#but it was the best title i could come up with haha

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | oneshot angst [18+]

title. let me be free of you

He would live in this lifetime of hell over and over again if it meant that in some other one, there exists a world where he never hurts you.

ᰔ pairing. friends to strangers au - best friend!gojo x reader (f)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru, your love of a lifetime, tells you he’s engaged to another woman. inspired by the novel & netflix series “one day” created by david nicholls

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, angst, mentions of sex/explicit content, coming of age themes, reader & gojo are in their 30s, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of alcohol, cheating, lots of mutual pining & longing, bittersweet ending

ᰔ word count. 4.8k

a/n. hellooo! i've had this finished in my wips folder for a long time but never got around to posting it sooo just wanted to let it see the light of day haha. hope you enjoyyy <33

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“I’m engaged.”

The words leave Gojo’s lips as much less of a confession and more like a blabber, like a toddler desperate to keep conversation going in the face of a disinterested adult. Wasn’t how he expected to share the news of a lifetime to the love of his lifetime, but he hopes it breaks your heart to hear it. 

He watches your eyebrows flatten from the crease that was bothering them before, and then slowly raise into soft arches above your eyes–those damn beautiful eyes that, even when they twinkle with hurt, still make his heart skip a beat in his chest.

He recalls for a moment the night the two of you met, drunk and dizzy from drinking out of a shared bottle of Prosecco, which only had half of the liquor left in it to start when he had first found it bleeding out to dry on the grassy lawn at the front of your university. It was graduation night, the last day to celebrate finishing four years of hell, and he had nothing to his name other than a rolled up diploma shoved in the pocket of his suit pants and the charm left in the youth of his smile. He wanted to spend the night with Aiko Rei, which was not a unique desire as most men on campus did, and he had a fair shot of getting into bed with her just like all those times before. But instead he was sitting at the top of a staircase inside the campus’s English literature building, making history in the crisp year of 1986 by being the first man of the robust age of twenty-three to pass up sex with the school’s lady heartthrob for–well, conversation with a sort of ditsy girl that he just met a half hour ago.

“What do you plan to do with your life?” he heard you ask him, a hard enough question to stomach when one is sober, and an impossible question to stomach when one is already trying not to puke flat Prosecco.

“Pardon?” he asked, in hopes to dissuade you from the question. In hopes that you’d get the hint. But you don’t. And he’d soon learn throughout the years of your friendship to come that you never did.

“Your life!” you exclaim, “we’re graduates now! What do you want to do with it?” You pat harshly at his thigh, closer to his groin than to his pocket, most likely because you’re tipsy too, but he realizes you’re referring to the rolled up paper protruding at the pocket. 

Truthfully, Gojo had never thought much about what he wanted to do after graduation. Hell, he didn’t even think he’d make it this far. Not once since he got here, not once since he flunked out of first-year history, not once since his father passed away during his third-year final examinations, and most certainly not after he got caught having “unethical affairs” with his communications professor just two months ago. And yet the esteemed board of scholars decided he was fit for a diploma anyway, and now he’s answering to, effectively, a stranger what he plans to do with said piece of paper.

“I don’t know,” he says to you, “I’ll do whatever.” 

Gojo Satoru could get by with doing whatever. He was good at everything he did. But his teachers and mentors and his own father would always warn him– son, it’s better to be an expert at one than a half-assed show-off in all. Well, they wouldn’t use the expletives, but that’s what it had sounded like in his head.

His dad would’ve liked you. He was always telling him to find a girl that challenges him, asks him the right questions, and pushes him to become a better man, the kind of woman his mother was to his father. Much opposed to the airheaded girls of Gojo’s college campus he would sneak into the house and forget to shoo off before sunrise, an occurrence that happened enough times for the respect in his father’s eyes to dwindle with each woman he’d watch his son dispel from their residence. Until eventually, Gojo started paying rent as punishment.

So, twenty-three year old Gojo, what do you plan to do with your life? Or do you have no idea of anything that extends beyond where you are right now, sitting across this strange girl you’ve just met on the death of your educational youth, at the top of a stairwell lined with passed out, drunk newly grads at nearly 4 in the morning? Right now, he’s eyeing the hem of your dress, the way it’s ridden up slightly but the mesh overskirt still tickles the skin of your thigh. He’s certainly able to picture what’s beyond that fabric, and maybe imagine the color of your panties, but what’s to come for his life? No. As previously mentioned, he never thought he’d get this far.

Gojo is thirty-four now, eleven years since that night the two of you met. And he sits next to you on a garden bench under a pitch black sky with stars speckled across, but only dimly visible. 

It’s been years since he’s seen you. You two had a “falling out” at the cusp of thirty, almost a decade of friendship fizzled away, because of his selfish actions. He couldn’t let you go, but he couldn’t want you the way you wanted him either. He didn’t feel like he deserved to have you. You were too good for him, and he knew it. So he wasted a decade chasing after other women, and in return, he lost the one he knew he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with.

It’s the night of your college roommate‘s wedding, all gathered here today to celebrate their love, and he knew he’d run into you here. You were the bride’s maiden of honor, and you looked beautiful. With your hair half tied up, a pretty clip twinkling with every movement of your head, and with strands falling down over the smooth curve of your neck, bare skin of your chest tightly covered by the nude fabric of your dress. He was fully lusting after you, and he has been all night, the picture of beauty and grace, and it was wrong. Because, again, he’s–

“You’re engaged?” you finally break through his thoughts, break through the trance that he was lost in by the sea of your eyes. Forever pulling him in like you were a wicked siren for his soul, when all you’ve ever wanted from him was his love.

He shifts a little, the thick fabric of his navy blue suit stretching with the movement as he fidgets with his hands in his lap. He’s sitting close to you, his shoulder brushing against yours, the contrast of his broad masculinity so evident against the feminine curve of your bare arm, the thin strap holding up your dress threatening to fall down the hill. His thumb twitches, because he wants to pull it back up into place for you like a gentleman, but he’s not sure if that’s what his hand would actually do. Because all he really wants to do is peel the dress off of you. 

“Yes,” he says, still tantalized by the glow of your skin under pale moonlight, “engaged.”

“To be married?”

“Well, what other kind of engaged is there?”

“You’re not allowed to get married.”

He snorts. “Says who?”

“Says me!” you exclaim, sitting up straighter, "I turn my back for one moment, and you've gone an got engaged? You're awful!" The strap of your dress falls down over your shoulder, his eyes immediately darting to it. He sees you pull the strap up back into place, and a flit of his eyes to your face reveals to him the slight dusting of an embarrassed pink to your cheeks. 

There’s a silence that settles between the two of you. Distant commotion is heard, likely from the wedding venue as people engage in reception activities and dances and cheers, while the two of you remain in this garden escape, the wall of primly trimmed bushes sheltering you two from having to pretend to be people you’re not amongst a crowd.

“Aiko…” he hears you say beside him, and although the name of the woman that has rolled off your tongue is the name of the woman he’s supposed to love, it only makes him feel sick to his stomach to hear you say her name. “She seems lovely.”

“She is,” is all he can manage to say. And he also knows this seemingly lovely woman is probably drunk off her face back at the reception hall, giggling at all the men that approach her from the sight of her flushed face, and he should feel some sort of jealousy or possessiveness over that, but he can’t seem to muster any. Unlike the grit he had to his jaw an hour ago when he saw you dancing with a man he heard you introduce to your friends as just an “old friend” of yours from college. He felt more anger in that moment than he’d ever felt watching his soon-to-be-wife getting talked up to by the sleazy men twice her age. 

“She must be very rich,” you say. “She looks it.”

“Oh. Yeah. Her family’s very well off,” Gojo says.

“So will you become rich too?” you ask him, “when you marry her.”

His eyes flit to the sky briefly. “Doubt it.”

“How come?”

“The old man doesn’t like me very much. I imagine he’ll cut ties after the wedding.”

“Her father?”

“Yes.”

“And why is that?”

“Well. I guess it’s not every father’s dream to find out his prim and proper daughter’s been knocked up by the good-for-nothing boyfriend he’s been threatening her to say good riddance to for months now.”

The silence finds the two of you again, but this time haunting and gutting. That was a blabber, if anything. So nonchalantly said, with no emotion or spirit, to the one person in this world who he’s always felt like he can be himself around.

“She’s pregnant?” you say beside him, voice breaking slightly at the end, and he can’t bear to look at you for some reason. Some sort of admission of guilt, but what for? What exactly was he repenting for?

He lets out a small laugh, like the absurdity of the situation finds him all the same. “Yeah.” 

“That–” you start, stiff next to him, before he feels the tension relax but only rigidly, “that’s wonderful, Satoru. I’m–...I’m really happy for you.” You turn your torso to wrap your arms around him, and his lips brush the sweet skin on your forehead as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He wraps one arm around you, a sort of friendly hug as he rubs the skin of your arm soothingly, and his heart aches from the emptiness when you release him. 

“Wow…” you say, looking up at him with pretty eyes, eyelashes fluttering as you blink rapidly to process the information, and he wonders if you really are happy for him. He doesn’t want you to be. He wants you to be furious, to tell him off for getting another woman pregnant after leading you on for so many years, maybe he wants you to slap him, or grab him by the collar of his shirt and shake him until all he sees is a million of you through dizzy vision like some paradise. He wants you to be mad, because it’d mean that you still care. It’d mean that you still think there’s something here to salvage between the two of you. 

But he’s engaged. And he’s having a baby. What was more final than that?

“So…are you marrying her because of–”

“The wedding is in four weeks,” he cuts you off, but he knows the statement answers your question regardless.

“Satoru…”

He leans off to the side a little to reach into the pocket of his suit pants, and he pulls out what is now a slightly bent envelope and he hands it to you. You take it from him gently, holding it weakly like it was something beyond you. Like something distant and foreign and strange. When all it was, is a wedding invitation. 

“Listen…” he starts.

He sees your eyes dazed as you stare at the lettering on the outside of the envelope.

“We’ve been friends for a long time, y/n. And I know the last time we saw each other was–” Hostile. Angry. Disappointing. Ended with you cussing him out on the street and then saying you never want to see him again. “...not ideal, but I still care a lot about you, and, uh, so, it would mean a lot to me if you came to the wedding.” For fucks sake, even on the brink of losing you forever, he still can’t find the right words to say. “Aiko, she–” He tastes bitter in his mouth, “well, I’ve told her a lot about you, and she’d really love it if you came as well.”

You’re silent as you gently peel back the opening of the letter and then pull out the small card stock invitation. The gold printed letters shine as you inspect it, fingers tracing the patterns of words that profess the Rei family’s intent to wed their daughter to Gojo Satoru. Your Gojo Satoru. Your best friend in this whole wide world. He watches your eyes carefully, but he can’t discern what he finds in them.

“Gojo Satoru…” you drone off, “to be wed. And to be a father.” Years of late night talks of the future, of kids and Christmas and love, with reality seemingly sly on the horizon only to have crept up so abruptly. It was pinched between your fingers right now. That reality.

His shoulders sulk slightly. And when you look up at him again, there’s a sheen of tears in your eyes.

“I can’t come to this,” you whisper, “and you know that, Satoru.”

His heart breaks. A physical pain that twists in his chest so tight at just the sight of seeing you sad. Sad again over the actions of his own. They say you always hurt the one you love, and he had always wondered what sort of evil person would do such a thing, only to find out he’s only ever hurt you this entire time. 

He should’ve kissed you that night the two of you met at graduation. Should’ve shut you up and all your existential questions by pinning you to a wall and pressing his lips against yours. He should’ve taken you to bed and fucked you, and then held you in his arms until you woke up in the morning. Should’ve listened to you talk his ear off about how he’s just like all the other guys, who pretend to care, but only want to have sex and then never to speak to the girl ever again. And he should’ve laid there in bed, nose nuzzled in your hair, taking all the scolding despite having no intent to ever leave you.

Instead, he wasted so much time. Sure, he had your friendship. His best friend for years, but the two of you could’ve been something more. Could’ve spent the years together, instead of writing stained letters or leaving messages on answering machines while the two of you were miles away. He could’ve been waking up with you every morning with the scent of your shampoo on his sheets, instead of clinging to pillows in foreign motel rooms. He could’ve been engaged to you, and he could be whispering sweet nothings in your ear of how much he wishes the baby will have your eyes. 

But his thoughts are lost in fantasy. He is what he’s done, nothing more and nothing less. His eyes fall to your lap, the invitation still held loosely in your hand, and then a droplet of water falls onto it.

“I–” you stutter, wiping at the tears spilling down your cheeks with a hesitant swipe of your hand, “I need to go.”

You stand up off the bench and he quickly stands up with you, grabbing your wrist to keep you here with him, and you halt but only with you facing away from him. He yanks at your wrist harshly, pulling you into him so his chest is flush to your back, his arms wrapping strongly around you and his nose nuzzling into your hair, breathing you in greedily like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance.

“Satoru–” you gasp, your hands immediately grabbing at his forearms that are tightly crossed across your collarbone. “What are you doing–” 

“Say it,” he whispers, gruff and impatient, “tell me to do it, and I will.”

“T-Tell you to do what?” you stutter, struggling a little in his hold but he only holds you tighter.

“Tell me to leave her, and I will,” he says, his lips brushing at your ear now, the scent of your perfume maddening to his senses, and one of his hands slowly trails down and the knuckle of his thumb presses into the softness of your breast.

You squirm, a small and soft moan leaving your lips.

“T–” you breathe in harshly, “this is wrong.” 

“I don’t care,” he growls, arms sliding lower to hold you under your breasts, so tightly that your heels lift off the ground. “Just say the word, and I’ll leave everything behind for you. I promise,” he breathes in deep, the desperation making his head hazy, “that I’ll do things right this time. Just you and me–” 

“You’re going to be a father,” you remind him, and he shuts his eyes closed tightly, the responsibility of the word bearing on his shoulders but his desire for you overshadows every shred of sense or dignity or integrity he has left in him, because he felt like he was losing his mind after wanting you for years just to never have you. 

He turns you around in his hold so that you face him, and he crashes his lips to yours, muffling the surprised mmf! that dies in your throat in surprise as his hands hold your waist, relishing in the feeling of satin fabric pulled taut over your curves.

Forbidden, yet a taste that he’ll risk because there was no curse that was worse than the fate of having to pine after you for years.

Ah.

But.

But it was all fantasy, this moment in his head, where he takes you on the freshly cut grass of this garden. 

Something that only briefly flashes through his mind as his warm hand wraps around your wrist, from where he was still seated on the stone bench, and not on his feet holding you like he dreamed for. Like he longed for.

He feels the weight of his arm so heavily, as if it weren’t his own, and he slowly lets go of your wrist.

When he looks up at you, there’s longing in your eyes. A hurt that he didn’t even know he was capable of causing, just for him to realize that you’ve always looked at him that way, and he’s never been keen enough to know it until now. He grew up too late. He took too long.

His phone starts buzzing in his pocket, and he reaches in for it, then flips it open and sees his soon-to-be-wife’s name on it. He feels nothing at the sight.

“Hello?” he speaks into the device when he holds it to his ear, and he sees you take a couple steps away, rubbing anxiously at your elbow as you pretend to busy yourself with the study of the lamp. “Yes, I’ll be there soon. I, uh, I’m just with a friend. A couple of friends, actually. We’re having drinks by the pond. Mhm. Yes. I will. Okay, see you soon. I—…I love you too. Bye.” And then he snaps the phone shut. 

“Heading back?” he hears you ask.

He stands. “I’ve got to.”

“Okay.” 

You two walk down the shrubbery of the garden that was arranged like a maze, him a few paces behind you, and he watches the delicate line of your posture as your hand brushes against the green walls of foliage that encase the two of you, the feeling of wanting to touch you and hold you almost suffocating. 

“Hey,” he calls out to you, and he shoves his hands in his suit pockets. You turn around immediately to face him, like his voice was permission to do so.

“Yes?” you ask.

He blinks up at the starry sky, and then looks at you again. The soft cast of distant warm lighting falls over your face, making you appear like a renaissance painting, similar to those that you would point out to him at museums when you two would see each other on holiday back in your early twenties. He could never understand the charm of those paintings, no matter how many times you tried to explain it to him, but seeing you in this light right now, he finally understands the beauty that you saw. 

“I’m, uh,” he rubs at the back of his neck, and then scoffs out a small laugh, “I’m a little drunk right now, but–” He stops himself. What was he trying to say? And was it of conscious mind? “I just need to tell you that…I really regret…not speaking to you. I mean, for letting the silence drag on for years. You’re my–...my best friend. We’re a pair, you know? The two of us. For years, people would ask me where you were. And why they haven’t seen us together at all recently. And it was hard to admit that we hadn’t spoken in years.”

You take the smallest of steps towards him, and look up at him with empty eyes. 

“What I’m trying to say is, is that, well,” he finds himself tripping over his words, “I miss you. And I miss our friendship. And–...I miss having you around.” He glances down at his shoes, polished and reflecting off the moonlight directly above him. He rocks back and forth on his heels ever so slightly. “I know you said that I piss you off to lengths unimaginable to my tiny pea-sized brain, but I can’t help myself, y/n,” he admits, “I think you and I, we’re just meant to always be. In some how, or some way…”

You purse your lips together, gaze shifting lower to eye at the silk of his tie. 

“Can we be friends again?” he asks, the words feeling juvenile on his tongue. Like whispered apologies between children on a playground after shoving one another onto wooden chips, except the wounds he’s left on you run much deeper than a superficial scrape. 

You blink slowly, tilting your head up at him. “Friends?”

“Friends.”

You wipe your palm off on the satin of your dress. “I missed you too, you know.”

His eyes widened slightly.

Your hand finds its way up your arm, until you weakly cup your elbow with your palm and look off to the side, avoiding eye contact with him. “There were so many years where I thought that there was something between us. And maybe I was foolish for thinking that way, that you would ever see me that way–”

“y/n,” he tries to interrupt you. 

“But…the pain of not having you the way I wanted to was much less worse than the pain of not having you at all,” you say, your gaze finally shifting towards him. “But, the thing is, I needed to feel that pain to get over you. I had to.”

His heart stills at those words.

You glance down at the ground now. “I missed being able to tell you things. To laugh, and cry, and argue. I miss humbling your stupid ego. I miss being able to call you at any time, knowing you’d pick up when I needed you.”

His heart aches so much he wants to reach into his chest and hold it.

“The thing is,” you continue, “you would’ve been the first person I would’ve run to to tell them that I lost my best friend.” There were tears shining in your eyes. “But what could I do when you were the one that I had lost? Who could I have turned to then?”

He lets out a shaky breath, and in a swift motion, his arm wraps around your waist and he pulls you to him in an embrace.

You’re stiff in his hold, mechanical and rigid, so contrary to the soft tears you leave behind on the fabric of his sleeve, but slowly and surely, you warm and thaw. Your hands slide up past his shoulders, linking behind his neck. And his head drops to the curve of your neck, swaying you with him slowly as if it were a first dance.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “for hurting you.”

You breathe out slowly. “Just let me go, Satoru. Let me be free. Let me be free of you.”

He feels the air knock out of his lungs, and the two of you slowly pull your heads away from the embrace to look at one another, although your hands still find a place on his shoulders, and he still holds you close to him by a delicate hold of your waist. 

He wonders if in another life, you two were happy. He wonders if he could ever take back all the decisions he made, and start all over again. On that day the two of you met on that staircase in the west wing of the literature building, he would make a different choice. If he could, he would live in this lifetime of hell over and over again if it meant that in some other one, there exists a world where he never hurts you. 

“It’s time for me to go,” you whisper, eyes darting across the features of his face, studying them but with a familiarity that only you know, because you held his entire life in your palm. Your gaze meets his again, faces just inches apart, and the sweet curl of your eyelashes makes him weak in the knees. “It’s time.”

He nods slowly, his own eyes studying your face as well, except it looks foreign to him now. 

It’s all been said and done. There was nothing he could do to right the wrongs, or undo all the pain. He was to be a father now, and his duties were now towards his wife and unborn child. And no longer to the woman he holds in his arms, one he’s sure he will never stop loving for as long as he lives. 

It’s a sweet moment, the two of you gazing at one another. You look so pretty from this angle, looking up at him with the smallest tilt to your head and round searching eyes. His head subconsciously dips down towards yours in the second that he glances at your lips, but he stops himself. And when you make no move to create distance, he finds himself closing it again, until his lips brush against yours ever so softly. And then he captures them in a kiss, firm and unmistaken, finding solace in the way your lips move against his too, unsure yet passionately at the same time. Your fingers ever so slightly dig into his shoulders while his thumbs soothe at the skin of your waist, the two of you savoring the last moments of a kiss that’ll be the sweetest one you’ll ever know.

You pull away first, a small puff of air leaving your lips as you glance downwards. He rests his forehead against yours, never once looking away from your face. And you both breathe slowly, the soul of the chaste kiss entirely vanishing into the air along with all the hope that the two of you had left to make anything of the way you feel about one another. It was a kiss that almost disqualified any level of sin or guilt or wrong, because it was like one you two owed each other, after years of familiarity and longing. It was the goodbye that the two of you deserved.

His hands slowly let go of your waist, and he takes a step back away from you, softly clearing his throat. The distance feels like a galaxy away, and he briefly runs his thumb along his bottom lip, because the ghostly feeling of your lips on his still remains. 

“Shall we head back?” you ask him, prim and proper in posture and eyes widened in a formal gaze.

His lips are parted, and he finds that he’s panting slightly. And then he slowly nods his head. “Yes.”

.

.

.

[the end] 

a/n. i am sooooo freaking obsessed w "one day" by david nicholls and really wanted to write something inspired by it!! the book literally ripped my heart out and stomped on it like there were so many scenes where i just longingly stared out the window because of how shattering it was but dear god i really enjoyed it, and the show was also so dfkjhsfkhs i had sm feels watching it. so yea this was fun to write!! i hope you enjoyedd n thanks so much for reading :)

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[leclsrc]

do you want it? ✴︎ cs55

genre: summer love!!!, slight age gap, porn w plot basically...

word count: 10.5k  

Whatever preconceived notions you have about your summer at the beach house are all toppled over when your parents announce the arrival of a guest, who happens to be your dad's friend. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by several people! few notes... carlos is aged up a tad, the age gap is 21/33 so not too bad (i aged him up bc the age gap was 7 yrs and i was like. Huh. thats tame). if ur not into that (tho everything is consensual and reader is legal) its ok! anyway im sorry this came so late i had like 6 anons asking ab carlos and lana haha. also big thanks to dani whose work got me thru 4 writing ruts

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, dry humping, oral sex (m and f receiving), deepthroating, semi public sex ish?, praise central, size kink, like a flash of spit kink sorry..., overuse of the term good girl

Half past noon and after a particularly snappy call from his manager, Carlos bites the bullet on summer plans and decides to accept what is arguably the least glamorous offer on his roster. By no means a dazzling standout, the offer to stay at a family friend’s house in Comporta seems to be the most comfortable option—besides, he doesn’t feel himself to be in the glitzy mood for cities like Los Angeles or Monaco.

Lando, beside him, is thus the first to get wind of the news that “grumpy old man” Carlos will not be accompanying him to the ultimate, tequila-flavored “summer extravaganza” in Morocco.

“You’re boring,” Lando moans, pacing the room. Outside, London’s skyline moves passively. Carlos hangs up his phone call with his assistant, receives a picture of his flight details, and looks up amusedly.

“Portugal is not boring.”

“Morocco. DJs, drinks, girls.” Lando raises one hand. “Comporta. Family friends, apple cider, sand in your eyes.” He raises another hand a few inches lower. “See the difference?”

“I appreciate the difference.” Truth is, Carlos has needed this kind of quiet, calm time off for a while now. The season gets heavy and intense and tiring, and sometimes just staying by the beach with a beer is the best kind of reprieve.

“You’re getting old,” Lando says with a sour grimace. “Old.”

“That is,” Carlos says, searching for the word, “defamation.”

Lando shrugs, moves off the subject as he shoves a handful of crisps into his mouth. “Are you meeting family there?”

“No.” Both of his parents are out of the country for the next few weeks; Carlos was invited by his dad’s friend, though the bond they share is more friendly than just the standard uncle-nephew type of relationship, and they often refer to each other as just friends. “Just friends. Gallery owner and a company owner, I think.”

Lando whistles. “Rich.”

In response, Carlos nods. “And their daughter, who’s visiting from university in the States.” The details are fuzzy in his head, but the gist is about right.

“Sounds boring,” his friend snorts. “Come on, mate. You, me, Daniel. One last chance to watch Peggy Gou’s set and take shots and have fuuun.” He says the last part with the suave that would only rival a preteen’s.

Carlos, for a second, lets his resolve waver. Maybe it would be better watching loud DJ sets, dancing, getting all flushed with alcohol. But he blinks and shakes his head anyway. He hopes his decision is the right one, that summer in the beach house ends up being worth it. It’s a few weeks by the beach, anyway—what’s the worst that could happen?

—

Any recollection of your childhood almost instantly connects to the beach house in Comporta, big and wide and right by the coast. You spent fall, winter, and spring in a constant bumbling state of excitement to spend summer there. Your parents owned it, and often offered family friends to take up residence there when summers in the city got unbearable; for the most part, though, it was the three of you and, on rare years, a guest.

Your summers there have since smudged into the same few memories, of your mum and dad’s faces, of swimming and the learning curve of sailing, of bonfires by the beach on cold nights. And they have since become just that: memories. Summers grew sparse with time, and eventually the idea of meeting distant family friends became more embarrassing than exciting; by the time your parents moved you out of Europe for college, you’d lost almost all memory of the house.

So when your parents ask if you want to fly back to Comporta and spend a few “quiet” weeks there, you figure there’s no harm in seeing what the house is like and what summer can offer you beyond the weekly club outings. Instead of the usual quiet and overall lack-of-bustle that comes with summers, however, you open the front door to three housekeepers dusting every surface in your immediate eyesight.

“Are we hosting a wedding?” You ask when you find your parents tending to two sweaty glasses of champagne. You gesture faintly to the cleanfest inside. “What is going on?”

“We have a guest,” your mother says as she gets up to hug you tight. “Staying for the summer.”

“You said this summer would be quiet,” you deadpan, eyes narrowing underneath your sunglasses.

Your mum pinches your elbow. “I wasn’t lying,” she defends, raising her eyebrows. “Carlos’ son is coming.” She pats your arm. “You know? The race driver! He’s close with your father.” And, leaving no space for you to voice your dissent, she slips back into the house through the screen door, your father kissing your cheek then following suit. Your mouth parts, thoughts beginning to rush with implications of what your mother has just told you.

Carlos—if you’re correct—is Carlos Sainz, Sr., a good friend of your dad’s, and his son is Carlos Sainz, Jr., another good friend of your dad’s, because if there’s one thing rich Europeans do well, it’s the repetition of names. You’ve never met his son, only heard of him and seen a few pictures, but being so far detached from life here, you can’t even shape his face.

All you recall is the fact that he should now be thirty or older, which makes him rather older than you—and therefore effectively incapable of providing any break from any possible summer boredom. For fuck’s sake, he’s close to your dad. You’re at the top of the stairs when you hear the commotion by the front door, peeking at the foyer to catch a glimpse of him.

He’s solo, you observe; upon a glance into the front parking, you notice he’s driven here in a Ferrari, one a bit too modern for your taste but beautiful nevertheless. He carries only two pieces of luggage, and the sun blinds you for a moment before he’s finally at the doorframe, smiling politely, talking to your dad in casual Spanish.

He is, for lack of better word, insanely handsome. He wears a polo that shows off much of his arms, that flex as he puts down his luggage to shake hands with your parents; you follow the movement of his hands to watch one comb through his thick hair, then down to his smile, back up to his brown eyes, deep and so, so pretty.

