#also the way he has his seatbelt lmao

[goingslightlymads]

excuse me sir your EYES your HAIR your SMILE your UNZIPPED JERSEY you're illegal sir

[finniestoncrane]

Date, Digger Style

KTJL!Boomer x Fem!Reader, word count: 6k hi i am sorry, this was supposed to be like. a lil silly thing about what a first date with george might be like. and it ended up being 6k words. i just want him so bad it makes me look stupid quite honestly and i am ok with that 💙 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: sleazy behaviour, groping, tongue kissing, just the tip and then not just the tip but agreeably so, lots of physical affection, reader has tits and a vagina, reader is referred to with feminine pet names, descriptions of a gross kitchen, also let's pretend that he's always a lil bit drunk so his drunk driving seems like the normal state of things. he's a villain. he's allowed to break laws lmao (and it's fiction, so i'm allowed to decide what alcohol does to him)

Sitting on the edge of your sofa, you took a quick look at your phone to check the time and to see if you had missed any messages. Nothing. Not even a quick courtesy text with "on my way" typed hastily, or auto filled. You'd been sitting there for twenty minutes already, with no sign of George. If this was what he considered a good start to your first formal 'date' then you two were perhaps too different after all to make this work. He was laid back, to a flaw. Horizontal. And you were more organised, at least more so than George Harkness.

Just as you began typing out a message, you heard the tell-tale screech of the tyres on his van, followed by the rumbling of the engine as he put the brakes on and came out of the creaking door. The sharp buzz at your door was enough for you to know your suspicions were right, and without answering it, you headed downstairs. At the door, you could see Digger, picking at his teeth and tucking the stray strands of hair back under the rim of his hat before he noticed you and struck a pose, goofy smile plastered onto his face.

He moved to grab you when you met him on the steps leading up to your building, but you dodged him, spitting his nickname at him.

"Digger."

"Aw, are you mad cos I'm late? You're not some bloody princess, I think you can wait five minutes!"

"Twenty minutes."

"Twenty, the- Twenty!?"

His eyes were wide as he looked to you, and you offered a solemn and unimpressed nod in response.

"Fuck... alright, that is a bit much. This'll be worth it though, I promise."

Raising an eyebrow, you silently questioned that. You'd known him for a while now, skirted around the conversation, flirted constantly, but turned him down at every offer of a date. And now, when you had finally agreed and given in to his constant pestering, he was going to show up late and not even dressed differently or in clean clothes? You weren't sure it would be worth it. But, if all else failed, you could always count on him to make you laugh, or at very least conjure up a smile. And despite wanting to still maintain an exterior of disappointment, you could feel the corners of your mouth lifting as he opened up the passenger door and gestured to it with his arm, bowing low.

"M'lady, your carriage awaits."

As you stepped up and into the front of the van, the smell was the first thing that hit you. Stale beer, sweat, and about five other scents just indistinct enough to elude your keen nose. Trying not to think about it, you turned to grab your seatbelt and noticed, out of the corner of your eye, that the back of the truck was filled with empty beer cans and bottles, piles of clothing, some dirty and some clean. And in the middle of it all, a mattress, some pillows, and a scattering of sheets.

"Do you live in here?"

"Don't worry about it, babe."

Before you could ask him any follow up questions, he pulled away from the kerb with a stuttering acceleration, and carelessly pulled into traffic. After a few minutes of teeth grinding, life-threatening driving at high speed, he pulled off the main roads and began taking back streets.

Granted, you didn't know where you were going yet, since Digger was insistent on keeping it as a surprise, you still assumed that after ten minutes of nothing but roads dotted with potholes and routes plagued by speedbumps that it was surely quicker to have stayed on the main route until you were closer. However, it became clear that there were intentions behind this path after all, when you turned to question George about the route and found him quickly glancing from the road to your chest, smiling wider every time a bump jostled your body, causing your breasts to jiggle. With a heavy sigh, you turned to look out of the window, concealing the smile that threatened to give away your façade. There was no way you could let him know how oddly flattering you found his constant gawking, that would be a nightmare.

When the van stopped at a red light, you spoke, still looking out of the window, to try and get Digger to tell you where you were going.

"I just would feel better knowing how long we've got left to drive is all."

He reached over to you, placing his hand on your thigh and pressing his fingers and thumb together, squeezing the ample flesh.

"Listen, don't worry about it, we're almost there."

His palm pressed down and skimmed further up your leg, and as you turned to catch his eye, hoping to at least shame him into not continuing his bold heavy petting, you were instead met with his lopsided, careless grin. With one hand on the steering wheel and one permanently on your thigh, he continued driving for another ten minutes, until you were well on the outskirts of the city. When the van finally stopped, you could still hear the tinny rumbling and sharp clinking of the empty bottles and cans bashing around in the back, feeling like it had shrilly inserted itself permanently into your head. But once you had stepped out of the van and the fresh air, plus the odd stench, hit you, you could hear yourself think clear enough to know that you were definitely beginning to regret this decision once more.

"Told ya we wouldn't be much longer! We're here!"

"Where is here?"

"About twenty minutes outside Gotham."

"Digger."

He slapped his hand on your back and pulled you into a side hug, dragging you along as he walked towards the door of the flat roof building with broken neon lights that stood in front of you.

"Ah, come on babe! Get a sense of humour, or you'll always look fuckin' miserable!"

You weren't sure if he could hear your sighing over the sound of the gravel as you made your way to the front door, and he definitely couldn't hear the louder second one you let out when you got inside. The one that was cut short when you realised you could taste the smell that lingered on the air.

Taking your hand, an oddly gentle move from Digger. The moment was gone quickly when he smacked your ass as he ushered you into the dingiest looking booth at the back of the bar.

"George, really? Here?"

"Yeah, babe! This place is great. Cheap beer, good food. I promise, you just gotta trust me, alright?"

Taking a quick look around the place told you otherwise. But there was just something about him you found hard to say no to. Which you imagined would land you in much bigger problems later on, but for now, potential food poisoning and a hangover of the worst order seemed like a fair risk for what would no doubt be a fun night regardless. It always was with George.

"Aw, I know that face! You're on board! Right, I'm gonna go to the bar and get us some drinks and food."

"I don't know what I want though, I haven't looked at the menu."

"Don't have to, I'm getting us the usual. You'll like it, tr-"

"Trust you, yes, I know."

With a wink, he slid out of the booth and you watched him make his way to the bar, leaning on it with his oh-so-cocky attitude as he ordered for you. And when he sat back down, he slid a pint in front of you and began chugging at his own. Looking over the tip of your glass as you sipped, you tried to get a glimpse at the kitchen. From what you could see, it looked like the kind of place that might give any decent health inspector an aneurysm. The chef's clothes were dirty, the walls were a stained yellow colour that seemed as though it was dripping down the walls, and every surface had a strange assortment of crumbs and stains on it. But still, you persevered.

And still, when the plates were slammed down on the table in front of you by the uninterested waitress, you were optimistic. Because you were determined to have a nice time. It was likely that which annoyed you the most of all, because the moment you bit into the greasy sandwich you didn't care in the slightest what kind of health hazard it was prepared in. You just wanted more.

"See, told you it was good."

Nodding in agreement, mouth too full to speak, you swallowed down the rest of the sandwich, although by the time you had finished it and your accompanying beer, Digger was already onto his third pint, and the sandwich was but a memory. Until he burped and you could smell it on his breath, something he found hilarious.

"Lighten up! You try, give it your best shot."

"I'm not having a burping contest with you, George. We're on a date."

"Yeah, but you're on a date with Digger. Way more fun, far less stuffy. Go on."

You mustered up the best you had to offer, cheese and beer and lettuce the most noted flavours in the air you expelled. Closing his eyes for a moment, Digger reached out across the table and took your hands.

"That was, without a doubt... the most pathetic fuckin' burp ever. We gotta get you another drink!"

Before you could say anything, he was already shuffling out of the booth and shakily making his way back to the bar. A bad decision being made and you couldn't really stop him. He could handle his alcohol, definitely, you'd seen him do it a number of times before. Digger could put away what might kill a lesser, for want of a better word, man. But it didn't make him any easier to be around. You'd already found yourself flushing hot, cheeks darkening, a heat building in your stomach with each lingering touch or flirtatious stare. So far this evening, you'd almost kissed him twice. It wasn't going to be any easier to prolong what you felt was the inevitable if he got far too drunk and became his usual, handsy self.

Of course, that's exactly what did happen. One more pint in and Digger was all over you in the booth. He'd leaned in at first to say something to you, speaking over the noise of the bar, close to your ear, his arm reaching up and around you and pulling you close and then keeping you there. As his fingers stroked at your shoulder, the other hand fell to your thigh, periodically squeezing it between his fingers and thumb. And every time you got distracted by how far up your thigh he was snaking his palm, fingers splayed out, pinkie grazing over your crotch, his other hand would pull your attention away as his fingertips skimmed over the top of your breasts.

It was difficult to try and hold him off. You were both tipsy, or at least you were tipsy, Digger seemed to be wasted. No good decision could come from that. But the way he touched you, the way he smelled as he leaned in, sweat, cheap body spray, acrid beer, it was intoxicating. If you'd been any less sober you might have leaned in then and there in the booth to kiss him, tasting the alcohol on his tongue, letting him put his hands all over you, anywhere, anywhere. But luckily, before you could make what you knew was a mistake, he sat back and laughed, one loud and sharp 'ha'.

"I fuckin' love this song, babe! C'mon!"

Before you could argue otherwise, you were being dragged out of the booth to join Digger on the tiny dance floor in front of the band. The song was difficult to dance to, at least you had assumed, given the heavy rock riffs that underlined the inaudible, high volume lyrics. But George wasn't deterred. It was almost endearing, how horrendously embarrassing he was, standing there with his air guitar, throwing goat horns at the band as he bounced on the spot. Cute, nearly. But mercifully cut short as the song ended.

"Aw, just as I was finding my groove."

You smiled at him, rubbing his shoulder in sympathy, biting your inner cheek as you felt how strong he was, impressed by his muscular arm as you let your hand slip down to graze over it.

"A real shame, George. Let's go back to- "

The band started up again, this time, a slower song, one that lent itself well to the kind of 'end of prom' vibes all young lovers were hoping for. And before you could finish your suggestion of heading back to the booth, Digger had pulled you close, his arms around your back, falling to your waist as he swayed back and forth. It could have been dancing, it could have been the uncoordinated shuffling of a man who had one too many beers, but either way, you leaned into it, allowing your head to rest against his chest while you placed your hands, linked together, at the nape of his neck.

It was almost too romantic, in its own, strange way. The dim lights, the other couples around you, the unique twang on the guitars, the stench of the greasy food, and the way George kept his hips, his crotch, pressed tight to you as you leaned against him. Not particularly from a storybook romance, but perfect all the same. You'd known this would happen. One date, and you were already falling for him. Not because of anything he'd done, but because deep down you knew you had been into him, since almost the moment you'd met. But you'd fought it, because men like George Harkness, you assumed, weren't the kind of nice boy you dated.

But here he was, holding you, swaying you, sighing softly as the music swelled. Granted the movements weren't exactly graceful, but they were surprisingly fluid, as though he might be good at dancing when he was sober. Yet another surprise for you to learn about, but obviously not right now. He was trying though, his hands at a respectable height, his head leaning on your shoulder. Every so often, he nuzzled into your cheek, placing a soft kiss to it when the notion took him. And when the song finished, you could hear his words clear, spoken gently into your ear.

"You wanna head out?"

You weren't sure if that was "out" as in "get some fresh air" or "out" as in "let's head home, yours or mine" but either option seemed good. The last remaining bit of sun and a soothing breeze might be enough to sober George up before you brought him back in for more dancing. And if it didn't, you were happy to take him to your place for a coffee, nothing more. Although, you were potentially considering letting him sleep on the sofa. You couldn't imagine how difficult it would be to nurse a hangover in the back of his van.

Outside, finally able to breathe without choking on the stench or the thickness of the air, you watched as Digger shielded his eyes from the sky. His stumbling stopped, and he began walking with his usual confidence, almost sobering up immediately in the light of the day.

"Christ! Still pretty bright out here..."

"Yeah, it's not that late. You tapping out early, George?"

"Nah, nah. Not at all! If I've got you for the night, then I'm havin' you for the night. C'mon, I know a place."

Admittedly, and strangely enough, you really hadn't had enough of him yet. It was one of the few things you agreed on, actually. This was supposed to be a date, you'd set aside the evening for it, so you were keen to make it last as long as possible. You couldn't let George know that, though. Keeping the upperhand seemed to be key with him, so you offered him a reluctant smile and rolled your eyes dramatically.

"Well, I suppose so."

Stepping up into the passenger seat of his van you caught him smiling back at you, knowingly. You weren't kidding him, he wasn't as stupid as he seemed at first pass, but he was kind enough to let you keep up the ruse. It didn't stop him getting a little dig in at you, however.

"Are you sure? If you're not keen I can take you home, babe. Wouldn't want you to be bored or something."

"And where are you planning on taking me that isn't boring, then?"

"Eh... just a little spot I know of. Quiet, secluded. Up that back road to the overlook. But again, if you're not into it..."

"No, no. It sounds... well, it doesn't sound boring, anyway."

Digger laughed, starting up the van which groaned horrendously before sputtering to life. Before he drove off, he turned to you and winked.

"Definitely won't be, it never is with me, babe."

Pulling out of the parking lot, he turned away from the city and onto the quieter roads which led out past the city lines and into the expansive countryside that secluded Gotham from the rest of the world. From the window, you watched the sun slowly setting, clouds turning purple and navy as they pushed in from the sides like curtains on a stage show. You had all the time in the world to gaze peacefully, as George was driving in complete silence, way below the speed limit, focusing intensely on the road. He'd seemed to sober up once you were out of the bar, but you didn't want to distract him while he was doing his best to keep you both alive.

The van bounced along a short dirt trail until it stopped in a small clearing, surrounded by trees on all sides and far above the dim, intrusive glow of the city, which buzzed against the now deep, navy sky. Shutting off the engine, George turned and shot you a smile, eyebrows raised playfully, before he leapt out. He walked quickly to the back of the van and you followed, waiting patiently as he opened the two back doors wide, finally giving you a better look at what had been rolling around there the whole time he had been driving.

There wasn't much you could think to say, being of the opinion that you should only speak if you had kind things to say. From where you were standing, you could definitely tell that you had been correct in your earlier assumptions. This was where he lived. His rolling apartment. Convenient, yes. But it was a long way away from being one of the trendy 'tiny homes' you'd seen. The walls were adorned with four posters in total, all of them the kind of cheap standards you would expect in the bargain bin of some ancient music store, miscellaneous women in very little clothing gazing out as seductively as they could from the airbrushed backdrops. On the floor, there was a stick and poke tattoo kit that looked like it might be the source of several new variants of hepatitis, and it was littered with empty beer bottles and cans, some of which may have been half-full at the point he decided to drive off given how sticky the surfaces looked. And to top it off, there was a worn out mattress. No sheets on it, no sheets around it save for one scruffy blanket. It was covered in stains that you couldn't quite place, which matched the single, dented and almost flat pillow that lay haphazardly to the side.

"You live like this?"

That was what you had wanted to say, but again, your polite nature stopped you.

"Handy to just get in the van and sleep, or get out of bed and go."

George smiled, looking oddly proud of himself.

"See, you get it. You won't believe the amount of people who have been put off by- uh... well..."

He looked to the ground, rubbing at the back of his neck with his hand.

"Not that there's been that many people I've invited into- A-and not that there haven't been any people that have been-"

"George."

You placed a hand on his shoulder and raised your eyebrows, offering him a sympathetic grin. He took the out, thankful that you'd put an end to his suffering, and reached in for the blanket, placing it flat over the top of the bed before offering his hand to you. Taking it, he helped you shift yourself into the back of the van, watching as you got comfortable on the mattress as best as you could, at which point he joined you.

Leaning back on his arms, he looked to the sky, sitting in silence for a few minutes. You had joined him, watching the stars start to sparkle as they became visible against the darkening backdrop. At some point, you realised that he was staring at you, and you wondered how long you'd had his gaze trained on the side of your head. Not on any other part of your body, you noted. He was looking at your face, gazing at your eyes. When you turned, you caught his stare immediately, smiling softly when he blinked and looked away with a cough meant to clear the air of the awkwardness he was bringing about.

Rooting around behind him, he eventually found two unopened beer cans, both of which were loose amongst the rest of his belongings. Keeping one for himself, he passed the other to you. He raised his, tipping his head with a 'cheers' and then cracked it open. You watched the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped, a small trickle of foam slipping past his lips and down his chin. The urge to lean in and lick it off was disturbing, most of all because you felt yourself moving towards him before you even realised it. Settling back down into the strange romance of the moment, you pulled the tab on your own can.

The immediate explosion, the build up of pressure and gasses from the can being jostled around as you drove up the bumpy, dirt track to the spot you now sat in, left you in shock. Your shirt was soaked, completely, and the cool air was already beginning to chill your body. You blinked in shock, watching as Boomer tried to conceal his giggles while he stood up.

"Take your shirt off."

Looking to him, you raised an eyebrow, a look that said "is this really how you're going to make that move?" in a way that he read almost straight away. He began unzipping his blue hoodie, turning from you and passing it behind him, generously, and uncharacteristically, offering you some privacy.

Taking it from him, you quickly made the swap, your body exposed to the cold night air only briefly before you zipped up the hoodie, still warm from Digger's body. You tucked your bra and shirt under the mattress, making a mental note to collect them before you were home, hoping they would be dry. Making sure the zip was up completely, not offering any suggestive cleavage for Digger to hook his ideas into, you settled yourself, noticing that you were smiling. You could smell him on the fabric that covered your body. Beer, sweat, lingering smoke, an acrid smell you couldn't quite place and a sweet one on top of that. As the fabric grazed over you, you could feel your nipples hardening. It wasn't the cold though, it was faint arousal at the way you felt so close to him.

"You done yet, you're only putting a hoodie on!"

"Shit, yeah, sorry."

"I can look?"

He raised his hands, pulling them from his pockets and holding them up to his side, questioningly.

"Mhm, yeah."

When he was facing you again, he let his lips turn into an appreciative expression.

"Looks good. Suits you!"

Thudding back down beside you, George immediately lifted his arm up, wrapping it around your body and pulling you close. You found yourself settling into the hug, a natural embrace, one that made your heart flutter slightly as you let your head rest entirely against him. And then it happened, the moment that secured your confusion about him and his intentions. He sighed wistfully. So deep and joyous, his fingers digging into your arm to let you know you were the reason for the warmth spreading through him.

"It's nice out here, you can actually see the stars. Couldn't tell you what any of them were though."

"Are you kidding me right now?"

He turned slightly to look at you.

"What?"

"What? What are you doing? You brought me up here to look at the stars?"

George narrowed his eyes, his brow furrowing in confusion and slight irritation.

"Yeah! I thought it would be romantic!"

"Exactly!"

"Exa-... what?"

"You're so confusing. This whole evening, you yourself, it's not how I thought it would be. I mean, it wouldn't be you without the occasional grope and cheeky wink, but you've been so... You're so... It's weird to see you being so..."

Digger's hand fell to your thigh, a light pressure aiming to calm you down.

"So what?"

You couldn't answer it, because you weren't even able to settle on a definitive answer yourself.

So confusing?

So disgusting?

So gentlemanly?

So romantic?

So hot?

All of that and more.

And when words had failed you, you decided that you'd have to express your feelings another way.

It was less of a romantic, graceful move and more that you sank into him, falling against his body, your lips luckily making contact with his as you both found your way in the kiss. Neither of you expected it, both of you surprised. The tenderness, the hunger behind it. You could taste everything about him, smell him even better than you had when you had put on his hoodie. You expected he was experiencing the same.

Digger fell back, his hands catching your waist as he pulled you with him, both of you laying now on the mattress in the back of his van. His hands pawed, grabbed, skimmed over you, oddly restrained in fact. That was until you shifted yourself up and onto him, straddling his hips and staring down at him, panting heavily as you both caught your breath and took stock of the situation you were now in. His hands on your waist made their way up to your shoulders, your neck, cupping your cheeks as he grinned at you. Watching your face, your expression, for any subtle changes as he let his hands trail back down your front, fingers catching on to the zip of his hoodie and pulling it down slowly, opening it to expose you to him before he cupped at your breasts as you bit your lip.

"Fuck me..."

