#and feel like I shouldn't have to go to work

[likeabxrdinflight]

#fork found in kitchen#confession has ALWAYS been this fucked up#it's the secular law that has changed#and made it necessary for the church to remind people of this canon law#priests have and will continue to go to jail (or even die) to protect the seal of confession#and priests have and will continue to be excommunicated and defrocked for breaking the seal in favor of the law#also. there's a lot of people surprised that priests are not already mandated reporters#thats not true. in most places (in the US) priests ARE mandated reporters and always have been.#but most of those places have an exception for confessor-penitant privilege

Prev's tags felt important to include. It also feels important to note that in any other context, a priest is a mandated reporter. Catholic school teachers are mandated reporters, and all clergy, staff, and teachers affiliated with a catholic church will undergo a child abuse protection training called "protecting god's children" which will include information about mandated reporting. Confession, however, has also been the one exception. It shouldn't be, but this is the way it has always worked.

I will say this though, as someone who is a mandated reporter and has had to make calls to child protective services- in theory, the law makes sense. In theory it is in place to protect children and keep them safe. In theory we should all want that, right? We should want abuse to be stopped and children to be kept safe. But in practice? That just doesn't happen. I agree that priests should be bound by the same laws and limits to confidentiality as any helping profession- if I have to break the therapeutic relationship to report suspected child abuse or neglect, so should a priest. Churches shouldn't be above the law in this way. Especially the catholic church, which has a pretty notorious history of abusing children itself.

But it is worth acknowledging the nuance that in reality, child protective services are almost always dead fucking useless. I hate when I have to call them, nothing fills me with more dread as a clinician, because I know what's almost inevitably going to happen- families get upset with me, everyone's freaked out and anxious, if I'm treating a child they're going to be scared about being taken away from their parents, if I'm treating an adult they're either going to be pissed off with me or anxious or both. Often the opportunity to actually help the family is compromised. And then CPS will either hear my report and say "we can't do anything sorry" or they'll visit the family one time and then close the case. It is rare, in my experience, that they actually intervene in a way that anyone finds helpful. It is rare that they provide the kinds of supports and services that actually do prevent child abuse. And it is rare that a child is actually removed from an abusive situation. And in the circumstances where they are, it's usually traumatizing for the entire family system. Anyone who's worked adjacent to the foster care system will know how badly this can go.

It is also worth noting that this system can be exploited, and it certainly can be racist. Black and brown parents are significantly more likely to be reported for child abuse, and black and brown children are significantly more likely to be removed from their homes on the rare case that CPS actually does decide to intervene. The system is often punitive, not supportive, and it frequently upholds white supremacy. And I think, very often, the thing CPS is supposed to do- protect children from abuse- doesn't actually happen. Maybe every once in a while a child's life is saved. But many more children are only further traumatized. Many many more are not protected, and abuse continues to happen behind closed doors. Many who are removed from their abusive families end up in equally if not more abusive foster homes. Around and around it goes.

So I am not saying that priests deserve some special exception to the law just because they're priests and just because they work in a religious setting. A mandated reporter is a mandated reporter, there should be no exceptions. But it is worth having a conversation about whether or not mandated reporting itself actually helps anyone. It is worth having a conversation about whether or not CPS actually does any good, and it is worth having a conversation about how this system more often than not fails to protect children and families and is instead used as an extension of the police force. Is this really the best way to help prevent or stop child abuse? I certainly don't think it is.

in case anyone was forgetting what the church was all about

[foreverabby]

18+ smut.

Abby sexting is honestly the sweetest and simultaneously hottest thing to ever exist.

Because at first, she's so bad at initiating it. We're talking comically bad. This girl paces her apartment typing and deleting messages left and right. She's always been better at writing things down but for some reason, learning how to excite you over the phone feels intimidating. But once she trusts you, once she feels truly comfortable, it goes from painfully awkward to fucking devastating in a flash and there's no going back.

They start out slow. Shy. Just this side of flirtatious.

She might send you a selfie in front of a filthy ass mirror, phone angled low, her abs still tight and glistening with sweat from intense core work. One arm casually flexed like she's not deliberately showing off the vascularity in her forearm.

I did hip thrusts thinking about you.

You know that vein down my bicep you like? I made it pop for you today. Wanna see?

You looked really hot in my shirt last night. Just saying.

And somehow, over the course of a few brave conversations between you, this girl becomes a dedicated professional at ruining any chance in hell you have of focusing.

You're at the grocery store, the farmers market, the library... she is thoroughly enjoying making your entire body flush hot. Because at the end of the day, she adores her women with her whole body and soul. She wants to be the one who makes you feel alive.

She wants to remind you how much you mean to her.

How much she needs you.

You'd make such pretty noises if I dragged you into the shower right now.

You ever hear your own voice right before you come? It's the hottest fucking sound I've ever heard.

My hand's between my legs and it's not enough. Not when I know how good your mouth feels. Call me when you're alone, yeah?

But what you're not ready for, are the voicemails she drops on you like an audible aphrodisiac. Once she sees the effect her words have on you through text, she's obsessed with the thought of you laying cozily in the dark, one hand over your mouth, the other clutching your phone, just listening.

Maybe I shouldn't be doing this, but… I can't stop thinking about you. I'm in bed and I can still feel your gorgeous thighs on my shoulders. The way you sound when you're riding me. The way you taste. I swear to god, I'm losing my mind.

You're mine, you know that?

Even when we're apart, you're still mine.

Call me back.

God, her growth arc is so good.

[certifiedsexed]

Is it bad that I agree to sub to my partner and do bdsm just for the aftercare? I like being cared for and 'nursed back to health'.

Well, I'm not going to say "bad" but I would say if you don't enjoy the "BDSM" things you're doing and your only reason is so you can "be cared for", maybe you shouldn't do them! You don't have to do random kinky things you don't necessarily enjoy just to get cared for and nursed.

If what you want is the things you associate with aftercare, you should try doing those things without the BDSM aspect beforehand. You can even do them as a kink thing if you want.

If you enjoy the BDSM things you're doing or don't mind them but just prefer the aftercare parts, that's fine, though I'd still suggest focusing more on doing the things you associate with aftercare, specifically outside of BDSM.

But end point: if you're just doing these things to feel cared for afterwards, maybe that's something you should work on with your partner outside of BDSM. You can get those things without it and if you're not getting them from your partner/your partner refuses to do them unless you "agree" to do BDSM, that's not okay.

If you decide you still want to do those BDSM things, whether that's for your partner, or because you also like the intimacy or whatever, that's fine! I just think this might be something to think on outside of BDSM too.

I'm not sure if this is helpful but let me know if you have any other questions. <3

[iris-qt]

What I Cannot Say

knight!theo | medieval au ⚔︎

The castle slumbers.

Rain patters softly against the high, stained-glass windows, and the candle at your desk burns low, its golden flame dancing across your ink-stained fingers. You shouldn’t still be here. The other court scribes have long since vanished, and even the guards are trading shifts beneath their breath.

But the scrolls before you whisper like old friends, records of ancient treaties, old languages curling across parchment like spells.

You don’t notice the door open.

Not until the floorboard creaks... the one you keep meaning to fix.

Your quill stills.

You look up, heart skipping.

He stands there, silent in the threshold, half-draped in shadow. Rain beads across the black leather of his shoulder guards, his hair damp, curling at the edges. A dark cloak slung across one shoulder. A blade at his hip.

Ser Theodore Nott.

He shouldn't be here. Not at this hour. Not in the library. Not with you.

“My lord,” you say softly, standing too quickly. You nearly knock over the candle.

He doesn’t blink. His gaze, sharp and unreadable, scans the room before returning to you.

“I was told you kept the original texts from the House of Gwael,” he says, voice quiet. Clipped. As if it costs him something to ask. “I need to read them.”

You swallow. “Of course.”

You bend to retrieve the scrolls, your fingers trembling. Not because you’re frightened. You’re not. It’s just—

He’s taller than you remembered. And even in the flickering candlelight, he’s beautiful in the way statues are beautiful: cold and eternal and utterly untouchable.

You hand him the scroll.

His fingers brush yours.

A mistake, probably. He’s wearing gloves, and yet the contact makes your breath catch anyway.

Theo notices. You can feel it... not in any expression (his face stays unreadable as ever), but in the slow, precise way he unrolls the scroll, eyes flickering toward you only once.

“I didn’t think knights cared for language,” you murmur, half to yourself.

He glances up. His voice is low and sure.

“I care for many things people assume I don’t.”

You don’t know how to respond to that, so you return to your seat, unsure whether to keep reading or flee to your chambers and scream into your pillow. The candle gutters. He stays.

Minutes pass. The only sounds are rain, your turning pages, and the soft scratch of his gauntlet against parchment. Then, quietly:

“Why do you work so late?”

You look up.

Theodore’s gaze is trained on the page, but his question lingers in the air, warm and unexpected.

You blink. “No one notices me here.”

At that, his eyes lift. Hold yours.

“I do.”

Your heart thuds. Loud enough that surely even a knight can hear it.

“I’ve noticed,” he says, more gently now. “You’re always the last to leave. Even in the cold. Even when your hands shake.”

You flush, throat tight.

“I like the quiet.”

He hums. “So do I.”

A long pause. A soft flicker of lightning. His hand drifts, without thinking, to the hilt of his sword, the motion absentminded, protective.

You wonder if he’s always like this, or just with you.

Theo rolls the scroll back up and sets it down but doesn’t leave. Not yet.

Instead, he says softly, “You read poetry, don’t you?”

You nod, uncertain.

“I remembered a line, once,” he says, still not looking at you. “When I was bleeding. I thought I would die. But it came back to me anyway. Something about stars. And the way some people carry light inside them.”

You stare.

He finally meets your gaze.

“I thought of you.”

And just like that, the room feels smaller. Warmer. Brighter.

Like a candle that refuses to go out.

...

The next time you find it, it’s tucked between the pages of your copy of Herbal Magicks of the Olden Kingdoms.

A shard of dragon glass. Real. Cool to the touch, with a small crest engraved at its center: not from your kingdom. Foreign. Ancient. Pinned beside it: a note. Neatly folded.

Your name is written in an impossibly tidy hand. You open it.

For the scholar who outshines the sun with her questions. This was taken from the ruins of Aelwyn, where the old queens studied spellfire and starlore. I thought of you when I saw it. —T.N.

Your breath catches.

He thinks of you. In battle. In ruins. In other kingdoms.

You clutch the note to your chest and spend a full five minutes pacing the length of the library trying not to combust.

You don’t get the chance to thank him. Not yet.

Because the court session that day is… a mess.

You’re summoned to bring the translated treaty notes, normal work, but the nobles are restless. They gossip, drunk on mead and power, casting eyes at the quiet scribe who dares sit in council.

And then Lord Durran (slimy, bored, and old) speaks up.

"Tell me, girl," he sneers, loud enough to echo. “When did scribes begin thinking themselves courtiers? Or are you simply warming Lord Nott’s lap in exchange for coin?”

The hall freezes. You do, too. Until the scrape of a chair. A deliberate step.

Theodore Nott doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. But when he moves, the entire chamber listens.

“I suggest,” he says coldly, “you keep my name off your tongue unless you’re prepared to swallow your teeth.”

Gasps ripple. Durran flushes, paling. No one challenges Ser Theodore. Not even fools.

He doesn’t look at the others. Only at you.

And then, in the shadows of the halls outside the courtroom, he walks over and places another small item in your palm.

It’s a pendant this time. Worn. Engraved with a script only three historians in the realm could read.

“I thought you might translate it,” he murmurs, quiet enough just for you.

And with that, he turns. Walks away. Cloak swirling. Sword gleaming. You remain frozen, your heart racing. It says something that you don’t even open the pendant until much later. You just stand there, cheeks burning, wondering how it’s possible for someone so silent to make this much noise inside your chest.

...

It takes you three days to crack it.

Not because you’re slow, gods no. You’re the only person in the castle who can read High Eltheric, a long-dead language that looks like poetry and spells had a lovechild.

But you hesitate.

You hold the pendant beneath your pillow, beneath your breath, fingers tracing the etched lines like they’ll whisper something before your mind dares translate it. Every time you try to begin, you think of Theo’s eyes on you. The way he placed it in your hand. Like it meant something. Like you mean something.

Finally, on the third night, rain against your windows, firelight low, you set the pendant beside your ink pot, take a steadying breath, and begin.

Word by word, the meaning unravels:

To the one whose mind is a thousand burning stars I offer what little heart I have. If you ever wish to claim it.

Your quill drops.

Your breath hitches.

You read it again. And again. And again.

It doesn’t change.

He gave you a coded love confession. In a dead language. That only you could read.

What kind of maddening, infuriating, devastatingly romantic knight—

You sit back in your chair, staring at the pendant like it might burst into flames. Because now you know. Now you see it. The pattern of his gifts. The books. The relics. The looks that lingered too long and the way he always stood between you and danger, like a silent shadow forged of steel and longing.

You bite your lip.

And you smile.

Because you realize: he thinks you haven’t noticed.

A/N: obsessed with this au | ty to @kiaxika and tagging @ladyblablabla

[directdogman]

A few words about the upcoming Olandy route!

First of all, want to quickly apologize for the relative quietness on my part as of late. I'm still in the middle of an international move right now and I'm officially on the final bureaucratic stage before I can physically pack up and complete the move. I've gotten quotes from moving companies, found a good service for Salvage's transport (which was a challenge in of itself) and now I'm just waiting for the final legal paperwork to process. Combined with my recent stint in hospital (my heart did something zany) and preparing for an upcoming merch campaign whose launch month was decided at the start of the year, you may see why I'm behind my own schedule. I can however confirm that work is still on-going... just slower than I'd like. However, I've taken this partial hiatus in production to think over the route and make sure it'll be as conceptually solid as I can make it.

One concern I'd like to address because I've seen it mentioned a few times is the fear that the route may veer into fan service territory in terms of characterization/scene content and I'm hoping I can put those fans at ease. I understand these concerns. The very concept of an Olandy route does seem kind of rife for this sort of thing. The thing is though, the idea for an Olandy route was a cut concept from DT's basegame, when I thinking of ways to double up characters in order to have more three-way dialogue scenes.

Obviously, given that a whole route was cut from the game, this idea ended up in the same nether-sphere as the other potential route ideas, like the Fusco route. But, this was an idea that I considered long before the Olandy ship gained popularity and that's why I was eager to tease the idea after release. I get many requests for routes with characters like Harry, Peter, which would undeniably sell well, but that I'd really have to headscratch to think of a way to make work. My point is, I'm only interested in ideas that I'm confident in.

Would Randy and Oliver completely work as partners? There's points for and against it. Do they have a strong/unique dynamic? Definitely. Randy is someone who looks to others for comfort/confidence and he's not good at dealing with things alone or without guidance. Oliver is confident in himself and very much a pack animal, who loves receiving validation/affection and feeling useful. This roughly explains why they veer towards each other even without considering stuff like romantic/behavioural compatibility.

