamas with my sister and my closest three friends. (And yes, I manifested my friends too ;) )

— OPIA (maybe I’ll use this nickname to share motivational talks and thoughts again. I love you all <3)

OHHHHH MYYYY GODDDNESSSS, CONGRATULATIONSSSSSS LOVEEEE AND THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SHARING THIS TO ME!!!!!!

DID YOU SEE FOLKS??? HOW EASY IT IS TO INDUCE VOID!!????? GOODDDDDD I AM SO HAPPY FOR YOU!!!!!

HAVE THE BEST LIFE AHEAD OPIA! 💗✨THIS SUCCESS STORY MADE MY FREAKING DAY!!!

[weisshapt]

finding the "folk" and the "lore" in the folklore of the wwe

do you want to participate in/contribute to the most electrifying master’s dissertation in all of folklore studies sports entertainment? read below to find out how you can!

thank you to @moxleyrollins for helping me find and source footage, and @alistairs for both excellent suggestions and putting up with me throughout the whole process!

i am currently looking for wwe fans to answer questionnaires and potentially sign up for one-on-one interviews regarding their relationship to, experiences with, thoughts on, and memories connected to their viewership of the wwe and professional wrestling. these will be used as data to help bolster my upcoming master’s dissertation project, where i will be arguing that the “lore” within and surrounding the wwe fits the criteria to be considered folklore, and that the wwe universe, comprised of both performers and fans alike, can be viewed as a folkloric group.

i know what you might be thinking: how the hell do you get folklore out of what is essentially a soap opera of violence? well, that was my question too and apparently i’m the first person to ask it because as far as all of my research has found, i am the first to climb this mountain, and by participating, I’m inviting you to climb it with me!

at this point, feel free to skip to the bottom unless you want to go down this absolute rabbit hole with me as well.

now, what exactly am i calling folklore? for starters, everything you see above. but let's take it step by step. think about how extensive of a culture wwe has amassed over the years, and not just for those of us tuning in weekly and for events. how many people do you know who’ve never watched a single match in their lives, but can recognize john cena’s entrance music and can understand what the five knuckle shuffle is, and the “you can’t see me” catchphrase? how many memes have you seen using pictures or gifs of various wrestlers or that one clip of vince mcmahon (i don’t even have to specify which one do i?) or videos using the undertaker bell?

as fans, have you ever thought about how, given all the various jargon, when you talk about wrestling, you’re practically speaking a different language, one unique to those within this specific community? and a whole language it definitely is. i’ve got 220+ words in the glossary portion of my appendices to prove it. material culture? how about all the replica belts, action figures, and various merchandise sold by wwe? what about fan-made stuff like signs, clothes, fanart? and yes, ring gear can and does count (or at least i’m arguing it does) as a kind of folk costume, whether that’s ric flair’s robes, cody rhodes’s red, white, and blue get-up, the wyatts’ masks, and pretty much every look shawn michaels or seth rollins have sported across their entire careers.

the very nature of wwe storytelling adheres to some of the characteristics folklorists study. not only are the plotlines and developments governed by adherence to calendar customs, with raws and smackdowns always leading up to and following in the wake of one of the many premium live events, but the storylines themselves are chock full of motifs straight out of the stith thompson index, constantly utilising tropes of good vs evil/hero vs villain (babyface vs heel), underdogs and heroes journeys. additionally, folklore and the folkloresque are often used as symbols and aesthetics to build up the image of a character and their gimmick.

and the community, from the wrestlers in the ring to the fans behind the barricades? easily checks off the list for attributes of a folkloric group. shared experiences and interpersonal relations, a sense of community, unique customs, rituals, beliefs, and traditions that are preserved and sustained, culture transmitted through group-wide communication and oral traditions (online with the iwc or in-person at events). the only box not checked has to do with size, and that's a point of wider contestation living now in such a technologically interconnected world.

i'll stop here, or else you'll end up reading through what is essentially a prolonged abstract of the entire project.

so what am i actually looking for and asking of the community?

i need members of the wwe community to take a few moments out of their day in order to answer questions about their introduction to and memories involving the wwe, their interest, engagement, and experiences with the material and the performances, their knowledge of wwe 'lore' whether it deals with the wrestlers (in or out of kayfabe) or fans and how they view those anecdotes, and their thoughts on the wwe community as a whole.

the questionnaire is made up, in total, of 10 main questions (one for every era), with an additional checkbox for those interested to note down their willingness to participate in one-on-one interviews, either chat-based or audio-recorded depending on the interviewee's preference.

below you will find a link leading first to an official consent form provided to me by my university. this will involve some level of sharing personal information, however it should be noted that no identifying information will be shared outside of the written project itself, all data will be kept secured on a university-issued cloud drive and will be deleted following the submission date of august 4, 2025, and any participants not wishing to be named in the dissertation itself can and will be anonymised.

upon finishing the consent form, you will then be referred to the questionnaire itself, described previously.

as for the interviews themselves (for those interested and able), those may range anywhere from 30 minutes to 1-2 hours, depending on time constraints and interviewee preference), and will largely focus on expanding on the answers previously provided in the questionnaire.

i hope that's all clear but i am happy to clarify any information for those who may have questions! if not...

click here to access the consent form and the questionnaire

now, for those who may wish to contribute but either don't have time to fill out the questionnaire or for whatever reason don't want to, my ask box and dms are both open for any comments or suggestions for what others might consider "wwe lore." have a moment that's stuck with you ever since it aired? a favorite match or promo? a fan-story you can point me to somewhere online? send it in, anonymous or otherwise! and feel free to share this post wherever you like and/or send it to anyone you believe might be interested in participating!

[crossbackpoke-check]

Dysprosium, Mary Soon Lee

dysprosium, AN 66, is a silvery-white rare earth metal. its name is derived from the greek dysprositos, meaning “hard to get at”, owing to the difficulty in separating and isolating this rare earth element. dysprosium is used to measure neutron flux, to fuel reactors, and to activate phosphors. terfenol-d is a magnetorestrictive alloy, meaning that it changes shape when a magnetic field is applied, and is used to manufacture underwater acoustic systems.

jason “robo” robertson, dallas stars #21 for @simmyfrobby’s nhl periodic table poems <3

[ko-eko-ev-go-ms]

The struggle of putting yourself in the position of having to do a bunch of social stuff for a good cause but meanwhile you have SO MUCH social anxiety

[mostly-imagines]

Sugar on the Rim vol. I

bruce wayne x afab!reader

aka the billionaires new friend

warnings: implied that reader is a virgin, age gap (bruce is older than reader), mentions of sex, smut in next part

You twist the stem of the wine glass around between your fingers slowly. Your chin rests atop your knees as you stare vacantly at the tiny puddle left of the drink. You could go refill it, but then you’d have to go back out to the main room and man…you really do not want to do that. So you’ll sit here, swiping your tongue across the bumps of the roof of your mouth as if it's a fascinating new discovery.

The creak of hinges has you shooting upright, your back thumping against the stair step behind you. You’re not immediately sure how to act as though it’s normal that you’re sitting in the stairwell outside the fundraiser rather than in it, fraternizing with old and new money alike. You freeze, trying to relax your posture so it doesn’t look like you’re alarmed at the sight of another person, but not so relaxed that you look as bored as you are.

Your neutrality stutters when you glance up to find the host of the fundraiser. The billionaire host of the fundraiser. Bruce Wayne, the billionaire host of the fundraiser. Your posture straightens right back up and your mouth snaps shut as you make eye contact.

Should you stand up? 

No, he’s rich, not royalty. 

You are in his house though—

He looks you over contemplatively, “I don’t know you,” It’s not accusatory, rather he says it like it’s something interesting.

You perk up at that, immediately formulating reasons to justify your presence. “Oh, uh, no—” the words nearly spill out of your mouth all at once. You clear your throat, “I’m just a plus one for my boss—”

“Who’s your boss?” he asks, relaxed. 

“Arthur Mullins.”

He looks to the side, squinting, “Mullins…he’s the executive at Williamson Industries, yes?”

You nod and he returns the gesture, slower, like he’s processing through something. “I’m Bruce,” he says warmly after a moment, holding his hand out to you.

You nod before you can even think to get any words to come out, “I—yeah, I know,” you accept his hand, shaking it as you tell him your name.

There’s a slight glint in his eye when he hears your name, and he repeats it quietly to himself. “A pretty name.”

“Oh, it’s just…” Just your name. But rather than fill him in on that fascinating tidbit, you let the sentence die off.

He smiles kindly anyway, “What are you doing in here? Party’s out there, or so they tell me.”

“I…I’m hiding in here,” you admit sheepishly.

He leans in towards you slightly, lowering his voice. “I’ll let you in on a secret—so am I,” he smiles at you like it’s easy.

Your grin matches his, “It’s your party,”

“That’s why I need to hide.” He tilts his head, “Doesn’t give you much of an excuse though, does it?”

“I don’t know anybody here.”

He puckers his bottom lip contemplatively, “Your boss.”

You shake your head, “I’m just his assistant. I’m pretty sure he just brought me as a precaution in case he needed a designated driver.”

He laughs at that, “Based on the way I’ve seen Mullins’ attempts to operate, his assistant would have to be a hell of a lot more important than just a designated driver.”

Well, he’s certainly right about that. Your boss doesn’t exactly “have it together” per se. He’s an unorganized man with little to justify his importance in Gotham, so he tends to insist on taking on more responsibility than he has any business having. Not to mention, he’s a bit of a try-hard and you’re constantly left to sweep up the pieces of his reputation that he shattered himself. Not to say he’s necessarily unprofessional, he just will do anything and everything to prove he belongs in any given space. It’s honestly a bit exhausting to watch. It’s more exhausting to try and convince him that the exchange went well afterwards.

You nod slowly, eyes on his shoes. “Mr. Mullins has…a unique approach to business. It does usually leave me fairly busy, I’ll give you that.” You take a quick deep breath, plastering on a fake smile. “But that means I occasionally get to go to fancy parties where I don’t know anyone, so..”

“Well then it sounds like you’ve got it all worked out,” he ribs, “Or don’t you agree?”

You smile coyly, “I would never be so bold.”

“I don’t mind boldness. For example, the reason I came in here is because he spotted me.”

You laugh at that, “Mr. Wayne—”

“Bruce.”

“Mr. Wayne,” you suppress your smile as you pause, choosing your words carefully. “I think he’s just networking.” He doesn’t have the money to give.

He nods surely, “He’s definitely just networking.” He really doesn’t have the money to give. You allow just the faintest wisp of a smile to adorn your face as you look down again.

You check the time and realize that you’ve been hiding away for too long and that if he hasn’t already, your boss will notice soon. You sigh quietly to yourself, “I should..”

He turns his head to the closed door where the chatter can be heard from beyond, sighing in defeat as he shakes his head looking back at you. “So should I.”

You feel a bit insecure as you stand, the gown you’re wearing is pretty but it is very much affordable and you’re sure someone as wealthy as Bruce Wayne would know the difference.

If he does notice he makes no deal of it, motioning you forward gallantly to walk ahead of him.

He follows after you, hands behind his back. “Would it be rude of me to ask you to distract him while I run for the bar?”

It’s busy, even for a Sunday afternoon, and you have to sidestep past someone nearly every step you take. You stick next to the windows of the line of boutiques down the road, trying to balance window shopping and not bumping into other pedestrians.

You're in a nicer district of Gotham, truthfully an area you don't quite belong in. So far you’ve only managed to find a couple shops that weren’t several ranges above your budget. 

A call of your name has you blinking rapidly and turning around as if you’re lost. It doesn’t take long for you to pick the six foot two billionaire out of the crowd and it’s only half a second longer before you realize he’s walking towards you. A few people collide shoulders with you as they move past thoughtlessly, no regard for the personal space of the idiot that stopped in the flow of traffic.

You let him approach a couple feet closer before you ask him, “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Wayne?” The presence of his figure in front of you allows for a break from being bumped into, as he seemingly makes for a far more easily seen and intentionally avoided target.

He sways a bit, “Bruce. I’m not sure yet,” he looks down to the couple of bags you’re holding, extending his hand out. “May I?”

It takes you just a moment to move past your surprise at the request, allowing him to hold them for you. “Are you in a rush?”

You shake your head quicker than you meant to, “No, I—not at all,” he gestures his head forward, allowing you to walk before him.

You traipse ahead in silence for a moment before deciding against biting your tongue, “What exactly is it you’re not sure about?”

He raises his voice a bit so you can hear him over the crowd, “Whether or not you’ve got plans on the 19th.”

You look back at him, “What’s on the 19th?”

He stops with you as you admire a set of jewelry inside a window display, “We’re hosting a gala for something or something else, hopefully less boring than the fundraiser.”

You blink, “You’re inviting me?” He nods. “Why?”

“I could use someone who wants to be there even less than I do.”

He said it so casually it takes you a second to even register his meaning. You blink, face contorting defensively, “That’s not—” you can barely make out the smile on his face as he continues on walking.

You shake your composure back together and trail after him, rushing to catch up. “I don’t think Mr. Mullins would be very happy to hear that I’m attending a business gala without him.”

He shakes his head as he scans over the crowd, “He can’t fire you for that.”

“He’ll try.” He would. A petty little man, he is. 

He scans across the rows of clothes leisurely. “Well, then he can speak to me about it. Besides, it wouldn’t be for business.” And then he just lets that sentence linger.

It takes you a moment to recover from those words and begin to start processing the world around you again. After a few more feet down the sidewalk he pulls you gently to the side by your lower arm, out of the rush of traffic, and looks at you dead on, “What do you think?”

You try not to waver under the weight of the eye contact, “I don’t…uh, I don’t really have…” you look down, hoping to get the message across without actually having to say the words.

He glances into the store window next to you and raises his eyebrows, “Well then I’d say we’re in the right place.”

You can’t manage to tell him that this store is definitely far too expensive for you, walking through the door as he opens it for you, albeit apprehensively.

Well. Up close window shopping is more fun anyways. 

The spotless white of the floors and walls has you intimidated, and just as much so by less by the no doubt designer clothes lining the walls. The saleswomen all look pretty highbrow themselves, hair up in tight buns and uniforms chic.

You only break from gawking at the store to look behind you at Bruce. You note the way his eyes roam around blindly, looking for something and clearly having no means to narrow down where it might be. You take one more glance around, immediately finding the women's section with no such difficulty. 

“This way.” You say, nodding your head over to the left. He recovers nicely and lets you lead the way towards the section of dresses. You peer back at him, “You don’t seem like someone that does much of his own shopping.”

Thankfully, he laughs at that. “Well, special occasions.”

You keep your gaze ahead this time, asking as casually as you can, “Is this a special occasion?”

He hums in consideration, “I’d say so.”

You stop upon approaching the dress section, taking in the immediately stunning display of options. 

“What are you doing up here anyways?” you ask, hand brushing across a particularly plush dress.

“Ah, I was headed to a meeting.”

“Oh,” you frown, looking at him. “Don’t you need to go?”

He shakes his head with a puckered lower lip, “No.”

A few seemingly heiresses roam down the aisle mindlessly, not caring much that you’re in their path. 

Bruce sees them before you do, knowing well that they were not going to excuse themselves. “Sweetheart,” he nudges you gently to the side, closer to him as the group passes. His hand remained open-palmed and flat as he guided you to the side, seemingly very careful not to touch you with uninvited boldness. Though you’re quite shaken by the chivalry of the gesture, a brazen touch wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world.

As your arm brushes against a rack of clothing your gaze follows, met with something rather appealing.

Bruce is quick to notice you admiring the sleek black dress that looks like something you’d see a model wearing on a runway. “You like that one?”

“It’s nice, yeah,” you murmur, not really thinking. You flip the price tag over and your face drops. “It’s $800.”

He nods thoughtfully, “We can find a nicer one,” he says, though it’s clear he knows exactly what your problem with the price tag was.

“I can’t—” you restart, “I would never have a reason to wear something this nice again.”

He shakes his head coolly, “That’s alright.”

Your shoulders drop and your head tilts seriously, “It’s not, though.”

“You like it?” He looks you in the eyes, his own searching for a truthful answer.

“I mean, of course, but it—”

He nods affirmatively, “Then we’ll get it. Problem solved.” He turns his back to the rack, casually observing the rest of the store goers. “Pick your size.”

Apparently not one to argue, you thumb through the row until you find one that should fit. 

You sigh, realizing that you’re running out of time to mention that you don’t have $800 to spend on a dress. “I can’t—”

“You don’t need to,” he says simply as he takes the dress off the rack and drapes it across his arm, making his way towards the salescounter.

You try to stop your mouth from hanging open as you follow, “It really is okay, I don’t need—”

His grin cuts you off, just in time for you to hear him mutter, “Sweet girl..” to himself. You stop right in your tracks, feeling very thankful that he’s not looking at you right now because you’re certain the look on your face would give you away.

He still doesn’t face you as he calls out, “Come on,” as he continues on.

Obviously you’re not stupid. You know what type of intentions a billionaire playboy must have with a younger girl that he doesn’t even really know. However, if said billionaire is offering to buy you a pretty dress…no, you’re not sleeping with him because he bought you a dress—of course not—and you’ve made absolutely no promises to do so, so what’s the harm in letting him? Really?

And yeah, maybe it’s a plus that he’s not bad looking, but how is that your fault?

You stand a bit awkwardly next to him as he puts his card in the machine, not even glancing at the outrageous number, and declines the offer for the receipt.

As you exit the store together and stand at the doors as he hands your original two bags back to you along with the new shiny black one that on its own looks like something people would pay for.

“You will be there?” he asks, eyes more hopeful than you were prepared for. 

You nod, gesturing the bag up, “Well you just bought me the dress.”

He shrugs that off, “I would’ve bought you the dress anyways.”

You linger in the midst of the ado wearing a dress that you feel far too overshadowed by, fidgeting with the half empty wine glass in your hand. Unfortunately, this time around you were invited by the host of the event and it would be extra rude to run away and hide. That doesn’t stop you from considering it, though.

A hand sliding across your lower back has you momentarily startled, and for reasons you couldn’t quite verbalize, you’d naturally assumed it was Bruce. The disappointment rings strong when you turn around to be met with the sight of an even older man, who looks considerably wine drunk. 

“Hello there, Miss.,” The words themselves are polite but the salacious smile on his face and the way his eyes have no trouble roaming your body gives you a solid idea of what this conversation is going to entail.

“Hello,” you fake a polite, tight smile and shift your attention to the rest of the room. 

This does nothing to deter him, as he takes a sizable step back into your line of sight. “Having a nice time?” 

The man is clearly from money, if his attire didn’t give it away his attitude sure did. There’s an heir of entitlement around him, like he’s inherently deservant of your attention—a quality you were notably surprised to not have found in Bruce. 

You give him your faux-smile again, this time tighter but half a second longer for the sake of politeness. A rookie mistake.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks, gesturing to the bar.

“I’m okay, thank you,” you say, gesturing your wine glass up.

A momentary flash of irritation crosses his face, but to his credit, he does a better job recovering from it than you would have expected. Though, that’s not really saying much. “Well, pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be all alone here,”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” Both of your heads snap to the side, finding a much more welcome surprise than you’d previously received. 

Your counterpart's posture straightens immediately, “Mr. Wayne,” he fawns, “What a lovely event you’ve thrown. I’m sure the Bernsteins will be appreciative.”

Bruce hums, eyes narrowed slightly. “You are…”

The man startles and rushes to finish off his sentence, “Alexander Watson, senior executive to the accounting department for the research wing of the company.”

He nods slowly, no recognition actually present in his eyes. “Ah. The research wing of the company that just blew fifteen million dollars on prototype self-operating cell phones.”

You’re trying hard to fight the smile creeping up on your face.

“What exactly is a self-operating cell phone?”

Watson’s face drops, hurrying to justify his approval of the proposal’s funding. As he rambles, Bruce’s gaze lowers to where Watson has once again placed his hand on your hip, though he’s not close enough to you for it to rest fully or naturally. You don’t know him well but you can say confidently that he doesn’t look pleased. 

He looks back up to Watson, attitude challenging. “Surely you’re not poking around where you’re unwelcome?”

Watson stutters at that, blinking and shaking his head quickly. “No, no, of course not! I was just hoping to provide the young lady with some company. That’s all.”

“And so you have.”

“I—,” about two steps behind in this conversation, Watson finally decides to retreat, “Yes, good evening, Mr. Wayne.” He bows his head and shuffles away back into the crowd.

“Mr. Wayne,” you smile knowingly, turning to him. “How are you?”

The hardness of his gaze fades quickly as he takes in your appearance, quite liking how you wear the dress you’d picked out.

“Things are looking up,” he smiles, “You look lovely.”

 “Thank you,” you glance over to where Watson has made his way to the bar, likely about to down an entire glass. “Mr., uh, Mr. Watson makes quite the impression.”

His smile turns a bit sullen, “You know last year he tried to convince the board that battery-powered battery chargers were going to be the next big thing?”

You blink, tilting your head, “Thought you didn’t know who he was.”

His eyes are fixed on the wall as he tugs the corner of his lip down, knowing he’s been caught but not really caring. “I’m sorry to have been away for so long, it seems everyone needs my attention at these things.”