Digger let out a low groan that followed his short, to the point statement. His fingers circled your nipples, tightening around them as he teased you. His hips bucked up, jostling you, letting you feel how hard he was. You could tell just from that motion that the rumours about how gifted he was had truth behind them.

Bending down to kiss him again, you let your tongue slip past his lips, his own meeting in your mouth. He tasted divine. Sweet, but acidic. Earthy almost, definitely addictive. Everything felt dream like, surreal. Mostly, you assumed, because you were doing something you'd never dream of, something you knew was ill-advised, a little bit silly, embarrassing in the right company. But it was hard to care.

You were quickly brought out of the dream like state however, as you felt Digger's hands between both of your crotches, unbuckling his belt and fiddling with the zipper on his jeans.

"Wait... on the first date? You think you've charmed me enough for that?"

With the smug, self-satisfied grin you had grown oddly fond of, George looked into your eyes as he spoke.

"I think you started this, so it's a pretty good indication of how much I've charmed you."

He winked as he let his fingers tug at the waistband of your own pants, pulling at them as you leaned in to another kiss. Your attempts to stop him, or at least to pretend that was your intention, were put to one side as your body reacted to the feeling of the cool air against your bare skin, his hands, rougher than you expected, holding your thighs, pulling your pants down further until he needed you to move.

"Well... have I charmed the pants off you at least?"

Smiling back at him, you nodded your head from side to side as though you were weighing up his efforts over the evening.

"I suppose you have charmed the pants off me, yes. But... I'm not sure how much further your winning personality has gotten you."

"There's plenty of time for me to catch up, then."

Clumsily, and with very little grace, you shifted and removed your pants, blushing as you noticed Digger watching you intensely, taking note of every movement, every second of you undresssing, as though you were offering him the performance of a lifetime. As you steadied yourself, he hooked his fingers into the band of your underwear and pulled you back to him, landing you flat on top o f his body, your hands on his chest.

Teasing at the band of your panties, he dipped two fingers underneath the fabric, skating over your mound and down to your lips, stroking them gently before spreading them apart. He rubbed one finger up and down, collecting your slick as he licked his lips, desperate to know how you tasted. Bringing his fingers to his lips, he ran them on his tongue, sucking them with his eyes rolling back.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck me."

He continued unzipping his pants and pulling them down, boxers included, to reveal his more than impressive cock. At least ten inches, easily, thick, perfect, topped with a tuft of almost flaming red hair. Trying to control yourself, you leaned back.

"What are you planning on doing with that, Harkness?"

He squirmed, pressing his eyes shut and biting his lip before he managed to strain himself enough to speak.

"I just want... I want you... touch it... feel you... something... come on, please!"

Shuffling forward, teasing him knowingly as you felt his head, his length, against your thighs, you mused out loud, humming as though you were actually considering it, as though you hadn't already made your mind up yet.

"I suppose... this was a pleasant enough date. I could give you something, throw you a bone."

He nodded furiously below you, muttering his words of agreement.

"But! Just the tip. I'm not sure how much more of that I could take. It should come with a warning."

George actually blushed, looking away from you for a moment, as though the comment had genuinely embarrassed him. It did seem odd to you in that moment that he wasn't constantly bragging about his prowess in that area. He struck you as exactly the kind of person who would mention the size of his cock at any opportunity. You wondered if had the effect on others that it had on you. It was daunting, a little bit nerve-wracking. How many of the few people who had made it this far had given up at the sight of it, you wondered.

Most, you assumed, as despite how desperate he seemed to fuck you, he agreed enthusiastically, happy to be offered any opportunity to get as close to you as possible. He was already pulling at your underwear, grasping at it, trying to pull it down before deciding to push it to the side as he lined up the head of his cock with your swollen lips.

Looking directly at you he maintained the intense eye contact as he slid himself between your lips, pushing at your tight entrance slowly, carefully, only allowing his head to enter you. It felt amazing. So good, better than you thought. It stretched, filled you up, and that was ten percent of what he had to give. He hissed, gritting his teeth in concentration, trying his hardest not to move his hips, to buck them, to push himself any further inside of you.

As you balanced yourself, trying to contend with the little of him that was inside of you, he brought his thumb to your clit, rubbing it, making you twitch, contracting against him, tightening the grip your cunt had on his head. As he groaned, you couldn't help yourself anymore. You wanted him, all of him. You were willing to risk it.

"God, George... just fuck me."

"Wh-what?"

"Fuck me! Just..."

Realising you might need to take matters into your own hands, you let yourself slide down his cock, each inch stretching you further, a shockwave of pain followed by dull throbs of ache and arousal coarsed through your body, the pit of your stomach feeling pressed, your insides stuffed with him. Llike you were being entirely consumed, enveloped, in George Harkness.

"Christ..."

It was all he could manage with the limited breath he had, his whole body stopping any other function to focus on not letting himself cum inside of you immediatel. The sudden warmth, the tight, wet embrace, the way you leaned back, breasts bouncing as helped yourself to him, riding his cock as he lay back and held your hips. His thumbs, stroking against your skin, where the top of your thighs met your lower stomach, feeling your own desperation as you worked him harder, faster, palms resting on his chest to balance yourself as you took everything he had.

Brows furrowed in concentration, pursuing your orgasm, you wailed as his fingers found their way back to your nipples, teasing them, grabbing at your breasts as you rolled your hips and felt his cock twitching agaisnt your walls. It hurt, but in a way that was delicious, a way that felt like it should be borderline illegal, like most things that provided such a wonderful, addictive experience were. But there you were, enjoying it. Loudly, explicitly. And very publicly. It didn't matter to you, and it really didn't seem to matter to George. You were quite happy to scream it from the rooftops then and there, how much you were enjoying it. Being fucked by Captain Boomerang, as ridiculous as his name always seemed to you. You'd be quite content to tell everyone that he was making you cum, that he was one stroke of his thumb against your erect nipples, one tap of his cock against the exact spot inside of you, from losing all composure.

"George... George..."

"Yeah... yeah, it's good... eh? I'm good."

"Fuck, you are. Yeah. Yes! Yes!"

One final, loud, resounding 'yes' echoed around you, filling the air, bursting through the trees. You imagined that anyone within a five mile radius might have heard Digger coming. His cock, falling from you against his body, still dripping with your slick, still spurting streams of his thick, white cum all over his abdomen, covering his thick pubic hair. His hands, still embedded in your skin, creating deep, red marks where the grip was far too tight, stinging so perfectly pleasantly.

Your own notes of pleasure hadn't exactly been all that much quieter than his own, but still drowned out by the amped up grunting and wailing of George. At least you could hold that saving grace. Allow yourself to cling to that modicum of your dignity.

Because you certainly weren't bothered about any other facets of it, as you slid down beside George on the dingy mattress, curling around his body, hand on his chest, smugly satisfied to know that you had contributed to the stains that would no doubt be a permanent feature.

[mickyschumacher]

Hi!!! I just wanna say that I really love your writings!!! Their so good hehehe!! Can you do one a mick x wolff!reader?? Maybe one where toto sets them up cause he is tired of seeing them make heart eyes at each other and not making a move HHHH. Thank you lovie!!🤍

𝐒𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐔𝐏  .ೃ࿐

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: love at times is shy and oblivious. like you and mick. but sometimes all you need is a father and a plan (with some backups!).

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 16+? (suggestive), fluff, poor humour as guaranteed, (loosely) based on the movie 'set it up', no sense of a motorhome ♡︎, mention of christian horner :(, possibly cringe, basically childhood friends to lovers trope, reader is lowkey a menace, confessions are made, toto in line for best dad award?, google translated german :0, a mess in general!

��𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: mick schumacher x wolff!fem!reader, joão felix x reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3k+

𝐀/𝐍: okay so i've been waiting for a good mick plot but nothing was coming to mind but this! this screams mick! thank you so much for your praise. hope i do them justice with this although the plot holes are there!!

𝐏.𝐒: i'm curious on how people envision themselves as wolff, horner, vettle readers, etc. if you're coloured like me, do you pretend to be adopted or from a previous relationship if it isn't specified? 😭 i mean the explanation has to be viable lmao. maybe you just don't imagine?

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

⋆  •°.  。  .°•  ⋆

There were certain values a Wolff had. Those that were just innate.

A Wolff, more often than not, was a leader, intelligent, charismatic, good-looking, and embedded with dad jokes. Additionally, when a Wolff wanted something, they would do whatever to get it. They didn't leave any leaf unturned, they made the rounds and the effort.

It didn't make sense. You had all of those values. Yet, every time you joined the Mercedes garage, your father, Toto, found himself questioning everything.

Take now for example. He was in the beloved Mercedes garage, sat next to the best reserve driver he had ever chosen, Mick.

Parents tend to be protective of their children before they're even born. And it only amplifies after they're born. From which strangers you meet, the roads you cross, the seatbelt you have to wear to the clothes you wear, the suspiciously high phone bill and your romantic endeavours. A father's protection for his little girl was a tad bit stronger than this, special in it's own way.

Toto would do anything to protect his children, especially his little girls. And if any guy was making moves on you, right in front of him, the 'dad' side of him was just waiting to come out.

But he could only do that if someone actually made a move on you. Sure there were other guys but the one sat right next to him did nothing but shyly follow you with his blue eyes and blush in your presence.

Mick was seriously frustrating Toto and his wife. The both of them had watched the German boy watch you with heart eyes ever since the both of you had first met at the Schumacher's house for dinner. You were young back then but hell, within five minutes everyone knew that Mick was a lovesick puppy.

Years had gone by with your friendship becoming stronger. Those same years involved Mick and you being stuck to each other as if you were hip-to-hip. You attended all his races and he supported you in all your academic achievements. And oblivious to you, somewhere along the road you had also become as lovesick as he was.

Toto didn't really realise how fed up he was. He didn't want to interfere. In fact, he wanted things between the both of you to happen naturally. But he just had happen to watch the entire hour and forty-five minutes of 'Set It Up' over your shoulder instead of doing his work and he just had to do something... hell, anything.

━━━━━━━━━━━

First things first... Toto couldn't put the both of you in an elevator. At least not yet. You knew each other while the two bosses in 'Set It Up' didn't, so it didn't make much sense. You probably would never even get to the topic of your feelings. Not without a physical icebreaker of sorts.

Toto needed someone and George Russell just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"George, my boy!" Toto chorused, beckoning the British driver towards him. He slung his arm over George's shoulder, bringing him closer to him. "Do you mind doing me a favour?"

George nodded without too much thought. "Yeah sure. What is it?"

"If you see Mick and Y/N go towards an elevator, stop them and tell Y/N that a guy asked for her number, uh, who was that footballer... ah yes, João Félix, him... he did ask her yesterday right?" Toto looked over at George.

"Uh, yeah. Before you dragged her away... listen, Toto, I'm not sure I can do what you asking me to. I thought none of us were going to mess with whatever's going on between them?"

"You're young, George. One day you'll realise what 'desperate times calls for desperate measures' means. So..." Toto trailed off, eagerly looking for an answer before spotting the hesitant expression on the British driver's face. "Can I pay you do the favour?"

George blankly looked at his boss. "I'm on your payroll, Toto. You already pay me. That also sounds like extortion and bribery."

Toto's eye twitched as an exasperated sigh fell from his lips. He stared at George heavily before giving in. "Fine. You'll be out before Lewis for this week's quali."

The corner of George's mouth teetered up, working to a small grin. "Extortion and bribery... it sounds cool," He said with a nonchalant shrug.

Toto shook his head to himself. "You can try and be less British, George. Just because your ancestors colonised doesn't mean you need to take the same behaviour," He patted his shoulder before leaving, feeling George's confused expression bore into the back of his head.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Toto was a great man. But today was one of those days where George really did question him. Part of him was praying that he didn't see you and Mick head to an elevator. The scenario was so specific that well... the probability was low.

There was no way he was going to see it happen. Not even 30 minutes after he had this conversation and he had just grabbed a coffee and was now heading to Alex...

But the peak of that blonde hair and the familiar shine of your signature glasses caught George's eye. Christ.

"How is that possible?" He muttered to himself, eyeing the both of you as you waited for the elevator to go up the Mercedes' motorhome.

First in quali. Come on, George. You got this!

"Hey guys," George greeted the both of you.

You and Mick turned to him and smiled. "Hey George. How's it going? Ready for practice?"

George nodded absentmindedly. "Yeah, yeah. Good, thanks. Uh, I was just wondering about yesterday... João? Since Toto dragged you away before you could do anything but he was just wondering if you would still consider giving him your number."

George pressed his lips, seeing Mick's eyes narrow from his peripheral vision. God how had the both of you not gotten together yet?

"I didn't know João asked you that?" Mick looked at you with questioning eyes.

You blinked, feeling your heart skip a beat slightly. You weren't sure why Mick's interest was to intriguing to you all of a sudden. You pursed your lips, looking to George. "Oh? I didn't know you knew João like that."

"I... don't. It's... Kika! Kika knows him... you know... Portugal things," He laughed awkwardly, giving a helpless shrug.

"Right..." You nodded slowly. "Uh, I don't know. I mean was considering it, I guess."

"You were?" George and Mick spluttered out in unison.

Your eyes widened at their reaction. "I mean, yeah... kinda?" You rubbed the back of your neck sheepishly.

George could see the German driver's head racing a hundred miles per hour. It was time to get out of this mess.

"Okay, well, if you consider it, you could probably DM him on Instagram. Don't ask Kika!" George quickly said. "I mean... you know, she gets very excited to play cupid... anyways, I have to get back to Dudley, but let me know how it goes!"

You and Mick waved goodbye, heading onto the elevator after what felt like forever.

As the doors closed, you looked over at your thought-consumed best friend. "Penny for your thoughts, Mr Schumacher?" You humoured.

Mick briefly smiled before returning to his brooding state. He folded his arms, leaned on the wall of the elevator and stared at you.

Your mouth felt dry and yet you were drowning in your own saliva. There were certain things that weren't healthy for humans: too much sugar, high cholesterol foods, and apparently air-drying your hair. And then there was too much Mick.

The folded arms and his stupid shirt brought your eyes to the muscles you had so desperately been avoiding after Mick had started to work out even more in the past year.

You cleared your throat, trying to think of another topic of discussion.

In your pondering, Mick opened his mouth. "I don't think you should give João your number," He said, bringing his hands to his side, discreetly allowing the fabric of his shorts to soak up his clammy hands.

Your eyes flickered towards his face. You raised brow. "What? Why?" You asked, feeling an uneasy ache gnaw at your chest.

"I..." Mick started, "I mean what if he's a bad guy? You know... I wouldn't want you to get hurt."

Your heart dropped. You felt like an deflating balloon: all blown up, only to be taken down. You mustered a soft smile. "I mean, you can't protect me forever Mick. What are you going to do? Vet the guy on the day of my wedding," You joked.

Mick frowned at your response. The image of you marrying someone that wasn't him was disheartening.

"I won't need to if you get married to someone you know," He shrugged. "You don't know João. You know me."

Oh?

Oh.

You almost did a double-take on your best friend. Did he know what words were falling from his lips. "So what? He's kinda cute. And a five-star FIFA player. I could take the risk. And eventually, I would know him... since that's how relationships work... communication and all," You defended the footballer.

Mick stared at you for a few seconds before blinking out of his short trance. "Right..." He said sharply, pushing himself off of the wall as the elevator opened. He struck out his arm, holding back the door. "You go on. I just remembered I need to talk to Toto."

You flickered your eyes to Mick, trying to read his face. "That's fine, we can go togeth–"

"No," Mick interjected, "it's... it's okay."

Upon the slight widening of your eyes and the startled expression lingering on your face, Mick's innate action was to internally wince. "I'll join you soon. Don't worry. I bring your favourite pastry on the way back, hmm?"

You nodded silently, taking a step out of the elevator and headed towards the lounge with a troubled feeling nagging at your head.

Had you struck a nerve?

━━━━━━━━━━━

Toto couldn't tell what he had done wrong. You and Mick were fine this morning. But after he had told George to push things along between the both of you, a sense of distance radiated off of you.

And George still got out before Lewis for the first quali. Goddamn it.

When Toto raised an eyebrow at you after Mick had slightly brushed you off to talk to Bono, you simply shrugged helplessly.

That night Toto did not get a wink of sleep. Instead, he stared at this hotel ceiling with a twitching eye.

There was nothing he couldn't fix. Whatever was going on between you and Mick right now was just a small bump in the road.

The solution?

A baseball game.

Unfortunately for Toto, baseball wasn't that popular in Brazil. But that didn't mean they didn't do them.

The plan was going perfectly. Toto had offered a 'family day' and gotten you and Mick to join him and Susie to attend a local baseball match between some of university teams. Toto made sure you and Mick were sitting behind him so you had all the privacy you needed. As a dad, he shouldn't be that happy about kiss-cam, let alone bribing the camera operators with the help of Pierre and Kika. But he wanted peace and he was going to get it.

But nothing was easy in life. And Toto could not have predicted this in a million years.

As everyone waited for the game to start, Toto timidly turned his head. He caught the brown eyes of the five-star FIFA player. Giving him a hesitant smile, he averted his own eyes back to the field, cursing himself under his breath. "Scheiße," He muttered through his clenched teeth. Shit.

The tension in the air was thick, to say the least. You sat between João and Mick with blank expression.

João, who was in town for the F1 race, decided to stay back to support a friend in the match. Obviously.

When the footballer on your right extended his hand to Mick, you sucked in a sharp breath. You heavily eyed the firmest handshake you had seen in your life. Letting out a nervous laugh, you sat down before the gesture turned into hardcore glaring.

Still, there was the hope of this kiss-cam.

Toto waited with little patience, hearing João crack jokes in Portuguese that actually made you laugh while Mick took deeper breaths.

It felt like life itself had been poured into Toto once the kiss-cam started on the public. This mattered to him more than whoever was going to win this match.

Toto's face dropped as the camera fell on you.

Your mother pointed at the camera with a gleeful exclamation. Your eyes moved to the screen, widening when you saw yourself and the man next to you.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Toto exasperated quietly.

You turned your head to the right, meeting the equally shocked brown eyes.

"In what way does he look like 'a blonde boy with the face of the greatest racer in F1 history'?" Toto said into his hands, shaking his head slowly.

Mick looked blankly at you and João on the screen before turning to you. He watched you shake your head softly, smiling awkwardly at the camera as the crowd urged you to kiss.

"Oh mein Gott," You murmured to yourself, eyes darting around in panic. Oh my God.

Suddenly, you felt Mick lean in, his fingers sliding under your chin and resting on your cheek. He turned your head slightly towards him.

Your eyes widened upon meeting his baby blues, feeling unnerving giddiness swarm you. You hoped your face screamed, "What are you doing?!"

All Mick did give a small smile, bringing his lips towards you.

Instinctively, your eyes closed, bracing yourself whatever was about to happen. All you could hope for was that this was all a dream of some sort. Maybe you fell asleep in the car?

You skin flushed at the feel of Mick's soft lips on your cheek. Your eyes fluttered open, feeling him linger for a second longer before pulling back.

What on earth?

You weren't sure if you were breathing as you felt his hand move to your leg, covering your hand and giving it a small squeeze. You moved your eyes to the screen. Mick looked unbothered while the crowd erupted in cheers and boos. You, on the other hand, looked flushed.

And Toto?

The urge to run around with his hands flailing in the air was strong.

This was a home run, for crying out loud!

Whoever said jealousy was a disease... thank you!

━━━━━━━━━━━

"Liebling, du solltest jetzt rauskommen," Your mother said to you through the bathroom stall you had been hiding in for the past five minutes. Darling, you should come out now.

You winced as you banged your head against the wall of the stall. You sighed. "I don't think I can. Do you think you can convince the staff the bring a bed? Maybe some food?"

Your mother snorted. "What are you going to do? Live here?"

"Ja. War das nicht offensichtlich?" You retorted, eyes screwing themselves shut after replaying the kiss in your head for the umpteenth time. Yes. Was that not obvious?

Susie sighed, awkwardly smiling at a woman leaving the bathroom. "Y/N... it's Mick. You can't ignore him forever. How long do you think it will truly take for Mick and your father to storm in here after not seeing you for so long?"

You sighed at your mother's response. She was. As always.

The last thing you needed was a headline on ESPN: Toto Wolff and Mick Schumacher caught barging into a women's bathroom.

Christian would have a field day!

You shuddered at the thought.

Susie's ears perked up at your grumble as you fumbled with the lock of the stall. She sported an amused smile at the blank look you gave her.