As for the route itself, my main goal with their dynamic is to give an honest exploration of each character and to show a side of each not seen in their route, while also staying consistent to who they both are. It's important to note that this isn't just a Randy-Oliver route, but very much a Randy-Oliver-Gingi route. You shouldn't worry that the route will be sappier or more romantically heavy than the other routes as I'm actually including an option to play the route completely platonically and both options won't be too dissimilar outside of certain dialogue lines from both characters.

The key thing here is that I'm writing the route just like any other DT route and my main focus is having fun scenes where the characters talk about themselves in order to compare and contrast the differences/similarities between each character within the trio. There are scenes where Oliver is serious and confides in Gingi. There are scenes where we see Randy's insecurity/cowardice paint him in a bad light.

The DLC will also not replace either of their routes, and will instead aim to emphasis traits + backstory each character has that's kind of implied subtly in each of their routes, but not specifically outlined, to give you a more well-rounded view of each character. So, my goal is certainly not to flanderize, but quite the opposite. I want to give a deeper view on each character that's consistent with previous characterization, by further explaining why each character is the way they are and providing more context to stuff mentioned in Randy/Oliver's main routes. Oh, and advancing Gingi's character further, akin to in Roger's route.

(And before you ask, yes, I do have a similar plan for Karen later on, but I have a very specific idea of where it makes sense to put it as it's a much more involved project than a simple DLC. It will definitely take longer to pull off. But, her day will come.)

So, yeah! Obviously Roger's route took care to display the datables in their cameos with the nuance they have in the basegame. From Randy's impurity (willingness to be part of a con), Oliver potentially freaking Gingi out and being unsure of himself upon meeting it, Karen cracking a spontaneous joke (and it not landing), etc. It's important to me that I don't flanderize these characters or reduce them to their outermost traits.

I'm still not 100% confident in the route draft, but that's a given. I never am. But, I can say, I'm really excited for people to see the character stuff I have in mind for Randy, Oliver + Gingi, particularly what's revealed about both in the heart to heart in the good ending. You have a rough idea of what to expect from the route as per previous routes and while this one won't be nearly as large as Roger's route, I still wanna make it the best experience it can be for you all. Thank you! :)

[monarchberrysblog]

❈ — 𝒜𝓃 𝐸𝓍𝓉𝓇𝒶 𝒟𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒

FUTURE CHAPTERS WILL BE POSTED ON AO3

pairing — Miguel O’Hara x fem! Reader

primary diagnosis — When Joseph Rodriguez gets a full-time position in his internship, he asks his best friend, Miguel O’Hara, to babysit his baby sister. After insisting on paying him back the favor and being under the impression that he would care for a toddler, he agrees. But the moment he sees you, a twenty-two burnt-out college student, he begs Joseph to take his word back, but the damage has been done. He’s now stuck with you.

side effects — smut (lmao), thigh fucking, no p-in-v contact, groping, dom/sub dynamic (miguel is a bit of a confident sub and reader is a confused dom)

doctor’s note — hi everyone… I have been gone for a moment. I had to disappear for a moment as life got a little too serious school wise but everything is okay now! this is a series that I have been working on for a while. but here y’all go! I am excited for Beyond the Spiderverse to come back in a few years. Other than that, enjoy a sneak peek of this long fic I’ve been working on.

🩺 not proofread! 🩺

The weight of the day drags him by the cajones—the voice of complaints follows him from the subway to his penthouse. The various tones and complaints fill his ego, repeating and replaying nonstop.

They were the voices of the past, cutting into his mind and thrashing him around nonstop—a turmoil of what should have been done and what could have been done. Instead, what was done was picked at his consciousness. The turmoil dragged him back home. The mere glances of bright neon lights paced past him, not enough to pull him away from the imposter within him. He didn't even realize it, but he was already at the entrance of his home, ready to be enveloped away from the harsh sights and realities.

The silence is welcoming, lulling his body to rest, to shrug off the weight of his shoulders. He steps in, seeing a mere light on in his bedroom. A heavy exhale escapes, already knowing what awaits him in his bed.

You.

Kicking off his sneakers and slowly stripping off his scrubs, he leaves the filthy scrubs behind in the hallway, not bothering to put them in their proper place. He drags his feet into his room and immediately crashes onto the soft mattress and weighted blankets, barely shaking you awake from your deep slumber. The smell of sterilization clung to him, but he couldn't care less. He was back in bed, with you on your designated side.

“Sorry, I got home late. I had a meeting with the other residents.” His hand rubs the flare of your hip lovingly, his thumb tracing small designs against the undershirt you slept in. “I’ll have tomorrow off…” He whispers, rubbing your hip and letting go afterward. Your body tossed and turned from the contact, the undershirt shifting against your body and the mattress you rested in.

Black lacy thongs. They were right in front of him, the bands clinging onto your waist—the whale tail emphasizing the heart shape of your rear. He shouldn't have, but the sight was right before him, like appetizers on a platter, waiting to be eaten. In this situation, it was waiting for him to touch, caress, and grab his attention. It suffocated him like a vice. He bites his tongue, feeling his needy behavior sink into his skin, pulling him closer. He tosses the blanket over you instead.

He groans into pillow, the sound vibrating towards you. “What?” You groan, shifting your body to face him instead of the wall. “You sound like a lawnmower.”

He fights back a smile against the fabric of his pillow and turns to face you instead. You weren’t asleep. “The way you’re laying on this bed is criminal. You look like roadkill.”

“Don’t knock it until you try it.”

You roll your eyes and embrace the pillow close to your chest. “The way I sleep is human, the way you do it, it’s criminal.”

“Have you worked twelve hours on your feet while on call during your lunch break?” You open your mouth but shut your mouth as fast instead. “That’s what I thought, bug.”

You feign a smile and place a gentle hand on the back of his neck, massaging the tender muscle.

“Bet you saved so many lives today.”

He fights back his smile but fails. “Not really, just had to do my usual rounds.”

“Still saving.” You bite back and allow your hand to travel down south, the tips of your fingers tracing the taut, tense muscle and indents against his body.

He face plants onto the pillow, showing no protest to the gentle traces and pokes. You scoot closer, making it a task now to proximate yourself to his body warmth. Sterilization burns your nose but the warmth from his body trumped any concern. You inch closer and push down on his muscle, raking the pads of your fingers down his back, stopping at the band of his boxers. “Bug, don’t start.” He mumbles with his eyes closed.

“I’m not starting shit. I’m ending your night.”

His hand gently grasps the column of your throat, guiding you to his lips. The soft contact is suffocating, his lips taking your words away with every kiss, ending it with a long one, his hand letting your throat go, his hand now tangling into your hair. “You’re starting shit and you’re going to end it.” He whispers his words against your lips, bulleting his point. He lays flat on his back slowly, pulling you onto him with ease. “End it, then. End my night.”

It was a foreign feeling of straddling down on him, your lacy underwear and his boxers being the only barrier from his skin. “Go on.” He pats your thigh gently, seeing the bewildered expression across your face. “Fine.” You huff, easing yourself off of that area and onto his thigh instead.

He peeks up as you slowly ease yourself down onto his thigh, the gusset of your underwear barely hiding anything. For once, you found yourself facing a challenge, unsure of your next move. He gently bounces you on his thigh, gaining your momentum against his thigh. The gently, yet rocky momentum made your hands fly onto his abdomen, anchoring onto him for support. “Go on.” He whispers, his hand moving from your thigh to your hips, gently easing your movements against his skin, the gusset of your underwear pushing away and exposing you more. “C’mon,” He whispers, his eyes seeing you settle down, gently rocking your hips, rubbing your sticky mess onto his skin, leaving a glistening patch behind before getting dragged across his skin. “You’re doing so well, there you go…” He whispers, his grip loosening.

“Go on, end it.”

[16wolke11]

Double Trouble - Franco Colapinto + Paul Aron

A/N Someone save the boys from Alpine, they are suffering from the curse Oscar left (or dodged?)

WORDS: 6707 It wasn't planned to be that long...

WARNINGS: NSFW (threesome/oral ->f receiving/fingering (anal)/double penetration(both holes/protected sex)

____

Entering the Paddock of the Miami International Autodrome still feels unreal when I take the first steps in it this morning. Being an F1 fan since I was a little child, making it just a bit more amazing and even though I thought I would never experience it, here I am. Amazed by my surroundings, spotting more and more things that make my heart flutter happily. Until I stumble into someone.

"Watch out." A voice with a heavy accent, hands holding onto my arms to keep me up and not embarrass myself even more by falling to the ground. I look up and for a second, I am stunned. Franco Colapinto is right in front of me, eyes scanning me like he fears that he just hurt me by grabbing me by the arms.

"Oh god, I am sorry." I apologise, stepping back and out of his touch, feeling how I blush. Great, not even five minutes in and I already managed to run into a driver quite literally. Well, I wanted to meet them, but not like that, not by making myself a laugh of the paddock.

"Don't worry, nothing happened." Franco reassures me, his head tilting slightly to the side, eyes drawn to the paddock pass around my neck. It's full of different cards, giving me access to different areas on the paddock and when his eyes are back on my face, he looks like he is thinking if he should know me from anywhere. Like I am a celebrity visiting for the first time, granted that Miami is an obvious spot for that, and he has to know me because of it.

"Where are you heading so quickly?" He then asks and I do hesitate a second before I answer.

"Alpine." I tell him and immediately his eyes light up.

"I can show you the rest of the way." Franco offers me and even though I already spotted the building in the distance, I wouldn't mind some company. If someone told me before that the first person I met in the paddock would be Franco Colapinto and that he is willingly talking to me, I would have accused them of a lie.

"That would be nice." I smile at him and get a big one in return. Franco asks me what my name is, introduces himself even though that isn't necessary and we are almost at the Alpine hospitality, when he asks me:

"Soo, tell me what you are doing..."

His question is interrupted by a screech of my name, making me flinch slightly. Franco frowns, eyes finding the person at the front door of the hospitality making stressed gestures at me to come over. I am just a trainee and should probably go over to Kai, my boss for the weekend, as quickly as possible.

"Sorry, have to go." I apologise to Franco, who just waves at me and then I walk over to my boss. He is looking at me like I just did something bad and I know he doesn't want me to be here. Believing that women shouldn't work anyway, but my instructor talked the company into letting me come with him. Granted, I did a lot of the brainstorming for our upcoming tasks.

"Where the hell were you?" Kai hisses at me with a lowered voice, eyes flickering around to check if there are any eyes on us. I glance at my watch, showing me I still have around five minutes left before our appointment, knowing my short conversation didn't do any damage to me.

"I am still on time." I tell, trying to stay confident around him, a tip my instructor gave me. If I am not bothered by his behaviour, he might get frustrated, give up and search for a new target. Not nice as well, but better than him terrorising my days.

"You are on time if I say so." He squints his eyes at me, and I just want to make a remark, when two more people join us.

"Good morning." They greet us, we say hello back and then we chat for a short time, exchange names and they ask us if the trip was fine. Alpines' PR team contains two women and I am pretty sure my companion isn't happy with it, but for the sake of the job, he acts like it.

"We thought of splitting the drivers between the current ones and the reserve drivers. Would that be okay?" One of the asks and I can feel the eyes of my boss on me. Kai is probably debating with himself if he should cause a scene, but then acts like he is a reassuring boss for me.

"You think you can handle that?" He asks, a hint of a threat in his voice and I just straighten my back, looking at him.

"Sure, I know exactly what we planned." I probably know better than he does, with me being the one creating many of the questions for the outline of this interview. We nod at the PRS and one of them asks my boss to follow while the other waves me over.

"Don't mess this up." He hisses in my ear, making it look like, with a pat on my shoulder, he is just wishing me good luck. I roll my eyes and walk over to the friendly PR. This is going to be so much more pleasant.

"So, we planned an hour, we can either do thirty minutes each or both together?" She offers me and with knowing the personalities of the reserve drivers, I ask her back.

"Will half an hour be enough for Franco's yapping?" For a moment, she just looks at me and I fear I overstepped a border, before she just starts laughing, making me grin.

"Probably not." She then tells me and I can only imagine. If Franco starts talking about something he likes, he isn't going to stop easily. "Let's do it with both of them. Sometimes being with Paul stops him from babbling too much." She offers and I nod at her. Then she opens a door, reprimands the boys for something, and tells them to behave. "All yours." She mutters before leaving me alone.

Just when I enter the room, I spot Franco and Paul sitting on one of the couches. Franco's face pulls into a grin when he spots me. "Well, hello there." I greet him and Paul, tell them my name, before sitting down on the opposite couch, placing my backpack on the ground.

"Where did we stop? I think you wanted to tell me why you are here." Franco asks me, relaxing against the backrest of the couch, acting like our conversation wasn't stopped a few minutes ago.

"Exactly." I say, beginning to prepare to tell them what this is about, when Paul speaks up.

"Whatever it is with Franco here, I am not going to be able to say a word." He huffs and I frown. The Estonian's eyes flicker between Franco and me and I feel slightly discouraged.

"Oh, your press officer said it would be better that way." I hesitantly speak up, trying to find a solution, "But we can still split the time between you two if you prefer that?" I ask them, specifically looking at Paul, who seems to have the bigger issue with the situation.

"Nope, I was promised an hour, so I get an hour." Franco pouts, arms crossed in front of his chest, making Paul sigh. Poor PR, which has to deal with them every weekend or for every event they attend. Paul looks at Franco, then at me, before nodding his head.

"Fine, but only if you shut up from time to time." Paul shoves Franco, who just laughs, shoving Paul back, making me smile at both of them.

"Not promising that." Franco grins, but then the boys settle down, both looking at me curiously.

"Okay, so I am here with a publisher. We want to create a children's book about F1. How a journey to it could look, the difficulties and the good things." It will follow the amazement of a child falling in love with the sport, wanting to do the same, going karting, making their way up and facing the downs until they reach the top.

"Isn't that too heavy for young kids?" Paul asks, probably thinking about the rough side of the sport. The issues both he and Franco faced during that process and that just reaching F1 doesn't mean that you will drive. Both of them are reserve drivers and no one knows if they will ever have a fair chance in F1.

"We plan on doing two versions, one lighter and one heavier one for older children." I explain, because I thought about the same thing as he did. Some topics just shouldn't be covered when it is a book for small children. In the version for the older kids, we could cover the downsides at least a little bit.

"To make it as accurate as possible, we want to speak with many different drivers and will probably try to reach out to other teams as well." I explain further. Alpine was just the first team to reach back out to us, but we are also in talks with other teams, hoping to get a broad variety of drivers to contribute to this. "Today is for the basics and then we will reach out to you for the details, little Easter eggs to show who the story belongs to." Things like numbers on the kart, belongings of the drivers, like Seb Vettel having his teddy on the kart, special helmets and other stuff that will show which driver the story talks about in the illustrated part.