“At the gala that you threw? I’d imagine so.”

He rolls past that smoothly, “You’re having a good time?”

“I am,” you say with a confirming head bob.

He regards the room with a numb expression, “You know, I think I’m getting bored with all of this.”

You smile at him, brow furrowed, “It’s only been an hour.”

He looks at you, eyes wide. “It’s only been an hour?” He’s exaggerating his surprise to make you smile, and it works.

“I think we should go,” he says lower.

You stare at him, bemused. “You still have a whole room full of guests.” 

He shrugs, “They’ll filter out on their own eventually.” 

He clocks your hesitation easily, accurately noting it to be more out of politeness than actually wanting to stay at the party. “What, you’re not ready to leave?”

You look around at all the mostly old, posh guests, disinterested small talk evident all across the room. You take a breath, “Alright, yeah. Let’s go.”

He smiles and leads you out a side door and through a corridor that’s significantly longer than you’d expected. 

“Do you always ditch your parties this early?” you ask, following closely.

He makes a sharp right at the next doorway, “If I can manage it.”

You look around at the high wooden ceilings and grand furniture. “Aren’t some of them friends of yours?”

He shakes his head, “My friends aren’t here.”

You frown at that, “Then why do you throw them at all?”

“Why did you show up last weekend?”

You nod slowly, understanding. “It’s your job.”

He returns the nod, adding, “Only difference is, there’s not a chance in hell you get paid enough for the work you do for Mullins.”

For the sake of maintaining your wishful facade of professionalism, you’re going to not acknowledge that incredibly accurate statement. Instead you smile politely and continue on walking. He seems to get the implication, returning it with an even brighter adornment.

“Well, money’s money,” you say wryly.

His smile fades a bit, “You shouldn’t have to worry about things like that.” 

You shrug, “A day in the life,”

He looks sullen upon hearing that, with more sympathy than you’d have expected from someone of his stature. He’s done nothing if not surprise you, though.

“Here,” he says, taking hold of the handle of a glass door. It opens to a garden, lit up beautifully by the moon and outdoor light. A fountain sits in the middle, water rhythmically gushing out of the top and trickling down the sides. The bite of the Gotham night air burns at your cheeks a bit and you find yourself thankful the dress you’d chosen is so long.

Bruce leads the way to an expensive marble bench positioned nicely in front of it, allowing you to sit first before following suit. Your hands find a place in your lap, clasped together awkwardly in an attempt to find warmth through contact.

It takes Bruce less than ten seconds to stand, remove his suit jacket, and drape it over your shoulders before sitting back down. The material is thicker and warmer than you would’ve expected, surely reminiscent of the perks of being owned by a billionaire.

He doesn’t look at you to acknowledge the grateful expression on your face, simply carrying on like it didn’t happen. “Was hoping it was warmer,” he murmurs.

Your focus momentarily goes to the icy cold stone of the bench under your thighs, initially finding it uncomfortable before deciding the coolness actually felt quite soothing. You remove your gaze from the gray stone and turn your head to find Bruce already focused on you.

You start to say something, though you’re not sure what it would’ve been, when he brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down.

Well, he certainly knows what he’s doing, doesn’t he?

His eyes stay on your lower lip as he murmurs, “You’re a pretty girl, you know that?” 

God, he’s a professional.

You look up at him and refrain from saying anything, waiting to see if he follows it up with something that will make you regret agreeing to coming out here with him.

He doesn’t.

You shift, moving your hands off your lap to rest on the stone under you. “You can’t just do this—”

He smiles and lowers his chin to look you in the eyes, “Then what can I do for you?”

“You—” you blink rapidly, “Stop it.”

His coy beam persists, “Stop what?”

You raise your gaze up to him ever so slightly, a pouty expression across your face that you’re trying to sell as serious. “You’re trying to make me nervous.”

“Do I make you nervous?” He tilts his head down further, a ghost of a smile echoing on his lips, “I don’t mean to, sweet girl.”

Your eyes drop to the ground, biting your tongue. “Yeah.”

His simper grows, “I’m serious. I’d hate to scare away a new friend.”

You laugh at that and he perks up a bit at the sound, “What? We’re not friends?”

You cock your head to the side, “You’re the one who said none of your friends are here.”

He hums, “Maybe I spoke too soon.”

“You think so?” You should probably stop flirting so much. 

“Yeah,” he leans in a bit closer, “I do.”

“Why’s that?”

“Maybe I want to be your friend,” his hand finds a place atop yours. 

Your eyes flicker across his face as he closes in, “What if I don’t want to be yours?”

His eyes are on your lips, “I’m sure we can work something out.”

You take a slow deep breath, “Your intentions are blurry.”

He smiles lightly, amused. “We’ll have to clear that up then, won’t we?” His lips are inches away and his voice is soft as he says, “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

You look up at him eyes wide, barely processing his words as you nod. He gently grasps your jaw in his hand, tilting your head up. His other hand finds the back of your head, holding you in place as he kisses you with intention. Your hands hover in the air for a second before holding onto his forearms. 

He breaks the kiss only to give you another sweet one right after. Your mouths remain close when it’s over, eyes still shut, trying to catch your breath. You stay like that for a moment until he kisses you once more on your cheekbone before pulling away. His hands drop to rest on your knees, the weight of them gentle.

He hums lowly, “Sweet thing..”

Being under the heaviness of his gaze leaves you feeling vulnerable. It’s starting to get you concerned with the potential levity and implications of kissing him. The expectations.

“You…” you stare down at where his hands meet your skin, not quite sure that you actually meant to start that sentence. 

“What?” he frowns, brow pinched. Your chin lowers further as your mouth forms a tight line. He shakes his head, “No, it’s alright. What is it?” he asks gently.

It takes a surge of willpower for you to get the sentence out, “You just want to sleep with me..”

He frowns harder at that, pulling back a bit. “No. I’m…” he sighs, “I’m not trying to lure you in just to toss you out right after.”

That makes you look up again. His voice has a sincerity to it that you weren’t prepared for. 

He continues, “I would like to, yes. Yeah. You’re beautiful, of course I would, but..” he looks down at his hands before looking back up at you, “No, that’s not the most important thing to me.”

You break eye contact again, thinking over his words. If that’s not the most important thing to him, what is? You can’t think of what else he could possibly want from you, a billionaire who could have anything he wants..the only thing you could have to offer in his eyes is sex. 

Right?

He exhales, “If you want to leave, I’ll call you a car. No hard feelings.” He nudges your chin up gently so you’ll look at him, but he gives you the freedom to fight against it if you wanted to.

You let him move you.

“I don’t want to leave,” you tell him, looking into his eyes. “What do you want?”

“Whatever you want,” he says it like it’s automatic. You physically can’t help but roll your eyes at the corniness of it. He doubles down, though, “Seriously. Anything.”

You smile in disbelief, shaking your head.

“Alright,” he returns your smile, straightening, “Here’s what we’re going to do. Do you need a ride home?”

You blink at him, “I’m going home?”

“You are,” he nods softly, “Do you need a ride?”

“No.”

He nods again, more like he’s working through something in his head. “Okay. You’re going to go home and think through what you want. If you decide you want to, come back here next Saturday.” he stands up, extending his hand out to you, “Then you can let me know what else you want and we can get to work on that too.”

You start to shake your head, “I can—” 

He drops his chin seriously, “Think on it.”

You relent easily, taking his hand and coming to a stand.

“Alright?” Again, his question is genuine. He does really want to know if you’re on board with this plan. 

Already going against his request, you agree without a thought, “Okay.”

He starts to lead you back over to the garden door with a head nod and a kind smile.

It ultimately was not a decision you had to think very hard on.

You’d considered every scenario of how this could play out and none of them ended with regret as far as you could guess.

You’ll still admit though, there was one scenario you had missed, apparently, which is why you were immeasurably confused when you showed up and he invited you to play chess.

He’s not wearing a fancy three piece suit this time, but his clothes are still very nice. With the sunlight peeking through the windows, you’re able to see the manor more clearly than you had been the other night. It really is a beautiful home, clearly very old and charmed, but there’s a lot of little details of character and history scattered around. There’s portraits and photographs of his parents from when he was young and furniture decorated with trinkets all throughout, kept absolutely spotless and dust free. Everything is neat and tidy but there’s still traces of the house being lived in with the patched throw pillows and worn carpets. Still, it’s very, very placid.

You’ve met new money plenty of times over the course of dealing with countless businessmen for Mr. Mullins but old money is something entirely different. You don’t really have a frame of reference here. New money is almost always brash and demanding, they like things done quickly and correctly the first time around. They’re usually not very interested in hearing what you have to say (even if it would save them a lot of trouble) and prefer it when the assistants women keep their mouths shut. Bruce has proven to be very different from these standards already and you’re not sure where to begin with placing new ones.

You’re about halfway through a second game, and while you’re not awful at chess, you get the impression that he’s easing up on you considerably.

You sit on the floor in front of a short coffee table, the game having no clear lead so far.

“I think this is stressing me,” you mumble, no actual weight behind your words.

“It’s just chess,” he says, not looking up from the board.

You watch him move his knight forward as you ask, “And that’s all we’re doing?”

“As it stands, yes,” he looks up at you, though you don’t return his gaze.

“Yeah,” you sigh, sliding your rook, “But later?”

“Later?”

“Well, you said...” you meet his eyes, “You said you wanted to sleep with me.”

He nods slowly, “I do. Is that alright?”

You consider it for a moment. You already knew that, if you really weren’t okay with it you wouldn’t have come here. And yeah, the idea makes you a little shaky, but in a good way.

“Yes,” you tell him, moving your queen forward two spaces.

“Are you sure?” he presses, moving to sit on the side of the table rather than behind it.

You do the same, sitting on your knees. “Yeah, I just..” you shift your weight, eyes wandering. “I’m not…overly experienced.”

He just smiles at that, like it’s endearing. Your words didn’t quite convey your meaning but your tone did. In any case, he understands the implication. “That’s alright, sweetheart. I’m not going to throw you in the deep end.”

You nod, looking down again.

“You’re nervous,” he comments.

“No, I’m—I mean, maybe,” your voice is barely a murmur by the end of the sentence.

He’s quiet for a moment, observing the way you fiddle with your rings. “What if we get you something pretty to wear? Something that makes you feel pretty. Whatever you want.”

He fishes his wallet out of his pocket, opening and pulling out a lump of cash without even looking. He holds the money out to you wordlessly and you can see from the bill on the outside that it’s at least a couple hundred dollars.

You shake your head instantly, “I can’t take that.”

He doesn’t put the money down but his eyes turn to begging. “Please. I just want you to feel good.”

“Bruce—”

He wavers a bit at that but it’s more of a falter than you’ve seen from him before so it’s easy to take notice of. “What?”

He shrugs barely, “I like when you say my name.”

Your eye contact holds for a moment and your resolve starts to shake almost instantly.

You exhale, “I’m not taking more than a hundred.”

“Two hundred.”

“Bruce.”

He smiles and picks out some of the cash and pockets it, handing you the rest. You don’t comment on the fact that it’s a hundred and fifty more than you’d agreed on.

You look down at the money in your hand like it’s a foreign object, shaking your head. “I don’t even know what to get.”

His thumbs start to rub reassuring circles by the bend of your knees, “Anything you want,” he tells you. “What do you like? Silk, lace, cotton, anything.”

You look up, tilting your head at him with a furrowed brow. “It doesn’t matter what I like, th—”

“It only matters what you like,” He says seriously, lowering himself to meet your gaze. “I’ll love it, no matter what you pick. Don’t worry about that.”

You lean forward a bit instinctually, “Okay.”

His eyes scan across your face in something that you can only recognize as awe.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you whisper.

“I want to kiss you again,” he says, voice even quieter.

Your eyes go to his mouth and you can only manage a nod, lips already parted.

He moves forward not a second later, kissing you with more fire than you’d gotten to see the other night. His hands grab at your waist, squeezing lightly as you hook one hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

You hear the clatter of chess pieces falling over as he moves nearer to you, large frame leaning over you. You push up on your knees, meeting his lips up at his level. His hands caress around your hips as the kiss gets deeper.

You just start to fumble with the hem of his shirt when he takes your hands in his, pulling them away before breaking the kiss.

“Easy, sweet girl,” he smiles, nudging you back with little force.

You groan, “Why?”

He barks out a laugh at that, stroking your hips again. “I’m not fucking you for the first time on the floor.”

“Then let's go somewhere else,” you nod up towards the stairs.

He shakes his head, that soft smile still playing on his lips. “Not tonight.”

You sit back on your heels again, frowning.

He brushes your hair back, murmuring, “No. But for now, I'll kiss you ‘til you can’t think if that’s what you want.”

You really hope you didn’t perk up at that as much as you think you did.

part two

🌾🌽 i heard a rumor that if you like without reblogging your crops will be cursed but hey what do i know 🌾🌽

[crescenthistory]

hi! i have this really cute idea for regulus x fem! reader. so reader is a animagus and it’s winter time so sometimes she’ll shift into a their animal form, preferably a cat, and goes seek out warmth. but reader is also besties with remus and knows he’s a werewolf, his body temperature runs a lot warmer then anyone else so she goes to room to cuddle. when that happens, regulus immediately knows they reader is with remus and, begrudgingly, goes to gryffindor to steal reader back.

when he gets there, sirius is pouring and complains to reggie that “your girlfriend is stealing my boyfriend” and regulus snaps back by saying “well your boyfriend is stealing my girlfriend” and reader and remus are amused but their bickering but don’t care.

anon. anon. i am giving you the BIGGEST kiss, you don't even know. this is perhaps the best idea i've seen in a while and so i love you. i will be thinking about this throughout all of winter, thank you.

Words: 3k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, references to previous black brothers angst, disgusting amounts of fluff, best friends can cuddle platonically regardless of gender i will fight you on this, background rosekiller and wolfstar, childhood best friend!remus, implied gryffindor!reader, sirius pretends to be jealous but is not

Note: read more about cat!animagus!reader's shenanigans with regulus, wolfstar and james in Sweet Like Honey; Karma is a Cat & Padfoot vs. Whiskers

When Regulus accepted Sirius’ attempt to mend their relationship, he had expected to get his big brother back in full and no more. The person who understands him best, the boy he needed to lean on – it was all he wanted to get out of it. Perhaps he expected to have to grown tolerant of his brother’s friends, but that was something he dreaded, if he at all thought of.

What Regulus had not expected was to be introduced to and fall head over heels in love with you.

Remus’ childhood best friend, the more reserved one of the bunch that he had always seen floating around with them, but whose voice he had never had to roll his eyes at, thus never interacted with. It bewildered him now how he once upon a time barely thought of you, regarded you.

Now he knew you were delightful, and Regulus was positively smitten.

It had been exactly what Regulus had never thought he would get – an easy love. Like your friends, you were open and honest and loyal to the bone, and it spilled over like honey into your relationships with those around you. Once you caught a glance of his clearly lovestruck eyes, you melted, and the puddle was caught delicately in his hands.

Since then, that is where he has held you. In the palms of his hands, close to his heart. He learned more than he perhaps wanted to know about himself during the process of opening up to you, and you showed him a patience he still is not entirely certain he deserves. But you gave him your time, your moments, your touches and your lips, and he received and received without complaint.

When the two most important people in Regulus’ life – one a fervent, natural devotion, another a sassy, passionate rivalry – were in the same hazardous circle of loud-mouthed Gryffindor friends, he eventually had to capitulate that he could no longer just tolerate them. They were family.

God, what love has cost him.

Regulus walked into his dorm room where you have spent more days than not for the past few months, and sighed defeatedly when all he finds there is Barty laying on top of Evan in some odd position that cannot possibly be comfortable.

“Hello to you too, Black. Thrilling to see you.” Barty’s voice was laced with sarcasm, but there was no menace there as of yet.

“Yeah, yeah,” Regulus grumbled as he threw his bookbag onto his bed and sat down. “You seen Y/N lately?”

“You mean since you were all snuggled up this morning? Nah.”

Regulus rolled his eyes painfully hard at his oldest friend, murmuring a soft sod off before tossing whatever was closest – his pyjama t-shirt – in Barty’s general direction, missing by a good metre. He is a seeker and not a chaser for a reason.

“What of it, Reg?” Evan mumbled, but it was distorted by Barty’s elbow being more or less shoved into his mouth. He could never sit still.

“Just figured she’d be here, ‘s all. She finished class before me.” Regulus falls down onto his bed, curls spilling onto the emerald sheets as he stares at the ceiling, picturing you there and then immediately kicking himself for being that down bad. Then reminding himself with the therapy-speech Sirius has been teaching him, love is a strength not a weakness, it’s good to feel your feelings. Yada yada. "It's been a long day."

“Maybe she got tired of your sorry ass.” Barty laughed at his own joke only to be smacked by Evan’s finally-freed hand.

“Or yours, you sod.”

“Nah, Treasure absolutely adores me.” Barty propped himself up to flash you both a grin. “See, unlike you, I’m fun.”

“Interesting word to substitute insufferable with.” Evan said, leaning his face up from underneath Barty, as if to intimidate him.

“You love me,” Barty drawled before kissing the blond soundly.

“Would you guys please stop flirting?” Regulus’ voice was closer to a groan than anything else. He pressed the backs of his hands to his eyes, seeing stars and thinking of you. Stupid poetic feelings.

“Just because you can’t keep track of your girl doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy ourselves.” Barty pointed an accusatory finger at Regulus. “I would classify that demand as rude.”

“Bite me.”

“Only if your girlfriend says yes.” This time it was Evan’s turn of tuning into Regulus’ torture.

“And she would.” Barty winks at him.

This time it’s a pillow Regulus throws at them, and it lands perfectly, smack in the middle of Barty’s face.

“Oi!” He calls as he throws it back. “Either you quit it, or you throw me your jumper, it’s freezing in here.”

“You’re literally in bed, Barty.” Regulus looks at him, unamused. “Just–”

He trails off, gaze falling from Barty to the wall behind him as he pieces the puzzle together and realisation dawns on his face. The other boys seem to have caught on as they both cock their heads curiously at him. 

“Of course,” Regulus whispers, first in marvel and then it morphs into something between exasperation and disgust. “Of course.” At last, he gets a determined look on his face, slapping his palms on his knees as he sits up from bed and grabs his jumper to go.

“Excuse you, what just happened?” Barty says, increasingly louder throughout his sentence as he realises Regulus is headed for the door, thick wool jumper tucked under his arm. “Hey!”

Regulus throws the boys a look over his shoulder, smirking at them and shaking his head before shutting the door and walking off. He barely catches Evan’s “shush, you baby, I’ll warm ya” before he is out of earshot.

A man with a purpose and half a plan stalks off, beginning the treacherous journey from the Slytherin dungeons to the Gryffindor dormitories.

What is the single thing Regulus knows can keep you from him when you’re otherwise attached at the hip? The cold.

What is the one person you go to for anything and everything, especially dealing with the cold? A certain ragged boy with a wolfish smile that he knows is to be found only behind the portrait of an increasingly annoying woman.

“Password?” The Fat Lady asked, quirking a brow ridiculously high as she regards Regulus with a mutual disgust.

“Catulus leonis.” Regulus does not bother holding back the eyeroll at the ridiculous passphrase.

She looks at him a moment or five longer than she needs, almost as if considering not letting him in despite his answer being perfectly correct, before she finally swings open the door wordlessly.

Regulus mutters a harsh thank you, Pureblood upbringing having knocked some politeness into him he is just not able to forego, no matter how severe his beef – as Sirius says – with the woman is.

When he finally approaches the offending dorm, the door opens fast enough to knock some wind across his face, and he is met with a set of black curls and a superfluous frown that both match his own.

“Regulus. Thank Merlin.”

“Good to see you too, Siri. How'd you know it was me?”

"Recognised your footsteps. Now, c'mon."

Regulus pushes in past his brother and his eyes immediately find Remus Lupin’s bed. To the unaware, it would just look like the scrawny boy was innocently laying on his bed, head propped against a mountain of pillows and reading another one of his paperbacks.

However, Regulus knew better and could see the perfect girlfriend-shaped lump underneath Remus’ jumper, shielded by his arms as he held his book over his stomach.

Or, at least shaped like this rather specific form of his girlfriend.

“Hello, amour, I’ve been looking for you.” Regulus’ voice is addressed to the bump on Remus’ chest, but he looks up at him with a quirked brow and a smug smile tugging on the corner of his lips.

“Didn’t know we were on a pet name-basis, Reg. Good to know.” 

“Absolutely not.” Sirius and Regulus chorus at the exact same time, and Regulus fights back the wince at how painfully similar they are in this moment.

“Reggie,” Sirius finally whines. “Your girlfriend’s been stealing my boyfriend for the past two hours. Do something!”

Despite having a very similar sentiment settled in his own chest, Regulus gives his brother a pull yourself together look as he comes up to stand beside him, near the occupied bed. “I’m fairly certain your boyfriend has stolen my girlfriend equally as much,” he tuts.

“Whatever, just do something.” Sirius waves his hand towards Remus’ still very relaxed state with something a bit too close to a pout forming on his face.

