#I don’t know if I should make it part of an episode

[karenandhenwilson]

So @latinlover1109 left a comment in my notes. After some contemplation I decided to answer in a repost because I needed the ability to put some structure in their rambling to react to it. You do know that formatting and punctuation exists to make reading and with that communicating easier, yeah?

This has gotten super long, so I’m putting it under the break.

Anyway, here we go:

latinlover1109 wrote: what Eddie have you been watching. 

Clearly a very different Eddie than you, so let’s take a look at the differences.

latinlover1109 wrote: Eddie Diaz the one who did that fight club shit was because of Lena that was supposed be a healthy outlet but he turned it into self harm losing control after being asked for a divorce 

There is sooo much here in just one sentence.

Eddie didn’t lose his shit in season 3 because Shannon asked for a divorce. Honestly, I’m very convinced not even Ryan Guzman’s pretty face would have endeared so many people to Eddie if he had turned to a violent coping mechanism over the wife he had been separated from for two years already asked for a divorce. What’s Eddie driving in season 3 is Shannon’s death! That was made clear several times throughout the season. I’ll also always believe — though it was never discussed as such on screen — that nearly losing his son greatly played into that reaction as well. Because that whole arc only started after the tsunami. Up until last episode, I’d have also factored in the three times Buck nearly died, twice right in front of Eddie, but last episode makes me wonder if Eddie really cares that much about Buck.

The violence didn’t start with Bosko inviting Eddie to the fight club. The violence started when Eddie let himself be goaded into a violent reaction by a jerk instead of getting in his car and driving away. Bosko only invited Eddie to the fight club because she bailed him out after he was arrested. Which was really shitty on her part. Eddie had a choice here, though. She didn’t drag him there at gunpoint, she also didn’t force him to stay once he understood what she had invited him to. Eddie made the choice at this point to stay at this thing and watch. Then he made the choice to participate. Despite having already been arrested once, which should have brought to the forefront what he was risking here. (His job, but also custody of his son, because his parents would’ve been there in no time, suing for custody if they had learned about this, I have no doubt about this.) Despite that knowledg,e Eddie chose to stay and participate.

Eddie then also chose to follow the invitation to the even more illegal fight club, where he was fighting for money and not just fun like the one Bosko had brought him. And that part had nothing to do with Bosko. That was all Eddie on his own, making stupid choices for the thrill and the money. And at that point, the lawsuit with Buck was already over, they had made up. But Eddie still chose not to reach out to any of his support system, which is also more than just Buck. Because he didn’t see a problem with the behavior, and when he was questioned about his injuries, he had the audacity to blame rough games with his son. Eddie only stopped when he nearly killed a guy. And here, Bosko saved his hide by helping him leave the scene without having to face the police. I really don’t like her, but in this instance, she went far beyond anything Eddie deserved.

latinlover1109 wrote: Eddie Diaz the moster when his parents were replacing him as their grandson parents ruling out Eddie. he could have went all out batshit crazy but he chose a different approach for his parents can't say he attacked them . 

I’m honestly a little stumped about this. Did you at any point really expect Eddie to get aggressive with his parents? And now you’re proud that he didn’t? Is that really the Eddie Diaz you have been watching for the last however long you’ve been watching the show? You’re right, in that case, we’re watching two very different characters who only share the name Eddie Diaz. Because that take of yours can’t be misinterpreted into anything of my original post, so it has to be your picture of Eddie. I’m very glad I don’t have your picture of Eddie.

There is a whole controversy about Helena and Ramon everywhere in fandom, and I’m very much in the camp of they’re assholes who don’t deserve their son or grandson. For me, the rift between Eddie and Chris in season 8 has been very much made into a bigger problem by their behavior, because they continued the parental alienation we’ve seen from Helena since she lectured Eddie in front of Chris about what Chris could and could not drink in Eddie Begins.

The root of the break in the relationship between Eddie and Chris is still very much Eddie’s fault, though. Because despite nearly torching his life in season 3 in his grief over Shannon, and despite his prolonged mental breakdown in season 5 following his own trauma and his son’s trauma over Eddie being shot, Eddie still hasn’t learned to reach out to anyone — Buck, his Abuela, his aunt, any other friend from the 118 — when he needs support and instead chose to date his dead wife’s doppelganger.

He then also chose to invite her to his house once Buck found out by accident instead of meeting her elsewhere. He then also chose not to put his foot down but let his parents roll all over him and take Chris to Texas. (I’m firmly in the camp that “yes, support Chris' wish to have distance to his father” and “Chris should’ve stayed in LA so there is a chance to work through that trauma together with his father” can and should’ve been true at the same time. Even with the knowledge now that Pepa had a stroke, we know there is a lot of extended family for Eddie in LA who could’ve helped in this situation.)

What Eddie hasn’t done in all of season 8, is to show any kind of responsibility for the situation he finds himself in. Right at the beginning, I was very willing to give him a lot of leeway. This show glosses over a lot of things and we had the time jump between seasons. There are often things happening off-screen we only learn about later. But now we’ve had Buck throw in a line to Maddie about going to therapy to work on his grief, so we could’ve just as easily gotten anything about Eddie working on his problems. That we haven’t, that his fuck up with Kim wasn’t even discussed when he reconciled with Chris, shows for me that he really hasn’t put in any work.

That’s the Eddie Diaz I have been watching in season 8, who hasn’t shown any growth.

latinlover1109 wrote: Eddie Diaz the fly off the railing tore the shit outta his room because he found out his army guys all died but before he did that he locked his door to protect his son. 

So, you do agree it’s a pattern we see in Eddie that he reacts with violence in moments of great distress?

latinlover1109 wrote: when he found out his father in-law "Cap" died he had to physically contain himself to not repeat what before because his son don't have his safe haven with tphim who 800 miles away to protect him. 

I’m even more stumped than with the part before about Eddie’s parents. I honestly had to read this half a dozen times before I could make any sense of it. What I’m seeing here is you saying that Buck is Chris' safe haven who Chris needs to protect him from his father. Is that what you wanted to say? I really, really hope it’s not and that your lack of punctuation and formatting just twisted what you wanted to say.

Also, the stretch of “his father in-law “Cap”” makes me laugh. Just another point showing you are watching a different show than me.

Anyway, Eddie is an adult. Has been a father for 14 years. And for a long stretch of those 14 years, he has been shown to be a good and dedicated father who is aware he failed his son in the past but doesn’t let that stop him from trying to do better. (That really beautiful scene after the tsunami is still warming my heart for so many reasons.) We know, because we have seen it, that Eddie, most of the time (pre season 7 and 8), tries to do the best for his son. And that he’s gone through difficult situations with Chris.

He’s had to tell his son about Shannon’s death in the past. Telling Chris about Bobby’s death is nothing compared to that. Because Bobby isn’t Chris’ mother who we know he adored and loved greatly despite her abandonment. No matter what fanon tells us, in canon we haven’t even seen much of a relationship between Chris and Bobby. So yes, it’s a person Chris might have cared for a great deal. But it’s nothing compared to his mother. And Chris is also older, which will make it much easier for him to understand and accept.

It’s his responsibility as a parent to take the burden of breaking that kind of news to his child and help his child deal with it. Also, going off on Buck for having to do that and pretending Buck doesn’t know exactly what that situation feels like — it was Buck after all who had to tell Chris in season 4 about Eddie being shot at a time when he couldn’t promise Chris yet that his father would pull through — is infuriating all on it’s own. That he made it sound as if it shouldn’t have been his responsibility very much feels like character assassination on the writer’s part, tbh. Because that’s a regression from Eddie being a dedicated and caring father.

latinlover1109 wrote: what Eddie Diaz do you know that didn't show growth. 

There are actually a couple more things I want to point out that you haven't touched on in your rambling.

I know the Eddie Diaz who reacted with violent verbal outbreaks to friends not showing the support he expected and instead in his eyes only the wrong kind of support in season 3 (aimed at Buck twice, though it’s very subtle in the kitchen scene*), in season 5 (aimed at Bobby) and in season 8 twice now (both aimed at Buck). Care to explain to me where the growth is here?

*With that I mean the “I wouldn’t hit you. You’re on blood thinners.” when they discussed the argument in the grocery store. After the last episode, that line rings very differently. And that’s all about the repeated behavior we’ve seen.

I know the Eddie Diaz who avoids dealing with the problems thrown at him at all costs, especially if it might mean taking a very critical look at himself. The Eddie Diaz who didn’t take a moment to figure out the root of his son’s outburst but just did what he thought was best without even talking to Chris about it in season 5. The Eddie Diaz who did that exact same thing again in season 7 when he thought Chris’ changing thoughts and his changed grief caused by him getting older and seeing things differently through the experience of age would all be fixed by giving him Shannon’s shitty letter. The Eddie Diaz who now couldn’t admit “I was wrong in my outburst” and instead avoided it by saying “I heard someone was mean to you”, to then shove his son and his aunt in Buck’s face knowing full well it would make it impossible for Buck to confront him about his previous behavior.

latinlover1109 wrote: because this is not that Eddie Diaz

I’m only left to ask: What show are you watching? Because clearly you aren’t watching 9-1-1 on Fox that’s now 9-1-1 on ABC.

(I'm suspecting you're watchting the part of the Buddie show that worships Eddie to the extent of making Buck subservient to him at all costs that only exists in Tik Tok edits and gif sets.)

Yes, Eddie is grieving. Yes, people are overwhelmed with all kinds of irrational emotions when grieving. Yes, people lash out. And we've seen Eddie lash out violently (verbally and physically) in the past. At the beginning of season 3 after Shannon's death, when he learned that his Army buddies were all dead, etc pp.

You know who else is grieving and has been shown to lash out based on irrational emotions in the past? Athena.

We have seen her lash out in anger and use her uniform to stalk the girl who bullied May. We have seen her go after Amir on a hunch when it turned out he hadn't done anything.

But Athena has learned from those experiences. This time, she is aware of her irrational anger and takes precautions to not aim that anger at Chimney. Because she knows that would be a mistake and unfair to Chimney.

Eddie, on the other hand, makes the same fucked up stupid decisions again and again and again and never learns. And of course, that's a decision of the writers. But in the universe of our blorbos, that's still Eddie's decisions and Eddie's actions. Eddie doesn't grow. And in-universe, it's his decision not to grow and his decision to stagnate in that toxic mindset he grew up with.

[motorsportbarbie13]

The Yapping Hour is Upon Us

In which Max decides that maybe doing interviews isn't such a bad thing.

Warnings: jos verstappen mention ew Pairing: Max Verstappen x Podcaster!Reader Word Count: 2.5k plus social media posts

Series Master List Main Master List

TheYappingHour posted:

349,219 likes liked by redbullracing, charlesleclerc, and others TheYappingHour Back at it this week with a very super top secret special guest. I simply can't wait to reveal who's on this weeks pod, you guys! You're going to DIE. (peep the clue in the second picture!) user928 her podcast set up is so aesthetic i can't user0928 RED BULL??? what does this meeeeeean??? >>>user1211 she hasn't done a ton of athletes in the past, maybe she got one of the Red Bull athletes!! user00291 DU DU DU DU MAX VERSTAPPEN. (shhh let me be delulu for a minute) >>>user221 as much as i'd love that, we all know how much Max hates interviews.

There was absolutely no reason why having Max Verstappen on your podcast should be making you this nervous. You’ve interviewed actual heads of state, a former president, and royalty for crying out loud and you’re losing your mind over Max fucking Verstappen? You supposed it came from the fact that you had spent most of your childhood traveling from track to track to watch your dad race in NASCAR, racing was in your blood and you knew how revered and idolized Max was. And how rabid his fans could get. You wanted to get this interview right. Needed to get this interview right. Motorsport were still a huge part of your life, even if you weren’t really outwardly an active fan. You never missed a NASCAR or F1 race and while you considered yourself a Ferrari girlie, Red Bull was most certainly your second team. 

“Everything ready?” Your assistant Shannon pokes her head in as you fluff the last throw pillow on the cream colored lounge chair. Scanning the room, everything looks to be in order. The two overstuffed chairs dominate the center of the small recording studio, each with a microphone set up on a small side table next to each chair. Instrumental versions of Taylor Swift songs floated out of small speakers tucked away and a few candles burned in the low light of the studio, creating the exact ambiance you were famous for. 

You’d been doing your podcast, The Yapping Hour, for nearly five years now and it was now one of the most popular podcasts being produced. You specialized in relaxed interviews of people that the general public don’t get to see relaxed very often. Your big break had come about 3 years ago when you had somehow managed to land an interview with Michelle Obama, her episode was still the most streamed episode of yours to date. Everyone had fallen in love with your interview style, how you got these normally highly media trained individuals to drop their guard down a little and be real for even just an hour. It gave people such a unique glimpse behind the curtain of fame and your fans ate up every bit of it. 

“I think so!” You nod, smoothing down the front of your boyfriend cut jeans even though the denim is perfectly ironed without a single wrinkle. 

“Good, because he just pulled in the parking lot.” Shannon smirks. She knows how nervous you are for this interview and is insisting it’s because you have a crush on the driver. Which would utterly unprofessional if it were true. But it wasn’t true. At all. “And he’s driving this matte black Aston Martin.” She closes her eyes as she bites her lip, smirk growing even wider. 

“Okay, let’s cool it on the hero worship.” You warn, following Shannon out into the lobby of the building. 

 Outside, it’s a dreary late April morning in the heart of downtown London. You had traveled from your home base in New York City just for this interview but had been surprised at how much you liked the ambiance and energy in the city. So much so that you had extended your stay a few extra weeks. The good thing about being your own boss of a podcast was that you could literally work from anywhere you had your laptop. 

Peering out into the parking lot, you’re surprised to see a lone figure in jeans and what looked to be a Red Bull windbreaker, hustling across the pavement towards the door. When he approaches the door, Shannons steps forward to open the door, a gust of wind whipping at your hair when Max comes bustling in through the doors. 

“Hello!” Max’s voice sends involuntary shivers down your spine, a feeling you fight hard to shove down. This is not the time to be a fan girl, you remind yourself. 

“Hi Max, thank you so much for joining us today! Can I get you some water or maybe some tea?” Shannons steps forward first, extending her hand. 

Max takes it and gives her a wide smile, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Water is fine, thanks.” 

“Max, it’s such a pleasure to meet you.” You step forward then, the heels of your black Louboutain’s clicking on the hardwood floor as you approach him. It takes every ounce of focus you have not to react at what feels like a white hot spark flickering over your skin when his hand touches yours for the first time. 

“Pleasure is mine.” He murmurs, cat like smirk replacing the warm smile that had greeted Shannon. Your social media did you absolutely no justice and Max was finding it hard to keep his composure you were so pretty. 

“Are we waiting on anyone else or is it just you today?” You ask, eyes darting above his shoulder to see if there was anyone still in the parking lot. 

“Why? Will I be needing my body guard today?” He quips as he follows you towards the recording studio.  

You pray the dim lights in the studio hide the way you’ve gone pink. “Of course not! It’s just that normally the people I have on the show travel with an…entourage.” 

“I don’t like people.” He says, as if it’s the most obvious fact in the universe. “I prefer to travel solo. Besides, I’m no Queen of the Netherlands or Justin Trudeau, I don’t really need an entourage.” 

He casually drops two of your biggest interviews like it’s nothing and you feel the pink tinge of your cheeks heat to a crimson red. “You’ve listened to the show then?” 

He nods, taking the seat you offer him as Shannon and your AV guy Steve bustle around getting things set up. A bottle of water appears for each of you and you take out the pages of notes you’ve made even though you’ve got all the questions memorized. You like to be prepared and prefer your interviews to be more conversational, less question and answer. 

“I like to know what I’m getting myself into.” His eyes hold this glint of mischief that if you were less of a professional, would have you biting your lip and kicking your feet. Truth was, Max had spent an ungodly amount of time on your socials and wikipedia page, obsessing over you and your career. 

“And yet you still came.” You tease.

“I did.” He says simply and you can’t help but notice how his gaze briefly drops from your eyes down to your lips and quickly back up. It’s so quick that if you weren’t in the business of watching and observing people, you probably would have missed it. But those baby blue eyes of Max’s are so easy to read, all you can do is grin back at him. 

“Well, thank you for making the trek into London today. I do appreciate it.” 

You briefly explain how the interview is going to work, how Steve is going to make sure everything is set up and recording, how you’ll post audio and video versions and that he can have final say in anything that goes in or stays out of the interview. You’ve found that a lot of your guests appreciate that little clause and in the five years you’ve been doing the show only a handful of bits have been kept out. You like to think it’s because you’re good at what you do and get people to open up on a level that they feel comfortable with. 

Steve finally gives you the okay and you settle into the cozy lounge chair, Max sitting comfortably in the one opposite you. 

“Thank you again for joining me today, Max. I’ve got to admit, I was a little surprised when your manager said you’d agreed to come on the show. You don’t do a lot of lengthy interviews and I could only find a handful of podcast appearances over the years. So, why The Yapping Hour? Why now?” 

Max takes a sip of water before placing it on the table beside him. His shoulders are relaxed, his ankle sitting on his knee is a causal pose. You’ve become a veritable body language expert since starting the show and you can already tell this is going to be a good interview. 

“I like your style.” His blunt answer throws you off for a moment and your cheeks heat. Again. You make a mental note to make sure they edit your complexion in post production to take the blush out. “GP sent me the one you did with Dale Earnhardt Jr a few months ago and I was impressed at how authentic you were. Dale is a character but you got a lot of depth out of him. Your questions went beyond the typical ‘what’s your favorite race track.’” 

“Well, thank you. That is quite the compliment coming from you.” For the third time in a short time, you blush at the compliments this man is handing out left and right. 

Your eyes flicker above Max’s shoulder to where Shannon and Steve sit, their smug faces tell you that you’re not imagining him flirting with you. 

“I have to tell you, I went karting with a few friends in prep for this interview and oh my God, I’ve been sore ever since! I can't imagine how hard an F1 car is on your body. Talk to me a little bit about your training sch-…”

“You went karting as research?” He interrupts you, face a mask of disbelief. 

Now it’s your turn to smirk, “Of course, I like to know what I’m getting myself into.” You toss him a wink and enjoy the way your stomach flips when his ears go a bit pink. “My dad beat me by almost 20 seconds and I don’t think I’ll ever hear the end of it, but it was worth it. I can see why so many people get hooked, it was so fun.” 

“Karting with a NASCAR legend had to make it a little better though, yeah?” 

“You know my dad?” Your brows nearly hit your hairline, you’re so surprised at this. Your dad had been long retired before Max had come onto the racing scene and there wasn’t a huge overlap in fan bases between F1 and NASCAR. 

Max nods, “He was racing around the time Jos was in F1. I still remember that one Daytona 500 where he stole the win from Earnhardt Jr on the last lap after he’d led for the entire race.” 

You tilt your head back laughing and Max thinks it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever heard, fully entranced by the long column of your neck that’s suddenly exposed. “Oh God, dad is going to die when he hears you know about that race.” 

“Have either of you been to an F1 race yet?” A plan begins to form in Max’s head. 

“No!" You lean forward to swat at his arm playfullt. I’ve tried a few times but it’s always fallen through. I do watch most of the races though, as long as my schedule permits. Sometimes it’s easier when you guys are in Europe because the races are so early in New York, it’s easy to watch them from bed on Sunday mornings.”

The image of you wrapped up in a fluffy duvet wearing nothing but his t-shirt as you watch him race nearly sends Max into orbit. He blinks furiously, trying to get that vision out of his mind so he can pay attention to you. 

“Tell me this then, if you could pick any garage to watch the race which one would it be and why would it be Red Bull?" 

You can’t help that laugh that explodes from you then and Max preens under your attention, smile stretching wide across his handsome face. “You know, I could have sworn it was my name on the podcast Instagram page.” You tease, giving him a wink. “You keep asking me questions, I’m going to be out of a job, Verstappen.” 

“I can’t help it when the interviewer is much more interesting than I am.” He murmurs, taking another sip of water without taking his eyes off of you.

The rest of the interview continues on for the next two hours and you get so much content you feel a little dizzy at the thought of having to cut over half of the episode. For the first time in the podcast’s history, you may have to split this into two episodes. Max doesn’t mind one bit, finding that he’s not as nervous as he thought he’d be with how easy he finds it talking to you. 

You wrap up the interview over an hour past the time you had told Max’s press officer it would last but neither of you make any movement to get up, despite both Shannon and Steve beginning to wrap things up. 

“I’m so sorry I kept you this long, Max. I know you’re not a huge fan of lengthy interviews.” 

Max just shrugs, “If all interviews were like this, I probably would say yes to a lot more of them.” 

You grin over at him as you rise, realizing the sun is setting outside and your stomach is aching for food. Max follows suit, although he feels a clench in his stomach realizing that his time with you is coming to an end. 

“Can I ask you something?” He says when Shannon and Steve walk out of the studio, leaving the two of you alone. 

You look up at him and nod earnestly, “Of course!” 

“Why didn’t you ask me about my childhood? Usually it’s one of the first things people ask me, especially in these kinds of interviews.” 

You shrug, face heating at being found out. “Like you, I do my research and I figured you might not want to talk about that part of your life. I want my guests to feel comfortable when they come on the show, not immediately put on the defensive. I guess I thought there were other more important topics…” 

Your words hang in the air, heavy between you two. Something in Max’s chest aches at the simple kindness you’ve extended him. It’s true, he doesn’t like revisiting his childhood very often, especially when it’s recorded and will be put on the internet. His dad was very much still in his life, obviously, and while he had done a lot of work to move past his childhood, it was still painful to talk about.  

“Thats…wow. Thank you.” Is all he can manage, voice thick with emotion. 

“Of course.” You murmur, reaching out to touch his elbow in what you hope comes across as a comforting gesture. 

Max’s eyes drop to where your slender fingers rest on his bare arm before a smile stretches back across his face. “I know it’s kind of last minute but you were saying earlier you’d never been to a race. We’re in Miami next weekend and I’d love it if you were my guest…” 

You can’t help the flutter in your chest at how nervous he appears standing before you. Your eyes dart over to Shannon, the official keeper of your schedule and are delighted when she nods vigorously, phone in hand with your calendar already pulled up. You made a mental note to give that girl a raise ASAP. “I would love to, Max.” 

“Yeah?” He sounds almost shocked that you had agreed so quickly. 

“Yeah.” You say, a hint of a giggle at the edge of your voice. 

“How about I take you out to dinner tonight and we can work out the details.” 

“Why Max Verstappen, I had no idea you were this smooth.” 

TheYappingHour posted

987,392 likes liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing, susiewolff, and others TheYappingHour SURPRISE! Part one of my interview with none other than 3 time F1 world champion Max Verstappen is live on all socials RIGHT NOW. (yeah, I said part 1! We both yapped so much you're getting a part two next week!) user9382 the chemistry between these two was OFF THE CHARTS >>>user111 ikr? i felt like i was interrupting something the entire hour. MaxVerstappen1 it was a pleasure meeting you! can't wait to see you in Miami this weekend! >>>user2999 MAX WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN'T WAIT TO SEE HER IN MIAMI. >>>user999 stfu she is so coming to the Miami race?? MAX EMILIAN VERSTAPPEN. user3210 has she ever done a two parter before??? not even the Queen of the Netherlands got a two parter!! user9928 i don't think i've ever seen Max this relaxed during an interview EVER. >>>user222 seriously! He was like a little boy with a crush then entire time.

yourpersonalinsta posted

234,100 likes liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, michelle obama, and others yourpersonalinsta we yapped some more and stuffed our faces. til next time, maxie! (tagged: maxverstappen1) user999 not michelle obama herself in the likes maxverstappen1 you're going to be trouble in miami, aren't you? >>>yourpersonalinsta what do you think? ;) >>>user9932 oh my godddddd user028 this is the couple i didn't know i needed

tag list (some of you only requested to be on a series tag list but i am not organized enough for that. lmk if you want to be removed!! also fingers crossed this tag list works this time ffs. sorry!)

@anilovessadbooks, @shelbyteller, @formulaal, @martygraciesversion381, @longhairkoo, @samantha-chicago, @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland, @chlmtfilms , @inarabee @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @lieutenantchaos @willowsnook @sltwins @linnygirl09 @powerfulmess @technicallypleasanttree @meglouise00 @mixedstyles @strawberryy-kiwii @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies @unknownmystery22 @mrosales16 @charlesgirl16 @leclercdream

[valeriehalla]

actual writing advice

1. Use the passive voice.

What? What are you talking about, “don’t use the passive voice”? Are you feeling okay? Who told you that? Come on, let’s you and me go to their house and beat them with golf clubs. It’s just grammar. English is full of grammar: you should go ahead and use all of it whenever you want, on account of English is the language you’re writing in.

2. Use adverbs.

Now hang on. What are you even saying to me? Don’t use adverbs? My guy, that is an entire part of speech. That’s, like—that’s gotta be at least 20% of the dictionary. I don’t know who told you not to use adverbs, but you should definitely throw them into the Columbia river.

3. There’s no such thing as “filler”.

Buddy, “filler” is what we called the episodes of Dragon Ball Z where Goku wasn’t blasting Frieza because the anime was in production before Akira Toriyama had written the part where Goku blasts Frieza. Outside of this extremely specific context, “filler” does not exist. Just because a scene wouldn’t make it into the Wikipedia synopsis of your story’s plot doesn’t mean it isn’t important to your story. This is why “plot” and “story” are different words!

4. okay, now that I’ve snared you in my trap—and I know you don’t want to hear this—but orthography actually does kind of matter

First of all, a lot of what you think of as “grammar” is actually orthography. Should I put a comma here? How do I spell this word in this context? These are questions of orthography (which is a fancy Greek word meaning “correct-writing”). In fact, most of the “grammar questions” you’ll see posted online pertain to orthography; this number probably doubles in spaces for writers specifically.

If you’re a native speaker of English, your grammar is probably flawless and unremarkable for the purposes of writing prose. Instead, orthography refers to the set rules governing spelling, punctuation, and whitespace. There are a few things you should know about orthography:

English has no single orthography. You already know spelling and punctuation differ from country to country, but did you know it can even differ from publisher to publisher? Some newspapers will set parenthetical statements apart with em dashes—like this, with no spaces—while others will use slightly shorter dashes – like this, with spaces – to name just one example.

Orthography is boring, and nobody cares about it or knows what it is. For most readers, orthography is “invisible”. Readers pay attention to the words on a page, not the paper itself; in much the same way, readers pay attention to the meaning of a text and not the orthography, which exists only to convey that meaning.

That doesn’t mean it’s not important. Actually, that means it’s of the utmost importance. Because orthography can only be invisible if it meets the reader’s expectations.

You need to learn how to format dialogue into paragraphs. You need to learn when to end a quote with a comma versus a period. You need to learn how to use apostrophes, colons and semicolons. You need to learn these things not so you can win meaningless brownie points from your English teacher for having “Good Grammar”, but so that your prose looks like other prose the reader has consumed.

If you printed a novel on purple paper, you’d have the reader wondering: why purple? Then they’d be focusing on the paper and not the words on it. And you probably don’t want that! So it goes with orthography: whenever you deviate from standard practices, you force the reader to work out in their head whether that deviation was intentional or a mistake. Too much of that can destroy the flow of reading and prevent the reader from getting immersed.

You may chafe at this idea. You may think these “rules” are confusing and arbitrary. You’re correct to think that. They’re made the fuck up! What matters is that they were made the fuck up collaboratively, by thousands of writers over hundreds of years. Whether you like it or not, you are part of that collaboration: you’re not the first person to write prose, and you can’t expect yours to be the first prose your readers have ever read.

That doesn’t mean “never break the rules”, mind you. Once you’ve gotten comfortable with English orthography, then you are free to break it as you please. Knowing what’s expected gives you the power to do unexpected things on purpose. And that’s the really cool shit.

5. You’re allowed to say the boobs were big if the story is about how big the boobs were

Nobody is saying this. Only I am brave enough to say it.

Well, bye!

[enhaflixer]

bf!Enhypen x f!reader - reaction to you getting flustered,

fluff, crack, suggestive.

-

𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠

You’re across the room. Not doing anything wild—just minding your business, maybe sitting on the floor going through something, wearing his hoodie with your legs tucked under you.

Heeseung?

He’s on the couch.

Legs wide open. Hood down. Head tilted. That lazy, heavy-lidded look in his eyes like he’s been thinking about kissing you for the last twenty minutes.

And then—he does it.

He spreads his thighs even wider, leans back with one arm thrown over the top of the couch, and lifts his other hand to do that slow, devastating little “come here” motion with two fingers.

Like you’re a toy he gets to play with.

Like he already knows you’ll obey.

You freeze.

He sees your face twitch, your shoulders stiffen, and he smirks.

“C’mere, baby.”

You swallow. “Why.”

“I just wanna talk,” he says, but he’s biting back a smile. “Promise.”

You shoot him a look, but your legs move before your brain does. You get up, walking over like you’re totally unaffected—even though your heart’s pounding.

And when you’re close enough?

He hooks his fingers in your waistband, pulls you forward till you’re standing between his legs, and tilts his chin up to look at you.

“You get shy so fast,” he murmurs. “It’s cute.”

You open your mouth to argue,

But then he tugs you down into his lap and kisses the side of your neck so slow you whimper.

“Oh,” he grins, “and that sound? That’s mine too.”

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠

It happens while you’re helping him clean up.

It’s chill. Domestic. He’s putting dishes away while you wipe the counter, music playing softly in the background, and everything feels normal until Jay—calmly, with zero awareness—places a hand on your lower back to reach past you.

And you shiver. Just a little.

You hear him chuckle.

“You always make that face when I touch you like that.”

You stop wiping. Blink. Slowly turn to look at him.

You what now.

Your brain replays the sentence like it was just cursed into your ears.

He didn’t say “You always react”.

He didn’t say “You get jumpy.”

No—he said it with his full chest:

“You always make that face when I touch you like that.”

Then continued putting away dishes like he hadn’t just lit your soul on fire.

You’re staring at him, heat blooming up your neck, lips parted in stunned silence.

And Jay—sweet, oblivious Jay—turns around and frowns at you.

“…Are you okay? You’re turning really red.”

You just blink. Speechless.

Now he looks concerned.

“Oh my God,” he says, drying his hands. “Did I say something weird? Wait—are you choking? Are you… blushing?”

You manage a strangled “JAY.”

He’s so confused. “What? What did I do?!”

“Do you even know what you just said?”

He furrows his brows, rewinds the moment in his head—and then his entire face freezes.

“…Oh.”

Your lips are still parted. Your face is burning.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he blurts. “I just—like—it was just a back thing. Like touching your back. Not like a touching you thing. I didn’t mean it like a sexual—oh my god, never mind, please forget I said anything—”

You’re laughing now, hiding your face in your sleeves.

Jay is scarlet. Hands on his hips. Looking up at the ceiling like he’s praying.

“I should be banned from speaking in my own house.”

𝐒𝐢𝐦 𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐮𝐧

It’s 10:04 PM and your boyfriend is already in bed, buried under three blankets, hood pulled up like he’s camping.

You crawl in next to him, chaos in your veins, body fully energized and annoying.

“Jakey,” you whisper. “Don’t sleep. Stay up with me. One more episode. One TikTok. One forehead kiss. One conversation about the philosophical meaning of nipples—”

He groans. Loudly. Pulls the blanket over his face.

“No. I’m weak. I’m dying. I’m elderly.”

You grab his arm. Shake it. Climb halfway on top of him like a gremlin.

He lets out the most dramatic sigh in history. “BABY.”

“What.”

“Please stop,” he whines. “If you keep climbing on me I’m gonna get hard and then cry and then you’re gonna have to rock me to sleep while I’m hard and I’m gonna die and haunt you and you’re gonna have to explain to your next boyfriend why there’s a horny ghost in your bed.”

You go silent.

Frozen. Face on fire.

“…What,” you whisper.

Jake peeks out from under the blanket, blinking slowly.

“Huh?” he says, confused. “What’s wrong with you.”

You just stare at him.

“You’re red,” he says blankly. “Are you overheating? Did I say something??”

He smirks.

“OHHH,” he says, eyes lighting up. “You’re BLUSHING. BECAUSE OF MEEEEE.”

You shove your face into the pillow.

“NO DON’T HIDE—SHE’S RED, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. I DID THAT. IT WAS ME.”

You try to roll away. He grabs you like a koala.

“Nuh-uh. You flustered now. I get cuddles. That’s the law.”

He pulls you on top of him, wraps all his limbs around you like a baby backpack, and whispers:

“Now I’m hard and sleepy. Just like I warned you.”

You scream into the pillow.

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐧

It hits at 2:12 AM.

You’re in bed, half-asleep, when Sunghoon rolls over and wraps his arms around you from behind. You assume he’s just getting comfy—until you feel his nose nuzzle into your neck… and then his lips… and then—

He lets out the softest sigh and murmurs,

“My babygirl.”

You freeze.

This is not normal Sunghoon behavior.

Normal Sunghoon behavior includes:

– biting

– teasing

– acting like you annoy him (even though he’s obsessed with you)

So naturally, you go: “What did you just call me?”

He kisses your shoulder. “My babygirl. My angel. My soft emotional support ball.”

You blink. “Are you sleep-talking?”

“No,” he says, voice muffled. “I’m ovulating.”

You choke on your own spit.

He turns you around gently—like you’re made of glass—and cups your face in both hands. His thumbs stroke your cheeks. His eyes are sleepy but weirdly intense.

“You’re the best thing in my whole life,” he whispers. “You’re so pretty. You make me feel like a calm little bunny in a flower field.”

“…Sunghoon.”

“My darling,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours. “My emotional comfort bean. My tiny light. My forever babygirl.”

“You have never said any of these words before.”

“I know.” His nose scrunches. “They’re stored inside me. Like a seasonal storm. They come out when I’m soft.”

You’re fully red now, blinking up at him in shock. “Are you high?”

“No,” he says, kissing your nose. “I’m in love.”

Then—he pulls you into his chest like a squishy plush toy and whispers:

“My babygirl sleeps. Would you look at that. Nat Geo Wild.”

You: literally combusting.

Him: already asleep.

𝐊𝐢𝐦 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐨𝐨

It starts with you doing something harmless.

Like fixing your lip gloss. Or checking your reflection. Or just… existing in front of him in shorts.

Sunoo, sitting on the other end of the couch with his hair up and a facemask on, gasps like he just witnessed something illegal.

“OH MY GOD.”

You jump. “What?”

“YOU’RE—” He waves dramatically. “—you’re LITERALLY being hot. You can’t just walk around with your thighs out and your lips looking like that. I’m feeling attacked.”

I’m literally just sitting here.”

Sunoo fans himself.

“I need to call my therapist. I need holy water. I need you to put on pants right now before I combust into flames and become a pile of glitter.”

You laugh. “You’re so dramatic.”

“No, you’re so dramatic.” He points at you with one perfectly manicured finger. “You’re sitting there looking like a K-drama lead and acting like I’m the problem.”

You roll your eyes, flustered but pretending not to be.

Sunoo notices immediately.

He gasps again—louder.

“WAIT.”

“No.”

“WAIT—”

“Stop.”

“Are you BLUSHING???”

He literally jumps up and points at you like a courtroom lawyer. “SOMEONE WRITE THIS DOWN. March 23rd. 8:42 PM. The queen has been FLUSTERED.”

You grab a pillow and smack him.

He flops dramatically, giggling into the couch, still yelling: “YOU THINK I’M HOT!! YOU THINK I’M HOTTTT!!” before breaking into a little happy dance right there on the rug.

You finally go still. Red-faced. Pouting.

He calms down, flops beside you, and softly grabs your hand.

Then—sincerely, unexpectedly—he goes,

“…You know I only say all that because I really mean it, right?”

You blink.

“I think you’re stunning,” he whispers. “All the time.”

Boom.

Blush level: MAXIMUM.

Your whole body short-circuits. You go so still that he tilts his head, confused.

“Wait why are you all quiet now—”

You squeak. Literally squeak.

He lets out the SMUGGEST giggle, throws himself onto you like a happy cat, and whispers in your ear:

“Y/N thinks I’m hot. Y/N thinks I’m cute. Y/N is so down bad and I win.”

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐰𝐨𝐧

You’re lying on his chest, warm and full and lazy after dinner. He smells like laundry and mint shampoo. His hand is in your hair. His other one is tracing tiny shapes into your waist.

It’s soft. It’s cozy.

He’s being so good.