"Any questions?" I ask the boys, but they just shake their heads, sitting comfortably in front of me.

"Not yet." Franco tells me and I nod.

I ask them if I can record from now on, not wanting to type everything done right now, to be able to fully concentrate on the conversations. They give me the go and then we talk. About how they discovered F1, how they convinced their parents to try, and what it was like growing up different from other children. About the ups and downs they faced and the points where they wanted to give up.

We laugh together, it gets quiet during the heavier themes, but it feels like bonding. They add to each other's stories if they experienced the same thing or tell if they had a different path. Time feels like it is flying by and we do a quick water break, mate for Franco, before we settle down again.

"And what about you? How did you get into F1 or your job." Franco asks me back after I was the one asking them questions for this whole time. He looks genuinely interested and Paul also wants to know the answer.

"If we talk about us, strip our souls, you should tell us a bit about yourself." Paul says, emphasising the strip, almost making a blush creep to my cheeks.

"Spill all the dirty secrets." Franco whispers, leaning forward, elbows placed on his thighs. The atmosphere shifts and my heart stumbles. This conversation doesn't feel as casual anymore, but rather suggestive. I clear my throat, shaking my head to clear my thoughts.

"I would like to keep the rest of this professional." I manage to choke out, fingers playing with each other. Not knowing what else to do, how to even react to something like this and then I wait. The boys exchange a glance, Paul nods slightly, before Franco answers.

"We can work with that."

We just continue from that point on and even though the boys still answer my questions without hesitating, something has shifted. I feel their eyes on me constantly, the lingering stares on my body, how Franco licks over his lower lip while looking at me, how Paul barely looks away anymore and I don't know if I like their attention or not. When the door opens, it kind of breaks the tension in the room.

"Everything okay in here?" The PR from earlier asks, glancing at the boys, before looking at me again. "Yeah, we just wrapped it up." I tell her, clicking on the Dictaphone to end the recording. She lifts one of her eyebrows, looking from the boys to me and back to them.

"I'm surprised I don't have to save you." She tells us, making me grin, "Me too." I thought I would be talked against the wall, but the conversation with them was rather pleasant.

"Oh, come on. We aren't that bad." Franco huffs, again that adorable pout on his lips, before Paul adds, "...sometimes." Then there is just laughter for a moment and I love that it is so relaxed in here.

"Can we stay, or do we have anywhere else to be?" Paul asks, making the PR frown in question.

"Why?"

"She just wanted to tell us how she ended up in F1, or more, her job." Franco tells her and now I am the one looking confused. I wanted what? Yes, they asked me, but I never said I would tell them anything.

"You want to listen to someone else talking?" She asks the boys and Franco just groans.

"Is that so hard to believe?" Paul grumbles, hands gesturing like he learned it in Italy during his time at Prema.

"Fine, you don't have anything to do in the next hour, but that includes your food break." She tells them and both of the boys nod, "That's okay."

That's my cue to speak up. "Well, but I might have to leave." I tell them, making both heads whip around to face me.

"Why?" Franco asks like I just have insulted him personally and I gesture to my work stuff.

"Because I have to work?" I tell them, knowing I should probably transcribe the information as soon as possible to get the follow-up questions ready.

"Oh, your boss is still interviewing with the other boys, I am sure he doesn't mind you staying here." The PR pipes up and I don't have anything to defend myself, especially not with Paul and Franco staring at me.

We do talk about my way to F1, how I ended up with that publisher, the fact that I know Paul longer than Franco and some random facts. They do throw in suggestive comments from time to time, but with every bit, I can handle them better. Franco persuaded me into trying some mate, laughing at my face when the first sip was too bitter for me and somehow I ended up sitting between both of them.

Some subtle touches here and there, both of their shoulders touching mine, making me feel small but somewhat safe between them. Franco playing, or as he said, investigating, the bracelets on my wrist, Paul's fingers brushing over my neck occasionally and somehow the temperature in the room gets higher and higher.

I don't even know what I am doing, what they are doing, but it doesn't scare me too much. My body acting on its own, one of my hands is placed on Franco's thigh, while my head rests on Paul's shoulders. We just continue chatting, but I think because we are in public, they don't try to go any further.

But when my phone rings, the bubble pops. I flinch out of that cuddly state, letting the hands of the boys fall off my body when I stand up quickly to reach for my phone. Of course, it's Kai.

"Where are you?" He barks at me and I flinch. All of the relaxed feelings leave me in seconds. "I want to talk about the interview results now!" He demands and I let my shoulders hang. "Will be there in a second." I promise, get snapped at with a "Hurry up," before he hangs up.

Hastily, I search for my things, making sure I don't forget anything, even though I just placed the list of questions and the recorder on the table. Without me noticing, the boys stand up, coming near me.

"Everything okay?" Paul asks, catching my phone when I flinch and let it fall out of my hands. Franco is positioned behind me, hands carefully placed on my arms, like he is trying to calm me down.

"Yeah, just my boss." I stutter, nothing left from that confident behaviour. "He is an asshole." Franco huffs and I know he is right, but he is still the only one from my workplace here and kind of responsible for me. His fingers brush up and down my arms and I look over my shoulder, meeting his worried eyes.

"Sorry, I have to leave." I excuse myself and see that he isn't happy with my decision. Before I even know what he is doing, Franco leans down, kisses my cheek, his lips lingering there for a moment, before he pulls his head back.

"Text Paul when you are back at your hotel?" He asks me to and I look at the Estonian, frowning. "How?" I ask, not having the number of any of them, but Paul just gives me my phone with a wink and I understand. Thanking them both, I take my stuff and leave to face the dread of my boss.

The bossing around is even worse than usual this time and while Kai is typing slowly on his laptop, I am the one transcribing both of the interviews. For his liking, I am way too slow, stopping all the progress we could make today. I listen, type and scrobble down little notes for parts we might need more details for. The hours pass by and slowly the sun dips. My neck feels strained, there is a soft throbbing in my temples and right now I want nothing more than just to be back cuddled between Paul and Franco.

The hospitality is almost empty when we finally leave the track. Paddock is no longer flooded by working people as well, just some of the big broadcasters still packing in their stuff just to return her tomorrow. The ride to the hotel is luckily silent and I am more than glad to finally enter my hotel room. I kick off my shoes and fall face down on my bed, sighing deeply when my head hits the soft pillow, until a thought comes to my mind. I promised the boys to text them. Pulling out my phone, I spot Paul's number easily and simply text him a:

Finally back at the hotel.

It doesn't take him long to answer, grey checks turning blue almost immediately, like he just waited for me to text him.

This late?

Yeah, everything was taking longer...

I rub my neck, knowing it might form into a headache if I don't stretch it for a bit, but I don't really want to move right now.

Want to come over?

I hesitate, biting my lower lip. As much as I would like to see the boys, usually the team hotels are flooded by fans, paparazzi and even though the boys are "just" reserve drivers, they still have a lot of eyes on them.

I can't just wander into your hotel.

Come outside your hotel and one of us will pick you up.

I don't know...

Please? You don't have to if you are uncomfortable with it, but Franco and I would like your company.

I sigh, this is way too good to be true. But being with them might be just what I need. Sharing time with them today made me feel so relaxed, so safe and I would give everything to just feel that again.

Okay.

Great! Put something comfortable on and Franco will be there in ten?

Fifteen?

I ask, suddenly no longer feeling tired anymore. The least thing I can do is to freshen up, the day was warm and I don't want to smell bad when I am close to them.

Fifteen it is.

Wrapped in a comfy hoodie and some sweatpants, I wait outside of my hotel. The temperatures have dropped without the sun, but luckily, I don't have to wait long. A car pulled up just a minute later, revealing Franco in the driver's seat, giving me one of his signature smiles.

"Hi."

"Hey Franco." I greet him and sit down in the car. Without hesitating, he leans over, presses his lips against my cheek like he did this morning, making me blush while he drives off. Just being with him makes my heart beat quicker, but at the same time, calmness waves over me.

"Paul is already in my room." Franco informs me and I just mutter an "Okay," eyes looking into the night. He sighs softly, making me look at him.

"Don't go all shy on us now, okay?" Franco asks, gaze flickering over, before he keeps focusing on the street. "Nothing you don't want will happen tonight." He reassures me and I sigh. Knowing they don't force me to do anything, but this whole situation feels so absurd to me.

"It just feels weird." I mutter, but reach out to gently touch his arm. Feeling the need to show him I am comfortable around them, just more than nervous.

"I get that, but just relax, we are two normal boys who like to talk too much." He grins, making me smile at his words.

"That helps."

The rest of the ride is silent, but it is a comfortable one. Franco reaches out to place his hand on my thigh while he doesn't need it to shift, me playing with his fingers in the process and a shared look from time to time. With Franco, I don't need to enter through the front; we park the car in a secluded area in the back without any fans or cameras visible, before we enter the hotel. Franco holds my hand on the elevator ride, leading me to his hotel room. He opens the door, letting me enter first, before he announces our presence.

"We're back." We get rid of our shoes and enter the spacious bedroom. Paul is lying on the bed, but sits up when he sees us. He is dressed in a shirt and some sweatpants, making it seem like he and Franco chilled in here before they decided they wanted my company.

"Hi." Paul grins, hops on his feet and with three wide steps, he is in front of me. Without even giving me the chance to answer, he kisses me. Presses his lips onto mine, making my eyes widen, but I don't pull back. Sighing softly against his lips before slowly moving my lips in sync with his. I can hear Franco grumble something and Paul pulls back with a smile, eyes looking at mine reassuringly.

Just blinking, I stare at him for a moment, until I feel a soft touch on my chin. I look at Franco, who's is looking at me, head slightly tilted to the side. When my eyes flicker to his lips, he smirks, leans down and kisses me. His lips are soft and I can do anything but sigh against his lips as well. This isn't how I imagined my evening to be, but I won't complain. Pulling back from me, Franco has that little smirk on his lips again, making me blush furiously.

"You can stop us at any second." Franco reassures me, just like he did in the car. Only the things I want to happen will happen tonight. I nod slowly and it seems to give the boy the okay to start. Fingers tug on the hem of my hoodie and I lift my arms, letting them pull it over my head. Wanting to be cuddled into a hoodie tonight, I didn't put on an extra shirt, making the boys groan when they spot me just left in my bra. Paul pulls me into another kiss and I'm glad because it gives me something to do. They both taste good on my lips and it feels like a drug I can't get enough of.

I can feel hands roam over my skin, guessing Franco is the one touching me and try to lean my body into his touch. Paul's tongue dips into my mouth, making me whimper. God, how am I supposed to go through the night with them, if just kissing makes my knees go weak.

Franco's fingers hook under the straps of my bra, pulling one side down, then the other. Lips caressing the spots where they rested before. But he doesn't open the bra just yet. His hands hold onto my hips, pulling me against his chest, my lips still entangled with Paul's. I gasp when Paul pulls back, eyes hooded, only to see his hungry gaze on me. He looks over my shoulder, communicating wordlessly with Franco again. Franco loses his grip on me, hand sneaking up my back, opening the bra and makes it fall to the ground. Making me gulp.

"Fuck, I never...never done this before." I whisper, feeling the need to say anything. A threesome might have been on my mind one or two times before, but I never thought that I would have one. Especially not with people like Franco and Paul.

"That's okay, we can take it slow." Paul reassures me, hand cupping my cheek, thumb brushing softly over my skin.

"It's all about you." Franco promises, kisses my other cheek like he did so often before and I whisper a soft "Okay" to tell them I am ready. Well, more or less.

Paul stays in front of me, Franco behind. They start kissing my skin. One on each side of my neck. Softly dragging their lips over the skin, not giving me a chance to tilt my head to the side, giving one of the more access. Franco nips at my skin and instinctively, I reach up to tangle my fingers into his hair. His tongue licks soothingly over his bites, exploring more and more of my skin.

Paul's hands touch me as well. At first kind of aimlessly drawing patterns into my skin. Fingers wandering up my ribcage, making me arch my body into his. I don't know what to do, so overwhelmed by the feelings of the two touching me that I can't do anything but let them use me and whimper. At one point, I manage to impatiently tug on their shirts. Making them pull back one by one, pulling their shirts over their heads, before they are back with me.

My naked back is pressed against Franco's chest and when I tilt my hips slightly I can feel his length pressing against my back. I lift my hands, start to touch Paul's chest while he kisses me again. Makes his tongue dance with mine, sending shivers down my spine. Franco's kisses slowly wander from my neck to between my shoulder blades until he has to drop to his knees to keep getting lower.

His lips keep wandering lower until they reach my lower back and then his hands join in. He hooks them into my sweatpants, manages to grab my panties as well and slowly drags them down my body, following the fabric with his lips. Franco helps me to step out of the trousers one foot by one, before he kisses up the other leg. Cheekily he grazes his teeth over my butt, making me whimper against Pauls lips, but push my hips back into Francos mouth.

"So pretty." Paul whispers, eyes scanning my body like he has never seen someone prettier before. I would blush if my head wasn't red anyway and for the first time this evening, I can feel how wet I already am. Behind me, Franco is back on his feet, hands brushing up my sides, hands finding my breasts, covering them with his fingers.

"So responsive." Franco praises me, fingers pinching my nipples, making me arch my back to get more of his touch. I feel high on lust by now, but this night is just getting started. Trying to get more active as well, I hook my fingers into Paul's sweatpants, looking in his eyes, waiting for him to nod before I pull them down.

I try not to stare, but both of them are so trained. Admiring Paul's physics, I don't even realise that Franco has undressed himself. Only when I see him going to the bed, my eyes are back on him. Franco lies down in the middle of the bed, leaving enough space for Paul and me.

"Sit on my face." Franco instructs me and I hesitate. Eyes wandering from Franco to Paul and back to Franco, who just waves me over. Carefully, I walk over to the bed, kneel beside Franco, first not sure if I should really do this. But he helps me drape one of my legs over his body, parting them naturally. I shuffle a bit higher, hovering over Franco's face at first, bracing myself for the impact, but he isn't patient. Without hesitation, Franco pulls me down to his face, making me squeak. Hand finds the headboard to hold me upright while Franco starts to devour me.

Tongue finding my clit easily while his hands hold me firmly in place. Lips perfect to suck the little pearl into his mouth, making he whimper, "Fuck, Franco." I look down on him, only to find his gaze. Eyes dark while he keeps pleasuring me with his mouth. I try not to grind down on his face, but with every lick, every soft suck it gets harder and harder.

"Relax, okay?" Paul mutters, approaching me from behind and I look over my shoulder to see that the Estonian has a bottle of lube in his hands. Fingers trailing down my back and I get what he wants to do, making me tense up slightly. Franco stops his movements, fingers softly kneading my thigh.