Maybe this summer deserves a little less begrudge, you decide as you retreat back into your room, still brewing with residual annoyance.

Your parents send him off after a drink and a brief conversation, catch-up, tour of the downstairs area. Carlos knows his room is supposed to be upstairs, but the problem arises in the fact that there are two upstairs rooms and he doesn’t know which one he’s supposed to be staying in. Setting his luggage down for a minute, he knocks on the first door; permissive silence greets him for half a minute, so he turns the knob and prepares to enter.

To his surprise, he finds somebody already inside, a figure by the mirror on the other end of the room. What catches his eye is not the tiny skirt, but the half-tied bikini top currently being wound around two fingers at the centre of your back. You’re basically clothed, but Carlos can’t decide if he’s thankful or not—he doesn’t have time to when you catch him in the mirror and turn around quick, mouth agape.

“Can’t you knock?!” You ask, catty.

“I did—I knocked, but you—there was no answer,” he explains profusely. “I’m Carlos. Sorry, apologies. Truly.”

You introduce yourself. You’re his friend’s daughter, this and that, and you’re visiting from the States to spend summer here. He apologizes again when you finish. 

“Well, seeing as though this is my room,” you shoot back, “that must be yours.” You gesture vaguely to the one down the hall. Amused and a little embarrassed, he mouths apologies as he closes the door.

Carlos exits, departs and doesn’t have time to take in the room before he’s facedown on the bed. Any sleepiness he’d collected from the trip over, from the day drinks, from the headache that’d been blooming at the temples of his head, has dissipated. His mind’s been imprinted with one image only, and it’s down the hall in a tiny skirt.

—

Lunch brings lemonade and pasta, two staples for every summer meal. You, however, find yourself hopelessly distracted by the presence of your guest, and despite your best efforts, the churn in your stomach disables you from fully enjoying the carbonara on the table. The conversation between Carlos and your dad ends up taking your attention instead. “So you’re racing again in a few weeks?”

“Sí,” Carlos nods in-between forkfuls. Then, to add, “Busy, busy times.”

“Well. It’s the worst of our days,” your mum says, a quote she picked up from—of all places—a BBC sitcom she watched to tears last winter. “You are a talented driver, Carlos. Very cultured. I’m sure you’ll enjoy Comporta.”

“I have not been around much,” he says; his gaze flutters over to his glass, which is devoid of water or lemonade. “Any recommendations?”

“A lot, cabrón. Our daughter will be happy to take you around,” your father says on your behalf. He turns to you. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, sure,” you say, allowing a terse smile. “There’s some places around here that aren’t so boring. But that’s being generous.” Carlos laughs at your joke, raucous and goofy, and you would definitely be lying if you told yourself it didn’t get you blushing a little bit, eyes casting themselves to your still-full plate.

“While you’re here, Carlos,” your dad continues, “I have an old car in the garage that could use some looking at. Are you—would you know how to—?”

Carlos nods, accepting the favor—then the conversation naturally slides into one of cars and racing. Carlos chronicles his journey in Formula One, his Toro Rosso days back then when he was younger, his McLaren period, and now, his time representing Ferrari. He talks of pet peeves on the grid, annoyances but also praises for the sport.

“I’d appreciate the downtime, actually,” he explains, “that I’d get from working on a car instead of in one.” He laughs, eyes briefly meeting yours. He looks away, then looks again. He can’t help himself. He wonders if he’s being obvious, if you can tell the way his looks are anything but casual. “Can you pour me a glass?” He adds.

“Yeah,” you mutter, sitting straight to pour lemonade into his waiting glass. You meet his eyes and almost pour it over the pasta. The rest of the lunch is uneventful, a series of adult conversation you can’t seem to engage yourself in fully, and whether that’s because of personal preference or Carlos’ presence, you don’t make an effort to try.

“…ney. Honey.” Your mum’s voice distracts you from your thoughts; when you look up, half the table is clear and Carlos and your dad have ventured inside to deposit plates at the sink. 

“Sorry. Wh—sorry, what?” You blink.

“Your father and I are heading out for the evening. Carlos will be working on the car. That okay, or you want to come along?”

“Um…” You pretend the latter is even an option before shaking your head. “No, I’ll stay.”

“Good.” She strokes your hair. “He could use the company.”

You follow her walking figure inside, where you station your eyes on Carlos. He’s sipping a lemonade. His eyes meet yours for a second and your face is outrageously flushed when you realize you’ve been caught staring, just like his had been earlier when he walked into your room.

—

You’re hellbent on solving a Sudoku puzzle when the dinner bell rings, and you have to finish it on the stairs. Your dad’s always been a stickler for arriving to dinner on time—every meal, but a gargantuan emphasis on the last—and you’ve been victim to scoldings about being five to six minutes late, an instance you don't wish to repeat.

9, you scribble, bare feet moving with speed through the living room, indoor dining room, then to the patio door. 4 comes next, your footsteps following the smell of grilled meat. 8, you write as you turn into the outdoor dining area. You’re halfway through 2 when you stop, look up, and find Carlos preparing dinner.

“Oh—” You pause. “You rang the dinner bell? Are my parents not…?”

“They are at a dinner,” says Carlos, eyes meeting yours briefly. It reminds you of earlier and you clear your throat, looking away. “So I hope my cooking is good enough.”

“It smells great,” you offer, seating yourself down and pouring a glass of wine. He sets the plate down—just-cut steak, a smear of potatoes. “Christ, you cook better than Dad.”

“I take that as a compliment,” he laughs, sitting across you. “Listen, I want to apologize for accidentally walking into your room earlier.”

Your face warms. “No, it’s okay. I was just surprised.”

“It was wrong of me. Let’s start over. I’m Carlos.” He reaches over to shake your hand, still standing. You take it, eyes flitting over his hand, spotting no glinting ring on his finger. With a saccharine smile, you assure him it was an honest mistake, so he segues into a different topic, the corners of his mouth turning up. “So, do you have an itinerary for me tomorrow?”

You hum, passing the wine over to him. “A bookstore, an ice cream parlor, and a bike ride. Anything else is seriously not worth it. You’ll have the next few weeks to explore town. If the house gets that boring.”

“I haven’t been bored so far,” he says, eyes glinting.

“Oh?”

“You know, with the car fixing.” He points vaguely to where the garage is. “But it’s only been a day.”

“Car fixing is boring,” you state matter-of-factly. “You’ll have fun tomorrow.” You cut into the steak and bite into the forkful you stab at, eyes fluttering.

“Good?” Carlos asks, smiling a little.

“I love it,” you mumble. “You’re so good at this, Carlos.”

Carlos retires to his room that night, and finds that today has held a collective motif of losing his shit. He’s anything but sleepy. Restless, wild-eyed, combing hand after hand through his hair. God, if he’d known you were this pretty—this hard to resist, on his first night here, no less—he would’ve been watching some DJ spin out a set with Lando right now.

Instead, he finds he can’t stop himself from thinking about you, the way your eyes had fluttered when he tried saying something on the edge of flirty. Your hair. Your hands, your fingers, lithe around the stem of your wine glass.

I love it, you’d said, you’re so good at this, Carlos. You knew exactly what you were doing, skittish tone putting him on edge. Despite himself, he can’t help but squeeze himself through his pants when he sits down on the edge of the bed, breathing heavy to purge himself of thoughts so low and dirty.

You’re so pretty. You’d be so easy to wreck, make his, goad little moans out of you, get your lips around him, puffy and pink and pretty. He wedges his eyes shut tight and hopes these thoughts will dissipate as the week passes.

Something tells him he’s wrong, though.

—

The tour is delayed because your dad insists he go fishing with Carlos three days in a row, but eventually (likely due to your mum’s insistence) it pushes through. You greet him with a smile, waiting by the door, wearing a sundress. Sundresses will definitely be his demise.

You’re a good tour guide, though, Carlos figures when you’re finished pointing at every turn and sign and dictating what goes where and where the passage to the coast is, when you’ve even quizzed him about where you are and where the house is supposed to be.

After he points in the correct direction, you nod approvingly. “That’s how my dad made sure I wouldn’t get lost,” you explain when he laughs at your choice of tour guidance. 

“And you were what—twelve?” He asks, walking beside you. It’s fairly empty in town, a few tourists mulling about carrying shopping bags and plastic cups of juice.

“Try fourteen,” you argue. 

“Well, quizzing a, uh—a fourteen-year-old is really not the same as quizzing a grown adult.”

“Ha. Call me when you can’t find your way home tonight,” you diss sarcastically, making a turn toward the bookstore down the street. “Okay, here we are. Don’t get too excited. They’re just books.”

For a relatively empty town, the bookstore always has new batches of titles, displayed proudly for natives and tourists alike front and centre. But you’re already going to the right side of the store, busying yourself with looking at the signs. 

“The classics shelf is always my favorite,” you say, already walking ahead of him. Your dress bobs softly with your legs as you pace, short and sweet and white. You turn and his eyes slide back up instantly, and he hopes he was quick enough. “Do you have any authors you like?”

“I am not a big reader. You?”

“Huge,” you say, smiling a little. “Okay, we can browse. Are you into any genre…?”

Carlos proceeds to tell you his track record in the literary field includes: reading half the Harry Potter series, a car manual, and a few other titles in Spanish he cannot recall the name or plot of. But, he adds, he’s always wanted to read, found the activity so quiet and still and perfect, so he allows you to lead him through the titles stacked on each table and condensed on each shelf. He points at, sometimes, or picks up covers he finds appealing.

“How about—?” He reaches for a pink cover that reads It Ends With Us, but your hand loops around his wrist before he can pick it up and you’re pulling him into another aisle.

“…Not that.” You continue perusing the books around you, your hand still wrapped around his. With your free finger, you point at the top shelf, and tiptoe against the bookcase to try and get it. You come close, but not close enough.

Carlos, behind you, is successful, not even needing to tiptoe to reach for the red hardbound you’d been pointing at. It also means he’s pressed up against you, heavy and big, and the sensation dizzies you. When he finally pulls it off, you turn to him and find respite in the proximity—you two are so close, every exhale out of your lips causes a puff of air to blow against his hair.

He steps backward. You smile and gesture toward the book he’s holding. “That’s a good one.”

“Gabriel Garcia Marquez.” He reads out the author’s name in one fluid sentence, his Spanish accent becoming naturally more obvious.

“Okay, colonizer.” He knits his brows. “Trust me,” you insist. “One Hundred Years of Solitude—so good. It was one of the first books I read front to back twice in a row.”

“Wow, what an honor,” he teases sarcastically as you move along the aisle, fingertips brushing against the indents of the books. You turn to narrow your eyes and stick your tongue out. Unfortunately for Carlos, the effect this inflicts upon him is not oh she mocked me, but oh how would it look if—

He needs ice cream. Or to just get out of this aisle.

—

You punctuate the day with two cones of it, melting way too fast in the heat of summer. He’s already half-finished with his vanilla, and you’re taking your time with the lemon sorbet you’d gotten for yourself. Apparently, this is the only other highlight the town has to offer, and judging by the fact that most of the other stores are expensive clothes, souvenir shops, and a Bible bookstore—yeah.

Carlos is also more than sated with the three books in the paper bag he’s holding. Scratch that—six books, you bought a haul for yourself—but it’s not a particularly heavy load, so he’s fine. His phone has been buzzing with Lando’s update requests that he’s been deliberately ignoring.

“They make the best ice cream,” you rave, smiling. You lick over the melt on your lips. “Right?”

He might actually drop his cone now. “It is delicious.”

“Well…” You look around, your hair flying with every turn of your head. Lick over lips again. Again, and again. He has to look away.

“…Do you wanna stop by anywhere else?” You turn to him and ask, licking over the tip of your ice cream cone.

It’s hard for Carlos to pretend he’s looking around your surroundings, at the signs and storefronts, and not at your sticky lips, your pink tongue just peeking out to lap at the quickly melting gelato around your hand. His eyes flit downward, to where the hem of your tiny white dress has flown up in the coastal wind, exposing more of your thighs.

“Carlos?” You repeat, voice sweet and waiting.

He snaps his eyes back up and wills his voice to remain passive. “We can head back.”

So you do, meaning your tour ends around noon, and your parents greet you both with lunch and the round of inevitable questions. Did Comporta live up to your expectations? What books did you get? Was our daughter a good tour guide? The latter, Carlos answers with a smile—very good. You allowed your face to flush, blamed it on the sangria.

Now, though, it’s the brink in-between chilly and hot, sticky traces of the summer afternoon still lingering in the air, mixing with the cool of dusk when you decide to exit your room and fix yourself a glass of something, preferably sweet and alcoholic. An empty driveway save for a Ferrari means your parents are gone, leaving you and—if you’re lucky, which you hope you are—

“Carlos,” you call out from the window you’ve just tugged open with the expertise of somebody who’s lived here for twenty-one summers. “Thirsty?”

He looks up from where he is, outside, continuing his operation on your dad’s car. The hood’s been cranked open, and his long hair is damp with sweat, flying gently in the face of the sunset breeze. He smiles when he sees your figure peeking out.

“For what?”

“Whatever you want,” you respond, taking your bottom lip between your teeth. His white shirt’s stained with oil and dirt, tainting it beige and grey, the tight fit even tighter from his sweat. You can make out the outline of his abs just underneath. 

He squints. “Beer?”

You make an exaggerated eugh face to tease him, but duck back inside to bring your homemade aperol and an open, frosty beer outside. When he sees you, he walks closer, smiles and takes a swig of the drink you offer. He makes a noise of satisfaction and you have to make a real effort to maintain a semblance of normalcy, eyes averting from his lips to gaze instead at his solid shoulders, his build, big and tall.

“What’s the problem with beer, hmm?”

“Tastes like shit.” You raise your aperol. “The sweeter, the better. How’s Dad’s car?” You blink, sidestepping him to try and gauge his progress.

“Casi termino.” You look at him, raising your eyebrows, and he translates. “Almost done. It wasn’t that destroyed, if at all.”

“You think he’ll let you drive it when you’re done?” You ask playfully, swiping your condensation-wet finger over the side of the car. You turn, smiling expectantly; Carlos laughs a bit, shrugs.

“It is just a favor. But if he does, I’ll make sure you get to come along.” He says. “You like that?”

“Mmm,” you nod, sipping on your aperol. You part from your straw, lips stained, and smile up at him. “I do.”

His gaze is stuck on your lips. You lick over them, and he looks away with a slow blink. You watch as he ruffles his hair, rounds the car and crosses his arms to view it from the back.

God, he’s handsome. You think of the long-winded nights you’ve been spending trailing your fingers over your legs or texting inspired paragraphs to friends back in university about him. Their responses are almost always Send pic now and a cacophony of heart eye emojis when you manage to snag a stolen shot of him doing just about anything.

His gaze is scrutinizing, every little detail of the car, and eventually he closes the hood again. “Should be good by tomorrow.”

“Where’d you learn to fix cars?” You ask sweetly, nearing him. The wind bites at your legs, your flowy skirt bouncing sporadically and held down by your free hand. When your eyes flit to his, waiting for his response, you find them snapping upward. He’d been distracted.

“I work with cars, so it comes natural.” You lean on the hood of the car and he comes to stand in front of you, his eyes pointed downward at you. “That’s not a very good habit,” he adds.

“Drinking?” You pout, raising your half-empty glass. You blink up at him, the corner of your smiling lip caught in your teeth.

“Biting your lip.” His gaze is intense. “You do it a lot, I noticed.”

You smile, leaning backward a little. His resolve is breaking. “Can I borrow one of the books you got earlier?”

“The three ones you bought not enough?” He raises a brow, downing beer again. Some of it dribbles out of the corner of his lip. You’ve never been one to like the taste, but you’d lick it off him if you could.

“I just wanna browse it,” you push. “I’ll return it tomorrow.”

“Fine,” he relents. “I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”

—

He sees you the next day after lunch, which you’d skipped because you “weren’t hungry.” You’re wearing a dress, hair clipped into a bun when you excuse yourself to pick up an earring in front of him. He almost thinks it’s a fib until he sees it, the pink gem on the floor.

“Sorry,” you say, voice mellow, and then you’re bending over to pick it up. You’re wearing pretty lace panties underneath.

Carlos clears his throat and excuses himself, adjusting his shorts as he goes upstairs.

—

He gives you Norweigan Wood after dinner, like he promised earlier in the week. Two raps on your door, and when you open it, he’s already handing it to you with a quiet smile. “Goodnight,” he says, his voice clipped.

“Our tour isn’t over yet,” you tease, tossing the book onto your bed and descending the steps back downstairs. Confused and interested, he follows you, to the back area of the house, past the swinging screen door, down the steps, and onto the sand.

“Tour?” He repeats, for clarification. The only things to tour are sand and twigs.

“Yeah, Carlos. This is the real tour,” you joke, walking backwards. Every step sends your foot sinking into the cold sand, slowing your pace until Carlos catches up, matching your steps once he does. “Comporta—real and unfiltered.” You both laugh at your hyperbolic, MTV-worthy statement, and he waits for more, entertains you further.

“What is so real about this?” Carlos laughs, allowing himself to humor your little schtick.

“Well, mister. This isn’t bookstores and ice cream parlors.” You point to a nearby spot in the sand, just by a rogue stick. “This is where I smoke without getting caught. Near enough that I can run back in seconds, but faraway enough that my parents can’t immediately see what I’m doing. Granted, I don’t need to be sneaking around much, but if you ever want to do something in secret—”

The implication sends Carlos into a spiral of thought.

“—here’s your spot.”

“So you smoke,” he says when he sits himself on the sand, observing the now-dark skyline of the area. You continue pacing around a little, and when you raise your arms up to stretch, he catches a glimpse of your abdomen, the waistband of pink lace underneath the low rise of your denim shorts.

“Occasionally. Don’t play Holy Mary,” you warn, standing in front of him and stretching your hand out to reveal a box of Marlboro Reds. 

“Wasn’t planning to,” he responds, taking a stick and inserting it in between his lips. “Got a light?”

“No,” you tease, taking one for yourself and sliding your lighter out from your pocket in one quick motion. The flame illuminates your face, casts a light on your thin white tee and on the bikini top you have on underneath. You puff out a small cloud of smoke, and Carlos reaches up to take the lighter.

“I said no,” you giggle, your lips knotting into a pout. You hold the lighter just out of his reach, red and bold against the bleak evening. 

“Give it.” He sits up higher, reaches harder; he almost gets it, but you step backward and raise your arm out of reach. Again your shirt rises with the movement. The view he gets, this time, of your hips, the lace that hugs the area there, is much more close.  The laugh you emit sends a cloud of smoke out.

“No, no,” you continue, laughing, a sweet sound.

Carlos gets up, tries again to lunge for the lighter. At this point he doesn’t even care about the cigarette in between his lips, just wants to entertain you. He tries again but you’re quick with it, ducking every lunge just in time.

“Come on,” he goads, laughing himself. You pace backward, smoking, until your ankles hit the shallow shore water, water that goes deeper and deeper until you’re knee-level, still smiling at him mischievously. 

“Fine,” you relent, shrugging. You throw your hands up in surrender, in the process taking the stick out of your mouth to blow smoke out. “Do you want it? C’mere, then.” You beckon him closer, wave the lighter tantalizingly so he steps closer, closer, until you’re holding the flame to the cigarette between his lips.

He’s so tall, he has to bend a little to let you light it, his eyes meeting yours, illuminated by the pale moon and the orange of the flame.

It all goes to plan. Once you light it, you place two hands square on his shoulders, whirl him so he’s behind you and thus even deeper in the water, and with all your might, push him into the sea. 

“Brat—” he manages to gasp out as he goes, the word leaving his lips in the first and last puff of smoke he lets out. He surfaces, every dip and ridge of his abs and chest accentuated, his linen polo near invisible with how saturated it is with water. His long hair, too, sticks to his forehead; he combs it backward, reveals his amused-irritated eyes, the dead cigarette spouting seawater and ash.

He spits it out. You stare and pinch the soggy stick in between two fingers, stuffing the trash into his chest pocket. “That’s bad for the environment.”

“I am freezing,” he says in response, but you’re just stifling a laugh.

He narrows his eyes, and with unsurprising ease given his build, picks you up and carries you over his shoulder. You barely have time to protest, almost dropping your own cigarette into the water, kicking and pounding on his back to please put me down. You can feel the water getting deep, deeper, and when he finally dunks you in, it’s only a second of dryness before you’re submerged in the chilly water.

Your cigarette dies, and you manage to collect it, because you’re not in the interest of leaving your stick floating; you wedge it into your pocket.

“You’re such”—you gasp for air—“a dick!”

You’re smiling, though, flailing your legs to stay afloat. Carlos can’t help but stare, entranced with the way your eyelashes stick together, damp, the droplets of water on your cheeks, your two hands wringing saltwater out of your hair, and when you swim upward, the way your white tee leaves nothing to his imagination.

You can tell. He can tell you can tell—because the next thing you do, with some faux exaggerated sigh of annoyance, is say, “Can’t swim, too heavy,” and you’re taking off your shirt so all he sees is the red of your bikini top underneath. The white tee bobs softly with each passing wave, and you’re smiling up at him. Checkmate, you’re saying. I’ve got you. A skittish, playful smile on your lips.

“I can help you swim,” he offers—retaliates, more like, his height offering him great advantage. He finds your bare ankle underwater, guides it to wrap around his waist. Naturally, your other leg follows until you’re flush against him, held up by him so you don’t need to wag your legs around just to stay above water.

Your hands go on his still-clothed shoulders first, then eventually around them, fingers linking at the nape of his neck. Your smile is wicked. You’re so sinfully pretty. He wades deeper, holds you all the while, two big hands on either side of your waist, thumbs rubbing over your sides so you can shiver.

“‘M so wet,” you say, voice shaky with chill and laughter. His grip tightens and he has to squeeze his eyes shut to try and pretend you didn’t just say that.

He dips you underneath the surface to surprise you, and your shriek is cut off by the water—he pulls you up quick, laughing, but underestimates his strength because as he tugs, you barrel right onto him, forehead bumping his.

Your eyes are closed, and you momentarily detach from him to wipe salt out of them. “Ass.”

“Brat,” he responds.

You open your eyes to find he’s close, so close you could just lean forward an inch—an inch—and you’d be meeting his lips. You wonder how they feel, how he kisses. He’s confident everywhere else, would he kiss you like that, too? You lean closer, a wrecked gasp escaping you.

“You’re so pretty,” you say, and it’s supposed to be teasing, but your breathy voice is genuine, honest. A thumb swipes over his eyelashes, causing him to blink, then the bridge of his nose. He leans upward, tries to catch your lips, but pauses, his eyes fluttering open and closed.

“This is wrong,” he says in a quiet breath, making no move at all you stop either of you from kissing right now.

You want��need—to kiss him, but you can play the long game if he wishes to. Your eyes flit back up to his, dark brown and reflecting the moon.

“Then let’s head back,” you suggest, even if both of you want anything but.

Long game. He guides you back to shore, picks your tee up, uses it as a sieve for any loose ash and cigarette bits in your path back to shore, even finds your red lighter that’s now dispensing water. He apologizes for not having anything to dry you with, and drops you off at your room with a puddle in both of your wakes.

“Thank you again,” he says, his voice a whisper through your ajar door. He observes your room with what little vantage point he has. The posters on the wall, the art, postcards. The laptop on the bed, open. The phone charging on the nightstand. The thong hanging out of the hamper.

“No problem,” you say back, voice saccharine. Your hand wraps around his wrist. “See you tomorrow.”

Even if you’re doused in seawater, he can still smell the traces of your perfume, the summery sweet of it, when you close the door. He stays for a second, blinks, relishes in the hint of floral.

—

You spend three days walking on eggshells around each other, testing the limits of interaction.

Your night at the beach was risky, dangerous, thrilling—but it was fun, sending you both into antsy, restless trains of thought. Carlos self-medicates with coffee, beer in the afternoon, working on your dad’s car, and the first two hundred pages of the Marquez book you insisted he pick up. He spots you sometimes, lounging on the beach with his book in your grip, the waistline of your bikini bottoms leaving a tanline he can’t stop staring at when you walk back into the house.

But he can’t act on it—he was the one who labeled it wrong, the one who suppressed himself, held the urge back. He told you it was wrong. And it is wrong. He’s older, he should be wiser; he’s close with your dad; and a cacophony of other rational reasons he shouldn’t be playing into this skittish summer crush.

“Dad said the boat’s free,” a voice says, and he looks up from his book to find you standing in front of him, wearing nothing but a bikini top and a skirt, loose and riding low on your hips. Your lips stretch into a sweet smile. “Wanna come?”

He really shouldn’t. “Sí.”

So he goes. He’s thirty-five. That’s a grown age. If anything, he’s capable of making sure he stays responsible. He dog-ears his page and picks up his beer to follow you to where the boat is docked. He’d been on your dad’s yacht earlier in his trip here, to go fishing, but it’s quieter today, bobbing softly atop the water. You lie yourself down on the sunny side of the boat, sunglasses over your eyes.

“Stay anywhere you like,” you say charmingly. It’s silent for a while, Carlos seating himself on one of the lounge seats in the shaded area, and then you’re moving around on your towel.

You peer over your lenses, blinking and sitting up, and this is when he knows he can’t do it.

“Carlos,” you call out. “Can you put sunscreen on my back?” You get up again, rifling in your bag for the bottle of sunscreen, dragging a hand through your hair to comb it out. It falls in loose waves, swishing when you turn to hand him the bottle. He pretends he’d been distracted on page 210 when he accepts it, watching as you sit in front of the seat, your back turned to him, your little figure in-between his spread legs. 

A minute passes with no hand at your back. “Go ahead, move even slower,” you joke, and the tension breaks a little; he humors you, laughs and apologizes.

“It’s because hour hair is in the way,” he says, touching it gently, combing it to the side.

“Wait—” You dig through your bag again and pull out a blunt pink ribbon, slipping it into his hand. “Can you braid it for me?”

“Braid?” He doesn’t know jack shit about braiding hair. “I don’t know how.”

“At that age of yours and you don’t know anything about how to please a girl,” you whistle lowly. “Adult virgin?” 

But you guide him through it despite your teasing, teaching him to divide your hair in threes, weaving one strand over the other until “it looks half decent.” He fucks up a few times and your hair looks odd at some point, but in the end, it’s—well, it’s a braid.

“How is it?” You ask, and he can hear your smile.

He does the job well enough for a first-timer, he thinks, finishing it with the ribbon, which he ties loosely lest you’re unhappy with the finished product. It becomes easier to move your hair out of the way, and once your back is saturated with sunscreen, you unfold your legs and get up, turning around and smiling down at his sitting figure.. Loose tendrils of hair frame your face, the braid resting at your back softly, already loosening.

“Your hair can be braided, too,” you comment quietly, knotting a rogue few strands in your fingers. It hasn’t been this tense since that night at the beach, but that ended before the tension rose further—this, now, keeps going. You step closer and he leans back, smiling. “Can I?”

He blinks, nostrils flaring, then nods, his grip on your hips gentle when you sit on his lap, your legs on either side of his. You smile coquettishly, feeling how hard he is underneath you, the denim of his jeans rough against the skin of your bare thighs. Your skirt’s riding up on them with every little shift you make, just to rile him up.

Carlos drinks in the sight of you, sunkissed and on his lap, legs sprawled out, pretty little face framed, bottom lip in your teeth. You’re inviting him closer, your gaze meeting his with sleepy, demure eyes—do something. You look so fucking precious, so pretty. It makes him want to give you everything right now.

You reach forward, make an attempt to try and weave his hair together—but he grinds upward, your breath hitching and a whimper punched out of your mouth.