So gentle. So sweet.

Until he casually says, in his soft little lullaby voice—

“I like how you whimper when I press my thumb against that spot under your belly.”

Your brain bluescreens.

You lift your head slowly, like you’re rising from the dead, face already burning.

He blinks. Smiles.

“Wait. Are you blushing?”

You smack his chest.

He laughs—genuinely confused. “What? That flustered you?? Babe, I could’ve said worse.”

“Please don’t.”

Him, grinning:

“Like—you know how you always try to run from it but then you push your hips back like you want more? That’s so cute. You don’t even know you’re doing it.”

You slap a pillow over your face.

He keeps petting your head like you’re a little sleeping hamster. “What?? I’m just being honest. I thought we were in our soft era.”

You muffle-scream into the pillow.

He snuggles you closer, literally giggling into your neck.

“I like when your ears get all red like that. Makes me wanna say worse things. Just to see what happens.”

You: dying.

Him: squeezing your waist tighter, still in his soft sleepy tone,

“Don’t be shy, baby. You know I’m right.”

𝐍𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐤𝐢

You’re just sitting on the bed. Literally doing nothing. Wearing his hoodie. Scrolling through your phone like a perfectly normal girlfriend.

And across the room—shirtless, damp hair, stretching like he’s about to walk onto an MMA stage—Riki turns and points at you.

“Oh my God. You want me so bad.”

You blink. “I’m sorry???”

He narrows his eyes and starts marching over like you personally offended him.

“You have that face. The ‘I’m in love with Riki and want to kiss his neck’ face. I’ve seen it. I know the signs.”

You set your phone down slowly. “Riki, I literally haven’t looked at you once—”

“EXACTLY,” he says, climbing onto the bed. “You’re ignoring me. That’s when it’s the worst. That’s when you’re down horrifically bad.”

He flops into your lap and throws one arm over his eyes like he’s in a drama.

“You think I’m so hot it’s actually destroying your life.”

You stare at him. “Do you hear yourself.”

He peeks up with one eye. “You’re blushing.”

You immediately cover your face. “NO I’M NOT—”

“YOU ARE!!” he yells, sitting up so fast the blanket flies off the bed. “STOP BLUSHING. YOU’RE RUINING MY MOMENT. I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THE PROBLEM HERE.”

You’re fully red now. Choking on your own laugh. “You’re literally insane.”

“I’m the victim,” he declares, climbing into your lap like a gremlin. “You’re sitting there looking all cute and domestic and perfect, and I’m supposed to just EXIST? In PEACE??”

You try to push him off. He clings harder.

“Don’t act all shy now,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. “I know what goes on in that nasty little brain of yours. You think about me shirtless and sweaty all the time, don’t you?”

You're speechless.

“Ahhhh she’s blinking. She’s stunned. SHE’S FLUSTERED. I WIN.”

You collapse into the pillows with a scream.

Riki follows immediately, flopping on top of you like a weighted blanket and giggling into your neck.

“Admit it,” he mumbles. “You want me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

You whimper, He giggles harder.

-

TL: @ziiao @beariegyu @seonhoon @somuchdard @ddolleri @zzhengyu @annybah @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @highway-143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @cristy-101 @bloomiize @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586 @cybe4ss @starniras @wonuziex @sol3chu @simj4k3 @jakewonist

[roots-symphony]

I’m replying because of your tags lol because I lowkey think it did add something (at least for me) but I also didn’t really read it as all that romantic or sexual or anything.

Idk they were friends and child laborers and forced into horrible conditions from such a young age. Cobel even says the last time she had huffed something was when she was 8, because that’s what their lives were. They had to grow up so fast but they weren’t actually grown up. I’m sure they experimented together not even because there was something there (though there could have been idk), but because of the lives they were made to lead. They found different vices in order to deal with it and at some point they found each other (whether or not the desire was actually there is irrelevant, it was just another escape, a small comfort they could carve out that may not have ever even gone all that far because it wasn’t about that), cobel literally invented a revolutionary device out of a desperation to cut herself off from the horrors of factory work. Now they actually are all grown up but they’re still just as lost as they were as children and for a moment that camaraderie, that love, was there again, still there, and it showed through laughter and a kiss. Idk if this is making sense but for me it read as more not innocent but innocent lol not platonic but definitely not romantic, just a comfort. Just a moment where they could live in the two kids they use to be.

Why they always making bad bitches kiss men

[reidrum]

i think he knows

A/N: more doctor!reader!!!!!!! can you tell i love them. if you have requests for them please send them my way thank you <3

summary: in which spencer and reader try to find time for each other to have their first date

cw: doctor!reader, fluff, spencer being a flirt, medical talk

wc: 2.5k

A month passes before Spencer gets to see you again. A long, long month.

He stayed in the hospital for observation for another two days after meeting you, which were entirely medically necessary but don’t ask Spencer how his chest pain stopped the moment he signed the discharge papers because they just couldn’t keep him any longer. He knows it’s illogical, and a bit immoral, to fake symptoms for his personal gain. But who could blame him, had they seen you?

You didn’t make it any easier on him either, the times you’d check on him you’d leave him red for hours. Morgan had gotten suspicious seeing him be surprisingly high in spirits for someone who just got shot. You’d even talked to the nurses to get him extra jello, a love language in its own.

But his daydream was soon shattered upon his discharge, where he couldn’t just lay in a hospital bed and wait for you to come to him. He was to be sent to exile (home) to finish out the rest of his sentence (recovery), while he so agonizingly waits for the next chance to see you again.

The first day back home was already enough to send him into house fever, and he couldn’t even freely pace off the nervous energy because of his leg. You had given him your number, which meant he had to text you. It was a lot of pressure. He knew his assignment and yet couldn’t figure out what the right thing to start off this conversation with you should be.

Should he be formal and hit you with a simple Hello. Or give a bit of a flirty edge and add a heart emoji—one that Penelope taught him how to do, thank you very much. No, he should probably introduce himself since you don’t have his number. So you don’t think a random freak is trying to message you.

He types out a message and sends it before he can second guess himself anymore.

Spencer: Hey there, this is Spencer. Room 207?

Spencer flips his phone face down so he doesn’t manically check the notifications for your reply. You’re busy, you could be in surgery or doing rounds, or sleeping on a break or—Ding!

Or typing out a reply to him, perhaps.

You: Hi Spencer ☺️ how are you feeling? Spencer: Better now, how are you? You: Better now ;)

Oh, you’re everything to him.

Spencer: Are you on a break or am I bothering you? You: Lying down in an on call room bed! I love when you bother me please don’t stop

He actually giggles aloud, thank god he lives alone.

Spencer: Good, because I was running out of medical emergencies to fake just to get to see you again. You: Gasp, faking? Sweet talking works well on me, don’t get me wrong, but I might have to report you to the medical board. Spencer: I’m not that kind of doctor so I don’t think they’ll care, plus I think once they see you were my doctor they’ll side with me. You: Flattery will get you everywhere Spencer Reid be careful. Spencer: I’m sure hoping it does.

It goes on like that for a few weeks, to Spencer’s delight. Back and forth texting, the blatant flirting on both ends and his poor but endearing attempts to match it. He wants to get to know every part of you, and thankfully you’re just as curious as he is, so every waking minute either of you aren’t working ends up being spent by talking with each other.

Not just the casual things like where you grew up or where you went to school. No, he’s learned what your go to coffee shop order is, what latent hobbies you have hidden under your belt, what your favorite movie is and the specific line that makes it your favorite.

He’s told you about his favorite Doctor Who episodes—which you made him promise to show you someday, showed you pictures of his mom and his godson, his go to Indian food order for the place down from the office.

While Spencer loves talking to you, it’s simply not enough. He has to see you soon or he might combust spontaneously. He might do that anyway but it’s much more noble to have a good and valid reason to perish in such a way, like being in your presence.

Spencer: Hey, can I ask you something? You: Uh oh, I don’t like the sound of that. Spencer: Nothing bad, pinky promise. You: Ugh, the most sacred of promises <3 Okay, let’s hear it. Spencer: Are you free this Friday? You: AH I thought you’d never ask!! I am so free this friday night doctor, setting out my best dress just for you ;) Spencer: I’m sure everything you wear is beautiful, but I’m looking forward to seeing you again :) I’ll pick you up at 7? You: I’ll be waiting <333

He asks you out officially on Monday, and he spends the rest of the week praying to whatever unsub or case gods that are out there watching to calm down this week so they don’t get whisked away on a case. Tuesday through Wednesday only consisted of paperwork, and it gives him hope he might actually make it to Friday and finally get to see you. Even Morgan and Emily’s teasing of his suddenly happy mood can’t bring him down.

Thursday night comes around and he’s about ready to jump for joy as he finishes packing up his things. JJ walks by and he’s about to say goodbye to her when she waves a manila folder in the air, “Sorry Spence, conference room in 5.”

He deflates. So close.

Spencer lets his satchel slide off his shoulder and reluctantly pulls his phone out to open his message thread with you.

Spencer: Hi, I’m really sorry to do this but we just got called on a case. Do you think we could reschedule dinner? You: Hi handsome, don’t worry I understand. The world needs you crime fighters :) I’m free next friday?

He tries to ignore the way his heart stutters reading ‘handsome’ and types.

Spencer: I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Next Friday sounds great.  You: Be safe out there please Spencer: Always am. You: Need I remind you we met because you got shot on the job Spencer: That was one time, and I told the guy to shoot me. You: Yeah, that’s not making me feel better. Spencer: I’ll be safe, getting to see you next week will be my motivation to be extra careful. You: I’d hope you’re being careful regardless but whatever works for you, handsome <3 Spencer: Got a pretty girl waiting for me, I have to take extra precautions. You: Oooh that was good, you’re getting better at this Dr. Reid. Spencer: What can I say, you make it really easy. Spencer: Okay I have to go for the briefing, talk to you soon. You: Bye handsome 💞

The case comes and goes, an easy solve but it took a few more days than the team would like to admit for a case of this caliber. They return back only a week later and it’s another Thursday night where he’s hoping nothing steps in to prevent him from seeing you. He’s lucky in the sense that nothing is stepping in to prevent him from seeing you, FBI mandated break and all after a long case.

He’s not so lucky when you regretfully tell him you’re scheduled for surgery all day on Friday. You’re entirely too apologetic for his liking, for someone who flaked on you initially and had to alter your schedule to his. Especially for someone who, of all people, understands the busy lifestyles you both lead. He reassures you a thousand times over that it’s okay and that you can reschedule.

Spencer: Please stop apologizing, it’s okay I promise You: I just feel soooo bad. I was really looking forward to seeing you. Spencer: I know. But we’ll see each other soon. You: Promise? Spencer: Pinky. Did you eat anything? You: No I wasn’t hungry, too sad about not seeing your face. Spencer: A poor reason to starve yourself, I’m ordering food for you. Are you at the hospital? You: I’m at home but you don’t have to do that. Spencer: Okay but I want to, are you going to give me your address or will I have to find it myself? You: How are you going to do that? Spencer: I have my ways. You: It’s your tech analyst friend isn’t it Spencer: Maybe. You: So if I share your address it’s a HIPPA violation but when you do it no one bats an eye. Spencer: It’s for a worthy cause. Please let me do this. You: Fiiine. 1563 Rock Lakes blvd. What are you getting? Spencer: Thank you, honey. Pad thai with chicken satay. You: Ugh, you know me so well <3

To yours and Spencer’s dismay, this pattern continues on for another few weeks. Whenever your schedule finally clears, he gets dragged away on a case. When his schedule is clear you have back to back surgeries or consults. It’s like you just can’t get the timing right, no matter how hard you pine for each other.

The doubt travels and festers in both of your heads, the blatant evidence showing you that this may not work between you. Thing is, you both love your jobs too much to even try to accommodate the other. You’re both so busy you can’t even find time for one evening alone together.

Then George Foyet happened. The Haley Hotchner of it all, happened.

It hit the entire team hard, watching a colleague they viewed as family lose someone they loved so deeply and in such a torturous way. Spencer forced himself to take a step back and really evaluate what he was doing—was he willing to subject someone he cared about to the world he lives in? To the horrors they become exposed to? He still thinks about the heart attack he had when the Fisher King sent his mom a key after being in the same facility with her for some time. He’s not sure he can handle that kind of fear again.

Spencer knows he doesn’t have to do this, it’s so early in whatever this is between you both. You haven’t even had time to go on a date. Maybe your lives are just incompatible. Maybe he can save you before he ever even puts you in danger’s way—the ultimate act of valiant efforts in the form of preemptive measures. 

What you don’t know can’t hurt you, literally.

Ding!

But then you go and do something like this, where he gets to flip his phone over and blush red in the face at your name on the notification. That he gets to open his messages and be met with the beautiful sight of your face, smiling in a picture you took just for him showing off the coffee you got on your break and reading the book he recommended to you a few weeks ago.

And he’s just not sure if he can imagine a world where he doesn’t meet you and immediately fall in love with you.

Another week, another attempt at finally being able to take you on a date. Except this time fate has stepped in on both ends and sent Spencer on another case and you scheduled for surgery. Lovely.

The case goes fine again, save for the unsub with an overt penchant for clipping FBI agents aiming their guns at him. Enough damage to send him to the ER needing stitches on his forehead and a concussion evaluation.

The doctor seeing him was a good doctor, but he wasn’t you. It was a man who, no offense to him and his medical training, definitely did not have hands as soft as yours stitching him up. He sighs out loud in the ER as he waits for a nurse to come by and discharge him. God, he wishes it was you. 

“Seeing other doctors behind my back? I thought we had something special, Dr. Reid.”

He has half a mind to look up at the sky and mouth God?, as he feels his prayers have been answered in the most literal way.

“What are you doing here?” he asks incredulously, fully in disbelief at the sight of you in front of him.

You smile and step towards him, closing the curtain behind you, “I told you, I had surgery.”

“In Maryland?”

“In Maryland,” you nod, “They needed someone with my background to help out so I flew out.”

God, you’re so smart it physically hurts him how attractive it is.

“How’d you know I was here?”

“I didn’t, I was looking at the patient log to see if they needed help in the ER when I saw an S. Reid age 27 in bed 4 and thought to myself ‘This couldn’t be a coincidence.’”

He chuckles softly, “Well, you found me.”

“That I did,” you lean in to inspect his cuts, “I thought I told you to be careful, handsome.”

The blood rushes to his face, “I know, maybe I just knew I’d get to see you this way.”

You gently readjust the butterfly bandage on his forehead, securing it more tightly. “You could have called me if you missed me, Spence.” you whisper.

“You were busy.”

“So were you.”

Spencer pauses, “Are you busy now?”

You step back and look at his face, his borderline puppy eyes doing the most to convince you to say yes when you were about to ask him the same thing in about another minute if he hadn’t. 

You grin widely and check your watch, “I clock out in an hour. Wait for me?”

“Always.”

It makes all the missed connections and unaligned schedules entirely worth it when he gets to finally pick you up from your hotel room for your date turned into a weekend getaway. Spencer doesn’t even bat an eye when Morgan teases him about the mystery lady he’s staying back in Maryland for, or when Hotch gives him a multilayered nod of approval when he asks for a few personal days.

It’s entirely worth it and more when you and Spencer drive up to a lake house to spend the weekend together, and you joke about how your first date ended up being your first trip as a couple. Spencer doesn’t even stumble when you refer to yourselves as a couple, just tightening his arm around your shoulder and kissing the crook of your neck softly.

It’s the most worth it when, even after you said you were a couple, on the last night after staying up watching Doctor Who reruns post other activities, Spencer curls his arm around your body tugging you closer to his and whispers into your hair, “You will be my girlfriend, right?”

To which you simply beam up at him and whisper into his neck, “Of course, handsome.”

[sleepyhoon]

THREE WEEKS & THREE DAYS - P.SH

pairing. best friend's ex!sunghoon x reader

genre. best friend's ex au, halloween au, smut, angst (if you squint).

word count. 12.2k+

warnings. alcohol consumption, drug usage, partying, driving under the influence, toxic relationships, themes of divorce, brief mention of physical abuse, smut [car sex, use of handcuffs, oral, praise kink/dirty talk, creampie]

summary. a stressful night at a Halloween party has you seeking comfort from the last person you should be involved with — your best friend's ex.

a/n. HIGHLY HIGHLY inspired by season 2 episode 1 of euphoria! this is a work of pure fiction and is NOT a reflection of how i view the members. despite writing this story, i DO NOT condone the dangerous choices the characters in this fic make and DO NOT encourage others to do so! read at your own discretion.  also, very special thanks to @zreamy for beta-reading this for me!!

When you were six, you spent Halloween night lying on a hospital bed dressed as Hannah Montana.

Everything happened so fast; one moment, you were trick-or-treating with your father and younger sister while scarfing down a Snickers bar for the first time (a king-sized one at that), and the next, your dad was rushing you to the hospital in a panic, tears in his eyes as he encouraged you to stay awake in the backseat.

By the time you’d arrived at the hospital, your body had gone completely limp, and your father struggled to carry both you and your younger sister into the hospital lobby. From what you can remember, it was like a scene from a movie: seeing your dad cry for the first time, being wheeled into an unfamiliar bright room on a mobile bed, all while dressed as your favorite popstar.

The scariest part of the night was shortly after arriving at the hospital and catching a glimpse of your reflection, not recognizing the person staring back at you. The blonde wig and blue eye contacts were to be expected, but the swollen face and half-lidded eyes were another. Had you been able to breathe (let alone talk), you likely would’ve given your sister a classic Halloween jumpscare.

Your mother had arrived only a few minutes after you did, yelling at your father loud enough to have the hospital staff threaten to kick her out. “You forgot she was allergic to peanuts?! Where was her fucking EpiPen?!”

Your dad sighed, running a hand across his face, “I forgot to pick it up. I’ve been busy with…you know.”

She scoffs, “You don’t think I’ve been busy too?! Especially now that we have to meet with the divorce lawyer once a week?!”

Your ears perk up at that, “Divorce?”

You hadn’t known much about the true meaning of divorce, except that it’s something your friend’s parents had gone through, and now he gets two of everything. Two birthdays, two Christmases, two lives. So simple yet so perfect, what child wouldn’t dream of that?

Your parents, who hadn’t even known you were awake, silence themselves immediately. Tears quickly form in your mother’s eyes as she realizes they’d been caught, trying their best to keep the news of their divorce as quiet as possible, waiting for the right moment to explain to you and your sister, Yuna, the real meaning of it, and how different your lives would be.

It dawns on them that there’s no point trying to keep this secret any longer. You were a smart kid, it was probably only a matter of time before you found out on your own, anyway. 

All in one night, you managed to survive a near-death experience, only to be followed by the news of your parents’ divorce. And somehow, at twenty-three years old, watching Lee Heeseung flirt with random girls at a Halloween party is much worse than everything you experienced that cursed night in 2007.

“Can you at least pretend that you’re having a good time?!” You can barely hear Minjeong over how loud the music is, her words fading in and out as you take a sip from your cup.

“I am having a good time, isn’t it obvious?” you reply, showing Minjeong your best fake smile.

Grinning, Minjeong shakes her head at you. “Not at all. Here, need a refill?”

Without waiting for your response, Minjeong hops off the kitchen counter and snatches the red solo cup in your hand. You don’t bother protesting, sighing as you rest your weight against the marble countertop, while she adds a mix of different ingredients to your cup.

When she’s not looking, you tilt your head in the direction of the living room, hoping to get a glance at Heeseung through the sea of drunken college students.

The only word that can be used to describe your relationship with Heeseung is ‘unfortunate��. You were together for six months, and spent most of the time fighting, making up, and having sex. It was a relentless, tiresome cycle you allowed yourself to succumb to just for the sake of not having to be alone.

Most of the arguments would start with you questioning Heeseung’s loyalty, growing suspicious upon seeing his username pop up in the likes section of random girls on social media. In hindsight, it seems like a silly thing to get upset over. The entire purpose of social media was to connect and interact with others anyway, but, why was it always girls? And why would these girls suddenly start watching your stories?

Breaking up with him was harder than you could’ve imagined, and you’re sure you wouldn’t have been able to do it without Minjeong by your side, encouraging you through the entire process. 

The aftermath was embarrassingly excruciating. For two weeks, you locked yourself in your bedroom and fell into a cycle of sleeping and crying, occasionally taking breaks to eat or use the restroom. At one point, your phone spent a full forty-eight hours without being turned on at all, causing your loved ones to panic upon not being able to get ahold of you.

Slowly but surely you managed to build yourself back up, finally starting to feel like your old self when Heeseung suggested the two of you get back together.

You were hesitant, of course, telling Heeseung you were willing to work things out if he can prove to you he’s changed and ready to be the loyal, doting boyfriend he should’ve been from the start.

So no, you’re not together. But you’re also not not together. It’s confusing.

A football player is blocking your view of Heeseung (dressed as a cowboy), you have to stand on your tip-toes to catch a glimpse of him talking to — wait, who is that?

“Patrick would not stand for this.” Minjeong interrupts your thoughts, poking fun at your costume choice of a female Patrick Bateman.

You shrug, pretending to act clueless. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

Minjeong rolls her eyes, shoving your cup back into your hand “Sure, you weren’t. Come on, cheers with me.”

“To what?” you ask, suspiciously eyeing the drink she’s just handed you. Minjeong isn’t that great of a cook, so you can imagine she’s not the best bartender either. In fact, it’d be best if she stayed far away from any sort of kitchen appliance.

She thinks for a moment then excitedly extends her cup out to you. “To getting over our shitty ex-boyfriends!”

Minjeong’s ex was Park Sunghoon, they dated on and off for a year and a half before calling it quits over the summer. You don’t remember the exact reason why they broke up, there were many different factors. It didn’t matter, they were bad for each other anyway and the relationship was entirely too toxic for either of their wellbeing. 

You don’t know much about Sunghoon aside from the things Minjeong felt comfortable enough to share with you and the fact that he is on the university’s hockey team with Heeseung. You’ve probably had a handful of conversations and interactions with Sunghoon in the entire time of knowing him, and are more than happy with things staying that way.

Holding your cup up high, you match Minjeong’s smile and tap your cup against hers. “To getting over our ex-boyfriends!”

The drink is disgusting. You quickly turn away so you don’t hurt your best friend’s feelings by gagging at the taste. She manages to down her entire cup while you make quick work of pouring a majority of yours down the sink behind you.

Minjeong stares down at her empty cup with wide eyes, licking the remains off her plump lips. “Holy shit, that was so good. Do you want more? I’m gonna make myself another cup.”

“I’m good for now, thanks,” you say, snatching your cup away when she reaches for it. Minjeong raises a brow at you, and you follow up with, “I should wait before having another drink.”

She nods understandingly, and you give yourself a mental pat on the back for coming up with that so quickly.

While she’s occupied with making another drink, your eyes trail back over towards Heeseung. The football player from earlier is gone, and now that your view is no longer obstructed, you watch in confusion as Heeseung now has this mystery girl by the waist, leaning his head down close to her lips as she whispers something in his ear.

This really is worse than Halloween 2007.

“Hey.” You tap Minjeong’s shoulder. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

She follows your line of sight, scowling when it lands on Heeseung. “YN, don’t make a big deal out of this. You guys technically aren’t even together.”

“Relax, I’m just going to say hi.” You assure her, moving to head towards Heeseung when Minjeong stops you with a hand on your chest. “Think about this, please.”

You sigh, using your free hand to clutch hers and slowly bring it down from your chest. “I’ll be fine. Be back soon so we can dance, okay?”

Minjeong knows she won’t be able to stop you once your mind is made up, all she can do is sigh and wish you the best as you make a beeline for your ex. Maybe not the greatest idea on your part, but you’re too tipsy to think rationally.

Heeseung doesn’t notice you when you first approach, it takes the mystery girl awkwardly gesturing in your direction for him to finally look over at you, immediately dropping his hand from the girl’s waist. “YN!” He shouts, a little too excitedly, nervously scratching the back of his neck.

A few minutes later, you find yourself in an unfamiliar bedroom with Heeseung on step one of your toxic cycle — arguing.

“You’re overreacting,” Heeseung claims. “We were just talking.”

“About what, Heeseung? Why did you have to hold her by the fucking waist to talk to her?”

“Because! She was drunk! I was holding her up so she wouldn’t fall and hurt herself!”

“Who gives a shit if she falls? She’s not your fucking girlfriend.”

“Yeah, well, neither are you.” 

His words shouldn’t hurt as much as they do because he’s right; despite trying to work on things, you aren’t his girlfriend. You were the one who said you weren’t ready to get back together, not him. You shouldn’t be upset with him for talking to other girls.

And yet, here you are with tears in your eyes. 

You nod silently, avoiding his gaze as a lump forms in your throat. 

Heeseung must realize how much his words have affected you if the way he curses at himself, and shamefully runs a hand across his face is anything to go by. “Listen, I’m sor-”

“Don’t bother.” You stand from the bed, holding back a sob.“Everything about this was a mistake. You’ll never change.”

Heeseung reaches a hand out to grab your arm as you push past him. “YN, I didn’t mean it.”

“Yeah, Heeseung, you did mean it,” you say, pulling the bedroom door open.

There is no point in trying to reason with Heeseung. You know in a matter of time he’ll apologize, you’ll accept it like you always do, have make-up sex, then lecture him about how important it is that he changes before you can consider getting back together. Another endless cycle you’ve fallen into.

Stepping back into the party, you head in the opposite direction of where Minjeong would be, not wanting to run into her in your current state and bump right into someone dressed as Spiderman, causing the little remains of your drink to spill over and knock to the ground. You’re grateful that a crucial part of Patrick Bateman’s costume involved a plastic raincoat, or else your outfit would have suffered a dark blue stain.

“Oh my God, YN! I’m so sorry!” Spider-Man apologizes with a thick Australian accent.

“Jake?” You question, gesturing for him to take the mask off.

He follows your command, face bright red from embarrassment or alcohol. Probably both.

“Yeah, haha, hey. Really sorry about that, I can get you a new drink.” Jake turns in the direction of the kitchen before you stop him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s fine, Jake. Do you know where the bathroom is?”

Jake thinks for a moment, scratching at the small amount of stubble that’s graced his chin. He really does make a perfect Spider-Man, and if you weren’t so upset, you probably would’ve stayed and told him that.

“Upstairs, all the way down the hall. Wait! It’s occupied, people are doing coke in there, I think.”

Great.

You sigh. “Do you know if there’s another one I can use?”

“I’m pretty sure there’s one.” Jake turns, pointing to a door at the end of the hallway. “Right there. I saw a few people come in and out.”

Thanking Jake, you follow his direction and head to the door at the end of the hallway.

It’s a garage, not a bathroom. But, as long as you get a moment alone, you don’t really care where you are.

After shutting the door behind you, you sit on top of a washing machine and flinch at the cold metal sending chills down your thighs.

You shouldn’t have come out tonight, you don’t even care about Halloween to begin with. It’s an overrated holiday, you wish you would’ve convinced Minjeong to stay in with you and have a classic horror movie marathon while eating takeout and pausing to hand out (peanut-free) candy to trick-or-treaters.

Though, you’re sure you still would’ve spent the better half of the night obsessively tapping through Heeseung’s Instagram stories or trying to spot him in the background of someone else’s. It was a lose-lose situation no matter what, and you find yourself wondering if there’s an end to this unhealthy cycle.

Despite being so young when it happened, you’re sure your parents’ divorce obstructed your view of love and how a healthy adult relationship should work. Your father went on to have short-lived relationships with younger women who were using him for his money, while your mother remained single and chose to criticize her ex-husband’s current lifestyle choices. They couldn’t even co-parent in peace, always making petty comments to the other during drop-offs and pick-ups, finding any and every little thing to start arguing about.

One time in particular, after spending the weekend at your father’s house, your mother slapped him in a Dairy Queen parking lot upon realizing his new girlfriend had taken you and your sister to get your ears pierced. You didn’t actually see the slap happen, but it was loud enough to echo through the empty parking lot and hard enough to leave a red mark on his face.

The memory has tears forming in your eyes for the umpteenth time tonight, but before any of them have the chance to trickle down, the garage door swings open.

You turn, and Park Sunghoon (dressed as a police officer) is staring back at you with a confused look on his face. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before pointing in the direction of the party. “Uh, Jake said this was the bathroom.”

Shaking your head, you offer him a small smile. “No, the bathroom’s upstairs but it’s being used. If you really have to go, I’m pretty sure that door leads to the backyard.” You nod your head in the direction of the other door, and Sunghoon picks up on what you’re implying.

He thanks you before jogging over to the exit, setting his cup down on a metal dog crate before turning the knob and pushing open the door.

Sunghoon stands far enough out of frame that you only see a portion of his backside, and once the sound of him pissing on the grass hits your ears, you wonder why he didn’t bother to close the door in the first place.

Men.

He clears his throat awkwardly, “So, you s–”

You cut him off. “Let’s just wait until you’re done, please.”

Sunghoon nods, mumbling, “Right, right.”

He finishes up a few seconds later, zipping his pants back up and properly adjusting himself before returning to the garage, closing the door behind him and picking his drink back up in the process. “So, I’m guessing you’re…upset because of Heeseung?”

You let out a sad chuckle that sounds more like a sob. “Lucky guess. He’s just so fucking confusing, I can’t take it.”

“You’ll be alright,” Sunghoon responds, slipping his phone from his pants pocket and unlocking it. “Heeseung’s a douchebag.”

This catches you off guard, and you’re laughing before you even realize it. “Isn’t he your friend?”

Sunghoon shakes his head, narrowing his eyes at his phone as he scrolls. “Not really. We don’t talk much if it isn’t related to hockey or school.”

A beat of silence passes, then you ask, “When Heeseung and I were together, did he mention anything about cheating on me? Or talking to other girls?”

Sunghoon glances up at you for a split second, taking in how sad and hopeful you look before returning his gaze to the weather app he’d been using to distract himself.

He wasn’t sure if Heeseung went as far as physically cheating on you, but he was definitely talking to other girls behind your back; proudly showing the hockey team countless nudes and vulgar photos they would send him, some of them coming from your own friends. 

Sunghoon can’t tell you this, you’re upset enough as it is.

“I wouldn’t know, I always tuned him out whenever he talked.”

Though he’s not sure what answer you were hoping for, Sunghoon can tell you’re a little disappointed by his response. Truthfully, he didn’t feel like getting involved in anyone else’s drama. If you wanted clarity from Heeseung, you should’ve gone straight to the source.

“Sorry,” you apologize, feeling slightly embarrassed that you probably made things awkward, “have you seen Minjeong?”

Your attempt to change the subject seems to work, because Sunghoon scoffs loudly at your question and shoves his phone back in his pocket. “Have I seen the girl that just spent ten minutes yelling at me? Yeah, we may have crossed paths.” He says sarcastically, shaking his head before taking a sip of his drink.

“Yell at you? For what?”

“She fuckin’…I guess before we broke up she said I should dress up as a cop for Halloween and I must’ve said no, and now she’s saying I only dressed up like this,” he gestures towards himself, “to spite her. Fuckin’ insanity.”

“Well, did you?” You can’t help but ask, Minjeong would always go on for hours about how spiteful of a person Sunghoon was.

He shrugs, mindlessly tracing the rim of the red solo cup with his pointer finger, “Maybe, but this is all that was left in my size at the party store.”

You’re surprised Sunghoon makes you laugh as much as he does, and maybe that’s a bad thing since it’s making you enjoy talking to him. Though he technically isn’t your enemy, he’s definitely not a person you should enjoy having a conversation with. It’s not appropriate, he’s the ex boyfriend of your best friend; all your ties to him were cut the moment Minjeong broke up with him.

You should tell him to leave, that you’re really upset over Heeseung and prefer to be alone, but you don’t. Instead, you keep the conversation going, laughing every joke he makes and completely forgetting why you were upset to begin with.

Halfway through telling Sunghoon about the horrid drink Minjeong had prepared for you, your legs grow numb from having been sat on for so long. You untuck them from underneath your body, not thinking much of it as you continue on with the story, legs dangling against the cold washing machine.

Sunghoon takes notice, though, his eyes quickly darting down to the space between your legs and the white fabric that’s suddenly visible to him due to the short length of your skirt. You miss it the first time he does it, but the second and third time are hard to ignore, especially now that he doesn’t seem to mind being caught.

You really should cross your legs or call him out on his staring. Or maybe even get up and leave entirely.

To no one’s surprise you don’t do either of those things and opt to keep your panties visible enough for Sunghoon to see while you continue to talk his ear off about his ex-girlfriend. There’s something unspoken happening between the two of you, and it’s exciting yet confusing since this is the longest conversation you’ve had with him in the two years you’ve known each other. 

The strangest part of it all is that you’re just now realizing how attractive Sunghoon is, Sure, he’d always been a good looking guy, but you’d always seen him as Minjeong’s property and never paid much attention to his face out of respect for her.

But Minjeong no longer has a claim on him, and now you really notice the perfectly placed moles that graced the side of his nose and under his eye. He really was a sight to behold, you often find yourself stumbling over your words as you speak to him, becoming flustered over the intensity of the eye contact he’d been making with you.

“…my throat is still burning and it’s been, like, twenty minutes.” You say with a laugh, watching as Sunghoon finishes off his own drink.

He sets the empty cup down, licking the remaining alcohol on his lips before smacking them, “Yeah, I wouldn’t trust her in a kitchen. I’m not that good either, though. There was this one time I had to make brownies for our hockey team’s bake sale and they turned out awful. It’s like, half of them were watery and the other half were burnt. So weird.”

“That doesn’t even sound possible.”

“I’m serious! Hold on, I probably have a picture.” 

It takes Sunghoon approximately forty-five seconds of scrolling through his Snapchat memories to find a photo of those godforsaken brownies, and sure enough, they really are a watery, burnt mess. Not that you can even focus on the picture to begin with now that he’s sitting next to you on the washing machine, and you’re finally able to see him up close.

Sunghoon’s words go in one ear and out the other, because now you’re close enough to smell the cologne he’s dabbed on the back of his neck, and notice the metal handcuffs hooked in his belt loop, and it makes it hard to focus on anything else. Especially his uninteresting story about those stupid fucking brownies.

When Sunghoon locks his phone, you take it as a sign that he’s finished with his story and let out another laugh, “Not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that.”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he jokes, slightly slurring his words. 

Maybe it’s the fact that his voice sounds deeper than usual, or that he’s staring right at you with half lidded eyes, or that he's started playing with the handcuffs on his waist, but Sunghoon looks dangerously attractive right now. 

You gulp, looking down at your lap, “Well, at least one of us had a nice drink.”

Sunghoon nods, running his fingernails along your plastic raincoat, “Wanna taste mine?” He asks, eyes darting down to your lips for a split second.

If there was ever a time to get up and leave, it should’ve been now. The rational part of your brain is telling you to push Sunghoon away and return to the party and forget this encounter with him ever happened. But you can’t move, and if you’re being honest, you don’t even want to.

You’re stuck in place, heart beating out of your chest as Sunghoon leans in closer to you. You feel dizzy in the best way possible, and a part of you feels sick for enjoying the moment as much as you do. 

His breath fans your cheek, and the faint scent of alcohol on it should’ve been enough to remind you that you shouldn’t be in this situation with him. Still, you don’t move.

Right before Sunghoon has the chance to kiss you, the door swings open and you jolt away from each other out of shock, clutching your chest as you watch Jake jog into the garage.

“You guys seen my vape?” he asks, a little out of breath.

“I…no, Jake. Why would it be in the garage?” Sunghoon asks, hopping down from the washing machine. He offers a hand to help you down and you ignore it, finally starting to come back to your senses.

“Dude, I don’t fucking know! It was just in my pocket and now it’s gone, it could be anywhere. Help me look!”

Spending your night in a garage helping Jake look for a strawberry-flavored vape doesn’t sound ideal in the slightest; now is the perfect time to leave.

Heading in the direction of the party, you pause when Sunghoon calls out your name, a slight shakiness to his voice. “Keep an eye out for me, yeah?”

Another beat of silence passes, then you nod and say, “Yeah.”

In your defense, there’s nothing to feel guilty over. All you did was have a conversation with Sunghoon, and keeping an eye out for him doesn’t necessarily mean anything else will happen, right?

You try not to think too much about it as you exit the garage, holding in a laugh when Sunghoon says something along the lines of, “You’re a grown ass man, Jake.”

What Minjeong lacks in cooking, she makes up for in dancing.