"Be careful, please?" I ask Paul because even though I had anal sex before it was some time ago and I don't know easily I manage to relax under the touch of both of the boys.

"Of course." Paul promises, kisses me softly on the lips, before opening the lube bottle. Warming it up in his palm, before coating his fingers with it. I turn my eyes back to Franco, trying to find a point to distract me and when he sees me looking at him he takes up his movements again. Tongue swirling around my clit takes my mind away from thinking and I don't even flinch when I feel Pauls finger at my backside.

The coated fingertip rests against my hole, slowly massaging it, until it relaxes enough for him to push one finger in. I gasp, grinding down against Franco's tongue, making him groan in response. The vibrations sending waves through my body and I just have one thought in my mind. More. More. More.

Paul moves his finger, twisting and turning it to work me open enough to slide a second finger inside. Franco's fingers are dug in my thighs, holding me tight to his face, not letting me move away when the pleasure slowly gets more and more. Tip of his tongue dipping into my hole, lips sucking on my clit, drawing whimper by whimper over my lips. The second finger of Paul doesn't hurt, just makes some tension ripple through my body.

"Shh." Paul softly hushes me, keeping his hand still, until I relax under their touch. He twists and scissors them carefully to open me up while I drip down on Franco's tongue.

"I'm..." I whimper, feeling my body clench around Paul's fingers and Franco's tongue. Only managing to whimper more while orgasming for the first time. Instead of stopping Franco just keeps lapping my clit slowly. Paul slips a third finger inside, using the moment of my body relaxing to shove it inside for further preparations.

Just when I slowly realise they aren't going to give me a pause, Franco manages to sneak his fingers between my legs as well. Adding two of them to my dripping hole, making me gasp. Just by the feeling of the boy's fingers filling my holes, I feel full, stretched and can only imagine what will happen after the preparation part. Both of the move their fingers, slowly stretching me open, Francos tongue on my clit distracting me from any remaining pain, while I just moan under they touch. I can feel my thighs shaking, a second orgasm building up and they have to feel it as well by how hard I clench down on their fingers.

"Oh god, I can't." I try to get myself out of their touch, but together they hold me in place, fingers thrusting in and out like it is their only goal to make me come. "You are doing so good." Paul whispers into my ear, lips nipping on the sensitive skin below, sending me straight over the edge. I can barely hold myself up anymore and I am more than glad when Paul and Franco both pull their hands back and when Francos tongue is no longer working on my clit. My thighs feel damp and shake slightly while I try to connect myself to reality again.

Looks like the boys have decided to give me a little break. Letting me rest between them, head resting against Franco's chest while Paul is pressed against my back. I can feel their hot skin on mine, their hard lengths pressing into my body, but they stay calm and give me a moment to breathe. Fingers drawing patterns into my body while my breathing is slowly getting back to normal. When I sigh softly and start to return their touch, live comes back into them.

"Ready for us?" Franco asks, sitting up slightly, making me slide off his chest. I roll onto my back, looking up at both of them, who look at me, observing. Trying to listen to my body, I figure out how I feel. Definitely sore tomorrow, but abdomen still clenching in anticipation.

"I guess?" I mumble, not matching the enthusiasm of my body.

"You don't have to, if it is getting too much, we are just going to take turns." Paul suggests and Franco nods. I don't know what will drain my body more, both of them together or one after the other, one always having time to recover and maybe even going for another round.

"If you can take us both, we can still take turns later tonight." Franco grins and I huff slightly.

"I am not getting any sleep tonight, will I?" I ask them, but grin during it, not finding that idea unpleasant.

"Hardly." Paul confirms and I nod my head, "Okay."

Franco sits up, reaches for something on the bedside table and hands Paul a condom. They both prep themselves, pumping their lengths a couple of times, before pulling the condom on and spreading a generous amount of lube on top. Even though I am probably more than wet right now, they want to make this as easy as possible.

I straddle Franco's hips, hovering over his length for a moment while holding onto his shoulders. He holds his tip against my entrance, but waits for me to move first. I look him in the eyes when I slowly sink down, taking his length inch by inch. Franco groans, hips bucking slightly, his fingers digging into my side, but he stays still. I take the time to kiss him, taste myself on his lips and whimper against them. Franco lets himself fall back, pulling me with him to make some space for Paul.

Paul kneels behind me, fingers softly caressing my butt, hands spreading the cheeks for his cock to slide between them. His tip pushes against the hole and I tense up just slightly before relaxing again. Bit by bit, he pushes inside, hushing me softly when I whimper and cramp. Just when I think I cant take all of them Paul fingers find my clit, toying with it, making me relax enough for him to slide in fully.

"You feel so good around me." Paul groans before Franco adds, „Doing so well." Their little praises help me take my mind away from the slightly burning stretch. Pauls fingers keep rolling over my clit, Franco helping me to sit up slightly, changing the angle of the cocks. My fingers dig into Franco's chest, making him groan, but both of them stay completely still. I try to listen to my body and when there is just anticipation and lust left, I give them the go to move.

"You can move."

They chose slow, deliberated movements. Paul pulls his hips back slightly, before pushing in again and Franco finds a way to buck his hips up. It does need a moment for them to find a rhythm, but then it is just lust flooding my veins. I don't know what to do, to think, just feel and let them move me. Being so on the edge already that just a few thrusts are enough to push me over, making me clench down on them and draw groans from their throats.

It's like this flips a switch and they are no longer keep grinding into me but get more force behind their thrust, using me for their pleasure. My finger dig into Franco's chest, probably leaving marks behind, drawing some moans over his lips. They both hold onto my hips, hands covering he ones of the other while they pull me into their thrusts. Paul slightly backwards and Franco down, stretching me open on their cocks. I don't know how much time passes until I feel that familiar tugging in my lower abdomen.

"Fuck, fuck fuck." I whimper between them, not knowing if I can take another one. "Yes, come again." Paul groans and I can feel his hand sneaking from my hip to in between my thighs. Just when his fingertip brushes against my clit I orgasm, spasming around them while feeling completely blissed out. Being in a hazy state, barely realising that the boys come to their high as well.

We all collapse on the bed for a moment, my body aching but kind of in a good way. I have my eyes closed, barely feeling the boys pulling out of, before they cuddle themselves against my body. My heart rate slowly comes down again and the exhaustion takes over my body. I yawn softly, cuddling myself against the damp skin of Franco, or is it Paul? I don't really care.

"Are you okay." One of them asks and I just hum in return, "Hm."

"Can you open your eyes?" This time, I am sure it's Franco and slowly open my eyes, blinking at them tiredly. Both have a soft smile on their lips, hair slightly sticking to their foreheads, but I am sure I don't look any better.

"We got you some water." Paul tells me and helps me to sit up slightly before giving me the bottle. "Thank you." I mutter, drinking a good amount of it, only now realising how thirsty I am. Franco disappears for a moment, returning with a damp washcloth in his hands.

"Can I clean your thighs?" He asks me, because even though they didn't spill inside of me, but into a condom, my thighs are still sticky with slick and lube. Knowing this might get uncomfortable, I smile at Franco. "Yes."

He sits down beside me, tenderly letting the lukewarm washcloth brush over my thighs, cleaning away the remnants of the night. "You did so good for us." Franco praises me, lips meeting my cheek, making me sigh softly.

"Now rest for a bit." Paul says and we all cuddle back together in the bed. Barely visible where one starts and the other ends, covered by the big hotel blanket, all drifting into a deep slumber not long after.

We might not have done it again that night, all too tired, but who knows what the morning has in store for us. 

[pomefioredove]

May I have sugar cookie #13 with sprinkles, chocolate chips, and powdered sugar?

Thank you and have a good day!

thank you for requesting!

order #13, sugar with chocolate chips, sprinkles, powdered sugar

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ bad service

summary: he didn't mean to get you fired tropes: fake dating, hurt/comfort, coffee shop au characters: deuce additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is not yuu, pre-NRC

"Check this out,"

It was like seeing headlights right before being barreled over by a semi-truck. It was the bitter taste of poison before paralysis, it was thunder before lightning.

It was a group of giggling teenage boys that were standing in the door of the coffee shop.

And based on the way they were dressed, tattered knees on dark-washed jeans and chains and bruised knuckles visible through holes in their gloves, they wouldn't have liked their insidious snickering to be thought of as "giggling".

Though, of course, that's what it was.

You pretend as if you hadn't heard, hoping they might lose interest and slink out the door and back onto the streets. But the sound of the bell by the door never hit your ears.

You pretend as if you're busy, bussing tables and swabbing them with a soapy cloth, collecting cake crumbs and empty coffee cups.

And you pretend there isn't one standing behind you, a big, shit-eating grin on his face.

"You're just gonna ignore me? That's pretty rude, you know,"

You turn over your shoulder- he's a bit shorter than you, but that makes him no less scary. Where is your shift manager when you need him?

You put on your best customer service voice and smile. "Oh, I'm sorry, were you ready to order?"

"You could say that,"

The boys behind him snicker, and the sinking feeling in your stomach is actualized when the shorter, bleached-blond in front of you suddenly dives in.

You're not sure where your reaction came from- months of customer service, likely- but you raise your fist, dingy dish-water cloth in it, and smack him hard across the face.

The barrage of hormonal boys howls with laughter, and their leader- the blond, the shorter one with a face that almost could have been mistaken for sweet- stumbles backwards into a table, sending its sweet, coffee-flavored contents across the floor.

You don't apologize. Why should you?

"YOU!"

And there's your manager. Fashionably late, like he is for all of his shifts.

You sigh, not even bothering to react to his heavy footsteps and booming voice as he berates you. "What did we say? What did we say? First, it wasn't smiling, and then it was that attitude-"

"I can't control the tone of my voice,"

"-And now you're assaulting customers? Give me your apron, you're done."

Your eyes widen, and you almost argue, but then those boys are still standing behind your manager, snickering.

You shouldn't make this worse for yourself.

Though you don't smoke at work, the alley behind the coffee shop is where you spent your breaks, sitting on the concrete steps and thinking.

And that's where you sit now, taking another kind of break (a permanent one, this time). Thinking.

"Ex-excuse me?"

A small squeak comes from the mouth of the alley. Meek and afraid - a child? You don't know if you have it in you to help some runt find its parents today.

But that voice becomes a shadow, which becomes a boy, much taller than a child but no less cowardly.

"You're not... he didn't really fire you, did he?"

You narrow your eyes at the bleach-blond. "He did,"

"Oh," he sounds sad, as if he has the right to pity you. You might slap him again, just for good measure. "I'm sorry,"

"You're what?" you ask.

"I'm Deuce," he says. "I mean- I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get you fired."

"You were just going to grab me, that's it? How kind,"

Panic pinches at his skin, and he seems to puff up like a cat. "I wasn't really gonna- I mean, I was just gonna make it look like that. For my boys. But I wasn't actually... I'm sorry,"

You lower your eyes. "Sure. Sure you were,"

"Honest!" Deuce says, sitting across from you on the gravelly ground, still damp from this morning's rain. "I-I... I never would have. What would my mom think? I was just... well, I told them that-"

"Spit it out,"

His face turns tomato red, a bad combination with his banana-blond, making an overripe fruit salad out of his face. "I-I told my boys that we were dating,"

You couldn't be anything but taken aback. What the-?

"Why?" is all you can think of.

Deuce looks away, twiddling with his thumbs like a child caught cheating on his math exam. "Well... you're pretty,"

"...And?"

"And, well, I wanted to impress everyone,"

You look away, mulling over his meek confession. What would my mom think, is what he said.

No amount of pity is going to get you your job back.

"Well, that would have been nice to know before you did that,"

"I'm sorry," he repeats. "I'll never bother you again. I'll pay you whatever you want until you can find a new job. I'll tell everyone the truth, I'll beat up your boss!"

The offer is said with such endearing excitement that you, again, almost forget that this was the foolish boy who had deserved that smack across the face.

"I don't forgive you," you say, plainly. "But you may as well find me a new job. I... needed that one."

He lights up, standing with a sense of determination in his hands and eyes. "I won't let you down!" he announces to the entire alley. "I'll go right now- wh-what work do you do? I mean- no, never mind, I'll just find all the available jobs in town! Stay right here!"

You stand, gripping his wrist before he can bound off into town.

"Maybe I should come with you,"

Again, he blushes, and he nods. "O-oh- right- good idea!"

You link your arm with his (mostly so that he won't escape) and drag your prisoner along with you.

[cherryblossms]

he laughed quietly. that was something he was still finding it difficult to admit; that he wasn't the biggest fan of pepperoni but ate them anyways because he knew angel liked them. he knew others, his friends, liked the topping as well. while he wasn't super picky about pizza toppings, he found pepperoni to be a bit too greasy once they were cooked. he much preferred veggies or sausage or ham for a meat over pepperoni. maybe it was just another quirk to fit into the people pleasing side to his personality — not wanting to cause any sort of rift over something so minuscule so he dealt with having to eat something he didn't care for. "i'll will definitely do the dishes, don't worry about that." he confirmed with a nod. honestly, he didn't even need the extra slices to be willing to do the dishes... even if it was on the bottom of his list of chores he liked doing. but he was eating as well and he felt the need to earn his keep so it only made sense. garam had mixed feelings, hearing angel had to work over the weekend. they'd have every day until then to spend together, if they chose to, because garam made his own schedule so it wasn't like they were going to lack time spent with one another. moreover, what bothered him was that axel didn't work weekends so he would have the time to try and harass garam if he wanted to. that could easily be resolved, though, if he invited somebody over just so he wouldn't be alone. or he could simply livestream while angel was out so he'd at least have others watching in case anything were to happen — he'd have people who cared about his wellbeing there to call for help if need be. "oh, that's not bad. i was thinking you'd have to go back immediately." garam was glad that he wasn't avoiding going to work because of darius, it'd only make him feel more guilty — as if angel was going to take the time off in order to make garam more comfortable. he really didn't want angel's friendship with the other man to change, all he asked was for the two not to be alone together for an extended time fame, however long to be debated. once angel stepped closer, garam couldn't help but freeze. his mind immediately going to 'he's spotted somebody' and 'is that somebody axel or his brother, again?' his body relaxed slowly once angel spoke, though. it was pretty busy, busier than he thought it would have gotten when he asked to go to the mall. to hide his guilt, garam plastered on a warm smile and nodded his head, humming in response. he shouldn't have suggested going to the mall, the very reason why he chose this place was angel's reason for wanting to leave. at least they were able to ditch axel's brother, or so he chose to believe since he hadn't noticed the man when they left the changing rooms nor when they left the store and started walking again. he should've stuck to ordering things he needed online and opt for going shopping on his own while angel was working so he wouldn't have caused the man any further issues. "we can go now, if you'd like? i can order the camera from amazon and have it delivered the next day." he'd likely end up purchasing his personal items at the same time and he could just make another trip back home to gather other things he thought he might need. "it is a bit suffocating in here. i knew it'd be busy but not this busy."