Slinging an arm around you, she rubbed your shoulder. "Come on, liebling. You got this."

━━━━━━━━━━━

"Oh thank God!" Toto exclaimed after seeing you and your mother come out of the bathroom. "You took forever!"

You narrowed your eyes at your father, avoiding the lingering eyes of a certain German boy. "Maybe next time you shouldn't feed me a hotdog at a baseball game, right?" You pressed with a raised brow.

"Hmm?" Toto mended his brows before nodding profusely. "Right! Right! Yes... that was my bad. Poor thing... you know, Mick, with Y/N being sick and all, I think you should drop her to the hotel. Me and Susie still have a date to go on!"

You and your mother looked at Toto increduolously.

"We do?"

"You do?"

Toto nodded, grabbing your mother's hand. "Yes! Okay, see you two! Tschüss!" Bye!

With a jaw-dropping expression, you watched your parents leave with a twitching eye.

You heard Mick clear his throat.

Slowly, you turned around with a small smile. Fiddling with your fingers, "So..."

Mick rubbed the back of his neck nervously, a small tinge of pink dancing across his cheeks. "The hotel?" He asked, swinging his keys around the his index finger.

Silently, you both walked out of the stadium and towards the car park.

You furrowed your brows upon seeing the orange and pink laden sky. "What the heck? How is the sun already setting?"

"I mean... you were in there for a long time," Mick shrugged.

The crisp summer evening breeze glided past your flushed skin. Your body winced at the paining silence ensuing between the both of you. You let out a small exhale. "Uh, with the thing before–"

"Yeah?" Mick eagerly turned his body towards you, on edge.

You cleared your throat at the anxious expression Mick sported. "You sighed. "Uh, that was to like... save me, right? Aus Verlegenheit? Danke für das." From embarrassment? Thank you for that.

Mick mended his eyebrows. "Verlegenheit? No. I... that was so you didn't kiss João."

You laughed nervously. "Right! So I didn't have to kiss João."

"No. So you didn't kiss João. There's a difference," Mick pointed out, eyeing your expression carefully.

Your eyes widened at his suddenly soft gaze. You looked up at the sky, hoping the breeze would cool the wave of warmth swirling around you. "That's... that's what I said," You shrugged.

Mick stepped in front of you, forcing you to look at him instead of the sky. "Why do you do that?" Mick asked.

"Do what?" You responded.

"I mean... I–just why do you have such a hard time admitting that I like you?"

You wish you had something to say. Anything. But it was as if the ability to speak had been seized from your throat entirely.

"I mean I know I don't make it obvious. I just thought we had some sort of understanding... you know... the one without words?"

You looked up into his hopeful eyes. Entranced, you leaned in towards him. Your fingers danced across his cheek just the way he had done not so long ago. You watched his eyes close at the feel of your touch, making your heart thud against your chest.

Inching closer, your thumb gently swiped over his lips, feeling his faltering exhale warm the pad of your thumb. "So pretty," You whispered to yourself, eyeing his face.

Mick wasn't sure whether you were talking about him or his lips but he didn't care.

You shuddered, feeling Mick's hand slide around your waist, bringing you closer to him.

Without waiting a second longer, you pressed your lips to his.

Mick's lips were softer than you had imagined, warm to the touch. Your stomach churned upon feeling his fingers skate under the hem of your shirt, rubbing tingling circles on your hot skin.

You hear an unrecognisable breathy gasp fall from your lips. The hair on your body stood straight as goosebumps littered your skin. All because of Mick.

Mick took advantage of the moment, darting his tongue to explore your mouth. He groaned against your lips, pushing your hips even closer to him, feeling the hard outline of his bulge rub against your pelvis.

Fuck.

You were going to combust at this rate.

Mick trembled in your grasp as your hands wandered his taut torso, lingering closely to his v-line.

He pulled away with an indescribable urgency, staring at you with small pants falling from his lips. He held your face with his hand, thumb gliding across your swollen lips. "We can't–" He sighed out, voice hoarse, "No more. Please."

Your thighs clenched at his plea, eyes falling down to his prominent bulge. You were sure he was in a lot of pain right now. The sexual tension between you to had been pent up for years now.

Your tongue darted out, swiping over his thumb briefly before faintly sucking on it. You looked up at Mick. "You're right, we shouldn't," You nonchalantly told him.

Mick's blue eyes danced with a tortured pain, following your tongue carefully. "We... fuck, Y/N," He complained, feeling impossibly tight in his pants.

"We fuck? Direct much?" You teased, removing your lips from his thumb.

Mick stared at you, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. "I was saying... we should do this properly. Not in some parking lot."

"Why not? Car sex is hot. Just imagine!" You urged, amused by the conflict in Mick's eyes.

Imagine he did.

You and him in his God forbidden Mercedes... him making sure every inch of his car was stained with you...

Mick sucked in a sharp breath. "Nope. Come on. Hotel."

You gasped humorously. "In a hotel? Mick Schumacher! Well I never!"

Before you knew it, Mick had whisked you into his arms and into his car, hoping he was not breaking Brazil's speed limits tonight.

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[moonmunson]

either way / no doubt

a/n: either way and no doubt by Odie Leigh have been on repeat currently and I relate to them so heavily so I word vomited on a Google docs. its a little rushed but oh well LMAO (I'm also always writing with a plus sized reader in mind)

cw: over thinker fem!reader, autistic coded reader, not knowing how to enter into a first serious relationship, kind lover boy!Eddie, no use of y/n

wc: 2.1k

It is the beginning of Spring when she meets Eddie Munson. Genuinely meets him, not just sees him around town and wonders what it’s like to be in his orbit. Working at the local diner, she sees him and his group of friends often. She’s served them a couple times, and they’re always respectful - albeit rambunctious. They tip well, stack their dishes for the busboys to clear, wave to her on the way out. 

It’s the day Eddie comes in by himself that marks it as different, new. He sits in her section of the diner, glances her way and then averts his gaze when she meets it. That’s odd, but she doesn’t think much else of it. Not until the end of his meal - consisting of a solitary cup of coffee and a slice of apple pie - does he stop her when she checks to see if he needs anything. 

He asks if she’d want to hang out sometime, and she laughs - a forced exhale of nerves. He asks why she’s laughing, and she doesn’t know what to say. After a few moments of awkward silence, she relents and shrugs. What would we do? He says anything she wants. What if she doesn’t know what she wants to do? He says they’ll figure it out together. 

They end up sitting in the back of Eddie’s van, the open doors facing Lover’s Lake. She’s fidgety, and stumbling over her words. He keeps staring at her when she talks and she’s not used to anybody doing this much work to stay focused on her and what she has to say, especially because she’s not saying much of substance. He asks her so many questions, and mundane ones at that. How are classes at the community college? What’s your major? She answers as best she can. 

The feeling of someone looking at her makes her skin crawl. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands, she’s uncomfortably aware of the position of her nose on her face, which seems incredibly silly, and then she’s thinking about just how silly that is when he asks her if she’s alright. 

“Sorry?”

“I was just asking if you felt alright. It looked like you went away for a second there,” Eddie ducks his head down to catch her line of sight. Eye contact has always been difficult for her, but this is different - warm - like sunshine. “I know I’m not the most exciting person to talk to, but I hope you’re having a good time. I enjoy talking to you.” 

“I’m here, sorry. I like talking to you too.”

“You don’t have to apologize, it’s okay.”

“Sorry. Oh-” She sucks in a breath and places her hand over her mouth, eyes wide at the realization of her mistake. He giggles, a sweet boyish sound, and it warms his face. She thinks she could love that face, if he let her. If she knew how. She laughs too, despite herself. “It’s a bad habit. I really have to stop apologizing so much.” 

He’s still smiling when he says it’s okay, he understands. 

Later, when he drops her off at her apartment, the sun has gone down. The ride he’d offered her is relatively quiet. It’s a strange thing, to see the way someone adjusts themself around you. The usual loud heavy metal is absent here. The fast driving and sharp turns are traded in for complying with the speed limit, graceful steering and soft brakes. When he looks at her, she directs her gaze out the window - when she looks at him, he is focused on the road. 

He stops her as she takes off her seatbelt and goes to open the door, jumping out of his own and running around the front of the van to open it for her. She leads him to her front door, and he asks if he can see her again, if he can have her number. She nods, and rummages around her purse for a few frantic seconds before finding her waitress notepad and pen. When she rips the page out that she’s written her number on and hands it to him, he clutches it to his chest and smiles.  

“I’ll call you when I get home, if that’s okay. Just to let you know I made it back safely.”

“And if I want to keep talking to you?”

“We can talk for as long as you want to.” 

“Okay.” 

Eddie walks backwards for a few seconds, keeping his eyes locked on hers, paper still against his heart. By the time he’s made it back to his van, he lifts a hand up for a short wave goodbye, and turns to face the vehicle. 

Now or never. 

“Eddie?” In true Munson fashion, he whips around completely at the sound of her calling out to him. 

“Yeah, sweets?” 

“I just wanted to tell you I had a really nice time with you today. I can’t wait for you to call me later.” She tucks her hair behind her ears, needing to do something with her hands to offset the nausea brought about by her impulsive vulnerability. He smiles wider, if that’s even possible. 

“I’m glad you had a good time. I’ve been wanting to ask you out forever, Gareth and the guys kept busting my balls about it. I promise I’ll call when I get home.” 

She nods, her eyes tracking his steps as he makes it to his car. She watches him drive off. It feels so strange, this immediate wanting him to come back, wanting him to come inside and crawl into her brain. To know her fully. It scares her in a way she’s incredibly unused to. When she can’t hear the music blasting from his speakers anymore, she makes her way inside and slumps against the door for a few seconds. 

He does call when he gets home, and they talk until the sun rises. 

__

They spend the next few days talking on the phone. It’s easier like this, she thinks. She doesn’t have to worry about the way she looks when she’s thinking of something to say. She doesn’t have to avoid his white hot gaze, the way she can feel it trail over her face when she’s speaking. If he notices how much more she opens up to him when they’re not actively sitting next to each other, he doesn’t mention it. 

When they’re not on the phone, he clings to her brainspace like moss on a tree. She can’t stop thinking about him, to the point she’s worried she’s obsessing over something that isn’t there. He’d said he had a good time, he said he enjoyed talking to her, so why does it keep bothering  her so much? He feels safe. He does feel safe, but she’s not used to conversations with no expectations. No guise, no hidden agenda. If he notices the way she starts to pull away due to her overthinking, her sentences shorter and stunted, he doesn’t mention it. He carries on as usual, calling her to talk about what he’d done that day. It makes her smile. 

When he asks, unprompted, if he can see her again, she says yes. 

__

They go to the lake again. It is an early March morning, the last tendrils of Winter still grasping desperately for some kind of recognition against early Spring. He brings a blanket and hot cocoa for both of them, and she feels it in her chest - warm and sweet and chocolatey, like his eyes. It’s easier this time, talking to him. She spends less time worried about her posture and cadence - more time really listening to him speak and trying her hardest to maintain eye contact. 

The early morning breeze makes ripples on the otherwise still surface of the water. It’s so beautiful. He’s so beautiful. He’s so expressive when he speaks. She used to think he was careless, jumping on tables and riling up the people he knew didn’t like him. Seeing him up close like this, she realizes it’s kind of the opposite. It’s careful, planned, the way he uses his hands, his eyes. Even when he’s talking about a book he's read a million times, she feels like she's there among the scenery and characters he describes. It’s entirely captivating. She wants to be more like him. Carefully carefree. 

She’s never done this kind of thing - the relationship kind of thing. If that’s what this is, she has no idea how to traverse this new terrain. She can’t find her footing, she doesn’t know what the formula is, what the proper way to go about it looks like. She doesn’t think about sounding weird when she asks:

“What are we doing?” 

Eddie pauses mid sip, brings the cup back down to his lap. 

“Currently? Or like, with our lives?” He chuffs out a little laugh. Not in a teasing way, though it's hard for her to differentiate. “Because currently, from my perspective at least, I’m sitting in my van with a pretty girl talking about our favorite books. What I’m doing with my life is something a lot of people, including me, would really like to know.” 

Levity, she recognizes. 

“Sorry if it's a weird question, I just…” She trails off, breaking eye contact, looking at her hands in her lap. He scoots forward a bit, the side of his thigh touching hers as their legs dangle off the back of the van. He doesn’t push her to say anything, doesn’t acknowledge the unneeded apology, doesn’t fill the silence with his own voice.  He just waits, patiently. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen him sit this still. 

“I really like you, and I really like talking to you. I’ve never done anything like this,” She uses her pointer finger to gesture between the two of them, drawing a connecting line between their bodies, “I don’t know how to, if that makes sense. I’m not really a lot of people’s type, I guess.” 

“Hey, look at me,” Eddie sets the cup down next to him and very gently takes her hand, locks their fingers together. When she raises her eyes to meet his, he continues. “There’s no rush, I mean it. You set the pace here, okay? I like you, like a lot. If all you wanna do is sit here and talk, I’m totally fine with that. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”  

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, sweets.” 

“What if you find out how weird I am and decide you don’t want to talk to me anymore?” 

At this, Eddie relinquishes his grip on her hand, hops down from the lip of the back of the van, and stands in front of her. 

“Y’know who you’re talking to?” two thumbs pointed towards himself - eyebrows raised, mouth quirked in a goofy grin, “King of the freaks, misfits, and ne'er do wells. I don’t think you could scare me off, but you’re certainly welcome to try.” 

“So just… be myself?” She scrunches her face up - the idea of being genuine is almost totally foreign to her. 

“Be yourself!” 

“Ew. Yeah, alright, fine.” She sighs in resignation and shrugs a shoulder. Doesn’t think about how convincing he is, or how willing she was to drop some of her defenses. Carefully carefree. She can do it. 

They share a laugh, finishing their luke-warm cocoa together and talking until the sun is high in the sky and the temperature rises too high for them to ignore any longer. This time, the drive home is less quiet. She meets his gaze when he looks over at her from the driver’s seat, she hums along to the sound of the radio, it's nice. Comfortable. 

Just like last time, Eddie hastens to run around the van and open her door for her. He extends a hand to help her down and out, and they stay connected on the short journey to her apartment’s front door. Eddie watches while she digs the keys out of her purse, unlocking the door and leading the both of them inside for a drink. He kicks his shoes off by the welcome mat, and they look like they belong there. 

It is the beginning of Spring when Eddie Munson permanently plants himself in her life, a steadfast source of comfort and nourishment. It is hard for her, and it takes longer than most for her to truly open up. To show him all the nooks and crannies of her mind. He takes it all in stride - her overthinking, her quirks and neuroses. He shows her that it is entirely impossible to trust someone enough to take part in the watering and flowering - that it's not a weight she has to hold alone. She can bloom.

__

if you enjoyed this story please like and reblog!!

[mrkis]

sensitive. (m.l)

PAIRING: mark lee x reader GENRE: fluff, smut WORD COUNT: 1.9k

SYNOPSIS: mark gets a boner from a simple kiss and you decide to help him out

CONTENT WARNINGS: explicit content, oral (giving), blowjob, slight hair tugging, small mention of spit, big cock mark always, exhibitionism maybe?

A.N: this has been requested. i'm not taking requests at the moment so please refrain from sending anything in. i wrote this because i am currently in mark brain and had ideas. also this took me like eight hours because @markiedub accidentally kept deleting it when she was reading lmao

You sigh softly as you check your appearance in the sun visor mirror of your car, fingertips brushing the corner of your lips to get rid of any excess lipstick that might’ve smeared during the journey and that your mascara hasn’t smudge across your eyelids. 

You had rushed your makeup when Mark had asked you out on a last minute date out of the blue and you were desperate to go out and see him, rushing around your bedroom to find the most suitable and clean clothing, and applying your makeup at the uttermost speed. You were so eager to see him that you really didn’t think twice about your appearance, not until you were parked outside the restaurant in the parking lot with only a few minutes left to spare before you had to make it inside for your dinner reservation. 

“What are you doing?”

“Making sure I look okay” You tell him, framing the hairs around your face and your shoulders slump in defeat. “I don’t feel okay”

Mark’s lips curl into a frown, “Why?”

“I rushed getting ready before picking you up, so my makeup is all messy and my outfit looks stupid, and—”

“No it doesn’t” Mark interrupts your rambling, a soft smile creeping onto his face as he admires you from the passenger seat. “I think you look pretty, really pretty” You side eye him and Mark immediately laughs, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he smiles wider. “Yo, I’m serious… you look gorgeous”

Your head slowly turns to him as your heart swells at his compliment, the adoration and affection pooling in Mark’s eyes is enough to have you throw yourself over the console and grab at his face to plant your lips on his. Mark’s exclamation of surprise is muffled against your lips, not expecting you to kiss him so suddenly before he lets himself melt into your touch, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as he closes his eyes, craning his neck to kiss you deeper, with more meaning and love, with urgency. 

Every kiss you share with Mark is like the first, slow and tender. His lips make you feel dizzy, like you’re intoxicated and you yearn for so much more yet it never escalates further than a steamy make-out session with wandering hands that fail to go beneath the clothes. You don’t mind, to be honest, you didn’t want to force or rush into something that might make Mark stray away from you. The relationship between you two is new to you both, only having been official for a few weeks, so there wasn’t really any need to rush into anything… although, there were moments where you wanted him. Badly. 

As always, you’re the first to move away from the kiss and you snicker when Mark follows your lips, his own still puckered and waiting for you to return. You give him one quick peck before announcing you two should probably wait inside, making sure the engine is off and unbuckling your seatbelt to leave.

“Wait!!” The raised tone of Mark’s voice startles you and you jump when he reaches over to latch onto your wrist to prevent you from opening the car door. You freeze your movements, staring over at Mark with concern swimming in your eyes, wondering what’s going on and what was wrong for him to react in such a certain way.

You take note of the way his cheeks are tinted pink and how his neck is flushed, his chest raising and dropping frantically with each heavy breath he takes. His mouth opens and closes like a fish and the sight would’ve been laughable if you wasn’t too worried about his sudden outburst.

You watch as Mark struggles to form a sentence, the grip his fingers has on your wrist tightens as his head ducks down to his lap and your eyes follow slowly, widening as they see the obvious tent in his pants.

Your hand rips out of Mark’s grip as you slap it over your mouth to conceal your laughter which makes Mark grow even more red.

“Wait—I just—It’s like—I can’t control it!! It just happened!!” Mark panics, his hands waving in the air frantically before he grips the hem of his shirt, pulling it down to cover the bulge as he refuses to look you in the eyes. “I swear, I have no control over it, it just—”

“Mark, it’s okay” You reassure him as you remove your hand from your mouth, unable to hide the smile on your lips. Truthfully, you’re a little flattered that a simple kiss can make Mark react in such a certain way. It boosts your ego immensely and the thoughts that run through your mind are wild. 

He continues to act bashful, tugging his shirt down further but the friction of his shirt rubbing against the material of his jeans makes him still, his eyes widening as a stifled grunt seeps from his lips. 

“Mark…” You call his name softly and his head turns to look at you. You feel a little confident, maybe too confident as you say your next words, “Do you want me to help you?”

He blinks at you, “Wh—wait, what? What do you me—wait, no, oh my god, you don’t have to do that!! Just give me a few minutes and I’ll be—jesus christ!”

Mark curses loudly when you decide to bravely place your hand on his thigh, squeezing the flesh beneath your fingers as you lean closer to him. His eyes dart between your hand and you nearing towards him, unsure of where to look until your nose is barely brushing against his own.

“Do you want me to suck your cock?”

Mark swallows thickly and blinks, seeming not to trust his own voice as his head slowly bobs in a short nod, letting go of his shirt and dropping his hands to the side limply, watching as you work at the button of his jeans, popping it open and carefully dipping your hand beneath the waistband, cupping him through his boxers.

He exhales deeply, relaxing into the seat as he watches your ministrations with half-lidded eyes, bottom lip tucked between his teeth with his fists clenched at his side. You’re giddy as you free his hard cock from the restraints of his boxers, the size of him sending a buzz to your core and you meet his eyes with a surprised grin.

“What?” He questions with a quiet voice.

“Nothing. You just got a pretty cock to look at” 

Mark sheepishly smiles, unable to look you in the eyes as his chin tucks into his chest, cheeks dusting a slight pink once again but his mouth pops open with a short gasp as you slowly begin to pump his cock, hovering your lips above his cock and letting a wad of spit sit at the tip, using your thumb to smear it over the slit and head of his cock.