While you wouldn’t consider yourself to be on her level of dancing, you’d say you’re good enough to keep up with her at a crowded party. If swaying to the music, holding hands, and grinding on each other counts as dancing, that is.

“You’re too stiff; loosen up, babe,” she comments, fingers interlocked with yours.

“Sorry,” you reply, slightly frustrated since you don’t feel like dancing in the first place. “What were you saying?”

“Oh, yeah!” Minjeong turns to face you, moving your arms to drape them around her shoulders. “Then he said I was being crazy, and that he only got the costume because it was all that was left in his size, as if I believe that.”

“Sorry that happened,” you say, and it comes out more sarcastic than you had intended it to. 

Minjeong takes notice of this, raising a brow at you before slipping her arms under your raincoat and pulling you closer to her. “You okay?”

The two of you are pressed so close up against each other that it almost feels romantic, and you’re sure if there was another drink in your system you’d probably lean in and kiss her. 

You nod. “Just thinking about Heeseung.”

Fake offended, Minjeong’s jaw drops. “You’re dancing with the hottest girl at this party, and all you can think about is your ex? I’m hurt, YN.”

Truth be told, her ex was the one you were thinking about, certainly not your own.

Not a whole lot of time has passed since you left Sunghoon in the garage, but you make sure to keep your promise of keeping an eye out for him upon returning to the party. You’re certain that on the outside you probably look panicked and frantic, eyes darting all over the place for any sign of Sunghoon.

“Well,” Minjeong starts, tugging on your tie. “Since you’re thinking about your ex, it’s only fair that I think of mine; and there he is.”

You stop yourself from excitedly shouting, “Where?!” and watch as Minjeong subtly nods towards the staircase.

Sure enough, Sunghoon is leaning against the banister, eyes zeroing in on you with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“He’s been watching me for, like, ten minutes. Probably wants to see if you and I will make out, fucking pervert,” she says, rolling her eyes.

Minjeong has it wrong, Sunghoon has been watching you for the past ten minutes. Ever since he finished helping Jake find that stupid vape, he’s had his sights set on you and you only.

That other part was probably true, though.

You swallow the lump in your throat and say, “Such a pervert.” It comes out a tad more robotic than you were going for, but you tried your best. 

Once Sunghoon is sure that Minjeong is distracted, he mouths, “Bathroom,” before immediately turning around and jogging up the steps.

Fuck, are you really about to do this? 

Your eyes dart from Minjeong to the staircase, and you can’t believe you’re even considering going upstairs to meet her ex. Everything about this predicament is sick and twisted and perfectly on brand for Halloween. 

But, somehow, it’s not sick enough to stop you.

“Hey, I think I’m gonna get some air; I’m feeling kinda dizzy,” you lie, hoping it’s believable enough.

Minjeong stops dancing immediately, a look of genuine concern on her face. “Here, I’ll come with you.”

“No, no. You keep having fun, I’ll be back soon. Make another drink for me, okay? I’m sure I’ll need it,” you assure her with a smile, taking her hands into yours.

“Fine, I’ll be here. But the only drink I’m making for you is a Ginger Ale.”

Thank God.

After giving Minjeong a kiss on the cheek (feeling guilty as ever), you slip past her and head towards the direction of the backyard. Once Minjeong is fully out of sight, you switch paths and sprint up the staircase, bumping into and angering a few people along the way. 

You keep your head down once you reach the second floor, speed walking to the end of the hallway and avoiding eye contact with everyone you walk by until you reach the bathroom.

The door is closed and locked, of course, and that’s when it dawns on you that this could be one big, elaborate prank from Sunghoon. You could open the door and be met with a camera in your face with Sunghoon recording, laughing maniacally before mentioning something about telling Minjeong everything and that he stayed loyal to her the entire time.

Unfortunately for you, even that possibility doesn’t scare you away from knocking on the door and saying, “It’s me, YN.”

The knob twists before the door is pushed open, barely enough room to slide in discreetly, but you manage anyway.

Using your body weight to press the door shut, Sunghoon reaches behind you to make sure it’s locked. “You really came.”

You hate that he sounds shocked, as if he had some faith that you wouldn’t risk your friendship with Minjeong for a few minutes with him, of all people. He’s not even your type.

“Don’t make a big deal out of this.”

Sunghoon scoffs as if you’ve said the most obvious thing in the world. “Trust me, I won’t.”

You don’t have time to overthink the meaning of his words because before you can even realize it, Sunghoon is pushing you further up against the door, and he’s kissing you, finally kissing you.

This kiss is everything but soft, and it knocks the wind out of you. Sunghoon’s hand cups your jaw, tilting your head sideways to allow himself further into your mouth. It’s wet and sloppy, you’re certain that dancing with Minjeong was far more romantic than this. You kiss back anyway, wrapping your arms around his shoulder and grabbing a fistful of his hair, shivers running down your spine when he groans into your mouth. Without breaking the kiss, Sunghoon reaches down to slip the raincoat off of you, pressing your body closer against him to ease it off. 

He pulls away slowly, his blown-out eyes focused on the string of saliva that connects your mouths to one another. “Fuck,” he groans at the sight, moving his mouth to kiss along your jaw.

You let out a moan when you feel his tongue slide against a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, tilting your head back against the door. Sunghoon takes notice of this, focusing his attention on that same spot, sucking on it hard enough to leave a mark before teasingly scraping his canines along the area.

Quickly, your fingers move to unbutton your shirt, suddenly feeling warm all over. You’re only halfway done when there’s a sudden banging on the other side of the door, startling you enough to halt your movements.

“Ignore it,” Sunghoon mutters against your neck. “They’ll go away.”

They don’t go away, they actually start to bang louder and harder once a few seconds pass.

Sunghoon lets out a frustrated sigh, lifting his head away from you, “Occupied!”

“Sunghoon?” You hear Minjeong’s voice on the other side of the door, causing you and Sunghoon both to freeze.

“M-Minjeong?” He stutters.

“I have to piss,” Minjeong whines, messing with the doorknob. “Hurry up!”

Sunghoon must sense your panic and the fact that you feel like bursting into loud sobs, because he places his hand over your mouth before mouthing for you to stay quiet.

Minjeong doesn’t let up on trying to open the door, and you’re sure that with just enough force, she could probably get it open.

“I’m using it! Can’t you just go outside?”

“I’m a fucking girl, Sunghoon. Just hurry up and finish.”

“Just…just hold on a second, Minnie.”

Minnie? Fuck is that about?

Sunghoon pulls you away from the door, keeping his voice and movements as low as possible. “You’re gonna have to hide in the bathtub, just lay down flat and wait for her to leave.”

“What?! What if she sees me?!” You whisper, silently praying Minjeong can’t hear you over the music.

“She won’t, okay? I’ll pull the shower curtain back. It’s the only option we have right now unless you want to jump out the window.”

You shake your head. “There has to be a better idea.”

On the other side of the door, Minjeong begins to grow impatient, anxiously tapping her foot against the floor. She’s had three full drinks and is on the verge of busting the bathroom door down if Sunghoon doesn’t open it soon. She focuses her gaze downward, raising a brow at a piece of plastic that’s been slightly pushed under the crack of the door. What is it? A shower curtain? It can’t be, why would the shower curtain be on the floor? It looks more like…

“Fuck! The cops!” A drunk voice yells before the entire house panics, sirens and flashing blue and red lights fill the house.

Inside the bathroom, Sunghoon had still been trying to convince you to lay down in the bathtub when even more panic sets in.

Minjeong bangs on the door one last time. “Sunghoon, the cops are here, you need to leave! Fuck, I gotta find YN!” She yells before taking off down the hall.

Police officers are raiding the house, and all Minjeong can focus on is finding you and making sure you're okay, while you were seconds away from hooking up with her ex. What a fucking nightmare.

“We gotta jump out the window,” Sunghoon says, hurrying over to the other side of the bathroom and forcing the window open.

“What?! Why?!”

“People are doing fucking illegal drugs at this party, YN, and now the fucking cops are here. My dad works for the city and if-” He pauses to grunt, struggling to get the window all the way open. “-news spreads that his son was at a house party that was full of people doing fucking cocaine his career will be fucking over. Fuck!”

This doesn’t explain why you have to jump out of the window with him, but you narrow it down to the possibility of Sunghoon just wanting to be around you for a little longer. And as pathetic as it sounds, you find yourself smiling at the possibility.

Sunghoon finally gets the window fully open, quickly hiking one leg over. “It’s not that far of a jump, we’ll be fine. I’ll go first then let you know when to jump.”

“You’ll catch me?” you ask, buttoning your shirt back up. Now that the raincoat is gone, you probably resemble a perverted schoolgirl costume.

Sunghoon sighs. “Yes, YN, I am going to catch you. Just be ready to run, my car’s down the street.”

He doesn’t give you any time to protest before hiking his other leg out the window and jumping down; you watch in horror as he lands face down. If it weren’t for your current predicament, you’re sure you would’ve gotten the ick.

It takes Sunghoon a few seconds to get back up, brushing himself off before standing, “Come on! Hurry!”

Despite your hesitancy, you follow Sunghoon’s action and hike a leg out of the window, staring down at him. “Are you sure about this?!”

“If you want me to catch you, you better jump now!”

Halloween fucking sucks.

You swear to yourself as you hike your other leg out of the window, saying a quick prayer as you brace yourself to jump.

Sunghoon doesn’t exactly catch you, but he does brace your fall, which is good enough for you. 

He groans in pain from the impact as you stand and dust yourself off, reaching a hand down to help him up. “Sorry!”

Sunghoon stands, feeling a tad bit dizzy and lightheaded. “Just follow me.”

It isn’t too late to turn around and find Minjeong and just leave with her. In fact, it’d be the morally correct thing to do in this situation. Not that you seem to care for morals.

You make a mental note to send Minjeong a text later as you run after Sunghoon.

Sunghoon is not that great of a driver, but this doesn't surprise you.

He's still somewhat tipsy, occasionally swerving along the empty back roads.

What makes it worse is that Minjeong has been calling and texting you nonstop, your phone practically burning a hole in your pocket as you ignore her relentless attempts.

Sunghoon is trying his hardest to stay focused on the road, but your phone ringing every few minutes was really starting to irritate him. "Just fucking answer her," he says, shaking his head.

"And say what? That I'm with you?"

Sunghoon isn't too pleased with your sarcasm and rolls his eyes, "Obviously not, YN; just do something to make her stop panicking."

That's way easier said than done, especially considering that you can barely even think about Minjeong without wanting to burst into tears. The guilt has already started to set in, and it has you questioning yourself and your morals.

You can't talk to Minjeong; it's too risky, but you can call your sister and ask her to cover for you.

Slipping your phone from your pocket, you force your eyes to unfocus and ignore the string of missed calls and messages from Minjeong, dialing your sister's phone number with trembling hands.

As always, Yuna answers on the fourth ring, sighing loudly into the phone before greeting you with a monotonous, "Hello?"

"Hey, um, I need you to help me with something," you keep your voice low, not wanting Sunghoon to hear your conversation despite being right next to him.

Yuna sighs again, "With what, YN?"

"The party I was at got raided by the cops, and we all ran, so if Minjeong calls you, I need you to tell her I'm with you," you say, your eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets when Sunghoon makes a sudden sharp turn.

"Sorry," he mutters under his breath, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

You hate that even now, you find him cute.

"Well, where are you?" Yuna asks, snapping you back to reality.

"I… it's not important, just please do me this favor."

Your sister scoffs, "You expect me to lie for you, and you can't even tell me the full story?"

"The full story isn't important, Yuna."

"Clearly, it is if you're asking me to lie to your best friend."

"Just tell her," Sunghoon groans, sounding slightly annoyed, "but make sure she doesn't tell anyone else."

Yuna doesn't have many friends, and the few she does have wouldn't even care about your drama, so it's not like she'd have anyone to share your business with. You hesitate anyway because of the principle of the situation, how just ten minutes ago you were unbuttoning your shirt for your best friend's ex. Maybe you're starting to come back to your senses because replaying the scene in your head has you cringing from embarrassment.

You lean your head against the window and squeeze your eyes shut, "I'm with Sunghoon."

The line goes silent for a few seconds, and you're worried you may have lost service from driving in such a rural area until Yuna sighs for a third time, "The pretty ones are never that bright."

"I swear it isn't like that," you plead, "just, please, help me out."

"And what will I get out of this?"

Of course, she wants something, classic younger sibling bullshit.

"Well, what do you want?"

"I don't know…a normal older sister?"

"Yuna, I don't have time for this, will you help me or not?"

Bickering with Yuna was starting to give you a headache; you were seconds away from hanging up and coming up with a new plan entirely.

"After tonight, don't involve me in this anymore; I have my own shit to deal with."

You hold back a laugh at that as if Yuna does anything other than stay home and talk to the same two people. "I won't, I swear. I'll text you when I'm close to being home; let me know if Minjeong reaches out to you."

"Whatever, just get home safe and don't do anything else stupid," Yuna says through a yawn before immediately hanging up, not giving you the chance to say goodbye.

As much as you loved your sister, the two of you weren't exactly close. The divide started sometime during high school; your interests and friend groups never really aligned and only led you to stray further away from each other.

You being fairly well-known within your high school didn't help much, either. Countless random students would approach Yuna on the daily, asking if you were seeing anyone, begging her for your number, or even giving her small gifts and treats to pass along to you. 

What annoyed her the most was that they never called her by her name, in their eyes, she was always known as "YN's sister", and nothing more than that.

You're sure Yuna doesn't hate you because of it, but it certainly didn't make her very fond of you.

"What'd she say?" Sunghoon asks, interrupting your thoughts.

"She agreed to cover for me tonight," you respond, gazing out the window, "pretty sure she's pissed, though."

"She'll get over it," Sunghoon taps the navigation system on his dashboard, "type in your address."

Despite making you jump out of a bathroom window, Sunghoon technically doesn't owe you anything. He never claimed he'd bring you back to his place to finish what you started; you quite literally only jumped because he told you to, under the pretense that maybe — just maybe — he'd want to hook up with you. 

Clearly, that wasn't happening, at least not tonight. Having to jump out the window and then proceed to drive while tipsy must've knocked some sense into him, making him realize he'd been making way too many questionable choices all in one night. 

You let out a disappointed sigh, hesitantly reaching out to type your home address into the car's GPS. The system buffers for a few seconds as it calculates the quickest route to your home before displaying an estimated travel time of thirty-eight minutes.

"Forty fucking minutes?!" Sunghoon shouts, causing you to jump. 

He sighs, cursing under his breath before reaching forward and ending the navigation route. You sit up further in the seat, ready to ask Sunghoon what he's plotting before he starts typing "7/11".

You raise a brow at this, "Why're we going there?"

Sunghoon gestures towards the navigation system as if the answer is obvious, "Your house is forty minutes away, and I'm still kinda tipsy; I'm gonna need to pull over and get something other than alcohol in my system if I'm gonna be driving for that long." There's a slight slur to his words that had you weary about him driving, so pulling over to recharge isn't a bad idea.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Sunghoon managed to safely drive the two of you to the nearest 7/11, opting to pay seventeen dollars to park in a parking garage down the street instead of the shop's personal lot.

"This neighborhood isn't that safe; I don't want anyone breaking into my car," he claims, taking up two spots as he parks in the most secluded corner possible.

The neighborhood is fairly safe; he was just being dramatic.

The walk down the street is quick and slightly awkward, with you and Sunghoon stumbling every few steps yet refusing to hold onto the other for stability.

The two of you go your separate ways upon entering the shop, Sunghoon headed straight towards the snack aisle while you make your way to the slurpee machines. The difference in your priorities was humorous, with him wanting to focus on building up energy and you wanting nothing more than a quick sugar fix.

Blue raspberry isn't necessarily your go-to flavor, but it's the only flavor on the Slurpee machine that's currently working, so you fill your plastic cup to the brim before absentmindedly reaching for a straw.

Sunghoon is still prancing around the store by the time you've finished making your drink, and despite not being that hungry, you decide to kill time by strolling through the snack aisles.

The Snickers bars and Reese's Cups look tempting as always, but you refrain, sighing as you look over the selection of peanut-contaminated candy.

"Don't even bother," Sunghoon says from behind you, causing you to gasp in shock. 

He pauses for a moment, staring at the array of snacks before grabbing a pack of Skittles and walking off.

The thought of Sunghoon being aware of your peanut allergy is as comforting as it is strange. You can't imagine this is something Minjeong randomly decided to tell him, and even if that is the case, why would he bother retaining that information? It's not like the two of you are friends.

Whatever, you're probably thinking about it too much.

After deciding on a package of powdered mini donuts and Haribo gummy bears, you proceed to the checkout counter and set your items down, looking over your shoulder at Sunghoon, who was selecting the last of his items.

The man behind the counter smiles at you, typing his employee ID number into the cash register, "How's your night going?"

"Horrible," you say, making the clerk laugh even though you weren't joking.

"Sorry to hear that," he responds, scanning your items, "your total came out to…$6.12. Oh, hello, officer."

Despite not having done anything wrong, you nearly panic before remembering Sunghoon's unfortunate costume choice.

He nods at the man, setting his own items down on the counter, "Add these too. You guys take Apple Pay?" He asks, unlocking his phone.

"Oh, you don't have to pay for mine," you say, a nervous tremble in your voice.

Sunghoon shrugs, "No big deal."

Except it is a big deal. Sunghoon behaving like a boyfriend gentleman by paying for your items only made you like him even more, which is the exact opposite of what you need right now.

You sigh, taking a literal and metaphorical step back as Sunghoon taps his phone on the card reader. 

"A cop and a schoolgirl, huh? These couple's costumes are starting to make less and less sense," the employee comments, eyes darting between you and Sunghoon. 

"We're not a couple," Sunghoon responds, a little too quickly for your liking, but whatever.

The employee apologizes, embarrassed about his implications as he bags your items and wishes the two of you a safe trip home.

On the way back to Sunghoon's car, it dawns on you that Minjeong has stopped trying to get ahold of you, which is slightly worrisome considering that she's a person who wouldn't give up that easily. 

Sunghoon climbs into the backseat this time, mumbling something about needing to rest and stretch out before driving you home. He sets the bag down on the center console, grabbing a few of his items before propping himself up against the door.

You do the same, retrieving your own items from the bag before slumping into your seat. 

When you finally unlock your phone, a new voice memo from Yuna is waiting for you. Hesitantly, you hold your phone against your ear and hit play.

Yuna lets out a loud sigh, "So, you and Minjeong must have some sort of, like,  telepathic connection because she called me as soon as I hung up on you. Anyways, I told her our cousin was also at the party and was able to, uh, give you a ride home once the cops came. Oh, and I told her your phone died and that you'd call her, um,  later or in the morning. I'm not sure if she believed it, but she calmed down.

And, by the way, I meant it when I said I don't want to be involved in whatever this is after tonight. So, for everyone's sake, if something serious is going on, do not tell me about it. Get home safe."

You're not entirely sure if you deserve a sister like Yuna, who'd go against her own morals just to cover for you, but you're grateful you have her.

you [11:54 pm] : *you liked a voice memo*

you [11:54 pm] : thanks so much

you [11:55 pm] : i promise i wont involve u anymore. if minnie calls again u can just ignore it and lmk please

yuna [11:56 pm] : oh and she told me to let you know that she's safe. tho im sure that's not your biggest concern :/

Harsh but true.

You set your phone on your lap and tear open your pack of donuts, wiping away the powdered sugar that falls onto your blouse. Much like the blue raspberry slurpee, mini powdered donuts weren't exactly your go-to snack, but your options were limited, and you weren't in the mood to roam around the store any longer.

Suddenly, Sunghoon groans from the backseat and sits up, "Phone died."

Leaning over the center console, he plugs his phone into the car charger right underneath his navigation system, resting it on the dashboard before returning to his seat. 

The car falls silent, and as much as you want to start a conversation, you're not sure where to begin. There's so much you want to ask, but you refrain, biting down on your tongue so hard you're surprised the taste of blood doesn't fill your mouth.

Sunghoon leans forward again, this time resting his cheek on the side of your seat, "What'd you get?" he asks, staring down at your lap.

You turn your head to look at him, holding up the half-eaten pack of donuts for him to see.

"Can I have one?" he asks, already holding his hand out before you could even say yes.

You hand him one regardless, watching the powder fall from the pastry as he pops it into his mouth.

Your curiosity gets the best of you, and you find yourself narrowing your eyes at him as you ask, "Sunghoon, can I ask you something?"

He nods, gesturing towards the remaining donuts in a way that tells you he wants more. You hand him the remaining three, nodding back when he mumbles "Thanks" under his breath.

"How did you know that I'm allergic to peanuts?"

Sunghoon pauses, brows furrowing in utter confusion as he looks up at you, "What do you mean?"

"Earlier in the store, I was looking at the peanut candy, and you told me not to bother. I'm assuming you must've known I'm allergic, right?" You ask, fully turning around in your seat to face him.

"Um…yeah. I know."

"Okay…how?"

"I mean, was it supposed to be a secret or something?"

"What? No, of course not. Allergies are probably the one thing that shouldn't be kept secret," you respond, "I'm just curious about how you know. I don't think I've ever told you, and I can't imagine Minjeong randomly deciding to tell you."

Sunghoon awkwardly scratches the back of his neck as he avoids looking at you. It takes the tips of his ears turning pink for you to realize that he's embarrassed, which only confuses you even further.

Sunghoon shrugs, staring down at the snack you've just given him, "Whenever all of us would hang out, and there was, like, food involved, I just noticed you'd pay so much attention to the ingredients of whatever it was you were eating. At first, I thought it was a calorie thing, but you never really asked about the calories, only the ingredients."

"But, how'd you know it was peanuts specifically?" you ask, feeling embarrassed about how curious you were over something as silly as a peanut allergy.

"Remember the hockey team bake sale? The one I made those terrible brownies for?" He asks, continuing when you nod, "You were there, and I remember how excited you were to try the cookies that Jake made, but right before you bought one, you asked him if there were peanuts in them. That's when I knew."

You can't remember the last time someone had paid this much attention to you, and it's dangerous, considering how easily impressed you are by the smallest things. Sunghoon was by no means a friend of yours; you hardly knew anything about each other and often kept your interactions rather short, so his being able to pick up on your peanut allergy just by watching you was … different. Maybe even nice.

You don't even realize you've been staring at him until he stops chewing and stares back, unblinking.

You look away, retrieving your Slurpee from the cup holder and taking a long sip as Sunghoon watches.

"Can I ask you something now?" he asks.

You don't respond, side-eyeing him as you continue to sip your drink.

Sunghoon smirks, amused by your sudden silence, "Why'd you meet me in the bathroom?"

You pull the straw away from your lips, voice barely above a whisper as you respond, "To see what you wanted."

He nods, taking the cup from your hands, "You knew what I wanted," he says, pausing to take a sip of your drink, "and you still came; why?"

When you don't respond, Sunghoon lets out a loud sigh and sets your cup back down in its holder, "It's okay, YN."

"It isn't."

"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. I guess we'll never know, huh?"

This is a test of your morals, and Sunghoon knows this. Every decision you've made tonight has led you to this exact moment. There's still enough time to redeem yourself and make an excuse for your actions. You could easily lie and say that making out with Sunghoon was just a result of being tipsy and vulnerable. But now, with the two of you in his car, sobering up and coming back down to your senses, you won't be able to use those same excuses.

Realistically speaking, what are the chances of your ex's finding out? Heeseung probably wouldn't care, but Minjeong was an entirely different story.

In your defense, they've been officially broken up for three weeks and three days, so you wouldn't technically be hooking up with her boyfriend. Right?

Sunghoon must've sensed the gears turning in your head because, after a few seconds of staring at each other in silence, he leaned over the center console and pressed his lips against yours.

The kiss is softer this time, nothing like how it was in the bathroom as if he's trying to coax you in and convince you it's okay, that you're doing nothing wrong.

You find yourself slipping under his spell, eyes finally fluttering shut as he gently swipes his tongue across your bottom lip. The faint taste of alcohol is still on his tongue, but he does taste much sweeter now, like the blue raspberry slurpee he'd just had. A part of you wonders if he'd done that on purpose as if tasting better would make you enjoy kissing him like this.

He pulls away, scooting farther back into his seat, "C'mere, climb over."

You do as you're told, slipping off your shoes with Sunghoon guiding you right onto his lap as you climb into the backseat. You can't help but squirm on his lap, and he can still sense a slight hesitancy in your actions, the way you shiver when he touches you, how you initially pulled back when he tried to kiss you again.

"You're nervous," he comments, eye flickering across your face.

You shrug, holding onto his shoulders for support, "I can't help it."

Beneath you, Sunghoon reaches down to unclip the handcuffs from his belt loop, "You're making it hard to focus."

"The fuck am I supposed to do, then?!" You didn't mean to shout, but your patience was starting to run thin. You felt guilty enough as it is, and Sunghoon reminding you of how nervous you are certainly didn't make it any better.

Sunghoon rolls his eyes, undoing the handcuffs before grabbing your left hand. He tightens the cuff around your wrist, "Just trust me," he says simply. He sits up further in his seat, grabbing your cuffed wrist as he pulls down on the car's grab handle. He slips the empty cuff through the slot before gesturing for you to give him your free hand.

Fuck.

"Sunghoon…"

"Just trust me," he doesn't wait for a response, grabbing your wrist and bringing it up towards the empty cuff. It locks around your wrist with a click, causing him to smile in satisfaction. 

You're sure that with just the right amount of force, you could easily snap the handcuffs in half, but it's the thought that counts. With your arms and hands restricted towards the ceiling, all you can do is stare down at Sunghooon and await his next movement, his very calculated movement.

He presses his cold lips against your neck, simultaneously using his hands to slowly unbutton your blouse. The mark he'd left on your neck earlier was as prominent as ever, and it pleased him to know you were okay with him marking you up like this. He swipes his tongue against the sensitive spot, hardening in his pants when you squirm on top of him. 

His nails trace along the bare skin of your waist once he's finished unbuttoning your blouse, your bralette — that was a few sizes too small — fully on display for him. He's practically salivating at the site, his tongue sliding across his canines, completely in awe of your breasts spilling out of the flimsy, white material.

Sunghoon can't unclasp and slide off your bra, or else it'd be awkwardly hanging in the air, and trying to slip it through the handcuffs would take too much effort. Instead, he apologizes under his breath before his hands reach the front of your bra.

"Wait, Sunghoon—!"

Without warning, he stretches the fabric until it finally rips, seemingly pleased with himself if the cocky smirk is anything to go by. "Relax," he says, "I'll buy you a new one."

You don't have time to scold him because before you can even process what's happening, Sunghoon's tongue is swirling around your nipple. You swear at the sudden contact, arching your back and pressing your chest further into his face. It's almost embarrassing how such a simple act already had your head spinning.

His hands trail downward until they reach the hem of your skirt, slowly pushing it upwards until it's bunched around your waist. He traces the tip of his finger across your clothes cunt, pleased with how wet you've already gotten without having done much.

Your hips buck up into his hands on instinct, desperate for the friction, borderline craving it.

Sunghoon releases your perked bud in his mouth, looking up at you as he asks, "You want me to stop?"

"No, please don't." You beg.

"So this is okay then, right?"

If your wrists weren't handcuffed to the grab handle, you're sure you would've reached down and choked him for all the teasing. "Yes, Sunghoon, it's okay! Just hurry up and do something!"

Sunghoon shakes his head at you, mumbling, "So impatient." as he moves to lie flat on his back.

You stare down at him, confused, when he doesn't immediately start undoing his pants but instead positions his head right between your thighs.

It's funny, Minjeong claimed Sunghoon wasn't really into giving head and only gave it to her a handful of times during the course of their relationship, claiming he preferred to save it for special occasions.

But yet, here he is, willingly pushing your thighs further apart before pressing his lips against your clothed cunt.

The action sends shivers down your spine, and the handcuffs around your wrist suddenly feel tighter. He presses his tongue flat against you, groaning at the taste of your slick that's soaked through your panties. You grind down on him instinctively, your body trembling with anticipation as you squeeze your eyes shut.

"Fuck." You whisper, tugging at the handcuffs in frustration.

The sound of the metal clinking makes Sunghoon chuckle, pressing a final kiss against your damped underwear before mumbling, "Cute."

He makes quick work of sliding your underwear off your legs, tossing them to the 

front seat with a grunt as you wait for him to continue. Sunghoon settles himself between your thighs again, groaning in annoyance as you hover over him. "Stop fucking hovering," he demands, attempting to pull you down directly onto his face, "it's fine."

It's too intimate; you've never even sat on Heeseung's face before, and you're sure this isn't something he's done with Minjeong.

"But, I don't wanna cru- fuck!"

Sunghoon dismisses your worries, forcing you down onto his face and instantly wrapping his lips around your clit. You barely have any time to process that this is completely new territory for you, being this intimate with a man, sitting right on his face while he drags his tongue along your cunt; gathering your wetness and dragging it up towards your clit before wrapping his lips around it once more.

You let out an embarrassingly loud moan at that, leaning your head against the cold window as your face heats up. This only encourages Sunghoon even further, and his confidence grows, feeling bold enough to tease the tip of his tongue into your hole.

You jolt up at this, biting back a moan and wishing you could reach down and grab a fistful of his hair and properly ride his face. He licks another stripe up your folds, gripping your thighs and holding your body in place when you try to squirm away. 

"Stop trying to run from me," he groans into your pussy, the vibrations from his voice sending a shiver across your body. 

He presses his face further into your cunt, moaning at how much wetter you've gotten since he's started. For a man who apparently wasn't one to eat a girl out, he sure did seem desperate and eager to have you come on his face. In fact, it almost seemed as if he was doing it for his own pleasure rather than yours, which only turns you on even more.

After a few more slides of his tongue, you finally feel your orgasm approaching, your thighs tensing around Sunghoon's head.

"I know you're close," he whispers, placing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses on your inner thighs, "go ahead, use me. I know you want to."

He's practically begging at this point, big, wet eyes staring up at you in pure adoration as he sucks your clit back into his mouth. That's your breaking point, the knot in your stomach finally untying itself as your orgasm washes over you.

You let out a moan so loud that your throat hurts shortly afterward, your wrists going limp in the handcuffs as you ride out your high.

Sunghoon doesn't let up until you're practically shaking from overstimulation, your body naturally twitching and squirming away from his greedy mouth as he cleans you up. He pulls away finally, his mouth and chin completely coated with your slick as he leaves a trail of kisses on your bare thighs.

You can't help but stare down at him in awe; he looks completely dazed as if he's running off, nothing but pure desperation and lust for you. You.

"Sunghoon," you say, trying to get his attention, "I…do you keep condoms in here?"

He flutters his eyes open, shaking his head, "No, but 7/11's just down the street. I can go-"

You interrupt him with a shake of your head, "I don't wanna wait; we don't need one."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm on the pill. Just, please, fuck me already."

It's music to his ears, really.

Sunghoon slides himself back up the seat, reaching up to release you from the handcuffs. You groan at this, having gotten used to them and quite frankly enjoyed the temporary feeling of restriction.

"You liked the cuffs?" Sunghoon questions, dropping your wrists from the grab bar.

"Yeah," you admit, "I liked it more than I thought I would."

He nods at this, and you realize now that one of the cuffs is still clasped around your wrist. Sunghoon also notices this and smirks as an idea forms in his head. "Turn around."

You comply with no further questions, groaning when he suddenly pushes your body down into the seat. He brings your arms behind your back, handcuffing you once more as he lets out a sigh of pleasure. "I knew you'd like it."

Sunghoon pushes your skirt back up, straddling himself around your things after pulling his pants and boxers far enough to allow his cock to spring free. He steadies himself with a hand on your shoulder, using the other to teasingly drag his fully-hardened cock across your slick folds.

Sunghoon shivers at this, cursing at the sight as he repeats his movements. He knows he won't last much longer; he was practically seconds away from coming in his boxers just from eating you out, so he really should quit with the teasing for his own sake.

Minjeong had never allowed him to fuck her without a condom, so this type of intimacy was new and overwhelmingly good.

He finally pushes himself into you, his tip alone causing you to bite down on the leather of his seat. You already felt so full, and he wasn't even halfway inside yet.

"Ah fuck," he groans, "you're so tight, you're so…fuck." He can barely even form a sentence, biting down on his bottom lip as he further inches himself inside of you.

You're not doing any better, feeling as if you're already seconds away from your second orgasm when he's hardly even done anything. It takes a minute before he's fully inside of you, pausing before he leans down and asks, "Can I move?"

"Please, I need you to."

Sunghoon nods at this, pressing a kiss against your ear before sitting himself back up. He angles your hips off the seat but presses your chest further into it, giving you (and himself) the perfect arch to comfortably slide in and out.

The first few thrusts are slow, as expected, but just enough to get you used to his size. Even this was all too much for Sunghoon; he was already dangerously close to his orgasm.

He didn't intend on speeding up his thrusts already, but he really can't help it. Everything about this feels too good. The way your walls perfectly wrap around him, and the way you're moaning and cursing for him to keep going are overwhelmingly good.

"Fuck." He moans, squeezing his eyes shut as he presses you down further into the backseat. He pulls his cock all the way out before pushing himself back in, which you seem to enjoy. He does it a few more times, mostly to humor himself since it's something he assumed you would've been annoyed by.

"Sunghoon," you pant, "I'm close."

"Already?" He asks, pushing your hips downwards until you're lying flat on your stomach.

He tries to come off as cocky and frustrated, but he really is grateful you're already so close to your orgasm, seeing that he felt like he could burst at any given second.

You nod, "Please, keep going."

He doesn't respond, opting to remain silent as you pull his cock out of you before ramming it back in at a pace much harder and faster than before. His thrusts are sloppy and borderline desperate, the sound of skin slapping and grunts filling the air shortly afterward.

The two of you could hardly keep your eyes open, too lost in the pleasure of your approaching orgasms.

Your's hits first, and Sunghoon's follows shortly after, practically filling you up to the brim with his cum. You've never felt so full and warm, heat spreading through your entire body as you slowly calm down and regulate hour breathing.

Sunghoon doesn't feel like moving, but he does anyway, slipping himself out of you with a wince, watching his cum drip out of you and onto the seat of the car. He curses at the sight, stopping himself from leaning forward and eating it out of you.

He undoes both of the handcuffs this time, helping you sit up as you avoid eye contact with each other. "Hold on," he says, re-adjusting his pants and boxers, "I should have a towel or something in the trunk."

Sunghoon steps out of the car, returning a minute later with a towel in hand. He leans down, prepared to clean you up, until you stop him, "It's okay, I got it."

He shakes his head, "I can do it for you."

"It's fine," you say, buttoning up your shirt, "I'd prefer to do it myself, actually."

Sunghoon finally gives in, handing you the towel before leaning over the center console and retrieving your panties from the passenger seat. He waits patiently for you to finish up, instructing you to just drop the towel on the floor as he hands you your underwear.

"Hey, have you…do you think you've sobered up yet?" He asks, watching as you slip your panties back on.

"Yeah, why?"

"Before I met you in the bathroom, I took a few bites of an edible, and I think it's starting to kick in. I think you should drive."

You sigh, mostly because this was not at all what you'd been hoping he'd say. "Drive where? To your place? Then where would I go?"

"I can pay for your Uber home."

"Sunghoon, it's past midnight, and I'm a girl; taking an Uber this late is too dangerous."

"Then drive back to your place; I'll sleep in the car and drive off in the morning."

You groan, "No, Minjeong might visit me in the morning. What'll she think when she sees your car in my driveway?"

"Dammit, YN, then just spend the night at my place. You can take my bed, and I'll sleep on the couch; just please drive us somewhere, for fuck's sake."

Bickering with Sunghoon somehow doesn't annoy you; in fact, it feels almost domestic. Going back and forth like a real couple.

"Fine." You say, climbing into the driver's seat.

Sunghoon's phone falls off the dashboard in the process, now charged at twenty-eight percent, and apparently, a missed text from Minjeong that was sent a few minutes ago.

The jealousy that fills your chest is downright abnormal; Minjeong is your best friend; there's no real reason for you to feel jealous of her in the first place. 

In fact, you shouldn't feel any sort of guilt at all; it's not like they're still together. They've been broken up for three weeks and three days. 

Three weeks. And Three days.