Angel listened closely, though his gaze drifted slightly, fixed on some distant store as Garam spoke. He heard every word, especially the parts Garam tried to keep light or dismissive—the subtle tension behind “no rush on that talk happening,” and the veiled protectiveness hidden in “prefer having you all to myself.” Angel knew what jealousy looked like, what it felt like, and he understood it even when it was dressed up in sweet tones and laced with humor. He didn’t blame Garam for feeling it—he knew firsthand how hard it was to share someone you cared about with people who’d once held their heart. But it still weighed on him. He didn’t like how familiar all of this felt. The way he was slowly pulling away from Darius, not because he wanted to, but because he felt he had to. Not that Garam ever told him to stop being friends with him—he never would—but Angel could feel it in the spaces between Garam’s words, in the way his jaw tensed slightly at Darius’s name, in the way he always softened afterward to make up for it. Angel had been there before. With Axel. The slow compromises. The quiet sacrifices. And always thinking this time it’s different. He didn't blame Garam for his actions. No matter how they made him feel Angel understood them. He went as far as to hit on Axel to prove a point. Even though Garam apologized for saying it, the words were prevalent in his mind. “you started it, you intended for something to happen between the two of you, you just weren't expecting where he decided to take it. It's his fault for not stopping you, for not stopping himself if you told him to stop. But he never would have done anything with you if you hadn't provoked him." as they walked through the crowd Angel clenched his fist and dug his nails into his palms. The crowded mall, all the noises and people swirled together with his thoughts it was all too much. Then everything went silent, when Garam smiled at the idea of making pizzas—truly smiled, warm and unguarded—it made something tight in Angel’s chest loosen. He was trying. Garam didn’t hide his flaws, and in some ways, that made it easier to accept them. His jealousy wasn’t cruel; it was human. Angel could work with humans.“You better not hog all the pepperoni,” Angel said with a light laugh, trying to match Garam’s levity. He was becoming a pro at pretending he was okay “And you only get extra slices if you clean the dishes after.” He smiled back, but his eyes studied Garam for a moment longer as if looking for cracks in the surface. Angel released a truly deep breath as he slowly released his palms, careful to tuck them away behind his back as they entered the store to search for a ring camera. When Garam suddenly asked about his work schedule, Angel tilted his head. The way he asked… it wasn’t casual, not really. He caught the way Garam’s eyes shifted briefly toward the door, the slight twitch in his fingers. Anxiety. Not about him. About Axel. Angel’s smile faded a little, and he softened. “I’ve got two shifts this weekend—Saturday night and Sunday afternoon. But I’ll be around most of the week,” he said gently. “And I won’t avoid work just because of him. I’ve switched shifts. No money lost” He paused, stepping a little closer, his voice lowering to something quiet and sure. “Let's be quick. Too many people I'm ready to head home.“

[kiragecko]

Do you think Cass's writers KNEW how harmful Babs' teaching methods were?

Cass and/or Babs fans who have read the first Batgirl series and/or No Man's Land, what do you think?

I'll get into the details in a moment, but my guess is they were trying to write Babs as a fallible mentor, but were ignorant about just how much damage she would realistically be causing. I'd like to get second opinions, because I've spent enough time studying communication with nonverbal people that I no longer know what people actually KNOW.

Anyways, here's the stuff I want to know if you guys think is intentional:

When we first meet Cass, Babs is trying to teach her to read. Babs is showing her the word 'stop' and getting Cass to sound out the letters. This is ... not a good idea.

Some of the errors Cass makes (starting with a 'd' sound and correcting to 't', for example) suggest that Cass is still learning HOW TO MAKE SOUNDS. She's still teaching her body how to shape her mouth and throat, when to vibrate her vocal cords - the physical aspects of speech. That's HARD, and deserves focus so it can be learned properly!

We later learn she only knows a small number of words. She's still learning to associate sounds with meaning. That's HARD, and deserves focus so it can be learned properly!

She's also still learning to match letter shapes to sounds. THAT IS ALSO HARD AND DESERVES FOCUS SO SHE CAN LEARN IT PROPERLY!

By conflating reading, speech, AND understanding, Babs is making Cass' job MUCH MUCH more difficult! Each of those, and a dozen smaller aspects of communication, all need months of prioritization, without competition from other aspects.

-

Throughout Batgirl, Babs pressures Cass to read. Cass is still learning to parse meaning from the words downloaded into her head. She struggles to organize them into sentences. She struggles to understand the nuances of what other people are saying. Once again, these are all important things that she should be encouraged to focus on! Reading is nice, but at this point it shouldn't be the priority. By ignoring the skills Cass IS building, and pushing Cass towards competing skills she doesn't have the prerequisites for, Babs is slowing down Cass' progress and providing negative feedback loops.

-

Babs seems to equate reading with communicating. Possibly because of her past as a librarian and the obvious value she gets from reading. Possibly because her current job is as an information broker and hacker. Possibly because her own disability limits her physically, and reading and writing has become necessary for interacting with the outside world. Possibly because she is living vicariously through the new Batgirl. And possibly because her eidetic memory suggests she thinks in words and can't actually imagine thought in other ways.

Cass is probably never going to use reading as a primary communication method, and would have benefited froma learning regimen that works with her skills, rather than pushing through her weaknesses.

-

Here's the stuff I'm pretty sure was intentional:

Babs calls Cass stupid for not being able to read during a high pressure situation that is triggering Babs. This is obviously wrong, and she feels awful about it.

Babs is frequently impatient with Cass' progress, and sometimes accuses her of not trying, or not caring enough. She makes comments in front of other people without thinking. These are all shown as problematic and hurtful.

-

Here's the things I think Babs did right:

Babs sets up a computer system that can be navigated by voice, and can interpret vague instructions. It provides visual, as well as verbal, information for everything Cass asks about. Cass is never pressured to use a different system.

Babs mostly allows Cass to explore, and builds lessons around Cass' interests. She integrates life skills into her lessons, and actually does a REALLY good job at helping Cass build enough of a foundation to start getting curious about the world.

She usually backs off when Cass gets stubborn, which lets Cass recover, and keep some agency.

She MOSTLY doesn't co-opt Cass' growing friendship with Steph. She supports them, and doesn't try to use Steph to push Cass in the directions Babs wants her to go.

Other than stuff around speech and literacy, I actually think the writers did a good job of writing a flawed but caring mentor who actually helped more than she harmed.

-

What do you guys think?

[restlesscrybaby]

ahoy!! if you havent already, could you do mr ring a ding/lux headcanons where the reader is sick? please and thank you!! ^_^

Of course, anon!! Your wish is my command >w<!

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

!! MR. RING-A-DING / LUX IMPERATOR. !!

-- TAKING CARE OF SICK READER.

! This work has no warnings! !

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿

This will be both platonic and romantic, I'll write both!

He hates that people can get sick. He can too, but.. Shhh.

If you're lying in bed, he basically becomes your nurse immediately.

Ice pack on the feverish head, soup in your hands for you to eat, a blanket, water, and he has your medicine ready.

He wants to give it to you.

Pouring the thick syrup onto a spoon, the dark purple color gave a disgusting taste of overwhelming grape before you could even get it put into your mouth.

He brings the spoon to your lips. Yes. He will go 'open wide, sweetie-pie!'. He puts the spoon gently in your mouth and let's you take the medicine, taking the spoon out.

He puts a thermostat in your mouth, taking your temperature, checking your forehead with his fingers. He has this whole doctor act .

The soup he makes.. Makes?... you can't tell, laying down and trying to rest is all confusing to you... But, the soup is weirdly.. Amazing?

Then again,

He's a God. And a toon. That combination might have been a gift for things like this.

He can't get sick when you're sick, so expect a LOT of him sitting and laying with you. And him hugging up on you.

For romantic, he often presses a sweet kiss onto your cheek, backing away with a loud 'pop!'.

For platonic, he pats your head with a wide grin, he promises to take good care of you.

That's lowkey scary to hear but. He means well...

He will help you around too.

If you're standing and you shouldn't be?

He grabs your hand, starting to pull on you,

'Ah, ah, ah! Don't be making bashes of doing stuff on your own, missy/mister/mx!' ( I've never used Mx before. Apologies if I've used it wrong!! )

He forces you to sit down and all, wagging a finger at you and getting onto you even.

Don't think you're doing anything on your own on his watch.

If you don't like the medicine, or even refuse to take it, he shakes it gently at you, telling you all about how you need to take it. And not to be a wise guy about it!!

He will like. Wrap his arms around you and pull you too so you won't try and all.

He will tuck you into bed so tight you can't squirm out, he has an odd way of handling this!

He doesn't mind getting kissed while your sick. Infact, he loves it to be fair... It feels more personal and intimate, loving even.

If you happen to throw up, he holds your hair back, sitting on the floor next to you. He basically aids your every need.

You'll be fine in no time!

He promises.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Sorry this isn't my best, I had a big day today and I'm just trying to keep stuff posted >o<!! Thank you all for the patience :0].

[f1amboyant]

Hey, would you write a carcar coffeeshop au? Like Oscar is the barista and Carlos a repeat customer so they go from friends to lovers? And maybe Carlos brings a date to the cafe and Oscar can't understand why he's so unsettled with the idea.

Ask and you shall receive 🧡

(This was fun to write and maybe the little push I needed to get back into writing after a long time, so thank you 🩵)

.

Oscar slams the pumpkin spice latte he just brewed so hard on the counter the content threatens to spill and the paper cup starts to crumple between his tense fingers.

"Alex," he calls in his flattest voice but some of his boiling anger must have seeped through his voice because Lando suddenly appears next to him, a teasing smile on his face.

"Oooooh, someone's in a bad mooooood~," the Brit sing songs.

Oscar does his best to ignore him, turning back to his coffee machine and his next order. He can still feel Lando's annoying gaze at the back of his head.

"I'm not," he grumbles but that half reply only fuels his damn coworker even more.

"You areeeeeee~." Lando's voice is grating on Oscar's nerves. "Come on, Osc. What's got you all moody?"

"Nothing. White mocha for Nico," Oscar calls over the counter, hoping it would distract Lando.

It does not.

"I know you, Oscaaah," Lando says."I know when you're all moody even if you try to hide it behind your blasé attitude. So why the long face? Isn't your crush here? Shouldn't you be all happy and giddy like you get when he's here?"

"He doesn't make me giddy. And I don't have a crush," Oscar adds after a second too long.

"He makes you smile, you muppet. And blush!" Lando retorts. "If that's not you being all giddy and hot for him, I don't know what that is.

"You don't know what that is," Oscar deadpans.

Lando isn't listening anyway.

Another order filled and onto the next. Oscar moves between the coffee machine and the counter without even thinking about it. His hands know the rhythm.

He tries his damnedest not to look up, eyes stubbornly glued to the paper cups going through his fingers, the steaming coffee and the glistening bottles of syrup. But he can't help it. He watches him.

Them.

He is sitting at a little table not far from Oscar's station (to Oscar's utter dismay). His hair as shiny and luscious as ever. Strong nose and plush lips disappearing behind his paper cup from time to time (coffee, black, the strongest blend you have, please). His square jaw juts to the side sometimes and Oscar can't help oggling at the muscle tensing there.

Then Oscar catches himself, looking back down, only to fall on the man's big fingers wrapped around the cup and that's usually when his thoughts derail. Very impure thoughts. Thoughts he cannot disclose and yet Lando seems to read him like an open book. Because Oscar would never admit it but Lando is right. That man (Carlos, said with an 'r' rolling on the tongue and right to Oscar's insides) makes him giddy (and terribly aroused if he's honest with himself).

But today…

Today.

Today, Carlos is not alone.

Today, Carlos has a date.

A date.

And Oscar is dying inside, watching his crush (the man he has been crushing on for weeks now, trying and failing to find a way to flirt with him) with another man.

"Ah. I see," Lando sighs, appearing once again over Oscar's shoulder, as Oscar starts to oggle for a little bit too long. "Tall, dark and handsome got a date," Lando says. "I told you, you needed to act quicker. You're so slow, mate."

"Shut up."

There's not much force into it and anyway Lando just shrugs and goes back to work. Oscar chances another look at Carlos and his stupid date (Alex, what grown ass man is even called Alex?). They laugh together and Oscar's heart breaks.

For the next painstakingly long hour, Oscar does his best ignoring his broken heart and the happy couple at the little table until Alex leaves and Carlos stays behind. Big eyes lost, looking nowhere, jaws moving from side to side in thought, he is nursing a cup of coffee that's probably cold and disgusting by now.

Oscar's hands act on autopilot and before he knows it, he is walking around the counter and straight for the little table, steaming cup in hand. Oscar puts it on the table and instead of saying 'on the house', like he planned to, he blurts out.

"Your date's gone."

Dear lord, Oscar, get a grip.

Carlos looks up at him, his eyes so round and so brown, Oscar's heart melts.

"Sorry," he rushes to say. "I didn't mean to pry or to be rude."

"Don't worry about it, Oscar," Carlos says, a half smile and half pout on his pretty lips. "It was a great date anyway. Alex is a nice guy but not the right fit for me."

"I'm sorry," Oscar says but he's not feeling sorry at all. His hearts lodges in his throat, fluttering. "Well." This is it. This is the moment. "If you feel like hanging out, you know, to talk or something, you know where to find me."

He points at the coffee machine over his shoulder and flees before he can hear Carlos' rejection.

But Oscar is barely back at his work station, cleaning a bit before the next rush, that Carlos is pulling the stool on the other side of the counter and settling with his steaming cup.

"Hey, you," Carlos says, wiggling his eyebrows at Oscar. "Do you come here often?"

Oscar pauses, at a loss for words.

"You're so weird."

"Hey!" Carlos protests, but the smile still lingers on his full lips. Oscar desperately wants to kiss them. "That's not a very nice way to start a date. You have to introduce yourself and all. Go on, Oscar."

So so weird. Oscar just likes him even more.

"You know my name," he points at his name tag (he can feel his heart hammering under it).

"Nice to meet you, Oscar," Carlos says, undisturbed and laughing sweetly. "I'm Carlos."

"I know. I wrote your name on a million cups already."

"Good. Would you write your phone number on the next one, too?"

Oscar dissolves in spluttering words and heated cheeks, fumbling with a new paper cup and his pen to scribble his phone number on it and give it to Carlos. Carlos laughs, but it doesn't feel mocking, just the sexiest sound Oscar has ever heard.

It's not really a date, but Oscar counts this first real conversation (Carlos sitting at the counter while Oscar still works, talking about nothing and everything) as their first date anyway. And Carlos takes him out on a real date after that, when he calls the next day. So it's all okay.

