#I never put my phone on the table and everybody does and the one time I accidentally spill something I have to pay for the phone of the

[mafaldinablabla]

How about we don't put out phones on the table at all so if something spills then it won't reach it and potentially break it (and also to be polite to the person/s we're talking to giving them our undivided attention)?

[acid-ixx]

ch.2: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four

read until the end for an author's note.

*"XX/XX/XXXX, entry no. 13.

i hate everything. i hate my family. i hate my father, i hate my brothers, i hate my classmates, i hate alfred, i hate this place, i hate my mom, i hate everyone.

why can't i ever get what i wanted? what do i have to do? i tried so hard to be everything for them, but why do i only amount to nothing? it's been a year, or two, i don't know. it hurts trying to remember when was the last time i saw him. saw, not talk, because he never talks to me, bruce never even looks at me. and i hate myself for trying to get him to look at me.

is he disgusted at me? does he see my mother in me? does he hate me that much? i don't know, i don't want to know, it hurts to know. i don't know why i'm trying anymore, i don't know how longer i can last in this hell. i can feel it, the longer i stay here, the more i lose a part of myself. i don't want to be here.

i don't want to pray anymore.

so if there's any god out there watching over me, then i wish for you to burn, to suffer, to go through the same thing i have been experiencing for years— all for putting me in this place. i would've been fine living in the streets with my mother. i would've been alright providing for our small family, i would've known to never get my hopes high, but you took her away from me!—

i hate you."

"master (name), are you awake? dinner is ready."

you had to shut your diary at the sound of the knock and alfred's voice.

"alfr-"

a cough, hoarse and croaky, cuts you out from calling his name. it was accompanied by uncontrollable sniffles, mucus blocking your nose from breathing properly. your room was dark, save for the lamp that lights up your bedside, where you currently were seated on your bed to write another entry, grip on your pen unknowingly harsh. you didn't even have to look at your reflection from your phone laying beside the diary to know that hiding your tears were fruitless.

salty were the crystalline droplets that streaks your face, but bitter were the emotions that had your heart ache.

you hear a sigh from the other room. before he could muster a reply, you beat him to it.

"i'm not eating dinner, alfred," you hate hearing your voice, sounding so obviously scrathy from the hours of wailing. "at least not with them. i don't want to get out at all."

"then may i at least bring them over to you, master (name)?"

his answer was final, you have no choice on retaliating and starving yourself like you did for the past few days. but it wasn't your fault that you had forgotten your body's needs. it wasn't your fault that your mind blanks itself out on the dinner table. it wasn't your fault that bile quickly crawls up your throat at hearing their voices.

you simply lost your appetite seeing them happy without you.

alfred pennyworth would never play favorite.

it was drilled into his head ever since he had sworn to serve the wayne family and its extended members— he is to serve anyone and everyone, regardless if they respect him or they do not; as long as they do not pose any danger within the manor, then he is to attend to them.

you'd think that in his decades of service for the wayne's - with all the contrasting personalities he had to deal with - he would maintain professional standards and tell everybody in the world, "i, of course, do not favor anyone within the family, i live to serve and that is truth." when in fact, he wouldn't hesistate to admit that he does, in actuality, have a favorite.

and no, it wouldn't be the eldest child, dick grayson, as much as he is alfred's pride and joy, nor would it be the youngest, damian wayne, who had been slowly correcting his mistakes. it wouldn't even be the head of the house, master bruce.

it would be you, (name) wayne, the infamous, yet forgetten child of the wayne family.

it wouldn't be a far fetch for alfred to admit that you weren't like the others. in all of the years that he served the wayne's, you were a contrast of the family.

the first few hours that he had picked you up from the police department upon the news of bruce's secret child, he knew you were more than just a child raised by the brutal streets of gotham.

you pose secrets that speak of the underground.

he remembers your seated form on the stiff chair of the interrogation room, pose unnervingly straight, as if you had solidified yourself against the metal seat. your fingers were the only signs that showed life, twiddling with each other as if it's some form of distraction.

you stared at nothing.

not even at the police as your name was called for pick up.

it took merely a signature of confirmation to dictate the future years of your life.

what's left of your belongings were given to alfred. the police officer, a woman with a kind smile then had to walk across the interrogation table to pat your back, gesturing for you to stand up and follow her and alfred on the way outside of the station, where the car was parked.

you hadn't uttered a word nor snapped out of your dreamlike gaze. not even when you were greeted with a thousand clicks of the cameras, the buzzing crowd that drowns the police station, or the hundreds of voices that yell at you to look at them.

(name) (last name), now formally adopted by bruce wayne, would be (name) wayne. it wouldn't be a shock that your sudden appearance as the child of a scandalous relationship between a prostitute and a billionaire would cause immense reactions. news would be spreading left and right, most of which were negative on your side.

he had to shield you from the crowd of photographers and journalists itching their way to the crowd to get a glance on you.

yet you didn't display any discomfort. you had only sat on the car obediently, fastening your seatbelts robotically and ignoring the lenses that unsettlingly tried to poke through the car windows to take pictures of you.

you were more like batman than you were bruce.

alfred had tried to get you communicate with questions like, "how are you over there, master (name)?" yet you would only mumble unintelligible responses to his questions without any ounce of emotion. he had to look at the rear view mirror to take in your stiff form. again, your eyes were set on nothing, even if they were casted down on the carpeted floorboards of the car.

when he had first met bruce, that child was overflowing with anger and vengeance for his parent's killer, yet you, who refused to explain your mother's disappearance, are devoid of anything.

the silence was defeaning throughout the ride. the only comfort that was provided was the rain that began to patter against the glass windows.

alfred throught you would retain the same behavior the entire day.

yet it was only when you first walked up the steps of the manor did your demeanor change, fingers immediately reaching up to hold the cuffs of his sleeves, pulling it as if you were hesitant to step in.

the first emotion you had shown him was concern, like a switch had flickered you out of your trance. it was the first time in a while that alfred had to do a double take to check if what was happening was real.

"can you... hold my hand?" and it was the first time he had heard you speak, voice unnaturally scratchy from the lack of water. you stared at him with wide, doe eyes that refused to blink, waiting for answers. alfred had to gaze at your entire body to finally notice that you were covered head to toe in sloppy bandages with blood seeping through the grime-filled gauze. your shoes were worn, your clothes were ripped, and other uncovered scars littered your body.

the most conspicuous color on your shirt was crimson red.

yet you do not display pain.

a child, five years of age, had been through more than enough anguish to know how to block their pain out.

you were unlike the rest, truly, you were unwavering of the world's cruelty.

the world does not deserve someone like you.

alfred takes it in himself to always hold your hand after that.

through the mansion doors, inside the kitchen, on your way to school; whenever and wherever, as long as he had time.

even if it were filled with scars and bruises, dirt and grime, he will always hold your hand if it meant guiding you through the darkness of the manor.

you may not consider yourself bruce's child, but you will always be alfred's.

another knock on your door had you snapping out of your trance. time passed by so quickly in the manor. well, it does when you have nothing to do but stare at your diary, draw on your sketchbook or scroll through your phone. yet time would always be the quickest whenever you drown in your own misery.

"come in," you croak out, aware that it would only be alfred who would come by your room. it was long ago since you had given up on awaiting for dick's visits.

a turn of the knob, then the door swings quietly; the hinges creak, you need them oiled sooner. alfred walks in, you notice he holds a tray that contains two cupcakes and a plate of your favorite dish, but you don't notice the small box with a bow hidden skillfully from the back of the tray. from over your seat, you could already smell the aromatic herbs that flutter in the room and see the colorful frosting from both cupcakes; an already lit candle sticking in from one.

the candle at least provides just a split second of light inside your dim room; the moonlight just like your family, absent.

alfred graciously places the tray on your nightstand, on the left of your diary. your room was still too silent.

you could only hear yourself.

"master (name), are you simply going to sit there and stare? or would you rather i spoonfeed you like i had when you had broken your wrist?"

you blink it out again, oblivious to your very own hyperawareness. alfred's still here. you hope that, in the presence of darkness, he wouldn't see just how much of a mess you are. how your hands could barely grip onto anything, hair unwashed, face stained with tears, difficulty breathing through the buildup of mucus, foot tapping up and down erratically— you wished he would pretend to be blind about your suffering for just this once.

"no—" came your sudden reply, "i can- yeah, i can eat by myself."

it's harder to lie to yourself than it is to others.

he looks at you with doubt, it makes you shiver.

despite you wishing for company inside the manor, you could never be used to attention. it would never be normal for someone like you. though, you wish it was. you wish you never hesitated when someone gives you attention.

you hear your mattress creak, there's a dip on your bed. alfred sits beside you, only then did you realize just how quickly you lean into his side, craving for warmth in the solace of your empty room.

everything hurts, it truly does.

you wish you were strong enough to cease the sudden burst of tears when his one hand circles your shoulder and the other holds the cupcake with a candle near your face. and you wish that you weren't so weak in the presence of another, trying to find a semblance of your worth in their attention.

you at least try to stifle your sobs—

"happy birthday, master (name)."

— but you were always weak, yet alfred never seems to mind, patting your back to console you from your wailing.

you blow the fire out with a single promise to yourself, crying a bit more when alfred had given you a gift box, laced with a ribbon of your favorite color.

it was one of the few gifts you would cherish, fondness seeping into the cracks of your heart.

though it wouldn't erase the bitterness that fills your being either way, knowing your family is still downstairs, unaware of the anguish the torment that they have put you through— it's still enough to let you hate alfred a little less.

"alfred?"

it was your meek voice, one that was always drowned out by the sound of the dishes clanking.

"yes, master (name)?" yet alfred could always strain out the sound of anything just to hear your talk. after all, you were a silent kid throughout your childhood.

"—if i move out of this place; would promise you wouldn't forget about me?"

... (name) wayne was full of surpises.

even at the ripe age of seventeen, and in the near fourteen years of raising you, alfred could never predict your words nor your actions.

you had always said things spontaneously, carrying an aura of awkwardness in your tone, reminiscent of someone who had their personal growth (moreover their social life) stunted.

but now, with the way you had said your resolve so confidently, it felt like he was looking at a different version of you; all the more confident and resilient.

except... you were behind him when you had said that - so he wasn't really looking at you - eating the first batch of his cookies whilst he was polishing the dishes with a cloth.

when he had turned around to look at you, though, you were still the socially inept child he knows and love, sitting on the breakfast bar and twirling around the stool as you attempt to not get crumbs everywhere. you were still so young in his eyes.

it's just, the way you had looked at him expectedly like you needed his approval that shocked him. it was always your eyes that had expressed the most emotions, glazing with anticipation for his response.

he knows it when you lie, and right now, you were dead serious in your resolve.

alfred had to relax the crease on his brows before he ages faster than he already is.

"well, master (name)," he continues, turning back to wiping the dishes clean before he could fully face you. "i would fully support you in your... journey, but what warranted you to be suddenly motivated on moving out?"

alfred had finished setting aside the dishes, but he still doesn't look back.

"i mean, i thought i already told you? i have a scholarship for college but it's on the other side of gotham and...

— i kind of don't want to be chauffeured by a limo around the campus everyday, you know? so the next best thing is to get a dorm."

alfred knows it when you lie. and right now, your hesitance tells him everything he needs to know.

you may have proved a point, but that point was an entire lie. with a person name wayne flaunting across a city whilst riding a limousine, you might find yourself into more trouble than anything else.

but he had always been the one to pick you up and drop you off from elementary and halfway through your highschool life— and you never seemed to mind until now.

it doesn't take a genius to know that you had already deviced a full plan of moving out and taken it into action; all you had to do was confront the only man in the manor who had cared about you enough to raise you about your worries.

it wasn't enough to convince him to let you go, though, especially not right after an incident that had occured prior to you highschool life. if he allows you to gain independence in gotham, he wouldn't know how long you would last.

but when he looks back at you again, he couldn't bring it in himself to oppose to your whims. you need a new environment; one that provides you a way to gain independence and, most preferably, social skills. staying cooped up in a manor with barely anybody talking to you does more harm than good.

and being ignored by your own family for almost fourteen years wouldn't be a great way to celebrate your already nearing eighteenth birthday.

alfred doesn't want to admit it, but if he keeps you here any longer, you would never grow up. one person could only do so much.

he whips out a sigh, looking at you with resignation in his eyes. but you know it in yourself that he swears his life on the promise.

"master (name)," he walks over to you, eyes darting at the cookie crumbs that litter around your mouth making a note to scold you on your manner later. he sits directly in front of you, hand patting your head as you merely stare at him expectedly.

"i have raised you for almost fourteen years, it's like you are my very own child. i would never forget you." he takes your hands in his. "but you have to also promise me to stay safe out there, master (name). call me once you're there."

alfred would find a way to get you to come back eventually, even if it meant utilizing your family's neglect, which was primarily the reason why you had moved out on the first place.

he just hopes you wouldn't connect the dots and pin the blame on him once you're back and safe in the manor.

and now, it had only been months since you had gotten away from the manor. he was proud of your development, of your choice and overall, you, but he wouldn't lie and say he doesn't miss you.

he misses hearing your voice directly, the line on the phone being too blotchy to properly hear you. he misses it when he would sit on your bed as your only audience whilst he watches you paint on your canvases, drawling on and on about highschool's latest drama. he misses it when you would always be the first to taste his dishes, face lighting up whenever the food was seasoned up; now he has to constantly remind you to eat a nutritious diet, even offering to send you money whenever you mention you were short on it.

in the good of your heart, you would always decline, even going as far to deny him of any liberty to track you down and bring you a meal himself.

alfred misses you.

does he regret allowing you your freedom? not really, no. but he knows it in himself that a greedy part of him prefers it if you were would visit the manor occasionally during your vacations, at least to bond with him. but you simply chose not to, even going as far to legally change your name once you had become eighteen so you wouldn't be associated with your father's last name.

but that wouldn't erase the past you had tried to meticulously cover.

(name) wayne may have been a name forcefully deleted off of the face of the internet, but that doesn't mean it doesn't have its conspiracies of its own. nobody knows who you are beyond the blurry, unsolicited pictures of you. it may have been a photograph of your back, or articles published in unknown websites and buried at the far end about a kid leaving a police station and entering through the fancy gates of the wayne manor.

and most importantly, you are a product of a one-night-stand.

but they don't know who the mother is, don't know your age, or where you come from, and what business bruce has with the woman to guarantee your adoption at the instance she had disappeared without warning.

your existence was a mystery most would like to solve. after all, it was your picture that was plastered all over the newspapers and articles, it was your name that journalists whisper and it was a silhouette of your face that the underground knows by heart. every known information about you was shared discretely yet efficiently like some sort of virus.

you were a target for interest, a large sum of money if they will. and alfred had taken it in his hands to make sure there would never be a repeat of what had happened before.

it was a clumsy mistake, one that cost you your memories, and one he swears on his life he'll never make again.

the first course of action he needs to arrange, which may seem difficult for most; he needs to confront bruce.

after all, your freedom is your doom.

the wayne manor, in all its glory, could only be described as this palace overflowing his its abundant history and fame.

it was a castle that houses a boy who had lost his parents and became gotham's very own vigilante who stalks through the night to lessen the very evil that devours its citizens. it was the training grounds where the robins, sidekicks dressed in colorful attire, opposite to batman, were raised to be worthy enough to stand by the dark knight's side. but most importantly, it was a home for troubled children who were in their journey of their very own personal struggles.

yet even in its exterior splendour, it would always be innately overcome with loneliness.

for someone like bruce wayne, he embraces this desolation just as he embraces his alter-ego, batman, who wears a suit of black and dons an aura that demanded fear.

even if he carries the persona of 'brucie wayne' a ditsy, playboy who enjoys galas and sleeping with women every other night, he prefers solitude over the sea of interviewers who throng around him like he was a piece of meat.

it would be the only time he could focus on his countless of stacked paperworks to sign and his plans to ransack another criminal's master plan.

before winter could cover gotham in its sheet of pure, white coldness, rain would always terrorize the skies. he finds this the perfect atmosphere; dark grey clouds prevent the sun from peaking through, droplets of rain would pelt against the vast windows that surrounds his study, and there was enough background noise to block out any sounds that would pass through the door.

bruce wayne was focused on his work, and that meant disturbance wasn't allowed inside the manor. thankfully, it was a quiet, uneventful afternoon today.

in fact, it was all too abnormally quiet.

his scarred hands work through signing papers effiently and effortlessly, practiced fingers signing papers after he would meticulously scan over the paragraphs of texts that scale from business deals to partnerships to buying a piece of land. then later, once the moon rises, he would have to patrol with damian and disrupt another drug trade that had been recently dealing with children on the alleys of gotham.

that means he has to sign or reject at least half of the papers before evening falls through, so he could have alfred send them over through the post office tomorrow morning.

he was at least a quarter way through his work, though, when his flow was disrupted by a courteous knock by the mahogany doors.

he didn't have to look up or ask who it was, knowing it was alfred, his butler.

"master bruce, i have your tea ready, along with news to bare," bruce could hear the tone of urgency and a tinge of sullenness in alfred's voice. it was rare for alfred to be emotionally distressed, as he was typically the most composed out of everyone in the family.

"come on in, alfred," bruce's vocal chords were gruff, raspy whenever he's too engrossed in whatever he was doing.

but he was piqued at the news alfred was eager to share, the butler expertly turning the knob and entering with a tray that holds a hot serving of tea.

bruce stopped signing the papers, putting down his pen as he watches alfred, composed as always, place the tray down on his desk, not a single clank that was produced from the metal sheets. he watches as alfred reflexively pours him a cup of tea.

it was only after that action that the two share eye contact, alfred stationing himself to the right of bruce's desk.

if he wasn't a detective, he wouldn't have noticed the furrow of alfred's brows, which was uncharacteristic of the composed butler.

he reckons he should address the elephant in the room.

"what is it that you want to tell me, alfred?" bruce swivels his chair to face alfred, fingers tapping the mahogany desk rhythmically.

"master bruce, i figured you should have known this for quite a long time ago, but your third child had moved out on their own and now lives at the opposite side of gotham. right now, they may have been struggling to make ends meet."

huh?

"what do you mean, alfred? you're aware that tim is currently living in the manor—"

"no, master, i am talking about your third, not fourth child; master (name)."

... (name)?

ah, his... other child.

alfred looks at his seated form, expecting the befuddled reaction from bruce.

it doesn't take long for bruce to recover from his thoughts, eyebrows furrowed the same way as alfred as he leans against his chair.

"and what of (name)? why was i not updated about them?"

alfred had to stifle a groan as he then glares at bruce with what he could suppose was exasperation.

"i had already told you about their leave months ago, master bruce. you had simply waved me off whenever the topic is of master (name)." the butler's glare hardened, reminiscent of the times where bruce was scolded as a child. and like a child, he doesn't know what he had done wrong.

"i feel it is time for you to take it into your hands to deal with master (name)'s situation right now. i do not have access to their location and just like you, they are stubborn and refuse to accept any financial aid that comes to them in any form—"

to make matters worse, alfred had the gall to stop midway into his explanation, sighing and blinking unnervingly which catches more than bruce's attention.

"they would rather not admit it, but if they were to fail to pay for this month's rent of their apartment, they would get evicted from their very own living space."

at pretty much the last sentence, bruce's gaze hardened. not at alfred, no, but at the thought of you; his... forgotten child. if it was money that you need, why had you not ask for any allowance in the first place? bruce would admit that, well, it had been too long since he had last seen your face, nor even... remember it—

but you were still a child of his and he wouldn't deny you of an allowance if it meant persuing your... highschool or college dreams...?

shit, what grade are you in?

why didn't he know you moved out in the first place? wait—

"alfred, how long has it been since they had last moved out?"

"roughly six or seven months ago, master."

"ah, but having a place of your own as a minor would be prohibited by law."

"master bruce, they're eighteen. they're old enough to live in their own apartment."

eighteen years old...? how long had it been since he had last seen or heard of you? if what alfred had said was true, that the butler had attempted to reach out to him about you, then why had he not remember in the first place? you were a quiet kid, sure, but for someone like bruce, people would always not be overlooked.

it wasn't in him to easily forget, but he hates how he couldn't muster up a single memory of your face— not even your hair color nor your eyes. did you even... exist in his eyes? there was not a single memory of you that he could come up in his head.

his child was eighteen now, how could he not have known in the first place? how could he not recollect a single birthday of yours? or any celebration or gala that had you in it?

alfred's sigh snapped him out of his trance once more.

bruce looked up, seeing resignation upon alfred's face. he simply stood there, posture straight as always, but bruce couldn't wash away the shame that cages his heart when there was not a single image of you that pops up in his mind— alfred's disappointment merely worsened

the tea in his desk had long since gone untouched, but bruce couldn't bring it in himself to drink a single drop of it, even if his lips were dried and his throat was begging for even a single droplet of water.

he denies himself of any relief.

"i figure i should leave you in your own, master bruce, to at least compose yourself before nightfall. please do take your child into consideration, though, enough time has passed since you have last seen them." alfred states, as if it was a matter of fact. and it was, bruce should've known about your leave, as your father and as the man who took you in, he should've.

so before the butler could even take a step, bruce hastily stands up from his seat, pen long since discarded on his desk and a quarter of the papers are now messily stacked upon each other, but bruce pays them no mind.

