#and who would want to shoulder someone else's problems along with their own?

[zorilleerrant]

Movies are too distracting for Cass, most of the time – only a handful of actors play their character as if they were their character; the rest are lying. Books, though. Even when they describe someone’s body, they only call them tall or short, thin or fat, hairy or bald. Left alone is the way they hold their body, the way they walk, the way they stand, the way they turn to look at a sudden noise. The most a book will say is the way a character moves their hands when they talk, brushes a hair aside, snaps for attention. She can picture those.

She can picture, in so much detail, every other thing the books say. The crowd is sad, the book tells her, or they hold each other. Cass has seen crowds in mourning. She knows the ways their feet jiggle and their eyes shift from side to side. She knows the way that some seem tense and some seem deflated, and the book doesn’t need to tell her, because it assumes she knows. If it describes someone, she knows that person is important. She knows the way they hold their emotion is part of the story. And she can see it, even between the imprints the author shows her as the narrative unfolds.

The problem, for Cass, is that it makes all the characters too real. She’s imagining them in just this way with their lips pursed and one fist almost clenched. Sometimes, if they seem like someone she knows, she imagines them in this coat or that pair of shoes. Sometimes her own. Sometimes the ones she would love to have if they weren’t so uncomfortable to move in. She tells people things that were never written down, because they just make sense.

Then she closes the book, and everyone is gone.

It’s not that she’s alone. She could find almost anyone and tell them what she read – some would praise her ability, and some discuss the book, and most listen as she described the looks of characters that seemed so much like them. But, still, all the time spent learning all of their lives and loves and longings, and there they are, gone, like their wishing, like her wishing along with them, never meant anything at all.

Cass needs a way for the story to continue after the story. The same way she’s always needed to look in on the people she’s saved and read follow up reports, she needs to know what happens to the characters after. Even if it is all imagination. Her imagination is so full of certainties, someone else’s must be, too, mustn’t it?

She sneaks her computer under the covers. It’s not that it’s a secret, necessarily, but she wishes it would be. Cass often wishes she had the normal touchpoints everyone else grew up with, that someone would scold her for what’s on her screen, that someone else would laugh. That her cheeks would burn hot and her shoulder slump, even though she doesn’t care very much. Still. If she finds nothing, she doesn’t want that disappointment to show. It’s a small disappointment, and they shouldn’t feel anxious about comforting her over it.

As it turns out, it isn’t a disappointment at all. Cass isn’t alone. She almost stops herself from letting out a cheer, and then figures, why not, and thrusts her fist up in the air, shunting the blanket to the side. Settling it back around her, she starts looking. Not at the stories, at first, but all the names. There are other people, here. There are other people talking about this book, these characters, other people who also don’t want them to go away.

She gets distracted following a conversation about clothes, about what each character might wear. They’re all so fascinatingly wrong. None of those thing they’re saying are any of the clothes she imagined… although some of them – some of them – might, she admits, make sense. Under the right conditions.

The stories, though. Cass breathes a sigh of relief. Everyone else wants the story to continue past the story. For the characters to have lives greater than what was planned for them. To be able to turn into who they want to be, and live how they want to live, and wear – well, not that, that’s for certain. Cass looks up how to make an account.

[beelzlikes]

I'm tying my stomach into knots about going to work tomorrow and there's really no reason for it.

I even had an interview today that went pretty well even though I don't think I have any intention of changing jobs yet.

Cause this job would be at the library and I would STILL be working with kids, and I've been saying how I don't know if I want to do that anymore.

Honestly I need to quit smoking but I'm too weak to let go of that vice. I just have to imagine how good it will feel when we come back from a break, but...

Also, this guy came knocking on my door today to sell windows or something and I tripped over myself so badly. I don't think I even said anything english to him, I just mumbled stupidly under my breath and shut the door in his face. I got tripped up because he was cute, I guess. But then I spent the next half hour berating myself for how I acted and for even THINKING about that stuff.

How dare you? How dare you assume people like you or are attracted to you? You could never woo another guy, even if you were attracted to them. It's not for you. That person has a whole life of the fantasy world you built in your head and it's offensive to assign anyone roles like that right off the bat.

[milfgyuu]

Lowlifes [M] Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x Fem!Reader Tags: 11.5k, f2l, smut, fluff, humor, foundfamily, gang?au, 18+ Summary: Seungcheol grows tired of watching you fool around with a string of loser boyfriends and steps in when an ex shows up somewhere he's not welcome which unravels years of feelings lost in translation. Warnings: SMUT 18+, MINORS DNI!! mxf unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, lots of making out both in public and private, lots of touching, holding, soft manhandling, language, physical violence, mentions of injuries, broken bones, etc. not super detailed but very much implied they are in an illegal crime crew/gang/ring whatever. people are drinking in the bar and getting lit bc it's big dawg dk's bday ok. i think that covers it.

Seungcheol knows he should mind his business and he’s well aware that you can handle your own problems because you take great pleasure in reminding him of your capabilities.

That doesn’t mean he’s not watching out of the corner of his eye as you’re pacing back and forth at the far end of the bar. Your phone is glued to your ear and you’re obviously upset, throwing your free hand in the air with a string of expletives falling from your lips so clearly that he doesn’t have to hear you to make them out. It’s obvious who’s on the other end of that call and just knowing you’re still speaking to your ex irks his nerves.

He drinks down the remainder of his beer as he continues monitoring from a distance, running the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip with thinly veiled irritation. 

When you hang up the phone, mid-sentence, it takes everything in you not to turn and drive your fist through the wall. All the pretty promises and apologies…you knew they were empty. You knew he would disappoint you yet again. You’re more angry with yourself for being stupid enough to hope he’d come through for once but instead of being here with you and your friends, trying to work shit out, he’s running with his new crew. 

Things were always tumultuous with Jae and never going to work out, which you knew very early on, but you just loathe being wrong when you give someone a chance. It was a fool’s hope to think he might turn it around and make you feel better about letting him into your life to begin with.

The truth of the matter was that Jae just wanted to be a part of your crew and when they refused to let him in, he went and found another and tried to drag you along with him. There wasn’t a chance in hell that you’d leave them, your family, but you tried to make things work and it bit you in the ass more times than you could count. 

You’re pissed as all hell when you slip back into the booth, right into Seungcheol’s side. He’s warm and familiar, and when his arm falls around your shoulder it tempers your rage just a touch. Another thing Jae couldn’t stand…how close the two of you were. 

Seungcheol has been by your side since you and your brother were kids. You three have been thick as thieves, literally, for so long that you were more comfortable with him than anyone else in the world. You loved, trusted, and respected Seungcheol to a fault. 

He also notoriously let’s you get away with pretty much everything. 

So, for no reason other than needing a distraction and hoping to get a rise out of him, you take the cold fresh beer he’s yet to touch right out of his hands and bring it to your lips. He makes an amused sound and pinches your shoulder where his hand rests. 

“That doesn’t belong to you,” he grumbles, though he doesn’t do anything to stop you from taking whatever you want.

You swallow another small mouthful and set the beer down, pushing it back into his grip. The little gasp of surprise you let out when his big hand catches around yours before you can let go of the glass makes Cheol grin which is an improvement from the scowl he’s been sporting for most of the night.

“You gonna tell me why you’ve been so grumpy?” you ask, leaning into him so he can actually hear you over all the noise, “You only nurse a beer when you’re in a shit mood.”

He lets you pull your hand from the cold glass but doesn’t put any distance between your bodies, he lessens it instead. You’re so close that he doesn’t even need to speak loudly for you to hear him. “I didn’t realize you paid that much attention to me.” His deep rumbling voice can be felt this closely and the alcohol in the warmth of your belly feels fizzy.

“I’ve known you longer than anyone else here,” you reason, “You can’t hide anything from me.”

Seungcheol snickers, “Oh, I bet I could.”

You don’t get the chance to try and one up him because your phone buzzes incessantly in your lap. Pulling back, you both see who is calling and Seungcheol kisses his teeth in irritation. You silence the call, sending your ex to voicemail and you’re about to reach for your own drink but another incoming call prevents you.

“You want me to answer it?” 

Seungcheol’s tone is dangerous so you silence the call again and continue reaching for your glass. “He’ll give up.”

That isn’t typically the case but you're praying this once it is because you really don’t feel like dealing with Jae’s bullshit any more than you wish to handle a pissed off Seungcheol or get a lecture from your brother. Jeonghan, over-bearing and unhinged as he is, will talk you to death when you make a poor choice as if his entire lifestyle isn’t comprised of the ones he’s made. Better to keep him out of it too.  

Cheol will give you a piece of his mind but he’s more like your big, scary guard dog and even though you’re never on the receiving end, you know he’s got a nasty bite so you’d prefer to keep the leash short and not dangle bait before him. The last thing you need is Seungcheol winding up in a cell because of you…he toes that line enough as it is.

Unfortunately, nothing is going your way tonight and your phone lights up again. Normally you’d leave it alone but another part of you, one far and detached from who is calling, still fears the guilt of missing back-to-back calls heavens forbid something has happened.

It’s the only reason you’re answering, shouting over the noise, “You’d better be dying. What the hell do you want?”

“Baby, I just need to talk to you and you’re ignoring me,” he whines back and bile gathers at the base of your throat, “I already said I was sorry! Your friends don’t even like me so I don’t know why you asked me to come. They don’t think I’m good enough for you.”

“You’re not good enough for me,” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth, beyond caring about his feelings at this point, “You’ve proved that time and time again and I don’t need them to tell me what I already know. I’m busy. Don’t call me again.”

“Wait, wait!” he calls out to you desperately - it makes your skin crawl, “I’ll come pick you up, sweetheart. I’ll take you somewhere real nice, just us two, ok? You just stay there and I’ll come get you.”

Your face bunches up incredulously, “Don’t bother showing up now! The olive branch I extended by inviting you tonight no longer exists. I don’t want you here and I’m definitely not going anywhere just the two of us. I’m with my crew and you’re with yours,” you argue back, “That’s what you chose, so that’s what you get.”

There is silence on the end of the line and then laughter. 

“You’re lucky you’re hot because it’s a distraction from how fucking crazy you are! I swear to god, you’re just trying to piss me off so I’ll pay more attention to you! Is that what you want? Want me to drop everything to be with you? Like you don’t get enough fucking attentio-”

“Hang up,” comes a growl from your left and when you look over, Seungcheol is seething.

You don’t waste another breath except to say, “Don’t call me again,” before disconnecting..

As you tuck your phone back between your thighs you accidentally meet Jeonghan’s gaze from across the table. His eyes flick between you just having ended another call and Seungcheol who looks like he might shatter the glass in his hand at any given moment. He raises a brow, his silent way of asking if everything is okay and you wink back like it’s totally fine. No worries. Not a thing wrong or out of place. 

Which, it probably would have been if your phone hadn’t vibrated again a minute later. 

It’s just the one time so you thought it was a fluke, a misdial,  but then it buzzes again….and again. Then it’s a continually buzzing stream of new alerts so you pull your phone out and find sixteen unread messages. You don’t even bother reading them and shove the phone back between your thighs. Just. Shut. Up.

Minutes pass and you’re trying really hard to enjoy Chan’s little impromptu performance at the bar, and it sounds lovely, truly, but it’s difficult to focus on anything at all between your efforts to internally process your ex’s fucking audacity and to ignore furious heat rolling off Seungcheol’s body still so close to your own.. 

He’s wholly enraged and you can feel it.

There is maybe a solid seven minutes where your phone sits silently and you’re about to turn to speak to Jihoon and then…another text comes through. Seungcheol’s patience finally wears through and he plucks it from between your thighs before you can react. You watch quietly, not bothering to argue with him as he forces a shut down before pocketing it inside his jacket. 

You still stare at him like some admonished teenager and he stares back with a small smirk, daring you to say something. He’s not doing it to punish you - that’s the reason you don’t push back - he’s going to make sure you enjoy the night just like everyone else. He knows it’s not going to happen if you’re glued to your phone and so do you. 

Narrowing your eyes, you smirk back. “You’re giving that back later, right?”

His answering grin is troubling. “I might make you earn it.”

You toy with the idea of asking how but that line of thought is mercifully interrupted by a round of shots for the whole table being delivered and passed around. You had to wait the additional four minutes of having to sit through Hoshi giving an impromptu speech that almost dissolves to tears because he’s probably (definitely) two shots too deep and then it’s back to chaos and you’re finally free to be a part of it.

Your mood lifts tremendously over the next hour so being present in the moment with the people you love. Hao’s girlfriend Jessie passes you a sticker sheet with little glittery hearts and stars which end up all over the bar, in joshua’s hair, the tip of Jun’s nose, the bathroom walls, and some litter the dance floor. Woozi steals a couple for the back of his phone case and when you run out she supplies you with temporary tattoos. Almost everyone has at least two imprinted on their skin by the time those are run through.

When your hands are empty and your drinks all run dry, an old country western song crackles over the speakers and suddenly you’re being dragged out onto the floor by Mingyu who is hell bent on trying to replicate some old line dance you’re sure he’s fabricated in his foggy mind. Something about heels and toes, and being swung around your partner - it’s fun and somewhat terrifying when he’s nearly lifting you off the ground mid-spin. 

It’s not his fault that he’s got long legs and two left feet when he drinks so it’s mostly the two of you skipping in circles, laughing and completely out of breath, but it’s a blast. 

And then you catch something out of the corner of your eye that makes you stop dead in your tracks. Mingyu doesn’t even notice that you’ve stopped until he trips over your foot, looking down at you in confusion. “You givin’ up on me?”

“What the fuck is he doing here?” 

The voice comes from Joshua in the corner, which means somehow word spread about tonight’s falling out without you knowing, and now everyone is looking at your ex, boldly and moronically standing a few feet away from you which is several feet too close for their liking. Unsurprisingly, it’s Hoshi who’s already in his face, smiling in the most menacing fashion. “This is a private event so unfortunately for you, you’ll have to fuck off.”

Jae scoffs aloud, “I don’t give a shit about your party.”

Then his scowl twists into a smirk but it’s cruel and mirthless, his eyes falling on you and Mingyu who had at some point out of habit placed his body just in front of your own.

“I came for my girl but it looks like she’s already moved on for the night, throwing herself at one of you sorry assholes because I couldn’t make time for her. Typical.”

Mingyu anticipates you trying to step around him and quickly catches you around the waist to hold you back at the same time that Seokmin stands from his chair so quickly it falls backwards and lands with a loud clatter. “Watch your fucking mouth,” he warns menacingly. 

“Watch my mouth? I’m just pointing out that facts. I should have known that’s why she suddenly didn’t want me here,” he goes on like every pair of eyes on him aren’t glaring daggers, “Would have ruined her plans to get shit-faced and open her legs for whichever one of you looked at her first.”

Jeonghan hurls himself at Jae with an opened switchblade in his hand but, thankfully, Joshua and Jihoon catch him first, and the bastard laughs knowing none of them would let Jeonghan get close enough to do something stupid. Not with witnesses around anyway.

Jae tilts his head, speaking directly to Jeonghan with his hands in his pockets and condescention dripping from his tongue, “You’re her big brother,” he pouts, just pouring salt in the wound, “You’re really just going to sit back and allow all your friends to take turns with your little sister? The crew’s designated whor-”

He barely forms a smirk before Seungcheol appears out of nowhere and suckerpunches him in the mouth so hard the crack is audible throughout the bar. Unfortunately for Jae, he’s still conscious when he hits the ground, broken teeth and blood pouring from his maw as he screams in excruciating pain. You’re sure his jaw is broken and you’re glad. 

Absolutely no one moves to help him. Hardly even bats an eye.

Then, Seungcheol draws his leg back and kicks Jae in the stomach which means he’s not done and after what your ex just said…you’re not sure anyone in your crew will step in to stop him. You move instantly, pulling yourself out of Mingyu’s protective grip to push your way to the front where you’re relieved to see Vernon already attempting to pull his friend away and he does but not before your ex’s hand is crushed under the sole of Seungcheol’s boot and the screaming starts anew. 

When you reach them, you immediately put yourself in the middle without hesitation, both hands against Seungcheol’s chest in an effort to calm him down before he loses it completely. One of his hands is still clenched at his side and you’re trying desperately to get him to look down at you. He doesn’t but his other hand comes up to sit at your hip and that’s enough of an acknowledgement that you relax, just slightly. 

You turn just your head to look down at Jae who’s never looked more pitiful. Covered in blood, dirt, snot, and tears. 

Seungcheol glares over your shoulder at the broken man on the floor, his arm now firmly seated around your body in a possessive display as he growls, “Always running your fucking mouth,” then he nods in your brother’s direction, “I should let him cut your tongue out.”

Jeonghan’s knife spins dangerously between his deft fingers like he’s itching to use it. 

He’s no longer restrained, nearly deranged, and begins stalking toward your ex who flinches away and frantically shakes his head, unable to speak with his mangled mouth. Your voice cuts clear into the charged air. “Jeonghan,” you call out and your brother stops mid-step to look up at you patiently. You shake your head at him and he concedes but the fire in his eyes is palpable. 

He smiles down at Jae, voice lilting and deadly. “You’re safe…for now,” he tilts his head, crouching down to get closer, “And don’t bother running back to your crew for help or hope for some form of retaliation,” He pauses, covering his mouth with his knife, giggling with feral delight dancing in his eyes, “I bet you didn’t tell them where you were going or who you were fucking with because they never would have let you come and I can only imagine how pissed they’re going to be when they find out.”

Jae’s brows furrow indicating his confusion and Jeonghan laughs again, wiggling his long fingers, tapping them with the point of his blade. “How do you think your ring leader lost two fingers on his right hand? That pretty scar down the side of his face? It was an improvement if you ask me,” he croons and Jae’s eyes widen with renewed horror, “Loyal little lap dog ever since and hilariously, still harboring a rather sweet crush on my darling sister. Small world, huh? We’ll be sure to let him know how you feel about her and who’s responsible for,” he waves his hand with an air of distaste, gesturing to Jae, “This.”

When Jeongan stands again, his smile falls flat and you turn your head quickly, tucking it into Cheol’s chest when you hear the crunch and subsequent thud as your brother stomps and knocks Jae out cold. It’s cruel, perhaps, but now knowing who exactly he’s been working for, you’d consider this a mercy compared to wait awaits him.