[narilily]

Right! Because then you're going to look back on it and realize that you made a grave mistake when you have to do the work yourself, instead of having someone do it for you. I'd be really, really awful with guilt, I would. It would pretty much keep me up at night, and during the day and just… always, actually. We should! Life's too short to feel like there are dress codes when there shouldn't be. Except for Galas.

So true, you shouldn't kill people who you might need for services at a later time, in fact. That's sort of shooting yourself in the foot via shooting someone else until they're dead. Which...yeah. You'd be awful with guilt, right? That's kind of the vibe you give me, at least. I agree, we should just dress why and how we want at all times.

[oddinary4bts]

Be With You | ch 8

☆summary: who knew that the hot guy you've been paired with for a class project is also a kind soul? Certainly not you, and you feel yourself falling even though you know you shouldn't. Will it be your demise, or will it all work out in the end?

☆pairing: Choi San x female!reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, some chapters contain mature content)

☆genre: slow burn strangers to lovers, college!au, smut, angst and fluff

☆warnings: Jungkook, cursing, ghosting, wooyoung <3, angst. like a lot of it oop, vague mentions of what happened with Jungkook three years ago

☆word count: 7.2k

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here

☆a/n: this one is very sad and i'm sorry :') but i hope you guys still like it! I'm posting it from Seoul!!!! I'm so excited to be here:) and thank you to @moonleeai for your amazing work as my beta reader, I love you and am forever thankful for you <3

☆☆☆☆☆

Cold snowflakes Withered down Until you bloom As a spring flower I'll be with you

Be With You, Ateez (english translation)

☆☆☆☆☆

Saturday, October 26th

You wake up with the morning light, confused as to when you actually fell asleep. All you remember is tossing and turning, tears staining your cheeks, but it seems sleep found you at some point. You don’t feel rested though, heaviness clinging to your very soul, and you turn on your side, reaching for your phone on the nightstand. 

You turn it on, letting it scan your features before it opens on your conversation with San. His text sits there, unchanged by the last few hours, and your heart twists in your chest once more. Your reply, much less ominous, winks at you, its lack of response evident.

[3:07 am] You: are you okay?

You’re not surprised he hasn’t replied. His behaviour last night was strange, hurtful, but not quite as painful as it was to see Jungkook again. 

To think that Wooyoung was with Park Jimin…

You turn off your phone, lying on your back as you stare up at the ceiling. You wonder what happened for San to decide to leave without talking to you. You assume it must have been bad - San isn’t one for abandoning you like that.

You sigh, closing your eyes as your heart aches in your chest, fear wrapping around it like a tight, suffocating embrace. You don’t let the tears come this time, or maybe your exhaustion keeps them at bay. Indeed, your cheeks remain dry, and you’re able to take a few shuddering breaths in until the wave passes.

Fucking Jeon Jungkook…

You’re not even going to fucking say hi?

Jungkook’s words ring in your ears, as they’ve been doing since last night. The sight of him was surprising, disconcerting, and you still can’t believe he’s changed so much. Though he still had those same doe eyes that had stolen your heart when you were too young to see the evil lurking in their depths.

You wish last night had never happened. You wish you hadn’t seen Jungkook again, because you feel the trauma returning, you feel the pain that he’s caused you taking hold of you again. You barely survived the first time - will you survive this time around?

You ask yourself that question all day, as Sydney and Yunho force you to hang out in the living room with them. They’re cautious around you, but you barely even notice, too distracted with glancing at your phone every five minutes hoping that San might have replied to you.

But he doesn’t reply, and night comes again without a single word from him. He’s never not texted for such a long period before, and the fear from the morning strengthens its hold on you until you barely can breathe, tears once more spilling on your cheeks.

You think you know. You reckon you know, yet you don’t want to wrap your head around this new reality. You don’t want to accept it, and so you push the thoughts away, telling yourself that he might just be unwell.

What if something happened with his father? As much as it hurts, you wouldn’t blame him for pulling away. You know damn well that sometimes, you just need some time alone to figure shit out. Maybe San is similar to you in this way.

And so, while the moon laughs at you from its throne up in the sky, blazing bright in the cloudless night, you chase sleep that evades you, trying to ignore the stifling thoughts that haunt your mind.

Monday, October 28th

You sit at the back of the classroom, a bleary ghost barely able to keep your eyes open. You haven’t slept much over the weekend, the lack of response from San keeping you awake despite your tiredness. 

He didn’t reply yesterday either. And so, despite your short night of sleep, you decided to make your way to class, hoping to run into him. 

Hoping that he’ll reappear and everything will be okay now. So you anxiously stare at the door, worrying at your bottom lip. People come in, dispersing in the classroom, yet San stubbornly  remains out of sight. You clench your fists, letting the pain of your nails digging in your palm keep you grounded. 

Letting the physical pain keep you from crying in public like this. Because you feel like crying - you’ve been crying so much over the last two days. Everything about Jungkook rushing back in, San’s disappearance from your life…

You’ve always thought you were strong, yet you’ve never felt so weak. Weak enough that a single gust of wind might break you down, that a single ‘Are you okay?’ might have tears run down your cheeks. You feel feeble, like you might break into a thousand little pieces if somebody even looks your way.

But you hold on strong, staring at the door, hoping that he’ll be the next one to come in. But he doesn’t and, five minutes after the class starts, Wooyoung rushes in, sitting at an empty desk towards the middle of the class.

He glanced at you first. You’re fully aware that he glanced at you, but the apologetic smile he sent your way was nothing reassuring, and the knowledge that something really did happen settles so deep in your bones that you think you might collapse.

You don’t. You stay standing, always - what is there else to do anyway? 

When the class ends, Wooyoung lingers by the door, and though you don’t want to talk to him, don’t want him to tell you what might have happened out of fear of you having fucked it up without even realizing, he stops you with a hand on your arm.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Pain swells up in your chest, and you take a deep breath, looking towards the end of the hallway so that Wooyoung can’t see the tears welling up in your eyes.

“Ah, I guess so,” you reply. 

“Have you…” he trails off. Nayeon passes, and he smiles at her before continuing, “Have you talked to San over the weekend?”

San’s name stabs into your beating heart. It’s such a drastic change from the usual warmth that it brings you, and you want to go home. Want to go home and hide in a blanket until the world moves on and forgets all about you.

“I haven’t,” you reply flatly. “Why?”

“He’s been ignoring everyone all weekend, and he refused to let me in when I went to his place last night.”

Your eyes widen ever so slightly, hope threatening to lighten the dark skies your mind has been clouded with. Because if he’s ignoring everyone, and not just you… then surely it can’t be about you.

“Why would he…” you trail off.

Wooyoung shrugs his shoulders, pursing his lips. “I don’t know. I assumed something must have happened with you?”

“The last time I saw him was at the party,” you say. “He left without even saying goodbye.”

Wooyoung frowns. “He told me he was leaving after the stack-the-cup game. Not too long after you guys disappeared somewhere together.”

You blush as you reminisce about what you disappeared for. Was San embarrassed of it? Why else would he leave?

“He told me he was going to find you, but he didn’t tell me he was going to leave.”

“Did he look upset?” Wooyoung asks.

You pull at some dry skin on your lower lip. “Not at all… he said he’d find me later.”

Wooyoung sighs, grabbing his phone. You watch as he opens it, going to his instagram. He opens his conversation with San. He types a message, sending it without you being able to read it, and then he puts his phone back in his pocket.

“It’s fucking weird.”

Your gaze drops to the ground as you try to think, and all you can come up with is, “Did something happen with his dad?”

Wooyoung cocks a confused eyebrow. “His dad? Not that I know of.”

It’s the only thing that crosses your mind, especially after the conversation you had last Wednesday.

“I’ll try to talk to him again today,” Wooyoung says. “Let me know if he replies to you.”

You nod, taking a deep breath, and then you glance at the end of the hallway again. “Will do. Tell me if he replies to you, too.”

“Of course.” You’re starting to walk away when Wooyoung speaks up, saying your name. You turn to look at him again, and he adds, “I didn’t know you had an ex.”

Of course he didn’t. None of them did - only Sydney and Yunho know.

“Ah,” you let out. “He’s not really someone worth mentioning.”

Wooyoung walks towards you, and then you head together towards the stairs. “He’s got a weird vibe.”

You’re surprised Wooyoung noticed - most people always believe Jungkook to be the sweetest person. But then again, Wooyoung was there when Jungkook talked to you last Friday.

“He is…” You shrug your shoulders. “He is indeed weird.”

“Jimin refused to say anything about you and Jungkook,” Wooyoung adds.

You’re halfway down the stairs by then, and all you want is to step outside and run away from the conversation.

As much as you were ready to have said conversation with San, you don’t want to talk about it with Wooyoung.

“He probably just doesn’t want to stir shit,” you reply, offering Wooyoung a tight-lipped smile. 

Wooyoung shrugs. “Yeah, I got the feeling too.”

An awkward silence descends on the two of you, though you cling to it for dear life, hoping Wooyoung won’t ask any more questions. To your relief, he remains silent, clearly lost in thoughts too, and you make it all the way outside before he talks again.

“Are you coming to class this afternoon?” he asks, noticing you turning away to head out of campus.

“I’m kind of really tired,” you admit, and Wooyoung’s features turn apologetic.

Much like they had when he walked into class, and you only realize now that he was probably sorry because he couldn’t sit with you, and not because he knew something about San.

“No worries, go rest up,” he says, flashing you a smile. “I’ll send you my notes.”

Your eyes water at his words, and you blink it away as subtly as you can. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Wednesday, October 30th 

Two days later, and you still haven’t heard from San. You sent him a message yesterday night, telling him to let you know if he’s alive and that you don’t have to talk, but the message was delivered with no answer ever coming back.

You didn’t really expect one. Though Wooyoung did plant a seed of hope in your heart on Monday, that seed was quickly crushed by San’s neverending silence. 

It doesn’t help that you’re supposed to meet at the library tonight, like you’ve done every week since you started working on your project. You’ve been debating asking him if he’s still coming, yet you’re starting to feel like you’ll only get on his nerves.

If he wanted to talk to you, he would have already. And as much as it hurts to think he doesn’t want to talk to you, it’s also starting to anger you. You’ve never been good with silence - especially with how much Jungkook wielded that against you - and you hate that it’s starting to taint the image of San that you had in mind.

The only thing saving it from full corruption now is the fact that Wooyoung still hasn’t had news either, except from San liking a message that Wooyoung sent saying that he was there for him if he needed.

At least you know San is still alive.

You’re in class, eyes unfocused on your laptop in front of you. You blink a few times to bring it back into focus, and then you write down the sentence the professor just said, even though you have no clue if it’s important. Wooyoung is sitting next to you, pretty much in the same state as you, though you both startle when his phone vibrates on the desk between the two of you.

Especially as you both catch sight of who’s calling, San’s name burning into your retina.

You exchange a glance, eyes widened, and then Wooyoung grabs his phone, mouthing to you that he’ll be back. The professor barely even pays attention to him, and Wooyoung jogs out of the class, leaving you with your heart beating out of your chest as you wait for him to come back. 

And it takes a while, so much so that you’re left wondering if Wooyoung ran away. It’s a silly thought to have considering all of his stuff is still next to you, and so you take a deep breath, trying to slow down your heartbeats.

It doesn’t work. Your heart is beating so loud you can’t even hear the professor anymore, and it only increases, adrenaline spiking in your blood, when Wooyoung comes back with a dreary expression. 

He sits next to you, putting his phone face down between the two of you. You tap his arm, question marks etched in your eyes, but he only mouths that you can talk after class. You clench your jaw, knowing you won’t be able to focus on the class at all now - not that you were really focusing before - and you take a deep breath, looking at the professor.

The class is unending. The class is time stretched into a moment of hell, and you think you’ll be stuck here forever, your heartbeats echoing in your mind louder than bombs. Your hands are slightly shaking, making it hard to take notes, and the next thirty minutes pass like fifteen hundreds of them.

You think you have died four times by the time the professor tells the class to pack their bags, yet it does eventually happen, making your heart rate spike in your chest again.

“So?” you immediately say as you turn towards Wooyoung.

His lips stretch in a tight line, and his eyes flutter close, almost like he’s pained. “I…” He takes a deep breath, opens his eyes and looks at you. “I think you should move on.”

The words stop the world around you, leaving only them and their incessant echo, and your lungs fill with burning lava, making it hard to breathe.

It can’t be. It can’t fucking be - you’ve only had weeks with Choi San, and now life is tearing you apart? It’s unfair.

But you know. You know you never should have fallen in love with him. Why would you deserve it anyway?

“What?” you let out, your voice smaller than the atoms holding a single drop of water together.

A single drop of water, now lost at sea.

“He refused to tell me exactly what happened, but he said…” Wooyoung stops, wincing. “I’m sorry.”

“What did he say?” you ask, furiously blinking away the tears forming in your eyes.

“I just think you should move on,” Wooyoung says softly.

“What did he say?” you repeat, your heart slowly shattering in your chest, like a car crash in slow motion.

Wooyoung sighs, closing his eyes. “He said that he doesn’t want to talk to you, or to talk about you.”

Your hand clenches in a tight fist. “Why? What happened?”

“Fuck if I know.” Wooyoung seems resigned, sad, and he meets your gaze with such pity in his eyes you almost want to punch him.

But it’s not his fault. Of course it’s always been yours.

“I’m really sorry,” Wooyoung whispers. “I’ve never seen him like this.”

One tear wins, and you immediately dry it with a swipe of your hand. “It’s not your fault,” you reassure him.

You look away, putting your stuff in your school bag hurriedly. Wooyoung stops you with a gentle hand on your arm, and you clench your jaw hard before biting into your tongue, hoping that it might keep the rest of your tears at bay.

“Give him some time,” Wooyoung says, voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll try to talk to him to figure out why he made that decision.”

You think about Jimin. You think about how he was stuck between you and Jungkook for so long before he inevitably chose Jungkook’s side, leaving you alone in the end. And so you pat Wooyoung’s hand, offering him a sad smile.

“Don’t put yourself between me and him,” you tell Wooyoung.

“I just…” he trails off as he watches you getting up.

“It’s not worth it,” you add. “If San made a decision, the only thing we can do is respect it.”

No matter how much it hurts. No matter how difficult it is to walk away from Wooyoung now, your fist tight on one of the straps of your school bag like it’s a buoy keeping you afloat despite the storm raging in your heart and mind.

You don’t know how you make it home. You’ve gone into survival mode, taking one step at a time without really looking at where you’re going. You just hear Wooyoung’s words on repeat - so many words have been haunting you lately.

You wish you could forget all the words in the dictionary. Wish you could be hit with amnesia so that the pain wouldn’t linger too long. 

But it does. The pain makes a home in your heart, taking all the memories of you and San and tainting them with bittersweet heartbreak.

