#day FIVE of unwashed hair

[minasweep]

lowkey so mad I fell asleep (/´△`＼)

[luveline]

I NEEEEEED MORE STRIPPER!READER X SPENCER

fem, 1.2k

You and Spencer aren't dating, but he thinks you might be in the before. 

"You're home!" you say, clambering at the door to slip out of your shoes. You throw yourself at him as soon as you're close enough, the salted caramel and sandalwood of your new perfume washing over him. "You're here! I missed you." 

Spencer tries not to blush. He wishes you weren't so close —his hair is lank from two days unwashed, his five o'clock shadow obvious and embarrassing. If you notice anything unappealing about him you don't give the slightest inclination, your arms crossing over his back as you drive your face into his neck. 

"I can't believe how much I missed you, Dr. Reid," you say warmly. 

"I missed you too." Morgan would laugh at him for being this earnest, maybe comment on his lack of charisma, but Spencer doesn't know how else to show that he's interested beyond sincerity. 

You step back but work your hands up his neck and into his hair, raking it away from his cheeks. "That's better. I can see you better now." 

Spencer thought he remembered only horrible things from being a teenager, but he remembers this feeling, sweaty-palmed, heart-racing want. You tilt his head gently one way and then the other like you're following the motion of a wave, fingertips scratching in his hair, the sensation stirring the very pit of his stomach. No trace of tiredness remains on your face, only spritely joy to see him. 

"That feels nice," he confesses. He's not weird about it, more friendly. 

Your aswering grin tells him he nailed the casualness he was aiming for. 

"You've been working hard," you say, tucking his hair behind his ears and dusting down his shoulders, "I can tell. You look tired." 

"You don't. Short shift?" 

"Is it weird that bad weather genuinely keeps people home? I guess they prefer their wives when it's cold." 

"No, really? Who could ever pick the woman they married over you and those silver shorts?" he teases, peeling out of his sweater.

The shirt underneath is rumpled, but he doesn't care about that. Anything to be seen between you has been seen. Spencer has, unquestionably, seen you half naked. You've seen him in his boxers, so you're just about square. "Idiots, all of them." 

You're staying with him again while a security company fits your apartment with the appropriate trappings. Or, that was the initial reason. Spencer went with you to assess after it was done, discovering black mould in the corner of your bedroom and spreading its evil way across the bathroom ceiling. 

What is that? he asked, knowing what it was, hoping you'd at least pretend to be concerned. 

That's fifty bucks off a month, Spence. Don't look so horrified. 

"I missed you," you say for the third time in as many minutes. "And I hoped you'd be home, so I brought Chinese food for two."

You and Spencer change into pyjamas, and it's cliche but whatever, you look beautiful undone —he's not stupid enough to lie to himself about how he feels when you're wearing your little outfits, but he prefers this side of you a thousand times over because you like it better. You wear your prized baseball tee, white with blue sleeves, and a pair of sweatpants pushed up high on one leg while you ice your sore knee. He sits cross legged opposite, jabbing his chopsticks into one of your crispy spring rolls just to watch you gasp. 

"Can I ask you something too personal?" 

You rub down the length of your naked calf, sighing as some of the tension releases. You're more bruise than girl lately, splodges of tender skin patterning the inside. "What don't you know about me, at this point?" you ask. 

Like it's a good thing. Like you're glad for it. 

"Are you making enough money?" he asks. 

You steal back your spring roll, answering him through rice paper and greens, "Kind of. Not tonight, but enough for dinner. I'll be okay." 

"Did you think about it?" 

You shovel through your waxy box of rice, shrugging. "I thought about it, but… it's not realistic. What office would take me? What drug store?" 

"I could loan you the money while you apprentice, and get some experience, you could go back to school–" He says it all in a rush and you still knock him down. 

"It's real sweet of you, Spence, it is, but I couldn't let you do that. That makes me your charity case, and not your friend." 

"What else do you do for the people you care about?" he asks. Let them stay at a job they don't like, even if they're good at it, one that puts them statistically at higher risk for femicide or assault? 

"I wouldn't need a loan, Spencer, I'd need more than you have," you say gently. "I'd have to start my life from scratch. How would I pay rent? You couldn't afford to keep us both." 

"You could stay with me again." 

You shake your head. "You're the best friend I've ever had, which is why I'm saying no." 

He doesn't get what you mean, but you finish your dinner and help him clean up. He more than trusts you to stay here alone while he's on a case, you've honestly left it in better condition than you found it, and he insists you sleep in his bed again while you're here. 

"Don't be silly," you say, throwing a sheet out over the couch. "This is your place. You need to sleep in your own bed." 

The disaster is that it smells like you. Spencer says goodnight to you reluctantly and leaves you on the couch with every throw blanket he owns, climbing into his own bed and pulling the comforter up to his nose. He imagines you here at night, your body wash still clinging to your skin from a late night shower, your hand tucked under his pillow. There are so many things he'd like to give you, if you'd just let him. 

He spends a quiet thirty minutes like that, missing the warmth of your skin and your casual touching, wishing he could offer you the fresh start you desire, even if it meant he wasn't involved. 

The couch springs creak as you toss and turn, the sound finding it's way down the short hall from the living room slash kitchen to his bedroom. Hesitant, Spencer shifts in bed, hitting that one coil in his mattress just right, the twang resounding.  

You appear in his doorway with your borrowed pillows crushed to your chest not long after that. You don't need to ask, Spencer doesn't need to answer. He can't give you everything that you want, but he can give you a quiet, comfortable night next to someone who loves you. 

Ever well-tempered, you slip into the sheets beside him and curl up toward him, your fingertips brushing his side. You don't look at him in the dark, but you mumble sleepily, fingers twitching, "Night, Spence." 

You're out like a light. 

[mingigoo]

hi sie!! i'm happy to see that your requests are open and would like to request something myself c: 1. seonghwa 2. roommate au 3. prompts 11 and 17 4. with spice please 🙏 thanks so much! i rly appreciate you and your writing even if you can't get to this 💕

I hope you like this!!! really enjoyed writing this one :)

— sleep-talker || p.sh (m.)

“You know you sleep talk?” 

“Stop looking at me like that.

🌊pairing ⇢ (fem) reader x roommate! Seonghwa

🌊 summary ⇢ when you and your friends decide on a trip to the beach for spring break, you get stuck rooming with the man you "hate" the most. The line between love and hate is as thin as ice, and you were about to break it.

🌊 genre/au ⇢ roommates au, vacation au, one bed trope, forced proximity au, smut

🌊 warnings/tags ⇢ 18+ minors DNI, wet dreams, fingering, rough sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, PDA, "enemies" to lovers, one-bed trope, teasing, jealousy, intense tension like holy hell

🌊 word count ⇢ 10.2k words

🌊 taglist ⇢ @jjhmk @yesv01 @roe-sinning @meowmeowminnie @yeritheloml @yukine-smx @y00nzin0 @8tinytings @halesandy @shegotboreddsoo @kangyeosangelic @sanshineeeeee @kodzukein @hwaightme @likexaxdaydream @ssaboala @gtr-skyline-lover @wooyoungjpg @lonewolfjinji @asjkdk @charreddonuts (please let me know if I forgot you!)

masterlist

ateez masterlist

“Are you for real right now?”

Spring break. A time for rest, relaxation, and lots and lots of sex.

And now, your plans of being a whore for the vacation were ruined.

“Yes, y/n. I can't afford another room just for you to have to yourself,” Hongjoong, your older brother, mumbled as he stuffed the last bit of clothes into his luggage. “You’ll have to room with Seonghwa. San and Wooyoung already called each other.”

He zipped up his suitcase and stood up to leave, but he couldn't get off that easily. “Please, Joong. I’ll do anything. Cant I just room with you and Mingi?” he hastily made his way out of his room and into the living room, trying his hardest to get away from you. “I’ll sleep on the floor. No blanket, just the floor. Please.”

He turned to face you, a confused expression on his face. “Why are you so adamant about not staying with Hwa? What did he ever do to you?” he asked you, genuinely curious. The truth is, he did nothing to you personally. Maybe that was why you hated him, because god, if he gave you the time of day, you would pounce on him like a cat in heat.

You groaned, running a hand through your messy, unwashed hair. “Because he’s a dumb ass jerk that gets everything he wants.” 

Hongjoong laughed at you and turned away. “It's only a week, y/n. He’ll probably spend most of his time in our room, anyway. Just bring a book to read or something to distract yourself.”

As if reading is the thing you'll be focused on if you were in a room with him. Oh Nah, you'll be wishing he’d walk around shirtless and hoping he somehow takes a shower and walks out with nothing on—

“I hope you're packed and ready….” Joong trailed off as he looked at your messy exterior, and stifled a laugh. “And if you're thinking of getting laid, you might want to shower.”

You slapped him on the shoulder, having no drive to shower. You'll get one when you get there. It's not like you were that stinky.

“Shut up, dickhead.”

You stood on the sidewalk of your apartment building, Hongjoong’s little yellow Geo Tracker sitting there lookin’ all cute. However, the tiny thing only had five seats.

There were six of you.

“Welp looks like I can't go! What a shame, what a shame,” you sarcastically yelled out, tossing your hands in the air exasperatedly.  “Have fun without me!”

“Shut your mouth, will you?” Hongjoong groaned, tossing your luggage into the “trunk” or whatever it was. “It's only a ride to the airport. You can sit on someone’s lap for ten minutes.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “Why am I the one that has to do that? Wooyoung is like the size of my arm. He can do it.”

Joong shut the trunk with force at your comment, totally disregarding you. “Hop in,” he said. “Enjoy shotgun while you have the chance.”

You got in reluctantly, even though you were very excited about the beach itself. Your excitement was short-lived as you approached the devil’s lair.

“Stay here, I’ll go help them,” Hongjoong mumbled, pushing his sunglasses up on his forehead as he put the car in park. 

You nodded, your arms crossed over your chest. You didn't mind the rest of the group— San and Wooyoung always knew how to make you laugh, and Mingi was absolutely eye candy. You wouldn't mind sitting on his lap on the way to the airport.

Just as you got comfortable with your head resting against the window, the door abruptly opened, causing you to nearly fall out of the vehicle. “For fuck’s sake, who the hell—” your words got caught in your throat as you met eyes with Park fucking Seonghwa. “Oh, it's you…”

He stood there, his thin torso draped in a sheer white top and his long, lean legs covered in a pair of black pants. You swallowed your drool like a schoolgirl, making sure he never knows how you think of him.

“What?” you raised your eyebrow, not moving an inch and not even reaching to unplug your seatbelt. “This seat’s taken, buddy.”

He snickered, his lips mockingly curled up in a sneer. “Oh, aren't you a sweetheart? Now move, I called shotgun.”

“Well, I did first.”

“No, you didn't.”

“Yes, I did.”

“No.”

“Yes—”

“Neither of you are getting shotgun,” your brother laughed from behind Seonghwa, San and Wooyoung giggling like the goofs they are next to him. You still didn't move, even as Joong approached and unbuckled your seatbelt for you. “Y/N, please help me out here.”

You debated on throwing a fit, but knowing that it would just cause more problems, you sighed and pushed yourself out of the front seat. Now standing on the curb of the sidewalk right in front of Seonghwa, you tilted your head up to look him in the eyes. His gaze was intense—it made you envision what it would be like in bed, looking down at him from above, and how his eyebrows would knit together in pleasure. God, you needed to get laid this vacation, or you were going to be suffering from delusions.

Without warning, Mingi pushed through both of you, interrupting your staring contest.

“We better go, I don't want to listen to their bickering any longer,” the tall boy huffed as he plopped himself in the front seat, a proud smile resting on his lips. 

San sat in the backseat on the right, Wooyoung next to him in the middle. That left either you or seonghwa to fight to the death for that last seat, but you knew how this was going to end.

And it wasn't going to end well.

—

“You comfortable, y/n?” your brother called from the driver’s seat, looking back at you through the rearview mirror.

You frowned so deeply you could've sworn your face was permanently stuck like that.

There you were, in the back of the car, in the most uncomfortable seat ever. Seonghwa groaned underneath you, his bony body not offering you any wiggle room. You didn't answer your brother, you were certain your expression was enough of a response.

You adjusted yourself on Seonghwa’s lap, looking out the window for any distraction. As you moved, you felt him move his hips, and you had to shut away your filthy thoughts about him as soon as they came. Between his movements and his groans, your stomach was knotting in something more than butterflies.

The car was filled with conversation, however, you and Seonghwa remained quiet and in your own little worlds. As the others bantered, you pushed yourself up further on his lap, grimacing as you heard him let out a grunt in your ear. 

And then when his hands gripped onto your bare thighs, you were the one to gasp.

“Stop moving,” he whispered in your ear with haste, almost like a sneer. You kept your vision forward as his breath danced in your ear. “It hurts.”

You swallowed hard. “Oh? Is your little dick that sensitive?” you whispered back, smirking. You moved again, this time on purpose, feeling his bulge through his pants. You kept your cool, ignoring his shaky breaths from behind you. “Are you that happy to see me, Hwa?”

“Shut your mouth or you won’t see the sunrise,” he hissed, but his voice was weak. 

The ten-minute ride felt like an eternity as he breathed underneath you, your mind constantly thinking about how hard he was getting underneath you and how sweet it would be to turn around and face him to see his reaction to you.

You looked to your right, seeing Wooyoung with a knowing smile on his face. “What?” you asked him, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged, grinning. “Nothing, nothing,” he said, letting out a giggle. “Just that you both seem…cozy.” 

You slapped him on the shoulder, your movements causing Seonghwa to wiggle underneath you.

“Dammit, Y/N I told you to stop moving,” he seethed, his grip on your thigh tightening. Hongjoong looked back through the mirror, worry in his expression.

“Everything okay?” he asked, meeting your eyes before focusing on the road once again. “We’re almost there, only about a minute or two.”

“Ten-minute ride my ass,” you mumbled, and as you entered the Airport, you should've known that there were going to be speed bumps on the way in….

The shitty old car hopped over the bump, feeling like it hit a huge boulder. You bounced up, not held by any seatbelt, landing hard, right on Seonghwa’s family jewels.

“Fuck,” he cried, tossing his head back against the headrest. Your hands were now holding onto his legs for dear life.

“Joong, will you slow down for those things? Some of us are suffering back here,” you said, to which seonghwa started laughing.

“You're telling me.” he scoffed.

“Okay okay, I just have to park. I have no idea how this works….where the hell is the long-term parking—”

“Probably over there,” Mingi pointed in the opposite direction.

“No, no, I think it’s—”

“I can't take this anymore!” you cried out, leaning forward to assist Hongjoong since Mingi isn't helping. “There's a huge sign in front of us. How can you miss that? It spells it out, dammit.” you huffed, throwing yourself back into your “seat.” This time, he didn't let out a single groan, probably just as fed up with you as you were with him.

Finally, Hongjoong found the lot and parked the car, and as soon as it was stationary, you tossed yourself out of the vehicle like there was no tomorrow. You knew that you couldn't last a minute more on his lap, because if you did, you would be so tempted to turn around and make out with those painfully pretty lips of his. God, he made you so mad. Ever since you met him, there were only the same thoughts circulating round and round. 

Dirty thoughts.

Seonghwa crawled out of the car like a decrepit old spider, his long legs holding up his body with grace. You bit your lip, looking down at where you were sitting on him. Quickly, you looked away as he noticed your gaze, and ran away to go help the others with the luggage.

You weren't quick enough to miss the achingly attractive smirk on Seonghwa’s face.

Why did he have to be so….. libidinous? He was like a wild animal, able to take the lives away of his prey with just an expression.

No more seonghwa on the brain—it was beach time. You were certain you could find someone at a bar to sleep with later, and it wouldn't be Hwa.

Not now, not ever.

—

You got lucky with the plane ride.

Your seat buddy was Mingi, and Hongjoong knew how much you like your window seats.

Mingi nearly slept the whole flight, his head rested against your shoulder. He snored a little, but it didn't matter. The gentle giant had a place in your heart, so he could do no wrong. 

You often stole glances at Seonghwa across the aisle, his head bobbing up and down as he fought his tiredness. He was so much more likable when he was sleeping, but that was definitely due to the fact that he couldn't stare at you with those entrancing eyes or run that mouth of his.

You were the only one awake by the end of the flight. It was difficult for you to sleep in public places. It didn't feel right. So you would fight off sleep as hard as you could and distract yourself with anything around you.

After the fiasco of leaving the plane, you anxiously trailed behind Hongjoong through the busy airport, pushing past loads of people who had places to be. Thank goodness you were able to leave the airport without a fuss, even if seonghwa was nearly breathing down your neck as you exited.

Luckily, the ride to the hotel wasn't far—and there were more than enough seats for all of you. You distanced yourself from Seonghwa, ignoring his hellish gaze.

The hotel you were staying at stood tall, facing the gorgeous blue ocean for a perfect view. You shut your eyes as you took everything in, smelling the saltiness and the warmth of the air. You smiled to yourself, but your delightful moment didn't last long.

Seonghwa bumped into you purposely, digging his shoulder into yours before walking past you toward the hotel entrance. “Hey, what was that for?” you growled, a scowl on your face.

“You were in the way,” is all he said, not even bothering to turn to face you as he spoke. He continued walking, his beautiful silhouette showing through his sheer shirt. Oh, you wanted to tear it off of him so badly.

You let out a huff of air, but then followed your friends into the building, knowing the end was near if you had to share the room with your snack of choice.

Hongjoong went up to the front desk as you and the boys stood near the doorway, waiting for him to check us in. It didn't take him long, and soon enough, he was walking back over, key cards in his hand, and a bright smile on his face. “All checked in! This’ll be our home for the next week.”

San grabbed his key card first. “Are we all on the same floor? Like in a row? It would be no fun if I had to actually put on clothes to go on the elevator.”

“Yes, San, we’re all on the same floor.” Hongjoong held in his laugh, already clearly enjoying his time away from reality. You stood angrily with your arms across your chest next to seonghwa, who didn't look any happier than you. “And will you two brighten up? You’re killing the vibe.”

You rolled your eyes, glancing up at the boy next to you. His dark hair was slightly frizzy from the humidity, sticking to his forehead like it would if he were sweating. You gulped, thinking dirty thoughts once more before regaining your peace of mind. “I’m not doing anything. It’s all him.”

“No, it’s all you, not me.” he retaliated.

“You’re the one that got a hard-on from me just innocently sitting on your lap.”

“You were purposely shoving your ass on me like a freak—”

“You are ruining the vacation already—”

“Annnd we’re not doing this again,” Mingi sighed and then gripped onto your arm to pull you towards the elevator. 

“Let’s go, we got bars to get wrecked at.”

—

“Oh, hell no.”

You dropped your luggage as you entered your room for the week, staring at what was in it.

Or lack thereof.

One bed—a queen, maybe, sat in the middle of the room. A chair was tilted by the sliding glass doors that opened to the balcony, and a lamp stood in the corner. It was cute, of course, but you thought this couldn't get any worse.

Seonghwa walked past you into the room, setting his suitcase on the floor by the chair. “Don't worry,” he hummed, his voice low. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“I–” you paused, taking in a breath before continuing. “You can sleep on the bed, I ain't that mean.”

“So you think I’m going to let my best friend’s sister sleep on the floor?” he laughed, but it wasn't out of humor. “That’s funny. I’d get my ass beat.” He sat down on the floor, stretching out his long legs before opening his suitcase. “Just forget about me like you usually do and take the bed.”

You had no snarky remarks to throw at him this time, your eyelids feeling heavier than ever. You sighed, sitting down on the bed with a thud. “Okay, fine. Wake me up when we are going to leave.”

