#dimple couples everywhere

[anotherfanaccount]

What do I watch to get over the hangover of lovely runner???

This is the problem with really sweet perfect dramas. Your heart aches that they're over. Happened to me for Homcha and I sort of drifted away from kdramaland after that. And now this.

Maybe I'll just rewatch Homcha and then Loverun and them repeat till another one claims me heart and soul.

[mouthfulloftoothpasterry]

A Cure

Summary: very cute and very horny firefighter Harry x author wife 🥹

Warnings: unprotected sex, very horny husband and wife, humiliation, all that jazz AND slight voyeurism if you squint!

Wc: 6.4k

The sound of knuckles rapping against her office door pulls Y/n out of her trance. She blinks her eyes after minutes of them sitting unfocused on her white laptop screen full of words she's not sure make any sense to her anymore, or maybe they didn't in the first place.

After another minute she hears the knocking again, rubbing her strained eyes. “Are you in there, baby? Or am I embarrassing myself.” Her husband's voice booms from the other side of the door, he really isn't that loud at all but it's probably because the only sound she has heard for the past couple hours are the sniffles and sobs as she reads her publishers emails she's been avoiding for at least five days.

Y/n clears her throat, standing up. “Yeah, Hi, sorry.” Her voice is barely above a whisper when her husband comes into view. He stands tall above her, his strong arms wrapping around her shoulders. He looks down at her with a large smile carved into his face, pearly whites and dimples only an angel could make.

“How is writing going?” She lets out a puff of air before returning the smile

Y/n is currently working on her second novel after her debut was a big success, catching the attention of readers everywhere on social media; it soon became a number one best seller. Following the success, she's been pulled in every direction and spread too thin as her team pressures her to get this second novel out as soon as possible so she stays relevant and readers stay buzzing about her.

“It's going…” he gives her a soft frown, pressing a gentle kiss to her pouted mouth. “Well, I'm about to head out for work.” She nods, relaxing into his delicate touch as he runs his nose against her brow bone. “So soon?” He huffs a laugh, pulling his arm away from her to look at the watch on his wrist. “Well, considering I'm about to be late…” she grabs his wrist, looking at the time. 11:30, already?!

“Oh my god! I didn't even realize it, sorry I've just been knee deep in emails and I've got about twenty different documents going at a time and-” He cuts her off with a kiss, his big hands coming to cup at her cheeks. Y/n lets out a sigh of satisfaction, sinking into him deeper as her shaky hands come to clutch at his forearms, as if she's pulling him back to stay so they can spend the whole day like this.

He pulls away with reluctance, another laugh leaving his lips as her mouth follows his. “I've got to go fight fires, baby. Kinda my whole job.” She has what feels like a permanent frown on her face, but nods nonetheless. “I'll be back soon, my baby. I love you.” She smiles, watching him slowly back away while he squeezes her hand. “I love you too, H.”

📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-

Y/n sits at her desk, sipping on another random energy drink so she can keep her eyes open to write maybe one sentence that will actually make it into her book.

Her first book came easy. After over a decade of only dreaming of getting a book deal and becoming a huge author it finally came true at twenty six. She wrote the novel about her own life, swapping the names and dramatizing some situations for entertainment- but all in all it was exactly her and Harry's love story. A classic second chance romance, highschool sweethearts who break up during college because long distance is too hard, then once the male main character comes back to town they see each other after two years and instantly fall back in love. Happily ever after and all that.

It's true, for most of her life with Harry it has been a fairytale, and that's exactly why her book has been such a big success. Everyone fell in love with Brooks as she had with Harry. The cute, shy, overly kind, highschooler turned mushy, soft, sexy, firefighter husband was an easy drawn in as readers described it as the “love story of a century”.

She decided not to continue with Brooks and Summer’s love story because it had been told from start to finish, highschool to marriage. Now, she's focused on a new couple, struggling with names at first, now their story, family, their emotional backstories, everything. The only thing she was confidently writing was the cameos from Brooks and Summer since they were all friends in this series she was trying to create.

She's got the names, Ruby and Noah, but she has no clue what the fuck they are doing. She's looking forward to writing about their ski trip, where she's going to make Ruby and Noah hook up after summer's constant nagging that Ruby should give him a try. Enemies to lovers this time around.

She loves writing trips, she's not sure why. Maybe because as her characters have a get away it seems her mind does as well. She gets to pour everything into imagery while she describes the snowy trees and the beautiful big cabin they stay in for a week.

Maybe that's what she needs to crack this writer's block, a nice getaway. But unfortunately, that's not possible with Harry's job right now. They are short staffed on firefighters and even the teen volunteers aren't doing much to compensate for the lack of employment.

Y/n’s head falls back against her chair, groaning and slapping her hand on her keyboard. She looks over at her scribbled notes on the random legal pad she found in her desk drawer. As much as she had planned for this winter getaway, she couldn't find it in herself to write it. She's been painfully getting through writing the drive up to the cabin through the past couple days and she isn't even halfway done.

This particular scene is supposed to be big for Ruby and Noah, Ruby finds out more about Noah's childhood and she begins to feel differently about him. She finally makes sense of why he's so standoffish and reserved, all these years she thought he was just a selfish dick.

Y/n groans, crumbling up the paper and throwing it across the room because she can't bear to look at the plans she so excitedly wrote down a few nights ago when she's now in one of her worst blocks of her writing career. It's worse than when she forgot about a five thousand word essay in college and had to hurry up and write something two hours before due.

“Maybe I'll just take a walk.” She sighs out, lifting from her numb legs and finally exiting her dark office. She pads down the stairs, sliding on shoes and pulling a light coat over her clothes.

Her eyes take a moment to adjust to the sunshine after hours of staring at the artificial blue light her computer gives off. She breathes in the crisp early afternoon air. Hopefully this works.

📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-

The walk didn't help much, it definitely cleared her mind like walks usually do- but that worsened her case if anything because now she can't think of a single thing to write while they drive up to that stupid cabin.

Might as well get some chores out of the way, she thinks, as she fills up a water bottle after living off coffee and energy drinks. She walks out of the kitchen and back up the stairs where she opens the door to her and Harry's bedroom. She opens the closet door, looking at the mound of laundry they both have piled up, better get to it. She groans as she lifts their shared laundry basket, it's overflowing and has now piled onto the floor. Harry helps out as much as he can but with his crazy work schedule and y/n being locked in her office all day they don't get as much done as they would like.

She tosses clothes into the washer, pouring detergent in and closing the lid to start the load. In the meanwhile, she goes back to their room and pulls a big load of clean laundry onto her bed.

She begins folding them and tossing them into piles, one for pajamas, bras, boxers, and so on. She walks to the big closet to grab a stack of hangers, tossing shirts and dresses and pants over the hangers and placing them on the rod one by one.

She shoves her hand onto the dwindling pile of clothes, a lace material rubbing against her finger tips. She pulls at it, revealing the tiny babydoll she had worn for Harry one long night… almost two months ago. She sighs, hanging it up on one of the nicer hangers out of the random collection of mismatched ones they've collected over the years.

She bites her lips, staring at the pretty fabric. Her and Harry both have quite high sex drives, maybe because they are still in the early years of their marriage, maybe that's just how they are despite everyone saying they would get bored of each other especially because they were each other's first everything.

But between them being short staffed and Y/n getting swept up in the marketing and press of her book, they haven't had that much time for each other. She's lucky she has a touchy feely husband, because that's what comforts her. She needs to be in her husband's arms to feel better again. And since it's been so crazy, she hasn't gotten more than a lingering kiss for weeks and weeks.

She hangs the garment back up, ignoring the nagging feeling as she continues her chores.

Once the laundry pile is all folded she switches out the now clean laundry into the dryer and starts another load, plopping on the couch until Harry gets home.

📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-

“I'm home!” Y/n hears Harry shout through the house, perking up and dusting off the t-shirt she has over her little matching bra and panties set. She closes her laptop, she was sitting on the couch, trying to write as a distraction until her husband came home. “Hi,” Harry softly sings, a big cheesy smile on his face as he finally spots his wife after hours of working. She rises, stretching up and wrapping her arms around his neck. He hums, giving her a squeeze and rubbing up and down her back.

“I missed my baby while I was away.” He mumbles, kissing the side of her head over and over. She smiles, inhaling his smoky smell that has grown to be comforting. It's him. A deeply sweet- almost fruity scent mixed with the ash and smoke of fires. “I missed you, H.” She whispers, pulling away and leaning in to kiss him. Her hand rests on his chest, opening her mouth slightly to slide her tongue against his.

She can feel his lips curling into a grin, his hands slide down, lifting her up and into his arms. “You missed me something special, Hm?” She nods then pushes her hands into his hair. “Take me upstairs, H.” He does as told, starting to slowly and carefully walk them toward the staircase.

A ring ruins the moment, making Harry sigh, sitting her down. Y/n sighs, wiping the side of her mouth. “Fuck,” He sighs, shaking his head as he looks down at his phone. “H?” He looks back up, his heart breaking as he looks at his wife. “Baby….” she frowns, trying to push back the urge to cry. “It's work. I'm sorry. I've got to go be a firefighter.” He softly smiles, attempting to lighten the mood.

It doesn't help though. She wraps her arms around herself, feeling stupid and childish that she's so emotional over her husband having to leave her to go fight a fire and potentially save lives. “I'm sorry, baby. I have to go.” His hand pulls away from her, waving before he walks out of the door.

She swallows the lump in her throat, walking up the stairs alone and straight into the bedroom. She pulls off the matching set she wore to surprise Harry, tossing it into the empty laundry basket. She pulls on normal pajamas, just a big shirt and a random pair of pajama shorts before washing her face and brushing her teeth.

She gets in bed, preparing to wait up and make sure Harry is alright before falling asleep.

📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-

Working from home is pretty lonely. Harry can be up and out of the door as early as four in the morning and sometimes gets calls all throughout the night. She got pretty used to being alone once Harry became a firefighter, and she even liked it. Being alone with her thoughts was great for her writing. She reminisced on the early days of her relationship, laughing at all the awkward stages and feeling emotional at how far they've come from the goofy teenagers they once were.

“I'm writing as fast as I can! It's not going to be good if it's not organic.” Y/n stresses over the phone, trying to push down the lump in her throat that strains her words. “Yes, Y/n, but we need to get a publish date on this book and get the ball rolling.” She groans, feeling tempted to throw her phone next to the discarded ball of paper from yesterday- but she knows that's a bit dramatic.

She hangs up, too frustrated to talk- or think about this goddamn book. She needs her husband, she needs his touch. A hug, a kiss, anything from him right now would ease her anxiety.

Time to start stress baking.

For as long as she can remember baking has been an outlet for Y/n- she's not sure why. Taking the horrible thoughts of the day and the physical anxiety and turning it into something yummy that puts a smile on everyone's face was fulfilling. She even put her own little recipes at the end of each chapter dependent on whatever Summer had made for Brooks- which was once again very much based on her and Harry.

White chocolate cranberry scones, chocolate cake, lavender lemon loaf, she is bound to be busy with all the different recipe cards laid out in front of her on their kitchen island.

She sifts the flour, bowls covering the table with a load of dishes already going in the dishwasher. The timer from the oven goes off, pulling her away from her distraction of yet another sweet treat. She pushes her hair out of her face, opening the oven and adding it to the collection of pastries that are making her house smell so good. Thank god she's got hungry firefighters to feed. She scribbles a note on the white board that's magnetized to the fridge to remind her to box up some of everything for Harry to bring in.

She's the fire chief's wife, she's has to keep them fed.

After what feels like days of baking, she's finally done. Two different cookies, two different loaves of bread, scones, and a cake.

Y/n flops down on the couch, turning on some trashy TV to keep her mind anywhere but that book she's supposed to be writing.

She gets about halfway through a forty five minute episode before she gets a glimpse of the time. She shoots up, starting on dinner knowing that her husband will arrive home anytime. He seems just as stressed out as she is about work, he just doesn't let it show as much, so she wants to make his life easier when she can.

Dinner didn't take long, she just whipped up something easy and quick for them. She flops back down on the couch, keeping the food on low so it will stay warm.

“Hi, baby.” Harry smiles, tossing his keys onto the table and coming to flop down next to her on the couch. He wraps his arms around her, cuddling into her. “What smells so good?” He sniffs at her neck as if she's covered in perfume, making her laugh and push away his touch even though she craves it more than anything right now. “Lots of random baked goods.” She softly laughs, pressing a kiss to his lips. He gives her an empathetic smile. “stressed, huh?” She shrugs, sitting up and he quickly follows.

“I made dinner too.” He thanks her. Kissing the back of her hand and trailing them up her arm. “How about after dinner we finish what we started the other night… maybe it will help you unwind?” She feels her stomach tighten. She wants to say no, take me right now before you're whisked away again, but she doesn't. She nods, closing her eyes and sinking into his touch before it's taken away.

He kisses her head, standing up and pulling her with him. “Let's get you fed and ready for me, huh? Can't have you losing energy half way through.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head with a smile on her face.

They eat dinner together, sitting at the island together instead of the proper dining table. They make small talk, catching each other up about their day, Harry telling her all about two kittens that were stuck in a tree that he had to rescue bright and early this morning. “So that's why you crawled out of bed at four in the morning?” Harry nods, standing up and pushing their bowls aside. “Yeah, but now we’re going to head back to bed.” He smiles, holding a hand out for her, which she takes.

Harry leans in, slotting his lips with his wife's. Another ring sounds through the silence of their kiss. Harry groans loudly into her mouth, obviously irritated. “I swear to god-” he yanks his phone from where it was sitting on the table. “What?!” He spits to the other person on the line, obviously frustrated. “Fuck.” He nods once more to the caller before hanging up. “I'm sorry, baby. A restaurant downtown is completely engulfed in flames, I have to go now.” She nods, trying to bite back her frown.

She loves that Harry is a firefighter, it's sexy and has made him build up the strong physique that holds her and protects her. She loves that he does so much for the city and has saved so many lives and homes, but as he's out saving others' homes it feels like he's abandoning theirs. He's home basically just to sleep, and nothing else. Their relationship is still strong, and their love will never fade, but not having quality time is taking a toll on both of them mentally.

“I promise, baby. I'll be home as soon as possible.” He rushes out of the house, running towards the door.

Y/n is once again left in the house all alone.

📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-

Y/n is woken up with a gentle shake, slowly blinking her blurry eyes open. “What time is it?” She slurs, sitting up when she knocks her open, timed out laptop off of her chest. Harry quickly catches it, softly laughing and placing it on the coffee table. “It's only been an hour since I left. You fell asleep while writing, baby.” He rubs her back, placing a kiss to the side of her head.

“Oh shit!” She shoots up, grabbing her laptop. “That is due at midnight, I need to send it to my editor!” Harry stops her from running up to her office, hooking an arm around her. “Hey, hey. Slow down, baby.” She huffs, sitting next to him on the couch.

“Are you still struggling to finish this chapter?” He kisses her head again, brushing her hair out of her face. She nods, feeling the anxiety build up in her body at the thought of not getting this chapter done in time. “Yes. It's so frustrating,I just feel defeated. Like I need… a cure?”

Harry taps on his bottom lip with his pointer finger while he's thinking. “A cure?”

Y/n nods, “a cure.”

“Well, go try to finish writing so your editor doesn't get mad at you. If you need any help or words of encouragement I'll be in our room.” She nods, rising up from the couch, collecting her laptop in her arms before kissing her husband. He smiles when she pulls away, giving her ass a small smack.

“Go get to it, baby.”

She walks up the steps, still sleepy as she sits back in her desk chair and cracks her screen back open. She gets to typing, putting any coherent thought down to try to make it make sense, she can always have her editor put it into better formed sentences that flow better with the rest of the story.

It's a little past 1:30 when she finally gets into bed, crawling in next to her shirtless husband.

Harry groans, wrapping both his arms around her while he keeps his eyes closed- too sleepy to actually open them. She cuddles into him, finally relaxing after what seems like days of tense muscles and mental gymnastics. “Did you find your cure?” She shakes her head, “no cure yet. But I got it done.”

He whispers a cheer, squeezing her. “Good job, baby. I knew you'd do it. Now go to sleep, we'll celebrate tomorrow.” She giggles into his neck, wrapping a leg around him.

“Celebrate?” He nods, basically snoring. “I'll finally fuck you, promise, baby.”

📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-

“Guess what the fire chief got called in for?” Harry asks, walking into the house surprisingly early. Y/n spins around in her chair, her eyebrows shooting up. “You're home, H!” He nods, walking over to her. “What did you get called in for?” He stays silent for a beat to dramatize and leave her in suspense.

“A fourteen year old kid got his head stuck in a fence. And they called me, the fire chief, to get him out.” Y/n laughs, almost choking on her water. “So,” Harry starts, grabbing her water from her hand and taking a sip of it. “I said don't call me, don't bother me, I'm taking the day off to spend with my wife.” She smiles, scanning him up and down.

He's still in his red suspenders, fire pants, and the navy blue shirt that hugs his pecs and biceps more than should be allowed for everyday firefighting. His hair is crazy, pushed back with a strand flopping in his eyes. His skin is covered in black ash and soot, and he smells of fire but it only heats her skin.

His pointer finger curls to lift her chin up, his thumb softly resting under her bottom lip. He slots his lips with hers, making her whimper with need. Her hand clutches at the short sleeve of his shirt, feeling his toned muscles under it. “Hop up” he lifts her into his strong arms, walking them up to their bedroom.

He slams open the door, throwing her on the bed. They both laugh loudly, her arms reaching out for him again. He knees the bed, on his hands and knees while he hovers over her. Neither of them care that he's covered in black ash on their light duvet.

His hand slides up her t-shirt, smiling at the feeling of her warm skin even though he knew she was braless. “Take this fuckin’ thing off.” He half-jokes, pulling at the bottom of her shirt and lifting it over her head. Harry pulls his suspenders down, yanking off his tight shirt. Y/n hated to see the shirt go, but she loves saying goodbye. Her hands slide down his chest and onto his chiseled abs. “Keep the rest on.” Harry's eyebrow raises, his mouth slightly popped open.

“Keep it on?” She nods, then slides a suspender back up his arm.

Harry smiles, unbuttoning his pants and pulling his hard cock out. It slaps against his belly, making Y/n's mouth water. He yanks at her pants, making her shuffle down the bed. They both laugh as he pulls her pants down, giggles flying through the room as her pants fly through the air.

He takes in her naked body, his eyes dragging down her almost like she's his prey. Suddenly she feels shy under her husband's heavy gaze, pulling her arms in to cover herself. “Don't. You. Fucking. Dare.” He practically growls, yanking her arms away. He opens her legs, his hand sliding over cunt.

“I'm going to absolutely devour you. I'm not going to stop until you're shaking.” She smiles, wrapping her legs around him.

Harry grabs his cock, lining it up with her. “Are you wet enough, baby?” He asks, his hand slipping down for a moment to touch her pussy. “Oh,” an evil grin forms on his face. “You're dripping, huh?” Her face heats up, looking away because she knows she'll be too embarrassed to look him in his eye.

Harry softly but quickly pulls her face back toward him, opening her jaw with his thumb and spitting into her mouth.

She pulls him in with her legs, moaning. He lines himself up with her, finally pushing it. Y/n cries out at the feeling of him finally being inside of her after so long, it only eggs Harry on.

His constant thrusting shuffles her up and down the bed, and he loves every second of watching her tits bounce while his cock is stuffed deep inside of her. “Fuck, H” she gasps, reaching out for his arm to somewhat stabilize herself. “Feels good, baby?” He slips his thumb inside of her mouth, watching her perfect pouty lips wrap around him. She frantically nods, breathless and already shaking from the feeling of her husband's big, thick, bare cock inside of her.

“H, fuck, I don't know if I'm going t-” he cuts her off, smashing his mouth into her. She can hear how wet she is as the sound of wet squelching and heavy pants fill the room. It's enough to turn her cheeks red hot again, trying to ignore it. “Do you hear how fucking wet you are?” Harry says, biting at her neck. All chances of her not being humiliated are thrown out of the door the second Harry opens his dirty mouth. She almost forgot how embarrassingly filthy he can talk.

“Tell me, baby, do you hear how wet you are? Your pussy is dripping all over the sheets, you're making an absolute mess of me.”

She ignores his mouth, trying to keep some of her dignity.

“Tell me right now, or I'll stop fucking you.” She whines, gasping as he hits her special little spot. Her eyes roll to the back of her head and her back arches as he sends electricity from her head to her toes. “I'll stop right now.” His hips come to a vault, and suddenly she's sobbing out her answer. “Yes, fuck, H. I'm so wet. I'm so fucking wet and it's all for you.” She falls into a chant of “it's all for you, all for you H” until he starts fucking her again now that he's gotten exactly what he wants.

“So wet, and tight, and warm for me, baby. I think your pussy was made just for me.” She nods, she's so cock drunk she thinks she might sign all her rights away if asked. “Cause my dick fits perfectly in you, it hits all those special little spots that puts that little pout on your lips.”