Your hands are shaking now, barely able to piece his hair together with how good his clothed cock feels pressed against you, where you need it most. 

“Carlos,” you gasp, and all he can really think is—where’d all your fight go? You were so used to being a brat and a half, now you’re whimpering, on the edge of begging.

“Be quiet,” Carlos grunts, digging his fingers into your hips. His other hand lifts your skirt, bunching the fabric around your hips for a better view of your cunt rubbing against the bulge in his pants. The damp fabric of your panties is swallowed between your lips with every grind you make forward and he has to stop himself from cursing out loud at the sight. “Good girl.”

Your hands move from his hair to his shoulders, sturdy and broad; you can feel him squeeze your waist with both hands, then pull you down against him, just once, so your weight presses down on the hard shape of his cock. It makes him shudder and you whine out loud. You resist the urge to grind over it; you’re already so wet you’re making a mess on his jeans.

His praise, mumbled deep and slow in your ear, gets you feeling all warm, almost ditzy. Your hips roll on their own, chasing the delicious drag of rough denim against your clit, slick soaks into and through your panties, making the material cling to the shape your folds. Carlos’ hands are rough when they wander and grope, hiking this godforsaken skirt up so he can press a thumb against the centre of your folds.

“Been so good for you, Carlos,” you whine, circling your hips against him. He can’t stop staring at your pretty, fucked-out eyes, your bitten lips. He shoves two fingers in-between them, imagines how they looked just a few days ago slick with ice cream—now your tongue is laving over his hand. The braid you'd just taught him is quickly unraveling with every nod of your head. “‘M gonna—can I—” The pleas leave you quick, your voice choked.

Euphoric, your mind lifts, foggy and saturated with pleasure, the braid almost completely undone now. His praise is so addictive, gets you worked up and needy. Come on, he says. Make a mess. His accent, his deep voice, the way it rumbles right through you—his voice drops, his touch a little heavier as he presses harder.

You gonna cum for me? His thumb rubs faster until you’re gasping, shuddering, little ahs leaving your lips. He’s got the upper hand now, but you can hear the strain, the suppression in his voice as he rubs over the soaked fabric; you feel his cock growing under you, getting harder. 

P—please—I want to—please let me, you say breathlessly, and you’ve never needed it to the point of begging before, but Carlos is different. He keeps going, doesn’t give you permission, rubbing faster, your heart hammering in your chest.

Feel good?

Y—yeah, you whimper, trying your best not to fall apart here, on your dad’s boat, where anybody could walk on—or maybe see you from afar, humping your dad’s friend in broad daylight. He loves watching you like this; you’ve somehow become even prettier, face flushed and voice shaky.

Come on, he goads. Be a good girl. Cum for me.

It’s the only instruction that matters to you right now, your body seizing with it and cute little moans escaping you as you finish. You catch your breath against his chest, craving warmth even if it’s hot—maybe you’re craving him, his touch, Carlos, just Carlos. You maneuver yourself so legs, exhausted from shaking, are on one side of his body—he holds you close, humming.

He rubs a steady hand across your lower back, gentle and firm and you want him so much more now. “Are you okay?” He asks. “Talk to me.”

“Perfect,” you pant against his polo, fingers playing with the stitching, tugging the collar down so you can mouth at his skin. His hand plays with what’s left of the braid, winds the pink ribbon around his fingers. “Let’s go for a swim.”

—

“And we drove the jet ski around, too,” you say gleefully, your damp hair bobbing with every move of your head. Your face is sunkissed, a little sore from being in the sun for most of the afternoon. Carlos laughs along from where he is at the grill—he’s cooking for dinner, on a quest to make burgers because he’s known for making the best ones back in Madrid, apparently. Your dad, of course, insists on joining, and the two have been asking and answering questions while you and your mum sip rosé at the table.

“Did you have fun?” Your mum asks, her head turning to address Carlos.

“Yeah, tons,” he replies with a smile, his eyes meeting yours for a brief second. You know what he means. It’s been only two days since the afternoon on the boat, and since then you’ve mostly swam and ridden around on the jet ski with Carlos—nothing more.

“See, sweetie,” she adds, placing a hand over yours. “I told you this summer would be fun with him around!”

“Mmm, yeah,” you say, nodding and parting from your glass, “I can really count on him for some excitement.” The statement catches his attention and he almost trails off, eyes returning to yours, before he continues speaking in Spanish to your dad about something or other.

The burgers’ reputation precedes them, and is warranted, you learn later when you’re biting into it for the first time. The remainder of dinner passes by in lively conversation, the sun setting low underneath the Comporta horizon, wine taking the place of rosé. Carlos mentions the racing world again, about how he’ll be back into the thick of it sooner than later, and you pulse with something akin to sadness.

Your parents, apparently so grateful for the blessing that is Carlos’ burgers, offer to clean up and before long, they retreat to their downstairs bedroom. Upstairs, you marinate in your thoughts, blinking up at your ceiling, twining your pink ribbon around your fingers as your hair dries splayed over your bedding. You let your arm down, in the process bumping your elbow against a hard surface.

Upon investigation, you find it’s a copy of Norweigan Wood. 

Carlos is at his desk, taking a timezone-separated call about simulation and season prep, when two soft knocks go at his door and it creaks open. He turns the chair away from the desk to see who it is. An ankle steps in first, then more leg, and then you—in a lovely, pretty pink lace dress, your face illuminated by the moonlight outside. One hand clutches a copy of his book; the other, the ribbon he’d used on your hair earlier.

He’s nursing a bottle of beer, just to help ease the drag of the day, and he watches you approach him, your footsteps quiet against the hardwood of the floor. Wait, he mouths, finishing the call in a hushed tone, and when he hangs up you approach him again.

“I thought you should have this back,” you say, offering him the book. Your eyes rake over him, wearing the same getup he’d worn to dinner—denim jeans, because he’d ducked out to buy food, except he’s ridden himself of his shirt. 

He takes the book, places it on the table, continues staring up at you. “And I thought you should keep this.” The ribbon, pale pink, is now looped around his wrist and tied into a delicate ribbon at the apex of it. You admire your handiwork with a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

You lean down, face just shy of his. “We shouldn’t,” he manages to eke out, his voice strained.

“But you want to,” you respond softly. “No one’s going to know. Our little secret.”

His eyes are shut, contemplating, and then he’s kissing you—the only thing you’ve wanted, craved, touched yourself to the thought of over the course of the summer. You reciprocate immediately, parting your lips to let him kiss you deeper, a whimper leaving your mouth. He kisses like he knows he’s a good kisser, and he really is. His scent is intoxicating, a drug, sending arousal and desire straight through you.

You part, eyes half-lidded as you stand straight again. You cock your head slowly to the side, and with your head’s movement your hair follows, gathering on one side. It exposes much of your shoulder and collarbones, which lay underneath the thin lace dress you wear to sleep, and which is now subject to Carlos' unwavering stare. He has no shame, eyes raking over you, up and down and back up. One hand curled around a bottle of beer, the other coming up to slowly graze the back of your thigh.

Your breath hitches. “Do you like the dress?” You ask softly, teasingly. It’s nothing special, Carlos, you seem to say; it’s just a nightie.

His hand is rough against the thin skin of your leg, traveling upward. He gives you a nod in response; he does like it, the sheer material, the pink color, the loose way it hugs your body. Roughly, he voices his assent. “Come sit on my lap.”

“Wait,” you say, pouting. Your knee rubs softly against the material of his jeans, and you slowly sink onto your knees, hands placing themselves on your thighs. His grip goes from the back of your thigh to your hair, combing it softly, cradling your face. 

“Let me,” you say, letting your silence imply everything unsaid. He’s going crazy, losing his mind.

“So pretty,” he says, nodding. his voice thin. “Go ahead, baby.”

The petname gets you dizzy. You lean forward, resting your face on the hard bulge in his pants, smiling up at him. You’ve got these big, doe eyes, begging him, and he’s not so sure he even has the upper hand anymore—he would do anything you asked, any request that left those pretty bitten lips. He gathers your hair in two hands, forms a messy, unclean braid, crisscross at the back of your head just so he has something to grip while he fucks your throat.

You make quick, deft work of unbuttoning his jeans, and he watches, leaned back on the chair, legs spread wide with bent knees on either side of your body, caging you in. Carlos’ eyes are half-lidded, a hand at your braid, bringing his beer to his lips, swallowing before he sets it onto the adjacent desk.

His cock is big—thick, intimidating—and you can’t help but wonder how you’re going to fit the whole thing in your mouth without choking. It twitches in your palms the longer you stroke him, precum weeping from the head and slicking up your palms. Gruff expletives, in Spanish and English, slip past his gritted teeth and the sounds travel directly to your core, causing you to instinctively press your thighs together to soothe the ache blossoming there.

You take head of his cock into your mouth, feel it roll over your tongue, heavy and warm. Drool gathers in your mouth and your fingers dig into the muscle of his thighs in anticipation. The hand wound around your braid, pressed against your head, presses heavier slowly, slotting the first few inches of cock into your mouth while avoiding the back of your throat. You relax, letting your lips seal around the length, cheeks hollowing and tongue lulling at the underside. He curses.

You continue bobbing your head, lewd noises leaving your mouth with every move you make; it embarrasses you, but also sends slick gushing out of you.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes when the tip of his cock grazes the back of your throat; you cough, fingers heavy as they dig into the flesh of his still-denim clas thighs; drool trickles onto his balls. The hand remains there, though, pushing you and keeping you pinned in place as he slowly thrusts upward. You haven’t even gotten him all the way.

You gag and sputter, eyes fully watering the harder Carlos bullies his cock into your throat; you’re dizzy with arousal and submission, maybe one, maybe both, you’re too far gone.

“Easy,” he orders, and you will yourself to breathe nasally, relaxing, burying more of him in you. He loves seeing you like this, hair all pretty—his braid, too—and on your knees, trying your best to please him. “Being so good for me, good girl,” he says, losing resolve. You’re so pretty when you cry, eyes rimmed and bloodshot, tear streaks all over your cheekbones.

He ruts shallowly into your throat, every move punctuated by a guttural gag from your end—once, twice, a third time, before finally he releases you. You let out a cough, and a gasp, breathy, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. He doesn’t want to cum yet—not like this. You gaze up at him, big eyes anticipating, and he guides you upward, on the bed.

He kicks his jeans off and readjusts his briefs, watches you scramble to position yourself on the bed, sitting down properly. “Will you fuck me now?” You ask, your sweet voice raspy. He likes knowing he’s the reason why.

You inch yourself backward so you’re fully on his bed, a hand traveling to stop your tiny dress from riding up any further. He steps closer, one knee on the bed, caging you in again, and stops you. His gaze flickers down to your legs, forces your knees apart so he can see in between them. Your pretty cunt’s soaked through your panties. “Don’t hide from me,” he says, voice rough as he steps back off the bed and kneels beside it.

“Carlos,” you breathe, letting him have his way with you. Your mind’s all fuzzy, but it’s okay—he takes care of you. 

Strong arms snake around your thighs and pull you toward him until your cunt is level with his face. His breath, warm, fans against you, muted by the thin fabric of your panties and it does nothing to help the unadulterated, dirty arousal throbbing in your cunt. He bites at the flesh of your inner thigh, then hooks two fingers into your panties and pulls them aside.

The taste of you is so good; it goes straight to Carlos’ head. And all of your embarrassed, whiny whimpers, the way your fingers knot helplessly into his hair as he drags his tongue up your cunt — that drives him absolutely crazy. He licks at your pussy, sticks his tongue in, nudges your clit with his nose, ekes whimpers and debauched moans out of your lips.

He pushes two fingers into you, doesn’t give you time to adjust before he’s fucking them in and out, moans spilling out of you involuntarily. It’s lewd, it’s dirty, getting his friend’s daughter all spread out for him like this, but Carlos loves it. More, you sob, more, please, I need—yeah—

His skilled tongue doesn’t let up, continues toying with you, licking up all the arousal oozing out of your cunt. He eats you, fucks you with his fingers, until your eyes are welling up with overwhelm and the need to release, your hands pulling at his long hair—your pussy dripping, quivering, right at the edge of your orgasm.

Any of the reservations you had are now out the window. Your grip on Carlos’ hair is tight, pushing his head deeper into your pussy and grinding against his mouth mindlessly.

I’m cumming—!

Your voice is so dirty, so lewd, so needy, when you finally finish around him, slick dripping out and your pussy twitching, clenching and unclenching around nothing as you release. Panting, you hoist yourself on your elbows, your braid surprisingly intact, and pout down at him.

“I said fuck me.”

“So you complain,” he responds with a coy smile, his lips shiny with your slick. You want him to fuck you stupid.

He does eventually, gets you all calm and lying down on the bed, knees to your chest. Your feet cross and uncross with anticipation. He lets his cock rest first on your stomach, where it twitches, smearing precum under your belly button.

“That’s where you’ll be,” you say, stroking him. When he finally does begin thrusting into you, he wishes he could save the image of your pretty eyes fluttering closed, puffy lips open in a whimper.

Your legs tremble with the size you’re taking, his hand gentle as it is firm on your hips, forcing you to take him, take him good, take him better. Good girl, he’s saying, good fucking girl. Inch by inch, you struggle to take all of him, his girth thicker than what your cunt is willing to take. You’re positive you’ll feel him in your stomach.

“Carlos,” you whimper, voice aching.

“Fuck,” is all he can muster, watching your pussy swallow him. “So tight.”

He’s drunk on the feeling of you, wet and clenching around him, so tight. He can tell you’re high on it too, on the stretch of him, the way you keep trying to meet every thrust, legs already beginning to tremble with pleasure and deep arousal. He bottoms out, an expletive leaving him in Spanish, and then slowly begins to fuck in and out of you.

He watches your face, the way your brows knit as you take him, take his cock, eyelides fluttering. “So good,” you moan, mouth open. He drops a glob of spit onto your tongue, tells you to swallow—you do, presenting your empty tongue to him. Good girl, prettiest girl—any and all praise leaves him in dizzy, heady breaths.

“Teasing me for so long,” he pants, his dick splitting you in half. “This what you wanted? Hmm?”

But even in your cloudy mind, you find the grit to retaliate, teasingly, a cloy smile on your lips. “You said it was wrong,” you gasp out with every thrust. “Fucking your friend’s daughter.”

“But you love it,” Carlos goads. “Do you?”

You nod, cockdrunk, but it’s not enough. “Use your words, pretty. You can do it.”

“I do, I love it. I need more,” you whine, getting off on his teasing, on the implication that this is all wrong, that neither of you should be doing this. “Needed this so much, Carlos.” You crack your eyes open to watch the bulge in your abdomen, the shape of his girth splitting you open. He slams into you harder and you try to squirm away, but he keeps you pinned in place.

“And if your dad walked in?”

You gush slick all over him. “Carlos,” you plead.

“Saw his daughter taking his friend’s dick?” He says it low into your ear, bending to make sure you hear all of it. “Taking it like a good girl, too.” He pulls out, slaps your ruined hole with his dick, then shoves it in deep again, groaning when you cry out—getting off on you whining about how sensitive you are, the way you tremble under him and around him. Your pretty little face, all sweaty and ruined.

“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m, Carlos—I’m gonna cum,” you say, nodding. You’ve probably cum twice already, little bursts of pleasure causing your cunt to twitch around him, sensitive. “Can I—?” 

“That’s it,” he praises. “Come on, cum for me. Been so good for me.” You tremble around him as you finish, broken moans fucked out of you with every surge of his hips forward.

He’s close, too, having held off fucking you for the past how many days, and you can tell; his thrusts get shallower, faster, until his hips are stuttering and he’s panting your name out, long hair framing his flushed, pretty face. You reach up to comb a hand through it. “Cum inside me,” you beg, watching him go crazy, his nostrils flaring and eyes blinking quick. 

He pumps his cum into you, thrusting several times as he rides it out, fucking you full of him, of his cum. You relish in the feeling, of being his girl, his good girl. “You’re a mess,” he comments, his face buried into your neck. He pulls out, both of you sighing at the sight and feeling of his cum dribbling out of you, onto the bed.

You unfold your legs, sitting up despite how sore you feel. Your dress is damp with sweat, and slick, and cum. “I feel a mess.” You pout.

“You look pretty.”

“Can I sleep here tonight?” You ask, voice meek. He nods, holds you tight as you both drift off, like he knows that you won’t be his to call his by the time the summer wanes and Comporta is left empty again.

—

“It’s the post-race interview,” Ali calls. “Hurry!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” You hop into the living room, tossing her the bag of popcorn she’d requested you to cook. Fall has officially dawned upon the city, adorning it with orange and red leaves, jazz music and cold nights—and weekends watching races.

Around you, all your university friends watch with intense gazes at the winner of the latest Formula One grand prix—something none of you had been remotely interested in just months prior.

You watch, eyes glittering, at the winner. Tan skin, long hair, jogging over to the journalist. Sainz, what a stellar drive! She sounds awestruck, genuinely taken aback by his dominance on the track today. She asks for a message in Spanish, as always; a few words of inspiration, and then, just as a fun little tidbit—did you have a good luck charm today?

He smiles to himself, like he’s just heard an inside joke and seems to think for a minute. “No, not really.” Then he combs a hand through his hair. There, looped around his wrist, is a pretty, pale pink ribbon.

[comicwritesstuff]

okay this is so incredibly specific so please feel free to ignore BUT i’ve been wanting to read a fic for ages where the reader is Chase’s childhood best friend from Australia and she moves to New Jersey for a fresh start. She’s staying with Chase while she gets settled, and one day she comes to visit him at lunch at the hospital, where she ends up meeting House and he’s… intrigued by her 👀 either romantic or smut would be so very cool :^D <33 💐

YES. I LOVE THIS PROMPT IM SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG BUT IM FINISHED!!!

Gregory House x Fem!Chases bsf!Reader

Warnings: None really, just cussing and tooth rotting fluff >:) 3k+ words.

Chase's POV: 

“Well I was just wondering if we could go out sometime, I think you're really-” My attention shifted as y/n's call lit up my phone, interrupting the conversation. It was a more pressing matter than pursuing a one-night stand.

“Excuse me for a moment.” I say walking away, the woman having an annoyed look on her face. 

I answer the phone.

“Hello, y/n? Whats up” 

“Chase! Long time no talk haha.”

“You called me yesterday.”

“Learn to take a joke, anyways, I have some exciting news for you.”

“I’m moving to New Jersey!!” 

“Wait what? Really?”

“Yeah, I kinda forgot to tell you and i'm actually at the airport right now, so I hope you aren't busy tomorrow so you can pick me up.”

“Wow, um alright, yeah I can pick you up, do you have a place to stay?"

“Um…no…” I sigh, “Just stay at mine for now.”

“Don't even with the sigh i’ve known you my whole life you can put the nightly hookups on hold for your best friend.” 

I smirk and shake my head, “Yeah yeah, I’ll see ya tomorrow y/n” 

Y/N’s POV:

I smile as I hang up with Chase, grabbing my luggage and pulling it along the airport. Ahh yes, crying babies, rushed parents, annoying couples and that one insanely attractive person you see for a split second, I love the airport. 

Glancing at my ticket I realize I might have to hurry to make it to the gate, speed walking I see a text from chase, “Have a safe flight.” Let's hope so. 

Time skip (to lazy to write all the details about fucking airports)

Relaxing on a 21-hour flight proved challenging, especially with a toddler nearby. It was unclear whether the toddler would be a source of annoyance or just be tolerable. The flight just started. So to entertain myself I decide to do some digging about Chase's job, he brags about it all the time and the infamous Dr Gregory House. To be honest I thought Chase was gay for a little while with how much he talks about him. Still speculating. 

The plane lifts off and I start my look, at first just looking up Gregory House, a surprising amount of things show up. An article titled, “Gregory House, Talented Doctor? Or a lying Narcissist?” Oh well that's a good first impression.   

Scrolling down I see another article, “The world's greatest doctor, and his deepest secrets” 

Now that's enticing. I click on it only to find out his deepest secrets, including using 3 in one shampoo and how his leg got hurt. I guess people hardly know anything about him. I click on the photos of him, there's only a couple, most of them blurry but to be honest he's pretty good looking from the photos I can see. I’d honestly be gay for him if I was Chase. 

The toddler next to me starts giggling, I glance at her and notice her staring at a picture of House. She's kicking her feet too. That's so relatable. 

For the rest of the flight I find some stuff about this guy named Taub, who somehow also figured out that he cheated on his wife which is why he had to quit. How did I find that out? I took a coding class in 8th grade. (I got lucky) 

Lisa Cuddy the Dean of Medicine, unfortunately only good stuff about her, boring. 

Remy Hadley, oddly, can't find anything on her. 

Eric Foreman, his brothers in jail, fun. 

And the others are just as boring. For the remainder of the flight, the toddler proved surprisingly chill. I passed the time by binge-watching random movies I had downloaded earlier

*Another time skip to plane landing* 

Finally, 21 hours on a fucking plane is horrible. 

I check my phone after I take it off airplane mode, seeing a text from chase a couple minutes ago. 

“I’m at the airport, is your flight done?”

“Yep, wya.”

“I’m parked in the front.”

“That's specific” 

“There's no other front dumbass”

I roll my eyes at his text, and get off the plane as soon as I can. I walk out and see Chase standing outside his car waiting for me. His eyes light up as he spots me, and a grin spreads across his face. Unable to resist, I rush forward and envelop him in a bear hug.

“Man you’re a lot uglier in person” 

I say jokingly, smirking.

“Oh shut up”  

We climbed into his car, and he drove us back to his apartment. When we arrive he helps get my crap into the house, before he gets a call saying he had to head to work. 

Eventually a week or two passes, I've gotten more comfortable in his apartment, applied for a bunch of jobs, and looked for places to stay so I’m not invading his “man” space anymore. Unfortunately there aren't a lot of options, and no jobs have replied to my applications, which is weird since im overqualified, it's almost like they aren’t even getting my applications in the first place. 

I’m doing the dishes when I get a text from Chase.

“Hey, I left my wallet on the counter, so I don’t have money for food, could ya bring it for me?” 

“Nah”

“See you soon”

I breathe out a laugh and grab his wallet, putting a coat on then driving to the hospital. 

When I get there I walk in, looking around before I call Chase, “Where do I go this place is huge” I can hear talking in the background, actually more like arguing. “Uhm just wait at the entrance i’ll be right there.” He says in a whisper.

He hangs up so I just stand there awkwardly waiting, that was a weird ass phone call. To be fair Chase is a weird ass guy with weird ass coworkers so what do I expect at this point. 

Before I see Chase I see Dr Gregory House, limping quickly towards me. And damn he’s even hotter in person than the pictures I saw of him. 

“Hey, no time to explain, you need to come with me.” He grabs my arm dragging me into the elevator. Before it closes I see Chase come out of the stairway, he sprints towards the elevator but it closes. I hear him trying to say something, but it's muffled and I can’t understand it. Wait why the fuck did I even follow House? 

“You're real compliant, you’d make a great hooker.” 

I turn around and side eye him.

“Thanks, so would you.” I say giving a fake smile. 

“Speaking of compliant, why did you drag me away from Chase? What's going on?’’

“I made a bet with Chase.”

“That's really specific and helpful thanks” 

“Oh yeah no problem” 

Sarcastic asshole. 

“If you don’t tell me, I'll stop following you and go with Chase.” 

He rolls his eyes.

“Fine, Mom! The bet is that I can convince you to work as my assistant here.”

“Really? That's it? I need a job. Why would Chase even bet against that?” 

“He thinks you’ll fall in love with me so he doesn’t want that to happen, in his words, “She has a thing for homeless looking, narcissistic assholes with beards.” So he’s trying to prevent it, and he’s sure he can.”  

Damn- I feel so called out. I stay silent before nodding.

“Well to be honest he isn’t wrong.” 

I see House smirk before we get out of the elevator, he hobbles and leads me to his office, locking the door then having me sit down. 

As I sit down in front of his desk, he grabs a ball and starts throwing it against the wall, while sitting down. 

“So are you gonna interview me or something?” 

“Yeah, I’m just waiting for Chase to get back up here so he can watch me interview you.” 

He really is an asshole…it's kinda hot though. 

“Fair enough.” 

We wait a bit before Chase comes jogging up to the door, out of breath, he’s clearly been running plenty. He starts banging on the glass door that House previously locked.

“House!! Y/N! Let me in! This isn’t fair!” He exclaims, House is grinning when he leans over his desk, crossing his arms.

“Okay! Let’s start this interview now.” 

“Y/n! You traitor!” 

Did I abandon my childhood best friend for some disabled doctor? No, I did it for the job. At least that's what I'm telling myself.   

Turning my attention back to House instead of the Australian cry baby outside the door, he asks me, “First question, do you want the job of being my assistant?” 

“Obviously”

“Great! You have the job!” 

I mean, easy enough. I smile and shake my head. This hospital really has some unique people. 

House shakes my hand, grinning as Chase is sitting on the floor defeated outside. 

As the days turned into weeks at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, I got to know everyone. Cuddy had to actually approve of me working as House’s assistant first, but once she saw a…normal enough individual, she welcomed me into the environment.

Getting to know House better, I found myself drawn to him in ways I hadn’t really expected. The bet between House and Chase, Chase thinking I would fall for House, I took it as a joke, until that joke turned more into reality. 

Despite House being a narcissistic piece of shit, there were small moments that I saw, or shared with him that made me fall for him. Ones where he seemed happy, or just easy to be around. At work he's serious but when Wilson dragged him out to bars, or other social environments, he could actually be fun. And though him being a dick is undeniably attractive sometimes, when he was…”himself” that's how I began to fall for him.  

One day, after an especially tough day for the team, and being forced to go break into houses and get coffee and food, I found myself alone with House in his office. The rest of the team had left, leaving us in a rare moment alone with each other. As I glanced up from the medical chart of the most recent patient, I caught House’s gaze lingering on me, his blue eyes intense and unreadable. 

“Something on your mind, House?” I asked, attempting to break the awkward silence between us. 

He smirked, leaning back in his chair with a casual ease, “Oh just wondering why a catch like yourself doesn’t have a boyfriend, or husband?” He responds, his tone laced with flirtatiousness.

I couldn’t help but chuckle at his response, a faint blush on my cheeks. House and I had gained an uncanny camaraderie, made from me running around doing everyone's paperwork, being the designated “you get to tell patients they are dying!!” person. And as you’d expect people didn’t respect me a lot, but if someone was blatantly mean to me, House would step in and destroy their self esteem in a second and walk away like it meant nothing. That's another thing that I think made me fall for him. 

“Believe me, I’ve been asking myself that a lot too.” I smile, placing the medical chart on his desk. 

“Do you want a boyfriend? Or girlfriend, or a pet or something.” He quips, his eyes looking like they are reading me, studying my every movement and reaction to what he’s saying, it's flattering and uncomfortable at the same time. 

“A boyfriend would be nice.” I say reassuringly, a laugh escaping me as I shake my head in amusement.

“Alright let's say *hypothetically* I asked you out. *hypothetically* what would your response be?” 

Raising an eyebrow I ask, “Are you trying to go on a date with me?”

“I said hypothetically, now answer the question.” 

A smirk plays on my lips as I roll my eyes in a mock annoyance. 

“Well.” I say, “Hypothetically, I would say yes.” 

“Great, meet me for dinner at (some random fancy place idk u make up a name i'm too lazy to), wear something cute.” 

 With that, he sauntered out of the office, leaving me to think about what just happened. Glancing at the clock, I realized I had just enough time to get ready for our “hypothetical date.” 

The anticipation bubbled within me, standing outside (IDK A RESTAURANT NAME IT), waiting for House to arrive. My heart raced with nervous excitement, unsure what to expect from a…unique…guy like House. I had used all the time I had to work on my outfit, settling for a simple dress (or suit, or just anything you're comfy in :) ). 

