#drained and stressed i need a hug

[taegularities]

...

[ame-to-ame]

Creative writing inspiration hit pls do not hit right now but also stay for when I'm. Less busy.

[classyrbf]

super horny babymama!reader with babydaddy!suguru tending to her every needs no matter how dire or casual they may be.

thank you for the request pookieeee, i hope you like it <3

you sat there staring at your phone, an unamused look on your face as you read the text from your supposed to be date tonight.

hate to do this, but I gotta cancel last minute…

all you can do is sigh in disappointment, rolling your eyes and tossing your phone onto your bed. You didn’t have the energy to respond, quite literally drained from scrolling on dating apps twenty four seven and having dates canceled. Getting back into the dating life was harder than you thought, especially now since you were single mother. It’s been tough finding someone, wanting a long lasting relationship and a nice guy who’ll also prove that he’s good enough for your kid too.

Even if you can’t find someone for long term at the moment, you were definitely in need for a good fuck. You couldn’t remember the last time you actually had someone in your bed. The built up sexual frustration added to your stress. You were so excited for this day too, even got Shoko to babysit for you after begging and begging. You frowned, heels clicking against the floor, getting a good look at yourself in the mirror, dress hugging you in all the right places and your makeup enhancing your features. It was a complete waste.

Whatever. You’ll just use the time to have some fun for yourself, reaching into your drawer to pull out your vibrator, hoping that it’ll help take some of the edge off. Any longer without cumming and you feel like you might explode. Unfortunately a horrible idea pops into your head the second you reach in your drawer. An idea that involved calling your baby daddy for a quick fuck.

You and suguru were great at co parenting, but getting too close would always make things messy and confusing, but would it really hurt to have him back in your bed again after a few months. The more and more you thought about it the nastier your thoughts became. He knew your body like the back of his hand, knew all your sweet spots, what made you tick and how to make you cum within minutes. Your pussy throbbed at the thought, and you broke.

You dialed his number, the phone only ringing twice before you heard his voice on the phone. “Hello?” He answered.

“Hey, Suguru.” You bit your lip.

“Hey, baby. Everything alright?” Despite not being together for a while, he never dropped the nickname despite your comments about it.

“Mmm, yeah. I just…my date canceled on me and I was wondering—”

“Need to me to come over?” He finished your sentence, letting out a breathy chuckle. “Anything for you, baby.”

“Yeah, but…I’m just feeling really fucking horny right now,” you take a deep breath, “and I need you so badly. I’ve been pent up for so fucking long, Sugu,” you whine.

“I know, baby, I know. Just be ready for me when I get there.”

Now twenty minutes later, Geto has you riding his cock, his hands squeezing at your hips. You’re bouncing on him with such intensity, greedily pleasing yourself, using his cock to get off. And he lets you without a care in the world. He watches your pussy cream around him, your pretty tits bouncing in his face, tempting to suck on. “That’s it, ride that dick,” he pants, reaching down and rubbing your clit with his thumb.

“Nnnghh, Sugu,” you cry, lewd moans bouncing off the walls and straight to his ears. “I love your cock…feels so fucking good,” you whimper. Your hips are slamming down harder, eyes rolling back at the pleasure coursing through your veins. Your chest heaves up and down with each breath, falling back on your hands and spreading your legs more, grinding your hips against his cock. “Mmmph,” your teeth catch your lower lip.

“Ohh yes, show off that pretty pussy to me,” he groans, still messily rubbing your clit. He feels your cunt clench down on him, a broken moan escaping his lips. “Fuckkk, I can’t get enough of you.” He bucks his hips up, fucking you back. The sound of your pussy squelching makes his cock throb even harder, your juices gathering at the base of his cock with each lethal thrust.

“Shit, shit, right there!” You moan. As you grow closer to your orgasm, your body grows tired from riding, making it hard to catch your breath. Geto notices how much of you slowed down, brows furrowed in concentration before he pulls you up and holds you against his sweaty chest. His arms wrap around you, holding you tightly as he takes over, plunging his cock into you. “Ohhhh shit. Oh my god you’re so fucking deep, Sugu!” Your nails claw at his shoulders, your moans pouring into his ear.

The sound of skin against skin echoes through the room, his cock thrusting in and out a rough and selfish pace. It’s like he needed your orgasm more than you with the way he was fucking you. He always knew how to do it just right, making your toes curl, leaving you speechless and a drooling mess. “Cum, baby, fucking cum,” he whimpers, gritting his teeth as his movements grow sloppier. “No one else can make you feel this good, huh? Fucking you so deep and raw, making you cum harder and harder round after round,” his sultry voice sends shivers down your spine. “This pussy is mine. Say it.” You can hear the cocky smirk in his voice.

“Ah, yes, it’s yours!” You cry out, biting down on his shoulder as he continuously pounds into you, satisfying your every craving and need to be fucked. He knows exactly how you need it, and puts it down just right. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard for you to stay away, and he plays right into each time because he can’t stay away either. He’s there at your every beck and call no matter what.

Your pornographic moans grow only louder, dripping cunt clenching around his thick cock before your body begins shaking from the intensity of your orgasm. “I’m cummingggg!” Your eyes roll back, incoherent mumbles leaving your lips while he fucks you through it.

“Fuck, yes, you feel so good!” His grip on you is bruising, your pussy creaming more than before as his thrusts grow stronger. “Ohh shit, you’re bouta make me fucking cum,” he breathes heavily, quickly making the decision to pull out before he ends up making a rash decision and getting you pregnant again. The warmth of his sticky cum coats your pussy lips, geto making sure to smear it between your folds. “Damn, baby,” he breathily chuckles.

“Oh my god,” you lay there on his chest, trying to catch your breath. “God, I haven’t cum that hard in so long. I feel like I blacked out for a second,” you giggle. His fingers hook under your jaw, pulling you in for a kiss, his tongue sliding against your lips and into your mouth. Your hands travel down his toned stomach, pulling away. “Fuck me again,” you whisper, your hand sliding lower, wrapping around his hard cock. Geto wastes no time, flipping you onto your back, your knees pushed up to your chest.

You were ready to be here all night.

feel free to support me <3

[saintshadow]

QUICK messages What sweet things are coming to you?

pile i

Something creative, perhaps a gift, or something hand made. Even if it’s something you make for yourself, there’s something about the symbol of a tortoise here. They represent peace, wisdom, and longevity. So perhaps there are good things coming, maybe you feel like you spend so much time waiting because whatever it is you want takes time to develop. You’re looking for true stability & security, it doesn’t come overnight. You could get signs, messages, Angel numbers. Try to breathe, stay grounded, focus.

For some it could be a love letter! How sweet, a token of appreciation and adoration.

I’m seeing hummingbirds as a sign for this collective of something sweet.

You will be sweeter on yourself as well, I’m seeing- there are people around you wanting to be sweet on you but you are very stubborn.

Be sweeter on yourself and your life will become sweeter in general. 🍓

——————————

pile ii

Perhaps a confession, flowers, a sweet confectionary from a loved one. Something meaningful & tasty. I see hand holding, eye contact, touch and kissing. Someone who admires your mind heart & soul. Someone who craves you, who craves your sweetness! This person is coming in for you Pile 2, perhaps you’re hard to get or perhaps you’ve been feeling a bit drained. This person is quite sweet on you and you’re in for a treat 🤭

Sexy times are ahead pile 2 🤣

————————

pile iii

REST, relaxation, vacation maybe? You could be very stressed pile 3, take more time for YOU. Focus on your needs & your wants instead of others. Cook for yourself, sing in the shower, watch a good movie, hug your stuffed animal and remind yourself that it WILL be okay. This too shall pass, you could be feeling lost- depressed and confused. There is sweetness in the world around you pile 3, just be patient and wait for it to unfurl. There are so many people that love you.

Be grateful for them ✨

[werezmastarbucks]

three hugs

idol!yoongi x f!reader oneshot

oneshot

oneshot!!!!

You will do well to remember that Yoongi is in love with his job first; he is married to his music and is merely cheating with you. There's no space or capacity in his life for commitment to a human; only, the way he cares for you betrays his inconvenient feelings.

warnings/tags: FWB, unreciprocated feelings, jealousy, emotionally cold lovers, dual pov, aerophobia, lovers to exes to ???, drunk sex, cursing, emotionally unavailable Yoongi, hiking in Japan, smut kind of hits you in the face a little, but it's not super graphic?

word count: 12652

music: on the low by justin park, i like it by skz, spring attitude by sunwoojunga

author's note: guys i am stuck in dramatic present. break me out pls

"Shit".

"What?"

You slide the chapstick over your lips.

"It's mint".

Yoongi makes the curious cat-face, raising his eyebrows and pressing his lips together.

"Let me try?"

He found you on the balcony at one of the corporate parties. Those same parties where there was always one particular asshole recording things from under the elbow, in secret, for "reassurance". Thankfully, that evening didn't leak. Yoongi found you on the balcony when you were standing with your hand outstretched, catching rain, and he thought, thank fuck. A normal person. Some piano music was playing, reminding him of Mount Tate. It made him think of low Japanese pines and the fresh morning up above the ground. The droplets were gathering in your palm. You recognized his silhouette although you hadn't spoken before that. You were in too deep from the very beginning.

Now he is kissing you in the corridor of your Hannam-dong apartment, tasting the chapstick and making a face.

"It's freezing".

He's leaving first. You leave fifteen minutes later after his car is half way out of the neighbourhood. You aren't seen together in the street or establishments, unless it's an idol-approved restaurant where mobile phone use is banned altogether, and all the staff is on a massive pile of various NDAs. You do not get to hold hands or speak sweetly to each other, but he gets to watch his dick slide in and out of you, your lips wrap around it, gets to squeeze your breast and twist it, slap your thigh as you bounce on his lap, gets to mess your hair in his fist, yanking your head back, and you get to hear him produce god-fearing moans as he is orgasming under you. You do not date, you are four times removed colleagues and fuck buddies, and for the longest time it works well and boosts productivity tenfold. Stressed? Fuck. Depressed? Fuck. Yoongi can growl at his soundboard, then fall backwards onto his chair and keep falling until he lands head first on your lap. You are careful not to linger with your hand in his hair for too long lest he gives you that look that you don't like. When the tint of pleasure and casuallness slips off his pupil and he starts looking inside of you.

The reason is has been working so well was because you were both too busy and aloof to think about it. Two consenting adults, surviving on coffee shots and IVs, just trying to cum once in a while, and have someone around, who doesn't piss you off. Who doesn't know the people you talk shit about, so they don't side with them.

The fallout happened for you when you noticed him wrinkle his whole face as he squeezed a silicone slime, anatomically correct heart, in a futile attempt to "release the stress". Producer laughed at his snoot. You thought, oh, he's cute.

Oh, shit, he's cute.

Then the whole wagon of romance bullshit started filling your head and it felt like from then on you had about twice as much work. The load that feelings put on you cannot be overestimated. It's the constant thinking, even when you need to be concentrated. It drains the fun out of the sexual arrangement because now, instead of laughing at his jokes, you feel the fire at your ears and awkwardly giggle.

As he brushes his open palm across your hip in a mindless gesture, all of a suden, your whole body jerks, reacts, like a car starting all over again, like you've been zipped.

"Whoa. Haven't had enough?" he asks in the deep, rumbling voice that always gives you one promise. If you want, he can fuck for hours. Ten minutes in between rounds, glass of water, and he's good to go again. Yoongi is never stingy with compliments about your body; he always lets you know when you look breathtaking, and how the angle is to die for, and how nice your curves are, and how he appreciates you.

What he isn't generous with, is the actual connection.

On the day when you simply hang out in the same space, you, with your laptop, getting the documents ready, you decide to annoy him under the guise of being mad at everybody else. You're glad you have established earlier that you're an easily irritable person, because now Yoongi isn't suspicious when you seek his company.

But when you step to him from behind, completely misreading the atmosphere, and put your hands around his shoulders, he flinches. Yoongi never yells, god forbid, or even grunts at you, but instead, he turns around quite coldly, and says,

"Don't make it weird, okay? There was no need for that".

He shows you your place. You are, to each other, instruments. Friends almost, he enjoys your sense of humour when you're cool, and, preferably, naked. He respects your space and expects you to do the same with him. You know he is somebody who needs a lot of alone time. You are the same. The elite type of people who know how to be alone. But you have miscalculated that, after all the sixty-nines, maybe, a hug wouldn't be too out of the line. It is though.

It hurts you because you had already lost. The day when he found you on the balcony catching the rain and made an adorably cautious conversation, you had recognized his frame before he stepped into the pool of light, and you should have known that the cup will overflow and you will fall in love with him.

Like, it's ridiculous, who wouldn't? He constantly makes these funny faces, shaking his oval head, and crunches his nose, and is so quiet that it draws you in. When he comes over for the first time, the fucking doesn't start for thirty minutes because he is fixing a closet door that caught his eye. He is this... an effortlessly lovable, rare person. Emotionally shut, which you interpret as manipulation instead of a fact. His gaze tells you, yes, it only takes two screws. What's the big deal?

You are deeply hurt by his rejection, then a little concerned when he doesn't text for a whole week; it's getting dangerous because you don't know where the line is, that you shouldn't cross. You practice with his brothers: Namjoon seems to like you, and you tend to work with him a lot, sampling his voice and sending him variants. You learn this about yourself: casual touch isn't a norm at all, so it's fair that Yoongi got alarmed at it. You avoid touching people even when you are very drunk: no matter how soft, attractive, squishy they look, you tend to keep your hands to yourself. His suspicion in quenched after a bit, he starts looking you in the eye again as you play annoyance. Yoongi is the type to quietly retreat from an argument, to give up if it takes too much effort to battle; to pretend not to notice rather than confront. When there's a quarrel breaking out, which happens relatively often considering how many different people he is surrounded with, and him, having his authentic, strong opinions; when there's a fight, he visibly shuts off, covers his stomach with his arms and slightly turns around, checks out. Especially when it doesn't concern him or his band. Especially with people he doesn't love.

And he doesn't love you. He likes you, respects you, finds you very attractive for some reason. But he shows love in a completely obvious, unmistakeable way. You know he loves Jimin because he never flinches when Jimin assaults him with hugs. He loves music because he spends all of his waking time with her; he speaks about music; he sees the world through her. He loves mountains, and it's simply easily readable in the way he looks around sometimes. He opens up rarely, and when it's about something that he wants to do, it's usually going to the mountains.

He doesn't love you because it's inconvenient, stressful and isn't booked in his schedule. In his daily life, almost every minute is dedicated to doing something. Even sleep is rationed; he knows what time he eats and what time he showers. There's very little space for improvisation, and at first you felt sorry for him. Because, even though you work in the same place, you are simply an office rat. You walk around the building teaching language models and giving them idol voices. You have days off, evenings off, lunch time and a circle outside work. You can walk the street without covering your head with a hood, a hat, glasses and a mask. You used to feel sorry for him because you thought Yoongi and his other boys were kind of victims to their jobs, but soon learnt that his insane schedule is his own doing. He made it. Training, gym, English, Japanese, guitar, vocals, piano, doctors, meetings, shooting, repeat. Asking him why he lives like that would be stupid. It's because he loves it.

You close up. Losers are left with feeling the sorrow and like the third wheel. That's what you get for catching feelings when you never wanted them in the first place. You're not star-struck: you see him in his least glamourous, in the mornings when he is so groggy that he looks like an old man, dragging his feet around the room, struggling to find his own pants. His hair is all but dead, dry, burnt, occasionally it gets softer when his hairdresser undertakes emergency treatments. You stop thinking of Yoongi as an idol three months into fucking him. That part of his life is constantly present, of course; you even get to see him in his public persona from time to time, but he feels like a different person then. Yoongi is just - surrounded by limits, often a physically unreachable lover, that you happened to get a crush on. You keep on living, having this affair, thinking that the feelings, undeveloped, tend to die sooner or later.