He decided to ghost you. San, sweet, sweet Choi San decided to ghost you, and you don’t even know why. You don’t know what brought him to that decision - is it because you said you wanted to wait before being boyfriend and girlfriend when he called you his girl at the Halloween party?

If only you had known… you’d go back in time and change your words, tell him you want him like the moon wants the sea, pulling it just a little closer whenever it passes in the sky. Yet the moon never touches the sea and maybe, maybe that’s what your story with Choi San was supposed to be in the end.

The story of reaching for someone, but only meeting a void instead.

You’re outside in front of your apartment building. Have been for a moment, looking at the door. It’s like you’ve been frozen in place - maybe the atmosphere was wiped from the Earth, and you were hit with absolute zero.

Yunho appears, opening the door in front of your dead eyes. He takes you in, gaze widening, and then he’s jogging towards you.

He says your name alarmingly, and then adds, “What’s wrong? What are you doing?”

A sob wracks through you, cracking the ice covering your body, and you hide your face in your hands. Yunho immediately pulls you into a tight hug, and then he’s guiding you towards the door, and all the way to your apartment.

“I’m calling Syd,” he says once he’s had you take off your coat and boots, and told you to sit on the couch. 

“Don’t bother,” you say, taking a deep breath through the heartbreak. “I’m okay.”

“Fuck off.”

It’s all he says before he’s pressing his phone to his ear. Sydney picks up a moment later, and you barely listen as Yunho explains he’s found you crying outside, and that she should come over. He’s hanging up not too long after, and then he goes to the kitchen, bringing you back a glass of water.

“I’m not thirsty,” you mumble.

“Do I look like I care?” he asks. “Drink up.”

You glare at him, but he looks so serious that you do grab the glass, taking a sip from it. “Happy?”

“More,” he insists, folding his arms on his chest.

Annoyed, you take another longer sip. “Happy now?”

Yunho sighs, sitting down on the couch next to you. He doesn’t say anything for a time, and the tears start making their way to your eyes again.

“Hey, hey,” Yunho says. “Drink your water.”

“I don’t want to drink the fucking water.”

“I don’t know how to cheer you up, so you’re going to drink your water while we wait for Syd to get here, m’kay?”

He’s stupid. Your brother is stupid, but at least he’s trying. And you realize that, when you’re drinking water, the sobs don’t quite make their way to the surface. It helps with keeping you grounded, and you’re not really crying anymore by the time Sydney arrives, twenty minutes later.

She looks worried, kicking off her boots by the door before walking towards you and your brother. She meets Yunho’s gaze, who shrugs, and then she’s sitting on the other side of you.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“Nothing.” You chuckle bitterly, not surprised when tears wet your eyes again. “San just decided he was done with me and had Wooyoung tell me.”

“Oh.” You’re crying again, and Sydney awkwardly wraps you into a hug, patting your back. “I’m sorry, bubs.”

“I just don’t get it,” you say through the renewed sobs. “We were all good last Friday, and then he left and he ignored me and now this? What the fuck did I do?”

If only you had known that your last kiss would have been that kiss outside of the bathroom by the stairs. You would have kissed him longer, held him longer, kept him close until the Sun would have burned out in the sky. But you didn’t, and all that’s left is a memory that’s not quite focused because you didn’t know it was going to be so important.

“What a fucking ass,” Yunho grumbles next to you.

Sydney moves and, knowing her, you assume she’s glaring at him. “I’m really sorry.” She rubs your back soothingly some more, and then grabs the empty glass of water to give it to Yunho. “Did something happen in the days before the party?”

You rack your mind in search of an explanation and once again, all that comes up is the conversation about his dad.

“He told me some shit about his dad,” you reveal. “But I don’t know why that would lead him to end things like this.”

“What did he say?”

You don’t want to say it. Especially not when he mentioned he’d never told anyone before. Even if you somehow fucked up the relationship, you don’t want to betray his trust like that.

“Just that his dad is an ass,” you choose to say, the half-truth having to be enough for now.

Sydney and Yunho don’t reply, as if expecting for more to come, but you fall silent, focusing on trying to breathe normally. It works enough for you to sit straighter, and Sydney’s hand returns to her lap.

“He’s wild for doing this considering we have friends in common,” Yunho says after a time. He curses underneath his breath, shaking his head. “Like for real, what does he think will happen when Hongjoong organizes something again?”

“Don’t stir shit,” you tell your brother sternly. “Please don’t make it worse.”

“You haven’t done shit, though,” Yunho says. “Unless you’re not telling us something.”

“Yunho,” Sydney warns.

“Are you saying I’m lying?”

Yunho’s gaze widens in fear. “Wait no, fuck no. I know you haven’t done anything.”

“Did you… tell him about Jungkook?” Sydney asks.

As always, the name stings, yet you think San’s name stings a lot more now. “I didn’t even have time to tell him.”

“Jungkook was there at the party…” she trails off, and it only then dawns on you that San and Jungkook might have talked that night, even if Wooyoung didn’t mention it.

“Do you think Jungkook told him something?”

Silence settles in your mind, clarity hitting you. Your gaze widens, and the pain momentarily disappears. “Oh shit.”

“You should try to talk to him.”

The thing is… how? San is visibly ignoring your texts, and he’s not coming to class anymore. You ask yourself that question for the rest of the day, especially once you’ve assured Yunho and Sydney that you'll be okay just so that they let you retreat to the quiet of your room.

You end up trying to work on the project, only for you to stare at the screen as all the times you studied with San keeps popping up in your mind. Treacherous little thoughts, yet they are tinged with a flicker of hope now at the thought that you might be able to fix things if you talk to him.

But what would you say? How would you say things? Most importantly, how are you going to convince San of your story if Jungkook already said his side?

You’re going insane. Insane with questions and sorrow, anxiety and hope and what ifs. Because what if you had talked to San before? What if, tonight, you were going to sleep in his arms instead of alone in the vast, empty expanse of your bed?

It’s late at night when you finally gather the courage to text San. It takes you forever to figure out what to say, and you spend so much time trying to convince yourself to press send. Hell, you think an eternity has passed before your hovering finger finally presses down, and another eternity for the message to deliver.

But at least it delivers. And so you reread, hoping the message is conveyed properly.

[2:08 am] You: hey San! wooyoung told me to move on but i want to give us a try. you matter to me, and i really think we should talk just to see if we can fix things. so please, please reply to me, i can meet you at your place tomorrow evening or over the weekend. no pressure as to when, but please let me just talk to you… it’s been hard without you

So it’s with hope in your heart that you eventually fall asleep that night, your dreams clinging to Choi San as if that might bring him back to you.

Thursday, October 31st

The streets are filled with kids in their costumes, their laughter echoing as they run from houses to houses, carrying bags of treats around like their own little treasures. You’re walking amongst them, face hidden in your scarf - the weather is back to being cold - yet you don’t have much of a destination.

Unlike the kids, your evening isn’t born out of the excitement of youth. Indeed, the heartbreaks of early adulthood are plaguing you, and you don’t know what to make of it.

San hasn’t replied to your text. You weren’t really expecting him to - the hope had been but a decoy of the true pain sitting in your chest. It did linger for part of the day today, but when you finished a class he once again didn’t attend, Wooyoung waving at you from where he sat at the front, you knew it was over.

You don’t think there’s anything you could do or say to salvage the relationship with San. Maybe at first, telling him the truth about Jungkook - your truth - would have made things possible, but San’s constant choice to ignore you, to ghost you like you never mattered, has been making you realize that maybe the whole thing was just painted in the pink tint of budding love. But now you see clearer - now you see San’s choice for what it is.

Avoidance of commitment, and a side of emotional immaturity. At least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself since after the class, if only so that you don’t drown in the heartbreak.

It’s not quite working. Maybe because you can’t bring yourself to see San as the villain, especially not with how sweet he’s always been to you before last Friday. Or maybe you just didn’t truly know him. Maybe he’s the type to run the second a hint of true commitment appears on the horizon. You wouldn’t be surprised - besides Nayeon, he hasn’t really had a relationship. And you don’t know if she even counts. When he spoke of her, it seemed like their relationship was more of a close friendship over anything else, but you might have been wrong.

You might have misinterpreted his feelings for her. In truth, you might have misinterpreted everything when it comes to him, considering the ending. 

You should have known. He does have the reputation to be the kind of guy that sleeps around, yet you went into the whole thing blinded by your need to have someone that stands by your side. A need you didn’t even realize you had until it was too late and you’d lost it.

Because you feel astray now. You feel lost, empty, with no true sense of north and south. You feel like you’re just wandering, like the only goal you’d had in mind has been stripped away from you.

Yet your feet have a goal of their own - your walk brings you close to San’s apartment complex, and you find yourself looking up at the windows, wondering if you can tell which is his.

Wondering if somewhere up there, he’s looking back at you. And so you stand there, your heart trying to reach for him yet only finding an empty void. You take a deep breath, your gaze dropping to the ground.

You miss him. You fucking miss him, fucking wish you’d known that it was the end. You wish you could have at least committed something to memory so that you could have something to remember him by.

But will you even remember him? Twenty years down the line, will you visit memory lane and find him standing there, or are those mere weeks going to be wiped from your memory? It’s a bittersweet thought to realize that something that matters so much might just disappear.

San might disappear. Part of you thinks he’s already started to disappear.

How else could he become such a ghost in your life, if not for him disappearing?

Your eyes fill with tears, and you blink them away frustratedly. And then you take another deep breath, and you look up one last time.

San is on the other side of the street, and your heart stops in your chest. He’s looking at you, too. For half a heartbeat, you think he might even call your name. You think you might even run across the street, run to him and let him whisk you away again.

He looks tired. Exhausted, haunted, much like you. Or maybe you’re just imagining it. Maybe you just wish the burden is shared between the two of you. Perhaps it won’t crush you if it is.

But then San turns around, walking into his building as if you’re just strangers, strangers that share memories that will soon disappear. It hurts so bad your knees feel weak, and you think about running across the street. You think about running to him, only to tell him how much of an asshole he is. How much of a coward he is, too.

Because how can he turn his back on you like that? How can he pretend that, eight days ago, he didn’t make love to you? That even more recently, he didn’t tell you he wanted you to be his girlfriend?

You’ll never understand men. They throw away without trying to fix anything, thinking that connections are replaceable. You can’t blame them - in this day and age, it’s so easy to find someone. But you thought that what you and San had was special. You thought it was different, written in the universe the same way the constellations are written in the night sky. 

It’s a startling thing to realize there is no night sky for you and Choi San in this universe. So you turn back around, too. You turn your back on you and him, choosing yourself over someone that didn’t even think you mattered enough to talk to you. You turn your back on the way he held you, the way he kissed you and made love to you. You turn your back on the feelings he used to ignite in your chest, welcoming the pain and anger instead.

Though you don’t know who the anger is really directed to. Is it directed to him, for choosing to not talk to you, or to yourself, for not being honest with him from the beginning? You can’t tell and... and perhaps that’s okay. Perhaps it’s okay that the anger is directed to the both of you. It keeps you afloat, helps you drift back home despite the sorrow threatening to take a hold of you.

But when you hear Sydney laughing from behind Yunho’s closed door, loneliness hits you head on like a car hitting a wall of bricks. It hits so hard you almost collapse by the door, but you don’t want to worry them. Don’t want them to realize that, maybe you never told San because you didn’t think you deserved him anyway.

Maybe you thought you were always going to lose him anyway, so why offer such a fragile piece of your soul to him? A piece that would have been corrupted by whatever Jungkook told him at the party, if Jungkook even talked to him.

You think about Jungkook. You think about the night he told you it was better to take a break, and the lonely weeks that followed. You think about how you’d use to stalk all of his friends’ socials, Jimin’s included, hoping that you might catch sight of him. You think about the August night when he came back, right after the loneliness got too much for you.

History repeats itself, doesn’t it? 

And so you hate yourself. You hate yourself for all the mistakes you’ve committed in your life, for the way you lost Choi San without ever really having him to begin with. And maybe that’s why you find yourself calling your mother. 

You doubt anyone other than her would be able to stir you away from your spiralling thoughts.

“Hello!” your mother cheerfully says when she picks up after the third ring. 

You remain silent, not finding in you to reply. All you manage to do is kick off your shoes, and your mother says your name as you’re walking towards your room.

“Hey.” Your voice is flat. Empty, hurt, and you wish you could sound happier. You wish you were, but there’s only pain where joy used to be.

“Is everything okay?” your mother asks, her concern so evident you find yourself missing her like crazy.

“Not really,” you reply truthfully, tears pricking at your eyes. 

You lean against the door of your room, softly letting yourself fall to the floor.

“Oh, honey, what’s wrong?��

Everything. It feels like everything is wrong, yet you can’t really tell that to your mother, can you?

“Remember the guy I told you about?” You take a shaky breath in. “Things didn’t work out with him.”

To say the words aloud… it makes everything much more real. It feels like your heart has turned to ice in your chest, cold seeping in your soul until tears start rolling down your cheeks.

“What happened?” she gently asks.

You don’t know what to tell her. You can’t bring yourself to say something that would make her hate San. It’s not like with Jungkook - your parents never liked Jungkook. But she’d said that San sounded like an amazing person, and that she was excited to meet him one day. You’d told her that she should be patient, that you weren’t even sure if you’d date him… 

But it was your first time even showing any interest in a guy after Jungkook, outside of your occasional hookups. Obviously your mother had to be excited about it - it was a sign that you were healing.

You inhale sharply, drying some tears on your cheeks. “It just didn’t work out,” you choose to say. “I guess I wasn’t ready after all.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“It hurts, mom,” you let out, and then a sob breaks through your previous countenance. “I really thought I was going to date this guy.”

“It’s okay,” she reassures you. “Please remember that there will always be someone else.”

But you don’t want there to be someone else.

“You met dad at nineteen,” you say. “I’m already twenty-two and I’m just so fucking miserable.”

You’re full on crying now, and your words don’t even make sense.

“Honey, you’re still so young,” your mother gently says. “There are so many people that you will meet that you haven’t met yet.”

“But that’s what scares me.” You sniffle. “What if I just end up forgetting him?”

“Is that so bad?”

It is. It is so bad in every way it could possibly be. Because you don’t want Choi San to become a memory, but the story has ended. It ended with a blank chapter, yes, but it ended nevertheless.

“It’s just sad, no? Like… how can someone matter a lot, and then they just leave?”

Your mother sighs - not out of annoyance, but out of pain for you - and you hate that you’re the one upsetting her right now. “You really liked this guy, didn’t you?”

You did. So much more than you even realized you did.

“Yes.” You lean your head back against the door, your eyes fluttering shut. “Yes, I did. I do.”

“I’m sorry.” You hear your father’s voice on the other side of the line, and your mother whispers something to him that you can’t quite hear. “Why don’t you come here this weekend?” she suggests. “We could go on a shopping spree and make some apple crumble.”