The sound of him whispering curse words through airy gasps is enough to urge you downwards, taking his tip into your mouth for a hesitant taste before pushing your head further down, taking his cock down your throat and swallowing around him as best as you can, wrapping your fist around the base.

“Oh my—fuck, oh my god” Mark whimpers out loud, pressing his fists to his mouth and biting down on his skin. You struggle not to smile at the effect you have on him as you bob your head, exaggeratingly moaning to send vibrations down his cock and his hips jerk upwards, a guttural sound coming from your throat as he accidentally chokes you with his movements.

He babbles out apologies after apologies, his hand coming down to affectionately smooth the back of your head, his fingers getting tangled in your hair and he tugs without realising when you hollow your cheeks around him, the burn on your scalp sending a shiver down your spine.

“Feel good?” You ask him once you let up for a moment to breath, using your hand to jerk him off as you look up at Mark who’s eyes struggle to stay open and he nods, untangling his fingers out of your hair to cup your cheek, his thumb pulling at your bottom lip and you lay a gentle kiss on the pad of his thumb. He smiles at that, head lolling to the side and resting against the foggy window.

You completely forget that you’re currently giving Mark head in a public parking lot and usually, under any different circumstance, you’d stop everything and probably drive away out of pure embarrassment from possibly getting caught. But seeing the euphoric look on Mark’s face and how strangely nice it feels to have him in your throat, you don’t care. You almost wouldn’t mind anyone walking by and catching the two of you in this position. 

“I think I’m gonna cum soon” Mark breathes out shakily. “Shit—no I’m definitely gonna cum soon”

“That’s okay” You coo, sending him a sweet smile before you swallow around him once again, tightening your throat around his cock and he whimpers loudly, his hand coming up to rest on the top of your head again.

“Where—fuck—where do you want me to, like, cum?” He asks you, and you hope he gets the hint when you bob your head faster, his cock fucking your throat raw. Mark calls out your name softly, tugging your hair slightly to pull you off of him but you resist, shoving your head further down, your nose brushing against his stomach and he moans. “Wait, wait, wait… you want me to… you want me to cum down your throat?”

You hum around him for confirmation.

“Fuck… fuck that’s so hot” Mark whines under his breath. He allows you to do as you please as his hand falls from the back of your head to find your free hand that's resting on his knee, his fingers intertwining tightly with yours, his thumb dragging over your knuckles in small circles and the second you squeeze his hand back, to tell him that you’ve got him, he cums in thick spurts down your throat with a moan.

He’s shivering and trembling beneath you but you take no notice when you’re too busy making sure you’ve swallowed every drop he’s giving you, sucking him dry until he physically can’t give you anymore and is begging for you to release him. 

His cock falls from your mouth with a plop and you sit up in your seat, glancing at the sun visor mirror like you did earlier before, stifling a laugh as you realise how badly you’ve definitely ruined your makeup this time, grabbing a few cleansing wipes that you had in your glove compartment, trying to clean yourself up as best as you possibly can even though there was no use.

Mark’s panting heavily beside you, his body jerking as he comes down from his high and he tucks himself back into his boxers. He buttons up his jeans as he turns to look at you and you meet his eyes when you finish wiping your makeup completely off.

“I think we missed our dinner reservation” You chuckle as you check the time. “Sorry”

“That’s a shame” Mark says. “I’m still hungry”

“We can go get takeout—”

“No. Not for that” Mark shakes his head quickly. “For something else. Something better”

“Better?” You repeat, raising your eyebrow suggestively as you lean back into your seat, crossing your arms over your chest. “And what would that be?”

“You”

©mrkis

[kyufessions]

downpour

synopsis: your boyfriend picks you up after your class

pairings: non-idol, boyfriend! intak x g.n. reader

genre: fluff

word count: 1.4k

a/n: intak 🥹 our favorite golden retriever. also, not proof read as of yet, too tired lmao. italics are text messages from intak. (requested here.)

general taglist: @jwnghyuns @eaudenana @soobin-chois

the one time you decide to not check the weather it begins to downpour during your economics class. every day you stay on top of the weather, especially since nowadays it seems to become more and more unpredictable. but today, of course, you went with your gut. and oh how wrong it was. you didn’t even have to look outside a window to know it was raining- the aggressive patter of raindrops were telling enough against the college building.

as your professor finished up the lesson early due to the weather, you quickly searched your bag for an emergency umbrella but to no avail. sighing, and mentally cursing yourself, you pull out your phone to check when the rain would stop. luckily enough, you noticed a string of text messages from your boyfriend that you assume he sent during your class.

i hope class is going okay <3

oh shit it’s raining. did you bring an umbrella?

i’ll pick you up after class, text me when you get out!

♥️ see you soon

smiling at the messages, you quickly call him as you swing your bag over your shoulder. within a few seconds, he answers with an excited tone.

“your uber driver has arrived in parking lot B.” the smile was evident in his voice, the thought of it bringing butterflies to your stomach.

“thank you, baby.” you say before hanging up to

scurry towards the exit to get back home for the day. you felt bad that intak drove all the way back to campus after leaving only two hours ago from his own classes, but at the same time you felt extremely grateful. if it weren’t for him you’d either have to get soaked taking the bus or take a thirty five dollar uber- both options not necessarily being of interest for you.

just as you approached the glass double doors, you notice intak’s red car in the pick up and drop off center of the parking lot. smiling foolishly at the sight of your boyfriend tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, you quickly run to his car with your jacket over your head. as the door opens up, intak jumps at the sudden noise and puts his hand over his heart for dramatics.

“hey baby!” you spoke, turning your head in his direction and smiling innocently at his heightened state. a small fit of laughter leaves your lips as you bring your hand up to cup his cheek, pecking his lips quickly before putting on your seatbelt. “thanks for picking me up, you didn’t have to.”

“it’s pouring outside, i wasn’t going to let you get soaked getting home. besides,” he starts pulling off, starting down the road towards your place. “i’m your boyfriend. it’s my duty to take care of you.”

you give him a look, a smirk playing across your lips as you lay your wet jean jacket across your lap to start drying off a bit. “i can take care of myself.” you respond in a teasing tone, your eyes admiring the way he looks behind the wheel. he might’ve just gotten his license a month ago, but he definitely didn’t drive like it. you felt safe when he was behind the wheel, despite him being a new driver.

he puffs out his cheeks as hd turns a corner, being careful on the wet roads as the rain continues on. “i know, but i love taking care of my baby.” as he hits a stop sign he quickly moves his hand from the wheel to your face, squeezing your cheeks as he quickly pecks your lips over and over before a car beeps at him from behind. “i’ll take care of you as long as you allow me to.”

inside your apartment were you, intak, and a mini fort built from couch cushions and any and all blankets available. originally, he was going to come in for a late lunch and head home. but as the weather got worse and thunder started to roar in the distance, you both decided it was best if he stayed the night. so within the past few hours, you’ve both made dinner and cuddled underneath the fort with food, snacks, and in matching pajamas you kept in a separate drawer for whenever he stayed over.

a few weeks ago you both had started a new kdrama called It’s Okay Not to be Okay. it’s quite depressing, but the storyline is beautiful and definitely keeps you both interested. thanks to the growing storm outside, you’re nearly close to finishing the show and are almost done with your milkshakes and popcorn- the ramen long gone at this point.

intak’s head propped up on your thigh as you ran your fingers through his hair as your other hand held on the edge of the popcorn bowl to periodically grab some. gasps and mumbled comments could be heard from him every few minutes, along with little giggles when the main characters would get close to kissing or getting together.

“i’m glad we didn’t take this long to get together.” intak says, his tone playful as he leans his head fully back to look up at you.

“yeah, because you made it obvious from the start.” you replied, smiling down at the boy below you. the way his hair was fading into a dark golden blonde made your heart flutter more than ever before, the color suiting his skin tone perfectly and making him appear more luminous than ever before.

intak noticed the sparkle in your eye whenever you looked at him, the sight never failing to upturn the corner of his lips even just the tiniest bit. “i did not.” a pause. he starts thinking for a moment. “did i?” he looks at you with wide curious eyes- eyes he knows you love.

you nod, a smile breaking out. “i’m glad you did though, i would’ve been too scared to make the first move.”

“why?”

you think for a moment before deciding to respond. in hindsight, you didn’t have anything to be scared of when it came to intak. he was so loving, so caring, so attentive. and he knew how to make someone feel comfortable around him. but truth be told, his beauty and demeanor can come across as intimidating at first. he’s so bubbly, so smiley. and everyone loved him. not that you yourself weren’t lovable but to an extent, you felt like you had to meet his standards to surpass them in order to even be considered as his partner. but you were wrong; he proved that.

playing with his waves, you lean down and plant a kiss on his lips. whenever your lips met his, as cliche as it sounded, sparks flew as if it were the fourth of july. everything felt right. the time, the place, the way your lips synced up together- perfection. nothing ever felt awkward between you two, even from the first meeting.

heart pounding, intak kisses back without hesitation and brings his hand up to your face and begins rubbing circles into the apple of your cheek. as you pull away, he swipes away an eyelash and admires your features for the hundredth time that day. no flaw could ever be detected from you- he truly thought of you as an angel. “i love you.” he admitted, the words spilling from his lips. your eyes widened for a second, taken aback by the sudden confession. “you don’t have to love me back, but just know i love y-“

“i love you too, intak.” you respond, cheeks heating up from this moment. suddenly the thunder sounded like birds chirping, and the grey skies were a clear sky blue with no clouds in sight as the sun became brightly visible. everything felt right- everything felt perfect.

melting into his touch, you place a soft kiss to the side of his palm before responding to his previous question. “you intimidated me at first.”

shooting up from his comfortable place on your lap, you watch his movements as he shuffled onto his knees to be eye level with you. “me? why?” the disbelief and curiosity was evident in his voice, making you chuckle at his cute reaction.

you shrug, unsure of why you even thought so in the first place. “i guess because of how outgoing you are? and pretty. you’re very pretty, baby.” you sit up on your knees and wrap your arms around his neck, placing a quick kiss to his forehead before laying your head on his shoulder. “not anymore though. now i just think of you as my annoying and dorky boyfriend.”

wrapping his arms around your waist as he laughs, he starts rocking you both back and forth as the rain continues to downpour outside. maybe, just maybe, the weather should become more unpredictable more often.

[moni-logues]

Even Though

Pairing: Hoseok x reader

Genre: friends/FWB(?)-to-lovers, smut

Summary: Hoseok comes running every time you call, even though he knows you don't want the same things. Unless, of course... you do?

Word count: 7.4k

Content: alcohol consumption/drunkenness, oral sex (m. and f. receiving inc. deepthroat and face-sitting), unprotected sex

A/N: It's almost Hobi's birthday, so have a repost because I won't be writing a new fic for it lmaooooo! This one has had a bit of an edit and I think is much improved for it tbh; I was always quite fond of this one (esp for having written it in one sitting between midnight at 2:30am lmao) but I've added a few bits and changed the ending so it feels a little more ~realistic I guess. I've also (I hope) knocked out the bajillion typos that I had left in it before whoops! anyway, enjoy!

* * *

You turned, huddled into a corner of the club, carefully cradling your phone against your cheek as if that would, in any way, block out the noise. The voice at the other end was quiet, groggy.

“Hello?” 

“Hoseok?!” you shouted into your phone. “Hoseokieeee! Can you hear me?”

“y/n? Are you ok?”

“No! I miss you! I miss you so much! I wish you were here; no one else is any fun. Can you come out, please? Come out and playyyyy.” 

You swayed on your feet and had to brace yourself against the wall with one hand, staring pointedly at a chip in the paint, studiously focusing on it, trying to get it to stop swimming in front of you, doubling and twisting before your eyes. 

“y/n, I was sleeping-”

“No! No sleeping! Come and play with me, Hoseok; I want to play.”

“How drunk are you?”

“Hardly,” you said with a snort, almost tripping over your own feet. “I’m basically fine, actually. I don’t even really feel drunk anymore.”

“Are you with people? Who are you out with?”

“I’m at work!”

“No, who are you out with?”

“Work! I’m at work with club at the people.”

“You’re at a club with people from work.”

“That’s what I said. But I don’t care about them... I just want you. I miss you. I want you. Please come out. Please, pretty please a thousand times.”

“Is someone looking after you?”

“Noooo. No one looks after me like you do. You’re the only one. You’re my favourite. Of all everyone, you’re my best one.”

You didn’t hear him sigh, didn’t see him rub his face with his free hand, staring up at the ceiling, facing off with the inevitable. He would come and get you. Of course, he would. That’s what he did. He’d come and get you and take you home and tuck you up in bed and leave water and painkillers on your bedside table and you’d tell him how much you love him and how much you miss him and you’d list everything you like about him and then you’d pass out and wake up in the morning and say you couldn’t remember what you said the night before. The texts would be right there in your phone but no one would mention them. Hoseok didn’t know if your amnesia was real or feigned but it didn’t really matter either way. 

He knew this is what would happen, and he knew that it would slice through his heart like a knife, but he agreed to come and pick you up anyway. Like always.

* * *

“Hoseok-y! Ho-socky and mittens! My yang-mal and jang-gab-yyy. You came!” 

You stumbled over to his car and made grabby motions at him through the open window. He got out and walked to the passenger side, opening the door for you and helping you in. You grabbed at his jumper and pulled his face close to yours. You sprinkled kisses all over his face as he tried to extricate himself from your clutches and return to the driver’s side. 

“-ease please please please please,” you were saying as he sat down, shut the door, and buckled his seatbelt.

“Hm? What do you want?”

“I want to kiss you, please!”

You took his hand in yours and kissed the back of it with a loud, noisy smack.

“Not while I’m driving.” 

“Plleeeeaaassse,” you insisted, leaning in as close to him as you can. “If I ask really, really nicely?”

“Not while I’m driving, ok? It’s dangerous.”

You groaned, frustrated, and threw your hands in the air. The world whipping by so quickly outside made you feel dizzy and then, suddenly, tired. The kind of drunken tiredness that was like an unexpectedly strong wave that knocks you into the sea, pulls you under. If you didn’t lie down now, immediately, you thought you would pass out. So you fumbled down the side of the seat for the lever to adjust the angle and flew back with an anguished wail when it tipped all the way backwards. 

“Are you ok?” Hoseok asked, eyes flicking briefly in your direction before returning to the road.

You were kicking your feet in the air, pressing your shoes against the roof of the car. 

“Hey, don’t do that,” he said softly, tapping your leg gently, encouraging them down.

Hoseok was just glad you weren’t trying to kiss him anymore. 

* * *

“Daisy, daisy, give me your answer, dooo,” you sang, with little consideration for your neighbours, as Hoseok half-carried you to your front door. “I’m half-crazy all for the love of you!” 

He carefully propped you up as he unlocked your door and helped you inside. As he shut the door, you took his face in your hands and continued.

“It won’t be a styyyyylish marriage! I can’t afford a carriage-”

A squeak interrupted your song as he lifted you, carrying you to your bed.

“But you’d look sweet upon the seat of a bicycle made for two! 

“Have we ever gone bicycling, Seoky? Can I ride a bike? I think so... I don’t own one, though, but we can rent them, right?”

You blathered on as he took off your socks and pulled the clips out of your hair and hung up your jacket.

“Come here, please!” you called for him as he brought you a stack of reusable cotton pads and your make-up remover. You took both from him and chucked them on the bed, then pulled him down next to you.

“I love you,” you cooed, rubbing your nose against his. “I love you I love you I love you.” 

You flopped back, head against the pillow, and dragged him with you. 

“I think you are the most best, probab- Stop it! Stop it!” You swatted at his hands as he tried to wipe your make-up off for you. “I don’t want you to do that. I want you to kiss me, please.” 

He turned his head as you reached for him and you kissed his cheek and his temple and his brow bone. 

“Hoseok-y, why don’t you want to kiss me?” You were whiny and pouting and your big, shining eyes were boring into him.

“You’re drunk, love.”

“No, I’m not!”

“Yes, you are.”

“But I still want to kiss you!”

He gently, but firmly, took your hands from his face and held them by your side. 

“If you want to kiss me that badly, you can wait eight hours and kiss m-”

“Eight hours?! No, I can’t wait eight hours! I can’t wait even eight whole seconds!” 

He wished more than anything that you weren’t drunk. He wished that you would be sober, sober and still this keen, still this loving. He knew wishes didn’t come true. 

You sighed, growling at the end, frustrated and pouting and pretending to be angry. But you did, at least, stop trying to kiss him.

“I just love you, that’s all,” you said, as he lay down next to you.

You turned on your side and pressed your finger against his bottom lip, flipping it up and down. 

“My name’s Hoseok,” you said, as if he were your ventriloquist dummy. “And I’m so pretty and I’m so smart and I’m so kind and I’m the best person in the world but I won’t let my girlfriend kiss m-”

Girlfriend. There was that word again. You wouldn’t dare utter it sober, and nor would he. He distinctly remembered the time he tried to get you to agree to a ‘date’ and how badly that went, so he wouldn’t dream of even thinking that word in your presence. But this wasn’t the first time you’d drunkenly referred to yourself as his girlfriend. Which was what made this all the more difficult for him. Somewhere, in whatever walled-off section of your mind (and heart), you were his; you were his girlfriend and you loved him and you were willing to let him love you. And the key to this little cage was, apparently, copious amounts of alcohol. So, you went out and you drank too much and you called him up and he came running because he loved that you need him, loved that he was the one you called even in the middle of the night. And you called yourself his girlfriend and he pretended for five minutes that it might really happen. 

“Just go to sleep, ok?” he said softly, tucking your hair behind your ear, pulling the covers up over you. 

“Not if you’re going to leave me.”

“No, I’ll stay. I’ll stay here.”

“Good.” 

You waited for him to lie down and then flung your limbs over him, holding him close to you, fisting his T-shirt. He kissed the top of your head and waited for you to pass out. 

* * *

You woke, in the morning (later that same morning), thick-headed and dry-mouthed. You chugged the glass of water Hoseok left on your bedside table, finishing it before you could reach for the painkillers, which you opted to dry-swallow and then immediately regretted doing. You unlocked your phone and grimaced as you noticed the time: it was 7am, which meant you’d been asleep for all of three hours. You felt ghastly but, somehow, also wide awake. You scrolled through your phone, looking through your fingers at the messages you sent last night. There were so many. 

You: Hoseeereeokkkkjjyyyy.

You: are ayou sleep?

You: I msiss you so mchu. I wish you wer hreeeeee. 

You: if u coome, I wlll love youf roever. 

You felt movement from the other side of the bed and rolled over, away from the embarrassment of your phone, to see Hoseok standing up. You watched him as he put his phone in his pocket, ran a hand through his hair once, twice, then turned around.

“Oh, you’re awake.” 

“Catching you in the disappearing act this time.” 

You sounded annoyed, but you weren’t really sure why. Just hungover. Probably.

He smiled and you wondered why he looked so shy. He was usually gone before you woke up, at least these days. Maybe he actually was embarrassed to be caught running out on you. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

You shrugged. 

“Like I drank an entire bar and then had three hours’ sleep.” 

“You should sleep it off; it’s still early.” 

You didn’t know what compelled you to ask, didn’t know why now was the time, but you didn’t have the capacity to filter your thoughts from your mouth.

“What’s the point of you staying if you always run off so early?” 

He blinked, taken aback. He replied slowly, hesitantly, almost reluctantly.

“You don’t like it when I overstay my welcome.” 

It was such a specific turn of phrase, you could hear a bell ringing distantly in your brain, as if you’d had this conversation before – though, if you had, you didn’t remember having it. 

“You don’t have to get up at the crack of dawn, though, just to get away from me. You can sleep in; you were also up at 4am so I’m hardly going to kick you out at 7.”

You thought he looked as if he was biting something back; his face was heavy with all the things he wasn't saying and you felt frustration settling on you, slowly taking the reins. 

“I don’t know why you bother, to be honest,” you told him, your lack of sleep and excess of booze making you sound meaner than you really intended. “Why get up, pick me up, take care of me and then just disappear? What’s in it for you if you don’t even stay for breakfast?”

“Well, it’s the only time you’re ever really nice to me, so...”

It hit you like a slap in the face.

“What?”

“What?” he threw back. 

“What do you mean it’s the only time I’m ever nice to you?”

“You and I both know what I mean. Take a look at your phone if you’re confused.” 

He turned and, after a second’s pause, started to walk out of the room.

“Hey!” you called after him. “You can’t just say that and leave! Come back here!”