"take me to (name)'s room right now, i need to see things for myself."

if bruce couldn't even remember a single instance of you, then maybe a trip to your room would be enough for him to remember.

but if that doesn't work then... bruce would a find a way, he always would.

and as your father, he needs to at least support you, even financial no matter your stubbornness? even if the shame he feels right now is so immensely disturbing, and the migraine is quickly finding its way into his head— he needs to know more about you, his actual third child.

bruce wayne needs to see your face just once.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: 5k+ words. no beta, we die like jason todd with a crowbar. my least favorite part of writing the chapter is literally starting it. i had at least 5 drafts all lined up and it took me an hour in the bed to think about how should i start it. i literally hope you guys enjoy the chapter hehe, and start to yk, notice the patterns and the parallels between your perspective and bruce's perspective bec ur literally his child, u guys share some habits even if u never once talked to him lmao. the most emotionally draining scene was writing the birthday scene, i had to take breaks from typing it out hehe. bruce's descent to yandere-ism isn't as quick as dick's but it would be worst in the next chapter.

also, i hope you guys are able to notice the bad habits that the reader eventually collects because it's important for the next chapters. it would be better if anyone of u could... point them out in my asks or comments, i love rambling about it yk, and a lot of you are absolutely brilliant in making theories that are absolutely right. anyways, i hope u enjoy this chapter because this was one hell of a ride for me and i appreciate all the reblogs and comments despite me not replying to a lot of yall but u guys truly are my motivation so thank u lots :(((<33!

taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @ruiroku, @okaybutfullhomo, @trasshy-artist, @obsessedwithromance, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa, @maicenitas, @ilovvmyhusband, @6uuyuuhgy, @plsfckmedxddy, @lavender-moony, @sweetheart-era, @chemicalsandghosts, @darling006, @starringyau, @rosecentury, @jaythes1mp, @pi1nkl0ver, @i-thirsty-boi, @sharks-r-cool-l, @silverklaus, @samanthathanes, @traumaramacenter, @maddimoon, @anxrq, @thedarknesslord, @h0rr0r-10ver-69, @lazy-idate, @googeecat44, @simpingfor-wakasa, @zvghfgn, @0patito0 (if i had forgotten to put any of u in a taglist please forgive me, it's hard to keep track !!)

[diddybok]

asking best friend!stray kids what you are pt.2

all characters depicted in my writing are from my own imagination and do NOT in any way represent nor reflect the people in real life :)

➩pairing: ot8 x gn!reader

➩genre(s): angst, some fluff

➩warnings: strong language, mentions of sex, some of the boys are still mean, some unhappy endings

➩wc: 9.4k (9433)

➩author’s note: i am so serious if anybody talks to you in a way to undermine, condescend or just simply belittle you and make you feel stupid, pls pls pls cut that person out of your life. even if they’re doing it as a ‘joke’. it never ends well. ily all and you deserve the best of the best, always <3

➩parts: part one

chris | 1.2k (1201) words

After the fourth ring, you swipe the little phone symbol across your screen and the time starts. You watch it go from one second, to the next, and the next, before a deep elongated sigh pulls you out of your trance. 

You put him on speaker, afraid of the way you’d react if you were to hear him so close to you in your ear. You can’t handle that right now. 

“Y/n?” His slightly distorted voice says. You don’t reply, placing the phone down in front of you as you sit and fiddle with the rings on your fingers. 

“Come on sweetheart, say something please. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” Chris asks softly. Akin to a parent who would try and get their child to confess to stealing cookies out of the cookie jar. 

You run your hands down your face. You’re annoyed with him, most definitely. But you can’t deny the butterflies that start to flutter in your stomach when he addresses you like that. 

It’s not fair. 

The line is painfully silent for another two minutes. Chris patiently, or rather stubbornly, waiting for you to speak. 

“This…this is harder than I thought it’d be.” You say, your voice croaking slightly as this is the first time you have spoken in a while. 

“Okay. Try not to think too much about it. Just speak your truth, unload it all.” Chris encourages. 

You take a deep breath and run your hands up and down your thighs to stop them from clamming up. 

“You hurt my feelings. You are continuing to hurt my feelings. I feel as if I’m the only one who is missing out on an inside joke that everybody seems to know but me.” You halt, waiting to see if he would have a rebuttal. Except he doesn’t and his silence spurs you on to continue. 

“I thought we were practically dating. I thought that night would be the night that you would ask to be together as a couple. You know, exclusive?” You chuckle bitterly. “So imagine my surprise when you decide to ignore me for a week. Do you know how shitty that felt?” You ask him. 

You can just about hear his breaths. They’re soft and collected. Yet the more you wait for his response that he doesn’t seem to be giving, you are becoming the opposite of that. 

“I asked you a question.” You say curtly. 

“I can see how that would make you feel shitty, yes. For that I am sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, but I felt like I fucked everything up for us.” You think he sounded genuine enough when he said that, so you elect yourself to be quiet so he can continue. 

“I should’ve stopped it. Doing it knowing I wasn’t ready for it to happen—like that anyway—was not fair on you. I wouldn’t say that it has complicated things per say, but it has led me to think about a few things.” Chris finishes. 

You sit there, the flaps of the butterfly wings now causing the bile to travel upwards and out. You reach over and grab your water bottle from your bedside table and chug as much as you can. 

“Think about things like what?” You will yourself to say, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand at the water that managed to escape and drip down your chin. 

He doesn’t reply which does not settle your nerves. Especially not after that last sentence he said. Silence is not your friend at this moment. 

“Chris—”

“I think that we should be together.” He practically vomits out. 

Your eyes widen and your eyebrows shoot up to the top of your skull. 

“What!”

“Y/n?”

You both speak at the same time. 

“Oh sorry you go ahead.”

“Sorry, you first.”

You hear a small chuckle over the line as you speak over each other again. He stays silent this time, letting you talk. 

“Are you serious? Like you really mean that? You aren’t playing me for a fool right?” You ask quickly. 

“Yes. Yes. No,” You release a silent scream. “I really do want us. I have always wanted us, but this—you—made me realise that we should’ve made it official a while ago. There were only so many more excuses I could pull out of the bag to mask me taking you out on dates as just ‘best friends hanging out doing questionable things’.” 

Of course, you knew this as you are smart. The excuse he gave when he took you to a rooftop restaurant with candlelights everywhere was certainly not ‘for practice when I get a partner’. Him having your favourite meal prepared and the playlist the two of you made playing in the background? Dead giveaway. 

“Plus it is also totally unrealistic that you as my best friend would splash that much cash on me unless it was because you lost a bet. So I had a feeling I knew something was up. Which I guess is why I got a bit too excited and jumped to the conclusion that we were already a couple.” You say scratching the back of your neck. 

“Not true! I would always buy you things.” Chris corrects. 

“Yeah but you’d always complain whilst doing so. So when you stopped complaining, something had clearly shifted.” You clarify. 

You can envision the eye roll he does paired with the sigh he releases making you laugh. 

There’s another silence that fills the space, albeit this time it is comfortable. Until he sneezes down the line and you catch yourself smiling warmly as you bless him. 

“What happens now? Do we get a level up on our relationship or something? Or do I magically spawn in your arms and you cuddle me until I fall asleep? I’m thinking that sounds like the correct thing to happen next.” He teases. 

“Of course that’s what you think.” 

“Hey, I don’t make the rules, I just work here.” He says in a seductive drawl. 

“You’re still very much in the dog house. Honestly, I feel it’s only fair for me to leave you waiting a week to even see me.” You speak without a hint of sarcasm. 

It goes quiet over the phone again. You look down at your rings, twisting them around your finger gently. 

“Okay…I guess that’s fair.” He finally responds. 

You release a breath you weren't aware you were holding, nodding to yourself in agreement. 

“You’re one hundred percent certain you want this? Want to be together past just best friends?” You clarify. 

“What do you not trust me already? Y/n I want to be with you. I have wanted to be with you. Our communication just wasn’t great. But we will work on it together. Okay?” Chris speaks gently down the phone. 

“Okay.” You say softly. 

Though it will take a day or two for you to get over the fact he didn’t message you for a week, you feel as though a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. 

Whatever the next step of your relationship with Chris is, you’re just relieved that you get to do it together with no more misunderstandings. 

minho | 1.0k (1032) words

You and Minho decided that it would be best for you to discuss your relationship over lunch. He even offered to pay which you certainly were not going to turn down. 

You have been hyping yourself up in front of the mirror for about twenty minutes since Minho said he was en route. If Minho texting you earlier was any indication of how this conversation will go, then you are sure you aren’t silly for practising breathing techniques and how to not make a fool of yourself on a whole. 

You’re getting your jacket when you hear his knock at the door. You know it’s him because he only ever knocks in a pattern. 

Opening the door, you’re glad to see him greet you with a smile on your face. Though that’s how it has always been in your relationship. Even when you fight, you always know to resolve the issue with a smile and to never yell at each other. 

Even though you could tell he was anxious, he was masking it well. Throughout the drive, playing your favourite songs. Even now in the café ordering you your favourite meal when he caught you scanning the menu acting like you didn’t know what you wanted already. 

Safe to say, the both of you calm each other down, which makes this conversation much easier to have. 

“So, let's address the elephant in the room.” You start, taking a sip of your milkshake. 

“I first want to say that whatever we choose to do from this point on, you are not allowed to leave me. Well, you can’t anyways because I am always going to be in your life.” He says with an unwavering smile on his face. 

You hold back your smile and nod, letting him carry on. 

“No I do mean it. I just think that we’d be better off just being…us. You know what I mean?” He says using his hands to emphasise.  

“Mmm, let’s dig a little deeper. I just don’t want there to be any misunderstandings between us. Obviously what we shared was nice and I don’t think that we should regret it, right?” You say with a tilt of your head. 

“I agree. I had a think about it whilst I drove to your house to pick you up and I don’t think it was fair of me to question what we did. In terms of making you think that I felt that it wasn’t right of us to do.” Minho explains. He looks around before leaning in slightly. “Especially since that was the best sex I have had in months.” He throws a wink your way and you have to stop yourself from taking a bow. 

Him saying that feels as though numerous weights have been lifted off of your shoulders. You were most anxious about whether he either hated it or thought it was a mistake. So you’re now glad to hear that neither of it was the case. 

The waiter comes over with your food and you thank them. You’re about to pick up your fork and take a bite of food to fuel your courage but you’re abruptly tutted at. 

“Just because we are in the midst of an important conversation does not mean we skip tradition.” Minho says, raising his eyebrow at you. 

You place the fork down and put up a peace sign as you pose. He takes out his camera and snaps a photo of you with both his and your meal in the frame. He then puts his middle finger up and poses with an over exaggerated bored expression. You chuckle to yourself before taking the photo. 

“You said that we moved too fast assuming that we were moving in the first place. Do you still think that now?” You say before taking a bite of your meal. 

He finishes his mouthful as he furrows his eyebrows and thinks about your question. 

“Well I mean, I’d be an idiot to say that I didn’t think that it wouldn’t be going anywhere. But for us right now, I don’t think we should be moving at all.” He speaks. 

The food you are swallowing seems to get a little stuck as you start to quietly choke. All the while Minho grows increasingly embarrassed at your lack of ability to stay alive. 

“Okay calm, people are starting to look over.” He says to you, pouring you a glass of water from the jug on the table. 

You take a few gulps and tap your chest.

“Damn. You shouldn’t say things like that when I’m mid chew.” You scold. 

“My apologies, from now on I shall wait until the food has made its descent to the pit of acid in your stomach.” He lightly chuckles. 

“So what I’m hearing is that all things considered romantically, we should stop. So we just continue on as friends?” You clarify. 

He nods. 

“Hit the nail on the head.”

“Right…I mean I guess that works. After all, we were friends before we got curious so I’m pretty sure we can just laugh about it and carry on.” You smile albeit quite painfully. 

“Yes of course! We were just curious…” Minho adds, a painful smile also etched onto his features. 

Can you just laugh about it and carry on? Even when it felt so natural? So…right?

There’s a silence pregnant with awkwardness as you and Minho avoid each other’s gazes and continue to eat. 

Akin to a supporting artist having a cue to interact with the leads of a movie, the waiter comes over to ask if everything was alright with the food. 

You both bombard him with praise and he seems a little taken aback and hurries away to the next table. 

You don’t lie to Minho often, much like he doesn’t lie to you. However, in this café it seems the two of you are egregious liars. Which explains the way you both see right through each other. 

You know that it’s only a matter of time until something happens again because unfortunately you have crossed the line. Let’s just hope you can go at least a month before you’re entangled in each other's arms again. 

changbin | 1.1k (1120) words

One, two, three knocks on your door. You approach it slowly, looking through the peephole to see Changbin standing in his big puffer jacket and gloves. 

You consider letting him stay in the cold a little longer, but the goodness in your heart wills your hand to open the door. 

“Come in quickly, it’s cold.” You order. 

He doesn’t dally with his movements, coming inside quickly as you shut the door behind him. It’s quiet as he takes off his shoes and coat, giving you a mildly awkward smile that was still dulcet. 

“I was just making breakfast, would you like some?” You offer, walking into the kitchen. 

“Oh, yes please that’d be nice thank you.” He says, following after you. 

The atmosphere feels a little strange and you aren’t used to it. Changbin hasn’t yelled at all since stepping foot inside and usually you would’ve threatened the duct tape on his mouth by now. 

You engage in some aimless chit chat with him whilst you cook. You figured you would ease into this conversation rather than just immediately diving head first. 

“I like what you’ve done with the place.” Changbin admires as he looks around your kitchen. 

You turn to him, bewildered. 

“I haven’t changed my kitchen since I moved in here, bin.” You establish. 

“Really? Oh. I thought there was something different about this place in the week and a bit that I have been gone.” He says with genuinity. 

“Why would I have changed my kitchen around in the week that you’ve been gone?” You ask. 

He shrugs, stealing a blueberry from the bowl when your back is turned from him. 

“I don’t know. Some people dye or cut their hair when they’re upset. I figured since you like your hair too much, you would’ve changed the next best thing.” He solidifies, feeling much too content with the way his brain works. 

You on the other hand aren’t sure whether you’re being tested or if this is truly how he is choosing to behave.

You plate up the food and as you’re about to slide his plate over to him, you pull it back. 

“For every question answered, you get a mouthful of food.” At this, Changbin gawks. 

“This seems illegal in some form or another.” He sulks. 

You open up your phone to your conversation with him. 

“So it says here that you didn’t want to mess up our friendship, but emotions were running high and we weren’t thinking about the consequences. What consequences would that be?” You state. 

He looks at you quizzically. 

“Why do I feel like I’m in court right now? You’re reading the text messages out like evidence and I’m scared.” He says laughing awkwardly. 

“You answer the question. You get to eat.” You redirect. He clears his throat before he begins. 

“Well the consequences would be, erm, how us sleeping together will create ripples in our friendship whether we like it or not. I mean I’m not saying I regret it fully…but maybe a tiny bit?” He says fiddling with his hands. 

He opens his mouth wide as he awaits your end of the deal. You pick up the fork and scoop up some food before you feed it to him. 

For people who aren’t a couple, you sure do act like it. 

“Why is that?” You press further. 

“Because I didn’t want something like this to happen. By that I mean, if we were going to go all the way, then we should have established what we were prior. Even though our friends may think we are a couple, it wasn’t exclusively spoken about between us.” A beat. “But now I think that by letting ourselves get carried away, we missed the opportunity to settle things out with both of us clear on where we stand in our relationship.” He finishes. 

You decide to give him two mouthfuls for that answer to which he hums happily in response. 

You cannot doubt that what he said makes sense. You should have spoken about what you guys were before engaging in something as intimate as sleeping with each other. 

Yet for two people who have already gone to second base countless times before and couldn’t control the libido this time, you also understand where things got messy. 

“I think I get where you’re coming from now.” You say, eating your own mouthful. 

Changbin nods in acknowledgment before stealing a handful of blueberries. 

“But you also said that you still wanna be my best friend. Is that still true? Do you think we can get past this?” You ask apprehensively. 

Changbin’s eyebrows furrow in disbelief. 

“Of course! To both of your questions. Look at us, we’ve lasted this long. Yeah so I’ve been inside you, that’s fine! At least we had a good time, right? We can say that we’ve done it and gotten it out of our system.” He exclaims. 

You pull a face at the last sentence and he is immediately scrambling to reword what he means. 

“No, I don't see it as a throwaway act! I meant that because we had been stopping at second base because we were too scared to take it all the way, we finally reached the goal.” He stammers. 

You raise an eyebrow and cross your arms. 

“No I don’t mean that sleeping with you was the goal, if anything it was off the pitch.” He tries to explain. 

A single tilt of your head was all that was needed in order for him to slam his head into his hands and mutter a ‘I give up’. 

You shake your head and slide the plate over to him as you move across the island to sit on the stall next to him. You place an arm around his shoulder as he sighs. 

“I don’t want to lose you as my best friend too, bin. Let’s just take it one day at a time, yeah? What happened, happened. Now we both know where we stand about our friendship, it’s okay.”

He lifts his head from his palms and looks over you with his big black eyes. 

“You mean that? Like actually? We’re good?” He asks. You laugh slightly. 

“Yes bin, we’re good.” You reassured him. 

“Oh thank God. Does that mean I can still call you my sweet—”

“One day at a time.” You say sternly. 

The both of you smile as you finish the rest of your breakfast. There’s a twinge of hurt that you feel for you and Changbin not going forward as a couple, but you would rather this than to lose him forever. 

So for now, you’ll cherish what an amazing friendship the two of you have and will continue to have. 

hyunjin | 1.1k (1113) words

“Y/n open the fucking door.” You mimic Hyunjin’s last text message to you aloud as you walk down the stairs. 

You were by no means rushing to get to the door, if anything, you think that standing right by it for a good two minutes or so to really irritate him would make you feel much better than you currently do. 

Hyunjin continuously banging on the door pulls you out of your stubborn demeanour. If not for your neighbours, you’d have let him continue to bang against the door until his knuckles bruised. 

Yet it seems your night couldn’t get any worse considering you’ve just taken a fist to the face. Perhaps that was your fault for catching him off guard when he was vigorously knocking as he appeared to have ‘knocked’ your face instead of the door. 

“Oh fuck! Y/n!” Hyunjin yells as he cradles your face in his hands. You appreciate the gesture, you do, he was still your best friend after all. But if this wasn’t the cherry on top of the cake then you don’t know what is. 

“Yep, good to see you too hyune.” You groan. 

You scrunch your face as your hand moves to soothe your forehead. Shrugging out of his hold, you step inside of your home, trusting that he would follow suit and shut the door behind him. 

“Y/n darling I am so sorry. I promise I didn’t mean to knock against…your forehead.” He speaks with utmost genuinity as he shadows behind you. 

You don’t say anything as you just grab yourself some frozen peas wrapped in a tea towel before moving to your living room to make yourself comfortable on the sofa as you wait for him to explain everything. 

You’re thankful that he seems to be getting the hints tonight. He takes his place beside you, worry etched onto his beautiful face. 

Damn his prince-like features…

“Explain yourself then, since texting wasn’t working for you.” You spit. He bites his lip nervously and fidgets with his hands before his eyes look from the bag of peas until falling onto your own. 

“When…when I said I didn’t want you as my best friend, I meant because we can’t just go back to being best friends after that. It would just kill me knowing that you aren’t mine even after the night we shared.”  He starts. 

You sit still and listen, switching hands since the frozen peas were adding to the chill you already had from the conversation that loomed over your head. 

“I don’t want you as my best friend because I want you to be mine. I want to be yours. I want us.  Together.”

You wince. There’s a small part of you that just doesn’t believe him. You place down the now damp tea towel that holds the slowly melting peas. 

He looks at you, trying to read your reaction, but you were giving nothing away. 

“I just wanna know what was going through your head all those nights we spent together. We may not have had sex, but we did everything else. The cuddles, the kisses—when you familiarise yourself with every inch of my body—it would make sense that I thought we were something more than just best friends.”

He breaks eye contact, his interest now on the rings he adorns on his fingers. You can tell he is trying to think of something to say, so you wait patiently. 

“I understand if you feel like I may have been using you.” He acquiesces in meeting your gaze, but he persists. “It hadn’t really occurred to me that you may have thought of us as more than best friends. Granted, instead of sitting in my uncertainty I should have just asked you. Then that night happened and it hit me. Afterwards, I just knew that I shouldn’t have let it get that far.”

You feel nauseous. You can’t decipher exactly what that was supposed to mean. You look over at the now wet kitchen towel. 

“So you do regret it?” You pressed, your voice soft. 

He holds his hands out and shakes his head as he quickly refutes his words. 

“No of course not! I just meant that I know I should have asked you about us before that happened. I didn’t want it to be the case that you felt that I was not serious about us. ‘Cause having sex with someone is serious and I never wanted you to think I was playing around with your feelings.” He finishes. 

You sit there thinking about what he said. Maybe he was being sincere. Maybe he really does want what you thought the two of you had for the past couple of months. 

“How can I know that you aren’t just saying this? That you feel somewhat obligated to make us a thing because of the fact we slept with each other?” You ask. 

“Because I was too much of a coward to say this earlier.” He speaks without missing a beat. 

He scoots closer to you on the sofa, his hands providing warmth in yours. You don’t mean to dither, but you can’t help but weigh all the options. Hyunjin tilts his head to try and meet your eyes.

“I know you’re thinking about all of the things that could go wrong. About all of the things that could go right. What I could be for you in a day, a week, a month or even a year.” He cups your cheek, his thumb gently stroking beneath your eye. “But just be with me in this present moment. Think about what I could be for you now.” He says quietly. 

After some time, you lift your head to meet his gaze, the faintest smile on your lips. 