As I scanned the busy street, searching for any sign of House, I heard the obnoxiously loud sound of a motorcycle approaching. House rode in, parking his bike before getting off and walking (limping) towards me. My breath caught in my throat as I saw him, he looked impossibly handsome, in a tailored suit that made his rugged charm come out, good god he looked fine. 

“Y/n,” he greeted with a warm smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners in genuine affection. “That outfit makes your ass look nice.” 

I scoff playfully, hitting his arm. “So much for acting like a gentleman, at least you look like one.” 

He chuckled, offering me his arm in a more gentlemanly gesture. “Yeah yeah, shall we?” 

With a nod, I looped my arm through his, savoring the warmth of his touch as we mad our way into the restaurant. The ambiance was elegant and inviting, with a soft candlelight casting a warm glow over the decor. 

As we were seated at a table in a quiet corner of the restaurant, I couldn’t help but feel a flutter of excitement in my chest. I’m finally going out with House, damn Chase was totally right. 

Throughout the evening, our conversation flowed surprisingly easily between us. I had half expected him to be rude or stuck up, but he seemed actually interested in me, in my life. He was asking questions, laughing and joking with me. Sharing stories of his own, and treating me like an actual human. Honestly it was scaring me a bit, but it was making me fall harder for him. 

House raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. ‘So, tell my Y/N. What’s the most embarrassing thing that's happened to you?” 

I laughed, shaking my head as I thought about the memory. “Well, there was this one time in college-” 

“Let me guess,” House interrupted, a smirk playing on his lips. “It involved copious amounts of alcohol and very questionable decisions?” 

I chuckle and nod in agreement. “You could say that. Long story short, I ended up streaking through the campus fountain at three in the morning. I'm pretty sure Chase might still have a video of it still.”

House raises an eyebrow, an amused laugh coming from him. “I wish I could say I was surprised, oh and also. I am finding that video.” He states, with a determined and mischievous grin. 

The dinner continues and our connection just seems to get stronger, fueled by shared laughter, stories of shit Wilson and him did in college, things Chase and I did in highschool. With each passing moment, I found myself more and more under House’s spell, captivated by the complexity of himself, his character. His gaze, laughter, even his personality. Maybe it was the wine or something, but House was being nice, he had charisma, and was being attractive in general.  

I don’t even realize that we’ve spent almost three hours in the restaurant just talking. I check my phone seeing that it's 9:30 already. We had got and paid the check awhile ago, but had stayed to talk longer. The restaurant closes at 10, and I felt a sudden pang of disappointment that our date was close to being over with. I didn’t want it to end, I was savoring this moment I was having, this seemingly perfect night. 

When the waiter arrived to take our dessert order, I couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment that the evening was drawing to a close. I wasn't ready for it to end—I wanted to savor every moment, to prolong the magic of our time together for as long as possible.

House notices my look of disappointment, “I’m aware how amazing I am, but if its up to me, this won’t be our last date.” 

A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth, my cheeks heating up as I blush. The butterflies in my stomach going absolutely insane. 

So with a quick glance around the restaurant, I rose from my seat, House grabbed my hand as he led me towards the exit. 

Stepping out into the cool night air, I felt a sense of happiness coursing through me. This was it, the beginning of a new relationship, a surprisingly healthy one so far. 

As House’s hand tightened around mine, his touch sent sparks of electricity coursing through my veins. I knew now that maybe Chase knows me better than I know myself, in all fairness he predicted this, but right now I wasn’t afraid to admit this, to admit the undeniable attraction that I had towards Dr Gregory House. 

His touch leaves mine, his hand pulling as we stand in front of the restaurant, close to each other, staring in each other's eyes. I glance at his lips before leaning in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, not sure if he expected it, but I pull back.

“Goodnight House. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And with that I walk away, to my car. When I get in my car, I look in the mirror, seeing House standing there with a lovestruck grin, one a child would have over some school crush. But it was cute, he was cute. And this was just the beginning of an annoyingly predicated relationship with a Vicodin addicted, asshole, who I suspect has a soft spot for me.

[wesstars]

sorry, baby x (i)

wednesday addams x fem!reader (no pronouns)

summary: you’re friends-with-benefits with wednesday (maybe a bit more on your part,) and you can’t help but push her buttons a little. wc: 5.2k tags: explicit, MINORS DNI. nevermore ‘university,’ all characters are 18+. kinda ooc wednesday, top!reader and bottom!wednesday, light D/s dynamics, praise, boots, strap-on referred to as both ‘cock’ and ‘strap,’ crying, biting, denial, light choking, begging, reader shushing during sex, all that good stuff. a/n: i’m very rusty. please forgive me haha. title from killing eve. this iiissss inspired by/for someone, you know who you are ;) say hi if you find me!

read part two here!!

masterlist

The last class of the day was always the worst.

Even as the afternoon sun streamed in through the windows, casting the quiet classroom in a white gold glow, you could barely focus enough to remember what subject you were in. The instructor droned on about something or other—you were never the best at paying attention, relying on your subconscious and review session to get good grades. How could you listen when the lesson was just so boring, and you could steal the review from a certain Addams later on, anyway? You blinked slowly, trying to yawn discreetly. Calm was the atmosphere, as everyone was nearly falling asleep as the hour stretched on. 

A note fluttered through the air to land gracefully in your lap. 

Meet me after class.

Wednesday’s neat script, immediately recognized, made you grin, and you looked up. You spotted her, sitting next to Enid. Almost as if she could sense you looking, she spared a precious second from her notetaking to cut you a glare that could fell an army. You only laughed, covering your mouth to hopelessly hide your snicker.

The note had given you a bout of deja vu—it all started with a note, really. By virtue of you being Enid’s friend, you started in Wednesday’s peripheral circle, but you were always unafraid to confront her and eagerly prodded her to bicker with you. Enid would roll her eyes once the two of you would start again, but the way Wednesday’s neutral expression seemed to relax just a bit, made you think she didn’t mind as much. 

The first time you gave her a friendly shove during a mock argument nearly had you apologizing, as she’d frozen as soon as your hand touched her shoulder. You didn’t want to actually cross her boundaries, but when she shoved you back, nearly pushing you into a bush, the ice was broken. Your friends now often had to give the two of you the wide berth as the arguments would escalate into shoving and chasing, and one time, almost a full out siege where you were to defend Jericho and Wednesday was to defend Nevermore. 

All of the back and forth you two had was nearly as intense as you and Wednesday each were—she liked that about you. At least, that’s what you told yourself. She liked it enough to drop a note in your lap during class, some three months ago, asking you to meet her in an empty class “for warfare.” You had come with a knife hidden in your sleeve, but it ended up clattering to the floor as Wednesday pulled you in by your tie and bluntly asked you if she could kiss you. Before she could change her mind, you had kissed her hard enough for her own hidden knife to fall to the floor next to yours.

Wednesday Addams didn’t have friends. You, certainly, were not her friend, not in the way you touched her and not in the way she let you. Enid called you friends all the time, but she didn’t know about how Wednesday would pull you into a broom closet and push you down to your knees. You were sure that Wednesday would rather die than have a proper conversation about the… hooking up? late night meet ups? booty calls?? that the two of you were having. But you thought of her as your friend, and decidedly not anything more. You gave a lazy smile as you spotted Wednesday looking at you again. You knew why she had slipped you the note—the last time you’d been at her dorm room, rushing to give her an orgasm before Enid returned, you had stolen her favorite pair of Louboutin boots. You figured that the gods had given the two of you the same shoe size for a reason. No harm, no foul, right? Kicking your feet, you scuffed her shoes against the ground, knowing she could see them, knowing she could recognize them.

The sudden shuffling of books and scraping of chairs broke you out of your reverie. Class was dismissed, and you put away your supplies neatly, watching Wednesday leave first. She didn’t even look at you when she brushed past, but you knew she’d be waiting in the hallway outside. Sure enough, as you hitched your bag higher up on your shoulder, slipping your tie off, you spotted a head of raven dark hair amongst your classmates.

Wednesday looked at you evenly, ignoring all of the students filing out of the room. “You have what is mine.”

“Well, hello to you too,” you smiled brightly. Hearing her monotone voice always made your heart beat in technicolor, something chronic that you probably had to go to the infirmary for. 

She only stared, eyebrows raising a centimeter. Turning to start towards the dorms, she waited for you to catch up to her before saying, “do not play dumber than you already are.”

You shrugged, wide eyed and used to her empty insults. “What do you mean? I’m innocent.”

“No one would ever accuse you of being innocent,” she shot back. “You are a thief, at best.”

“A thief?” You asked, in mock surprise. “What do you mean?”

She pointed down between the two of you, at the red-soled boots on your feet. “Give them back.”

You cackled, unable to keep up your façade any longer. “No.” You made a heart with your hands, winking at Wednesday through it. 

Her hand collided, hard, with your wrist. Her grip was nearly painful, but you just smirked down at her. “I will only ask you once.” Her voice, still flat as usual, had a dangerous edge to it. 

“Make me.” You rolled your eyes. You couldn’t help yourself. You were selfish, always forcing Wednesday’s attention to you. Even though you knew you probably annoyed her to no end, you didn’t know how to stop. Of course, if she ever told you to stop—seriously, not by way of her customary glare—you would. 

You only just had time to finish your thought before Wednesday nearly tore your arm out of its socket, dragging you across the grounds towards your dorm room. How such a small girl was so fast, you had no idea. Before you knew it, you were in front of your room, with Wednesday reaching into your pants pocket to take out your keys and push you inside. 

As soon as the door shut, you could visibly see Wednesday relax, which was saying something. You drew her smaller frame closer, wrapping your arms around her waist. She turned her head to tuck it into your neck, letting out the smallest sigh. Feeling her hand come up to grab the hem of your shirt, you leaned back a little.

“Wednesday.” At your beckon, she unfolded herself from your neck to look up, eyes as dark as wood immediately on your lips.

“This is not forgiveness,” she told you.

You reached for her bag, dropping it and yours to the ground. “Mmm,” you hummed as you tilted your head down to kiss her, slowly, enjoying the burn in your stomach as she kissed you back. “Maybe you’ll forgive me later, after I’m done with you.” She pulled away, giving you an unimpressed look. 

“Arrogance does not become you.”

You just laughed, taking off your jacket, leaving you in your shirt, slacks, and last but not least, Wednesday’s very important boots. Leaning into her space, you nosed along her neck, nipping playfully with sharp teeth. You felt her arms drop back to her sides. “We’ll see about that, Weds.”

This time, she pushed into you first, all soft lips and razor teeth on yours. You sunk down, somewhere in the lowest deep as you kissed her, but your bliss was short lived, broken by your hiss of pain as she bit down on your tongue. Her hands were cold on the back of your neck, trapping you close, and you had no complaints. “Boots. Now.”

“If you want them back so bad,” you muttered, ducking your head to leave a dark bruise on her collarbone, “take them yourself.”

Wednesday put both hands on your shoulders, a glint in her eye the only warning you get. She pushed you, hard, so the backs of your knees hit the bed and you landed on your ass.

“Oooh, what’re you gonna do, Weds,” you goaded, even as she grabbed you by your shirt collar.

“I’ll take your ankles off with those shoes,” she snapped lowly, but she let you kiss down her neck again, that pale column of skin too hard for you to resist. You took your time, leaving murky violet constellations, and with each mark that you sucked into her jawline, you heard her breathing grow shakier.

“Alright,” you said amusedly. “Take them off, then.” You bit down on that spot on her neck while pushing her shoulders down, and she gave surprisingly easily, landing with a thud on her knees.

“Do not go too far,” she hissed, trying to push you off, but you kept her there, her narrow shoulders bracketed by your legs. Her gesture was empty; you were confident that she would simply throw you off if she wanted. The many times you’d ended up tossed across the room showed as testament. 

“Sure,” you agreed easily. Leaning in, you whispered, “can I take this off?” You thumbed the lapel of her jacket.

She nodded her assent, even though you could tell she was plotting a way to get you back. You went slow, leaning over her as you slid her jacket off, kissing the crown of her head. 

“Very good,” you whispered into her hair, loosening her tie. Wednesday attempted to suppress her shiver at your words, but you felt it anyway. It gave you the courage to go to her shirt, sliding the buttons open hesitantly. She straightened her back, showing you her simple but elegant black bra, which was probably from some niche French designer and worth more than the boots you stole.

But the look on her face as you slid your hands slowly into that expensive bra was priceless: her eyes shut, eyebrows furrowing the slightest bit as her lips parted. You squeezed gently, letting out a small moan of your own. She was so soft, and—

“You’re so perfect, Wednesday,” you growled unevenly in her ear, your composure slipping just a fraction. You sealed your lips with hers and thumbed her nipples, licking up against her teeth as soon as she let you. Breaking apart from her for one unbearable second, you stuck your fingers in her mouth, coating them in saliva. The affronted look on her face disappeared quickly as you pinched her nipples again with sticky fingers, the whine she let out going straight through you like whiskey.

She shuffled closer, seemingly content on her knees despite her earlier protest. Her grip was tight on your thighs, bordering on blissfully painful. Wednesday was nearly pulling you off the bed with how hard she was yanking you in to kiss her, teeth clacking with yours. She sat back on her heels and grabbed your ankle. 

“What’re you doing?” You rolled her nipple between your fingers. “Finally getting your—”

You cut yourself off with a sharp inhale as she spread her legs, stocking covered knees sliding. She lifted your leg and planted your foot between her thighs, the heavy boot slamming into the ground. You raised an eyebrow, head swimming with the direction she was going. 

Wednesday was a pretty picture in front of you, shirt open, chest flushed, skirt bunched up around her hips. Uncharacteristically demure, she leaned her cheek against your knee, palm sliding up your clothed calf.

“What?” She asked, her turn for faux innocence. “You said to do it yourself, did you not?” Wednesday shimmied forward, her chest up on your shin. 

You felt her start to press up on the laces, something hot and slow, and your mouth went dry. Her knees spread more as she adjusted, her hand grabbing yours to place it on her cheek. She grabbed your belt loops, the pressure on your boot heavy. Just the mere idea of Wednesday’s pussy grinding against your—her—boots was something you could never imagine, but her shiver as she got settled made you nearly combust.

“You’re so needy, my girl…” the words slurred their way out of your mouth, likely more loving and adoring than you’d intended them to be.

“Looks like you’re the one fucking yourself,” she huffed out, a rare twisted grin gracing her face. Wednesday’s head tipped back again, a pleased little exhale falling from her lips as she pressed harder.

You cupped her jaw, pushing her shirt from her shoulder to bite, something possessive, with no inhibition, in you rising to the surface. “You do that to me, darling.”

You shift your boot closer to her, meeting her grinding circles, making her gasp and cry out your name. You were content to watch her like this, chasing her own high on you like some sinful temptation. With just the sound she was making, and her lip, bitten red, you knew she was getting her slick everywhere. Her breaths came harder with each time she pressed herself into the laces, her gentle rocking becoming more and more erratic. You almost wanted to see if she could cum like this, but as her eyes got hazier and her movements more erratic, you couldn’t help yourself. 

“That's enough, Wednesday.” She barely has your clipped tone as a warning before you pull her off your boot, rough as you hoisted her up, but keeping your grip gentle.

“Come here.” Surprisingly, she did as you asked, throwing her clothes off with the air of a girl who knew what she wanted. You watched her, every inch she uncovered sending prickles of heat up your collar. Her panties, thin and damp, landed in your hand, and you knew she saw your jaw clenching when the corner of her mouth quirked up in the smallest of smiles.

You tucked the thin fabric into your pocket and reached for her, her cool skin soothing the burn in your chest. You turned her around to tuck her into you, sitting on your lap. Manhandling her easily, you could feel her muscles, taut from fencing, under your palms. You hooked her knees over yours, and spread your legs. Unable to resist a smirk at her sharp inhale, you kissed up her neck, scraping your teeth against the shell of her ear. 

“You look like magic,” you murmured. “So good for me, Wednesday, letting me spread you open like this,” you continued, tilting her head to lean it back on your shoulder. 

“Consider yourself lucky,” she rasped out as you mapped your hands along her ribs, sliding them down her tense stomach to grip her thighs, thumbs rubbing circles. 

With each circle, you pulled your hands higher, close enough to her pussy that your fingers were sticky from her inner thighs. “Oh, I am.”

You cupped her pussy, already feeling her wetness coating your fingers. Forcing her legs wider, you rubbed up and down, purposefully avoiding her warmest spots as your other hand skimmed up to her chest. But you never were able to keep yourself from Wednesday for very long, testing your own patience as much as hers.

“Fuck,” you whispered, and as you pushed a finger in, her hand shot up to grab the back of your neck with a quiet oh. You crooked your finger, her slick making it easy on you. Letting your palm graze her clit with every motion, you smiled as her hips lifted, searching for more friction.

You take your time, knowing that Wednesday’s pussy was the softest thing you’d ever touched, and it was likely to remain that way. Pushing another finger in, you made sure to grind your palm against her clit every time you curled your fingers. Her soft noises were enough to have you on your knees, and you would’ve, if she didn't sigh out your name, getting your attention. She squeezed your fingers, jaw tight enough to creak.

“What is it, Weds?”

“I…” Wednesday cut herself off with a whine as your fingers twisted, the high sound shooting straight through your stomach. You beckoned with your fingers, hard, and she keened in your ear.

“I need you to fill me up.”

Her words snapped something already delicate inside of you. You took your fingers out, smearing her slick all on her hips as you flip her over. If you had it your way, you would be able to see her face, but you knew this was her favorite position. You saw her swallow in anticipation as you stepped briefly away from the bed, kicking off those catalytic boots and rummaging under your bed for you and Wednesday’s box.

Everything in the box you kept meticulously clean, knowing Wednesday’s routine of cleanliness. It would only be Wednesday Addams, a contradiction in her black heart, that loved to be as messy in your bed as she was clean in hers. You picked a black strap, one that you two used frequently. Pulling it on and adjusting it, you get on your knees behind her. For a moment, you watched her, captivated by the sight in front of you, grasping her hips. She arched her back, getting comfortable, as if you weren’t already trying not to fold and just take her like a ship to water.

You pushed yourself up against Wednesday, hips flush to her ass, letting the silicone glide against her clit. To her credit, Wednesday’s breath only came out the slightest bit shaky, even as you guided her thighs apart with a knee. You hummed as she pushed herself up onto her forearms to rock back, head turned to look at you. Wednesday had to grind down past your strap for her pussy to touch your thigh, and you laughed lowly as she flushed with the action. She froze.

“What’s wrong?” You rubbed a hand over her lower back, ready to pull away if she gave even the slightest signal.

“Do you…” she swallows, eyes flicking from you to some distant spot in the corner of the room. “Do you not want me to do that?”

For a second, you couldn’t believe your ears. There was a rush of indignation on Wednesday’s behalf, that she could ever think you wouldn’t love her desperation. Then, the wave of understanding broke over you—Wednesday wanted your approval, over an action that was decidedly un-Wednesday-like, and the final flick of her nervous gaze towards you told you that this was important. 

You grabbed her hips, hard enough to leave shadows that you hoped you’d see tomorrow. Anything physical, Wednesday would undoubtedly best you, but this was something you could hold your own on. You pushed her pussy down onto the strap, onto the rough fabric of your slacks. 

“Why would I ever not want you to show me how much you want it, mmm?” Your question was a growl wrought with satisfaction and a winner’s unapologetic glee, and the effort you put into your tone was worth the way the tension vanished from Wednesday’s eyes. She rolled her hips again, her Addams confidence returning, letting you guide her into a smooth rhythm. 

“Besides,” you leaned forward, one hand letting go to come down a hair's breadth from Wednesday's nose. You folded yourself over her body, your tight grip still controlling her hips. “I know you can’t cum like this.”

The whine came unbidden from Wednesday’s throat, high and breathy and perfect. Nevertheless, her hips and keening gasps followed your even rhythm, and you saw her grip on the pillow go white-knuckled.

“I’m pleased with you, my dear. I do love to watch you suffer.” At your words, sunk roughly into her ears like cannonballs on kindling, Wednesday moaned, loud, into the space between the two of you. You ignored the burning torch that her sounds dropped into your lower stomach, choosing to murmur: “you can take it, right?”

“I can take it,” Wednesday whispered back, almost mindlessly. “I can take you,” she continued. “I want it.”

You settle back on your heels, satisfied. The sudden quickening of your heartbeat was only to do with your physical exertion, and nothing with how you felt for the girl under you. I can take you, not I can take it, I want it, not I want you.

You pull your thigh from under her roughly, making her yelp. Reaching around her narrow hips, you trailed your fingers down from her belly button to her clit, rubbing small circles. “Ready?”

Wednesday nodded, another whimper escaping at your touch.

“I need you to tell me yes, Weds.”

“Yes,” she breathed.

You push in, slowly, giving her body plenty of time to adjust. She was still prepped from your fingers earlier, but you didn’t miss the chance to gather her wetness and smear it against her clit. Wednesday was taking deep breaths beneath you, just like how you taught her the first time you two had used a strap. The rush of endearment you felt for her at that memory was distracting, you decided, and you pushed it away.

You slowed yourself down as your hips were once again up against her ass, hands moving to squeeze her shoulders. You saw her eyes shut tightly, the corners growing shiny. Wednesday always needed a moment once you put the strap in, something you were happy to give her.

She was still inhaling deeply, thighs trembling. “It…”

“It what?”

Wednesday opened her eyes; they were brimming with tears, dark lashes sticky. “It hurts…”

Your body tensed, already about to pull away, but with a surprisingly strong twist, she forced herself back onto you. A whimper rose high from her throat, and you had to take a breath to keep yourself from flipping her around to kiss her right then.

“Hurts good,” she whispered. You close your eyes, near involuntarily. Fuck, this perfect, perfect, girl would ruin you, just as much as you wanted to ruin her. You lean forward, pressing your chest into her back, forearm across her shoulder blades to ground her. 

“How does it hurt, love?”

“It’s—I’m full,” Wednesday gasped out, glossy eyes sliding shut as you shifted on your knees, cock shifting inside. 

“It fills you up, huh?” You breathed into Wednesday’s ear. 

She nodded.

“I asked you a question.”

“Yes,” she said, almost immediately. Experimentally, she swiveled her own hips around, and it made her hiss and bite her lip. “You fill me up.”

You exhaled through your nose, resisting the urge to just grab Wednesday and slam your cock impossibly deeper. “And?”

“And it’s good,” Wednesday whined out. “Hurts good.”

The knot in your chest loosened, the tension in your body broken like a wave. Surely, it wasn’t healthy to hang onto Wednesday’s every word the way that you did. You pulled out almost all the way, and snapped your hips forward, hard, burying yourself into her.

“Good girl.”

Wednesday let out a breath that bordered on a moan, and you smirked to yourself. Maybe she was right, and the arrogance was getting to your head, but you couldn’t help it. You set on a steady pace, gently brushing one of her braids aside to grasp the back of her neck. You felt yourself slipping into it, drunk on the way she let you touch her, your world tunneling down to just Wednesday—everything was Wednesday. 

Every time you pushed in, it was punctuated by her gasps, and you could feel her breathing start to grow uneven. It stirred up something innately protective in you, for Wednesday. Her shoulders were shaking, tension pulling her taut. 

“Wednesday, baby,” a pet name she would only tolerate in her hazy, lust filled state, “I need you to breathe for me, alright?” You slowed down, following your intuition on what she needed.

Still flush to her back, you listened to her stuttering inhales, deeper but not enough for her to catch her breath. “Shhh,” you cooed low into her ear, covering her eyes, and taking her hand, still tight on the pillow. “Breathe, my love.” Inexplicably, Wednesday let go of the pillowcase and intertwined your fingers, squeezing your hand and your heart tightly. She listened to you, for once, slowing down and softening her breaths. You could feel her tears on your palm, and you shushed her again, pressing kisses on her temple where her hair stuck to her forehead.

“Alright?” You slid your hand away, watching her eyes carefully.

She nodded. Skimming your fingers along her cheekbone, you let the warmth in your heart for the smaller girl seep into your words.

“Just say the word, Wednesday, and we’re done.”

“No,” she murmured back. “If you stop now, I’ll throw you out the balcony.” Though she was out of breath, a sticky, flushed mess under you, you had no doubt she’d follow through on her threat. You smiled.

You pick up your rhythm again, this time covering her smaller body with yours again to suck hickies into the back of her neck. Your other hand brushed down between her thighs to rub her clit in circles—she was so wet that it was hard to keep up with your thrusts, but it was worth the choked cry that escaped from her throat as you hit that spot, her fingers tightening around yours. 

Wednesday arched her back into you, burgundy lips bitten blood red right before your eyes. “Keep going,” she told you. You had no intention of stopping, watching a flush bloom on her neck as you kept up your ruthless pace. 

But despite that, you wanted to take your time with her. Every time she would tense up, you would slow down, making it impossible for her to reach that peak you knew she wanted. You forced yourself to slow down on both her pussy and her clit, just as she was starting to shake, and in spite of herself, she cried out in frustration, a tear slipping free. 

“Sorry, baby.” Your tone edged on cruel, desperately needing to see how much she could handle. “I know you can handle it, just for me, okay?” Strap still fully inside, you bent to kiss the juncture of her neck, lips and teeth leaving a bruise. Her skin was hot to your touch, even though your shirt. You bit down again, matching all of your other marks that graced her skin.

Wednesday whined again, inhibition cracking faster by the second. “Don’t stop…”

“Don’t stop what?” You asked, voice turned mocking. “Use your words.” You reached up to clasp the back of her neck, rubbing the tension out. “And be good.”

Her breath quickened, and she squeezed her eyes shut as another tear rolled through her mascara. “Don’t stop…”

“C’mon,” you cajoled, hand coming around her neck to squeeze her throat. “C’mon, my love.”

“Please… don’t stop fucking me.” The words tumbled out in a rush, and she mewled as you nuzzled your lips against her shoulder, your fingers starting up on her clit again.

A shiver shot up your spine, making you curl protectively around Wednesday, the hot burn of possessiveness, to mark her again, near unbearable.. “Anything you want, darling.” You slammed back into her, hard enough to push the both of you up the bed. One of her hands grasped at your forearm, pulling your grip from her neck. She wrapped your arm across her shoulders. Your breathing came hard, but you didn’t stop, each whine in your ear making your head spin. You had no idea how much time was passing, or if it was even night or day; your entire world was hazy and fuzzed with raven black.

“I’m—” Wednesday cut herself off, biting down on your arm for a moment, leaving a smear of lipstick.

You let out a noise that was more of a growl than anything. “Let me hear you, baby.”

She gasped when you pressed a hand to her lower stomach, briefly feeling the bulge there from your cock, before going back to her clit. You didn’t pause, each thrust pushing Wednesday closer to the edge. “Use your teeth,” she choked out, her cheeks flushing. “Now, please.”

You complied, eager. Scraping your canines down her ear, you stopped at a tender spot behind her pulse point, the skin already marred with purple and red. A sailor’s delight, you thought, a bit hysterically. You sank your teeth in, not holding back, knowing she wanted it. The effect was near immediate; her eyes slid shut, and her body tensed against yours, an unrestrained sob tumbling out from her lips. She reached for you, nails digging into your arm. Your hands shook, all of her tightening the coil in your stomach. Wednesday’s orgasm crashed down, and it shattered something in you, deep and addictive.

Far down in you, below what you were willing to admit, Wednesday’s unknowing grip on your heart tightened even more. You felt like you’d just jumped off your own edge, inevitable as the eternal separation of sun and moon.

“I came,” Wednesday’s voice was a ragged whisper, a ghost of her earlier whimpers ringing in your ears.