“There’s no need to be jealous, Pads, the poor girl’s just cold,” Remus chides, with a teasing glint in his eye that clearly shows he knows his boyfriend is being dramatic for the bit and not actually upset. "Gotta help 'er out."

“‘M not jealous. I’m needy.” Sirius’ deadpan stare is not affected by Remus’ laughter nor Regulus’ barely-contained snort.

“Glad you admit it,” Regulus says slyly, patting Sirius on his shoulder twice, who immediately shrugs his hand off with a scowl.

“Like you’re any better, you slithered all the way up from the snake pit to fetch her. At least I’m open about it.”

Before Regulus has the chance to retort, Remus puts his book down in his lap and reaches out a hand for Sirius, which he immediately takes. “I told you you could come lay in the bed with us, love,” Remus murmurs and swipes his thumb over the back of Sirius’ hand.

If he did not feel the same way, Regulus would have given Sirius hell for how he seemed to absolutely soften in the sunlight of his boy. “Yeah, I know, Moons, I’m just being theatrical.”

Remus laughs once more, and this time his chest rumbling results in a distinct prrrt! coming from the inside of his jumper. Up through the collar, cheek smashed against Remus’, comes the tentative head of beautiful grey-and-white fur and slow-blinking yellow eyes, still riddled with sleep. 

“Good morning, amour,” Regulus coos, ignoring Sirius’ snort as he drops down to squat beside Remus’ bed so his face is lined up with yours.

You pur, stretching beneath the fabric, a single paw escaping beside your head through the collar as you roll over onto your back. Your eyes remained trained on Regulus, and though he knows cats can’t actually smile, he swears you were smiling at him.

“Sorry to wake you, princess,” Sirius drawls as he looks down at you from where he is leaning on the bedpost beside Remus. “But have you seeped up enough warmth for me to get my boyfriend back yet?”

You make a faux hissing sound before ducking your head down, so it’s just barely hidden by the collar.

Remus laughs heartily, setting his book completely away this time so his hand can come up to rest on your cat-form, petting you through his jumper. “It’s alright kitten, take your time.”

The exposed paw lightly hits Remus’ cheek in retaliation, and this time it is Sirius and Regulus’ turn to laugh at his expense. “Ow! I share my warmth with you and this is what I get in return?”

From the movement beneath the fabric, Regulus assumes you’re nuzzling your head against his chest in apology.

“Amour, I brought your favourite jumper of mine and promise to make you so much hot cocoa if I can steal you back. We can be in your dorm room instead of mine, it’s warmer in there, right?” A smile remains consistent on Regulus’ face as he talks to you.

Sirius pats him on the back, murmuring something about you’re so whipped that he doesn’t bother to pay attention to. 

More movement beneath the fabric, and then suddenly your ears are poking out of the neckline again – because why would you make it easy for yourself and use the big exit, when you can squeeze your way through a tight opening? You’re a cat after all.

Remus seems to be thinking the same as he laughs while you attempt to climb out beside his head, soft fur brushing against his skin and making up for the occasional claw you use for traction. 

Regulus attempts to bite back the coos as he sees more and more of you, recognising your movements as sluggish with sleep, no doubt coaxed into it by finally being comfortable.

“Thanks for today, see you again tomorrow, same time?” Remus teases, head turned towards you as you headbutt him lovingly, finally fully escaped from his jumper and standing on his shoulder. He nuzzles you back and scratches your head in goodbye.

Another prrrt! escapes you in greeting as you saunter your way across Remus and plop onto the small strip of mattress on his side where Regulus’ hands are open and ready to receive you. 

“Hi, sweetie,” he whispers as you allow him to scoop you up into his arms while he’s still squatting beside the bed. He holds you like an infant, tight to his body and securely supported. You immediately begin to purr loudly, nuzzling your head even further into his neck and shoulder.

Regulus does not bother to hold back the slight giggle as your caresses tickle him. 

“Good gods, are you two sappy,” Sirius groans, but when Regulus looks up, there is a wide grin on his face. A slightly teasing one admittedly, but a grin nonetheless.

Then, Regulus recognises where Sirius is grinning at him from – properly cuddled up besides Remus on the opposite side of the bed, arms beneath his jumper, soaking up the leftover warmth from you.

“Wait– how did you get there so fast?” Regulus’ voice is almost incredulous, stopping his greeting of you – earning him a harrumphing meow – to narrow his eyes at his brother. “I didn’t even notice you move from beside me.”

“What can I say; I am a dedicated man.” Sirius nuzzles into Remus’ cheek, not much unlike how you were mere seconds ago, albeit his involved a tad many more kisses.

“You’re weird, that’s what you are,” Regulus laughs as he stands up with you in his arms.

You turn around to look up at him with those big, slitted eyes of yours. When you extend your neck further towards his face, Regulus lifts you higher so you can give him the cat-kisses you so evidently wanted, his lips curling at your touch.

Sirius lifts a brow at the two of you. “Yeah. I’m the weird one.” 

Regulus scoffs at him, but when you continue to caress your furry cheeks against his lips and chin, it is difficult for any menace to remain serious.

“Thank you for your deviant supernatural warmth keeping my girlfriend alive, Lupin, but I’d like to steal her away from you now.” 

“By all means, Black, you’ve already stolen her from me once,” Remus harrumphs, pretending to be some scorned faux older brother but his eyes betray his facade; he is happy for you.

Regulus chooses to ignore it nonetheless.

“Brother.” He nods at Sirius. “Soon to be brother-in-law.” He nods at Remus. “We bid you goodnight.”

“Try not to undo all of Moony’s hard work by freezing her right back up with your freakishly cold feet!” Sirius calls after him as he heads towards the door. He then promptly gives out a soft yelp that indicates Remus corrected him in some physical way.

“Goodnight love, goodnight Reg,” Remus calls instead.

“Yeah, bye, doll!” Sirius adds, whispering more to himself, “he’s mine again now.”

You give out a tired meow that is so cute it makes Regulus’ heart clench with endearment. You cuddle properly up into the crook of his neck as he carries you out, softly closing the door behind him with a smile.

He shifts you in his grip so he can look down at you more carefully. “You are so unbelievably predictable. And even cuter than that again, which is saying something,” he murmurs to you and you respond with quiet meows.

He looks at you curiously. “Are you going to remain in cat form the whole night?”

Your tail twitches teasingly, your only other response is a quiet prrt as you close your eyes into the warmth of his neck again. He laughs, covering your feline body with his hands as he carries you, to keep the warmth in.

He sneaks into your dorm – thankfully often unoccupied as Marlene is with Dorcas and Mary is with Pandora – and settles you down onto your plush mattress and pillows. He undresses and gets ready for bed, while you’re resting your head on the pillow, observing him, but just before getting under the covers, he slips on his jumper.

“It’s so soft I could cry, Reggie,” you had whispered to him when you cuddled up to him when he wore it around you for the first time. “I fear I can never let you go now.”

Regulus slides under the blankets with a knowing smile, opening the hem, allowing you to creep under, chest against chest with your head poking out of the collar to rest at the bottom of his neck. 

“I'm no werewolf, but I’ll keep you warm with my love, amour,” he whispered to you in the dark, one hand combing through your fur protectively underneath his own jumper.

He swears, he could hear the little cat snort against his skin.

Regulus fell desperately deeper in love.

[incognit0slut]

Nervous

Softcore in which you’re overwhelmed by how far he would go to protect your safety.

Category: Angst Word count: 2.3k Content: minor injury, overprotective spencer, avoidant attachment reader if you squint a/n: i've always wanted to do the "man goes crazy after you're hurt" trope and this seems like the right opportunity. and just so you know i’m actually hyperventilating while typing this bc apparently the neighborhood is coming back!! with new music!! after 4 years!! can you tell i'm excited!!!!

-

“Where is she?”

Spencer demands. Something he’s been doing a lot lately — speaking with a tone that expects answers to materialize out of thin air. The authority that drips from his voice would normally send a pleasant shiver down your spine, you can even admit there’s a time and place where it would be more than welcome when far less clothing is involved. But right now? In the back of an ambulance with your head splitting in two and his words scraping against what’s left of your nerves?

Not so much.

Your skull is throbbing. The cold metal bench is digging into you uncomfortably, and the sterile scent of disinfectant claws at your throat with a vicious persistence of acid. Your stomach twists at the bitter, chemical burn. His voice only makes it worse.

“Stop shouting,” you groan, squeezing your eyes shut against the stabbing pain.

He swivels on his heel as soon as your mouth parts to speak. “What were you thinking?”

You peel your eyes open just enough to glare at him, wincing as your head throbs in protest. “What does it look like I was thinking? I was doing my job.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks. “You could’ve been killed.”

“I’m fine.”

“Fine?” He practically chokes on the word. “You call this fine?”

“I’m not dead, am I?”

“You almost were. Do you even realize how reckless that was?”

“Of course I realized the risk. I assessed it.”

“No, you didn’t. You slipped an entire perimeter detail and dove head-first into a hostage situation.”

“Again, I was doing my job.”

“Without notifying any of us.”

You fight the reflex to roll your eyes.

“If it matters to you that much, next time it happens I’ll check with you before I try not to die. Happy?”

Sarcasm seems like the last thing you should’ve resorted to. His posture is stiff and straight, shoulders locked in a rare display of tension. Something you haven’t seen in months when he’s kept his emotions buried under layers of forced composure. But you are your own worst enemy when it comes to self-preservation, and that applies just as much to arguments as it does to danger.

His scowl deepens, and for a second you think he’s going to let you have it. You're already bracing yourself for an onslaught of logic and statistics — the odds of survival, the risks of your actions, the percentage of people who don’t make it out alive when they do exactly what you did.

That’s when he stops. Dead in his tracks.

A sudden breeze ghosts across your lower stomach, and it takes you a second to realize that your shirt must have inched up with all the shifting you can’t seem to stop doing. You barely have time to process it before you see the change in him. His face drains of color. Paler than usual. Paler than he already is.

“What did he do?”

You follow his gaze, and there it is. A galaxy of green and purple in the shape of five fingers and a large palm across your ribs like some twisted badge of honor. You hadn’t even felt it until now, but the second your eyes land on it, a dull, aching throb pulses beneath your skin.

You quickly tug your shirt over the angry bruise. “Nothing."

But he’s already moving. His knees drag against the rough asphalt as he pushes your shirt back up, fingers brushing over your skin with a touch that feels too soft for the situation.

Your bloodshot eyes waver frantically.

“Spencer,” you hiss, glancing around. “Spencer, stop, you’re making a scene.”

A quick scan of the cramped space tells you the only audience is the medics, and while they’re pretending to mind their own business, the raised eyebrows aren’t exactly subtle. One of them coughs — whether it’s to cover a laugh or clear his throat, you can’t tell. Though your face still heats at the scrutiny.

"Spencer."

"This could’ve been worse."

You shove his hand away and yank your shirt down. “But it's not. I’m fine.”

“Stop saying that,” he presses. “You’re clearly not fine.”

Irritation pulses behind your temples. "Then stop acting like I’m weak, I did what I had to do.”

“What you did was reckless,” he reminds you again. “You should have waited. You had backup for a reason.”

“Someone could've died if I waited.”

"You almost died."

You exhale sharply. “Well he didn’t get the chance, did he? JJ found me and shot the guy in the leg before it could get that far.”

Which, honestly, was pretty damn impressive, considering you were fighting for your life. One second you were pinned beneath a man twice your size, adrenaline roaring in your ears so loud you could barely think, and the next — bang. Clean shot to the leg.

“If it were me,” he grumbles, “I would’ve shot him in the head.”

You scoff. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“I would,” he insists.

Your gaze shifts from the ground to his eyes, and that’s when you see it. The dark flecks in his brown irises seem to glow with an edge you’ve never quite caught before. Or maybe you have, but only in flashes. A flicker of something sharp in the set of his jaw when someone underestimates him. A muted warning when a suspect creeps too close. An imperceptible moment of tension when his fingers clench around your waist amidst the heat you both refuse to define.

It dawns on you that those hard lines around his eyes were always there, smoldering beneath his careful veneer of logic and reason. You just never knew you had the power to coax them onto the surface.

Spencer is protective — that much you knew. But not in a way that feels directed solely at you. Not when your relationship with him is already tangled in the space between labels that neither of you dares to clarify. He nitpicks your choices more than any friend should, yet he’s pinned you to the mattress far more often than you care to admit. Now hearing him say he’d actually break the very foundation of who he is sends your pulse into a clumsy rhythm.

His features are blurred by the disbelief flooding behind your eyes.

“You don’t mean that,” you say, hollow words sinking on your tongue.

He doesn’t even blink.

“If I ever found someone hurting you, I would put a bullet between their eyes and sleep just fine."

Your heart suddenly feels too big for the tight space in your chest. Too many emotions hit you all at once.

A little bit of fear.

A little bit of awe.

A lot of something else you don’t want to name.

You swallow against the dryness in your throat.

“Don’t worry, you’ll never have to. I can handle myself.”

The lines on his forehead deepens. “Just promise me you won’t do something like this again.”

You pull away and blink against the wind seeping through the open doors. It stings, his lack of faith in your judgment. The sharp bite of the cold air mirrors that prick as it slips under your collar, brushing over your blemished skin with a chill that's almost as piercing as the siren wailing incessantly in your ears.

But even that shrill cry can’t drown out the pounding in your head.

“You, of all people, know I can’t promise you that," you mutter, voice scraping the back of your throat.

His breath curls into the air as he replies, “At least tell me you’ll be more careful.”

“I was careful.”

“No, you were lucky. There’s a difference.”

Goosebumps rise on your arms that have nothing to do with the cold. He's right. Maybe it was luck. A fraction of a second, a shift in timing. A cosmic accident that decided you’d walk away instead of being zipped into a body bag. It wasn’t skill, nor caution. It was pure, dumb luck that you weren’t lying somewhere colder and permanent with the earth pressing down on you instead of the weight of his stare.

But you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of being right.

"You're being dramatic,” you try to deadpan, shooting him a weary look.

He narrows his eyes at you into tiny slits, and you resist the urge to bristle under the scrutiny. He’s studying you too hard. He’s looking at you like you’re some kind of equation he can’t solve, as if he stares long enough he’ll find the variable that explains why you don’t seem to value your own life the way he does.

You feel the need to defend yourself.

“I jabbed him in the throat,” you try again, gesturing loosely, “caught him off guard, and then went for his weapon. The whole thing took maybe five seconds—less, if you count how quickly he hit the ground after that first shot.”

“Five seconds could have cost you your life.”

“It didn't,” you counter quickly. Shift your eyes to your hands. Tongue your cheek. Try to justify your action. “And let’s not pretend you wouldn’t have done the same. You've jumped into danger more times than I can count.”

His entire body goes still.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you don’t exactly have a great track record for your own safety.” Your voice isn’t sharp, but there’s an edge to it. A tired sort of bite. “Are we conveniently forgetting all the times you’ve ignored protocol?”

The silence that follows is almost unsettling. He doesn’t react at first, doesn’t even breathe as far as you can tell. You wonder if you’ve managed to break him, if the sheer hypocrisy of his argument has finally caught up to him, if the logic has knocked him right through the bulletproof vest he always insists offers enough protection when you both know better.

Maybe he’s running through every instance you could be referring to. Is he tallying up his own recklessness? Those dangerous leaps of faith he’s taken without hesitation?

The wheels in his head are turning so fast you can almost hear them grinding.

“That’s different," he finally says.

You snort softly. Double standard.

“How is it different?”

His eyes are jaded as they swivel over your face.

“Because it’s you.”

He says it so quietly you almost didn't hear him. But you did, too loud and clear with your heart in your throat, then falter.

You're the one robbed of words now, a knot of half-formed syllables stuck to your tongue. You’re so caught off guard that you barely even register the overhead sirens blaring somewhere above you. Or the distant chatter of medics. The hum of radio static, a faint, crackling drone that seems to come from miles away. Everything is drowned out by the way your pulse hammers against your skin.

You can only focus on the flashes of color streaking across his face. Red, then blue, then red again. It catches the flecks of gold and green in his hazel eyes. Traces the sharp line of his nose, slides over his parted lips. Lingers on the pale scar under his chin that you’ve seen a hundred times but never really noticed until now.

You also notice how small the space between you feels. How the air surrounding you crackles. How the oxygen is lacking, and your lungs are suffering from it. How the distance between you seems to fold inward with each heartbeat.

A thump of his knees against the coarse dirt.

A pulse in the brief pause that follows.

A tick of gravity pulls you toward the shadow of a man you rarely encounter.

You're not sure how to handle this version of him, stripped of his layers of detachment. The version that exists in the slithers of time before his features school into that practiced neutrality he wears so well. A rare side of him that flickers into view — ephemeral as a stray synapse sparking in that immense brainpower he usually shields. Delicate in its existence.

And what do you do with a Spencer who isn’t just the mind, but also the heart? The heart that he guards so fiercely it sometimes seems like he forgets he has one. Until he doesn’t. Until it’s right there, beating openly in front of you. Perhaps oblivious to his own knowledge.

So you do what you always do when it gets too much. You exhale, slow and shallow.

Then you look away.

“You worrying about me this much is new," you mutter, eyes glued to his crooked tie. “I’m not sure I like it.”

“Then promise me you won’t make a habit of this.”

“This is not the debrief I was expecting.”

One thing that hasn’t changed is his stubbornness. “Promise me.”

You hesitate, knowing a promise like that isn’t yours to give. But he opens his mouth again, and a slow breath in the shape of your name falls from his lips. A pleading sort of whisper that travels every curve of your body, and by the time it lingers at the base of your spine, your nerves flutter.

The thrum in your veins surpasses even the rush of adrenaline you felt moments ago. This isn’t survival. Survival is instinct and reaction, it’s raw nerves driving you forward without conscious thought. This is recognition, awareness, because the way your name rolls off his tongue isn’t a simple request — it’s an opening. A sliver of space carved into the dense tangle of his armor, an admission slipping through the cracks before he can smooth them over.

And if you’re seeing a fracture in that carefully guarded part of him, maybe it’s only fair to meet him halfway.

Let whatever light he’s offering in.

Let it reach the places you pretend don’t need warmth.

You finally release a slow breath through your nose as he continues to look up at you. “I’ll try,” you comply.

His shoulders slump. Your answer isn’t enough.

But for now, it’s all you have.

"I got goosebumps all over me, when you're around it's hard for me to breathe." Nervous—The Neighbourhood

[helaintoloki]

Hello and good evening,

I saw you opened requests so I'm dropping by!

What about an infinity stone mishap that has multiple Bucky variants be at the compound at the same time. (Let's just have Winter Soldier be not entirely murderous for the sake of Tony's heart) and literally no one can seem to keep some apart except Steve and reader, who goes off on a rant about all the teeny tiny, to her very obvious details that differ between the Bucky's and accidentally in doing so admits she has a huge crush on him/them??

I hope that made sense omg

And as always, only if it speaks to you and you're up for it! ♡♡

a/n: hi hon, ty for sending this in! i’ll admit this was a bit challenging to tackle but still fun! hope you don’t mind that i changed a few details in the process <3

warnings: light angst, lots of pining, fluff

summary: a multiversal mishap leaves the compound teeming with Bucky variants, and Steve entrusts you with helping him figure out which one is the real deal

“I think I had a nightmare like this once,” Sam shudders as the two of you survey the plethora of Bucky’s taking up space in the compound. A multiversal mishap had led to an overflow of variants into the compound, and now your team found themselves working vigorously to determine which Bucky was your own and which ones needed to be sent back to their proper dimension.

Getting rid of the Winter Soldiers had been the easiest, the red stars on their arms giving away their identities and also giving Tony a heart attack in the process. You could tell apart the Bucky’s with hair that was too long or too short, the one’s that had brown or green eyes instead of blue, and the ones that went by Jane instead of James. The real work, however, came when there was only a handful of variants left that looked identical to your own Bucky.

“We can’t take any chances,” Steve says after having approached you and Sam. “All of these men are going to insist they’re our version of Bucky, and we can’t risk sending back the wrong one. I’m really going to need your help on this, y/n.”

“Why me?” You retort with furrowed brows, nervously peeking your head out of the office to observe the variants that sit restless in the common room.

“Out of everyone here, you and I know Bucky best,” the blond states truthfully. “I think if we work together we have a better shot at cleaning up this whole mess. The sooner the better.”

“You got that right,” Sam scoffs, prompting you to roll your eyes in response.

You couldn’t exactly deny the truth in Steve’s words. Other than Captain America himself, Bucky considered you to be one of his closest friends. Your kindhearted nature made it easy for him to gravitate towards you when first joining the team, and after saving each other’s asses on multiple occasions, he knew you were someone he could entrust with his life. You tore down his walls with ease, you brought out the best in him, and he’d forever be indebted to you for your friendship.

You decide with Steve that the best course of action is to spend one-on-one time with each Bucky you cross paths with to detect any abnormalities in their behavior. The Captain makes it abundantly clear that you cannot let them cloud your judgement with pleasantries, and it’s pertinent you trust your gut with each decision you make. The pressure is on, and you feel the nerves settling in your gut as you approach the Bucky that has made himself at home in the communal kitchen.