“Yeah yeah,” he snarkily replied, too focused on his luggage in front of him. You shut your eyes slowly, holding on to your consciousness a little longer, before drifting off into a sleep that would cause an unexpected uproar a few hours later.

—

After your amazing nap, you and the boys found your way to a beach bar, sand filling the floor and loud music playing in the background. You took your rightful spot at the bar, sitting right next to Wooyoung, who was already chugging a fruity margarita. 

“You should try this, Y/N,” he let out a satisfied sigh after he finished his gulp. “Tastes like fucking unicorns and rainbows.”

You laughed. “Sounds divine, but I’ll pass and get my whiskey sour.”

He grimaced. “Ew, you should spruce it up a little bit sometimes.”

San sat down on the other side of him, a fancy glass in his hands as well. “Yeah, you’re kind of a bore.”

“San what the—”

“She is, isn't she?” Seonghwa hummed from behind you, and of course, sat his ass in the chair right next to you. You groaned, ignoring him once again, although it was quite hard to not drool as he gulped his beer, his throat bobbing as he drank it.

Fucking hell.

You looked around for any sign of your brother to save you, and once you saw him, you cringed, turning right back around to face the bar. “Dear god, can't he keep his dick in his pants for five minutes?” you shivered, trying to think of anything else other than your brother making out with a random person. 

Seonghwa looked back, a smirk on his face as you ordered your drink. “Hypocrite. Just last week I walked in on you with Mingi in the chem lab,” he snickered, his midnight eyes catching the neon lights behind the bar. “Your tongue was so far down his throat I swear I—”

“Says the guy who I caught watching porn freshman year in the computer lab—”

“Here’s your Whiskey sour,” the bartender awkwardly interrupted, but thank god he did. You quickly chugged it, finishing it within a minute of getting it. He gave you another right away, and you downed that one as quickly as it came. He was cute, a little on the scruffy side, but definitely a good one-night. You gave him a look, feeling accomplished as he smirked a little before serving someone else.

“Maybe you shouldn't drink so fast, y/n,” San murmured from Wooyoung’s side, his strong arms holding his weight against the table. “You get drunk really quick on an empty stomach. Remember what happened last time? You have a bad habit of trying to kiss everything you see.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, setting the empty glass down on the bar. As you did that, you felt the warmth of the alcohol fill your body. “What? Who did I kiss?”

Seonghwa laughed from the other side of you while you focused on San.

“Me.” San blinked. “Tongue and all. But not just me, you kissed the statue outside our campus. You know, that really rusty one?”

You gagged. “Ew, no. stop. No, I didn't.”

“Oh, yes you did,” Seongwha piped in, sipping on his third or fourth beer. “And then you threw up on my shoes when I brought you home.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh of relief, taking his beer right out of his hands. “Phew, thank god I didn't kiss you,” you shivered, bringing the bottle up to your lips. After you started chugging it a little bit, Hwa ripped the bottle away from you.

You felt your vision start to sway from the alcohol. You loved the feeling of being drunk—just hated the hangovers. Right now though, you wanted to get wasted and go home with a stranger. The hangover will be tomorrow’s problem.

But seonghwa had to just run his mouth once again.

“You know you talk in your sleep, right?” He laughed, a full, humorous laugh. He tossed the bottle to the back of his throat and then continued to laugh at you. “Something about how awful the airplane food was and how drinking milk reminds you of cum.” he grimaced at the last part, but a playful smile still rested on his face. “God you are explicit.”

Your cheeks flushed, looking anywhere but his direction. “I do not sleeptalk.”

You looked to Wooyoung and San for help, but they looked dumbfounded. “I wouldn't know, y/n, I never slept with you,” San smirked, smiling deviously at you. “Unless you’re down with that, I’m all for hearing you sleeptalk in my ear all night.”

“Yeah, me too,” Woo played along, knowing he was just doing it to tease you. Seonghwa, on the other hand, was trying desperately to embarrass you in front of the hot bartender.

“God, it’s so annoying, I wanted to rip my hair out earlier,” he smiled devilishly, his teeth even brighter than normal under all the neon lights. “I thought I couldn't hate you more, but you proved me wrong.”

You looked straight ahead, ignoring Seonghwa’s goofy smile. “Whatever,” you huffed, resting your face on your hand, your elbow holding up the weight. You watched the sexy bartender notice your stare. He smiled and walked over to you.

“Need another sour?” he asked, his cheeks pinched with dimples. You had your eyes set on going home with him, and you were going to follow through with it. Seonghwa can stay outside for the night—or watch, it didn't matter to you. 

“Actually,” you pondered, blinking slowly as the alcohol hit your system even harder. “I’ll take a vodka and Sprite. Grey Goose.” you hummed, watching him nod with a smirk on his face.

Seonghwa chuckled, but you were too focused on your mission to hear him blab about how much he hated you over and over again. Soon enough, that damn grey goose hit you harder than anything. Your eyes fluttered after your second glass, your vision fuzzy, and your heartbeat racing. 

You let out a heavy sigh, unable to remember your original mission.

“Hey,” you coughed, your cheeks burning up from the toxin. You looked around the bar, only meeting Seonghwa’s eyes…..oh…they’re so pretty. “Where did everyone else go?”

He was facing you, looking at you through those sparkling irises of his. He took in a breath, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, your brother left with that girl he was making out with earlier….San and Woo left not too long ago to go to another bar, and Mingi….” he paused, watching your expression change when mingi was mentioned. “Mingi went with them.”

“Ah,” you nodded. “Why’d you stop at mingi like that?”

He furrowed his brows. “Why’d you look like that when I mentioned him?”

You sniffled, feeling a burning sensation in your throat from all the vodka. “What do you mean?” you were too messed up to defend yourself. You didn't even know your expression changed.

“You looked…different when I said his name.”

You couldn't help but laugh at his dreary tone. “Pfft. Hwa, do you think that just because I slept with him once that I have feelings for him?”

He frowned, his eyebrows knit with confusion. “You slept with him? Mingi?”

You shrugged. “Yeah. Just once, though.” Oh god, you officially couldn't think straight. Why were you even telling him this? “But that was it.”

He looked at you with an unknown expression, flattening his lips. “So you just sleep with anyone, huh?”

You scoffed. “Well, no, not usually.” you bit your lip, looking at him without knowing how you were looking at him. “I kind of always wanted you, but I didn’t understand why, so I ignore the feeling by sleeping with other guys.”

“That makes no sense, y/n,” he spat. “What are you saying?”

You rolled your eyes, drunkenly gripping his broad shoulders, shaking him slightly. “Awh, shut it, Hwa. Haven't you ever felt that before?” you paused, not realizing how close you were. His eyes were sharp, and his lips parted. “Wanting someone you can't have? Knowing that they wouldn't want anything to do with you?”

He swallowed hard, his gaze piercing into you sharply. “You’re drunk, y/n,” he paused, looking at you intently before shaking your hands away. “Let’s go back to the hotel.”

“Oooh, don't tempt me, baby,” you poked his chest, giggling as he stood up off the barstool. You were completely oblivious to the fact that you just admitted to wanting him, but it didn't seem like he took it seriously. 

“Get up,” he huffed, gripping under your arms and lifting you off your chair. You groaned, wrapping your arms around his waist. You held onto him tightly as he reached into his back pocket to grab money, tossing it onto the counter with a glare at the bartender. 

“Enjoy your night,” Seonghwa growled, holding onto you, and made his way towards the hotel with you clung to him.

“Seonghwa,” you whispered, a giggle under your breath.

He grunted, pulling you along with him. “What?”

You sniffed. “Can I kiss you?”

He sighed. “No.”

“Why?” you mumbled, shoving your face into his chest.

“Because it’s your drunk habit.”

“So would you kiss me if it wasn't?” you asked, completely obliterated. There was no way you were going to remember this in the morning. 

He didn't answer you.

“Come on, Hwa,” you moaned, stopping and gripping onto his collar in front of the hotel. You looked up into his eyes, feeling his intense gaze cut right through your intoxication. You needed him. Needed him bad. “Just once. God, just once.”

“I…” he swallowed, his hands twitching at his sides, crying out to touch you. He kept them away, even if he didn't want to. “Not now. Not while you’re drunk.”

You blinked slowly, watching his lips flatten into a frown. “Does that mean you want to?”

He sighed, running his hands through his hair aggressively. “Please just….let’s get back to the room and get you to bed.”

You groaned, but complied, following him into the hotel and into the elevator. The ride was silent, Seonghwa standing in the corner, farthest away from you, his breathing slowed. You stared at him, leaning up against the wall.

“I really hate you,” you mumbled, glaring at him. He was too sexy, his hair messy, his eyes dark, his long legs taller than a skyscraper. You only admitted your attraction to him when you were drunk, but you couldn't deny the pull you had to him.

He looked up at you, his starry eyes looking from your legs, up to your hips, over your breasts, and finally to your eyes. He took in a sharp breath, biting the corner of his lip.

“I hate you too,” he whispered, his vision low.

And in what world would the words I hate you cause someone’s heart to flutter?

The elevator dinged at your floor, and after a moment of longing stares, Seonghwa gripped your arm and dragged you out. He held onto your drunken body as he searched for his keycard, and once he found it, you tumbled into the room together. 

Your back was pressed against the wall, his arms caging you in on both sides. His forehead was on yours, and you were able to feel his hot breath against your lips.

“Oh,” you hummed, your hands subconsciously dancing at the hem of his t-shirt. You watched his throat bob anxiously as you looked into his eyes.

It took everything in him to move away. He coughed awkwardly and then nodded toward the bed. “Come on, you need to rest.”

“Mhm,” you murmured, unable to move in a straight line. You kicked off your sandals, and pulled off your shirt with ease, leaving you only in your bra and that skimpy skirt seonghwa was looking at all night.

He watched as you walked, holding his breath without meaning to. 

As you neared the bed, you reached back to unclip your bra, but you couldn't reach it. “Hwa?”

He was looking at the floor. “Hm?” 

“Can you…” you paused, giving up on trying to get it off. “Take this off of me? It’s really uncomfortable.”

He blinked, his eyes wide. You couldn't see the confusion in his expression, but you heard the shakiness of his tone. “W-what? Your….bra?”

“Yeah.”

He didn't say anything else. He slowly walked over to where you were, and as his fingertips traced the middle of your back, you shivered under his touch.

He unclasped the hook, but held on to both ends of the bra, afraid to let it drop. “It’s done,” he whispered, backing up slightly.

You dropped the bra onto the floor and then reached to take off your skirt. As you slid it down your hips, you heard seonghwa nearly trip over his feet trying to turn away.

“Do you…always sleep naked?” he asked you, looking anywhere but where you were. You were way too drunk to care about what he sees, but you were also too tired to try. You fell onto the bed, your arm covering your breasts and your underwear still on.

“Fuck, y/n,” Seonghwa huffed, finally looking over and doing everything to not look where he shouldn't. He gently reached for the blanket, tossing it over you in one swift motion.

You shut your eyes tight, feeling his presence loom over you. He brushed away the stray hairs on your face and made sure you were laying on your side. 

“.... I’m so screwed,” he muttered, giving you one last look before walking into the bathroom and turning on the cold water. 

A cold shower, especially knowing that there was a beautiful, nearly naked girl in the bed just outside the door. 

The cold water ran down his body, giving him a rush of pain. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, biting his lip as his attraction to you only worsened. 

—

After his attempt to cleanse his messy thoughts, Seonghwa stepped out of the bathroom, towel hanging low on his hips. He hesitated before looking over at you, and after he got a good look at your pretty face, he made his way to his luggage, rooting in there for a t-shirt to toss on.

“...seong…hwa,” you moaned. 

Moaned. 

“....y/n?” he whispered, maybe thinking you were awake and needed something. He didn't want to jump to conclusions, but that sounded too….sensual than just a normal tone.

“I…ugh,” you groaned, “don't stop, please. H…Hwa.”

Seonghwa raised his eyebrows, dropping the clothes he had in his hands, eyes wide.

“Seonghwa….”

Okay, that was the third time. You were most definitely dreaming about him….

“Oh…my…god.” Hwa gulped, cautiously standing up and backing away as far as he could from you.

Little did he know how detailed your dream was.

—

His hands snaked up your bare hips, your legs wrapped around his waist. His lips were on your ear, biting, teeth clashing against your skin. 

He thrusted into you, hard, his hips buckling as he moaned. You cried out his name, back arching, nails scratching. He fucked you hard, his forehead against yours, and his eyes rolled back into his head. 

“You like that?” he whispered, his tongue sliding into your mouth before you could answer. His sweat fell on your cheek, and you moaned out his name once more. You weren't sure how you got here, how this came about, or anything. All that mattered was that you were finally with him, the man you always thought you hated.

“…hwa,” you moaned, “fuck me harder.”

And as he slammed into you with even more force than before, his lips crashed onto yours, his black hair blocking your vision. You wanted more, and more and more—

“Y/n,” 

“Just shut up and keep going,” you cried out.

“Y/N!”

You shot awake, gasping for air as your back hit the headboard. You breathed heavily, realizing that you were dreaming about all of that and that the real seonghwa was standing in front of you, shirtless, with an expression you weren't quite sure you’d ever seen before.

“Seonghwa, what—”

“S..stop it. Don't say my name,” he stuttered, looking anywhere but your body. He quickly tossed a t-shirt at you—his t-shirt. “Just put this on. The guys are down getting breakfast, so we gotta go.”

He quickly walked to his own luggage and grabbed a shirt for himself. You watched him as he tossed it on and slid on his shoes, and with one last awkward glance at you, he left the room in haste.

You were too scared to look down, hoping that you still had underwear on. You weren't too sure if that was a dream or not, but given the way he acted, it made you even more confused.

You felt the wetness between your thighs, clenching them with a sigh. You stood up, tossing on the bra that was laying on the floor as if it was thrown off of you.

After cleaning yourself up a bit, you made your way to the breakfast area on the first floor, immediately noticed by Hongjoong. “There you are! I was worried you weren't going to—” he stopped, noticing the shirt that was way too big on you. “That’s the shirt I got Hwa….”

Seonghwa cleared his throat, shoving a bagel into his mouth to distract himself.

You ignored him and sat down across from him and next to Mingi. You looked up, meeting eyes with the man you thought so filthily about, seeing a swipe of cream cheese on the bottom of his lip. You held back, knowing that it’ll just send you into another spiral if you pointed it out.

But when he stuck his tongue out to lick it off, you felt the tingle in your stomach once more, thinking back at the dream you had, and how his tongue caressed you in more ways than one.

He met eyes with you, his lips parting slightly. His gaze was much different than it ever has been. You've never seen him so….lost. His expression was conflicted, his eyes not leaving your lips.

Wooyoung smirked. “Did you guys fuck or something? What’s with the mood?”

“Wooyoung!” Hongjoong yelled.

“What? I’m just pointing out the obvious,” he shrugged.

“We didn't. Keep dreaming,” Seonghwa muttered lowly, taking another bite of his bagel.

Hongjoong huffed. “I don't want to imagine my sister and seonghwa in that way…that’s super weird.”

“Why?” seonghwa questioned, his tone serious. You looked at him, confused as to why he cared. It seemed like everyone else was just as confused as you. “Ahem, I mean…uh, is it that hard to imagine?” Seonghwa’s voice was shaky, his gaze hopping from Hongjoong to you.

It made your brother laugh. “Well, yeah. You guys hate each other, right?” he took a sip of his coffee before continuing. “It makes no sense for you to even see eye to eye, I couldn't imagine you two in any type of relationship. Maybe her and Mingi, out of everyone.”

Seonghwa dropped his bagel face down onto his plate. “Why Mingi? What’s so special about—”

“I’m right here guys….” Mingi tried to interrupt, but Seonghwa shot him a dangerous glare, causing the gentle giant to hold his tongue.

Hongjoong looked around at the boys awkwardly and picked up his fork to continue eating his eggs. “I’m just saying.”

This was too awkward. You kept stealing glances at Hwa as if he were a magnet. You assumed he felt similarly, because every time you looked, your eyes would meet, and then you would awkwardly stare for a moment too long before looking away.

And when he got up to get more food, you got up, too.

“We need to talk,” you whispered, coming right up next to him as he put a muffin on his plate. “Why are you acting weird?”

He sighed and continued to add food to his plate. “I’m not acting weird.”

As he moved to get a drink from the drink machine, you continued to follow him. “Did I do something wrong yesterday?” you gasped, holding a hand over your mouth as he still ignored you. “Did I kiss you? Dear god, I hope not—”

“No, you didn't,” he said quietly, walking back over to the table.

“Something must have happened, seonghwa—”

He stopped, nearly causing you to bump into his back. “Don't.” he paused, taking in a sharp breath, looking over his shoulder at you. “Don't say my name.”

You frowned in confusion, watching the muscles in his back move as he walked away. You couldn't remember your antics yesterday, but maybe you made him uncomfortable by sleeping nearly naked—he hated you, so you could only imagine how irritated he was.

“Listen, if it was because I was naked, I'm sorry—” 

Everyone at the table looked up as you spoke, including seonghwa. He looked shy, a blush on his cheeks, and he sat down quickly and stuffed the muffin in his mouth.

“Naked?” Mingi laughed, looking from you to seonghwa suggestively. “Sounds awfully smutty, Seonghwa.”

“We didn't—” he groaned, running a hand down his face. “Nothing happened with us.”

“Mhm, okay,” San smirked. “Whatever you say. Anyway, we have a whole day out planned, so you two better get back to your normal selves or we won't have any fun.”

You really needed to talk to seonghwa, but it seemed like you'll be busy the whole day with the boys—and he didn't seem to be very interested in talking to you, anyway.

You tilted your head in curiosity. 

“What are we doing?”

—

The day was eventful.

First, you went to the beach. Seemed innocent, until Seonghwa took off his shirt and got all soaking wet, sending you in a mess of thoughts and a mess below. He would look over at you, and wouldn't look away, paying intense attention to your body in a skimpy little bikini. 

When you went to talk to him, he body-slammed you into the ocean, and normally you would've fumed, but this time, you enjoyed his hands on your bare skin. 

After the beach, you walked along the boardwalk of shops and lots of food. You grabbed a popsicle, licking it without a thought, but when you felt an intense pressure on you, you looked over to see seonghwa looking at you with an expression you've never seen on him. His eyes were focused on your lips, his own lips curled up as he bit them. You continued to eat your popsicle, but couldn't stop looking at him.

When you tried to bring up last night, Hongjoong came over and took the rest of your pop, running away from you like a child.

At dinner, you sat at the far end of the table, as far away as possible from Seonghwa. It wasn't intended, but now there was no way you could talk, as everyone would hear your conversation.

You ate, feeling defeated. Maybe you should just forget about it.

It was still daylight after dinner. As the guys conversed about what to do next, San and Wooyoung decided to go their own way and walk the beach, which was just their code word for “shopping” for girls. Hongjoong agreed with them, shocking you since he was always hell-bent on not going off a schedule. You assumed he was just going to meet that girl he was with yesterday, but whatever, it just meant that you could be left alone with Seonghwa.

After those three left, it was only you, Seonghwa, and Mingi. Hwa stood with his hands in his pockets, awkwardly looking around as you stood outside the restaurant. Mingi was even more awkward, looking at you before speaking.

“Um, I’m just gonna go with Woo and San, so,” he breathed, looking to seonghwa now. “I’ll see you guys back at the hotel tonight.”

“Okay, Mingi,” you smiled. “See you later.”

You watched him leave and then looked at the boy standing next to you.

“So,” you tried to initiate conversation, but seonghwa started walking in the opposite direction from where everyone else went. You followed. “What should we do?”

“I’m going surfing,” he said blandly. “I don't know about you, though.”