He looked at you from the door and you almost didn’t recognise him; you realised you’d never seen him angry.

“What do you want me to say? We both know what this is. This...”

He floundered, looking for a word, betraying the fact that, actually, neither of you knew what this was, what had become of you.

“I want more than you will ever want; that’s a fact. I want what you can’t or won’t give me. I made my peace with that. But then you call me in the middle of the night and you tell me that you want me and need me and that you miss me and you love me and I come running every time because I know you will never say that to me sober, will never look at me in the cold light of day in the same way you look at me in the small hours of the morning. Maybe I shouldn’t. In fact, I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. That’s what I mean.”

Without another word – not that you could’ve managed one anyway – he turned on his heel and you heard the front door slam shut. 

He wasn’t wrong. You knew. You didn’t want to know but you knew. It had always been complicated between the two of you. 

* * *

A mutual friend introduced you because he thought you would like each other and he wasn’t wrong. But you hadn’t expected him to be so right; you were entirely unprepared for Hoseok. Entirely unprepared for the most perfect man to just waltz into your life and lay himself at your feet. You weren’t ready for that. You thought you would meet a guy who was basically fine (hopefully a little better than fine); a guy who would be fun for a few dates, good for a casual sort of arrangement, nothing serious. You thought you could see this guy and continue to sow your wild oats elsewhere. But Hoseok was different. 

You hit it off immediately. Yoongi introduced you at a party and you instantly connected, forgetting anyone else was there, talking all night. Drinking, too. When he offered to walk you home, you knew you would offer him a nightcap in your apartment. He knew he would accept if you did. Your memories of that night were slightly hazy but you knew the sex had been good because you had sent almost everyone you knew a message that was simply five mind-blown emojis. 

Hoseok had a party the following week and you were invited. He had been a perfect host and you had spent hours, desperately frustrated, trying to convince him to forget about all his guests and come rail you in his bedroom. By the time everyone else had left and he could finally give you his undivided attention, you had sobered up and your memories of that night are crystal clear. You had sent your best friend a text that read ‘I will never sleep with another man ever again’.

That was not a vow you kept. 

Hoseok was kind and caring and considerate in a way no one had ever really been with you before. It almost began to annoy you, the way he took care of you, looked out for you, thought of you when he passed something in a shop window. You had begun to feel claustrophobic in his affections; this wasn’t supposed to be a relationship. He wasn’t supposed to like you or, heaven forbid, fall in love with you. 

Your ‘dates’ had been casual up to that point because you had forced them to be. You would swing by his apartment after dinner with your friends or invite him over to yours when you had no plans for the weekend. When he had asked you, finally, to go on a real date with him, out to dinner somewhere, your response had been ‘why would we do that?’. That was when things had started crumbling. 

He had insisted you could keep it casual and still go out to eat together. He had insisted that it didn’t matter what it was called and, if you didn’t want to call it a date, he wouldn’t call it a date; he just wanted to spend more time with you. You had called your mutual friend and given him an earful for introducing you; you had got several earfuls back. Hoseok dropped the subject. 

Then he had started talking about a weekend away, going into the country, getting a cabin or something, going swimming in the lake and walking up the hills and stuff that all sounded far too romantic to you. You had asked him why the hell he kept insisting on treating you like you were his girlfriend. You had told him repeatedly and emphatically throughout that conversation that you were not his girlfriend. You kept telling him that you were friends and he kept telling you that he doesn’t fuck his friends like that. You told him maybe he should so he might lighten up a bit. 

You stopped sleeping together after that. Mostly. Kind of. You hung out more often and you thought that maybe you had been right, maybe you were just friends and you told yourself that this was probably the ideal outcome. But a few weeks later, at another party, you had both got drunk and immediately sought each other out across the crowded room and left without so much as saying goodbye. You tumbled into bed and you cursed yourself for ever giving this up, for ever thinking you could go without him. Until the morning came anyway. 

This happened a few more times and, each time, you grew colder and more distant in the morning. Hoseok wasn’t stupid and it wasn't as if he thought you would magically change your mind about dating him if only you had sex just one more time, one more time, but he wasn’t expecting you to behave the way you did. He had asked if you could at the very least not be rude to him, and you had shot back that overstaying one’s welcome was also considered rude and maybe he should think about that. He decided he wouldn’t sleep with you again.

It happened a few more times after that, too. Then he decided to give up drinking around you. It would’ve been easier to just cut you out, take you out of his life completely, but he was too far gone to do that. He would walk over hot coals for you; he knew it and so did you. 

* * *

You woke again much later that morning and thought about what Hoseok had said. You dialled Yoongi’s number.

“On a scale of 1-10,” you began as soon as he picked up the phone, not even bothering with a greeting, “how much of a dick am I to Hoseok?”

“Hello to you, too.”

“Please just answer the question.”

“Ok, well, what’s included on the scale? Does the worst include like, violence and murder?”

“No! Obviously not. Just like, for normal friends, scale of 1-10, how badly do I treat him?”

“Is 10 the worst?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, then 10.”

“What?!” 

“I don’t know what you want me to say. Everyone knows. You know.”

“I’m not that bad, surely.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Well then why haven’t you done anything? Why would you let your friend treat your other friend like that?”

“Well, firstly, because I don’t actually control you. Secondly, you may recall that we have spoken about this on a number of occasions and I have always made it very clear that you are being a dick and you are hurting his feelings and always told you that you need to stop dicking him about. But like I said, I don’t control you. And I don’t control him, either. I have also had numerous conversations with him about you and I have told him he deserves better-”

“Hey!”

“Are you seriously trying to argue with that?” 

“Well-”

“Exactly. I don’t know what answer you wanted from me but, of course, the answer is 10. On a scale of 1-10, you absolutely treat him the worst.”

“Surely he takes some responsibility for it at this point.”

Yoongi interrupted you before you could say more.

“Don’t you dare go there. You are my friend and I am saying this because I do actually value you as a person and, this aside, I do think you’re a decent person: you are treating him like a cunt and he deserves better and, if you were anyone else in the world, I would’ve cut him off from you months ago and literally kept him under lock and key to keep him away from you if that’s what it would’ve taken. 

“That said, I’m glad you’re asking the question. I hope this means you’re actually giving it some thought? You’re actually considering his feelings now? Considering your own, maybe?”

“What do you mean my own?”

“Your own feelings for him.”

“I don’t have feelings.” 

Yoongi hummed non-committally and you could almost hear his eyes rolling through the phone.

“Well, anyway, let me repeat one more time for the record that you are a total dick to Hoseok and you should treat him better.”

“Thanks very much.”

“You’re welcome!” he rang off brightly, ignoring the sarcasm of your comment. 

* * *

You were grumpy and hungover and tired and feeling unsettled, disturbed. It had been some time since you and Hoseok had discussed anything to do with... whatever it was that you were or had been or wanted to be, and it always made you uncomfortable. You did know, really, deep down, somewhere you tried not to look, that you were treating him badly, and on days when the hangover anxiety was at its worst, you felt sick with guilt about it. But you also felt sick at the thought of more. He wanted so much of you. More than you felt you had to give. He saw things in you that you were sure just weren’t there. And you didn’t want him to see the things you kept hidden, the dark things, the bad things, the things that would make him turn and run for the hills if he knew. He was too good for you and it scared you and it hurt you and you chose, simply, not to address it. To run away from it as far as you possibly could, which, when you’d had a drink or six, was not very far at all.

You showered to try to wash the discomfort away; you stuffed yourself full to try to distract yourself from the anxiety in your guts; you, briefly, considered drinking again but the thought brought bile to your throat. You stared, unseeing, at the TV, ostensibly watching a drama, but really replaying your own, real-life drama over and over in your head.

You wanted to be reasonable about it but the guilt and embarrassment and anxiety curdling in your gut made you feel sick and you couldn’t face it, so you chose not to be reasonable. You kept butting your head up against the fact that, if he really hated it that much, he could just not answer your calls. Sure, you could stop calling him, but you only did it when you’re drunk and who had that level of self-control after that many drinks? He didn’t have to come and get you; he didn’t have to walk you into your apartment; he didn’t have to put you to bed. He did all of that on his own. And maybe if he actually slept with you, it might've made a difference...

You tossed that thought aside because you knew both that it wasn't true and that you would not want to be anywhere near someone who would soberly fuck anyone even close to as drunk as you usually got. Hoseok was not that guy. 

The more you thought about it, the more annoyed you got. You knew that you couldn’t really think straight; you were not at your best right now, but you were annoyed. You were annoyed that you had to be tired and hungover and thinking about this. Why couldn’t he just keep it simple for you both and leave you alone? Or, at least, ignore you when you didn’t leave him alone? You felt like he was making his feelings your problem. And you were done with it.

* * *

You stood outside his door, hesitating. The taxi ride over had taken just long enough that your immediate anger was subsiding and a tiny part of your rational brain was waking up again. Then you thought about the texts you sent him last night and were so embarrassed at yourself that you needed to feel something else: guilt, shame, anxiety, anything would do. You hammered at the door. 

Hoseok opened it and looked surprised to see you, but nevertheless stepped back to let you in. 

“What’s up?” he asked. 

“We’re finishing this,” you told him and he looked at you blankly. “We’re finishing this now.”

“What do you mean? Finishing what?”

“This!” 

You gestured frantically between the two of you.

“I’m fucking sick of this!” you cried. “You want me so fucking badly? Then why don’t you do something about it?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m saying do something! I’m not drunk anymore! Why don’t you do something?” 

“Listen to what you’re suggesting. We’ve done that. And it’s ended up with us here. How do you think doing it again is going to lead somewhere different?”

You opened your mouth to argue but he wasn't finished.

“Besides which, I don’t want to just ‘do something’. That’s the whole problem. We’re in this because I want more than just something, I want more than just sex and you don’t. And when I made it clear to you that I wanted more, you ran for the fucking hills. Before you came running back, that is.”

You were surprised because he’d never argued with you like this before. You realised, with a lurch, that he’d never been angry with you before. You couldn’t put a name to what it made you feel; you were too busy swimming with frustration and anxiety and anger to be able to think clearly. You just knew that this was different so, maybe, this was good. 

“And why do you let me back, then? If I’m so awful and I treat you like such shit, why do you pick up?”

“I already told you. And you don’t need to tell me I’ve lost my fucking dignity and pride; you don’t need to tell me that I should be better than that, that I shouldn’t be begging at your table for scraps. I already know. Trust me, no one is as sickened by me as I am.”

“Sickened? Wanting me sickens you, does it? I sicken you, do I?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Fuck you, Hoseok.” 

You stalked closer to him, stuck a finger hard against his chest.

“Fuck you for putting that on me,” you spat. 

The world held its breath for one second and, the next, you were tangled up in each other, his mouth finally on yours again, his hands against your skin, yours in his hair. He lifted your T-shirt over your head and you sighed as his fingers grazed your nipple, quickly teasing it to a tight bud. You pushed down his trousers and he stepped out of them, pushing you backwards until your legs hit the sofa. He ripped off his own top before guiding you down until you were lying on the sofa with Hoseok at your feet, tugging on your jogging bottoms. You tilted your hips to allow him to pull them off and he brought his hands up to relieve you of your underwear. 

His eyes were black, darker than you’d ever seen them and he looked at you like you were in trouble, like he was imagining all the things he could do to you. You gulped and arousal pooled in your core; you were suddenly desperate for him, clawing at him until his mouth was on yours so you could taste him one more time. You palmed him through his boxers and he groaned into your mouth, swearing softly as he pulled away.

You were tingling all over with anticipation as he trailed kisses down your neck and onto your chest. He licked a broad strip across the mound of your breast and bit down hard on your soft flesh. You whimpered and arched your back into him, urging for more. He clamped his teeth around your nipple and sucked, rubbing his tongue over the stiff nub and you shivered.

“Oh god,” you whispered. You had forgotten it was this good. 

“Touch me, please,” you asked quietly. You didn’t want to break whatever spell was over you, but you were aching with a desire so strong, it almost hurt. And you knew how much he liked to hear you beg. “Please, Hoseok, please touch me.”

“Why should I give you what you want?” he asked, looking up at you through half-lidded eyes, his mouth slack, breathing heavy, voice rough. “When do I get what I want, huh?”

“Anything. I’ll do anything, please.”

If you had both been thinking with your brains, you would both have known this was not true. Your brains were, however, otherwise indisposed.

Hoseok sat back on his knees, looking at you, a small smirk at the corner of his mouth. He stood, briefly, to discard his boxers and then he looked down at you, slowly pumping the thick length of his hot, stiff cock.

You were on your knees in an instant, replacing his hand with your own. You brought your open mouth to his tip, softly licking across his slit, keeping your eyes on his as you wrapped your lips around him and sank slowly, slowly down his shaft. He grunted when he hit the back of your throat and outright moaned when you kept going.

“God, I’ve missed this mouth,” he said, his voice tight and gruff. He gripped your hair with one hand and slowly pulled you back. Then he kept your head still as he thrust back in, still slowly at first, gentle almost, and then, when you moaned around him, faster, and then harder when your fingernails dug into his thighs. His eyes never left yours, even though yours were swimming with tears and he was no more than a blur above you. He was always looking at you. Until his eyes fluttered closed and you knew he was close to coming, could see it when his eyes opened again, piercing in their intensity; you could feel his cock twitch in your mouth and you tapped his leg, signalling him to stop. 

He fell from you in an instant and you pushed him onto the sofa.

“Don’t think you’re the only one who gets to have their fun,” you told him.

You pushed him back until he was lying and you pinned him down with your knees either side of his head. He was impatient, wrapping his arms around your legs and pulling you down to him, your core wet and dripping over his mouth. He looked at you, making sure your eyes met as licked through your folds.

“Fuck,” he moaned. “I forgot just how wet you get. I’m going to fucking drown in you." 

He licked into your centre, drinking you in, taking you for everything you’d got while you rolled your hips against him, rubbing your clit against his nose, desperate for contact, for friction. You heard him chuckle low in his throat and you whimpered.

He was impatient to get started but he liked to take his time with you. He wanted you to beg: beg him to start, beg him to keep going, beg him to finish you off. He licked languidly through your folds, he sucked, he nipped, he returned again to fuck you with his tongue, all while you shivered and whined above him, pleasure building in you, urgency mounting. You grabbed his hair with both hands and tried to hold him still so you could direct yourself above him, but he was stronger than you and his arms kept you in place. 

“Hoseok, please. Please, I need to come.”

He hummed against you and you tugged on his hair. 

“Please, please.”

You tried harder to grind against his face, your clit throbbing and burning under the absence of his touch. He held you still. His face was buried in your cunt and you could just see his eyes, glinting at you, watching you fall apart under your desperate need for him. 

“Hoseok,” you panted. “Hoseok, please.” Your voice broke as your desperation peaked, every part of you alert and armed, like tinder just millimetres from a flame. 

He finally sealed his lips around your clit and you went up like a bonfire, ecstasy roaring through you, consuming everything. You were hot and sweating and writhing on top of him as he licked and lapped and sucked at you, pulling sounds out of you that only he could: loud, desperate, animal cries and his name over and over and over again. 

It was only when you let loose his hair and your legs quivered either side of his head that he loosened his own grip on you and you flopped backwards, lying on top of him with your head on his hip. 

“See how good I am to you?” he asked, wiping his mouth, sliding out from underneath you, towering over you once more. 

“Yeah,” you whimpered. You nodded. “Yeah, yeah, so good.”

“But you don’t fucking want me.”

“Yeah, I do. I do, Hoseok, god, I do. Please.” 

He rested his hands against the arm of the sofa above your head and lowered his face to yours.

“You know that’s not what I mean,” he said low, menacing.

He kissed you lightly and you lifted your head to meet him again but he moved too far off. He knelt over you, his heavy cock resting on your mound, and considered you for a while. This wasn’t usually part of your game and you were impatient, still needy for him, remembering the way he split you open, the glorious stretch of him inside you, the fluidity and power with which he moved. 

“Fuck. What do you want from me?” you asked.

He tipped forward, back over you, hands either side of your head, his face so close, you could barely see him. He moved and kissed you lightly just below the ear.

“Everything.”

He stood and put on his boxers and you were overwhelmed with anger again. 

“For fuck’s sake, seriously?!” you shouted, hitting him with a scatter cushion. “Are you fucking kidding?”

He turned to you, pulling his trousers back up and shrugged.

“No, I’m not kidding. I told you. I want everything. I want you, all of you, even this shitty part of you that treats me like crap, even the part of you that tells me you love me and then pretends to forget all about it in the morning, even the part of you that pretends to be sickened by the very idea of being my girlfriend, despite the fact that you refer to yourself as mine in the dead of night. Even your excessive drinking, even your emotional constipation, even your big, fat heart that you try to hide from everyone, even your insistence that you don’t give a shit despite giving a hell of a lot of a shit all the damn time, even your stupid fucking determination to do everything by yourself even when you actually need help, even your terrible taste in films and those god-awful reality TV programs you like, even your snoring, even your back turned back against me. All of it. All of you. I fucking want all of you, all the fucking time.” 

You stared breathlessly at him as his chest heaved, his breathing ragged. Your heart was in your throat, blood roaring in your ears. He was waiting for you to say something but you’d lost the ability to speak. Words flew into and out of your head without your being able to catch any of them. You couldn’t think. Your mind was buzzing, static blaring, nothing but white noise. You could only stare at him, bewildered, overwhelmed, utterly naked. 

His breathing slowly settled and he rolled his eyes and turned away from you. 

“Of course,” he muttered under his breath. 

He was walking away from you and you knew you had to stop him. Your brain had no capacity to filter anything on its way to your mouth and you said it before you even really knew you were feeling it.

“I love you. I fucking love you.” 

He turned quickly and watched you, wary, unsure. You didn’t let yourself think anymore. You staggered to your feet and took his hands and pulled him close to you. 

“I fucking love you,” you said again. “I love you, ok? And I'm not drunk this time and fucking fine, if I’m such a piece of shit but you still want me, then fine. Fine. Have me.” 

He was still looking at you, looking into your eyes like he was trying to solve a riddle.

“I’m not fucking with you. I’m not lying. I want you. I want you and have always wanted you and always wanted not to want you as much I do because you’re terrifying. Ever looked directly at the sun? Ever looked at the fucking face of god? ‘Cause I have and it’s you. Ok? It’s you. When I get drunk and I call you and I tell you that I love you, it’s true – that's true. It’s only you I call.” Your skin was hot, flushed, but from embarrassment now, from feeling skinned, raw, exposing yourself in a way that you never did, never wanted to. Your voice broke and you desperately didn’t want to cry, didn’t want this to be more embarrassing than it needed to be, didn’t want him to see how pathetic you really were even as you were telling him. “It’s only you I want. And it’s only when I’m not sober enough to fight myself that I can admit it. I’m a piece of shit and you’re a literal angel, a fucking god, but fine, if you really want to have me, have me. I’m yours.” 

He gently nudged your nose with his and whispered your name, his eyes carefully watching you. Then he kissed you, soft and slow, and wrapped his arms around you. His hands wandered, exploring your body, caressing any part of you he could reach, as his tongue rolled with yours, as you raked your fingers through his hair, as he moaned into your mouth, as he picked you up and took you into the bedroom. 

He lay you gently on the bed and slipped off his clothes once more. He covered your body with his and pressed kisses into your neck. Then he bit down and you keened, arching your back into him, suddenly violently, urgently aware of the slick between your legs, of your fluttering walls, desperate for him now. 

“Please, Hoseok,” you whispered. “Please fuck me, now.”

This was where you were comfortable. No more talking. Just Hoseok with his body over yours, his soft skin and softer lips, his nimble fingers and strong body, his eyes black as pitch as he looked at you like you were prey.

“Gladly,” he whispered back, his lips just grazing yours. 

He pressed himself against your entrance, eyes flicking between your face and your cunt as he watched himself disappear into you and watched your face, lest you betray any sign of pain or discomfort. But there was none. There was only the perfect, overwhelming fullness of him inside you and then the tight drag, feeling every contour of his cock, as he pulled back and thrust in again. 

“God, no one compares to you- fuck...”