She gasps, gripping his arm tighter as she gets closer. “Yeah, you're going to cum? Cum on my cock, it's okay. You can cum baby, I know it's been so long.”

She moans a mantra of his name over and over again as she finally orgasms, feeling like a weight has been lifted off of her.

Harry cums shortly after her, moaning in her ear and telling her how good she makes him feel.

He flops down next to her after he carefully pulls out, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close. “You okay? I didn't go too rough?” She shakes her head, resting it on his bicep. He presses a soft peck to her lips then gently rubs her cheek with his thumb. “No, H. It was perfect.” He smiles, glancing away like he didn't just say the dirtiest things she's ever said to her. “I'm sorry we haven't had a lot of time to be together. I hate being so busy.” She nods, “it's okay, H. I know you can't help it.” He bites at the inside of his bottom lip, sighing.

He moves his head closer to hers, closing his eyes and rubbing his nose against hers. “I love you.” She smiles, sliding her hand down his arm and threading their fingers together. “I love you too, babe.”

He sits up, on his knees. “What are you doing?” He grabs her legs, tossing them onto his shoulders. He kisses her ankle, “I didn't forget about my promise. I want your legs shaking. I'll carry you around everywhere tomorrow.” She giggles as he stretches her legs out, bending to suck and lick at her nipples.

She pushes him away, making him laugh. “Not gonna let your husband get a little frisky?” She rolls her eyes with a smile, “I've been letting you get frisky since we were sixteen, I've had enough.” He scoffs, sliding inside of her again.

He presses kisses over her leg, using his over hand to press into her lower belly. She gasps, grabbing his wrist. “Am I too big?” She attempts to roll her eyes at his cockiness but is cut off with a moan when he presses into her again.

Harry starts thrusting in and out of her, painfully slow. All of his touches are amplified, she can feel every vein on him. “Fuck, babe,” she hardly manages to get a word out of her mouth as her hips wiggle. She's inconsolable as she lets out sobs, her back arching and hips rolling against his.

She clenches around him, sending a chill rolling down his back. “Fuck, baby. Do that again.” She clenched around him, spasming around him as he perfectly rolls his hips. Thank god he knows how to use all that.

She whimpers his name, begging for him to give her anything he can. A blissed out smile frames Harry's face, his pearly white teeth peaking out while he bites his lips to silence his grunts and groans. She pulls him in even closer with her legs and he bottoms out inside of her. He gasps her name, his hand clenching at her calf.

“Don't hide, H. I want to hear how good you feel.” His mouth falls open at her words, his hazy eyes falling closed in pleasure. He shudders, letting out a shaky breath. “F-fuck, baby.” She clenches around him once again, holding it as he pushes back inside of her.

“You f-feel like heaven, you're so fucking perfect. So perfect.” He moans, his mouth open while he thrusts in and out of her. He whines, making Y/n want to bite a pillow and scream into it from the noises her husband is making. “I fucking love this pussy, baby. Tell me whose it is.” Her back arches, letting out a pleasured sigh as she grips the sheets. “It's your pussy, H. You're the only one who gets to cum it in.” He smiles, nodding.

They both cum at the same time, their moans blending as they cry each other's names.

Harry finally lets his fire pants drop, kicking them off the bed once he's calmed down.

“I'm hiring more people as soon as possible. There's no way I went so long without you.” She laughs as he kisses her, both of them laying together in their post-sex bliss. She fidgets with his wedding ring, her head on his chest. “Yeah, I miss having you around the house.” Harry nods, squeezing one of her fingers. “Me too.”

They both relax into the bed, staying silent and enjoying each other's company.

“Round three in the shower?”

📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-

Y/n looks over at her office door which is now open, her sleepy husband stands in the doorway, the only thing he's wearing is low hanging pajama pants. He rubs at his sleepy eyes, his hair going in every different direction. “Why are you awake?” She softly laughs at his question, looking at the time on her laptop. “H, it's almost 11AM.” His sleepy eyes go wide for a split second before they return to their tired half-open state.

“Well, you should be in bed with me.” He creeps over to her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders while she sits in her office chair. “I'm writing?” He dramatically gasps, pressing a kiss to her neck. “You're writing?” She nods, continuing to type even as he kisses her.

“Did inspiration strike?” She nods, smiling. “Last night kind of inspired me. I think it's exactly what I needed.” Harry raises one eyebrow, his fingertips coming to pull the laptop closer to him. “Can I read it?” She nods, letting him pull it into his arms, watching him scroll back up to the start of the chapter.

After last night she finally had the inspiration strike to write Ruby and Noah hooking up at the ski getaway. This will be the peak in her book, now that they are together the rest will be a breeze to write.

She watches as his pajama pants slowly grow, making her hands shake with anticipation. “Holy fuck. You wrote that based on last night?” She smiles, blushing and nodding.

“That was your cure, huh?”

She didn't think about it that way. “I finally got my cure.”

Harry sinks down onto his knees, sliding his hands up her thighs, under the shirt of his she was wearing to bed. He hooks his fingers into her panties, dragging them down. “Now I need my cure.” He whispers, sliding her panties down her legs and into the pocket of his pajama pants. “I've got a big problem,” he looks down, cupping his large bulge. “And you're the only cure for it.”

He parts her legs, smiling at the sight of her wet cunt.

“Oh god, baby. How long have you been like this?” He pouts up at her, touching her with delicate fingers. “So long, H. I've been thinking about you since I got up.” She whines, pushing her shirt back so it doesn't block his view.

He lets out a sympathetic whine for her, his eyebrows pinching together with a worried expression. “My poor girl, I've got to take care of you now. You woke up with a throbbing pussy thinking of me, Hm?” She nods, carefully watching his every move.

Her breath shudders as her eyes follow his head sinking down to between her legs. Her eyes go wide, feeling his tongue slide into her. She whimpers, closing her eyes at the feeling of his warm tongue sliding up and down her cunt.

“No, no. Go ahead and write. It's the only thing that cures your writer's block.” She gulps, her hands shaking as she goes back to writing with her husband's head between her legs. She slowly types onto her document as he licks her up and down. She tries to keep her eyes open, typing whatever comes to her mind- which she's more than sure will be a jumbled mess for her to fix later. “H, please babe.” He shakes his head. “Your publisher will be mad if you don't write it.” He licks her clit, pulling it into his mouth to suck at it.

Her hand falls to the top of his head, threading her fingers through his hair. He shakes his head again, grabbing her hand and placing it back on her keys.

She moans, rolling her hips. She's fully given up on writing, her head fallen back as he continues to eat her pussy.

“Baby,” he laughs, kissing her thigh. “Well, I can't be mad. I guess you deserve it after working so hard.” He lifts up to kiss her, laughing at her failed attempt to write like he previously ordered her to.

He sinks back down between her legs, flicking his tongue against her clit. She groans, arching her back and whimpering. She throws a leg over his shoulder and he instantly wraps his arm around it. “You taste so good.” His mouth is loud against her, making lewd noises as he sucks, licks, and flicks his tongue against her skin.

“You always taste so good, baby.” He groans against her, losing himself in the smell, feeling, and taste of her. He moans against her over and over again, sliding his tongue deep in her to taste her wetness straight from the source. He loves how wet he can get her, how just the thought of him gets her so worked up she spends the whole morning with a wet, throbbing cunt until he takes matters into his own hands.

He often fantasizes about catching her touching herself- just because he knows her writing is always based on their experience and when she is writing a particularly spicy scene she tends to get worked up.

He can imagine silently creeping into her office to catch her with her legs open and her small hand down her panties trying to satisfy herself when they both know it's his hands she's craving.

She falls to pieces above him, her chest rapidly falling and rising while her mouth drops open to praise him and all the pleasure he's giving her. “You can cum, baby. It's okay.” He closes his eyes, enjoying the last few moments of her on his tongue. He loves the silky feeling of her, how warm and soft she is.

“H, I'm cumming!” She moans, gripping at his hair while she rolls her hips trying to get herself there. Seconds later she cums all over his mouth, leaving him to clean her up.

He wipes his mouth, sucking his fingers off before he yanks her down to give her a messy tongue kiss to let her taste herself.

She tries to catch her breath, giggling now that she's come back down. “Do you feel better now?” She nods, kissing him again.

“Just needed your husband to take care of you, huh?” She nods once again, wrapping her arms and legs around him as he wraps his big, strong arms around her. “Now go sit back there in case I need you again.” He agrees to it with a large smile on his face, walking back to the much bigger and comfier chair she normally uses for reading.

He’s always been the cure.

A/N: WOWOWOW!! beside a small 1k word blurb this is my return to writing after almost a year and a half! I thought about making an Author y/n one random day in the shower and with a little help from my beautiful, amazing, creative best friend @ziallslvr firefighter Harry and author Y/n was born 🥹!!!!

I feel so passionate about these two! They are my sweet babies❤️ This specific Y/n is straight from my heart, and might be a little self indulgent! I hope you all love her as much as I do ❤️

PLEASEEEEEE!!! IF YOU LIKED THIS REBLOG AND SHARE YOUR THOUGHT WITH ME :D

[fairyysoup]

his hands

pairing(s): hairdresser!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: How do you make getting a haircut an erotic experience? You have Eddie Munson as your hairdresser, of course.

cw: explicit, smut, unprotected piv sex, mirror sex, workplace sex, hand kink, choking, dumbification, dom!eddie, touch-starved!reader, semi-sort-of subspace happenings, referring to genitals with gendered pronouns, slight body worship, getting weirdly horny over a head massage, sexual tension, negative self talk, hair cut/style mentioned but no description of hair color/type, the aftercare is the haircut lol, implied 90s au, eddie's like 30, reader's age unspecified, eddie is employee of the month in my heart, not proofread, no beta we die like men

a/n: this is weird. and came from an interesting experience i had at the hair salon. and yes that is corpse's hand in that pic i didn't want to spend all day looking for a header pic shut up shut up shut up

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

Your hands twitch on the copy of Elle magazine in your lap. The familiar waiting area of your local salon has new furniture, which still smells a bit like the cellophane it came wrapped in, and hasn’t been worn out by patrons just yet. You’d asked for your usual stylist, Melissa. Except, you haven’t been here in so long, and apparently Melissa doesn’t work here anymore. 

“We have a new stylist in her place,” the greeter at the front desk told you kindly. “I could fit you in if you’d like that same station?” 

The station doesn’t matter to you; they all look the same and have the same tools. Obviously, when it comes to getting your hair cut, the stylist makes the difference. But, since you’re a couple months too late to catch up with Melissa, a new stylist is who you’ll be working with. 

The PA still plays some sort of weird pop-rock fusion that mixes Nat King Cole with Billy Idol, but you just try to focus on it to keep your leg from bouncing. You always get anxious like this when you come in for an appointment, even though you always tell yourself the same thing. It’s just hair. If you don’t like it, it’ll grow back. Or, if worst comes to worst, you could always shave it.

You hear your name being called, and you look up to the person who’d just approached the waiting area around the partition that blocks off the styling area. You blink, your mind going fuzzy as you try to make sense of what you see.

“Looks like I’ll be cutting your hair today,” the man standing at the end of the row of chairs says, with a grin that puts boyish dimples on his cheeks. “I’m Eddie.”

Eddie the Hairdresser is a bit more than you can handle right now. Between his long, curly hair, and the shirt he wears that gives you a view of the tattoos crawling up his arms, you think your knees might already be made out of jelly as you try to stand. But then he sticks out his hand for you to shake, and he’s wearing big, chunky rings that glint in the light, and you think you might swoon like a Victorian damsel.

“I’m, uh–” you begin intelligently, as you fit your hand into his big one. He squeezes just the tiniest bit and smirks at you. “I– I’m trying to, uh–”

“First time?” Eddie asks you with a tilt of his head. His brown eyes crease at the edges with mirth.

“Oh, um, no,” you mutter, looking everywhere but at his dimples. He has a tattoo on his neck of a dragon. You stare at it for a moment too long. “I used to come and see Melissa, forever ago.” 

“Oh! Yeah, Melissa was great. She trained me,” Eddie starts jabbering as he tilts his head and leads you around the partition. You’re met with the smell of hairspray and the sound of blow dryers getting louder. “She’s a hard act to follow, but I hope I can do well enough. Let’s get you started with a wash, hm?” 

You smile as he winks at you conspiratorially. You always feel a little bit awkward as you sit in the chair for the wash sinks, but Eddie ushers you into it with a little wave of his hand and gently– more gently than you can remember even Melissa being– lifts the ends of your hair and places a soft towel around your shoulders.

“What kept you away all this time?” Eddie asks pleasantly as he tests the water temperature. “Melissa’s been gone for a while.”

“Yeah, I, uh, I was working a lot,” you stumble into an explanation, your cheeks heating up a bit. It’s hard not to feel like you need to repent for not coming in to get a trim every month. “Last time I came in, I got my hair cut really short, so it wasn’t like I needed to come in for a trim for a long time, and by the time I really needed one it was long enough that I could do it myself… so, I just kept doing that.”

“So, what are we doing today?” Eddie inquires as his fingertips brush along your temples to tuck your hair back behind your ears and into the wash basin. With gentle prompting, he tilts your head back into the bin and begins to wet the ends of your hair.

“I figured it’s time I go short again,” you tell him, more confident than you really feel about it. It was a split second decision, one that you made because the reflection in the mirror was looking back at you with such a dead expression that you decided you needed a change in a bad way. For a lighter note, you supplement, “I’m tired of brushing tangles out of my hair every morning, and the other day I had a whole bird’s nest at the back of my neck, y’know.”

“Pssh, I know all about tangles. You saw my hair,” Eddie chuckles as the lukewarm water touches your scalp. Goosebumps rise on your arms while he rambles on, “I have to comb my hair wet or else I look like I got electrocuted. I never used to care about that sort of thing before I went to school for this, but once you start learning about proper treatment it’s kind of hard to ignore. I used to wash my hair with bar soap. Dry as hell, no conditioner. I’m surprised I got it long to begin with.” 

You find yourself smiling just thinking about it. “Bar soap? With those curls?”

“Don’t tell anyone, my reputation will be ruined,” Eddie leans down and whispers to you while he reaches for a bottle of shampoo. You hear a crack of a bottle cap, and then his hands are in your hair again, working the sweet smelling soap into your roots. “I’m trying to get employee of the month, but they’re never gonna give it to me if they know I used to sabotage my own hair with Irish Spring.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you tell him sweetly, but you’re barely paying attention to his words anymore. His fingers are pressing into areas on your head that haven’t had a proper massage in forever, and months of tension headaches are being brought to the forefront of your mind. 

You never consider how oddly intimate having someone wash your hair is until you’re in the thick of it. Eddie’s thumbs massage circles into your occipitals with just a perfect amount of pressure, and the muscles down the back of your neck slowly melt and relax, moving with the swell of his fingertips. You suddenly feel very relaxed and very sleepy, and your eyelids drift closed as Eddie’s thumbs trace the line of your skull up to your hairline.

It even takes a moment for you to tune into the fact that he’s humming. Under his breath, he’s singing along to the notes of the song on the PA. He’s doing it in such a way that you’re sure he’s not even aware of it, himself, and you’d comment on it if you weren’t afraid that you’d embarrass him. His fingers are massaging circles around your temples now, and while you’re trying to focus on the sound of him harmonizing with the music, your mind is again trying to distract you with the feeling developing at the base of your spine. A ticklish, warm feeling spreads between your hips, disrupting the lull you find yourself in and forcing you to blink your eyes open. 

Oh, no. We’re not doing that right now.

You can’t say you’re surprised that this is your response. His hands are all over your head and you haven’t been touched by anyone in… well, a very long time, to say the least. You’re probably a little starved for it, all things considered. But this is really the wrong time and place to be getting turned on by a guy’s touch.

You shift in your seat, trying not to be too obvious about it when Eddie pulls his hands away and begins rinsing your hair again. Crossing your legs would be a dead giveaway, but the warm feeling is turning into a subtle throb between your legs, and Eddie’s hands are back on your head, now gently combing the conditioner through the length of your hair as though he’s petting you.

After a few torturous minutes of trying to ignore the blooming arousal deep in your gut, Eddie cuts the water and wraps your hair in the towel to secure it. 

“Now comes the hard part,” Eddie says, probably not meaning to make it sound so suggestive, but your mind seems to be taking its sweet time loitering in the gutter. 

You stare dazedly up at the ceiling. Now is the hard part?

Eddie leads you to what used to be Melissa’s station, and swings the swivel chair around for you with a flourish. “Step into my office, sweetheart. I’ll get you all dressed up in a sexy robe and everything.” 

You stifle a giggle as you slide into the seat. His “office” is one table in a row of other tables, and two feet away an older woman is getting her hair bleached by a girl with an undercut. As Eddie spins you around, the stylist shoots him a look. 

“He’s a shameless flirt,” she tells you, making eye contact with you in the mirror. Eddie lays a smock across your front and buttons it at the back of your neck.

“I’ll have you know, I’ve been minding my manners very well,” Eddie huffs with feigned indignation as he unwraps your hair and tosses the towel onto the table in front of you. He still winks at you in the mirror when he leans around you to pick up a comb. “So far.”

You can’t help the way that your jaw clenches. He’s really not going to make this easy on you. You wonder if he knows where your mind has been for the last ten minutes.

Eddie moves around to the back of your chair and presses on a lever to raise it up, but nothing happens. 

“Dammit,” Eddie curses under his breath, and turns to his coworker, who’s still loading tinfoil into the woman’s hair until she looks like something from Close Encounters. “I can’t believe you gave me the crap chair.”

“Early birds get the good chairs,” the stylist replies. 

Eddie sighs and turns back to you, and finds you looking at him curiously in the mirror. “This is the only broken chair in the whole salon, and everyone hates it, so it tends to move around. You never know if you’ll get the crap chair.”

“That’s sabotage,” you giggle.

“I know! So I have to bend down to style you, I’m sorry.”

“I think I can handle it.” You watch him give you a look in the mirror that makes you shift in your seat again. 

“So,” he begins, looking down at your head as he begins detangling your hair. “We’re going short?”

“That’s the plan,” you say with a puff of your chest. Please, god, don’t let it be horrible. 

“How short?” he prompts, eyeing you in the mirror. “Shoulder length? Close cropped?”

You reach up a slightly shaky hand and pinch the length that you want between two fingers. “Here’s good.”

Eddie nods, looking somewhat pleased. “Are we doing layers?”

“Yeah, I think layers would be good for the long term.” 

“Gives you more flexibility,” he agrees. He picks up a pair of scissors and begins measuring out the length that you want. “I’ll start with the length and then we’ll move to bangs, all right?” 

“That… sounds good.” You’re temporarily discombobulated by Eddie taking the sides of your head and tilting your head down just the slightest bit. 

“Stay just like that for me, okay?” he says quietly.

You blink down at the table in front of you, feeling your mouth go dry. “No problem.” Your hands nervously twitch beneath the cover of the smock across your body.

He goes back to humming along with the music on the PA, and you don’t have the heart to interrupt him. You’re trying to focus on anything but the nerves in your system and the way his touch keeps making you want to jump out of your seat.

After a moment, he stops humming and dusts a bit of hair off of your shoulder. “There we go. Good girl.” 

You blink up at Eddie in the mirror, and then see the transformation from long hair to short on your head. 

“How does it feel?” Eddie asks, leaning down to pinch the ends of the front and measure the evenness of the length. You stare at his fingers, and the tattoo of a bat just above his thumb on his left hand.

“Ten pounds lighter,” you joke. It feels like you’ve swallowed a lump of hot coal, but he doesn’t need to know that. Eddie grins, and his dimples make a glorious reappearance. 

“I’m not done with you yet,” he murmurs, and again positions your head where he wants it, staring directly forward. “Honestly, even if you wanted to stop here, it would suit you. I don’t think there’s a way to make you look bad, sweetheart.”

“You’ve never seen me with a hangover,” you scoff, trying to ignore how your heart skips a beat. 

Eddie smirks at you in the mirror while he starts working on giving your hair layers. “My guess is that you still look just as cute, but with a bit more of a grumpy look around here.” He gestures to your brow with one finger, and reaches over to set aside the texturizing scissors. 

“So, what I’m hearing is, you think I’m cute?” you say, still trying to play up the confidence that you don’t really have. Your hand squeezes your thigh under the smock you wear, your nails digging in for purchase.

“No, I think you’re gorgeous,” Eddie says swiftly, like it’s just a matter of fact. “But, I think you’d also be cute when you’re hungover. Plus, with this hair, you’d probably look all unkempt and I love the mental image that’s creating.”

His hands fluff the layers that he’s put into your hair, ruffling them gently and carding his fingers through them to measure their length. You’re sure that he’s not aware of the moon-eyed look you’re giving him in the mirror. 

Except, then he moves around you to start working on your bangs, and the smirk that comes across his face when he looks down at yours is enough to make you lose your composure. He knows everything that’s going on in your head, you’re sure of it. 

Cocky bastard.  