Seungcheol lifts his chin with a silent order and Junhui and Mingyu are already stepping forward to haul Jae’s unconscious form out of the bar with Joshua leisurely striding behind them, Jae’s phone in hand. They’ll dump him outside, a few blocks away. He’s lucky they’re not animals - Josh will use Jae’s phone to deliver a personal message to his crew but beyond that, he’s no longer your crew’s problem. Retaliation isn’t even a concern in this situation.

The atmosphere is obviously soured and you can still feel the rage swirling in the air. There isn’t a single member of your crew who wouldn’t have loved a turn. Even Minghao, calm and even, the most level-headed in situations like this has a particular air of cruelty about him in the moment and Jessie at his side tucks away a glittering pair of brass knuckles. You don’t have to glance around to they are waiting for an order and Cheol still has his eyes focused on the door. There are also a few patrons who are not associated with your crew, the kind who know when to mind their business, but even they seem to be waiting to be told what to do next.

So, you clear your throat and try to paint on a pretty smile.

“Pardon the interuption,” you sigh, each head in the room swiveling in your direction, “Turn the music up and order another round for the whole bar,” you glance up to find Seuncheol already looking down at you and you pat his chest, “Drinks are still on the big guy so you’d better take advantage while he’s still feeling generous.”

Thankfully, its enough to get everyone moving again, your crew falling right back into the party swing as if nothing happened. It was so easy for them to flip the switch sometimes. From volatile back to joyous - back to shots, and karaoke, and dancing. 

Seungcheol was still furious though. He doesn’t bounce back nearly as fast.

“Why don’t we take a walk out back?”

He doesn’t budge for a moment and you say his name a little more firmly this time to which he reponds, “Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry. Let’s go.”

No one asks questions or follows the two of you when he takes your hand and leads you out the back and into the crisp night air. It’s dark but the moon etches just enough light that you can still see each other easily. Seungcheol’s shoulders are tense and you watch his fists clench and unfurl methodically. They’re also red and angry after making direct contact with Jae’s teeth. The thought makes your gut roil.

“Choi Seungcheol,” you lightly grumble, “You can’t go around hospitalizing every asshole that is mean to me.”

Nothing at first and then there’s a little huff of laughter. “I can absolutely do just that, or worse. Besides, I only hit him once.”

“You broke his jaw…and probably a few ribs with that kick,” you sigh and lean back against the building, glancing up at the sky. “My point is that I know you can but that doesn’t mean you should. If you get arrested, who’s gonna take care of me?”

He smirks. “Spoiled.”

“Your fault,” you roll your eyes and really look at him. “I didn’t know he was working for Kaito, obviously. You know I would’ve cut him off completely If I had.”

“I didn’t know either,” he admits, shrugging off your surprise, “Jeonghan must have found out and kept it to himself. You know how he likes to hold onto things until its useful. Your brother is kind of a sadistic asshole sometimes.”

“Hannie is just eccentric and has weird hobbies,” you counter with a small grin, “Besides, he’s your best friend so think about what that says about you.”

He just winks in response. It’s maddening and attractive, per usual. 

“Mhm,” you hum quietly, pleased to watch him unwind in front of you, because of you. “I’m glad to see you’re in a better mood,” you tease him, “I thought for a few that you might have been mad at me.”

Cheol lets out a long sigh and digs his hands into his pockets. “I’m never mad at you.”

You cross your arms and quirk a brow at him, “That’s a blatant lie and you know it. I can’t even count how many times you’ve chewed my ass out for one thing or another.”

“The handful of times that I have yelled at you came directly after you did something dangerous,” he argues back with a short laugh, “Calling your ex, that fucker in particular, makes me question your judgement and maybe your sanity, but it’s not a reason for me to be mad at you. If anything it’s mild frustration.”

You narrow your eyes at him. It’s more than mild. “Say what you need to say, Cheol.”

He squares his shoulders, face serious much like his tone. “You’re too smart to keep choosing assholes that let you down over and over again. So, why do you do it?”

You purse your lips. “Touche,” he’s not wrong, “I am self aware enough to admit my track record is shit but there is not a lot to work with. It’s not as though our dating pool is stellar, Cheol. We’re lowlifes…we associates with other lowlifes. Nice boys like girls like me until they realize I’m not worth the trouble.”

He sputters out a laugh and steps closer, just enough to lower his voice in the echoing alley way. A touch closer and you could probably steal a little body heat you’re starting to wish for. “You are the trouble,” his eyes sparkle when he says it, like its a compliment, “Nice boys too soft for you anyway and we’re not lowlifes…we just live a little differently. You can do better,” he smirks when you roll your eyes again, “You can…you just don’t.”

You uncross your arms and spread them out before you. “Oh, any suggestions? I forgot you were a dating expert-” then you break into a laugh and Cheol is throwing his head back, knowing what’s coming. “Oh, wait! I forgot. You’ve not had a girlfriend in what? Five years? Eight?”

He snatches both your hands out of the air and pushes them back toward your chest, trying to reign in his amusement and overall urge to smother you. “You’re high maintenance enough. Why the hell would I need a girlfriend? I’ve got enough on my plate.”

You reach out and lightly punch him in the chest. “You’re a big boy, Cheol. Don’t let me hold you back. I can handle myself.”

At this, he snorts and pulls a hand out of his pocket to point at you. “You can handle yourself? Did I not pick you up in a police station two months ago for speeding…again?”

You pull off the wall with your mouth open to defend yourself and he abruptly pushes you right back against it and continues. “Who taught you how to drive and took the blame when you ran over Jeonghan’s bike when you were fifteen? Who showed up at three in the morning to pick your drunk ass up at that halloween party just so you could puke in my car and my bed…all night?” he pushes closer and lowers his voice “Who bailed you out of jail four months ago when you took a glass bottle to someone’s head in club and it turned out to be a fucking cop?”

“He looked like any other perv fondling girls on the dance floor!” You shout, eyes wide and wild as if someone would overhear, “How was I supposed to know he was a cop?! And why does it matter? He was a creep and I’d do it again!”

Seungcheol is simply dissolving into laughter, his earlier shit mood absolutely erased, and then as your volume grows he starts attempting to shush you though it’s half-assed. 

“Shhhh,” he laughs even harder, “I know, I know. I’m just teasing,” he grins when you finally crack a small smile, “Honestly, I was so proud of you that night. Took fifteen stitches to sew him back together and I hear it’s left a big ugly scar.”

You scoff in disbelief at his blatant pride. “Proud?! You chewed my ass out the entire way home.”

“Quit doing dangerous shit without me,” he shrugs unapologetically, “If you’re gonna get yourself in trouble, at least make sure I’m there to back you up.”

You roll your eyes, placing your cool hands under your chin to warm them. A cold wind whips through the alley, tossing his soft black hair around. Naturally, he steps into the wind’s path, blocking you from the worst of it because that’s what he does. It grants you the opportunity to slide a little closer and he chuckles, catching on very quickly to what you’re trying to do. Use him as both a human shield and personal heater. 

He looks down at you with that soft gaze you know is only reserved for you. As you’ve grown older together, you’ve learned that it’s best to avoid basking in it for more than a few seconds at a time. Your eyes dart down to his chest and back up again, not quite meeting his eyes this time. “It’s colder than I thought it would be tonight.”

He pulls your jacket a little tighter around you. “We can go back inside if you want.”

Whatever you want - it’s always whatever you want. Sometimes you just want to know what Seungcheol wants.

You hold eye contact with him now, just watching to see if his expression changes at all. It’s almost dizzying, staring at one another so closely. A stupid decision on your part, honestly.

“What if I asked you to take me home?”

Simple. “We can go home. Just gotta grab my key-”

You shake your head with a small laugh. “Actually, I think we should go back in and sing karaoke.”

His lips pull up, always quick to pick up on the game. “What song? I love karaoke.”

“Liar. You hate karaoke,” you grin, “Why do you give into anything I ask?”

His smile is so beautiful - it always has been. 

“I do not give into everything,” he corrects you and then huffs in amusement, “Go ahead, try your luck but put some actual thought into it. You know most things are negotiable for lowlifes like us.”

“Great! So, you’ll let me drive your car tomorrow night?” you bat your eyes at him soo prettily. It’s in the bag.

He hardly budges. “No,” comes from those plump lips more clearly than you’ve ever heard it in your life and you instinctually pout like a child which amuses him. “I said put some actual thought into it. You’re a terrible driver.”

“You also said to try my luck,” you answer and it comes out more like a grumble, “Which has apparently abandoned me tonight.” 

The way you drop your shoulders and pull yourself inward knocks him off kilter and his smile drops in a split second. When he speaks again, his voice is just a touch deeper - less playful, more gentle. The change is so slight that anyone else would miss it but you’ve got that shift of his rooted in your memory at this point. 

“Your luck? Maybe,” he tips his head in consideration, close enough that he’s slipped his arms around you, big hands splayed comfortingly against the middle of your back, “I’m still here though.”

You know you should put some space in between your bodies right now but that little voice that is usually telling you to mind your boundaries is so far away in the moment that you do the opposite. Closing the distance, you look up at him as you slip your hands around his waist beneath his jacket. “Yeah, you’re always here for me. Aren’t you?”

When he dips his head closer, his tone is surprisingly serious. “I hope that’s not an actual question at this point.”

His free hand comes up to catch the back of your neck as you move to pull away, to ask him to explain or just to confirm that what you’re feeling is mercifully mutually, but you’re trapped - body painted against Seungcheol’s in the moonlight. It’s probably the most intimate position you’ve ever been in with him and your heart thrashes in your chest.

“I’ve always been right here,” his nose and lips brush your cheek as he speaks, “Patiently waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” you ask too softly but he smiles, you can feel it against your skin.

“For you to get tired of playing house,” He chides gently, “You already have a home with me and you know it.”

To say it out loud for the first time is almost staggering for Seungcheol and it’s a devastating revelation for you. Each time you tried dating someone new it had felt like a cheap replacement to distract you from the despairing thoughts of loving Seungcheol and him not loving you back, but he was there. Watching, waiting, already belonging to you in every way the entire time. 

The first sound out of your mouth is escaped laughter. It’s soft and disbelieving. 

Seungcheol smiles as he pulls back enough to see your face. “You genuinely didn’t know?”

You shake your head back and forth, still laughing, and the dimples in his cheeks pinch as he’s rolling his eyes at you, snickering to himself. “You’re the worst. I seriously thought you were playing dumb on purpose,” he groans, though his hands meet in the middle of your back now, comfortably laced like he plans on staying this way for a while. “Tell me. Who are all those idiots in there to you?”

Easy. “They’re my brothers.”

“And who am I?”

Your lips twitch and he smirks. “You’re just…Seungcheol,” saying it makes everything so plain and simple. So obvious. “You’re my Seungcheol.”

“Exactly. Have I ever felt like a brother to you? Like just a friend?” he prods, pretty white teeth still on display. He’s going to drive his point home like always. 

“Listen, jerk,” you poke him in the chest with a long sigh, “Of course you never felt like those things to me. I didn’t want to see you as just a friend and definitely not as a brother, gross,” you grimace at the thought, “But just because I felt that way about you doesn’t mean I thought you felt the same. I thought it was all very one-sided and I was just going to eventually get over it.”

He raises a single brow. “And,” he blinks pointedly, “Have you gotten over it yet?

“Unfortunately not.”

“Good.”

Good because he’s truly out of patience at this point and he’s going to make sure you know exactly how he feels without question. 

And that’s how you find yourself caged up against the wall outside the bar, Seungcheol’s lips hungirly claiming your own. His hands trace your body outside your clothing until he gets tired of the separation and you jolt feeling his cold hands against your waist beneath your shirt. There isn’t a second of stillness. He’s constantly moving, shifting, giving, taking. 

You’re no better. 

The second he kissed you it was like a flood of energy zapping each and every one of your nerves. After your lips, your arms were quickly in motion, wrapping around his neck and shoulders. Fingers threading through and tugging at his hair. He touched you and kissed you so thoroughly that despite the fact that is freezing and you’re indeed, exposed outside while your friends are just on the other side of that back door, you want more. 

More, more, more. 

Seungcheol does too. 

“Let’s go,” he mumbles between your lips, still too enthralled to pull away. 

It makes you laugh, though it’s a little delirious because he’s back to sucking and biting pretty little marks onto your neck, and you peel your eyelids open to see the fog from your breath as you speak. “It’s Seok’s birthday,” your mouth pops open with a silent gasp as he bites you again, “We can’t just leave.”

He drags himself back up and meets your eyes, grinning, “Like hell we can’t. Go get in my car,” he digs his keys out of his pocket and passes them over, “I’ll let the boys know we’re leaving.”

You stand there for a moment, keys in your outstretched hand, “Wait!” you realize he’s already opening the door. He’s so serious. “What are you going to tell them?”

He shrugs, “That we have better things to do.”

Appalling. “Seungcheol!”

Now he’s smirking. “Alright, alright. I’ll tell them we’re leaving and going back to my place to fu-”

“SEUNGCHEOL!”

“You don’t want me to lie and you don’t want me to tell the truth,” he blinks back at you, “I am not sure what you want from me, baby.”

Well. Brain melted. If he’s calling you ‘Baby’ he can do whatever he damn well pleases. 

“I’ll be waiting,” you laugh, quickly spinning on your heel before you drag him away and he doesn’t get a chance to tell anyone you’re leaving. They probably wouldn’t notice for a few hours anyway. You shake your head, hurrying your steps toward his car. 

It feels like you’re waiting an eternity but it’s only been a few minutes and when you glance out the window he’s already hurrying back. You’re not sure if he just caught the first person he saw and told them to pass it on or if he walked in and announced it to the entire bar but you honestly don’t care. You’re maybe fifteen minutes from the garage, Cheol’s permanent (and your home away from) home. He’ll probably make it in eight with the way he drives. 

“I’m surprised to not find you in the driver’s seat,” he laughs, shutting the door and immediately bringing the car to life. 

“You’re the better driver and I’d like to get there quickly.”

Smirking, he smoothly backs out of his parking space and peels out onto the road. “I think you’re plenty good at speeding. If your record has anything to say about it.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Ok, so you’re better at speeding and not getting caught. This is why I handle the other business aspects.”

His hand slips over the middle and lands on your thigh, kneading and flexing possessively. 

Watching you handle business has always intrigued and infuriated him. You’ve swindled awful men out of house and home - lining your crew’s pockets with all the spoils. It had always been a fine line between letting you work while recognizing how good you were at your job and trying not to strangle every dickhead who thought that fake smile you gave them was genuine. “Might have to retire you now.”

You pout in his direction knowing his moody comment is nothing more than his protective, if not slightly dominant, nature coming through. He’s not at all serious, even if he’d like to be. “You gonna take care of me so I don’t have to work anymore?”

He grins at the suggestion. “You know I’ll take care of you, baby. Minghao is plenty good-looking. We’ll start using him instead.”

You snort at the thought. “You’re better off sending, Jeonghan. He's pretty, charming, and he knows exactly how to get what he wants out of anyone. Why do you think I’m so good at it? Learned from the best.”

“Yeah,” Cheol turns, the wheel smoothly gliding through his hand, “I don’t typically have to worry about you stabbing or torturing anyone though.”

“Typically?” you turn in surprise, laughing, “Are you saying it has been a concern?”

He looks at you with a brow quirked. “Once or twice,” he scoffs, “You are way more like your brother than you realize.”

“Oh? You got a thing for him too?”

He snickers in response, shaking his head. “Little shit.”

He squeezes the meat of your thigh again and you realize he’s shifted his hand higher, his fingers spread wide, the pads biting into your jeans. “Quit flirting with me and drive faster.”

The only sound that follows is his quiet amusement and the roar of the engine. 

Pulling into the garage, you’re feeling too charged from the quiet, electrifying tension. It makes you feel jerky, like every movement of your body takes too much effort and every surface you touch shocks your skin. You’re already eyeing the stairs leading up to his loft but he’s taking his sweet time coming around the front of his car, waiting for the garage doors to roll back down. You want to barrel straight into him but you don’t exactly trust your legs to carry you. 

The doors close with a loud thud and he looks over at you still standing near the passenger door. “You look nervous,” he smiles softly, making his way around the car until his hands are seated over your hips. “We don’t have to-”

“No, no, that’s not it,” you huff out a laugh, “I think all the anticipation made my body stop working. Everything is tingly and sharp, and I don’t think I can move. Stop laughing at me!”

He can’t. Seungcheol is simply beside himself. You really can’t blame him. Truly, too horny and excited to walk? That’s got to be a new one. It certainly is for you. 

“I can carry you, it’s fine.”

But he is still shaking with laughter and we’re talking a whole ass flight of stairs. It’s not fine, though Cheol is already scooping you up and you're frantically trying to situate yourself on his back because that seems like the safest option and you’re already off the ground. He’s not putting you back down until you’re both behind closed doors. 

“Oh my god,” you bury your face in his shoulder as he takes the first few steps up the stairs, “This is such a bad idea!”

His hands are firmly seated beneath your thighs and your arms are wrapped so tightly around his shoulders that you’re not even shifting much as he carries you but it’s nerve wracking and honestly, a bit embarrassing. He’s incredibly proud and stubborn so there really is no hope in convincing him to put you down anyway.

“Stop panicking,” he laughs, now halfway up the stairs, “I’m not even struggling so your lack of faith in me is hurting my feelings. You act like you’ve never seen me workout. I do it for a reason.”

“I thought the reason was just because you like to beat people up.”

He huffs in amusement, “Fighting isn’t fun when you’re not winning.”

“Well, you always win so you must be having a blast,” you pinch his earlobe, rolling your eyes since he can’t catch you doing it.

When he reaches the landing, he digs into his pocket, unlocking the door with one hand and then kicking it shut once you’re both inside. Then he lets you slide down his back but before your feet actually hit the ground, he’s spinning around to pick you right back up. He laughs at the sound you make, quickly grabbing his shoulders and crossing your ankles at his back. Cheol flips the lock on the door and takes you into the small kitchen, setting you down on the counter. 

“I always win when you’re watching,” he plants his hands on either side of you, leaning closer, “You get mad at me when I don’t, so, I stopped losing.”