The only thing you can't forget is the look he has given you when he refused your hug. You're not enough to have the right to distract him from work. You aren't loved enough to nag on him or call him without a purpose. You should remember your place. He does good in not invading your space, so what's your excuse?

Otherwise, he's a good guy. Yoongi is generally kind and patient with everybody. If there's a choice, he chooses to do good.

─────────────────────────────────────

Like now.

You click your tongue and swipe the web page closed.

"Hm?"

Your favourite band is touring across Europe without thinking of dropping by your place, or at least somewhere in Asia.

"I can even get the tickets, but flights are too expensive because it's the season".

"Berlin?"

"Yeah", you reply absent-mindedly.

"I can take you. I can go there earlier".

"Don't you have the show in May?"

"They've asked me to choose the date, and I haven't decided yet", Yoongi stretches his arms, then falls on the side like a cat, pressing the top of his head to your ribs as his hand tickles them under your other arm. You shift. He knows you don't like tickling too much and does it when he wants a reaction. You clutch his hand shortly to tell him to stop, and his palm settles.

"But we have to go for three days then".

"I can't get time off work. On Monday I need to be back".

"Tell them you're sick".

You brush it off. It's not a big deal anyway. Yeah you haven't been to concerts in years, but you're not seventeen anymore. Life doesn't make it easy to constantly give in to all you desire. You don't have the power to move events like he does. Your hand instinctively touches his hair, and you manage to swipe through it once, before you catch yourself and let go. Yoongi isn't prickly at all, but that one time was more than enough. You don't need to be told twice.

"You know I can't just clear my schedule like that. They need me".

Even though your brain starts working immediately, weighing options, creating loopholes. Maybe you can say you have an emergency, or even leverage Yoongi himself telling them that since he is taking you out of the kindness of his heart, the management should give you a Friday and Monday off. He sighs without making it too sincere.

"You got time to think until tomorrow afternoon".

"Don't adapt for me".

"It's not a problem".

He leaves as usual, quickly and tidy, and you're thinking about the band. You haven't seen them in such a long time. If you get a free shot at going, you should probably take it. You shove all the other reasons deeper and out of the way because you know when Yoongi is working, he is all but absent.

By midnight, you send him a message saying you have dealt with it. He texts back a thumbs up. Asks if you need a ticket, too. Offers to go with you, and you don't take it as anything because when Yoongi is with you, he is actually nice. He is the kind of person who will offer help and then won't pout when it's accepted. You respond to him that you will go to the pit to thrash your head and slam people around, and he retracts the offer.

Then next time you meet, it's already on the private jet. You're taken to the plane fifteen minutes earlier by a security guy wearing flip-flops, while the airport is buzzing and waiting for Yoongi. You slither right through the crowd and to the gate, leaving them behind expecting the real star.

The star climbs up into the plane clutching his knitted hat in his hand and with a cup of iced coffee. Yoongi's eyes dart to the double seats on the other side where Mr Lee makes himself comfortable. You've chosen a single seat at the window, facing forward, so he crashes across the table from you, recalling vaguely that you are maybe afraid of flying. His memory is proven right when the take off begins, and he sees your face stuck to the window, hands clutching the armrests, mouth a lopsided smile like you're judging the gravity. He is sure there's something very loud going on in the airpods in your ears. He keeps observing, notifying with displeasure, that you're afraid for the most part of the flight, uneasy the whole way as the plane soars up, gaining speed and altitude, and then only mildly bothered for the other thirteen hours, only to get panicked again at the beginning of landing. As the runway approaches, he can see your chest freezing, like you are expecting to crash right into the ground, and he can't take it anymore: nudges your foot with his, pushing lightly, then leans over the table. You are too stressed to take an airpod out, so you just grab the hand that he puts out over the table, without taking your eyes off the land. The hold is so strong that Yoongi unwillingly imagines what it will be like at, say, childbirth. You will probably break his wrist.

"Why don't you drink before flight?" he asks, when the plane is firmly on the rest, as he stands up to get his bag from a nearby seat. Mr Lee leaves the plane with the manager and the stylists, to check if everything is ready.

"I get sick if there's turbulence. Once vomited all over a tiny Ryanair plane, it was horrible", you mumble. You feel positively exhausted after an excrutiatingly long flight. Yoongi had motioned towards the bed in the front segment of the plane, but you can never sleep while in the air: it's like the only thing keeping this thing going without nose diving is your pure terror.

"Jimin is coming, too. He wants to show up at the second performance", he remembers, "so you better fly back with us, too".

"Oh. The two us in one plane?"

He shrugs with a smile. Yoongi likes to note how you are a little similar to Jimin. He never clarifies in what ways; you don't work with his youngster a lot, so you have vague image of the guy. But you hear nice things about him, and like him by extention.

He hums instead of a goodbye, then leaves the plane as per Mr Lee's permission. You leave fifteen minutes later, when the arrivals hall is already clear, and the big SUV circles the terminal to pick you up on the corner. You feel happy after having survived yet another flight.

You attend your show and Yoongi attends his; only, while you're thrashing the life out of yourself in the pit to the favourite music, he is sitting like a good boy in the first row of a game, looking pretty. The next day, you would have left on your own to give everybody a surprise at work by showing up on time, but you weigh everything and realize that, if you were so terrified on a private flight, fifteen hours in commercial will be absolutely unbearable and result in some sticky mess. So you linger around Berlin, wander the city for the day after sleeping in, get cold in April weather, get caught up in the rain, eat some curry wurst and in the evening, go to see Yoongi's private performance for the lack of better things to do.

You hang around the dressing rooms before the performance, watching the stylists doll him up: it's always a pleasant sight. Brushes poking his button nose, he squeezes his eyes shut, moving the phone glued to his palm around. You know people are generally curious what the fuck he is constantly doing on his phone. Watches videos or plays mobile games. At the age of thirty-two, he already has several striking features of an old man, and the forecast doesn't look optimistic. Soon, he will start grumbling about the weather, too. His eyes dart to you as you start fidgeting with the coffee machine.

"Can I have one, too?"

"I am putting star anise in".

His stylist, a short quirky girl, turns around to give you a face full of disgust.

"Why?" Yoongi hoots. Like it's a crime.

"Experiment".

"You shouldn't have coffee now", his manager says.

"It tastes okay".

He is sent off to the tiny stage where he is going to entertain selected European fans and show off his average English. You wander around the place, expecting to see Jimin, who can't go on a week without his genius hyung's company. You heard he has a very packed month, promotions and too many rehearsals, all that while his knee injury isn't healed yet, but Jimin is always in a state of panic so he never wants to pedal back. Now he clawed three days out and darted from Seoul to Berlin to show support because he knows Yoongi doesn't feel too comfortable in Europe on his own. Even though he will never say. It's new information for you, and you have to constantly remind yourself you aren't entitled to it at all.

You find him in the smaller dressing room with monitors, observing Yoongi from a distance. There's a whole crew with the light and cameras swarming around him, while Jimin is hunched up on a chair, not even looking at the screens. His head is down, the lid of the cap hiding his face, hands in his pockets, one knee jerking up and down. You feel something like short-fused anger rise in you and don't think much before stepping in and getting into a shot.

"Hey", you look into the camera, then at the man trying to swerve around you, but you outpace him, making your way towards Jimin in little steps. You've seen this tiny guy at work often. Always running somewhere, his strong legs working. Always a smile on his face. You know much more about him from Yoongi who likes talking about his brothers. You know enough to want to protect him, which means, Yoongi always wants to protect him.

"Do you have to record him when he is like this?"

You can only see the tip of his chin, but then Jimin looks up at you, his eyes timid and glistening.

"He is upset. Is this content, too?"

You tilt your head, meeting their eyes. The crew starts grunting something quietly, cameras rolling.

"I am already in it, so I guess you'll have to delete it".

You sit down in front of him like he's a kid. Frankly, a lot of them look like kids. Most of them are only grown on paper, the age in their passports often doesn't respond to how they are. Many boys, stuck in the tender ages they have been traumatised in, by the company. Yoongi often acts like he is a mature twenty-year old which aligns with his debut age.

You put your hands on his knees and lower your voice.

"Who did this, Jiminie?"

The tone makes him chuckle immediately. He sighs like it's a relief. You're glad you have that sense of humour, coupled with your small size, that makes guys smile.

"I'm alright".

"Yeah? You just tell me who upset you, and I'll beat them up".

The recording crew retreats dissatisfied because you refuse to leave his side. Jimin throws them one cautious look and his face lights up just a little.

"Beat them up?"

"Yeah, I go to gym, bro, I punch the bag all the time".

His left knee shakes with his laughter. He adjusts the cap and takes the second hand out of the pocket of his hoodie.

"Thank you".

"No problem. I am a very angry person, I am always ready to protect pretty boys like you".

Yoongi returns to the dressing room a little sweaty, just a little agitated, his nervous system alarmed but satisfied with yet another linguistic adventure overcome without a catastrophe, and sees Jimin snicker at your words as your hands clutch his knees like he is the little princess and you're his suitor. He sees it from the door the handle of which he clutches, and he notices things instantly. How you smile, bowing to see his eyes, how Jimin's hand flies up to his neck, how his voice rumbles deeply to make him sound more manly. Yoongi also notices the tremor in his injured knee and walks over to join you.

As you see him, you stand up and give space.

Yoongi's hand caresses Jimin's head.

"Don't be upset about it".

"I let you down, hyung".

"You didn't. You're here, aren't you? I am happy you're here".

You step away quietly as Yoongi keeps comforting him, glowing in his white outfit, hair slicked back and with highlighter on his cheeks. Looks too much like a groom.

Back at the hotel, Yoongi keeps waddling in and out of the bathroom with a brush in his mouth, one hand in his hair.

"How was the concert?"

"You asked me yesterday and I told you everything", you reply, without taking your eyes off the phone.

"Right. You caught any confetti?"

"No".

"Why not? People gather them and stuff them in jars, you know. We always try to invent new shapes for confetti so that ours will have different jars with different confetti".

You look up at him. He looks like a guy you could spend the rest of your life with, and it hurts quite frankly. So cosy, handsome with his hair undone, plain white tee, one hand sawing something in his mouth with the toothbrush.

"You had coffee, didn't you?"

He shrugs.

"Why don't you ever babygirl me like you did with Jimin?"

A chuckle rumbles in your chest.

"You never show any weakness".

You see that makes him think, actually. Yoongi is probably too caught up in his life to notice such things, to pay attention to himself. He produces a short pondering hm and disappears back into bathroom. This chitchat pisses you off. He is usually way less talkative. Polite, friendly, but not very open. You don't like it when he acts like you have hope. The old grudge you have festers in you for too long, growing from a little childish sore into a sort of trauma. You avoid touching him for too long, talking to him about personal stuff. He usually doesn't respond anything, at best. Establishing limits in the beginning was kind of humiliating; he would take your hand off his shoulder softly, saying he will vacate you at once if you find someone serious. The same goes for him.

Now he gets into bed and his hand is on the top of your head, patting. His arm wraps around your waist as he pushes himself closer. These two days were too tiring and busy so you didn't have any sex, thus, it's even more intimate when he does this. You don't flinch, but instead tense your body up, bitterness a juice in your brain.

"Don't make it weird", you ask. Yoongi lifts himself up on an elbow to look you in the face.

"Huh?"

"I am uncomfortable when you hug me like this".

In the bluish darkness of the room, you can see his bewildered, surprised expression.

"Are you serious right now?"

And you know, you know his mind wanders back to that one time he flinched. Because you know he remembers.

You nod.

"I can't fall asleep with your arm on me anyway", you lie, "it's too heavy".

With a sigh in between his teeth, he removes his hand but doesn't turn away yet.

"What's gotten into you?" then pause, "is it because I told you to back off once?"

It's spectacular how for both of you, that one occasion is a sharp rock shining painful white of awkwardness and unspoken spite.

"Hey, I don't need you to repeat. But you have to respect the limits, too", you say calmly. You understand his shock, because nothing this evening indicated there were any problems. But the outburst is inevitable from time to time, simply because you react to his touch the way you wish you didn't. When it's not during sex, when it's not possessive, you have to ask yourself what's the reason for touching you at all. Yoongi sniffs through his nose.

"Isn't it a little too dramatic? You're really sore about that?"

"I am not".

"Then what's the problem? We sleep like this all the time".

"After we fuck".

"So let's fuck".

You fall back on your pillow and brush through your hair.

"Fine, Jesus", he closes up, and you breathe a sigh of relief. Yoongi does this very well, removes himself, it's not worth it. It's not worth being straightforward, and because he doesn't push, doesn't try to speak to you, you understand his touch, in fact, didn't mean anything. You're one of those soft, warm breathing pillows that help the sleeping. He simply turns around on the other side and purrs like he always does when relaxing his whole body. He doesn't snore and is quite proud of it.

In the morning things are back to normal. It was a slight glitch; in the dark, you can both bury it and pretend nothing happened. Yoongi is allergic to being direct with you, it's all subtle. You see he avoids brushing hands by accident as he takes your bag and pushes it in the trunk; then by the time you make it to the airport, and you go first, he is casual and light again, happy to go home. He gives you one concerned look then says nothing, pushing the mask up his face even though he stays in the car. You go fifteen minutes before him and pass through the waiting crowd, invisible, efficient, led by the security guy in flip-flops.

Mr Lee enters the plane first, and he motions to you, looking you in the eye with a kind smile:

"Take that seat, by the window".

Yoongi follows him and nods at the double seats as well and you understand he wants to make the flight a little better for you. So you plunge in the wide seat at the window, looking outside at the greyish Berlin sky, unassuming white keeping your night trick hidden away. Yoongi sits down next to you, quite ready to fence if you start acting up again, but you don't. The fear of death is much stronger now. Jimin arrives unexpectedly because you have completely forgotten he flies back with you: he lights up the space, happier than yesterday, ruffles his raspberry-lilac hair and eases the tension. Yoongi's gaze clicks onto him and you are grateful for that. You can suffer in silence and alone. Jimin notices how wide your eyes are, and how you clutch onto Yoongi's hand that reaches out as the plane starts moving. The rain makes it worse: you look at the trees bending in the distance, thinking about how a wind like this can knock a vehicle off the course easily.

"You're scared of flying?"

He also asks this because seeing Yoongi hold someone's hand - a girl's hand - is remarkably unusual for him. He studies this clutch of interlocked fingers with curiousity, like it's an animal he thought was extinct.

"That's to put it lightly", you coo back. The plane gains speed, and you are pressed against the back of your seat. Primal horror snatches your breath.

"You know planes crash very rarely? This one definitely isn't going to. Carrying South Korea's most important producer".

His rambling doesn't help. On the opposite, it exposes how naive Jimin's thinking is. You apprecite the movement of his plump, smiling lips, trying to distract you, but he only makes it worse. The plane doesn't care who it carries; if it crashes, it crashes, killing everyone.

"The only dangerous times of the flight are the take off and the landing", he continues, thinking he is setting your mind at peace. You are well aware of that. And for now, you just so happen to be in the middle of a take off.

"Jimin", Yoongi hoots, "you're not helping".

"Sorry", he smiles sweetly, like a little shit. You chuckle at that nasty grin and look away at the window again. Luckily Yoongi's hand actually helps. If you die, you die holding the person you love. The plane dips slightly as the gear kisses the ground goodbye, and you squeeze it, begging silently. For some reason, he thinks of child labour again, wondering why he gets this specific association. The grip is so strong it hurts his hand, and he gives in to the pain, takes it, without realizing what it means.

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The sex changes slightly, and it's a sign you're doing worse. You can't help it when he is close to you, with the body you have come to know well and love a lot, you start shoving your face close to his to catch his breathing, and Yoongi seems to enjoy that, feeding into your delusion. He is a needy, universal lover, always down for some tenderness, who likes to be handled with care. Always a giver, a helper in everyday life, he replenishes the affection from you by being caressed and held tightly, without asking. Only, it hurts you when he does this - allows you to pull him closer, share a kiss that's too gentle as you come undone, because for several seconds it feels like you love each other. But it's a position that he comes to like a lot: you on his lap, faces pressed together as he hunches his back a little to be on the same eye level, to then fall on the side like in water, clutching to each other.