[madaqueue]

EPISODE 3: A TASTE OF HONEY IN DEFEAT

satoru thought he would have no problem winning a bet he proposed, but a month is too long to go without a taste of anything this sweet.

themes/content: smut. edging, handjobs, mean-ish dom!reader, satoru being whiney lmao, premature ejaculation + he cums inside, light bondage (satoru receiving). (wk: 2.1k)

a/n: this is part of @luv-lies no-nut-november collab!!! so excited to have been a part of this, hope you all enjoy >:3

“You know I trust you, but don’t you think the ropes are a bit much?” Satoru giggles as you tighten the final knot around his wrists, shoulders bulging and arms stretched overhead.

“I know you trust me - it’s you I’m worried about, ‘Toru.”

“What, worried I won’t be able to keep my hands off you?” The smirk painting his features veers into a grimace as he winces, straining against the tightening rope.

“No. I’m worried you won’t be able to keep your hands off yourself.”

Pink lips draw into a pout. “Aw c’mon, you know I’ll be good! I’m the one who made this bet in the first place, remember?”

You hum as you tug his hands down, testing the strength of the woven cerulean adorning his skin. The headboard shakes with the movement.

“And yet, you were so willing to break the rules.”

It had been quite a sight, truly - your dear Satoru, splayed across the bed, whimpers and moans falling from his lips like honeyed rain. They landed heavy in your ears, sticky and sweet. When the door creaked open, he made no effort to stop the fervent motions of his fist up and down his cock. He was flushed from head to toe, too lost in his own pleasure to recognize the sound of your footsteps approaching. It was only when your hand rested atop his that he jerked up, clouded eyes turning apologetic.

“I know I wasn’t supposed to, I know, I just couldn’t wait-” he had babbled.

“It’s okay,” you purred, rubbing soothing circles into his skin. “But you knew the deal, remember? I’m the only one allowed to touch you this month, right, Satoru?”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry-”

“And how close you were to cumming, too.”

“I wasn’t going to, I swear-”

You hummed and squeezed his base, earning a gasp. “You know it’s not good to lie, either. Remember, you made this bet, sweetheart. Were you really so willing to throw it all away? To lose?”

“I wasn’t going to lose, I promise, I just needed something-”

He was getting worked up, panicked thoughts racing through his mind. He braced on his forearms to sit up, but with a purposeful push you guided him back onto the sheets.

“It’s okay, my love. If my poor baby is so needy, I’ll take care of you. I’ll give you something.”

His eyes widened when you pulled the ropes from under the bed, eyeing him like your next meal, a starving predator ready to pounce. And here was your prey, so ready for the taking, offering himself to you as a good piece of meat should.

And now, he’s tied up like one, too.

“I wasn’t even going to break the rules,” he whines impatiently.

Sitting back, you admire your work: your strong, determined Satoru spread and waiting. Trailing a finger down his stomach, his skin burns hot in its wake.

“That’s certainly not what it looked like to me.”

“I-”

“Because to me, it looked like you couldn’t handle going even a month without touching this needy little cock of yours.”

He pouts. “I’m not little,” he huffs.

A giggle bubbles from the back of your throat, bouncing past your lips.

“And besides, I can handle it, I swear! I made it almost the whole month, I did, I just-”

Tilting your head, you gaze down at him. “What, got too desperate? Poor Satoru, ‘The Strongest,’ couldn’t even follow the rules of a bet he made?”

Blue flashes against white as he rolls his eyes. One hand ruffles his hair, cooing down at him.

“It’s okay, baby, I’ll make you beg to break this silly little bet of yours.”

“Whatever,” he scoffs, hiding the way pink creeps up his neck and decorates his cheeks, stained like flower petals. He’s soft like them, too.

A light chuckle lands in the air when your palm grazes up his length. He twitches in your hold, warm skin on warm skin.

“H-hah, see?” His mouth hangs open between the words. “Told you I could handle it.”

It’s gentle touches at first, to ease him into it: slow strokes, light fingers. And yet, he’s still wrapping his throat around whimpers.

“Aw baby, I haven’t even done anything yet.”

Your lips curl into a smile, breath hot behind them. The words come out syrupy, dripping in sugar (and Satoru has always had a sweet tooth). His stomach aches in hunger - hunger for your hands, your body, your control. Whatever you plan to do to him, he’ll swallow it whole, bigger and bigger bites until his cheeks swell and all he can taste is you.

The grip around his base tightens, running up and down. Something about your skin is so much softer than his, untainted by the cruelty he lives through, only dirtied by desire. It spreads over his skin, glistening white and sticky.

When whines begin to twist through the silence, his eyelashes fluttering to bat away the impending tears, he doesn’t have to say it - he’s close.

Just as his muscles begin to tense, you rip your hand away.

There’s a choked little cry he lets out, hurt like an animal you spared from death. One that was ready for it, for the warmth and comfort it provided.

“Why’d you stop?” His voice is strained already, a high-pitched draw across his vocal cords. His eyes are sparkling and wet.

A peck to his cheek sends shivers down his spine. “Because you’re not supposed to finish, remember, silly? I’m just helping you hold up your end of the bet, after all.”

A sound like untuned violins, haunting and beautiful all the same, plays from his throat. You giggle at the music.

“C’mon, Toru - you wanted this, remember?”

“I know,” he grumbles, scrunching his nose. “Fine, fine, do whatever you want.”

You smile.

(You would have anyways)

Your gaze falls upon the aquamarine rope, the matching eyes, before trailing back down his steadying chest.

It stutters when your fingers trace up the veins of his cock.

It heaves when you cup a palm around his balls.

You squeeze.

“F-fuck,” he groans, hips lifting off the bed.

There’s a word living at the tip of his tongue, its shape burning into his mouth.

Harder.

Luckily, you know your Satoru - you know what he thinks, feels, wants. And as a lover should, you happily oblige.

The sound he makes is garbled and choked, utter nonsense. It came straight from the depths of his body, a pure animalistic response, one he couldn’t have controlled if he tried.

Already, he’s beginning to tremble in your palm - it’s getting easier to do this, make him shake like a lost leaf floating through the autumn air, held captive by the gusts of your wind. Up and down, he travels with you, because of you.

Again, you pull your hand away.

Again, he whines.

“Noooo,” he mumbles, more to himself than anything. It was automatic, the expression of displeasure, ripped from him with the loss of your warmth on his.

“What’s wrong baby? You want me to stop?” It’s more fun when he has an out, when he could say no and chooses not to. When he wants this just as badly as you. “You know you-”

“No.” It's more breath than sound. “No, please. Keep going.”

And as a lover should, you happily oblige.

Precum drips down his length, covering him in remnants of desire. They cling to his skin like silky webs, woven from devotion and need. Each slick pump of your hand up and down creates more and more and more, a beautiful pearl at his slit forming one moment only to be spread by your circling thumb in the next.

Each time you reach his base, you squeeze. Each time you reach his tip, you twist. In this dance you both twirl and breathe and feel in beat, holding on to one another with sweaty hands and tired muscles.

“Remember, you can give up whenever you want,” you coo, the sweet glue of a trap.

But Satoru doesn’t dare taste, doesn’t dare step inside - he knows better.

(Right?)

“I’m not - fuck - giving up.” He tries to throw you a smile, but it lands at your feet.

Fists clench into each other, nails digging into his palms. You almost feel bad, the way he’s beginning to writhe within the ropes. It must hurt, you think, the texture soft but never soft enough - it’s nothing compared to you. In spite of his anguish, he knows better than to give up this easily. You haven’t even really begun, not yet.

When his eyelashes flutter closed, you know to pull your hand away.

He’s getting more subtle, the only sign of his impending pleasure a soft flicker of white and blue. But you recognize it, of course - his pleasure lives everywhere in him. In the way his breath catches, in the way his skin burns hot, in the way he gets all too loud or all too quiet.

There’s barely a sound this time. Instead, he just frowns, displeasure spreading across his sweet features. His lower lip sticks out, and he stares at you with cloudy eyes.

“I know, baby, I know. But this is what it takes if you want to win.”

The words don’t ease the growing ache in his core, but your voice does. Every vowel blurs the pain, every consonant gives him something to cling to. He’ll climb himself out of insanity on your breath.

Again, you wrap around him and drag him closer to the edge. Unable to pull his gaze away, he stares down it, looming, waiting. The free fall must feel nice, the wind against his skin, for a moment before he hits the ground. But with a firm hand on the back of his head, you just hold him there. It’ll be his choice whether he decides to jump. Or rather, when he decides to jump.

Another choked groan leaks from his lips when you pause. There are no words left for him to say, nothing but the agony of desire. He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut as if it’ll make the leap any less tempting.

Hushed whispers, not quite praise, tingle his mind. Little hums of “I know,” or “there, there,” dance from your throat, and he writhes.

Distress always looked so pretty on him. Pretty tears, pretty red cheeks, pretty pouts and pretty cries. Perhaps it’s a curse that he looks like a fallen angel when he weeps - if he looked more grotesque, you wouldn’t feel the urge to bring him back into the jaws of pain.

But he lets you comfort him nonetheless, preen his wings and kiss his tears.

This time, when you stop, he thrashes. His skin burns, crisp like it had been warmed by the sun for too long. Everything is too tight, his hands, his arms, his shoulders, his stomach. They need to be loosened; they need to be released.

“Please.”

It’s so quiet, it’s almost not a word, just little sounds from his tongue.

“What was that, baby? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

Tears stream from glossy eyes when he looks at you. His lips quiver as he speaks.

“Please, I wanna cum. Please.”

The smile spreading across your face is cold and knowing; he looks beautiful as he falls.

“I know you want to, but-”

“I lose.” He’s panting, gasping through the plea. “I lose, I give up, I don’t care, just, please.”

Hot tears melt beneath your thumb as you swipe them away. His mouth hangs open, as though he could swallow the air, hold it inside him and let that ease the aching. But the only thing that can help him now is you, the only thing he can stomach.

“Okay, baby. I’ll take care of you.”

A loose smile flows across his face, easy like gentle waves lapping at the corners of his thoughts. The sentence itself barely makes sense to him at this point, garbled in his lust-clouded mind. But he knows you’ll help him now; he welcomes the push over the edge.

Straddling his lap, you guide him to your entrance. Sticky and hot, he presses into you. Just as his tip enters your warmth, he hurls himself into the wind.

Everything in his body trembles, muscles tightening and contracting out of time. Eyelashes flutter, whimpers dance like petals as he comes undone.

The only thing he can do is twitch inside of you, pearly strings pulsing with each erratic breath.

Finally, he opens his eyes to find you smiling. Warm lips press along his cheeks, dried tears salty on your tongue.

“Well, you certainly lost this time,” you hum, resting your forehead against his; he looks at you like you created the earth itself, your breath in the wind and your heartbeat in the sun. “But there’s always next year, right?”

[maroonpascal]

Sweet nothin’

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader

Summary: nights are never easy for Joel, his mind being flooded with memories, but luckily he doesn't have to fight them alone anymore

Warnings: jackson!joel, soft!joel, mentions of nightmares, trauma, anxiety and insomnia, use of pet names (babe, darling, my love, my sunshine)

Word count: 1.8k

Notes: wrote this literally when I couldn’t sleep after that episode and I needed some comfort, so here we are 🧸 title is from “Sweet Nothing” by Taylor Swift

Divider creds: @ianrkives

|| MY FICS ||

“Joel, babe, come to sleep.”

You’re leaning on the door frame of the living room, the dim light bathing him as he’s at the table still working on something you don’t quite understand, and he has been at that since the afternoon.

He’s still tinkering there, wearing his cute glasses and his hands managing the tools; you know he needs this at night sometimes, as the nights are always the worst. Sometimes he’s afraid of going to sleep, as the nightmares can have the best of him, disrupting his sleep and waking him up; Joel would sit in bed panting, chest pounding and his heart beating strongly against the ribcage, holding his own hand there before yours, before you can embrace him and kiss him behind his neck, nuzzling there, whispering that it was all a bad dream, but he could rarely go back to sleep after one of those. The only thing that works is being hugged by you, he enjoys that, going pliant in your arms and letting himself rest.

“Joel.” You call him again, breaking that silence and now going closer to the table, him taking off his glasses to take a look at you, the way he’s so careful with them making you break a smile, “Hey.” You say softly when he’s in your reach, your hands going behind his neck and tangling your fingers through his curls, him closing his eyes for a moment, sighing at the soft touch.

“Hey.” He repeats your word, looking up at you and you notice all the tiredness in his eyes and all over his face. He’s working so hard for the benefit of the city, determined to do so much good, almost as a way to redeem himself from his past.

Your right hand reaches his eyebrows, smoothing your thumb over the space between them, taking away the furrowed look, Joel softening his eyes immediately at your touch, “Aren’t you tired, babe?” You ask, him rising his shoulders, lips crooked in half a smile, “Just a little, but you know that this helps me,” he presses a kiss on the inside of your wrist, beard tickling your skin, “And you’ve helped me too, so many times,” his dreamy look on you, and you can read in his eyes how he’s thinking of all the nights spent lost among the bedsheets, how you surely knew how to make him forget about everything else.

“Should I help you too tonight?” You jokingly say, keeping your tone light, as you brush your hand behind his neck and smoothing the other one on the collar of his checkered shirt, where the very first buttons have been left open, giving you a sight of his cleavage. But you know from the tired look in his eyes that all you can do for him tonight is just convince him to go to bed and then hugging him to sleep.

He sighs over your skin, his lips warm on your wrist, “Not tonight, darlin’,” he lets out, as you cup his face with both hands and brush your thumb over that scar, before pressing a kiss on his forehead, letting him know without a word that you know how he feels. “But I would love if you could hug me until I will fall asleep.” He mutters, as you beam already at the thought of doing that, and being so happy with the fact that he is so outspoken now about what he actually wants, what can make him feel at ease and comforted, not shying away anymore from asking what it can make him feel better.

“Of course, my love, of course.” You bow on his lips, kissing him softly as you feel a hand going over your waist, holding you gently.

You take that hand in yours when you part from his lips, him finally leaving that table and letting you guide him until your bedroom, reaching the warm lights of it.

“’M sorry that I’m keeping you up so late these nights.” He says, you squeezing his hand back, letting him sit on the edge of the bed, “These dreams, no, these nightmares that I have-” his voice breaks a little, and you’re ready to pick up the pieces by wrapping your arms around his shoulders, letting him rest his head over your chest, actually feeling like you’re wrapping a safe around him to shield him from all the nightmares, from all the evil that there is in this world.

“It’s okay, Joel, it’s okay,” you utter, placing a kiss over his curls, “I’m the one choosing to stay up with you. There is no other place where I would rather be, only here with you, no matter what.”

He lightly nods on your chest, a hand gripping your t-shirt, anchoring himself to you, his safe harbour.

The nightmares most of the times are flashbacks, moments that wouldn’t leave his mind, not even while being asleep, not giving him peace. And somehow, the only peace he has is you. He feels that sense of peace as he’s holding onto you right now, feeling your fingers through his curls and thumb behind his neck, circling in a soothing movement. Your heartbeat is the best symphony he could ever hear, it’s what brings him home every single time, each heartbeat allowing himself to get away from the cruel reality and hiding somewhere else, a place where nothing could ever hurt him or hurt you.

And he wishes he could make his heart stop drumming so hard against his chest, that he could connect it with the rhythm of your heart, calm and soothing.

You can feel his heartbeat against you, strong as ever, “Joel, no one can hurt you, you are safe.” Your whisper followed by a kiss on his curls.

Your hand reaches over his back, trying to ease his anxiety by rubbing it there, feeling so much tension.

“I’m here, my sunshine, I’m here.” You repeat, him actually rising up his head at you at the word sunshine, a little smile drawn on his lips.

“Nothing could ever hurt you again.” And he really lets those word sink into his mind, become part of it, leaving somewhere else the baggage of trauma that he carries with him.

A hand goes through his curls, and you thank him mentally for having let those curls grow, so soft under your fingertips.

Slowly you can feel his grip on you becoming less strong just like his heartbeat is coming back to normal, his calm breathing over you neck now, brushing your thumb over his forehead.

“Feeling better?” You ask, pressing a kiss on his head, as you still cradle him in your arms.

You get a slow nod from him, feeling his thumb brushing over your hip, still slightly holding you, “Yes, thank you.”

That is all that matters to you, because it really doesn’t matter that sometimes you have to stay up a little longer with him to give him some of that peace he searches and aches for so desperately, you could do that again and again, and you’re sure that you will always do, never trading that for something else. Everyone has traumas in this world but you knew even before getting together with him that his trauma was really heavy, that it doesn’t heal in one night, that it takes patience and a lot of time. And you happen to have lots of that.

“Finally feelin’ tired,” he utters, leaving your hips and looking up at you, the golden in his eyes making you feel a wave of warmth over you.

You press another kiss on his forehead, him blinking his eyes slowly at you, like cats would do, “Let’s go to sleep then, alright?” You check in, waiting for him to nod before climbing the bed and then waiting for him to come lay down next to you, under the warm blankets.

You close the distance with him when you press your lips over his, him pulling you even closer with an arm around your waist, your bodies coming together like magnets.

“You are my North Star.” His words fall softly from his lips onto yours, your caress gentle on his beard, “Thank you for always bringing me home.”

“You are my whole universe, Joel.” You reassure him, him sinking a little more on the pillow, and you swear your could see really the whole universe in his eyes.

He presses a kiss on your forehead, hand hovering on your cheek; his thumb brushing on your skin, as your hand goes wrapping around his arm, until reaching his shoulder, rubbing it a bit there.

“Just turn around, babe,” you say softly over his his cheek, leaving a kiss there as you brush away a curl from his eyes, him nodding and being so content about the way you call him “babe”, how it feels so right to him and so endearing.

He does as told, and you soon cocoon on his side, wrapping an arm around him, landing it on his chest, rubbing it a little there, the heartbeat under your palm telling you how finally relaxed he is right now.

And Joel really thinks that he couldn’t ask for more, as he sinks in your hug, sighing at the way you land kisses behind his neck, carefully placing each one with so much tenderness. He never thought he could ever experience such softness again in his life or that he even deserved to have it, as he had thought for such a long time that he wasn’t deserving of that, that somehow no one would have ever dared to be with him.

And that is why he cherishes every single moment, every single joy that he has with you, he puts it in a sacred place carved in his heart, hoping that nothing will ever take that away; being hugged to sleep definitely goes into that place, it is probably his favourite thing, how he can allow himself to let his guard down, and not be in charge of anything, but letting someone else protect him and shield him, both metaphorically and physically.

“I love you so much, Joel.” He feels your words on his neck, your nose brushing on his skin, and his chest reverberates with his answer, “I love you too, darlin’” his words coming out slow and slurred, the sleep having the best of him right now.

He lets himself fall more into your arms, feeling your heartbeat behind his ribcage and for the hundredth night he thanks whoever put you in his path, because life has never been the same ever since and it never will.

And that is the life he’s settling for, a slow life, with easy mornings with shared coffee, patrolling together in the early morning and then coming back home together, him being able to tinker with his stuff and then knowing that at night he will always end up in his safe space, that your arms will always be ready to hug him and bring him home.

[ruinix]

Quinn actively losing his shit because you're sucking his dick

Lovely anon, wherever you are, I hope you’re eating well…I humbly present you what you asked… 🫣maybe…I’ve gone off the rails. I guess it's time for Q to get blown. [side note: I have taken ‘actively’ to my fave words. I liked it, a bit too much especially after seeing your ask. 🤣]

Payback

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Oral sex (m receiving) / Blowjob, Hair tugging, Choking (on dick) / gagging, slight Overstimulation (m), reiterating the ask: Quinn is LOSING it 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↔️

Count: 2161 words | Masterlist

You’re kidding. You’ve got to be kidding him. Quinn shudders as you crawl from his lap, nudging his thighs to spread. You perch right there, panting with your lips slightly parted. You’re making him lose his mind.

He can’t focus on the game he has on the TV. Not with you gazing at him while sitting on your knees. Not with you just resting your cheek against his thigh. Not with your silence and your tantalizing desire for him. Not when your tongue darts out and licks your lower lip as your eyes slowly track down his face, his chest, his abdomen, his crotch.

His dick twitches at your attention. You notice it, smirking and looking so smug. Seriously. Is this a test? Are you testing him? He’s going to fail. He knows it.

Where the fuck did this come from?

Quinn is not sure.

You two were just watching game replays, leaning against each other. When you complained that you were bored, extremely bored that you were smooshing his face with your hands, Quinn let you take the rein of the other TV. No need for him to watch multiple games when the Love of his life was bored. It takes you ten minutes to settle on one Netflix show which Quinn also watched—half-watched, he still got hockey plays to analyze—with you.

After an episode, you were on his lap, legs tightly pressed against his waist, arms wrapped around his nape, head resting on his shoulder. Quinn was just half-lying and half-sitting. He’s just extremely relaxed with your weight on him, with your skin underneath his hands which he slipped in after you settled, with your heat comforting his soul.

It was just you two basking on each other’s company. It was just a simple lazy day. It was supposed to be.

Then suddenly, you parted from him. He thought you would just get water or a snack—you like snacks. But no. You slipped down him, made yourself all too comfy between his legs. You’re seducing him like a minx. Like a mermaid drawing in sailors into the water. But you’re not singing—you don’t have to, no. You’re just…staring at him, panting so subtly and your eyes extremely hooded. Those are more than enough to seduce him.

“You should watch your game,” you mutter.

‘How will I do that?’ is what he wanted to ask, because literally how.

You lift a brow at him as if to say, ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’

You’re taunting him, aren’t you? There’s no way you’re not. It’s working. His cock aches. He wants nothing else but to fuck your pussy. You’re probably wet. Not probably. He bet you are. Especially now that your eyebrows meet, your teeth dig into your lower lip, subtly shifting on your knees.

Oh, he knows you so well. He knows he can just kiss you and you’ll fold and forget whatever evil plan you’re brewing. He can—

“Quinn,” you scold, pouting which means you’re begging.

You are begging him. That’s a privilege Quinn wants to never lose.

He clears his throat, trying to ease the tension enveloping his whole body. It’s so hard to resist because he really wants to kiss you now. He needs a kiss. Just a kiss. One small peck. Or your tongue against his—

Releasing a sigh, exercising restraint, he forces his body to relax and look at the screen. Instead of analyzing every play—imagining what to evade, how to get the puck, how to score—like he did before, he sees nothing. Just fucking mush of blur on ice. Nothing makes sense anymore because of you.

He's so hyperaware of how you nuzzle your cheek against his thigh. So aware of your tiny compliment of how his sweatpants are the softest—probably plotting to take it for your own. So aware of the kiss you press right fucking there—over his pants yet he still feels it like it’s your lips on his skin. Of your delicate fingers running over his shins. Over his knee. Over his thighs. So aware that you’re up, coming closer, thumbs rubbing circles on his inner thighs.

He can feel everything you do.

And he can’t do shit.

Not yet at least.

Quinn grips the armrest and the nearby pillow. His knuckles turn white. He swallows the knot in his throat, gritting his fucking teeth when you graze his cock, then you grab it over his pants.

“Fuck,” he grunts. He looks up to the ceiling, stopping the urge to thrust into your hand. Meeting your eyes, he pleads, “My Love, what do you need?”

He needs answers. He needs you to say what the fuck you want from him because he’s going to come from the anticipation itself.  He needs your words, so he can at least control himself.

“I want to suck your cock, Quinn,” you say so breathlessly, so beautifully, so innocently like you’re just asking for sweets when you’re already lying on the bed and ready to sleep. “Please?”

Holy shit.

“Anything you want,” he nearly stumbles over his words. His heart is lurching so hard in his chest as you smile at him.

So pretty. Your eyes are gleaming with excitement. No way. Really? Quinn might faint if you don’t stop looking so adorable just because he said yes.

“Then take your pants off already, handsome.”

Quinn follows, barely able to throw it behind him because you’re on him, pressing kisses on his thighs. Your tongue darting out as you lick and kiss and suck on his skin. One thigh after another. Back and forth. Trailing up. Leaving your marks. You’re turning him into mush. He’s so hard that pre-cum dribbles down his length.

“You smell so good, Quinn,” you mutter against his skin. For every kiss, you say, “I love you.”

He’s burning. Every breath against his skin. Every touch. Every lick. All of them leaves a trail of fire that shoots right to his dick. He’s so hard. So hard that all he can do is lay back, forearm covering his face, locking his body down. If he doesn’t, he’ll be pouncing on you.

You don’t want that for fuck’s sake. You want to suck him off. You’ll get that. Sure. But why do you need to worship his body like he does with yours…

Realization dawns on Quinn.

You’re worshiping him.

His heart is racing like he has been running mile after mile after mile. Like warhorse destined to run to its death because its heart would not handle the exhaustion of the run that it was ordered to, of the run that will be its last. However, death doesn’t await Quinn. No. What awaits him is you. Just you. Especially you.

So, he watches you, panting, rasping, “I love you.”

“I know,” you chuckle. “You can touch me, Quinn. You know what I like.”

You don’t even let him reply or process what you said. You simply lick his fucking tip, tongue flattening over his slit, taking his pre-cum.

The growl that escapes him is downright animalistic.

He wants this to last but he doubts it, because as you ran your tongue from his base to his tip, he’s already seeing stars.

You’re a savage. Cruel. So cruel. You’re just giving him kitten licks now. What the fuck? He thought you wanted to suck him. Are you playing with him? He can’t play games right now.

Tangling his fingers with your hair, tugging at it impatiently so you’ll look at him, Quinn tries his best to meet your eyes, but you persist with your torture. When you trace once fucking vein with your slippery tongue, he has physically pull you back. He’s going to come.

“That’s mean,” you whine. “Don’t get in my way, Quinn.”

“I’m gonna come,” he grunts, flinching when your hand pushes up his shirt, flattening over his abdomen. “Stop teasing me, my Love.”

Quinn’s basically whimpering. He’s aware you haven’t even started yet. He’s acting like this is the first time. It’s not. You really did shake him up with this unprovoked torture. Out of fucking nowhere.

“Oh?” You grin, moaning when he tugs on your hair again. “You want me to stop?”

You can’t stop. He’ll explode. It will hurt. He’s already hurting. Why the fuck did he pull you away? Oh right, he’ll come if he didn’t.

“No,” he says too quickly, voice quivering.  He lets go of your hair, holding his shirt for you. He begs, “Don’t stop.”

You finally start, sucking around his crown, greedily taking every drop of his weeping cock. Your eyes are closed yet Quinn feel as though you are gazing down at him from your throne. His Queen. His Love.

The way you’re focusing on him, moaning for every suck, is taking him out. It’s like you’re savoring him. Oh, fuck. You are.

You’re taking him so well.

You feel so good.

He can’t think straight. Not when you take half of his dick, creating a delicious suction that has his eyes groaning and moaning helplessly. Not when he feels your tongue flattening on his sensitive underside. Not when he can feel the vibrations of your moans. Not when you suddenly open your eyes to see what you’re doing to him. Not when your hand wraps around the rest of him that you couldn’t reach yet. Not when you made him put one foot between your legs so you can hump him.

You’re so wet that you’re soaking through your little shorts.

You’re gonna kill him.

Now, you’ve done it. When you bob down his length, taking more of him, he just thrusts into your heated mouth. His hand is over your head, pulling down much harsher, hitting the back of your throat.

He’s desperate for more.

The sounds of you gagging on him make him mutter a ‘sorry’. But he doesn’t mean it at all. You are teasing him so fucking much and taking your sweet time.  Both of you know that.

He starts using your beautiful lips, your mouth, your throat.

“Fuck,” he pants, shaking his head to clear it but he can’t.

He really can’t.

Good. Perfect. You feel so amazing around him.

He can’t help chasing after the pleasure of fucking your sweet mouth.

You look so pristine doing so. Sure, your cheeks are red and tear-stained, but—shamefully—he likes seeing you all ruffle up for him. Your hair is so messy in his grip. You’re drooling around him. Your nails dig into his thighs now—no longer teasing his member, because you can’t when he’s using you like this. Your hips messily roll, trying to match his rhythm, chasing you high desperately like him.

You’re so pretty. How can you be so beautiful? On your knees, yet he feels like he is on his knees for you. Always doing your bidding. Always receiving your grace. Your permission.

He’s so lucky.

“My Love,” Quinn grits, vision spotting at the edges. He warns, “Close.”

You up your ante. Your tongue swirls against his underside. The vibrations from your hums.

“Mmmfuck,” Quinn groans.

He can’t help but force you down, pushing his cock deeper as he spills hot cum down your throat. Spurt after spurt. He swears he blacks out for a brief second because you are sucking and gulping whatever he gives you.

He tries to get you off, give you your whole airway, but hell, you keep on going, going, and going. Not letting him get fully soft.

No. Seriously. Are you trying to kill him? It’s like you’re sucking all his soul, making him sag against the couch, blood pumping harder. He swears he hears you sob—which sends torturous vibration all over his fucking body, not just his cock—like you’re disappointed he can’t give you more cum.

He needs at least a couple of seconds to rest and get his shit together.

Your eyes meet his as you finally let his sensitive cock out with an obscene pop. With a pout, lips glistening with drool, you mutter, “More?”

That made him fucking hard.

Fine.

Fuck a couple of seconds.

If his World want his cum, you will, but this arrangement won’t do. It’s not fair. You can have your fill, and he can’t? The simple thought of just coming alone makes his heart ache. Like something’s missing after just had one of most intense orgasm—which is always the latest orgasm he has with you—in his life. He’s not used to this.

He needs to taste you on his tongue.

He would rather eat you out for hours, but you want this.

So, Quinn will just compromise. Good thing that you’re already fucking horny humping his foot. He’ll just persuade you to a different position where he can feast on you as well. By the way you shuddered, resting your head over his thigh, it won’t be a hard proposition to sell.

-> Next (Part 2: Fifteen)

[writingsbytee]

THE HOTLINE

SEX OPERATOR TERRY RICHMOND x BLACK FEM READER

*Remember, you are in charge of your own consumption. 18+ up audiences only; minors, please don’t interact!* THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION AND HAS NOT BEEN PROOFREAD

*Please do not plagiarize, repost, or steal my work. This doesn’t count for re-blogs!*

SUMMARY: Set in the early 2000s. Taking your best friend’s tipsy advice, you decide to call a sex hotline for help with dirty talk and your overall insecurities surrounding sex. When you call your local sex hotline, you get more than what you bargained for when Terry pics up the other line. 

PAIRING: Terry Richmond x Blaire (reader)

WARNINGS: 18+; explicit dirty talk, mutual masturbation

AUTHOR’S NOTE: My brain is being CONSUMED by Aaron right now, so enjoy this piece that's been sitting in my drafts for months because I was too scared to finish it!

WORD COUNT: 3.7k

PART 2

TAGLIST

@blackgurlnhermoods @theereina @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @uzumaki-rebellion @keehendrixx @keyaho @megamindsecretlair @dxddykenn @pinkkycherrishh @pinkkycherrish @episodes-ff @kimuzostar @urfavblackbimbo @kianaleani @shallipii @pocketsizedpanther @mymindisneverhere @onherereading @nayaesworld @earthchica @simplyzeeka @skyesthebomb @gg-trini @blyffe @melalsworld @mogul93 @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @sweettea-and-honeybutter @notapradagurl7 @miyuhpapayuh @playgurlxoxo @yassbishimvintage @dbaileyblog @jimmybutlrr @versaceslutz @ruewritesoccasionally @kaylalb @rose-bliss

Divider: @anitalenia

“I’m sorry Blaire, I just don’t think we’re sexually compatible,”Devin, your now ex, says. Popping the top off a bottle of Don Julio, you start to make yourself a drink. 

“Okay, you can see yourself out” you say, not even bothering to look at him.

“So that’s it? We’re just done?!” Devin shouts.

“Well according to all the bitches you’ve been talking to, this is long overdue. So Devin, like I said, please get the fuck out of my house,” I look up at him, flashing a sickeningly sweet smile.

“Good luck finding a man who’ll fuck a frigid bitch like you,” Devin snarled, grabbing his coat. 

You rolled your eyes and scoff, trying to act like his words don’t phase you. The rapid beat of your heart says otherwise. “Just get the fuck out,” you say, now bored with this interaction. Devin huffs more insults at you as he grabs the rest of his shit, leaving for good. When you hear the click of my front door, you lock it, grab your drink and settle into the sofa, cutting on the TV. 

You’re on your third drink and feeling a little tipsy, when your home phone rings from it place on the coffee table. A small smile graces your face when I see your best friend Nina’s name on the caller ID. 

Blaire: “Hello?”

Nina: “So, how’d it go?”

Blaire: sighs “We never even made it that far. He broke up with me.”

Nina: “He’s a fucking asshole! All because you and sex don’t have a good relationship?”

Blaire: “Apparently, we weren’t sexually compatible. I mean, he never made me feel comfortable. Never tried to get me in the mood, I’m not just a ‘get up and go’ kind of girl. I need romance, sexual tension, and desire. Devin never tried to help me overcome my insecurities around sex, as long as he got off it was fine.”

Nina: “I’m so sorry boo, you deserve so much better than that!”

Blaire: *voice breaking* “I don’t know what’s wrong with me! I don’t want to be like this forever, broken”

Nina: “You are not broken. You just haven’t found anyone who you’ve felt vulnerable enough with to let that side of you come out. Wait, have you tried calling a sex hotline?”

You nearly spit out your drink.

Blaire: “You’re kidding right? No I haven’t tried one, I wouldn’t even know what to say”

Nina: “That’s the thing they’ll do all the prompting for you. It’s helped me just overcome the underlying embarrassment that I’ve had with dirty talk. You should definitely give it a go Blaire. What do you have to lose?”

You contemplated the idea, it never occurred to you to try a sex hotline for your chronic bedroom shyness. What the hell, it couldn’t hurt and, if it turns out to be a complete failure you won’t call ever again. 

Blaire: “Okay, give me the number.”

It’s 11:30 and you’re settled in bed in an oversized tee and fuzzy socks. Twisting up your light pink hair into a claw clip, you flop onto your stomach, turning on the TV. Your  twinkling lights reflect off your tumbler, bathing your room in an ethereal glow. The crumbled piece of paper sits on your nightstand, taunting you. Worrying your lip between your  teeth, you try to weigh the pros and cons. 

“Fuck it,” you mumble, reaching for your phone and the number. With shaky fingers you dial the number, your heart rate skyrocketing when you hear the tell tale dial tone. 

“Thanks for calling ‘the hotline’, how can we help you come today?”, a sultry woman’s voice answers the phone.

“I- I don’t really know what I need,” you say, a slight tremble in your voice.

“Well that’s okay sweetie, what do you want to get accomplished tonight?” the mysterious woman asks. 

“I just want to feel more comfortable talking dirty, and taking initiatives when being intimate. I’m tired of feeling sub-par when it comes to sex. I want to be desired like every other woman” you  said, twirling the phone cord around your finger. 

“Okay, I think I have someone for you. Are you interested in men or women?” She asks.

“Men please,” you say, timidly.

“Perfect! Terry’s going to knock the shyness right out of you. Hold a minute while I connect you. Just remember sweetie, relax and have fun.” With that, she disconnects our call and I hear the beeps of her transferring me. 

There’s a pause on the other end before you hear a throat clear, “Hello?”, a voice that sounds like melted velvet bleeds its way through your phone speakers almost causing you to drop it.

“H- Hi”, you say, the nerves clear as day in your voice. 

“Hey now, don’t be nervous, we're friends, aren’t we baby?”immediately your pussy quivers at the tone of his voice.Who knew a man could sound so sexy? Just the sound of his voice alone was enough to melt the panties of every woman in a five mile radius.

“Sorry, I’ve just never done anything like this before”you said, nervously.

“Well, let’s start slow. I’m Terry, and you are?” Terry asked.

“I’m Blaire. It’s nice to meet you Terry” you say shyly. You hear a raspy chuckle on the other end of the line before Terry says, “Pretty name, and I know the face matches.” Terry stopped tossing the stress ball between his fingers. Something in her voice caused him to lean forward, wanting to hear more, know more about the stranger with the voice like silk.

“What brings you to my little corner of the world, beautiful?”Terry asks, a curious frown on his face. This didn’t sound like one of the usual women he’d talk to. She sounded softer, sweeter, like she had no business calling a sex hotline.  Normally, he’s not supposed to ask for names. Keeping the anonymity was a  part of the thrill for most people, but he also wanted to know your name for his own personal stalker-ish reasons. 