He liked to watch your face as you whined and whimpered beneath him when he lifted your legs, pushing against the backs of your thighs, hitting you deeper, harder. You were hot and sticky everywhere; your skin was slick with sweat, your cunt slick with arousal. Every part of you was fit to bursting, coming apart at the seams. You felt like a dam about to break and then he took his hand down between your bodies and pressed hard, the motion of his thrusts knocking his hand until you were crying out for more, much more, crying out that you were close, crying out please, please let me come, let me come. And he did. The flood engulfed you; you were pulled through a riptide of pleasure, unable to scream, unable to breathe, suffocating in the swirling pool of your orgasm. Hoseok kept going, fucking you through your climax until he was coming, too, painting your walls white, falling under the surface of ecstasy with you. 

He fell down next to you and you lay, quiet save for your heavy breathing. When he took your hand in his, you let him, despite the thrum of anxiety in your heart.

“So,” he said, and he looked nervous when you turned towards him.

You were nervous but you’d said it now. And you’d missed him—you had. And Yoongi’s words were ringing in your ears, about your feelings, about how badly you treated Hoseok, and words from much, much longer ago, about how much you’d like him, what a great guy he was, how much Hoseok had liked meeting you, how much he liked you.

He was waiting for you to speak, not daring to go first. You looked down at your joined hands, looked up at the ceiling, looked at his face.

“I’m,” you began, your voice quiet and croaky. You cleared your throat but still didn’t know what words were going to come out. “I’m… I don’t know what to do.”

“What do you mean?”

He rolled onto his side, facing you, and you took your hand from his so you could use both to cover your face. You gave a frustrated sigh and slapped them onto the mattress on either side of you.

“I don’t know how to be a girlfriend. Not to you.”

“’Not to me’? What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing! That’s my whole point!”

You squirmed, embarrassment heating your cheeks again, and ended up on your side, facing him.

“There’s nothing wrong with you and it’s… intimidating. I’m not like that. You said it yourself. There’s a lot wrong with me and-”

“That’s not what I said. I actually think you’re perfect.”

You blinked, stunned into silence.

“But you said all those things.”

“I still think you’re perfect. Even though I said all those things, even though you do snore and even though you have handled this situation in about the worst possible way and even though it’s hurt my feelings. Even though all of it. I still think you’re perfect and I still love you.”

You turned onto your back, staring at the ceiling, blinking away fresh tears.

“I think you’re crazy,” you told him.

“There you go; there is something wrong with me after all.”

He leant over you and cupped your cheek with his hand. When he kissed you, it was soft and sweet and it wasn’t going to go anywhere—nor did you need it to.

“I don’t want to get it wrong,” you whispered to him, his face still close to yours, his breath fanning over your face.

He shrugged lightly.

“It’s ok if you do. We can’t be right all the time.”

“You’ll still love me?”

“Yes. After all this, I still love you. I’ve tried not to, I promise. So, yes, I will still love you if you get it wrong. As long as you love me.”

“I do.” You wanted to say it back, felt it stick in your throat. You swallowed hard, blinked slowly, took a deep breath. “I love you, too.”

He kissed you again, still soft, still gentle, and then settled back on his side.

“So…”

“So?”

“So can I actually call you my girlfriend now?”

You rolled your eyes playfully and couldn’t stop the little thrill in your heart or grin on your lips.

“I guess, if you must.”

He grinned back at you, wide, beaming.

“Yes, I fucking must!”

You thought that sounded just fine.

[sadie-bug345]

the gang on a road trip :3

i love this request sm!! LETS GO👇

ponyboy:

i feel like he’d try to read but when they’re all in the stupid MINI VAN TOGETHER HE CANNOT GET PEACE

also like reading on a drive can kinda make you carsick

and pony seems the type to get carsick i’m sorry😭💀

BUT i myself get carsick so it’s not bullying🫶

anyways he’s probably chill until someone mentions playing some roadtrip game like I Spy or smth LMAO

he seems the type to get actually triggered and annoyed during that game cause people *cough* dally *cough* choose stupid stuff (more on this later🙏)

johnny:

probably sleep or smth low maintenance

i just feel like johnny doesn’t need constant attention to feel appreciated yk

anyways he’d also just seem the type to carry on a goofy convo throughout the drive

like just RANDOM and it lasts for like hours LMAOO

people probably voluntold him to sit in the middle seat 😔😭

sodapop:

he the type of kid to yell the most random stuff out of context in the back of the bus😭😭😭

so that kinda translates to this

his brain goes like a billion miles per hour so if you aren’t steve or two bit chances are you don’t even know what they’re doing at this point

finds ANY source of entertainment

usually bothers darry with steve LMAOO

darry:

darry drives cause no one else is trusted😔

maybe lets steve drive cause who else is gonna take over at night🧐

DALLY? AW HELL NAH

anyways he drives and definitely gives the annoyed dad

like

”if someone kicks my seat ONE MORE TIME IM TURNING THIS CAR RIGHT BACK AROUND”

and then everyone’s good til dal loses a game of travel uno and punches his seat out of anger

and everyone goes quiet like 😟

and darry’s tweaking but ITS OK THEY STILL MAKE IT

dally:

rides shotgun

just a menace honestly

i feel like he dislikes being cooped up and bc of that he just is even more of a jerk

like pony thought itd be fun to play i spy and dally’s like “what a stupid game 🙄”

and then says “i see something….blue”

and everyone’s like “uhh the sky”

and just guessing EVERYTHING and dals like

“nope😼”

eventually he says “it’s the blood in everyone’s veins rn😀because blood is actually blue before it hits the air and oxidizes and then it turns red🤷‍♂️🥰”

and everyone’s like 😐

and he is just like “well last week pony had a bio test and he wouldn’t SHUT UP ABOUT THAT FACT SO”

two-bit:

honestly just doesn’t stop. talking.

which is ok cause my guy is funny ASF

BUT for people on their last thread like darry he’s just like 😤

anyways two is just making fun of EVERYTHING

like isn’t it funny that pony’s seatbelt still has the child lock on it

and that dally is getting found out for actually caring about what people talk about (ie the random fact he remembers pony talking abt)

honestly a blast

he suggests a lot of games and lowk destroys

steve:

just goofs off w soda CONSTANTLY

which is really funny

i feel like we underestimate how funny they are together

probably talks abt cars the majority of the way there to no one in particular LMAO

it’s ok cause when the curtis car inevitably breaks down halfway there he goes into

MECHANIC MODE

and saves the day🫶🥰💞

TYSM FOR REQUESTING!! my requests are opennn🫶🫶

[lukaherehelp]

Playboyy EP2 - Getting What You Want?

(feels ominous now)

Instead of commenting as the episode progresses, I'm going to go straight to analyzing everything that has caught my attention. Fasten your seatbelts, this is gonna be a long one with no brakes!

SO!

Let's get out of the way the horniness first because it has me distracted. Yes, more shirtless Teena, yes to Aob's melons are out first two minutes buT I NEED TO GO UNHINGED ABOUT THIS MAN FOR A SECOND:

he fuckin pulls in wearing converse, leather pants and jacket, a white tee and while still wearing those fuckin nerd glasses while smoking a cigarrette and y'all want me to skip it?! And then we procced to learn that he was in this sugar daddy/sugar baby with master/slave dynamics with Nant (where idk if there were actual feelings or not) AND Y'ALL WANT ME TO BE NORMAL ABOUT IT?!

I'm taking Nant's place! I'm running across the globe to be his barbie doll, all the feminism in me has left, the traditional woman protocol is activated. Sir, how do you want your eggs in the morning? I get Fiat now when he said he would let Leo tie and lock him up, this man has awaken that in me.

... okey, moving on to my actual notes. Let's begin again:

PROM & PORSCHE

two bad bitches in one single frame, they are blood related.

This two are so fuckin sus that at this point I actually think they are yet another red herring (at least Prom). But I'm not talking about their involvement in Nant's disappearence right now, I'm talking information and dynamics:

Prom works in Playboyy, Porche is in charge of Miracle Car Wash.

Prom is the older brother, Porche is the younger one. Yet, Porche is out here ordering around Prom like he is taking care of a child. Either he is truly the baddest bitch on this show or growing up Prom was not the most severe brother against Porche taking in account how family dynamics in Thailand tend to go... Porsche has some balls.

Now, Porche doesn't want Prom to work on Playboyy anymore. He even states that he must hand his resignation due to Nant be back, which makes Prom smile:

Prom is obviously happy about Nant's comeback but also about his job, he ain't bending down to his little brother's wishes.

Is Playboyy also one of their father's business? Would makes sense that you put your eldest in charge.

Porche is coming out to be quite the ambitious boy, managing Playboyy would be a much more profitable and exciting job that a fuckin carwash, but Prom gets more from his job in Playboyy than just being the maître and a possible host.

Porche comments about how meeting up with Nant again can screw them over... Why? Because of their relationship or because of the clips Nant was sending to Captain? Was one of them with Prom? Is Porche looking into protecting the family name?

To continue with Prom for a little: as happy as he seem to the news of Nant being back, he doesn't seem that thrill when meeting Nont.

clever of you to go see him in Nant's white, Nont, but I do think Prom knows his baby better than you do.

Still don't know what the fucking dynamic is apart from what has being obviously stated before but here is when I slowly slide in to talk about

NANT & NONT

First of all, Nont has run out of info and is already slipping, I was fully expecting for him to come clean to First and Zouey during the breakfast:

a bunch of babies

... yet he didn't but found out important info:

the relationship (money wise) Prom and Nant had.

the clips Nant was selling to Captain.

that he's into kinky sex lmao

Seriously now, in what type of trouble was Nant in that all the money (which is not little) Prom was transfering him, combined with what Captain payed him for the clips, wasn't enough? And that's if the money is the problem.

Nont seems to think that Nant is death (so do I) and he could have fallen victim of a rough session gone wrong. Is a possible. It could be accidental.

But if it wasn't, if someone is behind it... Let's go with our only clear suspect right now: Porche.

what is the motive? could be from jealousy or pride. Is not strange for younger siblings to think their older siblings are out of bounds to their friends and Porche is a possesive bitch. If he didn't like Nant to begin with, him fuckin Porche AND getting paid by him would probably send him to the fuckin edge. It could also be a matter of family pride as well. Maybe he knew about the clips, or maybe knew about the relationship by other means and that could tint their father's reputation, therefore also his. Specially if the problem is the clips... that shit would spread like wildefire.

quick to scream at

CAPTAIN

My brother in sin... WHERE THE FUCK ARE THOSE CLIPS GOING AND HOW ARE YOU SO NON CHALANT ABOUT IT? SPECIALLY SINCE YOUR "FRIEND" IS INVOLVED IN THEM?

anygay, he's currently distracted with Puen and Keen and I can tell he's already planning how to get in Keen's pants to join the team...

I don't have much comment (for now) on Teena and Zouey since they seem to be in their own bubble and not involved in the mystery at all, but I'm going to address the elephant in the room:

SOONG & FIRST

My mind tells me two things: "well, this fuckin sucks" and "is a red herring".

We had them going at it with their fuckin shenanigans (never better said) for almost the whole episode. But we keep being reminded about how materialistic Soong seems to be:

First adores this man to the same level Zouey adores Teena, but his eyes are set somewhere else: profit.

Now, we can go to Denial, the river in Egipt, for a while and say that he's being thruthful about how he doesn't want people to think he's with First for the money... But he is. First is a giant bhath sign for him. Even when he goes to leave First home after their little "cosplay" adventure (ominous that they were dress as knock off versions of Ghostface), he just have eyes for the fuckin watch First has eventually given him:

so much so that he gets caught by First's dad

which makes me go into two theories:

either Soong is really dumb and for real has being playing First + he's straigh up a psycho

OR

as many are wishing for, after the massive argument First and his father had, and the knowledge we have that First cannot move out due to his father's controling nature, him and Soong are teamming up to con First's dad... which I also think is a dumb idea, but how cares for now.

or at least that's it for now... I'll probably write more and go in depth as we wait for EP3, but that's my investigation work for now.

Remember, my ask box and my dms are open if anybody wants to scream my way,

Luka out!

[tigtree]

hello!!! *offers you this fic i’m writing in exchange for your trc goldfinch au please* (whenever you have the time <3)

- @you-know-i-get-itt

hello!! yes!! i’m so sorry this has taken me so long, life’s been a bitch LMAO 😭 and THANK YOU FOR THE FIC!!!!! i just read it and you have such an incredible writing style, i always devour your fics! if you ever end up writing more for it, please lmk!!

okay, buckle your seatbelt because this AU is so scuffed and still remains unfinished (though i’ve been working on bits and pieces over the last couple of weeks) so i’m not sure how much sense this is about to make? apologies in advance LMAO

okay, so the snippet shared beneath read more is from the very beginning of the story… or the end, depending on how you view it. either way, it’s the beginning of the fic i’m working (slowly) on for this AU.

an important note about this AU is that the concept of dreamers/dreams is completely thrown out, because i was struggling to make it fit, and so instead of the Barns being full of fantastical wonders, it’s art. (which i’d argue is a fantastical wonder anyway, but like. not magical in a fantasy sense)

There’s an underground secret market for artists here, and Niall happens to be a pretty prominent figure. The Barns are full of sculptures and paintings and all kinds of artwork, though many of these fellow artists aren’t happy with Niall- he gets himself into some trouble over stealing art and reselling for a whole lot more money than it should have been. He does all of this under a pseudonym, manages to keep his dirty work anonymous, until they figure him out.

One thing leads to another, and Niall Lynch is found dead in the driveway by his middle son.

Aurora has been sick for a while, and the stress of her husband’s death contributes to the rapid decline of her health, meaning Declan has to step in to care for his brothers while their mother is in hospital. Declan had been helping his father for years with the scam- though he’d been morally against it in many ways- and knows that ‘the bad people’ will be back to claim all of the artwork from the house. He therefore packs it all away, and sets it on the drive with a note begging them to just take it, and please leave his family out of this.

Ronan views Declan’s hurry to get rid of their Dad’s stuff as an attack, a dismissal of not just his grief but of their father’s life. He secretly takes a painting from one of the bags- The Goldfinch- and stashes it behind his bookshelf.

I’m really aware that I’ve typed so much so I’ll be brief with the rest Aurora dies, and the freaking art mafia people realise there’s a painting missing- The Goldfinch- and Declan decides they’re moving to DC to get away. Ronan refuses, and ends up staying with Gansey for a while. Through Gansey he meets Blue, Adam and Noah, and things feel okay- until he returns briefly to the Barns and finds a letter containing both Gansey’s address, and Declan and Matthew’s address. He panics, makes his way to DC, confides in Declan about it, finds out they’ve been having ominous happenings relating to the art. Declan decides they’re selling the Barns and townhouse to move further, Ronan isn’t happy with this. More stuff happens, he ends up trading the painting with the agreement that Declan and Matthew will not be bothered again.

While all of this is happening, Ronan and Gansey lowkey have something homoerotic going on, and Ronan is tits-over-toes in love with Adam.

i’ll shut up now, but the gist of it is that The Goldfinch is a sort of physical manifestation of Ronan’s grief- he’s unable to let go of his father, of the past, but eventually has built himself enough of a support system to finally let go of his father and properly grieve. there’s also a focus placed on the small choices that build up, over time, into something more- the Butterfly Effect, and all that.

——————

It’s cold, this time of year.

Ronan’s hands shake as he fumbles through the junk drawer, his fingers numbly brushing over various wires, receipts and plastic soldiers as he hunts for a lighter. He knows there will be one in here- the centerpiece candle on the dining table was lit on what must have amounted to hundreds of occasions over the years. Aurora would send one of the children to this drawer to dig out the Zippo lighter they kept handy for Sunday dinners and Easter lunches, and would allow the chosen child- for she kept the names on a rota- to light the candle.

The lightbulb in the kitchen has stubbornly refused to emit any light tonight, and so Ronan’s not sure what he catches his hand on. He retracts it from the drawer with a hissed Fuck, presses the cut to his mouth and unceremoniously kicks the counter. His entire soul feels disregulated, like it’s jittering around within the confines of his skin, pushing and pulling and desperately attempting to claw its way out.

It’s like the painting had been fused to his very existence, and- with it gone- he’s missing a vital organ.

He braves the drawer again, this time proving successful as his fingers tighten around the cold metal casing. The weight is familiar in his palm as he hurries back to the sitting room, dropping to his knees in front of the wood burner and flipping open the silver cap. When he reaches through the door, twisting his arm until he can catch the kindling with the flame, he catches a glimpse of his reflection on the dark glass.

He can’t quite believe it’s himself. He’s grown since he was last in this spot, learning to light the fire with his father at his side, and something inside of him lurches at the bags under his eyes and the hard lines of his face.

He breathes.

Pulls his hand from the catching flames.

Shuts the metal door.

Doesn’t think about punching the glass hard enough that it’ll shatter, take his mind off of the painting, send his brothers calling, let them all live under this one roof again and pretend nothing bad has ever happened to them. Let them pretend they’re kids, watching over one another while holding down the fort until their parents return from another business trip.

He doesn’t think about the painting.

Which is to say that he definitely does think about the painting.

It’s a parasite- or maybe Ronan is the parasite. Hungry. Unable to survive outside of its host, feeding off of the thrill and the regret and the addictive nausea that overwhelmed him whenever he pulled back the plastic wrapping and caught even the briefest glimpse of canvas.

The little bird had taunted him. Begged him to set it free. Unchain it from its perch and let it go.

Ronan’s phone buzzes somewhere behind him, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t pull his eyes away from the flames.

It’s probably Gansey. Insomniac Gansey, unaware that Ronan has just ripped his heart from his chest and sold it for his brothers. Gansey, looking for someplace to ramble about kings or someone to hang out with or someone to tell him that he’s alive. Ronan had never understood Gansey’s occasional panic over whether he’s really here or not- if a person is capable of worrying that they might he dead, they probably aren’t.

Ronan kind of gets it now.

Still, he ignores the phone. He lets the heat settle on his face, draw out the dead chill from his bones, and thinks about what he’ll do tomorrow.

[starryficsfinishwen]

✧。◟[NSFW] ᴅʀɪᴠᴇ — wanshi x reader [PGR]

all we do is think about the feelings that we hide

a.n. - halsey thanks for this beautiful song (titled "drive" too), you gave me too much inspo and I love it. also I ended up listening to the whole Badlands album as I write this down lmao also here's to hoping we get an s wanshi soon!

pairing - wanshi x f!doctor

words - 3,476

warnings - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. MAJOR SMUT AHEAD: thigh riding, penetration, degradation (mentions of whore, slut), orgasm denial, creampie??. mean!dom!wanshi x sub!bratty reader. bratty reader because hehe. also a little exhibitionism down there. STRONG USE OF MATURE LANGUAGE. friends with benefits au! doesn't seem like this thing has plot kek just purely smut, I swear.

Anger has a vice grip on your throat.

Clawing and clamoring at the apex of your tongue, teeth gritting hard to prevent the profanity from spewing on your lips. Your shoulders shake as the events of earlier replay in your mind, fingers curled into fists that you feel your nails digging into the palm of your hand — it's raw; how anger bubbles like a pan full of boiling water, and you want to throw it away viciously into the source of your miseries.

Fuck the autonomy. Fuck the anarchy of your workplace. Fuck the Star of Life.

You wanted nothing more than to let the anger run wild and hope it won't make a home out of your hollowed out chest.

Fortunately for you, the ride you've been waiting for has finally arrived.

The clanking of your heels reverberates throughout the hall as you walk to your transport, but you no longer care if someone watches. Flinging the car door open, you throw yourself onto the chair, slamming the door shut. Your anger doesn't sizzle out, instead, it flares up the moment you catch a glimpse of silver hair in your peripheral vision.

“So angry today,” he chuckles, with a deep voice laced with grogginess, “where to, Princess?”

“Anywhere.” You flat out spoke, not bothering to hide the annoyance in the way you speak, “Just drive.”

He doesn't say a word; instead, he fiddles with the keys, the engine revving back to life. Staring outside the moving car, you find yourself swimming, bathing in the city lights of Babylonia's nightlife.

It stays that way: the occasional sound of the wheels passing through asphalt and concrete, his stepping on the accelerator, and the music of the Golden Age on his dashboard. You've long put on your seatbelt but twiddle the strap absentmindedly. You look away from the front, his gaze is on you. Your hands hold themselves into fists, his left on the steering wheel and the other on the stick shift. It doesn't quell the anger in your bones, it only feels too familiar. A routine, if you must.

“You must have done something.” His usual sleepy voice is unlike when he's serious and focused. It's a voice that brings a shiver to your spine.

“I haven't.” You huffed, “This is none of your business.”

“Said the girl who called for me to pick her up.” You don't miss the taunting smile tugging his lips, “You're a walking contradiction.”