"We okay?" he asks out of nowhere. You look at his soft profile. His upper lip trembling a little, the lower part of his stomach contracting. You push his thigh with your knee.

"Yes? Why wouldn't we be?"

He nods like he is getting ready to jump into a well full of sharks, or go on stage. Closing his eyes for a second, then heaves himself off the bed, like he usually does. He doesn't like to linger, sensory overload of your sweaty body pressed against his. He takes a quick shower and then leaves tidying after himself, ready to work. He never has you at his place like it's too sacred, or like he has some secrets there. It's always hotels or your apartment, a car, a locked office with no windows. He says something about his home being too far away, and how inconvenient it is. He knows it's bullshit, and you know it too. You live in the same neighbourhood.

─────────────────────────────────────

Jimin keeps smiling and it suddenly pisses him off. Yoongi folds a napkin and attempts to make a swan out of it, but all that comes out is a plane. He taps Jimin on the shoulder and hands him his little present.

Jungkook's eyes widen at the sight of it.

"And for me? Me, hyung?"

Yoongi rolls his eyes, catching a stare from Taehyung, too.

"Is it his birthday?" the second youngest demands.

"It's not Jimin's birthday", Jungkook confirms.

"What's that for?" Jimin asks, quite pleased.

He wants to jab him playfully, so naturally, it's a bribe: stop staring at my girl. It baffles him. His guts drop. Like when he realizes two meetings clash on his schedule. In that case, after a second of panic, he takes a deep breath and calls his manager. Now, he can't call his manager and say, hey, there's an inconvenience. I don't like the way Jimin can't seem to shut up about Y/N after she touched his leg and smiled at him in Berlin. This glitch is all his. And he closes up. Feelings, undeveloped, tend to die on their own. Whether he needs them is out of question: he doesn't. He's been doing that naturally; of course he'd developed an innocent crush on someone he has sex regularly with. Without it, he wouldn't be able to do that properly. He's a feeling, inspired human, artistic: he can't do it without trust. That's how his head works at least. This kind of light infatuation adds to the sex, it makes it truly relaxing and non-stressful without needing to act on it. Of course he feels something. It's a kind of a driving force in his work, as well.

The real problem arises when there's someone else in the equation.

─────────────────────────────────────

Namjoon is focused like a hawk as you fight for your life. You hate losing; perhaps something from childhood when your cousin constantly beat you and then gloated about it; there was a saying in your family, as a game was over, if you can't work your brains, work your hands. The loser shuffled the deck back in order. You hated being the loser. But against Namjoon it is impossible. He beats you every time, although thankfully, he isn't an asshole about it. But allowing himself to throw hands in the air victoriously. You smile about it, press your jaws together, crunch your nose to laugh it off.

You rarely play cards at all, maybe only in the breaks like these, while the laptop is working and you have to wait; and the foyer is realtively empty, and the disposition is relaxed. You have a coffee at your side on the low table, and the faint music creates a comfortable bubble to lose to your friends at a game of cards. You strike the table with the rest of yours, and Namjoon smiles with dimples, pacifying you.

Yoongi takes his place.

"Rematch".

He is surprisingly bad at it. To the point where his friend is at his side, pushing him with his thigh, so that Yoongi has to scoot over on the small couch to let the giant sit next to him.

"Yoongi hyung, but there's a..."

"Shh. I have a strategy".

You observe his eyes above the cards as he glances at you. The feral looks you give to each other are fun. Namjoon hums something when Yoongi has to scoop the cards and take them to himself, losing more and more.

"The strategy sucks", he muses.

"I know what I'm doing".

It makes you concerned but you beat him in the end with a little bit of wit, and at least it's not too humiliating. Namjoon gives him a look, then turns away, and there are dimples again. The banana palm on your side throws a shade on the table as the sun moves across the sky outside. You look at them both as your nostrils grow in size.

"Oh you let me win, didn't you?"

You lean over the table to get to him and see the cards, but Yoongi moves away, then takes the deck and starts mixing.

"I wish. Maybe I'm just bad at it".

Namjoon stands up with a swing, still with that shit-eating grin on his transparent face. Thing about him, he's not good at three things: acting, keeping secrets and lying. His eyebrows give him away every time.

─────────────────────────────────────

For you, it's like living. The feeling of love is a familiar thing to you, especially with him. He is a warm, unique human and as long as you meet from time to time, it's only half-way bad. You have things to distract you from it, and you postpone doing something about it, like breaking this arrangement. Maybe next month. Maybe next month again.

For Yoongi, it's like falling. Like his house of cards crashing down. Carefully curated existence spinning out of control. Control is very important to him: he likes to have control over his personal affairs. He likes to know what he is doing every minute of the day. He doesn't have obsessions; doesn't have urges that control him instead. Even though he is a feeling human, he isn't a victim to his desires. Now all of a sudden the peace is tilted, and he snaps. It's like a foot catching air instead of a step. He simply doesn't have time for this, it makes no sense. Feeling in love seems to him like someone demanding giving up his work and his freedom, and he will never do that. It actually makes him aggressive, feels like invasion of his space, and he doesn't like that. How dare you clutch the shirt on his chest in your fist, making those eyes he knows he isn't able to resist, saying "let's ruin it?" Will you buy him a new one? How dare you groan at your computer in a way that makes him so hard that he hits his dick on the desk, trying to stand up? How dare you have that laugh that sounds like gripping his hand, giving birht to his babies?

Love is a thing idols cannot afford. It's nonsense for others. He, he has a goal. A point to his existence, he has something to say and something to prove. It's below him to settle like the peak of his life has been reached, and all his ambition satisfied. Far from it. He gets angry with himself when he lets you beat him in a card game because he doesn't understand himself where the impulse came from. It's not that deep.

He breaks it off. Says he doesn't have time anymore. He memorizes your eyes when you size him up and say,

"I figured".

Although there was no indication before, because you were "okay". He lets it slide, the way you let go of him too easily, without questioning it, almost with a sense of relief. He tells himself it's not his burden anymore, and it should clear his head and lighten the load. After all, the affairs like these are often doomed from the start. One of you might fall in love, or meet someone else, or just grow tired. It's not supposed to be for life. He goes back inside his mind and assesses things left after you: memory of your elbow, twice smaller than his; hairs on his hoodie; the feeling of mountains; a new type of coffee: milk, cinnamon and star anise. He's sure there's more, but the feeling of frustration, like he was about to sneeze and never did, floods him and blocks his brains from thinking.

There's also mint. He remembers it when Jimin comes in one day smelling like it. Yoongi gives him a long look as his shoulders go cold.

"Hm?"

He shakes his head nothing.

─────────────────────────────────────

He also gets dreams. They aren't exactly dreams - rather, the lingering visions in his eyelids when on the brink of falling asleep. Pleasant pictures of something he regrets losing; if only there was a way to keep his emotions out of it, he'd watch your stomach contract under his hand forever. Gentle, careful knot of your belly button. The muscles in your sides flexing, soft birthmarks scattered on the skin, the tasty curve of your hip. He dreams again about that one evening when he paid a visit, but was in such a good mood that you ended up cuddling; he couldn't get enough of the sight of your ass in the underwear, squeezing, while you watched funny videos on his phone, and you laughed, thunderously, into his poor ear, snorted with laughter, your body shaking, until he suddenly started noticing the scent of your hair, too.

That's the adult way out: everybody has feelings. The choice is whether to act on them or not; you think, your feelings are only your business and nobody else's. If Yoongi asked, and you feel that at some point he was close to that, you'd tell him to fuck off and mind his affairs. You get to keep what you have inside your head.

Now, as he enters the studio with the hood on, you feel perfectly balanced and calm. Love hasn't hurt you as much as this man; he takes off the hood and you nod to the booth, and he casually follows your instructions. You step after him and hand him a sheet of paper. He's been to a facial recently, you can tell. His nose pores are clear and he's glowing, giving him a slightly pouty look. Smells like star anise. Imagining hugging him in his car as it's raining outside, hiding your face in his clean hoodie, his hair obedient under your palm, is so simple you could draw a picture if you had any talent for it.

"Read from here when you see the green light".

"I know how recording works", he chuckles, a little shy. You smile back and brush him off. He picks on the skin on his thumb and you shake his hands apart out of the habit you haven't smothered yet. However, he complies and puts them in the pockets, looking at the paper. You leave the booth and go to the laptop where you get ready.

"In Japan, women are considered superior divers", he begins reading, his voice unfiltered by his acting. Yoongi has many voices, you've heard most of them you think. The favourite of yours is the purring request he used to send straight into your ear canal, pressing his lips against the side of your head: turn to me, I want to see your face. His speaking voice betrays his origin, and you specifically asked that he drops the Seoul accent when recording. So it's authentic Min Suga, hands in pockets, hair on his eyes, head slightly moving with his own rhythm he weaves easily.

"...due to distribution of fat in their bodies and ability to hold their breaths underwater. Pearl fetching was a dangerous business and required light, swift, nimble women who could at the same time withstand the harsh underwater conditions. Very often they would swim up all blue, but pearls tucked neatly in the pouches on their waists. Gifts of the sea have never been easy to retrieve".

He is done in fifteen minutes, reading overall two pages of text. You can see he's not worried and stressed. Probably sleeps well; he unzips his hoodie and takes it off because it's a bit hot in the studio - you get cold sooner and easier than other people. As he pulls it off himself, the shoulder tugs on the hem of his T-shirt and exposes a bit of his skin, and you see a dark-blue bruise.

"Tsk".

He leaves the booth, turning his head like a mill, a little distracted.

"What?"

"That's such an asshole move".

When there's nothing to lose, as you've lost him already, you actually feel more liberated to speak your mind exactly as it feels. Yoongi is a bit lost, looking at you.

"Huh?"

"So big, as well. You told me you have no time for that business anymore?"

You actually pout, feeling shockingly indifferent. Your feelings have been, so to say, stomped upon, dull under all the cruelty.

His hand reaches for his shoulder as fingers send the impulse back into the brain, and he stretches,

"That- I'm a big boy, alright?"

You cock your eyebrow shortly.

"Could've just said you don't like me personally", you download the file containing his voice and begin renaming it according to the protocol.

"That's not it", he even puts the hoodie back on. "On the opposite, it was getting too personal".

"I agree. I am just surprised you found someone else so soon, that's all", you mutter, your eyes on your work. He hums. Retreats, it's what he does best. Slithers quietly through the door after making sure he is done here.

You tell him he is, hissing the words with a stretch, giving them double meaning.

Yoongi leaves, hands pulling on the sides of his zip-up hoodie, up and down, up and down, thinking about the idiocy of it. He's finished filming a Run BTS episode yesterday, where punishment was cupping. He's lucky he only lost once. Taehyung was roaring with pleasure as he vaccumed the fuck out of his shoulder. What would you say if you saw the back of Namjoon, who lost five times?

─────────────────────────────────────

Yoongi believes in karma and all that shit. Especially when he's drunk; he keeps thinking about that little misunderstanding and how your cheeks pouted as you stared into the laptop, accusing him of getting hickeys a week after he ended the arrangement. He's not feeling guilty or anything, but it's unnatural for him to not keep things straight. Although with you, he thinks, there's already so much shit tangled that he could as well just leave it be. First of all, never talked out that weird rejected hug incident; then again the breakup itself, like walking on the straight road and sudeenly falling into a manhole. He's not in the habit of leaving things piled up, but he just can't seem to learn to be direct with you. It's bad enough you make him horny like he is going through puberty again, you also tie his tongue down. He preferred to keep it deep inside of you to avoid talking at all. After all, that was the deal.

When he starts getting drunk at the Another Billion party, this awkwardness returns to him and he gathers all his might and good will to search you out and tell you what the bruise was about. He is ready to drag the other members with him so that they vouch for it; he finds he doesn't need to do so, because Namjoon and Jimin, of course, are already glued to you. Next to an ugly black-glass sculpture supposed to represent an idol throwing their arms up. Namjoon is swaying, he can't take his alcohol. Jimin is sturdier than him, but is also red in the neck; both listening to you with their mouths slightly ajar. When you talk, people around always listen, and Yoongi hates that, too. That this ability of yours, together with your body, your deafening screeching laughter, your iron grip, your moans, your fears, the mint of your lips, don't belong to him. He doesn't want any of it - but it sucks that other people get to experience it, too. He almost goes blind for a second, slapping his glasses back to his face, as the idea of Jimin knowing what the chapstick tastes like, crosses his mind.

"...that I was a huge black dragon. This is the best dream I've ever had in my life", you enunciate, making sure they are listening to you. Both Joon and Jiminie are so out of it, it makes you shake with the laughter you push down for the sake of the story.

"I was big, I felt big, I remember the feeling of absolute freedom" (Namjoon has exactly one hiccup) "as I was flying above the Aegean sea during black storm. Black dragon, black storm, the waves were gigantic".

"How did you know it was Aegean sea?" Jimin asks.

"I had this dream when I was staying in Greece. It's also my favourite sea".

"Yoongi really likes mountains", Namjoon mutters. You stare at him for a second.

"Okay?"

"Continue".

"And I was flying around, laughing out of happiness, I was so elated I actually laughed, and I was throwing these black pearls into the sea..."

"Sea and mountains", Namjoon continues, funnily, "nuah?"

"Are you sure it wasn't Black sea?" Jimin tries to ignore his hyung, putting his hand on Namjoon's chest as the leader starts to tilt forward.

"I mean you were black, storm was black, the pearls were black..."

You purse your lips because he makes a good point. In between their heads, you see Yoongi adjust his glasses and glaring at you three like you are dismembering a freshly caught deer with your bare hands.

"What's up with the nerd slut?" you nod at him, and the two turn around. The blood rushes back from Jimin's neck as his face lights up in a smile. His imperfect teeth make his smile infectious.

"Yoongi-ah", he coos softly as the cloud approaches.

"I need to talk to you", you can hear he's had a two or six, or sixteen. Yoongi is way too good at drinking, he can take a lot of it and then be drunk for a lot of time, hiding it, and only burst if someone really pushes him. His eyes are glossy behind the lenses of his glasses.

"You tired?" Namjoon becomes perceptive when he drinks. Yoongi nods and extends his hand on the waist level. You do not take it but follow him as he nods in the direction of a quieter corridor. Big hall is booming with music and it irritates you both; everybody reacts differently to alcohol: Taehyung is throwing his ass around on the dancefloor for example. It's his celebration and he is allowed. You, you get more yourself you'd say. All your impulses become sharper. Your loudness becomes louder and quieteness, quieter. Your insecurities shine, but so does your wit. Your laughter becomes irresistible, Yoongi would say, but you never asked him to know about it. His laughter is always irresistible to you, just like his word. So, even though you are sore, hate him a little, feel like aching next to him, insanely jealous, when he calls, you walk with him out of the room, plunging into the lukewarm shade of the corridor.

You sneak away like two schoolchildren trying to act tough. We need to talk. Sounds like giggling to you, and you do. His thick neck turns to you. He's been working out again lately. Of course.

"I need to make something very clear", he begins, harder than you expected him to, and your spine shivers, at the same time with your knees wobbling. You don't know if you're intimidated or upset. You must unintentionally give him a rabbit look, because he stops abruptly, looking you in the face.

"The... that? I was cranky, okay? It was one time".

You struggle to catch what he means exactly, having a moment of complete lack of clarity. All you see is his full lips letting a breath out.

"What are you talking about?"

"You know what, why have you been punishing me for that this whole time?"

Your brows go up, brain struggling, because you just keep thinking about that hickey on his shoulder. And it makes you angry that he's irritated, and agitated after drinking. You can bet you have way more beef with him than he with you.

"Big deal, I brushed you off once, you need to get over your pride some time. Like it's cracking me that that's what you've been hung up on. Becasue I told you to back off, you've been refusing to hug me for six months?"