“Okay.”

Hyunjin’s eyes widened in shock and by the look on his face, you were certain that he thought you were going to reject him. 

“O-okay? You’re sure?” He presses. 

“I’m sure. I can tell you truly meant what you said and I think this would be the better outcome for us. I don’t think I could picture my life without you in it.” You admit. 

“Then I promise you won’t ever have to picture it because I won’t leave you. I won’t leave you, Y/n.” Hyunjin declares. 

You lean in and press a soft kiss to his lips. You aren’t sure whether your head is throbbing from your injury or the thrill that comes with you and Hyunjin finally being together. 

You just hope that Hyunjin is able to keep his promise that he won’t ever leave you; and that in the end, you made the right decision. 

jisung | 1.1k (1115) words 

You and Jisung sit on your sofa with a cup of tea in both of your hands. It’s been ten minutes since he has arrived and not one word has been said between the two of you. 

That’s how things usually are between you and him though. You don’t particularly need to say anything to know what the other one needs. 

However, you fear that your senses haven’t quite been tingling like they ought to be. Since what you thought was commonly shared between both parties has seemed to only be dumped into one. 

An unrequited love is always bound to end in heartbreak and you’re sure that is how today is going to end. 

“Is it just me or do things feel a little odd?” Jisung says breaking the ice, but in a way which has submerged the two of you in ice cold water. 

“Well I think I would be a little more fraught if things didn’t feel odd.” You add. 

You aren’t exactly happy with him at the moment either. In fact you think it’s in his best interest to explain just what he meant in those text messages. 

“Explain yourself then.” You say not beating around the bush. 

Jisung places his mug down before turning to you. 

“I wanna start by saying I’m sorry. I’m sorry for how I worded what I was trying to say in those texts. You aren’t stupid Y/n, I promise. I’m the one that’s being stupid.” He meets your gaze and you give him a single nod. 

“The truth is, I don’t think I’m ready to have a relationship with you.” 

If your feelings are hurt, you will yourself not to show it on your face. Except your face goes pallid as you feel the knife stab directly into your beating heart. 

“Then why make it seem as if we were? Why not shut it down? Better yet, why use me to get your rocks off and make me think that I am going to amount to more than just your best friend?” Your voice croaks, unable to hide the emotion you’re feeling. 

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. 

“I can’t give you a definite answer of why I did all of that right now.” He says quietly. 

You can’t help the scoff that falls from your mouth. 

“What the fuck Ji? Why are you even here then? What are we even doing?!” You say starting to grow more upset. 

His eyes widen slightly as he looks at you. He places a hand on your arm and is surprised when you don’t shrug him away. 

“I promise I don’t mean to vex you, I just don’t have an answer because I don’t know. I just know that us having slept together made things seem…real. Like we were actually happening. When in actuality we weren’t and never will be.” 

That was a punch to your gut so hard that your body viscerally reacted to his words and hunched over slightly. You can’t believe what you’re hearing. 

This can’t be the Jisung that you were friends with for so long. No, he would never say something so outright. 

It’s as if he hasn’t even registered what he just said because his face is that of worry as to why you are stunned silent. 

“Jisung,” he winces at the use of his full name. “What did you expect to happen between us? Be honest, don’t say that you don’t know.” You speak gently. 

He thinks for a moment, his hand slipping from your arm as he uses it to fiddle with the zipper of his jacket.

“I just expected for us to play around and not take it to the next step. I just wanted a bit of fun with my best friend. That’s not so bad is it?” He confesses, looking at his feet. 

The knife is pushed deeper. 

You honestly aren’t sure how to react. What to say or even do. So you sit in silence. 

Minutes go by and all you can hear are the hum of the electronics in the room and the breathing of Jisung. He always has been a loud breather. 

A clearing of the throat pulls you out of your trance. 

“Please say something, anything.” He pleads. You slowly turn your face towards him. 

“What would you like me to say Jisung? I have just found out that my best friend—you—has been using me for shits and giggles and being a total ignorant asshole while he does so.” You retort. 

He shakes his head as he frowns at your words. 

“No, no I’m not the bad guy here. I didn’t use you just for that. Why would I do that Y/n? You mean more to me than that.” He runs his hand through his brown locks, getting frustrated. “Look, I don’t think we should blow this too much out of proportion. We did something that we shouldn’t have and now we just have to move on.” He says. 

“You don’t mean that.” 

“You’re my best friend Y/n. You know me inside and out. Maybe I haven’t been so transparent with you lately. I just think that I need to figure out some stuff on my own because clearly everything I say is hurting you and I hate the way I hurt you. Fuck, just seeing your face now, knowing I was the cause. I can’t do this. Not anymore.” He says solemnly. 

You blink. The tears trickle down your cheeks as you take into account what he is saying. 

No. This isn’t your Jisung. Just give him some time and he’ll be back. He’ll come back. 

“What are you saying to me Ji?” He places a hand on your cheek before standing up and putting on his shoes. 

You immediately get up and follow him to the front door. 

“Jisung.” You whisper. He opens the door and steps out, stopping and turning to you once more. 

“I’m always gonna be in your corner Y/n. Okay? Always.” Jisung says as he smiles sadly at you and turns away from your door. 

Watching him leave feels like the knife is twisting uncontrollably. You shut your door, not wanting to see him in case you’ll do something stupid like run and stop him from walking out of your life. 

You’re angry, you’re hurt, you’re confused. You’re in a state of shock. Was that a goodbye? Will you ever see him again?

You cover your mouth with your hand as you sob quietly as reality sets in. You had just lost the man you had fallen for, your best friend. 

You aren’t sure if he is ever coming back. 

felix | 1.0k (1077) words

The sun is setting and you find yourself in the familiar skatepark which you and Felix frequently visit to hang out. 

This was a first, you getting here before him. It felt uncanny, especially since the skatepark is an empty void. It’s not like you’re here at the late hours of the night which is what you guys usually do, so where are the people?

As you sit atop the ramp wondering this, Felix climbs up and sits next to you. 

“Hey Y/n.” He greets. No remark about you being here before him for a change. You face him and greet him with a small smile. 

“The sky is pretty this evening. Any particular reason for why you wanted to meet at our spot earlier than usual?” He asks you. 

“I knew the sky would be worth seeing from here today. I also wanted to be able to see your face when you lie.” You deadpan. 

He audibly swallows at this which makes you chuckle and start to swing your feet. 

“I’m kidding. Just wanted to watch the sun go down.” You tease. 

It’s silent, bar the birds chirping and the rustle of the leaves as the wind dances through the trees. 

“So about what happened with us,” Felix starts. “You think that we are more than just best friends?” He asks. You hum in acknowledgement. 

“I thought we were more than best friends for a while. You know, since this whole shebang started. The sex was just what I thought was you being ready to take our relationship further. Though that was foolish of me to think and not double check with you.”

Felix, now turnt to face towards the sunset, is quiet as he takes into consideration what you have just said. 

“It wasn’t foolish.” He says ever so quietly. 

Your legs still their movement as you turn to look at him. His face is being kissed nicely by the sun right now, his freckles practically glowing. 

“Of course it was foolish Felix. Or else we wouldn’t be here now.” You smile as you tip your head back and close your eyes, letting the last of the sun’s warmth seep through your skin. 

“No. It wasn’t foolish because I was ready. Okay that’s not entirely true, I caught feelings months ago but I only became sure about them during that week I was away.” He softly speaks. 

You drop your head and look towards him. His eyes are still glued to the vast blanket of orange and yellow across the horizon. 

“But that’s not what you said in those text messages. You said that you think that boundary shouldn’t have been crossed in the first place. Yet now you’re saying this? Forgive me Felix, but I’m finding it hard to believe what’s coming out of your mouth.” You sigh.  

He finally turns and looks at you, a small scowl on his face. 

“I know what I said in the texts Y/n. I don’t go back on my word. I do think a boundary was crossed and as best friends it shouldn’t have been.” A beat. “Though that doesn’t mean that I don’t feel something towards you. That’s why I’m so confused.” He turns his head back towards the sky, the deep shade of blue starting to make itself evident. 

“Like I said, I didn’t expect to catch feelings for you and then have sex with you.” He finishes. 

You lay down, watching the dark grey clouds move. 

“Do you remember much of that night?” You ask. 

“Of course I do. How could I ever forget. I mean we are literally sitting on the ramp that it happened on.” He reminisced. 

“Remember when I told you that I was yours and you were mine? That was probably said in the heat of the moment, but I meant it Felix. I’m not the kind of person who says things for the sake of saying them. Plus, I’m not focused on anybody other than you.” You say, closing your eyes again as the cool air brushes against your face. 

Though your eyes are closed, you sense that Felix was staring at you. You hear his clothes rustle before you’re wrapped up in his arms. 

He is cuddling you. 

“Doll, I’m sorry. I didn’t just say those things because we were high off oxytocin. You really mean so much to me. I don't want us to argue, I just want us to be together. For real. No hesitations, no take backs. Just you and me living how we do, but together as one.”

You can feel something wet drip into the crook of your neck. You know it’s not raining so you figure he has started to cry. 

“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings Y/n. It’s not what I wish to ever do to the person I love.” He sobs. 

You open your eyes as you hear his admittance. The person he loves. The person he loves. 

“You love me?”

“I’m in love with you. I was trying to make sense of if I truly meant it over that week and I reacted like I did earlier because I know you didn’t love me back. I was embarrassed.” He confessed. 

You turn over in his arms as you grab ahold of his face. It’s dark now, but a nearby light creates a twinkle in his eyes. 

“I want you to be sure that this is what you want. You don’t have to promise me forever, but promise me that this is truly what you want until it isn’t.” You say gently. 

His bottom lip wobbles slightly as he takes a deep breath in then out. 

“I am sure. I promise. I love you, I’m in love with you. I want us to be best friends. I want us to be lovers. I want it all. I want you.” He whispers against your lips. 

You smile, wiping his tears away with your thumb. 

“Okay, me too. We’re locked in?” You hold up your pinky. 

“We’re locked in.” He connects his pinky with yours and pulls your face in to kiss you softly. 

The two of you lay there in each other’s arms for the rest of that evening until a security guard ushered the two of you away. 

As you walk hand in hand down the street, you’re just glad that you have this ball of sunshine all to yourself. For as long as time allows. 

seungmin | 1.5k (1518) words 

You were nervous. More nervous than you expected yourself to get. Which is probably how you find yourself scrambling to get your phone, sending Seungmin a message to say that you don’t want to meet up and would rather just call. 

His reply after reading your message was to immediately dial you up, leaving no time for you to think about what you’re going to say and how you’re going to say it. 

You answer the phone with baited breath. 

“Why didn’t you want to meet me? You nervous or something?” He says very straightforwardly. 

Yes. 

“No. Just realised that I have things to do and I can multitask if I speak with you over the phone.” You lie. 

You hear him sigh on the other side of the line. 

“I’d rather you weren’t multitasking whilst we are having an important conversation about us. Pay attention.”

Your jaw clenches as you bite your tongue. 

“Fine. Since you want to be such an adult about this, why don’t you do us the honour and start us off?” You quip. 

“You already know how I feel about that night. About us blurring those lines between friendship and something more. We shouldn’t have. Having said that, I value our friendship too much to let something like that fuck it up.” Seungmin says plainly. 

You roll your eyes, not understanding what exactly he means by that. 

“Okay…but you do realise that us sleeping together has changed everything, right?” You say unwavering in your tone. 

“Wrong.”

You waited for him to finish what you hoped would be a longer sentence, but all you could hear was the minor feedback from the other end of the line. Taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you try again. 

“What do you mean, wrong? Things can’t go back to normal after that night, shit, after everything that’s happened between us.” You exclaim. 

“And I’m not saying they have to—”

“You are absolutely not still using me as a way to blow your load Seungmin.” You interrupt harshly. 

You hear him groan on the other end of the phone to which you decide to put him on speakerphone and place him on your bed. You wipe your face with your hands in frustration as you wait for him to speak. 

“I’m not going to do this with you if you’re going to be angry for starters. Especially if you’re going to be interrupting me. Got it?” He asserts. 

You release a huff of air, choosing to stay quiet in regards to what he has just said, but you reluctantly agree. 

“Fine, sorry. Carry on.” You say as nicely as you can muster up. 

“What I’m saying is I care about you Y/n. I don’t think it’s fair that people have also been feeding you troubles about our friendship. It’s between us and not them. They don’t know what the fuck is going on and I’ll be getting on their asses for that later, but right now my focus is on you.” He explains. 

You stay quiet, noting the fact that he is now outside and walking. 

“Seungmin, you can’t seriously fault our friends for noticing something you were determined to ignore. We were doing things couples do!”

“But we aren’t a couple. That is what I’m trying to get at Y/n.” He says exasperated. You hear a police siren go by on his end of the line which muffles the last part of his sentence. 

“Then why even do all that with me? Of course I was going to catch feelings. I’d be stupid not to!” You exclaim, resting your head in your hands. 

He’s quiet. The only sounds to be heard is the distorted traffic. You sit there unmoving, wondering why he isn’t speaking. 

A loud series of knocks on your door jolt you out of your trance. 

“One second, someone is at my door.” You alert Seungmin. Putting on your slippers, you rush to the door. You open it and you feel your face run cold. 

Seungmin huddles over, catching his breath before he makes a show to end the call between the two of you. 

“I am not having this conversation with you over a fucking phone.” He pants. 

He lets himself in, your mind still boggled at the fact that he chose to fast walk over here just to have this conversation. You’re both touched and terrified. Touched because he seems to really care about talking about your relationship in person. Terrified because this is getting much more serious than you thought it was. 

It’s times like these where you wish you and Seungmin hadn’t planned to live so close together. Now you have no choice but to face him in the flesh. 

In the time that you were finally able to come to your senses and shut your front door, Seungmin had taken off his shoes and jacket and was standing behind you waiting. 

He grabs ahold of your hand and leads you to your own bedroom. 

“Seungmin, I don't want to have angry sex with you.” You blurt out. You could’ve sworn you heard him chuckle, but he’s already sitting you on the edge of your bed. 

He places his hands on your shoulders and imitates taking a deep breath in and out. 

“No, that is not what I’m here to do.” He crawls up to the top of your bed and sits resting against the headboard. “I am here to make amends and stop what shouldn’t have started in the first place.” He says calmly. 

You have to hold your stomach to try and soothe the impending vomit that is about to ascend up and out of your mouth. 

“I’m gonna be honest with you Seungmin. What you did, knowing you never wanted it to happen or go this far, was not cool. I’m not saying you’re to blame for the whole of it…but as someone who was catching feelings and seemingly thought you were as well, I genuinely thought that us continuing to be intimate with each other was because you liked me.” You finish. 

As you sit crossed-legged at the foot of the bed and Seungmin sits at the head, you start to feel this strange disconnect between the two of you. 

Seungmin sits there silent, clearly thinking of something to say in response. 

“I…I think I didn’t stop it because it felt good.” He says. 

“Good because it was us or good because you had someone to calm your sexual frustrations?” You ask. 

The way he hesitates to answer and hold eye contact with you tells you everything you need to know. 

You let out a scoff, getting up from your bed and starting to pace laps in your room. 

“I cannot believe this. You were the last person who I thought would do this to me.” You say, pointing an accusatory finger at him. 

“Y/n you know I didn’t mean to hurt you like that. I-I care about you!” He says now getting up from the bed. 

He goes to reach out and grasp your arm but you step out of his way, causing him to stumble slightly. 

Not only are you fighting your tears, but you are battling your inner turmoil. Something like this would deem him unfit to stay in your life, no?

You couldn’t possibly still be his closest friend if he truly just used you for pleasure, right?

“Y/n please look at me.” He says, his hands now balling up besides his legs. 

“I can’t do this anymore. I want you to leave.” You speak barely above a whisper. 

“What?”

“I want. You. To leave.” Your voice cracks slightly, but you turn around to face him. His eyes are wide and his mouth hangs open, as if he isn’t quite sure that this is what you mean. 

Taking the initiative, you walk out of your bedroom and to your front door. You hear his footsteps behind you, murmuring a few ‘waits’ and ‘calm downs’. Grabbing his jacket, you shove it in his chest and step back. 

Your arms are wrapped around yourself for comfort as you keep your head held low. 

Seungmin silently puts on his jacket and shoes and reaches for the door handle. Yet, as he is about to open the door, he pauses midway through his movement. 

“Leave your house or leave you forever?” He says disconcertingly. 

You lift your head up, his back facing you. You assess him for only a moment. His hand that strangles the door handle shakes slightly and his other hand grasps his jacket. 

“Both.” You choke. 

He doesn’t miss a beat. Swinging open the door and leaving without looking back. 

Just like that, all those years of friendship cut abruptly due to the confounding circumstances that conspired between the two of you. 

Some could say it was rather quixotic of you to expect that you could actually have a relationship with Seungmin. 

Though you would just say that perhaps falling in love with your best friend was never the right path, but one you were unfortunate enough to take. 

i.n | 1.2k (1257) words

You can’t control the way you feel. You’re hurt. You’re beyond angry. You’re hysterical. How dare he talk to you like that? How dare he disregard everything the two of you have been through because he wants to stay your ‘best friend’?

You well and truly can’t promise that you won’t blow up on him when he gets here. That’s if he even bothers to show up. He’s already twenty minutes late and you’re sitting in the cold, on a park bench, drinking your hot chocolate.

“Y/n!” Jeongin calls out to you as he walks over to sit beside you on the bench.

“Where’s mine?” He says, his voice laden with sarcasm as he points to your drink. He quirks his eyebrow at you as he assesses your mood and it certainly isn’t one accommodating his jokes at the moment. 

Breathe…breathe…

He turns to face you, one leg crossed beneath him as his arm rests on the back of the bench, his gloved fingers tapping a beat on your shoulder. 

“Are you feeling better now? You’re gonna talk this out with me like the adults we are, hm?” He smiles.

You turn to face him, unable to mask your ire. 

“Just best friends huh?” You speak for the first time in a while. 

Jeongin stops tapping your shoulder to run his fingers through his hair. Tugging his coat closer around him to provide some sort of warmth to not only protect himself from the bitter chill of the air, but the icy look in your eyes.

“I admit, crossing those lines with you was never my intention. Being that I didn’t kiss or sleep with you because I wanted a relationship with you. I guess I was just lonely, you were available…tensions were high and we couldn’t control ourselves.”

You actually feel your heart drop to the pit of your stomach. This is not the Jeongin you knew and loved as your best friend. No, he was far nicer than what you’re currently faced with.

You are rendered speechless. The only thing you can think to do is take another sip of your hot chocolate.

It would be ideal if your hands stopped shaking.

“You get where I’m coming from though right? Like I said, I care for you. More than anybody else I know, but what we did was a mistake and that’s okay. We’ll know to never let those boundaries be crossed again alright?” He says placing a hand on your thigh.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Y/n–”

“Jeongin get your hand off of me, now.”

The smile that you used to adore, now falls from his face. His lips thinning as his jaw clenches and his gaze hardens.

“I genuinely thought that you had reason to be so pissy at me, you know, due to your work being so busy and all,” You laugh bitterly. “But you really are just a fucking asshole.”

He rolls his eyes and moves to get up before your hand reaches out to stop him.

“Sit the fuck down, I’m not done with you. I’m only going to say it once.” You say acrimoniously. 

Heeding your warning, he sits back down, his hands finding solace in his lap. 

“See, I was speaking with Hyunjin when you were supposedly too busy to talk to me and he gave me some pretty good advice.” You say finishing the rest of your drink and setting it aside. 

“What are you doing asking him for advice? He has no business knowing what goes on between the two of us, let alone an argument.” He spits.

Ignoring his disapproval, you elect yourself to continue. 

“He said that you don’t deserve me in your life. That a best friend would never, should never treat me like that–”

“Oh bull-fucking-shit! He is only saying that so that he can gets his filthy hands on you himself.” He interrupts, shaking his head as he looks beyond the lake at the horizon.

“I agree.” 

Jeongin nods his head in approval to your words. 

“You don’t deserve me in your life.”

His head snaps to yours as he sits up straight, clasping his hands together as he tilts his head.

“What?”

“I am not your little fucktoy for you to use whenever you get sick of your hand. I’m not the easy option because I’m the closest you can get to getting off without people catching on. You know because we’re best friends, right? No one will suspect a thing, right?”

You have started, gone past the point of no return as you lay into him and rightfully so. 

“I thought you had calmed down from earlier? What, did you discuss with Hyunjin all of the things to say to me before I got here? The fuck does he know? He doesn’t even know you like I do!” He exclaims, his voice raising in pitch. 

You gawk, unable to believe how he just bypassed what you said to talk shit about his friend. 

“This isn’t about Hyunjin for fuck’s sake! This is about us! Or rather the lack of.” You stand up, taking deep breaths as you pace in front of him back and forth. “You keep talking to me like I’m some fucking child. Like I can’t comprehend the words that are coming out of my mouth.”

You stop in front of him, sighing. 

“I don’t want to be in your life anymore. I’m done.”

His eyes widen as he grasps ahold of your hands, his thumbs rubbing over your knuckles.

“You don’t mean that. You’re just angry. You want me to apologise? Okay sure. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have used you like that and let it get that far knowing I wasn’t ready for a relationship.” He begs. 

You feel your eyes start to well up with tears. This isn’t how you imagined a six year friendship to end, but alas, here the two of you are. 

He stands now, moving his hands to cup your cheeks, his eyes darting between yours. 

“Come on. Let’s not act rash now Y/n. It was a mistake.” He keeps trying to reassure you. 