You chuckle through your sobbing. “That’d be amazing.”

To get out of the city for a while… it might be much needed indeed.

“Ask your brother too! We might even be able to bring dad to the Christmas tree farm and decorate for Christmas early.”

“Don’t rope me into your plans!” your father teases in the background.

Your mother’s answering giggle makes your lungs burn, and you clench your jaw so hard it tastes like blood. Because they’re in love - you don’t know how you went wrong with Jungkook, and now San, but your parents have always shown you the perfect picture of love. Yet it’s something you’ve never attained, something you think might forever be out of reach for you.

“We need you to carry the tree,” your mother says.

“Yun will do it.”

“He’ll be too busy with Syd.”

You can’t listen to the conversation anymore. Not when it makes you realize how everyone around you is in love, even though you don’t have a lot of people around at all. You only have Sydney, your brother and your parents - it’s almost embarrassing.

“Hey, mom,” you say. “I think I’ll go.”

“We can talk some more!” she immediately says, most likely sensing your discomfort.

“No, it’s okay.” You swallow around the lump in your throat. “I’ll check with Yunho if he can this weekend.”

“Honey…” your mother trails off. “I’m hugging you through the phone.” 

Your lips stretch in a sad smile. “Thanks, mom.”

“Can’t wait to do face masks with you!”

She’s trying. She’s trying so hard, yet you don’t want to talk to her anymore. You want to be alone, you want to cry your heart out until all the pain is out instead of in. 

“Can’t wait either,” you reply with a shaky voice.

“Oh, honey, I can’t hang up when you’re crying.”

You sigh. “It’s okay, mom. I’m just going to lie down.”

“Are you sure?”

You nod. “Yeah. I haven’t been sleeping well, so maybe a nap will help.”

There’s a moment of silence in which you expect her to try and keep you around, yet she eventually says, “Okay. But call me again if you need to talk, alright?”

“Yes, mom.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

You hang up, putting your phone down on the floor next to you. Your room is dark, but you don’t feel like turning the lights on. You don’t want to - there’s some comfort in the darkness, like you don’t need to pretend anymore. And so you bend your legs, pull them to your chest and put your chin on your knees as the tears freely fall.

But you don’t sob anymore. It’s like you’re too tired, and you might actually be. There’s just so many rollercoasters your heart can take in such a short period of time. And so you cry. You cry for what could have been with San, for the loneliness that settles in your chest like it’s been its home all along. You cry for everything you had started to build with him - for Mr. Snake, for the box cakes, for the Lego set and for all the nights you fell asleep in his arms.

You cry because there hasn’t been enough. There hasn’t been enough, and there won’t be more, and you think life is cruel for that. Or perhaps he’s the cruel one - would a conversation have been able to fix things, or would he have been too far gone anyway?

To think that it happened overnight, from one day to the next… You never could have imagined that losing him would be so drastic. Like taking a step off a cliff’s edge, and falling to your demise.

It’s unfair, and you want to hate him. Still think part of you hates him, though most of this hate is directed at you. It always has - why would it be different now?

You pick up your phone, swiping it open and heading to the conversation with him. You reread your last text message and then your fingers are moving of their own accord, flying on the keyboard.

[8:21 pm] You: i just don’t understand. i don’t understand what happened, and it feels so unfair. why can’t you even talk to me? did i do something wrong? did i say the wrong thing? i really don’t fucking understand. i really thought we had something… i hope you don’t do that to all the girls you see bc fuck san are you even aware of how much it hurts? i fucking miss you and you just fucking ghosted me out of nowhere and now i’m just supposed to pretend idc? cause shit you’re so good at it. did you even care about me at all? you tell me all this shit about your dad and then you leave like it’s nothing. i’ll never understand you. and i don’t even want to fucking understand you.

When the message delivers, you put your phone back down. It doesn’t feel better now that the words are out, now that the anger spiked and left you. It only feels worse because, if you weren’t done with him before, now you surely are.

You and Choi San are done, the blank chapter has been filled with a text message.

You cry yourself to sleep that night, only to be haunted by nightmares of a better time.

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☆☆☆☆☆

i apologize infinitely for this chapter please don't scream at me (feel free to scream at me). let me know what you think!

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2025. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[prapaiwife]

Top form EP 9

For akin to break up with Jin I see a lot of ppl having a problem with that and saying that he over complicates everything and he doesn't communicate he just runs away and I agree to disagree. Even bringing up what has happened to him with Johnny. But that situation and this situation are not the same and so for people to compare it I'm a little confused.

The whole situation with Johnny was such an emotional mental toll on him that was a situation he did not consent to! So for him to wake up in a bed with traces around him to insinuate that something happened!? No he was not able to recall nor really let it set in and even process what has happened to him was assault. If anything he goes to blame himself and is ashamed. So no he didn't even have it in him to say anything to give the answer he needed for himself to begin with so how was he supposed to communicate anything to jin.

Akin is used to dealing with everything on his own and yes it's clear that he needs to work in his communication with Jin. And you can even say he should know by now the type of person Jin is. Especially when it comes to their relationship and the lengths that he will go to to protect him and them. But akin literally sacrificed his whole career for Jin he wanted to do that it wasn't even an option it was a decision that he made out of love about that he has for Jin.

He was doing this to protect him or so he thought. As he says jin's career is just getting started he just won the award for best new actor he has so much ahead of him and he doesn't want to be the root of any problems to stifle him in his career. This is his first time falling in love. And the conversations that he had with sine and his wife were so eye-opening for him. Even though he still tried to do what he thought was right. He saw at the end what sine and his wife were talking about and jades words. Beyond told him basically that love is a commitment and in that commitment you hold your partner's hand through every obstacle you go through because it's not always going to be easy.

The inevitable is you're going to have issues sometimes that you can't even avoid as much as you try to or try to handle it on your own. Because in doing so you do put the other person in pain and percent quit doing what you thought you believed to be was right. And at the end for him to see that even though he was going to do this whole big plan Jen had already found a way to fix the situation he wasn't going to let Kin walk away from him without thinking that he wasn't going to fight for them. He said he wouldn't he always kept his word. He has so many people that will look out for him and care for him he shouldn't feel like he needs to give himself first in every situation and it's sad that he feels that way. And I hope especially with this situation that changes the time for him.

[sissylittlefeather]

Kink Madness: Round 9

Overstimulation vs Temperature Play

Time for the Elite 8! These are the two winners from the Sweet 16 in the Sensory Division. Who will win the division?

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, smut

Overstimulation: 50s Elvis

You'd never heard of Elvis Presley when he stepped on stage at the Louisiana Hayride and wiggled his hips so hard you damn near came right there in the audience. It wasn't a stretch for you to decide to track him down after the show. You're older than he is by several years, and obviously more experienced, but that doesn't seem to bother him too much when you're in his hotel room kissing and petting him.

He whimpers against your lips and pulls back, gasping.

“N-now slow down, darlin’. I'm liable to– oh god.” You lean in and kiss his neck, your hand trailing down the front of his unbuttoned lace shirt to the place where his hardness is straining against his pants. This ain't your first rodeo and you've been ready for this ride since he opened his mouth and stuttered into the microphone. He makes some kind of strangled noise between a whimper and a groan as you squeeze him gently. “Fuck.”

“You want me to stop?” You whisper into his collarbone and he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth.

“No, I-I-I just don't wanna– shit. Fuck!” His hips buck into your hand and you look down in shock as you feel the warmth spread onto your palm. “Goddamnit!”

He pulls away from you and crosses his arms, looking up at the ceiling as a slight blush creeps across his cheeks.

“Elvis…”

“You can go if ya want.” You click your tongue and he looks at you, eyes wide and wet with embarrassment.

“Why would I wanna do that? We ain't finished here.”

“I am.” You shake your head and crawl up next to him.

“You really think that? Honey, you should have a little more faith in me.” He meets your eyes with a look of genuine curiosity.

“How…?” And then you're leaned over, pressing your lips to his stomach. You keep working your way down and unzip his pants. He lifts his hips to help you pull his pants down, revealing his sticky mess. You moan softly when you see it and then look up at him sitting there with his lips slightly parted. When you bow down and start to clean him up with your mouth, he gasps again. The sensation of your warm little tongue pressing kitten licks to his soft cock and the surrounding skin is so overwhelming he has to bite his lip to keep from screaming. He's so sensitive and the feeling is so intense he almost cries.

“God, baby, please, s’too much!” You pull back and look up at him, lifting your hand to caress his cheek.

“No it isn't. You can do it. Just close your eyes and feel it.” He nods and then does as he's told, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. You go back to working him gently, pulling his half-hard dick into your mouth as he groans.

“Fuck.” You suppress a smile and continue bobbing on him until he's hard as a rock again. “Wow.”

He opens his eyes and looks at you surprised as you pump him gently with your hand. He's still unbelievably sensitive, but he looks at you with reverence as you stroke him.

“Nobody's ever stayed past when I… well…”

“You deserve care like this, honey. You shouldn't be ashamed when you cum fast. I take it as a compliment. And I know you can do it again.” He smiles and lifts his hand to your face, running his thumb across your cheek.

“Thank you, baby.” You smile and nod and then lean over and pull him deep into your throat. His hand automatically takes a fistful of your hair and his head drops back against the headboard.

You pull out every trick in the book, licking and sucking and pumping him, taking him so deep that your nose presses into the patch of sandy brown hair at the base of him. He lets himself be worshipped and revels in the feeling of it being almost too much, but not quite. Instead, it's just enough and he moans loudly, tapping on the back of your head frantically.

“Gonna cum again sweetheart– oh god!” You don't move, though. Instead, you suck hard and pull his orgasm from him, swallowing everything he gives you and he bites his fist to keep from screaming. He's never had a girl swallow him before. It doesn't take long for it to be overwhelming again and he whimpers and pats on you. You kiss his tip one last time, making his hips jump, and then sit up, wiping your lips with the back of your hand.

“How was th–” You don't get the question out though before he tackles you onto the bed, his hand sliding fast up your skirt to your center, lips pressed to yours hard. He finds your clit and goes to work, mumbling against your mouth.

“That was incredible.” You giggle and pull back to look up at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Well, I owe ya at least two, don't I?” You moan and arch into his hand as he slips two fingers into your wetness, pumping them in and out.

He doesn't stop at two.

******

Temperature Play: TTWII Elvis

Elvis walks into the cool suite after rehearsal with his silk shirt stuck to his back from sweat. It's August in the desert and hot is an understatement. He looks around the room for you, but you're nowhere to be found. Finally, he finds you on the patio laid out on a lounge chair, skin slick with sweat as you sit in your bikini trying to get a tan. Before he walks to you, though, he grabs a bucket, fills it with ice, and plops a bottle of champagne in it, holding two glasses with his other hand. He doesn't normally drink, but today was good and he wants to celebrate.

“It's a million degrees out here, honey. You tryin’ to cook yourself?” You startle a bit at the sound of his voice and cover your eyes to look up at him.

“You know I like to be tan. It is hot though. Almost too hot.”

“Wanna cool off?” He holds up the bucket and the champagne glasses before settling next to you on the chair.

“Oooh yes, please!” You hold out your hand for a glass and he sets the other one on the table with the ice bucket. He pops the bottle open and then lifts it over to you to fill your glass, but it drips icy water onto your stomach and you gasp. “Oh shit, that's cold!”

He laughs and finishes filling your glass. You take a sip and he eyes you from behind his sunglasses. “Just how hot are you, doll?”

“Pretty damn hot, Elvis. Why?” The corners of his lips curl up into a wicked smile and he takes your champagne glass, setting it on the table next to his. He dips his hand into the ice bucket and pulls out a small cube. “I know you don't think you're gonna–”

Before you can finish the sentence, he starts to slide the ice around on your chest, pulling your top out of the way to drag it around your nipple. You gasp again, “fuck, that is cold!”

“Oh, I'm sorry, baby.” He leans forward and warms your icy bud with his tongue. But he doesn't stop with the ice cube. He keeps sliding it around on your skin, heating you back up with his mouth afterwards. You whimper and gasp and moan as he works your body, moving further and further down towards your center. The cube has melted fully, so he uses both hands to slide your bottoms off.

“What are you up to now?”

“You trust me?”

“Always.” He smiles and fishes out another piece of ice, this time slipping it into his mouth. Then, he presses his lips to your thighs, the cold sensation making you shiver as he approaches your slit. You arch into him when he finally makes it there, dragging his cold tongue up and down.

And then he does the unthinkable. He pushes the piece of ice, now small and soft, up into you with his tongue.

“Oh, fuck, Elvis!” Your pussy clenches around the cube and the feeling of it threatens to overwhelm you.

“Hold it in there ‘til I make you cum.”

“Jesus. Fuck.” Your knuckles go white as you grip the edges of the lounge chair while he dives into you, licking and sucking on your clit. You can feel the ice slowly melting and it's like he's teasing you from the inside out. You whimper and moan as he eats you, moving his tongue in slow, lazy circles over your hardened bud. “Mmmm it's too much!”

“No it's not, baby. Just cum for me.”

“Oh God, oh God, oh God…” He licks hard and fast over you now, desperate to push you over the edge. “Fuck!”

When your orgasm crashes into you, it feels like the ice runs in your veins out to your extremities and back again and it feels so good you almost scream. He pushes a finger inside you to make sure the ice is melted and groans.

“Get on top.” You quickly rearrange so that he's sitting in the chair and then unzip his pants. His cock springs free, hard and aching, and you don't hesitate to line up and sink down onto him. “Goddamn baby, your pussy is cold.”

“I told you!”

“Fuck, but she's squeezing me so good.” He growls into your neck as he grabs your hips and starts to move you up and down on his dick. You reach back and grab an ice cube and hold it to your lips. Then, you lean forward and press your lips to the skin just below his ear. He gasps a little and starts to move you even faster on his lap. You pop the ice cube into your mouth and kiss him deep and he groans. The desert sun on your skin is the perfect contrast for where you're icy cold and the sensation of both at once pushes you to the edge of another orgasm. He rips the straps of your bikini down and presses his cold lips to your breasts again, murmuring against your nipple, “Cum with me, honey.”

You roll your hips against him hard and he reaches down to rub your clit while you ride him. It's just enough to drive you into your release and you moan loudly as your body shudders and pulses around him. He grunts and holds you still, letting your pussy milk his climax from him.

“Fuck, that's good baby.” His breath is still a little cold from the last ice cube as he pants against your skin. You collapse on his chest, shaking and sweating as you both try to steady your heart rates. “You cold?”

“Little bit.” He grins at you mischievously.

“Let's go inside, then. I've got a warm bath and some hot wax candles with your name on them.”

“Are you serious?!”

“Honey, do I look like a man who would joke about a thing like that?” You move to stand up off of him and he grabs you and holds you tighter, whispering in your ear. “You know I'll always give you what you need.”

“You really, really do.”

******

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