You bang the back of your head on the window glass as you throw it up. The last thing you need right now is lectures and complaints, but it's refreshing that Yoongi would speak in such long sentences.

"You replaced me already", you hum, like it's an unbeatable argument that is made of gold.

You hope he shuts up and decides to douse the tension in one last hookup. You're down for it. Arguments are tiresome and feel unnatural with him, the guy who prefers to tuck everything in and walk away before it spills out. You realize he isn't actually talking anymore, but his eyes are studying the window behind you as if he's considering breaking it.

"And you replaced me?"

It sounds like a half question, like he's not sure. The intonation going up. Suddenly you think of whales and their gentle, lonely calls, but also, about the wind, whistling in between the crooked branches. The 'fuck it' is announced without being uttered, as your hands reach in the half-dark for his pants. He isn't wearing a belt so your fingers crush into the hem of the jeans and go straight to the button. Yoongi's palm covers them, squeezes your fingers almost with rage, stopping you roughly, but he steps closer, and the last thing you see is the frame of his glasses. He kisses you, at the same time as you kiss him, mumbling something about the last time, just to be sure, your mouth opens simultaneously with your legs. Yoongi's hand slides off yours and grabs your side aggressively, hungrily; a month was the longest you'd gone on without jumping each other's bones, so it's not the withdrawal. It's something else. You tug on his jeans, unsure to unbutton them because you've read his gesture clearly. There's people behind the door. He lifts you up with one arm and sits you on the window sill and your arm snakes around him, touching the back, fingers clinging to every inch of his thick, white, moving body. Kisses slurp in bites, his tongue makes you dizzy. He has never kissed you like that before; not when he was needy, not when he was very horny, not when he was vulnerable which didn't happen often. Guess it's one of the bright colours of making out with a human; they surprise you. The love rises from the depths of your guts, making its painful way up, and you bend and lean against him, trying to feel his body pressed to yours. Yoongi's hand clutches on the top you're wearing like he's trying to tear it off you.

"Do they know it was once covered all over in my cum?" he grunts against your cheek, and your spine shakes like he's done a spell on it. Tiny shivers under his fingers. You grab his neck.

"I don't casually go around telling that to people".

His warm, hard hand sneaks under the fabric, fingers count the ribs, then pinch them, and his mouth slides lower, across your cheek and to your throat. You wish you could stay there forever. The blue and green in your inner mind, darkness around, and Yoongi clinging on you like he's turning during the full moon. You hear his glasses click against the plastic as he takes them off, then his hand returns to the small of your back and presses. He smells so familiar already that it feels like it's going to be your doom; you know all his scents, you're afraid. Eros by Versace, white vanilla detergent on his clothes, blueberry chewing gum, the leather of his car, cloudberry conditioner in his hair, and the skin smell, the clean smell that he has, the perfume no one can replicate and you can't explain. Unfortunately you love all of them, really love in the most genuine way, and it makes you sob all of a sudden, but you mask it as a moan. Yoongi hisses, letting go of your neck, and his hand makes its way up to cover your mouth. In the dark you see his eyes as he kisses the back of his palm. Can he even love you the way you have come to love him. Is he capable of that, with his fixation on his work. Constantly caught up in thinking about how to round up the beat, and how a bridge will come out, his head poking out above the chair, is he even capable of loving someone. He pulls you, your legs made of wool, deeper, looking for an empty room with a lock, and, preferably, optionally, without a cctv hidden somewhere in the foot of a desk.

You barely pay attention to the room; the dark eats away at it. You two, connected at the mouths, hands on each other's ribs, in each other's hair, stumble backwards, like a limping monster, trying to find a place to land. The space around spins; there's nothing but Yoongi, and if he pulled you after himself into a chasm, you'd only clutch his hand tightly. He kicks something behind you, and your calves feel the soft of a couch, and it's the signal to turn. Yoongi crashes onto it, making the vision you've had a fraction of a second ago, reality: you fall, fall into the darkness, guided by his well-studied hands, tracing the veins on the backs of his big palms, a little dry. The shape of them holding you tightly is something you want your mind, drunk or sober, to never forget. You might not have him after this, tomorrow, but now you land on his lap, knees spread, his hand on your back under the crop top, scratching lightly with his short-cut nails. His fingertips are the best - slightly rough from guitar, but sensitive; Yoongi has memorized all the spots on your body, dividing it into "yes-no-maybe" zones for scratching. He knows the "yes-yes" zone just around your spine, it makes you arch your back as you grind your hips against him. You like him for not being too chatty during moments like these; his breathing lets you know. The hardening of his cock is obvious through two pairs of jeans. Falling apart, you think about the mess of it all: you don't have any spare clothes, no extra underwear, and this one is already no good, soaked through. Your hands grab the back of his head again and hold on for dear life as Yoongi guides your hips against his, forehead pressed to your collarbone, your gentle mid-sized giant with dry, soft hair and prominent neck muscles. His shoulders, lean, strong, work under your hands, wet mouth grabbing at your breast through the top. He can't see shit without his glasses or lenses, and especially so in the relative dark, where the only light comes through the windows from the nearby buildings; so sensory study is all that's left to him. When Yoongi is ready to undress, he usually produces a sort of a tired sigh-groan, and then his fingers start pinching at your flesh. But now he doesn't. The alcohol is spinning your head, the heat in your core pooling, and you sort of forget where what is. The only thing that matters is to find his puffy lips again, bearing the taste of mint and whiskey. You raise yourself to deepen the kiss, and Yoongi pushes you back hard, lifting his own hips to connect. The breath is caught somewhere in the ribs, shiver crunching the body, but his hand steadies you in comforting strokes. You are trying to breathe, you really do, but it comes out in gushes, sometimes audibly, as your fingers trace his beautiful face. Yoongi is so good at making you come undone; you barely control your own body, he becomes the puppeteer at the thunderous wave of your feeling. The arousal at this point is animalistic, coming up to your throat, making you mumble. Not talk - talking is banned in between you, but the unconnected shreds of words dripping off your lips, that he catches with his teeth, are okay.

"I want you".

"No, I want you more".

You feel his shoulder flex as he lifts your hips, depriving you of the pressure of his groin, and you immediately whine.

"Oh no, I spoiled you", he whispers, Daegu words blurring with each other, his voice a soft purr. He turns you, pushing on the stomach, and you lie down, and his hands start working immediately, mouth at its favourite activitiy: tracing the lines of your shuddering stomach. Yoongi undoes the jeans and pulls them down together with the underwear. His fingers plunge immediately into you, without a warning, and you produce a silent shriek. Hands searching for him, nails digging into the massive of his shoulders. Yoongi likes the way his own words sounded: I spoiled you. Likes the absolute mess that you are, squirming at his touch, he feels appreciated, wanted, needed. He never managed to make anyone like this before; he has made a quiet unspoken promise long time ago to never tell anyone about it. About how you seem to lose your sentience when his lips are below the solar plexus. He is in love with this sensation. He wants to keep it going, but can't; he can't think; he pulls down his jeans because he wants to fuck you senseless, fuck you into amnesia, and himself; so that tomorrow the things are easier and clearer; you're a blurry silhouette for him, moving against the sea of darkness, the buoy he's swimming towards, and the tighter you cling onto him, the better. He feels cradled, he feels loved. It feels hot inside of you, incredibly tight, you always wrap your legs around his waist like a monkey, trying to push him deeper even when it starts hurting the hips. The best thing - you both cannot come easily because you're drunk, so it just goes on and on, the swimming, the touching, your sounds blooming like flowers on fruit trees. He thinks of sampling them, putting them within the underbeat, masking them, but using them; he has been trying to figure out the beat that would describe the way he feels with you: sharp hip bone in his hand, the heel of your foot on his leg, the tasty chemical of your peach fragrance that he licked clean off your throat. It's the frustration of never finding the right melody, because making music requires love, and he is too busy to allow it to himself, so he just fucks like there's no tomorrow, apologizing through his embrace, dripping feelings off the tips of his hair.

─────────────────────────────────────

A whole month away is good. For Yoongi. He gets to travel across all Asia and do some hiking, turn his phone off and just be completely alone. Not to think, he doesn't want to think, he wants to have his brains blank and just see pines, and the slope of the mountain, the birds soaring above, and the flowers fluttering in the wind. But the thoughts come by themselves; he realizes it's a trap that he had set for himself. Because mountains remind him of you, and he finally starts understanding what exactly makes the connection. It's the feeling of freedom, good loneliness and realness that they provide.

Relationships are promises, ruined plans, unplanned arguments, ridiculous commitments and distractions. Yoongi knows himself very well: he is not a multitasking person, and when he is in love, which thankfully doesn't happen often, he is beside himself with the feeling, and it affects work. Sometimes positively, sometimes negatively. It's been so comfortable, so well-organized - living in his independence bubble - that he is pushing the ghost away, because the ghost is whispering scary things to him. Coffee dates; he imagines sitting with you in a place in Yongsan-gu and watching your face and your beaded necklace not matching your band tee. He imagines you in his hoodies; you have stolen none of them, you always abstained from going through his things, touching him too much, and now he realizes it was because he had pushed you away that one time. He imagines you'll be trouble, headache, high maintenance. If you had been sore, had held on that grudge for almost a year, over a thing he had almost forgotten. He imagines these fights will make him feel so alive. You riding in his car, on your phone; cooking; lying in bed with one knee across his belly - all those things have already happened, but from sensual they are now turning warm. Yoongi understands he is losing, he is already taking this weight upon himself, little by little, because in the mountains he refuses to wear his earbuds and listen to music, and the silence is the ghost that follows him around, hammering the truth he's been avoiding into his brain. He imagines your hand gripping his palm, so hard that he yelps in pain, as you turn your face away, and the line of your jaw exposes the little birthmark you have on your neck. He's been kissing that birthmark in secret for months, pleased that you will never guess why he's choosing that very spot specifically.

You brew a coffee. Every time you're bored, the recipes become more and more complex, you keep adding ingredients until the coffee either sends you to heaven or is undrinkable. By now, there's cinnamon, star anise, almond syrup, and now... you're eyeing mint like it's about to jump you. Yolo, you think, and add a little mint, and it's still a success. You're becoming a coffee extraordinaire, you think; even if no one else appreciates your inventive mixing skills.

Jimin is there, of course; cruising around you like an albatross, appreciating every little thing about you. But his presence is breezy, light: he is a natural flirt and it doesn't set off any of your alarms. It seems he simply likes being around you. You see glasses case that he puts in another hand as he takes the coffee from you.

"Never seen you wearing glasses for real?" you're surprised.

"These are not for me, I picked them up from the store for hyung. He doesn't leave his little evil studio these days, got back to the 7AM schedule".

He shrugs. 7AM schedule with Yoongi means he works all night and goes to sleep at 7AM for about three hours, then gets up and goes back to working.

"He never found his glasses?"

"No".

"Somebody must have stolen them", you muse, recalling how they were left lying on the window sill.

"It's weird, normally he only loses things if they cost more than a thousand bucks", he snickers. You're expecting a feedback. Jimin's tastebuds have proven to be professionally sensitive: he is picky with food and always gives an honest opinion of the coffee. He frowns first, his huge eyes focused on the cup, full lips moving like he's chewing. Jimin is charismatic while doing nothing, and he definitely wouldn't have a problem with you, so you wonder why you can't just unlove Yoongi and fall for him instead. Or better, for nobody at all. Even in his brother's face, you're searching for his familiar features, but there aren't any. Jimin looks like a genie who will grant your wishes in the most perverted way so that you'll feel sorry after.

"It's... good?" he is, himself, shocked. "It makes me want to go to Morocco".

"That's an unorthodox review".

"You should get a patent. Name it Faux Morocco Latte and you'll be rich".

"I already have a rich inner world".

He chuckles ironically at that, keeping the cup close to his lips. His phone rings.

"Oh, there he is. I think he needs his glasses", Jimin ignores the call from Yoongi, putting his phone on the desk. "Let him wait a little, right?"

He pats you lightly on the shoulder, like he is siding with you on something. Like that one friend who is ready to smother your ex with her bare hands without needing to know the details. You are slightly bothered by it.

Yoongi lifts his arm and puts his hand into his hair, his eyes fixated on a spot on the desk. The underside of his shoulder is tense, he freezes in this position, thinking, and you can't avoid looking at him even though your eyes move. Your spot is never next to him, it's always a little away, in the back, not at the table. You do not see it as derogatory: without your work, they can't do it, and the hierarchy is there for a reason. When idols are present during the meetings with usual staff like you, everybody feels sorry for them. There go the scapegoats, the puppets, the clowns. Everybody is nice to them because they all have two features: beauty and lack of autono-

"I don't give a shit", Yoongi says calmly.

You doodle in your pad; these meetings are a must, and most often not a word is spoken about your area of work, so you just kill your time looking at Yoongi; at least something. Now everybody is looking at him.

The manager raises his eyebrows. He looks tired all the time.

"Sorry?"

Yoongi leaves his hair alone and places his hand on the desk, wrist caught in a hair tie.

"I said I don't give a shit about the deadline".

Namjoon purses his lips producing dimples. His silence indicates that he agrees with Yoongi. One by one, Bangtan Boys usually stand behind each other, but it always takes a first brave mouth to say something outrageous. Taehyung is rubbing his lower lip absent-mindedly. Yoongi's eyes are puffy, he gives the manager an unaffected shark-like stare that masters openness and simultaneously, stubbornness of a rock.

"It's there for a reason".

"We had discussed the update, and Taehyung hasn't slept in three days".

Taehyung doesn't even hear him.

"What about you?" manager asks softly, trying to lead Yoongi away from his deadly determination.

"I'm working. I'm fine".

His eyes start searching the room, landing everywhere except you. You cross your legs and go back to your pad.

"A week is fine", Namjoon adds, to defuse the tension. After a little back and forth the manager gives up. He always does; he's not the real boss here. Everybody gets up, the important people first: manager leaves the room pacing, hurrying to implement the schedule corrections, J-Hope leaves darker than a storm cloud, which is unusual for him; you gather your things from the floor: you're in a habit of just putting your bag and phone next to the chair since you're sitting at the glass wall. The line at the door gradually disperses and you walk to exit the meeting room but Yoongi turns his head, still sitting, and looks straight at you with a completely different stare. He doesn't say anything, so you just look at him and move on, but Taehyung closes the door in front of you like he didn't notice, and walks away. You see his back through the grey-transparent glass.

"Y/N", Yoongi sounds tired, more tired than he did a minute ago. His back hunched, he is softer, more undone.

"Huh, CEO?"

In spite of himself, he gives out a smile, and his teeth scrape over his lower lip, which makes you wince.

"What do you want?" you say quickly, colder, trying to wrap yourself up, zip up, close up. His hand reaches out but you're too far away, ready at the door, wondering what kind of games he is playing. The fatigue is obvious on his face but thankfully it's not your burden anymore. It does pull on your strings though, so in an attempt to keep up the strength, you frown.

"You win", he says. His words are round, it's the best shape. "I lose".

He stands up, and you want to roll your eyes, not with annoyance, but with an overwhelming feeling of unwillingness. The labour of trying to get over him is draining you like there's a huge gash somewhere that's dripping blood. Every time he is in close vicinity of you, the stream becomes only bigger, it's mentally tiring. Fighting feelings is exhausting. Yoongi is reaching for you, his face an impression of quiet need, and you try to avert his arm, a crusty cut on his elbow, gently. He goes for a timid hug with one hand and you grow stiff, putting up your shoulder. You end up straining your neck, chin up while Yoongi performs the softest forced hug. He needs to press his forehead into you, because he hasn't eaten in twelve hours, and he is so frustrated and a little terrified, and you are the smell of home.

The man of few words. His actions speak much louder.