“You did, my love,” you shushed, gently sliding your cock out, catching Wednesday as she seemed to melt into the bedsheets with no support. You guided her into her back, relishing in the way she trustingly let you. Tucking the strap away to clean later, you massaged her thighs, thinking they’d be sore later. She seemed to be in a daze, dark eyes fogged with the afterglow. Her cheeks were streaked with mascara from her tears, and the rims of her eyes were a fuschia pink. You’d never seen anything more beautiful.

If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve said that her gaze behind her slow blinks as she watched you was just as possessive as you were. You did know better, you swore, but it didn’t stop you from nuzzling your face into her stomach, intoxicated on the smell of her arousal, delaying the clean-up for just a moment longer. 

“Have you forgiven me yet?” You teased, unsure if she could even hear you. You smoothed her fringe off her forehead, already moving to sit up and get her a bottle of water. But before you could move, Wednesday’s hand grabbed your wrist with lighting speed, a shadow of the earlier afternoon.

She cracked an eye open, and though her eyes were shot red, there was a challenging shine, blade in moonlight, there. “Who says you’re done?”

--

reader: i fuck her good but i don’t think she likes me back :(

wednesday: if you don’t hold me right now i Will murder

please do not repost, reproduce, copy, or take from my work in any way without express permission. thank you!

masterlist

[daphwritesworld]

Helloooooo girll could you maybe write like an NSFW ABC of top!Alessia

I would really appreciate it

and i wanted to say that your writing is sooo good and you're definitely one of the best woso writers out there just do your thing because I think you'll always have someone to appreciate your work at least be sure that I do appreciate it

And BMB or how the title is is really good and the cliffhanger is a 10/10

a/n: omg i wrote most of this when i was half asleep so sorry for any mistakes. i’ve also never done one of these so sorry if it sucks lol. but thank you so much for your kind words 🥺 and im so glad your liking my stories so far! hopefully this is to your liking haha :)

NSFW ALPHABET ft. Alessia Russo

!! 18+ MINORS DNI !!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Alessia is the sweetest of sweet when it comes to aftercare. she always gets a warm washcloth to clean between your thighs and anywhere else you might be messy. Less also loves taking a bath together after a rough session— letting you rest your back to her front as she massages away all the tension in your shoulders from the many different positions she had you in. and she always makes sure to bring you a glass of water and a snack, kissing your forehead as she watches you to make sure you “replenish” as she says.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

on herself: her fingers/hands. she takes the best care of her hands…well as best as you can when you’re a professional footballer lol. but nothing will ever captivate her make than watching her fingers slide inside of your pussy. while she does enjoy using the strap— she can’t feel you like she can when she had her fingers buried to the hilt inside you. it gives her a a different kind of high to feel you cumming around her digits.

on you: definitely your tits. Alessia is a boob girl in my head i can’t unsee it!! she loves everything about your titties no matter if they’re small, big, uneven, perky, saggy— it doesn’t matter. if they’re attached or you? yeah they’re always gonna be getting fondled, groped, sucked on, slapped, or squeezed. it’s a requirement for being her girlfriend honestly.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Alessia is a MESSY eater. she is gonna have your cum smeared not only all over your thighs and stomach, but across her face as well. once time Alessia overstimulated you to the point you were squirming to get away and she just pinned you down as she buried her face further into your cunt…when she finally pulled back? she had a string of your cun connecting from your clit to the very tip of her nose. along with a few others coming off and attacking to her mouth. that imagine is forever burned into your fucking memory and visits you on days you are ovulating from hell.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Alessia once fucked you on the bed of your ex. she had thrown a party and invited you both— knowing full well that Alessia is your new girlfriend…only to flirt with you right in front of her. well that night ended with you squirting all over your ex’s sheets, Alessia leaving a little party gift for the host as she quickly escorted you home after that. not before she found your ex in the crowd of people dancing. and while you couldn’t hear what was said, you said the way your ex’s face went pale as Alessia only grew to have a smirk. leaving your dumbfounded ex girlfriend with her jaw on floor as she watched Alessia drag you out of her house…and let’s just saw Lessi was still mad when you got back to her place. so what better way to release that anger than by fucking you with her biggest strap? making you put on her jersey as she takes you from the back, your phone lighting up as it vibrates on the bedside table. Alessia was gonna ignore it, until she sees its facetime from your ex. she definitely answered it and flipped the camera to show off how pretty you look taking her dick with her last name on your back.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

i feel like Less definitely knows what she’s doing, but she hasn’t been fucking bitches left and right if that makes sense. i feel like sex is more of thing reserved for intimate moments with people she cares for. which of course a few one night stands here and there after a win— but never with a compete stranger. that’d of been too weird for her lol.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Definitely cowgirl or missionary. Alessia LOVES to see your face while she fucks you. now that doesn’t mean she doesn’t even switch it up. because she’ll easily bend you over and fuck you like a slut when she wants to. but most of the time she prefers being able to watch your features scrunch up and get all dazed after she fucks you so good your brain starts melting.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

i think it really depends on the mood. if shes ticked off or you’re in for a punishment? fun Lessi is nowhere to be seen..oh no. that’s all serious Alessia from that point on. but normally Alessia is easily passing light hearted jokes and making you laugh during sex. she’s even broke out into karoke once when she was 3 fingers deep inside you at a bar.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

i think she keeps it shaven with a little patch left on top. idk i just get those vibes from her. no rhyme or reason just what i picture in my head🤣

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Alessia is always praising you and whispering sweet nothings into your ear— even when she’s punishing you. she can’t help but remind you that you are her pretty baby. she also always makes you confers your love for each other before you’re allowed to cum. if you don’t say “I love you” back? okay fine. you don’t get to cum, and you won’t until those words leave your lips. no matter how mad either of you are, you always say it before cumming..and she won’t let you ruin that streak. so be as stubborn as you want, she’ll just keep fucking you and keeping you on the edge till you admit your love for her.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Alessia was always getting herself off before she got with you, but she only masturbates when you two are separated now. Alessia will drive, walk, or bike to your house at any time of night just to fuck you. ain’t no way she’s gonna touch herself unless she absolutely HAS to lol.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

i think Less has a breeding kink 🫣 she loves her strap that squirts fake cum inside of you. her favorite part is watching it ooze out of you and then using her fingers to fuck it back inside. “i can’t claim you if you leak out all my cum baby. if you can’t keep this load in, i’ll just have to fuck you full of another one. oh god or the pictures she takes of your face covered in the droplets of the realistic looking white substance. your tongue hanging out as you look at her with a hunger in your eyes. yeah Alessia loves getting you all messy with her dick.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

anywhere with a bed or a couch. she like being able to spread you out and down for her own benefit…but she also loves bending you over the counters of bathrooms so she can force you to watch yourself come undone. (and the car but we will talk about that later)

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

when you compliment her skills/playing. it makes a blush settle into her cheeks, but it also makes a desire to eat your pussy till your crying settle in, too.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

absolutely NO fucking on nights before games. its a weird ritual she has, but she takes it very seriously. no matter how much you beg…it’s not happening. Alessia will not give in to any of your advances no matter how enticing they are. she has her rules and she will follow them. plus that just means she has sll the more energy to fuck you after the game. win or lose you know you and your poor pussy are in for a hell of a night.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

as much as Less is a munch she also loves your mouth. its her favorite way of getting off. looking down and seeing her pretty girl between her thighs? oh the visual alone has her cumming sometimes. i think Less is verrry skilled with her tongue. she takes your breath way just from making out, let alone when she’s eating it 🫣 plus when you two first started getting sexual— she would spend hours between your legs just learning what all makes you tick, wetter, and all the things you like. Less’s favorite thing to do after she’s made you cum on her tongue is to kiss your puffy sensitive clit. it always makes you gasp out and buck your hips a little, and it’s like an addiction for Alessia after she does it the first time.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

it definitely depends on both of your moods. Alessia can make love to you all soft and sensual with nose kisses and whispered words only meant for the two of you….but she can also call you a whore and fuck you till your legs give out. so it’s really just a 50/50 depending on how the day goes 🤣

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

oh she is the QUEEN of quickies. she starts off not really liking them, but when she starts saying your little tease of an ass?? (it’s not even intentional teasing either! Alessia just gets turned on by any and everything you do). so yeah Alessia is dragging you off (to the car teehee) to get a good 10 minute fuck in at least twice a week.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

i’d say the risky thing Alessia does is the car sex. that’s as far as she’d public wise. but she is so down to experiment. she’s always down to try something with you once, and if one of you doesn’t like it? never again. but she’s very good with communicating things she likes/wants to try.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

normally Less goes a good 3/4 rounds with you….but if she’s pent up on anger, after a game, or you’ve been teasing her? she can easily go for HOURS. she’s a pro athlete and a very competitive one at that. she can forget bite the burn in her thighs when she had a mission in mind…and that mission being to break your record for most orgasms in one night.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

i think before you Less owns a few different vibrators she uses on herself. but after you two get together? that’s when the beast really comes out. the multiple straps, wand vibrators, lush vibrators, and of course her lucky ball gag. that only gets brought out when you can’t stop back talking.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Less does a lot of small things to work you up, especially if she’s been drinking. like running her hands along your lower back, and then bringing one of them up to squeeze on your waist every time she wants a kiss, using her other hand to cup the back of your neck so you can’t get away. oh god and the way she rubs little shapes into your inner thighs always makes you dizzy— especially if she’s wearing some rings and the coldness of them contests from her burning touch. it always sends goosebumps shivering down your spine.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Alessia can be quiet as a mouse when she wants to be, but when she had the freedom to be vocal? oh she’s moaning, groaning, and howling out into the night. i feel bad for all the arsenal & english teammates who have to room near them at on away games. because not only can they hear you screaming till the sun comes up, they can hear all the nasty and defiling shit spewing out of Alessia’s mouth too. dear god they had no idea she had that dirty of a mouth on her, and she gets a few comments at breakfast about needing some soap to chew on lol

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Alessia LOVES car sex. it’s like her little secret only the two of you know about. outside of practice, outside of bars/restaurants, the beach, her parents her, your parents house, outside Ella’s house, outside Leah’s house, and you get the point…Less is gonna have you whenever she want, she just can’t help herself. especially when you wear something you know is gonna drive her mad and then spend half the night teasing her? where else did you expect to end up other than face down in the backseat of her car. all the while your teammates are taking shots and dancing the night away— and you’re getting your guts pummeled by the blonde striker in some poorly lit car park.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

this one feels weird bc i usually see it used right describe a wee wee🤣 so i’ll just say Alessia’s fave strap is a 7 inch sparkly pink one. she might be a dom but she’s also a pretty fem. FEMME DOMMES RISE !!

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

it’s not as bad as some of the other players— but it’s still pretty high. Alessia could be bone tired not even able to open her eyes and she’d STILL try and sneak a hand down your pants. during those times she usually lets you use her hand for your own pleasure because she whines about how she’s “been wanting to make you feel good all day!” so you kiss the pout off her lips and climb onto her lap to ride her fingers, and let your own hand slip under her sleep shorts. your poor grumpy tired baby just needs a little loving.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

i think Alessia will still stay up a little bit, rubbing your back and just breathing in your scent as she listens to your heart beat against her chest. and that’s why finally lulls her to sleep— the peace and tranquility of your body on top of hers.

[groceryreceiptss]

𝐚𝐥𝐥'𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 & 𝐬𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 | p.j.

percy jackson x reader | word count : 1.4k | requested

summary : though you were a skillful archer, you were an amateur when it came to dealing with a sword. while percy helped you trained for hours after lunch, he couldn’t help but fall in deeper with you, even though you’d probably never know it.

contains : my writing (again, warning). just fluff things <3 reader was implied as apollo's daughter, but never actually specified. oh, and a katniss everdeen reference! (because is the fic actually written by me if it doesn't include at least one thg reference?). let me know if there’s more!

a/n : i do NOT know how to write action-y scenes (even ones that are as light as this) so sorry if this comes out as flat haha. i had to get out my copy of the lightning thief just to be a tinny bit more familiar with it to be honest. also yes the title is kinda cheesy but soo is this entire fic < 3

credits : fan art by frostbite.studios, dividers by @benkeibear, pins i used (1) (2) (3)

───────────────────────

The afternoon sun hit the color of your eyes as you tried the move he had just demonstrated to you. Your eyebrows were furrowed in concentration and your forehead slicked with sweat. A borrowed but fitting sword was gripped in your hand, ready to clatter his. Percy and you had been going at it ever since lunch ended and yet you still seemed determined to keep going. 

Percy counted and you attacked, one, two, three. Next move, you tried to thrust it into the right of his protected ribcage. But with your lovely eyes being a little too obvious and your hand still clumsy with the blade, he deflected it off easily, letting yours fall to the ground. 

“Oh, I’m terrible,” you said with an embarrassed smile, pulling up your bronze helmet and dragging a hand to swipe your hair out of your forehead. You retrieved the sword and turned to ask him. “Okay, honest opinion. What did I do wrong?” 

“Well…” he started, as he took off his own helmet, tucking it under his arm, “Your eyes give away a bit too much to the opponent, so I could easily tell what you were going to do. You’re still too hesitant about it I think.” 

You playfully rolled your eyes, “Well, how can I not when my opponent at this given moment is Percy fucking Jackson but go on.” 

Percy was thankful that the sun was taking it one for the team and became a cover for the red that just possibly covered his face. He shook his head, fighting a smile that was trying to break through his lips. Joke about it, take defense.

The lines of his mouth morphed into a teasing grin. “Is that an excuse that I hear, miss y/l/n? Since when do you play with those?”  You were always so stubborn, in the best sense of the word. And Percy always found it admirable to say the least.

You raised your eyebrows before shooting back, “And if it is, it's also not unreasonable, Mr. Jackson.” That cute smile of yours taking flight in your face. He noticed that it was still the same one from when he first saw you at twelve, a few years back. Some things never changed. 

“What else?” You asked again, crossing your arms with the sword pointing downward. “Come on, don't be shy. I can take it.”

He considered it before answering. “Your hand wasn’t steady enough with the sword and with the move you were trying to execute. It made it a bit… off. And hard to get away in battles.”

You let yourself collapse to the ground with a dramatic sigh, exhaustion finally took over you. Your legs stretched in front of you and your helmet and sword clanged by your side. “Never mind, I lied, I can't take it."

He laughed and sat down next to you, putting his equipment by yours. The wind was finally picking up now, bringing a sense of balance to the hot weather.

"I can never get this right.” You huffed, blowing up your loosen hair, which Percy couldn't help but think that you looked slightly adorable.

“It’s totally fine,” he promised you, words creeped with encouragement. “Just be more confident! I swear it works. Or just…” he trailed off, unsure, and then shrugged. “don’t think about it too much, I guess.” 

“Contradiction, contradiction.” You said in a sing-song voice before looking at him with that inspecting face and said, “Do you drink some secret potion or something? Someone altered your ambrosia?”

Percy let out a laugh, “Your perception of me is unrealistically high, I see. I can say the same to you, Katniss Everdeen.”

Your face’s expression stretched with surprise before you nodded in approval. “That’s the best way to compliment my archery skills actually, yes. Forget Apollo the doofus.”

“Who?” Percy played in the joke, to which you answered with the only appropriate one : “Exactly.”

He clapped his hand, an idea forming in his head. "Alright, how about this. If you give it a try just one more time, I'll give you some blue cupcakes my mom just sent me a few days ago." He offered with a knowing smile, getting you too well to strike a tempting bargain with you.

Percy knew how in love you were with his mom's cupcakes. Sally Jackson made the best for the best. It had only taken one bite and he could already tell how head over heels you were with them. He might or might not be planning to try to make a batch himself as a surprise for your upcoming birthday, but he feared the baking talent of the greats did not pass onto him. These hands weren't only skilled in combat, but with a pair of mitts and an oven, they could also burn an entire kitchen down.

Still though. Seeing the way your eyes immediately lit up right now made him rethink his choices. Maybe burning down a room wasn't so bad. At least you would probably laugh at his pathetic attempt.

Your mouth split into a grin and he was brought back to the world. You shook your head in slight disbelief. "Bringing Mrs. Jackson cupcakes into this? You are not playing fair, Perce."

"That's a deal then?" He held out his hand for a shake.

You sighed, putting his hand in yours. "Fine, deal."

Percy tried to ignore the fireworks he felt as he gripped your hand tighter and pulled you up to stand. His heart felt like it was trying to push its way out of his ribs, but in a good way. Like a thrill.

"Alright, one more time," He said as he retrieved his sword and you retrieved yours. "You ready?"

"Honestly, I'm just doing this for the cupcakes now." Seriously, how much could one person make him smile in the span of five minutes?

You and Percy put on the helmets. He counted to three, and you started taking offense as he took defense. One, two, three. It all started out well. Your movements were still a bit clumsy, but you'd get better on it in no time, he was sure. And you were doing pretty good work too. That was until you were stepping back, trying to deflect his now offensive movements, and tripped over yourself. You fell to the hard ground with an oof.

Luckily, with your equipment still intact, you couldn't be hurt that much. But Percy immediately dropped riptide and got to your side.

He knew it was stupid. You and him were both warriors, you were good with a bow, he was good with a sword. Both of you had been injured multiple times in different kinds of battles, and yours had been more grotesque than his more than once, so this was absolutely nothing. Still, he guessed, the instinct to worry would just stay the same.

"Hey, are you okay?" He asked, as he gently pulled you up to a sitting position. His forehead was creased together as he looked at you, but you were instead laughing, finding your recent incident funny. "What?" He asked, couldn't help but let a laugh, albeit confused, out of his lips too. Yours were charmingly infectious.

You pointed at your face, your bronze helmet askew, voice still laced with traces of mirth. "Tell me, how silly do I look?"

He smiled, affection swarmed him. "Very silly," Should he risk it? "So silly, it's borderline annoyingly cute actually." Okay, risking it then.

But you just smiled, either welcoming it or oblivious to the actual meaning behind it. Probably the latter. You wouldn’t be convinced someone actually liked liked you even if it was plastered on a billboard. You pointed at his face, and laughed again, this time with an effort of covering your mouth. "You look so silly too, I'm sorry."

He shook his hand, bringing out a breath of laughter, unable to keep his smile from growing further under the protective gear. "Hey," he said, finally taking off his helmet and letting the wind touch his face. "It was in solidarity with you as a friend! Please appreciate it."

"I do!" You took off your helmet, letting the glow of the sun kiss your face again. Percy couldn't help but be entranced with the way you looked, still perfect even with the destroying searing weather of June. You couldn't keep doing this to him. "Sorry, I'll stop." You promised as you withdrew a laugh, but he actually wished you wouldn't. He loved hearing you laughed, it made the wind that danced around him a melodic thing, one he could be around forever—or whatever it was the poets said.

Looking at you made him understand what they were always talking and raving about, but he could never explain it.

"So," You began, "About those cupcakes?"

───────────────────────

[flamingo-writes]

what about Hobie dragging the reader to their apartment after a party and they're babbling and drunkenly hitting on Hobie, completely oblivious to the fact that he's their boyfriend

like "hey, handsome, can you give me your number?" COMING ON HE'S TRYING TO CHANGE YOU AND GET YOU TO BED IN YOUR HOME

I love your work btw

you inspire me to learn english better haha

Pick Up Line — Hobie x Reader

Notes: I wrote this before going to sleep 🫡 it is not proofread (I might do that tomorrow) writing this was so much fun, I only knew what I wanted to write in the beginning, and then I just let everything unfold on it’s own. I didn’t have a title for this until I finished it. I hope you like it!!

Man I have so many requests I’m sorry for posting one thing and then disappearing for months 😭 anyways, here’s the fic:

“No! Put me down! I have a boyfriend!” You groaned with a breathless sigh, feeling the heaviness of the booze weighting down on your body, most of all your mind.

Hobie chuckled as he carried you back to your apartment after one of those self destructive parties the darker alternative scene liked to throw every now and then.

“Oh, you do?” He chuckled with a cheeky tone as you hummed.

“Uh-huh. I do, and he’s the most handsomest, coolest motherfucker…” You replied and let your head fall onto his shoulder as he was carrying you as if you weighted nothing on his arms, with an arm holding your back and on the other your legs. “He’d kick your ass,”

“Oh, would he?” Hobie teased, raising an eyebrow, thinking it was insanely adorable how even on your state you talked so highly and proudly of him in your own way.

“Yup, certified badass shit,” You groaned. “I love him,”

He let out a deep chuckle as he gazed at you and turned on the corner, spotting your flat building a couple of blocks down.

“I’m pretty sure I could kick his ass,” Hobie said, trying to see how you’d react.

“In your dreams,” You sighed deeply.

As he approached your flat building and got inside, in your drunken state probably it would be best to avoid using his Spider-Man skills. You’d either puke, or start yelling that he’s Spider-Man and he wouldn’t risk it. On the bright side, you lived on the third floor.

As he stopped by your door, he gazed at you. “Can hold yourself up for a couple of seconds while I open the door, darlin’?” He asked you, as you giggled.

“Darlin’…” You giggled as you nodded and tried hopping off his arms as he let you down, and you leaned against the wall.

As you patted the pockets of your jacket, you found your keys and took them out as he gently took them off your hands and unlocked your apartment.

In your drunken haze, you started at him with a soft smile, taking in the details. The door squeaking open went unnoticed, your mind was too taken away by Hobie.

“Hey there handsome,” You sighed and closed your eyes. “What are you doing in my apartment?”

“You’re never gonna believe this,” He chucked as he gently grabbed your hand and pulled you in with him. “But I basically live here as well,” he chuckled.

It was partially true. He had his sailboat docked not far from there, but your apartment was wider, and every excuse to spend time with you, he’d take it right away. At this point he spent more nights crashing at your apartment than staying in his sailboat.

“God! What a small world!” You whispered as you let him guide you to your room.

“Isnt it?” He chuckled and as you got to your room, you let yourself collapse on the bed.

“Do you have a phone number I can borrow?” You asked with a cheeky tone, as Hobie chuckled and gazed at you as he looked in your wardrobe for your pyjamas.

Something in his chest squeezing with a sweet nostalgic feeling. It had been the exact same awful pick up line you’d used on him when you’d met him a couple of years ago. The rest was history, and now you were drunk in your apartment with your boyfriend taking care of you.

“What about your badass boyfriend?” He teased as he grabbed your pajama pants and sat on the edge of the bed and helped you take off your shoes.

“God, he’s so badass…I love him,” You sighed sleepily as you closed your eyes, as you slowly came to the realisation that he was taking off your shoes. “What are you doing? Buy me some coffee first,” you giggled with a soft snort.

“It’s too late to find a coffee shop open at this time, luv,” He chuckled and then took off your belt and undid your trousers.

At this point you were more asleep than awake and you let him take your pants off as you kept whining with playful banter. Both hitting on him and telling him about your badass boyfriend. As he managed to get you to put on your pyjama pants and remove everything last bit of uncomfortable accessories or clothes, he helped you get under the bedsheets.

He grabbed some water, aspirins and left them ready on the nightstand besides the bed, knowing the killer hangover you’d be having tomorrow. He then took off his boots, his vest, accessories and got on the bed with you in just his boxers and his t-shirt. By the time he did you were already lost in some dreamland and he simply snugged besides you and wrapped an arm around you before joining you in a deep sleep.

The next morning, he woke up to the sounds of your painful groaning and your husky voice saying:

“I’m never drinking that much ever again…I’m never drinking again, period…”

He opened his eyes, blinking several times before he finally processed your words He chuckled. “You always say that, luv…” He sighed and stared at you.

“Leave me alone…” You whined with a playful voice as you gulped down the water and the aspirins before collapsing on the bed again. “The last thing I remember is Karl and his boyfriend convincing me to do shots with them…”

“That was your mistake, you should know by this point those guys can drink their weight in booze,” He teased.

“I didn’t do anything stupid, did I?”

“You were about to let Mattea dye your hair in the bathroom in the middle of the party,” He explained, “and then ran off to the closest convenience store to try and buy bleach and hair dye…”

“Ah, fuck,”

“That’s when I thought maybe it was time to take you to bed,” He laughed softly. “So I brought you back,”

“Thanks, baby…” You whispered with a sheepish voice and kissed his skinny shoulder.

“You bragged to me the entire time about your boyfriend, by the way,” He teased.

“What?” You asked confused.

“And the proceeds to flirt with me and ask for my number…”

“Bullshit,” You groaned as you blushed softly, starting to remember some things about him carrying you back.

“You pulled out the same terrible pickup line you used the first time we met,” He giggled and looked at you from the corner of his eye.

“Oh my god…” You gasped, burying your face against the pillow in embarrassment. And after a brief silence you said: “did it work, though?” Your questions make Hobie laugh softly as he rolled to his side and looked at you, running his long slender fingers up your spine over the short.

“I’m here, am I not?” He replied with a soft velvet whisper.

[runnning-outof-time]

Sentimental | Tommy Shelby & Daughter!Reader

Request: yes by @midnightswithdearkatytspb

Pairing: Tommy Shelby & Daughter!Reader

Summary: It's (Y/N) Shelby's wedding day, and her father has to make sure she has one last thing before he walks her down the aisle. She's never seen him be so sentimental about something before.

Warnings: just a bunch of pre-wedding fluff, mention of a death of a minor character

Word Count: 2227

A/N: it’s been a bit since I’ve written a daughter!reader story….I hope this one makes sense, and I’m sorry if I got a little too sappy on it haha. Enjoy! :)

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

Comment/Message me if you’d like to be tagged in future stories similar to this one!

"Right, love...you're all finished," Polly said to her grand niece as she finished doing up the final button on the younger woman's wedding dress.

"Thanks, aunt Pol," (Y/N) smiled, taking one last look at herself in the mirror before she turned to face the older woman. "Can you believe the day is finally here?" she asked, a giddy smile present on her face.

Though she was an aunt by blood, Polly Gray was more so like a mother in the eyes of (Y/N) Shelby. The woman who held the title of mother in (Y/N)'s life passed away shortly after childbirth due to the complications and conditions she found herself in. The Shelby's took little (Y/N) in, raising her in their tight knit family. Polly stepped up the most to help, feeling thankful for this opportunity after her son and daughter had been taken away months earlier.

Tommy, (Y/N)'s father, was thankful for his aunt taking it upon herself to fill the void that his daughter had, a void that he knew she would feel for the rest of her life. He wouldn't have been able to come out and ask for the help, and so he was grateful that Polly knew he needed it. Hell, he was young himself - only being a few days shy of twenty when his daughter entered the world. But now this child needed him, and he was going to do everything that he could to give her the world.

Even though her father married, and then re-married, (Y/N) stayed close with Polly, thankful that she had her as a constant in her otherwise rapidly changing life. She couldn't imagine any other person helping her get ready for her wedding.

"I can," Polly answered, looking at the young woman before she pulled her into her body for a hug. "You've grown into such a beautiful, young woman, and I already know you'll make the best bride," she whispered into (Y/N)'s ear, her words making (Y/N) hug onto her even tighter.

"You're already the most beautiful bride," another voice that came from the dressing room's door made the two women seperate.

"Aunt Ada!" (Y/N) exclaimed, her eyes lighting up once they fell on the woman in the doorway, "come in quickly, before James sees me!" she waved her aunt in, worried that her soon-to-be husband would be lurking in the hallways.

"Don't worry about that," Ada brushed her off, entering the room and closing the door as she spoke, "I'm pretty sure the cheering that I heard from his dressing room means that he won't be leaving it any time soon...until it's time to walk down the aisle, that is," she added, a grin forming on her face. (Y/N) shook her head, rolling her eyes at her aunt's words. "I have something for you," Ada announced then, lifting up the small box she was holding, "two things, actually,"

"What are they?" (Y/N) asked, eagerness present in her voice as she watched Ada open up the box she'd brought.