He looks up at you with a boyish grin and you bring your hands up, lightly touching his cheeks with your finger tips. You’ve seen his soft skin mottled with bruising more times than you cared to think about. “I don’t care about losing,” you murmur, lost in thought, “I just hate it when you get hurt.”

Tracing a finger over his right brow you remember that night years ago when he returned from a job with it split wide open, blood dripping down his pale face. Busted lips, fractured ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and an awful limp. It was the first time you ever saw him so…broken.

You yelled at him for getting hurt but cradled his face in your hands the whole time. While Minghao sutured it closed, you continued cursing at him and everyone else who’d gone out that night but you never let go of his hand. When Joshua reset Cheol’s shoulder and he nearly passed out from the pain, you sobbed. For days you’d been furious with him yet you stayed over at his place for almost two solid weeks to take care of him. 

Putting him back together with your own two hands was the only way you could convince yourself that he was okay and from then on, you accompanied him on most jobs. Anytime things got messy, he’d come out victorious, and the very few times you weren’t there, he returned nearly unscathed. Bloodied knuckles at most. 

Your fingers must have drifted down to his lips because he kisses them and it brings you back to the present. He smiles against your fingertips and you move them under his jaw, out of the way, just so you can kiss him again. It’s soft, slow, adoring and his hands slide into place right at your lower back, his fingers pushing beneath your shirt to stroke your skin. 

When they make contact, his fingers spread wide, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter. It makes your back arch, pitching your hips forward, and leaves you sitting poised for the taking but even then he takes his time. In the back of your mind, you’re sure he can feel your heat against his groin and it must be driving him just as insane as it does you.

Despite the body heat, when he pushes your shirt up a little further with his busy hands, you shiver at how cold you still are. It’s accompanied by a breathy little gasp that makes him pull away grinning, eyes still watching your mouth. “Still cold?”

“Yeah,” you admit, “Do you ever turn the heat on in this place?”

“Only when you’re here. I don’t usually need it.”

Of course not. Big manly man. 

“You’re going to need it if you’re still hoping to get my clothes off.”

Cheol pays no mind to your change in tone. The one you use to nag him to death. Instead he scoops you right off the counter, starting toward his bedroom. “I can warm you up myself just fine,” he says in an equally haughty kind of way. 

The kind of way that shuts you up because the only other thing that you could possibly manage is some pathetic giggle. He even makes a show of hanging onto to you with only one arm because he’s just so strong and you humor him with an ‘oh wooooow’ that makes him crack, laughing as he lets you slowly drop to the floor.

Your hand remains on his chest, nervously pinching at his shirt as you look around the room. You’ve been in here before just…not for anything like this. “Why does this feel normal and not normal at the same time,” you pause, realizing there is actually something different that you hadn’t noticed right away. 

Seungcheol let’s his hands drop away so you can walk over to his dresser to sate your…curiosity? Surprise? “You said I needed more personal decorations around the house,” he clears his throat, watching as you carefully lift his picture frames off the furniture to examine them, “I figured pictures were personal enough.”

There is one of Cheol as a teenager standing proudly beside his first car. Another with a few members of the crew all grinning around a card table. You loosen a soft laugh remembering that night clearly. Mingyu and Hoshi shouting over the table like banshees…all because Hoshi got caught cheating and blamed it on his favorite designated target. 

You pick up one you don’t recognize but smile at the familiar faces hanging out of the windows of a car you do recognize vaguely. The job details were hazy but you know you remember that car for some reason.

Seungcheol must have noticed you squinting at it because he comes over and stands behind you, pointing at the picture. “You don’t remember this one because you broke into a case of wine coolers the moment we were all home and accounted for,” he chuckles, his breath tickling your cheek, “Almost seven years ago now.”

“I hated waiting for you guys to come home,” you pout, pointing to the picture, “Why do I remember this car though? It’s so familiar.”

He laughs again and this time you spin toward him like the reason he is laughing is clearly painted on his face. It’s not but he fills in the blanks without prompting.

“Jeonghan caught you in the backseat of that exact car making out with Seungkwan, of all people,” Cheol grins at your grimace “We hauled you both off to bed, tucked you in, and agreed not to tell a soul. I honestly don’t think he knows about it either. You guys were wasted.”

“I definitely do not remember doing that but I did oddly stop drinking wine coolers not long after that night,” you sigh, tucking away the embarrassing story to kick your self over later.

“Guilty subconscious?” 

Shrugging off your jacket you give him a fake laugh which eventually morphs into a grin. “Were you jealous back then?”

He takes your lead, removing his clothes one piece at a time. “I was always jealous,” he admits and you let yourself stop to watch as he grabs at the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head. It leaves him only in his jeans, belt already unbuckled. 

You’re the opposite, jeans kicked to the side, but your hands rest on your shirt, too busy looking at Seungcheol to force yourself to keep moving. He’s no better, eyes glued to your hips, to your underwear, your legs, and then his eyes bounce back up to your face, finally noticing the way you’re looking at him.

He takes a slow step forward and then another.

“I’m not perfect,” he cautions, another step closer, “I’m stubborn and jealous,” one more step until you’re touching, “I don’t like sharing. If one of the guys flirts with you, even as a joke, I’ll probably rip their head off. Might happen more than once but I’ll get over it eventually, I promise.”

“Hmm,” you smirk as he stops so closely you can feel the heat coming of his body, “A little sensitive?”

“Maybe.” His smile is so pretty and disarming because now his hands are on you, palms rubbing circles into your hips before sliding back and down over your ass. “You’ve been chipping away at my self control for over a decade and now you’re half-naked in my bedroom. I’ve hit my breaking point, baby. I’m going to be selfish with you.”

You shift just enough to pull your shirt over your head, tossing it in the general direction of your pants, and settle your arms around his shoulders. “I think it’s only fair because I have always been selfish with you and i’ll be so much worse now,” you grin and he let’s out a heavy, husky chuckle, tightening his thick arms around you, “I’m going to be a menace.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“I’m still cold.”

Then he’s kissing you again, your hands quickly moving from his shoulders to his waist, pushing his jeans as low as you can before he’s forced to part and pull them the rest of the way off, laughing and stumbling with you toward the bed. You land first, quickly shuffling under the comforter for warmth and he’s right behind you, rolling you onto your back to cover you with his body. It’s an added layer of heat and you wiggle beneath him when his thigh pushes between your legs. 

Seungcheol wants everything all at once and hates having to choose but loves knowing he’ll get the opportunity to do it all in good time. For now, he can’t seem to keep away from your lips, can’t stop the noises he makes everytime you tug at his hair or scrape your nails against his back and he hopes to god they leave bright red scratches in their wake. 

He wants to watch you get shy and embarrassed when he works out with them on full display. His ego is a beast and it’s going to be riding a high for a while.

When you push up against him, he gives you a little space to quickly undo your bra before it’s tossed to the floor and he’s slipping a little lower, his face pressed against your soft, warm chest. His mouth dances from one breast to the other and you moan into the open air of his bedroom, one of your hands still rubbing his back, smoothing over his muscles mindlessly. His perfect teeth graze your nipples and you grind down against his thigh. 

He pushes it higher and repeats the action over and over until you’re steadily working yourself up and then he shifts, taking that relief away from you. Your eyes pop open in surprise but he kisses you again before you can speak and his right hand slides into your panties, wet and uncomfortably cool against your folds now that his thigh is gone. 

He doesn’t waste time, running his middle and ring finger up and down until they’re so slick-coated that there is hardly any resistance when he slips them inside you, stroking up against that spot that has you arching your back off the bed. It’s almost cruel how quickly he gets you there and even worse that he hardly touches your clit before you come, stars flashing behind your eyes. 

Seungcheol kisses your face through it, whispering sweet, filthy praises against your skin. That’s my girl, you’re so fucking good for me, baby. Sound so pretty right now, wanna hear you say my name just like that.

It’s a miracle you don’t come again the second he pushes into you because he doesn’t stop talking unless his mouth is occupied and he’s too good at multitasking. The only time you get a break from his wicked words is when he’s bottoming out and your ears are ringing so loudly that you can’t even hear him anymore. He must realize it too because his mouth was moving and now, he’s just grinning, eyes trained on your lips when he draws his hips back a little and pushes back in. 

His pace varies because he likes watching the breath get caught in your throat, breaking up the gorgeous sounds spilling from your lips. For all the taunting and talking he’s done, he’s just as worked up as you are and suddenly sits up on his knees which changes the angle. He spreads your thighs further apart, almost crudely, and props your ass a bit higher. At first, he wraps his hands around your thighs for leverage, digging his fingers into your skin but it’s not enough, he needs more. 

When he moves his hands to either side of your waist, he locks in the perfect position to go as deep as possible and the sounds you begin making are far more desperate, the pitch swinging higher and higher until he’s moaning and panting, driving into you faster and harder than before. You know you’re going to come again, and fast, so when your eyes meets his, and he purses his lips, letting spit drop from his plump lips onto your clit, he doesn’t have to tell you aloud what to do. 

You bring your own hand down, rubbing yourself until your limbs start twitching. Your breaths are so shallow and ragged, your fingertips messily bumping against the base of his cock where he plunges in and out of your cunt recklessly. He looks just as far gone as you do but the second your eyes meet, he smirks and it’s your absolute undoing. 

When you orgasm for the second time it’s so intense that all of your muscles lock up aside from your legs which shake uncontrollably and Seungcheol groans, hips stuttering when he feels the overabundance over warm liquid spilling out around his cock, splashing against his groin and stomach, dripping onto the bed. He stills, filling you so completely full that you can’t even breath without adding to the mess you’ve both created. 

It takes several long minutes of heavy panting and blinking to get your heads on straight and he still doesn’t pull out. Not even when he slumps down against you, grinning and kissing you lazily. He’s doesn’t give a single fuck about the mess, even going to so far as pumping his hips a few times, laughing when you hide your face under your arm at the lewd sounds echoing through the room. 

It’s playful at first, those half-hearted thrusts, but then his kisses turn into little nips, his mouth starts spilling those dirty words in your ear and it’s not long until you can feel him getting hard inside of you again, having never pulled out in the first place. He keeps fucking into you slowly, swallowing the sound of your whining, revelling in the way your nails no longer just rake over his skin but painfully dig into it over his shoulder blades. 

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t speed up. Doesn’t give you the chance to wiggle away from him when the sharp tingling of overstimulation bleeds into, “Oh, fuck, Cheol, I’m gonna come again…fuck…”

And you do until tears stream down your face and he pulls out, flips you over, and puts it right back in, fucking you brutally until he’s moaning and cumming, and you’re nearly ready to pass out in the bed you’ve both absolutely ruined. You hear him speaking but can’t make out the words and then maybe your eyes close because you’re sated and exhausted. 

It doesn’t last long though because Seungcheol is attempting to drag you from sleep because he needs to clean you both up and change the sheets before anyone crashes for the night but you’re not budging. 

Until you feel the sensation of thick fingers pushing into your cunt and you mumble aloud, “Absolutely no…straight to jail.”

Seungcheol laughs at you having not even moved when you said it and removes his hand. “I tried waking you up nicely and you kept ignoring me. Besides, it’s all starting to spill out and I like seeing you full. If you keep laying here I’m going to end up fucking it all back in and giving you more.”

Rolling onto your back takes an incredible amount of willpower and Cheol’s helping hands because your hips are stiff as all hell. He’s patient, not pushing beyond your limits even though you’re sure he could go a few more rounds without tiring in the least. Affection swirls in your chest and it takes him by surprise when you reach a hand up and around his neck to pull him down to your lips. 

HIs body relaxes into the bed, pressing his weight more firmly into the mattress to keep the pressure light where it covers your own. He kisses you tenderly, his hands moving softly and slowly over your skin, and your mind is emptied of all but the feel of him. It’s overwhelming, how deeply attuned you are to one another and yet your body continues to demand more. 

Your kiss is broken off in a choked moan, Seungcheol’s, when your hand snakes between your bodies. He drops his forehead to yours, taking in a deep, shaky breath when you rub the head of his cock into the mess between your folds. “Again?” he questions, even as his hips push forward of their own accord. 

“Again…” you breathe out, tipping your face up to catch his bottom lip with a gentle nip, “..and again, and again, and agai-”

The delirious smile on your face drops open as he pushes back inside. Your tight, swollen cunt aches with the intrusion but each shockwave that pulses through you is laced with pointed pleasure. The effort to keep his pace even and gentle is difficult but Cheol finds very quickly that there is something incredibly arrousing about slow, deep, intimate fucking. 

He’s never experienced anything like it because he’s never had you. 

Yet here you are beneath him, clawing at his back and shoulders, moaning against his throat, and he knows it will only ever be like this with you. He knew he was ruined for all others years ago but in this moment he fully understands the weight of it. 

Seungcheol will never want anyone but you.

And when you unravel together again, you look into his eyes and know it too.

The next morning it takes an unprecidented amount of effort to wake up.

Your body aches and joints pop in too many places when you stretch your limbs as if you’ve been asleep for years and not mere hours. It’s easy to pinpoint the loss of warmth at your side, Seungcheol hardly ever sleeps in and it’s evident by the smell of fresh coffee wafting in through the open bedroom door. 

Slipping into the shirt he’d left you and your jeans from last night, you wander in and out of the bathroom and head straight to the kitchen. Cheol knows you don’t drink coffee but you do love the smell of it so the sight of a full, almost untouched pot makes you laugh. His mug sits abandoned in the sink so you rinse it out and refill it, carefully balancing the full cup in your hands as you leave his apartment and head down the stairs into the garage. 

Joshua is the first person you find, unsurprising as he never seems to get hungover no matter how much he drinks the night before. He’s sitting at one of the work tables pouring over a set of blue prints for a new job when you walk by, chuckling and swatting away your hand when you ruffle his hair. “Morning Joshie.” He waves over his shoulder as you keep walking.

It’s relatively quiet in the garage for a Saturday morning but most of your crew is probably passed out from the evening prior. You would have stayed in bed longer too if someone wasn’t missing from it - someone you still haven’t found. Instead, you happen upon Jeonghan and Mingyu working on an engine…you think…again, not your expertise. 

“Well, well, well,” Jeonghan drawls as he catches you approaching from the corner of his eye, “If it’s not my darling little sister,” he grins and leans over to kiss your cheek when you stop in front of him, “Whatever are you doing here, in the garage, smelling like sex and coffee, so early on this delightful Saturday morning?”

You give your brother a deadpan stare and Mingyu snickers behind him. 

“Where’s Cheol?”

“Bringing in another delivery with Jun in the back,” Mingyu mumbles half-way under the hood with tools in hand, “Should be finishing up soon.”

Jeonghan leans against the car and crosses his arms. “Is this an official thing?”

You know he’s only asking because he loves you both so deeply that if there were any chance of it being a fling where feelings are inevitably going to be trampled, he’s putting an end to it immediately. He’s so fiercely protective that he’d step in to protect you from yourselves without hesitation.

“That man would have to be thirty feet deep in the ground to leave me.”

“Isn’t the saying ‘six-feet deep’?” Mingyu laughs, still focusing on his task.

“I said what I said and honestly thirty-feet still might not be enough - you’ll probably have to bury me with him.”

Jeonghan relaxes, shrugging off the tension in his body with a loose laugh. “Good to know,” he grins, eyes soft and gentle once more, “I always knew you’d end up together once you both gave up the world’s most stubborn ass competition.”

He’s not wrong. Who knew a little communication could go a long way? Certainly not you and Cheol.

Two cars pull up outside the open garage door across the way and you wiggle your fingers in greeting when Vernon, Hoshi, Wonwoo and Jihoon all pop out looking absolutely exhausted. You turn and set Cheol’s mug down on the counter behind you and pull out a stool to take a seat and hang out. 

“Wonwoo wouldn’t let us stop for breakfast please tell me there are still leftovers from lunch in the fridge,” Hoshi complains loudly. He absolutely still looks a little drunk.

Jihoon shoves him to the side and makes a beeline for the fridge around the corner, the two of them cursing and bickering as they go. Wonwoo and Vernon pull up a stool next to you and now you’re feeling a little guilty for only bringing one mug down. 

“Where’s Cheol?” Wonwoo asks, pushing his glasses up and shaking out his messy hair.

Jeonghan tosses a thumb in his direction, “Delivery.”

Wonwoo nods and Vernon taps your shoulder. “Hey, you’re here kinda early. Where did you go last night? Lost you at some point.”

Your cheeks heat. There are some of the guys you make crude jokes with and some you don’t - both Vernon and Wonwoo being on one side while Mingyu and Jeonghan are on the opposite. “Oh, I uhhh-”

“Notice anyone else missing last night?”

“Jeonghan-”

Vernon’s brows pinch together in thought. Mingyu stands up, setting down his tools before wiping his hands on his pants. “You know,” he grins, “Guy who lives in a garage, goofy laugh, kinda mean…”

Wonwoo breaks out in hysterics and Vernon’s grin is entirely visible though you’re sure he is trying to make it disappear when he says, “Oh! Oh okay…yeah…that makes sense. So, you’re like…yeah?”

You snort in response nodding your head. “Mhm, we’re like yeah.”

“Who’s like what?” Hoshi says around a mouthful, coming up to join you with Jihoon stomping past him empty-handed to go help Joshua. 

“Her and Cheol finally got together,” Wonwoo supplies and Hoshi’s eyes light up.

“Oh my god!!! That’s so exciting!” he dances over and drops his food on the counter, which Mingyu picks up to polish off while he’s distracted. Hoshi wraps you in a bear hug you try to fight off and then you’re up and out of your chair being squeezed and swung around, “This is such great news!!!”

Thwap.

Hoshi blinks and you slide to the floor. When he touches the back of his head, it’s wet and he turns to find a rag on the ground. It takes less than two seconds to figure out who threw it because it’s Seungcheol’s thundering voice that calls out, “Put her down and get to work, asshole.”

“Asshole?” Hoshi mutters, kicking the rag, “I’m the asshole?”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes, “Oh, he’s going to be unbearable,” he smacks your arm lightly, “Hey, do us all a favor. Take him back upstairs and tie him up or something would ya?”

“Inappropriate,” you snort just before big familiar arms wrap around you from behind. 