You shake his hands off of your face as you take a step back. 

“It wasn’t a mistake for me. It never was and never will be because I didn’t just see you as someone who was available. I’m serious, I won’t be treated like shit. Not anymore and certainly not by you.” You affirm. 

He lets his hands fall to his sides, his fists clenching. 

“So this is it huh? You really wanna leave me, leave six years of friendship because you got your feelings hurt?” He asks. 

“Fuck you, Jeongin. Don’t contact me ever again. I’m finished.” You say scoffing a laugh. 

You pick up your empty cup and start to walk away, not bothering to turn back to see how he reacts. Only then do you let the tears run marathons down your face. 

Little did you know, his fists unclenched and his hands were brought to his face. He collapses onto the bench, watching your figure get smaller and smaller until he can no longer see you. 

It was in that moment, where Jeongin only just realised how royally he had fucked up. His head falls into his hands as he takes deep breaths. 

The smoke caused from the cold air and the warmth of his mouth floating along the sky. Much like you, floating out of his life and disappearing. Lost to the abyss of a forever memory in his heart. 

a/n: the plate is still full i fear because why do i hate this so much AHSGAIA SGAISBSKSVG (i apologise. i said i would deliver, but the package got lost in transit)

ʚ hope you enjoyed ^.^ you can support me by liking, commenting  and reblogging! it is heavily appreciated ᵕ̈ ɞ

i do not permit my work to be translated or reposted in any way, thank you. 

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[luveline]

maybe could I ask for miguel seeing spider girl with a bruise on her face and getting protective (when in reality it was just over something dumb) thank youuuu <3

ty for requesting! Finding his Spider-Girl is never easy. He’ll assume you’re wearing your watch and find it forgotten in his room, or under a chair in the cafeteria, or twitching and loosing smoke at the bottom of a garbage can, nowhere near your actual location. 

Today, he checks all your usual haunts and decides he might break up with you if you don’t start leaving him clues as to where to find you. Not that’s he’s your boyfriend (of course he’s your boyfriend), but he’d put an end to your… relationship, should he have to. 

He’s getting annoyed at his own thoughts and, by extension, you, when he finally finds you lying casually across a couch in a common area otherwise abandoned. You’ve projected your phone game onto the ceiling, music leaking from the cans of your headphones, with your socked feet dangling over an armrest, a drinks bottle by your head.

“Where are your shoes?” he asks loudly. 

You glance his way. “Hi, Miguel.” 

“Are you walking around without shoes?” He bends one way and another looking for them. They’re on their sides under the coffee table among a legion of dust bunnies. 

“What?” 

“I said–” He hates playing this game. “Take the headphones off, and then we’ll talk to each other.” 

“I’m gonna take my headphones off,” you say. 

He rolls his eyes. You stop projecting your phone, snapping it closed on your chest and struggling up into a sitting position, legs retrieved from over the armrest and crossed beneath you as your headphones slip around your neck. You’re in sportswear with a jacket too big for you over your shoulders, cute cargo pants he adores and potentially would love to take off of you, and he’s so busy noticing your uncharacteristic outfit that he misses the huge bruise on your face, the yellow, red and purple like a stain under your eye 

He has amazing vision. “What happened?” he asks, practically diving for you, bending down to take your unbruised cheek into his hand. “Who did that to you?” 

You haven’t been on a strike mission in weeks, and your combat training is all but done. 

Someone laid their hands on you. 

Miguel goes into a fugue. “Sweetheart,” he says, his voice flat, almost cold, “who hit you?” 

“Miguel, I’m a superhero–”

“I don’t remember the last time you went home,” he says, immediately brushing this possibility away. You don’t fight crime in your dimension, Spider-Girl a poorly received vigilante. “You haven’t been in training, I didn’t send you on the strike this morning because you didn’t want to go.” He touched you with extreme care, thumb barely pressed to your skin, but he talks with precision. “So I’ll ask again. Who hit you, cariño?” 

“Miguel,” you laugh, pushing his hand off of your face to wrap your arms around his neck. He covers your back instinctively. “I’m fine, what’s wrong with you? You’re acting all macho.” 

“You aren’t answering my question.” 

“Oh my gosh.” You cling to him. He could stand up at full height and be sure you’d come up with him. He’d quite enjoy that, to his secret pleasure, you with your legs wrapped around his hips. You don’t like being carried is the kicker. “Miguel, I hit myself. My hand got caught when I was taking the suit off and I hit myself in the eye, it’s fine.” 

Your back is soft. His hand less so as he rubs your back in surprised, short lines, up and down and up again. “Idiot,” he says, his voice turning to rasp at such a low volume. 

It must hurt, even if you did it to yourself. Miguel peels you away from his neck and stations you gently on the couch. “I’ll take you to the medbay,” he promises, giving your shoulder a little push. “What’s wrong with you? You hit yourself? You’re like a kid.” 

“I am not! It happens to everybody.” 

“Never happens to me.” 

“You cheat. Your suit flashes on and off.”

“It does not.” Miguel decides he is going to carry you whether you like it or not. You aren’t wearing shoes —he doesn’t need you getting any more injured. “Alright, hold on to your phone, my brat.” 

“Your what?” you laugh, though any humour you hold is lost when Miguel grabs you up with ease and cradles your full grown body to his chest in a princess carry, “Miguel! Stop, put me down! You know I hate this.” 

“You might hurt yourself again. I’m taking necessary precautions.” 

You sigh and drop your face into his shoulder. “Well, I guess I’ll allow it. You got so, so mad thinking somebody hit me, I think you deserve to carry me around like a large cantaloupe.” You draw a heart into the base of his neck. “Will you grab my shoes?” 

“I’ll circle back.” 

“Thank you. How’d you even find me? I was hoping I’d be healed the next time we saw one another.”

“At bedtime, you mean?” 

He resists the urge to kiss your cheek, or tell you how he’d found you (mindless combing of the building, seduction of your most likely location, and dumb luck). You don’t need the ammunition. 

[bowsellie]

we have chemistry

warnings: college!ellie x college!reader, stoner!ellie, chronically ill reader (not specific, just mentions of fatigue and a medical accommodation for a single room for plot reasons lol), weed usage (Ellie and reader), mild language, briefly proofread, no use of y/n minors dni! smut in 3rd section! top!ellie, some degradation, praise (reader called a good girl, pretty girl, etc., ellie told she's doing a good job), SO MUCH CONSENT WE <3 CONSENT, fingering (r! receiving), oral (r! receiving), aftercare.

💗💗💗

You didn't want to be taking organic chemistry. Nobody in that class did--not even the chemistry majors. But as finals season rolled around, you found yourself spending extra time to make sure that it would at least be worth your while. Needless to say, not everybody shared the same drive.

As the clock hit 8:49am on the last class before the exam, everybody started shoving their laptops away despite the professor's continuing drone. To your right there was an extra loud snap! as the student beside you--an auburn-haired girl you'd never seen before--shut the screen with finality. You shot her a glare, gently closing your notebook as people began to trickle out.

"You're smart, right?"

You angled your face towards the sound, assuming somebody was having a side conversation close by. Instead, you found yourself face to face with striking green eyes leaning to reach your line of sight.

"Hi. Yeah, you. You're using an actual notebook and have all the fancy pens and shit, so...are you smart?"

Your eyebrows drew together slightly as you shrugged with one shoulder. "I try, I guess. Um...why?"

One corner of the girl's mouth picked up. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I've literally never been to this class before. My grade sucks. But I really don't want to retake this shit. Do you think you could help me?"

You stared at her incredulously, mentally calculating the equation of audacity and arrogance it must take to expect a complete stranger to help despite a clear lack of effort.

You opened your mouth slightly to say some variation of hell fucking no, who do you think you are anyways?, maybe you should have considered that before skipping literally every other class meeting when she stuck out her hand. "I'm Ellie, by the way. I'll pay you for helping me." When you hesitated to shake it, she added a "please".

You rolled your eyes, shaking the girl--Ellie's--hand with slightly too much force. "Fine. Whatever. Give me your number." You slid your phone across the table, already open to the contacts app, and watched as she typed.

"You're a lifesaver! Thank you..." she asked, pausing for your name. You gave it. "Thank you."

💗💗💗

Getting back to your dorm and settling into bed for a nap, you briefly texted the number now in your phone as "Ellie" with the last name "Wehavechemistry".

hey

Almost immediately, three dots popped up.

hey there. do you like my contact? lmao

i mean, we do have chemistry together. so like...sure?

no no no. i meant like...we have chemistry. wink wink nudge nudge. and my last name starts with a w so it's funny. do you get it?

...

it's funny.

yeah yeah sure. very funny. hahaha. anyways.

when did you want to come over? i'm free all weekend, and the final's monday. sooooo

oh shit

didn't realize the final was monday

ummmmmmmm how does tomorrow at 8pm work? do you have a roommate or something we need to accommodate for?

no, no roommate. tomorrow at 8pm works fine for me. see you then, ellie.

:)

Turns out, texting with Ellie wasn't all that insufferable. She was friendlier than you expected, and every time you put your phone down to try and fall asleep you found your heart beating too fast at every notification to actually put it down.

Instead, you kept the conversation going until 8pm the next day rolled around, when instead of a text you got three loud raps at the door.

Opening it up, you saw Ellie in the same hoodie as yesterday. This time, her hair was slightly damp and she smelled like...old spice and something pungent and earthy. Did she shower already?

"Hey," you said, suddenly feeling awkward and over dressed in your jean shorts and crop top, hair still done from that afternoon. "You can come in."

Ellie grinned at you as she slid in the door. "We have a semester of schoolwork to cover. Hope you're prepared for a long night," she said.

"Trust me, I am. Did you bring anything?" You asked, looking for a bag as she climbed on to your bed.

"Nope. Not school stuff, anyways." Curious, you tossed your notebook towards her and watched as she pulled a pre-rolled joint and lighter from her hoodie pocket. "I'm assuming you don't smoke since you're like, a nerd, but do you mind if I do?"

You shook your head, dropping your jaw in false offense. "How lame do you think I am? Just because I actually go to class doesn't mean I'm a nerd."

Ellie shot you a disbelieving look, but handed you the joint anyways as you joined her on the bed. "Here, have the first hit. As a thank you for helping me out."

She lit it for you as you inhaled, passing her the weed and opening your notebook. "If this keeps you from retaining information that's not my fault. Just saying."

"Trust me, I'm so alert right now it's crazy. All of tonight is gonna be stuck in my memory for a while."

💗💗💗

The room gradually grew darker, lit only by your adjusting lamp and the last smoldering ashes of the joint as you reached halfway through the notebook.

You breathed heavily through your nose, looking at Ellie seriously. "It's so late. We're not going to finish this tonight."

As she looked up at you, you suddenly noticed how much closer you two had moved over the course of the night. Had your thighs been touching the whole time? Has her breath always been so close it's hitting your cheek? Why did she have to smell so good?

Your own breath caught in your throat as she leaned even closer to you, placing a hand so close to your leg you could feel the fabric of her sweatshirt against her bare thigh. Almost imperceptibly, her gaze flickered down to your chest, now rapidly rising and falling.

"How set do you think I am for this stupid final?" Ellie asked seriously, a rasp in her voice either from smoke or the lowered pitch.

"You picked up on everything really well, so at least the first half I think you'll do fine."

She grabbed your left hand in both of hers, causing your breath to catch again. Her eyes flickered down again, this time lingering longer. Following her gaze, you noticed the top of your bra peeking out.

"Sorry," you said, quickly adjusting your shirt to cover it as heat spread through your body.

"No, no, you're fine. Sorry for looking," she said. You looked at her face, watching as her eyes seemed to trace the shape of your shoulders and the line of your throat.

The air thickened with tension, but you found yourself not wanting Ellie to leave yet. "So, why did you take this class anyways? If you didn't want to go?"

Finally, she met your eyes. "I need a chemistry for my major. Astronomy. I thought I would like this one, but didn't realize it was a fucking 8am when I signed up. By the time I realized I wasn't going to make it up that early it was too late to drop." She shrugged. "What about you? Big chemistry fan?"

You snorted. "Not really, but I also needed a chemistry for my major. I like the 8ams, it lets me have afternoons free to sleep. That's why I don't have a roommate--medical accommodations for fatigue or whatever." She nodded along, genuinely listening.

"Well, hopefully I don't have to retake this class. Next time there probably won't be a pretty girl willing to help me out."

You smiled at her, breathing sharply out of your nose in a laugh. "We'll see what we can do."

A beat of silence washed over you before Ellie pointed towards the pride flag on your wall with her chin. "So...are you..." She began, causing you to laugh full out this time.

"Yeah. Obviously, I'd hope, but if you're feminine people tend to assume otherwise I guess." You smiled and looked at her. "Are you?"

Ellie placed a hand on her chest. "I'm hurt you had to ask. I've been trying to flirt with you since I got your number, babe."

Oh.

"Oh."

She leaned back a little. "I can cut it out, if you want. I couldn't tell if you were into it or not."

Without giving her time to continue doubting, you sprung forward and attached your lips to hers. Threading your fingers in her hair and breathing in as you pulled back.

"So...you are into it?"

"I'm a little dense, Ellie. Don't let the color-coded notes fool you. But yes. Now that I know...I'm into it."

She smiled at you with one side of her mouth again, this time leaning forward to kiss you first. Lips opening slightly, you felt her body around yours as her hands found the bed and pushed you on to your back.

Ellie pushed her tongue gently into your mouth, settling between your legs as they fell open. As you felt her weight between your hips, you groaned a little.

Whining a little as she pulled away, your eyes fluttered shut as Ellie threaded her fingers through the hair by your ear. "Is this supposed to be my payment?" you asked, leaning into her touch.

"Shut up," she said playfully, leaning in to kiss you again. This time it was more forceful, teeth bumping against teeth as your tongues chased each other. Too focused on the overwhelming sensation of Ellie's mouth on your own, you broke the kiss to moan in surprise when you felt her knee push against your core.

Using the opportunity to trail her mouth down your cheek, to your jaw, to your neck, Ellie asked "is this okay, baby?" between kisses. You nodded before remembering she couldn't see you, instead responding with a slightly choked "yes."

In response, her lips attached right behind your ear as her teeth sunk into you and she began to suck. You groaned, bucking your hips against her knee. Kindly, she began to push it back into you, laughing into your neck as you continued whimpering.

"What?" you asked. "Why are you laughing?"

Ellie pulled away from the spot she had been working into your collarbone, meeting your eyes. "You're just so pretty. Can't believe I have you falling apart for me and I've barely touched you."

Your mouth fell open at her words, groaning. Ellie's mouth found yours again, her hands reaching for your tits over your shirt. "Can't blame me for looking at these," she said between kisses, "You look so good in this shirt."

"Take it off, then," you said. You sounded braver than you felt, your stomach doing absolute flips as the girl over you quickly complied to reveal your lacy nude bra.

"I like this," she said softly. "I want it off, though. Is that okay, pretty?" You nodded. The bra was nothing special--just comfy and the right color. If Ellie liked it, though, it was now one of your favorites.

Her mouth moved down your chin and neck to attach to your left nipple, bringing a hand to your opposite hip as she sucked and licked lightly. Your hips continued to buck against her knee, which was now stationary as you essentially rode her thigh.

Chuckling a little, Ellie looked up at you and began unbuttoning your shorts. "Knew you'd be needy. What kind of thoughts are you hiding from me?" she asked, pulling off your bottoms and panties in one go when you lifted your hips to help.

You smiled a little watching her eyes attach themselves to the spot between your legs. "What can I say?" you said. "Maybe I'm a little slutty if the right girl has me under her."

This seemed to light something in Ellie, who watched your face as she brought your face down to your pussy. Close enough to feel her breath, her eyes gleamed as she moved away from your hips chasing her.

"Please," you asked, voice breaking. "Please, Ellie."

"Guess you are a slut, huh? Begging for me already." Whatever response you had was cut off by a screaming moan as her mouth attached itself to you, immediately lapping at your clit before interspersing it with longer licks. Your legs shut around her face as your hands grabbed into her hair, pulling a little as you noticed the groan she made at the pressure.

"That feels so good, Ellie." Her motions sped up at this, and you hurriedly repeated the phrase as she focused more attention on your clit. Feeling everything tighten, you wrapped your ankles around her back as your hips lifted almost completely off the bed. Still attached to you, Ellie fully moaned as you pulled her hair and came over her face.

Whimpering softly as she pulled away, you audibly groaned when she looked up at you and wiped her chin with the back of her hand. "You did so good, baby. Do you have another one in you?"

You quickly nodded, feeling words escape you. All you wanted was for her to say you did good again.

Ellie leaned into you, placing her head into the crook of your neck as her fingers ghosted lightly over your hips, stomach, and thighs. Finally, you felt them dip into the pool of wet that had collected in your cunt. Spreading the mix of saliva, cum, and arousal up to your clit and around your hole, she slowly pushed a slender finger into you. Your back arched off the bed when she began pumping it in and out, chuckling against your neck.

"Such a pretty girl. You're doing so good," she whispered. Your moans grew louder at her words and she pushed another finger in. "Good girl," she breathed, kissing your neck and jaw as she worked into you.

"Ellie," you gasped. "Ellie, please."

"What, baby?"

"Please, Ellie, please. Wanna cum."

You felt her lips quirk up against your collarbone as she added a thumb to your clit and a curl to her fingers. Quicker than you'd ever been able to get there yourself, you felt the tightening of your gut. She swallowed your moans with a sloppy kiss, gently catching your bottom lip between her teeth before soothing it with her tongue. She used her other hand to hold on to your hair at the scalp as you writhed, second orgasm shuddering through your body.

"Good girl," she said as she worked you through it. Sitting up, she wiped her fingers on your thighs before moving up up to let you rest your head on her chest. "You did so good, baby. My smart, pretty, good girl."

You whimpered a little, not prepared to speak just yet. Ellie seemed to understand and didn't push you, holding you and playing with your hair until you leaned back to smile at her.

"That was good. Thank you," you told her, leaning in for a kiss that tasted of your sweat and pussy.

Ellie broke away, moving the hand wrapped around your waist to grab something out of your back pocket. She placed it on your bare chest, tucking it between your tits.

"What do I look like, a prostitute?" you asked. "Much love to them, but..."

Ellie raised her eyebrows. "I mean, you fuck like a professional, but this is for helping me study."

You grabbed the bill and pushed it back into her pocket. "Save it for next time. We need to finish that notebook if you want to actually pass this class."

Ellie kissed the top of your head. "How does tomorrow work?"

A/N this is basically a self insert...my bad. tried to make it as inclusive to different readers as possible. let me know if there's anything I can improve on!! <3

[gh0stsp1d3r]

ℳ𝒶𝓎𝒷𝒶𝓃𝓀𝓈 𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇

Part 3 chapter 2- can I kiss you?

Series masterlist

Warnings: bullets, mentions of blood + getting shot, mentions of abuse

“Who are you calling fifty times?” Rafe asked Topper, who set his phone down on the bar. Topper turned to Rafe. “Huh? Who’s not answering?”

“I don’t know, Rafe, uh… does your sister ever do what she says she’s gonna do?”

“Not really, no.”

“Oh.”

“Ah! How’d she screw you this time?” He asked topper, handing him a glass of whiskey.

“So I did your sister a favor, right? Got reamed by my mom, I mean, it’s a shit show, man. So I do this favor, she’s like ‘oh I’ll hit you tonight.’ It’s tonight. Haven’t heard a thing, been calling her. Nothing. She’s just ignoring me. So, I don’t know, man.” He rambled.

“Listen, listen. Let’s sit.” Rafe patted his back, Topper sat down.

“Uh, she’s playing you like a fiddle, bro.”

“No.”

“She’s been playing you since day one.”

“It’s a lot different now.”

“You know why she can’t hit you up right now? It’s cause she’s with John B.”

“Listen, Rafe. She is not with John B.”

“Oh, okay.”

“She wouldn’t do that.”

“Well, she thinks she’s a pogue now. As soon as they think that, they’re gone, bro. Speaking from experience.” He shrugged.

“Can’t trust a pogue, not that you could trust her anyways. And now she’s with John B and you’re looking at me like I’m the bad guy? She’s gonna keep doing this, again and again and again..” he continued.

Topper stood up, downing the rest of his drink.

“Just playing you like a fiddle.”

“I’ll catch you later, Rafe.”

“All right, Top.” He raised his glass, smirk on his face. He was right, and Topper knew it. “Was good to see you.”

———

Everyone sat down in the Chateau, John B had taken himself to his room, Kiara strummed her ukulele, and you and Sarah played a game of “who’s dad sucked more?”

“My dad faked his death. Like… twice.” Sarah shrugged, taking a sip.

“My dad once made me drink a bottle of beer to calm me down when I was 6 because I threw a temper tantrum when he hit me.” You narrowed your eyes at the girl.

“My dad tried to kill all of my friends, more than once.”

“My dad stole 670 bucks from me on my 15th birthday so he could buy more heroin.”

“I think y/n already wins, by default.” Pope pointed at you, making you smile.

“Yeah, I thought so.” Sarah shook her head with a smile, getting up and going into John B’s room with two bottles.

“I never thought my trauma would ever make me win. This is great. Anyone else wanna play?” You asked.

“Think you beat everyone here.” Cleo said with a laugh, watching you chug the beer can you had and tossing it in the trash.

“I should go play for the nba.” You mumbled to yourself, JJ laughing.

“So, what type of plane is it?” Cleo asked, her and Pope playing mancala on the table.