“I like your tattoos,” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear over the music and the sounds of blow dryers all around you. He’s face to face with you, so close that you can count the freckles on his pale face.

Eddie’s eyes light up. “Yeah? What about ‘em?” 

“Well,” you lick your lips, your eyes flicking down to the one on his neck, and the one peeking out of his collar. “They’re colorful, and they look like you put a lot of thought into picking out each one. They’re pretty.”

“Hmm. You flatter me,” he remarks, trying to hide his grin and failing. If you look closely, there’s just the slightest pink tint to his cheeks that wasn’t there before. He finishes trimming your bangs, and just before he stands up, he chucks you lightly under the chin. “Keep it up and you might get a freebie.”

A free what? You’re imagining he means some sort of a free hair wash or something, but you can’t keep your mind from going to unprecedented places. 

“All right. Bear with me, I’m gonna blow dry you now.” He turns your chair away from the mirror to get you a bit closer to the blow dryer, and for a few minutes, there’s a lull in the conversation. 

Then, all at once, the blow dryer shuts off, and Eddie leans down towards you. “Ready, sweetheart?”

“Eddie, you’re gonna make me nervous.”

“Well, we don’t want that.” You just barely turn your head to look at him; just enough that your noses barely brush. You steal a breath that comes from his mouth, and then, Eddie turns you to the mirror. “Like I said,” he murmurs, “There’s not a way to make you look bad.”

“Holy shit,” you breathe. And holy shit is right– he’s done a complete number on you. Your hair is voluminous, framing your face in a way that you haven’t seen it before.  

“What do you think?” he asks, and for a moment, you think it’s a rhetorical question.

“I think you’re way better than Melissa,” you tell him, once you realize that it’s not rhetorical and he’s really asking you what you think. You’re sure that he’d make adjustments if you needed, but you don’t need him to. He’s read you like a book. He’s made you look better than you could ever have hoped for. 

“I’m gonna need that in writing,” he tells you, with the most serious expression you’ve ever seen. “For employee of the month, and all.”

“Tell me where to sign.”

He jerks his head, and all at once the fog lifts. You follow him to the front desk like a lost puppy, feeling like you don’t actually want to leave. You want to sit in his chair while he cuts your hair until you have none left. You want to keep his attention on you and stare at his smile, his hair, his eyes, his tattoos, for the rest of time. 

“I look forward to next time, princess,” he tells you, but you’re hyperfocused on the touch of his hand to your lower back. 

You watch him telling something to the girl at the front desk, his hand wrapped around the edge of the table and distracting you for the umpteenth time. You watch his silver rings glint in the light, and you think about them weaving through your hair; you think about his fingers and how they’d feel on places besides your head.

“So, when did you want to schedule an appointment?” 

You blink a few times, and in a dazed glow you come back to where you are. At the front desk. Paying for your haircut. “Sorry, what?” 

“The… next appointment? For your trim?” The secretary tilts her head, smiling at you kindly. “When did you want to come in?”

“Oh,” you murmur, looking down at the keyboard that she’s typing on. Eddie has disappeared back around the partition with a sweet smile and a wave cast in your direction. You just want him to come back again. “What would you suggest? Y’know, for this kind of a cut?”

“Hmm,” the girl hums, and sizes you up. Not in a way that makes you doubt yourself, but in a way that tells you she’s taking your question seriously. “Probably about four weeks. See if the length is something you’re happy with?” 

“Great. Four weeks from now. With Eddie.” You peer down at the rack of business cards on the deck, and pick up the one farthest to the right. 

Eddie Munson, Stylist. Set an appointment today!

By four weeks, your hair has already reached your shoulders, and the ease of maintenance is starting to wear off. When you get a call reminding you about your appointment with Eddie, your head reels with the knowledge that you’ll see him again.

You calmly assert to yourself that this time, there will be no mooning over him. He’s just your hairdresser. You figure he just has a job to do, tips to earn, and so on. You don’t know if he’s available, you don’t know if he’s single or if he even likes you the way that you like him. You don’t know anything about him, really.

False. You know that he used to wash his hair with bar soap.

You snicker to yourself as you sit in the waiting area yet again. The only available slot for him today was 6:30; pretty close to closing time, but for a Wednesday you figured it was best for you to come late, since you’d have time to get yourself together after work.

You’ve never been in the salon so late. It’s getting dark outside, and the overhead lights cast a semi-yellow glow around the waiting area. Business is dying down now. Not as many people love the idea of getting their hair cut so late, you suppose, but it was either this or wait another week to get an appointment with Eddie, and with the rate that your hair is growing, you’d probably be going insane by then.

“Hey, you,” Eddie says, popping his head around the partition with a grin that makes you nearly melt in your seat. His curly hair hangs in a curtain out in midair, and his long neck stretches out for you to take a gander at. “Just couldn’t stay away, huh?”

You smile at him. “Well, you’re the only person I trust with my head.”

What the fuck did you just say?

Eddie smirks, glowing pink around the ears. “I’ll keep that in mind, princess. Let me clean up my station real quick and I’ll getcha goin’, all right?”

You swallow back the lump in your throat. “Yeah, sure, no worries.”

When Eddie disappears again, you slide down in your seat and clap your hand across your eyes. You’re sort of glad that nobody was in the waiting room to see that ridiculous exchange, but you still have to sit with your embarrassment while Eddie cuts your hair. Again.

There will be no pining. There will be no getting weirdly turned on by him washing your hair. Nope, not happening this time.

This time, when Eddie ushers you back behind the partition, there’s only one two other stylists who are there cleaning their stations. The PA has been turned way down, so you can barely register what it’s playing at all.

“You actually came at a good time,” Eddie tells you as you trail after him toward the wash station. “You’re the last person for the night, so I can really take my time with you.”

“O-oh.. really?” You beat back your perverted thoughts with a stick. “To do what?”

“Oh, y’know,” Eddie shrugs as he lays a towel around your shoulders again, just as gentle as he was the last time. “We could do something totally crazy. Who knows what’ll happen?”

His voice is animated, pleasantly filling the empty space where your thoughts might become too much if you let them wander. 

Over the past month, after you’d recovered from your last meeting with Eddie, and as you were preparing for this one, you came up with a few things that you could ask him about– just to keep your mind from going to places you didn’t want them to. To save yourself the embarrassment and the ordeal of having to play whack-a-mole with your libido, and all. 

“Did you get employee of the month?” you begin with.

Eddie laughs, and then sighs. “No, our manicurist got it. I’ll get it this time, I just gotta stay on my A-game.” His blunt nails rake your hair away from your forehead and temples, and a lukewarm stream of water hits the crown of your skull.

You nearly want to jump out of your skin at the feeling. “Was it because they gave you the crap chair too many times?”

“Probably. But I got here early today, so the good news is you don’t have to sit in the crap chair this time.” 

“Aww, I kind of liked the crap chair. Kept me grounded.” You hear him huff a laugh as he starts lathering shampoo through your hair. Trying to keep your mind running so you don’t focus too hard on how good his rings feel scraping against your scalp, you ask, “How’d you get into this line of work?”

“Honestly, it’s kind of a weird story,” Eddie starts, beginning to massage his fingertips into your skull in a way that makes your toes curl in your shoes. You tighten your hands on the arms of your chair and take a deep breath. “So, it took me three tries to graduate high school, right? I was terrible at it. And, y’know, I figured I’d only end up working in a garage or something for the rest of my life. But I was cutting my mane all on my own, and eventually I started cutting my friends’ hair too, because they were all in college and it’s cheaper than going to a salon. I mean–” he chuckles, and begins rinsing your hair– “believe me. I know all about it. And it just came to me really easily, ‘cause I used to be great at drawing and crafting and stuff. And it’s kind of the same thing– once you learn the medium, it’s smooth sailing from there.”

The salon has gone eerily quiet, and by the time Eddie wraps your head and sits you up, you realize that the other stylists have gone, and you and Eddie are the last people in the building. You’d be a little nervous about it, but you got Eddie on a roll, and honestly, he makes it so easy to listen to him.

“Anyways, one day my friend Robin says to me, ‘You should totally get your credential for this,’ and I said, ‘You have to go to school for this shit?’” You blow a raspberry of a laugh, no longer feeling anxious as he sits you down on his not-crap styling chair. He drapes a smock over you, and cracks a grin at you in the mirror. “I know! So, I’ve never been great at school, and I can’t afford to pay for beauty school tuition on the pay I was making at the time, so my friends… they pooled together some money to at least pay for my first semester. And then– get this– I got on the fucking Dean’s list.”

“No way.”

“I did! Yours truly!” He does a little bow, and while you’re still giggling, he begins detangling your hair. “So, I got grants. And I finished top of my class, because as it turns out, when you don’t hate what you’re studying it’s really easy to do well. I got my certification framed and everything. Show that to my damn high school principal.” He shakes his head, but the smile is still on his face when he says, “But now I just have to get that fucking employee of the month.” 

“Anything I can do to help?” you offer, admiring his face in the mirror again without even realizing you’re doing it. You love seeing him grin, showing off his dimples and the smile lines around his eyes.

“Oh, you know,” he shrugs with a cute scrunch of his nose. “Just make sure you write my boss a letter saying how fantastic and amazing I am and how there’s no other hair stylist like me and how you’ll never find anyone as cool and sexy anywhere else. Something subtle like that oughta do it.” 

“Shouldn’t be difficult,” you tell him smoothly. “I already had that one drafted.”

He chuckles, his eyes sparkling when he reaches for his scissors, but you still notice the faint blush on his cheeks that he tries to hide behind his curtain of hair. “Flattery. You know what that gets you with me.”

A freebie. You hear his voice echoing in your head, and you swallow past the dryness in your throat. “Like… what? A mohawk?”

“Would you want a mohawk?” he asks you, pausing his movements to peer at you. “Because that’d be metal as hell, I’d be so down.” 

You laugh. “I appreciate it, but I think… probably not today.”

Eddie hums, and returns to smoothing your hair back away from your face. “So we’re just doing the same as last time?” 

“Yeah, not too flashy.” 

“Gotcha. It’s a shame, though. I’m always up for a challenge.” 

“Well, I think that short hair is just easier to maintain,” you tell him, at a loss for what else to say. He glances up at you in the mirror, and locks eyes with you. “And it doesn’t make my neck look as stumpy as it is.”

Eddie tilts his head with a confused pout, and then he reaches down and wraps his hands loosely around your throat. Your breath stalls in your chest, your eyes focused on the sight of his hands on you, his thumbs gently stroking the nape of your neck and his ring clad fingers pressed just below your chin. His fingers link and hold you, creating a necklace that you’ll never be able to find anywhere else.

Oh, shit. Oh, fucking hell. Everything below your waist draws up tight and hard, your thighs clamping together like that’s going to somehow will away the hold that Eddie has on you.

You lift your eyes and find his in the mirror, dark and focused in on you. You hold each others’ gaze for a prolonged moment, not saying anything, you barely even daring to breathe. You can’t imagine what the expression on your face looks like. You’re too busy staring at the one on his– like there are a million thoughts running through his head, and you’re desperate to know every single one of them.

“Nah, I think you’re perfect.” And just like that, Eddie moves on like nothing happened, picking up his scissors again. Like he didn’t just fry your brain. Like you’re not halfway to cardiac arrest.

You’re dumbstruck as he starts trimming the ends of your hair. You told yourself there would be no mooning over him. No pining. But here, you are, turned on beyond belief, and having to deal with the heartbeat pulsing between your legs, and not shift around, because you don’t want to fuck him up. 

When he pinches the ends of the front to see if they’re level, you’re staring directly at him in the mirror. Not even trying to hide it, either. If you did try, you’d most certainly fail. Eddie frowns in concentration, a bit of a crease to his brow as he peers at his hands.

Eddie tuts. “I’m trying to figure out– is it–?” He grabs the back of your chair, and suddenly you’re being swiveled around to face him. “Sometimes these mirrors don’t even help a guy out at the worst goddamn times…”

Your breathing is way heavier than it needs to be. Is it hot in here? Did they crank up the heat in this place specifically to spite you? Eddie’s face is so close to yours, and you’re not sure if the fact that you aren’t in the crap chair is helping. You’re higher up now, and he doesn’t have to bend down as far to get level with you, and his eyes are the color of dark chocolate, and you–

Eddie’s hand comes up and snips the tip off the right side. “There we go. One side was all fucked.”

“Well, we don’t want anything getting fucked, do we?” you mutter under your breath. What’s left of it.

Eddie pauses and his eyes flick up to yours. His eyelashes are long and flutter as he holds your gaze again, while you try hard not to look away. There’s that unreadable expression on his face from earlier, morphing slowly into something like amusement, but that could also just be your mind playing tricks on you. Don’t look at his lips. Don’t look at his lips. Don’t look at his li–

“Screw it.” Eddie tosses his scissors to the ground and his hands come up to grip your face, smoothing your hair back tenderly before he kisses you. 

You open your mouth and Eddie is in it, searching, feeling. His hands hold your head firm and you feel the metal of his rings digging into your cheeks, and you’re splitting apart at the seams from the way he’s completely invading your senses. He smells like warm, spicy cologne and hairspray. He tastes like cigarettes and cherry coke. He moans into you, and the sound is like heaven. 

You lift your legs and wrap them around his waist, and he grunts before he pulls away just the tiniest bit to give you breathing room. 

“This is highly unprofessional, Mr. Munson,” you whisper to him, as if you don’t have him caged in with your thighs.

“I don’t… actually fucking care,” Eddie admits, his nose just nudging against yours. “Got so fuckin’ hard the minute I saw you. What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

“Dunno,” you murmur against his mouth, “I’m waiting for you to tell me.” 

“C’mere.” He pulls you out of your seat, and you practically trip over the smock he clipped around your neck. 

“Get me out of this thing,” you giggle, letting your forehead fall onto his shoulder. You inhale a deep breath of his cologne, feeling his chest shake with his laugh. 

“Aww, but you look so cute,” Eddie coos, but his hands come up to undo the button at the back of your neck. The fabric slides to the ground, and Eddie kicks it aside as he crowds you back against the table. Your ass hits the edge of it and your hand falls onto a comb when you try to steady yourself. He pulls you flush to his body, his hands caging you in. Eddie’s tongue dances over your bottom lip and you moan, lifting your hands to tangle in the fabric of his shirt.

He ducks his head to help you pull his shirt off before he tosses it somewhere to the side. You’re distracted by his tattoos, each one of them beautiful and detailed, standing out against his pale skin.

Then, you remember something that he told you earlier, and you connect some dots that you hadn’t even realized were there. “Did you draw these?” 

Eddie’s grin could blind the sun. He blushes pink down his neck and shoulders. “Yeah, I did.” 

“They’re gorgeous. I meant what I said before– I really like them.” 

He sucks in a deep breath, and then his lips are on you, everywhere they can manage. On your face, your neck, trying to get at your collarbone but your shirt is in the way. He fists it in his hands, making a petulant noise in the back of his throat. “Help me out here, sweetheart.”

Your shirt lands somewhere near his. You don’t see exactly where, because he’s pulling the straps of your bra down your shoulders so that he can mouth kisses across your breasts, pulling down on the cups until he can graze his teeth over your nipple. It takes you so off guard that you bite back a squeal, tugging at his hair and rubbing your thighs together to stave off the incessant throbbing between them.

When you look down at him, his eyes are so dark that they’re almost black. Your heart thuds erratically in your chest, your breath not coming even though you gasp and pull at the air with everything you have. You can’t really fathom why he has you so worked up– just that it’s been so long since anyone touched you like this, and now that you have it it’s like every little point of contact is on fire.

Eddie grazes his teeth across your breast, and your knees nearly buckle out from under you. You grab his face, guiding him back up to you. 

“What were you thinking when you grabbed my throat?” you ask him, your voice hoarse in the back of your throat. 

His hands are on you now, grabbing at your waist and hips, squeezing like he’ll never let go. “I can show you, if you want,” Eddie answers, and he sounds just as wrecked as you. Maybe more. 

There’s absolutely no way you’re going to refuse that. Not with the way you’ve been lusting after him since meeting him. You nod. “Eddie, please–”

He kisses you hard again before mumbling against your lips, “Turn around and take off your pants.”

You do what he asks without a second’s hesitation. You watch him in the mirror as he follows your movements, undoing his own belt, and you kick your jeans and underwear off without thinking about why you’re here, without wondering about the repercussions. You figure you can probably do that later.

Right now, Eddie’s smoothing his hand up your spine, and the feeling of his fingers dancing along your skin sends shivers through your body. His fingers weave through the hair at the nape of your neck, and he pulls just slightly, until you bare your neck. 

Your breath hitches in your throat. Your heart hammers as you watch him, dark eyes and hair and rosy cheeks in the mirror, his carnation colored lips twisting into a wicked grin at you. He kisses your shoulder so gently it’s like the fluttering of a feather. 

“‘Stumpy neck,’” Eddie scoffs under his breath, and you tremble. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

He bends you forward until you’re face to face with yourself in the mirror– but you’re looking at him, gazing into your eyes while he teases himself at your entrance.

“Oh my god,” you groan, dropping your head almost immediately at the feeling. Your head is spinning, your body rigid with anticipation and breaking out in a cool sweat already. 

“Mm-mm,” Eddie hums condescendingly, and a hand clamps around your throat, hoisting your head up again. A gasp tears from your lips. In the mirror, his eyes are blazing. “You look at me while I fuck you. That’s the only way this is gonna happen. Got it?”

You nod. You want to shrink away from the heat in his gaze, but you want him to fuck you way more than that. You shudder as he leans forward, pressing in until his chin nearly rests on your shoulder.

“I need to hear you say it, baby.” His thumb strokes lightly along your pulse point, and you make a soft noise in the back of your throat without thinking. “Tell me you understand.” 

“I understand,” you tell him, barely a whisper, but he hears it all the same. 

“Good girl.” 

Eddie grins, kisses the nape of your neck, and pulls back. When he does, you’re barely able to take a breath before he pushes his hard cock into you, and the noise you make is almost embarrassing in its volume. 

“Ohhh, you’re absolutely soaked, baby. She’s practically dripping– is this just for me?” Eddie murmurs in your ear, grinding his hips up against your ass for emphasis. The lewd noise that it makes has your toes curling and the tips of your ears burning.

“Fuck,” you moan, ginding back against him to push him deeper. He’s so thick and you’re so sensitive that your mind is completely blanking at the feeling. 

Eddie notices, and he chuckles as grabs your waist with one hand as he thrusts his hips forward. “I’ve barely gotten my cock in you, princess. Don’t go getting all dumb on me already.” His voice goes straight between your legs and your cunt pulses around him, making him hiss through his teeth. The hand on your throat tightens just slightly. “I asked you a question.”

You keen, your mind reeling as you search for words. You manage to nod, babbling out, “Yes, it’s– it’s all for you, Eddie, been wanting you so bad, s’all I can think about–”

Eddie coos, grabbing your chin to shut you up while a particularly hard thrust of his hips knocks the wind out of you. He turns his head and grazes his lips against your cheek, eyeing you in the mirror as he says, “I knew it.” 

Your eyes are on him, on his hand around your neck, on his rings pressed into your skin. All that your fucked-out mind can think is that it’s hot, and you like him and his strong hands and his pretty eyes and the way his cock is reaching places inside you that make thoughts really difficult to come by.

Eddie whispers something against your skin, and you miss it because you’re hooked on the way his eyelashes flutter for just a moment while his lips are pressed against your cheek. You lift your hand, until it rests over his against your throat, his fingers just barely laced with yours. 

“Again,” you say– it comes out like a command, but you mean it like a question. You don’t know what the fuck he just said. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he repeats, and his voice nearly cracks with the desperation in it. His sweat slick chest is pressed against your back, his thrusts rocking your hips into the table and jostling it into the wall, but his voice is so tender. “So perfect for me.” 

Your mouth falls open, your hand tightening on his. You pull, until he loosens his grip and his hand comes away with yours. You kiss his palm, then his fingertips, holding his gaze in the mirror as you slowly, gently swirl your tongue around his middle and forefinger. 

Eddie’s eyes narrow coyly at you, while his thrusts make you mewl and clutch at the table with your free hand. You suck his two fingers deep into your mouth, earning a pleased groan from him in your ear– a sound which you want to hear again and again, no matter what it takes. 

“Look at you, sweet little thing, gettin’ my fingers all wet like that,” he whispers to you, biting his lip as you grind back against him. “Wanna do something with ‘em?”

You moan, letting his fingers slide from your mouth with a wet pop. You guide his hand down your chest, down your stomach, until his fingers slide between your legs. 

“There you go,” Eddie coos, taking over from your guidance as his fingers start rubbing small circles against your clit. “Atta girl, showin’ me what you want. Just needed me to fuck you stupid first, hm?”

Your cunt pulses, and you cum with a loud moan that echoes off of the mirror in front of you and around the empty space. Eddie cries out, and you feel his warmth fill you as he cums. He slows until he stills inside you, and then he holds you, panting against your cheek, his arm wrapped around your middle and his hand on your throat.