“Morning baby,” he breathes against your hair before he’s planting a hot kiss on the side of your neck, “Sleep well?”

Everyone very quickly finds a way to mind their own business. 

“Slept just fine,” you smile, turning your head to kiss him properly. “Now apologize to Hoshi, you beast.”

He sighs, dropping his head dramatically against your shoulder. “Hoshi!” he shouts across the way, “I’m sorry. Order breakfast for everyone on me.”

“All is forgiven, bro!” Hoshi salutes him in response and the others start gathering to make their requests. Food fixes almost anything in this house.

Cheol laughs and kisses your hair. “Happy?”

“Very,” you hum, turning in his arms, “Brought you coffee but it might be cold by now.”

“That was nice of you.” Now that you’re finally getting a good look at him you see he’s wearing the dark blue cargo pant, white tank top combo that drives you fucking insane. You’ll sit for literal hours on end just to watch him work on the cars in that exact outfit. Even better when he’s got oil smatterings here and there. The thick leather gloves he sometimes has hanging out of his back posket when not in use. 

Mechanic Seungcheol is one of your favorite fantasies sprung to life.

“I wasn’t doing it out of the kindness of my own heart,” you retort, “I was trying to get something out of you in return.”

“Oh?” he smirks, “Like what?”

“Kiiiinda hoping I’d get you back upstairs for a few favors.”

His hands slide along your arms until he’s managed to bring them up and around his neck and then he’s got you caged in, clasping his own low on your back. “I’m sure we can make time for that,” he mumbles along the seam of your lips, brazenly, and very openly making out with you in the next breath like there aren’t several people in the garage along with you.

“MAKE IT QUICK. WE’VE GOT SHIT TO DO.”

Cheol tosses up a middle finger in Jeonghan’s general direction and shouts back, “Well, I’ve got your sister to do and that’s more important. Work can wait.” Your mouth pops open in amusement and he takes advantage of your distraction to hoist you up into his arms, making his way toward the stairs to his apartment again. When he speaks again, it’s only loud enough for you, “I think I’ve got just enough time to fuck you over the kitchen counter and make a fresh pot of coffee before I have to come back down, whoop your brother’s ass, and get back to work.”

“Your time management skills are-” you cling onto him a little tighter as he starts up the steps, “- very impressive.”

“You should see my oral presentation skills.”

With that in mind, you lean over his shoulder and shout down, “YOU CAN HAVE HIM BACK IN AN HOUR.”

“AN HOUR?!” Jeonghan hollers back, absolutely exasperated because he knows this is going to be an ongoing battle for months if not years on end. “WHAT PART OF WE GOT SHIT TO DO DID YOU TWO NOT UNDERSTAND?”

Cheol sighs and puts you down to open the door, hanging over the railing with a flat look on his face. “I’ll rip the transmission out of your car with my bare hands and toss it into the river if you open this door.”

Jeonghan scoffs but Cheol grins and cuts him off, “And then i’ll take the knife in your glovebox and split open every individual stitch in the interior.”

Those are serious fighting words between car guys. You think.

Jeonghan narrows his eyes and then huffs, hands on his hips. “You guys are the worst.”

Cheol blows your brother a kiss as you drag him inside and you can catch a hint of amusement on Jeonghan’s face just before you seal yourselves inside. 

You’re okay with being the worst, so is Seungcheol. 

Maybe being a couple of lowlifes isn’t such a bad thing after all.

Thanks for reading! 💖

SVT M.List | Main M.List

→ Please do NOT copy, repost, or translate, any of my works here on tumblr or on any other platforms! All stories are copyrighted, Milfgyuu, 2019. ©️

[blushweddinggowns]

Eddie threw an arm over Steve's shoulder, bringing him into a half-hug, “So, what did you guys think?”

“It was great!” Steve said quickly, relaxing into Eddie’s side, “You guys killed it, dude!”

“He’s right,” Robin agreed, “It was awesome! Super, duper fun and we’re so glad we got to see it. But actually, we kinda got to go-”

Eddie frowned, the loose grip he had over Steve’s shoulder tightening on it’s own accord, “Go where? Don’t tell me you guys are tired already?”

For some reason, Robin didn’t look at him after he asked the question. Instead she looked to Steve, a brow raised as she waited for something. But then Steve was giving her a subtle nod, her queue to start talking again. She leaned in closer, whispering as loud as she could in the noisy environment, “So… you’re like cool, right? Steve said you were cool.”

Eddie cocked his head at her, beyond confused, “I-yes? I guess?”

“About the thing?” She pressed, jerking her head his direction, “Steve’s thing?”

“Oh!” Eddie blurted, finally catching on. But he still didn’t get what Steve being gay had to do with them ditching. He nodded quickly, “Very cool with it. Have zero issues.”

It was almost true. Whatever issues Eddie had with Steve’s sexuality involved his own bullshit more than anything else. Plus, his answer had Robin smiling. Gesturing for Eddie to lean in closer, “Good. Because we, um. Share the affliction if you catch my drift.”

“That’s fine,” Eddie said, not missing a beat. He had kind of figured that out along the way. Considering the process of elimination on who could have possibly talked Steve through his queer thoughts. Not that Eddie cared, “No problem here.”

“Good!” She said with a grin, “Then you know just how limited our options are where we live. And according to an insanely pretty girl, there is an honest to god gay bar, like a few blocks away!”

Eddie swallowed, discomfort suddenly settling in at the suggestion, “T-That’s where you guys are going?”

“Yeah!” She said excitedly, setting her sights back onto Steve, “It’s time for someone to realize that we are hot enough to flirt and be flirted with! Closets don’t matter when you’re hours away from home.”

“We share the exact same closet,” Steve groaned, “Don’t start preaching to me.”

“And tonight we can escape from it!” Robin argued, “Come on! Eddie’s going to be busy with his friends and groupies anyway. What else are we doing-”

“I’m actually not that busy,” Eddie interrupted, trying his damndest to keep his voice calm. Suddenly, he felt nauseous again. He didn’t-He knew Steve could handle himself. He did. B-But creeps were everywhere! And he wasn’t used to being around guys who only wanted one thing and Robin would be distracted with girls a-and Eddie was really struggling with this idea.

Though Steve seemed to disagree. The next thing he knew, Steve was smiling back at her. Letting out a good-natured sigh, “Fine, fine! We can go. Someone has to make sure you don’t get kidnapped.”

“Oh my god, yes!” Robin nearly squealed, bouncing a little in her seat, “This is gonna be so fun!”

Eddie’s heart squeezed uncomfortably in his his chest at the excitement, dread starting to fill him. He opened his mouth, words escaping before he could even think of it, “Sounds like you two might need a D.D. I can do it.”

It was probably the first time Eddie had ever invited himself to something he clearly wasn’t a part of. But he had to give himself some credit for how smoothly it came out. 

Robin looked up at him, clearly surprised, “Really? It’s not exactly your scene.”

Eddie shrugged, “It could be. I like George Michael.”

Steve snorted next to him, “That is the one true gay litmus test. You got us there.”

“Seriously though,” Eddie pressed, refusing to let it go, “Then you can both drink, dance, have fun. And not worry about how you’re getting back to the hotel.”

“But don’t you want to stay here?” Steve asked, “Robin wasn’t kidding about the groupies. You should have heard what some of them were saying.”

“You could definitely get laid,” Robin added. She was staring at him now, looking at Eddie in a way that seemed a little past confused. Like she was examining him. Testing him. Or maybe that was just in his head. 

Eddie held firm, “Maybe, but I’d rather hang out with you two vs playing wingman to the boys. What do you say?”

“If you really don’t mind…” Steve said, trailing off. But Eddie could tell that he was happy. He could barely keep his smile to himself as he looked to the side, biting his lip in a way that Eddie fucking knew other people would notice. How could they not? 

from the next chapter of this fic

[the-winter-spider]

Invisible | Part one

Pairings: Bucky x reader AU

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: n/a, angst???

A/N: Been sitting in my docs for awhile! Based off Invisible by Taylor Swift - I have a couple parts ready to go not sure where i wanna take this but we'll see!

Part Two

-----

The city’s rhythm feels like a heartbeat, pulsing with the lives and stories of the people who live here. And for you, it’s not the towering buildings or bustling streets that make New York feel like home. It’s the people you share it with, the friends who’ve become your family, each with their own history and quirks, all somehow meshing together into this messy, beautiful dynamic you’d never trade for anything.

It started with Bucky. You met him on the playground when you were kids, both too stubborn to share the swing set. That was years ago, but you’ve been inseparable ever since. He’s been your constant, the friend who showed up at your house with snacks when you had a bad day, and the one who stayed up with you during endless nights of stargazing and silly conversations about what the future would hold.

When junior high rolled around, Steve joined your little duo. Steve, with his easy smile and that unwavering loyalty that made it impossible not to trust him. He fit right in, like he’d been meant to be part of your lives all along. Steve became the one to balance you and Bucky out — he was the one who kept the peace during your bickering, who had a shoulder to offer when one of you needed it. Steve quickly turned the two of you into an unbreakable trio.

Then came high school, and with it, Natasha. She was a transfer student, quiet and intimidating at first, with a sharp wit that kept everyone at arm’s length. But somehow, the three of you managed to break through that exterior. By senior year, she was as much a part of the group as you, Bucky, and Steve. Natasha’s the friend who knows everyone’s secrets, who has a knack for noticing things no one else does. She’s tough and unyielding, yet she’s also the one who brings you soup when you’re sick, who stays up late to talk through your problems — even when you don’t want to admit you have them.

College came, and your little circle expanded further. That’s when you met Sam. Sam was the life of the party, someone who could make anyone laugh and always knew the right thing to say. He was the friend you went to when you needed cheering up or a reality check, someone who wasn’t afraid to call you out when you needed it. With Sam came Wanda Maximoff, quiet but kind, with a gentle presence that somehow grounded everyone. She slipped into the group as if she’d always belonged there, the one who remembers little details and checks in on everyone. Wanda’s the friend who sits with you in silence when you’re upset, offering comfort without needing words.

You love them all — each one has carved out their own space in your life and heart. But then there’s Bucky.

Bucky is different. He’s been there the longest, woven into your memories and heart in a way that’s impossible to untangle. Somewhere along the line, he went from your best friend to something more, though he never seemed to notice. Bucky is everything you love and everything that frustrates you; he’s the guy who makes everyone around him feel like they’re the only person in the room, but he’s also the one who never stays attached to anyone for long.

He’s the smooth-talking charmer who flirts with every girl in sight, the perpetual bachelor who’s never been one for serious relationships. And while that should make it easier for you to keep your feelings hidden, it doesn’t. Because every time you see him with someone else, there’s a part of you that aches, wondering if he’ll ever look at you that way.

And yet, despite all the years and all the chances you’ve had to move on, you stay. Because Bucky is more than just a friend; he’s your home. You’re his confidant, the one who knows his secrets and his struggles, the one who’s always been there. It’s a role you wouldn’t give up for anything, even if it means watching him fall for everyone but you.

So, you keep your secret, tucked away behind the laughter and the years of memories. Because as much as it hurts sometimes, you’d rather have Bucky as your friend than risk losing him altogether.

The smell of pizza fills your tiny New York apartment as Steve brings in the last box from the kitchen, setting it down on the coffee table with a grin. “Alright, who’s ready to lose at Mario Kart?”

“You mean, who’s ready to lose to me,” Natasha chimes, grabbing a slice and settling on the couch, challenging smirk in place. “You all know I’m the reigning champion.”

“Oh, that’s cute,” Sam teases, snatching the controller out of her hands with a wink. “I’m about to wipe the floor with all of you.”

You laugh, wedged into the corner of the couch beside Bucky, who’s flipping through channels like he’s in his own world. “You’ll be singing a different tune once I lap you three times,” he says, voice casual, eyes on the screen.

“Talk all you want, Barnes,” you reply, nudging his shoulder, “but you’re not gonna win tonight.”

His eyes meet yours, that lazy, amused smile you know so well. “Bring it on, doll.”

Natasha elbows you, muttering, “You two better save the banter for the race, or I’m taking both of you out first round.”

Your friends’ laughter fills the room, echoing off the narrow walls that have seen a hundred nights like this, crowded with the people you’ve come to think of as family. Wanda arrives a few minutes later, holding a tray of cupcakes she’s decorated herself. “Special edition, fall flavors,” she announces proudly, setting them down in the kitchen. “Pumpkin spice, because I know how basic you all are.”

Steve scoffs but grabs one immediately. “Did you just call me basic?”

“Take it as a compliment,” she teases, leaning into Sam, who gives her a quick side-hug. “Means you have taste.”

In the middle of this, Bucky slings his arm across the back of the couch, close enough that his hand almost brushes your shoulder. You can feel the warmth radiating off him, feel the way your pulse picks up—things he’d never notice.

“Why don’t we just skip the race and go straight to the part where we talk about how I’m a hero and you’re all my loyal sidekicks?” Bucky quips, popping open a beer and flashing a grin that could melt steel.

“Oh, please,” you scoff, trying to ignore the way your heart flutters. “In what world do you get to be the hero?”

“In my world,” he replies with a wink, leaning in closer. You catch Natasha’s look over the rim of her drink, one eyebrow raised as if to say, See what I mean?

The hours pass like they always do, a blur of laughter, arguments over who cheated and who didn’t, Wanda’s cupcakes disappearing one by one, and Steve trying to prove he can actually beat Nat, despite his track record saying otherwise. It’s only when the clock hits midnight that everyone starts to wind down.

As they get ready to leave, Natasha gives you a long look. “See you tomorrow?” she asks, her tone casual but her eyes full of something else.

You nod, managing a smile as she heads out with the others, leaving just you and Bucky to pick up the empty cans and plates. He nudges you as he gathers them up. “Another night, another victory,” he says.

“You were lucky, Barnes,” you say, rolling your eyes.

And maybe he’ll notice one day—how much it means to you that he’s here, that you’re the one left cleaning up with him every time the night winds down. But for now, he just laughs, flashing that grin of his that you can never get out of your head.

Bucky laughs, shaking his head. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re jealous of my skills.”

“Skills?” you snort, tossing a pillow his way. “All I saw tonight was a lot of luck.”

He catches the pillow mid-air, grinning. “Keep telling yourself that. Maybe one day you’ll believe it.”

There’s a lull as you both continue gathering up cups and plates, the quiet feeling comfortable, familiar. Every late night ends like this: just the two of you, unwinding after hours of laughter and chaos. You’re stacking plates by the sink when he leans back against the counter, crossing his arms with that easy, relaxed posture he gets when it’s just the two of you.

“So, what do you think of Kate?” he asks, out of nowhere.

You freeze, not quite sure how to answer. She’s… fine. In fact, she’s more than fine. She’s exactly the kind of person who should be with Bucky—smart, confident, and with a wit sharp enough to keep up with him.

“She seemed nice,” you manage, “I only met her the one time near the end of summer break” avoiding his gaze. “Why?”

He shrugs, scratching the back of his neck, a little sheepish. “I dunno. We’ve been talking a bit, and she’s… I don’t know, different.”

Different. The word sits heavy in your stomach, weighted with the implication. You force a smile, willing yourself not to overthink it. “Different’s good, right?”

“Yeah, it is.” He nods, looking thoughtful in a way that makes your heart sink, because this—this is new. You’ve watched him brush off a hundred girls, seen him roll his eyes at the idea of commitment more times than you can count. But he’s not brushing Kate off, and that terrifies you.

“Well,” you say, keeping your tone light, “if you’re planning to bring her around, at least let me so I can order extra pizza because 3 large pizza’s arent enought with Steve around”

Bucky chuckles, ruffling your hair in that infuriatingly casual way he’s always done. “You’re the best doll, you know that?”

The words are simple, playful, but they pierce all the same, a reminder of just how invisible you are to him in that way. “Yeah,” you say, a little quieter, “I know.”

[mcflymemes]

"I DON'T WANT TO GET INVOLVED" PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue for saying i don't want to get roped into your bs, basically, adjust as necessary

that sounds like a you problem.

i have no desire to get involved.

don't rope me into this.

this isn't what we agreed to.

i have limits, you know.

i'm retired. sorry.

everything's a life or death situation with you at this point.

this is getting to be too much for me to handle.

this is out of control.

we could get in serious trouble.

you're dragging me into something i can't handle.

please don't wrap me into something stupid.

you never told me you were involving me.

i'm not risking my life for you.

unfortunately, this is my breaking point.

i'm not here to solve your problems.

i can't help you.

go find someone else to bother.

you can say it until you're blue in the face. the answer is still no.

i can't fix this for you. you have to be the one to do it.

cry all you want, but i'm staying out of it.

you told me you would keep me out of this.

when were you going to tell me?

you did this, not me.

there are plenty of people out there willing to help you.

you're responsible for my safety now.

when did my name get thrown into the ring?

i want no part in your bullshit.

don't rope me in.

this is getting out of hand fast.

this isn't what i pictured.

you made it sound like it would be an easy fix.

you promised me you'd protect me from this.

no one's supposed to know i'm here.

that wasn't part of our agreement.

i do this one thing, and then you let me go?

what's it going to take for you to let me leave?

i'm up to my shoulders in bullshit.

you're the one who stuck your neck out. i'm just along for the ride.

how many times do i have to say it? i'm not interested in getting involved.

we can't make this work.

you'll never convince me to stay.

i've got my own problems i'm dealing with.

my world's upside down enough as it is.

i don't need to juggle your crap as well as my own.

there's gotta be someone else who can help you.

i left the business a long time ago.

unless you have any more questions, i'm going back to work.

well, good luck with that.

sounds like you've got a lot you're dealing with.

i hope it goes well for you.

you didn't have to drag my name into this.

why did you pick me?

i said i didn't have time for this.

i know what i said, but i'm taking it back.

that wasn't part of the deal.

you're using my words against me.

[luciathcv]

blurred lines - sjy

summary: in which you cross the line of being platonic and romantic with your best friend || warnings: none || genre: fluff, friends to lovers || word count: approximately 810

The best way to describe your friendship with Jake would be that it constantly blurs the lines between platonic and romantic love. The both of you knew it but neither wanted to change that. Your crushes on one another take over the rationality of maintaining your friendship.