“I’ll come with you,” you smiled, finally catching up to him. He let out an aggravated groan as you walked close to him. “Do you even know how to surf?”

He scoffed. “Yeah, of course, I do.” 

“I’m just saying,” you noted, shrugging as you followed him. “You’re too….dainty. I feel like if you fell off you’d break every bone in your body.”

Seonghwa didn't react in any way you were hoping he would. Instead, he kept walking silently, until you reached the part of the beach where the surf shack was. Wetsuits were laid out, ready to be picked up, and surfboards stood tall through the sand and against the building. You stared in awe as you approached, seeing that there was no one else here but you two.

Finally, alone at last. 

“Grab a suit if you’re gonna do this,” he pointed to them, raising an eyebrow when you stood there anxiously. “What? Don't you know how to surf?” he mocked.

You kicked at the sand, your hands behind your back. “Pff. yeah, of course, I….no. I don't.” you pleaded with your eyes sweetly, despite all of the dirty things you wanted to do to him. “Could you please teach me? Pretty please?”

He held his own suit close to his chest as he looked down at you. “Why should I?”

You stepped closer to him, causing him to step back cautiously. “Because I’m pretty?”

“Oh honey, who lied to you?” he joked.

“Please, Seonghwa?” you stressed his name, hoping to break him. You watched his eye twitch as you said it, reminding you of earlier when he told you not to say his name.

“Seonghwa seonghwa seonghwa seong—”

“Okay, fine! Jeez,” he huffed, tossing you a suit, only for it to hit you in the face. “Get dressed.”

You walked into the shack with him, going your separate ways at the locker rooms. Everything went smoothly until you tried to zipper the suit up, only being able to get it halfway. You pondered on asking seonghwa for help or completely turning into a contortionist, but after failing to do it yourself, you gave up and left the room to ask him.

Seonghwa stood amongst the surfboards, his lean body looking delicious in that surf suit. You nearly drooled looking at him.

“Hey,” you started, slowly approaching him as he picked out a board. “Can you help me zipper this?”

He turned to you, his expression conflicted as he saw you. You turned around, showing your exposed back, causing him to clear his throat. “O..okay.”

His delicate fingers brushed against the skin of your back, nearly causing you to shiver. You felt his breath hit the back of your neck as the zipper moved up and up until he zipped it completely.

“....There,” he said, swallowing. “You’re all good.”

He didn't move his hands until you pulled away from him, turning back around to face him. The silence was deafening, so you decided to break it.

“Seonghwa, about last night, what exactly happened—”

“Let’s just get started before the sun goes down,” he interrupted, looking anywhere but your eyes. “We’ll talk later.”

That was good enough for now. You watched him try to pick out a board, but he seemed extremely nervous. After a good bit of time, he grabbed a pink one, causing you to smile. Pink suited him so much, more than he’d probably like to admit.

“Let’s start with some basics,” he spoke smoothly, tossing the board down onto the sand. “Get on it. On your stomach.”

You lay down on the board, looking up at him for more directions. He taught you how to paddle with your arms, explaining that you'll have to dive under the waves sometimes if you were okay with doing that. You couldn't look weak now, especially not to him. So after the little training lesson, you were finally in the shallow water, sand already in every nook and cranny of you.

“Try to keep balance,” he said, his voice raspy. It wasn't the time to turn you on, but of course, he could do it just by his voice. “Keep your chest up.” his hand caressed your back, down your spine.

You looked up at him, his wet hair dripping down his face. You held back, as much as you could, from pouncing on him.

But when you fell off the board and got stuck underwater, you’ve never seen him so concerned before.

He grabbed you under your arms, pulling you back up and holding him to you while you coughed. You were perfectly fine—maybe a little too much water in the ears, but it was the least of your worries. What you cared about was the look on his face and the way he caged you to his body.

“y/n?” he rushed his hand over your face, pushing away your drenched hair so he could see you. “Are you okay?”

You coughed, blinking away the salt that infiltrated your eyes. Seonghwa noticed your distress and gently rubbed your face with the pad of his thumb. 

“Don't rub your eyes,” he pushed your hand away, still not letting you go from his embrace. “You'll make it worse.”

“It hurts,” you mumbled, causing his look of worry to worsen. True, the salt started burning your eyes, but you couldn't get enough of his caring touch—maybe because he’s never shown this side of himself to you.

He took in an anxious breath as he looked around. “Maybe we should get back to the hotel,” he spoke softly, the sound of water filling your senses as you looked at him. 

Everything about his appearance aggravated you—from the way his midnight hair draped his face, dripping with water down his cheeks, to the way his normally judgemental eyes seemed gentle and sweet. He looked kind, the type of man who would worship his lover like a queen, and all the time knowing him, you tried your hardest to only see him in a negative light.

Now, as he held you in the cold, sparkling ocean as the sun was setting, all you saw was your reflection in his eyes and all you felt was the undeniable pull to be with him. To touch him. To kiss him. To tell him that maybe, just maybe, you’ve always had a piece of him in your heart.

“Seonghwa, I…” you paused, ignoring the burn from the salt water. You watched his lips as they slowly parted, his eyes wide as he picked you apart. They looked at you differently, like they never looked at you before, and you wanted him to never stop looking at you. 

The distance between the two of you was nonexistent—you saw every drop of water on his skin, and you were certain he was able to gather the meaning behind your gaze. If he did, he didn't say anything—he only looked back at you with those entrancing irises of his, a look you’ve never seen from him. He waited patiently for you to finish your sentence, but you had nothing else to say.

As your lips neared his, you heard his breath get caught in his throat, and you felt his embrace tighten around you. You closed your eyes, taking in the feeling, hoping that he would be the one to lean in and meet your lips.

He didn't. 

Instead, his hands trailed down your back, the pink surfboard still floating next to you despite being forgotten. His breath was shaky as he touched you, but the moment ended too quickly as he shook himself out of his trance.

“I um, we should, you know,” he nodded towards the beach, even though you weren't too far out. “We should get back to the room.”

You slowly blinked at him, watching his expression stay the same despite the change of mind. He coughed, letting go of you, but then he grabbed your hand and the board before pulling you to shore.

The walk back was quiet. He didn't let go of your hand until you got back to the surf shack, and he reluctantly let go knowing you had to change.

You both were silent as you looked at each other, but the ache in your chest convinced you to break this tension.

Before you entered the changing room, you quickly turned back around to face seonghwa, who still stood with that….sex-charged expression on his face.

“….Stop looking at me like that,” you hummed, your chest heavy as he breathed in deeply. He looked at you with those bedroom eyes of his, half of his wetsuit already off. He looked deadly, which didn't help your desire.

He swallowed hard but tried his best to remain calm. “Like what?”

You took a step closer, reaching back to your zipper to pull it down just a little. You shrugged it down your bare shoulders, making sure he got to know that there was nothing else but you under that wetsuit once again.

And when you got as close as you could, you said the words you knew would be life or death for him. 

“Like you want to fuck me,” you shrugged, acting all cool even though you were falling apart by the second. You were lucky you were at the surf shack at such a late time of day, and that no one else was here except you. 

He choked on air, stepping away from you until his back hit the wall. You noticed how his chest rose and fell as he breathed in, and how delicious it would be to just lick him all over….

“I…” he gulped, but his eyes lingered on your shoulders and the curve of your breasts. “I don't know what you mean?”

You smiled through your haze, mind focused on getting to the bottom of his sudden change of attitude towards you. You reached out, gently guiding your hand down the plain of his chest, down his slim, but muscular waist. Oh, you couldn't get enough of him already.

You smirked. “Then tell me why you’ve been eye fucking me all day, or at least what happened last night, so I can understand.”

He blinked fast, looking from your lips, down your neck, to your bare shoulders. 

“You…” he took in a sharp breath as your hands trailed down his body. “You sleeptalk.”

“I know that already,” you whispered, looking into his captivating gaze. 

He leaned forward slightly, veins popping in his neck as he strained against his judgment. “I mean, you…kept moaning my name. I…I couldn't take it anymore….I can't take it anymore. Every time you speak I just want to fucking shut you up with my mouth for fucks sake.” he huffed, subconsciously gripping your hips as he grits his teeth. “You so annoying, so damn annoying, I can't—”

“Then take me,” you spoke against his lips. “Fuck me. Just like you did in my dreams.”

His forehead pressed against yours as you pushed him further against the wall.

“And how did I do that?” he growled, his fingertips tugging at your wetsuit. “Was I rough? Gentle?” he paused, lips pressed to your neck. “Did I make you say my name, or was that all you with that filthy little mouth of yours?”

You couldn't speak as his lips glided down your neck to your collarbone. He sucked on the skin there, roughly, causing you to suck in a sharp breath and run your hands through his dripping-wet hair.

You moaned, biting his earlobe. “I want you to tear me apart.”

He smirked against your skin, his eyes finally meeting yours. 

“Rough it is, then.”

Without warning, he bit his lip hard as he pulled your wetsuit right down to your ankles, the water from his hair dripping onto your bare shoulders. He nearly growled as you stood in front of him, naked as ever, his gaze darkening before gripping the back of your neck to pull you to him.

As he sucked on your neck, you pulled down his suit with aggression, not quick enough for the hunger in both of your souls. His hot breath tickled your skin, his hands clawed at your hips, and his lips begged to kiss yours as you shoved him against the wall once again, skin on skin. He breathed heavily, his eyes dancing from your breasts to your waist, to your lips.

You gripped onto his hair, staring into his eyes for a moment before you locked your lips with his, tasting the saltiness of the ocean and the sweet warmth of his saliva. Your tongues fought for their lives, dancing as you deepened the kiss. Foreheads slamming, hands invading space. It was all over for your sanity the minute his long fingers glided against your core, his middle finger finding your clit and rubbing gently. His kisses were rough as his fingers delicately touched you, fueling the fire within you even more than it already was.

“Seonghwa,” you moaned against his ear, causing him to move his hand faster with a grunt. “Push them in me.”

He hissed, his eyes rolling back into his head as he pulled his hands away for a moment, only to suck his fingers in front of you before shoving them into you, curling them up inside you. You arched your back against him, crying out as his lips found yours once again.

He kissed you deeply as he made love to you with his hands, his fingers long enough to reach deep inside of you—but it wasn't enough. You bit his lip sharply as he fingered you, causing him to hiss in pleasure. “I need your cock in me. Now.” you licked his jawline, watching him squirm in your embrace. 

His cheeks were flushed red as he looked at you, his eyes looking as if he were intoxicated. “I…fuck,” he sucked in a breath, kissing you as his fingers moved faster and faster. “Okay.” 

As he pulled his fingers out of you, he licked them once more, his eyes on yours seductively. 

“You taste so good.” he moaned, his mouth parted. He then lifted you up, walking you over to the table of waxed surfboards in the middle of the room. Shoving everything off with one hand, he threw you onto the wood, causing you to let out a little grunt.

“You’re so sexy,” he leaned over you, slamming your hands above your head before silencing your moans with a rough kiss. “So fucking sexy, you have no idea how long I wanted to shove my dick inside you.” His words were like gasoline to your fire, causing you to cry out in a whimper for him to do exactly what he said he would do. You kept your mouth shut as he tugged you to the edge of the table, lining up his hard-on to enter you.

After a look of longing, he spit onto his fingers and rubbed them onto his cock and your heat, his chest falling and rising with his heavy breathing. He then buried himself inside you, deeply, causing your breath to hitch. He was even bigger than your dreams, tearing apart your expectations of his skills. You tried your best to free your arms from his hold, but as he moved in and out of you, you had lost the desire to escape it. You really liked the feeling of his fingernails tearing into your skin.

“Ah,” he whimpered, his hips rocking quickly, his eyes shut tight. His thrusts were deep, not slowing down for a second.

Your legs curled around his shoulders, his one arm holding your hands and his other piercing into your ankle. He grunted as he pumped into you, tearing at your insides, feeling him fill you up. “Hwa,” you groaned, back arching in pleasure. “Harder. Fuck me harder.”

He grunted in response, speeding up faster as his hips slammed into yours. You felt him quiver inside you, precum dripping into you without a care. You loved the feeling, you didn't care about the risks in the moment. 

You climaxed without warning, your legs tightening around his head. He kept muttering your name over and over again against you, kissing the skin of your ankles as he continued to fuck the living shit out of you. You started to see stars as he nearly cracked your spine, and right before he nearly came, he flipped you over onto your stomach without ever leaving you.

Your face was shoved against the wood of the table, the sweet smell of sex enveloping your senses. You cried out his name as he gripped onto your hips, moving faster as his own orgasm came close. His lips met the small of your back, his fingers gripped your ass with haste. 

“I’m going to come,” he mumbled, his voice raspy. “Can I come in you?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Come inside me.”

As if your words stirred something within him, he immediately moved in shorter movements, his grip on your ass tightening as his orgasm came. His breathing shallowed as he came into you, filling you up with his cum. You let out one last moan as you felt his warmth, and he kissed the back of your neck as he finished.

He pulled out of you slowly despite how rough he was—he could've been rougher, but you didn't want him to think of you as the insane slut everyone thought you were.

Even though you only ever slept with others because you couldn't have him.

And now…..what comes next?

He helped you sit back up to a normal position, and when he saw the dark, purple bruises on your neck and collarbone, he gasped. “Oh, I’m sorry,” his fingers gently brushed against your hot skin as if he didn't just totally destroy you. “I kind of….went crazy, didn't I?”

You smiled up at him in a daze, both your cheeks blushed in embarrassment and enjoyment. “I like crazy.”

He paused, standing proudly in front of you with that delicious body of his. You sighed in contentment, a lazy smile on your lips. “I dreamt of this. Literally.” you reached out to him, pulling his lips down to yours. He kissed them softly, opening his mouth wide as he made out with you. You didn't want to pull away, but as the thought of you both having sex in a public surf shack came to your mind, you pulled away quickly, startling him.

“Um, so,” you laughed awkwardly. “Should we head back now? We are kind of in a public place….”

Seonghwa looked around, smirking as he leaned forward on the table, kissing you once more. “It was kind of thrilling, not gonna lie.”

You leaned into his embrace, his hands caressing your back romantically. “So,” you whispered against his lips. “We should get back. And this time, you better sleep in the bed with me.”

“Oh, baby, I plan on doing more than just sleeping.”

—

After countless rounds of ‘sleeping’, you ended up waking up late in Seonghwa’s embrace, his lips pressed against the curve of your shoulder as he held you. He quite literally rocked you all night long, and you even discovered his love for reverse cowgirl—making him come within two minutes of the fifth round.

Now, as you lay in his arms while he slept, you finally felt content. He was all you ever wanted, even though your words said otherwise this whole time of knowing him.

“Hey,” you turned around in his embrace, pressing your lips against his forehead. “Seonghwa.”

“Hm?” he grumbled sleepily, his eyes blinking open to meet yours. 

You smiled, running a hand through his messy hair. “We should get up. The others are probably waiting for us in the lobby.”

“Ugh, why?” he groaned, holding onto you tighter. “ I don't want to leave this bed today. Or ever.”

You giggled, pecking his lips. “Come on, Hwa. I really would like to get a tan on the sand today.”

His eyes were wide open now, but he blinked slowly from his sleepiness. “We barely got any sleep,” he huffed, shoving his head into your shoulder. “And I can't kiss you in front of everyone, I can't wait the whole day to touch you.”

You grinned chaotically.

“Who says we have to hide it?”

—

“Dear lord,” Wooyoung huffed, sitting with his arms crossed at the beach. “Are they ever going to stop and come up for air?”

Your friends sat on towels on the sand, while you sat on Seonghwa’s lap as you made out with him. His hands gripped your face as he stuck his tongue in your mouth, both of you having no care for those around you. 

“I knew this was going to happen,” San mumbled with a smirk, elbowing Wooyoung playfully. “Just let them have their fun. It’s been a long time coming.”

“Pfft,” Woo scoffed, looking at how seonghwa touched you.

 “I always thought I would be the one tapping that.”

“Wooyoung shut the fuck up.”

[kayewrite]

Time and Again

bang chan x reader x hyunjin!! word count: 4.2k

a straykids fic wherein; You thought acting was just another gig, until a simple favor spiraled into something more complicated. As you step into a world of wealth and deception, you meet Chan and Hyunjin—two men whose lives you’ve unintentionally entangled with your own.

an: let's rest from bsn everyonee~ i got a new fic!! hope you'll like it

What can’t we stop in life?

Time.

That thought lingers in your mind, unshakeable.

We can't stop growing up. Time is relentless. It pushes us forward, even when we want to stay still. One day, we'll notice gray hairs sprouting like uninvited guests, our teeth might loosen and fall like autumn leaves, and our once smooth skin will crease and roughen, mapping out the years we've lived.

We can't freeze a moment, no matter how desperately we want to linger in it. The seconds tick on, pulling us along whether we're ready or not.

We can't slow time, even when we're anxious about an upcoming exam that looms over us like a storm cloud. No matter how much we wish for more time to prepare, the day will arrive, just as it always does.

We can't hold onto the minutes when we're engrossed in a movie, lost in another world, hoping it never ends. But as much as we resist, the credits will eventually roll, pulling us back to reality.

We can't pause time, even when we long to remain a carefree child, untouched by the worries and responsibilities that come with growing older.

We can’t stop time.

Just like you couldn’t stop yourself from turning 25.

You sit quietly, a single cupcake in front of you, the tiny flame of the candle flickering in the dim light of your apartment. The room is silent, the only sound the soft hiss of the air conditioner. You lean forward and blow out the candle, the flame extinguishing with a small puff of smoke that curls into the air.

You clap your hands together, a small, solitary celebration. There’s no one here to cheer with you, no one to share this moment. You glance around, your eyes tracing the familiar shapes of your home—the worn sofa, the stack of unread books on the coffee table, the kitchen with its unwashed dishes. The shadows stretch long in the quiet room, filling the spaces where laughter and voices used to be.

Growing up, birthdays started to feel just like any other day. The excitement, the anticipation—it all faded, replaced by a quiet acceptance that time was moving on, with or without you.

If it weren’t for your friend Nana, who surprised you with a cupcake earlier, you might not have even remembered it was your birthday. She’d smiled brightly, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she handed you the small cake, her voice cheerful as she wished you another year of happiness. Her warmth lingered even after she left, the cupcake a sweet reminder that someone cared.

You sigh, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips, and take a bite of the cupcake. The sweetness fills your mouth, a brief comfort. You chew slowly, savoring the flavor, letting it dissolve on your tongue. For a moment, you close your eyes, letting yourself be present, here in this small, quiet moment.

And just like that, another birthday passes.

You slip into bed, the sheets cool against your skin. You turn off the lights, the room plunging into darkness, and whisper a thank you to yourself for making it this far—a quiet acknowledgment of your perseverance, of the little victories that have brought you here. Your body relaxes into the mattress, the day’s weariness catching up to you. With a deep breath, you close your eyes, giving in to the pull of sleep, the last thought in your mind a simple, comforting one—you’ve made it another year.

We can't stop time, indeed.

The next morning, you’re jolted awake by the shrill ring of your alarm. You fumble for your phone, your fingers clumsy with sleep, and press the snooze button, craving just five more minutes of rest. The bed is warm and inviting, and you sink back into it, pulling the covers over your head.

But those five minutes stretch longer than intended. The next thing you know, you’re blinking your eyes open, and a glance at the clock sends your heart racing—it’s already 8:00 a.m.

Your workday starts at 8:30.

Panic sets in, adrenaline flooding your system as you throw the covers off and leap out of bed. You move as fast as you can—faster than you thought possible. Your mind races through the tasks ahead, prioritizing speed over everything.