You groan, an embarrassed laugh leaving your lips, “My boyfriend broke up with me today because we aren’t ‘sexually compatible’”

Terry feels his frown deepen in sympathy, “I’m sorry to hear that love. Break-ups are never easy, and let’s face it if you guys aren't ‘sexually compatible’, he probably couldn’t make you come anyway.”

A satisfied smirk makes its way onto Terry’s face when he hears your laugh on the other end of the phone.  

“C’mon sweetheart, tell me I’m wrong,” Terry coaxed, wanting to hear more of your voice. A dramatic sigh leaves your lips as you flip over.

“You’re right. He never made me feel anything south of the equator, which is probably why the sex was horrible. Like not even a twinge,” you finished with a giggle, the liquor getting to you. 

“Well I hope I’m more successful,” Terry says, his voice dropping an octave. You’d only been on the phone with him for a few minutes, but his voice was already working its magic on you. The flush of heat, leading to the gentle flip of your belly. A welcome feeling that you thought might never return. 

“You’re already doing more than he ever did,” you mumble, getting up. 

“Oh am I?” Terry asked, the smirk on his face beginning to darken. He was going to have fun with you.

The silence on your end of the phone was beginning to stretch. Your mind begins to wander, wondering if you made the right decision.

“I’m sorry! This is my first time doing something like this and I don’t know how I should act.”

“Just be yourself baby. I’ll take the lead if that’s okay with you?” Terry asks. He can already feel his balls tightening. Her voice, her innocence, it was beginning to affect him.

“I’d like that, thank you, Terry” you say, settling deep into the comfort of your bed. Your plush pillows surround you while your silk sheets rub against your freshly shaved body. 

“What are you doing now?” Terry asked. Another giggle left your lips as you replied, “Laying in bed watching jeopardy, and talking to you of course.”

“I see we have something in common, I’m a Jeopardy fan myself. Now, tell me beautiful, what are you wearing?” Terry asks, his voice dropping an octave. You feel yourself dampen between your legs at the question. 

“Just an oversized t-shirt and fuzzy socks,” you say your voice taking on a breathy tone.

“I want you to do something for me,” Terry asks. He wanted to make sure you were comfortable.

“That depends, what do you need me to do Terry?” you ask, a smirk slowly spreading across your face. 

“You’ll let me know if anything I say makes you uncomfortable, yeah?” Terry asks. 

A small hum leaves your lips, your horniness hits you all at once. Blanketing your brain in a haze, “Yes, Terry. I can do that,” your voice already taking on a breathy tone. A low groan leaves Terry’s lips on the other side of the phone. He flexes his hand, itching to wrap it around your throat. 

“Good, I want you to relax for me baby, can you do that?” Terry said, palming his hardening dick.

“Can you help me relax Terry? I’m sound wound up,”you say, not knowing where this burst of confidence came from. It must be the liquor, you thought. 

“Easy love, just breathe for me yeah? Do you want me there with you? So I can rub you down, feel your muscles relax and loosen under my touch. Imagine us lying together, skin pressed close, hearts beating in tandem. I can make you feel so good baby.”Terry coaxed, his own breathing slowing to match yours. His words painted a comforting picture in your mind. You could feel your nipples beginning to harden under the thin sleep shirt. 

Your breathing picked up, his words, his voice igniting something in you that you thought had long been extinguished. Desire. Your body started to warm as horniness hazed your vision. 

“Mm, I wish I could see your face, Terry. I would love to see who’s behind the voice that has my panties so wet,”you purred. Terry’s eyes widened on his side. Your increasing confidence was turning him on, making him hot under the collar. 

“Damn, baby I wish I could see you too. I’m loving this confidence, now tell me sweetheart are you relaxed?” Terry asks. He raises up from his lounge chair in his studio, yanking down his sweats, boxers, and grabbing his baby-oil. 

“What can I say? You bring it out of me. I’d be more relaxed if you were here with me, but this will have to do for now,” you tease. 

“ I love how you’re opening up for me baby.”Terry said. His balls aching with a need to release. You were doing a number on him and you didn’t even know it. Sure he got off with a client every one in a while, but there was something about you that drew him in. Making him want to know more about you, and not just sexually. 

“Are you wet right now pretty girl?” Terry asks, his hand coming up slowly to stroke his dick.

“If I wasn’t I am now,” you say with a slight giggle.

‘That’s my girl,” Terry chuckles. “Put two fingers in your mouth and swirl them around. Let me hear it,” 

A nervous laugh leaves your lips, “You want to hear it, Terry?” Terry groans at the way your name leaves his lips. “Yes baygirl, I want to hear every noise you make. I want to know what I do to you, how I make you feel. Every moan you release is all mine, so you better make sure I fucking hear it.”

A whimper leaves your lips at the dominant tone that Terry’s switched to. As if on autopilot, you bring your hand up to your lips and slide two fingers in. The slick wet noises of your fingers being wet by your tongue travel from your ears to Terry’s. A small moan releases from you at the pure nastiness of it all. Your drool practically leaking down to your wrist. 

“Listen to you, moaning already. You haven’t even touched that pussy for me yet. Blaire, is she wet for me?” Terry groans. His dick bobbed with attention, begging him to wrap his fist around it and tug. 

“I’m so fucking wet, Terry. My thighs are sticking together, when can I touch myself baby? I need to touch myself,” you moaned around your fingers. 

“Soon baby, take that shirt off for me, I need you naked for what I have planned,” Terry rips his own shirt off. His chocolate nipples tighten as they meet the cool air. 

“Rub your nipples for me Blaire. Tease them, tug at them, coat them in your drool until they look like shiny hershey kisses” Terry’s voice had taken on a hard edge, he was getting close and he barely touched himself. As he heard the sweet mewls you released he knew he needed you, and not just for phone sex. 

“You’re doing things to me baby. I usually don’t get like this but I need this, I need you. Can I have you Blaire? Will you be mine?” Terry sounded like a desperate man, begging for pussy but he didn’t care.

“Yess baby I’m yours, I’m yours!,” a high pitched moan leaves your lips as you tweak your right nipple a little too hard. The pain sent a jolt of pleasure right down to your clit. You couldn’t believe yourself, you were opening like a flower to a man you’d never met. 

“Your fingers are now mine baby girl, visualize me tracing my hands along your inner thighs, tracing patterns. Grabbing onto your luscious thigh kneading and tugging, slowly making my way upward, but not close enough to where you want me.”Terry voice lowers, the huskiness of it sounds like a growl. 

“Can I touch myself please Terry? I’m so wet” your moans spurring him on. 

“Can’t say I’m surprised baby. You’ve been wet since you heard my voice haven’t you?” Terry purred, his voice a seductive rumble. “Take a minute and focus on how wet you are. Feel it pooling between your legs, dripping down your ass, and wetting up your sheets. Feel how your body responds just at the thought of me, of what I plan to do to you when I finally get you alone.” Terry’s breath hitched as he listened to your needy whines and whimpers. 

“You want to touch yourself, don’t you baby?” Terry asks. Your reply is almost instant, “Yes please Terry! Can I?”

“Go ahead baby, give yourself some relief. But just know it won’t compare to how my fingers will feel, my lips, and my dick in that wet ass pussy,” his voice thick with need. “Make sure I hear everything, every moan, every gasp, the slick sound of your fingers as they play with my pussy.”

Your fingers glide down your body to come in contact with your wet pussy. A mess of whimpers and moans can be heard through the phone. “Tell me what you want to do to me Terry, are you  going to make me feel good?” you ask, a panting mess.

“I’m going to make you feel better than good baby. Fuck, my dick is rock hard for you Blaire,”Terry moaned, you could hear the slick sounds through the phone as he stroked himself. “I can’t wait to sink this dick deep inside of you, to feel that tight pussy wrap my dick in a warm, wet hug.” Terry’s hand moved faster, pumping his shaft with an increasing urgency as he continued to describe his fantasies out loud. 

His voice dropping to a husky purr, his voice dripping with raw, unbridled lust. “Oh baby, I can’t wait to have you spread open so I can claim you as mine. Eat that sweet pussy until you’re crying, begging me to stop,” his free hand cupping his heavy balls as he stroked his aching dick. 

You’re a moaning mess on the phone. Practically hypnotized by Terry’s words, “I need you, Terry!’ the needy whine left your lips without a second thought. When you dialed your local sex hotline you never thought the man on the other line would excite you, let alone hurl you toward one of the best orgasms you’ve had in months. 

“Fuck baby, you have no idea how much I need you. How bad I want to feel that pussy come for me,” he rasped, his breathing ragged. 

“Tell me how bad you need me baby,” You moan, your fingers form a mind of their own as they find their way inside your warm cunt. Breathless pants and whimpers bleed through the phone spurring on Terry’s need to get you as close as he is. 

“I’d drag you onto the nearest flat surface and fuck you however you want me to. Do you like it rough? I’ll give it to you rough. What about loving and soft, because I can do that too, baby. Your pleasure is my only concern..fuck. I’m hard as fuck for you baby,” he palmed his aching dick harder, the friction sending jolts of pleasure down his spine. 

Your fingers found your g-spot during Terry’s rant, eliciting high pitched squeals from you. “Terry, you have no idea how bad I wish you could be here with me. Nobody’s ever made me feel..unh. Feel like this before”

Terry’s chest heaved with a shuddering sigh at your confession. His heart ached at the longing in your voice, he had to meet you. “Babygirl, I’ve never felt like this before either. I want to meet you baby, can I do that? Can I meet my pretty girl?” This call reduces you both to babbling messes, too consumed in each other to pay attention to the outside world. “If I could only be there in person, baby, feeling your soft lips against mine, tasting how sweet you are,” he murmured, his thumb rubbing over the sensitive head of his dick. 

“I’d fuck you right here on this call, if technology allowed. I’d push into that tight pussy so deep, so hard, that you’d for- forget your own name,” Terry’s voice dropped to a sensual purr, his imagination running wild at the thought of finally getting you alone.

“Come to me, Terry! Fuck! I need you here, I want you baby please! Can’t you hear how wet I am for you? How bad I want you, don’t leave me hanging, please,” more needy cries leave your lips and meet Terry’s ears. He was going to lose his mind if he didn’t have you. 

Terry’s breath caught in his throat as he listened to your sultry whispers, his mind reeling with the intensity of his arousal. “Blaire, baby, you’re killing me with these sexy ass words of yours. I can almost feel your breath on my ear, begging me to take you harder, deeper,” he groaned, hips rocking instinctively as he continued to stroke his engorged member. 

With a deep breath, Terry opened his mouth to say something that would absolutely get him fired, “Give me your address sweet girl, and I’ll be there. I’ll fuck you all night, every way you want me to, don’t you want me there with you baby. I’ll take care of you, I’ll hold you, please you in ways you’ve never felt. Just a few numbers and a street name and I’ll be there.” The horny declaration leaves his heaving chest, but Terry doesn’t regret anything. He just hopes you’ll say yes and give him that address. 

You contemplate the idea. Should you really give your address to a phone sex operator, no matter how sexy the voice. Your buzz had mostly worn off, in its place a crippling horniness. Terry made you feel things you thought were once dead inside you, how could you deny yourself the opportunity that is this man. Being a single black female in a semi-big city, you weren’t an idiot. You had protective measures in place. So with a sigh and a shy giggle to read off your address to Terry. 

“Can you do something for me Blaire?” Terry asks, yanking his sweats up over his aching dick. It’s taking everything in him to stop, but he has to get to you. He has to meet the vixen that's taken hold of him almost instantly. 

“Anything,”you say, so delirious right on the edge of cumming.

“Don’t come until I can get my hands on you,” Terry hangs up the phone, promptly ending your session. Your chest heaving in frustration and desire at Terry’s command, you had something for his ass when he got there.

OH MY GOD!! OBVIOUSLY THERE’S A PART 2 COMING!! 

I could never leave y’all hanging like that, but be warned it might be a while. Getting back into the groove of things and starting a second job has taken up a lot of my time. I’m finding my footing though so more consistent work will be coming. As always I always accept criticism, but please be gentle, I’m a tad but sensitive about my writing. Send me asks and requests, I love reading what you guys come up with! I love y’all to the moon and back thank you so much for consuming my work. 

UNTIL NEXT TIME

TEE <3

[maddie0101]

tuesdays can go to hell

— based off of THIS request. I hope you like it nonny ! ❤︎

summary: trapped in a time loop, dean is forced to relive his worst nightmare—watching you die, again and again. will he find a way to break free, or is he doomed to suffer forever?

warnings: death, gore, angst, friends to lovers, based off of the tuesday episode!, slight jealousy, idiots in love, dean's personal hell, sad but has a happy ending!

word count: 9.7k (idk how to even defend myself anymore)

The first thing Dean hears is the soft crackle of static, followed by the unmistakable opening chords of Nirvana’s “Come As You Are”.

His eyes flutter open, still heavy with sleep, and he groans, squinting against the bright, unforgiving morning light that seeps through the motel blinds.

The music was pretty familiar, comforting, and somehow just right for the moment but he shifts to glance at the clock on the nightstand, blinking as his eyes struggle to focus.

It’s early, but the time catches him off guard. And It’s Tuesday.

Dean blinks a few times, his mind still foggy as he processes the day. Something feels a little off, but he can’t put his finger on it. He leans back against the pillow, rubbing his face with one hand as he tries to shake the sleepiness.

Meanwhile, you’re already up, moving around the room. You adjust your jacket, grab your stuff, and pour yourself a cup of coffee. You catch his confused look and raise an eyebrow, a smirk forming on your lips as you sip from your mug.

“You look like you’ve been run over by a truck,” you tease, your voice light and playful. “C’mon, it’s just Tuesday. You planning to sleep all day or are you gonna join the living?”

Dean grins, though it’s more of a lazy smile. “I’m alive, sweetheart. Just… took me a second to catch up with the day.” He pushes himself up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Alright, alright, I’m up. But if I’m gonna survive today, I need coffee.”

You hand him the mug in your hands, and he takes a long sip. “Mmm. Best part of waking up,” he mutters, giving you a look as he takes in the rest of the room. “You sure you’re not secretly a caffeine dealer?”

You laugh and shrug, not bothering to hide the amused grin on your face. “I don’t know, maybe I should start charging you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says, shaking his head as he stands up, stretching his arms over his head. “You’ve got me hooked, sweetheart.”

With one last playful glance, he walks over to his duffle bag, preparing to get dressed for the day.

You’re already halfway to the door, your voice carrying over your shoulder. “Hurry up, Winchester. That diner’s not gonna wait for us.”

Dean chuckles softly to himself, grabbing his clothes. “I’m coming, I’m coming. Don’t get all impatient on me now.”

──────────────────────

As the two of you step through the diner’s squeaky door, the bell above chimes loudly, announcing your arrival.

The familiar scent of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee immediately hits you, making your stomach growl in anticipation.

Dean glances around, eyes scanning the nearly empty diner, the soft hum of conversation and clinking silverware filling the space. The early morning light filters through the fogged windows, casting a warm glow on the checkered floors and faded booths.

He’s about to make a joke about the place when he spots a man at the bar, clearly struggling.

The guy’s hunched over the counter, his fingers tapping nervously on the wood as he stares at the menu, brows furrowed in confusion. He looks like he’s caught between wanting to make a decision and just giving up.

In front of him, a waitress in a bright yellow uniform stands with a pot of coffee in one hand, looking unamused. “Can’t stay unless you order something, Cal,” she says, her voice sharp but not unkind. She doesn’t budge, eyeing the man with an amused glint in her eye as if she’s seen this exact scene play out a hundred times. "You know the rules."

“Some coffee,” the man finally mutters, his voice a bit defeated as he nods to the waitress. You and Dean share a quick look, both of you amused by his indecision. But with that, you make your way to an empty booth, the worn seats creaking slightly as you slide in across from each other.

You let out a quiet sigh, feeling the weight of the morning start to settle in. Your eyes drift upward to the menu posted above the counter, the chalky letters barely legible under the dim lighting.

A small smirk plays on your lips as you nod toward the menu. “Hey, Tuesday. Pig ‘n a poke,” you say, your voice light, a hint of teasing beneath it.

Dean’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, his gaze following the motion of your finger as it points to the menu above. He scans the words slowly, his lips parting slightly. “What the hell’s that supposed to be?” he mutters under his breath. He glances back at you, the corners of his mouth twitching upward into a playful grin.

“Just sounds like something you’d like, Dean,” you shrug nonchalantly, your voice light and teasing.

But before you can say anything else, the same waitress from earlier approaches, her bright yellow uniform standing out in the dim diner light.

She stops at your table, notepad in hand, her pen poised and ready to take your order. “Are you kids ready?” she asks, her voice casual.

“Yes, ma’am,” you reply with a nod, your voice warm and friendly as you meet the waitress’s gaze.

“I’ll have the special, side of bacon, and a coffee.” You flash her a quick smile, then glance at Dean, a mischievous gleam in your eye. “And he’ll have the exact same thing.”

The waitress jots down your order with quick, practiced movements, her pen scratching against the paper as she nods in acknowledgment. She lifts her eyes from the notepad, offering you both a smile that’s a little brighter than necessary for the early morning.

“You got it,” she says, her tone light but efficient, before turning on her heel and walking off, her footsteps echoing.

“Ordering for me now, sweetheart?” Dean’s voice is laced with that familiar teasing tone, and he shoots you a smirk that makes your stomach do a little flip.

You roll your eyes, half exasperated, half amused by his constant subtle flirting.

“Of course,” you reply, your voice light as you meet his playful gaze. “I know what you like, and—” You pause, tilting your head and pointing up to the menu sign above. “That’s exactly what you would order.”

Dean’s lips curve into a soft smile as he shakes his head, clearly entertained by your confidence. His eyes linger on you for a moment longer than usual, something unspoken flashing behind them. You knew him so well, better than anyone ever had, and you were right. He would’ve ordered exactly that, no questions asked.

But there was more to it than just your perfect read of him. A swell of warmth fills his chest at the thought of how deeply you understood him, and for a brief moment, he can’t help but just stare at you—really look at you.

Your beauty wasn’t just in the way you looked, it was in the way you moved, the way you carried yourself with that quiet confidence, and the way your eyes sparkled whenever you teased him.

It left him breathless, like he was standing on the edge of something he couldn’t quite grasp.

Dean swallowed hard, his heart skipping a beat. He was a goner.

Completely head over heels in love with you, but the thought of telling you… it terrified him.

No, he couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t risk ruining what you had, the friendship he cherished more than anything.

What if you didn’t feel the same way? What if, in the end, he lost you completely?

Those doubts plagued his thoughts, gnawing at him constantly. They clung to him like a shadow, keeping him frozen in place, preventing him from taking a chance, preventing him from telling you how deeply he really felt. The fear of losing you was far worse than never knowing if you felt the same.

“Alright, I’ve got this,” you said, breaking Dean out of his thoughts as you pulled a crumpled newspaper clipping from your bag. You spread it out on the table in front of him. “Dexter Hasselback. He was passing through town last week when he disappeared.”

Dean tilted his head slightly, eyes scanning the text. “Last known location?”

You nodded, your finger tapping the paper. “His daughter said he was on his way to visit the Broward County Mystery Spot.”

You reached into your jacket pocket, pulling out a small pamphlet and handing it to him. Dean took it, unfolding the glossy paper with a slight frown. His eyes skimmed the words, then froze, his eyebrows arching as he read aloud, “‘Where the laws of physics have no meaning?’”

He glanced up at you, a look of confusion flickering across his face. You shrugged, just as confused. “No idea what that’s supposed to mean,” you admitted, a hint of a frown on your lips as you glanced at the pamphlet again.

Before you could continue, the waitress returned, her presence interrupting the moment. She gently placed your coffee in front of you, the scent of it rich and comforting.

You smiled at her, murmuring a quick thanks as she set Dean’s cup down in front of him.

But as she reached for the hot sauce sitting on her tray, her hand slipped, and the bottle fell with a sharp clatter. The cap popped off mid-air, and a fiery red stream of sauce splattered across the floor, splashing in all directions.

The waitress gasped, as she muttered "whoops. Crap. Sorry." She turned toward you and Dean and you awkwardly sent her a soft smile that it was fine.

──────────────────────

As you and Dean stepped out of the diner, the cool morning air hit your face, but your attention was still fixed on the newspaper clipping in your hands. You ran your eyes over it for what felt like the hundredth time, but your mind wasn’t fully on the words.

The golden retriever tied to the bike stand a few feet away yapped loudly, its bark echoing through the quiet street, but you barely registered it, too absorbed in the details of the case.

Dean, walking beside you, gave a quiet chuckle, his voice breaking through your thoughts. “You know, joints like this are only tourist traps, right?”

He gently took the clipping from your hands, sending you a teasing look before letting his eyes flick over the paper, clearly unimpressed. “I mean, balls rolling uphill, furniture nailed to the ceiling—sounds like a bad magic act. The only danger’s to your wallet.”

He rambled on, shaking his head, but you cut him off before he could say more. “Dean, I’m just saying, there are places in the world where holes literally open up and swallow people whole. The Bermuda Triangle, the Oregon Vortex—”

“Broward County Mystery Spot?” Dean interrupted with a raised eyebrow, his tone laced with sarcasm.

You rolled your eyes, irritated by his dismissal. “Well, sometimes these places are legit,” you shot back, trying to make him see that you weren’t just chasing shadows.

Dean’s chuckle faded, and his expression turned thoughtful, though his skepticism was still evident. “Alright, so if it is legit—and that’s a big ‘if’—what’s the lore? You got anything to back it up?”

“Well—” you began, but before you could finish your sentence, a blonde girl walked past, her shoulder brushing against Dean’s. The contact was accidental, but it was enough to make her pause, mumble an apology, and move on.

You both turned to watch her, and Dean’s eyes immediately slid over her form, an appreciative smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You couldn’t help but glare at the back of her head as she walked away, your stomach tightening in an unpleasant knot. The rush of jealousy hit you like a wave, sharp and sudden, a deep ache settling in your chest as you watched Dean check out another woman—just like that.

A bitter taste of frustration filled your mouth. You wanted to confess everything you’d been holding inside for so long. But the jealousy gnawed at you, a poison you couldn’t seem to shake off.

Every part of you wished more than anything to tell him how you truly felt, to stop pretending that it didn’t hurt when he looked at others like that. But you kept it all buried, just like always.

“The lore’s actually pretty freaking nuts,” you continued, determined to steer the conversation back to the hunt. You couldn’t let Dean’s skepticism cloud your focus just yet. “I mean, they say the magnetic fields at these spots are so strong, they can actually bend space-time. People who’ve visited? No one knows where they end up. It’s like they vanish into thin air.”

Dean chuckled under his breath, glancing at you as if you were indulging in some wild conspiracy. “Yeah, sounds a little X-Files to me,” he muttered, his eyes darting off as two guys across the street struggled with a piano.

The large, awkward instrument wouldn't fit through the narrow door of an apartment building, and you could hear one of the guys grunt in frustration.

“I told you it wouldn’t fit!” the first guy groaned, pushing against the heavy piano as if it would magically slide through the doorway.

“What do you want, a Pulitzer?” the second guy retorted, his voice edged with annoyance, sweat dripping down his face as he shoved the piano in vain.

Both you and Dean’s eyes narrowed at the sight, watching the whole debacle with a mix of confusion and mild disbelief. You shook your head slightly, refocusing your attention on Dean as the noise of the men’s arguments filled the space between you.

“All right, look,” you said, voice steady but determined, “I’m not saying this is some crazy phenomenon happening right now, but if it is… we’ve gotta check it out. See if we can do something about it.”

Dean sighed, but the determination in your voice didn’t go unnoticed. He shifted his weight, turning to face you with a resigned look. “All right, all right. We’ll go tonight, after they close. Get ourselves a nice, long look. You happy now, sweetheart?”

You nodded, finally feeling like you were getting somewhere. “I’ll take that as a yes,” you said with a small, satisfied grin, even as you noticed Dean’s reluctance.

──────────────────────

Later that night, the air in the mystery spot felt thick, charged with something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. The moment you and Dean walked inside, your eyes widened at the sight of the hallway.

The walls were painted in glowing green, swirling patterns that seemed to pulse in the dim light of your flashlight. It was disorienting, like stepping into some other world that didn’t make any sense at all.

The whole place was trippy, and you and Dean exchanged a look, a silent ‘what the hell’, before you both ventured deeper.

The strange feeling never left. The place was completely bizarre. As you and Dean walked around, your flashlights flickered over random objects that seemed more at home in a funhouse than a place you’d investigate.

But you kept going, trying to make sense of it all. It was a hunt, after all. Your eyes landed on an upside-down table nailed to the ceiling, and you blinked.

“What the hell?” you muttered, voice thick with disbelief, before you turned to look at Dean.

He was holding the EMF reader up, scanning for any sign of paranormal activity, but the machine was unresponsive. He shook his head slowly, frustration evident in his posture.

“Find anything?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dean only sighed, the EMF reader basically dead in his hands. “Nope. Nothing. This place is a bust.”

Before you could say anything else, a voice sliced through the silence, sending both you and Dean into alert mode.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

You both spun on your heels, guns raised in an instant. Flashlights blazed into the darkness, landing on a man standing just a few feet away, his shotgun pointed directly at your chest.

Your heart hammered in your ribcage, panic surging through your veins as the cold steel of your gun felt heavy in your trembling hand.

Dean’s jaw clenched, a low growl of anger radiating from him at the sight of the man’s weapon trained on you. The protective instinct in him flared, but he forced himself to remain calm, to keep the situation from spiraling out of control.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dean said, his voice low and steady as he slowly lifted his pistol to the side, showing the man he wasn’t a threat.

But you didn’t lower yours. You couldn’t—your heart was racing too fast, the fear clawing at your insides. You kept your eyes trained on the man, praying he wouldn’t make a move.

“You robbing me?” the man snarled, his eyes wild with panic.

Dean was quick to respond. “Look, nobody’s robbing you. Calm down.”

You slowly, cautiously, began to lower your gun a little, trying to ease the tension, but the moment your hand shifted, the man’s gaze snapped back to you. His shotgun followed, cold and unyielding.

“Don’t move!” he barked, his voice frantic, trembling with fear.

“I’m just putting my gun down,” you whispered, trying to sound as non-threatening as possible, but the man’s eyes were wide, and there was a desperation in them that sent a chill down your spine.

You didn’t even get a chance to say another word.

The blast of the shotgun was deafening, the sharp, violent sound tearing through the air like a thousand crashing waves. You barely had time to register the pain before the world turned into a nightmare, an explosion of searing agony ripping through your chest.

The force of it slammed you backwards, and you crumpled to the floor, your body crashing to the ground brutally. Blood poured from your wound, pooling beneath you.

And time seemed to slow at that moment. Dean’s world tilted, spinning in a cruel blur. His entire body went cold, the air around him thickening, heavy with the weight of the impossible. His eyes locked onto you—his world—falling. The blood, crimson and hot, blossomed across the floor in a haunting bloom.

His breath caught in his throat, and everything around him blurred, fading into a void of suffocating silence. His heart shattered in that moment, a jagged, gut-wrenching crack that he could feel in every fiber of his being.

“Y/N?!” His voice broke, desperate and raw, like he was reaching out to you from miles away. His pulse raced, his body screamed at him to do something, anything. He scrambled to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as they hovered over you, not knowing how to fix this.

His fingers shook violently as he touched you, the warmth of your blood staining his hands. The reality of what was happening started to sink in, and it felt like the earth itself was collapsing beneath his feet.

No, no, no…

Your breath came in shallow, painful gasps, each one a struggle, as if your lungs were fighting against the inevitable.

The pain was excruciating, unbearable, but what truly shattered Dean was the sight of you—his world—so vulnerable, so fragile in his arms. You were slipping away, fading right before his eyes, and he was powerless to stop it.

His heart twisted, the ache inside him growing unbearable as he watched the life drain from you. His face crumpled and his hands clutched at you as if he was holding on to the last shred of a dream.

He was crumbling in front of you, and the devastation was written all over him, his eyes wide with terror, his body trembling as he fought to keep it together. But in the face of this, how could he?

“Sweetheart… please, don’t do this to me,” Dean’s voice was a ragged whisper, thick with desperation. His words were a prayer, a plea to the universe that he didn’t even believe in.

He was choking on his own emotions, his breath coming in sharp, frantic bursts as he reached for your face. He traced the lines of your cheek with trembling fingers, trying to comfort you, even as the terror of losing you consumed him.

“I’m right here, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice cracking with every word, every plea. He could barely hold himself together as the tears began to spill, hot and fast, blurring his vision. “You can’t… you can’t leave me. Not like this. Please… don’t leave me.”

But you didn’t respond. You couldn’t. The words hung in the air between you like an unsung song, and the silence was deafening. Your body was so still, so quiet.

Your chest no longer rose and fell with shallow breaths. It was as if time itself had stopped, and everything that had ever mattered to Dean had shattered in an instant.

You were gone.

The words didn’t make sense. Gone. How could you be gone? No. This couldn’t be real.

Dean’s entire world collapsed inward in that moment. His chest constricted painfully, and with trembling hands, he shook you, pleading for you to wake up.

“Y/N?!” His voice was a hoarse rasp, jagged with the agony of disbelief. He clung to you, trying to force you to come back, but the emptiness of your gaze told him everything he needed to know.

The world around him fell apart in an instant. His soul felt like it had been ripped from his body, leaving him hollow. The tears came, unstoppable.

He pulled you closer, hugging you against his chest, holding you like he could somehow make this all go away. Dean's body shook violently as sobs wracked through him, each one tearing him apart from the inside out.

The world felt like it was slipping through his fingers, his grip on reality loosening with each second.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice breaking beyond recognition. The words were barely a whisper, but they held all the emotion, all the truth he had been too afraid to say. His heart shattered as he spoke them, the weight of everything unspoken crushing him beneath its intensity.

The tears streamed down his face as he rocked you in his arms like he could undo the damage, like he could somehow force reality to bend to his will.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring you back.

You were gone.

And Dean was left in the ruins of his heart, clinging to you in agony.

──────────────────────

Dean jolted awake with a sharp, ragged gasp, his heart thundering painfully in his chest. Sweat clung to his skin, his mind a jumbled mess of fragments and images, as if his body hadn’t quite caught up with reality.

A familiar tune filled the air, and his brows furrowed in confusion. The same song, Come As You Are, was playing, its melody sort of haunting and surreal.

His eyes snapped open, and he shot up, panic gripping his chest as he searched the room, his breathing shallow.

There you were, standing by the door, your jacket in hand, the soft light of the morning spilling over your figure like a gentle caress.

You turned towards him, raising an eyebrow as you adjusted your jacket, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “You look like you’ve been run over by a truck,” you teased, your voice light and effortlessly playful, like nothing was wrong. “C’mon, it’s just Tuesday. You planning to sleep all day or are you gonna join the living?”

Dean’s heart stopped dead in his chest. He felt as though the air had been sucked from the room. You were alive.

But he had just watched you die.

The images were so vivid, so real—the blood, the way your body had gone limp in his arms. The way the life had drained from your eyes, leaving him broken and empty. He could still hear your gasps, the soft, haunting whispers of your last breath.

He blinked rapidly, trying to shake the haunting memory from his mind. No, no. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. It had to be some twisted nightmare.

His body was frozen in disbelief, his heart still lodged somewhere deep in his throat. He rubbed his eyes, his hands trembling as he tried to process the impossible.

“I’m—I’m up,” Dean managed, his voice rough and unsteady, the weight of his words sinking in like lead. His gaze flickered over to you, watching the way you moved, so alive, so here.

The confusion twisted in his gut, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask the questions. Not yet.

You were already halfway to the door, your voice cutting through his spiraling thoughts. “Hurry up, Winchester. That diner’s not gonna wait for us.”

Dean’s heart thundered against his ribs, a mix of relief and terror knotting together inside him.

You were here. You were alive. But the image of you--bleeding out in his arms, wouldn’t leave him.

He couldn’t shake it, couldn’t erase it from his mind. He swallowed hard, trying to catch his breath, trying to steady himself.

You turned back, a knowing look in your eyes, and the soft glint of something unspoken passed between you two before you glanced away, your tone still playful, yet there was an undertone of something deeper.

Had you noticed? He couldn’t tell.

“Come on, Dean,” you coaxed, the easy familiarity of your voice pulling him back. “We’ve got breakfast to get to.”

Dean stared at you for a moment longer, his chest tight, his mind racing to catch up. With a shaky breath, he stood, forcing his legs to move. You were right—this was just Tuesday.

But as he followed you out of the room, the weight of the morning hung heavily on him. Everything felt off, as though reality was fraying at the edges, but for now, he had to trust that you were here. Alive.

And that, for some reason, was enough to keep him moving forward.

“You okay?” you asked gently, your voice soft as you studied Dean, noticing the subtle change in his demeanor. Something was off.

“Yeah…yeah,” Dean muttered, his voice distant, like he was still trying to shake off something heavy.

“Just… some dream,” he said, blinking rapidly as he rubbed his eyes, attempting to push away the lingering feeling of that strange nightmare that clung to him.

──────────────────────

"Drive safely now, Mr. Pickett." A man's voice cut through the oddly familiar little diner. Dean blinked again, noticing the Deja vu he was getting.

"Can't stay unless you order something, cal." The same waitress dressed in a yellow uniform stood infront of the guy trying to decide what to order. "You know the rules."

Dean's eyebrows furrowed as he glanced back, noting this exact thing happened yesterday. Almost to a T.

You and Dean sat at the same exact booth as the one in Dean's dream. You sigh before a small smirk plays on your lips as you nod toward the menu. “Hey, Tuesday. Pig ‘n a poke,” you say, your voice light, a hint of teasing beneath it.

Dean’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, his gaze following the motion of your finger as it points to the menu above. He scans the words slowly, his lips parting slightly. This feels oddly familiar.

"What's that supposed to be?" Dean questions, starting to feel uneasy with the way things are playing out exactly how they did in his dream.

“Just sounds like something you’d like, Dean,” you shrug nonchalantly, your voice light and teasing.

But before you can say anything else, the same waitress from earlier approaches. She stops at your table, notepad in hand, her pen poised and ready to take your order.

“Are you kids ready?” she asks, her voice casual.

“Yes, ma’am,” you reply with a nod, your voice warm and friendly as you meet the waitress’s gaze. “I’ll have the special, side of bacon, and a coffee.” You flash her a quick smile, then glance at Dean, a mischievous gleam in your eye. “And he’ll have the exact same thing.”

The waitress jots down your order with quick, practiced movements, her pen scratching against the paper as she nods in acknowledgment.

She lifts her eyes from the notepad, offering you both a smile that’s a little brighter than necessary for the early morning. “You got it,” she says, her tone light but efficient, before turning on her heel and walking off, her footsteps echoing.

Dean's stomach continues to churn at the exact event unfolding. This could just be Deja vu...could it? Dean swallows the lump in his throat as a slight awkward silence fills the air before you speak.

“Alright, I’ve got this,” you said, pulling the same crumpled newspaper clipping from your bag. You spread it out on the table in front of him. “Dexter Hasselback. He was passing through town last week when he disappeared.”

Dean stills at your exact words from the nightmare. His eyes flicker back and forth from the newspaper clipping, to the people around you in the diner, and then back to you. Noticing everything is exactly like his dream.

“Hey, you okay?” you asked softly, your voice carrying the weight of concern as you pulled Dean’s gaze back to you. Your brow furrowed, noticing the way he seemed distant, lost in thought. “You’ve been acting off.”

Dean blinked, as if he hadn’t quite realized you were speaking. He shifted his gaze back to you, his jaw tightening slightly. “You don’t…?” He trailed off, trying to find the right words, his brow furrowing deeper in confusion. “You don’t remember any of this?”

“Remember what?” You squinted, your concern growing as you tried to piece together what he was talking about. His words didn’t quite make sense.

“This,” Dean said, gesturing between the two of you and the diner around you. “Today. Like—like it’s happened before.”

“Do you mean like déjà vu?” you asked, still trying to wrap your head around it, watching as Dean’s eyes darted around the diner, his unease palpable.

“No, I mean like it’s really happened before.” Dean’s voice was low, almost shaky, as though he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

“Yeah, like déjà vu, Dean,” you said, your voice soft, but the confusion was still evident in your tone.

“No, forget about déjà vu. I’m asking if it feels like—” He paused, trying to find the words, his eyes narrowing as he looked around again, his anxiety rising. “If it feels like we’re living yesterday all over again…”

You leaned forward slightly, a frown deepening on your face. “Dean, are you okay? We’ve never been here before…” you said gently, your voice laced with concern. His restlessness was growing, and it was starting to make you nervous.