What's even louder is the music that's on the USB he shoves into your hand. You listen to it at home, sitting away from the laptop like it can see your embarrassed face going through motions. The beats are clean, the rawest you've heard. Yoongi has his own way of polishing music that always makes it crisp like the air in January. They have no words, because it's Yoongi. But the beats, the melodies, talk to you. They sound like the night you met, when you caught rain on your hand to soothe it. Sound like his voice filling the space of his car, and like the hiss of the coffee machine, like the shuffling of your sheets, and like the streets, muffled by the windows, hooting outside. His melodies sound like the wind and the voices of pine trees, their ancient blood singing inside the hard bark. Sound like the sea. The music he has written and named after you sounds like he is diving for pearls and swimming up, panting, like he has given up to something. It's the crack of your hip getting back into place, and the click of his phone, the purr he produces when falling asleep. It's his flowers. The dark circles under his eyes mean he has gotten over the block, and two days after giving the USB to you he calls, and there's an audible strain in his voice, because he is learning to speak:

"I can't give you all those things that are normal, you know".

"Like what?" you are spiteful, although you understand his regret. He doesn't even go grocery shopping. All food is delivered to his house. Last time he got to walk around the city, he got ecstatic and wouldn't stop talking about it for weeks. He was like a child, describing the feeling of the asphalt in Gangseo-gu next to the botanic garden under his foot; you felt deeply sorry for him. Right until the point he mentioned having to borrow the jet again, because he wants to go visit a friend in America.

"Like walking home from a bar at night together, like, holding hands".

"Sounds like it's your fantasies".

"That's all I have".

You tell him you don't want to be the glaring vortex hole in his schedule, sucking in meetings, messing up sleep, putting a strain on the well-spinning parts of the mechanism. He replies it's too late for that. And for once, he actually sounds happy.

─────────────────────────────────────

He points his finger:

"The line where the red roofs end? That's the Osaka Bay".

"If I get a really good start", you muse, "and have like a very big umbrella, can I jump and glide all the way there?"

He thinks about it seriously. Squirms his face in the sun like a sleepy cat. His black eyes blink.

"You'll fly for around seven seconds".

His hand touches the side of your head and then slides down to your shoulder, then moving your closer, pressing you into his side. The air is so fresh that it's putting you to sleep, and the tears in your eyes, provoked by the wind, make everything around seem blurry. Like you're in a cartoon. Like it's a dream. The sea far in the distance shines in separate flashes of sunlight.

"There was no need for that", you mutter, cosying up next to him, clutching on his big arm. His neck smells like aftershave and raspberries. The curse hisses in between his teeth, fingers pinch your cheek lightly. Then go back to your shoulder and start drumming a rhythm; writing music off the closeness of you. You leave the slope of the mountain together, at the same time.

[tbaluver]

ʚɞ Need Some Comfort?- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader, Caleb x Reader genre/ tags: comfort requested: anonnies ᯓᡣ𐭩 a/n: hihi lovelies ! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ i wrote this in a way that it can be taken when you're sad, upset, tired, burnt out, and how they would cheer you up i mean I HOPE it's taken that way and it can bring comfort to anybody that needs it at the moment (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡ enjoy reading luvs (∩˃o˂∩)♡ any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

Crying? He would be SO worried. He’s not giving it another thought, and he's right there beside you immediately as he pulls you into his warmth. He’ll murmur comforting words while he strokes your back, staying by your side until you take your time to find some peace.

You would find so much comfort in his hugs as he held you tight. He doesn’t mind staying in the position and comforting you until you feel better. His embrace feels safe as if he’ll never let go. Being wrapped in his arms makes everything feel like you will be okay and that things will get better.

If you’re feeling tired, burnt out, or just completely drained, Xavier will offer you to rest together with him. He’ll create the perfect environment for you to relax by closing the curtains, turning off the lights, and putting the room at the perfect temperature. As you curl up into his arms, he’ll hold you close, letting you both unwind from the weight of the world for a little while

One of the ways he’ll help you feel better is by distracting you to get your mind off things. He might make up some peaceful scenarios.

“Close your eyes and imagine you’re on a different planet, and I’m right there with you.”

Other times, he’ll suggest watching your favorite movie or show or maybe even getting into some new music to lift your spirits up and give you a little escape.

Offers you a chocolate tub of ice cream or your favorite flavor. He'll even feed it to you if you want

Zayne:

Crying? Don’t hold back. Let it all out, even if it’s an ugly cry that's full of sobs. It’s just you and him, no else around. He doesn’t ask anything right away, patiently waiting for you to open up when you're ready to talk about it. He understands at a time like this, it’s hard to talk about your feelings, so he’ll stay quiet, offering gentle reassurance with soft touches. He’ll pull your head gently to his chest, letting you pour your heart out, completely unbothered if your tears soak his shirt.

Once you cried it all out, he’ll make sure you rehydrate. Then he’ll help you apply cold compress to your eyes to ease any irritation and prevent puffiness for the next day.

Offers you some of his sweets to make you feel better.

Stressed? If you’re stressed, he’ll let you squeeze his hand as much as you want. He’ll land you a stress ball for whenever he’s not around.

Zayne would reach for your hand, guiding your other hand to rest against his chest, letting you feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “Focus on my voice and breathe with me.” 

If you want some quiet time, he’ll sit you down on his lap, cradling you in his arms as if you were the most delicate thing in his world. His lips press softly against the top of your head as you listen to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

He’ll suggest a walk outside, hoping to help clear your mind with some fresh air. He’ll take your hand in his, squeezing your hand gently as you walk together

Reminds you that he’s always here for you. Even if he’s caught up in work, you can always reach out to him and text him anytime you need to vent. He’ll always make the time for you.

Rafayel:

Sit right there as he grabs a blankie, drinks, snacks, tissues and anything else you might need. He’s here for as long as you need him. He’ll wrap you in a blanket burrito so you’re nestled safely against him

Crying? The moment he sees tears streaming down your face, his expression shifts, and he rushes to your side, pulling you into a tight hug. He cups your face gently, and a jumble of frantic questions slips from his lips, but he doesn't pressure you if you can’t answer. Instead, he coos softly, cradling you close as he stays with you until you calm down.

One of the ways he knows how to cheer you up is by kneeling down in front of you, creating a little fishie out of his hands. He’ll make it swirl around you, gently tickling the tip of your nose, hoping for the tiniest hint of a smile from you.

Another way he’ll make you feel better is by blowing bubbles on you in a comforting way as if it could chase away the physical or mental pain. Although it might not erase everything, it just ends up making you laugh, and that’s a little closer to his goal

Don’t feel like talking about it at the moment? Rafayel would never pressure you to. He’ll stay beside you, his forehead resting against yours as his arm wraps around you. He knows that words are hard to find, so he encourages you not to bottle up your feelings. If you’re not ready to share it with him yet, he suggests writing it all down and placing it together in a drift bottle, letting those heavy thoughts float away.

Sylus:

He’s attentive to your feelings and can always tell when something’s wrong. You don’t have to hide anything from him. If anything isn't going your way lately, you can come to him anytime. You can be yourself and let it all out, cry as much as you need to.

Crying? He’d let you curl up in his lap or lean against him, gently intertwining your hand in his as he rubbed soothing circles with his thumb. His other hand gently glides over your back. He’ll rest his chin on your head while you sob into his chest, whispering soft reassurances. If you’re on his lip, he’ll massage your scalp and gently caress your hair until you calm down.

One of the ways he’ll cheer you up is by humming a familiar tune, and if that doesn’t do the trick, he’ll offer to sing some of his special karaoke songs to you. Surely, that will crack a smile on your face.

Feeling tense? He’s got plenty of essential oils that are great for relaxation. Just tell him where, and without hesitation, he’ll gather the right oil for you. Whether it’s calming or soothing scent, he’ll work with so much care to help you unwind.

Don’t feel like talking about it at the moment? That’s alright. You can stay curled up on top of him, his arm wrapped around your waist, as you listen to the rapid rhythm of his heartbeat. His other hand gently brushes through your hair. However, he would suggest letting it all out eventually, not because he wants you to feel pressured but because he believes holding it all in only makes things heavier. You’ll feel much lighter when you release it.

Caleb:

Don’t even bother trying to hide it with Caleb. He can already tell something’s wrong just by the look on your face and from your body language. He knows you too well to ignore the sad expression on your face.

Crying? He’s already beside you with tissues ready the moment he sees tears. He’ll gently cup your face, wiping them away with his thumb. He looks at you with such sympathetic eyes, never judgmental.

"You look like you could use a hug right now. Come here, Caleb's got you."

Caleb’s like your big bear plushie, his arms are wide open as he pulls you into a comforting hug, making everything you were stressing about disappear.

One of the ways he’ll cheer you up is by offering you a ride in the sky. Sometimes, a change in perspective can really help get your mind off things. As the world shrinks beneath you, your worries can fade into the distance, giving you the peace you need

Not in the mood to talk? Caleb would quietly welcome you with open arms, letting you wrap yourself around him however you need. Your legs would drape over his waist, your arms circling him. His strong arms hold you close as you settle into the crook of his neck.

Offers to make you a delicious warm home cooked meal or even a snack that he can whip up in the kitchen. If you don’t feel like eating, how about telling him what’s on your mind? If you’re not up for it, then that’s more than alright. He doesn’t want to pressure you to tell him anything. However, he will remind you that you are never alone and don’t have to carry all the weight yourself

ʚɞ cr. for the divider @/ cafekitsune

ʚɞ my other works if you want to check it out! Love And DeepSpace Masterlist , Pg.2

[sydwritess]

Monaco Baby!

Lando Noriss x fem!reader

Summary: A tough weekend in Monaco has Lando stresses, unable to eat, sleep, anything. Until reader was there to comfort him. She encourages him that he can win, so he does, he wins quali, and the official race, thanking nobody but reader.

First Person POV

It had been a rough weekend for Lando. FP1 started strong, but unfortunately, he got out and ran my Max. The next day, FP2, he did well but got beat by Lewis. He was frustrated. I could see it in his face when he took his helmet off. FP3 went just as well as the last. Scoring 3rd place. When he got out of the car, he just looked drained. Instead of going to the media, he set off straight to his drivers room.

"How's he doing?" Zak asked. Interrupting me from my thoughts.

"I have no idea." I said, starring at the door Lando had slammed, walking inside.

"Well he did go to the press. So that's not a good sign." He said, walking back over to the computers. "Are you going to him?" He asked. I nodded slowly, hesitantly.

"Mind taking this to him?" He asked, handing me an ice ring, that other drivers are seen wearing.

"Of course." I said quietly. I made my way through the door, inside. I walked straight to Lando's room, gently knocking on the door. No answer. I open the door slowly to see him sitting on the small couch, his head in his hands.

"Hey." I said lightly. He looked up to see me, then back down again.

"Zak wanted me to bring this to you." I said, holding up the ice ring. I walked over to him, sitting next to him, and I put it around him.

"Thanks." He mumbled, barley audible.

"How are you feeling?" I ask. He didn't answer. Just sat there with his head in his hands. I grabbed one of his hands, holding it tightly. Just sitting there with him.

"I know this has been hard for you. I can see it in you." I said gently. "All we have to do is keep trying. Tomorrow is a new day, new race." I said. He looked up at me and then hugged me.

The next day came within a flash. Lando was getting suited up, and I was outside, watching everyone look like they were in a panic, trying to hurry.

"You ready, kid?" Zak said, I hadn't even noticed Lando came out of his room.

"Yeah, I'm ready." He said. Zak led him over to the car, but before he got in, he looked at me.

"Good luck out there." I said hugging him.

"Going to need it." He said sadly.

"You got this. Just give it your all. Okay?" I say, I felt him nod.

"Alright, come on." Zak said, not trying to be rude, but signaling there was short time left.

"You'll do great." I said, giving him a quick kiss. He nodded and got into the car. I walked out of the garage and to the sidelines. I saw lando pull out of his garage, pulling in to the third spot. All other nineteenth drivers got situated in their spots. I put a mic that Zak had given me and looked at the screen as soon as the lights went off. Charles had sped off, leading in first, Max in second. Lando was struggling to keep up a bit.

Rounds and rounds later, drivers over take other drivers. Lando was still third. Fighting against Max for second.

He had done it. Second place, he over took Max.

"Nice Lando, keep it up with Leclerc." Zak said through the radio.

"He's far ahead. Max is on my tail, I don't know." Lando said back.

"You can." Zak said. Lando hesitated through the mic. Then he put me on.

"What?" I said.

"Your on." Zak whispered.

"Y/n?" I heard through the mic.

"Lando, you've got this." I said. "This is what you trained for, I've seen you beat Max before and you can do it again." I said. I heard his breath through the mic.

"Trust me. Just do what your team says and you'll be out on top. Like you always are. I belive in you." I said. Jist then I watched as he sped up. Max started falling behind more from Lando. Then within seconds, just before the end he had done it. He passed Charles and won.

"Yes! Let's fucking go mate!" Zak expressed happily.

"Lando you've done!" I said happily.

"I've done it!" He repeated. The team all expressed their happiness, hugging, high-fiving each other. I stepped outside of the garage, waiting for Lando to pull near.

As soon as he did, he hopped out of his car and ran straight to me, hugging me tightly, helmet on and everything.

"I did it. We did it." He said.

"You did. You really did. I knew you could." I said, hugging him back tightly.

After the press and the interviews were over, we went back to his room, and sat in their. Nothing was said or heard.

"You were great today." I said quietly. He looked at me and smiled.

"You believed in me." He said smiling ear to ear.

"I always have. I always will." I said smiling back.

The next day was eventful, too. There were pre-race interviews, and fans asking him to autograph things. The team going over their final strategies with him. It was finally time for the race.

"How are you feeling?" I asked, walking eith him outside.

"Nervous." He replied

"Don't be. P1 you'll do great, as long as you have your head in the game." I said. Before going up to his car, he stopped, grabbing my hand.

"Will you be there? On the radio?" He asked.

"Of course. Cheering you on as always." I smiled. "Go on and win racing boy." I said. Before he left, he pulled me into a deep, long kiss.

"I think that will bring me good luck, yeah?" He said.

"You know it." I said. He went and got in the car, driving to line up. In first. The red lights had disappeared. And the drivers rushed off. Lando was in first. Leclerc in second, piastri in third. All chasing for the finish line. Lando held first for the race, doing well.

"Alright, Lando, keep this up for the final lap, mate." Zak said.

"Got it." Lando said. Pausing as he went around a turn. "Is y/n there?" He asked.

"Yeah, she's here." He said. I looked over. Zam mouthed. 'He's asking for you.' I turned the mic on at the station I was sat at.

"Hey Lando." I said.

"Y/n I'm stressing." He said "Zak is wrong I don't think I can keep up." He said.

"First of all, Zak can hear you." I said.

"Shit. Forgot."

"You got this. You need to stop having so much doubt." I said.

"What if people don't see me." He said.

"You need to stop caring what people say. If they were truly your fans, they'd stick around no matter what. Your almost there." I said. He just deep breathed. Compelling a few more turns.

"You got this Lan." I said. He crossed the finish line. He had done it.

"Yess! Monaco baby! Zak said.

"Monaco baby! Yeah baby!" Lando said over the mic. I saw him lift his fist in the air, cheering for himself.

He made one more lap, showing the fans that he had won. Then he pulled over by the sidelines and ran. Sprinted even.

"Monaco baby we did it!" He said hugging me.

"You did!" I said.

"We did." He corrected.

"I knew it. I knew you could. You just needed that boost, babe." I said.

"Thank you. For everything." He said smiling.

Hey loves! First Lando, imagine! Hope you like it! Comment to be added to the f1 tag list!