"The first is the veil that I promised you..." Ada started off, working on taking the piece of fabric out of the box while she was talking, "I know you mentioned you wanted the floral accents on it as well, so I tried hard to add as many as I could while I was making it," she explained as she handed it over to (Y/N), letting the younger woman unfold it so that she could take all of it in.

"It's absolutely beautiful, aunt Ada! Thank you so much!" she gasped once she was able to look at it in its entirety. (Y/N) knew that she needed to have her aunt make her veil for her from the moment she found out about her crafty side. Seeing it now, she was sure that she'd never put her eyes on a veil as beautiful as this one.

"Shall we put it on?" Polly suggested, making (Y/N) turn to look at her. All that the younger woman was able to respond with was a giddy nod, but it was enough for the older two women to begin working on making sure that it was properly pinned to her head. "It’ll be draped over your face once you're ready to walk down the aisle," Polly added once they'd finished making sure that it was sitting correctly.

"It's beautiful," (Y/N) swooned, turning around to look at herself in the mirror again, admiring the full wedding look.

"I have something else too," Ada spoke again, drawing attention to her as she went about opening the bag that she had with her.

"Ada you didn't have to..." (Y/N) trailed off, overwhelmed by the amount of love she was being shown.

"I brought you the 'something new', so I decided that I'd also bring you the 'something old' too," she started off, producing a pair of older-looking, nude colored heels from her bag, "do you remember these?" she asked the younger woman then, an excited look forming on her face as she waited intently for a response.

(Y/N) just about gasped when she saw the shoes. "No...those can't be..." she trailed off, at a loss for words at the moment.

"They are," Ada confirmed, her grin growing, "the exact shoes that you literally begged me to wear when you were younger."

"I can't believe you still have them!" (Y/N) was still in disbelief.

"I nearly spent a day rooting for them in my closet," Ada remarked with a laugh as the women moved over to the couches so that (Y/N) could try them on. "I knew I had to find them though," she added, waiting anxiously to see her niece try them on.

"Do you think they'll fit?" (Y/N) questioned, slightly hesitant to slip her feet into them.

"Guess there's only one way to find out," Ada answered, nodding at the shoes then.

She was right. (Y/N) looked between the two women before she slipped her feet into the shoes, holding her breath while she did it. She only let it out when she found that they fit practically perfectly on her feet.

"How are they?" Polly questioned.

"Perfect," (Y/N) responded, a wide smile present on her face as she looked at the other women again. "I can't believe you're letting me use these, aunt Ada," she then turned to the brown haired woman sitting next to her.

"I couldn't think of anyone better to have them," Ada smiled back, wrapping her arms around (Y/N) in a tight hug. "Don't mess up the make up!" she exclaimed once they pulled away, quickly reaching for some tissue so that she could dry (Y/N)'s eyes.

"This seems to be the perfect time to give you this as well..." Polly began, coming over to where (Y/N) was standing with something in her hands.

"Oh no not you now too, Pol!" (Y/N) blubbered, completely overwhelmed with emotion at the moment.

Polly didn't listen to her and instead opened her hand to reveal a bracelet that had blue gemstones encased between the gold band.

"Something blue?" (Y/N) questioned, looking from the bracelet back to her great aunt, her eyes already watering again. Polly only nodded, a smile present on her face as she came closer to (Y/N). The younger woman knew what to do, holding out her wrist so that her aunt could clasp the bracelet onto it. "It's absolutely beautiful, Polly," she whispered, too overcome by emotion to fully trust her voice at the moment. "Thank you, both, so, so much," she added, looking at both Polly and Ada, who each sent smiles back.

"Now you're ready to be married," Ada commented, glancing over at the clock then, "and it's just about time for the ceremony to start."

"It is time," another voice broke into the conversation, making the three women look over at the doorway.

"How long have you been here, Thomas?" Polly questioned, eyeing her nephew as she wondered when he managed to slip into the room without them noticing.

"Long enough," he gave one of his usual, ambiguous answers, but this time there was no hint of the impatience that he usually spoke it with. No, today Tommy Shelby was standing in the doorway smiling.

"Are you ready, (Y/N)?" Polly turned to (Y/N) to check.

"I am," (Y/N) gave an assured nod, a smile present on her face as she looked back at her father.

"Pol, you and I should head out and make sure our seats are still open," Ada stated, placing her hand on (Y/N)'s shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze before she grabbed her bag and made her way to the door.

"It's going to be wonderful," Polly whispered to (Y/N), pulling her in for one last hug before she went and joined her niece at the door. She whispered something to Tommy, something that (Y/N) couldn't hear, before she and Ada exited the dressing room.

"Ready?" Tommy asked (Y/N) once they were alone.

"Ready as I'll ever be," (Y/N) answered, letting out a breath then as the excited jitters started to build up in her stomach. A smile returned to her features as she walked over to her father. "Let's go," she said, nodding her head as she spoke.

"I have one last thing to give to you," Tommy stated, making her stop in her tracks.

"What's that, dad?" she asked, her brows furrowing together.

"I've been wearing this since the day that she left..." he started off, undoing the top button of his dress shirt so that he'd have an easier time taking off the gold necklace he was wearing. When he did get it off, (Y/N) saw that there was a locket on it as well. "This was my mum's. The flower on the front represents strength. The pictures on the inside are worn out, but the flower's still present, so I wear it for strength," he shared some details behind the necklace he wore everyday, holding it out for her to see it better. "I want you to wear it today," he finished his statement with a suggestion, one that (Y/N) was quickly nodding in agreement too. She'd never seen him be so sentimental about something before, and so she was honored to be able to borrow and wear it for the day.

Tommy smiled at her answer before he moved over and clasped the necklace around her neck. "It's pretty, dad," she commented as she got an even better look at the intricately designed locket.

"Your grandmum had good taste," he answered her, his words making her look up to see that he was trying hard to keep the tears back.

"If you start crying, I'll start crying," she told him, her words making him chuckle.

"I won't," he promised her.

A smile formed on (Y/N)'s face and she glanced down at the locket one last time before closing the gap and hugging her father tightly. "Thank you, dad," she whispered, trying her best to hold her tears back as he held onto her equally as tight.

"It's time," one of the ushers entered the room to announce.

"Ready?" Tommy asked his daughter as they pulled away from each other.

"So ready," she answered with a wide smile. "You ready?" she turned the question back onto him.

"Ready as I'll ever be," he answered with a smile of his own, one that (Y/N) wished she could take a picture of and keep forever. She'd never seen her father smile so much.

"Let's go then," (Y/N) nodded, walking to the door with her father by her side.

They were led to where the doors that opened to the main room of the church were. As they got closer, (Y/N) could hear the music that was being played as everyone prepared for her entrance. The butterflies started fluttering like crazy as she and Tommy stopped at the closed doors. In just moments, she'd be brought down the aisle to the man who would be her husband.

Tommy couldn't help but look at his daughter as they waited for the signal to go. He still couldn't believe that today was her wedding day, and that in just a few moments he'd be walking her down the aisle. James was a good man (he'd made sure of that) a man who had promised to take care of (Y/N) until his last day. As much as he didn't want to let her go, he knew he had to. She'd grown up right in front of him and become a young woman, who he was so immensely proud of.

"Ready, dad?" his daughter's question pulled him out of his thoughts.

"Ready as I'll ever be," he used the same answer that he'd given her in the dressing room, his response making her giggle.

"Don't let me fall," she whispered to him then, taking his outstretched arm, wrapping hers around it.

"Never," he promised her, sending her a wink and a small smile before the doors opened and they took their first step down the aisle.

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @itscheybaby @gypsy-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @acewritesfics @forgottenpeakywriter @cljordan-imperium @areyenotfondofmelobster @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @iambored24601 @shaddixlife

MASTERLIST

[kopilot-pop]

[New Jeans x Oldest Member! Reader] - #1

-imagine.

Summary: You’re the oldest member in NJ. With that title comes alot of responsibilities, from being the support beam for your (not so official) leader to protecting your maknae from rude interviewers. (This is just a bunch of moments of a very protective/warm Y/n.)

Warnings: sickness, fighting(?), protectiveness, cursing, rude people, etc.

A/N: Hey, it’s been a while. So sorry for disappearing for like… 20 days..? I’m back with another NJ fic because alot of people liked the bodyguard one haha. It’s mostly platonic love from Y/n btw. Oh, and lil background info; Y/n's is a 03(a year older than Hanni/Minji) and used to be a dancer before being casted by Hybe.

———————————————————————

#1

“What do you mean she has to come?!”

‘Oh god..’

Minji is furious to say the least.

You’re currently holding a sick Haerin in your arms, rocking her back and forth. The poor girl has been feeling off for a few days at this point and on the day of an important performance, her fever had become unbearable.

Last night, Minji woke up to Haerin crying in pain and woke you up in a panic. Since then, 3 hours has passed and the girl’s fever doesn’t seem to want to go down. Minji quickly went to call the manager to adjust the schedule while you decided to keep watch on Haerin.

“She can’t even stand straight oppa! You seriously can’t expect her to-”

“Listen Minji. This is an important schedule and the producers aren’t gonna be happy if the whole team doesn’t show up. As much as I want to help, it’s just not possible!”

“Ugh!”

Due to all the yelling, the younger girl stirred awake. She stayed quiet, but it was clear to you that she was listening to the conversation.

“Unnie-”

“No. You’re not going to the festival.” You cut her off before she could say anything.

“I.. I can go..! It’s fi-” Haerin fell back into your arms in a coughing fit. After a stern look from you, she finally sighed and snuggled into your chest. Soon after Minji came in - grumbling in frustration.

“I can’t believe him! He-“

“Hey, sweetie, calm down first.” You put Haerin back down on her bed, tucking her in.

“How do you expect me to be calm?! They’re forcing Haerin to perform in this condition! To make things worse, the performance is in the morning, the weather forecast even says it could rain, and, and-” Haerin sat up in the bed, covering herself in the thick blankets. Her wide eyes looked back and forward you and Minji worriedly.

“WOAH, woah, Min, you need to calm down. You’re stressing out Haerin here.”

“Speaking of Haerin- you! Why would you hide the fact that you were sick?! If you told us sooner we could’ve-”

“Kim Minji.”

The moment you saw Haerin’s eyes become watery you decided to shut everything down. Minji, realising her mistake, immediately stopped talking and looked away. You decided to grab her arm and pull her out of the room to talk.

After a few moments of silence, she decided to talk.

“Unnie… I’m sorry…”

“You don’t need to be sorry to me. Minji. I know you’re stressed out from all the schedules and practices, and I understand you’re just worried for Haerin. However, that doesn’t mean you can let your frustrations out onto your members.”

“…”

“I know you’re just trying your best and I really appreciate it, but you need to calm down.”

“I just… I’m just worried….” The shorter girl slowly came up to you. You hold her in a tight hug as she sobs quietly into your shoulder.

“Hey, I know, it’s gonna be okay. I’ll give the producers a call, okay? Go get some sleep with Haerin.”

“Mmph..” You wipe away her tears with your sleeve and give her a smile. Minji decides to give you a final hug and go back to her shared room with Haerin.

———————————————————————

#2

“Nope.”

“Y/N!!”

You’re currently in a tiny meeting with the producer of a well known music show. Since you’ve been in the entertainment business for a while, you recognized alot of their faces - including the fuming man you’ve been arguing with for about 20 minutes now.

“Hyein’s 15. I’m not letting you put her in that and that’s final.”

“It’s just a damn skirt-”

“Nope.”

“The fans would want-”

“Nope.”

“We’ve had other idols-“

“Nope.”

“For gods sake! This isn’t about you! The stylists already prepared everything and we aren’t going to change things just because YOU think ‘the skirt’s too short’.”

This whole debacle started with a slight comment from Hyein. She’s preparing for a solo special stage on Music Bank, and you decided to tag along for support..

(1 Hour Ago)

“Hey! You really came!!”

Hyein - in her tall glory - came running towards you, capturing you in a tight hug.

“Oof- Hey bub, good to see you too.”

You give her a slight pat on her head, holding her tightly to your body.

“Hehe, oh-! Have you seen my makeup for today?! It’s really pretty, with jewels, and…”

You watched as the younger girl went on and on about her excitement. It was her first ever stage alone, and you knew the amount of practice and effort she put on just for this moment.

“- and, and the jacket! It’s pink and so cute! Everything’s amazing - well, there is the skirt - but the dancers are just amazing!!”

“Whoah- what? What about the skirt?”

(1 Hour Later)

So you’re now in the waiting room, arguing, while Hyein is practicing in a different room with dancers.

You are extremely protective over your members, and everybody in the building probably knew that. A video of you almost physically fighting with a rude staff (that decided it was okay to threaten Hanni) went viral in the past, so the staffs were looking between you and the producer nervously.

It didn’t help that your face was gradually becoming more sour as the man went on about ‘pleasing the crowd’.

“What do you mean this isn’t about me? That’s your excuse? Hyein’s my teammate, she’s our maknae, and you’re trying to put her in and outfit she’s clearly uncomfortable in - for what? To appeal to disgusting perverts sitting in the crowd just waiting for a wardrobe malfunction?!”

“Of course n-”

“Listen. I’m not telling you to completely change everything in the crowd, all I’m telling you, is to let our stylist change the skirt to the pants she already prepared just in case. I genuinely don't see a single problem with that."

"I-.."

"Unless you're one of the 'perverts in the crowd'."

"How dare y-!"

"I'll take that as a no."

You quickly pushed past the fumbling man - bowing to the stressed staff members - and let out a deep sigh to calm yourself.

You promised to help Hyein rehearse after all.

———————————————————————

#3

There is no doubt in your mind that Danielle is one of the sweetest human beings in the world - and you hate it.

Not that you hate Danielle, god no, it's just that you absolutely hate the people around her that try to take advantage of her sweet personality.

Thankfully, she has scary dog privileges (you).

"Um...haha.. really...?"

You were getting drinks for the group at the vending machine when you faintly heard the younger girls voice from the hallway. In your mind she was supposed to be with the makeup artist, so why was she here?

"Yes! I really, really like you Danielle!"

You dropped the drinks in your hands and sped to where the conversation was.

Near the bathroom you could see Dani gripping onto your jacket(she was cold), nervously smiling at another idol practically cornering her and... confessing his love..?

"I took a long time trying to build up the courage to ask you.. and I was hoping that maybe we could go on a date some time?"

"I'm really flattered... but.. um.."

You could tell she was uncomfortable. She was stuttering, trying her best to form a refusal, but you knew your Dani hated saying no - especially when she knew the other person would be heartbroken by it.

You hesitated choosing between stepping in and just watching until either Dani says something or the boy leaves, but that was all thrown out the window when he decided to grab her before she could back away.

"Hey."

The young boy visibly froze up at your deep voice.

He was tall for his age, but still alot shorter than you. He nervously turned around and the moment he saw your face he could tell you were not happy.

"Oh! Um hello su-"

"We need to prepare for the stage Dani. Come on."

You lightly slapped his arm way and pulled her into yours, quickly making your way to your group's waiting room.

As soon as the door shut, you were finally able to check on her.

"You okay? He didn't do anything did he?"

"I'm fine unnie! Thank you so much.. I just didn't know how to tell him I wasn't looking to date anyone... He's one of my new friends, and I didn't really want to lose him, and I didn't want him to feel bad - oh no! I just left him there! Oh, maybe I should go back-" The younger girl started to ramble her worries, making you slightly panic.

"Hey! It's okay! He's gonna be fine.. And Dani! You can't always say y-........ nevermind.." You sighed.

You definitely hate how her puppy eyes make you weak, too.

———————————————————————

#4

It's a casual day off at the New Jeans house.

Just like any other break day, you decided to take a long nap on the couch. Quiet, peaceful, and not a single soul wanting to bother y-

"Nevermind..." You sighed.

That thought was shattered into pieces when you woke up on the couch with Hanni on top of you.

You have a warm body in general and all the girls usually used you like a heater whenever they were cold, huddling into you like baby penguins surrounding their mother.

That included cuddling into your arms whenever they caught you taking a nap on the couch.

So when you stirred awake, you weren't surprised to find Hanni (Y/n Heater's #1 fan) lying on top of you, spread like a flying squirrel.

'Ah, who cares.'

You decided to just go back to sleep, right hand holding the younger steady just in case she falls like last time.

-

You woke back up abut 30 minutes later to find that your chest has gotten heavier.

You tiredly opened one eye to see that another body - Hyein - has been added to your napping form. You were honestly used to this by now, and decided go back to sleep - already expecting at least one more addition to the pile when you wake back up.

-

"Unnie..."

'There it is.'

20 minutes later, you woke back up to the sound of a soft voice calling for you.

You lazily opened your eyes to see Danielle standing next to you awkwardly.

"Hmm? Need somethin' sunshine?"

"...Can I join..?"

You stared at her in disbelief before letting out a soft chuckle.

"Yeah sure, might be a tight squeeze though- oof!"

The moment you approved she rammed into your side, squeezing next to Hanni. She was slightly hanging off the edge, so in a second you held on tight to her arms - just in case.

You let out content sigh while falling back asleep.

-

It was 4 hours after you started you nap when you awoke for the 4th time.

You opened your eyes to see two lumps on the floor next to the couch. Minji was awake, watching the TV on a low volume, while Haerin was lying on the floor with her head in Minji's lap - lightly snoring.

"She's practically purring, huh?"

Minji - slightly jumped by your voice - let out a quiet laugh.

"Yeah, she seemed tired."

"Hmm... aren't you?"

"I just enjoy seeing you guys like this."

"This? This is basically going to the gym. Have you ever carried 3 bodies on your chest?"

She let out a giggle.

"No, but what I meant is that I enjoy seeing you guys happy like this."

"Hah."

"Don't laugh! I mean it."

She lightly leaned back for her head to rest on your shoulder.

"It's peaceful. And I love it."

———————————————————————

A/N: Thanks for reading. Love y'all <3

[impactedfates]

helloo, jing yuan visiting dan heng/feng’s kid in the shackling prison? like the poor kid is scared terrified even considering they didnt get the best treatment there, but the general tries comforting them so yeah a platonic hurt/comfort scenerio

(kinda inspired by this amazing fanart: https://www.tumblr.com/gin-uzumaki/729265014524002304/the-general-was-vainly-searching-for-the-shadow )

A/N: Hello!! I'm assuming the kid is the reader? I've written it this way anyways haha. I decided this would be a prequel to this dan heng fic!! I hope that's alright anon :)) JY visiting the kid after finding out they got wrongfully imprisoned in the shackling prison

Genre/Trope: Platonic + Hurt/Comfort

Format: Fic (W.C: 1589)

Warnings: Wrongful Imprisonment // Hints at torture/abuse towards reader

Extra: Kid reader, so shorter then Jing Yuan // Uncle Jing Yuan :D

"Safe With Me" - Platonic Jing Yuan x Child! Reader

Everyday would be the same for you. The same routine, you would wake up to the sounds of Cloud Knights shaking you awake roughly, they’d reluctantly feed you before leaving you chained up. Hours later they’d come back again for lunch and again for dinner. Then you’d soon pass out for sleep. And more then once, would they come back in between to ensure you ‘learnt your lesson’. What they meant by that? You weren’t completely sure.

Every single day this would happen, and you wished with every fibre in your body that something would change. That you could leave. That the Cloud Knights, the same ones from each day, the ones that always came to merely ensure you wouldn’t die, yet with how your body was decorated in wounds and bruises, they didn’t seem to care that much anyways…you hoped that even so, they would let you go. But living for so long, having been forced to drink that rotten potion that stopped your ageing just to punish you with something you don’t even know about. You weren’t sure if the day you could finally see the sun once again would happen.

Footsteps could be heard, walking in your direction, different footsteps, not the ones from the Knights that would usually come. Unrecognisable footsteps, the door to your cell opened and a pair of gold eyes soon met your own eyes.

He slowly walked in, keeping a distance from you, yet even so you moved back instantly. Looking him up and down, although the strange man didn’t wear the usual uniform of the Cloud Knights, you had no reason to trust him, no reason at all.

What if he was here to hurt you?

What if he was here to shove the disgusting food in your mouth instead?

What if-

“Are you okay?”

You looked over to him, your eyes which have previously been shut tightly to braise for whatever he was planning opened slowly as you looked at him, still he kept his distance to not startle you.

“Are you okay?”

He repeats, a small smile on his lips before his eyes looked at the chains around your body, slightly glaring…but not at you. His eyes landed on your form, almost softening instantly. You shake your head at his question and ask one yourself.

“...W-who are you?”

“You can call me Jing Yuan…the…General of the Cloud Knights”

He did not fail to notice you flinching away from him as he spoke about his title, he raised his arms in surrender and slowly walked closer. Despite everything, despite being chained to one small area, you tried your best to move away from him, the chains clashing against each other as they stopped you from going any further.

“...I’m not going to hurt you, I promise…can you trust me?”

“H-how do I know y-you’re not lying”

“You can’t…so I’m asking you to please trust me…the Cloud Knights who did this to you have already been dealt with accordingly”

You looked away from him, slightly shaking. You didn’t want to trust him, you weren’t sure if he was telling the truth. But you knew that if you refused, if he was anything like the people who threw you in here, you’d get hurt more. So despite everything you nodded, and closed your eyes. Getting ready for whatever the white haired man had planned.

What you weren’t prepared for however, was the feeling of your arms, your body, your legs. To no longer feel strained due to the chains, the sounds of a key clicking and the sounds of metal echoing through the chamber as metal crashed into each other gently.

You opened your eyes and they widened a bit, seeing you have been freed from the chains, looking up. Jing Yuan stared back with a kind smile and keys in hand. He reached behind him and pulled something out, almost on instinct, you moved back and raised an arm to protect yourself, but nothing happened.

“It’s okay…I just want to offer you a proper hot meal…well snack maybe is the better term for this”

He speaks, gently pushing over a wooden steamer towards you before calmly moving back. Allowing you to slowly open the lid, letting the smell of xiaolongbao infiltrate your nose, your mouth watered, looking up at Jing Yuan unsure if you were even allowed to eat something like this. With a nod of his head, you quickly dug in.

The xiaolongbao was the right temperature, not hot enough to burn your mouth yet still warm. After you finished, you looked back up to Jing Yuan who stared back, his hands behind his back as he carefully watched you with gentle eyes.

“...May I come closer?”

He asked, tilting his head. You nodded slowly, still backing up to the wall and resting you back on the wall, he walked over slowly, picking up the wooden steamer and putting it away again. Before sitting next to you.

“...The Cloud Knights filled me in on what happened, but I have a feeling they didn’t tell me the full story…if you don’t mind looking into the past, will you tell me your side?”

You looked over to him and with a hesitant nod, you started telling him what happened. How when you saw your father getting banished away, you quickly ran elsewhere, how a Cloud Knight must’ve spotted you and chased you down. The next thing you knew was being forced in the chamber the two of you sat in currently and how you were chained up.

You even told him the mistreatment that occurred and the potion you were made to drink to stop yourself from ageing. You weren’t sure why you were made to drink the potion, perhaps it was because you would feel more pain with everything that happened. Whatever the case, you were in tears as you finished.

Jing Yuan instantly took note of this and was quick to gently clean away any tears. He wanted to hug you and comfort you, but he knew that with everything that you went through, you may not trust him. 

He understands.

He simply tried to comfort you in mere words, and eventually it worked. As you calmed down. Gripping onto the dirty cloth you were wearing you looked back at the man who had been the one who gave you the change you were looking for.

“...Mr General?”

“Yes?”

“...What’s going to happen now?”

You ask, looking at him. He hummed in response and stood up, offering a hand for you to take, which you did. Slowly standing up and using his arm as support as your legs still felt wobbly.

“First, I’m taking you to get cleaned up and a proper meal. I already gave you some xiaolongbao to eat, but I think you’d enjoy something more filling”

He starts, walking out of the chamber with you and out of the prison, the sun hitting your face instantly as you stepped outside the prison. You looked up, eyes squinting as the brightsun burned your eyes and yet, it was beautiful. Jing Yuan continued.

“Then, we’ll take a trip to the alchemy commission so they can figure out how to reverse the effects of the ageing potion you took. You’ll stay with me for a bit…until you’re ready to meet your dad…your dads reincarnation I should say”

He mumbles the last part, inaudible to you. Your eyes looked towards him as you thought about his words. Clinging onto his arm a bit tighter.

“...You promise you’re not like the mean guys who took me?”

“I promise, and those mean guys will get rightfully punished for their crimes…you’re safe with me don’t worry”

He nods, smiling down at you. And he did in fact keep his promise. He stayed true to his word, you got a set of new clothes and was able to eat a full meal. All paid for by the general (discounted due to his title) and the alchemy commission, in request to Jing Yuan, managed to make an antidote to have you age normally again. To continue growing up like any other kid.

.

.

.

.

.

One night when he was off from work, he came to see you. He couldn’t adopt you, he knew you’d need someone who’d be home more often than he could. But even so, even if he was only temporarily your guardian, he’s so happy to see you change for the better, to see a smile on your face more often than a frown or a scared one.

“How are you, little one?”

He called softly, standing next to you as you drew him, yourself and Yanqing. His smile softened even more as he saw this.

“I’m good!”

“That’s good”

“...Uncle Jing Yuan?”

“Yes?”

“...I think I’m ready to meet my dad now”

You spoke, looking up from the paper to him, Jing Yuan looked back and nodded, patting your head.

“Are you sure you’re ready?”

“Yes”

“Then get yourself packed up, and you can meet him tomorrow”

With a nod from both yourself and him, he helped you get ready to meet your father. You truly were safe with him for the time you spent with him, and now he’s entrusting that you’d be safe with your father.

With Dan Heng.

With the express.

And he hoped that as the years go on, you’ll continue to smile as you do. And if the time comes when Dan Heng needs a babysitter? You’ll always be welcome with him. You’ll always be safe with him.

Jing Yuan :D Love him sm, he'd honestly be such a good dad, have you seen how he is with Yanqing?? Father son duo istg. I decided to make the reader see Jing Yuan as their uncle cuz I think it was cute :>>

Feel like I missed some warnings, so if you catch anything I missed please tell me!! (I'm always worried if I miss warnings RAEIOFN)

[acidinduceddaydreams]

Fort-night!

Pairings: bff kind of cgs! 1D x fem!reader. 2011-2013 sort of 1D vibes. Can you tell nostalgia is hitting me hard rn?

Synopsis: you are feeling uneasy and hurt. Lucky for you five boys want to light up your world like nobody else.

Warnings/ A/n: Liam is mentioned because it’s not 1D without him. I hope this made you all smile. God bless! ❤️🧸. Also did you see what I did with the title and synopsis haha I’m so funny okay bye now!

It had been one of those days where everything felt just a bit too much. Your energy was low, and even though you tried to shake off the heaviness, it lingered. By the time you curled up on the couch with a blanket, you’d decided the best plan was to stay quiet and hope no one noticed.

But the boys always noticed.

Harry was the first to sense something was off. He walked into the room with a bowl of strawberries in hand, humming softly to himself. When he saw you tucked into the corner of the couch, staring blankly at the TV, he immediately set the bowl down and knelt in front of you.

“Hey, love,” he said softly, his green eyes scanning your face. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

You shrugged, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. “Just tired.”

Harry tilted his head, concern flickering across his face. “Tired like you need sleep, or tired like you need cuddles and a distraction?”

You hesitated, biting your lip. “Maybe both.”

Harry reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Alright. We can fix that.”

Before you could ask what he meant, Louis burst into the room, carrying an armful of blankets. “Right,” he announced, his voice bright and full of purpose, “it’s officially a blanket fort night. No arguments allowed.”

You blinked, watching as Louis began draping blankets over the furniture, muttering to himself about structural integrity.