Dean sighed, frustration settling over him. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply as if he couldn’t explain what was happening inside his mind.

At that moment, the waitress arrived with your coffee, setting it down in front of you. “Coffee, black,” she said, her voice bright and cheerful.

You smiled at her, murmuring a soft “thanks” as she set Dean’s coffee down in front of him. But just as she reached for the bottle of hot sauce on her tray, her hand slipped, sending it tumbling toward the ground. Before it could crash, Dean’s hand shot out, catching it in a smooth, almost practiced motion.

“Thanks!” the waitress said with a surprised smile, clearly impressed by his reflexes.

Your eyes widened slightly at the quick reaction, but you couldn’t help but smile. “Nice reflexes, Winchester,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood, though the tension still hung between you two.

Dean gave a quick, distracted smile, but there was no hiding the haunted look in his eyes.

Something was very wrong, and whatever it was, he wasn't sure if he could shake it off.

──────────────────────

As you and Dean stepped out of the diner your attention was still fixed on the newspaper clipping in your hands. You ran your eyes over it for what felt like the hundredth time, but your mind wasn’t fully on the words.

The golden retriever tied to the bike stand a few feet away yapped loudly, its bark echoing through the quiet street, but you barely registered it, too absorbed in the details of the case.

Dean walked beside you, his mind racing as his gaze flicked back to the same golden retriever barking at you.

The same exact events, almost every single one—kept happening. His heart pounded, a sense of dread sinking deeper into his gut.

There was no way this was just déjà vu. It couldn’t be. This wasn’t some glitch in the matrix; it felt too real.

“Well—” you started, breaking the thick, uncomfortable silence that had settled between you two, but before you could finish, a blonde girl brushed past Dean. Her shoulder made brief, accidental contact with his, just enough to make her pause, mumble an apology, and move on without another word.

You both turned to watch her, and Dean’s eyes followed her, but not with the same intensity as before.

But this time, his attention shifted back to you, his gaze lingering on the faint frown tugging at the corner of your lips.

He hadn’t noticed it before, but now that he did, it struck him. Were you…jealous?

“The lore’s actually pretty nuts,” you quickly picked up the conversation, eager to shake off the thoughts swirling in your head. “I mean, they say the magnetic fields at these spots are so strong, they can actually bend space-time. People who’ve visited? No one knows where they end up. It’s like they vanish into thin air.”

Dean’s brow furrowed slightly. You had said that yesterday. Or had you? The words were too familiar, too painfully similar to the conversation he’d had with you before. He could almost hear the echoes of the same sentences repeating in his mind.

“Dean, are you even listening?” you asked, your voice tinged with concern, noticing how distant he seemed.

You tried to keep the conversation going, but the weight of his unease pressed on. “Is this about the whole déjà vu thing?” you pressed, glancing sideways at him.

Dean blinked, trying to focus. “Look, I know it sounds crazy, but I feel like I’m reliving almost the exact same moments,” he said, his voice tight with frustration.

And as if on cue, the same guys from the dream appeared in front of you.

“I told you it wouldn’t fit!” one of them groaned, pushing a heavy piano with all his might, as if trying to will it through the doorway. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his muscles straining with the effort.

“What do you want, a Pulitzer?” the second guy shot back, his voice laced with annoyance. The sight was almost surreal, like watching a bad rerun of the exact same scene.

You and Dean exchanged a look, eyes narrowing at the ridiculousness of the situation. But Dean didn’t seem to move, he stayed frozen, the sound of the men’s argument pulling him deeper into the feeling of déjà vu, like a door he couldn’t escape.

“Is it still happening?” you asked, your voice quiet, noticing the way Dean was staring, distant and unsettled. He only nodded in response.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his voice strained. “It’s like… look, we were at the Mystery Spot, and then—” His throat tightened, his words tripping over themselves as he tried to make sense of it. “And then… I woke up.”

His voice trailed off, and you tilted your head, noticing how his gaze wavered, as if trying to hold back something—something deeper.

You blinked, a slight catch in your breath. Was that… a tear?

The air between you thickened with the weight of unspoken things, and you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, “And then what?”

Dean swallowed hard, and for a brief moment, you could see the rawness in his eyes, the vulnerability that he didn’t often show. “I woke up, Y/N,” he repeated, his words breaking the silence. He didn’t elaborate, but the emptiness in his tone told you everything. The pain was still fresh.

You two kept walking in silence, but the tension between you was palpable. Then, with sudden urgency, Dean spoke up. “Wait a minute. The Mystery Spot. We’ve gotta check it out. Maybe it has something to do with this.”

You paused, looking at him skeptically. “Okay?” you asked, your voice laced with uncertainty. “We’ll go tonight after closing?”

Dean spun around to face you, halting both of you in your tracks. His eyes were wide, his urgency clear. “No.”

You raised an eyebrow, confusion and frustration swirling inside you. “Why not?”

Dean shifted uneasily, a forced smile pulling at his lips. “Uh…let’s just go now,” he said, almost too quickly, his voice strained. “Right now. Business hours… nice and crowded.”

Your brow furrowed even more. “My God, what the hell is wrong with you, Dean?” You couldn’t hide the irritation in your voice now, your hands resting firmly on your hips. Something was off. Something in his eyes told you that this was more than just a simple detour.

“Y/N…” he pleaded, his eyes softening with a desperation you didn’t fully understand.

You sighed, shaking your head in disbelief, but finally relented. “Okay, fine. We’ll go now,” you muttered, frustration laced in your tone as you walked past him and into the street.

Dean was only a few steps behind, but you didn’t realize how quickly things were about to unravel.

As you reached the crosswalk, a car sped by, and in an instant, you were struck. You flew backward, your body slamming into the pavement with a sickening thud.

Time seemed to freeze as Dean’s heart dropped into his stomach, the world around him going eerily still.

“Y/N!” he screamed, his voice filled with pure terror. His legs moved before his brain could even register, and he rushed to where you lay in a pool of your own blood on the concrete.

His breath hitched in his chest as he knelt down beside you, his hands shaking as he pulled you into his arms.

But when he looked down at you, his world stopped.

Your eyes were glossed over, and blood trickled from the corner of your mouth. Your body was limp in his arms, lifeless.

His heart shattered into a million pieces as he desperately pulled you closer.

You were gone.

Again.

──────────────────────

Dean woke up with a gasp, his heart thundering painfully in his chest. Sweat clung to his skin, and for a moment, he thought he was suffocating. His mind raced, trying to understand the dream, or was it a dream?

A familiar tune filled the air, its haunting melody wrapping around his thoughts like a chain. Come As You Are by Nirvana. The same damn song.

Dean shot up in panic, his breathing shallow and erratic, his eyes wide as he searched the room. The last time he’d woken up to that song, it had been the beginning of another hellish cycle. He’d hoped it was just a nightmare.

But no.

There you were, standing by the door, your jacket in hand, adjusting it as the soft morning light spilled across your figure. The room looked exactly the same—nothing had changed.

The exact same.

You turned toward him, an eyebrow arched in playful concern, a smirk tugging at your lips. “You look like you’ve been run over by a truck,” you teased, your voice light, effortlessly playful. As if nothing was wrong. “C’mon, it’s just Tuesday. You planning to sleep all day, or are you gonna join the living?”

Dean’s heart squeezed in his chest. Tuesday? Again?

A tremor ran through his body, and for a moment, his world tilted on its axis. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He felt… trapped.

His mind was swirling with confusion, his body heavy with exhaustion. The same damn Tuesday over and over again. The same damn morning, the same damn conversation, the same damn events.

His eyes flickered to the clock, then to the door.

You were already moving, oblivious to the torment flashing behind his eyes. Every time you walked through that door, he lost you.

Every single damn time. He couldn’t stop it, no matter how hard he tried.

He blinked hard, swallowing down the panic clawing up his throat. “I’m—I’m fine,” he stammered, forcing a breath through his chest. “I just—” His mind was so clouded with what felt like a thousand lives lived in the blink of an eye. He rubbed his face, trying to shake the feeling of déjà vu, but nothing felt real anymore.

You were already halfway to the door, completely oblivious to the storm brewing inside him. “Hurry up, Winchester,” you called back over your shoulder, your voice light. “That diner’s not gonna wait for us.”

Dean blinked again. You were alive, and yet every single time, no matter how hard he tried to stop it, the outcome remained the same.

You died. Every single time.

──────────────────────

One time, you were laughing at something stupid Dean had said, your voice light and carefree as you took a bite of your food.

Then, in the next instant, your face turned red, your eyes wide with panic. You gasped for air, your hands clawing at your throat as the food lodged there.

Dean froze, his own breath caught in his chest as he scrambled to help you. His hands were shaking as he tried to perform the Heimlich maneuver, but it was no use. Your eyes rolled back in your head, and just like that, you were gone.

And then...It was Tuesday.

Again.

──────────────────────

Another time, it was a piano. You had been walking next to him, talking about the case.

Dean barely heard you, his mind a mess of frustration and confusion. But when the piano fell, seemingly out of nowhere, he turned in slow motion, his chest seizing with dread as it plummeted toward you.

He screamed your name, but it was too late.

The piano crashed down onto you, pinning you beneath its weight. Blood pooled around your head, and Dean’s knees buckled as he fell beside you. His hands trembled as he tried to lift the heavy instrument off your broken body, but it was impossible.

You were gone. Again.

Then, the song blared again.

──────────────────────

Time after time, the same scene played out. Getting shot at the mystery spot. A car accident. A falling shelf. Choking. Getting smashed by a piano. A malfunctioning electrical wire that shot sparks and ignited an explosion....Each time, you died in some random, unpreventable way.

It happened over and over again. And every time, it was the same gut-wrenching devastation.

Dean was always powerless.

He screamed your name, his voice raw, desperate, as if somehow that could stop the inevitable. His heart shattered all over again as he knelt beside you, cradling your lifeless body in his arms.

But It was like he was trapped in his own personal hell, forced to relive the same agony over and over.

The crushing weight of loss never lessened, and each death was a new wound, a deeper scar, shredding him to pieces.

──────────────────────

By the hundredth Tuesday, Dean was just… done.

He was tired of the same damn day playing over and over again. Tired of watching you die in every possible way, shot, choked, crushed, electrocuted. It was all random, all brutal, and it never got easier.

Every time he wanted to say something, wanted to tell you how he felt, wanted to kiss you, but damn it—but he couldn’t.

Not when you wouldn’t remember. Not when he’d lose you again in the next loop. It was like being stuck in a nightmare that never ended.

He couldn’t keep doing this. He couldn’t keep watching you die over and over again and pretending like he was fine.

So when that damn song started blasting through the radio again, the one that used to be comforting but now just felt like torture—Dean lost it.

He glared at the radio, his patience snapping. Without thinking, he slammed his hand down on it, cutting off the music that had started to drive him crazy.

──────────────────────

Dean sat in the booth, his gaze hard and distant. He wasn’t paying attention to the endless chatter around him, his mind racing a mile a minute.

You were still trying to wrap your head around what he’d told you. “So, you’re caught in a time loop?” You asked, skepticism lacing your voice. The whole thing sounded insane, even for you.

“Eat your breakfast.” Dean’s tone was rough, his eyes briefly flicking over to you before turning back to whatever caught his attention in the diner.

You raised an eyebrow at his sharpness, confused. “What the hell is up with you?” you muttered under your breath, but he didn’t react. You sighed and rolled your eyes, shaking your head.

Dean, meanwhile, kept his eyes locked on the man in the suit who had been in the diner every damn day. The same guy who always showed up, always ordered the same thing, and always left at the exact same time. But this time, Dean had had enough.

Without another word, he slid out of the booth and followed the man, his frustration bubbling over.

“The hell, Dean?” You grumbled, quickly tossing cash on the table and shoving your wallet back into your jacket before darting after him. “Where are you going?”

Dean didn’t respond, and by the time you reached the door, he was already outside, chasing the guy down.

You didn’t even have to break your stride to catch up. Just as you were about to reach him, Dean shoved the suited man hard against a chain-link fence, the impact making the man grunt in surprise.

“Hey!” the man yelped, but Dean didn’t let up. His anger was clear, his jaw clenched tight as he kept the man pinned.

And then, you saw it. Dean’s eyes—dark and icy, full of raw fury. It sent a shiver rolling down your spine.

“I know who you are, you son of a bitch,” Dean growled, pushing harder into the man’s chest, making him wince. “Or should I say what you are?” He cocked his head, his voice low and menacing.

“Dean—” You started, trying to get his attention, but he didn’t budge.

“Oh my god, please don’t kill me!” The man stammered, sweat dotting his forehead.

“Dean, stop!” You reached out to grab his arm, but he didn’t move. He was focused, laser-focused on this guy.

“It took me a hell of a long time,” Dean muttered, his hand tightening around the man’s collar. “But I got it.”

The man’s eyes widened. “What?” His voice shook, but Dean just smirked in response.

“It’s your M.O.,” Dean continued, his words coming out slow, deliberate. “Going after pompous jerks, giving them their just desserts. Your kind loves that, huh?”

The man squirmed under Dean’s grip, fear flashing across his face. “Yeah, sure, okay. Just put the stake down,” he begged, his voice almost a whimper.

Dean’s hand clenched around the stake, and you finally noticed it—how tightly he was holding it, how dangerous this situation was.

“Dean, maybe you should—”

“No!” Dean snapped, his voice seething with rage. “There’s only one creature powerful enough to do what you’re doing. Making reality out of nothing, sticking people in time loops… You’d have to be a god. You’d have to be a trickster.”

“Mister, my name is Ed Coleman. My wife’s name is Amelia. I’ve got two kids! I sell ad space! For crying out loud, just let me go!” The man was practically crying now, but Dean wasn’t hearing it.

“Don’t lie to me!” Dean yelled, his grip tightening until the man was choking. “I know what you are! We’ve killed one of your kind before!”

Before you could say another word to try and calm Dean down, the man’s face morphed—changed entirely into a face you knew all too well.

“Actually, bucko,” the trickster’s voice was unmistakable, and Dean’s grip loosened slightly. “You didn’t.” The trickster grinned, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he looked between you and Dean.

Dean’s anger only deepened. “Why are you doing this?” he demanded, pushing the trickster harder against the fence, his voice dropping to a dangerous level.

The trickster just smirked, unfazed. “You’re joking, right? You Winchesters tried to kill me last time. Why wouldn’t I do this?” He shrugged as if it was all just a game.

You stepped up beside them, unable to hold back anymore. “What about Hasselback? Huh? What’d you do to him?”

The trickster’s eyes flickered to you, then back to Dean. “That putz? He didn’t believe in wormholes, so I dropped him in one.” The trickster laughed, his expression wicked as he glanced between the two of you. “And then, you two showed up. I made you the second you hit town.”

“So, this is fun for you?” Dean’s voice was cold, his eyes narrowing. “Killing Y/N over and over again?”

The trickster raised an eyebrow, looking utterly unconcerned. “One? Yeah, it’s fun,” he smirked, “and two? This isn’t even about killing her. This joke? Is on you, Dean. Watching the woman you’re in love with die… every day… forever.”

Your heart stopped. The words hit like a ton of bricks. Dean didn’t confirm it, but his silence said everything.

You looked at him, your breath caught in your throat. Was it true? Was he really in love with you? Was this some sick game?

Dean’s face contorted into pure rage, and his fist clenched around the stake. “You son of a bitch,” he growled, his voice a deadly whisper.

“Tell me, how long will it take you to realize—” The trickster started, but Dean cut him off.

“I kill you, this all ends. Now.” Dean’s voice was like gravel, low and dangerous. He shoved the stake harder against the trickster’s stomach, a threat hanging in the air.

“Whoa, okay! Alright,” the trickster groaned, raising his hands. “Look, I was just playing around. Fine, fine, you’re out of it. Tomorrow, you’ll wake up and it’ll be Wednesday. I swear.”

“Lying piece of shit,” Dean muttered under his breath, not buying it.

“If I am…” The trickster tilted his head, still smirking. “You know where to find me. I’ll be at the diner. Having pancakes.”

Dean shook his head, his jaw set tight. “No. It’s easier just to kill you.”

“Sorry, kiddo, can’t have that,” the trickster taunted, his eyes flicking to you. “Nice to see you alive and well, doll.”

Before you could even say anything or Dean could react, the trickster snapped his fingers.

──────────────────────

Dean’s eyes snapped open, but this time it wasn’t Nirvana blasting from the radio. It was Night Moves, that old classic, crackling through the speakers.

He jolted upright, blinking against the confusion as his eyes darted to the radio. Instead of reading ‘Tuesday,’ it flashed Wednesday. His heart skipped a beat.

He quickly scanned the room and there you were, in the kitchen, pouring yourself a cup of coffee, your back to him as you hummed along to the tune.

“You gonna sleep all day?” you teased, giggling to yourself as you set the pot down and took a sip from the mug.

Dean rubbed his face, still processing, but he couldn’t help but grin at you. “No Nirvana?” he asked, his voice sounding way too groggy for his liking.

You raised an eyebrow, looking at him over your mug. “Yeah, I know. This station sucks, but hey at least Night Moves is playing,” you laughed.

But Dean’s brain was running a hundred miles an hour.

Wednesday. It's Wednesday.

His heart fluttered with excitement and relief. He blinked, looking around again as if he expected everything to change, to make sense.

“Wait, hold on,” Dean muttered, his voice a little shaky. “What do you remember?” Slowly, he pushed himself up from the bed, rubbing his hand through his hair.

You looked at him over the rim of your cup, a bit confused by his urgency. “I remember you losing it yesterday, almost going insane, and then… running into the Trickster…” You trailed off, your voice faltering slightly as you remembered his words.

Dean’s stomach dropped. His mind clicked into place, memories of the Trickster’s taunting words rushing back to him.

He hadn’t thought about what you’d overheard until now, and suddenly, he found himself pushing. “What all do you remember? You know… what the Trickster said?” Dean’s voice was tight as he slowly made his way toward you, his throat tight with nerves.

You shifted uncomfortably, your cheeks turning an unexpected shade of red. “Oh, uh… nothing much, really,” you muttered, trying to brush it off.

But as you turned your head, hoping Dean wouldn’t notice, he was already right in front of you. He saw everything. Every tiny movement, every little change in your face.

Dean was too close now, his voice soft but firm. “I know you heard him, Y/N.” His eyes flickered over the side of your face, almost as if he could see right through you. Then, with a tenderness you hadn’t expected, his hand reached up to gently turn your face toward him, his finger barely grazing your skin.

Your breath caught in your throat at the touch. It felt so… intimate. So delicate. Your pulse was racing, and for a second, you wondered if he could feel it, too.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your racing heart. “Is it true?” you whispered, barely able to get the words out.

Dean’s own heart was pounding in his chest, the sound of it loud in his ears.

This was it. The moment he’d been waiting for, the moment he’d told himself he would seize after all those damn Tuesdays of watching you die over and over again.

And now, he wasn’t going to let it slip through his fingers.

You remembered. You were safe. And he wasn’t going to wait another second.

So he didn’t say a word. Instead, Dean cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing over your skin as he leaned in. Without hesitation, his lips met yours. The kiss was soft, gentle, but it hit you like a lightning bolt.

Every nerve in your body lit up, sparking with something you couldn’t quite explain, a warmth spreading through you that you hoped would never end.

The world around you seemed to disappear as you melted into the kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing him to be even closer than he already was.

Every inch of you seemed to hum with the connection, the warmth, the intensity. His lips were soft but insistent against yours, igniting something deep inside you that you never knew you were capable of feeling.

Dean’s hands were gentle as they cupped your face, his fingers trembling slightly, like he couldn’t believe this was finally happening.

The kiss deepened, and you couldn’t tell where your heartbeat ended and his began, but it felt like everything you’d been waiting for, everything you’d been holding back, was finally spilling out. As the kiss lingered, your lungs screamed for air, but you didn’t want to break it. You didn’t want this moment to end.

But eventually, you pulled back, both of you breathless, faces flushed, hearts pounding in unison. You didn’t move far—just enough to look up at him, your arms still wrapped around his neck, fingers playing with the collar of his shirt.

Dean’s gaze softened, but there was a storm of emotions swirling in his eyes, ones you couldn’t quite name.

He swallowed hard, his voice low but steady. "I love you,” he confessed, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “I’ve been in love with you for so damn long, and fuck, I’ve been terrified of losing you, terrified of not being able to say it, but now… after everything… I can’t keep it in anymore. I can’t pretend it didn't kill me watching you die over and over again. I just can’t…”

His breath hitched, and you could see the weight of his words pressing down on him. But it was the truth. And somehow, with the weight of it in the air between you, you felt the same truth flicker in your chest.

You smiled softly, your heart aching with the same confession you’d been holding inside for far too long. “I love you too, Dean,” you whispered, your voice shaky but sure. “I always have.”

Dean’s expression softened, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. His lips curled into a half-smile, a mixture of disbelief and pure relief flooding his face. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice low, rough around the edges.

You nodded, your chest swelling with the emotion that had been quietly building for so long. “Yeah,” you repeated, more confidently this time, as you pressed your forehead to his.

And Dean closed his eyes for a moment, the weight of everything lifting, but only slightly. He pulled you closer again, his hands running through your hair, gently tugging you back into another kiss.

But this time, it was different, softer, sweeter, filled with everything that had been left unsaid for so long.

And as you kissed him again, Dean knew, deep down, that nothing would ever be the same.

You weren’t stuck in a time loop anymore.

The future was unknown, but for the first time in a long time, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was you, the one who held his heart in your hands, and the one who he'd never let go of again.

author’s note:

hi, nonny! I hope you like this one! I know it was a bit sad but figured the happy ending was worth it :)…I honestly had the idea pop into my head after watching that same episode the other week and thought it would be interesting to switch things up a bit. sorry for the wait! I had been working on this for a little bit and wanted to make it perfect :)

hope you guys enjoyed! ❤︎

— requests are open.ᐟᅟ please read request rules.ᐟᅟ

tags:

@freeluigihesbae @aylacavebear @supernotnatural2005 @bettystonewell @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @star-yawnznn @exansation @darkrose064 @megara0224 @saturnsooya @miss-marmalade @xo-zeze @kamisobsessed @megara0224 (lmk if I’ve missed anyone or if you’d like to be taken off the list)

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[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (50/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Reunited.

Warnings: 18+ (mentions of fingering and cunnilingus), alcohol consumption, fluff and angst and everything in between

Word Count: 4.7k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: this is part one of the dream I had over two years ago. I'm so proud of what the story has turned into. I love you so much. feedback is appreciated!

Charles: I can’t wait to have you back in my arms tomorrow evening. 

You smile at your phone, fuzzy blanket tucked underneath your chin and feet resting comfortably in Kikas lap. 

You: Next time you go to training camp, I’ll come with you. Take some professional pictures for your Instagram like my job description says. 

Charles: And here I thought you liked the picture I sent you. It‘s not really professional, but I gave my absolute best. 

He gave his absolute best, indeed. Even though the both of you didn’t text that much in the last few days, he made sure to send you a picture of him in case you miss his face. Even though his face wasn’t visible at all in the photo that showed his abs, boxer briefs and thighs.  

Not that you’d ever complain about that. 

You: I loved the photo. 

Charles: Next time I’ll let you take those pictures of me. But maybe with you in them as well. 

You: Is that an offer to sit in your lap again?

You press the send button and put your phone back next to you on the couch, gaze now fixed on the TV. It’s a re-run from Vampire Daries, the episode where it shows that Damon met Elena first. It’s one of your best friends favorites. 

When your phone lights up again, you take a look at the message that popped up on your lockscreen. 

Charles: As long as you’re naked.

You raise your eyebrows at the blunt text, blood rushing to your ears as you stare at your phone. The last few days consisted of quick good mornings, tired good nights and longing I miss yous but this – this makes you hot and bothered. 

A promise of what he’ll do to you once the both of you are back home. 

Charles: I really can’t wait to start the new year with you by my side. 

How can he go from a text that makes you wet to one that makes your heart skip a beat? You purse your lips and smile at your phone. 

„What are you smiling at?“, the Portugese woman asks, hand in a bowl of popcorn. With one inelegant move she grabs as much popcorn as possible and shoves it into her waiting mouth. 

„I’m not smiling“, you lie, grabbing your wine glass from the coffee table and taking a sip. You’re hit with a few popcorn pieces. „Hey! What –„

„Don’t lie to me, querida“, Kika grins. „I may have already had three glasses of wine, but I’m not stupid.“ She raises her eyebrow, waiting for you to answer, even though she already knows the answer to her question. 

You toss her your phone and, like the best friend she is, she unlocks your phone with your pin. Your chat with Charles pops up immediately. “The last message,” you say, and Kika reads the chat carefully. When you remind her that you only want her to see the last message, she sighs. 

“You two are even worse than Pierre and I when we're apart,” she jokes, slowly scrolling up. "It almost hurts how sappy it is." At one message, she throws her head back and laughs before looking at you with a pout. “'I miss you so much it hurts,'” she reads Charles' message from last night. 

You roll your eyes in mock annoyance. ‘I know what it says.’ You lean forward and try to get your phone back, but Kika is faster than you and turns away. 

“'Just one more sleepless night and then I'll finally have you back again.' My goodness.” Kika breathes out heavily. "I should show your chat to Pierre. He could definitely learn something from your sentimental messages.”

“Kika,’ you warn her, putting your glass back on the table and watching her scroll on.

“'The bed is so empty without you,'“ the brunette continues. ‘’When I'm with you again, I'll keep you in bed and taste your body until –”'”

“Okay, that's enough.” You grab your phone in a flash and sit on it so Kika doesn't get the temptation to take it from you. Blood rushes to your cheeks – and the warmth in your face is definitely not coming from the alcohol. 

“Spicy texts,” she grins, raising her wine glass in a toast to you. "I wouldn't have thought of you as the kind of people who sext each other."

You take the bowl of popcorn and pop a piece into your mouth. ”We don't sext.”

Kika purses her lips into a narrow line and raises her eyebrows. “That didn't sound at all like it. I was scared I was going to come across a nude photo of one of you two.”

You throw a piece of popcorn at her. "There are no nudes, Kika." At least none where either of you is really naked. 

“Phew. Thank God,” she grins and takes a sip of wine. She draws it through her teeth once before swallowing. Her gaze is curious when you look at her. ”I thought you two hadn't had sex yet. At least that was the case a few days ago. Did I miss something?”

You shake your head. “We haven't had sex.”

“But you've already kissed.” When your gaze wanders from her to the TV, she sits up a little straighter. She puts her glass down with a cool expression on her face to place her hands on your ankles. Her eyebrows raised, she looks at you in surprise. “Don't tell me –”

“We haven't kissed yet,” you quietly confirm her thought, as if you didn't dare to say the fact that you both have done a lot together, but haven't kissed yet. 

Somehow the sentence leaves a sour taste in your mouth. 

Kika reaches for the remote and pauses the episode before turning back to you. “Why not, if I may ask? I mean...” She pauses to think about how to phrase her sentence without offending you. “Your texts are not exactly G-rated.”

You roll a piece of popcorn between your thumb and index finger. “If I knew, I would tell you,” you reply, examining the snack in your fingers as if it contained all the answers you need to define your relationship – or whatever it is between Charles and you. 

The Portuguese woman purses her lips. “But – you want to kiss him, don't you? Or don't you want tiramisu anymore?”

You shrug. "Nothing has changed." You exhale quietly. "Absolutely nothing.”

Kika tilts her head and looks at you. "That's the problem, isn't it?”

You sit up straight, too, placing the bowl of popcorn between your crossed legs. “It's weird. It is weird, isn't it? We – after the party, when Charles practically dragged me out of the club, he –” You take a deep breath and try to sort out your thoughts so as not to jump from topic to topic. You run your fingers through your hair. “We didn't kiss. He fingered and ate me out, but when I tried to get close to him and touch him, he blocked me. Which is fine in itself – but I –”

Kika, noticing your frustration, grabs your hand and squeezes it gently. “You don't know exactly where you stand,” she finishes your sentence. 

You breathe out and nod slightly. “I mean – isn't it strange that he wants my body but doesn't kiss me? Or doesn't let me touch him? Kissing is actually something you normally do before – before all the other things.”

Your best friend licks her lips. ”Actually, yes.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “I didn't sleep with Raphael back then because I didn't feel safe in the relationship – and my gut feeling definitely didn't deceive me.” You shake your head slightly. “And now, with Charles, I feel safe. But he –”

Annoyed by the situation, you close your eyes and lean back against the armrest, putting your forearm over your face. You feel bad that you want to rip Charles' clothes off and kiss him until you can't breathe anymore when he obviously doesn't want it. 

Or rather – wants something else. Unfortunately, you don't know what exactly. 

“Hey.” Kika's voice is gentle as she strokes the back of your hand with her thumb. ”You two have only known each other for – what – two weeks? You were forced to be roommates before you were even friends. It's only natural that your dynamic would change.” She slides a little closer to you on the couch. “From the beginning, you were destined to be more than just people sharing an apartment. I saw that the very first night we met.”

You remember the dinner very clearly. When Charles was so rude to you because he had spoken to Annika, but you two had made up again. When you shared the tiramisu – the tiramisu that became synonymous with the attraction between you and the Monegasque between you and Kika. When you touched for the first time – only through your clothes, but you could still feel the warmth of his skin. 

She purses her lips into a narrow line. “It was obvious from the start that there was more between you. Even if you couldn't admit it to each other back then.” She tilts her head. “Why do you think Charles wasn't so thrilled that you got along so well with Lando right away?”

You mumble through your arm. “When he came back from Maranello, he explained that he was jealous of our friendship and worried that we – Lando and I – might become a couple and we – Charles and I – would no longer be friends.”

“Bullshit.” Kika's voice sounds cutting. 

Confused, you sit up and look at her, your arm falling into your lap. “Excuse me?”

“Bullshit,” the Portuguese woman repeats. “You're right that Charles was jealous, definitely. Even the people on the other side of the table could see that. But not about your friendship with Lando. But because you got along so fabulously within a few hours that Lando knew exactly what you definitely wouldn't eat off the menu.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “We talked about it when we ran into each other at the supermarket and he helped me find the groceries,” you explain to her, as if you had to justify yourself. 

Kika gently pats your hand. “It doesn't matter where or when you talked about it,” she says at some point. “Someone you only knew for a few hours knew something about you that your roommate should have known. And you'd only known Charles for a few days, had argued twice, and then there was someone else who got along with you so well from the start and made you laugh?” She shakes her head slightly. "Charles was never jealous of your relationship with Lando and the possibility that he might lose you as a friend because of it.”

You're at a loss. "Then what?”

Your best friend takes a deep breath. “He was jealous that Lando took his chance before he did. His chance to be closer to you than mere friendship would allow.” She squeezes your hand again. “Charles definitely feels more for you than friendship, querida. And everyone except you can see it.”

You look at her, raising your eyebrow. “Did he tell you that? Or Pierre?”

Kika presses her tongue into her cheek. “No, but –”

“You see?” you reply and pull your hand away from her, propping your elbows on your knees. “I don't know what's going on in his head. And he's not telling me either. Which is perfectly fine. But how am I supposed to feel when he – when he apparently only wants my body but not me?”

She opens her mouth to say something, but closes it again. 

“I know that the breakup with Annika really affected him,” you continue. "And that's totally understandable. I mean, who wants to catch their girlfriend in bed with another man?" You run your fingers through your hair in frustration. ”I can understand it, really. But – I don't know – if you're really right, then I don't understand why he only wants my body and not me. He would kiss me otherwise, wouldn't he?”

You have the feeling that your thoughts definitely made more sense in your head. But now they are spilling out of you like a shaken bottle of coke. 

“I – I don't know if I can take this. Raphael – when he didn't get my body, he looked for another one, or rather several others. He didn't want me, just my body. I'm afraid it's the same now.” You look away. "I don't think I can get over something like that again. It was already difficult with Raphael, but Charles – Charles means so much more to me than Raphael ever did. Charles is my home. My one and only.”

“Maybe he's also worried that you don't feel the same way about him,” she interjects. "Have you told him?”

“That I love him? No, I haven't.”

Kika blinks at you silently. ’You — you love him?”

You stare at her as if pink elephants were floating around her head. It's the first time you've said it out loud. And contrary to your expectations, your worries and fears, which you brought with you as a legacy from your relationship with Raphael, it feels right. 

Tears well up in your eyes. “I love him.”

Kika can't stop the smile that spreads across her beautiful face. Like a little girl, she throws herself in your direction and wraps her arms around you, pressing herself against you. “I'm so proud of you, querida.” She kisses your cheeks. “So unbelievably proud.” She pulls away from you and wipes the tears from your cheeks with her thumb. 

You look at her, confused. “Proud?” Your voice trembles with excitement. You actually said it. You can hardly believe it. 

“Incredibly proud. You let your walls come down even though you were hurt so badly.” Now tears are welling up in her eyes as well. ”You let love into your heart. Passion. You're ready to be loved, sweetheart. The greatest adventure in the world. I'm so incredibly proud of you.”

The two of you embrace for another moment before your friend pulls away from you and jumps up from the couch. She grabs her laptop and googles shops that sell dresses suitable for tomorrow's occasion. 

“We'll go shopping tomorrow morning and get you a dress that will take Charles's breath away,” she grins, cuddling up next to you under the covers. "We'll buy you a dress that he can't wait to rip off you." She smiles at you. ”And he'll kiss you. I'd bet money on that, too.” Before she clicks through the internet any further, she grabs the remote and presses play. 

You wipe a tear from your eye before leaning your cheek on her shoulder to watch her browse. In the background, you hear Damon speaking in the series:

“You want a love that consumes you. You want passion and adventure and even a little danger.”

It's as if he's speaking from your soul. 

-

You carefully get out of the cab, trying not to wrinkle your dress. With your purse on your shoulder, you walk up the few steps to the house where Kika's New Year's party is taking place. Your dress is baby blue, with a slit that reaches to the middle of your thigh and a back neckline that definitely doesn't allow for a bra. 

Kika did an amazing job dragging you through the various shops this morning, forcing you to try on countless dresses. 

And indeed, you found the perfect dress. 

“You look fabulous,” she smiles as she opens the door for you. There are already a lot of people in the background and music can be heard outside on the street. She kisses you on both cheeks. ”That dress was definitely the right decision. If Charles doesn't give you at least a New Year's kiss on the lips, I'll be happy to do it for him.”

Your girlfriend is wearing a black, sparkly dress with a cutout at the waist that accentuates her figure beautifully. She grabs your arm and pulls you through the crowd of people, all of whom are also wearing chic evening wear. 

You look her up and down and whistle. “You look hot, Kika,” you compliment her as she stops in the kitchen. “Maybe I'll take you up on that offer. Where's Pierre?”

“I have no idea. He's probably lurking around somewhere.”

While she mixes you a drink, you look around before taking your cell phone out of your handbag to see if Charles has sent you a text. 

But there is nothing. Since this afternoon, when he texted you that he was on his way back to Monaco. 

Kika notices your searching look. “He's not here yet.” She waits until you have put your cell phone back in its case before she hands you the almost full glass. “But don't worry. He'll definitely come. After all, he promised you.” She points to the large clock hanging next to the double-door refrigerator. “And he still has two hours before the new year begins.”

The next hour and a half feels like an eternity – no, two eternities. 

You chat with Kika and her friends, even Elena is there, and you win a round of beer pong with her, which looks pretty funny considering that all the guests are dressed as if they could go to the prom in a minute. 

The music is loudest in the huge living room, and the bass vibrates right through to your bones as the three of you dance and drink and enjoy the evening as if it were the last day. Which, in theory, it is. 

But no matter what you do, your thoughts are always with Charles. Is he already in Monaco? Or even on his way here to you? 

You have to actively stop yourself from checking your phone every five minutes in the hope that he has sent you his location or a message. These last few days you have missed him so much that you would like to call him to ask him where he is. 

And the more minutes pass, the closer midnight and the new year come – the more your stomach becomes queasy. 

With your jaw clenched, you stand in the bathroom and wash your hands, holding your wrists under cool water to get rid of the heat, but somehow it doesn't quite work. Your thoughts revolve around Charles. 

Charles, who you haven't seen in days. Charles, who you miss terribly. Charles, who you love. 

Charles, who apparently isn't going to show up at this party. 

When there's a knock at the door, you turn off the tap. “Occupied!”