You haven’t moved your hand away from his, you realize, after a few moments of bliss in the aftershocks. You drop your hand to the table with a thud, earning a soft, breathless chuckle from him. 

“Can I take you out to dinner?” Eddie asks you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

“I think you can do whatever you want with me,” you murmur dazedly, just barely shifting and making him hiss. He’s still inside you, trying to hold you steady while he calms himself down. 

“Good.” There’s a kiss to your cheek, and Eddie grunts as he slowly eases out of you. “I still need to finish your goddamn haircut.”

“Eddie, we’re naked.” 

“And?” His hands are moving quicker than your mind is, yanking a kleenex from the table so that he can bend down and wipe the insides of your thighs. You jump at the sudden touch, but he clamps a hand around your hip to hold you still. “The sooner I finish your hair, the sooner I close up, and the sooner we go get dinner. You like Italian?”

“I didn’t think your pillow talk would involve finishing my haircut,” you grumble, but there’s a smile worming it’s way onto your face even as you say it. 

“That’s the name of the game, sweetheart,” Eddie says, tossing the tissue into the trash. He picks up your underwear, and the smock from the floor. “Now, sit your cute ass down. I’m not gonna get employee of the month by dishing out orgasms and not bangs, y’know.”

[orimuraa]

˚˖𓍢ִ໋`🌿:✧ I like the view right now - OT7

(synopsis) 🀨 enhypen when you’re shorter than them ✧

ot7 enhypen x short fem!reader 🀨 fluff, crack 🀨 reader is shorter than enha 🀨 teasing, kisses, petnames 🀨 wc 751

𝑳𝒆𝒆 𝑯𝒆𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒖𝒏𝒈 - 이희승

"babe where'd you go?" heeseung asked, scratching his head. the audacity of this man!! you jumped up from in front of him, making yourself now visible to the freakishly tall man. "oh there you are!! i've been looking everywhere for you!" he teased, a wide smile adorning his face while a playful scowl adorned yours. "hmph!" you pouted, crossing your arms and turning away, knowing exactly what heeseung's reaction would be. "no baby! i was just joking!" he giggled, turning you back towards him and crouching down to kiss you. "i love you my shortie."

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑱𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒈 - 박종성

you were currently in the kitchen, struggling to get something from one of your higher up pantries when jay walked in. "woah there princess, what're you doing there?" he smirked, knowing exactly what your issue was. "ugh- i can't get this- thing!" with one big jump, you failed to knock down the bowl you were trying to grab, causing jay to walk over and grab it with ease. "jeez! why would anyone ever want such high up cabinets!? who even owns this house?" you questioned, turning to jay with a hand on your hip. "uhh baby? this is your house?..." he stated, laughing at your sulkiness. darn, you needed new cabinets.

𝑺𝒊𝒎 𝑱𝒂𝒆𝒚𝒖𝒏 - 심재윤

you and jake were waiting in line for a store when you suddenly felt a wait on the top of your head. "wha-?" looking up, you were silenced by the sight of your boyfriend resting his arm on top of your head. he was even leaning a bit!! "hey mister! i didn't consent you to use my head as an arm rest!" you pout, pushing off his arm. "oh, hehe, sorry sweets! you're just the perfect height for it.." he chuckles, planting a kiss to your head but not without bending down. "ah! i'm not that short! am i?" you shoot back, scrunching together your eyebrows. "well...ummm...oh! i think our order's ready!" "yah! sim jaeyun!"

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒏 - 박성훈

"hey hoonie? i need help getting something please!" you call out to your extremely tall boyfriend. soon enough, he walks in, a small smirk already on his face from knowing exactly what the problem was. "top shelf?" is all he asks, his smirk getting bigger. you hate to boost his ego, but you nod. "the medium plates please.." the last bit is mumbled. he quickly yet easily grabs the plates, handing them to you. he then crouches down to meet you eye level, confusing you a bit. "damn, this height can't see anything!" he laughs, straightening his legs out. "yah!!" how rude...(jk all is forgiven cuz he's park sunghoon)

𝑲𝒊𝒎 𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒐𝒐 - 김선우

"baby- oh! you're so short!" sunoo was looking for you when he bumped into you in the hallway. whenever you two would stand side by side, he would always make it a point to tease you for it. he had just caught you, making sure you didn't fall back from the collision when he pulled you forward, noticing how his eyes met a couple inches from the top of your head. "i'm just kidding!" he smiles. "you're only a bit short.." he teased, kissing your forehead before running away. aish, that guy..he wasn't even that tall compared to his other members!! one day you would get him back...maybe with the help of ni-ki...

𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝑱𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒘𝒐𝒏 - 양정원

jungwon and you would be walking downtown and he would see a small plushie of your favorite animal, that was a very small and short one. "jagi look! it's you! the height is literally so accurate!" he laughed, holding up the short plush to you. "yah! yang jungwon!!" you shouted, catching the attention of a few passing customers. "ok i'm sorry! you're not that short..but you're still my shortie!" he laughed again, his dimples showing even more. he then crouched down to your eye level, kissing your lips before laughing once again. this kid..

𝑵𝒊𝒔𝒉��𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒂 𝑹𝒊𝒌𝒊 - 西村 力

"how's the view from down there?" "i- what?" you were so flustered and taken aback by ni-ki's sudden question, but also knowing exactly what he was doing. he was teasing you again of your guys's height difference. "hey! it's not my fault i didn't grow up to like, 6'3!" you forwned, making a pouty face at ni-ki. "and it's not my fault you're like, 2'4," he smirked back, laughing at your scowl. "take that back!!" "make me shortie!" he laughed, ruffling your hair. "nah, but don't worry, you're so cute at this height," (SOFT RIKI OMFG AJHSDB) he smiled, slowly rising onto his tip toes to become EVEN taller. "hey!! get back down here!"

hahah this was so funny cuz i'm so much shorter than all of enha and even tho jake, sunoo, and jungwon seem so short since they're the shortest ones in enha, they literally tower over me...

anyway! if you enjoyed, please reblog and like! feedback is also appreciated very much!

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬: @en-diaries, @k-films, @k-nets

⚘. Perm taglist: @vmpivory, @yuvany, @seozii, @pinknjm, @greentulip, @jongbean

[theloyalpin]

Lezone, a student who survived the apalachee high school shooting in georgia made a song for his teacher and the other victims. i felt like sharing this because this cesspool of an app is so full of antiblack freaks who constantly act like rap promotes nothing but violence and sexism when you clearly don’t even listen to it and just fucking hate Black people so you want to demonize anything centered around, created by, and still heavily influenced by us. this was his full caption:

I'm pretty sure y'all watched the news, seen or heard about the horrifying mass shooting at apalachee high school, when everything was going on my mind wasn't in the right place and I wasn't taking it serious because it just did not feel real.. this some stuff you see on the news from across the country, feel bad for a couple seconds and go on wit your life, but I just couldn't and still can't believe that it was MY school. On the night of September 4th when I got home l turned on TV and just kept seeing my school everywhere so l decided to tune in and do my research just to find out my 4th period teacher Ms.Irimie was one of the innocent victims that were killed, I met her my freshman year and I had her as a substitute teacher for my 3rd period class and you already know how it get when you have a sub, I really regret disrespecting her and when I came back to apalachee my junior year she hardly remembered me but she accepted my apology and respected me for apologizing, man bruh I suck at math so bad I can't solve a math question to save my life but Ms.Irimie never made me feel ashamed of myself, she understood that I got kicked out of school my freshman year over petty lil referrals and never wrote me up for coming to class late or having my phone out, she use to pull me for small lil pep talks after class it was 4th period so not got lie I was ready to go home and wasn't really trying to hear anything she was saying but looking back I really regret it and I really appreciate her taking her time to sit and talk with me & help me, The day she died she had the fattest smile on her face with her lil dimples when she seen me and asked me to come into class on time and asked if I was okay.. man I wish I could go back and give her hug, I never thought that was gonna be my last time seeing her smile and speaking to her, I really don't know much about the other victims but i pray for speed recovery to those who are injured and thank God they're alive, and I send my condolences to the families of those who lost their loved ones, WE as students who survived really can't do nothing but keep our heads up and pray and thank God for keeping us #Foreverlrimie❤️🕊️

​nonblack people are encouraged to REBLOG this especially since you can never seem to tag antiblackness when you engage with dumbass antiblack racist polls like the one i linked 🙃

[dr3amfyr-e]

crybaby - j.v. ( w. 5k )

꒰ in which the boy you see every summer enrolls in the same university as you. again. ꒱ — modern!jacaerys velayron x reader

୨ ⎯ childhood-friends-to-lovers. someone said idiots in love, and yes! modern au. everyone lives au. liberal usage of the em-dash. foul language. pushing the rhaenicent agenda. an incredible amount of yearning and pining. mention of reader's hair. mentions of anxiety. reader has a breakdown in semi-public. subplot where reader is sick. reader is so down bad its crazy. targ-tower cameo! aemond bitter af and for no reason. wrote a bit of dialogue that is so foul but i only realized it after i typed it and its not being taken out. luke is so little brother coded. i directly quote a serial romance novel thats so cringe. part one here. ⎯ ୧

can be read stand-alone, but theres a lot of context in part one !! thank u all for being patient :3

“It's called Applications of Ancient Politics in Modern Literature.”

Looking up from your twelve-page study guide, you meet Jace’s bright gaze where he sits at the foot of your bed, “That sounds… complicated.”

He shrugs, long fingers brushing up through his thick curls, “I need to take it, it's cross-listed for literature and political science so I’ll get credit for both. I think it’ll be interesting, plus if you take it too…” He leans a little closer, grinning in your face. 

“Send it to me,” You reply, highlighting a section in the packet about climate change and its impact on migratory birds in pretty pink ink.

You promise to look it up, to get back to him later, but it's hollow and you know it. He's already given you that pretty smile, flashed his dimples and stared down at you with his dark eyes — your grave has been dug. You will take  Applications of Ancient Politics in Modern Literature and read pages of boring political theory because Jace asked and Jace has you wrapped around his finger.

He shifts on the mattress, lying down on his front and scooting decidedly closer to you. His laptop is open in front of him, eyes trained on the screen through his glasses, perusing the course catalogue for the spring semester. 

“Isn’t it a bit late to pick classes?” You ask, stretching your legs out in front of you, “It's December, next semester is in, like, four weeks.” 

Jace is a perfectionist, a pre-planning freak who has three calendars: a planner that he carries everywhere, a big desk calendar at his apartment for easy access while studying, and his digital calendar. Its colour coded — he has a browser extension that allows him to make events on his Google Calendar any colour. So, it's very unlike Jace, who does his schoolwork the night it's assigned, to pick classes two months after registration opened. 

“I just like to look,” He replies, “This class is Wednesday and Friday, from ten to eleven o’clock. Does that work for you?” 

You nod, because it will work. You’ll rearrange your schedule if need be. It's pathetic, really, how easily he gets you to do things.

It's quiet for a while, Jace scrolling on his computer while you fill in your study packet. 

“When is your last final?” He asks. 

“Next Friday.”

“So you’re leaving Friday?”

“No, my train ticket is for Saturday.”

“Damn, I’m leaving Tuesday,” A lull, “When do you come back.”

“The Sunday before classes start. You?”

“That Friday.”

The conversation continues like that, mindless and short but so very comfortable. It's often like that anymore, with little eye contact and no real attention paid to each other besides the brief words — and, not in the way that feels awkward or tense, but in the way that old married couples chat over morning coffee and the paper. Maybe it's the lifetime of friendship that does it, or that you spend more nights in his apartment than your dorm.

You see each other twice more before the holiday. 

The Monday that exams start you meet at the coffee shop that became yours in the first two weeks of school. The middle table by the bay window is where you always sit, and the barista has Jace’s order memorised — because he gets the same drink every time you come, a caramel macchiato. 

He groans into his hands, ignoring both his coffee and his half of the cheese danish that you’d split, “I feel like I did poorly.”

He’d suffered through days upon days of studying for the political science exam that had plagued him all semester, to be taken today at noon. It was a three-hour exam, mostly multiple choice with two essay questions. You’d been with him through the worst of the studying: in total, forty-seven pages of research papers and scholarly articles printed at the library, and six books varying from fifty to five-hundred pages. He had filled up a plethora of pages in his notebook, and at least three in a word document. There was no study guide, just a list of broad topics. He was facing the consequences of taking a 300-level class in his first semester. 

“Jace, darling,” You reply, reaching out to press a reassuring hand to his arm, “You studied for that test more than I think anyone in the history of this school has studied for anything ever. If you didn’t do well, that's a reflection of the professor, not you.”

He doesn’t seem to want much to do with that rationale, sliding his hands down to rest his chin in them. He's pouting, glasses sliding down his nose as he looks at you through his lashes, “What if I failed?”

“Then… I don’t know,” You reach up to pull one of his hands down to the table, twining your fingers, “Then you failed, and that sucks. But you’re sporting a solid one-hundred in the class now, you could get a fifty on that exam and still end with…” Quick mental math. If the exam is weighted at twenty percent, then, “- a ninety percent.”

“An A-minus,” He whines. 

“Jace,” You chastise sweetly. 

He huffs, his pouty stare turning into a glare with no heat behind it. He wants to whine and mope about exams. What harm does it truly do?

You push his half of the danish towards him, “It's over now. You studied hard, you did your best. There's nothing you can do right now to change your grade. You can’t control it, so there is no point in trying to.”

Jace likes control, he likes to be in control. A psychological idiosyncrasy plaguing many eldest children and children of divorce. The quintessential therapist's advice about what you can control and what you can’t control had been revolutionary for him during one of his bi-weekly appointments — the whole family had them, Rhaenyra and Alicent were big proponents. 

Regurgitating that to him, no matter how much it makes you feel like you’re giving unsolicited advice, always works wonders to ground him when he's disproportionately anxious over something out of his control.

He deposits you at your dorm with a kiss on the cheek that evening.

On the Friday you leave school, Jace drives you to the train station. He packs your bags into the backseat of his hoity-toity hybrid Porsche Panamera and lets you play with his radio all the way there.

You’re an hour early to the station — Jace is early everywhere. He sets his paper copy of I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings on his lap in the little lobby, slipping his finger into the book where it is dogeared. Yet, he makes no effort to read, his attention solely on you. 

“A month is ages to be apart,” He says, voice soft and thoughtful.

You scoot a little closer, elbows knocking, “It won’t be so bad. We can talk.”

His watch glimmers in the overhead light of the train station when one of his hands settles safely on your knee. Small white face, silver hands and framing, thin black band — it's Gucci, something his mother wore in the nineties. His fingers trace the edge of your skirt, and in the silence begin to smooth down your kneecap to your shin. 

“You must be cold,” He murmurs, thumbing the material of your nylons. 

“I’m alright.”

Your train is called before he can shed his coat and drape it over your lap, as he so desperately wishes to do. 

He hugs you, tightly, before you board. He's so warm, his black jumper is soft against your cheek, and you can smell his cologne where your nose lands in the crook of his neck — patchouli and something earthy and fresh, Brutus Oroto Parisi. 

“God, I’ll miss you.”

One morning, a week into the holiday, a letter shows up. It’s written in the black pen he’s so fond of, and you admire his neat penmanship as you read the detailed account of his holiday celebration. You smell the expensive cologne he wears and recognize Helaena’s handmade stationery. He gives you a sheepish smile over a FaceTime call when you bring it up. 

When you see him on campus again in January, not much has changed. You're both in your respective majors, he lives in the nicest building on campus, and he hates your roommate. She’s taken to referring to him as your boyfriend; you correct her the first two times and then give up. 

Classes are harder with the emotional slump attached to winter. You talk to Jace often, but don’t see much of each other outside of class. And then you get sick. 

Banging. Loud banging. It wakes you up from your fever-and-Doxylamine induced sleep. Per college dorms, your first assumption is that it's your loud-ass fucking neighbor! Again! Having bunk-bed-breaking sex like she does every Thursday night with her ugly ass boyfriend who radiates such a strong odor of weed and computer science that you can get a noseful of him a meter down the hall. Doxylamine tends to make people agitated.

Before you can weakly pound on the cinderblock wall, there's a muffled call of your name. It comes from the hallway, and it's followed by another bang — which you begin to realize is knocking. 

Crawling out of bed, you blearily pad to the door. You don’t have to peer through the peephole to see who it is. The voice is soft, low, and endearingly posh. Clearly, it’s- 

“Jace?” You grumble when you open the door, mind foggy from the cold medicine.

It's early January in London, and the beige cashmere jumper he wears isn’t warm enough — it's a woman’s cut, but it fits him like Loro Piana himself measured the fabric to Jace’s body. The cold weather is visible in the flush of his face, the snowflakes that linger in his hair.

“I’ve been calling you for hours, darling,” He speaks gently, voice heavy with concern. 

You blink at him, not responding with anything more than a little, oh.

His hand finds your upper arm, leaning closer to hone your attention, “You look awful,” He guides the both of you back into your dorm room, “Are you unwell?” 

You nod, “My roommate brought it back from holiday break.”

Jace huffs sharply, mumbling something to himself, no doubt about your roommate. He walks you back towards your bed, gently pushing you to sit.

“Have you been to the clinic?” He asks, one hand coming to cup your cheek.

“Twice.”

His hand slides up, finers gracing your temple to push some stray hair behind your ear, and then landing upon your brow bone, “You’re burning up.”

It's quiet for a few moments, hands retracing back down to cradle your face as he inspects you. He's focused, calculating and planning in his head — it's an energy you’ve seen him embody countless times, assessing the scraped knees, bruised foreheads, and aching tummies of his younger siblings. 

“What time is it?” You ask, after watching him bustle about your room for about thirty minutes. He's such a mother hen: making tea, procuring medication you didn’t know you had, wetting flannels, adjusting your blankets.

“Ten,” He replies, settling into your twin-size bed next to you and pressing a mug of piping hot tea into your waiting hands, “It's peppermint. I wish you kept chamomile, or really anything herbal.”

You disregard his latter comment, resting your head on his shoulder. Soft. As an eighteen-hundred pound jumper should be, “You came here in the dead of night? In the snow?”

He slides his legs under the blankets, sinking down into your pile of pillows and stuffed animals and pulling you closer, “I took the bus part of the way. Plus-” His hand drags across your shoulders, “I needed to see you. You missed class today, and I haven’t heard from you since Monday. I had nearly driven myself to the brink of madness with worry.”

You groan, turning your head to bump your forehead into the jut of his shoulder, “I hadn’t thought about class,” Bump, bump, bump goes your head, “Did I miss anything important?”

He hums, looking down at you, “We had to turn in a paragraph detailing our preliminary ideas for that big Arthashastra comparison essay. Doctor Dunlavey loved your connections to the political system in The Silmarillion.”

What? You lift your head to look up at him, “I didn’t do the assignment.” You had been too sick to think about school-work.

“Well,” He shrugs, lightly enough that it doesn’t disturb you, “Who's to say? He doesn’t have your handwriting memorized, he has hundreds of students.”

You’re quiet for a long moment, “Thank you, Jace.”

He sleeps in your bed that night, insisting that you’re sick enough that someone needs to keep an eye on you. Dressed in a loose pair of your pajamas, he curls around you in the tiny bed. His body spills warmth through both of your sleepwear, and maybe it's the fever or the cold cinderblock of your dorm but there is no physical proximity that quantifies as close enough to him. 

He's gone by the time you wake up, late into the morning. Naught of him but a text.

i had to go to class and i didn’t want to wake you up, sorry

be back later x 

And true to his word, he arrives that evening with a travel mug of lavender chamomile tea and the cough medicine he makes Luke take when he’s sick. It’s so bad that you nearly choke at the taste, but he leaves the bottle and you’re better by the end of the week. 

You’re both more diligent in seeing each other going forwards.

Your phone rings one day in mid-February — a silly picture of Jace in a bright red hat, one of Helaena’s, pops up on your screen, followed by the affectionate nickname he’s saved as in your phone. 

You even get a chance to say hello, his voice immediately bursting through the speaker, “Do you have plans for the third weekend of February?” 

You think through your mental calendar, “I don’t believe so, nothing that takes priority over you at least. Why do you ask?”

You can hear him fiddling with something on the other line, the clicking of a pen echoing from his bedroom to your ear. Every year his family hosts a gala, raising an ungodly amount of money for their charitable cause by selling high-priced tickets. And everyone comes, because the Targaryens are the royalty of the one percent. 

“Come?” He asks, “Please, I think you’ll enjoy it. Plus, it’ll be like a little holiday for us.”

And again — you’re wrapped so tightly around Jace’s finger that you don’t even think before saying yes. You don’t think through many things regarding this, which lands you in a guest bedroom in Rhaenyra and Alicent’s massive London estate.

In truth, it's not a guest bedroom, but rather Daeron’s old room. It is decorated with posters of classical musicians and string instrument charts; vinyls line his bookshelf, alphabetized and all orchestral. Daeron stays with Alicent’s brother in Paris during the academic year, attending a private secondary school with a music-based curriculum. He had been practically a prodigy at the violin. 