“Hey, stranger,” you call gently, a pleasant smile on your face as you seat yourself at the island counter. You note with interest how the man visibly relaxes at your presence and sets aside the pot of tea he’d just finished brewing. His eyes are bright like your Bucky’s, full of adoration and relief when he sets them upon your face.

“Y/n,” he breathes out gently before coming to meet you at the counter, “you have no idea how glad I am to see you, doll.”

“Rough day?” You prompt understandingly.

“Where do I even begin? Being around so many versions of myself is more unsettling than I ever could have imagined.”

“Well, Steve and I are doing our best to fix that,” you assure him. You watch as the man turns back to his pot of tea and begins to pour you both a cup. There’s nothing unusual about this considering your Bucky also enjoys drinking tea; it helps him keep calm and relaxed before retiring for the night.

“How many are left?” He asks before handing you your mug.

“Around ten. Steve and I are making our rounds to figure out which Bucky is ours.”

“Am I your Bucky?” The man prompts with a raised brow while taking a careful drink from his cup.

“You tell me,” you reply with a faint smile, ignoring the way your heart begins to flutter when he refers to himself as ‘your Bucky.’

“I know you have a scar on your stomach from being stabbed by another Widow in the Red Room, and the reason I know that is because I accidentally walked in on you changing in the shower room once,” Bucky admits with a sheepish laugh, prompting your face to heat with embarrassment.

“God, don’t remind me,” you groan while hiding your face in your hands. It’s not exactly comforting to know that Bucky has accidentally seen you naked in at least two different universes, but it also doesn’t make it easier to determine if this man is an imposter.

“I know you like your tea with a tablespoon of honey,” he continues before gesturing to your cup. You hum thoughtfully and set the mug down before meeting his gaze.

“I do, and I know you only like chamomile tea,” you reply, prompting Bucky to stiffen in front of you as you look down at the mug in front of you. “But this is green tea.”

Sighing, the doppelgänger sets his cup down with a defeated frown before meeting your gaze with pleading eyes. “Don’t make me go back.”

“I’m sorry, but it has to be done. We can’t risk the effects that come with having two Bucky’s in one place.”

“Then can I ask you a favor?” The man says solemnly.

“Of course.”

“Before you send me back, can I… is it okay if I hug you?” He asks, catching you by surprise. Noting the confusion on your face, Bucky gives you a dejected smile that doesn’t reach his eyes before explaining, “We don’t talk anymore in my universe. I was an idiot, and you rightfully cut me out of your life. This is the first time in years you’ve looked at me with love and not utter disgust, and I just want to enjoy it a little longer before I have to leave.”

Your heart aches for this poor Bucky who very clearly misses you, or at least his version of you, so you can’t find it in yourself to deny his request. You wordlessly rise from your seat and allow him to wrap his arms around your frame. His hold is tight, his nose brushing against your neck as he savors the feel of your touch, and you feel terrible for the fact that there isn’t anything you can do to help him.

“I’m not sure what happened between the two of you,” you utter quietly while rubbing comforting circles into his back, “but if she’s anything like me, I know she probably misses you but is too stubborn to admit it. Don’t give up on her.”

You release him with a smile and find his eyes shining with tears as he lets your words settle. You bid him a final goodbye before escorting him to Tony and Bruce so that he can be properly transferred back to his own time. That’s only one Bucky down with several more to go, and you know now that you really have your work cut out for you. This is going to be much more difficult than you anticipated.

You stumble upon the next Bucky quietly ruminating in your room, and it takes him a moment to detect your presence as you lean against the doorway and simply observe his mannerisms. You can already tell this isn’t your Bucky by the way he anxiously taps his fingers against his knees; your Bucky’s tell is the anxious bouncing of his leg. This Bucky also wears his hair pulled back into a ponytail, whereas your Bucky prefers to tie his hair back into in a half-up style.

His eyes widen in shock when he finally notices you standing there, and you’re taken aback by the way he nearly flings himself at you. His strong arms wrap around your midsection and lift you off the ground, holding you impossibly tight against him as if you’ll disappear otherwise.

“жена,” he whispers in a trembling voice while combing a hand through your hair.

“I don’t speak Russian…” you voice with an uncomfortable laugh, struggling to take a breath due to how tightly you’re pressed against him. “Buck, you’re kind of suffocating me here.”

The man finally releases you after your admission, but his hands immediately find their way to your cheeks as he cups your face and rests his forehead against your own. You’re startled by the closeness, but there’s no denying the rapid beating of your heart when you stare into his troubled eyes. You’ve had daydreams like this before, but it’s jarring to experience it in person.

“When I arrived here and came across your room I thought it was too good to be true,” he utters shakily, “but you’re here. You’re alive.”

“Bucky, I-“

“You’ve come back to me, жена.”

“жена?” You repeat unsurely. His panicked features melt into a fond smile at the sound of your botched Russian, and he carefully pushes back your hair before gifting you a nod of confirmation.

“Wife.”

Your eyes widen at his proclamation, your heart dropping to your chest while you process the weight of his words and struggle with the turmoil inside of you. You thought dealing with the Bucky from the kitchen was difficult, but this is way out of your playing field.

“Oh god,” you breathe out before carefully removing his hands from your face. He frowns.

“What’s wrong?”

“I know this is all really confusing, but I’m not…” you start to say, grappling with your guilt at having to crush the man’s hopes of being reunited with his version of you, “I’m not your wife.”

The man’s features become sullen at your confession, brows furrowing in disappointment and confusion. “What do you mean? You aren’t y/n?”

“I am, but I’m just not the same y/n you know. This is a different dimension, and you were sent here by accident.”

“So you’re not… she’s not really alive, then,” he murmurs dejectedly, eyes casting towards the floor in despair.

“No, and I’m so sorry I’m not the one you’re looking for,” you console, resting a comforting hand on his bicep. Bucky’s eyes flutter shut at the feel of your touch, something he’d been lacking since your death. You aren’t his wife, but in spite of that, he is grateful to be able to speak to you and see your face once more. “Can I ask what happened to her?”

“Hydra wanted revenge for my desertion and for aiding Captain America in their destruction,” Bucky utters lowly, eyes hardening at the memory. “An eye for an eye. She paid the price for my mistakes, and I’ve spent every waking moment avenging her death.”

A chill runs through your spine as you hear the recounting of your counterpart’s death, but you do your best to remain composed while in the presence of this alternate version Bucky. Your heart aches for the man, and you once again find yourself completely useless at trying to help him.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you express solemnly. Despite this, Bucky looks to you with a tender smile before carefully taking your hand in his own.

“Don’t be. I know you’re not her, but seeing you again, hearing your voice- It’s the most precious gift I could ask for. Thank you for giving me some semblance of peace.”

You’re a wreck when this Bucky is returned to his own timeline, and after multiple instances of running into Bucky’s who believe you’re their y/n Steve assures you that he’ll take over moving forward. It seems that each Bucky you speak to cares so fondly for you, they adore you even, and yet in this universe you’ve been designated as a close friend and nothing more. It’s killing you to see all the ‘what if’s,’ because deep inside you know that you’ll never be with your Bucky the way you want to.

You’re not sure when your crush on the super soldier had first developed, but you know that you’ve harbored these romantic feelings for him for quite a while now. You’ve never told anyone, though you can guess Steve was smart enough to figure it out on his own, and you have no urge to act on such feelings in fear of how complicated things will become if he doesn’t reciprocate your emotions.

Your rumination leaves you in deep thought as you sit out on the balcony and enjoy some quiet after all the chaos you’ve endured. You hear the sliding door open and shut behind you, but you make no attempt to see who it is until they seat themselves beside you. You peek at Bucky from the corner of your eyes before returning your gaze to the New York skyline, simply enjoying his presence without making an effort to speak.

“You doing okay?” He asks, effectively breaking the silence between you.

“I didn’t think being around multiple versions of you would be so exhausting,” you confess with a humorless laugh, but it prompts his lips to quirk up slightly into a smile.

“You’re starting to sound like Sam,” he teases with a careful nudge to your side. While you’d normally laugh at his jokes, Bucky doesn’t even get a smile out of you. You feel him shift closer to you and hope he can’t detect the way your heart picks up a beat in response. He nudges you again softer this time and asks, “Talk to me. What’s eating you?”

“Every Bucky variant I met today looked at me like I moved heaven and earth together, like I was their reason for getting up in the morning, and I guess it just reminded me of the fact that my own Bucky doesn’t really look at me that way.”

You pull your knees up to your chest and let your chin fall on top of them with a melancholic sigh. A part of you feels embarrassed to be voicing your disappointment aloud, but you figure there’s no harm in telling a variant since you’ll never have to see them again after today.

“Do you want him to look at you that way?”

“Of course I do,” you avow incredulously like the answer isn’t already obvious. “I love him so much that Steve trusted my judgement enough to have me help him sniff out the doppelgängers. I know how he likes his tea, how he does his hair, what his favorite movie is- the list could go on forever. But of course, I live in the one universe where Bucky and I don’t end up together.”

You feel his hand come to rest on the small of your back and shudder at the feel of his cool metal hand seeping through your sweater. You can’t help but to lean against him so that your head is rested on his shoulder, and you’re able to find some comfort in his presence. You hear him let out a thoughtful hum beside you.

“You want to know something?” Bucky pronounces. He feels your head nod against him and smiles. “I know the exact moment I fell in love with you.”

The confession has you lifting your head to peer up at him questioningly. “You do?”

“Of course I do. We were on a mission, and you picked up Steve’s shield to stop a bullet from hitting me straight on before using it to knock out three bad guys in a row. You looked so strong, so beautiful. My heart was yours from then on.”

“I didn’t think you remembered that,” you confess quietly, stomach fluttering with nervous butterflies.

“Haven’t stopped thinking about it since,” he asserts with a fond smile. “Any Bucky would be lucky to have you, and I’m sorry yours has been too chicken to make a move.”

“I guess it’s not totally his fault,” you relent with a meager shrug. “I’m chicken, too.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Bucky suggests, tone light and inviting. “I know I’m not the most obvious about it, but I love you too.”

You open your mouth to answer only to be interrupted by the sound of the sliding door again. You turn to see Steve standing there, surprise on his features when he sees you two sitting on the balcony together.

“Y/n, I’ve been looking for you,” he says suddenly. “I wanted to talk to you about the variants-“

“Don’t worry,” you interrupt him with a passive wave of your hand before gesturing towards Bucky with your head. “I found another one for you. This Bucky just told me he loves me which means he’s definitely not ours.”

“Actually,” Steve says with an amused grin, “I was just coming to tell you we sent the last of them back to their own dimensions.”

“What?” You gape in shock, heart immediately dropping to your stomach as you slowly shift your gaze towards the Bucky sitting next to you. He flashes you a bashful smile and a small wave that fills you with embarrassment.

“I’ll give you two a moment,” the blond says with a knowing smile before making his exit, leaving you alone once more with the man you’d just poured your entire heart out to.

“I thought you knew,” Bucky offers apologetically. You take a nervous swallow before forcing yourself to meet his gaze again.

“So you’re saying that you do love me?” You ask hesitantly, almost afraid that this is all some sort of joke.

“I may not be as romantic or straightforward as the other Bucky’s you met, but I love you just as much as they do if not more,” he professes earnestly, gently resting a hand on your cheek to pull you closer. “I think we make a great team, but we’d make an even better couple.”

“I think so too,” you utter with a giddy smile, waiting with bated breath as Bucky slowly begins to lean in. The anticipation is killing you, but you’re finally rewarded for your patience when his lips meet your own in a tender kiss. Your lashes flutter shut as you melt into his touch, reveling in the moment you’ve dreamed of since discovering your feelings for Bucky.

No matter the timeline and no matter the universe, Bucky is destined to fall in love with his y/n. And you wouldn’t want it any other way.

[0scarp1astr1]

Spoiled Much? (P2)

જ⁀➴ Desc: || Pranking them but telling them you let another man pay for you. ||

P3

ᯓ★ Featuring: Oscar Piastri, Yuki Tsunoda, Franco Colapinto, Kimi Antonelli, Ollie Bearman, George Russell

ᯓ★ 1x Genre: Humor

ᯓ★ Warning: None

ᯓ★ Requested? Yes

Author Note: Part 2 of Spoiled much, I hope you all enjoy it, these are fun to make, and I am squeezing in as much content as possible for drivers.

▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀

Oscar Piastri

You and Oscar had decided to spend a few quiet days with his family, away from media buzz and cameras. It was peaceful, relaxing — and just what you needed. Plus, it meant bonding time with his mom and sisters… and, well, the perfect opportunity to mess with your tall, calm, sweet-faced boyfriend.

Oscar always told you not to worry about money. “Just tell me what you want, I’ll get it,” he’d say like it was nothing — and while he looked calm on the outside, you knew exactly how to poke the bear. A fake “another guy paid for it” prank? That would definitely stir something.

After a full day of shopping with his mom and sisters, you returned to the house, bags in hand, smile innocent, kiss on his cheek, and his credit card handed back like a dutiful wife.

“Did you have fun?” he asked, pulling you into his side as he kissed your temple.

“Mhm,” you hummed. “Didn’t even have to use much of your money.”

Oscar blinked, glancing at the ten shopping bags in your hand. “That’s... hard to believe,” he muttered.

Right on cue, Hattie chimed in. “Oh come on, Osc! The guy was sooo nice, you should’ve seen him. Just strolled up, all confident, and was like, ‘Don’t worry pretty girl, I’ll take care of it.’”

Edie nodded. “He even told her to pick the next store and said he’d pay again!”

You bit back your laugh, playing your part perfectly. “Some people are just sweet like that,” you said with a shrug.

Oscar stood still for a moment. Processing. And then—

“Okay hold on, WHAT?” he said, completely blindsided. “He paid for you? Why?! No. Nope. That’s not sweet — that’s sketchy. That’s 'I’m trying to take your girl to dinner and dessert' energy.”

He turned to his mom and sisters like a courtroom defense lawyer. “You let him pay? You encouraged this? I’m her boyfriend. Me. Oscar Piastri. I make millions! I can pay for her to buy a store if she wants!”

That was it — you and the girls lost it, bursting out laughing. Oscar blinked around the room like he was the only one not in on the joke… until he spotted your phone angled toward him from the side table.

His shoulders dropped. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You leaned up and kissed him, still giggling. “You’re so dramatic when you think another man’s trying to buy my affection.”

“Because he was!” Oscar said, exasperated as he turned to walk upstairs.

You followed, juggling your bags. “Come on! You have to admit that was hilarious.”

“I don’t think I trust you on TikTok anymore,” he muttered, disappearing into your shared vacation room.

“I love pranking you!” you called after him.

“I noticed. Especially after the flour incident. And when you made me think someone broke into our Monaco flat,” he said with a shake of his head.

You smirked. “Lando was in on that one. You nearly whacked him with the bat.”

Oscar chuckled under his breath. “Shouldn’t prank me about break-ins — I’m trying to keep you safe, not turn Monaco into a crime scene.”

You flopped onto the bed, bags landing beside you. “So I take it this means war?”

Oscar shrugged, kicking off his shoes. “Just know… I’m not always as chill as I look. One day, I’ll get you back.”

You raised a brow. “Since when do you get in on the prank wars?”

He grinned slightly, slipping under the covers.

“One day, you’ll find out.”

▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀

Yuki Tsunoda

It was a sunny afternoon in Tokyo, where you and Yuki had gone to visit his family and enjoy a break from the F1 madness. Between temple visits, catching up with his childhood friends, and eating your weight in street food, you were having the time of your life. Yuki was extra cuddly on this trip too—maybe it was the home vibes, or maybe he just loved showing you off. Either way, it was perfect.

But perfect wasn’t complete without chaos. And that chaos? A prank.

So when he offered to wait in the car while you ran into the local store for some drinks and snacks, you accepted with a sweet smile and his card in hand. You already knew what you were going to do.

When you returned with a bag of goodies and that signature innocent grin, you handed the card back to him casually. “Didn’t need it after all,” you said, getting into the car.

Yuki blinked. “Why? Did they not take cards?”

You shook your head. “No, actually… this guy behind me in line paid. Said something about a beautiful girl like me not needing to pay for her own stuff.” You said it so calmly, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Yuki sat there. Processing.

Then he blinked again. “Wait. Who?!”

You shrugged. “I don’t know, some guy. He was nice. Complimented my outfit. Said I had a pretty smile.”

Yuki’s jaw dropped like you just told him AlphaTauri was being renamed “Team Random Guy.” “HE SAID WHAT?!”

You looked out the window like it was no big deal. “I mean, it was sweet, really. People can be really generous.”

Yuki turned to you fully. “That’s not generosity! That’s flirting! That’s trying to steal my girlfriend in 4K!”

You bit your lip, barely holding back laughter as he kept going.

“And you just let him?! What was I supposed to do, huh? Sit here like a chump while you got sugar-daddied by Mr. Free Snacks?! I could’ve been in there karate-chopping someone!”

You covered your mouth to hide the giggle.

Yuki pointed a dramatic finger at you. “You are not allowed to be this pretty in public. New rule. Hoodie, sunglasses, ninja mode.”

“I was wearing sweatpants and your hoodie,” you said.

“EVEN WORSE,” he shouted. “He knew it wasn’t even yours! That man paid while you wore MY CLOTHES?!”

You finally broke, bursting into laughter and pointing to your phone in the dashboard mount. “Yuki… it was a prank.”

He followed your finger, saw the red light, and slumped into the seat. “Oh my god… I thought I was gonna have to fight someone. Like, actual punches.”

You leaned over and kissed his cheek. “But you were so cute and protective.”

He narrowed his eyes. “No. No compliments. I’m not falling for your sweet talk.”

“Come onnn,” you teased.

“I hope that guy steps on a Lego.”

“He doesn’t exist, Yuki.”

“I still hope he steps on a Lego. Just in case.”

You giggled as he started the car again, muttering something under his breath in Japanese.

“Love you,” you said sweetly.

He sighed, grabbing your hand.

“Yeah yeah. Love you too. But next time I get to prank you, and I’m going full chaos.”

▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀

Franco Colapinto

You and Franco had a nice dinner out planned—a little place tucked away on a quiet street, somewhere he promised had “the best pasta in the city, I swear on my helmet.” The two of you were tucked into a cozy corner, laughing over shared appetizers, when he suddenly leaned in and whispered, “Mi amor, I need to use the bathroom. If the bill comes, just use my card, okay?”

You nodded sweetly, already sliding his card from his wallet like the loyal girlfriend you were. The moment he disappeared down the hallway, though, the phone was set up—tucked sneakily between the salt shaker and wine bottle, camera rolling. You pulled out your own card and paid with a knowing grin.

A few minutes later, Franco returned, hair slightly tousled, sleeves pushed up like he had just gotten into a brawl with the hand dryer. “Did the bill come?”

“Yeah,” you said casually, handing back his card. “But I didn’t need it. A gentleman saw me sitting alone and paid for it. Said no beautiful woman should have to pay for her own dinner.”

Franco blinked. Twice. Then very slowly sat down in the chair across from you.

“…A gentleman?” he repeated.

“Mmhm.” You sipped your drink nonchalantly. “He insisted. Said something about it being tragic for a gorgeous girl to be left alone for even a minute.”

Franco leaned forward, brows knitting. “Wait wait wait. So a man… paid for my girlfriend's dinner? While she was sitting here looking pretty, so he sat… in my seat?”

You nodded, pretending not to notice his rising stress.

“And you let him?! Did you tell him you’re with me?”

You tapped your chin. “I think I said I was seeing someone… briefly. Might’ve been hard to hear with the music.”

“Dios mío,” he muttered, rubbing his face. “Was he older? Did he look rich?”

“Definitely older. Possibly owned a yacht.”

Franco sat back, blinking at the ceiling like he was trying not to cry. “So now I have competition with a yacht guy? At a pasta place I brought you to?!”

You bit your lip, struggling not to laugh as he threw his arms up.

“He just… paid for you? What was I doing?! Washing my hands like an idiot while some James Bond wannabe was out here stealing my girl with his wallet?”

You pointed silently to the phone recording between the bottles of olive oil. He followed your finger, then froze.

“Oh no…”

You burst out laughing as Franco buried his face in his hands. “You’re evil,” he groaned. “You actually had me questioning if I should challenge this guy to a duel.”

You giggled, reaching for his hand. “But it was so funny, baby!”

He peeked through his fingers. “You know what’s funny? How much flour is going to be in your hair next time I bake something.”

You raised a brow. “You don’t bake.”

“I’ll learn. For revenge.”

You leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Love you, Franco.”

He grinned.

“Love you too, mi amor… but your days are numbered.”

▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀

Kimi Antonelli

You and Kimi were deep into a study date at a quiet café—books spread out across the table, highlighters scattered like confetti, and Kimi hunched over his notes like he was preparing for a championship instead of a history exam. His focus was intense, brows furrowed, jaw set, the occasional frustrated sigh escaping when something didn’t make sense.

“I’m starving,” you whispered, nudging his arm gently.

Without even looking up, he slid some cash across the table toward you. “Get us something. Surprise me. Just… not tuna.”

You grinned, taking the money. “Got it, no tuna. Maybe anchovies?”