“Well, it’s wards so im guessing something fancy.”

“That’s what I’m talking ‘bout, flying private, baby!”

JJ sat next to Kiara, her movements pausing and her putting her instrument down.

“Hey, kie. You know, that whole entire money clip and dad situation?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, um, that wasn’t that cool, and im kinda beating around the bush a little bit, but, um, I’m…” he looked up, you heard a crackling noise and looked up as well.

“What the fuck?” You mumbled to yourself, standing up and rushing over to the window.

“What is that?” Kiara asked.

“That’s a fire.”

“Everybody get the fuck out!” You shouted at JJ and Kie.

Everyone dispersed, telling the others that were in the rooms.

“There’s a fire!”

“Get outta here, everyone get the fuck out!” You shouted at the teenagers, but before they could, it had reached the door.

You grabbed Sarah hand, getting her away from the door when she went over.

You watched some one pull away from the Chateau amongst the fire, a Range Rover you noted in your head. But you couldn’t worry about that right now. You had to figure out how to get out.

——-

The entire of the Chateau had been burnt to the ground. You all sat on a tree, feeling defeated.

“Could’ve been a faulty electrical wire.”

“Place was all wood.”

“It wasn’t an accident.” You mumbled.

“What?” They turned to you now.

“I.. saw a car pull away from the Chateau when I pulled Sarah away from the door. A Range Rover. It had to be some kook.” You told them.

“And you’re just now telling us this?!” Kiara asked.

“I was the one who got us all out of there alive, so don’t.. give me that bullshit. I was waiting until we were all out, and safe. Fuck.” You hit your head against the tree.

“Verdicts in, bro. Whoever’s up there does not like you.” JJ said, patting John B’s shoulder. “Sorry.”

You sighed, grabbing a glass bottle and throwing it towards the burnt house.

——

“Sarah, when did you say the pilot was getting in?”

“Probably like an hour? I mean, once he’s here, my dad says we can leave whenever we want.”

“Okay, well, as much as I would love to ghost my parents again, I can’t.”

“Pope, we’re talking El dorado here. Can you just like slip out the back maybe?” JJ asked.

“Great advice.” Kie shook her head.

“It always worked for me. How to avoid unpleasant circumstances 101. If there’s a problem and you don’t wanna face it-“

“Turn that face and keister around, and walk the other way.” You rolled your eyes, finishing his sentence, remembering that you had always told him that. Although that never stopped him from getting into his fights.

“I’m not doing that, okay?” Pope told him.

“I just want you to be there, dawg.” JJ sighed.

“I’m gonna be there. I’ll meet you guys in the airstrip in an hour?”

“Yeah, we’ll see you there.”

“One hour, pope. Not a second later.”

“Shit, any of you guys gotta phone I could use? I gotta call in sick, I guess.” You remembered.

“Is that really important right now?” John B asked you.

“Yeah, it is. You know how damn hard it is to get a job recently?”

“There’s probably one up at that gas station across the street.” Sarah nodded in the direction.

“Okay. I’ll be right back, swear.”

“You want me to come with?” JJ asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m good. It’s not that far.” You began to walk off the dock, and towards the gas station.

You rummaged through your pockets for some change, glad that they still had a pay phone outside. “Fuck.” You mumbled, realizing you hadn’t had enough.

You looked around, and you spotted a familiar vehicle parked at one of the pumps.

“Oh my God.” You muttered. This would only happen to you.

Rafe walked out the gas station. You turned around, trying your best to hide yourself. But you heard him chuckle and say something.

“Funny seeing you here, y/n.”

“Rafeeee…” you drawled out, giving him a small smile. “Just the person I wanted to see.” You said sarcastically.

“What are you uh… doing out here..? Awfully far out, aren’t you?”

“Well, actually, my cousin works here and he asked me to bring him something since he’s doing an overnight.”

“Huh. Where’s your car then?”

“That’s none of your damn business, is it?” You snapped.

He held his hands up in defense. “Sorry. Sorry. I’ll get out your hair, but it was nice seeing you.”

“W-wait, Rafe.” You mentally faceplamed at yourself.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. Can I use your phone? I really, really, need to call someone.”

He hesitated, before grabbing his phone out his pocket and unlocking it before handing it to you.

“Thank you..”

You typed in your jobs number, telling both of them you’d be out sick probably for a while, out with a virus.

“A virus, huh?” Rafe asked when you handed it to him again.

You shook your head. “I got shit to do, and I’m not trying to get fired in the process.”

“Makes sense.” He shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning against a wall.

It was silent between the both of you before he spoke up again.

“Hey, I’m- I’m sorry if I uh… overstepped last time we talked. I was… drunk, and I… I dunno, I just feel bad about it… if that makes sense.”

Him apologizing was not what you expected. You stared at him, your mouth agape. You looked into his eyes and he seemed sincere.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, and he got off the wall, slowly walking towards you. His hands tangled into your hair, and made their way to the back of your head.

He leaned down, until his lips ghosted over yours. Your heart pounded and your eyes searched his.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked you quietly. Your nod was all he needed to move closer, your lips moving against each other.

But this kiss was different than the one in his bedroom, it was gentle, more loving. Your hands were on his chest, and oh god how you missed this.

Once he leaned away from the kiss, he cradled your face in his hands.

“I miss you. And I know I fucked up on the boat, and before that, but I want you to know I’m trying to change.” His thumb stroked your cheek.

“I… I miss you too. But, Rafe… I… I don’t know if it’s the best idea right now.”

“Is this about your brother still?”

“I- Rafe, it’s about everything. I got a lot going on right now.”

His hand fell from your face. “I get it.”

“Rafe-“

“I do, I get it. But all I want is for another chance to make things right. That's all I'm askin’ for.”

You sighed. “I… I have to go somewhere for a while, but when I come back, we can talk, alright?”

He nodded. “I’ll see you around, yeah?” He gave you a small smile.

“Yeah. I’ll see you.” You nodded back. He went close to you again, giving you another quick kiss before pulling away.

You leaned against the wall, sighing in relief when he walked away. You waited until he left the gas station to run back to the dock.

“Shit, sorry.” You panted as you ran up to them all.

“What took you so long?” JJ questioned with a quirked eyebrow.

“I had to ask people for their phones, and not a lotta people are nice I guess.”

“Whatever, I’ll see you guys on the tarmac!” JJ told them, you waving bye to them.

Kiara followed behind, “Hey, Jayj, wait. Hey. Um…”

You looked at them both, you standing there awkwardly. Kiara stared at you expectantly.

“I’m just gonna… yeah.” You snapped your fingers, turning back around and beginning to walk.

———

Rafe’s head swam in his thoughts. His unexpected visit with you resolved one of his problems, but he still had another major one. His dad.

“There’s no going back.”

Rafe paced the room, nervously biting his hands, his leg bouncing when he sat down.

He knew what he had to do. He drove over to where his dad was laying low, going over to his dad, fishing and drinking beer at the river.

“I need you to leave.” He told Ward.

“Oh, yeah? We talked about this already, Rafe.”

“I need you to go live your life in Guadeloupe. And you can let me live mine here.”

“I’m not gonna do that, okay?” Ward turned around, looking out into the water again.

“You realize… hey, you realize what could happen if you stay?”

“What could happen, Rafe?”

“What could happen? The police could find you here. Easy. And then, it’s… it’s done, you’re gone forever. Or something much worse.”

At his son’s words, Ward snapped his head around, standing and looking at him now.

“Much worse.”

“What have you done, son?”

Rafe walked towards him. “It’s not gonna be good if you stay.”

———

You and JJ walked through the house, you looking at the reminders of your dad while JJ shoved his clothes in a bag.

“You good?” He asked you, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” You looked at him, shaking your head and going back into your old room.

You grabbed everything you possibly could, looking around the room. Your whole life, packed into it. It would be gone when you came back.

You came back out, looking at JJ grab things as well. You grabbed your camera, a flashlight and maybe a couple bottles of beer as well.

A car engine outside made both of your heads snap to the window. He looked at you and you looked at him.

“What the hell?” You mumbled, telling him to get away. You looked out the window.

“Oh shit. It’s Mike.” You looked at him.

“Shit. Shit.” JJ mumbled, both of you getting down and hiding.

“JJ! Y/n! It’s your ol’ buddy, Mike. You lost my load. Time to pay up!” He shouted from outside. “All right, we’re gonna do this your way. Hmm?” He grabbed his gun, cocking it.

“I’m coming in, y/n! Yeah, I know you’re in there.” You both leaned against the wall, you motioning for him to go the other way.

Mike opened the door, both of you panicking now.

“We’re gonna do this your way.” He repeated.

JJ ran out the door, grabbing his backpack. You glanced around, where the fuck was yours?

JJ was outside, and he looked around. You were still inside.

It took you a minute to find it, but you grabbed your backpack.

“It’s gonna be a lot easier if you do it now.”

He was getting closer, if you ran out, you risked JJ getting found. And if you didn’t, you risked getting shot.

You didn’t know what to do. Your heart pounded and tears threatened to fall.

A memory flashed in your mind for a second.

“Jayj!” You cried out, watching him get repeatedly punched by another boy on the playground. You didn’t know what to do.

“JJ!” You gasped when the boy was finally pulled off and Jj was left laying on the ground. You cried, tears hitting his body.

JJ had taken those hits for you after he had caught some boy making fun of you.

He had taken those hits for you then, so you would take this one for him. You stood there, just trying to give him enough time to run. You held your breath, as silent as you could possibly be.

Mike found you before you even realize it, and started to fire upon seeing you. You ran outside, hoping to God JJ was already far away.

“Y/n.” He whispered, watching you run into the woods, Mike already had lost you both.

You panted and fell behind a tree, JJ ran over and grabbed your arm, asking what was wrong.

Mike glanced around, shouting as he looked around outside

You and JJ hid behind a tree, he glanced at your leg, blood seeping through your pants as you set your bag down. “Oh… my god.”

“Fuck.” You gasped, holding your leg. You cried out, JJ grabbed your backpack and helped you up, noticing Mike getting even closer.

He grabbed a stick, handing it to you. You put it in between your teeth as to muffle your pained cries. JJ put his arm around you, helping you walk.

“Shit, stay with me, alright?”

“Mmhmm.” You groaned out through the stick.

“You’re gonna be fine, shit, why didn’t you fuckin’ run?” He cried out, and that’s when you noticed he was crying as well.

You looked at him, he sat you down when you both were far enough. He rolled up your pants, you crying in pain as you looked at the wound.

“Shit.” He mumbled, and began to rummage through his bag, grabbing a shirt of his and putting pressure on the wound.

You screamed, stick still muffling your noise. You grabbed onto JJ as he tied the shirt around your leg, hiding your face in his shoulder.

“Fuck. Okay. Uhm… are you okay? Never mind, dumb question. I’m gonna take you to Ricky’s, or something, okay? I’m sure he’ll know what to do, and I’ll stay back with you-“

You took the stick out your mouth, panting heavily and cutting his sentence off.

“I’ll be fine.”

“What? You just got shot-“

“JJ, listen to me.” You grabbed his face in your hands. “We’re getting on that damn tarmac if it’s the last thing I fucking do. I am going to be fine, and I will find a doctor or something when we get there. I’m sure healthcare is much more affordable there than it is here.” You joked, he looked up at you.

He was so confused on how in the worst situations possible, you made it better.

You wiped your finger over his face, wiping his tears away. “You hear me?”

He nodded. He felt like he was a child again.

“Now help me get the fuck up, please?” You gave him a small smile, he stood up and wrapped the arms around him again. You wincing as you stood up.

——

On the tarmac, John B and Sarah stood. They saw you both come up.

“Why is he helping her walk?” Sarah asked.

“Was he.. crying?”

One thing about JJ, he never does that.

“What the fuck happened? Are you okay?” Sarah asked when JJ came up to them, she immediately helped you stand up, giving Jj a break as he breathed heavily.

“Mike fuckin’ came up, shot her right in the leg. She’s fine. But I swear to God, the second I see him it’s on sight.”

You gave them a thumbs up, smiling at Sarah.

“She can’t.. she can’t come, dude.” John B said. “We gotta take her to a hospital or something-“

“Dude, I said the same thing.” JJ told him.

“I’m fine. I told you I’m fine. All I need right now is some alcohol, and probably for it to be cleaned. I can do this.” You shrugged. “Can I have my bag?” You asked JJ, he handed it to Sarah.

“C’mon.” Sarah helped you up into the plane, and grabbed one of the first aid kits hidden in there.

“Thanks, Sar.”

“Of course.” She said, giving you a small smile. She stayed focused when cleaning your wound, apologizing every time you winced.

“I would just sit here for a little, okay? Don’t walk on it or anything for a while.”

“Yeah. Thank you, again.”

She nodded, heading back outside the plane. You smiled and leaned back, grabbing a beer bottle from your backpack.

It’s been a while, and they’re all still outside. You were asleep, comfortable on the seats and leaning up against the window.

“Y/n. Y/n.” JJs voice interrupted your lovely sleep. You grumbled and stirred, slowly opening your eyes.

“What?”

“I gotta go get Kie, you gon’ be okay here?” He glanced down at your leg and back at you.

“What? What’s wrong with Kie?” You asked, concerned.

“She’s not here, we think her parents are keeping her home or something.”

“What? Let me come with.”

“Are you serious? You can’t even walk.”

“Actually, I can kinda walk. Plus, I think you forget how good I am at sneaking out.”

He raised an eyebrow, your leg saying otherwise.

“That was the only time I’ve gotten caught okay?” You rolled your eyes. “And I did it to save your ass.”

“I know, I know, but-“

“Jayj. Take me with you before I shoot you.”

“I ain’t falling for it this time.”

“Be careful, okay?” You sighed. He nodded.

“His loss.” You mumbled, watching as he left. You leaned back onto the window, stretching your legs and arms, before going back to sleep.

——-

Taglist:

@cassie0sstuff @fals3-g0d @tiaamberxx @callsignwidow @saintnourah @calmoistorm @rafesgiirl

[vivwritesfics]

Keep on Rolling - MV1

Chapter Five

Summary: Lando's best friend having feelings for anyone on the grid? Impossible, right? She worked with them, sharing her friendship with the grid with the world via the FormulaY/N youtube channel.

After film a video including... spicy water (alcohol), everything changes between her and a certain world champion. Good thing she hasn't had a crush on him since his F1 debut, right?

Right?

1.3K words

Promised QandA in next part

Series Masterlist

"Hey man," Lando said to Max one evening at dinner. It was drivers only, simply because Y/N was too busy working. Everybody wanted her there, but she couldn't spare the time.

Max looked at Lando with a polite smile, too busy eating to say anything.

"You let Y/N interview you?"

He nodded his head, still eating.

"Oh. Well, the rest of us ran away. We didn't trust it not to be a prank," Lando continued. "Why didn't you?"

Max stopped eating to look at him. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"What? No. I just want to know what you're doing with my best friend," answered Lando. This was starting to piss him off. "I don't care what you do, as long as you don't do anything to hurt her."

Max simply scoffed. He didn't have any intentions with Y/N. Whatever happened, happened. If that took them down the romantic route, so be it.

"Don't worry," he said, returning his attention to his food. "I don't plan on hurting her." He ate ignoring Lando and every other driver sat around the table. There was a good few minutes where Lando stared at him, something like disgust written on his face. He didn't mean to be pulling such a face, but he couldn't help it when it came to Y/N

***

Y/N's eyes hurt as she stared at the emails on her screen. "What the fuck," she whispered, pinching the bridge of her nose. It was seeming more and more impossible to find a moment of peace for her.

You need to look at this and give a statement, ASAP, the email said. This is the second time this has happened in the space of a month. How does this keep happening? You need to watch yourself to make sure it doesn't happen again

She read the email a couple of times over before clicking the link.

It was an Instagram post that had gone viral within the F1 community. Pictures of her with the drivers, hidden away in hotel rooms. Moments that nobody but Y/N and the drivers involved should have pictures of.

Her having dinner in Lando's apartment, Y/N and Charles walking through the hallway of a hotel together. There was one occasion where she, Lando and Carlos had snuck up to the roof of the hotel. Somehow that picture was in the post.

The worst one, though? There was a picture of Y/N and Max laying together. It must have been after the drunken quiz video, after they had fallen asleep against each other. It was such an intimate moment, a moment meant for the two of them and nobody else.

They were pictures nobody should have had. Who had taken them? Where had they come from? How did this account have them?

But then Y/N scrolled down to the comments

Username: omg she's such a whore

Username: You'd think this years championship would be interesting since she's sleeping with the whole grid

Username: I've never liked her

Username: She ruined Lando

Username: yeah I liked Carlando better before it involved her

They just went on and on like that. Thousands of them. For every supportive comment, there seemed to be two negative ones. It was horrible. How was she supposed to put out a statement about it.

So, she pulled out her phone and did the only thing she knew to do.

Ten minute later, there was a knock at her door. Y/N wiped her tears and ran to pull it open. "Oh thank god," she said through a sob and wrapped her arms around him.

Lando walked her further into the room and pushed the door shut behind him. “Tell me what happened,” he said and sat her down on her bed. He sat beside her and Y/N instantly placed her head on his shoulder.

"People are horrible," she sniffed as she pulled up the Instagram account.

Taking her phone from her hand, Lando scrolled through the pictures before getting to the comments. As he read them, his grip on Y/N was tight, growing tighter with every horrible comment.

"I've never seen these before," said Lando as he scrolled back up to the pictures. From the way they were taken, they couldn't have been fan pictures - they must have come from someone right there with them.

Lando pressed his finger against the power button and dropped Y/N's phone into his lap. He pulled her close, running his fingers through her hair. "Don't worry, we'll get to the bottom of this."

There was nothing they could do that night. So Y/N locked the door, double checked the lock and then pushed her bedside table up against it.

Y/N and Lando fell asleep together, spread out across the bed. They'd fallen asleep together several times before. They'd been doing it since they were kids, sharing a bed on sleepovers. It was a habit that hadn't died and had only taken breaks when either of them were dating.

"Promise everything is going to be okay?" Y/N muttered in her sleep as she rolled towards the door.

Lando's answer was a snore.

***

Max was used to his phone blowing up over night. He was a world famous Formula One driver, it was bound to happen. But, when he scrolled through his notifications this time, everything was different.

Pictures, none of which he had seen before. He was in some, but the one thing every picture had in common was Y/N. Max ignored all the pictures that didn't have him in the, all the pictures but the last one. The one of him in bed with her/

Nobody had been in the room with them, Max had made sure of it.

His phone vibrated in his hand. But it wasn't who Max hoped it would be. It wasn't the girl he had been pictured with. It was his father. Jos Verstappen. Just the man Max didn't want to be speaking to.

He swiped his finger across the screen and pressed his phone to his ear.

Have you ever been berated by an angry Dutchman almost to the point of tears. Max had. He'd been berated by his father so many times before. Even now, as a twenty five year old, it still stung just as much as it had when he was a child.

Jos ran through the list of all of the news article headlines he had read that morning. All of them about his son and the youtuber that had been following the grid around like a lost dog.

As much as Max wanted to defend her, Jos didn't give him the chance. He sat there in silence as his dad shouted at him down the phone. When Jos finally hung up, Max let out a sigh.

Suddenly there was a knock at his hotel room door. Now in a foul mood, Max stood and opened up the door.

"Hey," he said, letting his visitor in.

The visitor said nothing and walked into his room. "You need to stay away from Y/N."

Max stared at Lando. He said nothing, just stared, so Lando continued. "Stay away from her. Stop falling asleep with her, stop going near her. She doesn't need you to fuck up her life."

Max sat himself back on his bed and patted his thighs in a repetitive pattern. He'd just gotten enough of this from his father, he didn't need this from Lando, too. "What gives you the right?" he asked. "Why can't she make her own decisions?"

"She doesn't know what she wants," Lando spat.

Max shook his head. "I think you're wrong," he said. "I think she knows what she wants and you're unwilling to listen to her."

Suddenly Lando was very close to him, getting in his face. "Stay the fuck away from her," he growled and marched out of the room.

Taglist (Open): @sticksdoesart @eviethetheatrefreak @eugene-emt-roe @glai1023-blog @mqcherie @itsjustkhaos @chonkybonky @arian-directioner @lazybot @lpab @princessria127 @fangirl125reader @honethatty12 @larastark3107 @urfavouritef1girly @cassiopeiia24 @callsign-scully @lexiecamposv @dl-yum @savagecelery @laneyspaulding19 @formulas-bitch @teenwolf01

[likeahorribledream]

Hey, I still know things about you that nobody else does! And I'm not afraid to use that to my advantage."

For biker Bucky? It just seems so fun

Thank you for sending this! I took a few liberties with the story and hopefully you’re going to like it!

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x female!reader

TW: none

Word count: 1.2k

Author’s note: I haven’t written anything in… I want to say months but I think it’s more than a year. So PLEASE be nice and patient with me 😭 I haven’t edited it, reading my own stories make me cringe so I apologize for all the mistakes you’re going to find.

Not a lot of names were feared in this town just by the sound of them, but Barnes was definitely at the top of the list. Mostly because of how he looked. Bucky was at the head of the only MC the town has ever known, taking his father’s place once he stepped down. The club is all he has ever known. At 6’3, long hair, a beard and covered in tattoos and muscles; he feels like he was born to be a biker especially because no one dared to cross him. No one was better than him when it came to staring down someone, he could go minutes without blinking and that freaked most people out. He absolutely loved to be feared, he loved that no one even tried to bother him, or challenge him because his reputation preceded him wherever he went and he wasn’t afraid to throw a punch (or five) to get his point across. Needless to say, no one willingly got into a fight with him because they knew they’d come out the loser. So every night you could find him sitting peacefully at the bar his father owned, with all of the MC by his side, drinking beers and enjoying music. Regular people were welcomed in, but they all knew to steer clear of the boys’ table.