The room is sandwiched between Luke and Aemond, directly across the hall from Jace. There are a number of guest rooms in the house, but they’re all the next floor up and Jace had insisted that you stay across the hall from him. It does feel a bit odd to change into your pretty black dress while staring down a battalion of Daeron’s music awards and a very large framed photo of Otto Hightower. 

“I don’t mean to be judgemental, but who keeps a photo like this of their grandfather in their bedroom?” You ask, adjusting the straps of the dress, “I would understand if he was dead, but Otto is… not.”

Jace laughs from where he lounges on the bed, scrolling through something on his phone. After nearly two decades of friendship, there's little that hasn’t been seen and very lax boundaries. He had watched you change innumerable times before, but today his eyes are decidedly diverted onto his phone. 

“Good?” You ask, turning from the mirror, and giving him a spin. 

Jace stares, uncharacteristically quiet. His eyes are trained on you, scanning the dress, mouth closed and brows drawn so slightly you wouldn’t notice if you didn’t know him so well. He's a bit rigid where he’s propped up on the bed, clearly contemplating. 

After an unnerving amount of time, really only five seconds, he speaks, “You look nice.”

It's… odd. Measured and closed off, a complex thought that you don’t have the context from his internal monologue to understand. Did he not like it? Or was he stunned into silence by your sheer, Goddess-like beauty?

“We match,” You offer meekly, gesturing between your dress and his black suit jacket and slacks. A lame comparison. Nearly everyone at these events wore black.

But he smiles nonetheless, a genuine smile that shows off his pretty dimples, “We do.” 

Jacaerys drives to the event, and you’re squished in the too-small backseat of his car, between Lucerys and Aemond. Aegon is in the passenger seat, talking incessantly, and Jace wishes he would shut up so he can think about the silky material of your dress in peace. 

It's a precarious set-up, truly. Jace drives a four-door, but it isn’t meant for six adolescents in formal attire. Aemond is stiff as a rod next to you, pointedly staring out the window and only interacting to bite back at anything Aegon says. Occasionally his bony elbow will bump your side or his knee will knock into yours, and he’ll pull away as if you’re red hot, shooting you a glanced glare. 

The radio is its own battle. Upon entering the car it had connected automatically to Jace’s phone, playing a few seconds of the theory podcast he had been listening to and earning a collective groan. Luke was quick to sync his phone instead, the Ramones brash drums blaring from the speakers. Aegon changed it to chav rap. It ensued like that for the whole car ride — punk rock to rap, volume up and down and up and down. 

The ballroom is glorious. All high domed ceilings and white crown moulding and gold leaf details. There’s a massive chandelier in the centre of the room that drips with perfect crystals. An astonishing world it was that Jacaerys grew up in. Overwhelming 

“Are you alright?” Jace murmurs, hooking his arm into yours as your shoes click against the marble floor. He can sense your unease, feel it in the way your forearm tenses at any particularly fast movement or loud aristocratic laugh. 

“Fine,” You assure, shooting him a smile.

Of course, Jace doesn’t buy it. Your pretty smile doesn’t reach your eyes, it's tighter than normal. He knows things like that — he’ll never admit it, but every one of your microexpressions are programmed into his brain. 

Arm-in-arm the pair of you reach a semi-circle near the bar. Rhaenyra, Corlys, Luke, and Helaena. The boring financial drivel meets your ears from several paces away, and it's mind-numbing up close. 

‘I don’t think you can quantify the inherent need for biodegradable fuel in those metrics.’ 

‘Well, I would argue that you can. In such a high output industry you have to calculate the necessity for every pence.’ 

You nod along, putting up a convincing facade of business intellect while Jace adds in expertly to the dull conversation. Helaena, to Rhaenyra’s left, is about as interested as you.

It's only when Otto breaks into the group, and the conversation shifts from the most cost effective biofuel to is shipping on a mass scale a pertinent trade in post-Brexit England that you’re pulled away. Though not by Jace, who has become more engrossed in the conversation than he is in you, but by Luke. 

“You seemed to be drowning,” He smiles up at you, offering his arm. 

You take it gladly, “Thank you for saving me.”

“Don’t worry, I was drowning too.”

Activity on the balcony is scant; one lady sits in a metal chair sipping a glass of champagne, an elderly man stands at the far end of the railing peering at the London cityscape down below. Luke leans his elbows against the rail, propping his head up in one hand. 

“How's college?” He asks, looking up at you.

You hum, leaning down to mimic his posture, “Oh, it's fine. It's a lot of work,” There's a lull in the conversation as the two of you bask in the lack of hustle and bustle, “Have you started thinking about college yet?”

He shrugs noncommittal, picking at the nails of his free hand. He's very quiet for a while, and you allow him that because every life decision feels massive and dire at fifteen. When he does speak, his voice is soft, “Grandfather said that he wanted me to inherit his business after my dad, but now mum is talking about me being her successor.”

“You’d be good at it.”

“Jace doesn’t want to inherit.”

“I know.”

“He wants to be a lawyer, like Alicent. And I don’t blame him, but that puts a lot of pressure on me. Because now it's like I have mum and grandpa expecting me to be great, and I stand in their conversations and I don’t understand half of what they’re saying-”

“Luke,” You softly interject in his rushed rant, running a careful hand down his arm, “No one expects you to be perfect. You’re still a child, you’ve not even taken your A-Levels yet.

He nods solemnly.

“I know that it feels like the weight of your family legacy rests on your shoulders, but if you also defer inheritance it will be just fine. You have, what — like, ten siblings?” He gives a little laugh at your reasoning, “Plus, Laena and Baela, and Rhaena who could take over after your father.”

Luke nods, “I suppose you’re right,” He elbows you gently in the ribs, “You’re pretty wise, you know?”

It's your turn to laugh, nudging him back, “So, what do you want to do after school?”

He traces mindless little stars into the railing, “I’d really like to study music. Some of my friends and I have been playing together, and we’re talking about starting a band.”

“That's really cool, Luke!” You beam.

He smiles sheepishly, “I mean, it's nothing grand yet. We haven’t decided a name, and we’re a bit at odds about a genre.”

“Well,” You smile, “When you lot play, let me know. I’ll be in the front row!”

The calm quiet is broken when the door to the balcony opens, “Luke, darling. Mummy needs you.”

You both turn to see Alicent peering out of the doorway, body still inside the ballroom. Her arm slips around your waist in an endearingly maternal way as the three of you make your way back towards Rhaenyra.

“How are you, lovely?” She asks, rubbing between your shoulder blades. Her pear and saffron perfume, Guidance Amouage, floods your olfactory senses.

“Well!” You reply, leaning into her warm touch, “This is all so wonderful. I’m very glad Jace invited me.”

She smiles back, “Me too.”

Being a guest of the host by extension, you’re required to stay for the duration. So, you watch people dissipate as your energy dwindles. By the end of the night, nearly eleven, your upright position relies heavily on the support of Jace’s arm around your waist as he chats with his grandmother, Rhaenys. Politics, environmentalism, blah blah, drivel, drivel. You might do more to participate if the five hours of nonstop interaction and three glasses of champagne weren’t pulling your body towards the ground, but you settle for little engaged nods. 

The car is less crowded on the way back — much to everyone's chagrin, Aegon called an Uber halfway through the gala. You’re allowed the front seat, and spend most of the ride dozing off to the tune of The Velvet Underground & Nico, 1967.

You sleep in Jace’s bed that night, despite your own quarters being directly across the hall.

When Jacaerys realises he’s in love with you, you’re crying in the library stairwell. 

“I’m fucked,” You sob into your hands, shoulders shaking with the force of your misery. 

You had been studying together, preparing for the rest of your midterms when a notification came through your school email with an updated exam grade. 

Sheer terror, cold unyielding panic that starts just below your throat and twists its way down your spine and back into your lower intestine. The grade was a forty-two, which brought your total grade down to a fifty-eight. 

In the least melodramatic way possible you’d shut your laptop and told Jace you were going to the bathroom. But the bathroom was at the back of the room, and you had gone to the hallway — plus, he just knew better.

Gentle footsteps, you see his Sambas first and hear the crack of his knees as he sits next to you on the stair step. 

“You’re not fucked,” He murmurs back, his voice low and soft. One arm comes around your stooped shoulders, the soft fabric of his cardigan brushing the back of your neck, “It's only midterms, angel. This is nothing that you can’t reverse.”

The first thought in your head is easy for perpetual straight-A student Jacaerys to say, the next thought is much more self-pitying. You don't voice either, head falling to your knees.

You aren’t allowed to stay like that for long, firm hands come to your arms and pull you up. From there, they run slowly up and down — from your scapula to your bicep, over and over. And his chest blooms with warmth when you respond well, calming down. He runs his thumb over the soft skin underneath your eyes — first the left eye, and then the right — brushing away tears. 

Jace’s typical form of comfort plays on his lifelong role as eldest sibling; it's usually coddling, while he mothers you and tries to problem solve. This is not that. It's something deeper, more genuinely concerned. He isn’t trying to solve your ailment, he just wants to make you feel better. 

“It's just a grade,” He soothes, “It's just an exam, a midterm. This makes up maybe ten percent of your overall grade, and I know that you do well on everything else,” His head is cocked, looking at you so sweetly, “I bet it only looks this bad because it's mid-semester, your score will go up in a few weeks.”

You nod, squeezing your eyes shut as the last stray tears fall. 

“You’re alright,” He whispers, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the apple of your cheek, “Hm?”

Jace is alone that night, Montblanc pen held in perfect writing posture as he journals — an exercise recommended by his mother. The highlights include:

It was gutting. I just wanted to make it better & I didn’t know how. 

Inappropriate time to kiss her face, I couldn’t think of anything else.

I’m usually so good at comfort and reassurance, I don’t know what's wrong with me. 

Fuck, I’m hopeless. 

Things feel different to me now. Not in a particularly bad sense, just different. Maybe it's the transition from childhood friendship to adult friendship. 

I read that god awful serial romance novel last holiday because grandma left it sitting out – A Wallflower Christmas by Lisa Kelypas. And I remember this passage like ‘I want you under me. I know you deserve more respect than that.’

I found it, “I want you under me. On your back. / I’m sorry. You deserve more respect than that. But I can’t stop thinking of it. Your arms and legs around me. Your mouth, open for my kisses. I need too much of you. A lifetime of nights spent between your thighs wouldn't be enough. / I want to talk with you forever. I remember every word you’ve ever said to me. / If only I could visit you as a foreigner goes into a new country, learn the language of you, wander past all borders into every private and secret place. I would stay forever. I would become a citizen of you.”

I’ve been thinking of that passage, like it's playing aloud in my head. What does that mean? 

I don’t particularly feel that for her. 

I get some of it, like ‘I want to talk with you forever, I remember every word you say.’ Anything else though, the romantic bits, I don’t. 

Though, the kissing her face was new. It was compulsive almost, like I had to do it. 

Need to call mum. 

“Is it fair to you?” Rhaenyra asks through the phone. It's late, past the time she puts the little kids to bed, but she's never not answered a phone call from one of her children. 

Jace sighs, worrying one of the buttons on his cardigan, “What if it ruins everything?” He asks, “What if I tell her, and she never speaks to me again and then I lose my best friend?”

“But is that fair, Jace?” She reasons, “To go about a lifetime of friendship keeping this massive secret from her? It won’t go away, my love. It will fester and fester and eat at you for as long as you know her.”

He doesn’t have a good reply to that.

“Jacaerys, I spent twenty years pining after my best friend — so long that I had time to marry, have three children, and divorce. I spent years and years suffocating in regret, because I missed my chance to tell her and build a life. I got another chance, which is very rare, and it was no less scary that time. But, I knew that if I didn’t go for it then I would never have the opportunity to live the life I had spent my entire adolescence dreaming of,” Rhaenyra sighs, “My sweet boy, don’t let this slip away because you’re afraid.” 

'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, he thinks. 

When you accompany him home for summer break, hand in hand, it's with a new depth to your relationship. ‘Tis better to have loved.

tags<3 @one-big-fangirl

check out my event ! ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮

[hazzashouse]

First Christmas as a couple (Harry Styles one-shot)

A/N: Merry Christmas 🎄! I hope this little Harry one-shot warms your hearts this holiday season. Thank you for reading and supporting my writing—it means the world to me! Stay tuned because I’ll be sharing more festive one-shots in the coming days to keep the holiday spirit alive. Wishing you all a cozy and magical Christmas!

If you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving a comment, liking, or reblogging—it truly means so much and helps support my work.

Summary: Spending their first Christmas together, Harry and the reader savor quiet moments filled with warmth and laughter.

Triggers: None—this is a soft, fluffy Christmas story with no heavy content.

Pairing: Harry Styles x Female Reader

The snow fell softly outside the window, flakes swirling under the glow of twinkling fairy lights Harry had insisted on hanging everywhere. The small, cozy living room smelled of pine and cinnamon, the Christmas tree in the corner twinkling with mismatched ornaments. Harry was kneeling by the fire, poking at the logs with careful concentration, his pink lips pursed in focus.

“Harry, you’re going to set the whole house on fire,” you teased from the couch, wrapping your blanket tighter around you.

He turned, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, dimples deepening. “I’m a man of many talents, love, but burning down our first Christmas isn’t one of them.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart fluttered at the way he said “our first Christmas,” like it was something to be cherished, something important.

Harry got up and dusted his hands off, his emerald green sweater slightly askew, revealing a sliver of his collarbone. He crossed the room and sat beside you, his arm snaking around your shoulders as he tugged you against him.

“You’re freezing,” he murmured, pulling the blanket over both of you.

“Maybe because someone made me wait outside in the snow for fifteen minutes while he picked out the perfect tree,” you teased, nudging him with your elbow.

“It had to be just right,” he said, faux-serious. “Our first tree should be special.”

You laughed softly, tilting your head to look at him. His curls were messy, catching the light from the fire, and his eyes seemed to glow.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

He leaned in closer, his nose brushing against yours. “And yet, here you are,” he whispered, his voice low and teasing.

Before you could respond, he pressed a soft kiss to your lips, his hand cupping your cheek gently. The kiss was warm, unhurried, and it felt like everything a first Christmas kiss should feel like—comforting, sweet, and full of promise.

When he pulled back, his gaze lingered on you, soft and full of something you couldn’t quite name but felt all the same.

“Harry,” you began, but he cut you off, reaching into his pocket.

“I wanted to give you this,” he said, pulling out a small velvet box. Your breath hitched as he handed it to you, his fingers brushing yours.

“Don’t worry, it’s not a ring,” he said quickly, though there was a teasing glint in his eyes. “I mean, not yet.”

You opened the box to find a delicate gold necklace with a small charm—a tiny snowflake encrusted with a single diamond.

“Harry…”

“I saw it and thought of you,” he said softly. “Unique, beautiful… and maybe just a little too perfect for me.”

Tears pricked your eyes as you set the box down and hugged him tightly. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Well, now you’re stuck with me. At least until the tree comes down.”

You laughed, leaning into him as the fire crackled softly. Outside, the snow continued to fall, but inside, everything felt warm and bright, just as Christmas was meant to be.

[azzifuddfanpage]

Shooting Stars

ANOTHER PAZZI FIC: thank you again to 😛 anon probs my fav for coming up with all these prompts. This is prompt two on my most recent post.

3.0k words

themes: friends to lovers: fluff

tw: suggestive content (not smut) / *no editing (I appoligize😩)

After both making the team USA team, both Paige and Azzi immediately clicked. They were inseparable. 

Unfortunately, living in different states, Paige in Minnesota and Azzi in Virginia, meant going months without seeing each other, and being the good friends they are, it was extremely hard for them to go months without in person contact.

On the bright side, Azzi’s grandparents had a lake house in Minnesota where she would usually go to for a few weeks in the summer. And this year she decided to invite paige.

—-

Paige had been counting down the days ever since Azzi mentioned her lake house on the plane ride home from their first tournement.

Now it was a few months later, and Paige stood next to her bed with clothes scattered everywhere.

She shuffled through bathing suits and t shirts trying to find the perfect ones.

Paige and Azzi had never really ever hung out outside of basketball, other than team dinners afterword. They had FaceTimed plenty, but something in the back of Paige’s mind made her nervous about this new first impression.

After an hour of trying to find the perfect bikini, she plopped down on her bed defeated. 

Just as she was about to call her mom and ask if she could go to the mall to get a new bathing suit, Azzi’s contact popped up on the screen.

Paige immediately swiped to open, her heart pounding. 

“Heyyy” Azzi said her dimples popping onto the screen.

Azzi’s smile was enough to make paige melt completely.

“Hi” paige sighed a little defeated.

Azzi studied her for a couple of seconds

“What’s wrong.” Azzi said breaking the silence as she flopped down onto the bed infront of her. 

“I don’t know what to bring.” Paige said huffing as she flippped her camera showing Azzi the messy pile of clothes.

“It doesn’t matter paige I don’t care what you wear you will always look good to me….” She paused and Paige felt the blood rush to her cheeks from Azzi’s words. “Ok just show me the options then.” Azzi continued. 

“Well I picked out my outfits already, just like tank-tops, shorts, shirts, and hoodies… but I don’t know what bathing suit.” Paige replies showing the portion of her suitcase that was already packed. 

Paige even snuck a few extra of her hooodies (Azzi’s favorite one) in case she wanted to borrow one- she loved seeing Azzi in her clothes. 

“Like I liked this one but I feel like it’s too skimpy.” Paige said holding up a light pink bikini. 

“No that’s definitely perfect I love that- definitely do that.” Azzi said quickly blushing a little.

Paige smirked, “okay looks like someone really wants to see me in a slutty bathing suit huh.” 

Azzi blushed hiding her face on the camera. 

“Ya you wish.” Azzi said laughing.

—-

“Mom come on I don’t want to be late.” Paige called out up the stairs.

She was now by the door, her suitcase fully packed, and the straps of her backpack hung on her shoulder. 

She was bobbing up and down her knee in anticipation. She couldn’t wait. She was thrilled.

Her mom was going to be dropping her off and hanging out with Azzi’s mom for the first day, and then leaving paige for the next two weeks. 

Her mom hurried down the stairs and they both hopped in the car. 

Paige couldn’t hide her smile as they pulled out of the driveway and started their hour long drive to Azzi’s house.

“I’m so happy you found a friend like Azzi. She such a nice girl.” Paiges mom said breaking the silence. 

Paige smiled thinking about her. She was one of the nicest girls she had ever met. Paige was absolutely positive that she was the prettiest, most generous, kind, companionate friends she had. Thinking of her warm smile that made her dimples show, the freckle directly under her eye, the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed… she could go on and on.

“Earth to Paige.” Her mom said laughing 

“You sure there isn’t anything you want to tell me.” She giggled. Paige broke out of her trance and looked at her confused.

“What do you mean. We are best friends.” Paige replied attempting to read her mom’s face.

Her mom let out another laugh.

“Okay paige if you say so.” She said rolling down the window and letting the summer breeze roll into the car. 

The rest of the ride paige’s mind raced with what her mom could mean. She and Azzi had only been best friends for a couple of months, she had never really thought to much into it before- she just assumed her and Azzi were really good friends. 

As they pulled up the long drive way, paige’s heart pounded. She hadn’t seen Azzi in person in months, what if something changed, what if they didn’t connect as well as they did before. 

Impossible.

Paige looked at hereelf in the rearview mirror, running her hands through her hair. 

She stared at herself for a few minutes and squinted. 

“Do you have any lipgloss.” She asked her mom before she had the chance to get out of the car. 

“Since when do you wear lipgloss.” Her mom said confused as she handed the lipgloss to paige. 

“I always do, you must have just not noticed.” Paige said smearing it on her lips. Paige has never worn lipgloss before, but Azzi did, and paige liked Azzi-as a friend that is.

The second she saw Azzi open the door and come running out, her nerves evaporated. 

Paige slammed the door of the car shut and ran to Azzi. 

Azzi leaped into her causing her to stumble back with a grunt.

“I MISSED YOU SO MUCH!” Azzi exclaimed as she squeezed her tight into a hug. 

“I missed you more!” Paige said laughing as she pulled her back to regain her balance. 

They looked at each other for couple of minutes and Azzi immediately noticed the shiny layer of lip gloss on her lips. Paige had never cared about that stuff before. It left her wondering

Paige blushed as she caught Azzi staring at her lips.

“I like your lipgloss.” Azzi said shyly as she walked around to the back of the car to help her grab her bags.

Paige lingered for a second frozen by Azzi’s words. Ya there might have been a little something there beside normal best friend feelings.

“Okay so what do you want to do first?” Paige said carrying in her back pack and plopping it down on the bed in Azzi’s room. 

Since her two brothers were also there paige and her would have to share a bed. Not that either of them protested. 

“Wanna go down to the lake?” Azzi said 

Excitedly. She had been looking forward to this almost just as long as Paige had.

“Ya lemme just change into my bathing suit.” Paige said rustling through her suitcase to find it. 