The way in which you expressed your love for one another, despite it being contradictory to your title of being “friends” had become second nature for the both of you.

You never flinched whenever Jake pulled you onto his lap whether there was an available seat. His arms wrapped around you as he rested his chin on your shoulder, continuing with whatever he was doing as if this was normal.

You slept over his dorm often and every single time, you slept in his bed with him. Not just sleeping next to one another. The two of you would lay with one another, bodies pressed against one another, limbs lazily entangled.

He’d find his hands traveling under your shirt, resting on your tummy chastely. You didn’t push his hands away, though. Instead, you leaned into his touch. You let him be the only one that could touch you like that, despite him being solely your best friend.

It was whenever someone walked into you two cuddling like that so intimately that you were hit with a realization that this wasn’t normal. Jake was completely nonchalant, though. He had no problem with anyone else seeing you two like this and it was clear.

When whoever walked in finally left, you found yourself pulling away to which he pulled you right back against him, knowing exactly what it was all about.

“Come on. Don’t listen to them.” He’d say.

“Maybe, they’re right. Maybe-“ Jake cuts you off before you can even finish speaking.

“Maybe they should mind their own business.” He says. “I know you don’t have a problem with it and I know for a fact that I don’t. Who cares what they think? It’s not their friendship, it’s ours.” Jake’d say and he truly meant every word of it.

You found yourself agreeing with him every single time, without fail. You knew you felt the same way as him, he simply had more confidence in his feelings.

Jake wasn’t only obsessed with you when you were around. He was constantly bringing you up around his members wether it be something you texted him, something that happened when you hung out, or something reminding him of you, he was bringing you up with no shame.

Anyone who didn’t know him would think he was talking about his girlfriend when they heard him talk about you, not knowing that the two of you were simply best friends.

Then, one night, the two of you were having a sleepover and were laying in bed, cuddled up. You had been talking about the stupidest things along with the deepest stuff for literal hours. It was the middle of the night, technically early morning, and Jake would never be up this late if it weren’t for the fact that you were here.

The two of you had gone silent, finally, after constant talking and you were about to shut your eyes and go to sleep when suddenly, you felt his lips against yours as he softly kissed you. You melted into the kiss, kissing him back chastely before the two of you pulled away.

“Good night, Y/n.” Was all Jake said before the two of you eventually fell asleep.

After that, the two of you didn’t stop. You were both kissing behind closed doors, whenever you were in private. You felt like teenagers, the way you giggled through the kiss, the secrecy of it being almost exciting.

A few weeks later, Jake had taken you on a late night walk at Han River. The two of you held hands as you both talked mindlessly. It then went silent for a few moments as you both walked and enjoyed the atmosphere.

Suddenly, Jake stopped, causing you to stop as well and look back at him, confused on why he’d stopped so suddenly. He looked into your eyes before speaking.

“Y/n. I know we’ve crossed so many lines in our friendship but if you couldn’t tell already… I love you. I love you as more than a friend. You mean everything to me. You really do. I can’t stop thinking about you, not that I ever try. You mean the world to me, baby.” He says and you can’t help but smile lovingly up at him. “Be my girlfriend?” Jake then asked.

Deep down, you’d been expecting this question to come eventually and you were way past simple “happiness” after hearing him ask you to be his because all you wanted these past few years of friendship was to be his, and finally, you were.

ᥫ᭡ link to my masterlist

[wannaeatramyeon]

Lookism: I can fix him (no really I can)

G/N. Gun, DG, Sammy, Jakey, Ryuhei, Goo, Vin

You didn't roll up your sleeves, ready to fix the men that came into your life. As if you were some amber or red flag magnet, and you had ample time and energy and patience to sort out their issues. Somehow though, it happened anyway. Slowly. Little by little.

With yourself more of a dubious observer more than anything.

Only a fool would invite someone like Gun into their life and not expect troubles. The pitch black eyes are already an obvious omen.

Except. Gun has second thoughts around you. Peaks of humanity showing through his cracks. Fun for Gun used to be fights and bloodshed. Letting his demons out fully. He can never be completely tamed but he realises there's joy, a bone-deep peace, in other things too.

Namely, your company.

James plays his cards to his chest. As James Lee, as Diego Kang, as whoever he may be in the future.

Hides his intention and true character with a detached, arrogant smile. Buries into himself further with his shiny k-pop persona, not letting anyone see his authentic self.

Your touch first cracked his well polished veneer. Your words and keen eyes, astute and observant, blew the gap wide open.

He realises there's no more hiding with you.

Samuel doesn't lack motivation or discipline with most areas of his life. When it comes to his mental health though, it's sorely lacking. Though, delusional and lacking introspection, he never realised it was a problem until you.

He notices your smile dimming during the beginning of his spirals. Feels your absences as he plummets to rock bottom. Craves you with every part of his being as he soars into mania.

Your worried looks and trembling bottom lip gives him the final push he needs to want to improve.

Being Gapryong's son is a part of who Jake is, irrefutable and undeniable. As much as he likes to convince himself he is nothing like his dad, he has fortunately taken all his best traits and foregone the worst.

However. It takes someone like you to come along, that loves all the parts of him-

(Son of the legend of the Pre-generation, the Boss of Big Deal... And the quietest part, the part of him dimmed and muted through the challenges of life, simply Jake Kim, where he can be as he wants to be.)

-For him to finally accept all parts of himself too.

When Ryuhei crushes, falls, obsesses, he finds it hard to fit the whole image of someone in his head.

All their imperfections and flaws and faults are non-existent in his mind. Which sounds harmless and sweet at first thought, but he could never truly connect with anyone if he is only able to see his own perception of them.

But then you showed him all sides of you, forced him to acknowledge the good with the bad, experience the troughs with the peaks.

Until, over time, he fully sees every facet of you.

Being with Goo is like trying to domesticate a wild animal.

He has glimpses of docility assuming he is well fed and well entertained, though he is still likely to bite the hand that feeds at any moment. Of course, only someone used to getting his way would continue being this... deranged.

You take no prisoners. Uncompromising in the way you should be treated, respected, until Goo has no choice but to also fall in line if he wants to keep you by his side.

Vin keeps himself barbed and prickly. Masks his true feelings, his own insecurities, with jokes and insults. Has made more people cry than he can remember and ignores any guilt with a shrug of his shoulders.

He's not a sociopath. It's just that he's been this way for so long he doesn't know how to be anything else.

You cut through the bullshit, give him no judgement for who he is, how he looks, but how he acts.

His jokes are still rude. Insults still mean. But there's no longer any cruelty.

[reverse1999fics]

Hallo! I not sure request is open if is not feel free to decline this sorry! If is alright could i request 6 and medicine pocket separately with a shy and timid s/o who worries a lot and hides behind them doesn’t have any friends but likes to just be by their side most of the time and clings to them? Hope you have a nice day!

Woohoo! Back on that grind and cranking out requests!! They are open btw!!

Please forgive me if either of them are a little ooc! I don't have MP and I skipped through the story so I don't entirely know 6's personality all that well!!

Medicine Pocket & 6 w/a Timid/Shy S/O (separate)

Medicine Pocket is someone with a very flamboyant personality, always being able to speak their mind. They never quite understood why or how you could be so timid, but that didn't stop them from loving you all the same.

Their tall physic let off an intimidating aura to those who didn't know them properly, but to you it was a source of comfort. Their height makes it easy for you to hide behind, holding their hand or a part of their coat and trailing behind them like a child would play follow the leader. Of course Medicine Pocket had no issue with this, even taking pride in how safe you'd feel around them and only them.

No matter that you don't have many friends, neither do they due to how... Different they are to others, all they need is to be in your company they say. Others were frustrating and didn't understand what they were trying to say, what they meant, but you did. You always understood their words and actions, so you were the only person they truly wanted to be around.

Clingy? You? Clearly you've never met them because goodness only knows how much they love to be around you. Even if it were you just simply being in the same room as them, they want to be near you. You know them better than anyone else, understand their weird antics and never judge them for how they acted or what they did. That was something they held close to their heart, right next to you, so of course your affection is needed on a daily basis! Sit next to them while they work on projects or go through paperwork, lay your head on their shoulder, read a book on the couch they moved in the room just for you, take a nice nap, sit on their lap, let them sit on your lap! Anything, as long as you were with them.

6 is a person driven to perfection when it comes to his work, someone strict with his rules and follows them all to a T. You, are a slight exception though. Oh how adorable you are to him, holding onto his sash while standing behind him, cowering from the other numbers like a little kitten. He had a soft spot for you, that much was clear to everyone

Being of high status on the island, he was a busy person, usually so busy he comes off as a recluse. But never was he too busy to ignore you even for a moment. Come into his arms after a long day of interacting with people, sit in his lap and rest to regain your social battery while he works on equations and problem solving. Your battery recharges just as much as his does, so let him rest his head on yours for a moment but don't question his closed eyes. He's just letting them rest for a moment.

You need not worry about not having many friends, he wouldn't say he has many either, if any at all. You are his one and only, why pay attention to others when he has you to keep him company? He'd rather stay home with you by his side with a good book of philosophy rather than go out with others. His robes will keep you warm, so snuggle up to his side and read along with him if you do so please.

His personality severely contradicts your own, having a more serious and stern personality that goes against your timid one, but that never stops him from loving you all the same. Should the two of you be away from each other he'll leave a piece of him with you, perhaps something on his person he wears often, or maybe a book he knows you'd like. When he is with you he'll never mind you grabbing a hold of his hand, even when others are around. He finds it adorable how you seem to try and melt into his arm as you hold onto it while others are around and chatting.

[sooniebby]

Could I request a smut drabble or nsft about yandere Shinsou Hitoshi with a very shy, socially awkward, and / or reader who has social anxiety? Who also has a crush on him? (Maybe omegaverse where reader is an omega and accidentally starts a mating chase? I did take inspo from you, lol)

Like, they can't just go talk to him? What if he thinks they're weird? What if he thinks you're creepy? And he just has to go make sure they know that they're his. Maybe he has to kill a person subtly courting reader infront of them? (Reader is willing)

(Kinks: Size kink, marking, maybe breeding kink, control kink(like not being controlled by his quirk but he just adores being in control) Anything else is up to you, lol)

ఌ 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐎 𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈

꧁ 𝙃𝙞𝙩𝙤𝙨𝙝𝙞 𝙭 𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 ꧂

Smut 𝘿𝙧𝙖𝙗𝙗𝙡𝙚! ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

The dead body right next to you should’ve bothered you. But it didn’t matter really. Not with Hitoshi’s constant thrusts into your tight heat. His blood covered hand trailed all over your body, covering it with the victims blood.

You dug your fingers into the soil beneath you, body shaking forward with each thrust. Hitoshi was relentless. He was angry. Angry that you were being courted by an alpha that wasn’t him.

But it was no longer a problem anymore.

A bite to your neck caused you to mewl, dripping more slick as he left bites all over your neck. He inched close to your scent gland before moving away, teasing you with the idea of being claimed.

A whine left your lips but you couldn’t really speak. His scent was muddling your head. You couldn’t think straight with his cock constantly hitting your prostate dead on. Each thrust caused you to moan in pleasure.

You worried about someone seeing you in such position. On your knees with your ass in the air as Hitoshi fucked you like a slut. Sure most people would be scared about the dead body but what about your dignity?

Hitoshi’s hands grasped your waist and moved to sit down on the ground. You groaned at the sudden movement wondering what he was doing before he easily lifted you up. His cock almost slipped out of your slick heat until he brought you back down.

You cried out, gripping at his pants as he began to use you like a fleshlight. Your inner omega purred at this. Being used by an alpha, especially an alpha you liked, was gratifying.

No noises left Hitoshi. Only you were screaming and moaning from pleasure. You clenched down on his cock, feeling your own cock twitch before cumming. But Hitoshi didn’t stop.

No, he picked up his pace. Now he wasn’t just moving you up and down, he was actually thrusting upward. You cried out. The feeling of overstimulation and the harsher thrusts was heaven.

One of Hitoshi’s hands moved from your waist and began to trace your stomach. “How many can I fit inside?” He muttered.

You tried to speak but only whimpers left your lips. He didn’t stop his thrusting, seemingly enjoying the gasps that left your lips each time you tried to talk.

“(Name), how much do you think you can give me?”

Hitoshi grabbed your dejected cock and began to slowly bring it back to life. You leaned your head back on his shoulder, bucking up into his hand.

You opened your mouth to speak only to hear the sound of someone walking past. Closing your mouth, you fearfully waited for them to walk last.

It was dark, being nighttime and all, so maybe they wouldn’t be able to see you. The trees helped to cover you as well. As long as Hitoshi stopped his thrusting, you can hold in your moans….

But he didn’t.

He got faster. The sound of skin slapping and the squelching of slick increased as you tried desperately to keep your voice in check. But that wasn’t what Hitoshi wanted.

Letting go of your cock, he moved his hand down to your slick covered hole. His thrusting slowed down a bit as he slipped in not one, but three fingers inside along with his cock. You cried at that stretching.

You were shocked you could handle this much during your first time. But it must’ve just been omega luck or something. Paired with his inconsistent thrusts—Hitoshi’s fingers either stretched you or attacked your prostate.

His fingers dragged across it, rubbing it to gain any sort of reaction from you. You tried hard to not scream. The person could still be there. Public sex was illegal.

So was murder but you didn’t care about that.

Hitoshi’s fingers were large. Much larger than your own fingers whenever you fingered yourself. It pushed more pressure on your prostate, even more than his cock.

“Let them hear you.”

You shook your head.

He stops. He ducking stopped. You whine at the loss, clenching around his cock. Hitoshi simply hummed as he pressed a kiss on your neck. He caught a glimpse of the person walking past them.

They had already left. But you didn’t know that. A smirk appeared on his lips.

“Are you not my omega? How can you be my omega and but not make your alpha happy?” He knew that would get to you. He knew you so well.

You frowned. Of course you wanted him to be happy. A whine left your lips as you tried to get him to start his thrusting.

“C’mon, do this for me, (Name). Make your alpha happy.”

“Okay…” you whispered.

And that was all Hitoshi needed as he harshly thrusted upward, shaking you suddenly. This time you didn’t try to stop your cries. This time, you even began to move yourself, riding Hitoshi’s cock like your life depended on it.

The words leaving your mouth was of you pleading for him to mate you. But even if you didn’t ask, Hitoshi would’ve done so. It didn’t take long for you both to reach your high.

His gripped your waist, holding you close as he thrusted in as deep as he could. He reached down and bit at your scent gland as he knotted you, locking you two together for at least an hour.

You cried out, cumming yourself as you clenched down around his cock. His knot swelled right up against your prostate—causing you to moan each time it released another batch of cum inside of you.

You were officially his. You couldn’t help the sigh of relief that left you. Guess you didn’t have to confess first after all.

Although…

What should you guys do about the dead body?

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

Lit, this was fun! Hope this was what you wanted! (Also thank you so much for being detailed with the request!!)

Tag list: @the-ultimate-librarian @nakedtoasterr @mello-life69 @kiiyoooo @chill-guy-but-cooler

(Ask to be added to the tag list/you’ll be tagged in every fic I post)

[iamquiantrelle]

GOLDEN BOY ────── iamquaintrelle (☁️☔️💕)

⌗ pairing : trent alexander arnold x black oc

⌗ summary : trent is having a quarter life crisis but will a smart-mouthed girl whip him into shape?

⌗ warnings : 18+ only!!

⌗ taglist: @foreverisntenough, @trentswrld, @trentswhore @cinnaleaf @v6quewrlds @football-and-fanfics

The bass from Gunna's "P Power" was hitting different tonight, vibrating through the penthouse while Trent nursed what felt like his millionth shot at the bar. 2025 was around the corner and here he was, drowning his sorrows because another relationship went tits up. Brilliant.

Sophie had been the last one - all polished edges and old money, exactly what he thought he needed. Ended just like the others though. "You're trying too hard, Trent," she'd said, fixing her perfectly styled hair in the mirror. "It's exhausting watching you pretend to be something you're not."

Rich coming from someone who thought scouse accent meant uncultured. But maybe she had a point. These days, he barely recognized himself - trading his usual spots for posh London clubs, swapping FIFA nights with the lads for wine tastings. All because what? He was scared of being that kid from Liverpool forever?

He could practically see tomorrow's tabloid headlines swimming before his eyes. They'd have a field day with this one - another failed relationship to add to his growing list of "almost but not quite"s. Just like his career lately.

Jude wouldn't shut up about Madrid these days, his texts getting more insistent. "Different world out here, mate. No pressure of being the hometown hero." Arsenal was hovering too, Arteta promising him the keys to the kingdom. But Liverpool... fuck, Liverpool was home. Wasn't it?

Or maybe that was the problem. Twenty-six years old and still defining himself by a postcode. The gaffer kept saying he was born to wear that Liverpool red, but lately it felt more like a straightjacket than a second skin. Everyone wanted their piece of him - the local lad made good, the next Gerrard, the face of the academy. Sometimes he just wanted to be... Trent.

The scent hit him first - something posh and floral that made his head turn.

Dior... and something else... caramel?

"Spiced vanilla," came a voice that made him freeze mid-shot. When he turned, his breath caught in his throat. Her eyes met his, deep brown and mischievous, and the way she bit her full lower lip had his mind short-circuiting. The sparkly mini dress hugged every curve, her shoulder-length bob framing a face that screamed trouble with a capital T. "You said it aloud," she added, those burgundy-painted nails trailing along the bar counter.

Trent gulped, watching as her gaze raked over him like she was deciding which part to devour first. Christ. He wasn't ready for all that. She had 'complicated' written all over her, and he had enough complications in his life right now.

But something in his brain (definitely not the part doing the smart thinking) liked the way she was looking at him. When was the last time someone challenged him proper? Made him feel like more than just TAA, Liverpool's golden boy trying to figure out if he still fit in his own skin?

Madrid would be easier in some ways. Fresh start, no history weighing him down. Arsenal too - London living without the baggage of being a traitor to his hometown. But running away had never been his style, had it? Even if lately he'd been running from himself.

'Chicken,' a voice in his head taunted, sounding suspiciously like his younger self. 'Proper soft lad, aren't you?'