“Blanket fort night?” you asked quietly, looking up at Harry.

He grinned. “Only the best nights. Trust me, love, Lou’s got this down to a science.”

As if on cue, Niall wandered in, a bag of crisps tucked under his arm. “What’s all this, then?” he asked, nodding toward the chaos Louis was creating.

“It’s a masterpiece in progress,” Louis replied, tossing a pillow to Niall. “Now, help me. We need snacks, fairy lights, and at least five more blankets.”

Niall raised an eyebrow but grinned, setting the crisps on the coffee table before diving into the project.

Liam arrived next, balancing a tray of steaming mugs. “I thought hot chocolate might be in order,” he said, handing a mug to each of you. He crouched beside you, his gaze soft and kind. “You doing alright, sweetheart?”

You hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, just… a bit off today.”

“Well, good thing you’ve got us,” Liam said warmly, patting your knee. “We’ll sort you out.”

By the time Zayn appeared with a stack of books and a flashlight, the fort was taking shape. Louis had transformed the living room into a cozy hideaway, complete with fairy lights strung along the edges and a pile of snacks in the middle.

“You don’t have to do all this,” you murmured as Zayn handed you a book.

Zayn gave you a small smile, sitting down beside you. “We want to. Besides, it’s been too long since our last fort night.”

Harry stood, offering you a hand. “Come on, love. Let’s get you settled.”

He guided you into the fort, where pillows and blankets surrounded you in a cocoon of warmth. The boys followed, each finding their spot—Louis sprawled dramatically across the pillows, Niall rifling through the snacks, Liam adjusting the lights, and Zayn flipping through the books.

“Alright,” Louis declared, holding up a flashlight. “We start with ghost stories. It’s tradition.”

“No way,” Niall countered. “Let’s watch something funny. Y/N needs a good laugh.”

“Spooky stories first,” Louis insisted. “Fort rules.”

As they bickered, you couldn’t help but smile. Harry noticed, his lips curling into a grin as he nudged your side.

“There it is,” he said softly.

“There’s what?” you asked.

“That smile,” he replied, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “We’ve been missing it all day.”

Zayn started reading a ghost story in an exaggerated voice, and the boys took turns interrupting him with jokes and sound effects. You found yourself laughing more than you had in days, the warmth of their presence chasing away the lingering heaviness.

By the time the story ended, the snacks were half gone, and Niall had convinced everyone to put on a comedy movie. You leaned against Harry, his arm draped around you, as Louis threw popcorn at Zayn for stealing his pillow.

“You feeling better, love?” Harry whispered, his voice low so the others wouldn’t hear.

You nodded, leaning into him. “A lot better. Thank you.”

“You never have to thank us,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We’re your boys. Taking care of you is the best part of our day.”

As the movie played and the boys continued their playful antics, you felt a warmth settle over you. Wrapped in their love and care, you knew one thing for sure—you were never alone.

[jazz-fics]

Title: Tri-Love

Requested: @crazyabout-writing

Plot: "You could write something about Dr. House, where he is in love with a doctor who is a pediatrician but their relationship is complicated, she is young and beautiful, but then a new doctor arrives. Tall, with black hair and always wearing a black suite, he falls in love with her and house gets jealous."

Warning: Jealous House

"You have three minutes..." Y/N says while holding her phone to keep track of the timer. "Go!"

The boy on the exam table grabs the pen provided before furiously drawing his best farm scene. Y/N had found that the boy's parents had to step out of the exam room so she took it upon herself to entertain him.

There is a knock on the door as Dr. House comes in. She looks at him with curiosity. "Whatever it is, it can wait three minutes." She points to the kid on the table, now drawing a lopsided cat.

Gregory House raises a brow. "Does that cat have four legs or--"

Before House's joke can make it out she quickly grabs his wrist and tugs him out of the exam room.

"You were not just going to make a joke like that in a children's exam room. Forget the exam room, this is pediatrics. What are you doing up here?"

House makes a dramatic gasp. "Me? Make an inappropriate joke?"

"Haha," Y/N says unenthusiastically. "What is it?"

"Lunch," he says with a snippy undertone. "You're late. And here I am finding why."

She groans. Of course she's late. When is she not? Before she could apologize, House brings more attention to them with an outburst just as the parents walk in. The situation was made even more embarrassing when Y/N phone alarm goes off. "Oh my Gosh! She's late to lunch because she's been cheating on me!"

"House," she grumbles under her breath before smiling at the child's parents and opening the door for them. Ignoring House, she looks to the child on the table. "Is that what I think it is?"

She shoots House a glare as she shuts the exam room door in his face.

*********************************************************

It really wasn't long that Y/N had been done with the child before another one came along.

"So, what's this I hear about a new doctor on the floor?" "It's you, House. You're the new doctor on the floor and you're not even supposed to be up here," Y/N sighs as she drops the patient folder at the nursing station.

"No," he says while tapping his cane on the floor. "I mean the fancy one. Dr....Shickle?"

"It's Schell"

"Like the sea shell?"

She ignores him as she picks up another folder. "It's pretty busy up here, ya know? Why not bother Wilson? You know, the head of oncology that doesn't seem to actually have any work to do.”

A snort leaves House’s mouth but Y/N can finally see through him.

“There’s a new doctor on this floor,” he merely says.

As he speaks, said new doctor arrives. Dr. Schell is wearing a black suit under his white coat which he takes off and folds over his arm. He looks at Y/N with a smile. “Need company for lunch, Y/N?”

The new doctor’s voice is enough to make any woman’s knees weak. Smooth and deep. House knows this and his eyes shoot to Y/N before he steps in. “She has one. She thanks you though.” House tried to make himself look taller despite his cane. Y/N arches a brow. This should be interesting.

Dr. Schell smiles and House hates the dimple on his cheek. "Well, I'm sure she doesn't mind more company?" His eyes drop down to Y/N. "Our lunch is at the same time."

"Actually," House says while nearly knocking something off the counter with his cane which Y/N is sure was on purpose. "She does mind." With another half-hearted and surly purposeful swing, his cane hits the lollipop dish off the counter and causes Y/N to jump despite seeing it happen. Y/N bent down to pick up the candies when she felt a firm hand on her rear that caused heat to rise up the back of her neck. Dr. Schell noticed the blush on her cheeks and raised a brow when he saw what happened. "I'm sure that's not ok, Dr.?"

"House. Also known as this one's husband so no, she does not need your company."

Y/N mouth drops open in surprise at House's rebuttal and is even more surprised when House hooks her arm with his and leads her away.

[jinnie-ret]

ok but imagine chans sister comes to visit the boys and gets attacked by saesangs. comfort from chan as well as his own guilt that it happened?? while the boys do their best to fix everything and make it okay? my love for angsty fics is really showing damn

cold water

stray kids x reader (platonic)

genre: angst, angst, and more angst

content warnings: saesangs, violence, drowning

word count: 3.3k

summary: when chan's sister pays the boys a visit in Seoul, during their S-CLASS mv shooting, no one could have expected the day to end the way it would.

Thank you so much for this request! I've been trying to write it for the past couple of days because this idea instantly popped into my head, I hope it fulfills the angst you've been looking for!

As always, like, reblog if you enjoyed, and my asks are open for any requests you may have. And let me know if you'd like to be tagged when I post :)

MAIN MASTERLIST

Y/N was glad to finally settle down in Seoul after her flight from Sydney. She was excited to see Bang Chan again, it had been a while as she hadn't been able to fly over with Hannah and go to their concerts, too busy with her school work. You see, Y/N always dreamed of being a director, and so when Chan had offered her to come watch them film their newest music video for their upcoming title track, S-CLASS, she couldn't deny his offer. Especially since he had promised that it would be a new experience for not just her, but for him and the rest of the boys too.

And boy was he right. If you had asked Y/N if she was going on a nighttime shoot, on a boat, in the middle of Han River, she would have laughed in your face, but her brother was big time now, and as much as she'd tease him and deny it, she was proud of Bang Chan. He even managed to get a comment along those lines from her earlier in the day.

"Y/Nnie, aren't you proud of your big bro?" Chan bounced around happily, excited for his younger sister to be staying with them, shaking her shoulders at the same time.

"Yeah, yeah," she rolled her eyes, unable to hide her growing smile as she stood in the entrance of the dorms he shared with Changbin, Han, and Hyunjin.

Speaking of, they all appeared, hearing the commotion of their leader and someone else.

"Woah, is that you, Y/N? You've grown!" Han patted her head as he greeted her.

"Not by much," she laughed, ducking away when the head pats turned into borderline hair ruffling, and no one touches her hair.

"Who knows, maybe you'll be taller than Changbinnie!" Hyunjin laughed.

"There's no way, Y/N got the small genes too, just like me and Hannah, Lucas is the only one who is tall out of us siblings," Chan sighed.

"It's so annoying. We're twins. He's got height to spare, why couldn't he give me some of it?" Y/N whined, causing Chan to laugh at her.

"Ah, join us on the dark side Y/N," Chan gestured to him and the other 2 members of 3RACHA.

"I'm in a dorm full of shorties," Hyunjin shook his head.

"Surprise, shawtyyyy," Y/N did some jazz hands, causing Han and Chan to laugh because they got the reference.

"Anyways let's drop your bags off in the spare room, then we can grab something to eat and head to the shoot, yeah?" Chan suggested as he picked up Y/N's luggage and carried it with him.

"Sounds good to me," Y/N nodded as she followed along.

Best. Dinner. Ever.

Bulgogi. Fried chicken. Kimchi. It was a proper feast. Although, the boys didn't have too much as they said they didn't want to feel bloated during the shoot, and they'd probably get some more food later. Y/N wouldn't be able to turn down that offer too, especially since her brother was paying for it all.

"So how old are you now, Y/Nnie?" Seungmin asked as she traveled with the other boys to their shoot.

"I'm 17," Y/N replied, the boys letting out noises of surprise.

"I remember when we debuted, you were only 12!" Felix gasped.

"Well, times have changed haha, it's been like 5 years, you know, you guys have been doing this for a small while now," Y/N pointed out. Of course she wasn't going to be a child forever.

"That makes me feel old," Lee Know sighs, throwing his head back against the headrest in the car.

"Well, you are the oldest one in here hyung," Jeongin patted his shoulder condescendingly.

"Yah! Our driver hyung is older than me!" Lee Know replied, turning around and staring daggers at his youngest member.

Y/N couldn't help but giggle at the interactions they had. She was glad her brother was surrounded by such good people. She knew he had found it tough before when he saw his other trainee friends debut, not fully realising how isolating that must have been until a few years ago now.

"You know, you're pretty cool, Chris," Y/N stared in awe at the boat they were about to board.

"Thanks, sis," he wrapped her in a small side hug, not teasing her this time yet still having a bashful expression on his face.

They all boarded the boat, staff, crew, members. Not realising the two suspicious hooded figures following them on and instantly hiding. In fact, Y/N thought she saw something out of the corner of her eye, jolting around so suddenly she caught the attention of Chan once more.

"You good?" he raised an eyebrow at her, looking around now also.

"Thought I saw something... it's probably nothing," Y/N brushed it off.

"It's probably jet lag," Chan guessed, and Y/N nodded along anyways. It had been a long flight over, and she was feeling her energy slowly drop. Yet that didn't stop her from eagerly trying to pick up every detail of the shoot, from the camera angles, to how many takes it took the boys on different scenes, and to other unseen aspects of the shoot.

"So let me get this right, they're going to CGI a massive octopus in?" Y/N said with wide eyes, wondering why it would be there.

"Yeah, and?" Felix shrugged.

"And Seungmin is going to dance next to it for some reason?" Y/N clasped her hands behind her back.

"So?" Han shrugged. These sorts of ideas weren't really anything out of the ordinary for them.

"That's sick!" Y/N cheered in English, making the boys jump from her sudden mood change they witnessed, thinking she was criticising what was happening at first. They now understood she was just an excitable girl.

She had been diligently taking down notes on her phone the whole time, taking photos also. The crew had been worried at first that she'd reveal spoilers for the filming, but Chan reassured them all that Y/N was a good kid and she wouldn't do anything like that.

"Hey, Chris, is there a toilet on here?" two girls crouched on a lower part of the boat heard Y/N ask her brother. Of course they recognised the girl when they snuck on earlier. They were fans before their likes turned to obsessions, so of course they knew that Y/N was Chan's sister.

"Just downstairs one and to the left," they heard Chan reply and had to hide their squeals. Maybe if they saw Y/N, they could pretend to be best friends with her and then get closer to Chan. And then, once they got closer to Chan, they could become closer with the other members too.

Delusion was a disease.

Y/N put her phone torch light on as she headed down one flight of stairs and entered the bathroom, a light flickering on instantly. She went to enter a cubicle before a bright light shined in her face and left her wincing and feeling startled.

In reality, it was the two saesang girls' best bet in getting away before they were caught. And they didn't even feel bad for what they did. It's not like they went to the extremes of using a laser.

"Ah," Y/N winced as she rubbed her eyes, but she ignored it and soon returned upstairs.

"Are you ok? You look a bit disoriented," Hyunjin checked on the younger girl as he took a break, getting his hair and clothes touched up and adjusted.

"Yeah, I'm fine, just, a bit, I don't know," Y/N didn't know what else to say. She had a bad feeling now, swearing she had heard some giggles and footsteps running away from her after she was temporarily blinded.

"Is being on the boat all too much?" Seungmin asked, feeling bad for the girl who looked dazed.

"Hey, Y/N, why don't you take a moment, yeah, I know all the cameras and lights can be a bit overwhelming," Chan came over as soon as he heard the tone difference in the voices of his group.

"Ok, I'll just be round that corner, I'm going to look out at the river," Y/N told him, receiving a satisfied nod in response as she walked off. Perhaps all she needed really was just a breather. Yes, all the set and ideas were amazing, but it was very fast paced. What happened to their song, 'My Pace'?

Y/N giggled to herself, looking out at the water before she heard people approach her from behind.

"Chris, I still need some time-"

"Ah, so you are his sister..." one of the girls, looking around 20 years old, and staring down Y/N.

"Oh, are you staff here? Sorry, Chris, umm, Chan said it was okay to come down here, but I can move if-"

"No, why don't you stay?" the other girl evily smiled.

"Well, if you're sure..." Y/N nodded and turned back towards the water, before her head was yanked back and she fell to the floor of the boat with a thud.

"Hey!" Y/N shouted, but her mouth was instantly covered.

"You're going to give us exactly what we want, isn't that right?" a harsh voice whispered into her ear with gritted teeth. But Y/N shook her head pleadingly, not wanting to be caught up in anything violent.

"Stupid!" she was slapped across the face, letting out a whimper from the pain before she was pinned to the ground.

"Listen here, you little bitch. You may think you're living the high life as Chan's sister but you've got it all wrong. Now, you're going to walk back up there with and introduce us properly to that lovely brother of yours, pretend we got lost down here, just two staff members gone missing," a girl squeezed her wrists tight as Y/N couldn't move from her position.

"Ow, shit. Get off!" Y/N struggled in their grip, feeling terrified. This is certainly not what she expected when she came to visit her brother for an innocent work experience trip.

"Do it, now," they hauled her up and pushed her back towards where everyone else was working.

"I don't have to do anything you tell me. I'll just call the police and-" Y/N bravely began as she held up her phone but it was soon knocked out of her hands, and sink into the depths of the Han River.

"Oops," a girl innocently giggled.

"Are you out of your mind?!" Y/N shouted loudly, loud enough that she would be heard by the others, particularly her older brother who was due to go down and check on her because he thought she had been taking too long.

"Some may say that," the two girls cackled maniacally amongst themselves, like it was the best inside joke in the world.

"That was my phone! It had everything on it! I need it!" Y/N shouted once more, Chan, Lee Know and Changbin's footsteps becoming more rushed now. The other two immediately joined Chan on the way when they too heard the shouting.

Y/N had a pair of hands wrapped around her throat, the other unoccupied as the owner of them smirked and simply whispered.

"Aw, you better go get it then."

In a split second, Chan and the rest of the hyung line watched as Y/N was hurled over the edge of the boat, screaming as she fell before a splash was heard.

"Y/N!!!" Chan screamed in complete and utter panic. It was dark, it was cold, and now his sister was forced to try and stay afloat in such freezing temperatures like the waters of Han River.

"Are you crazy?!" Lee Know yelled at the two girls, who were excited to see the boys, not realising the consequences of their actions.

"Y/N!!! Y/N!!! Can you hear me?!" Chan heartbreakingly yelled as he looked over the edge of the boat railings and tried to see the head of his sister pop up.

Y/N felt her airways open before she cold help it. Ice cold water, working its way through her body as it traveled to her lungs and caused her to let out muffled pleas for help, trying to swim to the surface.

"Somebody get help! Someone fell in the water!!" Changbin used his loud voice to his advantage as he signalled the emergency crew with a lifeboat to drop down into the water and try and find Y/N.

"No, no, no, I can't believe this, no..." Chan whimpered, hands clenching onto the railing so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.

"Chan, it's ok, they'll find her," Felix had come up behind him, trying to calm him down even though he himself was feeling the exact same way. All of the boys were. There was anger, there was panic, there was... grief too. Nothing had been confirmed, but the what ifs flying through everyone's minds had killed the thoughts in their brains telling them that there was still a chance.

"I can't see her!!! I can't see her!!!" Chan paced, running his fingers through his hair as he cried. He cried so hard. The members couldn't remember the last time they saw their leader like this. But he was a family man, through and through. He'd do anything to protect those around him, especially those close to him.

"Get rid of these girls!" Han lead over some staff members to the two saesangs who had been stood starstruck the whole time Lee Know cussed them out, only infuriating him more.

"Y/N!" Hyunjin tried.

"Y/Nnie!" Seungmin tried.

"Y/N!" Jeongin tried.

They all tried calling her but there was no luck so far. The boat had been deployed into the river and it had bright lights reflecting off of the water, hoping to catch sight of Y/N.

"I should have protected her! I promised her!" Chan angrily pointed out towards the water, tears continuously falling as his members wrapping him in their arms comfortingly and trying to keep him calm

"Y/N! I see her! To the right! She's there!" Lee Know yelled down at the boat operators, who quickly jumped into action as they grabbed the shivering girl, trying to make sure she was breathing as they transported her onto land, where the boys on the boat were now pulling in too.

Y/N didn't remember much of what happened. Her body slowly became more and more numb, yet it carried her to the surface of the water, where she fortunately was floating on her back. She coughed and spluttered, and it seemed to let her breathe with a bit more improvement. Or maybe it was when she was wrapped in a foil blanket, hearing shouts of her name and feeling the rocking of a boat as she was moved somewhere.

The ground felt flat. But she couldn't mistake the warmth of her brother, even in her haziness.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry this happened to you, my Y/Nnie. I won't let anyone come near you ever again, I'll protect you. Chris is sorry, Y/N," Chan cried as he held his sister tightly against him, wrapping the blanket tighter around her and not caring about the discomfort he felt from sitting down in his tight leather trousers. Tears rolled down his cheeks, the other members gathered around and looking shaken up too, hands over there mouth or a supportive hand on Chan's shoulder.

"Please, can we pause the filming? I need to make sure she's ok," Chan pleaded with the staff, who immediately and wordlessly nodded at him, feeling incredibly upset themselves at what had happened. They had seen the brightness in the girl's eyes, when she asked them questions about how things worked and why they did them.

"We're all here for you, hyung," Changbin kneeled down next to Bang Chan and wrapped an arm around his shoulder at the same time. He knew how tough Chan could be on himself, and this was going to eat him up for weeks, maybe even years.

Y/N coughed, becoming aware of her surroundings and momentarily thrashing around before a gentle voice calmed her in an instant.

"Y/N, I've got you love, I've got you yeah, you're ok, you're alive," Chan tried not to let his voice break as he squeezed her tighter in his arms.

"The, girls, pushed, couldn't breathe," Y/N spluttered, her words coming out jumbled as flashes of the situation that just happened flushed through her mind.

"Sssh, sssh, I know, I know, but you're safe now, yeah?" Chan did his best to reassure her and stop her mind from going into overdrive, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Sir, we should really call get her to a hospital, she may have secondary drowning. We can't risk anything."

Within a heartbeat Chan was nodding, medics coming over as she was lifted into the back of an ambulance, and now, instead of Y/N, he was the one who was frozen.

"Hyung, come on, you need to go with her, we'll follow behind," Felix ushered him to stand.

"She... she nearly..." Chan spoke in disbelief, not wanting to finish his sentence as reality hit him hard like a truck.

"But she didn't," Lee Know said firmly, "go with her," he pushed him towards the ambulance.

Chan sat numbly in the ambulance, hand holding his little sister's, the youngest Bahng. What would his parents say? He had failed them, failed Y/N, failed his duty as an older brother. He was so lost in his thoughts he didn't even realise they had arrived at the hospital, and Y/N seemed to be more with it than before as she was being carted out the back of the ambulance.

"No, wait, Chan, I want my brother," Y/N whimpered as he went out of her sight, trying to tell the paramedics that she needed him. The other members had arrived too but she needed only one person with her.

"Hyung, we're here now, she needs you," Jeongin drags his oldest hyung out of the ambulance towards Y/N.

Chan stayed with her until she was discharged. He had no second thoughts to any news articles that would be dispatched, or what the company would say. All that was running through his mind was family, family, family.

"Chris?" Y/N weakly said from her bed. Well, it wasn't her bed technically. It was the one that belonged to the spare room in the dorms. She laid there wondering why this had to happen to her. If it wasn't for those saesangs...

"What is it? You need something to eat? Are you in pain?" Chan fussed over her.

"It's not your fault," Y/N whispered. Her quiet words shattered something in Chan's heart.

"Don't," he shook his head.

"I know that look, Chris, just don't blame yourself. It was those girls. You didn't push me into the river," Y/N spoke quietly, trying to make eye contact with her brother but he couldn't even look her in the eyes.

"Don't talk about it!"

"Look at me!" Y/N shouted, putting all her effort into using her voice and causing her to start coughing.

This made Chan go into high alert as he sat her up and patted her back instantly, like it was habit, just as he would have done when he first held her at the age of ten.

"I need you, Chris, please don't get lost in your own head, I need you here with me," Y/N teared up, and Chan knew that she didn't mean physically being there. This was a whole other matter.

"I'm sorry, it's okay, Y/Nnie, I'm here," Chan hugged her tightly, feeling her relax.

"I can't stop thinking about it," Y/N cried, shoulders shaking.

"This should have never happened to you," Chan wiped her tears gently.

"I promise you, you will never come to any harm again, ok? Me and the boys, we'll help you recover, we'll take care of you. No one will ever hurt you again, Y/Nnie, I swear."

tagged: @skz-streamer @oo-li

[mr-payjay]

Paper Stream Interview Transcript!!!!!!!

This took me forever. But I like transcribing. The transcript is under the cut ❤️

Fan: We have… the next best thing. That's right. OJ's... righthand man! Uh—well—some could say. Um. In—uh—uh—our guest of honor, tonight, that's right, you've all been waiting for it: PAPER!

Paper: Haha, hey everyone! Um... I wasn't really expecting to, come on out tonight!

Fan: Neither was I.

Paper: It was a—it was a bit of a change in schedule! What was that?

Fan: Nei—yeah—neither was I. I mean, look, I-I always love to see you Paper, um...

Paper: Hehe!

Fan: I'll be g—I'll be—

Paper: We're besties! Paper pals!

Fan: Yeah! No we are paper pals. I—I mean I'll be completely frank with you... all of my questions I prepared were for OJ, so...

Paper: Oh!

Fan: Um... I don't know if you'll be able to answer any—like cause like I mean look at the—alright like first card here that I have is like—what, you see, like what's it like running a hotel—see, like that doesn't apply to you at all, like cause you're just a guest here at Hotel OJ, you don't have any responsibilities, so we could just—we could just crumple that up—

Paper: Wha—uh—about that, I mean I d—I…

Fan: Oh!

Paper: I do do quite a… bit for Hotel OJ.

Fan: Oh really?

Paper: I mean like, whenever OJ's over to—over to the left, some fire's gotta be put out on the right, you know what I mean?

Fan: Okay… I didn't realize that you were invol—so what's like—what's your ro—do you have like an official title? Here? In the hotel?

Paper: Um… well, well no, well, my title is…

Fan: Oh!

Paper: Paper! You know? Um…

Fan: Well, Paper—yeah well, that's your name! But like do you have like a… you know, a position, a role?

Paper: Well…

Fan: A job?

Paper: OJ's… in charge, and…

Fan: Right.

Paper: I-I don't really have a title? Because, you know, in *theory,* I'm supposed to just be, a guest who gets all the accommodations and, you know, same as everyone else without having to do the *work* for it…

Fan: Right. Yeah.

Paper: But. You know. I also have to… you know. Clean up everything, and, and, and, you know, I'll—I'll cook some meals, and do the dishes, and… and organize all the… the reconstruction and, whenever we had the Hotel OJ casino, you know, when we were doing that big project that we loved and did for… many, many, many months… um… tsk, you know, I-I was running things there, and…

Fan: Wow…

Paper: You know, construction…

Fan: The hotel casino, I lost a lot of money on that…

Paper: And… planting some flowers… and… you know, I-I mean, I kinda do… everything around here!

Fan: Now I wanna—

Paper: [noise]

Fan: Yeah… okay… I wanna return to one thing that you sai—ah—my… I perked up when you said this, cause you said you *have* to do these things. What do you mean have to—like who's making you do these things? How did this start?

Paper: Um, I suppose, “have to” is, you know… not the exact perfect wording for it.

Fan: Okay…

Paper: But um… you know…

Fan: NOW'S YOUR CHANCE TO CHANGE THE WORDING!

Paper: Wha—uh… I saw that OJ needed, you know, just a little bit of help once, you know, and, um… Yinyang was like… causing a big scene, and—and throwing things around… and then I just—

Fan: And OJ came to you? He came to you to—for help? Or did you approach OJ?

Paper: Well kinda—kinda not, I just, I stepped in—

Fan: You approached him.

Paper: I-I did the job, I-I got things figured out, sorted through, made everyone feel all comfortable, and then OJ said: You did really good with that. You should do that maybe a… a little bit more often! And I'm like, oh, i-if you, if you think I did a really good job, I-I guess I could… I could do it some more, and… you know that you kinda tumble on into these kinds of things!

Fan: Kay, I need you to hold that thought Paper, because look, there has been a—a COSMIC shift in the poll. Knife is now leading f—oh sorry. Oh wait, no, oh, oh we're going back and forth!

Paper: What's going on?

Fan: Knife is leading fifty-one to forty-nine and then it went to fifty fifty AND THEN IT WENT BACK! Knife fifty-one forty-nine AND NOW IT'S BACK! Fifty fifty—oh my goodness, Paper—OH MY GOODNESS, WAIT, KNIFE FIFTY-ONE FORTY—OH AND IT'S BACK TO FIFTY FIFTY—OH WAIT IT'S FIFTY-ONE FORTY-NINE—I'M NOT EVEN JOKING FOLKS! I-I'm taking so many screenshots, but I can't keep up, I can't keep up folks, it's—it's gonna… I'm gonna be logging all of these, I'm gonna have a whole scrapbook. Oh my gosh. Oh that—wait that's right, oh hold on, you're still here.

Paper: This is a once in a lifetime event! Assuming, you know. There's only… one… event.

Fan: Right.

Paper: But here, at the, Hotel OJ party! Hop hop hop! We are, hopping ready for a big exciting finale! So, it seems, that uh, there's a, fifty percent chance, that the person who wins, is going to get YOU all hopping excited!

Fan: Now—you're—you're really keying in on this hop thing, I-I have to ask, like—

Paper: Yeah!

Fan: Is it like—

Paper: Oh I love it.