His only response was a quick side-eye and a very clear don’t test me expression. You stood with a soft laugh, heading to the counter. But, of course, instead of paying with the cash he gave you, you slid it into your hoodie pocket and paid with your own card, mentally thanking your brain for remembering to set up your phone camera before you left the table.

When you came back, two drinks in hand and a little plate of snacks, Kimi was still buried in his book, scribbling notes at lightning speed.

“You got it?” he asked absently, finally glancing up.

“Mhm.” You placed the drinks and snacks on the table. “Funny thing though… some guy at the counter offered to pay for me. Said no pretty girl should have to pay for her own coffee.”

Kimi blinked slowly.

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah,” you said casually, sipping your drink. “He was really sweet about it, said I looked too stressed to worry about paying. Even offered to pay for your drink too. Said he hopes my boyfriend is as nice as he is.”

Kimi set his pen down, his full attention now on you. “I—Sorry, what? A guy paid for you? At a café? While you were on a date with me?”

You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

“And you accepted it?!”

You shrugged innocently. “Didn’t seem polite to decline.”

Kimi leaned back in his seat, running a hand down his face. “So now there’s some mystery guy out there thinking he’s your knight in shining armor? Great. I’m competing with a man who buys snacks at cafés.”

You tilted your head. “Are you…jealous?”

“No.” He paused. “Maybe. Yes. A little. I’m studying Napoleon and losing you to an oat milk cappuccino and charm.”

At that, you couldn’t help it—you laughed, pointing at the phone angled between your notebooks. “It was a prank.”

Kimi followed your finger, narrowed his eyes at the phone, and let out a slow sigh. “You’ve been spending way too much time on TikTok again.”

“You love it,” you grinned, nudging him with your knee.

He shook his head but couldn’t hold back the smile tugging at his lips. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he muttered.

“Lucky? I’m gorgeous.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem,” he mumbled, grabbing his pen again. “That and the fact that now I have to find a way to prank you back in the middle of midterms.”

You leaned in with a smirk. “Bring it on, Antonelli.”

He looked up, smirk matching yours.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, bella.”

▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀

Ollie Bearman

It had been a chill day at the paddock—at least, as chill as things could get during a race weekend. Ollie had been doing his usual: juggling meetings, debriefs, and pretending he wasn’t texting you between every other lap review. You’d been wandering around, catching up with people, grabbing snacks, and planning—most importantly—your next prank.

Which is where Esteban Ocon came in.

You cornered him earlier with a grin and said, “Want to help me mess with Ollie?”

“Always,” he replied without hesitation.

So now, you were strolling casually back to the paddock beside Esteban, snack bag in hand, your phone tucked in a subtle angle to record the chaos that was about to unfold. Ollie stood a little down the way, chatting with one of the engineers until he spotted you both. His face lit up—until he noticed the smug expression on Esteban’s face.

“What did I miss?” Ollie asked, brow already raised as you approached.

“Oh nothing,” Esteban said casually. “Just had to save your girlfriend from being hit on by a guy at the snack tent.”

You blinked up innocently. “He was sweet, though. Said no girl that pretty should pay for her own snacks.”

Ollie froze mid-step. “Wait—what?”

Esteban kept the bit going flawlessly. “Yeah, proper gentleman. Paid for her food and everything. Honestly, I felt a bit awkward just standing there.”

You nodded, biting your lip like you were holding back a laugh. “He even asked if I was single.”

Ollie looked between the two of you, his jaw slowly dropping. “Hang on—you let some random guy pay for you? And Esteban just stood there and let it happen?!”

Esteban raised his hands defensively. “I didn’t want to start a fight over chips, mate.”

You added, “He said I had really nice eyes. And a radiant energy.”

“Okay, what is this—The Bachelor: Paddock Edition?!” Ollie blinked, looking incredibly betrayed. “I’ve been doing tire analysis for thirty minutes and you were out there getting free snacks and compliments like it’s a rom-com?”

Esteban couldn’t hold it anymore. He started laughing first, and you quickly followed, pointing to the phone that was still subtly recording.

Ollie looked over, eyes narrowing. “Oh my god. I knew this was suspicious. You two are evil.”

“I prefer creative,” you giggled, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

He sighed dramatically. “I can’t believe you teamed up with Esteban for this.”

Esteban slapped him on the back. “She promised me a free coffee. Worth it.”

Ollie pointed between you both. “This means war. I don’t know when, I don’t know how, but you better sleep with one eye open.”

You smiled sweetly. “You still love me though.”

He rolled his eyes with a smile, pulling you into a quick hug. “Unfortunately, yes.”

Esteban winked at Ollie. “Next time, I’ll tell the guy she’s married to some old guy in Formula One.”

Ollie groaned.

“That makes it sound so much worse.”

▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀

George Russell

Race weekend meant chaos, caffeine, and press obligations. You’d been hanging around the paddock, chatting with familiar faces, and were supposed to grab a snack while George was finishing up a quick engineering meeting. Nothing fancy—just a little bite to hold you over.

Toto had spotted you on the way to catering and, being the gentleman he always was, insisted on paying for you. You initially said no, but Toto waved it off like it was nothing. "George doesn’t mind. It all comes out of Mercedes’ budget somehow."

But you were struck with a spark of inspiration. A prank. A perfectly subtle, paddock-appropriate prank.

Toto was more than game.

So, when George came striding out of the garage looking far too confident and far too clean for someone in motorsport, he found you waiting with a snack and a smirk—and Toto standing nearby with the look of a man who was absolutely about to commit to the bit.

"Hey, love," George smiled, brushing a kiss to your temple. "Get everything sorted?"

Toto gave a casual shrug. "Well, yes. Though I’m not sure how I feel about some random man flirting with your girlfriend while paying for her lunch."

George blinked. "Wait—what?"

You nodded, biting into your snack, cool as ever. "Yeah, he was sweet. Told me I shouldn’t have to pay for myself. Said a pretty face like mine deserved better."

George’s entire posture changed. "I—hold on—what guy? Where was I? I was literally gone for ten minutes!"

Toto, somehow keeping the most impressive poker face ever, added: "Tall guy. Nice watch. Little too confident if you ask me. He even winked."

George looked between you both, trying to compute. "And you just—let him pay?! Toto, you're the boss! You didn’t say anything?!"

"I didn’t want to embarrass him," Toto said seriously. "Maybe George should be more present next time."

Your face was turning red from holding in your laughter, especially when George turned to you in complete disbelief. "You let some random man just... fund your lunch like it was a date?!"

You shrugged. "Free food is free food."

George looked like he was mentally filing divorce papers you hadn’t even signed yet. "Absolutely not. You’re banned from snack stands without supervision."

At that point, Toto lost it—chuckling deep in his chest as he clapped George on the back.

"She’s joking, George. It was me."

George paused. Blinked. "...Wait, you paid?"

"Yes."

"And the flirting?"

You pointed to Toto. "All him."

George’s face dropped into his hands as you finally burst out laughing. "You two are unbelievable."

"You’re just upset someone else got to call me pretty first today," you teased.

He peered at you through his fingers. "That’s not true. I called you pretty this morning. Before breakfast."

Toto smirked. "Guess you’ll have to step it up."

George pointed at you. "You are never teaming up with him again."

You grinned, slipping your arm around his. "No promises, Mr. Russell."

George shook his head as the three of you walked off.

"I’m switching snack duty to Kimi next time. He wouldn’t emotionally sabotage me like this."

▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀▄▀▄ ▀▄▀

[enhaflixer]

reaction: when they’re pissed off (in a cute way) with you on Valentine’s Day

cw: skinship, upset enha, kissing, explicit mentions wc: 1.7K TL: @naurwayyyyy @ziiao @somuchdard AN: LMAO REPOST CUZ ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THE LAST ONE

𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠

"I’m not mad."

Heeseung has said this at least seven times now.

And yet, he hasn’t looked at you properly all evening, has been scrolling aggressively on his phone, and is eating his food like it personally offended him.

"Baby, you sure about that?" you ask, watching him.

"Yep."

"Then why are you stabbing your steak like it’s my fault?"

"I always eat like this." He shrugs, looking down at his plate with a blank expression, before adding, "Totally normal. No problems here."

You roll your eyes. "Okay, then why have you barely spoken to me?"

"I’m just thinking," he says vaguely, taking a sip of his drink like he’s in a drama about betrayal.

You squint at him. "Hee. Just say it."

Heeseung finally exhales, setting his fork down. "Fine. I just think it’s interesting that I planned this entire Valentine’s surprise, wrote you a whole letter, and took you out to this fancy place—but you didn’t write me anything."

You pause. "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh." He takes another dramatic sip.

You reach for his hand. "Baby, I can write you a letter right now—"

"Nope. Too late. The damage has been done." He leans back, closing his eyes like he’s processing deep betrayal.

You laugh, sliding into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Will a thousand kisses make up for it?"

He pretends to think about it. "Hmmm… I guess I can be persuaded."

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠

Jay had a vision. A Pinterest-worthy, cinematic romance kind of vision.

And you? You ruined it.

"Wait." He blinks at you, utterly betrayed. "Where’s my Valentine’s Day gift?"

You freeze.

"Jay—"

"Oh my God, you forgot."

You panic. "No! I mean… yes. But! But I have something planned—"

"Mmm. Sounds fake."

He leans back, crossing his arms, lips pursed in the most dramatic pout.

"I got you roses and your favorite chocolate. I even wrote a handwritten letter. Meanwhile, my thoughtful, loving, caring fiancé—"

"Okay, okay!" You grab his hands, laughing. "I’ll make it up to you."

He tilts his head, eyeing you suspiciously. "You sure? Because this was a pretty deep wound. Might take a while to heal."

You bite your lip, stepping closer. "I’ll do anything, baby."

His jaw tightens slightly at that, his hands twitching at his sides.

"Anything?" he murmurs.

You nod, brushing your fingers along his collar.

Jay exhales sharply, then grabs your waist, pulling you flush against him. His lips graze your ear as he whispers,

"Good. Because I plan to collect that apology. All. Night. Long."

𝐒𝐢𝐦 𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐮𝐧

"I’m so mad at you right now."

You barely step inside before Jake is grabbing your waist, pinning you against the door, and glaring at you like you just personally ruined his life.

You blink up at him, confused. "What did I do now?"

He lets out the most tragic sigh you’ve ever heard. "Oh, I don’t know, babe. Maybe just COMPLETELY neglectING ME on Valentine’s Day??"

You squint. "Jake, we literally spent the entire day together."

"EXACTLY!" he exclaims, gesturing wildly. "We were together ALL DAY and somehow, SOMEWAY, I have not been dicked down once. Not once. Do you understand how that makes a man feel?"

You stare. "Jake—"

"No, no, let me finish." He steps back, running a frustrated hand through his hair like he’s on the verge of a breakdown. "I have spent the last twelve hours waiting, hoping, praying, manifesting some kind of fucking physical affection from my own girlfriend, and what do I get? A pat on the back. A little forehead kiss. What am I, a fucking toddler??"

You burst out laughing. "Baby, you’re being dramatic."

"Dramatic? DRAMATIC?" He grabs your wrist, pulling you flush against him. "Babe. My dick is in distress. It’s been in distress ALL. FUCKING. DAY."

You snort. "You poor thing."

"YES, actually!" He grabs your hand, placing it over his chest. "Feel that? That’s a broken heart. A heart that thought tonight was gonna be different. A heart that thought you were gonna throw me on the bed the second we got home. A heart that—"

You kiss him, effectively shutting him up.

He pauses for half a second before immediately kissing you back, his hands gripping your waist like he’s making sure you don’t escape.

You pull away, smirking. "Better?"

"Mmm." He tilts his head, looking you up and down. "I mean… it’s a start. But, babe—" he leans in, voice dropping— "I'm gonna need a lot more before I forgive you."

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐧

Sunghoon isn’t mad.

At least, he tells himself he’s not mad.

But he is currently sitting on the couch, arms crossed, jaw clenched, scrolling aggressively on his phone like someone who is very much mad.

And you have no idea why.

"Hoon." You nudge him. No response.

"Babe, what’s wrong?"

"Nothing."

You narrow your eyes. "That’s a lie."

He finally exhales sharply. "You didn’t wish me at 12:00 AM."

You blink. "Wait. What?"

"It’s fine," he says, standing up, walking away. "Just thought my own girlfriend would wish me at midnight first, but nope. Jay texted me before you did. Even my mom beat you to it."

You burst out laughing. "Hoon, we were asleep at midnight."

"You could’ve set an alarm," he mutters.

You chase after him, grabbing his wrist. "Hoon, baby—"

"Nope. Don’t ‘baby’ me now."

Then, suddenly—he grabs your waist, spins you around, and backs you into the nearest wall.

Your breath catches.

His eyes flicker down to your lips. "You wanna make it up to me?"

You swallow. "Yes."

His fingers brush against your jaw, tilting your chin up. "Good."

Then he kisses you—hard, deep, devastating.

And when he finally pulls away, he smirks.

"You should make mistakes like this more often."

𝐊𝐢𝐦 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐨𝐨

Sunoo is dramatically sprawled across the bed, one hand over his forehead like some tragic K-drama lead.

"Sunoo, baby, what’s wrong?" you ask, sitting beside him.

"Oh, nothing." His voice is eerily calm. "Just thought I was going to be wined and dined. Taken somewhere extravagant. Pampered like the prince that I am."

You stifle a laugh. "Baby, we had a really nice dinner—"

*"IT WAS A CAFE." He sits up, glaring at you. "You took me to a CAFE."

You bite your lip. "But it was a Paris-inspired one…?"

"WHERE WERE THE CANDLELIGHTS? THE VIOLINS?"

You sigh, pulling him into your arms, stroking his hair. "I’ll take you somewhere fancy this weekend, okay?"

He sniffs. "And buy me dessert?"

"Anything you want, baby."

"And feed it to me?"

"Yes, Sunoo."

"And post me on Instagram?"

"Sunoo—"

He squints. "Do you love me or not?"

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐰𝐨𝐧

Jungwon isn’t just mad—he’s mad and confused.

And that’s a dangerous combination.

You realize something is wrong when he suddenly stops replying properly to your texts. Then, when you finally meet up for dinner, he just stares at you blankly, arms crossed, jaw tight, looking equal parts irritated and baffled.

"What’s wrong?" you ask, frowning as you sit across from him.

"I don’t know," he says.

You pause. "You don’t know?"

"Nope." He picks up his drink, takes a slow sip while keeping eye contact, then sets it down carefully. "Because if I knew, then I would at least understand why my girlfriend—who, mind you, is supposed to love me—decided to completely ignore me all morning on Valentine’s Day."

Your eyes widen. "Wait—"

"No, no. Please." He holds up a hand, silencing you. "Let me finish."

You press your lips together.

"Do you know who texted me first?" he asks, tilting his head.

"Um—"

"SUNOO." He sits back, folding his arms. "Sunoo texted me first. With a big, pink heart emoji and everything. But my own girlfriend? Nothing. Silence. Like I was just another irrelevant man walking this earth."

You stifle a laugh. "Jungwon—"

"No, because seriously!" He leans forward, exasperated. "Did you hit your head this morning? Did your phone break? Did you forget I existed?"

You grab his hands across the table, laughing. "Baby, I was literally asleep."

"Set an alarm next time," he grumbles.

You kiss his knuckles softly. "I’ll text you first every day for the rest of the week. Deal?"

He sighs, pretending to think about it. "Fine. But I expect dramatic good morning messages. And at least three heart emojis."

𝐍𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐤𝐢

Riki has been staring at you.

Not in a cute, "I’m so in love" way. Not in a "Wow, my girlfriend is so pretty" way.

No. This is straight-up judgment.

"Riki," you say cautiously, side-eyeing him as he sits across from you, arms folded, jaw tight. "Are you good?"

He lets out the most condescending scoff. "Me? Oh, yeah. I’m GREAT."

You pause. "…Okay?"

"Yeah. No, I was just sitting here, thinking about how interesting it is that I’ve gone all fucking day without so much as a kiss on the cheek from my own girlfriend. But it’s fine. Really. I love being treated like some random side character in your life."

Your eyebrow twitches. "Riki, we’ve literally been together all day."

"EXACTLY." He throws his hands up, glaring. "And somehow, SOMEWAY, you’ve managed to avoid kissing me like I have a fucking disease."

You stifle a laugh. "Baby, we were literally in public the whole time—"

"Bullshit," he interrupts. *"You had time to fix your hair. You had time to take cute pictures. But you didn’t have time to kiss your incredibly hot, incredibly kissable boyfriend?"

You roll your eyes. "I think you’ll survive."

Riki narrows his eyes. "Oh. That’s how we’re playing it?"

Before you can react, he grabs your wrist, yanking you forward so suddenly that you stumble into his lap, your hands bracing against his chest.

Your eyes widen. "Riki—"

"Shh." He leans in, nose brushing yours, voice low and taunting. "You had your chance. Now it’s my turn."

Your breath catches as his fingers dig into your waist, holding you in place.

"You’re gonna make this up to me, babe," he murmurs, his lips ghosting over yours, teasing, torturing. "And I’m not letting you go until I feel properly appreciated."

TAGLIST: OPEN!!!! LMK WHAT YOU THINK PLS

[majestyeverlasting]

Hello there! :) If I may, I’d like to request a Joel miller x reader ⇩

something where the reader is experiencing a migraine (headache + nausea and all that) and Joel tries calling her all day while he’s out and when he gets home he finds her asleep in pitch black room and realises what’s wrong, but knows exactly how to comfort his girl? 🥰

*im sorryyy if that’s long or weirdly specific it’s just something I’ve been struggling with lately and I need some comfort about it don’t mind me😻)*

𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 | 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

Pairing Joel Miller x Female Reader 

Summary Joel comes home to find that you’re suffering from a migraine in bed. Luckily, he’s helped you through this once or twice. [no outbreak, hurt/comfort, fluff, 1.8k]. 

A/N Thanks for this request! I promise it's not weird at all. In my head, this is Joel and reader from here with you. 

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

Joel (8:57 AM) Sorry I missed you this morning, didn’t wanna wake you. Have a good day. -J

Joel (11:02 AM) Checking in. You up and at em yet? 

Joel (2:34 PM) Everything okay? Call you in a bit. -J

Still nothing from you. Joel locks his phone and rests his forearms on his legs. 

Today is the warmest day all week. Getting to ditch the extra layer is nice. Tommy shields his eyes from the sun as he exits a prim house with a spotless driveway and plush lawn. Beside it is another perfect lot, and another, and another, arranged around the whole cul-de-sac. He and Joel had been contracted to do a kitchen upgrade for the new homeowners and were in the process of working through the finishing touches.

From his seated position on the curb, Joel looks over his shoulder as footsteps approach. Tommy draws his leg back like he plans to kick him, and snickers when he leans out the way.

“Watch yourself,” Joel warns.

“Or what?” A smirk pulls at Tommy’s lips. “I’ll lay your old ass out on this asphalt.”

Joel shakes his head as Tommy sits down beside him with a grunt. A comfortable silence settles between them, and Joel fights the urge to check his phone even though it hasn’t buzzed. Tommy notices the slight tension in his shoulders but chalks it up to wanting to be done for the day. After the owners did their final walkthrough tomorrow, a three-day weekend awaited.

A cool breeze rolls through as Tommy stretches his legs out in front of himself, his jeans peppered with dust and dried specks of white paint. When he takes a swig from the bottle he walked outside with, Joel’s squints at the label, his interest piqued.

“Kombucha?” he says with furrowed brows.

Tommy nods as he swallows. “Sarah put me on,” he says after wiping his mouth. “Helps with your gut. Something like that.”

“A few crunches should do the trick,” Joel mutters.

Tommy snorts and elbows him. “Right back at you, smartass.” Joel huffs a breath at that. “Hey, what do you think about going fishing this weekend—Saturday maybe?”

When his brother doesn’t respond, he knocks his knee against his. “Anybody home?”

Joel straightens up in hopes of making his anxiety less evident. Except, he wears it like a second skin. To deny it would be to deny himself.

“What time you think we’ll be done today?” The break they carved out just started, but it’s his roundabout way of suggesting they get back to work. There wasn’t too much left to do if they locked in—some additional caulking, sealing, and polishing.

Tommy shakes his head as he calculates. “Three-thirty, four?” Then he narrows his eyes at Joel. “You’ve been sitting funny since I walked out here…”

Joel’s chest puffs with a sigh as he unlocks his phone. The text thread between the two of you is already pulled up, and all three of his messages to you are unanswered. Tommy leans closer to read them and bites his lower lip as the gears start turning in his head.

He decides to draw a little levity in, “You piss her off?” There’s a teasing undertone to his question.

“Don't think so,” Joel says as he shifts. “Gonna give her a call.”

Tommy nods and claps him on the back. “We can get back to work after.”

He heads back inside to give his brother some privacy.

When you don’t answer the phone, Joel leaves a message anyway.

“Hey, sweetheart. Haven’t been able to get through to you, but I’ll be home soon, okay? Four-thirty at the latest…” he pauses to bite his lower lip. “Call me if you get this before I’m there. Love you.”