The door opens and just as you're about to complain, Kika and Elena poke their heads into the bathroom. Their cheeks are red from alcohol as they join you and close the door again. 

Kika puts her arm around your shoulder while Elena leans against the wall. “He'll be here,” the Portuguese woman tries to cheer you up, as if she can read your mind. Apparently, it's written all over your forehead. 

You look at her, raising your eyebrows. “And what if he doesn't? There are only twenty minutes left until New Year.” You try to sound as neutral as possible, but you can still hear the tension in your voice.

“Who'll be here?” Elena asks, looking at both of you and taking a paper towel to moisten it a little at the sink. 

“Charles,“ Kika answers for you. When you give her a dirty look, she just shrugs. 

“Don't worry,” Elena smiles, stepping in front of you and taking your chin in your hand to wipe away the mascara under your eyes. “He's probably already outside looking for you.”

Kika nods eagerly. “Elena's right,” the model agrees. "Come on. You've been in here for far too long. We're going out there now and celebrating the New Year together," she says, leaving no room for discussion. She grabs your hands and pulls you both outside, where Pierre is leaning against the wall. The music is quieter here, more subdued, so you can even have a proper conversation.

“Where the heck have you been?” Kika pouts at him and puts her arms around his neck. "I haven't seen you in ages." She gently pulls him down to her and kisses him briefly before nestling against his side. "Doesn't she look great in that dress?" she asks, pointing at you and your gown.

Pierre smiles at you and kisses you on the cheek in greeting. “You look beautiful,” he says before kissing his girlfriend on the forehead. “But I still have the hottest date tonight.”

“And I don't think that's true,” you hear someone say behind you. The voice is warm and gentle and oh so familiar. When you turn around, he's standing there in dress pants and a shirt and absolutely perfect. ”Good evening, mon amour.”

You don't even try to hide your joy at seeing him again, which is why you immediately throw yourself at him. His muscular arms wrap around you and he lifts you up, before spinning you around briefly. 

When he sets you down, his warm hands remain on your hips, while yours rest on his cheeks. “Hi,“ you smile at him, trying to blink away the tears of joy gathering in the corners of your eyes. 

“Well, did you miss me?” he grins, his fingers spreading apart and now resting on your lower back, on your bare skin. 

Goosebumps spread out at the place where he touches you. As if it is the first time. As if you can't get enough of him. You smile. “Well,” you try to play down your emotions. “I finally had a whole bed to myself,” you joke. 

The Monegasque rolls his eyes playfully before pressing you closer to him. “In your messages, it sounded like you couldn't wait for me to lie next to you again,” he whispers, his warm breath caressing your face. 

You look up at him. “Maybe I was lying.”

“I doubt that very much,” he smiles at you. "I'm so glad to be with you again." He leans down to you and gently kisses your cheek as your hands slide down to his chest. ”Next time I'll really take you back to camp. I never want to be separated from you for so long again.”

You purse your lips. “It wasn't that bad.” Cheeky lie. 

He raises his hand and places his curved index finger under your chin to lift it up so that you look at him. His eyes sparkle in that beautiful green that you love so much. 

“It was absolute hell.”

“Maybe you two should just get married,” Kika interjects. You both turn your heads in her direction and stare at her in puzzlement. Pierre nudges her in the side. ”What? Sooner or later it'll happen anyway.”

“Okay, my darling. How much have you had to drink?” Pierre asks her, as he throws you an apologetic smile and then wraps his arm around his girlfriend's waist to lead her away from you both. Elena gives you a quick wink and follows the couple. 

Charles leans against the wall, but pulls you with him so that his hands are back on your hips and you are standing between his legs. “You look beautiful in that dress,” he smiles, letting his fingers slowly travel over the fabric on your butt before sliding up over your bare back. “Did you know that it's my favorite color?”

The smile on your face grows wider. “Maybe.” Your arms wrap around his middle. “I missed you so much,” you answer his question from earlier. 

His hand gently caresses your shoulder blades before his fingers carefully find their way to the back of your neck, holding you there. “Never again without each other,” he whispers, as if it were a promise meant only for your ears. 

You nod slightly. “Never again without each other.”

In the background, you can hear the other party guests beginning to count down the minutes to midnight. You both glance towards the door. 

“We should get back to the party,” you say, pushing away from him, just a little, because you can't get any further with his hand on the back of your neck. “So we can start the new year together with the others.”

“I'm not interested in the others,” he says, but follows you back to the party. ”As long as I have you, I don't care about the others.”

His words make your blood rush to your cheeks. 

It’s like his presence makes you see everything more vibrant. The air in the apartment seems to shimmer in golden light, a haze of champagne bubbles and glow of string lights wrapped around the ceiling beams. Things you haven’t noticed before, because you were so focused on Charles‘ absence. The both of you come to a halt next to Kika and Pierre, the first one handing the both of you champagne glasses. 

„You ready?“, she smiles at you, raising one eyebrow. 

Now is the time. The breaking point. The start of it all - or the end before it even really started.

You nod slightly. „I’m ready.“

You stand beside Charles, his free hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you so close against him that not even a sheet of paper would fit between the both of you. But even though his hand is on your bare skin, he doesn’t seem close enough. You can smell his cologne – something crisp and familiar, laced with memories of late-night drives and inside jokes and pillow talks. You steal a glance at him, your heart stumbling over itself. 

He laughs about something Pierre shouts at him, dimples flashing, his green eyes catching the chandelier light in a way that makes your breath hitch. You’ve known him for two weeks – two fucking weeks – but it seems like you’ve known him since forever. The way his voice sounds all raspy and deep when he wakes up. The way his eyes light up when he talks about something he’s passionate about. The way he makes you feel like you’re the only person in the room who truly matters to him. 

And yet, he has no idea. 

All around you, the energy shifted. The crowd tightened, turning towards the big TV screen mounted on the wall, where the countdown was shown. 

Ten. Nine. Eight. 

Your pulse quickens. Your heart beats so fast, that you fear it’ll break through your ribcage. You inch even closer, pressing yourself against his side. You can feel his body heat through your dress, something you missed the last few days. It’s been two weeks of skirting around the truth, of stolen glances and unsaid words and hesitant touches, and you don’t know if you can bear another second o fit. 

Charles shifts beside you. You can feel it – the way his body stiffens, the way his breath falters. 

Seven. Six. Five. 

Then, just as you lift your head, he leans down. It would take nothing to close the space between your lips. Just an inch. Maybe less. You can feel his breath on your face. 

He says your name, whispers it in a room full of people who shout numbers, but all you can hear is him. His voice is raw. A plea. A warning somehow. 

Four. Three. Two. 

He closes his eyes, his forehead brushes against yours and the closeness makes your pulse stutter. Every little detail of him is magnified – the different shades of green, the tension in his jaw, the fingers tightening around your hip, curling into your flesh like he’s afraid of letting you go. Like you’d slip out of his reach if he loosens his grip.  

One.

His eyes snap open, dark and conflicted. 

You push yourself up, not even an inch, and Charles – 

Charles pulls away. 

Happy. Fucking. New Year. 

[illbegottenfaith]

sweet?!

you may not be the one dating theodore nott but you'd be damned if you let anyone think of him as sweet (theo nott x reader)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

a/n - I meant to make a separate post a while back but college has been kicking my ass so 😭 but 300 followers!!! insaneee ily all sooo much mwah I feel so so grateful and also a little weirded out cuz wdym 300 people... (I am SO bad at these can you tell um anyways) also this was inspired by a new girl episode!! I kind of have plans for a part 3 but im still workshopping it so idk yet but !! we'll see :)

tropes/warnings - fluff, slight angst, mattheo not understanding physics (but its not like he had a formal education in the subject so is it rlly his fault??), tw descriptions of injury

word count - 1.5k

taglist - @hzdhrtss @justaproudperson @kandralice @clairesblouse @deenaaa

"You're still coming this afternoon, right?"

You were having lunch in the Great Hall with your best friend Ivy, hours before one of the most entertaining sporting events of the year - an underground Muggle sports day. Every year, a group of students from each house would compete in some arbitrarily chosen muggle sport, with varying levels of success. Casualties and knee-slapping memories (for those standing in the sidelines, such as yourself) were a guarantee.

You nodded. "Are you kidding? Watching the boys wack each other black and blue at some poor attempt at a muggle sport? I wouldn't miss it for the world. I hope it's hockey. It's got sticks, you know." You got an odd, dreamlike look in your eye. "Merlin, I hope it's hockey."

Ivy dug into her Shepherd's pie. "Good. It sounds interesting enough. Plus, Theo's new girlfriend will be there."

You nearly upset your pumpkin juice.

"Girlfriend? When did that happen?"

Something in your voice must have given your true feelings away from the way Ivy squinted at you suspiciously. You pulled a face. It seemed convincing enough.

"It's all very new," Ivy said a tad bit sternly. "They met at Davies' party a while back and, well, they fancied each other, so -"

You snorted.

"What, is he blackmailing her?"

Ivy frowned at you. "Don't snark," she rebuked. "It isn't nice. She's a regular daisy, you'll see."

Yeah. Sure. You piled some more mashed potatoes onto your plate.

"Has anyone checked her for brain damage? Look - I'm not even snarking, I'm genuinely concerned for her wellbeing - "

“I don’t understand how this is supposed to work,” Mattheo was saying as the two of you walked over the makeshift Muggle basketball court someone had fashioned out of one of the disused storerooms in the dungeons. He and the rest of the Slytherin boys were wearing matching fluorescent green mesh vests to distinguish themselves from the Gryffindor team, engaged in some deadly serious discussion. A part of you wondered if you should mention that muggle sports weren’t generally meant to be as fatal as Quidditch.

As usual, Theo looked bored to death by the conversation. "We've been over this a hundred times. You dribble the ball -"

"Yeah, right," Mattheo vehemently said. "Like this thing's coming up if I throw it down. What do you take me for, an idiot?"

Theo pinched the bridge of his nose, oddly reminscent of the way you did when you felt a migraine coming on.

"Remember the tennis ball, Matty? The fuzzy, green one?"

"That's different. That thing was tiny, and bouncy. This thing's heavy. It's the size of my head. No, a quaffle. No, a -"

"Then what do you think is going to happen?" Theo interrupted irritably.

“Stick to the ground, obviously. Watch - "

As seasoned as the lot of you had become in anticipating Mattheo's often highly dangerous impulses, this one came entirely out of left field. Theo yanked him back by his vest, but it was too late. He slammed the basketball down and it ricocheted back up almost immediately, punching him right in the nose. Mattheo swore loudly, and the last thing you saw before you looked away was an awful amount of blood.

Even after Enzo took him to the Hospital Wing, once Theo had sufficiently plugged his nose with obscene amounts of tissue, things did not improve for the team. About halfway through the game, an unfortunate scuffle between some of the players left Draco curled up in a ball, grimacing as he clutched his knee. Theo winced, running over to where Draco was doing a rather poor job of concealing his pain.

"Oh, that's so Teddy," Margaret gushed to you, "always stopping by to help anyone in need. Isn't he such a gentleman?"

You nodded stiffly, your slight smile frozen on your face, willing Ivy to hurry back with the snacks and drinks she had left for. After she had introduced the two of you to each other, you decided that Margaret was a perfectly pleasant person, even if she wasn't the type of friend you typically sought out. If anything, you were more confused than ever about what she was doing, hanging around a guy as bitter as Theo.

However, one thing that truly bothered you was the odd remark here or there that revealed her grossly inaccurate perceptions of him, such as this one. You thought back to just last week when you had tripped in front of him on one of the Shifting Staircases, your books tumbling down into the recesses of the stairwell. He had stopped by you, alright. Stopped to point and laugh, that is.

"Honestly, I couldn't have asked for a better boyfriend. He's really sweet," Margaret finished.

Your eyes nearly fell out of your head.

"Sweet?"

Just in time, Ivy hurried over, gently pulling you away with some half-hearted excuse.

"O-kay, I think that's enough bonding for today."

"Sweet," you echoed weakly as you limply allowed yourself to be carted away, the appalled expression still on your face. "She thinks he's sweet." Euch.

But Ivy wasn't paying attention to you anymore. "How bad is it?" she asked, as the two of you neared the cluster around Draco.

"Bad," Ivan replied, gingerly pressing Draco's knee. "He definitely needs to see Madam Pomfrey. No way he'll be able to play any more today, and we're out of reserves, so we're a man short." He turned, motioning to the Gryffindor players scattered across the field that the game was over.

"Damn. I'll take him to the hospital wing, I've been meaning to check on Mattheo too. Meg, you'll help me, won't you?"

With a little difficulty, the three of them limped along once they had pulled Draco's arms over their shoulders. One of the Gryffindor players approached the crowd, picking up on what was happening after a glance at Draco.

"What about the game?"

Theo rolled his eyes. "We'll rematch, you nitwit."

You went back to your seat, trying to figure out what to do with Ivy's refreshments. Once it was clear that the game was over, the last of the players and the scanty audience filtered out of the room.

"What gives?"

You pulled your gaze back to the lone Slytherin player left, in a blood-spotted mesh vest. Your least favourite player. You could slap that on a T-shirt - not that you wanted to cheer for him. Merlin, no. Cheer against him, maybe. You wouldn't wish it on your worst enemy - which, coincidentally, happened to be him. You momentarily abandoned your musings as you returned to the real world, noticing the expectant look on his face.

"Hm?"

Theo spread him arms out and shrugged in a helpless sort of manner.

"I don't get it, L/N. What do you want from me?

You stared at him blankly. "...what are you talking about?"

He scoffed half-heartedly, like he was too upset to put any real heat behind it.

"I have this amazing new girlfriend that everyone loves." He tossed the ball away with a defeated air. "Everyone, except you."

The words stung. You stuck your chin out defiantly.

"Why do you care so much about what I think?"

"Why can't you just be happy for me?

"I just want you to be honest."

Theo's eyebrows shot up. "Honesty? That's what this is about?"

That's what it had always been about, you wanted to say. You sniffed nonchalantly, rearranging the pleats of your skirt.

"I don't think it's fair to Margaret that you're selling her some lie just to -"

"You think I'm lying to her?"

He kept his voice cool, almost offensively neutral. You rolled your eyes. "I know you are."

Theo was quiet after that, as if mulling over what you had said.

"So," he pressed after a moment, slowly walking towards you, forcing you to crane your head up to maintain eye contact, "you think I should be more transparent with her. That is...show her my unpleasant side."

You allowed yourself a brief smile. "Exactly."

"Be more rude to her."

"Yeah."

"Mock her."

You furrowed your brow slightly.

"Erm, sure."

"Insult her."

"I - what?"

"In short," Theo continued, as if you hadn't spoken, "you want me to treat her like I do you."

He tilted his head.

"Why is that? Do you feel...betrothed to me? Or, perhaps, you consider me your boyfriend? Since we're being honest, and all."

In that moment, you decided you never hated Theo more than you did then, with his domineering stances, condescending sneers, and caustically sarcastic remarks. You swallowed hard, your throat almost painfully tight as you felt the traitorous prick of tears behind your eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous," you muttered. But he wasn't being entirely ridiculous, was he? It was what made the whole thing all that more upsetting.

If he noticed you were teary-eyed, he didn't comment on it, as if it were disappointing. As if you were yet another disappointment in his book of unfairly high expectations. He straightened with a barely convincing air of nonchalance. If anything, he looked just as upset as you felt.

"Whatever, L/N. See you around."

Part 3

[heejamas]

nicest guy: 28. the super bowl episode

word count: 10k words (sorryyyy....) + 10 screenshots

warnings: MDNI!!!!!! explicit sexual content. petnames, spanking, unprotected sex (dont do it!!!!) all the fucking lot. spoiler alert im so sorry...... thank you......

prev | masterlist | next

Jake pulled up in front of your place at exactly 5:30, just like he said he would. You slid into the passenger seat, buckling yourself in as he shot you a smirk. “You’re looking way too cute for a football night,” he teased, eyes flickering over your outfit.

“Should I have worn a jersey?” you joked.

“I mean, if it were a Chiefs jersey, I’d be down bad.”

“Don’t start,” You warned, trying to suppress a smile.

“Start what? Being charming?” He pulled away from the curb, one hand on the wheel, the other adjusting the radio. “Can’t help it.”

You rolled her eyes, looking out the window. “I feel like this is just another one of your many talents. Football, flirting, and what else?”

Jake glanced at you, grinning. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

By the time you pulled up to Heeseung’s place, the party was already in full swing. The scent of pizza, wings, and beer lingered in the air, blending with the distant roar of pre-game analysis from the TV. The house was packed with excited chatter, the occasional burst of laughter echoing through the rooms.

Jake led the way inside, his palm pressing lightly against the small of your back—an unnecessary but deliberate touch that didn’t go unnoticed. Your eyes scanned the crowded living room until they landed on Sunghoon, lounging on the couch next to Jungwon and Jay, a beer lazily dangling from his fingers.

He saw you and Jake enter together. His gaze flickered between the two of you, pausing ever so slightly on where Jake’s hand rested against your back. Then, as if amused by the whole scene, he smirked and leaned back into the couch, exuding that effortless, unreadable coolness that always made your stomach twist.

Jake shook off the feeling and turned his attention to the rest of the room. “Hey, losers,” Jake greeted, grinning as you walked further in.

Beomgyu, perched on the arm of the couch, dramatically clutched his chest. “Finally, some respect in this household.”

Heeseung, from his spot in the kitchen, lifted his drink. “About time you got here. You’re lucky, kickoff’s in fifteen.”

“Wouldn’t want to miss it,” you replied, moving to greet everyone properly.

Then, just as you were pulling away from Jay’s quick side hug, Sunghoon was there. And unlike the others, he didn’t go for a casual half-hug—no, he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. Too close. Long enough for you to feel the firm press of his chest against yours, the warmth radiating off him, the way his fingers pressed lightly against your waist.

Your breath caught, just for a second. And then, finally, he let go, his lips twitching upward as he murmured, “You good?”

Before you could even formulate a response, Jungwon’s voice cut in, dry and unimpressed. “Yeah, okay. Let me say hi to my sister,” your twin gave you a pointed look, barely concealing his exasperation.

Sunghoon cleared his throat, stepping back. “Right.”

Jake, who had been watching the whole thing with narrowed eyes, didn’t waste a second. The moment you were within reach again, he pulled you slightly closer to his side, fingers brushing against yours as if reminding you who invited you in the first place. Sunghoon, of course, noticed. He didn’t say anything, but the amused glint in his eyes was enough to make Jake’s jaw tighten.

“Beer?” Sunghoon offered, reaching for the cooler beside the couch. He pulled out two bottles, holding one toward you first.

Before you could take it, Jake spoke. “I’m good.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t asking you.”

Jake just shrugged, undeterred. “I’m practically part of the furniture here. I know where the drinks are.”

Just as the pre-game commentary wrapped up, everyone settled into their spots. Jake pulled you onto the couch next to him, his hand resting lightly on your knee—another not-so-subtle reminder of his presence.

As kickoff loomed, the tension between the two boys at your sides remained. It wasn’t outright hostile, but it was there, simmering beneath the surface. And you? You were more than happy to sit in the middle of it all, enjoying every second of their silent battle for your attention.

Heeseung leans forward, gesturing animatedly with his beer as the pre-game analysis plays on the screen. “Look, I don’t wanna hear anything from you guys,” he starts, his voice carrying over the chatter in the room. “Saquon had the best season of his career. You can’t argue that. And the Eagles? They deserve this.”

You take a sip of your drink, barely listening until you hear Sunghoon scoff from the couch.

“Yeah, Saquon had the best season of his career,” Sunghoon drawls, shifting to rest his elbow on his knee, “for a team that isn’t the Giants.” His tone is just short of bitter, but the unimpressed look on his face seals it. “They don’t deserve shit.”

“Maybe,” Jake finally speaks up, his voice low, but carrying the weight of a rivalry that’s been simmering for years. “But if you ask me, they’ve still got nothing on the Chiefs.” He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, his focus entirely on Sunghoon now.

Sunghoon turns his head slowly, his gaze cold but measured. “Really? You think they can actually win it this year?” His lips curl into a slight smirk, the kind that’s just enough to test Jake's patience.

Jake doesn’t flinch, though. Instead, he grins, a sharp, knowing smile. “Better than the Eagles. Chiefs have the heart, man. You’ll see.”

The tension hangs between them, but it’s a different kind of tension now. Less hatred and more something familiar. Old rivalry with new ground to stand on. For a brief moment, you feel like they might just find their way back to being those old friends, the ones who used to laugh and trash-talk without the weight of everything that’s happened between them.

But then Sunghoon throws an arm over the back of the couch—right behind you, fingers brushing your shoulder, and whatever moment they just had evaporates instantly. Because Jake immediately notices. And he’s not about to let that slide.

Casually—almost too casually—he shifts, resting his palm on your knee. His thumb brushes the exposed skin there, barely enough to be anything, but enough to be something. You glance between them, feeling the shift in the air.

Sunghoon, unbothered as ever, just takes another sip of his beer, gaze fixed on the screen like he doesn’t feel Jake’s stare burning holes into him. Jake, on the other hand, keeps his focus straight ahead, jaw tight. And you? You just sit there, stuck between them, sipping your drink like you don’t feel their silent battle for dominance happening on your body.

The moment the Eagles score another touchdown, Heeseung shoots up from his seat like a rocket, nearly knocking over the bowl of chips on the table.

“LET’S GOOOOOOO!” he yells, arms stretched wide, face pure smugness. “JALEN HURTS IS HIM! MAHOMES WHO? I’VE NEVER HEARD OF THAT MAN IN MY LIFE!”

Beomgyu, slouched dramatically in his seat like he just received life-altering news, glares at Heeseung with unfiltered rage. “Bro, shut the fuck up. You’re acting like you even know ball.”

“I do know ball,” Heeseung shoots back, hands on his hips now, chest puffed like he personally threw the touchdown. “And you know what else I know? Jalen Hurts is CLEARLY better than Mahomes. Better QB, better team, better haircut—”

Beomgyu sits up so fast it’s like his soul re-entered his body. “Oh yeah? Well, Mahomes could—” He pauses, eyes darting around as his brain short-circuits. “—Mahomes could beat Jalen in a sword fight.”

Silence.

Even Heeseung looks momentarily thrown off. “A…sword fight?”

“Yeah,” Beomgyu says, doubling down like the absolute menace he is. “Mahomes has that wrist power, bro. Think about it. You ever see that man throw across his body? Now imagine him with a sword.”

The room collectively loses it. Jay actually wheezes. Sunghoon nearly chokes on his drink. Even Jungwon, who’s been silent for most of the game, shakes his head in pure disappointment.

Jake, however, is not laughing. At all. He’s sitting there, arms crossed, jaw clenched so tight you’d think his teeth might shatter. “This is actually disgusting,” he mutters. “Zero points. Zero. We’re getting cooked.”

Sunghoon, for once, nods in agreement. “Embarrassing.”

Jake glances at him. Sunghoon glances back. And in that moment, their mutual disdain turns into something far more powerful—mutual suffering.

“This defense is non-existent,” Jake continues, shaking his head. “Like, where the fuck is Chris Jones?”

“Right?” Sunghoon huffs. “And why are they not running the damn ball?”

“Dude, I was thinking the same thing,” Jake mutters, leaning in slightly. “And Mahomes keeps trying to force deep shots that aren’t even there.”

Sunghoon nods again, mirroring Jake’s energy now. “If they don’t get points before halftime, I swear—”

“They HAVE to,” Jake interrupts, his frustration now indistinguishable from Sunghoon’s.

From where you’re sitting—smack between them—you can feel the tension between their bodies shift. It’s no longer hostile. No longer cold. They’re in sync. Complaining. Critiquing. Agreeing. Like they’re supposed to.

Like they used to.

And even though they’re completely ignoring your existence, you can’t bring yourself to mind. Because this? This is good.

You glance across the room to Jungwon, who’s watching the entire scene unfold, seated next to Jay. He meets your eyes, then tilts his head toward Jake and Sunghoon, eyebrows raised slightly. You shrug. He smiles.

And just like that, it almost feels like everything is falling into place.

For now.

The room buzzes with anticipation as the stadium lights dim. The opening beats of Alright hit like a shockwave, and suddenly, the energy shifts. Jake and Sunghoon, who had been stewing in their shared misery, straighten in their seats, eyes locked on the screen. Then, almost in sync, they spring to their feet.

“OH, SHIT—” Jake yells, immediately jumping to his feet.

Sunghoon is right behind him, eyes wide, a rare grin spreading across his face. “Nah, this is about to be crazy.”

They’re both locked in, eyes glued to the screen, rapping along with Kendrick like the past twenty minutes of suffering never even happened. And just like that, they’re completely absorbed—every frustration about the game momentarily forgotten as Kendrick Lamar commands the stage.

Jake mouths the words effortlessly, nodding to the beat, while Sunghoon raps along with so much confidence you’d think he was personally featured on the track. By the time DNA. starts, the entire room is moving. Even Jay, who usually keeps his reactions in check, is bobbing his head, rapping under his breath.

Then, out of nowhere, Sunghoon turns to Jake, squinting in suspicion. “Wait—weren’t you Team Drake?”

Jake freezes mid-head nod. Slowly, he turns to Sunghoon, face contorted like he just got personally insulted. “Are you dumb?”

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow. “I swear you were a hardcore Drake fan.”

Jake gestures wildly toward the TV, where Kendrick is absolutely going off. “Yeah, I used to bump old Drake. But obviously I’m Team Kendrick. I have taste.”

Before Sunghoon can respond, Taehyun, who had been relatively quiet most of the night, suddenly starts rapping word for word. Like—flawless execution. Perfect cadence. No hesitation. The entire room turns to stare at him, completely dumbfounded.

Even Jay looks impressed. “Damn. You really went off just now.”

Taehyun barely blinks. “It’s Kendrick. You think I’d come unprepared?”

Before anyone can react to that flex, the instrumental shifts. A slow, deep bass creeps in, and SZA’s unmistakable voice floats through the speakers. The moment Luther starts, the atmosphere changes. The wild energy from the rap performances fades into something smoother, something that settles into everyone’s skin. The kind of song that makes you feel something.

Jake doesn’t even hesitate. Without a word, his hands slide around your waist, pulling you back into him.

Your breath catches slightly, but you don’t resist. Instead, you let yourself sink into his chest, the heat of his body wrapping around you. His grip is firm but easy, his thumbs brushing soft circles over your sides. It’s intimate. Subtle. A moment meant just for the two of you.

From across the room, Sunghoon watches.

His beer lingers halfway to his lips, forgotten, as his gaze settles on the way Jake holds you. The way your head tilts just slightly against Jake’s shoulder, the way Jake’s fingers flex around your waist like he’s making sure you’re real.

It’s the same feeling he had at the party. The same quiet observation. The same pull.

Meanwhile, Jake leans down, lips brushing against your ear. His voice is low, barely above a whisper.

“Meet me in the kitchen when this is over.”

The words send a shiver down your spine. It’s not just what he says—it’s how he says it. Low. Intentional. The kind of tone that makes your skin prickle with anticipation. Your fingers tighten slightly around his arm in response. Just enough to let him know you heard him.

But before anything else can happen—

“OH MY FUCKING GOD.”

Beomgyu’s scream is so loud it nearly drowns out the music. The entire room whips toward the TV, and what they see does not make sense.

Because there, standing on the sidelines of the Super Bowl halftime show, is—

“NIKI?!” Heeseung practically yells.

The camera pans across the crowd, and sure enough, Niki is right there, just casually vibing with John Cena, Yeonjun, and—

“WAIT—IS THAT TAYLOR SWIFT?!” Soobin screeches.

The reaction is instant chaos.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Beomgyu shouts, grabbing his head like he’s in physical pain.

“WHY IS HE WITH TAYLOR SWIFT?” Heeseung demands.

Jake is just staring at the screen, mouth open. “What the fuck is going on?”

Beomgyu throws his arms in the air, voice cracking. “WHY IS THIS OUR FRIEND? WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING?”

No one has an answer. And frankly, no one cares. Because at this point, reality doesn’t even matter. The only thing that does? The fact that Niki is somehow, someway, living a life no one will ever understand.

The chaos from the living room finally settles, leaving behind an electric buzz of excitement and lingering shock over whatever the hell Niki was doing at the Super Bowl. But Jake? Jake has other things on his mind.

Without a word, he stands, stretches like he’s just casually shaking off the loss, and heads toward the kitchen. No one really notices—except for Sunghoon.

Sunghoon, who has barely spoken since that moment behind the couch. Sunghoon, whose sharp gaze follows Jake’s every move as he disappears around the corner. And then, a moment later, follows you, watching in silence as you rise from your seat and slip out of the room.

When you step into the kitchen, the house feels different—quieter, softer. The sounds of the halftime show still echo faintly, but here, it’s just you. You and the weight of anticipation pressing against your ribs.

You push open the pantry door. The moment you step inside, Jake is there. Before you can say a word, before you can even breathe, his hands are on your waist, pulling you in, and his mouth crashes against yours.

You barely have time to register it, the sheer urgency of it all sending a shockwave through you. His grip is firm, fingers digging into your hips like he needs to feel you. Like he can’t stand a single inch of space between you.

You gasp against his lips, caught off guard but not unwilling. Not even close. Because as soon as the initial surprise fades, something inside you ignites. You kiss him back just as fiercely, your hands finding his shoulders, his jaw, anywhere you can touch. His lips move against yours with a desperation that makes your knees weak, makes heat coil low in your stomach.

When he presses you back against the pantry shelves, knocking into a box of cereal that almost topples over, you barely even notice. It’s hot. It’s needy. It’s so Jake.

You pull back just enough to catch your breath, chest rising and falling fast. His forehead rests against yours, his breath hot against your lips.

“What the hell was that?” you ask, a little breathless, a little dazed.

Jake exhales a laugh, his hands still gripping your waist, thumbs brushing slow, teasing circles over your skin. “Needed a little consolation for watching the Chiefs get absolutely embarrassed on national television.”

You raise a brow, still catching your breath. “And this was the best idea you came up with?”

He smirks. “Seemed like a solid plan.”

You hum, tilting your head like you’re considering it. “You know,” you murmur, voice dropping just slightly, “there are other ways I could console you.”

Jake stills. His grip on you tightens, just barely, but you feel it. The way his fingers flex against your skin. The way his breath hitches just slightly. His eyes flick down to your lips, then back up to meet yours. Dark. Heated.

“Oh yeah?” His voice is low, rough around the edges. “Like what?”

You don’t answer. You just kiss him. But this time, it’s different.

You take your time, letting your lips brush his, slow and teasing, just enough to leave him wanting. And it works, because Jake exhales sharply, like he’s losing his patience, like he needs more. So when he kisses you back, it’s almost punishing.

He presses you further against the shelves, his hands sliding up, fingers tracing the shape of your ribs, your waist, like he wants to memorize the way you feel. His lips part against yours, deepening the kiss, and when his tongue brushes against yours, you swear you feel it everywhere. It’s dizzying. It’s addictive.

The air in the pantry is thick. Heavy. Charged with something neither of you want to name.

Jake’s hands are still on you, his breath still warm against your lips, and the weight of his body pressing you against the shelves makes it impossible to think about anything else.

Until the door creaks open. Both of you freeze. A shadow fills the narrow doorway, and then—

“Oh, shit. My bad.”

Sunghoon.

Standing there, blinking at the two of you like he just realized what he walked in on. Jake doesn’t move an inch, body still pressed against yours, but his head snaps toward the door, eyes narrowing immediately. “You have to be kidding me.”

Sunghoon holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Relax. I was just looking for some salt.”

Jake lets out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “For what?”

“A tequila shot.” Sunghoon says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker over you—your swollen lips, the way Jake is still practically caging you in. His expression doesn’t change much, but you see it. The knowing glint in his gaze.

Jake scoffs. “Yeah, okay. Sure.”

And then—without warning—Sunghoon steps inside. You barely have time to react before the door swings shut behind him.

Now, the pantry is even smaller, the three of you packed together in a space that suddenly feels suffocating. Your pulse spikes.

Because Sunghoon doesn’t just stand by the door. He moves closer. Not enough to touch you, not yet, but enough that you feel him there. His presence, his body heat.

The tension is a living, breathing thing between you all.

You swallow hard, trying to shake off the static running up your spine. “You guys need to stop fighting over me,” you say, breaking the silence. Your voice comes out steadier than you expected. “There’s no point.”

Sunghoon huffs a soft laugh. “Yeah? Try telling him that.”

Jake rolls his eyes. “You’re the one who just invited yourself, dude.”

Sunghoon shrugs, but his gaze stays locked onto yours. “Doesn’t change the fact that we both want you.” His voice is lower now, slower. “So, really, what’s there to stop?”

Your breath catches. Because the way he says it—like it’s inevitable, like there’s nothing either of them can do to change it—it does something to you.

Jake, on the other hand, just snorts, the corner of his mouth tugging up slightly. “At least we know you like to watch.”

You tense. Sunghoon doesn’t react at first, but you catch the subtle shift in his expression. The way his lips twitch, just slightly, like he’s considering something.

Then, he tilts his head. “You saying you don’t?”

Jake’s smirk falters—just for a second. But that second is enough. Sunghoon notices. You notice. Jake exhales sharply, jaw clenching for half a beat before he looks away, as if that alone will make the tension disappear.

It doesn’t.

Sunghoon shifts then, closing the distance just a little more. His voice is almost amused when he speaks again, but there’s an edge to it. “Does Jake know what happened last night?”

Your whole body tenses.

Jake stiffens slightly against you. “What are you talking about?”

You don’t say anything. Because you can’t. Because the way Sunghoon is watching you—like he already knows the answer, like he’s relishing in the fact that Jake doesn’t—has your brain short-circuiting.

Sunghoon hums, tilting his head, eyes flickering between you and Jake. “Maybe it would’ve been more fun if you were in the middle,” he muses, voice deceptively casual. “But I don’t mind sharing.”

The words send a sharp jolt of electricity straight through you. You don’t even get a chance to process them before Sunghoon moves again. This time, he’s right there, his chest nearly pressing into your side, while Jake is still solid behind you. Trapped. Between them.

Jake doesn’t move away. Doesn’t react. Just watches.

And then—Sunghoon leans in, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “You don’t mind either, do you?”

Your eyes flutter shut.

And then, as if your body isn’t already seconds away from betraying you, you feel it. Sunghoon’s lips pressing against the curve of your jaw. Slow. Deliberate. Your breath hitches. He doesn’t stop there.

The next kiss lands just beneath your ear, softer this time, barely there. Then, lower—trailing down, down, until his lips brush against the side of your neck. And just like before, Jake doesn’t stop him. He lets it happen.

And the realization nearly makes you dizzy. Because you’re not sure which is worse. The fact that Sunghoon is doing this. Or the fact that Jake is letting him.

Jake exhales through his nose, slow and measured, before his hands tighten around your waist. He pulls you back against him, fitting you flush to his chest, his breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of your neck.

Then, his lips press against your pulse point—hot, deliberate. You shudder. And he feels it.

You know he does, because his grip on your hips tightens, and his voice drops when he murmurs, “Do you like this?” Another kiss. This time, his teeth graze your skin, making your breath catch. “Or do you just want me?”

The question barely registers, because Sunghoon doesn’t let you answer.

His lips are still on you, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your jaw. His tongue flicks against your skin, teasing, and then his teeth—just barely. You whimper. Jake exhales sharply behind you.

Sunghoon chuckles, low and smug, not pulling away. “C’mon,” he drawls, voice smooth as silk. “It’s a simple question, Y/N.” He presses another kiss to your neck, lingering there for a moment. “Who’s the nicest?”

Your fingers tighten around the fabric of Jake’s shirt. You tilt your head slightly, giving Sunghoon more access, and his lips curve against your skin. Jake notices.

“The nicest guy?” you murmur, your voice breathless. “Is there even a right answer?”

Sunghoon huffs out a quiet laugh, shifting even closer, if that’s even possible. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

Jake scoffs behind you, but doesn’t pull away. If anything, his hold on you firms. “This is insane,” he mutters, lips brushing against the back of your ear. “You do realize that, right?”

Sunghoon smirks. “And yet, you’re still here.”

Jake doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t argue. Doesn’t move.

Instead, he just huffs, jaw tight. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

Sunghoon hums. “You’re not?”