Until one night, where their peaceful evening was disturbed by commotion coming from the front of the bar. Their table was completely at the back, they couldn’t see but they could tell something was going on. Before they even got the chance to get up, people were getting out of the way as someone was furiously making their way towards them.

“James Buchanan Barnes!” You screamed before even seeing him. “Back office. Now!” You added once you were finally able to make eye contact with him.

The music stopped, and not a sound could be heard. It was comical, really, you would have laughed if you weren’t so pissed off.

Everybody’s attention shifted to Bucky as he slowly put his beer down on the table in front of him and stood up. Within a few steps he was right in front of you, staring you down like he does so well. “Excuse you?”

More than a few people were holding their breath, fearing for your safety but you didn’t even flinch. You crossed your arms in front of you and raised an eyebrow, challenging him in front of everybody before smiling sweetly. “I know things, things that no one else does, and I’m not afraid to use them to my advantage. We wouldn’t want that now, would we?” You said calmly, never breaking eye contact. “Back office. Now.” You repeated yourself with a tone that let him know that it would be the last time. You uncrossed your arms and starting walking yourself to the back office, not even looking back to see if he was following you. You knew he was. You took a seat at the desk and waited until he closed the door behind him before speaking again.

“You got some explaining to do.”

Bucky’s eyes widened as he leaned back against the door, surprised by the words that came out of your mouth. “I have some explaining to do?”

You frowned. “Don’t look surprised.”

“You came in here screaming like a damn fury, but I’m the one who needs to give an explanation?” He scoffed, looking around. “I’m getting punk’d is that it?”

“James.” You said his name in a tone that meant you were done messing around. Like an instant reaction, Bucky took the elastic off of his right wrist and tied his long hair in a low bun; a sign that he was nervous.

Bucky sighed, taking a seat across the desk from you, watching you as you pulled out your phone from your jacket pocket.

You looked through your phone and started reading off the screen. “I won’t be able to make it on Saturday, something came up. Tell your parents I’m sorry.” You finished, putting down your phone on the desk. “That would be the third time in three months that I’ll have to tell my parents “something came up”, James.”

“ I know.” He answered quietly, looking down at the desk.

“Can’t you just tell me the truth? Look, if you don’t want to meet my parents because you don’t love me anymore just tell me.” You said quickly, mentally bracing yourself for the words that you thought were going to come out of his mouth at any second.

“What? Baby, no.” He got up from his chair, walking around the desk and kneeling in front of you. “I love you.” He took your hands between his, his cold rings making you shiver against his hot skin. “I’m just… scared.” He finally admitted, shamefully.

“Scared?” This was the first time he had mentioned it to you. “Scared of what? You know my dad doesn’t care about the MC, he was in one and that’s how my parents met.”

You saw his lips move, but what came out was a mumble. “What?”

He sighed. “Your mom. We’ve only ever spoken on FaceTime for a few minutes, but I can’t tell if she likes me or not. I can’t read a single emotion off of her and it terrifies me.”

You can’t help but chuckle. “Why didn’t you just tell me instead of cancelling at the last minute?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t want you to make fun of me.”

“I’m still terrified of her, believe me. Plus, I wouldn’t make fun of you. Do you make fun of me when I get scared in the middle of the night because of noises from outside, and you have to go check so I can fall back asleep even if we both know the noises are raccoons and not robbers?”

It’s his time to chuckle. “Of course not, I know you can’t help it.”

You nodded and brought his hands to your lips, kissing his knuckles. “Then, why would you think I would make fun of you? Ever?”

He stood up, making you do the same by not letting go of your hands. “Because I’m an idiot.” He lead you towards the door, kissing your cheek before opening it.

“You’re actually quite smart. Most of the time.” You winked at him as you exited the back office.

“When you said you knew things about me and you weren’t afraid to use them, what did you mean?”

“Oh, I just have pictures of the big, bad biker that everyone fears; wearing matching PJs with his kitten.”

Bucky gasped loudly. “You wouldn’t dare.”

You smiled brightly at him, leaning in to give him a quick kiss before letting go of his hand. “Cancel our “us” time via text again, and you’ll find out.” You waved goodbye to the guys and walked back to the front of the bar, leaving like nothing ever happened.

Everybody feared Bucky Barnes, but Bucky only feared two people in this world. You, and your mom.

As he took his seat back at the table, he asked himself how rude it would be to show up tomorrow at your family dinner with the guys from the MC. He’s definitely going to need protection. That’s what happens when you fall in love with the feisty girl who isn’t scared to call you out on your shit.

He wouldn’t change it for the world.

[heliads]

Hey! I love your writing sm

could you pls do an f1 soulmate au with charles x carlos?

maybe whatever a person writes on themselves shows up on their soulmate so they write each other cute 'good luck' notes or jokes before races and maybe they realize they're soulmates when one of them gets a podium and the other person sees their drawings :)

i understand that you wanted this to be cute. however have you considered that they could be insane instead. have you considered that there could be mind games, bestie. think about the mental warfare (i am)

masterlist

Carlos Sainz believes that his secrets come out the fastest when he’s drinking. Doesn’t even have to be alcohol, his favorite ruiner of silence– he’s let out contract details and personal opinions just as freely with isotonic water after a race as with a shot someone hands him two hours into a post-race celebration. It’s easy to let your guard down when you think you’re with a friend, when the stakes don’t seem high, when he knows better but doesn’t want to admit it.

That’s why he feels a rippling wave of panic when he sees Charles walking across the Ferrari hospitality, two cups of coffee in his hands. Charles sits down at an empty table for two, places one cup in front of himself and one at the empty chair, and looks pointedly at Carlos. Carlos thinks to himself, this can’t be good, and mentally reminds himself to book an appointment with PR sooner rather than later.

He takes the seat. Some things, you can’t fight. Charles still smiles anyway, pleased, and says, “I got you coffee.”

Carlos had noticed this, surprisingly. It was difficult to ignore. “You’re being nice,” he remarks, blowing into the hole on the lid to cool down the liquid inside.

“I am nice,” Charles protests. His accent comes out more when he’s unhappy, it makes the syllables bunch up together like pleats of fabric.

Carlos arches a brow, and takes a sip of his coffee instead of answering. Scuderia Ferrari loves to claim that they adore the art of coffee just as much as their mother country, but every time Carlos gets coffee from hospitality it’s either flavorless or burnt, depending on who serves it. Charles’ attempt isn’t terrible, but he doubts Charles did anything more to prepare it than just put in an order. It’s a nice gesture, though. Just like Charles said.

When he looks up and the steam properly clears from his vision, Charles is still pouting at him. Carlos shakes his head, smiling to himself. He makes it so easy sometimes, to mess with his head. It’s kind of fun. Poker, but with a far prettier deck of cards. 

“Alright, fine,” he relents, grinning so Charles knows he’s in on the joke, “I’m just teasing. No need to get mad, cabrón.”

“I’m not mad,” Charles says, a hint of a smile on his face although he stubbornly tries to shake it, “just interested in defending my honor.”

“Your honor?” Carlos asks, laughing in earnest. “So lord-esque, that is what I have been telling you. Of course Lord Perceval would defend his honor.”

Charles rolls his eyes. “You can deal with my honor, mate. I got you coffee.”

“And I am grateful for it every time you bring it up,” Carlos says, and takes a sip to prove it.

Charles does the same, but his eyes remain on Carlos the whole time. “So? Is it true what they’re saying?”

Carlos wants more than coffee for a conversation that starts out like this. “Who’s saying what?”

Charles gestures vaguely towards his phone. “Everybody. They say you’re going to leave Ferrari when your contract expires.”

Ah. That. “People love rumors,” he says absentmindedly, “I never thought you’d pay attention to them.”

“I don’t usually, but I was interested in this one,” Charles admits. “You’d tell me if you were leaving, right?”

“I’m not leaving,” Carlos says.

Charles sets down his cup. “But you’d tell me, right?”

“I would,” Carlos says. Pauses. Starts again. “What’s gotten into you, man? I never took you for someone to fall for theories like this.”

Charles shakes his head a little too quickly. “I’m not. They just seemed to believe it.” 

Carlos shrugs. “They believe a lot. My contract doesn’t expire until next year. They won’t worry about me for a while.”

“Should I?” Charles asks. “Worry about you, I mean.”

Carlos looks at him, really looks at him. The tense grip of his teammate’s hands around his coffee, even despite the heat still emanating through the cup. The furtive glances he keeps sneaking towards Carlos, then abruptly looking at the cup again when he gets caught.

“I’m not going,” Carlos says gently. More gently than he’d answer any interviewer, anyway.

Charles nods quickly, his head bobbing like a doll on a string. “Of course. Besides, I have too much interest for you to leave yet. Not until we figure out your, ah–” A pause. Delicate, but not at all from a polite inclination, no matter how it might seem to any outsider.

Carlos groans, exasperated. “My soulmate? My God, Charles, you have to give this up at some point.”

If it were not enough to have an overly inquisitive teammate, one that’s rather good at using his eyes and smile to get what he wanted, Carlos has been cursed with a racing partner that’s unnaturally interested in his missing other half. Carlos himself wants to figure out who his soulmate is, obviously, but at this point he thinks Charles is even more invested.

They all have soulmates. Supposedly. There’s probably at least a couple people out there who skipped that universal drawing of lots, but Carlos knows for certain that he is not one of them because his soulmate contacts him almost every day. Some people go weeks or even months without finding so much as a scribble appearing out of thin air on their skin, but Carlos blinks and there’s a new sentence on his forearm, bruising his knuckles, curling around his ankle. Whoever his soulmate is, they don’t care much for being ignored.

Neither does his teammate. Charles huffs out an exasperated breath. “If you will not be curious, I will be curious for you. You’re always so cagey about it, anyway. I know they write to you. Don’t you want to know?”

“Of course I want to know who they are,” Carlos scoffs. “What I don’t get is why you want to know. Why don’t you focus on your own other half for a change?”

Charles just leans back in his chair, grinning coolly. Ah, yes. Carlos has suspected for some time that Charles already has an idea as to who his soulmate is, but for some reason Carlos has never seen her around the paddock. It could be that Charles is just keeping their relationship private, but he doubts it. Charles likes his trophies visible and his games extensive. More likely than not, Charles has his soulmate engaged in some kind of cat-and-mouse game so they figure it out without too much help on his end. It’s hellishly manipulative, but he’s charming enough that they all let it slide.

Even Carlos, although he at least tries to put up a fight. Sometimes, he thinks Charles is amusingly aware of that, and doubles down on his efforts to get Carlos to cave until both of them are locked in some sort of affectionate stalemate.

“You shouldn’t worry so much,” Charles hums, pleased that he’s got the other hand. “I mean,” he says, leaning forward abruptly to seize Carlos’ hand in his own, “Don’t you want to know about yours? Aren’t you curious?”

Whoever sat at their table before them left a Sharpie behind by accident; Charles picks it up now, uncapping it with the same hand without letting go of Carlos. “You could just ask them right now, who they are,” Charles muses. The tip of the Sharpie hovers millimeters above the curve of Carlos’ palm, waiting. 

Carlos stares at the black ink. It’s easier to focus on the skin when he mumbles, “They wouldn’t answer.”

You’re not supposed to. Unspoken rules. He’s never liked that sort of thing, and neither has Charles, who knows this and smiles unkindly anyway. “You don’t know that.”

“Don’t I?” Carlos asks, mostly to himself. Charles doesn’t appear to hear him. The Sharpie dips lower until it touches Carlos’ skin. Immediately, the black ink flowers into his palm. Carlos waits for Charles to keep writing, to scrawl a question like who are you or can I fly you to a Grand Prix paddock, asap but instead Charles flinches, slams the palm of his own hand down towards the table, and covers up the pen again.

“Maybe you should do it yourself,” Charles mutters by way of explanation.

“Maybe,” Carlos says. He’s not sure if he’s agreeing or not. It would be easier, he thinks, to have Charles take the wheel again. It would also hurt more. Carlos caps the pen when it becomes obvious that Charles will not. “Drink your coffee,” he says. “It’ll get cold.”

Charles does as told, which is sort of surprising. Usually, he likes pushing the envelope until someone tells him to quit it. It appears to Carlos, though, that they have reached an unspoken limit, a line drawn out in black Sharpie on tanned skin that will not be crossed again.

A few minutes pass. They’re both quiet. Charles whispers into the condensation of his cup, “You’re not leaving, though, right?”

Carlos smiles. “I’m not.” Contracts change, obviously, but he’ll try to fight it. They all try.

They leave not long afterwards, race week means that they don’t have a lot of time to sit around. There’s always something to be filmed for media duties, an interview to conduct, checks to run through with engineers. Still, Carlos is somehow calmer than he was before, even despite the additional caffeine.

Charles, by contrast, seems jumpier than usual as they head towards the exit.

“Did you enjoy your coffee?” Carlos asks pointedly. 

 Charles glances quickly over both shoulders, then groans when he’s sure that no one can overhear him. “No, God. It’s terrible.”

Carlos chuckles. “But you went to so much trouble to get it. Surely you can pretend it’s more than just terrible. You drank, like, all of it.”

Charles gives him an appraising look. “It’s better with someone else.”

It occurs to Carlos, as he walks back to his driver’s room, that they may not just have been talking about coffee after all. He’s stopped by one of his PR advisors on the way back– apparently there’s a new TikTok trend that would be just great for him to do– and although he doesn’t feel that shaken, he must look it, because they only get halfway through a discussion of trending sounds before the agent asks if everything is alright.

Carlos scoffs. “Of course I’m alright.”

The agent arches a brow. “Are you sure? You look a little unsettled. Don’t tell me you were talking to George about track times again, he has that effect on everyone before qualis.”

Carlos shakes his head. “No, I didn’t see him. I was speaking with Charles, though, about nothing in particular. Just coffee and soulmates and stuff.” Unable to stop himself, he leans a little closer, drops his voice until it’s more of a whisper. “He’s found his soulmate, hasn’t he? She’s got to be around here somewhere.”

His PR agent, surprisingly, shakes their head. “No, he’s said nothing about it to us, and we’ve asked loads of times. Are you certain that they’re a she, though? That wasn’t the impression I got.”

Carlos stands utterly still. He thinks his blood may have cooled in his veins, congealing into a solid. He is not sure he could move if he tried. “Charles told you that?”

“Once,” the agent says offhandedly. “He got sick of us asking about his mystery woman. I don’t think he meant to let it slip, but you know how he is with secrets.”

They’re laughing at that. Carlos tries to chuckle along with him, but he can’t really do more than nod, because now he’s thinking about Charles’ soulmate being a man. It’s the driver in him, he supposes, the dreamer, that if he can imagine any scenario he would also imagine himself in it, and so it follows that now Carlos cannot stop thinking about the man on the other side of Charles’ heart being him, being Carlos. The picture fits a little too well. 

Carlos had never pictured his soulmate and thought of a man, but sometimes he’ll be up on the podium with Charles, champagne high and bright in the air, and he thinks maybe– maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing, not having a girl like that. He already knows what it’s like, anyway, to be at the top of the world and have another man standing there with him. If God did not intend for us to be with someone of the same sex, then why would He make it feel so natural?

Carlos somehow manages to end the conversation, to slip back into the relative safety of his driver’s room and lean his entire body weight against the door. He stares up at the ceiling, hands fisting the red fabric of his Ferrari jacket at his sides, and he lets himself, for the first time, wonder if his soulmate might not be a man as well. Anything Charles can do, Carlos can too, or so the commentators have started to say. Anyone Charles could love, Carlos could too. Anything his would be theirs. 

It is a risky thought. Pessimists will tell you that soulmates are good for nothing but getting your hopes up. Carlos does not know who his soulmate is nor, odds are, will he ever. It does no good to think about what he wants until he already has it. 

Later that day, Carlos tells his soulmate in non-descript block letters, All things must end. He caps the pen and covers his hand for the rest of the day. He sees Charles some hours later, looking pale and frightened. Carlos cannot, will not, imagine why.

He tries to push it from his mind. They are not hiding in Ferrari hospitality for the thrill of it, after all, but to prepare for the race ahead. Qualifying comes and goes, nothing to write home about but at least they should be decently in the points. One of them might be able to make it to a podium if they can give Lando Norris the slip. The best case scenario is that Checo will bin it so they could get a 1-2, but who knows if they’ll have any semblance of luck today.

Carlos qualified one position ahead of Charles. Fred Vasseur is already starting to eye him like a lamb to the slaughter, and Carlos makes a mental reminder to continually ask his engineer for Charles’ times during the race. He has a feeling that team orders might be given.

Strangely enough, it doesn’t make Carlos angry towards Charles as much as he thinks it should. He is irritated by Ferrari, of course, for picking one driver over another, but that’s expected in any given scenario in which the cars are swapped. Usually, though, that sort of thing happens enough times that you start directing your ire towards the other driver, but Carlos cannot manage that. In fact, he never has. Hating Charles is unthinkable. It would be easier to hate himself. Right?

Getting ready in his driver’s room before the race that Sunday, Carlos is struck by a sudden, unthinkable idea. He rummages around in his belongings for a while before coming up with a pen. Dark, thick, the kind you use for autographs when the hapless fan forgets to bring a writing implement of their own. Carlos uncaps it, stares at his skin, then starts to scribble. Words, underlined, circled. Do well. Good luck. Please.

He doesn’t know if– but he could, maybe, if he saw. Carlos loses himself in a frenzy, then snaps out of it just as quickly when his palms get covered in writing. The sound of footsteps outside his door makes him flinch, and he tugs on his gloves as fast as he can, smearing the ink even more than before. It doesn’t matter. Odds are nothing will come of this anyway.

The race goes as expected. Checo does not crash, much to the chagrin of all other teams, and Carlos gets stuck behind him long enough that they start talking about switching him with Charles, which happens around lap forty. When the checkered flag waves, Charles is third, Carlos fourth. He parks quickly and hurries over to the front. By the time he gets there, Charles has already withdrawn inside the cooldown room but Carlos can shoulder in with the other Ferrari crew and shout and slap each other on the back and that’s good, too, it really is.

He will tell himself that it is. Carlos, by now, has gone to a lot of teams and learned about a lot of strategy choices. He knows how to convince himself that something is fine, that the decisions of the team are ones he agrees with. He can idle with the crew and stare up at the podium with a fixed smile on his face, because Carlos is a Good Teammate and Good Teammates show up for each other. They accept team orders when they come their way. They do not stand in the shade of someone else’s idol and think, this isn’t fair.

Of course it isn’t fair, it’s motorsport. Charles is the one they love the most, even when he’s erratic and crashes every other race. Charles is the pretty boy, the golden one, Il Predestinato. Carlos is merely his father’ son. 

Charles, who figured out the whole game of soulmates months before. He guessed, at least. Told that to Carlos one night, grinning, drunk, spiraling after another lost podium. Charles had waited with wide eyes and a frozen smile as if waiting for Carlos to put something together, but the other shoe never dropped and eventually the moment ended, both of them pulled apart by other friends, downing other drinks, pretending they never existed. 

Carlos thinks of it now. He watches Charles emerge from the shadows of the space behind the podium to stand in the blinding sunlight, waving down at all of them. One of the mechanics is elbowing him in the side, speaking in that low voice they all get when they do the boy’s club talk, you know, someone’s soulmate likes him well enough, obviously, and Carlos has no idea what he’s talking about until he looks up and sees. Sees Charles, his palms dark with ink. From up here, it’s too small to see what is written. The Catholic boy in him thinks stigmata which is wrong, obviously, because there is no great divine mystery here, not when Carlos knows what happened.

Not when Carlos was the one to write all of it earlier that day. He’d almost forgotten during the course of the race, but it all comes flooding back now. That’s his ink on Charles’ hands, and that means– That means Charles is his soulmate. Always has been. Always will be.

Carlos stares up at him. Charles looks down, and although he’s been grinning with victory this whole time, the smile that slides onto his face upon seeing his teammate is different than before, it’s knowing. Charles knows that Carlos has figured it out at last. He’s been waiting for him to do it all this time.

It’s almost obscene, how close Charles must have come to telling him about a thousand times. Who would risk it like that? No one. Charles would. Carlos pictures him with the Sharpie earlier that week, black tip poised above his skin. How he’d caught himself before giving himself up. Perfect timing, a driver’s reflexes. Like managing to right yourself right before sending your car into the wall. Or, better, like doing it anyway. Like accelerating before you go. Like leaving your hands on the wheel so your wrists can break, too, not just your heart. 

Yes, Charles would. Charles Leclerc would. Charles, so impatient for his first championship that he’d give up his current chance by overshooting every corner, by doing too much until he ends up in the wall time and time again. This is the man who would expose his soulmate like a throat to a knife, and Carlos has known this about him for years.

The Ferrari section of the paddock is insane after getting a podium, so no one notices when Carlos fights his way through the crowds to let himself into Charles’ driver’s room. It’s empty when he arrives, Charles must have many more people to get through, so he paces relentlessly back and forth until Charles shows up.

Charles bursts through the door, still talking to someone down the hall. His exuberance crashes to a halt the second he sees Carlos waiting, and he hurriedly tells whoever is there not to wait up. Charles carefully closes the door behind him, locks it too, and then it’s just the two of them and this great and all encompassing secret for company. 