If only you could stop time, you could take a peaceful shower, let the warm water wake you up slowly, ease you into the day. But since you can’t, you resort to multitasking in a desperate attempt to catch up with the minutes slipping away.

You brush your teeth while standing under the showerhead, the water splashing over you as you try not to miss a spot.

You toast bread while ironing your clothes, darting back and forth between the kitchen and the ironing board, hoping nothing burns.

You eat your breakfast standing by the window, glancing out every few seconds to see if the bus is coming, chewing quickly as you mentally run through your day’s schedule.

You apply your makeup on the bus, your reflection shaky in the tiny mirror, hoping you don’t smudge your eyeliner as you rehearse your work script under your breath.

You slip on your heels while running through the building’s entrance, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway.

But despite all your efforts, you are still late. If only you could blame time. sighs

You work as an extra.

An extra in any movie or TV show that needs someone to fill in the background, to be a part of the scenery, blending into the lives of the characters who take the spotlight. That’s your job. It pays the bills, keeps you afloat, but sometimes you wonder if it's enough.

"You’re late," your friend says with a smirk as you frantically try to fix your hair, fingers shaking as you attempt to tame the unruly strands. "They were about to replace you. Thanks to me, I practically had to kneel on the floor and beg them to keep you on."

You know she didn’t really do that—she just wants to remind you not to push your luck by being late again. Extras like you, well, you're replaceable. The director doesn’t wait for anyone in your position. You’re just a face in the crowd, someone who can be swapped out without a second thought.

"I’m sorry," you murmur, the words feeling heavy in your mouth. You know the truth: you’re not important enough to hold up production. Who are you to be waited on?

The scene begins. You’re seated in a cozy restaurant, a man across from you who’s playing the part of your date. The two of you chat quietly, exchanging smiles that mean nothing, just a prop to fill the space. Then, the two main characters walk past, their presence commanding attention as they take a seat at a table a few spots away from you. They start their lines, their voices clear and confident, pulling everyone’s focus toward them.

You keep the conversation going with your ‘date,’ even though you know your words won’t be heard, and you might not even be seen on camera. Your job is to blend in, to make the world of the show feel real, even if your face never truly appears.

Later, you find yourself in a different role—a gossiper in a crowded café. You sit with a group of women, exchanging whispers and sideways glances at the main female character, who is seated nearby. She plays her part well, her expression sad and weary, as if your gossip has cut her deeply.

"I heard she got impregnated by an addict," you say with a laugh, delivering your lines with just the right amount of disdain. Your friend beside you joins in, adding to the conversation with her own sharp lines. You play your role, small as it is, with the same effort and energy you’ve been putting into it for the past two years.

It’s a job that keeps you going, one that lets you continue living, but sometimes you wonder… is it enough?

Another day, another set. This time, you’re part of the audience for a game reality show. You clap and cheer, your voice blending with the others as you pretend to be thrilled by the events on stage. You’re paid to be enthusiastic, to create an atmosphere of excitement, and it’s fun in its own way.

Then comes one of your biggest roles yet: a funeral scene. This time, you get to cry, and it’s not just background work—you actually have a solo shot. The camera focuses on you as tears stream down your face, and you give it everything you have. When the scene wraps, you mentally clap for yourself, feeling a small surge of pride.

But when the lights dim and the day’s work is done, you can’t help but ask yourself… are you content with this? Being an extra? Is this all there is for you?

You arrive home to your small apartment, exhaustion weighing on your shoulders. You flop onto the couch, turning on the TV to catch the latest episode of the series you’re currently working on. You munch on chips as the scene plays out, eyes scanning the screen, looking for yourself in the background.

The camera pans to a hospital scene, and there you are, laying on a hospital bed, playing the part of an injured patient. It’s a fleeting moment—just a few seconds of screen time—but you spot yourself. And despite everything, you can’t help but smile.

You have big dreams for yourself, dreams of being a star, a known and respected actress. But those dreams feel so far away now, almost impossible. Still, you hold onto the hope that one day..

time will take you there.

"Please, can you do this for me? I'm begging! You're a great actress; I know you can pull it off."

Had the time finally taken you to this point?

"How much are we talking?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

No, you were still just playing an extra in someone else’s story.

"I’ll give you whatever you want. Name your price, I promise—just this once, please."

Your friend, Kim, the daughter of a multimillionaire, was asking you for a favor for the first time. That alone told you she was desperate. And money? Of course, you always went for the money.

"What exactly do you need me to do?"

"I want you to pretend," she said, her voice low but insistent.

You were good at pretending.

Yes, you were really good at acting (if only everyone could see it).

You felt a spark of excitement at the challenge her offer presented.

"Then get that money ready," you smirked, your confidence returning.

This was just another job. Consider it your usual work—a role you’d mastered time and again.

The party was extravagant.

It felt like only the truly rich could reach this level of opulence.

Everything was so formal, so unlike anything you’d ever experienced.

Was this where the wealthy spent their riches?

You marveled at the bartender, who crafted your drink with a precision and flair you’d only seen in movies. A glass of alcohol here likely cost more than your monthly wage.

You were still in awe when you suddenly shook your head, reminding yourself why you were here.

But then, you decided to savor the moment. You should stay a while, just to taste what it was like to be rich, even if only for a few minutes.

You perched on a high barstool, letting yourself sink into the role.

You began your act—moving slowly, carefully, like someone accustomed to luxury. The dress you wore made you nervous; you were scared it might get ruined, so you moved as elegantly as possible, like you imagined rich people did.

You were so focused on your act that you didn’t notice someone sitting on the stool beside you until he spoke.

"I’ll have what she’s having," he said, nodding toward the bartender.

You took a sip of your drink, your eyes scanning the room, trying to blend in.

But you flinched as the burning liquid slid down your throat. This stuff was expensive, but in that moment, you still preferred the soju from the convenience store.

Who were you kidding? Of course, this was better.

You noticed the man beside you giving you a curious look, like he was judging your strange behavior.

Mentally, you scolded yourself and snapped back to your role.

"So, how are you?" you asked, turning to the man beside you, trying to recover.

He looked at you with a puzzled expression, as if he was trying to figure out who you were.

Internally, you cringed. He wasn’t part of your task. Get your head back in the game!

"Never mind, don’t answer that," you quickly added, dropping the act. Tired of pretending when your target was still nowhere in sight, you let a bit of your true self show. Anyway, this man didn’t know you at all.

This only seemed to confuse him more. He stared at you as if trying to figure out why you were so… weird.

"Can you tell me what this drink is called again?" you asked, turning back to him.

He said a name you didn’t recognize, and you didn’t bother trying to remember it—you’d forget it anyway.

"Right. That," you replied nonchalantly.

"Are you drunk?" he asked, an amused smirk playing on his lips.

"Why would I be? Drinks like this don’t get me drunk after just one shot," you laughed.

He shrugged and returned to his drink, staring into nothing as if lost in his own thoughts. Even when a gorgeous woman passed by, he didn’t seem to notice her, and she walked away without a second glance.

"What are you thinking about?" you asked, genuinely curious.

The man turned his attention back to you, shrugged again, and answered, "Nothing."

"Oh, come on, you can tell me. You know it’s better to talk to strangers," you encouraged, taking another sip. "And I promise you, you won’t ever see me again."

Were you drunk? No, definitely not.

The stranger looked at you, seeming to debate whether to open up to you.

"I’ve just got a lot of problems," he began, his voice tinged with frustration.

"I can’t believe even rich people have problems," you chuckled. "But then again, everyone has problems."

"Rich people are people too," he laughed softly.

"Right, I forgot," you laughed along with him.

"So, yeah… have you ever been forced to love someone?" he asked, swirling the drink in his glass.

"No. Why would someone force me to? Do they own my heart? I own myself!" you declared.

"Right," he laughed again, and you found it strangely attractive. But rich people weren’t for someone like you. "But what if you don’t have a choice?"

"I still wouldn’t. I stick to my principles. No one should own you unless you want them to. No one should rule your life—you own it," you said firmly.

"That’s easier said than done," he replied, a hint of sadness in his tone.

"It’s hard, but you need to stand up for yourself," you insisted.

He found your bluntness amusing. He didn’t reply but took another sip of his drink, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"I’m Chan," he said, finally introducing himself and extending his hand. You shook it but didn’t offer your name in return, as you were supposed to. So he asked, "What’s your name?"

"I’m staying a stranger tonight," you chuckled. "And I’m not who I am tonight."

Chan found you hilariously weird, but in a good way. He didn’t want to walk away from your strangeness.

"Look at that man," you said, nodding discreetly toward a man not far away. Chan followed your gaze.

"Ah, that’s Hyu—" he started to say, but you weren’t listening.

"He’s a jerk. He plays with girls’ hearts, and I’m here to tell him off," you said, standing up. The sudden movement made you dizzy, and you almost stumbled, but Chan caught you. You quickly steadied yourself, focusing on your goal—your task.

You marched over to the man sitting on the couch with his new girl. Was this what all rich people did? Collect girls like trophies?

"Hyunjin!" you called out, the reason you were here. "How dare you!" You approached him and slapped him hard across the face, your acting skills kicking into high gear.

The people around him froze, but thankfully, most were too absorbed in the jazz music to notice. Still, you almost wished more eyes were on you.

"You cheated on me!" you cried, tears welling up in your eyes. "How could you? I loved you so much, and you do this to me?"

Hyunjin looked utterly shocked, clearly having no idea what was happening. The girl beside him began to pull away from his embrace, doubt creeping into her expression.

You continued to cry, letting the tears fall freely, until you felt it was time to make your exit. You ran back to the bar, grabbed your bag, finished the rest of your drink in one gulp, and hurried out of the scene.

Once you were outside, you wiped away the tears, blowing out a long breath.

"Wow. That was harder than I thought," you muttered to yourself, a satisfied smile spreading across your face.

Sorry, Hyunjin. I promise, you won’t be seeing me again.

As Kim had explained, your task was to teach Hyunjin a lesson. According to her, Hyunjin was a playboy jerk who toyed with her sister's heart, and he deserved to be taken down a notch. Now, after your little performance, anyone who overheard would probably believe that the angelic-looking Hyunjin was nothing but a cheater.

Well, you couldn’t deny that he was handsome. But a jerk is a jerk.

Later, your friend Kim was thrilled with your story.

"Really? You believed me right away?" you rolled your eyes. "People like you are too easy to fool. You get carried away by stories without looking for evidence. What if I lied?"

"Why would you lie? I know you," she said confidently, handing you an envelope—probably full of money.

You thanked her, but when you saw the amount, you quickly tried to hand it back.

"That’s too much," you protested.

Even though you were friends with a rich girl like her, you would never take advantage of it.

"It’s fine," she laughed, as if she were giving away pocket change.

You knew from experience that she was stubborn and wouldn’t listen, so you just took the money and mumbled a quick thanks. "If you have any more jobs for me, I’m always here… but that was the last one."

"Okay, thanks," she said cheerfully. "And that dress—you can keep it. You look stunning in it."

You laughed, "You think I’d give it back after feeling like a princess in it?" You admired yourself in the mirror in her room. "Just kidding. Thanks for this."

Last night was a great racket job.

You felt good acting. Maybe it would even be shown on television—who knows? But one thing was certain: you loved acting. Even when the roles were small, the thrill of pretending to be someone else was addictive.

But now, as you stepped back into your everyday life, everything felt dull by comparison. Dressed in a school uniform, you were playing yet another role, this time as a student taking a test. Just an act, but as you glanced at the girl across from you—crying on her desk for the scene—you felt a pang of envy. For a moment, you wished you were her, caught up in a dramatic life that wasn’t your own.

It was break time, and you found a corner to sit in, nibbling on the free snacks they provided. The munching was interrupted by Jeremy, one of the extras and a friend you’d made on set.

"There’s an audition this Saturday," he began, excitement bubbling in his voice. "They’re looking for doubles for an action series."

Good news, perhaps. But you’d been down that road before. Playing the main character during action scenes sounded thrilling, but it usually ended with you in the hospital. So..

"No," you said firmly, shaking your head. "Never again."

Jeremy tried to persuade you. "I get it, but this is a big opportunity! The director will be there, and rumor has it he’s scouting for a new star. We could be more than just extras—we could get real lines if we do well."

His words struck a chord. The possibility of stepping out of the shadows, of being more than just a face in the background, was tempting. You could feel the spark of hope igniting in your chest.

You entered the building, your heart pounding in your chest. Maybe it was indeed your time.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped up to the podium, ready to deliver the lines you’d been practicing for days. Your moment had arrived, and you were determined to make the most of it.

But just as you opened your mouth to speak, a voice interrupted.

"The director is here."

You turned, your mouth hanging open in shock. Entering the room was someone you never expected to see.

"Good morning. I’m Bang Chan."

The confidence you’d carefully built up began to crumble. The man sitting before you, staring intently, was someone you never thought you’d meet again.

Chan smirked, his gaze locking onto yours. "Show us what you’ve got."

Your hands trembled as you tried to remember your lines. The words that had come so easily in front of your mirror at home now felt foreign and distant. But you pushed through, forcing yourself to focus, to give the best performance you could muster.

When you finally finished, you left the room feeling weak, as if all your strength had been drained away. Your mind was a whirlpool of uncertainty. Had you done well? Would you be called back? You couldn’t be sure.

But as it turned out, it really was your time.

Days later, you sat staring at your computer screen, reading the email from the network you auditioned.

The word "passed" jumped out at you.

Passed?

You weren’t sure how to feel. Happiness? Shock? Disbelief?

Of course, you should be happy—this was a huge opportunity! And yet… how could you have passed when you were so uncertain about your performance? Was it Chan’s influence that got you through?

No matter how it happened, you had to be grateful. Maybe Chan had seen something in you. Maybe this was your chance to prove yourself. But at the back of your mind, one question lingered: Had he recognized you from the scandal you’d created with Hyunjin?

On the day of the script reading, you arrived early, standing in front of the tall building with a mix of anticipation and nerves.

A script reading? And you were invited?

You practically bounced with excitement, the reality of your situation sinking in. You jogged to the entrance, your heart soaring with the possibility that maybe, just maybe, Chan had seen something in you worth believing in.

As you entered the room, you noticed it was already filled with people—many of whom were familiar faces from the industry. But you didn’t let it faze you. You found a quiet corner to sit in, waiting for the session to begin.

It was strange. You hadn’t received any details in the email—just an invitation. And yet, you didn’t feel out of place. The thought of maybe having a role, of stepping into a new chapter of your acting career, kept your spirits high.

Soon, more stars began to arrive, and though you’d grown used to seeing celebrities up close, the buzz of excitement was still contagious. You watched them interact, some putting on airs, others more down-to-earth than their public personas suggested.

Then Chan entered, his presence commanding the room. You hadn’t realized it at first that he was the director—it was surprising. He seemed more like a CEO than a filmmaker. Curious, you leaned over to the person next to you.

"He’s new," they whispered, as if sharing a secret. "Apparently, it’s been his dream to direct, and now he’s finally pursuing it. But yeah, he’s the son of a big businessman, so everyone knows this project will be a hit because of his connections."

You nodded, your curiosity piqued. But as you tried to settle back into your thoughts, the door opened again, and someone else walked in.

Your heart stopped.

It was Hyunjin.

The same Hyunjin you’d sworn you’d never see again.

Your eyes met, and he smirked, a glint of recognition in his gaze.

"The main star is here!" Chan announced with a broad smile, welcoming Hyunjin with a warm hug.

Main star?

At that moment, you wished time would freeze, giving you a chance to escape.

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

Hi hun. If you’re taking requests could you write something about dadrry maybe something where they have another baby and their first kid starts to act out and get jealous.

Jealous Baby Styles.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

blurb masterlist is here.

word count -

in which, five days ago, you and harry welcomed another little baby into the world, but the blissful baby bubble isn’t all it turns out to be when you have a toddler as well.

Sitting on the cosy sofa with your husband, Harry, and your four-year-old daughter, Marlie, you find yourselves in a whirlwind of emotions and exhaustion. Just five days ago, you and Harry welcomed your precious baby boy, Billie, into the world. As you sit together, Marlie is the furthest away from you, engrossed in her iPad, while you hold Billie close in your arms.

At this moment, you're dressed in nothing but a sports bra and shorts, accompanied by a postpartum nappy that reminds you of the physical toll your body has endured. Your hair, untamed and unwashed, reflects the lack of time you've had for self-care since Billie's arrival. The need for a shower looms over you, but finding the time seems impossible.

The exhaustion is palpable, etched onto your face and seeping into your bones. Five days of little sleep have taken their toll, as you struggle to get more than three hours of rest at a time. Napping is a luxury you can't afford, for you have a toddler to look after alongside your newborn.

Despite the weariness, there's a deep sense of joy and fulfilment within your heart. As you sit on the sofa, the love in the room wraps around you, providing strength amidst the exhaustion. Harry's gaze is filled with admiration and unwavering support, offering reassurance in this challenging phase. Marlie occasionally glances up from her digital world to shower her baby brother with smiles, a testament to the bond forming between them.

Amidst the chaos and messiness of this phase, you find solace in the unity of your family. The sacrifices you make—sleepless nights, dishevelled appearance—are small prices to pay for the overwhelming love and fulfilment that parenthood brings. You draw strength from each other's presence, knowing that this stage, although demanding, is temporary.

You find yourself dozing off on the sofa, the weight of fatigue pulling at your eyelids as Billie rests peacefully in your arms. Just as sleep threatens to overtake you, your husband speaks up.

"Hey, love," Harry gently says, his voice breaking through your drowsiness. "Y'should go upstairs and lie down for a while."

You stir, feeling torn. As a breastfeeding mother, you can’t help but worry that Billie might wake up hungry and need a feed. The thought of leaving him even for a short while makes you hesitant.

"But what if 'he needs to eat?" You express your concern, looking at Harry with tired eyes.

Harry's reassuring voice comforts you. "Don't worry, darlin'. There's pumped milk in the fridge. If 'e gets hungry, I'll take care of it."

Your mind races, contemplating the logistics of it all. Harry would have to manage both Marlie and Billie while you catch up on some much-needed rest. It feels overwhelming', but Harry remains steadfast.

"I don't get up for the night feeds because y'breastfeed 'im," Harry reminds you. "I'm only responsible for changin' nappies. Y'deserve a nap. Let me handle things for a while."

Reluctantly, you give in, nodding your head in agreement. The weight of exhaustion and the realisation that you desperately need rest outweigh your concerns. Trusting Harry to care for both Marlie and Billie, you surrender to the idea of stealing' a precious moment of sleep.

And with that nod, the scene concludes, leaving you with the anticipation of the rest you so desperately need.

Once you've nodded, Harry gently takes Billie from your tired arms, causing the little one to stir slightly at the movement. With a soft whisper of reassurance, Harry slowly lowers him into the cozy bassinet placed in the front room.

"Don't worry, mate," Harry whispers to Billie, his voice soothing. "I've just gotta help y’mama get upstairs. You'll be alright."

Meanwhile, Harry turns his attention to Marlie, who is engrossed in her playtime on her ipad. "Marlie, m’love," he says, trying to engage her. "Y’keep an eye on y’baby brother, alright?"

Marlie, fully immersed in her imaginative world, remains focused on her screen and doesn't respond to Harry's words. However, both you and Harry are too preoccupied with ensuring a smooth transition upstairs to give much thought to her lack of response.

Harry offers his strong and supportive arm, helping you up each step of the staircase. You're still feeling the lingering discomfort from giving birth, and his gentle whispers of reassurance provide a comforting backdrop to your ascent.

"It's alright, m’love," Harry murmurs, his voice filled with tenderness. "Just take it easy. We'll get y’settled in no time."