“Okay ya same.” Azzi agreed walking over to the door and locking it. 

“Do you have a bathroom I could change in.” Paige said turning around her bathing suit in her hand. 

Her jaw dropped. Azzi was standing in front of her completely shirtless, attempting to unfold her bikini before putting it on. 

“Oh my god I’m sorry.” Paige said abruptly turning around and covering her eyes. Her heart was pounding. The image of Azzi’s naked chest was permanently engraved in her mind. She was absolutely perfect. Everything about her was gorgeous. Paige was screwed. 

“Oh my god don’t even worry about it.” Azzi said laughing but she felt a little confident seeing paige’s reaction. Maybe she wasn’t crazy.

Azzi knew she had liked Paige the minute she saw her. What she wasn’t sure of, was if the feeling was mutual. 

Lately she had begun to pick up on some things. Subtle things paige would do that made her think that maybe there was something in the air.

After seeing the way Paige looked her up and down while she changed, giving her total butterflies at her reaction to her body, she decided maybe she would try and convince paige of her feelings. Make it impossible for her to hide them. It was the perfect plan.

“Ya there is one down the hall, but it’s okay if you wanna just change here I won’t look.” Azzi said calmly. 

The idea of Azzi seeing her naked body made her heart flutter and her breath catch in her throat. 

“Uh sure okay ya.” Paige turned around and started to slide off her clothes quickly and pull on her bathing suit. 

When she turned back around, slower this time to make sure Azzi had all her clothes on, she saw her light purple bikini. 

Azzi had her back turned to paige as she adjusted the front of her bikini in the mirror. 

She could see paige’s reflection staring at her ass behind her.

Azzi smirked turning around catching her in person.

“Like what you see huh?” Azzi smirked as paige turned bright red looking at the floor immediately. 

“Ya your bathing suit is really cute.” Paige said shyly rubbing her foot along Azzi’s carpet.

The image of Azzi’s body in the bikini was running through her head. The way it hugged her ass so nicely.

Paige had always known Azzi was beautiful, but this was a whole new level. She never knew Azzi had such a fat ass holy crap. 

Azzi smirked as she walked closer to paige. 

“Thanks.” She paused reaching her finger out to touch the strap of her bikini top. 

“I really like yours too. Pink is my favorite color.” She said running her finger along the strap. 

Paige felt herself blush as she watched Azzi’s hand move closer to her breast.

She couldn’t help herself but let out a soft breathy moan as Azzi’s leaned over a little highlighting the way her bikini top pushed together her breasts letting them sit perfectly.

Paige felt a little self conscious of herself, as they walked outside. It was a little skimpier of a bikini than she would have liked but Azzi for some reason insisted so that was what she would do. 

As they made their way outside Azzi ran past her laughing and dove off the dock straight into the water. 

Paige laughed jumping right in after her. 

The entire time they swam around paige couldn’t keep her eyes off Azzi’s body. 

Her bikini outlined her figure perfectly, Azzi looked unreal.

After around an hour of swimming, Azzi’s mom called them to eat at the table. Her dad had grilled and there were two hotdogs- ironic- waiting for them. 

Azzi immediately climbed out of the water. The wet bathing suit clinging to her skin. It had risen up in the water and it exposed more of her curvy figure. 

Paige found herself starting to undress Azzi with her eyes. Her face grew red as she climbed up behind her. 

“This is my literal best friend why am I thinking this.” Paige thought to herself confused shaking her head trying to snap herself out of it. 

But as she got to the top of the doc and she saw Azzi turn around to look at her. The cold air hit Azzi’s bikini drying her in just the right way. 

Paige could see Azzi’s nipples poking through the thin fabric as the cool breeze blew by them. 

“Oh my gosh it’s so cold I need a towel.” Azzi said running over to the chairs and food where Jon and Jose sat. 

Paiges blush from Azzi’s body lingered as she made her way over to join them at the table. 

Jose could sense the tension in the air, noticing paige as she snuck glances at Azzi.

He smirked, fed up with them tip toeing around their feelings. Azzi never stopped talking about paige, and he could tell it might be even the same way around. 

“Damn paige your already sunburned? Or is that just from looking at my sister.” He smirked as Paige’s blush deepened. 

“Must be the sun it’s really hot out.” Azzi jumped in giving him a look, as she looked at paige who was clearly very embarrassed after she had been clearly caught. 

“Let me put some sunscreen on you, I think you need it.” Azzi said knowing it wasn’t a sunburn, but the idea of rubbing her fingers along paige’s body was all too enticing. 

“Uhm sure okay.” Paige said sheepishly refusing to let Azzi catch her staring at her again.

But as Azzi squirted the sunscreen into the palm of her hand, paige watched the veins in her hand longing for them to be on her body.

Azzi rubbed her hands together and began to massage the white cream(I’m sorry) into paige’s skin starting with her back and working her way down.

As Azzi made her way to her waist she heard paige let out a soft whimper. Azzi smirked.

“Hey can you maybe put some on me.” Azzi said calmly knowing exactly what she was doing.

The idea of touching Azzi worried paige. If she started she may never stop, but it didn’t really seem she had much of a choice as Azzi shoved the bottle onto her hand. 

Azzi was destined to make paige admit her feelings first. Now was the moment.

Paige grabbed the bottle and let the white cream (again I’m very sorry) coat her fingers. As she worked her way against Azzi’s creamy tanned skin she made her way to the front of the body. 

She was ready to stop, once it was over the main parts of her skin, straying from the more sensitive privater parts of Azzi’s body.

“Missed a spot.” Azzi said suggestively as she made eye contact with paige before looking back down at the soft tissue of her breasts.

Jon and Jose had already gone back to the kayaks and were paddling in the water. There was no one here but them.

“Uh are you sure.” Paige said softy, a bit ujcertain. 

Before she could second guess herself further, Azzi grabbed her hand and put it against her breasts and used Paige’s hands to massage in the sunscreen. Azzi groaned as paige’s hands applied more pressure. 

Paiges eyes would not leave Azzi’s in shock. She had no idea what was happening. Her heart was racing. Hearing these soft whimpers escape Azzi’s mouth was incredible. She felt herself extremely weak when it came to having her hands on the soft skin of Azzi’s chest.

“Thanks that’s perfect!” Azzi said smiling as she dropped her own hand, but paige’s stayed lingering, resting on her collarbone. 

They stood like that breathing for a few minutes just staring at each other when all of a sudden they heard Jon call for them.

“Guys stop making out and come paddle with us to the island over there.” He yelled pointing towards the small cluster of trees in the middle of the lake. 

Azzi and paige leapt away from each other embarrassed, not even keeping eye contact with each other as they scrambled back down to the river. 

As awkward as it was, the air had shifted, the feelings were as clear as day, all they needed was for one of them to come clean. 

—-

The day stretched on, it was filled with laughter and fun as they spent the rest of the day in the water, playing yard games, and eating barbecue. 

After sitting with Azzi by the fire. Looking at her tanned skin in the contrast of the orange reflection of the fire, she couldn’t stop staring at how perfect she was.

Azzi turned to her noticing her staring.

“What?” Azzi said with a croaked smile. 

“You have really nice skin” Paige said gently noticing Azzi’s skin turn a bit red. 

“Are you blushing?” Paige said pointedly as Azzi turned. 

“No it’s just a little hot that’s all… and your one to talk Mrs. Sun burn.” Azzi said laughing leaning into her. 

They lay there a little longer. Everyone else had retired back into the house. 

The fire was slowly dying, and they lay looking up at the stars. 

“I wonder if we could see a shooting star.” Paige said breaking the silence. 

“I honestly doubt it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen one down here.” Azzi replied. “Besides I already have all my wishes granted.” She said looking over at paige. 

Paige turned to her shocked by the boldness of her statement.

“It’s so beautiful.” Paige started.

“Ya it really is.” Azzi said.

Neither of them looked away from each other, and neither of them were still talking about the stars.

Azzi moved closer resting her head against paige’s chest.

“Paige?” 

“Yah Azzi?”

“Can I tell you a secret.” Azzi whispered against her chest.

Paige could feel the butterflies in her chest.

“Of course.” She replied running her fingers along Azzi’s wrist. 

“I think I have a crush on you.” Azzi said shyly turning so she could look paige in her eyes.

Paige took a few seconds taking it in. She had dreamed of this for months. 

“Can I tell you a secret too?” Paige responded, watching Azzi nod.

“I have a crush on you too.” Paige said smiling as Azzi’s dimples began to pop out of her face. 

Without thinking paige connected their faces into a gentle kiss, feeling Azzi kiss her back. 

When they finally pulled away breathing a little heavier they leaned their heads together. 

“I don’t even need a shooting star, my wish just came true.” Paige said as she placed her finger on Azzi’s face tracing her dimples as she beamed at her. 

That night they would fall asleep together looking at the stars, fingers laced together, and sleep better than they had in years. 

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

🍂🍁🎃

❤️ just some tooth rotting fluff involving Eddie and his not so secret admirer

🎃💌

Eddie was in hell. Who's idea was it to do this stupid shit again?

A banner hung from outside the school that proclaimed today was Boo Day 👻🎃 a day dedicated to your boo (partner) or someone you admired.

Who had came up with this monstrosity you ask? Why that was Miss O'Donnell. She had the idea to have the day before Halloween dedicated to love. Where she had even had an idea like that was anyone's guess but Eddie was pretty certain that the old bat had lost her mind.

Or teaching Eddie for three years had finally driven her crazy.

Everywhere he looked people were cooing over mystery cards that they had gotten from a secret admirer.

This was another thing he hated about this whole day, he had to suffer through Valentine's Day, now he has to go through this shit as well? Who the hell would send him a card like that?

He'd be slightly jealous if he didn't think this was load of bullshit.

He dodges excited students dressed up as ghosts and pumpkins, students who Miss O'Donnell had cajoled into delivering cards and gifts to people who had participated in the card and gift exchange.

Finally there is a hint of escape when he barges into the drama room and breathes a sigh of relief. Jesus h Christ that was a nightmare.

It takes Eddie a second to realise that he's not alone. His heart skips a beat when he realises you're with him.

🎃💌

You're settled on one of the desks with a serene smile on your face that disappears the moment you hear the door open.

Once you see it's just Eddie and no loved up couples looking for a place to make out, you feel yourself relaxing once more.

"Hey Eddie" the haggard look on his face morphs into a genuine smile, all cute dimples and big brown eyes lighting up.

He was so cute and you had the biggest crush on him and you had planned to tell him, today in fact but his loud proclamation that this day was all a bunch of bullshit made you chicken out of handing him the card you made.

You doubted he felt the same anyway, he probably had a crush on one of the cheerleaders or someone like that.

Even if he said he didn't conform to societal standards you still caught him checking out the cheerleaders once or twice. You weren't a cheerleader or popular or anything like that, you just did what you liked and right now that was occasionally joining in on a Hellfire campaign or drawing or writing, honestly anything creative was your thing.

"So do you not have a secret admirer you made a card for?" Eddie teases and you clam up, avoiding his eyes.

"Maybe it's not like he feels the same though" you murmur and notice that Eddie isn't smiling anymore, in fact he looks kinda pissed and a little sad.

"Right, so I guess it's some popular douchebag or something?" He mutters and you try to figure out why his mood has suddenly changed so dramatically.

Was he jealous of who you liked? Didn't he realise that it was him you were smitten by. Shit what if he didn't... Feeling brave you decide to tell him how you feel and hope that he feels the same way or at least things aren't awkward between you after it all.

"It's you. I made a card for you Eddie" shit you wish the ground would swallow you up. The waiting to know how he felt was horrendous, if he laughed in your face you're sure that you'd high tail it out of here.

Instead of laughing he's gawking at you and you're ready to leave and hope to forget this all but something in his expression stops you.

"Maybe I should thank Miss O'Donell after all then" he's grinning widely and looks thrilled. "Can I see the card sweetheart?" flustered you nod and hand him the card.

It has a hand drawn picture of a pumpkin patch and you wrote inside if you were a pumpkin I would pick you 🎃❤️

Cheesy yes but you thought it was cute. Now however you're second guessing that decision and mortification fills you. Shit. This was a bad idea.

The anxiety leaves you when Eddie looks up at you smiling, he hides his face with his hair and it's so adorable.

"Aww shucks sweetheart, that's so cute. Just so you know I feel the same about you, I like you a lot princess and I'm thinking that maybe I could take you on a date"

Beaming you kiss his cheek and nod. "Where were you thinking?" he holds up your card and points to the pumpkin.

"I'm thinking of visiting the Pumpkin patch in town" he suggests and the idea is so perfect that you can't help but giggling.

"Sounds perfect"

🎃❤️

[enmi-land]

୨ ❪ THE STORY OF YOU AND I ❫ ୧

𝒾 … THE RELATiONSHiPS BETWEEN EN- & MILA

정원 ៸៸    JUNGWON     ꗃ

🌸  ⁞ ً    JUNGWON + MiLA = WONMi . . .    black cat      &      golden retriever    ﹆ 〴   affectionately named , bobaz ❪ their eyes looks like boba ❫

﹟ WONMi THiNGS ‣ back hugs, cheek pokes & pecks, late night walks, random weverse lives, using weverse comment sections as a chat room, dimples appreciation, matching phone stickers, oversized hoodies, playing with each other's hair

﹟ CONTACTS ‣

hers = 부인 ❪ wife ❫

his = 고양원이🐱🩷 ❪ kitty-wonie ❫

﹟ TRiViA ‣

i.   they met as trainees. jungwon forgot his wallet while at a convenience store and mila happened to be right behind him, so she offered to pay for his food. ever since then, he's had this sort of puppy crush on her.

ii.  mila was the first one to reach out to him, and ever since then he would follow her around everywhere.  she would be like "wonie, let's go to __" and he would be like "okay" without second thought.

iii.  she's absolutely whipped for him: loves to cuddle him because of how fluffy he is, and kisses his cheeks every chance he gets. she literally showers him with affection.

iv.  he gets really sulky when she's not paying attention to him. is the type to bother her in subtle ways like playing with her hair/poking her/laying his head on her lap while she's talking to other people.

v.   despite being older, she's more of an escape than a role model — and he prefers it that way, because it makes them feel closer than simply noona and a dongsaeng. she's his comfort person, for sure.

희승 ៸៸    HEESEUNG     ꗃ

🌸 ⁞ ً HEESEUNG + MiLA = SEUNGMi / MiSEUNG . . . she  fell  first & he  fell  harder ﹆〴 affectionately named ,  cardz ❪ he’s the ace and she’s the wildcard ❫

﹟ SEUNGMi THiNGS ‣    head pats, making playlists together, neck kisses, height difference, linking pinkies,    afternoon naps,  arcade dates, couple bracelets, eskimo kisses,   cheek-pinching, bear hugs, sleeping in while everyone tries to wake them up

﹟ CONTACTS ‣ 

hers  =   나의 사랑 😘  ❪ my love ❫

his  =   희뜽이 오빠 🐹🩷  ❪ heeddeungie-oppa ❫

﹟ TRiViA ‣

 i. they met as trainees through kiara, who introduced them. she was pretty shy around him at first (because she had a lowkey crush on him). but he had a girlfriend at the time, so she tried not to interact with him too much.

ii.  the first time they really bonded was when mila wanted to learn more about the technical side of music, and he offered to teach her. they spent every other afternoon in the music rooms messing around with all the instruments there and became really close.

iii.  he’s very protective over her. is the type to get defensive if someone even looks at her the wrong way. you would think he’s her bodyguard in public because of how he shields her from fans.

iv.  she subconsciously follows him around like a puppy and when someone asked her why, she said she doesn’t really know she just likes to be around him.

v.  he has cuteness aggression with her, and almost always has an urge to squeeze her in a really tight hug. also baby talks her, most of the time without even realising it. he’s always the first to fold at her puppy dog eyes so he can never be trusted to scold her.

제이 ៸៸    JAY     ꗃ

🌸 ⁞ ً JAY + MiLA = JAYMi . . . sunshine & sunshine  protector ﹆〴 affectionately named ,  chaebolz ❪ they’re both the only child from very wealthy families ❫

﹟ JAYMi THiNGS ‣    forehead kisses,  shopping dates,   couple clothing,  gift-giving, cooking meals together,   handfeeding each other, massages, dinner dates, hand kisses, showing each other off/bragging about each other

﹟ CONTACTS ‣ 

hers  =   천사  ❪ angel ❫

his  =   hubby 💍🩷

﹟ TRiViA ‣

i. they also met through kiara. mila found him intimidating at first just because he gave off that "bad boy" aura. but he always treated her really sweetly, so she got over it and and warmed up to him quickly.

ii.  jay was the first person she told about a major back injury that made her quit cheerleading, and since then he always looked out for her. offered to give massages when she was feeling sore and did heaps of research about what sort of things to eat or drink to make it feel better.

iii. he's the first person she goes to for comfort when something goes wrong or when she needs to vent. he's just a really soothing presence and has a way of making her feel less burdened.

iv.  he is so whipped. cannot say "no" to save his life, because he folds as soon as she pulls the puppy dog eyes on him. and whenever he looks at her, he has the gooiest look in his eyes.

v.  she's his number one fan. talks about him like he's the best thing to happen since instant ramyeon, and always defends him from the member's teasing.

제이크 ៸៸    JAKE     ꗃ

🌸 ⁞ ً JAEYUN + MiLA = YUNMi . . . lover boy & his pretty girl ﹆〴 affectionately named ,  aussiez ❪ they’re both from australia ❫

﹟ YUNMi THiNGS ‣    intense eye contact, low whispers in each other's ears, study dates, hand appreciation, couple rings, skateboarding lessons, playing the chapstick game,   constant impromptu proposals

﹟ CONTACTS ‣ 

hers  =  Pretty Girl ❤️

his  =   boyfie 🐶🩷

﹟ CONTACTS ‣ 

i.  they met during i-land. from the get-go you could tell they were attracted to each other. but they didn't become as close as the other members until debut.

ii.  he felt kind of jealous seeing how close mila was to the other members compared to him, but as soon  as she learnt this, she did her best to spend more time with him, allowing their bond to deepen.

iii.  he would flirt casually with her, but because she has zero dating experience, she didn’t realise. when she did notice his advances though, there was no stopping him from making her a blushing stuttering mess.

iv.  she feels like a lovesick schoolgirl around him. like just looking at him makes her feel butterflies in her stomache and she will act all giddy.

v. they’re literally the definition of that couple that everyone hates because they make everyone else feel single. it’s just expected now that you find them whispering and laughing together like they have a secret no one else knows.

성훈 ៸៸    SUNGHOON     ꗃ

🌸 ⁞ ً SUNGHOON + MiLA = MiHOON / HOONMi . . . sun & moon ﹆〴 affectionately named ,  ddalhaez ❪ the korean words for sun and moon ❫

﹟ MiHOON THiNGS ‣    ice rink dates turned ice skating lessons, playing with each other's fingers, couple necklaces, working out together, taps on the chin, holding hands at random times, princess carry, discrete lingering touches

﹟ CONTACTS ‣ 

hers  =   나의 공주 🤍  ❪ my princess ❫

his  =   王子 👑🩷  ❪ prince ❫

﹟ TRiViA ‣ 

i.  they almost met as trainees through kiara. mila thought he was handsome, but his social awkwardness made it difficult to really befriend him. he thought she was a nice girl, but a bit too hyper all the time. in other words, completely opposites.

ii.  their friendship started when one day, they ended up competing to get a penguin plushie from a claw machine game at an arcade near the company. he ended up winning, but after seeing how sulky she got, he gave it to her as a gift, and she named it after him.

iii. he teases her because he finds her cute, and because he knows he's one of the only people who can get a reaction out of her. similarly, she provokes him because its her way of getting him out of his shell.

iv. she acts as if they're enemies because of how much he teases her, but gets sulky when he doesn't pay attention to her like he usually does.

v.  he doesn't openly display affection, but he watches out for her for her from afar and pays attention to a lot of things that most people would miss.

선우 ៸៸    SUNOO     ꗃ

🌸 ⁞ ً SUNOO + MiLA = SUNMi . . . chaotic  cutie & chill  enabler ﹆〴 affectionately named ,  03z ❪ they were both born in 2003 ❫

﹟ SUNMi THiNGS ‣ skincare routines, midnight snacks,   styling each other's hair, cheek charges & biting, sharing lip balm, watching dramas, sharing jewellery, sneaky kisses on set, outfit coordination, communicating with eye contact, affirmations, late night convos

﹟ CONTACTS ‣

hers = 💖별라💖 ❪ star-la ❫

his = 心肝 ☀️🩷 ❪ other half ❫

﹟ TRiViA ‣

i. they met during i-land, and their friendship just kind of clicked into place, like it was always meant to be. but despite their similar personalities, she definitely has a more chaotic streak, and he likes to watch with a smile as everything goes to flames.

ii. they become closer behind the scenes, where they would pour their heart out to each other about their feelings and struggles. she definitely has more of a chaotic streak, and he likes to enable it.

iii. she is his lifeline. off-camera, he can be a lot more subdued. so he always feels at ease around her, since she adjusts really well to his moods. always making him feel loved when he needs even when he doesn’t ask.

iv. she sometimes gets flustered whenever he shows his more serious side, and finds it attractive. her favourite thing to do is have lat night talks while staring into his fox-like eyes.

v. they're soulmates, without a doubt. people think they were lovers in their past life. they always seem to be in their own little world when they're together.