Charles swallows. “You know.”

Of course he does. Friends show up at each other’s driver’s rooms all the time, but this isn’t just on the order of congratulations for a good race result. They would not be hovering on the edge of this great precipice if it was just that. 

“You knew earlier,” Carlos challenges. 

Charles ducks his head in a nod. “I did.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Carlos asks. 

Charles’ gaze is shifty, it flicks from ceiling to floor to walls, anywhere but Carlos himself. Charles has always been a daredevil for the risks, but he’s never had the stomach for what becomes of them. The consequences are always a thousand times worse than the actions. 

“I didn’t think you would want it. Want me,” he corrects, almost whispering. 

This is so absurd that Carlos almost wants to laugh. Almost, because the look on Charles’ face is so pitiful that he can’t even smile. “Why wouldn’t I?” Carlos asks. 

Charles blinks in surprise. “Because you were never even that interested in finding out who your soulmate was, mate. Always said it would just be some girl you didn’t know. I didn’t want to see your face when you realized you didn’t even get some girl but me.”

“I didn’t want to look too much into my soulmate because I was afraid it wouldn’t be you,” Carlos says in a rush, and as he admits it he knows it’s true. 

How could it be anything but that? Carlos could have picked any team, but he went here. A hardheaded (formerly red) bull chasing not just the scarlet flag but the matador himself. Charles, all along. 

Charles’ eyes are wide, lashes darker even than the ink still staining his palms. “So you’re not mad, then?” He asks cautiously. 

“Not mad and not leaving,” Carlos reiterates. 

A ghost of a smile flickers over Charles’ lips. “You cannot blame me for wanting to be sure, I didn’t want you to go until I managed to tell you.”

“You certainly took your time about it,” Carlos comments. 

Charles rolls his eyes. “Just because we are racers does not mean we have to do everything fast, Carlos. Be patient.”

Carlos arches a brow. “You are telling me that?”

Charles has the grace to look at least a little ashamed. “Yes. Well. I can be patient now.”

Of course he can. They both can. Most people spend their entire lives searching for the answer to a question that is no longer a mystery to either of them. Time is all they have, time and sweet-sticky champagne and the sensation of being at the top of the world. Nothing will change them. Everything will. For once, though, the change does not scare him. It’s not bad, all of the time. 

Sometimes, it brings him Charles. Sometimes, it brings him this. No, not bad in the slightest. 

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy, @juphey

also: @quill-of-a-sparrow

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[morganbritton132]

I adore Eddie falling asleep in front of the live stream and everything that follows

But now I’m also thinking of Steve one day seeing the live stream is still on but he has no idea how to turn it off so he has to ask Chat for help which he has to find first and it just turns into this hilarious quest of Chat trying to explain how to turn it off while Steve barely finds the chat to even read it

This is so painfully in line with this AU’s Steve and I love it so much. It’s perfect.

This time Steve is in the room when Eddie falls asleep, so he’s aware that there is a live-stream going on. He hasn’t been seen on camera, but the audience can hear him when he says, “You know what I’ve been craving?”

Followed by, “Benny’s Burgers. Isn’t that crazy?”

Followed by, “…Ed?”

Followed by, “Oh.”

Because Eddie’s eyes drifted shut ten minutes ago and they have yet to open. You can kinda hear movement and then Steve is wandering into the frame with his hands on his hips. He looks at the camera and frowns at it before he pokes Eddie in the arm, “Ed. Eddie, babe. You left the – the thing going.”

Eddie slumps over a little more and Steve sighs, running his hands through his hair. He doesn’t try to wake Eddie up anymore, just twists him around so he’s laying more comfortably. He throws a blanket over him and then wipes his hands of the whole situation. It is not his problem.

Except that makes him feel bad, so he comes back to the studio.

At first he just sits the phone facedown and leaves again, but he doesn’t like that either. What if Eddie talks in his sleep about the Upside Down (something that he has never done before), or has a bad nightmare, or farts and the whole internet hears it. Steve doesn’t want him to be embarrassed so, “It’s not rocket science, Harrington. Let’s figure this out.”

It might be rocket science.

For the audience at home, they get to experience Steve Harrington up close and personal because Steve is (1) not wearing his glasses and (2) cannot figure out how to end the stream. He keeps tapping at the screen, looking more and more annoyed as he does it, and then he stands up and walks out of the room.

Steve puts the phone on the coffee table in the living room, and then leaves again. After another five minutes, he comes back. The audience at home gets to watch this man mutter to himself as he places the phone in different rooms and then decides he doesn’t like it there and comes back for it (“The bathroom? Really, Harrington? What are you doing?”).

Frustrated with wasting the last hour of his life (much to the amusement of the people watching), Steve picks up the phone again and glares at it. He is sitting on the floor in the living room, squinting at the phone as he jabs at the screen again, “Tell me how to turn you off.”

Steve frowns, “Where’s the chatlog? I know there’s a – oh my god.”

“There was nothing wrong with AOL messenger!” Steve rants to the screen as he continues to poke at it. “I had AOL and I was happy. Everything was where it should be. Myspace was fine! I had a Myspace, but this – Oh! I got it. I got it! Hello. Can someone tell me how to turn this off?”

There are a lot of people in the chat. Most of them are excited that Steve is there and they’re gushing in the comments about how much they love him and appreciate him. Some people are asking questions about him. There are people begging him not to end the stream and others telling him to wake Eddie up.

There are even people who are genuinely trying to help him, but it’s all coming at Steve really fast. It’s sudden and overwhelming, and – “I’m too dyslexic for this.”

“I’ve got a brain like scrambled eggs, can – just one of you talk and tell me how to end this. Can you do that?” Steve asks, and everybody comments at once. “So, no. You can’t do that. Great.”

Steve rubs at his eyes and then does what he should’ve done in the first place and calls Dustin. He has his phone on speaker so the audience can hear when Dustin answers. Steve only says, “Help me.”

“With the stream or in general?”

“How do you –“ Steve stops, makes eye contact with the camera and then rolls his eyes. “Have I not suffered enough for you.”

“No.”

Steve has a look on his face like he’s about to remind Dustin that he was literally tortured in the name of scientific discovery but thinks better of it and says, “I’m telling Erica.”

“Fine, I’ll tell you how to end it.”

Dustin starts walking Steve through how to end the live stream but right before Steve hits the right button to end it all, both his phone and Eddie’s phone are knocked out his hands and you hear him yelp as he’s tackled over. The chat explodes and Dustin’s like, “Where’d you go? Steve?”

Then you hear the sound of a kiss and Eddie say, “I’ve missed you.”

There’s a smile in Steve’s voice when he says, “It’s been an hour.”

“Tell me about it.”

There’s the sound of another kiss and then, very loudly, Steve says, “Turn off your live-stream!”

[batsplat]

Going back to the Italians, while it's true that sometimes I get annoyed with their insistence when they come and hunt me down, I recognise that it's partly because of me and the way I am. I am the kind of person who puts others at ease, who makes them feel like we've known each other for years. They think we're friends, that we can laugh and joke together as soon as we meet. Because Italians love doing this. So everybody thinks they know me well. Nobody approaches me with a degree of detachment. When they see me they want to hug me, grab me, touch me, squeeze me. There are all sorts of "types". There's the guy to whom it would never occur that maybe you don't feel like laughing and joking at precisely that moment. No, he appears and does his little shtick, one question after another, telling you things you never asked to hear. Then there is the worrier, who usually wants to come and sit down next to you, asking you how the bike is, the one who really cares about the standings, the opponents, who gives me all sorts of advice on how to ride in the next race. There's the sensationalist, the one who runs over as soon as he sees you. He hugs you, grabs you, pins you down and then calls his friends who arrive by the dozens and repeat the same routine. The souvenir hunter makes me feel like an animal in the zoo. He observes me, he photographs me from a nearby table or from the sidewalk. Ever since somebody had the bright idea of putting cameras in mobile phones, my life has changed, and not necessarily for the better: there is no such thing as privacy any more, ever. Anyone can spy on you, take your picture or even shoot a video of you. I truly loathe this, because the mobile-phone-camera maniacs have no compunction about stopping you, passing the phone around among themselves and snapping away from every conceivable angle in every conceivable pose. They don't ask permission. And, if they do, and you say "No", they just go and take your picture anyway, perhaps doing it secretly, which I believe is worse. The disrespectful type has no idea what privacy is. He'll come right up to you when you're at dinner with friends, or on a date, without thinking you might need some time to yourself once in a while. There's the moraliser, who comes up to you, interrupts whatever it is you're doing, puts his hand on your shoulder and says: "Goodness, you sure lead a nice life, you make all this money, you do fuck all and you get to travel all over the world! Life is good, isn't it?" And finally, there's the jealous one and here you have to be very careful, because it takes only a split second for an Italian to turn you from God to Satan in their minds. And if they change their minds about you, they're very unlikely to forgive. Having said that, when the Italians love you, they really love you. They transmit so much warmth, they really make you feel special. And that's why I always try to do something a little different at, say, the Italian Grand Prix. And that's why I still love my countrymen. It's just that I wish they were a little more polite.

Valentino Rossi in his 2005 autobiography, What if I had never tried it

[poisonvenomgutss]

string theory (intro)

"The String Theory suggests that we are all linked to those we love, regardless of physical distance or separation, by an intangible, yet powerful bond that is impossible to break."

Pairing - Dexter x Fem! OC

Plot - Dexter and Mary, although opposites in a lot of ways, find themselves almost tethered together. Regardless of the consequences, they are unable or unwilling to cut that string.

Trigger warnings - Violence, talk of suicide, mental illness

Dexter always thought of himself as emotionless, cold and empty. That's why he liked Mary. In a way, she was everything he's not. She's so full of emotions; it's enough for the both of them. She was empathetic to almost a fault, seeing good in everybody and everything, even if it hurt her in the process. When she's happy, which according to Dexter was most of the time, she was intensely happy.

They did have some things in common though, as Mary was born in blood just like Dexter.

When she was a young girl, about 3 years old, she had watched her father kill himself. Laura, her mother, was driven away by his alcoholism, but he never stopped begging her to come back. But if Laura wasn't going to take him back, what was the point? One night, he took his handgun out of the bedside table it called home, brought it up to his temple and pulled the trigger. blood and brain matter splattered over the wall, as well as all over 3-year-old Mary. She waited there, next to her dad for days until Mary's aunt came to pick them up for church, finding the horrific scene as she entered.

Mary was weirdly quick to open up to Dexter about this, making him open up to her about his past as well. He was fascinated by her opposite outcome; how did she end up so full of emotions while he was left so...empty. Either way, he felt like she understood him on a level nobody else did.

Their relationship quickly blossomed, and Mary found herself completely enthralled in Dexter. She was sort of obsessive in her love for Dexter, and although they hadn't said the words "i love you" yet, Mary felt it. So much so, she did everything she could to hide her darkness from him.

Her darkness would replace that intense happiness she carried with intense sadness, intense rage or both. Some days she felt she couldn't get out of bed, like she was trapped under the weight of her sorrow. Some days she would wake up and find everything is enraging her, causing her to lash out and sometimes break things. She would be filled with paranoia most days, but she had it under control, or at least she thought she did. But little does she know, Dexter is hiding his own darkness from her.

-

(Written from Mary's POV)

As I finish up dinner, I see my phone buzzing on the counter.

1 new voicemail

"Hey! it'll be a late night at the station again, so don't wait up." Dexter's voice said through the phone.

Looking over at the dinner I had just cooked for him, I let out a long sigh. It would be wasted if he didn't eat it, given I'm not a meat eater myself, but maybe it would be nice if i brought it to him. I packaged it up, then grabbed my phone to call Dexter back and let him know i was on my way with his dinner.

ring..ring..ring..It's Dexter Morgan, leave a message... beep..

Voicemail? Really? I shook my head as I left a sweet message letting him know that I'm coming to see him.

These nights where he'd unexpectedly work late, made my thoughts go crazy. Is he drowning himself in work to avoid me? Is he even at work or is he somewhere else? is he seeing someone else? It's crazy, really, Dexter has never lied to me before, but my mind can't help but race.

I shook my paranoid thoughts away and tried to ignore them. As my hand reached for the door to leave, I hesitated. Maybe I should try calling Deb, I mean, I wouldn't want to barge in on any confidential meetings or whatever. I put my things down and dig through my purse to retrieve my phone once again.

The phone gives out 2 rings before Deb quickly picks up the phone. "hey Mary, everything alright?" Deb was always so sweet to me, and I could always count on her to answer the phone.

"yeah! everything is fine, I was just about to drive down to the station to drop off some dinner for Dexter, but I didn't know if I should call first, he didn't answer so I figured I'd call you." I nervously ramble into the phone, the paranoia still weighing on me.

"Dexter? He left like an hour ago, he's not back yet?"

my stomach dropped at Deb's words...he was lying..

I give a hurried reply, "oh, uh, probably just some errands or something but uh, thanks anyway!" hanging up before she has time to answer.

There it is...that darkness. As I feel the rage flow through my veins and start to boil my blood, I set my phone down. Deep breaths. in and out. just like I've practiced so many times before.

I'm going to freak the fuck out.

he's definitely with another woman, but i need to know who and i need proof.

Within the hour, I've successfully turned the whole apartment upside down, looking everywhere and anywhere to find a trace of this other woman. The only suspicious thing I found was a locked chest in his closet, I tried but couldn't break into it.

I find myself sitting on his couch, surrounded by the mess I've made. With my head in my hands, I make the decsion to call Dexter again, maybe its just a big misunderstanding?

Ring..Ring... "hey Mary, I'm just finishing up here, I'll be back soon" Dexter answers. His voice is so calm and nonchalant, im almost forgot he was lying. "Almost finished up with what?" I respond, trying to keep my voice just as casual.

"Just this big case we're working on, but I gotta go, bye."

and just like that, he hangs up.

Frustrated, I throw my phone against the wall, accidentally hitting the AC, causing the front panel to fall. fuck. I think to myself, making a mess is one thing but I'm not trying to break things...as i rush to put the AC back together...something catches my eye. a small, wooden box tucked neatly inside the AC.

-

Hi guys!! This fandom is dead af so I needed to make some content of my own buttttt let me know if people like it because i may or may not keep going. I have not written anything like this since like, middle school so sorry if its trash lol

[eomayas]

ninety • dks

pairing: kyungsoo x f!reader

genre: angst, fluff. not a soulmate AU

synopsis: no matter how much you break his heart unknowingly, he can’t resist you. OR, kyungsoo sees right through the reader and ignores all of her red flags

warnings: mentions of alcohol, toxic behavior

a/n: mildly self indulgent! just been listening to ‘ninety’ by jaden smith lately and wanted to write something so kyungsoo

yn: soo

yn: ur my soulmate

kyungsoo: are you drunk?

yn: maybe! msybe not 🙈

kyungsoo: be safe, don’t drink too much.

yn: i miss u

kyungsoo chews on the inside of his lip as he reads your last message. he watches as the gray bubble appears, disappears, reappears, before it goes away for good. he wonders what you were going to say, if you were going to take it back and admit that you were drunk, or double down. he never knows with you, is always somehow both shocked and expectant of every move you make. like, he had no idea that you’d text him and claim that he’s your soulmate, but you definitely would text him that at 12:23am on a saturday morning.

kyungsoo doesn’t know how to feel about it, even though he knows you only say that when you’re lonely. you don’t mean it, to him at least, but he can’t help the twinge in his heart at the prospect of it being true. he thought he could get over you and your blast from the past, but he hasn’t been able to. it’s probably because he keeps entertaining you, especially when you get like this but he simply can’t help it.

with a sigh, kyungsoo removes his glasses and wipes his eyes before grabbing his dishes from off of the coffee table and taking them to the sink. he starts washing them, taking his time and letting the soap bubble up to nearly his elbows. he scrubs the bowl until it’s pristine like he just bought it, he does the same to the rest of his dishes until his phone buzzes in his pocket.

he doesn’t have to check it to know it’s you. you’ll text him insistently all night if he doesn’t respond in the next minute, but you two will be at it all night the moment he responds and he knows it. you’ll keep going, keep texting him into the early hours of the morning until you fall asleep and he’s stuck awake, waiting to hear the vibration of a message from you that’ll never come, not even after you wake up later that day. kyubgsoo is always stuck in a rock and a hard place with with you.

the girls from his past never left an impression on him like you have. even the few girls that came after you he barely remembers, only remembering a few details, like how one of them hated waiting in line and how another always put his dishes away oppositely from how he did it. you were much different than these girls, but that’s just it: you weren’t just some girl. you were an enigma that kept him up at night, that made him compare everybody else to you, to see where they differ or where they align.

yn: i mean it

yn: can i come over?

yn: kyungsoo!

yn: answer me.

kyungsoo purses his lips as he watches the texts come through. if he lets you come over, he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to get you out of his head or his bed.

kyungsoo: you shouldn’t be driving.

yn: i’m ubering

yn: DUH

it looks to him like you decided on your own that you’d be coming over, and kyungsoo sighs, glancing around his apartment and taking mental notes on what he needs to be picked up after. kyungsoo busies himself with tidying his apartment, skipping over his room because he’s 101% sure that he won’t be taking you back there tonight.

you arrive quicker than he expects, knocking three times before pressing the doorbell once. “hold on!” he shouts, huffing out a sigh. walking up to the door, he hesitates with his hand in midair. you shouldn’t be here, he shouldn’t be letting you in. you shouldn’t feel so free to come over and disrupt his night like you are. but you’re waiting for him, and it’s all because he lets you. he can’t resist you, no matter how hard he tries.

leaning against the wall, you eyes flick up to look at him when the door is pulled open. you smile softly at him, taking in his appearance: black sweats, black long sleeve, and slippers. “where are you glasses?” you question, pushing yourself off the wall and slipping past him into his apartment.

“inside,” he mutters, shutting the door behind you and following you into his house. you make your way through familiarly, the smells, the furniture, everything holding some type of significance: the night he invited you over and cooked for you; the time he picked you up from a night out and slept with him on his couch.

you spot his glasses on the coffee table and take them over to him, slipping them into his face and gently resting them on the bridge of his nose. “there,” you say, your voice nearly a whisper.

swallowing thickly, kyungsoo looks down at you and hates the way his insides turn to goo and his brain to mush. he used to consider himself strong, mentally tough even, until he met you and knocked all of that bravado to the ground. he never acts right around you.

“i meant when i said i missed you,” you murmur, sliding a hand up his chest and hooking a finger into the collar of his shirt. kyungsoos nostrils flare as he reminds himself that he can stop this, that he can resist you.

“you’re drunk, y/n,” he says, softly but firmly, grabbing ahold of your wrist and letting it drop to your side. a look of shock passes over you face for split second before you regain composure, and perhaps control, of the situation before you.

“not really,” you say, turning around to take a seat on his couch. kyungsoo follows you and sits down next to you, a healthy amount of space between the two of you. he looks down at your hand resting on the couch, wanting to grab it and pull you close to him. why he cant get a grip, and keep you at arms length is beyond him. you’re everything that’s wrong for him. “i do miss you.” you say again, this time, with a little more aggression.

kyungsoo hums and glances over at you, his face eyes softening behind his frames. “do you miss me?” you ask, your voice soft and childlike. if only you knew how much real estate you take up in his brain, how nearly every last one his thoughts can be traced back to you. he doesn’t just miss you, it’s something much stronger that comes from the depths of his being, starting at his toes and working it’s ways up. he aches for you in ways he himself doesn’t quite understand.

rather than giving you a verbal response, he looks off to the side. you scoot closer to him and place your hand on his cheek, turning him to look at you. “soo,” you say, glancing down at his mouth and letting your gaze linger before dragging up to his eyes. his chest burns at the way you say his nickname. he didn’t even like nicknames until you started calling him that.

instinctively, he leans back against his couch and you take that as a sign to straddle him. kyungsoo furrows his eyebrows and puts a hand on your hip to still you. “what?” you question, frowning down at him.

“i’m not having sex with you,” he says, looking into your eyes. you sigh and slide off of him, pressing into his side. “you’re drunk. but we can sit here and… chill.” he says, looking down the slope of his nose at his lap.

it’s quiet for a few seconds, bedsides your occasional shifting. “can i kiss you?”

“friends don’t kiss,” he says, looking over at you. you tilt your head to the side.

“you really think we’re friends?” you ask kyungsoo, eyes boring into his. he stares at you, his lips parting.

so you do acknowledge that this, whatever you two have is something. he’s not imaging it, or making his feelings up—you feel it too.

“i don’t know what we are,” kyungsoo admits. the corner of your lip tugs upwards and you look down at you lap. friends is too simple, too far from what you are. he’s not your boyfriend and you’re not his girlfriend… lovers, maybe? except you’d never say the L word to him.

“well, we’re something. but you’re not my friend.”

and despite the fact that kyungsoo swore you wouldn’t make you way to his bed, you do. fully clothed, but in his bed nonetheless. he accepts it, finds his peace with it when you snuggle up in his side and mumble something about him being your soulmate again. you only say that when you’re lonely, he thinks, wondering who left you high and dry and for him to pick up the pieces.

[barsformars]

A Little More

//

g - fluff

p - jongho x gn!reader

w.c - 1.2k

t.w - none

a.n - i wrote this back in 2020??? i found it in my notion drafts so i edited it a lil bit and decided to post it (i dont think ive posted this? i couldnt find it on my page)

//

You tapped your feet impatiently to a made-up rhythm in your head, constantly glancing up at the clock hanging on the wall right behind your teacher. Urgh, class was supposed to end 16 minutes ago.