[bruisedboys]

I just know that Joaquin gives the BEST hugs. Like his arms omg 😩 so perfect for picking you up and twirling you around. Or for burying your face in his chest when ur sad. Idk I just love him and his fucking biceps

yess absolutely!!!! omg the thing about burying ur face in his chest … I’m taking that and running with it thank u lovely anon

joaquín torres who gives the best hugs and always seems to know exactly when you need one, even if you’re too shy or embarrassed or upset to ask. he knows you like the back of his hand, and he won’t ever pass up the opportunity to give you a hug!!

like, maybe you’re at an event that joaquín and sam have been asked to attend, and you’re joaquín’s plus one (as you always are). you’re having a great time, but it’s been a long night and you’re really tired, and sick of talking to anyone who’s not joaquín. your boyfriend notices, of course he does, and pulls you to the side out of the way of the crowd. “hey, are you okay?” he asks, a fond concern etched into his face that makes your chest ache. and you nod, because you really are okay, especially when he’s looking at you like that, you’re just a little drained. joaquín must guess as much, because he rubs your arm, “you want a hug?” he asks. he waits for you to nod again before wrapping you in his strong arms and giving you a good squeeze. “we’ll get out of here soon, okay?” he promises quietly, pressing a kiss into your hair. and you hope he means it, because he’s so warm, and all you want to do now is stay here against his chest all night.

or maybe, you’re feeling stressed or anxious about work or school, but you’re trying not to show it because joaquín’s been so busy lately and you’d hate to burden him. of course, you can’t hide much from him, and as soon as he picks up on your mood he’s on you like a hawk. “hey, baby?” he moves up behind you, big hand spreading over your back, “do you need a hug?” and you really can’t deny him when he asks like that, plus you think a hug from him is exactly what you need. you thread your arms under his, and push your face into his warm, firm chest. joaquín sighs contentedly, curving his arms around your figure. “you wanna tell me what’s wrong, sweetheart?” he murmurs, rubbing your back with one hand, thumbing the base of your neck with the other. you shake your head, “not yet,” you mumble into his chest, “jus’ wanna stay like this for a while.” and joaquín laughs softly, “that’s okay, I can wait.” and he waits until you’re ready to tell him, rubbing your back all the while.

and omg!! if he’s been away for a few days on a mission, of course he’s missed you so much he feels like he’s gonna burst. when joaquín finally gets home, he charges you, grabbing you by the waist and lifting you off the ground, relishing in the sound of your shocked giggling, your pretty smile and how warm you feel in his arms. he lifts you with ease and gives you a spin that makes you giggle some more, your hands braced on the hills of his shoulders, squeezing him. when he puts you down, he’s got the biggest grin on his face, and he can’t let you go. you tilt your head to the side, “missed me?” you wonder aloud, teasing, your voice lilting and your smile smug. joaquín can’t find it in him to care, “are you kidding?” he asks, incredulous, and squeezes you again, so hard you’re lifted off the ground from the force of it <3

[dcxdpdabbles]

#Holiday Requests your blogs are the sole reason i visit tumblr in the first place. Thank you for feeding my dcxdp brain rot the appreciation is very much reciprocated and i’d like to humbly request a continuation for Jason’s Doll or Mr. Flavor!

After the smear campaign had been dealt with, Tim took time to carefully convince his employees that Scarecrow had somehow dosed the whole building in Fear Gas; that way, they would return to work once he gave everyone a month off with pay to "clean out the vents".

He did not want people to walk away thinking Danny the doll was by any means haunted. It would undo every last attempt to fix Jason's image, which he had carefully constructed.

In a city like Gotham, being dosed with gas was so common that no one batted an eye when Tim called them back. Many of the employees were overjoyed by the paid vacation.

The young CEO had even gone as far as to spread rumors that no one really saw the alleged doll, causing people to assume there was mass hysteria. Everyone was happier this way.

He felt like he could finally relax after weeks of meticulous planning. He went into work assuming the only stress he would experience would be the typical CEO kind.

Then Jason, needing a favor, marched into his office within the first hour.

Tim stares at the doll sitting on his office desk, feeling the blood drain from his face as his brother happily chatters.

"He usually likes to sit by windows. Don't forget to clean him with a damp, warm cloth; his clothes are machine washable." Jason said, laying out some of Danny's tea cup sets. Apparently, his brother had been shopping. "Danny usually has his tea daily at one, but if you're working, I'm sure he'll understand. He can wait."

"Jay..."Tim started feeling Danny staring into his soul. He knew a soul existed, but that didn't stop the thing from being unnerving. Was Danny made entirely of Fear Gas? "Are you sure you can't take Danny with you?"

"I want to." Jason sighed, tracing the fabric of Danny's hair. "But we aren't sure if space travel will worsen Danny's chances of recovery. Normally, I wouldn't take any jobs outside Gotham, but Roy needs help."

Danny's head jerked as if the porcelain neck of the doll had broken, the little head falling to the side, facing Jason. Familiar whispers of hell fill the air, making Tim's stomach drop.

He leans further into the plush of his office chair, wanting to get as far away from Danny as possible while Jason smiles.

"Thank you for understanding, " he tells Danny with a fondness usually reserved for lovers. Tim might have found it sweet if it had not been that he was terrified of Jason's undead boyfriend.

"Please don't leave," He whispers, uncaring how pathetic his voice sounded.

"You're going to find Tim." Jason laughs, shaking his head. "Danny says he likes you!"

Tim's eyes slid over to the doll, feeling himself jump a little when he realized he had turned in his direction. Without a sound. Without Tim, for all his training, even noticing the movement.

There was a moment when he felt like something with sharp teeth grinning at him. The sensation came from behind his left shoulder, and he jerked around, hand flying to his hidden expandable staff in his left pocket. Nothing but the cream color of his wall stares back at him.

He slowly turns back to his guest, Danny, quite suddenly right in front of him, sitting on his laptop. Its slightly watery eyes- painted with the effect- were mere inches from Tim's nose.

The sensation of being watched by a predatory grows. A whimper leaves Tim's lips against his will just as Jason checks his phone and shoulders his travel bag. "Alright, I have to head out. Artemis is on the way here to pick me up. Thanks again, Tim."

"No." He whispers, unable to look away from his own reflection in Danny's eyes. He looks petrified. "Don't leave me here with him."

"Bye, Danny. See you in two weeks." Jason grabs the doll's head in a quick one-arm hug.

A scratching wail from down the hall makes Tim nearly fall over, but Jason only blushes as he leans closer. "I love you too."

Before Tim can find the courage to throw Danny back at him, his brother is up and out the door. Soon, his office is left in utter silence as the duo observe one another.

Tim only dared move an inch once Tam knocked on his door. "Morning, Tim. You're nine o'clock is here; I sent you the required documents for the meeting, and is that a doll?"

Her voice trails off from her typical professional pitch to the one he is used to hearing when the pair reminisce about the time they ran from assassins together. It's far more casual, with just the hints of judgment that Tim can appreciate because it means she's not above calling his bullshit out.

"This...is Danny," He hears himself introduce. "Danny, this is Tam."

His PA cooks one hip, raises a brow, and gestures at the desk where the doll sits. "I thought the rumors about the haunted doll resulted from the night job misunderstanding?"

"No. I worked to cover them up."

Tam rolls the information around in her head before looking at her tablet with a wide smile. "You do not pay me enough to handle haunted dolls. I have to be in conference room 103 in five minutes. I have to check on our coffee orders."

"But Tam-"

"No." She slams the door close. The click-clack of her heels echoes as she struts away, and Tim is left staring longingly at the blurred windows of his glass doors. He looks back at Danny, who has moved again.

This time, the cold porcelain is pressing into his left cheek because Danny is suddenly there. Standing on the arm of his office chair and leaning on Tim's face.

The scream that ripped out of his throat had the security running to his office and Tam dialing the Bats in ten seconds. It didn't help that the scream had traveled through the vents, echoing into the building as every employee looked up from their cubicle with a jump.

"What was that?"

"A little girl go hurt on level seventy-four."

"Isn't that the CEO's floor?"

"Must be one of the thousands of kids the Waynes bring to those charity events."

[eccentricwritingbaby]

sex ban

carlos sainz jr x reader

summary - carlos puts down a sex ban in order to try and improve his racing performance. after he caves and realizes he can’t do it, you place your own sex ban to get payback. and it’s killing the both of you. 

warnings - smut

masterlist

-

carlos had been down and out with his performance recently, nervous about his impending unemployment. you knew he was stressing out and pushing himself harder than ever. every morning before the sun was even up he was out running, cycling, in the gym, you name it. you could tell he was losing his energy more than usual because your late night activities were consistent with you being only on top.

you and carlos had a very passionate and constant sex life. it was wild and lustful, a trait that didn’t waiver in your four years together. that was until recently. carlos was clearly drained and tired from his all day activities that the nightly ones had dwindled. while he was stressed, it was usually taken out on you in a pure day through night sexcapade as he fucked you every which way in every room and every position. 

your worry grew stronger as the sex stopped sporadically throughout the day and began only at nightime. even then, he was too tired to truly give you his all, ending up with you on top and exerting all the energy. riding him was nice, and you enjoyed the position, but you needed to be really fucked. thrown onto the mattress, handprints and bite marks to clean up the next morning. but all of that came to a worse halt when carlos arrived home in the evening from a day with his trainer. 

“hola, mi reina,” he sighs out, letting out a groan as he sat next to you on the couch, muscles clearly about to give out. 

“hola, mi amor,” you gently greet, leaning forward to give him a hug and kiss in greeting, “how was your workout?”

“good, i’m sore right now but i should be okay for tomorrow,” he grunts again, attempting to lean back into the couch. 

“los, are you sure you’re alright?” you ask again, your eyebrows pulling in concern, “you seem like you’re very sore,”

“no no,” he assures quickly, “i’m fine, just went a little hard today,” he cranes his neck to get a good look at you, the pain in his eyes evident as you stare into them.

“do you need a massage?” you quietly ask, beginning to run your hands down his chest and stomach, implying your intentions for a happy ending. 

“actually…” he trails off, eyes now darting everywhere but your own, “we need to talk about that,”

“what?” you ask sharply, removing your hands from his body and sitting up straight to look at him clearer. 

“my trainer thinks it’s a good idea to not have sex right now,” he lets out quickly, averting your gaze again.

“i’m sorry, what?” confusion is laced in your tone as you attempt to process what he just told you.

“he thinks that i need to save that energy, conserve it for races and training,” carlos now is bold enough to meet your gaze, regretting it instantly under your sharp stare. 

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you shake out with a laugh.

“mi amor, don’t be upset, please,” carlos pleads to you, “it will only be for a few months, until i get a contract for next year-,”

“MONTHS?!” your voice reaching a higher octave in surprise, “are you fucking kidding me, carlos?”

“mi amor-”

“no,” you cut him off, shaking your head and now standing up from your position on the couch, “you don’t get to ‘mi amor’ me right now, this affects both of us you know,”

“this is my career, y/n,” he lets out in a whisper, his insecurities on full display. 

“and this is our relationship, carlos,” you bite back quickly, “i hope you’re comfy on that couch, you’ll be sleeping there tonight,” with your final statement, you get up and walk upstairs to your bedroom, ready to head to sleep and hope his stupidity was all a dream. 

-

“it’s really been two weeks?” alexandra asks you as you both take a break from the bustle that was the ferrari garage during race weekend. you had already told her about the ‘ban’ last week at the other grand prix to which she was shocked and appalled that you were still standing. you and carlos fought for the first two days about it before you had come to terms with your situation. you weren’t happy about it. but you had come to terms with it. 

“two very long weeks,” you emphasize to her as you both begin your walk from the hospitality center back to the garage.

“i don’t know how you’re doing it,” she laughs, “if charles ever placed that i’d be done,”

“my vibrator and i have gotten really close,” you joke with a smile, “but really i understand carlos’ motivations, he’s freaking out about next year,”

“i’m sure,” alexandra nods in agreement, “it sucks that you have to deal with it too, though,”

“the things we do for love,” you laugh with her again. as you both continue to walk and talk about your predicament, two ferrari drivers were in the garage talking about the same thing.

“what is wrong with you?” charles asks your boyfriend, still in disbelief that he has been holding it out for two weeks. 

“i don’t know,” carlos laughs, “but it’s not working, i want to break it tonight,” he confesses to his teammate. 

“oh she’s going to be happy, i’m sure,”

“i hope,” carlos sighs, “she was pretty upset when i brought it up in the first place,”

“no shit,” charles scoffs, “i’d be pissed if alex put down a sex ban,”

“we’ve been fine since, she hasn’t been holding a grudge or anything,” carlos shrugs. 

“well good luck,” charles gives carlos a quick and firm pat on the shoulder, “you might need it,” he laughs as he walks away, leaving carlos to question the past few weeks quickly. just as he starts debating your feelings, he spots you and alex walking towards the garage, and he begins to sport his large smile. 

“hola, mi reina,” he shouts towards you, “come here,” he yells again, beckoning you closer to his hidden spot in the corner of the garage. 

“hi, baby,” you reply once you’ve reached him, his arm coming up to pull you into his body for a hug, “how’s it going?”

“good, i have to get in the car in a few,” carlos leans down to plant a few kisses to your lips, a warmth growing in your lower abdomen as he continues to roam your body with his hands, “how was alex?”

“good,” you reply, chasing his lips with yours to get some sort of relief, your own arms beginning to roam his body as well, “how’s the car feel?”

“not as good as you will tonight, cariño,” he speaks into your mouth as you both continue your pursuit of each others mouths.

“what do you mean, amor?” you ask in your sunken tone, too caught up in the feeling of his lips and hands on you to catch what he was implying.

“i mean tonight,” he moves his head to begin kissing down your neck before continuing, “the ban lifts,” he sighs out. 

“what?” you ask sharply, putting space between your bodies quickly in order to process the information. 

“we’re having sex tonight, amor. i can’t put it more simple than that,” he laughs as his nerves begin to rise, scared of your harsh reaction. 

“no, we’re not,” you direct, now moving further away from him, his arms itching forward to have you in his hold. 

“yes, we are, cariño,” he replies, pulling you into him yet again. 

“no,” you give him a cross look, stopping his actions from going further, “we’re. not,”

“why?”

“i believe you placed this ban in order to ‘train better’ and you weren’t going to lift it until you had a spot for next year?”

“mi reina, i can’t do this,” he groans in frustration, “i need you,”

“you should’ve thought about that before you started this stupid thing,” you laugh, tapping his cheek quickly before turning around to leave, “karma, my love, karma,” you leave quickly, but not before hearing a long groan come from your boyfriend, giving you a giggle as you disappear. 

-

“y/n?” carlos calls out into the hotel room. you had left the track after the race as carlos finished up with the media, giving him a kiss goodbye and assuring him that tonight nothing would happen. he had thrown a small tantrum to charles who just laughed at his behavior, giving him a stern ‘i told you so’. now back at the hotel, you had decided to give carlos some payback. after he had withheld sex, he still was coming home from his training, hot and sweaty. tempting you beyond belief. he needed to feel what you felt. so here you were, all dressed up in your best red lingerie set, where nothing would happen. 

“in here!” you call out from the bathroom. hearing his footsteps grow closer, you giggle for a second to yourself before making eye contact with him through the mirror. 

“cariño…” he trails off, raking your body with his eyes, lust overtaking his complexion within seconds. you could tell by the tent forming in his pants these were a long two weeks for him as well. 

“what?” you feign innocence with your question, widening your eyes and relishing in the effect you had on your boyfriend, four years later. 

“you know what,” he sighs out, making strides to get closer to you, but you just take the same length of strides backwards, moving away from him.

“i thought i made it pretty clear earlier, the sex ban has not been lifted,” you shake a finger at him, starting to move forward in order to push past him and out of the bathroom. his hands stop you in your attempt to slide past.

“y/n, please,” carlos tries, squeezing your hips to further his point of urgency, “you’re killing me,”

“now you know how i felt these past two weeks,” you lean in closer to really set him off with your next word whispered in his ear, “...papi,”

a loud groan escapes his lips as he squeezes your hips tighter, “mi amor,” he starts, settling his lips between yours, kissing you with the passion you had been needing the past two weeks. 

“carlos,” you squeak out, separating the two of you, “i’m tired-”

“baby-”

“this is what you wanted, remember?” you eye him pointedly, laughing to yourself at his pained expression. the same one you sported everytime you got into bed with him for another sexless night. 

“cariño, this isn’t what i want,” he pushes, trying to grasp you back into his hold as you push away from him. 