Bloody hell. Maybe he did need a bit of trouble in his life. Something real in all this fake. And the way she was looking at him...they were caught in some sort of impasse, neither willing to break eye contact first.

"April," she finally offered, extending her hand.

April Alexander-Arnold. Christ, his brain needed to shut up. He'd known her for all of thirty seconds and was already playing that game again. Always thinking too far ahead, weren't you, Trent?

When she spoke again, he caught something in her accent he couldn't quite place. British, but... not quite? Like someone had taken her accent and scrambled it with something else entirely.

"Trent," he replied, taking her hand. Her grip was firm, confident, and her toffee-colored skin was warm.

Her smile widened, all white teeth and knowing eyes. "I knew I heard correctly. Bit hard to miss a scouser in these parts."

He felt his defenses rising immediately - here we go again, another posh London lot ready to take the piss. But before he could retreat back into his shell, she laughed, warm and genuine.

"Relax! My dad's from Liverpool, born and raised in Toxteth. Mum's American though - hence the weird accent. Bit of a mess, really."

"Explains why you sound like you're from everywhere and nowhere," he found himself saying, relaxing despite himself.

"Oi! Better than sounding like I'm about to nick someone's hubcaps," she shot back, eyes dancing with mischief.

"That's proper cheeky, you know that?"

"You have no idea," she smirked, turning to sneakily grab a bottle from behind the bar. "Speaking of which, we can't just sit here being weird on New Year's Eve."

She started pouring tequila into his glass, and Trent immediately shook his head. "Nah, I hate tequila-"

"Take the fucking shot, Trent."

"No, honestly-"

Her eyes narrowed playfully as she enunciated each word: "Take. The. Fucking. Shot."

Jesus Christ. Everything about her was wild and refreshing and exactly what he'd been missing. No calculated moves, no carefully crafted persona. Just pure chaos in a sparkly mink dress, and his head was spinning with it. Where had she been all this time?

The crowd started chanting. "TEN! NINE! EIGHT!"

She clinked her glass against his, leaning in close enough that he could smell that spiced vanilla again. "Just FYI," she murmured with a Cheshire cat grin, "tequila makes me horny."

"SEVEN! SIX! FIVE!"

His brain short-circuited completely.

"FOUR! THREE! TWO! ONE!"

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

April knocked back her shot without hesitation, while Trent stared at his glass, then at her, then back at his glass.

Who the actual fuck was this girl?

He downed the tequila in one go and placed the glass back onto the bar, groaning as the alcohol coursed through his bloodstream.

The first thing Trent registered was pain. His head felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it, his mouth tasted like something had died in it, and there was this weird weight on his chest that-

His bleary eyes snapped open and met large yellow ones staring directly back at him.

"Fuck!" He yelped as sharp claws dug into his bare chest. An orange tabby cat was just... sitting there. Making itself at home. On him.

"Shoo," he tried weakly, waving his hand. The cat just blinked lazily and continued kneading his chest like it was making bloody biscuits. "Get off- ow, Jesus-"

"Pussy just trying to say hello."

April appeared in the doorway, hair slightly mussed, wrapped in a silk robe. She scooped up the cat like it was a baby, and Trent's hungover brain tried to process what he'd just heard.

"What you just say?"

"Pussy," she repeated, pressing a kiss to the cat's head. "Her name is Pussy."

Trent furrowed his eyebrows, slowly pushing himself up to lean against the headboard. "Like the one between your legs?"

April rolled her eyes. "No, like Pussy Galore. 007?"

His blank stare must have said it all.

"Not surprised that you never seen that movie."

He rubbed his temples with both hands, trying to will away the hangover. "More of a Daniel Craig type James Bond. The others were trash."

Finally, his brain caught up enough to actually look around. This definitely wasn't his place. And he was... he lifted the covers... in just his boxers. Shit. Did they-

"We didn't," April said, reading his mind. "Had a nice make out session though, but we both got liquor dick unfortunately."

"What?!"

"That's when you drank too much-"

"I know that but I never get... liquor dick."

"Well there's a first time for everything," she smirked, standing up from her perch on the edge of the bed. She bent to set Pussy Galore down, and Trent definitely didn't watch the robe gap slightly, revealing smooth skin underneath. When she straightened, she pulled the tie tighter. "You can't handle this, Trent."

"Whatever..." he scoffed. Who was she to tell him what he couldn't handle?

"I think you should see the damage I've already caused. And to think this was only from kissing. Hope you don't have a girlfriend. Poor thing might have a nervous breakdown."

She tilted her head toward his neck, and Trent's hand flew up to touch it. He scrambled off the bed to the mirror and... fucking hell. His neck, collarbone, and chest were a masterpiece of hickeys, bite marks, and lipstick stains.

Who the fuck was this girl?

Don't act like you don't love seeing the evidence, his traitorous brain whispered. Such a shame you can barely remember how they got there...

"Coffee or tea?" April called out, and his eyes snapped from the mirror to watch her arse as she sauntered out of the room.

"Coffee, thanks," he managed, still staring at the doorway long after she'd gone.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Making his way into the kitchen, Trent couldn't help but notice the photos lining the wall. One showed a white man in a crisp British Army uniform, his arm wrapped around a stunning Black woman - had to be April's parents. Had the same smile as her, her mum did. There was a graduation photo of April pulling a face while clutching her diploma, and next to it the actual degree in Arts, all properly framed. The flat itself was... interesting. Modern but lived in - art prints and photographs everywhere, books stacked on nearly every surface, a vintage record player in the corner surrounded by vinyls. Splashes of color against white walls, plants hanging from the ceiling. It felt chaotic but intentional, just like her.

Pussy Galore had claimed a chair next to him, watching his every move like he was about to commit a crime. Even the bloody cat had April's intensity.

"Here," April handed him coffee. "You look proper rough."

"This is why I don't do tequila," he groaned, taking a grateful sip.

"Whatever. You enjoyed yourself, didn’t you?"

His phone buzzed from its spot near her entryway - someone had actually thought to plug it in. Tyler's name flashed on the screen: 'Oi where you at??'

"Should probably head out," he said, sending his brother a quick 'Tell you later'.

"Mmm," April hummed, disappearing down the hall. She returned with his clothes - cleaned and folded, of all things.

He opened his mouth for what would've been a proper clever comment about her washing his clothes, but she beat him to it.

"I don't wash no man's clothes. My cleaning person did all the work. Must've thought you were special."

"But I am right? You took me home with you," Trent said, feeling cocky.

"I took you home to use you, Trent. You and that stick between your legs. Although maybe I should get a refund." She glanced upward thoughtfully, like she was genuinely considering it, before shooting him that infuriating smile and taking a slow sip of her coffee.

Well that was fucking brutal... and the sick twisted part of him enjoyed it. A lot. Damn, am I a masochist?

"Are you gonna go or not?"

Trent cut his eyes to her, staring for a few beats. This fucking girl and her mouth!!

"You sure do say a lot of shit," he said, pulling on his clothes.

"So I've been told."

"Let me make it up to you. You know, for the... uh... liquor dick."

"Oh?" She arched an eyebrow. "And how exactly you planning to do that?"

"I could plan something nice."

"Yeah, whatever," she said, but there was a hint of a smile playing at her lips.

Fully dressed now, Trent stood there awkwardly. Usually, this was where a girl would kiss him goodbye or something, but April just walked to her front door and swung it open.

"Figured you needed some help since you were looking dumb as fuck."

He couldn't help but laugh. This fucking girl. "See you-"

SLAM. The door shut so fast it nearly took his nose clean off.

Trent stood there for a moment, an actual genuine smile spreading across his face. Couldn't remember the last time he'd smiled like this - not the media-trained one or the polite one for posh parties. But a real one.

The hallway of her building was all exposed brick and industrial lighting, probably one of those converted warehouse spaces in East London. Bit edgy, bit posh, completely her. His footsteps echoed off the concrete floors as he made his way to the lift, still grinning like an idiot. The doorman gave him a knowing look as he passed through the lobby - probably seen his fair share of morning-after exits.

As he stepped out onto the street, the January air hit his face like a slap, but even that couldn't shake his mood. She was refreshing in the most aggressive way possible - no pretense, no trying to impress him, just pure unfiltered chaos. And fuck him if he wasn't already addicted to it.

For the first time in ages, he felt... light. Something told him April wouldn't be impressed with the usual fancy restaurant routine.

This girl was going to be trouble. And for once, he was perfectly fine with that.

Trent's mind was still on April as he made his way back to the penthouse, barely registering the early morning London streets. Proper fumbled that one, didn't he? Didn't even get her number.

Fucking hell.

Maybe he could find her on Instagram later - though something told him she'd probably take the piss if she knew he'd gone searching. Probably post about some desperate footballer sliding in her DMs.

His phone buzzed with another text from Tyler: 'Meet at The Pig & Butcher? Got some business to chat. That new spot just outside London.'

'Sound. Give me 30.'

The valet brought his car round - thank fuck he'd had the sense to leave it here last night - and he headed out to meet his brother. His mind kept replaying that swift door slam, the way she'd looked at him like he was both a snack and something stuck to her shoe. Who even was this girl? Making him feel like some teenager with his first crush instead of... well, who he was supposed to be.

The drive gave him time to think about last night - what he could remember of it anyway. That first moment at the bar, her challenging him with every word, those hickeys he could still feel on his neck. Shit, he'd have to wear a high collar to training.

Tyler was already at their table when he walked in, and they did their usual dap. "You look rough," his brother grinned.

"Fuck off," Trent laughed, sliding into his seat and grabbing a menu he didn't really need to look at. His brother probably already ordered his usual.

"Nah but what's with that stupid grin though?"

"What grin?"

"That one right there. Looks proper daft."

Trent tried to school his features but failed miserably. "Just met someone innit. Proper baddie. Mad personality too."

"Yeah?" Tyler raised an eyebrow as their food arrived. "Must be something special to have you looking this gassed."

"She's different. Not trying to impress or nothing. Actually," Trent laughed, cutting into his eggs, "pretty sure she thinks I'm a bit of a dickhead. Called me out on everything - my accent, my game, my image, everything."

"And you're smiling about that?"

"Mad, innit?"

"Speaking of image," Tyler segued smoothly, stirring his coffee, "you know how we were chatting about revamping your social presence? Making it more mature? Less academy grad, more grown man?"

"Yeah..."

"Got this photographer, does amazing work with athletes. Proper artistic stuff. Some nude shots too-"

"What the actual fuck, Ty?"

"Nah hear me out!" Tyler pulled out his phone, starting to swipe through photos. "Look - OBJ did a shoot, Ja'Marr Chase too. Even got some Premier League boys lined up. It's all tasteful, builds that grown and sexy image we were talking about. None of that typical footballer pose with a watch shit."

Trent had to admit the photos were sick. Black and white shots that looked more art gallery than Instagram flex. Athletes looking powerful but vulnerable at the same time. "Who's the photographer then?"

"Her name's April Goodplenty-"

Trent nearly choked on his eggs. "What?"

Tyler turned his phone around, showing a professional headshot, and fuck him if it wasn't her. April from last night, looking proper professional but with that same hint of mischief in her eyes. Same full lips that had left those marks all over his chest, but now curved in a sophisticated smile instead of that devilish smirk.

"Shit," he said out loud, while his brain helpfully supplied: Well, at least you don't have to do that Insta deep dive now.

"You good?" Tyler asked, looking concerned. "Thought you'd be more excited about this. She's the best in the game right now, everyone wants to work with her-"

"Nah yeah, it's just..." Trent took a long sip of water, trying to process this new information. April. The April Goodplenty. The girl who'd basically called him useless and slammed a door in his face was the same one his brother wanted him to strip down for?

Life was having a proper laugh at his expense, wasn't it?​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

……..tbd

[therapybard]

Pallas and Athena Headcanons

Pallas has many siblings and generally likes them, but a constant competitive atmosphere makes it hard to really connect with any of them.

Athena naturally has a bit of an abandonment problem since her first real experience in life was her Olympic family sending her away.

Triton doesn't really know what to do with Athena, so he just kinda throws her in with his other kids like "This is your sister now. Have fun!" Like adults at family gatherings throwing all the kids together expecting them to get along.

Thankfully, they do get along! Pallas is immediately excited to have someone new around and likes Athena's wings. The others are too cautious of Athena to be as friendly.

There are lots of jokes about Athena's age, mostly from Pallas.

Athena, right before her first spar with Pallas: Don't worry. There's no shame in losing to a goddess.

Pallas: Lots of shame in losing to someone who's only a month old.

Pallas stops the jokes after Athena opens up to her about Metis and what happened to her. She's the first person to get angry on Athena's behalf about it. Not that either of them can do anything about that anger.

Pallas is immediately intrigued by Athena's curiosity and thirst for self-improvement. She doesn't get angry when she loses, instead asking what she did wrong and treating it as a learning experience. Athena is constantly asking questions and never takes things for granted.

Athena struggles with processing and showing her emotions, so she loves how open Pallas is about everything. Her passion is explosive and Athena can't help but get pulled in. She jokes that Pallas feels Athena's feelings for her. That often takes the form of Pallas getting mad on Athena's behalf when people are rude to her.

Pallas is the first person Athena takes into Quick Thought.

Athena figures out rather quickly that she has no interest in romantic or sexual relationships. Pallas is not the same way, occasionally talking about crushes and such with Athena before Athena explains her feelings on the matter.

Way later into their friendship, Athena gets a bit insecure about their relationship. She wonders if Pallas wants more from her, things she isn't comfortable giving. Pallas assures her that she'd never want anything from Athena that she doesn't give willingly and enthusiastically. Pallas is already blessed beyond belief by their friendship. Why would she want anything else?

Although Athena can swim, Pallas is much faster. When they travel together, Athena often grabs Pallas's shoulders and rides on top of her as Pallas does the swimming for her. Athena wants to pay her back for this but her wings don't naturally support two people. She spends a while working on her upper body strength so she can easily lift Pallas. One day, they go to a nearby tall cliff. She is able to glide around for a while with Pallas in her arms. Don't worry, they practiced on smaller cliffs first to make sure it'd work.

As time goes on, Pallas asks Athena if she ever misses her real family. Athena is confused. "You are my real family. No bloodline could ever usurp this." Pallas agrees, saying it was a stupid question. Nevertheless, she fears for the day Zeus realizes he gave up the most wonderful daughter he could ask for, and demands her back.

So, I haven't used my tumblr in a long time, but my Epic obsessed brain needs an outlet. My thoughts are largely inspired by @mer-acle's story Fighting to be Loved but my headcanons should stand on their own.

[lovemyavatar]

Brat

Lo'ak x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

Summary: Lo'ak is a brat tamer, what can I say?

Warnings: indulgent (aged up) nsfw, filth, p in v, oral, subby reader, mean dom Lo'ak

“Come on, Y/N. Do it right so I can go home.”

A frustrated huff fills tense silence. Your right arm pulls back, muscles taunt, one eye sliding closed to help aim your bow. A slow breath is drawn through pursed lips before you release, the arrow slamming into a tree nowhere near the target.

With an angry grunt, you turn on him, fingers clutching the weapon tightly at your side. “I would’ve gotten it by now, if I had a better teacher.”

“You would’ve gotten it if you knew how to listen.” He’s quick to retort, strong arms crossing over a broad chest.

Your lips pull into an irritated frown. Without responding, you nock another arrow and resume your practiced stance. Again, this one fails to land within the hastily painted circle.

“Oh my Eywa.” He draws out the Great Mother’s name, head lifting toward the sky. His eyes pinch tightly as he tries to contain his rising anger.

“Don’t be so mean, Lo’ak.” You’ve had enough of his attitude, hand raising to shove against his shoulder. He stumbles back a step, having been distracted by his own tantrum, and looks to you with surprise. “This is why you don’t have any friends.”

Without hesitation, he shoves you right back, though he makes sure the motion has no strength behind it. “Don’t push me.”

“Don’t push me.” All four fingertips poke into his chest, and this time he doesn’t budge an inch.

“You know what? We’re done.” He throws his hands up in exasperation, turns, and walks away.

“Wait!” You’re quick to chase after him, hand clamping around his elbow. “If I don’t get this my parents will kill me.”

“Not my problem.” He shakes you off, throwing the words over his shoulder without stopping.

“Lo’ak!” He doesn’t miss a step, toned back retreating steadily. You come to a stop with a huff, knowing you’ll need to stoop low to make him listen. “I’ll tell your dad!”

He comes to a halt begrudgingly, trusting that you would do it. His jaw grinds, hands tightening into fists at his sides. The toned muscles of his back and shoulders visibly tense. You always seem to find a way to get exactly what you want. It's so infuriating.

He turns, stalking toward you with a hard glare. Your eyes widen at his menacing demeanor, leaning back slightly as he grows near. He all but rips the bow from your hand, leaning over you to leer in your face. Bright yellow eyes bore into yours, shining with anger and something else. Something darker, hotter.

“You’re such a brat, you know that?” His voice is low, hoarse as he spits the insult.

Your stomach dips, fluttering before the space between your legs warms. You shift on your feet, rubbing your thighs together to quench the ache. He’s quick to straighten back to his full height and push past you, shoulder knocking yours along the way. You’re momentarily stunned, gulping down the anxiety suddenly bubbling in your throat.

“No, that’s not right.” Lo'ak shakes his head, arms crossed tightly.

You've been at this for another hour, arms shaking with the effort of holding the weapon you can't seem to master. Your trembling stance releases, back bowing to relieve some of the painful tension.

“You know, maybe I would learn something if you actually showed me how to do it.” Your eyes sweep to the sky, a frustrated huff leaving your lips.

“Did you really just roll your eyes at me?” His voice drops to a gravely rumble as he takes a step toward you, closing the distance to only a few inches.

What's left of his patience is wearing thin. If it were up to him, he'd be anywhere but here. His father ordered him to train you, to teach you the ways of the bow. You're too slow, quick to give up, always holding the hunting parties back. Impossible to teach, even for someone like him who obtained the skill at an early age.

It isn't that he doesn't like you. He's known you since they two of you were young, totting around the forest with his siblings and causing trouble. You've always been there, a playmate throughout the years. Your relationship is mostly positive, aside from in these private moments. It's like you get a kick out of worming your way under his skin.