“Wanshi.” The name goes as an echo in your head, as a shiver down there, “Did I not tell you to shut up?”

“Then, you shouldn't have called for me.” His voice is sharp enough to cut through silence.

It agitates you. The feelings resurface — anger, frustration, indignation — all crashing into something horribly beautiful, something that claws from the back of your throat to the inside of your thighs (you cross them together now, Wanshi doesn't turn a blind eye to it). Your anger resigns for a short while; your hand reaches and wraps itself on the hand on the stick shift, grasping and desperate to show who's boss.

“Drive,” you muttered, “Keep driving until I say so.”

Sooner or later, the scenery turns into something you're familiar with. It doesn't take long; the humming of the engine, the tale-tell sign of the starry night lulling into midnight, the ocean waves crashing onto the shore, the throbbing of your core aching and aching.

You hear the chair creak. You look away from the ocean. You look at the man instead.

Silver hair, refined jaw, pale face. He reclines himself on the back of the car door, legs spread out up to your thighs. He stares back at you, amber eyes illuminated with an emotion you've long recognized since you both established this contract.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” He whispered, “Use me as you like.”

It makes you rethink the contract.

But you're here anyways: straddling his thighs, your legs clenching on it as if your dear life depends on it, hands clawing on his hips. The medical gown you wore is now slung lazily on your chair, the first two buttons on your uniform already open as your cleavage is shown in all its glory, your teeth biting down on the hem of your skirt. You've long discarded your underwear (it's in his pockets, you're somehow aware), and you're desperately humping on Wanshi's thighs.

Whines of frustration escape your quivering lips, the anger in your bones twisting and turning, wanting to be transformed into pure pleasure. But such pleas fall deaf on Wanshi's ears, as his attention is elsewhere but you.

“Wanshi,” your call becomes a whimper, much to your chagrin, “Pay attention to me.”

“You think you deserve it?” He chuckles, amber eyes focused on the book he held, “After being such a brat? Is that how I should be treated?”

“You- ngh,” your pussy flinches, as it catches a part of his pants that deliciously rubbed your neglected clit, “I-I wasn't...”

“Work hard for it, doctor.” His teasing makes your hole quiver once more, the title somehow causing you to be more embarrassed with what you're doing with a man like him.

You've long noticed the tent in his pants, twitching whenever you cried out. Trying to relieve from its restraints, you slowly rubbed it, the outline surpassing the length of your fingers, leather wet from the constraints held somewhere inside-

Wanshi flicks away your hand. Amber eyes stare at you, to which you glare back.

“Fuck you.”

“I will, when you stop being a brat.”

Your ego, unfortunately, doesn't bow down to such a request. You want it raw - the thrill of sex sending your mind into overdrive, the grasps of hands you'd lose sensation from holding on too much. And so, you continue to grind on his thighs, wherever the mere journey of your escapade ends.

You look at him once more — Wanshi. BPE-47. Support-type construct. You've always known him as a reliable healer, for both humans and constructs. After all, he's been a revered war hero and nurse, someone who could keep everyone around him alive. But why is it now, he who made this contract with you, making you choke in the loss of pleasure? You don't even remember the details as to when you've both made this arrangement. All you want right now is just to be fucked full by him and him alone.

“Mm?” Wanshi's eyes flickered at you, and it made your heart skip a beat, “That's new. Did you only call me just so you can do this?”

“No.” You hurriedly said, the pleasure starting to seep into you, wetness coating a patch in his pants, “I...I was just thinking.”

“Say it, then.” He lowers the book in his hand, eyes now attentively looking at your every move, “I don't have all night.”

“I-I had to do 4 operations in two straight days.” You began, gritting your teeth, the reminiscent anger poking you incessantly, “The nurses were bitches throughout the operation.”

A hand crawls ever so slowly to your thighs. He rubs slow and languid circles, tracing up to the outline of your skirt. “Mm, then?”

“I told...I told them to be more attentive or the patient would deviate,” you see his hand caressing outside your uniform, twiddling the bottom buttons, and you swallowed, “but, ah- they didn't listen...”

He's opening the first button. With his amber eyes, he threatens to stop if you stopped talking. And so, you continue, “The-The doctors were assholes as well.”

You want more, the anger subsiding into something you've craved for: pleasure. He's being attentive, finally. The book was already discarded to the dashboard of the car, two of his hands unbuttoning your uniform agonizingly slow (his fingers would slip through, your torso shivering at his every touch). Although you've been talking about your shitty experiences at the Star of Life, they've become a mindless babble to you, mind occupied with the way his hands were exploring the expanse of your exposed skin as the last button is finally opened. Wanshi drags his fingers over your stomach, your sides, your hips- his fingers trail to your back, unhooks your bra fast, like how he has been doing for a long, long while now, hands now cupping your breasts, touching everywhere else there but the two neglected nubs.

“That's it?” His movements halt, causing you to whine, but his hands are still holding your chest, “Over trivial matters?”

You don't remember it being trivial. Ah, maybe it is, now that he's touching you, now that you're too hell-bent on wanting his touch for you. Wanshi looks at you, a free hand reaching out to your chin. His thumb rubs the outline of your lips, carefully staring at your contorting expression. He's always done this before- watching you as if memorizing your every move. Without a warning, he slips his thumb past your lips, toying with your tongue. Your hips stutter at the intrusion, as he squeezes your chest.

“You know, I never got to tell you this, you may look pretty when you're talking about your problems at work.” He glances at your lips taking in his thumb, before looking up at your irises, voice dropping an octave lower. “But you always look prettier when you're silent and sucking on something else.”

He matches the thrust of his fingers in your mouth to your hips. Pleasure rebuilds itself as knots in your stomach, his hands and mouth aiding as he latches on one mound, his other free hand fondling your other breast. It drives you wild and wilder, waiting for the right time to come, with or without his permission.

Yet, before you could, the sound of an engine draws closer, closer to where Wanshi had parked the car. Fear intertwines your sense of pleasure, pussy violently clenching around nothing, as your hips falter with irregular movements. Wanshi noticed it long before you, so before you could surrender yourself to the pleasure, he pulls himself away.

A regretful moan escapes your mouth, the telltale sign of the ruined orgasm causing the anger in your muscles to reignite. “What the hell-”

“I didn't tell you to cum yet.” He looks behind to see another car parked beside him. “Tsk, a shame.”

He says so, but he pulls you closer. It catches you off-guard, moaning out his name as you feel the friction of his bulge under your soaking pussy. “Do you want to be caught like this, doctor? Would you like to be known that an esteemed doctor of the Star of Life is moaning like a cheap whore inside this car?”

Your cunt throbs at his words. Tears threaten to spill out of your eyes, as you cover your mouth. Your face rests on his shoulder, eyes trailing as you recognize the car next to you. Two people step out, wearing the same lab gown you have, but you couldn't recognize the faces. Effortlessly lifting you up, he starts to unzip his pants. While he's at it, you can feel the outline of his hand under you, and you're sure he's purposely teasing you more. You grunt out in annoyance, to which he only laughs.

“So naughty,” he drags the zipper down awfully slow, “I should have known when you've already wet yourself in my pants. I wonder how my captain would react.”

He leans upward, teeth grazing your ear, “That a little whore has been playing with her toy.”

“Wanshi,” your mouth betrays you, a breathy moan calling out his name. You feel his thumb rubbing your overstimulated clit now, ruthlessly shoving a finger into your quivering hole.

“I'm not fucking you like this,” He whispers, continuing his ministrations as he nibbles your earlobe, “You've been so bratty lately, you're ruining the mood.”

Your ego is your Achilles' heel. You want it to crumble, you want it down, just to let him in. But instead, it makes you bite your lips to prevent moans from coming out, it makes you shake. Your strength has long disappeared already though, making you unable to shake away the hand that is abusing your trembling pussy.

“Fuck you.”

“Am I not doing that right now, darling?” Chuckling, he fiddles with your ruined hair, “We've long established that, haven't we?”

The two people outside of the car are laughing now. You're suddenly aware: the car windows aren't that tinted, and you know that they will notice the shake of the car. Wanshi starts to groan.

“Fuck- ah, you're squeezing my hand now. Did you think you'll cum that easily?”

“N-no, I-”

“-oh, or did the newcomers notice?” He starts to laugh, mischievously pulling his hands away, “I think you know these people, yes? They seem nice. Should we give them a show?”

“Wanshi don't be stu- ah,”

Without a warning, Wanshi sinks his cock into you in one fluid thrust. A loud moan of his name tumbles out of your lips, and he has to shove his fingers in your mouth.

You feel so full, so fucking full. You imagine it now, his cockhead teasing your cervix, girth pulsating deeply in your walls.

“You actually want to put on a show, huh?” You taste yourself in the fingers inside your mouth, albeit bitter, but you're too focused on his length that seemed to already reach the deepest part down there.

“[Y/N]- nngh, you're so tight.” He pulls you by the shoulder, smiling when he sees the look on your face, “...already fucked out?”

As if in a daze, you shake your head, “N-No...I-” Your whines grew into something pitiful, as you mindlessly ground your hips, desperate to make him move already, “Wanshi, Wanshi,”

He pulls his fingers away to grasp your chin, angling to kiss you. It's rough, it's soft, it's everything - the first proper kiss of tonight, you should've memorized it: his tongue, his lips, the outline.

“How pretty,” his chuckles passed through your ear and exited to the other, his eyes taking sight of you unraveling like this in his lap, “My pretty little slut.”

The slapping of skin. The sound of lips crashing onto each other. There are no lovers in this story. Only two individuals in one car, chasing the heights and highs of infatuation, drilled in the expanse of lust. One chases the thrill of sex, the other- no one knows. Wanshi could only behold this sight that only he can see alone, ingrained in his M.I.N.D.

His hand grips your hips, nails digging in so that he'll leave bruises in the morning. Latching on one mound, he sucks on it as if his life depended on it. Upon hearing your moan, Wanshi begins to thrust upwards.

“You like that, don't you, doctor?” A title that he's long forgotten in the past, now used for someone he adores, “I think you've done enough. Let me return your favor.”

He feels your pussy clench as he jerked to meet your movement. Low, breathy groans intertwined with whiny moans. You've probably forgotten your name now, as your mouth only calls out to the man fucking you full. Although he fucks you ruthlessly, his gaze seems gentle. Forget the world outside, or the people close — you endlessly chase this heavenly high.

“You're close.”

“Mmph, mmhm-” Your fingers find themselves tangled in his hair, your other hand holding onto his shirt. “I...I have o-one- ah, more request.”

“Say it.”

You looked up, exposing your neck. You've always fooled around with Wanshi, yet nothing but bruises hidden under uniforms and shirts. And right now...you're asking for something that seems different than the usual arrangement.

“Mark me,” you whispered, “please.”

It's a plead, not a request. But who was Wanshi to deny you, when you've asked so sweetly? Pulling you closer, one hand propped under your pussy and twiddling with your clit, Wanshi bares his teeth near your neck, breath fogging even your common sense.

“You will cum when I say so, [Y/N].” He hears you whine, “You better listen.”

You're listening all right. Not when the overstimulation clouds your judgment, not when you hear the suspicion on the outsider's faces, not when Wanshi starts to nip that specific side of your neck- you try not to cum. No, you were far better than that. You forgot that this was just an arrangement, a contract.

The first bite in your neck is painful, but it sends you to paradise. Your body shakes, an impending orgasm rushing to meet you. Wanshi wishes to extend his fun, but he knows you've done enough, too fucked out to make thorough judgments. And he hears the outsiders talk closer now.

“[Y/N],” it's warm, it's hot — your cunt, molded now into the shape of his cock, after being fucked by him multiple times now — he wishes he could stay that way, entrapped in your warmth, but he feels his own self-control wither, “I'm close.”

Your pussy trembles in response. With one last thought, he whispers in your ear, “Who's making you like this, hm?”

“W-Wanshi,”

Your last thought is white noise. His thumb rubs your clit messily, before the magic word arrives, “Cum.”

You do. Oblivious to the world, you come undone, come unraveled in Wanshi's lap, mouth babbling words that you would never say when you're sober. You forget you're a doctor, you forget he's a construct. You forget everything but Wanshi and his name.

Wanshi fucks you through your orgasms, the grip of your hand in his hair grounding him as thick cum fills your overstimulated cunt. He calls out your name, a low moan that echoes in your ear. One rational sense hears the outsiders going back into the car, seemingly driving away. The other is busy holding your slacked body against him, breathing into the afterglow.

You think it's ethereal: his messy hair, the golden glow of the streetlight haloing behind him by the car window, your bodies molding into one another, each catching your breaths. Your eyes grow heavy. You think you should wash away the cum that's stuffed full of his now-softening dick inside you, but weariness slowly consumes you.

When the dark consumes you, you feel a gentle caress on your cheek, paired something warm covering your naked body.

“Sleep well, Princess.”

Solemnity flutters in your chest.

The next moment you wake, your body is heavy. But your head is on something soft, a pillow propped under it. You try to sit up, but you realize a new set of clothes is on you.

“I cleaned you up, Princess.” Wanshi's voice answers the questions running through your head, “You were snoozing too peacefully even when I was dressing you up.”

He's now sitting properly in the driver's seat as if nothing hot happened to the both of you earlier. Amber eyes are trailed to the sea, the glow of the streetlight showing the contours of his face.

A faint blush dusts your cheeks, “Thank you...”

“Don't mention it. I think it's time for you to go back to work anyways, wouldn't want your patients to be left alone.”

As he starts the engine, you start to think. Did you want to go back to the Star of Life now? The night seemed so early, and you wanted to spend more time with him. It wasn't part of the contract, right? A tug in your chest begs to be noticed, wanting him to notice it for himself.

His hand is on the stick shift. You reached out and held it. He looks at you, and you stare at his amber irises.

“Wanshi,” you breathed, “kiss me.”

“...did I not fuck the brattiness out of you earlier?”

The blush on your cheek deepened. “W-Wanshi...!”

He laughs genuinely now. You tug on his hand once more. Looking at you, he silently licks his lips. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” You spoke, “Kiss me, Wanshi.”

He's the first to reach out and cup your cheeks. Doing the favor to lean closer, foreheads touching, you closed your eyes. You feel his lips - cold, soft, wanting to be warm - before he closed the gap.

This kiss is softer, sweeter now. You wondered once if this contract would morph into something better, something warmer. But his kiss is now something you could equally call desperation, a want distinct to lust. You've both waited for this. He tilts your face, only to deepen the kiss.

Hesitantly, you pull away when you part for air. You opened your eyes to find Wanshi's lips swollen, a blush mirroring your own. Your hand is still with his. He doesn't move away.

“I'll...take you back to the hospital now.”

“I want to stay with you.” You squeezed his hand, “let's drive for now.”

And maybe you would talk a bit more than just drive.

likes, shares, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! Please don't copy and plagiarize my work!!

[candygalaxyyy]

The TopMew book store/ RayMew call scene is one of my favourites in the whole episode, like it has set up these three’s dynamic so well. I’ve already rewatched it at 20 times. And here are my favourite details:

Mew gets a call. Top is obviously intrigued as he stares at his pocket, but pretends to not be interested by mindlessly flipping through the book Mew picked - maybe not completely mindless as the book is on all about s*x, Top’s fav pass time ;). Anyways, this shows their push and pull dynamic, Top is pushing by looking at him pick up the call, but pulling by seemingly not being interested. Mew does the same, by taking the call in front of Mew after seeing it’s from Ray (cause there’s no way you’re telling me Mew doesn’t know that Ray likes him, HE KNOWS). They’re both pushing and pulling, it’s all very calculated

Ray calls Mew to check on him, because he is concerned about Mew being with Top from last night. i also feel like Ray wants Mew to be concerned about him as well. Top now knows that Mew is speaking to Ray due to the content of the conversation. So he looks over, obviously curious and reads Mew’s body language and behaviour. It’s all in his eyes. Top also know that Ray likes Mew. Top also notices that Mew isn’t paying any attention to him in this moment, so what does he do…

He (loudly) interrupts Mew’s call, when he could of clearly waited for him to finish, but no he interrupts the moment he realizes it’s Ray on the phone. He does it so casually too, ‘like oh since you’re on a call I’ll just give you some privacy, but you must notice me first…’, think of me while i leave type of energy. Now we definitely know that Top knows about Ray’s crush, cause even in the trailer he always intercepts the conversation when Ray is around Mew. Now wether Top does this is out of ‘competition’ for Mew or pure boyfriend coded jealousy or both, we do not know yet (I feel like it’s both). But one thing is clear, it’s calculated as always.

Ray hears the second person, and asks who it is. Mew simply replies by saying ‘a friend’, which Top obviously isn’t given the smile/smirk he does as he says it. Ray, being the lovesick boy that he is, immediately connects the dots and proceeds to question Mew about it. His eyes are even widened and he tenses up, you can see this as his arm veins start showing. Mew dismisses the question and ends the call. I truly believe Mew knows how Ray would get if he mentions Top coming over and them almost f***ing, so he brushes it off to not have to confront Ray’s feelings

And then we are left with a annoyed, jealous, frustrated and curious Ray; he’s rolling his eyes and frowning so hard. He’s stuck in the friend-zone and is desperately seeking love from Mew. On top of that, he has a charismatic, sexy, straightforward asshole of a love rival, needless to say he is distraught. Even his seatbelt begins to test his patience, poor Ray (lmao to him still wearing the ‘poor boy’ shirt when this happens, also he got kicked out from Sand’s place only to get ‘kicked out’ from his call with Mew)

I just love how this scene sets up the Top-Mew-Ray dynamic and storyline. TopMew = interested in e/o and are in an intimate relationship (yes even at this stage). Mew and Ray = close friends, some could argue for best friends even, but Ray has a crush on Mew (and he knows this, but avoids getting into that). Ray is always going to be hung up on or left alone by Mew with Top in the picture. Top and Ray = enemies that have to act as friends, cause they like the same guy, just that one is the fboy boyfriend and the other is pining one-sided love. Ray and Top will always be at each other’s throats! So far, the subtle acting alone is making me so invested in this storyline and I can’t wait to see where it goes.

[sreppub]

im a different anon but YEAAS AHYES that reasoning for the RR au is so REAL!!! i recently described it to a friend that i think reverse robins bruce matures in a different way because he cannot Run Away from being a father by calling damian his ward. and that half of why I like it is bc i think rr!dick would have a bruce that was 100% ready to be a father to him. the bruce canon (or fanon like u said lmao) dick deserved to grow up w

it's all in good fun and i play with relationship dynamics like barbie dolls :)

I have a very long stream of consciousness headcanon about batdad below. Read at your own risk lol

my batdad constants, reverse robins or not: first kid has so much freedom. bruce isn't much of a parent, he vaguely knows kids should go to school and eat vegetables and it's probably fine to sit in the passenger seat if he has his seatbelt on, right? (bruce hasn't had his parents since he was 9, and while alfred loves him, alfred himself was not ready for parenthood and also straddles the house staff/nanny/father lines and so basically he and bruce love each other but They Are A Little Weird.)

The first kid teaches Bruce a lot, but Bruce is pretty easily convinced to an extra hour of patrol or an unreasonable purchase. (dont get me started on the money. dont tell me bruce is normal with money before the kids start putting things in perspective for him.) (Dick thinks Bruce's rich-guy-ness is funny, but mostly doesn't care. when something costs more than $100 jason is mortally offended.)

It takes a few years, but eventually alfred's pointed commentary on bruce's parenting skills (communication not great in this mcmansion) cause bruce to read those parenting books (+ mommy blogs depending on which kid) and by the second kid he is ON IT. this kid is gonna get SO dad-ed. in RR, that's duke :)

By the last kid, he's a goddamn helicopter, but also has a bunch of kids to like... delegate lol. once you lose a couple kids and go through trauma after trauma you start thinking maybe, RR dick should not be allowed on the streets until 16 at least.

RR dick is waaaaaay more spoiled too, because the others baby him and he EATS IT UP. I think Jason especially would be a total mother hen if he'd met recently traumatized baby dick while he himself was still baby.

So about Dick vs Damian, I think firstborn dick has an idea of what big families and parents are supposed to do (if slightly different due to cultural differences and. Circus.) and has no qualms correcting Bruce about What Kids Are Supposed To Do and Kale is Gross Bruce I Want Funnel Cake.