"Are we going to miss it?" Jongho turned to ask even though he had already guessed that judging from the way you were acting.

"If she doesn't stop talking right now," you leaned in slightly and replied softly, not wanting to get caught talking in class. That would just mean getting held back a little longer than you would like to. "Gosh, I'm not even absorbing an-“

You pause at the sudden quietness of the classroom, looking up to see Ms Kang with her arms folded across her chest. Uh-oh.

But before she even has a chance to call the both of you out, Jongho raises his hand, making up a lie on the spot as an excuse. "Sorry, they were explaining a question to me!" He nudges you with his elbow, which was your cue to apologise as well so that Ms Kang would just get over it.

"Alright, but next time don't discuss while I'm speaking. Got it?"

"Yep!" You rolled your eyes playfully at your table partner, he has a way of always getting out of trouble. It was just impossible for anyone to dislike him, and all the grown-ups just absolutely adore him.

Thankfully for the both of you (and everybody else), Ms Kang decided that there was no point in carrying on the lesson any further. She said that everyone looked 'too dead on the inside' which wasn't not true at all. It's just the case when school had started as early as 7.30 in the morning, only ending now at 5pm (or rather 5.20pm).

You stuffed all your belongings into your bag hurriedly before helping Jongho with his. Why does he always have a pile of loose notes and books under his table? Now, if it wasn't for how early the sunsets were nowadays now that it’s winter, you wouldn't be rushing him. You never liked pressuring anyone in any way.

"If we miss it today, we can just catch it tomorrow or whenever, you know." It wasn't that Jongho didn't like you rushing him, in fact, he doesn't mind it at all. He just rather not see you stressing over something so minor so unnecessarily.

Jongho had a point, but you really wanted to see the sunset today for whatever reason. Or actually there were many reasons. You know how there's always one week in the month where the sunsets just hit different from the other days? That's what you have observed at least, even if you didn't have any scientific information to back it up or prove that was really the case. Anyways, to put it short, the sunsets recently have been extra pretty and if you don't catch it today, you'll have to wait another month. Why? You have classes that extend way past 5 o'clock starting tomorrow.

And besides, you couldn’t wait any longer. As curious as you were hopeful, you really wanted to know who Jongho had caught feelings for. He promised he would tell you on a day the sunset is exceptionally beautiful.

"We still have a little more time left," you said, not bothering to explain your thoughts to Jongho. It's too much effort to try and properly formulate your thoughts into coherent sentences.

"Alright, let's go then." Without any warning, Jongho takes hold of your wrist, pulling you along with him as the both of you ran down the hallway, then the 8 flights of stairs and finally to the open field at the back of the campus.

After all the panting and gasping for air, you tilted your head upwards only to be greeted by light grey clouds filling up the sky. The golden rays of the sunset were barely peeking out from the back despite it extending out like roots greedy for nutrients in the soil.

You pulled your phone out of your pocket and checked the time, hoping that maybe this was only the starting and not the end. "They say the sun sets in 6 minutes, so I guess we just wait?" You suggested, already seated on the floor before Jongho could process your words.

He remained standing, looking down at you with narrowed eyes. There was definitely something wrong with whatever you had just said but Jongho couldn't tell if he or you were the stupid one here. "I think that means the sky goes dark then, no? Like when the sun completely sets....." His voice trails off as you tugged at the sleeve of his uniform to get him to sit down as well.

"I don't know, but no harm in waiting just a little while more."

"I guess," Jongho said with a shrug of his shoulders.

But a lot of things can happen in just a little while. For example, Jongho might just muster up a little more courage in this peaceful silence to confess his feelings for you. And in this little while, an amazing friendship could very possibly end, unless you saw him as a little more than only a friend.

Jongho decides not to take the risk just yet; there's no harm in waiting just a little while more. Just a little more, when he can be a little more sure of your feelings as well.

"What's with this weird atmosphere?" You joked, an attempt to ignore how fast your heart was racing right now. Lucky for Jongho, you were too busy calming yourself down that you missed the way his body immediately tensed up at your question.

"Uhm, I'm guessing that's-" Jongho points up at the sky that was very far from spectacular-"all today's sunset has to offer." That wasn't the best way to break the awkward silence but oh well...

"Can we wait 5 more minutes?" You had almost lost all hope at this point but you never know what might happened in the next few minutes. Maybe Jongho would finally decide to let you in on his crush's identity as he had promised. Because if he doesn't, then you might. And if it so happens that your feelings for him aren't reciprocated, you were only going to burden him with your feelings. You don't want that, but right now you're barely holding yourself back. "Do you even remember what you promised me?"

"The thing about my crush?"

"Mhmm..."

"Yea, I remember. But today's sunset isn't it." Jongho sighed as he leaned back on his hands, staring up at the now dark sky. "Just wait a little while more."

"Well, but I don't want to miss the timing just like we did with the sunset today so I'll just say it." Your voice was shakier but in no way more timid than usual, perhaps it was the adrenaline that was rushing through your veins right now. Because right now, you couldn't care less about the weight and consequences of your words.

"Choi Jongho, I really like you a lot."

[nescaveckwriter]

Finding Hope - Spilled Coffee (Part One) 😱

Line: Attacked in their sleep 😱 will be in bold

A/N: YAY! My first one for @badthingshappenbingo 🤭, I'm pretty excited about this, its my first 'Criminal Minds - Fanfic' ☺️ so and its right in my favourite zone, so too say. I hope y'all enjoy this, it's going to be a whole series (almost like the tv series) 🤩 let me know if y'all like it💕 much love my bugsies 🐞💕

Warnings: 18+ Only! Some language, blood and gore, normal Criminal Minds stuff, going into depth off crime scenes etc, anything else I missed let me know💕

Characters: Aaron Hotchner, Dr. Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan, JJ, Emily Prentiss, Meredith Lang.

Cover: Created by me. Also images from Pinterest and Canva.

Words:2143 😅

Chapter One: Spilled Coffee Chapter Two: Warnings, Apologies & Bruises. Chapter Three: Bundled, Broken, Maybe Healed?

Tring! Tring! The alarm clock gets louder and louder until the small hand, slaps it of the bedside table. Retreating her arm, till it's tucked under her pillow, adjusting her head a little so that her cheek gets all snug in the satin like pillow case. Not once opening her eyes, just her dark eyebrows furrowed at the noise. Stuck between the place of fast asleep, but still conscious enough, to know what's going on around you. As her body get swallowed up by the comfort of her queen sized bed, and her face relaxes, searching for the dream she just had, her cellphone starts ringing. Reaching for the vibrating phone, playing the music of Bon Jovi's I'll be there for you'

 Her voice revealing that she's still halfway asleep... "Hello" the voice on the other end , filled with love and sweetness "Sweetie, I knew I had to call you, you never had such thing as time"

Confusion evident "Mom? Something wrong?"

Elderly laughter fills the speaker "no sweetie, aren't you starting your new job today?"

Her closed eyes flung open, "what! Mom I'm going to be so late, oh shit!"

"Sweetie language,";

"Sorry Mom, I better get my little behind moving"

"Okay sweetie I'll say goodbye now,"

"No, no please Mom, I'll put you on speaker, so that we can still chat, while I get ready"

Hearing the joy in her mother's voice "That'll be great sweetie" clearing her throat "are you excited for today?"

"Yes Mom, I just hope this new team is going to like me and we're going to fit in with eachother"

Clicking her tongue "oh sweetie, they will love you, everybody does!"

Laughter filling the newly unfurnished apartment "Mom, I'm sure your the only one who thinks that"

Her mother's voice starts to break "Sweetie, it's nothing dangerous right? Your just doing paperwork and profiling people from the inside of your office?"

"Yes mom, I don't go into the field, I am just like a analyst okay, stop worrying," clearing her voice "I'm going to say goodbye now Mom, need to finish up and then find the office, I love you to the moon and back"

"I'll never stop worrying about my children," letting a giggle escapes her lips "its my work! Sweetie please take care of yourself and I love you far and beyond" kissing sounds coming through the phone makes her laugh "you too Mom" blowing a kiss back, before she ends the call.

 The laughter stops, after the call ended, she always feels so guilty, knowing she just lied to her Mom, who only thinks she does paperwork, well that, can't be further from the truth, she's a FBI Agent, who specializes in profiling and analyzing serial killers, rapist's, psychopath's and more and yes she's a field agent, but she'll never tell her mother that, she won't sleep at night, knowing her only daughter is out there trying to catch these people.

 Giving herself a once over before heading out the door, dressed in black dress pants, and a button up dark brownish shirt, letting her dark brown hair hang loosely over her shoulders and some black boots, without heels, if she needs to run after a suspect, she doesn't want to look like some flamingo trying to balance, laughing at her own comment she locks  the apartment door, and walks to her modest looking car, still the same little car her daddy gave her when she went to college. Starting the engine hearing the purring sound only a vintage Volkswagen beetle can make she drives, towards her new workplace feeling somewhere between excited and terrified, but ready for the new challenge.

"Moring Babygirl" the smoky voice fills the bullpen 

The blonde plump women's smile lights up "Morning hot stuff" and so the morning ritual begins like every other morning, except, this morning there awaiting a new agent to start. 

The team sits down around the round table, drinking the coffee Rossi brought. Aaron Hotchner comes walking closer to join his team, his voice revealing the irritation his feeling, "This new agent is late by almost 30 minutes" the rest of the team shares glances at each other as they know, that there boss is not to happy right now. 

The women with the dark Egyptian hairstyle, speaks with a stern voice "Hotch maybe their just having some trouble finding the place, have you met him/her?"

 "No, the request came from the top, I just know his name is Edi Lang, but as for his skills, I have no idea" 

The older classy man looks at Hotch his best friend, "Just give him a chance"

"I agree with Rossi," the slender blonde women's voice is calming.

Hotchner just sits down, taking the takeaway cup in his hand, swallowing the  bitter liquid down.

The younger man with his light brownish hair starts to speak "According to experts at Harvard Medical School, chronic lateness is actually a positive indicator of how a person handles stress and can actually predict a longer life span for that person." saying as a matter of fact.

Morgan looks at him, mischief on his face "Trust boy genius to give us a little piece of Harvard"

Before he could reply someone comes walking through the door, dressed professionally, but looking a little lost, it's the sunny blonde who gets up and strides closer, her smile so inviting as she glances the woman over, at least 5f2' long dark hair, dressed as a FBI Agent, but something about her seems different done her friends. "Hey I'm Penelope Garcia and you are?" she sing-songs

A smile forms the women's heart-shaped lips her, voice sweet "Hello nice too meet you, I'm Edi Lang" 

Penelope let's out a giggle "You're the new agent? Well welcome" she pulls the new comer into a hug.

She can't help but to hug this eccentric friendly women back, she kind of needed the hug. Something tells her, they are going to become good friends.  The rest of the team comes closer, it's first Hotchner that speaks, his voice stern, his face strong, his jawline, revealing the frustration. 

"Agent Lang, you're late" 

Quickly analyzing him, figuring out he's probably her boss, "Sir, I'm really sorry, I might have over slept and then I had to get a coffee and Starbucks was full, and well I can't function without my cup of Jo" she let's out a giggle. The man with his short brown hair, now has a even deeper frown crinkling between his eyebrows. He holds out his hand to shake the new agents hand, but as she reaches over, adjusting the cup of coffee from her right to her left hand, her handbag slides down her shoulder knocking the cup of coffee, onto the bosses white shirt and striped tie.

Her eyes widens, "Oh shit, I'm so sorry sir, Let me help you clean that" He just glares at her his brown eyes piercing hers, "Leave it, I got a spare in my office" 

Running her hand over her face, sighing "that is the best first impression ever Edi" mumbling to herself.

The handsome, tall man laughs. "You are not what we expected for sure, Edi? I'm Derek Morgan" he holds out to shake her hand.

While shaking his hand she begins to speak. "Nice to meet you Agent Morgan"

The other two women comes walking the dark haired women, speaks first , "Nice to meet you, I am Emily Prentiss" 

The women with the blonde shoulder length hair shakes her hand next "I'm Jennifer Jareau, but please call me JJ." 

Derek shoves his best friend closer, "This here is Boy wonder Dr. Spencer Reid, he doesn't shakes hands" letting out a giggle.

"Really Derek" the tall man glares at his friend

"Nice too meet you Dr. Reid" she smiles.

A smile tugs at his lips, as he looks at her, "Nice too meet you , wow, Only around 2% of people in the world have green eyes," 

Letting out a little laugh, "Oh really I didn't know that, now I feel extra special"

Garcia looks at her, "What type of name is Edi?" 

"Garcia, You can't ask her that" he scolds her, turning around to face the new comer "I'm David Rossi, if you want good coffee, and great recipes I'm the one you asks" he smiles

Laughing "Thank you, nice to meet you, and Penelope, it's okay, my name is Meredith, but please call me Edi, only my moms, calls me Meredith when she's angry at me" 

Laughter fills the bullpen, Hotchner look out from his office, a smile tugging, trying to profile this woman, but not quite getting there just yet, all he knows, so far, she seems to be outgoing, friendly, clumsy and late.

After she met everyone, Garcia gave her, her desk, which is just a desk in front of Dr. Reid's, she sit there, adjusting her office chair to be slightly higher so that she can sit with her torso at the edge, instead of her chest. Cussing herself for not wearing heels, as her feet is a bit lifted in the air. Taking the only thing she took for her office desk, out of her handbag. Placing the photo frame on the right side of her desk. 

Derek's husky voice behind her makes her startled, "Hey, if you need anything just howler."

"Thank you, I will" 

He picks up the picture frame, it's a older photo of Edi and some blonde girl, there in a parking lot, about sixteen - seventeen year old Edi, in a shopping cart, laughing as the other girl pushes her. "Your sister?"

Letting out a sad laugh "No, sort of, my best friend Hope, it's a reminder so to say"

"Oh nice, it looks like you two were having fun" he says before walking away, knowing he shouldn't pry.

Just shaking her head, mumbling underneath her breath, "we had so much fun that day" tracing over the photo. 

The team gets called into the bullpen, Garcia's voice sad " A married couple were attacked in their sleep, with what looks like a hammer, sad to say the wife didn't make it" clearing her voice, "but it doesn't look like it was the first time the unsub did this, I've got multiple other cases about three, in Wisconsin, Green Bay" 

Hotchner takes the file in his hands, getting out of his chair "Wheels up in ten, you ready Agent Lang"

The whole team just nods, and she just mimics a yes, as she get's up. 

While there up in the air, she hears Rossi, read a quote to himself "While seeking revenge dig two graves - one for yourself" Glancing at her new team, everyone is on the plane except Penelope, she's back at the office giving them guidance, the heart of any good team. 

While flipping through the file in front of her, trying to see what is the unsub motivation," four house invasions in total, and in each one the female victims doesn't make it, but the male does, the weapon of choice seems to be a hammer, its a brutal way to beat someone, but its as if the unsub doesn't want to put he's hands on the victims, as if his holding back, but he's also filled with so much rage, so pain, specifically towards women" reading over the one case file, closing her eyes, watching the scene play off in her mind " entering through the front door, as if I have a key, walking right past the two children's bedroom as if I know this house inside and out, straight to the main bedroom, first I'm bringing the hammer to the man, so that I can weaken him, then the rage is starting to build up, as I'm smashing this piece of metal all over the man's body, bringing intense fear in the woman, grinning as a throw the first blow to the women, hearing her fearful screams motivates me, giving me a sense of justice, like she's getting what she deserves, the more she cries and begs, the harder the beating. until finally she's left lifeless, not caring about how I leave the scene, I walk out leaving the bloody footprints everywhere, I'm confident, I fit in, yet I'm invisible enough so that, no one will suspect me." as she opens her eyes, the whole team is looking at her, as if she's gone crazy, realizing she must've said it out loud. stuttering "I...I'm sorry"

Rossi smirks "That was pretty quick analyzing done there, you might just fit in perfectly here" 

A slight blush creeping on her cheeks, by the older man's comment. The rest of the flight everyone is quiet and in their own little worlds, just Dr. Reid glancing at her now and then. But every time their eyes meets he looks away. Adjusting herself in the seat, so that she can get some sleep before she lands, knowing that the moment they land, it's going to be all hands on deck.

Part One Here :)

[heavyteddy25]

Bad batch pt2

Jared was heading back to his dorm room after class, he had a terrible time in his algebra class and needed to study for his midterm tomorrow. He finally made it to his dorm where his roommate was chillin in bed. Their dorm was pretty spacious since it was meant for 3 people, but their other roommate dropped out and was never replaced.

Jared: dude I’m so screwed! I have my midterm tomorrow and I haven’t studied at all!

Timothy looked over at Jared and watched him stress out.

Timothy: dude chill just do an all nighter everybody does it.

Jared knew Timothy was right he didn’t need to freak out, he would just put on one of his favorite pajama onesies. The one that looks like a panda and zips up in the front. He headed to the mini fridge they recently stocked up on some new energy drink and downed one. It was surprisingly tasty if not for the after taste.

Jared: hey what flavors did you get? These are not bad!

Timothy: they had a bunch so I got a bunch just don’t drink them all dude I gotta study eventually too haha.

Jared spent the whole night studying till he crashed out in his desk and woke up to sunlight shining thru his window blinds. Looking at the clock Jared realized he was running late for his test! He grabbed his bag and one last energy drink for good luck and out the door he went without even changing from his onesie. He made it to his class with seconds to spare, he sat in his desk and started his test having not yet noticed the changes to his body that started under his pajamas. Jared started to feel a pressure building in his belly he could feel something bubbling inside him. Jared thought he might have had one too many energy drinks it must just be some bloating. Seconds later Jared felt his belly touch the table of his classroom desk not realizing he was leaning over so much he tried to sit back but there wasn’t any room. He finally looked down at himself and saw what was happening, his belly was expanding before him filling out his onesie. He silently freaked out and ran out of the classroom and into the hallway bathroom, in the mirror he checked himself out. Nothing out of the ordinary besides what looked like a basketball under his onesie making the panda print look a little too real. He rubbed his belly realizing it felt firm and taught he poked his newfound girth and it gurgled in response, sounding mad. Something was clearly wrong with that energy drink he needed help he raced towards his dorm room dialing 911.

Phone operator: hello what seems to be the emergency?

Jared: help I think I drank a bad energy drink now I can’t stop growing! My belly is getting huge! I’m heading to my dorm room 211.

The operator asked what he drank and Jared told them the new turbo drinks. The phone went silent and then it hung up on Jared. Not knowing what to do he made it to his dorm room where Timothy sat at their desk. Timothy turned around about to say something but stopped as soon has he saw Jared newfound size.

Timothy: dude what happened to you? You look like you swallowed a beach ball!

Jared was filling up faster now his onsie painfully tight as his belly kept pushing and stretching his outfit till. POP! The zipper running down the front of the onsie burst open revealing Jareds furry belly, swollen and covered in new stretch marks.

Jared: I don’t know what’s happening but I’m so full idk how much longer I can hold it. It feel like my insides are being shredded.

As if on cue his belly let out an angry groan and gurgles were coming from somewhere deep inside Jared’s belly, he could feel it slightly vibrating as it grew. His belly was starting to take up more and more room putting distance between Jared and Timothy. Just as Timothy walked up to Jared’s growing belly he realized it grew in all directions including up it covered the view of Jared’s face as it went up it went down as well. Timothy started poking and prodding Jareds belly feeling it have less and less give. Jared couldn’t help but moan and shiver his skin becoming so sensitive from the stretching he could feel the bottom of his belly reaching the floor he knew he didn’t have much longer. But as suddenly as it started the growing stopped, Jared felt a wave of relief wash over himself and his now 6ft tall belly that now took up half the room covered in stretched out belly hair and stretch marks. Just as there was a moment of silent disbelief of their situation there was a knock on the door.

Stranger: hello!? Open up it’s the paramedics we got a report of someone having a reaction to something they drank?

Timothy opened the door and two muscular men entered the room immediately brought to a halt before they end up bumping into Jared’s wall of belly.

Stranger: geez you weren’t kidding but what could have done this? You sure it was a drink?

Jared: I’m positive! Those stupid turbo energy drinks did this to me!!!

Stranger: I was afraid you might say that. Welp that settles that, can’t have anymore witnesses or evidence….

One of the paramedics grabbed onto Timothy from behind pinning him. Timothy just noticed they weren’t wearing uniforms he recognized or any kind of badges and he had a bad feeling. The free stranger pulled out a vial of a clear substance and a blue substance. He walked over to Timothy and grabbed him by the lips till they parted and forced him to chug the blue vial. Then walked around Jared’s giant firm belly to his face where Jared was going to put up a fight but only being able to reach the stranger with one arm he there wasn’t much fighting. The stranger simply jabbed the belly with his fist causing Jared to yelp out which the stranger then shoved the clear vial into his mouth. Then he stepped back and waited. Suddenly Jared lurched forwards as his belly went back to expanding, Jared began to plead with the stranger

Jared: no please don’t make me pop! I don’t wanna be a balloon like this I don’t know how much more I can hold!

Jared’s skin was becoming shiny and pink you could see little veins crisscrossing all over his every bloating belly. His skin began to creak as the end neared you could see the fear in Jared’s eyes as he began to pant focusing on stretching as much as he can.

Jared: fuck.. so full.. can’t.. hold… anymore!!!

Jareds face went red and his eyes crossed right when he hit his limit then BOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!!!!!!