Your good girl persona is reserved for others, this part of you—the snarky comments and lingering glances—that's only for him. It sparks something within him, a desire to put you in your place. To remind you who's really in charge.

Your eyes flick up to his, wide innocence meeting narrowed heat. You blink up at him, and he seethes. He knows it's fake, knows you're trying to get a rise out of him, but he can't help but give it to you.

With a growl, large hands clamp down on your hips. You let out a startled gasp when he roughly turns you to the side, so that your chest is nearly flush with his. He grips your biceps and jerks your arms into the proper position. You watch his expression, pliant under his direction. Pinched brows, downturned lips, a determined focus behind yellow eyes. Yep, he's pissed.

“Now, do it right.” He steps back, satisfied with the position he's put you in.

Your heart races, slamming against your ribs harshly. He raises a brow expectantly, and your attention shifts toward the target. After a calming breath, you release the bow.

It hits dead center.

“Ha!” Excitement explodes in your chest as you jump up and down, lips splitting into a wide grin.

You look to him, catching the way the corner of his lips twitches before he covers the movement with a swipe of his hand.

“Good girl.” The words slip out before he can stop them. His eyes catch yours, seeing the surprise flicker behind glittering yellow before he quickly glances away.

He clears his throat and turns to retrieve the arrow. You swallow down quickly rising desire, stomach flipping. You desperately try to even out ragged breaths in the few seconds his back is turned. As he faces the tree, his eyes pinch tightly in silent reprimand. He fights to soothe his racing heart, ripping the arrow from the thick bark and turning to stalk back to you.

“Let's see if you can do it again.” He hands you the arrow, stepping back with crossed arms. Gone is the heat behind his stare, the cold, distracted gloss returning to his gaze.

You force a calming breath through tight lips, straightening your back and lifting sore arms into position.

“No, that's not how I showed you.” Lo'ak barks, voice rough with a disappointed shake of his head.

Your arms drop, head tilting in defiance as you turn to face him, hip popped with irritation. “Maybe you didn't show me well enough.”

“Lose the attitude, Y/N.” He commands, the gruff timbre of his voice sending a shockwave of heat through you, straight to your core.

Shoulders round in opposition, a twinge of anger rising at being told what to do, despite the way your body responded. "Or what?”

His teeth grind, chin dropping to pierce you with a heavy lidded glare. He takes the few steps necessary to close the distance between you, only a few inches separating his heaving chest and yours.

“You need to learn some fucking manners.” He peers down at you, restraint tightening his chest as fists clench at his sides to prevent himself from touching you.

“I've heard no other complaints.” You huff, gaze sweeping toward the sky. "Only from you—”

A deep growl permeates the small space. One of his hands jerks up, long fingers circling your arm with a gentle firmness.

“I thought I told you not to roll your eyes at me, 'evenge (girl).” He towers over you, hard stare slicing straight to your core. It clenches under the heat of his undivided attention, and you squirm in his hold.

“You didn't tell me not to, you asked if I did.” You know you sound like a petulant child, but you can't help but talk back, his domineering stance bringing out a defiance within you.

“You're just begging to be taught a lesson, aren't you?” He seethes, every last bit of strength he has used to contain himself from pouncing on you.

A humorless laugh fans his tight expression. “I don't know, you haven't been the best teacher so far.”

In an instant he lurches forward, free hand moving to grip your throat. Your eyes pop wide, gasp falling from parted lips. He jerks you toward him, molten gaze flicking over your face. A moment of tension passes, ragged breath echoing through the forest before he claims your lips with his.

You instantly press into him, heaving chests flush. His head tilts, tongue forcing it's way into your mouth as his hold on you tightens. A trembling moan flutters into his waiting mouth, and he groans. His hand slips from your arm, moving to circle your back. He hoists you up without warning, your legs instinctively wrapping around his hips for support.

“Gonna fuck some manners into you, sevin (pretty). How does that sound, hmm?” He mutters against your throat, peppering your skin with sloppy kisses.

Your head falls back, overcome with desire as it swells in your lower belly, heat so intense you fear you may explode if he doesn't quench it soon.

“Answer me when I ask you a question, yawntu (love).” Fangs nip at your shoulder, and you tremble.

“Yes!” You're breathless, pliant in his hold, all disobedience gone.

“Yes, sir.” He grunts when you roll your hips, core sliding along his painfully hard cock.

A whimper falls from your lips, the rough authority in his voice nestling between your legs. “Yes, sir.”

“That's a good girl.” He claims your lips again, chest heaving under the pressure of restraint, of the effort not to take you right here.

Your arms wrap around his neck, holding him tightly to you as he walks forward, weaving through the trees to find a suitable location to make you his. He lays you in the first clearing he finds, thoughts too muddled to care if it's secluded enough.

Your back bows as he rips your top off, head dipping to take a nipple into his mouth. His tongue laps at the sensitive bud, and you whimper, core clenching with emptiness. He shivers at the tender sweep of your fingers along his sides. They slide down, and around, moving toward his straining cock.

They pass over the front of his loincloth and he jolts at the burst of pleasure. Your lips twitch into a little smirk, hands moving to cup him through the thin material.

“Fuck—no.” In an instant he has your hands pinned above your head with one of his.

You squirm under him, but his hold is firm. “Let me touch you, Lo'ak.”

“You're gonna listen." His piercing gaze briefly flicks up to yours before he moves to catch your other nipple between sharp teeth. “Or you won't get what you want.”

You whimper pathetically, head pressing into soft grass. He litters your chest and stomach with sloppy kisses, sucking a few bruises into your skin as he releases your arms and continues moving down.

“Lo'ak!” You cry out at an unexpected lick against your sex. Your head lifts, eyes meeting a heavy lidded gaze as he laps at your pussy again. You fall back, overcome with pleasure.

“You like that, baby?” He hums against you, fingers moving to part your pussy lips. A tentative lick swipes over your clit, your hips jerking up at the sensation.

“Oh, Eywa.” A hand presses to your chest in an effort to soothe it's ragged tremor.

“Use your words, sweetheart. Or I stop.” He pulls back to accent the warning.

A long finger prods at your entrance before sliding inside you swiftly, bottoming out with one quick thrust. Breath catches in your throat for a moment before you force it to reach your lungs.

“Yes!” You wail as he adds another finger before ripping them both out quickly. You clench around the emptiness, stomach tightening.

“What did I tell you to call me?” A firm slap comes down over your pussy, jolting your trembling hips. The pleasurable sting makes your walls flutter again.

“Yes, sir!” You're a whiny mess already, another broken moan falling past your lips when he shoves his fingers back inside you with no warning.

His eyes never leave you as his tongue sweeps over your clit, fingers picking up a steady rhythm. His heart is thrumming wildly, the sight of you at his mercy almost enough to make him cum untouched. His cock throbs beneath his loincloth, but he wants to take care of you first.

When you tighten around his fingers he picks up the pace, tongue drawing a bruising pattern along your clit. Your back arches from the earth, breath stilling, and he knows you're close. After another deep thrust, he pulls his fingers and mouth away, watching you pulse and clench around nothing.

You whimper, brows pinching in confusion. You were right there. Your pussy warms against the abrupt stop, at being left on the edge of your orgasm. Your lips part in protest, but he's quick to tower over you, supporting his weight with one hand and ripping his loincloth off with the other.

“The only way you're cumming is on my cock. Do you understand?” The command is a gruff rasp as he loses the last shred of control.

You nod feverishly. “Yes, yes sir, please!”

He grips the base of his shaft and in one swift motion enters you, bottoming out instantly. His head dips, eyes closing tightly, forehead resting on your shoulder for support at the feeling of your walls fluttering around him.

Your legs circle him, hips rutting against his to encourage him to move. He growls as he's forced even deeper.

“Lo'ak!” You bark when he refuses to move, needing a few seconds to adjust so he doesn't cum after one thrust.

He raises his head, thumb moving up to drag along your lower lip, his own pulling into a frown at your attitude. “Do I need to stuff this pretty mouth to keep it quiet? Huh?”

His thumb forces it's way between your lips at the same moment his hips pull back before slamming into you. Your head tilts back, moan ripping from your throat, tongue circling the digit as you would his cock. He lets out a shuddering breath, stomach tightening with the effort of holding off his orgasm.

You're right there, already so worked up from his earlier ministrations. Moisture wells in your eyes, pleasure spiking more intense than you've ever felt it.

“You wanna cum, baby?” He grunts, his cock rutting into you so forcefully your back slides against the grass.

Your head bobs quickly, breath hitching when he rams into your womb.

“Use your words, honey.” He rasps, pace increasing with his own impending orgasm. “Ask for it.”

“Oh, Lo'ak—sir! Can I cum? Please!” You sob, tears sliding down your cheeks from the pleasure mounting in your core.

“Fuck! Cum for me, baby girl. Cum all over my cock.” He pounds into you, and you do just that, pussy clenching around him so tightly he has to slow down.

You gush around him, juices flowing between staggering hips. He rips his cock from your trembling pussy, spilling his cum over your stomach, hips jerking against nothing as his orgasm rips through him. His fists press into the earth beside your head, ragged breaths fanning your face. He lets out a quiet whimper as he settles, spent from the effort.

As the weight of what the two of you have just done gathers, you can't help but giggle at the absurdity of it. His eyes flick down to yours, narrowing into a hard glare.

“I guess you aren't such a bad teacher after all.” You tease, and he wastes no time in gripping your hips, turning so you're perched on top of him, ready to show you who's boss as many times as he needs to.

[loverslodge]

Trusting Love

Summery: You are a nemeton born prophet and Stiles maybe had a difficulty trusting you while you kept on falling in love with him

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Warnings: mention of trauma, angst, fluff

A/N: this is my very first work. very excited to dive into writing the world of fanfictions that have occupied my brain.

The fight with Nogitsune had ended. Stiles had returned to his pack and Scott was glad to have his best friend back. but there was still tension between them. unsaid, they both were under a guilt. Stiles was living with the guilt of harming his pack while Scott was guilty of not being the friend he used to be.

But in that scene, there was someone else too. You. You became their friends when you came new to the school. But your new arrival was overshadowed by Kira’s arrival, the clumsy kitsune who immediately became a big part of the pack. You were brought into this mess when Deaton found a birthmark on your shoulder that looked like Nemeton. You had walked in the animal clinic with your cat for her routine checkup when this happened. Deaton helped find the displaced feeling of belonging in you. He helped you with the research that determined that you were born of Nemeton and that made you a beacon to the supernatural as well. That made you understand why you kept on having strange prophetic visions. They would come to you when you least expected them. But one of those visions saved Allison Argent, the anchor and soulmate of the pack’s alpha.

That’s how you met the pack and that is how you know how Scott and Stiles are feeling towards each other. Something in you wanted to make things right but the distance between the two kept on growing and the anxiety of not being close enough to either of them to talk about this was also not helpful. Soon, Scott had a beta Liam and the distance grew.

Stiles was always there for Scott though and you saw that. Your eyes, involuntarily, would always follow Stiles. You knew that Stiles was deeply into Lydia and now was dating Malia, who was the first one to lend you a friendly hand other than Kira. The girls of the pack had taken you in quicker than the boys which you understood.

But hearing good things about you drew in the boys one by one except Scott who trusted you as soon as you saved Allison. It started with Issac when you helped him get hold of his wolf because he hallucinated that he was trapped in a closed space. It came to you as a surprise when Derek started trusting you after you rushed into his loft and dragged him out before he would blow up along with his house. Liam came to you one day with a little claw problem but you fixed it up by helping him get out of his own head. Even Parrish took a liking to you when you helped him get closer to discovering who he is by providing vital information. It was Stiles who took his sweet time. He had gone through so much so you understood his distance, especially when you were born of the thing that nearly killed him and his friends.

Lydia was the first one to tell you that she knows you have a crush on Stiles. Allison overheard her and now she knows too. The three of you decided not to tell anything to Kira because of her clumsiness. She is more likely to spill secrets than turn into an actual fox which was a high possibility and telling Malia was completely out of the question.

Pack meetings would happen often and being that close to Stiles was getting out of hand. Your brain would fuzz up and your heart won't calm down. Every supernatural in the room probably knows about the raised heartbeat by now. It was Scott who held you back after the meeting. Lydia was waiting for you in her car. “Is everything alright?” Scott asked you worriedly. “Yes I am fine. Nothing is wrong. Everything is ok.” You rambled before stopping yourself.

Stiles walked into the room to talk to Scott and your heart skipped a beat. Scott’s eyes widened and you knew he found out. Before he could say anything, you jumped up and took off without a second glance. You sit in the car with Lydia when you let your mind drift to Stiles. You have always wanted to know what he thought about you. You muster the courage to ask Lydia to do you a little favour. She smirked as if she already saw your question coming and agreed to follow up on it. But you had to meet Stiles, way before you got the answer.

You became the pack historian and researcher along with Stiles. Because of your lack of superpowers except prophetic visions, you weren’t exactly an active member on the field. Stiles, having more experience than you since the beginning of the tale, held a bit of a superiority to you regarding research and history. So you decided to do something about your lack of work. You pulled a few all nighters but finally finished writing the tale of true alpha and his pack with utter detail.

You brought your document with you when you had to work one on one with Stiles. It was last minute really. Till the last moment, you thought Scott and Allison were joining, mostly to help you stay focused. But now, here you are, with a bit of a grumpy Stiles and fuzzed brained you in Stiles’ kitchen. Even his dad had a night shift tonight so it was literally just the two of you.

The papers were scattered all over the counter and all the books you could find on the topic were also all over the counter and dining table. Stiles was standing near his crime board. He looked so hot. Not to be crass but you could not think anymore! Your research abandoned, your eyes roamed all over his body. You did not realize and you are pretty sure nobody else has that Stiles had started growing muscles. His freckles spread across his face and arms made him look like covered in stars. His hair looked so soft and silky, you wanted to run your hands through them. His eyes narrowed in concentration and the crinkle on his forehead made you wish you could kiss it away. His lips, oh dear his lips were so kissable. You could not move on from his lips till you heard him clear his throat.

Stiles was looking at you with raised eyebrows. You stood up from the chair and walked to the kitchen counter. “Here, see this? This is the closest to what we have been looking into. I think this is the direction we should go with.” You point to the chapter in the book and few other printed pages that match your story.

You were so much trying to avoid his eyes that you didn't realize when he stood near you, almost enveloping you into his arms. You were trapped between his arms. His chin almost rested over your shoulder and his chest squishing you against the counter. You suddenly became more aware of the situation. Was he doing this on purpose? Does he like you? Did he know you are in love with him and was teasing you?

You straightened yourself and turned around just to find his lips almost on yours. You look up to see his eyes on your lips. Your thoughts, barely formed, are shattered, when Stiles’ lips meet yours. Your eyes close itself and your lips kiss him back. Your hands make their way to his neck and pull him even closer. His one hand wraps around your waist and the other holds your face. The kiss grew heated, urgent. His hand slipped in your shirt but just to hold you tighter. You finally had the chance to roam your hands in his hair. Your breathing was going ragged and his scent had filled in your heart.

He slowly pulled away and looked right in your eyes. You were looking for questions but he was not going to answer them. The look in his eyes was bright enough to tell you that what happened was a mistake and should never have happened. You pick up your bag and laptop and walk out of the door leaving Stiles standing right where it happened.

You told Lydia, Scott and Allison everything. You knew that Stiles had told Scott about what had happened and you knew that Scott knew what Stiles was feeling. But you did not want to know. Your fear of rejection had taken over you and you left the question at the back of your mind.

Stiles did everything to avoid you. Even in the classroom, he pretended to study. You sighed and dragged yourself through the day. The kiss just won't leave your mind. It gave you tingles, butterflies, hell, the whole zoo was still jumping in you every time you think about it. You confess to yourself that you were aroused. Not that it was shocking since thinking of Stiles was usually your way to enjoy yourself. You did research on your own and forwarded your findings to Scott.

Lydia tried to talk to you about Stiles but you cut her off and told her you were not in the mood. Two weeks had passed since the kiss and every time you saw Stiles, he avoided you very obviously. Scott would always look at you apologetically before running off after Stiles. The pack divided itself into two. Malia was also nowhere to be seen. You wanted to talk to her. You wanted her to know that stealing Stiles was never your intention. You talked to Kira as well. She understood why you did not tell her and forgave you. Allison, Lydia and Kira arranged an intervention for Malia to get her to talk to you. Malia would not say anything. She lets you finish talking for the first time before jumping to conclusion. Once you were done, she sighed and held your hand. She told you that she had broken up with Stiles way before any of this happened. Stiles had grown distant and the pack took up so much of their time, that a breakup made much more sense. She told you she figured you liked him but did not say anything till you told her yourself. It seemed that things were healing around you.

Scott had run out of patience. He wanted Stiles to not mop around and so he gathered the rest of the pack and ran a plan. He trapped you and Stiles in Derek’s loft. Derek was against it but then again, he wasn't exactly around to oppose. Scott told you that this is an important pack meeting and this time you cannot avoid Stiles. You said yes. You showed up only to have the loft door locked behind you. You look around to find Stiles sitting on the sofa with his head in his hands.

You walk up to him and ask him if he is alright. He looks up and you see tired eyes. Worry take over you and sit next to him with your hand on his back, caressing him. “Are you alright? You need to sleep, Stiles.” Your soft voice makes Stiles look at you. “Why, Y/N?” he whispered. “Why what?” His question confused you. “Why did you let me kiss you? Why did that kiss leave me senseless? Why do I trust you even though I don't want to? Why?” Stiles’ questions stumped you.

“I cannot answer any of those questions but one. I let you kiss me because I wanted you to.” You gulped. It was time to tell him how you felt and you were not going to hold back today. “I let you kiss me because I am in love with you.” You move away from Stiles, ready for rejection.

You feel his hand on your wrist and before you know, he pulls you on him. His head rests on the armrest of the sofa and your face lands very close to his face. He wraps his arms around you and traps you on him. Your eyes widen. You don't know what has gotten over Stiles. He lifts his head and brushes his lips against yours. You capture his lips and hold his face. You lay his head on the armrest and this time, you control the pace.