As you reach the top of the stairs, Harry guides you into the peaceful sanctuary of your master bedroom. He lovingly pulls back the soft duvet, creating a welcoming space for you to find comfort. With careful attention, he assists you in getting cosy, ensuring you're nestled in just the right way.

Leaning down, Harry presses a tender kiss to the top of your head, a gesture filled with love and support. His presence is a soothing balm, reminding you that you're not alone in this journey.

"Rest well, m’beautiful," Harry whispers, his voice carrying a mix of affection and concern. "Is there anything else y’need before I head back downstairs?"

Taking a moment to gather your thoughts, you assure him that you have everything you require nearby. The essentials are within reach, and you're grateful for his attentiveness.

"No, I think I have everything I need," you reply, feeling the warmth of his care enveloping you. "Thank you, baby."

With a final loving gaze, Harry bids you farewell and heads back down the stairs. You watch him go, appreciating the support he provides as he tends to the needs of your growing family.

As Harry descends the stairs, a cheerful voice calls out to him, filling the house with excitement. It's Marlie, eager to have her daddy join in the playtime fun.

"Daddy, come play with me!" Marlie's voice resonates through the living room, brimming with anticipation.

Harry's heart melts at his daughter's request. With the arrival of their baby boy, he recognizes the importance of making sure Marlie feels loved and included. A warm smile spreads across his face as he joins her on the floor, ready to embark on a Barbie-filled adventure.

"F’course, sweetheart!" Harry replies, his voice infused with enthusiasm. "Who do we have here today? What's your Barbie's name?"

Marlie giggles with delight, holding up a doll with a vibrant purple dress. "This is Princess Lily!" she exclaims, her eyes shining with excitement.

Harry joins in the fun, adopting a high-pitched voice for his Barbie doll. "Well, hello there, Princess Lily! It's an honor to meet you. Shall we go on a grand quest together?"

Marlie claps her hands, her imagination taking flight. "Yes, Daddy! Princess Lily needs to find the hidden treasure in the enchanted forest!"

And so, father and daughter dive into the world of make-believe, crafting intricate storylines and creating magical moments. Their voices fill the room as they bring their Barbie dolls to life, each character imbued with unique personalities and aspirations.

Harry leans into the role, using exaggerated gestures and a playful tone to captivate Marlie's imagination. "Princess Lily, fear not! With my trusty unicorn steed, we shall journey through the enchanted forest and overcome any challenges that come our way!"

Marlie's eyes sparkle with delight as she continues the story. "Yes, Daddy! And Princess Lily is brave and kind, just like you!"

Harry's heart swells with pride, cherishing these precious moments with his daughter. As they play, their laughter fills the air, creating a symphony of joy and connection.

As the game unfolds, Marlie introduces new twists and turns, each narrative becoming more whimsical than the last. Harry is fully engaged, actively listening and responding to Marlie's ideas, allowing her creativity to flourish.

"Daddy, look! Princess Lily found a magic wand!" Marlie exclaims, waving a tiny plastic wand in the air.

Harry gasps dramatically. "Oh my goodness, Princess Lily! With that magic wand, you can bring smiles to everyone's faces and spread happiness throughout the kingdom!"

Their playtime continues, with Harry and Marlie exploring the depths of their imagination. They share laughter, engage in heartfelt conversations, and build a bond that transcends the mere moments spent on the floor.

As the playtime reaches its vibrant peak, a sudden cry pierces the air, interrupting the magical atmosphere. Billie, nestled in his bassinet, demands attention, and Harry knows he must momentarily step away to tend to his newborn son.

"Mar, m’love, I need to go check on Billie for a moment," Harry gently explains, his voice filled with concern. "He's crying, and I have to make sure he's alright."

Marlie's face scrunches up, her brows furrowing in protest. "No, Daddy! Stay and play with me!" she pleads, her voice tinged with disappointment.

Harry sighs, torn between the needs of his two children. He longs to grant Marlie's request, to stay and continue their joyful playtime. However, his paternal instincts compel him to ensure Billie's well-being.

"M’promise, sweetheart, it won't take long," Harry reassures Marlie, trying to ease her disappointment. "I just need to see if Billie needs some comforting. I'll be right back."

With a heavy heart, Harry makes his way to Billie's bassinet, his footsteps filled with a sense of urgency. As he reaches the bassinet, a pungent smell wafts through the air, indicating that Billie's nappy needs changing.

"Oh, baby darling, did y’make a poo?" Harry chuckles softly, carefully lifting Billie into his arms. "Let's get you to the changing table and sort this out."

Carrying Billie over to the changing table nestled in the corner of the room, Harry sets him down gently, his eyes filled with adoration for his newborn son. As he begins the task of changing Billie's nappy, Harry maintains a soothing and comforting tone, engaging in heartfelt conversation with his little bundle of joy.

"Alright, little man, let's get this nappy changed," Harry murmurs softly, his voice filled with warmth. "You know, Billie, you have the best big sister in the world. Marlie loves you so much, just like I love my sister, Gemma."

As Harry carefully cleans and wipes, he continues to share stories and whispers of love, creating a bond between father and son. He narrates tales of the adventures Marlie and Billie will embark upon, painting a vivid picture of a future filled with laughter, support, and sibling camaraderie

"You and Marlie are going to be the best of friends," Harry assures Billie, a twinkle of anticipation in his eyes. "Just like how Gemma and I have been there for each other through thick and thin, you and Marlie will have a lifelong friendship."

While Harry is engrossed in the intimate interaction with Billie, he remains unaware of Marlie's presence on the floor, her Barbie dolls momentarily forgotten. Tears stream down her face, her heart yearning for her father's undivided attention. She watches as Harry and Billie share this tender moment, her emotions running deep.

Harry carefully fastens a fresh nappy around Billie, stealing a glance at his son's cherubic face. Little does Harry know, the tender moment he shares with Billie coincides with Marlie's emotional outburst, leaving a trail of tears in her wake.

As Harry finishes the nappy change and turns his attention back to the room, he realizes that Marlie is no longer in sight. Concern fills his heart, and he quickly secures Billie in his bassinet, ensuring his comfort and safety. Gently, Harry rocks the bassinet back and forth, using the soothing motion to lull Billie into a peaceful slumber.

Once satisfied that Billie is settled, Harry grabs the baby monitor, clutching it tightly in his hand. With each step, he follows the faint trail of Marlie's sobs, determined to find her and offer the comfort she so desperately needs.

As he steps into the serene garden, the soft breeze rustles the leaves of Marlie's favorite tree. His gaze searches the tranquil space until he spots her huddled beneath the branches, her tear-streaked face illuminated by the golden sunlight. Harry's heart aches at the sight, knowing the depth of her emotions.

Silently, Harry approaches Marlie, his steps careful and deliberate. He takes a moment to compose himself, wanting to offer her solace and reassurance. With a gentle touch, he sits beside her, enveloping her in a warm embrace that conveys his love and understanding.

With a gentle touch, Harry sits beside Marlie under the comforting shade of her favourite tree. He wraps his arm around her trembling shoulders, offering a sense of security and warmth. But as he does, Marlie tries to crawl away, clearly upset with him.

Harry's heart sinks at her attempt to distance herself, understanding the depth of her emotions. "Marlie, m’love," he says softly, his voice filled with compassion. "Y’don't have to say anything if you don't want to. I'm here, and I'll sit with you."

Silence settles between them as they sit side by side. The tranquillity of the garden envelops them, granting them a moment of respite from the weight of their emotions.

After several minutes, Marlie slowly crawls into Harry's lap, her tiny fingers playing with the cross necklace dangling from his neck. She hesitantly begins to speak, her voice soft and fragile.

"I didn't mean to get upset," Marlie whispers, her eyes cast down.

Harry's hand continues to rub soothingly up and down her back. "It's alright, m’heart. What upset you? Y’can tell me."

Marlie shrugs her shoulders, her words barely audible. "I don't want to be forgotten."

A wave of realisation washes over Harry as he comprehends the root of Marlie's anguish. He holds her tighter, understanding the fear that lingers in her young heart.

"Oh, sweetheart," Harry murmurs, his voice filled with tenderness. "I'm so sorry if it feels like Billie is taking me and mama away from you. That's not his intention at all, it’s because he’s a baby that he needs a lot of our time, you were like that when you were his size."

Marlie's tears continue to flow as she searches for the right words. "I don't like my baby brother," she confesses, her voice filled with a mixture of sadness and confusion. "He keeps taking you away from me."

Harry's heart aches as he absorbs Marlie's words. He continues to hold her, rubbing her back in gentle circles.

"I understand, m’heart," Harry whispers, his voice tinged with regret. "When I was born, Aunt Gemma must have felt the same way. But y’know what? Mama and I love both of y’so much. We're going to spend lots of time with both of you, making sure you both feel special."

Marlie looks up at Harry, her tear-stained face searching for reassurance. "Really?"

Harry nods, his eyes filled with sincerity. "Absolutely. Tonight, you can sleep in our bed, and we'll have a special time together. Mama, you, Billie, and me."

And with that promise hanging in the air, the weight of their emotions begins to lift. Harry holds Marlie tightly, hoping to mend the cracks in her tender heart. Under the sheltering embrace of the favourite tree, they sit together, finding solace in their love for one another.

“Now,”Harry pushed some curls away from her face and stared into the matching eyes of his little girl. “How about we go make mama some cupcakes for when she wakes up, just me and you whilst baby brother sleeps?”

Marlie’s eyes lit up, nodding her head as she snuggled her face into the crook of her fathers neck. “Just us?”

“Just us.”

[vhagarys]

Thunderstorms and Lightning

aunt!helaena x reader

summary: Your childhood best friend was to marry her brother Aegon. You would give the world to be in his place.

warnings: canon-typical incest, angsty, reader loves helaena (and it’s mutual), yearning <|3

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She was so beautiful.

You watched in awe as your aunt descended the steps into the throne room, a halo of light seemed to cling to her frame.

Her delicate frame had been woven with a forest green gown, long sleeves with a heart-shaped neckline showcased her curves deliciously. A thin veil with small silver and gold dragons were littered across the sheer fabric, effectively covering her face.

You forced your eyes away. It was improper to ogle at the soon-to-be queen, though you couldn’t seem to avert your gaze.

Helaena would be wed to your uncle Aegon. Your fingers itched to reach out and stop her as she walked past.

As if you were observing a specimen in a museum, you could observe but could not touch.

Since childhood, you had quite the close relationship with Helaena. Her being only five years your elder, you spent much of your adolescence scavenging for bugs in the garden, failing miserably at high Valyrian, and sneaking out of the castle during the night together.

After Aegon was named heir to the iron throne, your time with Helaena began to slowly dwindle away. You knew she had no desire to be queen, yet her mother deemed it necessary to strengthen her families namesake.

News of her marriage was an illness that left you bedridden for days. Strange, ugly feelings clawed their way up your throat, emotions you had not properly understood until after your mind began to mature.

This friendship you’d developed had morphed into something far deeper, far more intimate, in your eyes at least.

You loved her. You craved her.

And she had been taken from you.

Tidings of her marriage locked you in your chambers for what felt like a fortnight. By the third evening of you not leaving your chambers, your mother Rhaenyra softy knocked and entered.

While she knew of your sadness for your dear friend’s predicament, she was ignorant of the full scope of your despair.

“My sweet daughter, it pains me to see you in such a state. Come, you must eat,” she stroked the side of your cheek, a tinge of sadness at witnessing your state.

Turning away from your mother’s touch, you laid on your side, wishing to melt into the mattress.

Childish as it may be, a sliver of you had hoped she may have reciprocated your affections. You felt pathetic as you yearned from afar, foolishly clinging to the fairytale of you running away together and forgot your regal duties.

“He does not deserve her. He is cruel and a drunk, she is kind and gentle. This marriage will destroy her,” you murmured.

Your mother sighed, “I harbor similar feelings for my half brother, dear, but this union is in our families best interest. Surely you can understand this.”

You rolled back over to face her. Deep, indigo bags rested beneath your eyes, hair knotted and unwashed. You looked absolutely dreadful.

“You know she’ll be devastated if you do not attend,” your mother pleaded, her hands finding yours and gripping them warmly.

Scrunching your eyes tightly, you attempted to rub the dried tears and sleep from your eyes.

“I will be ready,” your handmaidens soon ushered in to prepare you for the day.

————-

As expected, the ceremony was an unsavory affair. Aegon adorned a shit-eating grin practically the entire time, and when he leaned in for a kiss you had to avert your gaze, repulsed.

At one point during the exhanging of vows, Helaena swept her eyes through the crowd, until they landed on you.

A ghost of a smile was all she could give, and you’d hope your eyes did all the talking for you. You supposed you deluded yourself to the reality of the situation.

Soon, the maester degreed them wed and were promptly paraded out of the throne room.

You grimaced as you looked down to see red marks in the shape of crescents in your palms.

“May I be excused, mother,” you asked as everyone began to file out of the room.

“You may, though the banquet begins at sundown, please do come. Thank you for being brave today, sweet girl,” your mother pulled you in an embrace.

Her words were heavy in your mind as you quickly retreated back to your room.

———-

Lords and ladies from all parts of the seven kingdoms had traveled far and wide to witness the royal wedding. Hundreds filled the various tables assembled in the banquet hall.

Your maidens had dressed you in your favorite gown, with subtle lace details sewn through the neckline and sleeve cuffs. In the valley between your breasts was an intricately embroidered gold dragon, symbolizing your beloved dragon Vermithor.

Ushering them out, you daringly added a final touch to your ensemble.

As children, you and Helaena had decided to make your own family crest in the form of a stag beetle.

“Many say these creatures bring good fortune to those who treat them kindly, others say they are an omen that summons thunderstorms and lightning,” Helaena mused as she watched the bug crawled up her arm.

You watched, fascinated. “Perhaps they can mean both. Let it bring good fortune to us and storms to those against us.” She snorted, amused with your dramatics.

“Absolutely genius. To the mighty house of the stag!” She held the beetle up to the light and you both broke into a fit of laughter at each others antics.

Placed right below your collarbone, you quickly attached the pendant she had made for you of the infamous creature.

Pleased with your appearance, you made your way into the room of festivities.

Your eyes instantly locked onto the bride of the evening, sat at the royal table with her brothers, mother, and grandfather.

She shone like a star, illuminating the expanse of the room with her shimmering gold dress. Her hair half-up, half-down, she was the epitome of regal beauty.

“Is everything alright, princess?” You were shaken out of your trance by Ser Criston Cole, who managed to sneak up behind you.

Clearing your throat, you nodded. “I’m quite alright, Ser Criston, thank you.”

You scanned over the room observing the trays of small foods and goblets of wine floating around the table. Absentmindley, you reached for a glass and took a large gulp, the bitterness making your eyes scrunch in displeasure.

I’m going to need a few of these to get through the evening, you snorted to yourself.

You greeted your mother, your father Daemon brought you in his embrace and murmured how you weren’t the only one who wished to be anywhere else but here.

That made you smile. You began to scavenge the trays for vegetable pastries and skewered chicken, a goblet permanently taking residence in your left hand as you had your fill of the food.

A few more sips and you finally mustered up the courage to approach the newly weds and pay your respects.

The mere five stair ascent felt daunting. Once you reached the final step you were met face to face with your beloved friend.

Time seemed to stop as her eyes locked on you.

You froze, words escaped you as all eyes fixated on your awkward form.

You’re supposed to bow, idiot.

You bent your legs and dropped your head.

“Congratulations, your Grace,” you sheepishly lifted your head to meet your uncle smiling mischievously at you.

He lifted his goblet in acknowledgment and took a gulp of the rich, red substance.

You shifted your gaze to Helaena. Bowing again you offered softly, “Congratulations, my Queen.”

There was a tinge of sadness in her eyes at your use of such formalities.

“Thank you, dear Y/N,” her eyes drifted across your tense form. Your hair fell loosely around you in soft curls, your violet eyes sparkled in the candlelight.

She’s so beautiful, Helaena fawned.

You tossed a piece of hair behind your back just in time for her to notice the shiny pendant atop your breast.

She grinned at the fond memory.

“You look lovely this evening, your grace,” you kindly offered. The tension was palpable as unspoken words lingered in the purgatory between you both.

You tried to hide the disappointment on your face when she offered a quick thank you and directed her attention back to her plate.

Before she could open her mouth, you turned to pay your respects to the rest of the table and quickly descended the steps once more.

You exhaled. I need a drink.

———

As the hours labored on, those still left in attendance soon dwindled down to your close family, everyone taking a seat at the shared table.

You had consumed about four goblets of the tart liquid, and were properly buzzed.

“A toast to Aegon and Helaena! May this union be blessed and fortuitous,” Otto toasted, everyone raising their glasses in acknowledgment.

“To Aegon and Helaena!” others parroted.

Your eyes shifted down, wishing to cannonball into your glass of wine and disappear into the liquid.

Emotional turmoil swirled dangerously through your conscious, it’s almost over.

Aegon loudly stood from his chair, slurring his words as he proclaimed, “To my beautiful wife, Helaena. I know this union will bring nothing but good fortune to our family. I plan to fulfill all of my duties as husband, especially after tonight’s celebrations,” he smirked suggestively.

Helaena’s cheeks grew pink at his suggestive words.

A blaze of annoyance surged through you as you witnessed the embarrassement on your friend’s face.

To everyone at the table, your vexation went unnoticed… Almost everyone.

Perceptive as ever, your uncle Aemond observed the irritation etched onto your features, fingers digging into your palms, eyes flitting back and forth from your goblet to his sister.

He was well aware of your interesting relationship with his sister. Tonight, he decided to test his theory.

Rising from his seat, Aemond decreed, “A toast to my niece and nephews, Jace, Luke, Joffrey, and Y/N. I have no doubts in my mind they too will bring fortune to our family through their marital unions. Though, I know how unfortunate it may be for at least one of you that my dear sister is no longer an option.”

He stared at you just long enough for you to realize his meaning. Your cheeks flared a hue of magenta.

You felt an absolute fool that your uncle could read you so easily.

When you dared to look up, you felt Helaena’s heavy gaze on you. As if you were one of her caged creatures, you felt her scrutiny tear you open from across the table.

Whether it was the buzz from the alcohol or the emotional damn finally bursting, you abruptly stood.

“To my dear aunt and uncle, I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you both in such good spirits. I can only pray to the gods that I may be blessed with such a happy union as yours. Cheers!” You emptied the rest of your cup and plopped back down into your seat.

Aemond smirked at your antics. You evaded Helaena’s gaze as you engaged in meaningless chatter with your brothers.

———

Soon, everyone began to retire to their chambers for the evening.

Sufficiently embarrassed with your performance tonight, you excused all of your maidens and locked the door behind you.

You sighed loudly, absolutely exhausted from today’s endeavors, and deliberating sneaking into the dragonpit and flying back to Dragonstone.

Perhaps in the morning.

Just as your fingers began to pull at the the laces of your dress, a soft knock rang from your door.

You rolled your eyes.

Cracking the door, you’d anticipated your mother or father may pay you a visit.

Helaena.

“May I come in for moment?”

She came to your chambers. On her wedding night.

You glanced nervously behind her, fearful of potential onlookers witnessing the pair of you.

“Shouldn’t you be with your husband on your wedding ni-”

“Y/N,” her eyes pleaded with yours.

You couldn’t deny your delight in seeing her. Opening the door wider, you allowed her in.

“It was a beautiful ceremony,” was all you could manage, voice barely above a whisper as you fixed your gaze on the tile floors.

She moved closer to you, until you felt her fingers graze the tips of yours, her warmth seeped into your skin.

“Look at me, please,” she begged. You obeyed.