니키 ៸៸    Ni-Ki     ꗃ

🌸  ⁞ ً    Ni-Ki + MiLA = MiKi . . .    tom    &    jerry    ﹆〴   affectionately named , koiz ❪ they have matching koi fish tattoos ❫

﹟ MiKi THiNGS ‣ pillow forts, height difference, piggyback rides,   dancing in the rain, taking photos, tickle fights, watching anime, walks in the park, sneaking out, surprise kisses, ice cream dates, couple tattoos, kabedon

﹟ CONTACTS ‣

hers = ミミちゃん ❪ mimi-chan ❫

his = 我的男 😈🩷 ❪ my man ❫

﹟ TRiViA ‣

i. they met during i-land, but knew of each other before that because of their reputations. they first saw each other at her favourite sashimi restaurant, and kept bumping into each other, though they never talked until i-land.

ii. he was originally kind of shy around her, but after spending so much time together in ground, he started to come out of his shell and showing his more mischievous side.

iii.  he doesn't call her 'noona,' and just calls her by name to tease her. whenever she asks him for something, he will complain, but secretly feel happy that she relies on him.

iv.  she likes to spoil him discretely, knowing that he doesn't really liked being babied. she will buy his favourite foods and little gifts whenever she goes out.

v.  they bicker a lot, but it's clear that they have a unique bond. they got couple tattoos of koi fish on their wrists that. when put them together, looks like they're circling each other. that perfectly sums up their relationship.

키아라 ៸៸    KiARA  ꗃ

🌸 ⁞ ً KiARA + MiLA = MiRA . . . social butterfly & social recluse ﹆〴 affectionately named ,  girlz ❪ they’re the only girls in the group ❫

﹟ MiRA THiNGS ‣    spa days, girl's night outs, unhinged weverse lives, dirty jokes, inside jokes, laughing whenever they make eye contact, sharing clothes & jewellery, judging people silently, gossiping with stylists and makeup artists, tmi with engenes

﹟ CONTACTS ‣ 

mila’s  =   우리 미미 ❪ our mimi ❫

kiara’s  =   one and 언니 🦁  ❪ unnie ❫

﹟ TRiViA ‣ 

i.  they met as trainees, kiara being the one assigned to show mila around the company. mila really idolised her in the beginning and used her as a role model for what she should become.

ii. even though kiara was a bit aloof, mila continued to follow her around to learn from her, and kiara eventually adopted her. in her words, mila was "the little sister i never asked for."

iii. kiara becomes really maternal with her because of how young and lost mila seemed when they first met. she feels like she raised her and is proud of who she has become after watching her grow up in front of her eyes.

iv. mila always mentions kiara first whenever she talks about her gratitude for the members as her first and only unnie. mila can be a bit of a brat, but she will always listen to kiara no matter what.

v. they're sisters in all but blood. kiara's family practically adopted her, and likewise mila's family will always send gifts to kiara in the mail.

© ENMI-LAND, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, REPOST

[thewriterg]

𝐣𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐨 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐚𝐛𝐜𝐬

pairing(s): jess mariano x gn!reader, collegestudent!jess x collegestudent!reader

summary: you see the title :)

word count: 1.2k

request: if you’re uncomfortable with it you don’t have to but could you write NSFW alphabet with Jess Mariano 🤭

warning(s): smut and language

A/n: —GIFs; @buffysummers— *cracks neck* it’s been a while since I’ve done this but I think I might still got it

Aftercare

Aftercare king

I feel like In his younger years he didn’t really know much about it I mean come on we all knew he was a man whore back than

he would crack you open some water and be on his way before you fell asleep

or fuck you to sleep and leave before you woke up

but he’s gotten better!

gets you a warm rag to wipe you up would run you a bath occasionally but Jess is a little arrogant bitch so he’s not gonna admit that he wants to cuddle with you for a lot of little while 🙄

Body Part

His favorite body part on you is your face even in his younger years jess didn’t base his sole existence off sex he loves to lay a hand on your cheek or kiss your forehead

But In all honesty

Jess is an ass man

There I said it.

His favorite part on himself other than his hair is his hair. he likes when you run your fingers through it and normal time but especially after sex

he’d never say it to your face though it’s Jess come on Y/n 🙄

he’s into hair pulling

pull his hair see what muffled sounds you can get out of him 🙏🏽

because he’s definitely not just going to let it spur out and let you hear them.

bratty jess?

the answer is yes.

Cum

He likes to cum either on your ass or inside you that’s just his preference.

he’s also not against in your mouth when you suck him off

I feel like he’s not really throwing a bitch fit rather you spit or swallow

kiss him and make him taste himself and feels a certain way ;)

but going back to inside you :)

he likes when you clench around him and kinda ground him in a way? Like bringing him back to reality in the best way possible

he’s in love with you either way 🤸🏾‍♀️

Dirty Secret

Jess Mariano is a switch.

Experience

like I said he was a man whore even though it’s behind him now he was a whore.

He has plenty experience on his belt

Also my man is a book reader

You can’t tell me that he hasn’t read smut like let’s be serious for a second

just know that Jess can get around and you’re always gonna finish with him 😊

Favorite Position

Rocking horse and spooning.

Jess is an eye contact person

Just intensely staring at you as he rubs circles on your puffy clit or Keeps running his thumb over your red tip

if you can hold up with his eyes than you might just have him tucked under your thumb

If not than expect him to tease the fuck at out of you and result into shit like fucking you in a mirror forcing you to watch

Goofy

I feel like other than like a sarcastic remark and a couple smirks Jess isn’t really that goofy?

I don’t think Jess is a sunshine/silly character anyways so, there’s that

Hair

He keeps himself trimmed not completely bald but not where to point where he’s uncomfortable or scratching you with it

He doesn’t really care all that much about body hair?

Like it would go like this;

“We can’t, I haven’t shaved.”

“…so?” 🧍🏽🍽️

Intimacy

There’s a lot of things that Jess is but naive however is not one.

when you want to get intimate Jess catches your drift pretty quick

But on a serious not I feel like Jess would like no shit be so sweet sometimes

Like starting up at you as he kiss up your legs to your abdomen and chest

Prepping kissed everywhere kiss rolls, beauty marks, freckles, your back and shoulders, dimples, everything.

Body worship bae

Jack off

He doesn’t do it a lot anymore? He has you and once again he’s never based his whole being off sex intake

but my man is a college student 🙏🏽

and you both have busy schedules so he might have to do what he has to to take his mind off his exam stress

if you catch him!?

please like make him finish in front of you it’d make him so hot and bothered

neither of you would go to class

Kink

Hair pulling; hair pulling is a probably a big key to Jess’s subby side

he is a switch and I’ll die on that hill.

Markings; he’d be a little shit about markings hickeys, hand marks, kiss prints, anything. leave scratches down his back and hickeys one his neck where people can see? he’s fucking whipped and will be back for more when they fade.

Overstimulation.

I rest my case your honor.

Location

your ass or your mouth.

Motivation

When you wear tighter clothes that shows off your figure he loses all sense he has come to have and will shamelessly stare

Also cock warming.

You’re helping him study and he can’t focus? It’s almost like a game

The more flash cards he can go through and get right than the more you move

if he gets more than enough wrong you’ll basically just torture him and sit there as he struggles to hold in his groans

No

Hurting each other other than like a couple smacks on the ass from either parties Jess isn’t into the pain thing at all

Oral

he doesn’t mind a good blowjob

oral fixation go brrr

Place

Risky

Jess is all about the adrenaline he gets off the risky feeling of being caught

Janitors closet type beat

Quickie

Once again y’all are college students

You eat, breathe, and live quickies.

Risk

yes 😈

The amount of places y’all have been in is very questionable

a dressing room 😏

restaurant family bathroom 😝

the janitors closet 🤨

the library 😟

Sext

it’s literally his specialty

“rubbing those pretty legs together thinking about me in the middle of them”

All while your in class

LIEK

sir enough. 🙏🏽

Toys

Not the biggest fan

only toy he was really keen on was something like vibrator underwear

but that’s a story for another day

Unfair

Depending on your personality is rather where you can keep up with Jess or not

because he’s a very big fucking tease

If you can than your best bet is to not let him talk like once you start keep going and he doesn’t have a chance like zero chance

Stare at him dead in his eyes maybe look at lips for a little bit and keep sweet talking him and he’s bending to your will

Volume

you have to really pull the noises out of this one

he’s not letting them slip easy

Wild Card

Once you were giving Jess head he was already overstimulated maybe on his third or forth orgasm and the last one you gave him practically had him unconscious

For the rest of the night he was clinging and whiny wanting you close

That’s been the biggest sun moment you’ve seen in Jess your whole relationship

X ray

6.5 to 7 inches

It gets him around but you’re also not dying splitting in half

Yes

Put your fingers in mouth

Don’t break eye contact as he licks around your digits

you two are at it like fucking rabbits

Zzz

Unless you’ve been at it for a while Jess is usually the one falling asleep after you

he’d run shapes on your hip kiss your forehead when your eyes close and then finally be on his way

[ox1-lovesick]

✶ ─── TOMORROW X TOGETHER AND THINGS WITH THEM

🍇 pairing. txt x gn!reader genre. fluff warnings. mentions of food, pda (?), wc. 50-100 each

🍇 type. headcannon , reaction

🍇 a/n. abandoned the tyun and hyuka fic for now 💀 this is like a filler fic or something i have such bad writers block. i know for a fact that soobin crochets

% YEONJUN

late night walks ; gentle kisses to your knuckles ; catching him staring ; errands to the convenience store at 3 in the morning ; holding hands ; sharing earphones ; leaning your head on his shoulder ; sharing lip glosses ; netflix marathons ; fashion shows at 2 am ; spontaneous dance sessions ; late night drives ; candid pictures ; slow dancing ; cooking ; sharing jewellery ; kisses through the phone ; matching jewelry

% SOOBIN

comparing hand sizes ; feeding each other ; interlocking pinkies ; desert before dinner ; baking ; sharing clothes and jewelry ; 1000 piece puzzles ; movie dates ; crocheting together ; croc shopping dates ; clothing hauls ; editing vlogs together ; food fights ; disney dates ; couple cosplays and halloween costumes ; pillow talk about the future ; tying your shoelaces for you ; giving you his jacket when it's cold ; matching socks and bracelets

% BEOMGYU

kisses in the rain ; hand-written love letters ; bouquets of roses ; sleeping in together ; doodling on each others hands ; scented candles ; bickering for fun ; backhugs ; raindrop races ; long bus rides ; sharing earphones ; picnic dates ; photo albums ; half anniversaries ; forehead kisses ; impromptu karaoke nights ; guitar lessons ; secret handshakes ; build-a-bear dates ; feeding each other ; pillow talk ; hiding tomatoes in his food ; painting each other's nails ; holding open the door for you

% TAEHYUN

long and warm hugs ; locking pinkies ; poking his dimples ; falling asleep on his chest ; cheek kisses ; stargazing ; library dates ; cooking for each other ; communicating through morse code ; study dates ; reading together ; sharing cutlery ; pinky promises ; kisses to your knuckles ; post it notes with messages ; holding hands ; feeding each other ; falling asleep on the phone with him ; playlists dedicated to each other ; gentle kisses ; powerpoint nights ; "5 more minutes" mornings ; flowers "just because"

% HUENINGKAI

naming all his plushies ; palm kisses ; zoo dates ; buzzfeed quizzes to see who'd survive the zombie apocalypse ; breakdancing in the dining room ; pokemon impressions ; piano lessons ; holding hands, everywhere ; kisses to the tips of your fingers ; pillow and tickle fights ; sneaking juice boxes and animal biscuits in your lunch

★ OX1-LOVESICK all rights reserved. do not copy, distribute, translate, alter or repost my work without my explicit permission.

[disneyprincemuke]

be mine * gr63

your last night together ended on a bad note, and now you’re back after months to explain yourself

pairings: george russell x fem!reader

warnings: cussing

notes: ooooh wrote this at like 3am lfg!! i also started to obsess about alex albon?? yoooo that man is so fine i swear to god…

(sex) // (be mine)

it’s not all that different — not seeing you every couple of days like he used to.

george, however, does let you cross his mind a couple times a week when he’s not busy. it’s usually when he’s left in a corner with his thoughts. the way your eyes looked into his and how your dimples would show before your smile consumed him in a way he couldn’t describe.

he realised about a week after he last saw you that alex knew about your prior arrangement. alex didn’t elaborate on anything, simply just let george know that he was aware.

your name never came up in conversation again.

well, once when lily came to visit during a race weekend and was wondering why you refused to attend. and the girl did also question why george has been looking so upset in the recent days. all he could do was exchange a glance with alex and come up with a pathetic excuse.

sometimes he thinks he’s seen your face in the crowd by the paddocks, but it’s always just his imagination. so when he looked around the paddock 30 minutes ago and thought he had heard your voice, he simply brushed it off as another one of his delusions.

until he saw you again. not once, but four more times.

he’s not going crazy, is he?

george quickly rules out insanity when he sees you a fifth time in the williams garage having a conversation with logan. and you look good; perhaps the best he has ever seen you.

not to say that you looked bad before. there’s just a different glow to you that he can’t seem to figure out.

it was when logan greeted him with the call of his name and a wave that made you whirl your head around to finally look at him.

surprisingly, you do acknowledge his presence. you smile widely at him and give him a simple wave. and then your turn back around to continue your conversation.

george just walks away. he contemplated coming up to you and having a chat, but with the way things had ended that night, he decided it was better off.

meanwhile, your heart races in your chest as you resume your conversation with logan. you knew the repercussions of tagging along but you clearly hadn’t figured out completely how to face him.

you promised yourself, a few days prior, that you were ready to face george despite everything. you didn’t have it all mapped out like you had promised alex, but you can’t admit that to him.

at this point, you find yourself straying from the once engaging chat with logan. george is what took over your brain.

it seems that he took the hint as he pats your shoulder and bids you goodbye, claiming that he has some marketing activity to do.

you have thought of george in times of separation. it’s hard not to when he’s practically everywhere — your social media timelines, alex’s story and advertisements. it’s impossible to erase him from your life.

which is why you really tried to get it together while you were gone.

but the privilege of figuring out what to finally say to george will never come, it seems, as lily takes logan’s spot. she puts her hands on her hips and glares at you sternly.

“when are you going to talk to him?” lily questions with an eyebrow raise. “the day is almost over.”

you look down at your hands to avoid her intense stare. “i don’t know what to say to him… i gave him some bullshit excuse the last time i saw him.”

you hear lily sigh. you watch her take a step to lean on the wall. “and you came with us this weekend to finally debunk everything,” she reminds you slowly in hopes to keep you in check. “he won’t stay single forever, you know.”

“i know.” you lift your head up to showcase your frown. “but how can he still want this if i’d told him that the nights we spent together meant nothing to me?”

“i don’t know, but neither will you if you don’t talk to him.”

that’s all lily needed to say to you. you find yourself being pushed by an imaginary lily muni to the mercedes home in the paddocks.

as fate would have it, george is walking out of the glass doors, parting ways with lewis. he does acknowledge you like you did with him earlier.

except it’s a much shorter greeting. it’s a simple elegant smile, almost making you feel the hurt seeping through, before making a sharp turn away from you.

“george, hi.” somehow, you had found a voice from within you to call out to him. “i haven’t seen you in a while.”

he stops on his tracks, slowly turning to face you. “hi.” he takes off the sunglasses sitting on his face and gives you a more genuine smile. this time, sending waves of familiarity through your chest. “how long has it been- 4… maybe 5 months?”

you nod slowly, the awkwardness of the exchange finally making itself known. “yeah, i’ve been busy with work.”

his eyebrow raises. “yeah? that’s incredibly coincidental. i was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

sure, he is admittedly still upset with you. only a little bit. but how was he supposed to react when you gave him the stupidest reasons why he can’t take you out on a date?

what the actual fuck did you mean by ‘it’s just sex’ before bolting off and never showing up ever again?

you sigh and drop your head. “i mean, i was.” you can almost hear him rolling his eyes when you see him shift his weight to one leg and a hand rests on his hip. you lift your head up and quickly come to your own defense. “for good reason.”

“in what world did you think saying that would make me feel better?” george narrows his eyes down at you, an expression you never come across too often personally. “i asked you out on a date when i last saw you and you blew me off as if we hadn’t already seen each other bare.”

you close your eyes briefly and hold your hands up, attempting to calm him down. you just wanted to explain yourself, that’s all.

“if you would just let me explain myself, i want to start off with an apology.” you search his eyes for any signs of pulling away, and when you conclude that he is willing to stay and listen, you continue. “alex was right before when he told me to get my shit together if i wanted to date you.”

george’s lips carve into a scowl. you can almost imagine what he’s going to say next. “alex?”

“yes. i admitted to him our little arrangement but when he advised me not to hurt you, i realised he was right,” you frown, your own eyebrows furrowing in sadness. you fold your arms over your chest and rub your arms as you feel the cold sweat from the nerves of laying your cards down.

“i wanted to go on a date with you so bad, please trust me. but with all of my baggage, you didn’t deserve someone who would only give you half of themself,” you explain.

this makes george relax his shoulders a little bit. he is more used to you being a person of very few words and emotions. to have you ramble on to him in a shaky voice and watch your lips quiver is enough to make him forget the hurt he was feeling just mere minutes ago.

“i didn’t want to be with you and only have half of my foot in,” you say. “all of those nights i spent with you, they meant everything to me. i loved sleeping over with you in your bed and waking up to the sound of you humming to yourself while your brushed your teeth.

“and i’m just sorry. i’m sorry that i told you it meant nothing. it wasn’t just the sex to me. you’re not just that.” with every word, your frustration grew as you realise how stupid you had been; how careless you were with george’s feelings while trying to protect it. “you’re more than that, i know it.”

you open your mouth to continue your sentence, until you realise that he’s just been staring down at you throughout your whole monologue. this time with a small grin to his face and his cheeks slightly red.

you take a step back and put your hands down to your side. “what i’m trying to say is that i would like to get to know you better.” you clear your throat with a sheepish grin. “if you allow me.”

george, who had been picking on his phone’s exterior, puts it into his pocket. he folds his arms over his chest. “(y/n), even then i knew all your baggage,” he starts with a soft chuckle. “i asked you out on a date despite all that.”

“my conscience never would have been able to live with it.”

“i appreciate it, and i guess your heart was in the right place.” he takes a step forward and engulfs you in a hug, rubbing your arms as a way to convey that he understands. “but i would have let you break my heart over and over again if it meant that i could be the one to have you.”

you lift your head to look up at him. “isn’t that a tad dramatic for how little we know of each other, george?”

george just forcefully pushes your head back into his chest, this time with his hand brushing through your hair.

“i can’t believe you lied to me and broke my heart over something i was already well aware of.”

you tighten your arms around him, fully taking in his embrace. the fact that you’re in the middle of the paddocks as an obstacle to everyone else has not sunken in yet. “i’ll make it up to you, i promise.”

“yes, you will be paying for the first date actually.”

taglist (comment to be added): @scenesofobx

[according2thelore]

(please read cw in tags)

dean knocks on sammy's door. he shifts on his feet. 

it's late. he knows it's late. but after the library today, dean needs to know where they stand. younger sam hadn't come back to their room after the fight, and dean ribs have been aching with the lack of sam winchester everywhere.

he knocks again, but doesn't get a response.

he cracks open the door, and it's dark and quiet. figures. sammy is asleep, dumbass! dean's mind screams, but he opens the door further.

"sammy?" dean asks, hushed. nothing. dean hesitates, but he takes a step inside.

the room smells like sam, and dean is brought up short by it. he hadn't realized how little he has walked into a room and known sam had been in it by smell alone.

they usually didn't stay in places long enough as kids for those places to pick up their smells, aside from the rare few-month-long hunt. even sam's apartment in palo alto smelled more like jess than sam. even worse, it had smelled of what their skin smelled like together, which was nothing dean had ever associated with his brother at all.

it felt like if every copy of dean’s favourite song had been destroyed, and only covers remained. it was the same, but barely. not in the way it matters.

but this room is sam's. 

it’s strange, as dean looks around the dark room, how little of sam is actually here.

there’s a flannel hanging on the desk chair, and a couple of thick tomes open on its surface. but that’s…it. a couple of the dresser drawers hang open, and dean notices even those are empty.

it’s like sam doesn’t even sleep here.

but there’s a figure in the bed, on his stomach, holding the pillow like dean imagines he holds his girls. dean wants to snort, because it looks like sammy is the little spoon after all.