Damian did not have anything like a regular childhood lol. And I think he would go along with a lot of what Bruce does because for all he knows, this is How To Be A Wayne And Be Good So His Father Doesn't Send Him Back and also bruce promised he wouldn't make damian kill any cats so frankly this rules. bring on the kale.

because kids are resilient and I love them, damian may be a Little Bit Of A Brat and then goes through some big brother trials but comes out all right. is he a little miffed when bruce comes home with some rando? Yes. Is he a little snobby because he grew up a little assassin prince and bruce's privilege did little to dissuade that? Yes. But also he's had some empathy training in his years of living in non-assassin world and he CARES goddamnit.

(but lets not forget communication sucks in this mcmansion so it takes a minute)

[positivitylane112]

Warnings : None. YANDERE . Suggestive themes. Injury [?].

Word Count : 2.6k[2668]

Pairing: PAY [Pro Athlete Yandere] x Undercover [not really] Female Athlete Reader

Author’s Note: It's me again :) I am here today to share with you 1 of my SCENARIOS THAT I DAYDREAM ABOUT ON THE DAILY.[I feel like spoiling you today😻] each of them is gonna be separate because like I said , I don’t think I can control myself with how much I write and I may end up writing a whole novel. So before I end up doing that I’ll just write one and post it and then the next and so on. [look at me already going off script and writing everything] ALSO THESE ARE ALL SURROUNDING PRO ATHLETE YANDERE. He’s my favorite yandere 🥹❤️ [HE’S REALLY SUBMISSIVE AND BREEDABLE IN THIS ONE] Send some feedback !!! I would love to hear what you think 🥰 but one of scenarios I think about the most is bandaging him up when he gets hurt. This is also with Athletic Reader as well. Also MASSIVE shout out to @bxnnybtch for so much of the inspiration behind this wonderful character and this piece. Love you ❤️

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*GITTY UP YOU’RE IN FOR A RIDE . THIS IS A DISCLAIMER❗PUT❗ON❗YOUR ❗️SEATBELTS❗️*

Let’s say that one unfortunate day , you didn’t show up to his match , [as usual]. He’s heavily distracted by the loss of your presence that he’s just not focusing well. His mind is just not on the game and he doesn’t really feel like playing either. Until one of the other team’s teammates starts acting up. Trying his best to rouse him by physically hurting him as much as possible. It started off with just slight shoves and jams at first, but then he got his hands and feet involved.

Yandere doesn’t wish to fight back because he doesn’t think that it’s worth it. He doesn’t want to bicker and argue like little children so he tries not to fight back as much. To be honest he just wants to finish the match as soon as possible to go and find you. His whole day goes by without seeing you and every second of that day he wants nothing more than to bask in your presence and to delve into your arms as you run your hands through his hair and whisper sweet nothings into his ear. Every minute of his day that isn’t spent with you is a minute wasted. He does it for you , you know ? Working hard , playing as well as he can , just so you can see and be proud of him. Cheer him on , wear his number on your back , and praise him for how well he played.

But alas , he’s soon snapped out of his daydream as the other team’s teammate , the one which has been bugging him the entirety of the afternoon , comes by and *BOOM* [lmao 💀] bangs into him really hard [fucking hell ☠️]. Now he’s getting upset. He gets up as quickly as possible and starts to get back at him. Shoving him hard and cussing him out [maybe he could’ve just beat the living shit outta him there and just gotten rid of all his pent up anger , or maybe he’s just tired and wants to go home.]

Either way, he doesn’t seem to notice the steady stream of blood that was coming out of a gash across his kneecap to his calf. And the slight headache he had alongside a slowly growing ache on his lower thigh above his cut [on the kneecap] and the torn lip he had from constantly biting it in worry. Before he could though , coaches and medics run up to him and crowd his vision. Followed by a few cameramen who shove cameras in his face trying to get the best shot of his injury as possible. All of it being too much , overwhelming him. He wants nothing more than to shove them aside and to just walk out of this gymnasium and to watch you practice. Just to see you smile and hear you laugh with your friends [NOT HIM] but he couldn’t care. Just seeing you would be medicine enough for him.

But unfortunately he wasn’t able to do that as he was led into the medical room where a nurse came by and patched up his knee. Before giving him Advil for his headache. He listens as her steps grow more distant and sighs in relief. He just wanted to be alone in that moment [more preferably alone with you but you know , that wasn’t really on the menu so he had to improvise] He grabs his pillow and wraps his arms around it as he nuzzles into it. He would do anything to replace that pillow with you. He’s been craving your presence ALL day.

After a few minutes he decided to get back up , and limped out towards the now empty field. Oh no. The nurse forgot to bandage the bruise that was quickly forming on his thigh. Forgetting the pain of it , he walked out towards the side of the field and sat down on the bench. He knew you would be confused if he wasn’t there , and that you would get lost trying to locate him in the big headquarters of the field/stadium. And plus this was y’all’s destined meeting place. you always met here. He counted down the minutes as he waited for you to bust open the door and to greet him with the love and attention he missed today. He hears the doors open and he hears your frantic breaths and your out of breath-ness as you spill out apologies of being late AGAIN.

You speed walk over as you continue to ramble on about how you didn’t notice the time , how you had somewhere important to be [🤭😝] , and that you wouldn’t be late again. As you walk though , your steps grow slower and your mouth shuts as you pull your eyes away from the ground and look up at him with a confused look on your face. Normally he’s the one running towards YOU when he hears the doors opening. Giving you a massive hug as he squeezes you and tries to make up for all the lost time , rambling about how the game went , and how he missed you.

So how is it that today he’s sitting on a bench just short of a couple feet away from you watching your every move intently with a solemn look on his face ? Why is he just sitting there , eyebrows scrunched , eyes wide , lips pursed, and hair tousled ? You do a once over. Eyes trailing from his soft face to his firm chest and wide shoulders to his waist and v-line and down to his shoe clad feet. And that’s when you see it. The bandage on his knee. You rush to sit beside him . Your voice immediately grows softer and your touch is 100x more gentle as you pull him into a hug , one hand softly rubbing his back and the other on the back of his head. You can feel something went wrong as he clings to you , hands fisting your t-shirt holding you close. Almost worried that you would pull away.

“What happened?” You whisper softly.

“I don’t wanna talk about it” he replies.

So you don’t. It’s as simple as that. You try to move so that you both could be in a more comfortable position. Because you don't want to make him feel uncomfortable, seeing that he was kinda hunched over and into you and you sat straight and to the side. You put your hand on his knee as you tried to move him closer to you. That’s when you hear a sharp hiss coming out of his mouth. You IMMEDIATELY stop what you’re doing and pull him away so he can look at you. Frown on his lips and eyes glazed over. Apologies quietly slipping out of your mouth as you move him into a sitting position with his back leaning on the back of the bench. [it’s one of those park benches] You walk in front of him and crouch down inspecting his injury. You see the bandage. White with a spill of red in the middle , indicating that the wound had bled , meaning it was serious. Right where his athletic shorts ended , you could see a sliver of red underneath.

You looked up at him and with the MOST attention you could muster and said “can I …?” Indicating that you wanted to lift the shorts up just a tiny bit to inspect his swollen bruise.

Till now he hadn’t said a single word , just quietly taking in your presence that he had been denied of this whole day . He replies “m hm” nodding his head as well in the softest way he could. You could’ve sworn your heart burst out of your chest right then and there. You slowly and softly shuffle his shorts up a few inches and you immediately see the angry purple bruise which was swollen and looked like it needed medical attention urgently. You look up at him with a worried expression on your face, just to see that he had been observing you this whole time tilting his head to the side in confusion. You softly talk him through the injury and explain to him that you needed to put something on it. Or it would just get worse. He silently nods along with what you have to say.

“I’m gonna need to patch this up ok ?” You say.

“M hm” comes his reply

You reach over and grab your bag. You pull out a tube of ointment and look up at him one more time to take in his expression. He’s looking down at you with his bottom lip in his teeth and eyebrows furrowed expecting the pain. You squeeze some balm onto your left hand and put the tube back down.

“Here you can just squeeze my hand as tight as you need whenever you feel too much pain” you tell him as you hold his left [our right] hand in your right hand. He eagerly intertwines your hands together as he looks down at you with a patient expression. You look back down and start to slowly apply the ointment on the outer edges of the bruise first. He hisses when you start and squeezes your hand. As he tries to stay quiet he hears you gently utter praises for him. Making him feel warm and tingly inside. Soft praises like , ‘ you’re doing so well ! ’ or ‘ so good for me ’ But as you start moving towards the main part of the bruise he starts to bite down on his lip.

Hard.

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Enough to draw blood.

You finish it up by putting a bandage over it , just so that the ointment doesn’t get everywhere. And wait…

Wait a second.

Did he just hear you say ‘good boy’ ? It was so small that he’s not even sure if you noticed it fall out of your mouth . He turns his face up to the night sky for a quick second. You can’t see him like this. His mouth runs dry and his brain turns to mush. His jaw is slack and his breaths are coming out in short , fast pants. He tries to collect himself as he looks back down at you , a bead of sweat trailing down the right side of his face and a slight red hue covering his cheeks. You make eye contact with him as you kiss over the top of his bandage.

His breath hitches. It felt like a split second , your lips skimmed the top of his bandage and quickly moved away. But it felt like heaven. His knees went weak. And he felt so embarrassed that he just wanted to bury his head in your shoulder to escape your attentive gaze. You quickly got up and leaned down so you could inspect his face. Your hands on either side of his face , pulling him closer to you so could inspect his lip. Chills ran up his spine. Why couldn't you cup his face like this all the time ? And maybe leave a few kisses here and there ? He deserves it , don’t ya think ?

“Oh noo :( what’s this?” You ask as you see the tiny bit of blood that had managed to escape from his lips when he bit there a few moments before.

Something clicked in his mind as he felt your thumb slowly graze alongside his bottom lip. Eyes fluttering close , lips parting. Effectively making him shudder in desperation. He had to make it look worse than it was so that maybe just maybe you would . . . He gives his all into trying to make himself more miserable so you would shower him in all your affection and touch. He makes his eyes water and his lips tremble.

“Oh no :('' you reply. You thought it over. Really thought it over. Should you …?

YES YES PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE-

His thoughts are interrupted when he feels your lips on his. Giving him a small peck. His eyes roll to the back of his head as he leans into you. His hands are clenching around the edge of the bench and he’s shuffling closer to the edge , putting you closer to him , in between his legs. He feels you pull away.

NO

He wanted that to last longer :(

You quickly reanalyze your movements. You put your supplies back in your bag , too flustered to look at him. While he’s just sitting there literally looking like this ‘😵‍💫’ emoji , head foggy , whole body shivering and his body sweating. Just sitting there unable to move as he licks his lips. He can taste your fruity lip balm. He’s going crazy. What do you mean ‘going?’ He already was crazy, now he’s just addicted. He wants more , he can’t get enough. After all that love you just showed him [it HAS to be love. That wasn’t anything else besides love] he’s not sure if he can even spend the night away from you.

Meanwhile you’re going crazy wondering ‘why tf would I do that?’ as you zip up your backpack and snap him out of his daze. You tell him that it was late at night and that it was time to go. He seems very closed off. You think. Did I do something wrong 😥? You wonder.

“Here just lean on me” you tell him as you put his left arm around your shoulders and place your right arm around his waist and help him walk out the gymnasium and into your car. You turn on the radio to escape from the awkward silence of the quiet car. You drive him to his house pulling up to park your car in front of his driveway. You open the door for him and help him back again , this time into his house. As you take off his shoes and help him get into his bed , you tuck him in before saying ‘goodnight’ and shutting his bedroom door and then his house door.

Wait, why are you leaving? He thinks as he sees you walk out of his house and back into your car from his bedroom window. No wait , he doesn’t want you to leave. He doesn’t want you away from him anymore. But he can’t do anything about it because sleep takes over as soon as his head touches the pillow. He had a hard day. He needed the rest.

On the other hand , you’re in the shower just rethinking everything you did. You knew he had a little bit of a crush on you but WHY WOULD YOU KISS HIM ?! Even if it was a harmless peck ?! You didn’t want to lead him on , especially when you didn’t really think of him in that way. You just stayed in the shower another half hour as you thought about how you were going to face him tomorrow.

-H

[quodekash]

GUESS WHAT BITCHES KANGSAILOM HAVE KISSED AND NOW ITS TIME FOR ME TO HAVE A HEART ATTACK BECAUSE OF THEM, ALL OVER AGAIN (im so hoping it doesnt take me 2-3 hours to watch this episode again but it honestly probably will)

NO

I KNEW THE FRIKIN BACK PAIN THING WOULD COME BACK INTO PLAY

ISTG IF THESE BITCHES KILL HER THEY'LL ALL HAVE HELL TO PAY

NOT MY GRANDMA MILF GODDESS QUEEN SHIP-CAPTAIN

NOT ON MY WATCH

NOT ON MY WATCH

PFFFFFFFFT

oh honey

he's desperately pleading, he wants to tell him but he doesnt want to say it, he wants sailom to know what he's thinking and what he feels and what he wants and what he needs, but he still doesnt understand his own feelings and thoughts and desires

why did you kiss me? why aren't you talking to me properly? why are we here, in this locker room? why do you like me? do you like me? why can't everything be simple?

all condensed into a simple word

and he's avoiding eye contact, he cannot look at kang and he will not look at kang but it's not like it used to be, where he wouldn't look at kang because kang didn't deserve the respect, where he would only look at kang to smile and laugh at him because he doesnt fear him, no this time he wont look at him because he's afraid. afraid of the answer, afraid that he's wrong, afraid that he's right

AND HE WIPES HIS MOUTH

AND KANG IS WATCHING THE WIPE SO ATTENTIVELY

he sees sailom wipe his lips, rid himself of their kiss, rid himself of this conversation and of the fears and thoughts and questions and confusion, and kang just wants him to know what he feels but he doesnt know what he feels and the best he could put it was through that kiss, and kang had to watch as sailom removed any trace and feeling of it from his mouth

ouch

LOOK AT HIM

YOU CAN SEE HIS SWIRLING HURTING THOUGHTS

perth and chimon are both such astounding actors I cannot fathom them

PLENTY MORE CHANCES TO TALK TO EACH OTHER PROPERLY WHEN YOU'VE FIGURED OUT WHAT IS GOING ON IN YOUR MIND AND HEART

is this not post-patpran-rooftop-kiss-scene

its literally exactly the same

THE LITTLE LIP BITE I CANT

its the small little nuances and facial expressions and tiny reactions and thoughts communicated on their faces

is nuances the right word to use there? idk, it's fine

LMAO IM-

WAIT SO THIS QUESTION IS POPPED AT THE START OF THE EPISODE??? DAMNNNNN

MAN HE'S GOT A WAY WITH WORDS

and I mean that genuinely

WEAR YOUR SEATBELT BITCH, WHAT THE HELL

WHY IS NEITHER OF THEM WEARING THEIR SEATBELT

GUYS

DRIVING IS DANGEROUS

ITS A HIGH-RISK ACTIVITY

AND YEAH MAYBE A TINY STRIP ACROSS YOUR TORSO DOESNT SEEM LIKE IT DOES MUCH, BUT IT'S STILL BLOODY IMPORTANT BECAUSE IT COULD BE THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A BONK AND A SPLATTER IF YOU CATCH MY MEANING

SEATBELTS ARE IMPORTANT FOLKS

WEAR THEM

Y E S

HE OPENED THE FRIKIN DOOR

LETS GOOOOOOOOOO

are we finally gonna get the scene ive seen in the end credits so many times and die every time I see it where they're lying in bed together and smiling at each other and ghkerbgjksdb

FUGWE9JOGSBNVPIWEKGNPIVWEKNMSDGPOVKNERIPKDNGPBIVKERVLNDPOGIKNVEPORILKSNDGPBVOIKERNMD-OFPSGKJBVEPS

OML THE HITTING ON HIM SAGA/MONTAGE

THESE PARTS ARE ALWAYS SOME OF MY FAVOURITES

AND THESE TWO GOT TO IT A LOT FASTER THAN MOST OF THE OTHERS IVE SEEN GEUIRJGBKSD

GOUEWBJDSG THE BLOW KISS

HE'S SO UNASHAMED

IM LOSING MY MIND

THIS IS EVERYTHING I COULDVE DREAMED FOR

HOLY FRICK I LOVE HIM

THIS IS AMAZING

IM SOBBING FROM HOW HARD IM LAUGHING

I CANT GET OVER "ill eat you then, because I like you" LIKE DAMN BRO THAT WAS SMOOTH AND MY MIDNIGHT BRAIN SOMEHOW DIDNT SEE THAT VERY OBVIOUS FLIRT SETUP COMING AND I LOST IT

HIS HAPPY LITTLE SMILE OMG I CANT

fR I C K

it's okay it's okay, she just has a bad hip, she's not gonna die I swear she's not gonna die

also can we just take a moment to honour the mesh shirt kang's wearing?

savour the moment a bit longer...

let the moment of appreciation last...

okay that is all thank you for joining me in worship

A L S O let's just think about this. im guessing grandma and dad and that nurse are all going to the hospital.

whICH MEANS the two gay-ass teenagers who are gay-ass specifically for EACH OTHER are gonna be home alone in a huge-ass mansion for a while

I wonder what they could possibly spend their time doing

what are you eating, sailom 👀

THE HAND RESTING ON HIS SHOULDER

BOYFRIEND BEHAVIOUR MAKES A COMEBACK

THE EYEBROWS-- I CANT

they're really channelling the patpran this episode

and im so happy about it

"just go straight" lmao good luck with that one buddy

breaking news: it comes as a shock to absolutely no one: quodekash has, once again, run out of images. a new post will be made for your enjoyment shortly (but it wont be posted for at least an hour because I cannot watch things at a normal pace and the post wont be posted until I either run out of images or finish the episode, whichever comes first)

[phatcatphergus]

yes!!! i love the little discussion/analysis you have going on! it always annoys me when people brush off tubbo saying stuff like ‘cooking is like create’ as him being weird or needing to touch grass. it’s not really about his minecraft obsession (ok it is a little) it’s about how his brain works and it’s a really interesting idea if you stop and think about it. people are too quick to dismiss his crazier statements sometimes but a lot of the time he’s totally right if you can look at it from a different perspective or understand that sometimes his wording is odd but the concept is solid.

(also lmao at pulling up your blog to see the last reblog being about asks. i've been seeing more anons/asks on this side of tumblr recently and i think it's neat!)

I think that a lot of the brushing off comes from the tubo moment/bee boy mentality. The fact that people see him as some quirky 3 year old and treat him as such leads so many people to brush him off, including himself. I think this is perpetuated by a few people, including his friends, who don’t see him as a ND adult and instead see him as some quirky teenager who’s too chronically online and privileged. (The topic of him being privileged is another rant for another time but people saying that to him makes me cringe a bit).

I think that when he first made the create/cooking comment, it was a genuine realization that he made about his comprehension of the subject. Afterwards, he repeated it because of how outlandish it sounds and how chat reacts to him saying it. But I think he has a few things that he does or says that he means genuinely because it makes sense in his mind and he doesn’t think about how it sounds to others. This leads to controversies of course, but i digress. I think that people don’t take him seriously for and he gets self conscious about it and doubts his own comment or understanding. Part of this may be because his friends poke fun at some of his ND behaviors in a joking way and don’t realize how serious he is about it.

The one example I can recall is the drunk MCC that Tubbo did with Tom, Jack, and Becky. Tubbo talked about how his dad did his dishes because the feeling of wet dishes/leftover food made him extremely uncomfortable. Of course, this sounds lazy and entitled to a lot of people and he was made fun of for it, but in a ND context *cough*autism*cough* it makes sense. His aversion to car seatbelts is the same thing. He has a lot of sensory issues and speaks about it often enough, he spoke about it a lot when making his og merch an how he wanted it to not “feel bad” and have good fabric because some fabrics bother him.

He never takes himself seriously because other people don’t and don’t allow him to. His brain works in very relative things (I know how i understand create mod and i can apply that to how i understand cooking) and if people allowed him to actually work out the true intention behind it, then more people would realize exactly how interesting his mind is. I fucking love psychoanalyzing him because of it.

Also, I’m so happy that people are talking about this stuff because its so interesting to me. I could talk about what II think of him on any topic for hours, there is literally so much to unpack about him. I think there’s an aversion to talking about creators themselves because they’re real people, which I get, but i think having open discussions and critical analysis of people keeps them human and isn’t a bad thing. So long as its not blatant hatred, talking about mentality, likes an dislikes, and behavior of creators is valid and needed in a space so people don’t become untouchable gods that are adverse to problems.