The kiss was slow, soft. Stiles put his hand in your hair, angling you towards more passion. His other arm lifts your shirt and snakes his arm around your exposed waist. The kiss got more urgent but you wanted to hear Stiles say that he at least liked you. But Stiles’ kiss would not let you. He moved his lips from your lips to your neck. Your moans fill up the empty loft. He nibbles your neck, trying to leave a mark. You run your hand through his hair and your moans vibrate in his ears. Satisfied, he kisses your cheek and lifts your face to look you in the eye.

“I do like you. It might take me time to reach love but I would like to be your boyfriend. I really do like you.” He sits up with you still on his lap. He leans his forehead on yours and kisses the tip of your nose.

“Maybe this is why you trust me?” You brush his hair in place. His hands in your hair, detangling them. His soft gaze is on her. He cannot believe he was ignoring his feelings all this time.

He saw the pack trust you but the Nogitsune had messed him up. He wanted to talk to you but the pack was always near you and then he started dating Malia, just because. Maybe he wanted her attention. He got jealous seeing her talking to other pack members. It made him question if he was good enough for her. He had lost opportunities. Malia breaking up with him was probably the best thing that happened to him. The night they had to research together, he was thrilled. He pretended to stare at the crime board longer than necessary when he saw you staring at him. He liked how it made him feel. He couldn't hold himself back. He had to kiss you and he did. It felt like a relief, like he could finally breathe. And now, after a long time agonizing, thanks to Scott, he was able to kiss her again and tell her he wanted to be with her.

[jiminrings]

fail-safe finale sneak peek :-)

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount:  14k

glimpse: you hear everything you've ever wanted, but you don't know if it's too late.

alternatively, yoongi is consumingly yours all the time.

sneak peek 01

“And he’s…?” she lets the question hang in the air, eyes trailing from Jungkook’s face, to his bicep, to how his forearm fits snugly against your back and his hand curls around your waist. Your mom visibly looks surprised, although you don’t know if it’s about the fact that you actually came back despite everything, or if it’s because her favorite actor is in her kitchen while she’s sweaty in an apron, or if it’s because said favorite actor leaves no space between the two of you.

“Jeon Jungkook, ma’am. It’s nice to finally meet you,” he greets politely, a little jittery now that he’s face-to-face with her. He’s only heard of the woman she is from you and as much as he tried to picture her from memory, your stories don’t do her much justice. Jungkook’s always loved your kind eyes and your sweet smile, but he knows now where you’ve got it from; in fact, if he turns around right now right after shaking her hand and bowing profusely, you’re showing exactly those to him — that, along with a pair of gazes he can’t place.

Those gazes aren’t kind at all. One is confused and dumbfounded, and the other harbors nothing but hostility and anger.

“Sweetheart, I know you. Who doesn’t?” your mom’s at a loss for breath, mouth still agape as she keeps flickering her eyes between the two of you. She knows that you’re his manager, but what she doesn’t know is why the Jeon Jungkook is in her humble kitchen of all places. He has the most expressive and sincere eyes ever — he can’t possibly mistake your childhood home as a filming set and your waist as a hand rest.

You finally placate her thoughts when you speak, the loaded silence between the three of you (it’s buzzing with tension if you account for the other two) breaking. You actually giggle, your laughter taking the load off her shoulders because you’re happy; you don’t feel an ounce of guilt even if you’re lying to her face.

“We’re dating, mom,” you grin. “Jungkook’s my boyfriend.”

Jungkook smiles automatically, feeling your hand snake towards his own. His palm’s much bigger than yours yet it’s warmer than you’ve ever imagined, the envelope both of your hands make putting you at ease.

Your mom’s gasp bounces across the walls. Namjoon’s head that’s only been lowered the entire time you’ve been back suddenly whips to look at you and Jungkook. The fridge even lowers its hum to make way for the theatrics aimed at you, yet your eyes are fixed on your mom’s and Jungkook’s alone.

You came home for her and with him. You’re not here for anyone nor anything else because it’s merely a play for your survival, only this time, Jungkook’s hellbent on increasing your odds.

Yoongi freezes evidently, hand tightening around Haneul’s bottle as if it would do anything to release the red from his vision. He staggers silently, breathing suddenly ragged as he stares down at the offending steel cylinder. It’s small. Compact. If anything, he figures it would hurt if he were to throw it at anything. Anyone. Someone, even.

“Wow, that’s.. that’s amazing!” she embraces the both of you, making you and Jungkook share a gaze you only laugh through because he actually looks honored.

“Thank you, ma’am. I’m sorry I haven’t had the time to let you know personally,” he apologizes meekly for a mistake that isn’t even one in the first place, the humility in his tone making your ears perk. It’s Jungkook once again with the apologies towards you that he shouldn’t be making at all, and yet, even in front of your family, he persists.

Jungkook apologizes even for the things he hasn’t done, not because he plans on doing them, but because a large part of him wants to be in the actual situation wherein those mistakes were merely possibilities.

“It’s no problem at all. You’re busy getting all these awards, I know how that’s like,” she jokes, unable to stop smiling. “I’m just glad someone’s taking care of my baby.”

“And I don’t plan on missing a single day, ma’am.”

“Stop that,” she chides, shaking her head eagerly. “You can call me mom.”

Yoongi lets the bottle clatter to the sink.

.

.

.

sneak peek 02

“Why is everything with you so hard?” Yoongi whispers, his tears stinging badly from the corner of his eyes to the point that he can only make out shapes. He’s unkempt and frantic as if his life flashed before his eyes and there’s nothing he could do about it, voice strained like much of the times he’s drank himself to sleep.

He resembles Haneul at the moment. He’s always had because there’s not one bit of Hyewon in his son’s features or personality, but he looks especially like him now that he’s crying. The back of his hands harshly dig into his face, sobs bursting right from his throat. “Why do I make everything so hard for us? Why can’t I— w-why can’t I make it right for once?”

There’s a tremble to your chest that you ignore earnestly, the presence of it enough to scare you because it’s familiar; too familiar. Seeing your past play out in front of you in the form of a seemingly content family sleeping on your bed is one thing, but it’s another to see its patriarch crumble in front of you. It’s different to see your past pleading in front of you for just the slightest bit of your attention.

As a matter of fact, it’s different now because you resemble Yoongi the most.

“You never tried,” you seethe, jumping the gun before you even try to decipher what’s in the barrel. It’s a bullet you fire haphazardly that comes from your pocket that you’ve always held onto. It’s a misplaced, misshapen, old bullet that you force into a gun that Yoongi passed onto you.

Right now, Yoongi doesn’t resemble Haneul, and neither does he resemble his ex-wife.

He resembles you with the way his eyes are clearly swimming in hurt while you avoid looking at his, just to relieve the painstaking feeling of guilt and longing compacted into a sob.

“I never tried?” Yoongi exhales shakily, his quivering hands running through his hair to tug on them.“I never tried?”

You hear yourself clearly even if it’s his voice. The tremble and the anger, even all the way to the blind hope.

“I kept trying to reach out to you every single time. Every single birthday, every single Christmas, every insignificant holiday I could search up!” Yoongi cries — he actually thrashes with the way he sobs, shoulders shaking violently. “I didn’t try? If I didn’t try, try looking at every page of my passport to see all the stamps there are whenever fucking Jungkook was reported to be in another country,” he spits his name like poison, the vitriol behind it, however, never catching up to what he feels about himself.

You resemble Yoongi the most because you stand untethered, eyes blurring and lips quivering, yet you only watch him lose himself before thinking of uttering a single word.

“I’m selfish, I’m an asshole, and I’m fucking insufferable. I can’t even apologize to you correctly,” Yoongi lists, chest rising up and down too heavily, he feels like it’ll give out. “But I love you, Y/N. I-I might be every bad thing in your life right now and I own up to that. I’m still trying to be the best for you.”

Not only does Yoongi resemble you — he’s actually become you.

“You can call me the vilest names ever but you can’t say that,” he grits, teeth chattering not from the cold he’s put himself in, but because he can’t stop mentioning your name in between. “You can’t say I never tried because I always have. I’ll never stop because that’s what it takes,” Yoongi mutters; because, he says, not if.

.

.

.

#i am so sorry in advance <3 wanna read the finale now? subscribe to my patreon for early access + exclusive content + everything :D

also yes: the finale will still be posted here on tumblr, but at a later date, aka april 7, 1 am kst :)

[peace-for-levi]

{when you need me...}

who would i be if i didn't project my mental health onto 2D characters/reader and not write about it? i see so many fics of reader being worried for nanami while he's out in shibuya and… we all know what happens there.

content warning: detailed descriptions of anxiety, reader refers to themselves as 'wife' (reader thinks they are a bad wife) and the use of 'she'. it's otherwise in the 2nd person perspective. negative self-talk/beliefs. use of pet names. nanami being the bestest husband. i miiiiight have made him OOC and overindulged on how soft i made him BUT ITS OK YOU GOTTA BE A DELULU IN THIS ECONOMY.

+18 discord server

No, you were not going to call him. Absolutely not! Or text him either, for that matter.

The anxiety had been bubbling away all day inside your head like billowing storm clouds. You were grateful work kept you occupied, but once you arrived home, you trudged to your bedroom. You didn't even change out of your work attire.

You knew the source of all this, too.

Nanami came home injured while you were out dealing with another curse of your own. Thankfully, he had dealt with the bleeding himself and got checked out by Shoko. But to see him come so depleted of energy – dark shadows hanging under his eyes like bats, shoulders heavy – left you extremely unsettled. You were already an anxious mess, and now there are talks of a special-grade 'patchwork' curse. Not to mention the two unregistered cursed spirits that Gojo encountered.

What was going on in the world?

Now, he had been called out to the school again. After being badly injured, no less!

What if he was asked to fight the patch-work curse again? Was that curse able to perform Domain Expansions? Your husband never reached that height of jujutsu…

Would he… make it home okay?

You worked a "normal" job, not being employed at as a teacher at the highschool. As a grade one sorcerer, though, you were sometimes called in on particularly difficult and awkward missions. Your figured your problems with anxiety in the past would slowly fizzle away if you quit working at that highschool; after all, they couldn't make you exorcise and hunt down curses as often if you didn't work there. In your naivety, you assumed that'd be the end to your worries. But they only persisted and got worse the longer your husband of four years continued to work there as a teacher.

You couldn't resent him for it, and you knew he found greater fulfillment in being a teacher than adhereing to the laborious life of a salaryman.

But, maybe… your selfish thoughts got the better of you when you wished he could work a more "normal" job like you… If he worked a job where his safety was guaranteed…

How could you say such a thing? What kind of wife says that?!

Your hand collides against your forehead, releasing a (poorly contained) groan. Your teeth continued to chatter.

Now, I'm a bad wife on top of everything else…

Gruesome images flood your mind's eye. It's obsessive, relentless. After all, you have to prepare for the worst to come, right…? That's what you always do.

If you were by his side, would that make you feel any more relieved? Just by seeing him? But like a jolt, any solution you try come up with is met with more disturbing imagery. It was so vivid, it is as if you were there.

All that gore and worry conjured up in your cursed, anxious little head. The redness – so much red – of your imagery. It seeps and spreads along the ground at a terrifying rate, the image of someone – Kento – bleeding out. No one is there to help him.

You are.

You aren't gifted like Shoko, though.

There is no amount of horror – be it from forms of media or the wicked imagination – that can prepare a person for seeing the life ebb from another; the hopelessness, the tearing at the soul that is the departing of the other. As your loved one leaves this earth.

You're anxious, you're spiralling… You just wanted him to be okay. You wanted him to confirm with you he was okay. But you disturb him enough already with your texts and calls during missions.

Of course, in reality, if you hailed for Kento, he'd drop everything to be with you. He always has.

You didn't realize your thumb was hovering above the 'send' button. Through bleary eyes, you can see a hastily constructed text. Loaded with typos and errors. You're hardly able to read it though. Thumbs fidgting, you toss the phone.

You knew, logically, that he would want to help. He always has helped. But god, maybe you wanted to be big girl for once and try deal with it without him? Maybe be a good wife who doesn't send him a barage of texts when she's anxious?

Anxiety is the leak in your boat. You have to find a way to patch that hole or you'll drown.

But how can you when your worries revolve around your husband's safety?

You try cling to the logic that he has never refused you, made you feel stupid or invalidated you. Ever. But why would you cling to logic when the voice of your anxiety echoes through megaphone at you.

Of course, you're a distraction. Of course, you're a nuisance.

You hadn't even done a single chore to help around the house today. Some wife you were…

Kento would tell you that these thoughts you have are ridiculous. But you couldn't help it. You felt like you were holding him back from everything he deserved – you were so blessed to have a husband like him. You counted your lucky stars to be with him, but you ultimately felt like you didn't deserve him.

But Kento wasn't here now. So all you had was your mind to bully you.

The thoughts come as an electrical storm in your brain that, quite honestly, are painful. It's different from a headache and it feels the same as intense sorrow. It's uneven breaths as you claw at your chest, and it feels like you're suffocating; all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. It's sobbing to the point of staining your shirt. The intense images come at you with cursed intent. Like being hooked up to a cattle fence - not enough voltage to kill but sufficient to keep things uncomfortable, paralysed with fear and unmoving. And you couldn't, for the life of you, talk yourself out of the spiral.

It wasn't as if you didn't want Kento to be there. You were just denying yourself of his presence. You thought you were being brave, you thought—

Ping!

You lower your hands from your eyes. You gaze at the phone, blinking owlishy, before picking it up.

You let out a groan. In anxiously twiddling your thumbs by your screen, you had sent the (questionable-looking) text.

You don't even have time to berate yourself, for your ringtone begins to chime.

"[F/n], honey. I don't quite understand your text," he greets. He goes back to doing what he was doing – it sounded like he was tidying something away. "Principal Yaga has us staying behind at the school to–"

He stops.

He immediately stops upon hearing you whimper over the phone.

"Sweetheart?"

You mumble, "I-I– Um, N-Nanami, I–"

What if he loses his patience today? Will this be the straw that breaks the camel's back?

You can hear him shuffling over the phone. "Talk to me, what is it? Are you hurt?"

You don't want him to leave work on your account. Damn, your thumbs! If only it stayed as an unsent draft.

You panicked. "I-I'm fine! I think I just–"

You hear him sigh. "You're a terrible liar… You're not fine." A pause. "I'm coming home."

"No, Kento, please–!"

The call ends there. Your fingers seize up and your phone falls to the bed. Your wrists bash off your head, hitting yourself. Stupid, stupid, stupid…

Ping!

Be safe. I'll be there in fifteen.

Your heart sinks, especially knowing that he'd probably break several road safety laws to get back to you as soon as possible.

Another notification arrives swiftly after that.

I love you. You'll be fine.

The fifteen minutes drag by so slowly. You're still rooted at the side of your bed. Not having changed, started laundry, started making dinner. You shake your head. It's frightful how automatically you chastise yourself for anything and everything. Once you hear the click of the door, you shudder and cower, waiting for him to come into your shared bedroom to berate you.

Your eyes are clamped shut still, even when you feel his calloused thumb rub at your knee.

"Oh, sweetheart…" he says, and when he speaks it's so soft. Soft like he'd holding fine china.

He's careful to not press your boundaries too much, not wanting to hold you tighter. But he doesn't sense any resistance right now. You let him hold you.

He holds you like you are the most precious and loveliest thing in his world.

(You are.)

As if you weren't crying enough already, his touch makes you crumble more.

"What has you so anxious, [F/n]?" he asks, rubbing your arms up and down. He pulls away briefly to ask, "May I sit?"

You nod and he sets himself down. You overwhelmed by his love. You always have been. He always spoils you with his soft, passionate touch and his gentle words. You sniffle and it takes every ounce of self control to not explode into a heaving, babbling mess (more than what you currently were.) You continue to sob into his arms.

"Shhh, shhh. You're alright, you're going to be just fine, sweetheart. But in order to be okay, you're going to have to stop holding your breath like that."

You hadn't even realized. You always had been an open book to him.

Breathe, breathe, breathe…

Your thoughts were so out of control, you were in a terrible cycle of either hyperventilating, or holding your breath. You shake your head, trying to break free. He doesn't let go entirely, but he loosens his grip. His hands hold yours, breathing deeply, as if trying to do it for you. You continue to resist, fighting his hold more as you take agonizing breaths.

"Let me hold you. Let me make things better. Let me stay."

You sob harder, knowing that once again he'll be picking up the pieces. Your pieces.

"What has you so worked up?" he asks, in between practiced, deep breaths.

Before you even have a chance to say anything, he whispers softly against your temple, "I love you. So, please, let me in."

And you let everything out.

He holds you close again once each and every worry comes out. He rocks you slowly back and forth, he plants the odd kiss to your dewy temple. He listens to you intently, taking in everything you say and more. He has heard these worries countless times before, and he listens to them as if these are being revealed to him for the first time. He gently 'shhhh's against your brow when you start to hiccup and unravel more.

As your husband, he wants to be able to promise you his safert; he wants to promise he'll come home in one piece.

But he can't do that. Because he doesn't know how any of this will play out.

So he hugs you, impossibly tighter.

"What can I do to help? Tell me what I can do to make it all okay…"

You want to be a good wife; you don't share the selfish thoughts you have, of wanting him to work at a normal job again. Even when he hated it, even when it left him feeling so drained.

So you say nothing and you let your little lie spread its wings.

You calm down in his arms, holding you until your limbs feel heavy. He continues to soothe you as best as possible. His voice was so achingly gentle, rubbing circles into your hips. It has your heart shattering into pieces.

Mindlessly, you mumble under your breath. "I just want you to be okay…" you admit.

He averts his gaze helplessly, because knows he can't promise you that. He relaxes and lays down on the bed, taking you with him. You undo the top button of his shirt.

He smiles sadly. It's the one thing he can't promise.

And though he'll never let you know, he feels like he fails in this duties as a husband.

But sometimes, he knows he's at least doing something right when he helps calm you down from such a state that you end up dozing off in his arms. He holds you til his arms limp and heavy.

In this blood-stained, fleeting life, he'll walk with you to the ends of this earth.

Even if he must depart early.

taglist: @levi-my-beloved @licuadora-nasir @nelapanela94 @whattheheckmidoriya @poisonpeche @unadulteratedtreecrusade @notgoodforlife @sckerman @theferricfox @happybird16 @jayteacups and idk who else