Jake doesn’t answer immediately. His hands move, sliding lower over your hips, his thumbs brushing your waistline. You feel his breath against your skin, heavy and warm. Sunghoon waits. Watching.

And then, quietly—like he doesn’t really want to admit it—Jake mutters, “I didn’t say that.”

Sunghoon grins. And you swear, you can feel the shift in the air.

Sunghoon doesn’t pull away. Not completely. His lips brush the corner of your mouth—just barely, just enough to make you chase him. But the second you lean in, he tilts his head back, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Did you ask Jake if you can kiss me?” he murmurs, eyes glinting with amusement.

Your lips part slightly, and then, slowly, you smirk. Jake shifts behind you. “Do you want to?” His voice is lower now, raspier.

You turn your head just enough to meet his gaze. “Can I?”

Jake exhales sharply through his nose, tongue swiping over his bottom lip before he tilts his head. Then, smoothly, he says, “Only if you want to, princess.”

Your stomach flips. You don’t even get a chance to process the way your pulse spikes, because the second you turn back to Sunghoon, leaning in—

Shouts erupt from the living room. Loud, excited. The unmistakable sound of a game back in full force.

Sunghoon takes a step back, running a hand through his hair, exhaling like he knew this would happen. “Guess that’s our cue.” He gives you a lingering look before glancing at Jake. Then, with an infuriating smirk, he mutters, “We’ll finish this after the game.”

And then he walks out. Leaving just you and Jake. Still standing there. Still reeling.

Your eyes meet his, and for a moment, neither of you say anything.

Then you both laugh.

Soft, breathless. Like you just did something insane.

Jake shakes his head, exhaling through his nose, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “And here I was thinking you were the quiet type.”

Your lips curl. “And here I was thinking you were good at reading people.”

Jake grins, stepping closer, just for a second, just enough to catch you off guard. Then, before you can react, he leans in and presses a soft, lingering kiss against your lips. Not rushed. Not urgent. Just something.

And then, just as smoothly, he pulls away, shooting you one last smirk before disappearing out the door.

The game is over. And it’s a disaster. For Jake, at least.

The Eagles won. By a lot. And while Sunghoon is pissed because he hates the Eagles, he’s nowhere near as devastated as Jake, who’s staring blankly at the TV like his entire world just crumbled. Next to him, Beomgyu looks equally wrecked.

Which, of course, means Heeseung is having the time of his life.

“Damn,” Heeseung drawls, stretching lazily as he leans back against the couch. “You know, I tried to warn you guys. Jalen Hurts clears Mahomes. Every time.”

Beomgyu immediately turns his head, eyes wide with betrayal. “You’re really talking right now? He lost to the Chiefs like two years ago!”

Taehyun, sitting beside Heeseung, snickers. “I mean, Heeseung's got a point.”

“Oh, shut up, Taehyun!” Beomgyu whirls on him. “You’re only saying that because you were a Hurts fan before it was cool.”

Soobin, who has been quietly enjoying his drink on the other side of the room, finally breaks and bursts out laughing. “Dude,” he wheezes, watching as Beomgyu and Heeseung continue bickering, “you are so pressed right now.”

Meanwhile, you feel a tug at your wrist. You glance over to find Jungwon pulling you aside.

Your twin gives you a pointed look, nodding toward the door. “I’m staying at Jay and Sunghoon’s place tonight. We’re dropping Woonhak off first.”

You nod. “Alright.”

Jungwon narrows his eyes at you, lowering his voice just enough. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he warns. Then, before you can say anything, he grins. “Actually, never mind. Do something stupid. It’s funnier that way.”

You smack his arm.

Before he can retaliate, Jake appears beside you.

“I can take you home,” Jake offers, shoving his hands into his pockets. His voice is casual, but the way he glances at you from the corner of his eye gives away everything. Jake tenses beside you, shoulders going rigid, hands still shoved deep in his pockets. His jaw clenches so tight you swear you can hear his teeth grind.

Sunghoon, on the other hand, is the picture of ease—standing there with one hand gripping the back of the couch, the other lazily holding a half-empty beer bottle. He doesn’t even look at Jake. Just shifts his gaze toward you like he’s only mildly interested in the conversation.

“I can come too.”

He says it like it’s nothing. Like it’s just a casual suggestion, like he’s not doing this purely to get under Jake’s skin. And oh, it works.

Jake lets out a sharp exhale through his nose, tilting his head slightly before dragging his tongue over his teeth. He doesn’t even look at Sunghoon. Just keeps his eyes fixed ahead, like he’s counting to ten in his head, like he’s fighting the urge to say something that’ll start a whole new problem.

You glance between them, your stomach twisting—not with discomfort, but with anticipation. Because there it is again. That energy.

Jake finally speaks, voice clipped. “We’re good.”

Sunghoon hums. A soft, low sound that you can barely hear over the background noise of the party. But you hear it. Jake hears it.

The corner of Sunghoon’s mouth twitches, like he’s amused, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. And then he shrugs. “Alright.”

But he doesn’t sit back down. He doesn’t grab another drink. He doesn’t join the others, who are still laughing over Beomgyu and Heeseung’s never-ending argument.

No. He follows. You feel his presence behind you as you and Jake walk toward the door. Not saying a word. Just trailing behind. Like he has nowhere else to be.

The walk to the car is silent, but not in the comfortable way. It’s that kind of silence that feels thick with unsaid words, with tension in the air. You feel the weight of Sunghoon trailing behind you, just there, his presence like an electric current that you can’t escape.

Jake, though—Jake is close. Too close. His hand keeps brushing against your back, pulling you slightly closer to him every few steps. His fingers, warm and firm, rest on your waist for a fraction of a second, and you can’t tell if it’s accidental or deliberate. The way he moves with you, like he’s anchoring you to him, makes your head spin just a little.

When you reach Jake’s car, you lean against the door, your back pressing into the cool metal. You glance up at both of them, and in that moment, you can’t help but notice how much taller they are than you. Jake, with his broad shoulders and stance that screams confidence, and Sunghoon, with his calm, almost nonchalant presence. Both of them are standing there, looking down at you, and you’re not sure whether to feel small or intimidated.

It’s quiet again. You shift slightly, unsure of what to say, how to break the awkward silence. But Sunghoon doesn’t hesitate.

“Jake’s really bummed out about the loss,” he says, his voice casual, but his smirk is sharp, almost teasing. “You should comfort him.”

Before you can process what he means by that, Sunghoon leans in and places a quick, light kiss on the corner of your mouth. It’s so unexpected, so sudden, that it makes your breath catch.

And just like that, he straightens up, giving Jake a playful tap on the shoulder. “See you at practice tomorrow, man. Have fun,” Sunghoon adds, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he gives one last glance at you and Jake. Then, without waiting for any reaction, he turns on his heel and walks away, disappearing into the night as though the entire thing was just some casual exchange.

You stand there, blinking, a little stunned. You’re not sure how to process what just happened, how quickly it all unfolded.

Jake, on the other hand, doesn’t seem fazed at all. He smirks, his gaze flicking from Sunghoon’s retreating form to you, and without missing a beat, he opens the passenger door.

“Shall we?” he asks, his voice low, tinged with that playful confidence that always seems to make your heart race.

You hesitate for a moment, still processing everything—Sunghoon’s kiss, the tension, the way Jake has been acting around you—but then you nod. Because at this point, why not? The night is full of unexpected turns, and you’re not sure where this one will lead, but you can’t deny that you’re curious.

You slip into the passenger seat, the door shutting behind you with a soft thud, and Jake slides into the driver’s seat with a smirk that tells you, without words, that he’s very much looking forward to what comes next.

When you arrive at your house, you take a breath and unlock the door. The cool night air makes you shiver slightly, but there's a warmth inside you, a feeling of anticipation you can't shake off. You turn the handle and open the door, glancing back at Jake, who’s just a few steps behind you.

“Make yourself at home,” you say, trying to sound casual, but the words come out a little softer, a little more inviting than you intended.

Before you even have a chance to step inside, Jake is right behind you. His hands find your waist, pulling you toward him as he presses your back against the door.

Without warning, he kisses you, his lips crashing into yours with a hunger that feels like it's been building all night. You’re caught off guard for a second, but the moment he deepens the kiss, you melt into him, your hands running up his chest, your fingers tangling in his shirt.

Jake pulls back just enough to look at you, his breath ragged, his gaze intense. “I couldn’t wait anymore,” he mutters, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Needed you alone.”

Your heart races, and you smirk back, teasing, “Guess it’s about time then.”

Before you can say anything else, Jake’s lips are back on yours, and this time, they trail down your jaw, pressing soft, burning kisses against your neck. You gasp softly at the sensation, arching into him as his hands grip your waist tighter, pulling you even closer.

His voice comes out hushed, almost as if he’s fighting to keep control. “I’ve been dying for this.” His lips move to the soft spot just below your ear, and you feel every inch of him pressed against you.

Without warning, he lifts you in one smooth motion, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist. The surprise causes you to gasp, but you cling to him, your hands finding his shoulders for support.

You’re pinned between Jake and the door, his body all heat and strength, and you feel his hands sliding down your back, gripping you tighter. He holds you against him as his lips return to your neck, kissing and sucking along the sensitive skin there. Your breath catches in your throat, a shiver running down your spine.

“Jake,” you breathe out, your voice shaky from the intensity of the moment. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, pulling him even closer.

Jake grins, the spark in his eyes never fading, before he presses his lips against yours again, this time even more urgently, as if he can’t get enough. The kiss is deep, intense, and you can feel every part of him. You’re breathless, lost in the moment, your heart pounding as he lifts you a little higher, pressing you against the door with a force that makes everything around you disappear.

When he pulls back just enough to speak, his voice is low and rough. “Where’s your room?” he asks, breathless.

You try to steady your heart, your chest rising and falling quickly. “Second door on the right,” you answer, barely able to form the words.

Jake doesn’t hesitate. He moves toward the hallway with you still in his arms, your legs wrapped around his waist. But as he reaches for the first door, the one you know is Jungwon’s, you quickly stop him, tugging on his shoulder.

“No, not that one!” you say urgently, making him pull back. “That’s Jungwon's.”

Jake stops, raising an eyebrow at you with a smirk. “I didn’t want to remember your brother lives here tonight,” he teases.

You laugh softly, the tension easing slightly. “Yeah, me neither,” you admit, rolling your eyes.

Jake chuckles, heading for the right door this time. He opens the door to your room easily with one hand, holding you in place with the other as he kicks it shut behind him. Without missing a beat, he walks you toward the bed, placing you gently onto it as he leans over you. The weight of him on top of you is both grounding and electric, and your heart pounds even harder.

You glance up at him, your legs still wrapped around his waist, and your chest tightens with anticipation. The silence between you is thick, but it's comfortable, and it's clear what you both want.

Jake's gaze softens for a moment, his voice low as he leans in closer. “You okay?” he asks, his hot breath brushing against your lips.

You nod, barely able to speak. "Yeah… I'm more than okay"

He smirks at you, and Jake’s lips crash against yours again, hungry, urgent. The intensity of his kiss takes your breath away, leaving you dizzy. Your hands instinctively tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on. You can feel the heat between you both, a pressure building that makes your heart race even faster. Your hands roam over his chest, feeling the muscles under his shirt, the warmth of his skin. He lets out a low groan, pulling away just enough to catch his breath.

“You’re killing me,” he mutters, but there’s a smirk on his lips, before his lips are on yours again, his kiss deeper, more insistent.

His hand slips beneath your shirt, fingertips grazing the soft skin of your waist, and you shiver under his touch. Every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire. His other hand moves to your neck, gently tilting your head back, giving him better access. He kisses your jaw, then moves down to your neck, sucking lightly, making you gasp in pleasure.

You arch into him, your legs tightening around his waist. He responds with a growl, lifting his head slightly to meet your eyes, his breath coming in short bursts. And then, in a sudden move, he pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands still gripping your waist. "Tell me you want this," he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours, almost teasing.

“I want this,” you whisper back, your voice shaky with desire.

His smirk deepens, and without saying another word, Jake’s lips are on yours again, more demanding this time, as if he’s losing himself in the moment. His hands roam over your body, tracing the curve of your waist, pulling you even closer. You can feel the weight of his desire, and it only makes the kiss more intoxicating.

You slip your hand beneath his shirt, your fingers brushing the warm skin of his chest. His breath hitches, and he responds with a growl that sends a shiver down your spine. He pauses, his lips hovering over yours, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re making this hard to keep up with,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire, his hands gripping your waist like he’s trying to hold onto some semblance of control.

You smile against his lips, teasing him just a little. “Maybe I like making you lose control.”

His eyes flash with something darker, something hungry. Without warning, he pulls away from the kiss, his hands at the hem of his shirt. “You'd like this?” he asks, his voice low, his gaze intense. He’s not asking for permission—he’s already making the decision for you.

You nod, breathless, watching him as he pulls his shirt off, revealing the muscles beneath, the definition of his chest and abs making your heart race. His eyes lock onto yours as you take him in, his gaze searching yours for something. A challenge, maybe. A question.

“You like what you see?” he asks, his voice full of teasing, his grin almost predatory.

You raise an eyebrow, an amused smirk pulling at your lips. “Maybe.”

His grin widens, clearly enjoying the teasing, his gaze burning with a mixture of challenge and desire. “What about Sunghoon?” he asks, his words coated in playful provocation. “You prefer him?”

You tilt your head, your smirk never fading. “I don’t know... I haven’t seen him like this,” you tease, your eyes flicking between his, enjoying the power shift.

Jake’s smirk falters just for a second, before he leans in close again, his lips brushing against your ear. “Well, I guess he’ll just have to get a taste of me then.”

His words send a wave of heat through you, but before you can say anything else, he moves to lift your shirt, his hands warm against your skin. “May I?” he asks, his voice lower now, a soft but commanding question. You hesitate for a moment, looking into his eyes. Then you nod, your heart beating faster as he pulls your shirt off. The moment feels like everything is falling into place, the tension building to its peak.

His eyes fall to the red lacy bra you're wearing, and a small chuckle escapes his lips. “Did you plan this?” he asks, his voice a mix of amusement and desire.

You smirk, your heart racing. “Maybe.”

And as he stares at you, the silence between you both is charged with anticipation. Jake leans in again, kissing you with the same intensity, as if the world outside doesn’t even exist. Every touch, every movement feels like it’s driving you both further into this shared moment.

But even then, his hands are gentle, patient, as if he’s savoring every second of this tension, of what’s building between you both. And in that moment, it feels like the entire universe has slowed down—just you, him, and the magnetic pull between you.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs, his voice low, thick with something that makes warmth pool in your stomach.

You bite your lip, heat creeping up your neck as his gaze dips lower. Jake’s eyes darken at the sight of your body. He reaches out, slipping his fingers beneath the hem of your skirt, brushing against your thigh. It’s barely a touch, but it sets your skin on fire.

“You’re so soft,” he whispers, his breath warm against your shoulder as he leans in, pressing a lingering kiss just beneath your jaw. He trails lower, lips ghosting over your collarbone, then lower still. His hands work the fabric of your skirt higher until it pools around your hips, exposing even more of your skin to him.

His lips find the inside of your thigh, slow and deliberate. Each kiss is featherlight, but the heat of them leaves a mark you can’t see but feel everywhere. His hands steady your hips as he presses closer, mouthing at your skin, murmuring praise between each kiss.

“So beautiful.” A kiss. “So perfect.” Another. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

You can’t think straight, not when he’s looking at you like that, not when his lips are so warm and his hands are so gentle yet firm. Every touch, every word, every heated glance makes the air between you buzz with something electric.

He lifts his head slightly, meeting your gaze, searching for something—permission, reassurance, the silent confirmation that you want this as much as he does. And you do. More than anything.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, fingers still teasing at the edge of your skirt, eyes locked onto yours like they hold the universe. His fingers gently toying with the hem of your skirt. He looked at you, waiting for your response, unable to keep the teasing smile off his face.

“I want you, Jake…” you say in a ragged voice, and the moment the words leave your lips, you see the shift in him. His eyes darken, his breath catches, and a slow, wicked smile spreads across his face. Desire surges through him, his fingers tightening against your skin as he drinks in the sight of you.

His lips ghost over your sensitive skin, his breath warm and teasing. “Is that so?” he hums, voice laced with amusement and hunger. “Then I’ll gladly give you what you want.” His hands make quick work of your skirt, sliding it down your hips and tossing it aside. He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, then another, each one slower, more deliberate, more intoxicating.

His kisses trail higher, slow and agonizing, leaving a path of heat in their wake. His hands grip your thighs, steadying you, keeping you exactly where he wants you. He’s in no rush, savoring every reaction, every little gasp that slips from your lips.

His gaze flickers down, lingering on your red lace underwear. A slow smirk tugs at his lips as his fingers trace along the delicate fabric. “Matching,” he muses, his voice thick with appreciation. He leans in, lips brushing just above the lace, his breath hot against your skin. “You look absolutely delicious.”

“Do you like it?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jake’s grip on the fabric tightens slightly, his eyes dark with desire as he takes in the sight of you. The deep crimson lace against your skin, his favorite color—it’s almost too much. A soft groan escapes him as his fingers skim the delicate fabric, feeling its softness against his fingertips.

“Oh, I love it,” he breathes, his voice thick with arousal. His fingers toy with the edge of your underwear, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. The anticipation in your gaze makes his pulse quicken. But before he moves any further, he pauses, his expression softening slightly as he searches your face. “May I?” His voice is lower now, almost reverent.

Your nod is all he needs. Jake’s heart pounds, his excitement thrumming in his veins as he watches you give him permission. Holding your gaze, he slowly peels the fabric down, his hands trembling slightly as he slides the lace from your body.

His eyes roam over you, drinking in every inch, every curve, every perfect imperfection. Wonder flickers across his face, as if he’s seeing you for the first time. As if he can’t believe you’re his, even if just for tonight.

His lips return to your skin, trailing a path of slow, lingering kisses along your inner thighs. Each touch is deliberate, teasing, meant to drive you wild. He takes his time, savoring the way your body reacts to him, how you shift under his touch, how your breath catches in your throat.

His lips hover just above your core, his breath warm against your skin. He looks up at you, eyes dark with desire, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Do you want me to taste you, princess?” His voice is low, commanding, dripping with need.

“Jake… Fuck, yes,” you gasp, nearly trembling with anticipation.

A slow, satisfied smile spreads across his face. “That’s what I wanted to hear,” he murmurs. His grip tightens on your thighs as he settles between them, his breath ghosting over your skin.

And then, with excruciating patience, he finally gives you what you’ve been aching for. Jake's warm breath ghosts over your aching core, sending a shudder through your body. Your legs tremble as you shift, fingers gripping the sheets with desperate intensity.

His tongue glides along your slick folds, tracing every inch before dipping lower. A sharp gasp escapes you as he circles your most sensitive spot, teasing the tight ring of muscle before pushing the tip of his tongue inside. The sensation sends a spark of heat straight to your core, leaving you breathless.

Slowly, he drags his tongue back up, parting you with ease before latching onto your clit. He flicks it, slow and deliberate, just to hear the way your breath stutters. He knows exactly how to unravel you.

His tongue dips into your entrance, pushing inside before pulling back, leaving a glistening trail of saliva mixed with your arousal. You're already a mess beneath him, and he hasn't even started yet. Jake devours you, his hot tongue exploring every inch of your dripping cunt, savoring you like he can’t get enough. He sucks hard, his lips sealing around you as he tilts his head from side to side, his face buried between your thighs, never giving you a moment to breathe.

"Jake..." Your voice is barely a whisper, but he hears it—feels it in the way your body responds to him.

His tongue pushes inside you, again and again, relentless and desperate, sending sharp jolts of pleasure up your spine.

"I want you dripping for me," he rasps against your heat before diving back in, feasting on you with reckless hunger.

You're so wet that you can feel it dripping down the insides of your thighs, warm and slick against your skin. Jake pulls away from your entrance, shifting his focus back to your aching, desperate clit. He captures it between his lips and sucks hard, releasing you with a wet, obscene pop. The sound alone sends a fresh wave of heat through your body. He repeats the motion, but this time, before sucking again, he drags his tongue over the sensitive tip, teasing it with slow, deliberate strokes while keeping it trapped between his lips.

He buries his face deeper between your thighs, pulling you against his mouth like he never wants to let go. All you can do is moan—loud, needy—while he devours you, moving his head up and down, side to side, his tongue relentless, his mouth unforgiving.

You come undone against his tongue, body trembling, your pleasure spilling into his mouth. And he doesn’t stop. His movements slow, his tongue gliding over every inch of you, licking up every drop of your release as if he’s savoring it.

"You're addictive, you know that?" His voice is low, rough with hunger, as he presses soft kisses to the insides of your thighs, nipping at your skin before leaving one last, lingering suck against your swollen cunt. Then, he drags himself up your body, eyes dark and lips parted, still wet with you.

"You're so fucking sweet," he murmurs, voice thick with desire. You shudder as his fingers trail down your hip, finding your slick heat with ease. "And so wet..."

He brushes the tips of his fingers over your entrance, barely touching you, yet it’s enough to make you whimper. A smirk tugs at his lips as he catches your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down before pulling away with just enough force to leave you breathless.

"Jake, please..." He leans down, pressing soft, teasing kisses along your jawline, his voice a low, satisfied purr beneath your ear.

"Please what, princess?" he murmurs, making you whimper in anticipation. When you don’t answer right away, he lets out a quiet chuckle against your neck. "What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?"

Then, he rolls his hips against your soaked folds, the hard outline of his cock pressing right where you need him most. A breathy moan escapes you, your fingers gripping onto his waist.

"Take this off," you demand, tugging at the waistband of his pants. His lips curl into a cocky smirk as he slowly pulls away, rising to his knees in front of you. Without breaking eye contact, he unbuttons his pants at an agonizing pace, his gaze heavy, teasing. And when he finally pushes them down, your eyes drop to the thick outline straining against his boxers, your body instinctively moving closer.

But before you can reach for him, his fingers wrap around your chin, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. "And what do you think you're about to do, huh?" His voice is deep, dripping with amusement. You bite your lip, looking up at him, unable to find the words.

Jake tilts his head, watching you closely. "You’re gonna have to tell me, princess. Do you want to suck my dick?" His tone is dark, commanding, and when you nod, his smirk only deepens.

"Yeah, that’s not happening. Not tonight." His grip tightens just enough to make your breath hitch. "Because I need to be inside you right now."

A moan slips from your lips, the sheer authority in his voice sending a rush of heat straight through you.

Jake leans in, closing the distance, capturing your mouth in a feverish, desperate kiss as he gently but firmly pushes you back onto the bed. His hands waste no time sliding down his body, and with agonizing slowness, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of his underwear, peeling them off inch by inch.

You’re left breathless as he kneels between your legs, his sculpted body bathed in the dim light, every muscle defined, every inch of him unbearably perfect. He catches the way your lips part, the way your eyes drink him in, and he lets out a low, knowing chuckle.

A wicked smirk tugs at his lips as he wraps a hand around his rigid length, guiding the swollen tip to your soaked entrance. He drags it slowly along your slick folds, teasing you, spreading your wetness over himself with deliberate precision.

"This what you want?" he murmurs, pressing just the tip inside, barely stretching you open before pulling back. A whimper escapes you, frustration mixing with pleasure. "Tell me, princess," he coaxes, teasing you again—just the tip, just enough to drive you insane.

"Fuck, yes!" you curse when he presses his cock against your throbbing clit, gliding it between your dripping folds before stopping at your entrance once more.

Jake exhales sharply, shaking his head to get rid of the strands of hair falling into his eyes. And then, finally, he pushes in, slowly sinking his entire length inside you. Inch by inch, he stretches you open, filling you completely, letting you feel every bit of him.

His movements are unhurried, savoring the way your body molds to him, the way you take him so perfectly. His abs tighten with every slow thrust, his muscles flexing under the dim light as he sets a steady, intoxicating rhythm that has you both moaning softly.

He doesn’t speed up, doesn’t change his pace. Instead, he leans in, capturing your lips in a deep, languid kiss. Your body melts against his, every inch of you consumed by the way he moves inside you—deep, deliberate, relentless.

"You have no idea how much I wanted to hear you moaning for me," he rasps, his voice thick with arousal. The moment his words sink in, your walls clench around him, and he groans, head dropping to your shoulder. "Fuck, don’t squeeze me like that," he growls.

Your hands find his face, pulling him into another messy, desperate kiss, your bodies moving together in perfect sync. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, licking up the thin layer of sweat that coats your skin before biting down on your shoulder—just enough to make you whimper.

He knows exactly what he's doing.

"Let me ride you," you plead, your voice unsteady, barely above a whisper.

Jake doesn’t hesitate. He pulls out of you with a low grunt, sitting back against the bed, legs spread, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

Your eyes trail over him—the way his thick cock pulses against his abs, the sheen of sweat on his tanned skin. Your core clenches at the sight, and without another thought, you crawl toward him.

"Anything you want," he murmurs, tapping his thigh twice. "Come here." You obey, straddling his lap, gripping the base of his cock before aligning it with your entrance. "Sit on it nice and slow for me, baby," he urges, voice dark and filled with desire.

You sink down onto him, taking him inch by inch, swallowing his deep, guttural moan as his hands grip your ass, guiding you through every movement.

You ride his cock, rolling your hips until you find the perfect rhythm, bouncing on his thick length that stretches you so deliciously. Jake meets your movements, thrusting up in sync with you, making everything even more intense.

"Fuck, you're so hot," he growls, landing a sharp slap on your ass. A needy moan escapes your lips, and he chuckles darkly, delivering another one. "You like this, huh?" Another slap. "You like getting spanked… you like it when Sunghoon watches. You're not as innocent as I thought."

His words make you clench around him, and he groans under you, biting the corner of his lips as you quicken your pace. His head falls back, his jaw tightening as he sinks his teeth into his lower lip. Slowing your movements, you grind against him, teasing him.

"Fuck—" he curses, frustration lacing his voice.

His hands grip your waist as he notices the way your thighs begin to tremble from exhaustion. He takes control, thrusting up into you with deep, powerful strokes that leave you gasping and gripping his shoulders.

"A-ah… just like that!" you cry out, your body trembling from the force of his thrusts. He pounds into you, hitting all the right spots over and over again.

"You're so fucking tight," he groans. Your eyes rake over his body—his toned arms and sculpted abs, flexing with every movement. His dark, slightly damp hair clings to his forehead, and his parted lips spill out the most sinful moans. His eyes, darker than ever, squeeze shut as he tilts his head back, consumed by pleasure. Jake is pure perfection.

Your walls flutter around him, signaling the orgasm building deep inside you. Sensing it, Jake tightens his grip on your waist, holding you still as he thrusts up harder, deeper. "Ah—Jake! This feels so good…!"

"I know, princess. I know…" Your moans mix with his, and as the pressure within you finally explodes, you let out a sharp cry. "Cum for me, baby," he groans, voice rough and desperate. "You're squeezing me so tight, fuck—"

With his words, you unravel completely, your orgasm crashing over you in waves. Your body trembles uncontrollably, the overwhelming pleasure sending sparks through your veins. Your pussy clenches around him, milking his cock as he continues to guide your movements, his hands gripping your ass firmly.

"Baby…" you whimper.

Jake groans, his muscles tensing beneath you. His cock throbs inside you before warmth floods your core as he spills deep inside. His mouth parts in a silent moan, his eyes squeezing shut, his entire body shuddering as he rides out his release.

Breathing heavily, he lets his head fall forward, forehead pressing against yours.

"Angel," he whispers, still catching his breath. Your bodies remain connected, neither of you willing to move just yet. You take the opportunity to kiss him—slow, lingering—your fingers trailing along his sharp jawline, nails scratching his skin softly.

Completely spent, you collapse onto his chest. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer, letting you rest your head over his heart. His fingers brush gently over your cheek, his touch soothing. "How can you be this perfect?" he murmurs.

Your chest rises and falls rapidly, still recovering. “You’re driving me insane, Jake…” you manage between deep breaths. He chuckles, scrunching his nose.

"You’re the one driving me insane, love." His fingers move to your hair, stroking it softly. Your body relaxes against him, sinking into his warmth. "Feeling better now?" he asks.

You smile, tilting your head up to look at him. "If every time we watch an NFL game together ends like this, I might start watching more often."

He grins, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"I wouldn't mind that at all," he muses, eyes locked onto yours, deep and captivating. "But next time, you better bring luck to the Chiefs."

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author's note: SO...... THAT HAPPENED..... LMAOOOOO ok so this was the very first smut scene i've ever written so.... hope u guys like it and ALSO im sorry i took this long to post it, it's because i've been really busy these past few days and i was struggling very hard writing it so. anyway!!!! here it is. HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY EVERYONE

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[thisfeelslike-iykyk]

love languages ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

sw boys x reader (ft. luke skywalker, han solo, anakin skywalker, obi-wan kenobi, poe dameron, din djarin) backtrack: “rewrite the stars”, zac efron + zendaya inspiration: this is part three of my little series (pjo version here and hp version here)

luke skywalker

giving: words of affirmation / acts of service

the problem with luke is that he changes, see. in a new hope he’s bright eyed and bushy tailed. by return of the jedi the poor dude has seen some stuff. in a new hope though, his giving love language is totally words of affirmation. he called leia beautiful, and while it’s kind of weird to think about because they’re, uh, brother and sister, it was still sweet. another love language for luke--in both a new hope and return of the jedi--is definitely acts of service. in episodes four and five, it’d be in a naive, following you around like a lost puppy kind of way. he’d jump at the opportunity to do anything for you, you’re literally his goddess, say the word “water” and he’ll be sprinting to get a glass of it for you. in return of the jedi though, he likes to do things for his partner in a more mature, protective way. he’d place more importance on making sure you’re safe, and he deems himself your protector until his dying breath. a runner up for return of the jedi luke would be quality time. he and his friends have been through war, and he knows how dangerous jedi life is. so he treasures every quiet moment he can have with his loved ones.

receiving: physical touch

LOOK HOW FLUSTERED MY BOY WAS WHEN LEIA KISSED HIM (never mind that it was mildly concerning given they’re siblings!). luke absolutely melts for physical touch, moreso in episodes four and five but in six as well. his face will get bright red, he’ll start stuttering, my man does not hide it well. his friends, especially han, will tease the f-- out of him. he’ll deny it vehemently, but he’d get on his knees for you if you so much as touch his shoulder. he likes every sort of physical touch, it doesn’t have to be kisses. he’ll be bursting with joy even when you’re just linking pinkies during meetings; he’ll be constantly bouncing in his seat and will absolutely not be able to pay attention. also he definitely clings onto you while you’re sleeping like you’re a stuffed animal.

han solo

giving: gift giving

legitimately, I think sometimes when han smuggles physical materials, he’ll pick the best thing and steal it from the cargo and just give it to his partner. han’s not rich, but he wants his partner to have the best things in life, especially since he doesn’t think he can offer much else (except for his dashing good looks, of course). does it sometimes get him in trouble when his bosses notice that the biggest diamond is missing from the cargo? yeah. does he care? nope.

receiving: quality time

han’s constantly on the move with his job. he doesn’t have time to relax, since he’s often looking over his shoulder for bounty hunters. when he has free time, he’d love to play a relaxed game on the falcon with his partner. his favorite is the one with the holograms that c3po and r2d2 play versus chewbacca. he usually doesn’t go all out because he’s usually playing against chewbacca, and they’re good buddies but han doesn’t really want to find out what would happen if he won against the wookiee. but against his partner? oh he’s going all out. he’s not a gentleman. he’ll absolutely obliterate you and laugh about it. it’s kind of charming though.

anakin skywalker

giving: words of affirmation

okay, mister “are you an angel?”. mister “you are so beautiful”. mister “I’m haunted by the kiss you never should have given me”, even though that line was kind of awkward coming from nineteen year old anakin. I don’t know how he can be so terribly unarticulate, but at the same time the most romantic smooth talker in the whole star wars universe. I just know he’ll be showering his partner with all sorts of lovely, poetic compliments. he’s a charmer, he’ll swipe you right off your feet with his words.

receiving: physical touch

like father, like son, I guess. without a doubt, anakin’s also a physical touch guy (partly because I want him to be, but also because I genuinely think so). the poor dude’s had a rough childhood, so he’s starved of love. and most importantly, he’s touch starved. show him some love, please. hugs, kisses, cuddles, holding hands, anything of the sort. he’ll constantly whine if he can’t be physically affectionate with you, even though you both know it’s because you’re trying to keep your relationship a secret. he’s also a big cuddler and would 100% be a hidden little spoon, although he’ll be kind of embarrassed about it. when you put a hand on his cheek, he’ll immediately lean into your touch. also, I just have this thought that he’d love it when you ruffle or play with his hair. please do it. he’ll even bend down so you can reach his hair if there’s a big height difference between you two. but also, I feel like I can’t gloss over the fact that anakin is in serious need of some words of affirmation. he never gets it, even though he’s done so much for the jedi order. please tell him you love him and he’s awesome. he’ll melt.

obi-wan kenobi

giving: acts of service

I mean, do I really have to explain? obi-wan would be the perfect boyfriend. he’s an absolute gentleman. he’d be the best at princess treatment, always making sure you never have to lift a finger. however, some people are not into being babied or taken care of to that extent, and obi-wan knows that. he’d completely respect his partner’s independence and competence to do things for themselves, but he’d love to just take care of his partner as well. mostly, he wants to make sure his partner is protected and safe at all times, similar to return of the jedi luke.

receiving: quality time

obi-wan’s literally dedicated his life to the jedi order. not much is known about his childhood, but it’s safe to assume he started training really young (much younger than nine, at least, since anakin was deemed to be too old at that age, which is ridiculous) and for a really long period of time. he’s been so busy with training anakin and trying to keep up with him that he doesn’t have a lot of time to rest. so when he does have downtime, he’d want to spend it with his partner trying to form a deeper emotional bond. because really, obi-wan would definitely prioritize an emotional connection with his partner, and you can’t really make that happen when you’re fighting for your lives every day. I think he’d want to either change the jedi’s practices or leave the order because he’d want to spend time with his partner and be like an actual family (ahem ahem “had you asked, I would have left the order for you”). although I also think he’s touch starved and would get easily flustered by physical touches.

poe dameron

giving: words of affirmation

poe’s a charismatic guy, kind of a charmer. he’s brash and abrasive when he’s mad, but he’s generally quite the relaxed (as relaxed as you can be when you’re fighting for your life every day, I guess), cheeky guy. you know he has a few good pickup lines in his back pocket. he pulls them out any time he wants to charm someone. half of the time it’s because he’s doing it as a joke, but other times he genuinely tries to be slick with it (heads up, he’s not). something also tells me he’d like giving gifts to his partner too, to spoil them rotten (even though I can’t imagine he has that much money, sorry poe).

receiving: physical touch

why was I kind of at a loss for this one? I guess poe is just pretty touch starved too, it’s not like he has a partner in the movies and he’s under a lot of stress every day with the resistance. I feel like he’d lowkey get migraines or muscle pain pretty often, and he’d literally melt if you gave him a massage. he just likes being close to his partner, although he’d probably let slip a dirty joke every now and then. he’ll definitely tease you if you get flustered about it, but a little slap from you and he’ll shut up.

din djarin

giving: acts of service

acts of service is basically the thing that defines din’s life, lol. he’s catching bounties for people, he’s helping npcs with their side quests (what? who said that?), and just look at how much he cared for grogu and how dedicated he was to the cutie. he literally gave up the dream life with omera for grogu. for his partner, he’d go to the ends of the galaxy. he would risk his life. he’d sacrifice his life. it takes him a while to warm up to people--he’s a slow burn romance trope, don’t even mess with me on that--but once he’s found his soulmate, he’ll give his heart, mind, body, and soul to you. he’s at your service, completely.

receiving: quality time

din’s life is constantly changing. people come and go as he floats through space, taking jobs and completing them. he really appreciates those quiet nights on his ship with his partner. it’s just the two of you floating through space, and he can almost forget his busy life and just focus on you. I think he wishes he could have a slower, peaceful life. look how happy he was with omera on that one planet that I forget the name of. he was literally so tempted to stay, and I think he definitely would have if it weren’t for grogu. similar to obi-wan, though, he’s touch starved, so he’d appreciate a little physical touch every now and then as well. nothing huge, especially in the beginning, but just simple hugs and holding hands in private.

for this post I added in han because I can’t believe I forgot him in my last sw post. this is also unedited because I'm tired and I spent like two hours writing this

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