•••

It’s quiet when he arrives home. Virtually undisturbed. The pillows on the couch are positioned in the exact way they’d been left after last night’s impromptu movie night. The TV remote is in the same place on the coffee table as well. There’s nothing that suggests you’ve been stirring around at all. He walks deeper into the house to find that the kitchen and sunroom are empty too. The late afternoon sun pools in through the window.

When he makes it back around to the staircase, he jogs to the top. The wood creaks beneath his steps.

“Sweetheart?” he calls out. “I’m home. You up here?”

His voice carries to where you’re tucked in bed, but you can’t bring yourself to answer back. Not loud enough for him to hear you, at least. The ache that once pulsed throughout your head has steadied to the point where you don’t want to risk overexerting yourself and tumbling back to square one. Joel would find you anyway. He always did. And he never viewed you or your pain as a burden. He knew how to cradle both, how to ease them without second thought.

Light pours into the bedroom as the door opens slowly. You can make out the outline of his tall, broad frame, and hear the soft sound of his socks against the hardwood as he pads to you in the dark. Thanks to the blackout curtains, there’s hardly any light entering in. Only the smallest slivers.

After his eyes adjust, he can begin to make out the shapes around the room. The red glow of the alarm clock allows him to see your face, your slow-blinking eyes.

Without uttering a word, he gently presses the back of his hand to your forehead, then moves it down to rest against your warm cheek. You press into his touch just slightly, and it tugs something awful at his chest. Makes him wish he could bear your pain.

“Migraine,” you murmur.

An apologetic hum vibrates through his chest. “You been like this all day?” he asks softly.

“Got bad at noon.”

He sighs. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

You weakly reach out for his hand and give it a gentle squeeze. It’s much larger than yours, rugged and calloused, but you’d hold on forever if you could. If he’d let you. With his free hand, he picks up the tumbler bottle on the nightstand to find that it’s light.

“I’m gonna go get you some more water. It’s probably time for some more Advil too.”

The weight of his attentiveness makes you nod like you’re surrendering. And maybe you are giving something up—the burden of the day. Of having to do everything on your own. His fingers tighten around yours in a final squeeze before he lets go.

You shouldn’t miss him in the short time that he’s gone, but you do. It’s the same tug that lingered in your chest all day, but is kinder now that he’s home. Not miles away out of reach. When he comes back, it’s with more than he initially set out for, all of it somehow balanced in his hold. He quietly sets it all on the nightstand.

“You can turn the little lamp on,” you murmur. There was a battery-powered ambient lamp alongside the larger one.

“I’m aces, honey,” he assures. “You wanna sit up for a second, I got your medicine right here.”

You prop yourself up on your forearm and gratefully take it from him. He holds your tumbler to your lips so you can reach the straw to wash it down.

“There ya go,” he praises as you settle back down. “Got a cold pack and some grapes too. Get a little something on your stomach before I get dinner worked out later…” He talks, almost absentmindedly, as he continues to get you situated. But he knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s a routine he’s coaxed you through more times than he’d like.

A long hum rises in your throat as he positions the cold pack on the back of your neck. A stark but pleasant chill ripples through your overheated body like slow melting ice. All you can muster is another grateful hum as he sets the small bowl of grapes on the mattress beside you. There’s a crisp, sweet pop as you usher one into your mouth.

“Gonna go grab a quick shower.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t go anywhere,” he adds lightly.

A small smile pulls at your lips.

•••

An hour. That’s how much later you wake up in his arms with his lips at your shoulder, his strong arm draped around your waist to keep you close. There’d hardly been any words exchanged between you in the moments before then, only confirmations of each other’s comfort and whispered I love you’s. You’d dozed off a couple of times since noon, but nothing comparable to the steady rest that came along with his proximity.

He doesn't realize you’re awake until you shift and reach toward the nightstand. The light of the ambient lamp soon illuminates the room, joined by the glow of your phone a moment later. Joel takes it as a sign you’re feeling better than he found you, and that’s more than enough. The gentle, repetitive tap of your thumb against the screen lets him know you’re going through old notifications.

His hand finds your hip beneath the sheets, where he draws slow, small circles with his thumb. It isn’t long before you lock the device and set it back down.

The sheets rustle as you turn around to face him. Sleep’s haze lingers between you as you trail your fingertips along his jaw in a featherlight brush. The scratch of his beard feels nice, and you continue the motion until you’re unable to stop the fond chuckle that shakes your chest. It’s no more than a quick breath, but Joel smiles shyly anyway.

“What?” he asks, voice a little gruff.

“J,” you murmur with a teasing lilt. “You don’t need to sign your texts. I know already it’s you.” You poke an affectionate finger into his stomach.

His smile grows as he offers a helpless shrug, warmth in his dark eyes. It’s impossible to fight the urge to scoot closer and press the briefest, softest kiss to his lips. He makes a small sound in the back of his throat.

“Tommy had me thinking I might’ve done something to upset you,” he says as he brushes a knuckle across your cheek.

“I’d never ignore you like that.”

Joel knows that, but says, “Except for that one time.”

You frown in confusion, but your mouth falls open in amusement when you realize what he means. “That was a million years ago, and it lasted five minutes—not even that.”

Joel chuckles, and when it triggers you to join him in laughing, you realize that’s all he sought to gain by bringing it up.

“Clearly it left a mark.” He brings your hand to his lips and kisses the heel of your palm. A smile lingers on his lips as you laugh again.

He then studies your eyes, your nose, your lips. He loves you so much he sometimes wonders how he’s been able to manage it without bursting at the seams.

“You feelin’ a bit better?” he asks after a few quiet beats.

“Much,” you promise.

He kisses your palm again. This time he lets his lips linger.

-

Thank you so much for reading. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. I promise I see them all! 

more of this couple -> here with you

JOEL MASTERLIST 

GENERAL MASTERLIST   

[lalo0]

INSIDE AESPA EP. 1 ┃ The Wrong Door

Male reader x Giselle

Word Count: 6.5k

Tags: squirting, dom/sub, rough sex, dirty talk, teasing

I didn’t even want to be here.

Concerts aren’t my thing. Screaming fans? Crowds packed shoulder to shoulder, sweating, pulsing to the bass of some pop anthem? No thanks. I like silence. I like my own space. And I sure as hell don’t like being herded like livestock through a stadium entrance just to watch people I’ve never even heard of pretend to sing over backing tracks.

But Jackson insisted. And Dev had already bought the tickets. “It’s not about the music,” they said. “It’s about the experience.”

The experience. Right.

Now here I was, drowning in noise and neon and perfume and sweat, trying to keep my breathing steady while Korean girls I didn't care about danced like their lives depended on it. The crowd—mostly teenage girls and a few dangerously enthusiastic fanboys—screamed every time one of them so much as flipped their hair. Phones were everywhere. Lights blinked like strobes. It was a full-on sensory assault.

And I? I wasn't interested. I was one wrong beat away from walking out.

I got lucky. The screen overhead blinked INTERMISSION — 15:00 and the music stopped. The crowd didn’t exactly calm down, but they started shifting, standing, stretching, running for merch and bathrooms and selfies. I used the opportunity to slip out the side aisle and into the nearest hallway marked RESTROOMS + VIP SUITES.

It was quiet almost immediately. Blessedly so.

The noise of the stadium dropped behind me like a curtain, replaced by sterile lighting and the low thrum of vents overhead. I passed the bathrooms but kept walking. I needed a breather more than anything, a second to think, to feel like myself again. I checked my phone—no signal—and kept walking down the hall.

That’s when I saw it: a door left ajar. Soft light spilled out.

I should’ve turned around. I should’ve thought, Maybe this is someone’s private space. But something about the glow—the hush, the mystery of it—pulled at me. I was curious. And when I get curious, I don’t stop.

So I pushed it open.

It took me a second to realize I wasn’t alone. The room was dim, expensive, quiet. Everything in soft gold tones and warm leather. A mirrored vanity glowed along one wall, surrounded by bulbs. The scent hit me next—perfume, heady and rich, wrapped around the chill of champagne. I was halfway through processing the velvet couch and the untouched strawberries on crystal glassware when I saw HER.

She was standing barefoot in front of the mirror, half-turned, her back to me. Her outfit was more lingerie than clothing—black mesh, sequins, leather straps. Her pink hair was up but imperfectly, pieces falling like silk down her neck. She was in the middle of unclasping something at the back of her neck, unaware of—or ignoring—me.

And then she spoke.

“You’re early.”

Her voice was smooth, low. American accent. A little amused.

I froze.

“I’m sorry,” I said, instinctively. “I think I’m—uh, lost.”

She didn’t turn right away. Just paused with her fingers on the clasp. Then she looked at me over her shoulder—one eye catching the light, sharp as a blade.

“No,” she said. “I don’t think you are.”

I blinked. “I really am. I was looking for the bathroom and I guess I just—”

“You opened a marked door.”

“I didn’t see any signs—”

“There were signs,” she said, finally facing me.

She was beautiful. I’m not saying that in the way people do when they meet a celebrity. I didn’t know who she was. I didn’t recognize her. I wasn’t starstruck. I was just... caught.

She had presence. Poise. Her body was slim but curved in all the places that made it impossible not to look. Her eyes didn’t smile, but they weren’t cold. They were calculating. Like she was building a character around me, testing how I’d react.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Mylo.”

Her head tilted slightly. “Is that real?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“You don’t look like a Mylo.”

I smirked despite myself. “What do I look like?”

She thought for a bit. “Like someone who doesn’t belong here.”

“Believe me, I don’t. I was just leaving—”

“No,” she said again, softly. “Stay.”

That word—that tone—should’ve sent me walking. But it didn’t. I stayed.

She moved toward me slowly, a kind of predatory grace in her bare feet and parted lips. Her body language was relaxed, but deliberate. Every step said she was in charge. Not of the room. Of me.

And I let her.

I couldn’t explain why, not then. Maybe it was the way she looked at me—not like I was a stranger, but like I was hers. Like she already knew what she wanted to do with me and was just deciding whether I’d be worth the effort.

“You’re not one of the staff,” she said, mostly to herself.

“No.”

“You’re not with the crew. And you didn’t come with security.”

“No.”

She smiled. “Then what are you doing here, Mylo?”

“Wrong door,” I said again, but it sounded less convincing this time.

She took one more step, close enough now for me to feel the heat of her skin. Her eyes traveled down my body, not shy, not rushed. She lingered on my chest, my hips, the tension in my fingers.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?” she asked.

“No.” I hesitated. “Should I?”

That amused her. I could see the moment her mask cracked and something real flickered beneath it—surprise, maybe. Or interest. Or something darker.

“No,” she said finally as if she didn't believe me. “That makes this easier.”

She didn’t move for a long time.

Just stood there in front of me, arms loose at her sides, one foot slightly forward like she was deciding whether to get closer or make me come to her. She didn’t blink much. She watched me like she was reading, not listening. And somehow, I was the one who felt exposed, even though I still had all my clothes on and she… didn’t, really.

There was a quiet sort of violence in the air. Not danger exactly. More like potential. She hadn’t said what she wanted. But I knew she wanted something.

She turned back to the mirror without another word and picked up a square of folded tissue, wiping under one eye with careful precision. Glitter dusted onto her collarbone like something expensive and accidental. The strap of her outfit was still hanging loose, but she made no move to fix it.

I wasn’t sure if I should speak. So I didn’t.

“You said your name’s Mylo,” she said, her voice low again, casual. “Where are you from?”

“Long Beach.”

“Not local, then.”

“Close enough.”

She nodded, then looked at me in the mirror.

“What are you doing now?”

“Wrong turn.”

“No.” She tilted her head. “Now. In life.”

I let out a breath, almost a laugh. “That’s a hell of a question.”

“I’m serious.”

“Right now I’m… working freelance. Web development. Bit of UX. It’s not exciting.”

She turned. “Then why did you say it like it’s a secret?”

I didn’t have an answer.

She stepped closer, slowly, like she was making sure I didn’t spook. And I didn’t. I stayed exactly where I was.

Her perfume hit me again—soft, floral, expensive. I still didn’t recognize her, but that was starting to feel irrelevant. She could’ve been an actress, a singer, a rich girl playing pretend. None of it would have changed the way she looked at me.

Like she was curious about how far she could push me before I’d say no.

“You’re nervous,” she said.

“I’m not.”

She smiled. “That’s cute.”

“I’m not cute.”

“No,” she said. “You’re not.”

Her hand brushed the front of her thigh, fingers trailing slowly along her skin, just shy of deliberate. My brain scrambled for something to say, something to anchor me to reality. I was in a stadium. There was a concert happening. There were fifteen thousand people and a very real possibility that someone would walk in and see this.

I didn’t care.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“You’ll find out when you’ve earned it.”

“Is this a game to you?”

“No.” She tilted her head. “But you’re fun to play with.”

Her foot arched slightly against the rug as she took another step forward. Close now. Close enough that I could feel the warmth of her skin, could see the light sheen of sweat at the hollow of her throat. I wanted to touch her. Just one fingertip. Just to know she was real.

“Don’t,” she said softly, like she’d read my mind.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Liar.”

A pause.

She looked down at the front of my shirt, then up again. “You don’t look like the type who follows orders.”

“I’m not.”

Her smile was slow and private. “Good.”

She reached for the strap still hanging loose on her shoulder. Slid it back into place. Not to hide. Just to reset the board.

“Sit,” she said, nodding toward the velvet loveseat.

I hesitated.

“I said sit.”

So I did.

She crossed the room without looking at me again, poured a fresh glass of champagne, dropped a single strawberry in like a garnish. Then she sat on the couch—opposite to me, one leg tucked under the other, facing me directly. Like we were equals. Like this wasn’t her room and I wasn’t the one trespassing.

“You ever break into places, Mylo?”

“No.”

“Shame. You’re good at it.”

I watched her run a finger down the side of her glass. Slow. Rhythmic.

“You think this is a mistake?” I asked.

She looked up. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

She grinned. “Me too.”

Neither of us moved.

She didn’t touch me.

Not at first.

“You’re being quiet,” she said.

“You’re being... a lot.”

Her smile curled slightly. “Too much?”

“No.” I shifted. “Not enough.”

She tilted her head, pleased. Her eyes dropped to my hands. I didn’t realize I’d been clenching them. She noticed everything.

“You like following orders,” she said.

I shook my head. “No. Not usually.”

Her smile didn’t fade. “But you’re not leaving.”

“I’m not.”

“Why?”

“I guess I want to see what happens next,” I said.

That seemed to satisfy her. She leaned back into the couch, legs crossed, and looked me over like I was both trespasser and specimen.

“Take off your jacket,” she said.

I didn’t move.

She gave me a look—subtle, expectant.

I took off my jacket.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was intentional. Like she was seeing how comfortable I could get under pressure.

“You ever think about what it would be like,” she said, “to be told what to do?”

“I’ve had bosses before.”

She laughed. “That’s not what I mean.”

“I know.”

A pause.

She stood. Walked over to me—slow, barefoot, measured—and knelt in front of the chair I was sitting in. Her knees brushed mine. She didn’t reach for me. Just looked up, eyes steady, close enough that I could see the darker ring around her irises.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said.

“I know.”

“But I am going to take you apart.”

My breath caught.

“And when I do,” she added, brushing her fingers just barely against the inside of my thigh, “I’ll expect you to say thank you.”

Still, I didn’t move.

Her eyes stayed on me.

She watched the way I exhaled. The way I shifted in my seat. She could feel the tension building, and she didn’t need to do a damn thing to feed it.

“You like restraint,” she said, almost to herself.

“You’ve seen me for ten minutes.”

“I don’t need more.”

I smirked. “And what do you like?”

“Control.”

“That’s obvious.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “Not power. Not winning. Just control.”

“Is there a difference?”

“One makes you loud. The other makes you patient.”

She stood again and walked past me toward the mirrored vanity to admire herself. This time, she didn’t check to see if I was watching.

She knew I was.

“I don’t usually let people in here,” she said.

“I don’t usually wander into strangers’ rooms.”

“Yet here we are.”

She turned, walking back—slow, sure, calculated. There was nothing casual about it. Her bare feet made no sound on the rug, but she moved with the intention of heels. Stopping just in front of me, she leaned in and placed both palms on the arms of the chair. She didn’t touch me. Not quite.

But her body was close enough that I could feel the heat coming off her skin. Her breath was just below my mouth. Her perfume wrapped around me like a second atmosphere.

“You want to kiss me right now, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Say please.”

I hesitated.

And she smiled—knowing, satisfied.

“Thought so,” she whispered, and pulled back before I could say anything at all.

She sat on the edge of the couch again, back straight, watching me like a tiger lounging just out of reach.

“What do you do,” I asked, voice a little hoarse, “when you get bored?”

Her smile was a slow burn. “Get un-bored.”

She tapped the empty cushion beside her.

“Come here.”

I did.

She turned to face me fully, legs folding under her again, this time closer. Her thigh touched mine. Her hand landed on my knee.

“You’ve been good so far,” she said. “I think I’ll keep going.”

The air in the room tightened.

She moved slowly—her hand trailing up my thigh, featherlight. Her nails grazed the fabric of my pants. Her fingers reached the crease at my hip and paused.

“You can stop me at any time,” she said.

I didn’t stop her.

I didn’t want to.

She leaned in. Her lips were glossy and full and tasted like strawberries and something darker. The kiss was slow. Not greedy. Not desperate.

Commanding.

She kissed me like she was showing me how. Like I’d do it wrong if she didn’t teach me.

Her hand kept moving—along the inside of my thigh, up, then over. She didn’t grip me yet. Just touched. Just explored. The anticipation was maddening.

And then she whispered it, low against my mouth:

“Undo your pants.”

Her voice wasn’t loud. Didn’t need to be. It threaded into me like static. I looked at her—half disbelieving, half burning.

She arched one eyebrow, still calm. Still collected. Like we were discussing dinner options, not sex.

My fingers moved before I could overthink it.

Button. Zipper. The sound was deafening in the quiet. Her eyes never left my hands. She watched the reveal like it was a gift she already knew she’d earned.

“Good,” she murmured.

Her hand slid under my waistband, nails grazing skin, and that was the first real contact that made my breath catch. Her fingers were warm, deliberate. She wasn’t shy. She wrapped them around me like she’d done it a thousand times—but wanted to relearn this exact shape.

She exhaled softly, pleased. “You’re hard.”

“Of course I am.”

“Because I told you to be?”

“No.”

She smirked. “Liar.”

Her thumb dragged slowly over the head of my cock. I flinched—too much, too sensitive, too not-in-control—and that just made her smile widen. She leaned in again, kissed me with that same slow, claiming heat, and her hand stroked lazily, like she had all the time in the world and knew exactly how fast not to go.

I kissed her harder.

Tried to take some ground back. Hands moving to her hips, her waist, her lower back. But she broke the kiss and pulled back an inch.

“No hands.”

I froze.

She held my gaze, waiting.

And I let go.

Her smile told me exactly what that gave her.

She leaned in again and bit my bottom lip—just enough to leave a sting.

“You’ll touch me when I say you can.”

And then she dropped to her knees.

My breath left me all at once. I didn’t move. Didn’t dare.

Her hands slid my pants down further, then my boxers, freeing me completely. Her eyes stayed locked on mine as she lowered her head and pressed the flat of her tongue against the base of my shaft.

Slow.

Upward.

Warm, deliberate pressure that sent a jolt through my whole body.

She didn’t rush. She licked. She tasted. She dragged her mouth along me like she was memorizing the shape of my shaft. Then, with the faintest hum of satisfaction, she took me into her mouth—just the head, just enough to make me want to shove my hips forward, just enough to make me hold still.

She knew.

She was watching for the twitch of my thigh. The clench of my jaw. Her hand stroked in time with her mouth, lazy, devastating, a rhythm designed to drive a man out of his body without ever letting him finish.

And she wasn't letting me finish.

Every time my breath caught, she stopped. Pulled back. Let her tongue flick once, twice, too lightly to give me relief. She kissed the tip like she was thanking me for the privilege. Then started again.

And again.

And again.

Until I was panting, fists clenched at my sides, every part of me straining not to move. Not to grab her. Not to fuck her mouth the way I wanted to.

She pulled back completely.

Wiped her mouth with her thumb.

Then looked up at me with those sharp, unfazed eyes and said, “Good boy.”

She stayed on her knees.

Not because she had to. Because she liked the angle. She liked the view. She liked that I was still sitting there, pants around my thighs, chest rising like I’d just finished a workout—and she wasn't letting me cum.

She dragged the back of her fingers up the length of my thigh, the touch so light it barely existed, like she was testing whether I was ticklish. I wasn’t. But I was sensitive. Every nerve tuned to her. Every inch of me vibrating from her touch.

She looked pleased with herself. No—she looked composed. Like she could’ve done that to anyone and stayed perfectly unaffected.

That bothered me.

Not enough to stop. Not yet.

“Still with me?” she asked, smiling like we were just chatting over coffee.

“Barely.”

“Good.” She stood. Slow again. Unbothered. She stepped out of the loose arc of my pants on the floor, hands smoothing down her sides as she crossed the room.

She didn’t go far. Just to the mirror again. Touched up her lips. Adjusted a strap. Like this was an intermission in her show.

She glanced at me through the mirror. “You’ve got a nice mouth when you’re quiet.”