Fan: It's the Hotel OJ party, so like, I mean the acronym would be like… H-O-J-P, like—ho—ho—hojp?

Paper: Wha—the name is OJ, so… I-I—

Fan: Well it's Orange Juice, so it'd be HOJP, not HOP.

Paper: [incomprehensible]—of the name, like, I don't, you know, ho… hotel, I don't do HT for that, I—

Fan: But there's no space. Orange Juice has a nice space, it's two words. So I think it's HOJP.

Paper: There's a space?!

Fan: No question. Yeah! In Orange Juice, are you kidding me?!

Paper: W-Well he goes by OJ!

Fan: Alright, I-I know that came off rude—

Paper: What—you type out the letters O, J, you put a space in the between them?!

Fan: No—okay, no—n-n-now, now, now, now you're—you're mixing it up. No, OJ in and of itself—

Paper: I'm mixing it up? You're getting so confused, you think you know OJ better than *I* know OJ?!

Fan: I did not say that, Paper. I did not—okay, I've clearly touched a nerve here. Listen. When you do an acronym, you put all of the letters together, no spaces. But when you actually *say* what the acronym is, out loud, then the spaces come into play! You see? So—

Paper: You don't—

Fan: —it would be—

Paper: But—Y-You don't type the letters—

Fan: HOJP!

Paper: —as you say them!

Fan: IT'S HOJP! PAPER! IT'S HOJP! IT'S HOJP! It's HOJP. I'm sorry.

Paper: HOJP? What?

Fan: I'm sorry, Paper. It's HOJP. Alright, you know what? Enough of this poll. I'm gonna end this poll.

Paper: B-b-but it doesn't—it doesn't roll off the tongue! Like, wha…

Fan: Well, that's exactly my point!

Paper: What?

Fan: Why would you have done that? Why would you have done that.

Paper: HOP! HOP is fun! HOP is fun!

Fan: Alright—I'm gonna—you know what? I—before I-I-I'm going to set up a new poll. To see what people—what people say about this. But I also just wanna, like, anecdotally ask the chat: what—is it—is it HOP or HOJP? When you're—when you're talking about the Hotel *OJ* party? Hotel Orange Juice party.

Paper: I think—I-I think you're trying to sway people in one sort of direction!

Fan: I'm not swaying, I'm just saying what it—how—what is it called? What is the party called?

Paper: The… Hotel, OJ! Party…

Fan: And what does OJ—st—oh—wait, OJ—wait! Wait! OJ in and of itself is an acronym, so go on, say what OJ stands for.

Paper: But—we're not saying Orange Juice, are we?! Are we saying Orange Juice right now?! Or are we saying, OJ?!

Fan: Alright, a lot—

Paper: Come on!

Fan: A lot—a lot of the chat is saying HOP, I'm just gonna let you have this one.

Paper: Hahaha, that's a hopping win for us! Hahaha! Well, c-come on, you wouldn't wanna be at the HOJP party!

Fan: No, I wouldn't.

Paper: They—this kinda just works out for everyone!

Fan: Alright, whatever, okay. Ugh… Alright, well—

Paper: Okay, let's just, let's take a break, and—hehe—usually I like to, sort things out, and, make things all calm and chill, but uh… heh, you know, I understand that I caused quite the ruckus today, so let's—[inhale]—ahmumumumum.

Fan: Okay, so—

Paper: C-Can you make that noise?

Fan: No. So, Paper, uh, I want to know. Who do you think should win the second season of Inanimate Insanity? Uh, I know obviously you have some history with Knife, and you kinda have none with Suitcase. So, go ahead!

Paper: Wha—well—uh, y-you beat me to it, Fan! I mean—

Fan: Yeah!

Paper: —here's the issue, right?

Fan: Yeah.

Paper: I don't know a thing about Suitcase! I mean I-I-I didn't compete with her, I-I suppose when—when some people come back to the hotel who have a history with her, they're like: yeah! She’s… pretty nice! And I'm like, oh I like when people are nice that's pretty cool. Um… so, you would think that, you know, kinda just makes sense that by default, since we have, you know, history and all, you know, we—we've… had a lot of time together and such—just makes sense, go for Knife!

Fan: Wow, I'm—

Paper: BUT HE'S A JERK!

Fan: I… I feel like I'm getting some mixed messages from you right now, Paper. Because like you… really have a lot of issues with Knife, but you—you actually would be rooting for Knife!

Paper: Oh no, absolutely not. I'm saying despite the fact, that I don't know a *thing* about Suitcase, of course I'm gonna root for her! Cause, Knife is—

Fan: I'm sorry, I'm only half paying attention, sorry. Continue.

Paper: I appreciate you anyway. Knife is mean, Knife is a bully, why—why would anyone WANT to root for him!? Yeah, oh maybe he beat—did a few challenges well, or whatever, but—Knife will RIP ME APART given the chance! I don't get it! But, you know, maybe I don't need to get it, because, fifty percent of the chat thinks it's, just okay to root for the guy!

Fan: Does that—does that bother you?

Paper: Mn… a little bit, but, you know… I don't wanna tell people what to do.

Fan: No, go ahead.

Paper: You're a fan of him, you know… [at the audience]

Fan: It's not bad, tell them.

Paper: I just know who to… not ever interact with!

Fan: Go ahead and tell them how you feel. I mean, that's why you're here. Share your opinion.

Paper: What? I don't… In front of all eight people listening?

Fan: Yeah—well… there's more than eight. That's a little insulting. You think I can't get a crowd more than eight?

Paper: More than eight? How many more than eight are there?

Fan: Let's… not say, for your own sake.

Paper: Okay… okay, just have to, say this as though there's ten people here and be, be prepared for such a big—

Fan: That's gonna be hard cause it's over eight thousand—sorry! Just slipped out.

Paper: WHAT!? AAH!!!

Fan: Slipped out! Slipped out.

Paper: Um…

Fan: Slipped out, slipped out, slipped out! Sorry.

Paper: Uh… well, for the four thousand who rooted, you know, voted for Knife, just know that you are, supporting a… do I say this word?

Fan: Uh, I don't…

Paper: Is it okay, am I allowed to say this on stream?

Fan: I don't know what word you're going to say!

Paper: It's the P-word!

Fan: What? I don't know what word you're—whisper it in my ear.

Paper: Pbtpbtpbtpbtpbtpbtpbt.

Fan: You just made some nonsense sounds right now, can you actually whisper the word in my ear, please.

Paper: There was a little faith, that you would hear it.

Fan: JUST SAY THE WORD, JUST SAY IT!

Paper: BULLY!!!

Fan: What?

Paper: He's a bully!

Fan: I thought you said P-word. Bully starts with a B.

Paper: B-word. B-word!

Fan: Oh. I thought you said P-word. I was like—

Paper: No, no, P would be like a, puh! You, know like a—puh!

Fan: Ugh. This has been very educational, Paper, I have to say.

Paper: I appreciate it!

Fan: Yeah! Um… Yeah! No I mean�� I-I-I enjoy the fact that you have your opinions, and I certainly have mine, and you know, we don't have to agree, on everything, just what's important.

Paper: Oh, so you *do* have an opinion? On who should win?

Fan: Well, it's not my place to say! This—I'm the moderator of the event so it would insult the—

Paper: Exactly, so it's—it's very specifically *your* place!

Fan: —would insult the integrity of the, uh, livestream, if I were to share my opinion, I established this upfront, you know. I think it makes sense to me. This is my own internal logic and it's my show so, if that is the call that I made, then I don't think that I should have to disclose any opinion, one way or another. I think that's fair.

Paper: Fine. Then I don't very much care either!

Fan: Oh you don't care to hear my opinion? Well that much I knew.

Paper: Ah, wa—I-I-I-I didn't mean it, I just… I just kinda, you know, tried to be… a funny person, who… goes with the bit! I mean…

Fan: Yeah, yeah… Go with the bit, alright… Yeah, you really go with the bit, Paper. You know what? Yeah. Just go with the bit! Yeah, I-I'll go with the bit too. Yeah—th-this has really, this has been such a—such a *great* time. Talking to each other. I think. Yeah, I really enjoyed it—

Paper: Well, I think so too!

Fan: —everyone's been waiting for a long time, for like, the FFF Paper interview, you know, there was a lot of—there was a lot of controversy about this and I—

Paper: And why didn't it happen, huh?

Fan: I—look, I wanted to do it! Salt and Pepper encroached upon my territory, you saw! I was happy to have it happen! I invited you for a reason! We were sharing a laugh—

Paper: And then we had it scheduled, a Paper interview, and then you just—you just sail on off to some concert!

Fan: Hey, hey, hey, hey, we're not gonna talk about that right now. We're not gonna talk about that right now. Okay?

Paper: Hmph.

Fan: We're not gonna talk about that right now. Please. Paper. Come on. This is not—that's not—that's not what this night is about. This night is about, we are a-approaching the end, of Inanimate Insanity 2. You understand that? You understand how big of a deal that is? Do you know how long everyone has been waiting? For this resolution? This is huge, this is massive! Okay? It's not about you, or me…

Paper: It's been—it's been going around, uh… almost as long as I've… lived in this hotel! You know, so I suppose that makes sense!

Fan: Yeah! Yeah no, it is a very, look, it is a very—

Paper: It's like our entire lives by this point!

Fan: It is a very, very big deal. Um… so, yeah, and I-I-I for one am excited to see how it all turns out—I'm sorry, everyone else who's watching is also very much interested to see. Uh, how it'll—how it'll play out too! And I hope, you know, I hope we all are satisfied, you know, it's hard, sometimes, like cause you can't—can't always a-a-a-appeal to everyone, but. You know, it's definitely… it… Yeah. It's been great, finally having this interview with you Paper—I am—I *am* sorry that it took this long, I think I had very understandable reasons that were outside of my control! For why I took this long. But. You know. It's… yeah, it's uh… it—it is what it is. Okay? Do you accept that? Can you accept that? Or no.

Paper: Mm. I do, Fan. I do.

Fan: Okay. Okay, that's all I'm asking. That—that is all I'm asking. And uh… by the way the chat—the chat is—

Paper: [incomprehensible]

Fan: What's that?

Paper: Are we—are we still gonna be paper puppet pals going forward?

Fan: We will be, I-I just wanted to let you know that the chat is saying, like, it—it's HOJP in their heart. So, I think they're trying to turn—

Paper: You said they were saying HOP before! What changed?!

Fan: Well, they—look, I'm seeing, I-I'm trying to pull up an example, i-it won't let me—I'm trying to scroll up, but it won't let me pick it! Jay, I see you in the chat, Jay, I'm trying to click your comment! Wait, no, it—it zoomed away! Hold on I'm gonna get it. I'm gonna get it! You watch, hold on. I have evidence. I have evidence. I have evidence. I will show you.

Paper: Well. You know what? If we can't, you know, figure out all this with the audience that sounds like it's, more than ten people, I mean… we do have a whole bunch of other people, you know, out back, who could give their opinions.

Fan: Well, I-I mean, Paper, I scheduled them all—they only had time to speak individually, I-I don't think that we're gonna be able to get them all again. You know, running a show like this, it's—it's—it's very difficult, it takes a lot of coordination, I know you call that talent, coordination. But—oh wait oh they're all back there. Oh they're all back there. Oh.

Paper: Oh hey guys?

Fan: Oh, wait, hold on, hold on, wait. They wanna all c—oh wait, wait, wait, hold on. Hold on. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. I'm gonna—wait—I'm gonna invite them all—eh yeah! Everyone! Yeah! Come back! Come back! Come back!

[softstarlite]

Bathing In Love

A Joel Miller One Shot

Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: age gap implied, fluff everywhere, so sweet you'll get diabetes, sexual talk but not smut, baby presence. (reader is you amor, so just sit and enjoy ;-) )

Masterlist

Rating: +18 (not explicit)

Word Count: 3k

A/N: so here it is! My Joel fluffy one shot, to be honest this is very self-indulgent haha. I'm not completely sold on the title I came up with but I wanted to publish it so whatever. Hope you guys like it as much as I do. I wanna see if anyone realises what I did with Tommy's daughter's name ;-)

Dividers by @saradika

A deep and raspy “sweetheart” is the first thing you hear when sleep starts to leave your body, you can feel a heavy arm around your midsection and a scruffy beard scratching the back of your neck. You let out a sleepy groan and hide your face on your pillow from the bits of early light coming through the curtains making the already fully awake man behind you chuckle.

“We need to get up sweetheart” you feel the peck he leaves on your naked shoulder. You normally didn't have this much trouble getting up but the same man that was now waking you up had also made you stay awake till very late at night, moaning his name and the one´s above again and again.

“Let´s say we're sick and stay here all day” it's the first thing of the day to come out of your mouth with still so much sleep in your voice that's also slightly muffled by the pillow your head is resting on. You feel him rub your hip and his face buried on the back of your neck shaking from side to side.

“Now, you know why that would never work, even if we were the best of actors” he says before giving your shoulder another peck and a soft and tiny slap to your hip to then stand from the bed with a grunt and the crack of his knees.

You groan again but this time louder while you stretch your limbs still covered by the warm comfy covers. Your eyes finally open just when Joel is pulling up his legs the grey sweatpants that you, yourself discarded from his body last night. You stretch your body as quick as your sleepy state lets you, bending by the middle you reach with an arm outside of the bed to the floor, where Joel´s t-shirt from the night before was laying to pull it over you before he has a chance to get it himself. He rolls his eyes while walking to the wardrobe and you finally stand from the bed putting on the shorts that he almost ripped from you last night.

You pass by him on your way to the bathroom to wash your face and can't help giving his ass a squeeze on your way, after you wash your face you pass by him again and kiss his cheek before talking.

“I'll start a pot while you get ready” he can't help but look at you with so much love in his eyes; you could almost swear that anyone could turn the man in front of you from a murderous beast to a big teddy bear by just the mention of coffee.

“Thanks darlin´” he kisses your slightly chapped lips before you start making your way to the kitchen downstairs.

After about ten minutes Joel makes his way into the kitchen where he can see you making some eggs while you hum to Love Spreads by The Stone Roses playing from the record player in the living room, your back facing him.

His arms envelop you from behind and his head rests on your shoulder, making you breathe on his fresh minty breath, you lean your own head back into his shoulder while you stir the scramble eggs.

“I'll finish the eggs darlin´, you pour the coffee” he says into your ear while rocking the both of you softly to the music. You hum in agreement and turn around and pass him the spatula and he gives your forehead a little kiss.

As you put out from the cabinet three mugs and place them on the counter, the front door opens like every morning that Joel has patrol, indicating the arrival of Tommy. You turn your head over your shoulder to greet Tommy with a good morning when his footsteps start to approach the kitchen, but when you see the little ten month old in his arms, you forget the coffee, let out a squeal of excitement and run to take the bundle of joy from him.

Tommy gives to you his daughter with a chuckle and a roll of his eyes “It's nice to see too”

“Yeah, yeah, good morning Miller” you greet him with your own roll of eyes, joke coating your tone and a smile taking home in your face towards the baby in your arms.

Sophia Miller had captivated your heart since the first moment you saw her. She is definitely a Miller, you can see so much of Tommy and Joel in her.

Tommy takes after the coffee for you while you bounce his daughter on your arms and you coo to her.

“Mrs. Johnson couldn't take her today?” Joel says from the stove where he is making some toasts now after distributing the eggs between three plates. Mrs. Johnson is an elderly woman that always looks after Sophia while Joel and Tommy are on patrol and Maria is busy basically running all of Jackson.

“No, she couldn't, she said that her cat was sick and I genuinely do not know how to tell her any more times that Dr. Turner won't see it, that she's a human doctor not a vet” he explains while adding some milk to your coffee, since both brothers like it completely black “Me and Maria think that she's too young for the daycare and to mingle around the other kids but i guess today we have no choice, we have patrol and she´s managing the whole deal with those teens that run away” he puts one of the black coffees, the mug with the little owl in it that you found for him in one of you few runs that you barely do, beside the stove for Joel, then he brings the milky one to you where now you're sitting on the little table on the kitchen, almost bumping his hip on the meat grinder that Joel installed a while ago on the kitchen island; he joins you and Sophia by sitting on the chair in front of you.

When Joel finishes cooking, he puts one of the plates inside of the microwave so it stays as warm as it can for the almost sixteen year old that hasn't woken yet then he places one of the other two in front of you on the little table. Just before he moves away, you take little Sophia´s hand and wave it to him for her while saying with your cheesy baby voice “good morning, uncle Joel” , to which he responds with a pinch of he cheek with the back of two of his fingers, then he goes to pick up his own plate to eat while leaning into the kitchen island alongside his coffee.

“I can take her with me to the stable if you would like to, Tammy has a crib there for when she brings her son” you offer, shrugging your shoulders while feeding the baby on your lap a small piece of your eggs.

“You sure?” Tommy asks with slightly raised eyebrows, when you nod, he smiles like a mad man “oh thank you!” he expresses his gratitude by stretching himself over the table towards you and kissing your forehead and then his daughter´s “and that's why you´re my favourite person in this family” he exaggerates making you chuckle and Joel shakes his head.

Many hours later, you find yourself working on the stables, cleaning one of the empty stalls, its horse on patrol with a young patroller called Jesse. The youngest of the Miller family is on the crib that you had mentioned before, playing with a pair of plastic red cups that for some reason had been more entertaining to her than actual children's toys since she was old enough to hold them.

You hear the front door of the stables opening and the closing behind that had just entered the stables. You peek your head out of the stall and immediately you smile when you see that the person intruding is Ellie.

“Hey hon” you say before putting your head back into the stall to put down the manure fork that you were using, letting it lean on the stall´s wall, then you exit the stall towards where Ellie is standing while wiping your hands on the sides of your jeans.

“Hey, i just came to let you know that i'll spend the day at Dina´s, apparently Jesse found a new game for her console on the last patrol or something” she explain to you while she turn around and walks to the crib where the ten month old is too preoccupied with the cups.

You nod and walk to where they are, from beside the teen you put her bangs, that she lets off of her ponytail always, behind her ear and then look at the baby with her.

“Okay, you know the drill” you put your hands on the back pockets of your jeans.

“Yeah, yeah, make it back for dinner, I know” you were the one to actually negotiate this condition with her when you saw how much it affected Joel when she started to make many friends in town and spend less and less time with him, she agreed quite easily making you think that she missed spending time with Joel just as much.

“Hey” you pinch her side to make her look at you “ if the game is any good, ask Dina to lend it to you so i can try it, okay?” you put up your fist for her to bump it, which she does.

“I will” she says before caressing Sophia´s head and then bumping her shoulder with yours “See you later shitface!” she exclaims with joke to you while exiting the stables, you shake your head with a chuckle and just before she completely disappears from you view your scream reminding her “the baby you asshole!”

Just as the door closes, you hear hooves meeting the ground behind you, indicating someone's arrival from patrol. You groan, you only had 5 minutes left of your shift and now you would have to stay and unsaddle the horse or horses and brush them. You turn to see who the fucker was and when you see that is actually Joel and behind him Tommy, both of them soaked on mud from head to toe, your anger dissapears and you can't hep but laugh loudly, folding by your midsection while gripping your sides.

“Yeah, very funny sweetheart” Joel says while he ties the reins of each horse on their respective stalls, which you thank.

“Oh, you think it is funny eh?” Tommy says now, approaching you and trying to squeeze some of the mud on his hair into you, which makes you swat him away. Tommy´s voice makes Sophia squeal from her crib and stand in it with little balance.

“Oh baby girl, save me from your mean father” you speak to her with your baby voice while picking her up from the crib. Tommy can see Joel´s eyes sparkle in love and adoration like everytime he sees you with his niece.

The little girl babbles and makes grabby hands towards her father, so your only option is to pass her to him, none of you caring if she got dirty with mud as well.

“Traitor…” you say to her with narrowed eyes once she's in her father's arms, obviously she doesn't understand what you're saying so she just giggles, making you three chuckle with her.

“Anyway, thank you for looking after her today again” Tommy expresses his gratitude then he takes his backpack from his horse saddle and start to make his way out of the stables the same way that Ellie did before “Say bye uncle Joel, bye auntie” he says in his own baby voice and them disappears from both of your gazes.

While your eyes are still on the door, you feel Joel´s arms embrace you from behind, his face takes home on your neck, where he takes in your scent. You melt into him and bring a hand behind into his muddy locks, closing your eyes. After a few moments in this position, you turn in his arms and look at him, seeing the tiredness and exhaustion in his expression.

“You don't have to wait for me today, you know?” You bring your hand back to his muddy locks, brushing them back “Why don't you go ahead and get yourself a warm relaxing bath?” your eyes go around his beautiful features.

“You sure darlin´? I can wait as always” he is the one to close his eyes now, enjoying your touch. You shake your head even if he's not looking.

“No, really baby, go ahead, i'll finish here quickly” that's enough for Joel to agree and kiss your lips before getting his own backpack from his own horse an ¡d follow the same journey out of the stables as Tommy and Ellie.

You take fifteen more minutes to unsaddle the horses and brush them, then another five minutes to make your way into the house. You get rid of your boots and coat by the entrance, then you make your way upstairs to the en suite bathroom where Joel is inside the warm bath like you told him to do, his head leaning back into the bathtub with his eyes closed, you´re even a little sure that he may be slightly asleep. You get rid of your clothes in the bedroom, where the laundry basket is, then you tiptoe to the bathtub to not wake Joel yet. Once your back makes contact with his chest, he wakes up with a little gasp; as soon as he sees what is happening, he hugs your middle and whispers in your ear.

“If i had known that you naked would be part of the bath, i would have definitely waited for you” he nibbles your earlobe slightly and you chuckle, then with as much carefulness you can have, you turn to now straddle his hips.

“Now you relax and let me take care of you, before you start acting worse than a teen” your hand reaches for the bottle of shampoo behind him on the edge of the tub.

You squirt some of the product directly on his head and after placing back down the bottle, you start to massage it on his greying hair. He lets out a relaxed moan and closes his eyes yet again. You run your fingers through his hair to spread and rub the shampoo, your eyes take the opportunity to take on his relaxed face and features, you feel privilege to see this side of the hardened man before you, only a few people get to see it and for some reason he decided some time ago that you were worth seeing it and since then you couldn't feel more lucky.

Once you have made more than enough foam from the shampoo, you lean over his shoulder to reach a little cup to help you rinse the product. You feel Joel´s almost growling when, from your lean, your breast graces his cheek; you can't help but chuckle when you take your previous position on his hips and feel his hard on.

“You can be worse than a teenager sometimes, Miller” you say while filling the cup with water from the bath and rinsing the shampoo from his hair, putting a hand on his hairline so the soapy water doesn't get in his eyes.

“It's all you darlin´, you keep me young” you smack his shoulder softly while giggling.

When his hair doesn't have any trace of shampoo, you grab your own conditioner and squirt some of it on the palm of your hand. You feel Joel´s eyes fixed on you, so you playfully push his forehead back and smile.

“I said relax Joel” he smirks and says okay a few times while closing his eyes again.

You rub the conditioner between your palms and then you apply it on his hair, after it you clean your hands of any residue of it. Once your hands are clean, you start to massage Joel´s shoulder and he lets out a groan between pain and pleasure. You massage him for five minutes while you let the conditioner take action then you rinse it just like you did with the shampoo. To finish you kiss his lips, your intention was just a quick kiss but he circles your waist with his arm and deepens it and you just can't deny him.

“Why don't you start the grill outside while I take a good shower?” you say when you both pull back, your fingers brushing his wet hair back “Ellie will be home from Dina´s for dinner soon” he hum in confirmation and after you peck his lips again, you stand up on the bathtub with carefulness to not slip and offer him a hand to do the same.

When you thought he would get out of the bathtub to dry and then get dressed to then go do what you said, he stays there in front of you and takes your face between his hands.

“Thank you sweetheart” he says with so much love and gratitude in his eyes, not taking them away from yours for not even a moment.

“You don't have to thank me Joel” you say back with a bid soft smile, he shakes his head.

“Not for the bath baby, for being you, for being the light that guides me through the darkness everyday” that makes you want to cry and your insides to melt for the man.

“I keep to my last statement” you put your own hands on his wrists and rest your forehead on his “you´re the one keeping me afloat every day” he kisses you again, taking all of the air from your lungs and once he pulls back and sees your dazed face he chuckles and smacks your ass.

“Your steak as always darlin´?” he asks you while putting a towel around his waist, already out of the bathtub, you nod while turning on the showerhead and he leaves the bathroom towards the bedroom with a wide grin.

[frickingnerd]

nights like this i love you the most

pairing: hitoshi shinsou x gn!reader

summary: shinsou and you both can't sleep, so you sneak into his dorm room and the two of you watch a movie together!

tags: heavily implied romance/romantic feelings, wholesome fluff, no pronouns used, mentions of aizawa, reader & shinsou attend UA together, best friends to lovers

“i can't believe you're still awake at this hour! go to sleep, silly!”

“i wasn't aware you were actually asleep while texting me! glad to know you can multitask!”

“haha… very funny! i know i should be asleep too, but i can't get any rest! what's your excuse?”

“same as yours!”

shinsou stared at your message, awaiting an answer for you for the last five minutes now. it seemed you had drifted to sleep already, despite just saying you were unable to fall asleep.

shinsou sighed and turned around on his bed, continuing to hold his phone near his face, as he still had hope you'd send a message back. despite all the bickering between the two of you, he genuinely enjoyed talking to you. and being able to text all night with you was always the light of his day – or rather night.

just as shinsou was ready to put away his phone and attempt to get some sleep himself, there was a knock on the door of his dorm room. at first, he thought he was hallucinating, but when he heard a second knock on the door, this time a bit louder, he quickly jumped up and hurried to the door. he had a sneaking suspicion that only one person was crazy enough to still be up at this hour of the night...

“i almost thought you had fallen asleep in the time it took me to get here~!”

shinsou was greeted by your playful grin, before you quickly slipped past him into his room, not waiting for an invitation.

“i thought you had fallen asleep when you stopped responding!” shinsou replied, before getting to the important things. “what are you even doing here at this time? if aizawa finds out you snuck out of your room, he's going to be so mad…”

“pff!” with a confident smile and the wave of a hand, you brushed off shinsou's worries. “he won't find out. besides, you're his favorite student! he won't be too harsh on you!”

“i won't be his favorite student anymore, if he finds out you're sneaking into my room at night!”

despite shinsou's complaining, he couldn't help but smile. this was certainly a first, being paid a nightly visit by you. and while he was nervous you two would get caught, he couldn't be happier to have you near him.

“so then… what are we going to do now? i suppose you didn't come all the way just to continue our usual banter~!” shinsou said with a smile.

“well…” you sat down on his bed, pulling some snacks out of your pockets, before grinning at your best friend. “i was thinking we could watch a movie! i already brought the snacks and everything…”

shinsou looked at you for a moment, softly smiling and shaking his head. you really were unbelievable! no one but you would be crazy enough to watch movies at this time of night. but you were different. and he loved that about you!

“you're shaking your head… is that a no?”

shinsou had been so lost in thought, that he forgot how this might come over.

“no–! i mean, no, this isn't a no! this is a yes!”

he stumbled over his own words, trying to make sense of what he was saying. which was quite the hard task when it was already so late.

“what i mean is… i want to watch a movie with you!”

you grinned happily at that response, patting onto the empty spot next to you on his bed. shinsou didn't hesitate and sat down next to you, only for you to inch a bit closer to him, before grabbing the remote and clicking through the potential move options, while shinsou opened a bag of snacks.

“how about this movie?” you asked, as shinsou leaned back against the wall, quietly watching you with a soft smile on his lips, as you leaned forward and read through the movie titles.

“sure, that one sounds good!” shinsou replied, without his eyes ever leaving you.