“sammy?” dean asks, again. he reasons with himself that if he doesn’t respond, he’ll go back to bed. his own weakness irritates him. just because he and his sam had a fight doesn’t mean he needs to go bother older sam with it. but dean can’t seem to stay away from the guy.

sam’s breathing stops. 

dean finds his own breath catching, as sam shifts. slowly, sam turns around. he moves steadily, purposefully, like a jungle cat and not at all like a man just woken from a dead sleep. dean freezes in the doorway, feeling—terrifyingly—hunted.

sammy blinks at him. dean blinks back.

dean can't see his face well in the dark, and can't see his eyes at all. the sheer bulk of sammy takes dean aback now that the familiar dimples and moles are absent. this body is a hunter's body.

sammy doesn't say anything for a long moment. 

dean is about to say something, but…the little of sammy’s face dean can see does something strange. something bad. dean can feel sam crumpling in on himself, and sammy’s eyes cut away from him, like dean is made of teeth, or of crawling bugs.

"no. no, no, no." sammy winds a hand into his hair. "it was supposed to be over."

“sammy? it’s—it’s me.” dean tries, but sam is senseless in the very literal horrific sense of the word, eyes blindly searching the sheets, deaf to dean’s words. then, he slams his hand into the side of his head, hard.

"it’s not—real, it’s not—“ sam mutters, quicker and quicker, and dean startles. he runs over to sam, just as sam takes one of his own fingers and bends it back, hard.

“hey!” dean cries, trying to pry sam’s finger away from the punishing hand. dean hears a pop and watches—horrified, as sam’s finger pops out of its socket. “holy fuck!”

sam is pale, and despite how he tilts his head to avoid looking at dean at all, his eyes are wide open. dean doesn’t think he’s fucking blinked since he walked in.

“hey, look at me, sammy, please.” 

“dean’ll be here. he’ll be here.” sam mutters under his breath, and dean watches—part relief and fascination and terror—as sam pops his index finger back in place, like he practically breaks his fingers for fun.

“i’m dean, sammy—look at me, please!” dean cries, frantic, but this seems to only distress sam more. he cries out, shaking his head. tears pour from his unblinking eyes, focused on the ceiling.

“we’re out. i’m out. dean!” sammy’s hand snaps up, and dean barely manages to stop him from slamming it into the side of his head again. 

dean is going to be sick. he’s going to be fucking sick. he doesn’t know what’s wrong, what’s going on, and the lack of consciousness behind sam’s eyes is the scariest thing dean’s ever seen.

“what the fuck?“

dean whips around, both hands wrapped around sam’s wrists, whom—if anything—is more terrified that he can’t hit himself than the distress that the actual pain caused him.

his older self is standing in the doorway, and dean is so relieved to see him that he slumps forward, letting sam’s wrists go.

“he started hurting himself—i don’t—“

“get out of my goddamn way,” older dean roars, and he shoves dean behind him and into the hallway. dean’s back hits the wall, hard. his feet go from under him, relief and terror and nausea making him lightheaded, and he slides down against the wall.

"i didn't--i didn't--" dean can't get any air into his lungs. he’s trying to justify himself to no one, as his older self has immediately fallen into action.

older dean turns the lamp on, and light floods the room, blinding dean and making his eyes water.

"you remember going to bed," older dean says, grabbing sam roughly. it sounds like a command, like dean is trying to convince him with the strength of his words alone. "you remember dinner last night. what did we have?"

sammy's panting, and he's scrabbling at dean's wrists. dean watches red welts bloom on his forearms, but his older self doesn’t even flinch. not even when the redness of his skin turns into blood. 

"he's got—young!—he wears his—"

"no. he's not here, sammy. tell me. what did we have for dinner last night?"

sammy's breathing fast, but dean can't see his face from where his hair has fallen into his face. it takes a few minutes for sam's breathing to calm, but dean is too afraid to approach. 

"we had...um. i think we had lasagna?" 

"there you go." dean smiles softly. you got onto me for forgetting to buy parmesan last week, remember?" 

quietly, so quietly that dean almost doesn't hear it, sam lets out a snort.

"yeah. i remember." his fingers rotate, and dean watches sam pet up older dean's arms with the pads of his fingers, like he's soothing the scratches from seconds before. spots of blood smear the trunks of his thumbs.

"dean." sam says, and dean can hear the tension running through it. he perks up, and his heart is trying to beat its way out of his chest, trying to reunite with sammy because it knows what's right. dean has never been this close and far away from sam when he needs his help. "i think he's back. i think...i think he's wearing you, again." 

"no, that's pocket-sized, remember? you love that guy. you've been knitting him little sweaters to wear." older dean says, but neither of them look at dean slumped over in the hall. dean doesn't want them to.

slowly, sam raises his head. dean watches his hair fall back, and for the first time since dean walked into the room, sam looks at him directly. he has to almost lean over the protective shield of older dean’s body. sam’s eyes trace his face, his hands clenched on his knees.

"oh." sam says, shakily. "they...they both came. right. i—" sammy puts a hand on his forehead, and dean joins it, gently wiping his own blood from sam’s forehead as sam’s fingers transfer the rusty smudges. sam doesn’t seem to notice.

"come here. please?” a weak voice from the room, and dean—despite every fuckin’ thing—can’t deny sam a damn thing. not when he sounds like that, all weak and upset and so baby brother, despite the inches and pounds and years he has on dean, now.

he expects his older self to stop him, but dean just slides to the side, stepping away to the attached bathroom a few steps away. dean hears the sink turn on. sammy, still sitting on the bed, holds one arm out to the side, and dean steps into it obediently, almost automatically. sam’s feet slide off of the bed, and he sits on the edge of it, holding dean close with a heavy arm.

dean doesn’t know what sam wants—is afraid he’s going to agree to something they’re both going to regret later. but sammy just tilts forward, the crown of his head digging into the lowest part of his sternum, where ribs meet.

he can undoubtedly feel dean’s frantic heartbeat against his skull, but sammy just breathes slowly, eyes closed. 

"i'm so sorry, dean." he rasps, quietly.

"you're sorry?" dean croaks, digging his fingers into sammy's long hair to anchor himself. he can feel sam's shaky exhale against his abdomen. "i fuckin--jesus, sammy. i'm so sorry.”

sammy tilts away from him, and looks up into his face. dean is hit with such a potent wave of—in this moment—agony. this is his baby, isn’t it?

this is the little baby that wanted lucky charms for dinner and demanded to hold dean’s hand when they crossed streets and cried so hard when dean first came back from a hunt bleeding that he threw up. 

this is his baby, with tired eyes, and deep, harrowed lines in his face. for the first time, dean realizes just how much they’ve lost. sammy is looking up at him like dean is supposed to know what to do here, like he’s expecting dean to heal hurts that dean didn’t see inflicted. that dean himself has inflicted tonight.

this is his baby. 

sammy tugs on his arm, and dean sits down on the corner of the bed, so desperate to erase the look in his eyes, so desperate to meet sam’s needs like he always has that he’d be willing to shoot himself in the head if sam handed him a gun.

but sam just pulls dean in, just as older dean comes out from the bathroom. his forearms are still dark with red welts, but the bleeding has stopped. sam lays down, and dean looks up at his older self.

older dean doesn’t say anything, just gets in bed behind sam. dean slowly lays down as well. sam lifts a hand and dean feels a light tug at his neck as sam wraps a hand around the amulet. something humiliatingly close to tears prick at dean’s eyes. sam has been reaching for the amulet for comfort as long as dean has had it.

dean watches as his older self reaches an arm around sam’s waist and pulls him closer. sam’s eyes flutter shut, and his reaching hand encourages dean to come closer. slowly, like he’s waiting for dean to reject him, sam’s knee gently bumps dean’s and stays there. 

sammy has been so calmed by dean—by both deans here, together—that he's already loose-limbed and half asleep.

sam’s breathing is slower now, and dean watches raptly as his eyes flutter open. his eyes are sleepy and dark, and dean feels speared by the depth of his devotion to this man.

it scares him.

dean is acutely afraid, as he leans forward and presses himself into sam’s chest, letting sam tuck his nose into his closely-shorn hair.

"stone number one." sammy murmurs. 

it doesn't mean anything to dean, but his older self ducks down to nuzzle against sam's hair. they make eye contact over sam's head. 

something passes between them. not respect, not necessarily. an understanding, maybe. this is ours. we will do anything to keep him safe.

"you've got two of 'em, now. you're weighed down with all these stones, baby," older dean says lightly. sam huffs a laugh directly into dean's head, and he shudders. “you ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

[evermourning]

'𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰. ⋆｡˚❆

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

WC: 2.1k

Summary: He always knew you would be the one for him. From the moment he met you. And now, he plans to love you eternally. In every lifetime.

A/N: It's Margaret day (Dec. 18) so here is a lovely oneshot in honor of it <3 This song is so beautiful to me and I hope to portray it into words by the very best of my abilities.. also Fem!Reader is mentioned once or twice but anyone can read regardless of gender!

Ever since you were tiny, with small hands that could barely fit around your father's, you've dreamed of this occasion. You've dreamed of the flowing white silk adorning your frame, the vibrant flowers clasped in your gloved hands, the melodious aria playing in your ears as you walked down the aisle something akin to a movie.

In your dreams, the figure waiting at the altar ready to intertwine his soul with yours has always been a mystery, shrouded in a milky fog you rendered impossible to push away. So you'd wait. Wait until the time was right and the sun would shine, clearing the fog and bathing your husband-to-be in golden light.

You know now that man is Christopher Bahng.

From the moment he smiled at you for first time, everything everywhere in the universe came to a screeching halt as you felt yourself falling for him. For the scrunch of his nose and the crinkle of his dark, soulful eyes. For the way the sight of his dimples made your stomach flutter with delight. You knew from the start that at the end of the day he would be yours. He would be the man in your dreams, hidden by the fog.

Now those wishes have come true, and more than you could ever imagine. Life with Chan is simple and sweet. You've always craved the intimate domesticity you saw emanating from movie couples, the cuddling and the kissing and the little acts of service that proved they knew each other better than anyone else.

Life isn't exactly like the movies, though. You aren't stupid. But Chan makes it feel that way. He makes your heart pound with adoration when he comes up behind you while you're making dinner, wrapping his arms around your midsection and pressing a kiss to your shoulder. You swoon whenever you open your eyes to see him staring at you, a saccharine smile upon his perfect lips. You are blessed to even think about spending the rest of your life at his side. It was always a hope, a wish.

But now, as you stare at yourself in the oval mirror, your body adorned in hues of white and a lacy veil upon your head, your wish has been fleshed out and exposed. It is quite simply, a miracle. And now, a reality. It hits you like a truck. You are getting married. To the love of your life, your first and final flame. In less than an hour, you will have the sacred right to call Chan your husband, to raise children and grow old with him. A single tear slips down your face. It is the first of many that will flow like a river today.

From the tent where you've spent the last three hours getting ready, you can hear quiet conversation and a soft symphony playing as people get to their seats. Chan must already be up there. Your heart rate quickens. Will he like how you look? Will he think you're beautiful? It's a foolish thought, as you know to the very depths of yourself that Chan loves every single atom in your body. He loves you when you are at your happiest, your smile bright enough to power a city, and he loves you at your lowest point, falling apart in his arms when you think you cannot do a single thing right. To him, you are the very oxygen that keeps his lungs working and his blood pumping.

Your bridesmaids come up to you, whispering words of encouragement with wide grins before they are whisked away. One after another, you hear the 'oohs' and 'aahs' from the crowd. You fight urges to peek outside. You and Chan had both wanted a more private wedding, opting to only invite family and close friends. And it was 100% worth it, you wholeheartedly believe. Although the promise of loved ones cannot quell your shaking hands and beating heart. You fidget with your hands, waiting until it is almost your time.

You sigh with relief once Minho, your longtime best friend, slips into the tent, smiling sweetly at you as he takes your hands in his.

"You look amazing. God, you're all grown up now." his voice is filled with multitudes of love for you. From the moment these dreams began as a child, you've known Minho was going to be the one who gave you away. He's watched your heart get broken time after time, comforting you each and every time as gently as the first time it happened. And then, because of him, you met Chan. You will forever be indebted to him. "Are you ready to go? They're all waiting for you. You're going to stun them."

And you nod, a nervous smile upon your lips as Minho links his arm with you. The music crescendos as you step out, and all eyes fall on you. They gasp at the sight of you, people clutching their chests with excitement. You can't help it. You beam, your face radiant.

You don't want to look at Chan yet, still taking in the scenery. The venue is outside, not a single discrepancy in the beautiful sunset. The color theme is white, matching your attire, and paired with the vibrant green vegetation, it looks absolutely divine. Your bridesmaids are giggling and waving to you, unimaginably proud of how far you've come. You pass Chan's family, soon to be yours, and his mother places a hand over her heart in silent gratitude. A thank you, for being her son's one true love.

When you look to the right, you see the remaining six of Chan's boys, dressed to the nines and watching the scene with utmost excitement. You can't help but chuckle when Felix wipes a tear away, eliciting merciless teasing from Jisung and Hyunjin. But even from here, you can see they have watery eyes too. They have nothing but adoration for Chan, and they are your family just as much as they are his.

Then, your eyes fall on Chan. His jaw is to the floor staring at you, taking in every inch of you. When you step up the altar opposite him, he is quick to take your hands in his. His voice is shaky as praise falls again and again from his full lips.

"Oh my god, you're beautiful- you're so- I can't even find the words for it. You've enchanted me. I can't speak." Noticing him getting flustered, you snicker. The officiant unfortunately interrupts your moment.

"May we begin?"

The first part is a blur, the only part you vividly remember and will forever cement into your cerebral is Chan squeezing your hands tightly as he looks deep into your eyes and says the two words that will change your life: "I do."

He never once looks away from you. Not when the officiant cracks a joke or two that bring his infamous dimples out, not when he is carefully slipping a silver wedding band onto your ring finger. When he is done, he lifts your hand up and presses a chaste kiss to the ring. It sits right alongside the brilliant diamond he proposed with, and the crowd releases a collective "awww". When you put his ring on, you do the same. It is a sign of respect and equality. There will never be an imbalance between you.

And finally, it is time for the vows. You wrote these the day after Chan proposed. You knew exactly what you'd been waiting to say to him all this time.

"This feels unreal to me. I still can't believe I'm standing here, about to tie the knot with the only person who has ever made me feel this way. I've never been so giddy when I'm around someone. I've never been so lonely and mopey when you're away. I want to spend every waking moment thinking about you if we are too far away from each other to touch." He's about to cry, it's so obvious, so you rub soft circles upon the skin of his hand. "Love is an inexplicable thing. It's fickle and can be mean, and I always thought it was out to get me. But I was wrong, because I was blessed with you. Love is far too soft of a word for me to use, because the way I feel about you could never be explained. I could dig through every page of every book, meticulously searching for the right term to use, but it would be to no avail. So you must trust me when I say that I love you, although there is so much more complexity than just those three words. Trust me when I'm falling apart and trust me when I'm doting on you like there's no tomorrow because just know that you are making all of my childhood wishes come true by being you. I promise to love you even when your hands are gnarled and you complain a bit too much about your back hurting. I'll love you when you finally become the old man Seungmin is always telling you about. And finally, I'll love you because you make me human."

The audience takes a moment for your words to register, before it is Chan's turn to say his vows. He takes a moment to compose himself before he begins, his eloquence taking everybody by surprise.

"Thank you, angel. That was beautiful. I still remember the first time I saw you. I was at Minho's birthday, and it was getting too stuffy, so I went up to the rooftop to catch my breath. You were up there, in all your beauty, and I swore I wanted to marry you right then and there. Your hair was blowing in the wind and you were wearing white, and I was like 'Shit. You're gonna be mine one day' because I knew that you were trouble and I didn't care because I would go to the ends of the earth for you to even look my way. It was then, I knew. I knew that you would make me the happiest man on Earth. I knew that I would love you for the rest of my life, even if you didn't feel the same. I remember our first date, when we curled up on the couch together and we watched 'Tangled', and the way your eyes lit up at Flynn and Rapunzel's relationship, and I knew instantly that I was going to give you something so much better. Your body is my home, and your arms, my shelter. Our youth may fade, but our love will never be anything finite. Our souls are intertwined now, tied together by the string of fate that led us here. I will search for you in every lifetime. Even if you are on the other side of the world, I will travel the seven seas for even a glimpse of your face.l love you, forever and evermore."

His words are like a drug, seeping into your system and mellowing you out until you can only think of him. You tune out the ceremony until you hear the words you've been longing for ever since you saw him.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss the bride!" And in the blink of an eye, Chan's arms are wrapped around you so tightly you fear your body will disintegrate if he loosens his hold on you. His lips are on yours, kissing you with so much passion and intensity that you two are one. When he finally pulls away, he wraps his arm around you and you look towards your friends and family with a smile. Now comes the final part of your ceremony. The sky has mellowed out now, a shady of navy blue speckled with shimmering stars that you would never see in the city.

Hand-in-hand, you kneel down beside a lantern with both of your names inscribed upon it with a heart. Together, you light it and lift it up so it dances in the breeze, traveling up, up, up, until your love has reached the heavens. You watch it go, your head on Chan's shoulder and his arm around you.

"Thank you for loving me." you whisper in his ear.

"Don't thank me like this is a chore, it is a choice. And from now until the end of time, my choice will always be you."

@evermourning, ©2023. all rights reserved.

[httpino]

how the mighty have fallen!

desc: fem!reader, whipped oliver aiku, reader has glasses + is short, NO ANGST!!!, this kinda sucks sorry

a/n: hey y'all... how y'all doing... i am so back (very briefly). please enjoy tf out of this self indulgent cutie patootie oliver fic cause i, for one, am sick of the angsty cheater. i wrote this in 15 minutes then slightly edited it. ignore any errors, thank u! (>o<). reblogs + comments appreciated <3

Oliver Aiku was not a man who avoided indulgence. Women, in particular, were his favorite thing to indulge in. So much so, it was near impossible to spot Oliver Aiku with the same woman more than once. Until, you. 

Your first appearance with the famed defender as mundane. Well mostly. Like his usual hook-ups, you were spotted sitting in his lap. Unlike his usual hook-ups, you were reading a book at the local bookstore. You didn’t seem to be paying attention to him. At most, he was your throne, gazing down at you with an adoring smile. Most of his women were party girls, pictured making out with his neck in a crowded nightclub or vying for his attention. The media described it as a one off, something he’d get bored of like always. But then, you were seen again. This time, getting a one on one soccer lesson. You even dressed the part, wearing one of his jerseys and all. A feat no other woman had reached. He was smiling so widely, anyone could see the crooked smile he carefully hid from cameras. The media was slightly baffled but maybe you were a particularly fantastic lay under that boring look of yours. Besides your comically large glasses, you were short and didn’t exactly look as glamorous as his usual type. By your third consecutive appearance, the media had declared the unbreakable bachelor taken. The question remained; who managed to chain down the Oliver Aiku?

It wasn’t hard to uncover details about you. You were as technologically savvy as a grandmother so your very public instagram was very quickly dissected by his critically nosy fangirls and his even nosier fanboys. Your enormous stack of books held up by a mysterious man with defined muscles, your adorable black cat with mischievous eyes looking at a pair of equally mischievous blue and green eyes, the other cup of coffee in your countless cafe dates, the lipstick print on a dimpled cheek. All of it pointed at one Oliver Aiku. One seemingly very domesticated Oliver Aiku. An Oliver Aiku that disappeared from the partying scene. An Oliver Aiku that closed off the trail of brokenhearted women that seemed to follow him everywhere he went. It almost instantly turned into a debate. One that kept the internet quite entertained. What kept him around? Maybe you were in fact a fantastic lay. Maybe you were paying him. Maybe you were his beard. That theory was particularly prayed upon by his dedicated fanboys on Twitter. Despite all the theories, the answer was simple. Oliver Aiku was in love. Every moment he spent in your presence was a moment he wished he could erase his checkered history. Every pair of lips that touched his, every body that laid under him, every ear he whispered sweet nothings into. All of it could fall away, leaving him utterly vulnerable to the reality of his near destructive desires so long as you stood there with him. Holding him, keeping him together.

As the months passed, that’s how it remained. Kisses and winks sent off to the VIP section of the crowd, directed at the girl in the Aiku jersey. A bashful smile and the word girlfriend dropped during a post game interview. The flash of a silver band sitting on his ring finger. A written letter announcing the happiest day of his life, coupled with a photo of a couple kissing under a veil. Another one announcing an even happier day, complete with two joint hands and the tiny leg of a little baby. Oliver Aiku, the playboy was no more. His fans now knew him as the whipped husband of the famed Mrs. Aiku and the overly enthusiastic (and often embarrassing) father of the Aiku children. After shedding the image of his party boy persona, Aiku found an entirely new happiness. One that couldn’t be found in an empty bottle or in the arms of a faceless woman. One that could only be found in the warmth of your shared bed, surrounded by three tiny children with his laugh and your hair insisting on a sleepover.