“it’s what you asked for,” you say to him as you climb into the bed, raising your ass in the right direction to catch his attention. 

“fuck, amor,” he sighs, staring at you shamelessly, basking in the moment of finally being able to appreciate your body after two long weeks, “you’ll be the death of me,”

“too bad you had to go and listen to your trainer instead of your girlfriend,” you spit back quickly, getting comfortable in bed.

“y/n, i’m sorry,” he sighs again, rubbing his hand over his face before moving to sit on the end of the bed by your feet, “what will it take for you to forgive me?”

“i don’t know,” you fake ponder, “maybe in two weeks i’ll let you know,” you scoff out, winking at him before turning around in bed and closing your eyes. you hear a quiet grunt of disapproval before he heads to the bathroom in order to ready himself for bed as well. you hear the shower turn on, it’s gotta be ice cold, you think with a laugh, before drifting into sleep. 

-

“i’m telling you alex,” you giggle into your coffee the next weekend in the hospitality section, “his face has been priceless,”

“i can’t believe you’re doing this to him,” she laughs along with you, “he told charles that he has been dying,”

“that’s exactly what i was going for,” you confess with a chuckle, “i’m running out of lingerie soon, so i think i’ll switch to just totally naked, that’ll really throw him off,” alexandra just keeps laughing at your game, and encouraging you as you tell her more ideas. 

meanwhile in the garage, carlos is beyond on edge and charles knows exactly why. 

“i told you so,” charles sing-songs as he passes by his teammate. 

“shut the fuck up, mate,” carlos shakes off, running his hand through his messy hair for the hundredth time, “this is-”

“killing you, i know,” charles laughs again, “just apologize to her, grand gesture,” he attempts to provide a solution to his friend. 

“i’ve tried that,” he shrugs, “i’ve bought her bags, shoes, dinners, and nothing,”

“wow,” charles eyes widen in surprise, “are you sure the sex is good for her?”

“shut. up. charles,” carlos says through gritted teeth, “she’s just stubborn, wants me to wait the two weeks like i made her do,”

“actually that’s pretty fair-” charles begins, but stops abruptly as carlos’ left shoe comes hurling at his head, “hey! i’m not the one who gave you the sex ban! don’t hurt me!” he cries out in laughter, running away quickly before the right shoe has a chance to be removed. 

-

the two weeks were up and you were burning. you needed carlos biblically in every way you could possibly imagine. however, the need to watch him squirm one last time tempted you completely. so there you stood - naked, oiled up, hair done, heels on - ready for carlos. 

“hola, y/n, i’m home!” carlos calls throughout your shared home as he enters. 

“i’m in the bedroom!” you call back, giddy with excitement as you hear his footsteps approaching. 

“oh, oh mi reina,” carlos stutters, stopping dead in his tracks as he tracks your body with his eyes. 

“hola, papi,” you seductively whisper, watching his eyes turn from their beautiful caramel brown to a lustful black. 

“ohhh,” he lets out in a groan, immediately dropping down to his knees, and crawling forward to be at your feet. just as he approaches, you push your heel into his shoulder, stopping him from moving closer, “mi amor…,” he sighs in a plea, moving his lips to meet your ankle, slowly trailing them up and kissing your legs in admiration. 

“carlos,” you warn as he inches closer to your heat, “i think there’s one more day on the ban,” his eyes snap up to meet yours, widening in hope for you to forget it already. 

“mi reina, please,” he whines, his lips furthering their pursuit on your thigh, “i’ll do anything, anything,”

“anything?” you ask with a smirk, an eyebrow cocked in amusement at his desperation. 

“anything,” he breathes out, “absolutely anything,”

“no more sex bans,” you start, your boyfriend already nodding his head in agreement, “you fuck me everynight,” you keep going, carlos still shaking his head as his lips don’t stop their attack on your leg, “and you fuck me good tonight, papi,” you finish, him already climbing up your leg in urgency to reach the place he needed once given the green light. 

his lips meet yours after leaving a trail on your entire body, you hum and moan into the kiss as his hand climbs up your body and begins to grip your neck. pushing your head to the side, his lips migrate to your neck, biting and sucking in the places he knows will keep pretty sounds leaving your mouth. 

“mm,” he grunts, pushing his thigh in between your legs, leading you to let out another silky moan and grind down onto his jeans, “y/n,” he chokes out, “on the bed,” he directs. you eagerly move away from him and slide onto the bed. as you start to remove your heels, he pulls your hand away quickly, “leave them on,” he sighs out as you just smirk towards him. 

with the confidence of his desire for you warming your insides, you pull on the collar of his shirt, ultimately forcing him on top of you and leading his lips back to yours, he slips a moan out at your boldness. he stops only for the removal of his shirt before his lips come crashing to yours once again. 

he slides his hand down your body, giving your nipple a tight pinch on his way before meeting his desired destination. once his hand cups your heat, your moan echoed the walls as you hadn’t felt anything but your toys for a month. and they were not nearly comparable to your boyfriend. 

“i’ve barely touched you, amor,” he chuckles out between your kisses. 

“shut up,” you bite back, “it’s been a month,”

“i know,” he breathes, lips moving back to your neck, him relishing in the sound of your sweet moans as his fingers get to work, “so wet for me, reina,”

“only for you, papi,” you choke out in between your moans. he slips his digits up and down your folds a few times, gathering your wetness on his fingers before slowly, too slowly, entering you. he drowns out your moans with his lips on yours, pumping his fingers faster as his thumb comes up to rub your sensitive bud. 

“need you, papi,” you moan out, “need you inside of me,” 

“i know, mi amor, i know,” he shushes you a little bit, kissing you lightly as he continues to pump his fingers in and out, “i want to savor you,”

“do i need to tell you how long it’s been again?” you desperately moan, arching your back into him as he hits your spot. carlos moans along with you, reveling in your need for him and how easily he can get you undone. 

“no need for that, amor,” he shakes off with a laugh. pulling his fingers out of you, they meet his mouth as he tastes the sweetness of you he had missed for weeks. he lets out a guttural moan, and he begins to remove his pants. taking them off in one swift motion, his length slaps up to meet his stomach as you attempt to not drool at the picture in front of you. scrambling towards your boyfriend, you start to make a motion in order to give him the same attention he gave you, ready to be on your knees and ready for him. only for his hands to grab your waist, tossing you backwards onto the bed.

“do i need to remind you how long it’s been?” he asks you, mocking your question from earlier. you sit up on your forearms, watching as he crawls across the bed to be on top of you, meeting your lips in a kiss. you get so caught up in the kiss, carlos’ movements to enter you were lost as your brain fogged in lust. 

“are you ready, mi reina?” he quietly asks, rubbing his length in between your folds. 

“si, papi,” you seductively eye him after your answer, his eyes rolling back as he moves forward to kiss you again. as he enters inside of you, both of your moans paint the walls of your bedroom. 

“fuck, y/n-”

“aye, carlos-”

his pattern begins slow, the movements beginning to warm you up as you stretch to fit him perfectly. his lips attack your neck as your hands pull on his back, you scratching, him biting. both of you moaning in the bliss you had been missing for weeks. 

“oh, oh baby,” he breathes, movements quickening as he gains his rhythm. carlos pulls back slightly from you, moving an arm next to your head in order to hold himself up as he pounds into you harder. your back involuntarily arches, pushing your breasts to meet his chest, sweat mixing together as well as your moans. 

“mi-mi amor,” he stutters out, and you recognize immediately what he’s about to tell you, “i know it’s soon but-”

“i know, carlos, me too,” you breathe out, the warmth in your tummy heating up as you feel your aching ready to be released. 

“with me, baby, with me,” he grunts out, his pace now sloppy as he attempts to bring you towards your high with him. 

“mhm,” was all you could let out, your nails now digging further into his back, “‘m close,” 

“c’mon, mi reina,” he stutters out, his high coming quick, “now, baby,” he breathes out in haste. you both collapse into each other, a sweaty pile of moans and kisses as you begin to come down from your high. 

as you both lay there, carlos still inside you, he kisses your forehead and starts moving some of your hair away from your face. you finally kick off your heels and kiss carlos in between catching your breath. 

“you do know we need to go again, right?” you laugh out through the kisses. 

“oh we’re going all night, y/n,” carlos reassures you, kissing you again. 

“good,” you giggle, “and never again will this happen,”

“never, mi amor, never,”

-

[gf2bellamy]

hiii!

i was wondering if you could write spencer x reader, where she’s having a really bad day but spencer is coming home from a case and is exhausted, mentally and physically so she feels guilty that she would bother him with her mood

So she just hides away and is on the verge of a panic attack and spencer finds her and is all “you save me, so pls let me save you” and just comforts her (and calls her angel because 🫠)

thankyouuu so much (you dont have to do it if you dont want! no pressure at all!) i love your writing, it’s so incredibly cute and endearing <3

exhaustion — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader crying a lot , reader feeling guilty / tired / exhausted, spencer calls reader angel a/n: hii thank you so much for your request !! i hope you like this <3

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. You sat on the couch, curled up in one corner, staring blankly at the empty space in front of you. The TV was off, the big overhead light was off, and the only light came from the small lamp on the side table.

You hadn’t moved in what felt like hours, your mind swirling with the events of the day. It had been one of those days. The kind where nothing went right, where every little thing seemed to pile up until you felt like you were drowning under the weight of it all. 

You missed Spencer. A lot. Especially right now.

He had a way of making everything feel better. You longed for his comforting hugs and the way he’d listen to you ramble about your day.

But he wasn’t here. He was at work, buried under mountains of paperwork and case files.

But then, the sound of keys jingling in the lock snapped you out of your thoughts. You jumped up from the couch, your heart leaping in your chest as you hurried to the door.

Spencer stepped inside, looking disheveled and exhausted. His tie was loosened, his hair was a mess, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He dropped his bag by the door with a heavy thud, and before you could say a word, he pulled you into a tight hug. 

You melted into his embrace, your arms wrapping around his neck as you buried your face in his shoulder. He smelled like coffee and faintly of paper. For a moment, you just stood there, holding each other.

“I missed you,” Spencer mumbled into your hair, his voice muffled but sincere. His hands rubbed soothing circles on your back.

“I missed you too,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You didn’t want to let go, but after a moment, he pulled back slightly, his hands moving to cradle your face. His thumbs brushed gently over your cheeks.

“Today was horrible,” he said with a sigh, his shoulders slumping as he let go of you to shrug off his jacket. He ran a hand through his hair, looking more tired than you’d seen him in a long time. 

You bit your lip, hesitating. “What happened?” you asked softly, following him as he moved further into the apartment. 

He sighed again, sinking onto the couch and leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Just… paperwork. So much paperwork. And then Garcia’s computer crashed, so we lost half the files we needed, and Hotch wanted everything reorganized by tomorrow morning…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “It was just one thing after another.” 

You sat down next to him, your heart aching as you watched him. He looked so drained, so unlike his usual self, and you felt a pang of guilt for even thinking about burdening him with your own problems.

Today had been hard for you, but it sounded like it had been even harder for him. The last thing you wanted was to add to his stress. 

So instead of talking about your day, you reached out and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry,” you said quietly. “That sounds awful.” 

He gave you a small, tired smile, his fingers intertwining with yours. “It’s okay. It’s just… one of those days, you know?” 

You nodded, your throat tightening. You did know.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him. Instead, you shifted closer, pulling him into another hug. He leaned into you, his head resting on your shoulder as you ran your fingers through his hair. 

“How was your day?” Spencer mumbled, his voice soft and drowsy as he leaned back against the couch, pulling you with him.

You settled against his side, his head still resting on your shoulder as your fingers continued to gently card through his hair.

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated for a moment, your hand stilling briefly before you forced yourself to keep moving. 

“It was… good,” you said, your voice carefully neutral. You tried to inject a note of cheerfulness into your tone, but it came out sounding hollow, even to your own ears. 

Spencer hummed against your shoulder, seemingly too tired to notice the slight falter in your voice. “I’m glad,” he murmured, his words muffled as he nuzzled closer to you. His warmth was comforting, but it did little to ease the tightness in your chest. 

After a moment, he shifted, pressing a soft kiss to your temple before slowly sitting up. “I’m going to get changed,” he said, his voice still heavy with exhaustion.

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze before standing and heading toward the bedroom, leaving you alone on the couch. 

As soon as he was out of sight, the lump in your throat returned, thicker and more suffocating than before. You bit your lip hard, trying to hold back the tears that had been threatening to spill all evening.

But it was no use. The dam broke, and before you could stop yourself, you were on your feet, hurrying toward the bathroom. 

You shut the door behind you, leaning against it as the first tear slipped down your cheek. Then another. And another.

Soon, you were crying , your shoulders shaking as you tried to stifle the sobs that threatened to escape. You muttered curses under your breath, frustrated with yourself for not being able to hold it together. 

“Get it together,” you whispered harshly, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes. But the tears wouldn’t stop.

The tears kept running, your shoulders shaking as you tried to stifle the sobs that threatened to escape.

You felt like a mess, your face hot and your chest tight. But just as you were about to try to pull yourself together, you heard footsteps outside the bathroom door, followed by a soft knock. 

“Hey,” Spencer’s voice came through the door, gentle and concerned. “Can I come in?” 

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. You didn’t know what to do. Part of you wanted to tell him to go away, to spare him from seeing you like this, but another part of you desperately needed him.

You muttered a curse under your breath, wiping at your face with the back of your hand before slowly getting to your feet. 

You opened the door just enough to peek out, your eyes meeting Spencer’s. He was standing there, his expression soft but worried. His hair was still a mess, but his eyes were focused entirely on you. 

“Hey, hey,” he said immediately, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?” 

You sniffled, your throat tightening as you tried to find the words. “I—” you started, but your voice broke, and you shook your head, unable to continue.

How could you even begin to explain? Everything was wrong. The entire day had been wrong, and now you felt like you were falling apart. 

Spencer didn’t push. Instead, he reached out, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek, wiping away a tear. His touch was so tender that it only made you cry harder.

“Come on,” he said softly, his hand slipping down to take yours. He gave it a gentle squeeze before pulling you with him, leading you out of the bathroom and down the hallway. 

You followed him numbly, your fingers intertwined with his as he guided you to the bedroom. He sat you down on the edge of the bed and knelt in front of you, his hands resting on your knees as he looked up at you, his eyes searching yours. 

“Talk to me, angel,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “What’s going on?” 

The nickname made your heart ache, and you shook your head, fresh tears spilling over. “I didn’t want to bother you,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “You had such a bad day, and I didn’t want to make it worse.” 

Spencer’s expression softened, his hands moving to cradle your face. “You could never make my day worse,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And you’re never a bother. Not to me. Not ever.” 

You shook your head again, your hands gripping his wrists as you tried to steady yourself. “But you were so tired, and I didn’t want to—” 

“Hey,” he interrupted gently, his thumbs brushing away your tears. “You save me, I save you. That’s how this works, remember?” 

You nodded slowly, your breath hitching as more tears spilled over by just hearing those sweet words. Spencer leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before pulling you into his arms.

You went willingly, burying your face in his shoulder as he held you close. His hands rubbed soothing circles on your back, and you felt some of the tension in your chest begin to ease. After a while he slowly let go, but his hands remaining on your arms.

“Tell me about your day,” he said after a while, his voice soft but insistent. “What happened?” 

You hesitated, but the way he was looking at you—so patient, so understanding—made it impossible to hold back. So you told him. You told him about everything that had gone wrong.

And he listened, his hands never leaving yours, his eyes never wavering from yours. 

When you were done, he pulled you into his arms again, holding you tightly against his chest. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “I’m sorry you had such a bad day. But I’m here now, okay? And I’m not going anywhere.” 

You nodded, your face buried in his shoulder as you clung to him. For the first time all day, you felt like you could breathe again. Like maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his shirt. 

Spencer pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “Always, angel,” he said softly. “Always.” 