“Thought you liked control.”

“I do.”

“Don't get used to it.” I said with a slight smile

That earned me a sharper look. But no protest. She let the tension sit.

Then she walked back to me, bent over, and kissed me again—harder this time. Her tongue pushed into my mouth with zero hesitation, and she moaned softly when I kissed her back like I meant it.

She tasted like strawberries.

Her body moved against mine—shoulders, chest, hips—grinding down slow as she pushed me back into the cushions. She swung a leg over and straddled me, her outfit brushing bare skin in all the right ways and none of the convenient ones.

She reached behind her, grabbed both my wrists, and pulled them up over my head.

“Don’t move,” she whispered.

I didn’t.

Her hips rolled against me once, then again. Her breath caught—just slightly—and I caught it, too. Her control wasn’t an act. But it had cracks. Beautiful ones. And I liked finding them.

She leaned down, mouth at my ear.

“You’re going to fuck me.”

I swallowed. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

“Not yet,” she said. “You’ll wait.”

Her hips shifted again—slow, deep grind, no friction where I needed it, just enough heat to scramble every thought in my skull.

“I’m going to ride you,” she said, like it was a lecture. “Until I’m done with you.”

I met her eyes.

“And what happens after that?”

She smiled.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

She reached between us, tugging the crotch of her bodysuit to the side with practiced ease. I heard the slick stretch of fabric, the shift in her breath as her fingers slid down—coating her inner thighs, spreading herself open right above me.

She was wet.

Not fake-moaning wet. Not porn-scene wet.

Dripping.

She held me in place, pressed the head of my cock against her entrance, and then—

She sank down, inch by inch.

No rush. No pause. Just steady descent, her heat swallowing me whole, her breath catching, then stuttering out in a quiet, barely-there gasp. My hands gripped the sides of the chair so hard I thought the frame might crack. Her walls clenched around me like velvet and vice, her thighs tightening at my hips, her nails raking lightly over my chest as she adjusted to the full stretch.

She didn’t move right away. She stayed seated on me, full and still, like the moment itself was enough.

And then she whispered:

“There.”

Her hips began to move—smooth, controlled rolls, grinding down into me like she wanted to leave a bruise. Every time she shifted, I could feel how deep I was inside her. I could see the concentration on her face. This wasn’t for me. Not yet. This was her rhythm, her pressure, her high.

And god, watching her take it was better than any porn I’d ever seen.

Her hair came loose as she moved. Her head tilted back. She bit her bottom lip hard, and I wanted to suck it out from between her teeth. Her body flexed, sweat starting to bead at her chest, and I couldn’t decide where to look—her tits, bouncing just under the thin mesh of her bodysuit, or her face as she came closer and closer to the edge.

I held still. Let her use me.

And then she started talking.

“Harder,” she whispered, mostly to herself. “Faster—fuck—just like that.”

Her hands slid up my chest, to my shoulders, and she grabbed tight. Used me for leverage. Started bouncing, not gently now—driven, messy, beautiful. She moaned, cursed, clenched tighter with every bounce, until—

“Don’t stop,” she gasped, over and over. “Don’t fucking stop—”

She was riding me like she owned me.

And in that moment, I let her. I fucking loved it.

Her pussy was unreal—tight, soaked, gripping me like she wanted to wring every drop out of my body. Her thighs slapped down against me with each stroke, and the sound of it—wet, hot, shameless—made it impossible to think. I was deep inside her, over and over, my cock pulsing every time she ground down and stayed there just long enough to clench.

I looked up at her—body arching, lips parted, eyes half-shut—and I swear I could’ve come just watching her move.

She was into it.

Head thrown back. Moaning with every bounce. Fingernails dragging across my chest. Riding like she needed it, like she was getting off on the fact that I wasn’t allowed to move.

And I wasn’t. I didn’t grab her hips. I didn’t flip her. I held still and let her take it.

Because watching her unravel like this?

Fucking addicting.

Her hands found the back of the chair, bracing. She leaned forward and the change in angle made me groan—deeper now, tighter. Her tits bounced right in front of me, barely covered by her bodysuit. I leaned up, took a nipple in my mouth through the mesh, sucked hard.

She gasped. Bucked.

“Fuck—don’t stop—don’t stop,” she begged, riding harder, fucking me like her orgasm was right on the edge and I was the last thing holding it in.

I bit her. Just a little.

She lost it.

“Ahh! O.. Oh!... Aghh! AAAH!”

Her body locked down around me—tight, hot, pulsing as she came. Her moan was sharp, sudden, desperate. She grinded through it, wringing herself out on my cock until she was panting against my neck, shaking.

And then, breathless—still straddling me—she laughed.

Low. Lazy. Satisfied.

“God,” she murmured, “you fuck like you’re broke.”

That word hit different.

I blinked.

“What?”

She looked at me, smiling. Still high off it. “I mean it as a compliment,” she said. “You fuck like you need it.”

The air shifted.

She leaned in, playful, mouth against my ear. “Do you want me to take care of you?”

No answer.

“I could,” she purred. “You wouldn’t have to worry about anything. You could just do this—stay hard, stay pretty—let me keep you. I have a lot of mon-” 

My hand shot up, wrapping around her throat—not hard, not dangerous, just enough to shock her system.

Her breath caught. Her eyes widened.

“Ah—!”

I shoved her back, flat on the couch, my grip still snug around her throat, and she gasped again, this time sharper. Her legs twitched around me. Her mouth opened like she wanted to say something clever—but no words came.

“You think you can buy me?” I said, voice low, rough.

She shook her head slightly, lips parted.

“I was just teasing—”

“Bullshit.”

“Mylo…” Her voice cracked, breathy and high. “Wait—”

“No,” I growled. “You don’t get to lead anymore.”

Her pupils blew wide. Her chest rose faster.

But she didn’t push me off. Didn’t tell me to stop.

She wanted to know what it felt like when I wasn’t pretending.

I grabbed her wrists, pressed them hard above her head, and crashed my mouth down onto hers—biting, taking, tasting the gloss off her lips like punishment.

She moaned against me.

“Mmnh—fuck—!”

My hips slammed forward. She gasped again, eyes flying wide as I pushed back into her in one deep, hard stroke.

“Oh! Ohhh—f-fuck—!”

Her body jerked. Her legs reflexively wrapped around my waist, but I wasn’t gentle. I slammed into her again, holding her down, making her feel it.

“AHH—ah—Mylo!”

“You wanted this,” I snarled. “So take it.”

She whimpered.

“Yes—yes—fuck, don’t stop—!”

I gripped her hips and rolled them up, shifting the angle, and slammed in again, deeper this time. Her back arched and she screamed.

“OHHH! GOD—AAAH!”

Her whole body was starting to fall apart. Her voice was shaky, her hands scrambling for anything to hold. Her hair stuck to her flushed cheeks. Her tits bounced wildly beneath me with every thrust.

She bit her lip. Hard.

“Don’t hold back,” I growled. “I want to hear it.”

Her eyes fluttered.

And then she let go.

“…more…”

Her voice was barely a whisper, like it had to claw its way up from deep inside her.

But I heard it.

And I fucking delivered.

I grabbed her by the thighs, yanked her body to the edge of the couch, and stood up just enough to drive into her with my full weight.

“AHHH—!”

Her scream echoed.

She clawed at the cushions, gasping, moaning, totally undone.

Her pussy was soaked—wrecked—from her orgasm, still fluttering around my cock, begging for mercy it wasn’t going to get. I pounded into her, fast and deep, hips snapping against her ass, and the sound of it was obscene—wet and hot and perfect.

“FUCK—! Mylo—ohmygod—ohmygod!”

“You’re still talking?” I growled. “I thought you gave that up.”

“Ah—ahh—! I—I can’t—fuck—I can’t—”

“You’re taking every inch,” I said. “Don’t pretend you can’t.”

I pinned her thighs wide with one arm and leaned down, dragging my teeth across her chest before I sucked one of her nipples deep into my mouth. Her body arched.

“OHHH—oh fuck! Fuck—Mylo—yes!”

Her hands flew to my hair, pulling, scratching, grounding herself while I sucked hard, my hips never stopping. I bit down—just enough to make her cry out again—and switched sides, teeth grazing, tongue teasing, wet and relentless.

She was panting. Moaning. Whimpering.

Completely gone.

“Ahh! Oh—ohh fuck—I’m—I’m gonna—again—”

“Good,” I grunted. “Give it to me.”

I reached down, thumb circling her clit, tight and fast, no mercy.

“No—no no no—fuuuck!”

Her thighs clenched around me, hips bucking wildly, and then her whole body snapped. She screamed—

“AHHH—AAAHHH—OH MY FUCKING GOD—!”

Her pussy clamped down on me like a vice, her second orgasm crashing through her like it caught her off guard. She sobbed my name, twisting underneath me, heels pounding the couch, eyes squeezed shut as her whole body convulsed.

I didn’t stop.

I grinned.

“You’re not done.”

She whimpered—shaky, broken, breathless. “M-Mylo—please—!”

I pulled out.

She gasped at the sudden emptiness.

But I didn’t give her time to think. I grabbed her by the hips, flipped her over, and shoved her onto her knees.

Her hair spilled over her shoulders. Her back arched. Her ass was round, high, perfect—and dripping.

I lined up behind her.

“You’re gonna remember this,” I said.

And I slammed back inside her.

“AAAHHH! OH FUCK!”

Her hands clawed at the couch, knuckles white.

I gripped her hips and drove into her like I wanted to split her in half. Her pussy was tighter like this, deeper, hotter—perfect. She was shaking already, moaning like she couldn’t stop.

“F-fuck—yes—yes! HARDER—!”

“Like this?” I growled, slamming in faster.

“AHHH! FUCK YES—!”

Her ass slapped against my hips with every thrust, her breath coming in broken gasps, her cries bouncing off the walls.

“You love being used,” I said.

“YES—!”

“You love when I fuck you like this.”

“YES! YES—fuck—I’m yours—!”

My hand tangled in her hair, yanked her head back. I leaned over, chest against her back, lips at her ear.

“Say it again.”

“I’m yours,” she gasped. “Fuck—Mylo—I’m yours!”

And then she broke.

Her whole body tensed, thighs shaking, pussy clenching so tight I nearly lost it.

“Ohhh—oh fuck—I’m gonna—gonna—AAAHHHH!”

She came again, louder than before, her voice hoarse from screaming, tears in her eyes, body jerking against mine like she couldn’t control it anymore.

I wrapped my arms around her and kept thrusting.

Long.

Deep.

Cruel.

She sobbed my name like a prayer. Like she meant it.

“Ahh… Mylo… ohhh—fuck—fuck—”

And I was still inside her.

Still pounding her. Still filling her. Still using her.

But slower now.

Crueler.

Each thrust was long, deep, deliberate. Dragging along every inch of her, making her whimper and gasp as her whole body melted forward against the cushions.

Her thighs were twitching. Her hands limp. She was trying to stay upright, trying to catch her breath—but I didn’t stop.

I wanted her at the edge. I wanted to fuck her into something wordless.

So I grabbed her hips and slammed into her again, harder than before.

“AHHH! Aghh—ohmygod—Mylo!”

She nearly collapsed. Her forehead hit the cushion. Her ass quivered with the shock of it. Her pussy clenched like she was trying to hold me in.

“You hear that?” I growled, pulling almost all the way out—then driving back in, fast, loud, wet.

Slap.

“F-fuck! Ahhh—yes—yes—!”

I kept going. Hard. Brutal.

My balls slapped against her with every thrust, heavy and obscene. Her moans pitched higher and higher—raw now, broken, no rhythm or performance left.

“AHH! AH! I-I can’t—! Mylo—I—”

“You can,” I snapped.

She tried to shake her head but her body betrayed her.

And then she started crying out.

Short, fast, choked cries between gasps.

“Ahh! Oh! O.. Oh! M-Mylo—I’m gonna—I’m gonna fucking—AAAHHH!”

I leaned forward, wrapped my arm around her waist, and hauled her up to her knees.

“Not yet.”

She sobbed. Literally sobbed.

“Mylo—I c-can’t—please—I’m gonna—”

I reached down and rubbed her clit. Just once.

That’s all it took.

She exploded.

Her whole body locked. Her mouth dropped open and a noise came out that wasn’t even human.

“AHHH! OHH! AAAHH—MYLO—FUCK—FUCK—FUUUCK!”

Her pussy milked my cock, hard. Over and over. Her orgasm ripped through her like lightning, twisting her body into mine, skin to skin, sweat to sweat. She was panting, trembling, completely wrecked.

I didn’t stop.

I pulled out—slowly, watching her body shake.

Then I flipped her over and dragged her down onto the rug in front of me.

On her knees.

Her face was red, glowing, dazed. Her lips were parted, shining with spit. Her chest rose and fell fast, tits marked from where I’d sucked them raw. Her thighs were trembling uncontrollably.

I grabbed my cock—wet, slick, twitching—and jerked it in front of her.

Her eyes fluttered open.

“I want you to see it,” I said.

She nodded. Barely.

I stroked. Hard. Fast.

She stuck her tongue out. Just a little. Just enough.

I groaned—fuck—I was close.

“Touch yourself,” I ordered.

Her hand slid between her legs instantly.

She moaned.

“Ahh… ah—fuck…”

Her fingers rubbed frantically against her clit, still sensitive, still soaked. She didn’t even try to play it cool anymore. She moaned like a whore—desperate, breathy, begging for it.

“Cum with me,” I said.

And we did.

I growled, jerked hard—and exploded.

Hot ropes splattered her lips, her chin, her tongue. She gasped, eyes closing, moaning as her own orgasm took her again—so raw she didn’t even scream this time, just shook, body twitching as I painted her skin.

She came without a word. Just noise.

“Mmhh… ahh… ahhh…”

She swallowed. Licked her lips. Eyes glazed, face ruined.

I dropped to my knees in front of her.

She leaned into my chest, breath hitching, heartbeat stuttering.

And for the first time that night—

She was quiet.

Curled up against me, silent, skin hot and flushed, her breath still uneven. I could feel her heartbeat through her chest, fast and light, ticking against my ribs like a metronome that hadn’t slowed down yet.

Neither of us spoke.

She didn’t need to.

Her body was saying everything.

The way she clung to me—legs tangled with mine, face tucked into the curve of my shoulder, one arm draped across my stomach like she couldn’t let go even if she wanted to. She felt small like that. Breakable. Even though five minutes ago, she was grinding on top of me like she was trying to kill me.

Now she was soft. Quiet. Bare.

My hand ran lazily up and down her back. Just skin and slow movement. Every few seconds she twitched, her hips jolting just a little—oversensitive, still riding out the shockwaves.

She made a little sound into my chest.

“Mmh…”

“You good?”

She nodded against my skin. “Mhm.”

“You sure?”

She laughed under her breath, barely more than a whisper. “I don’t think my legs work.”

I smiled.

“I can’t feel my face, either,” she added.

I reached up and ran my fingers through her hair, brushing it off her forehead.

“Cute,” I said.

“Shut up,” she mumbled, nudging me with her nose.

But she smiled. I felt it.

We stayed like that for a while. Breathing. Cooling off. The tension between us had gone slack, melted down into something warmer. Calmer. Her body fit against mine like it was supposed to be there.

I looked down and kissed the top of her head.

She shifted, nuzzling against my chest like a sleepy cat.

“Seriously though,” she said after a while, voice scratchy and small. “That was…”

She didn’t finish.

“That was,” I agreed.

She laughed again, then yawned, and her leg slid between mine.

“God,” she said. “You’re kind of dangerous.”

“Kinda?”

“Yeah. You fucked someone you don't even know the name of.”

“I asked. It also didn't seem that important at the time.”

“Still doesn’t?”

I glanced down. “I suppose it does. Your name?”

She looked up at me, half-lidded.

“Giselle.”

We just stared at each other for a second. Neither of us smiling now. Just… seeing each other.

“I liked when you didn’t know,” she whispered.

“I liked it too.”

She rested her cheek on my chest again. Slower now. Breathing deeper.

“Just… don’t get weird about it.”

I blinked. “Weird?”

“Yeah. Like…” Her voice softened. “Don’t start acting different now that you know.”

I hesitated. “Know what?”

She lifted her head, squinting slightly. “You know… that I’m… in Aespa?”

I blinked. “What’s Aespa?”

She stared at me. Silent. Waiting for the punchline.

“…Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

She blinked. Twice.

“Oh my God,” she breathed, half-laughing. “You really don't know!”

“Nope.”

“You came to our concert.”

“My friends dragged me.”

“Jesus.” She flopped back down on my chest, stunned. “I think I just came harder.”

We stayed like that for another few minutes. Her body pressed against mine, skin warm, lips still curled in that breathless little smirk. Every so often, she’d hum, or shift slightly, or let out this content, melted sigh like she still hadn’t landed yet.

“You’re insane, you know,” she murmured, tracing a lazy circle on my chest.

“Because I don't know who you were?”

“Because you don't care.”

I smiled, eyes closed. “Still don’t.”

Her fingers stopped moving. For a second I thought I’d said the wrong thing.

But then she whispered, “That’s probably the hottest thing you’ve said all night.”

I cracked one eye open. “That’s saying something.”

“Oh, I know. I was there.”

She leaned up and kissed me, slow and unhurried. I kissed her back, brushing my thumb along her jaw, letting her taste linger. She pulled back just an inch.

“So what happens now?” she asked, voice small.

I paused.

“Whatever you want.”

Her lips pressed together. Not uncertain. Just… thoughtful.

But then—

Knock knock knock.

Her entire body froze.

I lifted my head.

There it was again—three clean knocks, firm and casual.

“Giselle?” a voice called through the door. Female. Confident. “They’re waiting on us for the group shot.”

She swore under her breath and rolled off me, grabbing at the nearest sheet.

“Shit, shit—fuck, that’s Karina.”

“Karina?”

She gave me a wild look. “One of the girls. From the group.”

I blinked. “Oh.”

She scrambled for her phone and grabbed a tissue box off the vanity. I watched her wipe her inner thighs, dab under her eyes, fix her lips in the mirror. She still looked flushed. Hair tangled. But some of the damage was masked.

“Jesus,” she muttered. “I can’t walk out there looking like I just got wrecked.”

“You did,” I said.

“Don’t be proud of that.”

She shoved me toward the closet. “Hide. Please.”

I hesitated. She pushed again.

“Unless you want to get recognized and tossed off the balcony.”

That was enough.

I ducked into the small walk-in just as she called out, “Be right there!”

From inside, I heard the door unlock. Hinges creaking. Light footsteps.

“Everything okay?” Karina asked. Closer now. Her voice smooth. A little suspicious.

“Yeah,” Giselle replied, now perfectly calm. “Just needed a minute.”

A pause.

“You look like a mess.”

Giselle laughed, and it was almost too good. “Tried a new lash glue. Bad idea.”

Karina snorted. “It looks like you cried in a club bathroom.”

“I kind of did.”

“You want me to stall them?”

“No. I’m good now.”

Silence.

And then, just as the door started to close—

“You sure you were alone in here?”

My heart stopped.

Giselle didn’t flinch. “Of course I was,” she said, smooth as ever. “Why?”

Karina didn’t answer right away.

Then: “No reason.”

The door shut.

A lock clicked.

A few seconds later, the closet opened.

Giselle stood there—still glowing, still breathless, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You’re lucky I like you,” she whispered.

I pulled her in for a kiss.

TO BE CONTINUED...

PART 2

[angelsafa]

HELLO, THIS IS A SUCCESS STORY!!!

Right now, as I’m writing these words, I am crying tears of happiness. My biggest dream was to come back to Tumblr one day with a success story. I first learned about Void State in 2022 from an Instagram manifest blog called @/moncherry (whose account is now closed). Since that day, I became obsessed with it. (If there are people obsessed with Void State and as a result delaying their lives and sinking deeper, don’t feel alone because I was exactly like that.) From 2022 until June 14th, if you ask me how many times I truly tried Void State, the count probably wouldn’t exceed the fingers on two hands. “I’ll try tomorrow,” and “I just turned over and fell asleep” were my habits. But I realized that I was constantly postponing my life this way and decided to take the reins of my life back. Since the beginning of June, I stuck to one plan — ‘DON’T MOVE’. I know it sounds like a very limiting belief, but it worked for me. I chose the late hours when I wasn’t sleepy, between 9 pm and 10 pm, to keep my brain awake with caffeine, lying on my back in the starfish position, and I didn’t move after that time. Here’s what I did, step by step:

Wim Hof breathing technique (about 10 minutes)

Any Yoga Nidra meditation (about 30 minutes)

This way, you stay motionless for 40 minutes but your mind remains awake. Then I use a Void State meditation I recorded with my own voice. I’m sharing the text below for you:

Void State Meditation Script: “Find a place where you can feel comfortable. Make sure your body is as comfortable and relaxed as possible. It’s very important to take your time preparing your body for this practice. If needed, pause, take a deep breath, and come back when you feel ready. When you feel ready, lovingly close your beautiful eyes and allow your awareness to gently turn inward. Gently focus your attention on your breath; notice your belly expanding as you inhale and relaxing as you exhale, maybe feeling a sense of relief.