Tears were gathered at her lash line, threatening to spill as she gripped your fingers harder.

Her violet orbs shimmered like amethysts in the soft glow of the evening. You loved her eyes.

“Y/N,” she started, and you couldn’t resist reaching up to catch the single tear that teetered over the edge.

Leaning into your touch, she continued.

“Today was very hard for me.”

“It was quite a special day, was it not?” the freckles on her cheeks had grown more prominent since adolescence.

The pad of your thumb began to lightly map each one of them, committing them to memory.

She broke away from you with a small shake of her head. Finding purchase on your bed, she buried her face in her hands.

“I did not want this,” she began to weep. You found yourself sitting next to her, hesitantly tracing circles on the silk fabric her back.

You wracked your brain for any words that may ease her pain. Your heart cracked at the sight before you.

The pair of you sat in silence, she shifted further into your embrace and you wrapped your arms around her trembling frame.

After several minutes her breathing began to even, your shoulder damp from the tears she spilled.

Your fingers moved up to her hair, and weaved through the curled silver tresses. You always loved to experiment on each others hair, practicing the most ridiculous styles that never failed to bring you both to tears from laughter.

You couldn’t help but smile at the fond memory. You were so engrossed in your thoughts the words escaped you before you could fathom the weight of them.

“I love you,” you whispered into her hair. As pathetic as it sounded, a weight of relief was lifted from your shoulders. You had finally mustered the courage to say it.

You felt her pull away, and your heart cracked at the inherent rejection.

Helaena cupped both of your cheeks, reddened eyes suddenly filled with the warmth you were used to seeing.

“I know.” she leaned and rested her forehead against yours.

“I love you, Y/N.” It was your turn to feel the tears form. You exhaled a deep breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in.

Before the consequences of your actions could stop you, you leaned in to unite your lips with hers.

She responded immediately, pouring her emotions into the kiss. Your lips moulded perfectly together, and you couldn’t help but indulge in the softness of her mouth, the sweet lingering of lemon cakes on her tongue.

It felt as though you were falling, plummeting towards the ground where you’ll meet your inevitable demise.

If this was the end, you wished to spend your last moments in her embrace.

The land below was much closer than anticipated, for a knock on the door felt like a bucket of cold water poured over you both.

Breaking away, you still felt the tether of your souls connected to one another. You stared deeply into her gaze, she smiled lovingly at you and nodded.

Desperate to keep her with you, you clutched you arms that began to retract.

Please don’t take her from me.

Helaena’s lips molded to yours one last time. Your fingers twitched, aching to feel her skin against yours again.

Your maid opened the door as Helaena stood abruptly from your bed.

Meekly, she bowed her head. “Apologies my princess, your Grace. The king requests your presence at once, my queen.”

“Of course, thank you dear,” Helaena turned to you and bowed.

“I hope you have a restful evening, princess,” the formalities a stark contrast to your previous engagement.

Painfully, you nodded.

“Thank you, your grace. Congratulations on your engagement.”

She reached over and tucked your silver hair behind you, lightly grazing the beetle pinned onto your gown.

Your heart beat erratically as she stared at the pendant, nervous as your maid awaited her at the entrance of the door.

Helaena leaned into you, a final tear traveled down her cheek as she whispered, “Naejot daomikydoso se ōños, Issa jorrāelagon.”

(To thunderstorms and lightning, my love)

ALICE TAKES ON ANGST?!?

— let me know your thoughts, I’m relatively new to writing angst

- enjoy!

[superblysubpar]

hi! figured i’d send in a little prompt if that’s okay, hope your writer’s block gets a little better :))

82. “I’ve been so horny all day.” for Steve if that’s alright! (up to you whether he or reader is saying it teehee)

ty in advance and have a lovely day <3

my blog is 18+

“You’re doing it again.”

Steve’s huff of breath leaves his nose loudly, glancing out of the corner of your eye, you find him banging his forehead lightly against the door frame. He mumbles something that sounds like sorry and spins on his heels, his socked feet slipping on the hardwood floors as the blue shirt disappears around the corner. Your mouth twists as you do your best to ignore his ass in the tight green athletic shorts.  

His woodsy cologne lingers, just as it has all day upon every interruption, mixing with the candle you have lit that’s supposed to smell like rain and autumn leaves. Remnants of your grilled cheese Steve brought you hours ago crumble on a plate, your fingers reach for an open bag of Sour Patch Kids as you click and unclick your pen. Popping a green one in your mouth, your lips pucker as you hum around the tart candy, highlighting a quote. 

Tangerine squares paint the floor of your living room, slanting and elongating more and more as the sun shifts, you smile at another quote from the director, making a comment in your notebook as you sit up. Propped onto your knees now, you quietly sing along to Frank Sinatra as your fingers hover over the piles of papers littered around you, searching for one in particular to make another note on. 

Steve can’t fucking take this. 

He leans against the center island of the kitchen, watching as your nose wrinkles when you go back to reading. You tap the pen to your lips as they move, reading out loud to yourself as your eyebrows furrow together. You're lit up in oranges and golds, his shirt and a pair of biker shorts so how could anyone blame him when he returns to the living room after barely five minutes since you told him he was doing it again. 

This time, as he quietly enters, you don’t say anything, eyes bouncing between the book and where your pen moves rapidly across the lined paper. 

Steve’s presence is all consuming, especially when he sits on you. His legs straddle your hips, thumbs softly rubbing at your lower spine and your head falls forward in a moan and he bites the inside of his cheek behind you at the sound. Steve presses a little harder, massaging up your spine as you go back to reading. 

The vinyl record crackles, Steve’s humming mixing with the scratch of your pen. You reach your fingers over your shoulder, holding a blue candy up to him - his favorite and your least - as you start telling him all about something you’re excited for in class. You light up when you talk about your project, about future ones, about an interesting fact you just read and so really, truly, no one can blame him for what he does next. 

Steve’s lips brush behind your ear, his nose skimming down the curves of it as his hands grip at your hips. Your breathy gasp of air is the only encouragement he needs to take it further. He nips at the dip of your neck where it meets the collar of his shirt, mumbling into your skin, “You’re so hot, you’ve been driving me crazy. I’ve been so horny all day.”

Your laugh makes his lips twitch against your shoulder blade, he whines at your teasing and the layer of fabric between him and your skin, “Babe.”

“I’m sorry, Steve, I had no idea unwashed hair and studying did it for you.” You pop another candy in your mouth, trying your best to ignore the way he feels against your ass. 

He squeezes at your sides, fingers curling around your hip and he tugs lightly, huffing out of his nose again. “You’re so focused, and smart, and passionate, and you look so cute when you’re singing,” he kisses over and over, up and down your neck, smiling as you tuck your chin down and squirm underneath him, “And you did that little dance when I brought you food, and I heard you in here grumbling about too many blue ones too yourself and-”

“Well there are too many blue ones.” You frown, biting your lip as his fingers roam higher against your side, warm pads pressing lightly to your soft skin. 

Steve smiles and only hums in response, feeling how you circle your hips back against him. He’s not even sure you realize you did it and he knows you’re just as worked up as he is. Your yelp is cute when he smacks one of your ass cheeks, grabbing as much as he can as he groans in fake annoyance, “And then, you’re lying here all damn day, with this ass in the air. What’s a guy to do, huh?”

Your giggle cuts off as he ruts himself into you, hands sliding up and up and up until his weight is against your back. His fingers run down your arms, lacing with yours as he presses them down into the soft carpet. Steve rolls his hips, lips soft against your temple and then your cheek as your eyelashes flutter closed. 

“Hmm?” He hums into your jaw, “I asked you a question, pretty girl, gonna answer me?”

Steve’s breath is hot against your neck, one of his hands releases yours, traveling back down your body, skimming the band of your shorts and tugging, snapping it against your hip as he pushes himself into your ass harder. 

“St-Steve.” Your back arches as his name leaves you in a breath, your cheek presses to the carpet, exposing more of your neck for him to assault with this tongue and teeth. 

He nips at your ear, thick fingers pushing past the lace he finds as his hand curls around to your front. He chuckles into your hair as his fingers meet your slit, wet for him already. His tone condescending, “I don’t think that answered my question, what’s the matter babe? A little kissing and teasing and that big brain is already empty, yeah?”

Your clit throbs at his words, fingers curling and gripping for purchase in the threads of the carpet. The whine that leaves your lips is pathetic, rolling your hips back in search for more. 

His hand is gone faster than you can respond, both on your waist and flipping you before your eyes are blinking up at him dazed. Steve’s hands hold yours above your head, both of your chests heaving as he hovers over your lips. He ruts himself into you and you know that asshole isn’t wearing boxers. His length barely separated from where you both want it, twitches against you, felt through the thin layers. 

His mouth parts yours softly, tongue slipping over yours a little filthy. Rolls of hips and noses nudged into cheeks, he kisses you like he’s wanted to all day. He only pulls away when he needs air, smiling as you whine and loop your hands around his neck, lifting and following him. 

His hair falls over his forehead, the orange and pink sunset coming in cuts across his eyes making them golden, his cheeks a complimenting tint that grows darker as he takes in your face too. He lets his top lip skim your bottom one again in a soft and brief pass, hands squeezing at your waist. Who’s he kidding, teasing you and trying to be all suave - Steve doesn’t even remember his middle name with the way you’re looking at him. 

His breath falls against your lips as he pleads rather than commands. 

“Can I fuck you so good all the studying you did today was for nothing?”

[veeluvss]

✮⋆˙ Missing you this christmas

Day 9 of 12 days this christmas!

JJ x reader

1445

You and JJ are both grieving at christmas

TW: mentions a dead mum and roslyn

Ever since she died, Christmas hadn’t been the same. The hole in your chest seemed to get bigger every year and this year was the fifth year without her. Five years of opening your christmas presents without her smiling eyes watching you. Five years of having to make the Christmas dinner yourself, without the master chef’s help. Five years of not looking everywhere to find the perfect gift. Five years of not hearing her roaring laughter over the Monopoly board. Five years of not kissing your mum goodnight at the end of the festive filled day. It hurt.

Letting the hot water pierce your back, you collapsed to your knees in the shower. You clutched at your stomach, feeling sick with emotional pain. All you wanted was her. All you needed was her. Your mum. You felt so devoid of all emotion yet so full at the same time. Your body physically hurt from the grief you felt coursing through your veins. Vomit built up at the back of your throat as the weight of your heavy, yet empty, heart grew heavier. This was the one pain, you never, ever wanted to experience. No tears came but your mouth opened in a strangled scream.

JJ lay in bed, scrolling on her phone, feeling her own emptiness creep up at her when she heard you begin to sob. She looked over at the closed bathroom door. Exhaustion made her body heavy. She pulled her legs up to her chest and listened to the shower hum, occasionally, she winced at your cries. She couldn’t comfort you. Her arms wished they were around your trembling body but they felt dead against the bed sheets. Each finger, each knuckle, each nail, was heavy. Heavy with longing for her sister.

Losing her sister as a child, a child who was always so excited for Christmas and the holiday season, ruined all the magic. She no longer felt joy when the christmas lights came up. She didn’t feel the warmth as the music flooded the room. Nothing was ever going to be the same again. Not without Ros.

An hour later, you emerged from the bathroom. Despite the constant washing away of tears from the hot shower, your face was still blotchy and red. You tried to hide it, keeping your head down and letting your wet, unwashed hair fall in front of your face. You sat on the edge of the bed, the white towel clung to your dripping body. JJ wasn’t yet asleep; she couldn’t sleep. Without some sort of comfort from you, she felt devoid of a soul. No words were shared as she shuffled closer to you. Still laying down, her arm snaked around you and her fingers drew soft lines on the edge of your thigh, along the slight slit of exposed skin.

You sniffled and turned your head to look in to her eyes. Hers were red from tears, making the blue pop more. Your eyes softened taking them in. You lifted an arm and put it around her, turning so you were facing her properly. She put her head on your thigh, cuddling into your stomach and the towel and you sighed. You didn’t have the strength to say the words to comfort her. You didn’t have the energy but your body was enough. Your touch was enough.

She broke down. Sobs escaped her and her shoulders heaved. Her knees came to her chest and she went to move away but you held her tighter. Your fingers embedded themselves in her hair. Her head shook as her body was racked with grief. You let your own tears fall again.

Neither of you said a word for the rest of the night, or the next morning. You didn’t need to. Emotions were shared in a single glance, ideas or suggestions were communicated telepathically. And that’s what you loved about JJ.

You lay in her arms, between her legs, holding her hands - on the sofa. Two bodies had become one under the duvet you’d dragged from the bed. Neither of you had the energy to go back to bed so you brought the bed with you. Cheesy christmas movies played quietly in the background but you were both so emerged in your own thoughts and each other you didn’t even notice the scenes fade to credits fading to black.

“Do you ever think about where they are now?” JJ asked. Her voice was coarse from days of crying and not speaking. You tilted your head back, your weight shifting. You looked at her as she stared off to the picture on the wall. Her and Roslyn. The photo was the epitome of childhood innocence. Two kids, dressed in their best Sunday church clothes, stopping just above the muddy knees. Their sugar covered hands held up to the camera with smiles as wide as they ever could be. “Do you ever wonder whether they really are watching over us? Walking along side us?”

“I think about it all the time,” you replied. You squeezed her hands and buried your head deeper into her neck. “I think about them together.”

“Decorating the christmas tree,” she whispered. The arm around your waist tightened and you moved slightly closer.

“Baking sugar cookies with her famous recipe,” you replied.

“Dancing to all the christmas songs.”

“They’d get live shows from George Michael himself,” you giggled, remembering how your mum used to sing Last Christmas, rmeinding you not to let a man steal your heart.

“Fairytale of New York was Ros’s favourite.” JJ said.

“Mum loved that one too.”

“They’d love each other.”

“So much.”

You didn’t know what time you fell asleep but you woke to music playing softly from the kitchen. JJ wasn’t with you on the sofa. You stretched out and up, the warm duvet fell off your shoulders and thumped onto your legs. You heard more noises from the kitchen and threw off the covers completely. Your tired feet hit the cold ground and a shiver went up your spine. You grabbed the smaller blanket, the one which your mum made for you when you went off to college and headed into the kitchen.

JJ’s hips were swaying softly to White Christmas. She stood at the counter. Her hair was up in a pony tail and she wore fresh clothes. The kitchen had been cleaned, the take out boxes removed, the cups and plates washed and everything had a fresh shine to it. A baking tray, covered in baking paper sat on the counter by the oven and you could see a sliver of silver past JJ. She was making cookies.

She turned, smiling wide. It didn’t reach her eyes the same but it made you smile. It sparked a gentle fire back up in the pit of your stomach and you smiled back slightly.

“I found your mum’s recipe,” she said. She handed you the christmas card the pair of you had received the year she died. It had two robins on the front, with scarfs and hats and said ‘to my beautiful daughter and her wife this christmas’ on the front. Inside, she’d addressed it to you both and written her sugar cookie recipe down - the secret one. The one that everyone in the family dreamed of having but only you got the privilege to have. She wrote the cards, knowing her time was coming to an end - it was one of your most prized possessions.

“So I’m making cookies. Is that okay?” You realised you hadn’t answered when she spoke again. You looked up at her with teary eyes and nodded. She walked around the counter and kissed your head. Gently, she removed the blanket from your shoulders and folded it up. She put it on the side and took hold of your hand, pulling you into her arms as another christmas song came on. She turned up the volume but your eyes didn’t leave hers.

“I know this time of year is hard,” she said. She pulled you closer to her, a strong hand resting on your lower back. “But I won’t let the grief and the loneliness consume us. Roslyn and your mum wouldn’t want that. They can bake their cookies in heaven, dance at their concerts and maybe your mum can teach Ros how to finally wrap a present properly but we can make our own party down here on Earth. It doesn’t have to be about missing them, it can be about remembering them and celebrating them too.” You smiled at her little speech, at her kindness and overall love for the universe and for you.

“We’ll always miss people at Christmas but I think as long as we have each other,” she whispered, pausing her dancing and letting her lips linger near yours. “We’ll be okay.”

[whumpsoda]

Rate the name "Peepeepoopoo"

JUST KIDDING HAHAHAHAHA

Joke's aside... how about a whump prompt?

Caretaker finds Whumpee months after they had a fight. Caretaker hugs Whumpee, relieved that they finally found them and apologized to them for saying all the nasty stuff to them.

Whumpee just looks at them, confusion etched on their face.

"Who are you...?"

-- @whumperofworlds

10/10 name, would name my kid that!

Here’s a drabble!!! Trying to actually work on my inbox… I hope you like it! Sorry it took so long :3

cw: amnesia/memory loss, implication of past abuse

———————————————————————

“Who are you?!”

Caretaker recoiled, hands flying off of her once closest friend. At least, that was a good amount of months ago, anyway. Now he was shouting at her in the street as soon as she had tried to embrace him. For a second, like a fool, she had thought it could’ve been just like old times. For a moment.

“Whumpee, it’s…” Was he still angry? Did he not recognize her? Nervously, she chuckled. “Oh! I guess I did change my hair, and we haven’t seen each other in forever, but-!”

Baring his teeth and taking an offensive position, he growled. “Who? Are. You.”

Brows furrowed, she reached out to place a hand to his shoulder. It was only her. Why was he being so hostile? There was no reason for him to be so terrified of her. “Whumpee, hey. It’s me, it’s just Caretaker.”

“Hey! Off!” He hollered, swiftly and harshly slapping away her arm. For a moment, Caretaker just watched him jump back with a stunned expression.

Seemingly, he surely was still upset with her. And she was just an idiot for even thinking things could’ve just gone back to normal.

“S- sorry.” She whispered, taking a step away.

Whumpee’s face was flushed red with a sour concoction of anger, confusion, and embarrassment. “I don’t…” he stood almost hunched over, hiding himself inside of a hoodie five times too big, when she clearly remembered always seen him stand so tall. So bright. Like now he didn’t want to be seen. “How do you know me?”

Something was off. Something was very off.

Her mind was spinning in circles with puzzlement, desperate to get a grasp on the situation. “Whumpee… what’s wrong? Is something wrong…? I don’t understand-” Yet again she had made the mistake of unconsciously moving closer, an action he obviously didn’t take kindly to.

“Don’t come any closer! Stay back!” Whumpee sloppily swiped something from his pocket, holding it out as a means of a weapon. Unfortunately for him it was a mere credit card, but Caretaker positioned her hands above her head, anyway. Anything to make him feel a bit safer, maybe even trust her more. 

“Okay, okay. I’m not gonna hurt you, y’know. It’s Caretaker.” She chose her words carefully, ever so slowly speaking. Not taking a single movement that may put him more on edge.

“Are you…” Eyes wide and limbs jittery, distressfully trying to keep up his aggressive facade, Whumpee’s voice dropped to no more than a murmur. “Are you one of… one of Master’s friends?”

Master? 

Caretaker’s stomach churned as soon as he spoke such a title, overcome with shock and disgust. 

For a moment, as her expression twisted with horror, Caretaker took the time to look at him. To really look at him. To take notice of his bundled up frame on a humid day, to note his greasy, sweat dripping hair that contradicted his usually strict ideology against allowing himself to go unwashed, and the rich, raw marks of cracking red that circled his throat. She’d never seen him so disheveled. 

“Master? Whumpee, what are you talking about-”

“Who is Whumpee?! I don’t know what you’re talking about!” He was howling again, still pointing the useless object toward her with an iron grip, and most passersby were watching with unease and fascination. 

Whumpee’s passion was only getting his former friend riled up as well. “You-!” 

“Stay. Back.” He snarled, fiery rage flashing in his eye. From that alone she could just tell that he’d been through something Caretaker would never know the severity of. Something that broke the gates of his soft kindness, shriveling him into the trembling, vicious man she was faced with. 

“What… happened to you?”

He swallowed, and for a beat his face softened. “I…”

“I mean… Whumpee,” she huffed a bitter chuckle, carefully and slowly outstretching her hand. This time, he didn’t reject it. “Where have you been, all this time?”

[din-miller]

Safe and Sound

Pairing: Tech x gender neutral reader

Word count: 460

Summary: Comfortember day one: safe

Warnings: mentions of vomit but not graphic, reader gets taken by imperial guards, crosshair is with the batch, hurt/comfort, married couple, angst with a happy ending

A/N: help, it’s November 3rd and I just found out about Comfortember. I’m not sure how many I’ll be able to pump out, especially since I’m trying to do domestic december and have twenty wips collecting dust in google docs. I wrote this on the second so it’s still technically by birthday right now. This is my gift to myself. Divider by @saradika

Safe

Four letters, one word whispered in your ear as arms wrapped around you from behind, keeping you close as you sat on the dark cell-block's floor.

You’re safe

You’re okay

I got you

Words whispered again and again, like he’s waiting for you to believe him and you can’t blame him. For the longest time you weren’t safe, you weren’t okay; you were alone. For days, weeks – a full month, Tech informed you, his voice full of raw emotion, nothing like the monotone you’ve come to love.

He doesn’t let go of you, doesn’t care that your hair is unwashed. That your skin is caked with dirt, dried vomit, snot and all kinds of gross stuff and has been for longer than you’re fully able to comprehend at the moment. Tech, your riduur, simply doesn’t bat an eyelash as his lips pressed against your sweaty temple.

“Tech?” You finally managed to find your voice, wincing at the dryness of your throat as you force yourself to speak, “Is everyone okay? Did everyone make it out?”

Your body is pulled back further into Tech’s embrace, a canteen of water pressed against your lips and he slowly urges you to drink a few sips. Once the water was set aside Tech jaw clenched audibly and answered, “You turned yourself in to imperial guards. I understand they were going to kill innocent civilians if you hadn’t, but if you had told us, comm’d us, we would have found another way, cyar’ika. You were gone for five weeks. None of us are okay.”

“I’m sorry,” You choked out an apology, even though you know none of this was truly your fault. It’s the Empire’s, you know that, but that doesn’t stop the tears from rolling down your face, “Maker, I’m so sorry-,”

“Shh,” Tech soothed, hands rubbing up and down your arms, bringing warmth to your body. You hadn’t realised how cold you are until now. You tucked your face into the crook of his neck, “It’s all going to be okay, cyar’ika. Wrecker and Hunter are clearing us a path out of here and Echo has the medbay ready for our arrival. You’re safe, we’re going home.”

Later that night, tucked against Tech’s side, you’ll finally breathe out in relief, safely surrounded by your riduur and kin. For the next few weeks to come you’ll constantly be shadowed by one of the Batch.

Omega and Wrecker will make sure you have a never-ending supply of mantell mix. Echo will make sure every meal you have is homemade, smacking away any hands that try to steal your food. Hunter and Crosshair will be just plain insufferable.

It’ll feel like too much at times but it’s all a reminder that you are safe.

[americanphysco]

WalMart Supercenter

A Rumpus Original Poem by Erika Meitner

God Bless America says the bumper sticker on the racer-red

Rascal scooter that accidentally cuts me off in the Walmart parking lot

after a guy in a tricked out jeep with rims like chrome pinwheels tries

to pick me up by honking, all before I make it past the automatic doors

waiting to accept my unwashed hair, my flip-flops, my lounge pants.

The old man on the scooter waves, sports a straw boater banded in blue & white,

and may or may not be the official greeter, but everyone here sure is friendly—

even the faces of plastic bags, which wink yellow and crinkle with kindness,

sound like applause when they brush the legs of shoppers carrying them

to their cars. In Port Charlotte, a woman’s body was found in a Jetta

in a Walmart Parking lot. In a Walmart parking lot in Springfield,

a macaque monkey named Charlie attacked an eight year-old girl.

I am a Walmart shopper, a tract-house dweller—the developments

you can see clearly from every highway in America that’s not jammed up

on farmland or pinned in by mountains. I park my car at a slant in the lot,

hugged tight by my neighbors’ pickups. I drive my enormous cart

through the aisles and fill it with Pampers, tube socks, juice boxes, fruit.

In the parking lot of the McAllen Walmart, a woman tried to sell six

Bengal Tiger cubs to a group of Mexican day laborers. A man carjacked

a woman in the parking lot of the West Mifflin Walmart, then ran

under a bridge and disappeared. Which is to say that the world

we expect to see looks hewn from wood, is maybe two lanes wide,

has readily identifiable produce, and the one we’ve got has jackknifed itself

on the side of the interstate and keeps skidding. The one we’ve got has clouds

traveling so fast across the sky it’s like they’re tied to an electric current.

But electricity is the same for everybody. It comes in the top of your head

and goes out your shoes, which will walk through these automatic doors.

In the Corbin Walmart parking lot a woman with a small amount of cash

was arrested for getting in and out of trucks. A man stepped out of his car

in the Columbus Walmart parking lot, and shot himself. I get in the checkout line

behind a lighted number on a pole. The man in front of me jangles coins

in his pocket, rocks back and forth on his heels. The girl in front of him

carefully peels four moist dimes from her palm to pay for a small container

of honey-mustard dipping sauce. In the parking lot of the LaFayette Walmart,

grandparents left their disabled 2 year-old grandson sitting in a shopping cart

and drove away. Employees in the parking lot at the La Grange Walmart

found a box containing seven abandoned kittens. I am not a Christian or

prone to idioms, but when the cashier says she is grateful for small mercies,

I nod in assent. Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison. The Latin root of mercy

means price paid, wages, merchandise, though now we use it as

compassion shown to a person in a position of powerlessness,

and sometimes forgiveness towards a person with no right

to claim it. God is merciful and gracious, but not just.

In the Walmart parking lot in Stockton, a man considered armed

and dangerous attacked his wife, beating her unconscious.

A couple tried to sell their 6-month-old for twenty-five bucks

to buy meth in the Salinas Walmart parking lot. We who are in danger,

remember: mercy has a human heart. Mercy with her tender mitigations,

slow to anger and great in lovingkindness, with her blue employee’s smock

emblazoned with How may I help you? Someone in this place have mercy on us.

[jamneuromain]

Fantasea Friday Week 3

A/N: Been reading Ghost fanfictions (1) (2) lately

Simon "Ghost" Riley x non-native speaker!/international student!/asian!Reader (You)

Been thinking of a specific scene where you speak English but not understanding some subtle differences/words/meanings.

Blink twice in confusion, before saying "Huh?" is your response everytime when Simon mumbles something that you didn't understand.

Simon finds it cute.

For example, the first time he calls you "love." It's not an endearment, not really, not in the way that you interpret. It's just a random thing Simon says because he's Manchester lad born and bred.

It is very obvious that your brain.exe stops functioning for a moment, and then blink, once, twice, "Huh?"

"I said the food, the dish from your country? It tastes good." Simon explains the word "delicious."

"No I get that part, delicious part, but - um, the um... the last word?"

"Wha- oh. Love?" It dawns on him.

You visibly flinch from the word.

Simon laughs, "Manchester thing. We say 'love' as a way of ... same as 'bro', 'bruv', or 'mate', but less masculine."

"Cringe. That word makes me cringe." You manage a smile, "Mate sounds good, really, thumbs up for the term 'mate'." Even put up both of your thumbs for good measure.

"Okay, sorry for scaring you, mate." Simon laughs again, laughing so hard that his stomach hurts.

Your eyes dart everywhere but this big bulk of a man in front of you, murmuring a "Thanks".

Or the time that you get stuck in your essays for three days straight and feeling guilty about not cooking anything although it's almost a habit that you provide food for him.

Making sure that he steps into the bathroom that's when you sneak out of your bedroom and try to cook the instant spagetti in under five minutes using the microwave and disappear before Simon finishes showering.

You are anxiously waiting for the spagetti to heat up when Simon steps out of the bathroom.

Your eyes meet.

"I was just planning to check your vital signs, matey. Three days straight in that cot? Aren't you couped up?" Simon jokes, popping a can of Bud from the fridge.

"'s fine, I guess. Just trying to finish my essay. It's due tomorrow at eight." You offer weakly. You look terrible, you are well aware. Unwashed hair for three days, same pjs for the week, and dark circles under your eyes - three out of the four reasons why you avoid him for the last seventy-two hours.

Dripping. Golden strands. Grey T clings to him like second skin. Smells like a fucking Armani model.

The insecurity is gnawling you like an ugly goblin.

"Y'know, I can cook for both of us if your finals is getting out of hand." Simon shrugs as if he isn't offering you the most considerate, the best thing you've heard all month. He might not think of it this way, but you are close to tears. "Beats this shite instant Italian noodles, anyway." He casually drinks from the tin can in his hand.

But - "I'm sorry. I'm supposed to cook -"

"Says who?" Simon scratches the end of his eyebrow like he had heard that you said you are an alien from outerspace.

"But we ... you handle the grocery, and I -"

"Look," He sighs, throwing the empty can into the bin, "you don't have to do anything, besides taking care of yourself in a foreign nation, okay? I'm not totally blind to the fact that you are struggling with this task right now."

"But -"

"No buts ifs or ands," Simon tskes, "I'm taking over the kitchen for the next week. And before you ask, no, you are not dealing with groceries besides putting a sticker on the fridge."

You almost cry. You nearly cry. You cry. Ugly crying. Nodding and crying and smiling.

Simon awkwardly offers you tissues.

"Jesus you crackpot." He murmurs under his breath, patting your shoulder three times for good measure.

You hug him, suddenly. Letting go just as sudden.

"Thank you." You whisper, grabbing your plate of instant spagetti and retreating to your room before shooting him a wavery watery smile.

He feels ... odd. The way you emotions burst at the smallest gestures, while taking up all the burdens and keeping everything inside. In the end, he picks up his phone and calls his mum.

"Hey, mum. I'm learning how to cook. Do I put the mince or the sauce in the pan first when I'm trying to make the ... bolognese?"

...

"Olive oil first?"

...

"No, you don't have to -"

...

"... yes mum. Thank you mum. I'll be there in twenty."

Half of what you eat in the next week is the handiwork of Mrs. Riley.

a/n2: I always think the woman who raised simon riley would be someone very similar to Mrs. Weasley.

[deada55]

Kloktober 2024 day 23: as a different genre

Hope y’all like Eastern European Folk Music. I know I sure do.

… it seems like I didn’t think about it but I’m actually obsessed with this AU in particular. I fucking love Eastern European folk. Love it. I was in an ensemble for six years. Ask me about it sometime!

”What fuckin’ weird high school even does that shit?”

“Come on, honey,” sighed his mother. They drove through miles of bright green yards and spring gardens, complete with the occasional capri-clad housewife with a push mower waving at them as they passed. Nathan blew his hair away from his mouth. “Give it a try. It’s supposed to make you more globally conscious. And tolerant, I guess! You know, even for the—“

“You’ll just have to make the best of it!” Oscar spoke over her and slowed down as they turned into the drop-off loop at the new school. “Have a good day, champ. We love you.”

“Ok.”

Nathan got out of the car and followed the crowd into the building. From there, blind luck got him to the front office for his schedule, where he was surrounded by purple and green and the school’s mascot: the Zoot Cats. Huh?

Fortunately, Nathan’s school-assigned cultural exploration elective was at the end of the day this quarter. Unlike the other kids who’ve been there for a while, he didn’t get to pick, and his schedule only had the room number, not the name. Some of the electives were film study groups, book clubs, themed creative writing workshops, even cricket! Still, Nathan passed Spanish in his old school because he… No, he failed Spanish, but cheated off of a guy who spoke Spanish in math.

He showed up at the cultural exploration elective room two minutes behind the bell, and walked into a seminar room with all the furniture pushed up against the cinderblock wall, leaving the other half with five chairs, an instrument that looked like a giant lute with a round back, a guy holding a three-stringed banjo with a triangular body, another guy in a My Little Pony shirt and unwashed fingernails with a ukulele-version of the giant lute, and some wannabe punk at a pile of percussion odds-and-ends, sitting on a drumbox. The gay dude with the triangle guitar was seething and tuning the ukul-luté.

“Oh, hey. You, uh, joining us?” The punk’s wild red hair didn’t even move when he stood up, not from product but from its own thick, coarse texture. He stepped forward to greet Nathan at the door.

“Oh, wow!” A fat kid with a grease-stained shirt wiggled his way out from under a table in the back of the room. “They gave the stupid new kid to the Russian Music Ensemble. Great. Now we’re going to sound fucking awesome.”

“Shut up, he knows Accordions,” said the blonde fruit who was white-knuckled with obsession as he tuned two strings to E with as much perfection as possible for a souvenir instrument from the Soviet Union. He shoved the instrument back in his co-string’s hands and stood up to pull a battered red resin accordion out from behind small percussion mountain. “I arranged your parts. I hopes you don’t needs them written down. It sounds like-“

”It sounds like this!” The MLP guy used his disgusting fingernails to sloppily claw-hammer the triangle-thing through a tangle of chords.

“No-“ Just like that, he was completely distracted and arguing with the MLP guy.

”Uh…” Nathan looked around for an empty chair, then started looking at the door.

The redhead piped up. “Hold on, uh, I’m Pickles, and that’s uh…” The blonde guy was Skwisgaar, playing the prima domra, he was yelling at Toki, prima balalaika, and Murderface was tuning the bigger instrument, the bass domra, with a scowl. “It’sch William, dickweed.”

“And, so… Let’s just show him what we do, guys. You’ll recognize this one. Kalinka.” The band all exchanged nods and sat up straighter (except for William, but whatever.)

Pickles raised a tambourine to count off, then Skwisgaar and Toki furiously strummed a chord in a fast, hard crescendo. The timing was hinkey from that point on, but Pickles lead with his voice, high and strong.

“Кааааааааалинка, калинка, калинка моя—“

They chopped through the song, then attempted to accelerando together and ended up a mess until Pickles burst through with a long hold that modulated down. Then, there was a collective breath,

“Ах, под сосною, под зеленою,”

The strings plodded along lightly, with flourishes from Skwisgaar undermining Pickles. Murderface’s plodding was steady and depressive. Toki’s strumming got more and more sluggish as the verse went on, until it concluded in one more big buzz from Skwisgaar and Toki together.

”Кааааааа—“

”Schmoke break!” Murderface shouted. He let his domra all but hit the floor.

”Really!? Right now? Murderface,”

”Come ons! Wes got to practice!”

”Moidaface! Butts the juuleses is for fools!”

“Uh…” Nathan droned. “I don’t actually know how to play the accordion.”

[seoksgrl]

happier than ever, 2. : knj namjoon x reader friends to strangers to lovers

tws: alcohol addiction, vomiting, grief, mention of death and terminal illness

m.list prev | next

Waking up is the same as it always is these days, head weighed down with the fogginess of the night before, the withdrawal kicking in after hours of unconsciousness. You call it that, nowadays, because what you experience doesn’t really constitute sleep anymore. You used to have dreams, wake up in the middle of the night needing to pee or simply waking from the sunlight beginning its slow descent across the scope of your room. 

Nowadays, you pass out and stay in the same position for hours on end, no dreaming and, usually, no waking up until the light in your room forces you to. You’ve had more than a few occasions where your body has been so sedated by the alcohol in your system that you haven’t even woken up to pee. Simply relieving yourself in your sleep just like you did when you were a three year old. It would humiliate you if you allowed yourself to dwell on anything in the last few years; now you have the luxury of blocking it all out. 

Dragging yourself out of bed, you fight the initial dizziness that comes with your hangover, though it’s always worse than anything you experienced when alcohol was just a treat on the weekends. Now, you drink not only to escape the hurricane of emotions that threaten to drown you when you think too long, but also to get rid of the mind-numbing, persistent symptoms of alcohol withdrawal. One foot in front of the other, you stumble to your old armoire, tugging open the door and ignoring the bundled up clothes that fall out, forgotten and unwashed. At the bottom is your stash, not that you really need to hide the glass bottles of clear liquor anymore. Now you’re all alone in the world, you don’t have the risk of anyone snatching away your vodka before you can remedy your headache with some good, old hair of the dog. 

The liquor burns as it glides down your throat, hitting the pit of your empty stomach before it blooms in warmth. After a few seconds, you almost start to feel numb again - perfection. 

Wiping the sleep and leftover makeup from your eyes, you finally glance around the room you have slept in since you were five years old. There’s a bolt of something akin to panic that rushes through you when you spot the space where your empty liquor bottles used to take residence on your bedside table, vacant. You, of course, don’t remember much of the night before, or really the last few weeks or months, but you can’t imagine you would do something so out of character as to use your drunken stupor to do some spring cleaning. 

It’s after the second swig of vodka that the smell drifts into the room, toast and eggs it seems like. It’s so familiar, so warm and sunny that you screw your eyes closed, swallowing a few more burning gulps of the liquor to shoo away this awful hallucination. It’s cruel, that the universe would do this to you, remind you of the lightness of your old life. But it doesn’t go away, the scent of food continues to waft from downstairs, along with the sounds of someone moving plates and cutlery around, and you almost freeze, wondering if you brought home a guy last night, an unexpected gentleman willing to cook you breakfast after a night of what you can only assume was lacklustre, drunken sex as you peer down at your outfit - a large, ratty t-shirt and underwear. 

You even managed to get changed last night? Nothing seems to be adding up. But your stomach is growling, and after a drink, you’re sure you’ll be able to suffer through a stilted conversation with your friendly one-night-stand before you unceremoniously kick him out. It wouldn’t be the first time.  

The old stairs creak as you pad down, barefoot and still pantless. The liquor bottle abandoned on your nightstand where you can go back to it later if you run out of the whiskey you keep in the kitchen. You’re feeling like an irish coffee might be the ideal accompaniment to this awkward breakfast. 

When you get to the bottom step, your stomach is growling, but your mind is beginning to cloud over with that familiar haze you’ve grown comfortable in, the vodka finally doing its job as your headache fades just a little. You shuffle quietly into the kitchen, eyes flitting up to see what kind of guy you dragged home with you last night before you stop in your tracks, your body icing over as the man in question glances up, eyes flicking to your legs for no less than a heartbeat before he’s looking right at you. 

“Oh, good,” Namjoon says, “you’re up. I got you some painkillers,”

The universe is clearly playing some kind of cruel joke on you, to conjure up this image of this man standing in your kitchen, cooking breakfast on a frying pan you can only assume he must have washed. God knows you haven’t cleaned in months. 

Kim Namjoon can’t possibly be standing in the kitchen of your childhood home right now, filling up the space with a body that is far thicker and more sculpted than you remember. He looks older, but in a good way, faint crinkles at the corner of his eyes as he squints over to you, quirking a brow as if he can't understand why you’re still standing there. 

“Wh - “

“Why are you here, Namjoon?” You wish your voice sounded a little stronger, slurriness coating your words accompanying the breathless in which you ask the question. You are supposed to be angry, you’ve pictured a moment similar to this thousands of times, and each time you tore into him, inspiring even an ounce of the hurt and pain you’ve endured over the last few years would be enough to satisfy you. You hate him, and you hate that you don’t hate him nearly as much as you want to. 

He dusts off his hands, wiping them on the back of his jeans, “I figured you might not remember,”

“Remember what?” You ask, a sharp spike of something spearing your stomach, making you hot all over. God, you didn’t sleep together did you?

“I brought you home last night, Y/N,” He says, voice low and steady, the exact opposite of how you’re feeling right now, swaying where you stand when his brows narrow and his lips part, “Are you still drunk?”