Let gravity do its work. Feel all the muscles in your body relax and release: your head, face, neck, shoulders, arms, hands... your chest, back, belly, hips, legs, and feet becoming heavier. Because right now, they don’t need to do anything. Whisper gently to your body: “Body, it’s time to relax now. I give you permission to relax.”

With each breath in, fill yourself with deep relaxation, and with each breath out, let all tension flow out of your body. Breathe naturally, at a rhythm that feels good to you, without overthinking it. Trust that even if you don’t consciously understand, your body benefits from this process and is doing what’s right for you. Knowing that your body understands, allow yourself to let go even more.

Now, imagine a vast and dark emptiness in your mind. An infinite, silent, shapeless space... This emptiness gently surrounds you, all your thoughts, feelings, and worries dissolve into this darkness. You no longer need to do anything; you simply exist. All remaining thoughts drift away like clouds floating in the sky. Your body’s boundaries become indistinct; you are now pure awareness in this infinite space. This emptiness fills you with peace; here there is no time, no place, no right or wrong.

Allow the darkness to envelop you. In this void, feel a nameless peace slowly wrapping around you. As this peace deepens, notice a light being born inside. This light is soft, warm, and reassuring. It slowly expands, enveloping your entire being, filling you with love and tranquility. Now, realize that this light actually comes from within you. Fully surrender to this moment.

Rest peacefully in this space for a while. Whether you stay in the endless darkness or watch a colorful display within it doesn’t matter. Trust that this moment and space are with you. With every inhale, notice how good this emptiness and light feel, and with every exhale, sink deeper into relaxation.

When you’re ready, on your next inhale, feel deep gratitude for this darkness and emptiness. Hold your breath and feel your body filling with a sense of lightness. When ready, notice this lightness spreading through your entire body and touching every cell. A sense of enlightenment arises within you; you realize you have the power to choose what your mind perceives, choosing non-judgment and acceptance. You can rest in this feeling as long as you want. Carry the peace, trust, and acceptance this experience gives you inside.

Now, I will count down from 10 to 1. With each number, you will feel closer to the void state: 10: Keep focusing on your breath. 9: Feel yourself getting closer. 8: Take one more step closer to the void in your mind, body, and emotional state. 7: Notice how wonderful it feels to breathe. 6: You are entering the void state. No struggle, no problem, no doubt. 5: You’re very close, feel how near you are. 4: You become one with the void. 3: Closer than ever before. 2: Almost fully in the void state. 1: You are now completely in the void state.”

You can either record this with your own voice or use a text-to-speech app to turn it into audio.

After the meditation, the next step is tricking the brain. Without moving, and with eyes closed, move your eyes left, right, down, and up. 1-2 minutes is enough.

Then comes a robotic affirmation: “I am the Void. I am aware that I am in the void state right now.”

Your body will already be relaxed and numb from immobility, your brain between dream and reality. When the moment comes when all sounds fade away, your entire destiny will change. This was my journey. To make your life even better than your dreams, all you need is 1 to 1.5 hours of not moving, relaxing, and affirming. It’s that simple.

What I have achieved:

୨୧ An extraordinary, never-before-seen facial beauty — green feline eyes, Russian lips, and a Cindy Crawford nose.

୨୧ Slim, narrow shoulders and rib cage, a slender waist and abdomen, proportionate wide hips, and long model-like legs.

୨୧ Hairless, crystal-clear skin free from all skin issues (Goodbye to eczema I had for years).

୨୧ Perfect, flawless, full, soft, shiny, non-frizzy, never breaking, never smelling bad, never greasy, healthy, and always beautifully scented thick wavy light brown hair.

୨୧ Always super clean, attractive, sexy, and sweet-smelling everywhere. Never sweat or smell bad. No sweat stains ever. My clothes and underwear always smell very clean, nice, and sexy. Both my bathroom visits always smell good. No sounds from the bathroom, no discharge, no gas or burps. This doesn’t harm my health.

୨୧ Graduated from Yale Law School and currently accepted to Harvard Law School for my master’s degree.

୨୧ A passive income job earning $15,000 per month and a $5,000 scholarship for my master’s degree.

୨୧ Currently living in a Bosphorus-view loft apartment in Istanbul, with a Mercedes iX.

୨୧ All the skincare products, Dyson, Apple devices, luxury cosmetics, books, cameras, and more from my Pinterest wishlist.

୨୧ My sister overcoming PCOS, and a summer house in Muğla for my mother.

୨୧ Meeting the man of my dreams in the summer of 2026.

And countless other details I can’t list here…

Learning Void State — even if years pass — never lose hope, and remember that something that has never happened before might just happen in one day. Let this be the moment your luck turns around. Thanks to all the Tumblr blogs, I am grateful beyond words. Now, to live the best summer of my life, I’m going to the Bahamas with my sister and my closest three friends. (And yes, I manifested my friends too ;) )

— OPIA (maybe I’ll use this nickname to share motivational talks and thoughts again. I love you all <3)

SO HAPPY FOR YOUUU!!

[withwritersblock]

More Hearts Than Mine-The Aftermath

~More Hearts Than Mine by Ingrid Andress~ Author's Note: I love angst :) Summary: the aftermath of their argument. Luke asks Jack for advice. Warnings: implied smut for like a sentence Word Count: 3,677 Luke Hughes x fm!reader

Luke didn’t give Jack any heads up. He stood outside the apartment door and raised his hand up and knocked. Luke’s hand tightened around the bag handles. He packed enough to make it to the roadtrip they were heading on in two days. 

Y/N said that would be for the best. Luke tried to apologzie but she did not want to hear it. She said that he was only saying it since it’s what she wanted to hear. And she was right. Luke didn’t see why he needed to apologize for trying to make her life a little easier. He didn’t understand but her feelings were hurt and that killed him. He never wanted to see her like that. 

Jack answered the door, his face fell once he saw that it was Luke. “You are not my smoking hot girlfriend,” Jack said jokingly. Luke’s cheeks were flushed red and his eyes were red from trying not to cry. “Dude, you alright?” he asked. His gaze dropped down towards the bag in Luke’s hand.

“My old room still has a bed right?” Luke asked barely above a whisper. His voice cracked in the process. Jack nodded as he stepped aside letting Luke inside. 

“Shit, did you and Y/N break up?” he asked urgently. 

“No, no,” Luke mumbled as he dropped the bag beside him. “Y/N and I got into a bad argument and she kicked me out,” he explained as he finally met Jack’s gaze. 

“I thought you and Y/N never argued,” Jack observed as he leaned down and took a hold of Luke’s bag. He nodded towards Luke, telling him to follow him out of the kitchen area. 

“We didn’t–We don’t. I don’t even know how we–I let it get this bad. We normally communicate so easily. It’s like every word I said was getting twisted and everything I said just made her more mad.” Luke sniffled harshly as he sat down on the bed, which appears to be the new guest bedroom for Jack. His brother sat down beside him and rested his hand onto his upper back.

“Walk me through it before my girl gets here,” Jack asked. Luke shook his head as he stared ahead. Exhaustion coursed through his veins as he stared towards the blank wall in front of him.

“I should’ve stayed, how could I just leave her crying like that?” Luke let out as he fell onto his back. Instantly, he covered his face with his hands. Taking in a sharp breath, he stopped the tears that were burning his eyes.

“Well she told you to leave, maybe it’s better that you guys have some space. What happened?”

Luke began retelling the whole argument. Almost word for word, at least from what he could remember. He knows that there were things that he said that were out of pocket and unnecessary. But she did the same thing. And apologized right away. He didn’t do that. He stood firm on everything he said. Maybe that’s the part that she was pissed about. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint the thing she could be mad at the most. 

Maybe it was all of it. Maybe everything he said was wrong and he was a jerk. He had good intentions but clearly that didn’t matter or that it wasn’t what she wanted. From the moment he met Y/N, all he wanted was for her to be happy. He craved seeing her smile, it was a form of fuel for him every day. Seeing her smile or hearing her laugh was the best part of his day. 

The longer he retold the argument, the more he looked at Jack’s exasperated expression. If Jack thinks he did something wrong, then maybe he really fucked up everything.

“All I wanted was for her to be less stressed and not have to worry about meeting me halfway, why is that such a bad thing?” Luke let out while shaking his head.

Jack nodded and took a deep breath. The doorbell rang and Jack’s lips formed into a wide grin. “Little brother, you’ve got a lot of fixing to do. I’ll help you fix this after I go retreive my girl,” 

“Can you be a little less happy about your girlfriend? I am in the midst of the potential end of mine,” Luke said somewhat jokingly, except his tone was serious.

“Okay this is not the end, you’re being dramatic–unlike your girlfriend by the way. Who I believe reacted totally rationally to your dumbass remarks,” Jack explained, his voice progressively got louder as he walked out of the room towards the front door. 

Luke didn’t reply. He knew Jack was right. Maybe he was more stubborn than he thought. He was set in trying to do the right thing, he completely forgot about what Y/N could want. He was an ass and now he needed a way to fix it. Whether that was a genuine, I fucked up I’m sorry or if he needed to plan a huge romantic gesture to fix it. He was going to do it. Perhaps both, probably both. He wasn’t sure.

Luke felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Instantly, he pulled it out to see a text from Y/N. He quickly sat up and stared down at the message.

Y/N: Did you get to Jack’s alright?

Luke: Yes, changed my old room into something straight out of HGTV

Y/N: funny

Yep. She’s pissed, maybe even worse than he thought. She never replied with one word, always had something to bounce back from. He took a deep breath as he typed out the words I’m sorry and I love you. He deleted it several times before retyping it. That’s not how he wanted to fix things. A stupid text can’t fix the way they last spoke. 

Luke: I’ll be back tomorrow, I love you

Y/N: Love you too

He sighed as he closed his phone before he rested it onto the new nightstand by the mattress. He fell onto his back again and a long sigh left his lips. 

“She thinks you're an idiot by the way,” Jack said as he reentered the guest room. He sat at the edge of the bed.

“You told her?” Luke asked as he shut his eyes.

“The very brief summary since we had incredible plans for the night but they will not be happening with you in the other room.”

“Hasn’t stopped you before,” Luke muttered. 

Jack let out a sudden laugh while he rolled his eyes playfully. “Let me rephrase, she doesn’t want to proceed with my little brother in the other room,” Jack expressed. “Anyways, you know how much Y/N hates when you spend money on her, so what made your big noggin think it would be okay to just take over all of the money responsibilities?” 

“I was trying to be helpful but it turns out I’m an ass that doesn’t think before he does or says anything. I understand that I fucked up and I will apologize for that but what I don’t understand is that she doesn’t want to take a little off of her plate. I’m not asking her to be some–what’s that word that TikTok–”

“Trad Wife!” Sammy chimed in from the living room. 

Luke let out a dry laugh and rolled his eyes. “Thanks Sammy,” he called out while meeting Jack’s gaze. He shrugged letting Luke continue. “I want her to focus on finishing school strong before she starts her career again which I basically said was pointless because she’ll barely make anything. Wow, I really am a jackass huh?”

“Well according to Mom, us Hughes have no filter and say dumb things sometimes,” 

“That’s right, Mr. People Pay–”

“Out of context! Out of context, don’t you dare!” Jack pointed a finger towards Luke while laughing. 

“I want her to have the easiest and happiest life, I don’t see what is wrong with me wanting to take care of her,” Luke said as he met Jack’s gaze.

“Luke, she has taken care of people her whole life. That’s not going to change because you have the means to take care of her. She’s the oldest and she lived a very different life before she met you. She’s not used to being taken care of. You were trying to do the right thing but you went at it the wrong way,”

“I wasn’t trying to go behind her back about anything,”

“I know, Lukey, maybe try and go at it from a different angle? You could just apologize for everything, especially that shit you said about teaching,” 

“Yeah that was fucked, I don’t even know why it left my mouth,” he muttered. He stood up quickly. “I’m going back,”

“What?” Jack looked towards him suspiciously. “I thought you were giving her space.”

Luke took a hold of the bag, “Fuck that, we don’t ever argue and we definitely don’t go to bed angry. This is not how we’ve done things and this is not how I’m leaving things,”

Luke started walking out of the guest bedroom. He waved dramatically towards Sammy as he started walking further to the door. “Dude, she told you to get out. She doesn't want you to come back to your place,” Jack pleaded as he followed Luke towards the door.

“Well, I’m not going to let it simmer, I don’t want her to be pissed with me for another second.” Luke said as he took a hold of the door handle.

“Wait–wait, Sam, if you were mad at me and told me to leave. Do you want me to come back or be there still or do you want space?” Jack pointed the question to his girlfriend, asking for a girl’s opinion.

“Y/N and I are not the same person, you cannot expect my answer to be the same as hers,” Sammy expressed.

“Exactly why I feel it in my gut that she doesn’t want me actually gone, so I will be going back to my apartment–your original plans can commence,” Luke explained as he stepped out of the apartment and quickly darted towards the elevator that led to the parking garage of the building. 

Luke will either massively regret this and make his relationship crash and burn. Right now, he needs to at least try to fix things. He cannot leave things how they are. His mind was full of images of her crying because of him. He hated any time a tear slipped and fell onto her cheek. He hated it even more that he was the reason she was crying and that her feelings were hurt.

He didn’t remember how he got home. The drive usually takes twenty minutes. It probably did take twenty minutes but he was running through everything that he said; every single word or moment he needed to make right.

It was the heat of the moment and he said things that he could never take back but he could apologize for. He could remind her that he loves her and that he wants her happy; no matter her path in life. He needed her to know that he was so madly in love with her that he was better than how he acted.

He didn’t care about the statement she made anymore. At first he was mad. There are a lot of former athletes that have kids that don’t go anywhere in the league. Luke did have to work his ass off and he hated that she even thought for a second he didn’t deserve all of his successes. 

But what’s different about Y/N and Luke. She apologized the second she realized it hurt his feelings. Luke didn’t. Luke didn’t see the error in his ways and that was his final mistake. His final error. He couldn’t let it sit and float between them in their relationship.

He stood outside the apartment he’s called home for over a year and suddenly felt like a stranger who needed to knock. Instead, he made a dramatic act of jiggling the keys and pushing the door open. He stepped inside, his eyes dancing around the kitchen then towards the living room to see Y/N was nowhere in sight. 

A sigh left his lips as he twisted the lock on the door and kicked his shoes off and shoved them to the side near the shoe rack. Delicately, he dropped his bag onto the kitchen counter and made his way towards their shared bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, the only light in the room was the lamp on her side table.

Luke took a cautious breath as he pushed the door open. She was sitting up on the bed with a book in her hand. Quickly, she lifted her head up and wiped her cheeks once she saw it was him.

“I told you I don’t want you here tonight,” she mumbled as she looked back down towards the pages. There was no way she could comprehend what was written. There was no way her mind was clear enough to even see the words on the yellowing pages.

“I know,” he let out quietly as he leaned against the doorway. 

She didn’t respond, she wiped her cheek once more before she flipped the page to the next section of her book. Luke crossed his arms over his chest as he watched her. 

She had showered after he left. He could tell by the way her hair was wet and the glisten of lotion on her skin. She smelled like vanilla and roses, the combination from her body wash and her lotion. He knew of the combination from the moment they first met. After they moved in together, he realized her specific routine was the same every time. Even if she was running late, she made sure she had that combination.

She still hasn’t looked up towards him as she flipped to another page; mainly pretending in to be uninterested in his presence.

“I don’t want you to go to bed upset, Y/N.” he let out quietly. She shook her head while she clenched her jaw harshly. He could see the tension in her jaw from the door. He took a sudden breath while he shut the door behind him. He walked towards the bed, he watched her body straighten and her grip on the book tighten. 

He didn’t try to sit on the bed, instead opted for kneeling beside her on the bed. His heart was beating louder than he’s ever heard it. He could see her staggered breathing, like she’s trying not to cry harder. For a moment he felt as though every bit of air left his body and he was going to passout.

“Look at me, please,” he said as his voice cracked. She shook her head slightly as her bottom lip quivered.

“I’m so sorry for the way that I spoke to you earlier. I don’t have an excuse, I don’t know how to make it better but I shouldn’t have said any of it. I can’t take it back but I am sorry,” he explained with his voice breaking as he spoke.

For the first time in the night, he allowed himself to cry. He felt a tear spill from his eye and he quickly raised his hand up to wipe it away. 

She kept her gaze on the pages while she continuously bit the inside of her lip. Luke careally reached towards her and rested his hand onto her arm. She didn’t yank her arm away from him. He took that as a good sign. Slowly, he dragged his thumb along the skin. 

He waited for her to look at him, he missed looking into her eyes. It’s barely been over two hours without looking into them and he was miserable. The last time she looked into his eyes were filled with so many tears, his heart practically shattered in that moment.

Yet she still didn’t look at him. She kept her gaze on that damn book. Luke wanted to throw the book across the room. 

“You deserve everything that you work so hard for. I am sorry for assuming that you could drop a piece of your life like that. I know you hate that I want to take care of you but I can’t help it. I want to spoil you, I want you to have anything you want in this world because you deserve everything you’ve ever wanted. I’m sorry that I made big decisions without you and I’m sorry that I put you in an uncomfortable position by asking you to give up working. I wasn’t saying to be a trad wife–Sammy said that’s what their called,”

The corner of her lips curled upward at the last sentence. He perked up slightly, so she is listening and taking in what he’s saying.

“If you decide five years down the line that’s what you wanna do, I’ll support it–but if you want to continue to work and go to school at the same time, then I’ll support that too. But only if you want to and not because you feel like you need to. You don’t need to do that anymore, I am not trying to change you or leave you out of money decisions. But you are the love of my life and I want to take care of you because I don’t ever want you worrying about anything in life. I am so sorry for saying that about teaching, I was heated. It’s an incredible career that actually helps society. I just skate around and hold a stick for a job but–”

“Luke,” she mumbled out so quietly. 

He didn’t notice that she had closed the book and rested it onto the side table. She had rolled onto her side and was looking directly towards him. He nodded while looking deeply into her eyes. 

“Get in bed, please,” she whispered before she pressed her lips together. He scanned her features nervously. He stood up from his kneeling position. 

“Can I get into pajama pants or like right now?” he asked while pointing behind him. A small giggle left her lips while nodding. “Cool, cool–one second gorgeous,” he mumbled as he quickly jogged twoards their walk-in closet to change. 

He was gone for all of ten seconds and returned in a pair of red plaid pajama pants as he jogged around the bed. Quickly, he laid down under the comforter and faced her. For a few seconds her back faced away from him. 

Luke didn’t reach towards her, he watched her movements instead. He saw her back rise and fall in a steady pace as he tucked the pillow delicately beneath his head.

After a few seconds, she rolled over to face him. Their faces were only a few inches apart as she delicately rested her hand onto his arm. Luke’s body froze under her touch. 

“I don’t know how to let go of things, Luke,” she whispered. “I’ve spent most of my life working and going to school and nearly killing myself with all of the work but I don’t know anything different. It bugs me how different we grew up sometimes and tonight is exactly why.” she took a hesitant breath. 

“Which is why we need to talk about things like money and our future together. I was scared to death about the aftermath of what would happen if we missed our rent. I know what that feeling is like and I never want to have to feel like that again. I know that you were trying to help and I need to learn to accept it.” she let out a small sigh as she inched towards him. 

“I don’t know how to accept it though,” she mumbled as she raised her hand up and delicately took a hold of his cheek. Luke took that as a sign to finally take a hold of her. He wrapped his arm around the center of her and pulled her towards him.

“Baby steps, okay? I won’t push you on anything but you don’t need to burn the candle on both ends anymore, okay?” he whispered as he leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. “We’ll talk about everything from now on, okay?”

She hummed as she leaned towards him and pressed her lips against his so delicately. “We better, I don’t like arguing with you,” she mumbled against his lips. He hummed.

“I really am so sorry,” he whispered as he brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

“I know,” she mumbled as she ran her hand down his jawline. Their eyes connected as her breathing quickened. “Maybe you’re right about me burning the candle on both ends. You’re right that maybe I should take a break,” she whispered. He took a hold of her neck, gliding his thumb along the side. “But I want to think about it for a while first, okay?”

“Okay,” Luke mumbled before he leaned towards her and pressed his lips against hers. Her lips parted, granting him more access as their tongues connected instantly. Her body erupted up in flames as he continued to take control of the moment. “Whatever you decide, my love,” he mumbled against her lips. She hummed against his as she took a hold of both of his cheeks.

“Baby,” she mumbled against his lips. He hummed before he took her lips with his. It took her almost a full minute before she spoke again. “Makeup sex?” she questioned. He let out a breathy laugh as he tossed the comforter lower on their frame.

“You always have the best ideas, baby,” he muttered against her lips as he carefully guided her to lay onto her back. He instantly climbed on top of her as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Her hands glided down his chest as she toyed with the waistband of his pants. His entire body erupted in goosebumps at the delicate teasing touch.

[bendover-productions]

bless tenor @lagging-jets for coming through with the details:

WAS ANYONE GOING TO TELL ME SAM WAS A DANIEL RICCIARDO FAN OR WAS I JUST SUPPOSED TO FIND THIS OUT BY WATCHING SEASON THREE MYSELF