You can’t do this right now, you can’t have this conversation with him. Especially not him. 

Namjoon always had a knack for seeing right through your bullshit, though back then, that meant calling you out when you tried to lie about whether you were in a mood or not, or calling you a liar when you hid your face in the sleeves of your sweater and told him you were yawning and not watching the slasher movie through the gaps in your fingers. You absolutely cannot talk to him about the clusterfuck that your life has turned into, not when you glance down at his wrist, spotting the rolex that does all it needs to remind you of the different paths your lives have taken. 

He walks around the small kitchen island, his frame towering over you even as you try to appear unfazed. It’s impossible though, you’re swimming in that sweet, warm pool of numbness, and you are already uncoordinated, stumbling back a step when he reaches out to grab your elbow. His nostrils flare a little, a concerned notch forming between his brows. 

“Have you had a drink already?”

Tugging from his hold, you step away, thankful that the wall stops you from falling flat on your ass. You duck around him, moving to the sink where you rinse your hands for no reason under the cool water, perhaps to soothe your overheated skin. You’re angry, and sad, and fucking drunk already, and you cannot do this with him right now. 

“You should go. You don’t need to babysit me,”

Namjoon, you note with relief, doesn't follow you. He stays where he is, your positions in the kitchen swapped now as you wander over to the pan where the cooked eggs sit. Your mouth waters, but the second you’re reminded of Namjoon’s presence, your mouth fills with saliva as the nausea washes over you. 

“Are you alone here?” Namjoon asks, as if he already knows the answer but wants to hear you confirm it, “Where is your mom?”

A scoff bursts free from your lips as you brace yourself on the counter, your back to Namjoon because you can’t possibly look at him right now. He makes you feel too much, always has, and the alcohol flooding your blood only makes it all the more unbearable. 

“Dead,” You answer simply, relieved at the continued wave of numbness that swallows your chest. You haven't felt anything in years now, but your mother’s death a year ago certainly solidified the fucked up state of your life. Your post-break up binge drinking turned into constant drinking, and now looking back, you can’t remember the last time you went without. You feel sick all over again, already aware this is more than you can take. You’re not about to stand here reminiscing, “She died a year ago, some dumbass doctor didn’t find the tumour until it was too late. Now, it’s just me,” 

Just you. Utterly, suffocatingly alone. 

The nausea bubbles up your throat once more and you swallow it down, taking deep, shaky breaths to stave off the urge to vomit. The scent of the breakfast Namjoon made suddenly has your stomach rolling instead of growling, and the longer you sit in this deafening silence with him, the more you feel your control slipping. You need a drink, more vodka. Maybe you can find the whiskey somewhere in the mess of the kitchen, you just need - 

Throat clenching, you stagger to the now empty sink, emptying your guts of the pitiful amount of food lingering in your stomach. When was the last time you ate anything? You don’t know - it’s not like you eat often nowadays, preferring to drink until your stomach sloshes, full and bloated, forgotten as you skip into unconsciousness. 

Your bleary, watery gaze stares into the sink which is now filled with the contents of your stomach, your shoulders curling as you dry heave, bile burning your throat. The warmth of a hand rubbing your back is what you notice next, gasping against each empty gag. It feels too familiar, too good. It reminds you of your mother, and of Namjoon, and his warm, masculine scent drifts over you, overwhelming and a searingly painful reminder. His hands barely manage to smooth your unwashed hair from the nape of your neck before you push him away, wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Leave me alone,” Your voice is hoarse, tears you can no longer shed clogging your throat, and you swallow down the acrid taste in your mouth, glaring at your former best friend, “I want you to go. I don’t want you here,”

He stares at you, unblinking, eerily silent as if he doesn’t know who he is looking at right now. Well, that’s his issue, his fault, you think. He left, you didn’t. You stayed here, waiting, foolishly hoping that he might come back. Come home, to you. 

You learned the hard way from a young age that everyone leaves. Your father abandoning you and your mother before you were even born, it set the tone for your future. You’re just not the kind of person someone wants to stick around to watch, kind of like a car crash happening in slow motion. It's been that way forever, it feels like, and through it all, Namjoon had seemed like the only tether holding you above the waves, stopping you from going under. Your lighthouse in a storm.  

But then he let go, left to move onto better things. And seeing him now, seeing him be just as successful as you always knew he would be doesn’t make it hurt any less. 

Everyone leaves, it was foolish of you to believe he would be any different. That fact that he’s here now, thirteen years too late, staring at you with a bleak look of guilt proves your point. He made his choice back then, and you stopped waiting for him a long time ago.

“Y/N,” Is all he says, and the sound of your name in his voice, so much deeper, aged than when he left, it has a shiver running up your spine, “what happened?”

“I just told you. I’m an orphan now, and I can take care of myself,” 

Debatable, even to you as you try to block out the reality of your pitiful existence, but you aren’t about to fall into Namjoon just for him to turn and walk out the door again. Maybe he stayed overnight, but that doesn’t mean much where you’re concerned. Men have done the same after a drunken fuck, but they always leave in the cold light of day, when they wake up and realise where they are, when they see what a mess you are. And you know Namjoon will too.

He doesn’t argue, slipping his hand into his jean pocket and placing a small scrap of paper on the kitchen counter. You’re not going to give him the satisfaction of looking at it, even as you wonder, but he nods, stepping away as he keeps his eyes on you for a beat longer.

“I’m staying at Lunar Hotel, room four. You know where I am if you change your mind,”

“Don’t stick around on my account,” You say, watching as Namjoon winces at the venom in your words, “you can run back to Seoul for all I care,”

He doesn’t stick around for much longer, his jaw tight as he turns, doing exactly what you predicted and walking out the door. Watching his frame exit the house, closing the dusty glass door behind him, your eyes shift towards the threadbare couch big enough to sit two people at a push. Atop the cushions is a blanket and a couple of throw pillows. 

You shake your head, reaching into the nearest cupboard and breathing a sigh of relief when you find the half-drunk bottle of whiskey. Namjoon’s reappearance makes you want to drain the bottle, but you settle on a quick sip before making an irish coffee. When you’re done, your hands tremble a little, but you shake it off, eyes snagging on the slip of paper on the counter. 

Without Namjoon’s watchful gaze, you step towards it, scanning the quickly scrawled letters reading Primrose Rehab Centre. There’s a skip in your throat, your hand crumpling up the paper and throwing it at the wall where it falls to join two full rubbish bags. The threat of having your coping mechanism taken away has your heart beating fast, even as a voice in your head tempts you to wonder for a moment what life would be like if you weren’t so fucked up. 

The reminder that Namjoon wouldn’t have deigned to stick around has your lips lifting in a sneer, and you grab the whiskey bottle by the neck, forgoing your coffee in favour of something stronger. 

The burn of the liquor down your throat almost distracts you from the emptiness in your chest.

Namjoon can barely register his own name being called as he stares out the window at the road, only coming back to himself when a heavy hand rests on his shoulder.

“Hey, man, you good?” Jooheon asks, his face open, warm and welcoming. It seems aside from a few others, Jooheon is the only person actually happy to see him back in town. 

Namjoon forces a smile on his face, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. It doesn’t feel real. How can it after the morning he’s had, watching you stagger into the kitchen, reeking of booze with a glaze in your eye that reminds him of how you were last night. 

He thought you were having a bad night, the reunion and everything with Seokjin causing you to get a little drunk by the lake. When he managed to all but carry you into the home you grew up in, he could hardly believe what he was seeing, even in the dark. The house was dirty, a layer of dust on almost every surface, and he could barely breathe for the scent of stale booze and must. He knew as he settled you into bed, taking his place on the old sofa, that something was deeply wrong. He’d seen the bottles in your room, but perhaps there was still a part of him hoping for some explanation. One that didn’t take the ground from his feet and have his stomach plummeting when you confessed in that cold, empty voice that your mother died.

Namjoon remembers your mom, a sweet woman, fiercely protective of her daughter and endlessly supportive. Like his own mom, she raised you alone, and he couldn’t deny she did an amazing job. At least looking at the girl he left behind thirteen years ago - now, you’re lost. Empty, soulless eyes and the absence of the smile he always loved. 

It makes him feel ill, and he is solely responsible. If he had been here, if he had known - he clenched his fist against the porcelain handle of his coffee cup. 

Jooheon waits for his reply, and Namjoon clears his throat, “I went to see Y/N,”

Instantly Jooheon’s smile falters, his feet carrying him to the empty chair opposite Namjoon in the tiny eating area of the bed and breakfast. The decor is dated, a little worn, but Namjoon feels oddly at peace as he tries to come to terms with the reality of your situation. 

“She’s had it rough, the last couple years,” Jooheon says, and Namjoon nods, now well aware of how bad you’ve had it, “When Juwon got sick, we tried to rally round, but you remember how Y/N’s mom was. She was a fighter, never wanted to accept help off anyone,”

Almost a mirror image of you, it seems, Namjoon thinks, swallowing hard. He looks to his former classmate, eager for any and all information. 

“How long did it…”

He smiled sadly, “They found the cancer too late to really do anything. With Y/N losing the studio, as far as I’m aware they couldn’t cope with the hospital bills. Seokjin offered to help but Y/N refused,”

Namjoon can’t blame you. He’s sure if he was harbouring a broken heart, he wouldn’t accept help from the person who broke it either. He just wishes he’d known. But that’s his own damn fault, he reminds himself with a shake of his head.

He gets stuck on one piece of new info that Jooheon has given him.

“When did Y/N lose the studio? How did all this happen?” It seems like you had one tragedy after another, and all over again, the guilt eats at Namjoon like a virus. 

Jooheon’s jaw clenches, his head shaking softly as he speaks, “Y/N was planning to move to a bigger city, to open an art studio there. Hold classes and stuff. Seokjin didn’t wanna leave town and so after he proposed, they stayed here. But, Namjoon,” his classmate speaks low, as if he doesn’t want to be overheard, despite the lack of people in the B&B, “this town is desolate. Barely anyone passes through here nowadays, not like when we were kids. The council in this town don’t appreciate change, and so everyone’s businesses have suffered, including Y/N’s,”

Seokjin’s selfish ass, Namjoon thinks, his lip curling. He would buy you any studio you want, in any city, but his rational mind knows throwing money at the problem isn’t gonna fix it. He pauses, dwelling on the events of last night, the anxiety he had listening out for even a hint that you might be choking on your own vomit. The thought makes him shiver, the idea of you alone in that house, rotting away and drinking until you pass out. 

He can’t leave, even as his phone pings with the reminder to set off to the airport. He just can’t - he hasn’t even packed, almost like he knew the second he got back to the bed and breakfast that he wasn’t going anywhere. 

“Do you want me to check you out of your room?” Jooheon asks, but there’s a look in his eye that tells Namjoon he knows the answer he will give him.

“No,” He replies, “I’m gonna stick around for a while longer,”

please let me know if you wish to be added to the taglist!

[ilikemicrowaves]

@bloogers-boogers I'm really shy about posting this but hi

It Meant Nothing

      "Hey guys, heard of gay chicken?" Asked Kenny muffled through his coat.

      "The fuck is gay chicken?" Asked Stan

"I think It's where we take turns kissing each other, and the last to chicken out wins." Said Kyle.

      "Oh no way, I am not kissing a dirty jew."

Said Cartman.

      "And I'm not kissing a fatass either."

Retorted Kyle.

      Stan and Kenny looked at each other, smirks on their faces.

      "20 bucks." Said Kenny.

"We can split it." Stan whispered to Kenny.

      "We are not-"

"Make it 25." Cut in Cartman.

      "Deal." Agreed Kenny.

"But! We are doing it last." Said Kyle

      "Fine I'll go first." Said Cartman.

He waited for Stan or Kenny to come forward.

      "Pull down your hood poor boy." He said.

"My lucky day." Kenny joked.

      He reached up and slide it away from his unwashed face. His hair was dirty and sweaty even though it was snowing.

      "Ready to taste the rainbow?"

"Shut up."

      Cartman pulled him in quick and kissed.

Kenny couldn't help but giggle a little as he let go. He coverd his mouth smiling and said, "that was so gay."

      "Who's gonna kiss who next?" Asked Stan.

      "Who ever is brave enough." Said Kenny.

"I'll do it," said Kyle. "I'm not backing down to a stupid kiss."

    "Stan come here."

Stan backed away as Kyle reached for him.

      "Stan, already?" Asked Kenny

"But, Wendy-"

     "Uh oh, someone's a pussy." Said Cartman

      "She's not here, it'll mean nothing anyway." Reassured Kyle.

      "Are you sure, because she's already mad at me for-"

      "No, no, no, Stan's right, the she-hippie can't handle a little bromance." Cartman teased.

      "Shut up, fatass!" Yelled Kyle.

"Come on Stan, your not going to listen to Cartman are you?"

      Stan looked at the ground for a minute, eyes tracing the cracks in the concrete.

      "I'm sorry Kyle, me and Wendy already have enough problems right now. I'm chickening out." Stan backed away, Kyle disappointed. << gay?🤨

      "Pucker up, pretty boy." Kenny said taking off his hood once again.

      "I am not loosing this stupid game." Kyle said.

      Before Kyle could kiss him Kenny backed away and started laughing.

      "I'm sorry I'm sorry! I can't help it." He said between laughs.

      "Let's just get it over with,"

They leaned in again but just as there lips touched, Kenny snorted and kept giggling like a girl at a sleepover.

      "Omg, kiss already!" Cartman held his head in his hands

      "What, so you can kiss me next?" Teased Kyle.

      "I will kick your ass!"

Kenny grabbed Kyle's shirt and pulled him in for a smooch.

      "Yall are so slow." Commented Stan.

"At least I didn't chicken out." Said Kenny.

     "Alright, now the fun really begins." Kenny put his hands together as Stan pulled a twenty and a five out his wallet.

      "Godammit Kyle, why couldn't you've chickened out!"complained Cartman

      "I'm not losing this because kisses don't mean anything." Kyle said, "Plus I owe Ike money so come here."

      Kyle grabbed for him but Cartman jerked away. "Oh and don't forget Kyle, I can use this as blackmail."

      Kyle stopped for a minute, "So, you don't want the money?" He asked.

      "You God damn jew, of course I want the money!" He said. "But just for the record, I'm going to tell all the girls you kissed me. He got close and quiet at the last part, he knew that would tick Kyle off.

      "No,"

"What?"

"I'm not going to kiss you Cartman," he said determinedly. "You'll just have to kiss me."

      "Now it's getting somewhere," said Stan

"To be honest, now I want them to kiss." Added Kenny.

      "Wa-why me!?" He yelped

"Seems like you wanna kiss me so bad."

      "No, you have to kiss me!"

Kyle tried not to smile to keep the affect going, but the corners of his mouth couldn't help but twitch a little.

      "Who's the pussy now?" He said with an eyerole.

      "Pussy? Your the one to scared to make the first move." He said dramatically.

      "I'm the pussy?" Giggled Kyle.

"Well, first your a jew, second, I'm gonna tell all the girls you kissed me, and third-"

      "Is jew the only insault you have for me?" He asked, his cheeks flame red.

      "Your still a pussy-"

Kyle grabbed Cartmans face and pulled him into a kiss. He squinted his eyes shut, but for Cartman it was the complete opposite. Kyle didn't let go for a second, all of their emotions where entwined in that very moment. Kenny and Stan gasped, making Kyle bring his thoughts together.

He let go and gasped as though that kiss sucked all the oxygen from him.

      "There goes the last of my money." Said Kenny.

      Cartman just stood there, Dazed. He tried collecting all his thoughts until he could breath again. He put a hand to the place Kyle had grabbed him.

      "Call me pussy again." Kyle said.

I didn't really know how to end it so I left it there.

Also, one of my favorite hcs is Kenny giggles when anybody tries to kiss him

[delopsia]

There are just some days when driving down your driveway feels impossible. 

Long, winding, as are most driveways in Wabang. This had been the main selling point when you bought this house. Twisting through the landscape and gently bringing you up to your humble little home. Usually pleasant to drive down.

Today, even the picturesque view of the Teton mountain ranges can make the drive worthwhile. Your eyelids heavy as you try to focus on the dirt road. Hands full of lead, fighting to lift them enough to turn the steering wheel. The longer you drive, the longer the road becomes. A permanent circuit that you've become trapped on.

The garage door doesn't lift when you press the button. 

You can't be brought to press it again. Parking the car in front of the door and stumbling toward the house with nothing but your keys and your phone. Lunch box, work bag, wallet, and everything else be damned. 

You don't remember if you locked the car. But if someone out there has the energy to drive all the way up here to steal from you, they can have whatever the hell they want. So long as they don't bother you. 

All you can think about is your bed. Quiet. Soft. Secluded. Where nobody can barge in and force you to listen to their daily gripes and needless gripings about the short skirt your coworker is wearing. Free of mindless drivers who pull out in front of you rather than waiting a few seconds longer. Away from bouncing deer who meander into the road and dare you to hit them. 

The sheets aren't on the bed. 

Right. Right. You put them in the wash this morning. They should be dry and ready to be put on the bed by now; the fitted sheet is all you want to grab. Blankets from the couch will suffice until you feel like making the bed properly.

But the dryer is empty.

And the washer is full of dry, unwashed sheets, still soaked by the detergent you poured in there before you left. How on gods green earth did you forget to turn the washer on, and why did it have to happen today?

The sound of running water is the only reason you remember turning the machine on. Echoing down the hall as you stumble over heavy feet that refuse to function like you want them to. Tripping on the edge of the rug that you know is there because, like most things today, nothing can go right. 

You'd pour yourself a drink, but with your luck, the damn glass would break the moment it's full. 

The couch squeaks as you all but fall onto it. Head hitting the pillow without a second thought while your hand reaches for a blanket, yanking it overtop of yourself. Five in the afternoon is too early to be going to bed, much less on a couch, but you can't bring yourself to give a damn. 

And you must fall asleep because, after a long silence, you think you hear the distant groan of the garage door opening and the muffled rumble of your car as it's moved inside. More silence, and then the dryer is humming down the hallway. 

Something clicks on the table, a glass of some sort placed upon it. The only indication you have that you're not alone. Before you're feeling lips against your forehead and the gentle caress of a calloused hand against your cheek. 

Your eyes feel as if they've been glued shut. Heavy, difficult to pry open, and when they do finally lift, your vision is blurry. But you recognize this figure, with their black t-shirt and dark brown hair. 

"Bad day?" Rhett hums, his lips not quite leaving your skin. 

It takes you a moment to find your voice. Feels like there's a rock lodged in your throat as you open your mouth, "horrible." 

And Rhett doesn't ask you to talk about it. Doesn't pry for details you'd rather not relive. Or pressure you into talking so that he can feel better about seeing you moping on the living room couch. No, he doesn't do that at all. He's only got one question. 

"Care for some company?" 

Your response comes in the form of you squirming backward. Creating space for him to squeeze into. It's just enough. His legs tangle with yours as a strong arm curls around your waist, drawing you to his warm chest. Where his heart thumps quietly, a dull pitter-patter that has your eyes feeling heavy once more. 

His face holds a million questions, but he doesn't say another word. Content to press another kiss to your forehead and close his eyes when you close yours. 

And as your consciousness begins to slip away once more, you wonder if his day has been similar to yours. Because there's a darkness beneath his eyes that wasn't there when he left at dawn. Still hums as you drift off, his hand stroking invisible shapes into your back, but it falls into a quiet stillness sooner than usual. 

"Turn your noggin' off 'n sleep," that deep voice grumbles against you. 

Even after a long day where everything has gone wrong, Rhett's still the one thing that always goes right.