[thesecondhandwoman]

HELLOOO i was wondering if u can make an angst to fluff/comfort request with Sevika x fem!reader.. where like they had an argument and Sevika keeps on saying harsh words to reader and clearly Sevika is stressed because of the whole councilor thing. But instead of reader leaving she just hugs Sevika and then Sevika apologizes. something like that 😭

HOLD ME TOGETHER

Sevika x f!reader

Synopsis: Ever since Sevika had become a council member, the first one to ever represent Zaun and its struggles, she has been back and worth, exhausted and stressed. And, unfortunately, you got caught inbetween.

Request: Anon 🤍

Sevika wasn’t one to lose her cool—not often, at least. But tonight, she was a tightly wound spring, and you could see it in the tension of her jaw, the way her cybernetic arm clenched with a faint mechanical whirr. The pressure of her new position on Piltover’s council was getting to her. And you, you were caught in the crossfire.

“You don’t understand!” Sevika snapped, slamming a hand down on the small table between you. The sound echoed in the dim apartment, her tone sharp enough to cut. “You think this is easy? Sitting in a room full of Pilties, pretending like I care about their politics? Like they’ll ever truly accept me?!”

Her words stung, even if you knew they weren’t aimed at you, not really.

“Sevika,” you said softly, trying to calm her, but the storm in her eyes raged on.

“Don’t, don’t try to coddle me right now.” She turned away, pacing like a caged animal. “You wouldn’t get it. You’ve never had to fight like this, to prove yourself over and over just to be tolerated.”

You flinched at her tone, and something inside you twisted painfully. “I’ve been by your side every step of the way, Sevika,” you said, voice trembling. “Don’t you dare act like I don’t know what you’ve gone through.”

She whirled on you, her face a mask of frustration. “Then why do you keep pushing? Why can’t you just leave me alone for one damn second?!”

The words hung heavy in the air, an unspoken apology already in her eyes but too late to stop the damage they’d done.

Your throat tightened, tears threatening to spill, but you didn’t move away. You didn’t argue back. Instead, you stepped forward, closing the distance between you.

Sevika stiffened, her brow furrowing as if she expected you to lash out or yell, but you did neither. Without a word, you wrapped your arms around her.

She froze completely, her breath hitching at the unexpected warmth of your embrace. “What… what are you doing?” she asked, her voice cracking slightly.

“I’m not leaving,” you whispered, your cheek pressed against her broad chest. “I’m not going anywhere, Sevika. Not when you need me.”

Her shoulders sagged, and the fight drained out of her in an instant. She made a choked sound, her human hand hesitating before finally settling on your back.

“I’m sorry,” she rasped, her voice raw. Her cybernetic arm came up too, awkward but gentle as it rested against you. “Shit, I didn’t mean any of that. I’m so damn tired, and I—”

“I know,” you murmured, cutting her off. You pulled back just enough to look up at her, your hands sliding to her face. “I know you didn’t mean it. And I know you’re trying. But you don’t have to do this alone, Sev.”

Her lips pressed together tightly, and you saw the vulnerability she rarely let show. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “These council meetings, the politics… It’s not who I am. It’s not who I ever wanted to be. And I’m terrified I’m gonna screw it up.”

“You won’t,” you said firmly, your thumbs brushing over her scarred cheek. “You’re strong, Sevika. Stronger than anyone I know. But even the strongest people need someone to lean on.”

She closed her eyes, leaning into your touch as if she could absorb your calm. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” you said softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “But we’ll figure it out together. You don’t have to do this on your own.”

For a long moment, she just held you, her arms wrapping tightly around you as if she was afraid you’d disappear. Her lips found your temple, soft and lingering, and you felt the tension in her body slowly start to ease.

“Thank you,” she murmured against your hair. “For putting up with me. For staying.”

You smiled, resting your head on her shoulder as she placed another kiss on your head. “Always.”

Silence fell between you too as you stood there, tangled together in the quiet moment. But even with the silence, you both knew that you’d be there for eachother, and Sevika knew she needed that the most.

A/N: This was hella short. That’s seriously all I have to say because I don’t know why it took me like eight tries to expand it. (I’m sorry ;-;)

[mssishipi]

SHORT SCENARIO: bf! jay and your tits

wc: 592, just short fluff, warning: skinship

Jay is the kind of boyfriend who just loves to touch your boobs—completely non-sexually. 

After a long, exhausting day, he comes home looking utterly drained. Without a word, he flops onto the bed beside you, his arm lazily slipping under your shirt. His fingers tug at the edge of your bra before settling his hand over your left breast, with a deep sigh, he nuzzles into your chest, his breath evening out in no time. Within minutes, he's snoring—soft, heavy, completely at peace.

Then there are the moments in the kitchen. You’ll be washing dishes, minding your own business, when you suddenly feel a warm presence behind you. Without fail, Jay’s arms wrap around your waist, his hands finding their way to your breast. A light squeeze—one, two—before he presses a lazy kiss to your shoulder.

And then, just as quickly, he’s gone.

Only to come back a minute later.

Squeeze.

Another kiss.

Then he walks away again, leaving you rolling your eyes.

Over time, you’ve stopped wearing a bra around him altogether. What’s the point? He’s just going to tug at it anyway, and you’d rather not deal with the hassle. Besides, you’ve grown used to the feeling of his warm hands absentmindedly resting on you—it’s comforting in a way that you never really thought about before.

It happens constantly.

You’ll be sitting on the couch, nestled between his legs, scrolling through your phone, when—like clockwork—Jay’s hand casually slips under your shirt. His fingers find their usual resting place, palm pressing against your bare skin

A slow, familiar squeeze. Then another.

You lean back against his chest with a sigh, letting the warmth of his body seep into yours. He doesn’t say anything—just keeps watching TikToks with his free hand, completely unbothered. Occasionally, he chuckles at something on his screen, and every time he does, his fingers instinctively flex, giving another light squeeze.

Like a stress ball.

Except you are the stress ball.

You glance at him from the corner of your eye, raising an eyebrow. “Do you even realize what you’re doing?”

“Mm-hmm,” he hums absentmindedly, still focused on his phone. His fingers absentmindedly flex again.

Waking up with Jay is always a challenge—not because he’s loud or restless, but because he simply refuses to let you go.

The sun peeks through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room, and you stir, stretching slightly as you try to roll out of bed. The moment you move an inch, Jay’s arms tighten around you, his grip instinctively locking you in place.

“Jay,” you sigh, trying again to wiggle free. “I have to get up.”

“No.” His voice is groggy, muffled against your shirt, but firm in his sleepy protest.

You stifle a laugh, though your patience is running thin. “Babe, I need to pee.”

“No.” He squeezes your breast.

You let out an exaggerated huff, glaring down at him, but Jay doesn’t even budge. If anything, he snuggles closer, his entire body molding against yours.

His hair tickles your collarbone, and you can feel the soft rise and fall of his breathing as he slowly drifts back into sleep.

“Jay,” you try again, your voice a little more desperate this time, shifting just enough to remind him that you really need to get up.

He only hums in response, a drowsy, content noise that barely registers as acknowledgement. His grip doesn’t loosen—not even a little. If anything, his hand, still resting lazily on your chest, gives a slow, unconscious squeeze, before his thumb flicker on your nipple making you slightly gasp at the sudden touch. 

“Babe—seriously?”

Jay’s only response is another sleepy hum, followed by an even tighter hug. 

Yeah. This is just so Jay.

[begginmonty]

working with mike

(this doesn't follow the plot directly and mike works like more than just 3 shifts, also this is legit 2k words long i got so so so carried away im just so in love with mike, apologies!! its also not been proofread sorry <3)

before mike is hired alongside you, steve raglan had given you the job a week or so ago after you had lost your last job over a silly customer dispute (the customer is never right) and steve was your last hope at job, and bingo he had one. here you are 2 weeks later, waiting by your car outside the rundown pizzeria, waiting to train the new guy whose supposed to help you

a car pulls up and out comes a very pretty, but very tired/drained, looking guy, you introduce yourself with a small smile and he doesn’t return it, and is like “im mike”, you give him the benefit of the doubt that he hasn't smiled at you, new jobs are stressful.

the first shift goes fine, you tell him the basics and show him the training video tape, which alongside your commentary of making fun of some of it and nit-picking little things finally gets an amused smile from him. you can see him ease up a little. he doesn’t talk as much as you do but he seems to enjoy your ramblings. 

you show him the showtime performance after he looks confused about ‘animatronics’ . watching his reaction of the animatronics rendition of talking in your sleep by the romantics is a little amusing to you but you were the same way when vanessa had shown you originally.

“its something isn’t it?” he doesn't reply, he just stood looking in disbelief. 

when morning rolls around, you show him how to lock up and then give him his own key that steve had given you. 

“wasn’t so bad was it?” 

“it was..different” 

the second shift alongside mike is different but a good different. he’s running a little late and walks in on your blasting an 80s hot pop hits tape over the old speakers, vacuuming the main dining area. a smile, that melts his heart a little, lights up your face as you see him walk in.

“im sorry i’m late the babysi-”

“hey, dont stress it. you still made it!” 

he is not used to someone being so nice and friendly to him??  its foreign but he finally cracks you a small smile, watching you as you turn on the vacuum and continue listening to the music. (i need to hug him i stg)

he hasn't met anyone as nice as you in a long long time, it’s refreshing for him

and not in a creepy way !!!!!!!!!!! but he watches the cameras and watches as you just listen to the music as if the world isn’t there and continue to clean the area. 

“need a hand?” 

mike speaks up as you take a break leaning against a table, facing the main stage, the curtains open (as your next task is going to clean around the animatronics, it’s getting too dusty), music turned down quietly. he comes and leans against the table with you. you start small talk, saying something about the animatronics and you guys talk a little.

“so, you said something about a babysitter, do you have, like, a kid or something? sorry if im being too nosy, please tell me to shut up or something” mike cannot get over how nice you are

and then mike explains his living situation, and then the two of you get into a discussion about how families can suck and be shitty ect

and mike really likes how you don't pry or ask him lots of questions like others have done in the past, this man is really liking you and he’s only know you for two days

“this guy…must’ve been on something to make this place” and mike laughs a little !!! for the first time you got him to laugh !!

“yeah it’s something isn’t it..” both of you are sat against a table just staring at the animatronics in front of you

the two of you make small talk as you wipe down the dust covered tables but you can see how tired he is, he’s yawning a little bit.

“hey, you know, you can like sleep on the job by the way?” he looks up at you from the table, “sometimes i take a good couple hours nap in the office, no ones breaking into this place anytime soon”

he tries to protest and mentions towards the cleaning products and you brush him off, “go, you need it”

mike feels a strange warmth in his heart the hasn't felt, maybe ever? and he naps for a few hours whilst you continue to clean around. cleaning isn't in your job description but honestly you’re worried about the level of dust entering your lungs y'know

a loud thud and chair scraping noise comes from the office and you run to it and see mike on the floor, he looks confused and you help him to sit up. you ask if he’s okay but he seems out of it, “mike, whats wrong?”

sitting on the floor together, mike explains everything to you and opens up to you about a little brother he had, and tells you about his dream issues and sleep issues and you can see he’s upset and shaken by this dream. He shows you the sleeping pills and he explains the dream theory he’s been reading about.

“this is the part where somebody usually calls me crazy” 

“you aren’t crazy, mike” mike notices how kind you eyes are and how warm your voice is, “i’ve seen crazy. you are far from it” you joke a little and he has the faintest smile tug at his lips. 

finally home time woo !! as you lock up the gate, you watch as mike goes to his car, “mike wait!”

he turns around almost instantly at your voice as you run up to him, you pull something out from your hoodie a fazbear security badge and hand it to him, “you’re officially security now” he takes it from you and thanks you with that small smile. 

3rd shift passes (you could’ve sworn foxy was standing in a different spot and bonnie’s hand placement looked completely different) and vanessa comes for her weekly visit and meets mike. when you aren’t with them, vanessa brings up the fact that you’re one of the kindest and nicest people she’s ever met and mike agrees. 

next shift goes by and another and you guys have a long conversation about everything and you tell him more about yourself. hes never really been romantically involved with anyone but somebodysss got a crush (its him and well, you do too). and then you let him sleep and decide to tackle the old kitchen. (you could’ve sworn you heard someone walk down the hallway but you double check and no ones there)

mike dreams again and you swear you hear a groan and you walk to the office to see him, out of breath, breathing, clutching his arm and theres blood coming from it and he looks up at you trembling. “oh my god mike, what happened?”

you sit opposite him, patch him up and make him a hot drink, and he's explaining everything to you and you can tell he’s really getting bothered by these dreams. (you also think hes hurt himself from falling off the chair somehow..unbeknownst to you)

he’s tearing up a little and you just hold his hand in yours, and he's looking at your kind eyes and he doesn’t know how to react to being touched, he stops talking (mike is incredibly touch starved oh my god) and, carefully, you lean forward and hug him very gently.

he’s stiff at first but you can feel him relax into the hug and he wraps his non-injured arm around you and grips onto your back, “its okay mike. you’re okay” you can tell he really needs this hug and you can tell no one has really hugged him in a long time.

when the shift ends and you say goodbye for the day, your car just refuses to start. you cannot start it at all. you get out the car and look at it in a huff, but lucky for you mike hasnt driven a way yet

he gets out his car and you explain to him about your car, and he offers if you want a lift home or at least back to his house (his house is much closer than yours) and you can call someone about the car and you agree.

the drive is nice, you notice he has a great taste in music

meeting abby!! mike excuses himself for a shower whilst you're ringing the mechanics for your car, and he accidentally falls asleep on his bed after. when he wakes up (a good hour or so later, which you really don't mind) he walks into the living room to see you and abby sat on the floor colouring together with a cartoon on the tv, and you guys are really getting along and she’s wearing your security guard vest and badge. (her friends told her to trust you)

“uh abby, why dont you get ready for school?” mike speaks up, causing you both to look in his direction. 

you can't fight the fact that he looks hot with joggers and shirt on, looking sleepy as hell aHHH

“okay” abby smiles and gives you back your stuff and runs off to her room to get ready for school. 

he walks over to you and sits down on the couch, “im sorry for falling asleep-”

you sit next to him and place your hand on his arm and smile, “its fine, mike, really. your sister is lovely”

mike looks up from your hand and looks at your face. he looks sleepy and gorgeous and you look gorgeous to him and your eyes are so kind and theres a moment. some sort of magnetic force kinda pulls your faces closer together.

“im gonna be late!” says abby running into the room.

mike drops abby to school and you stay in his house, waiting for the mechanic to eventually call you back like he says he will. you feel a little awkward sitting on his couch watching tv but you have nothing better to do.

he comes back he offers you a shower and some of his clothes as he feels bad for you having to sit in work clothes. 

the way his heart feels when he see’s you walk out to the bathroom and back to the couch next to him wearing one of his sweatshirts and a pair of his joggers as well hMMMMMMMMMMmmmmmmmm (too early for love?)

he smells good

you must both drop off to sleep, as a few hours later mike opens his eyes for a minute to the TV showing some drama show, and then he notices a heavy feeling on his chest. there you are, passed out, in his clothes, head on his chest peacefully asleep. 

this is something he’s never felt before !1!!1 

he blushes (thank god you’re asleep) and brushes a hair out of your face, staring down at your sleeping face (uh oh someones in love) before grabbing the worn blanket from behind him and throwing it over your exposed legs.

you stirr a little, your arm wrapping around his lower half and he's so flustered and sleepy and aHHHH

he wraps his arm around your shoulders gently and passes out again (PART 2??)

[romerona]

The Cook and the Teacher!

Headcanons of Carmen (Carmy) Berzatto x Abbot Teacher Femreader! Sunshinereader!

Let's pretend The Bear and Abbot Elementary are in the same city.

Their relationship is the perfect mix of Carmy’s high-energy, fast-paced work life and the reader’s vibrant but nurturing personality. She helps him slow down and appreciate the quieter, simpler moments, while he brings her a sense of excitement and adventure she didn’t know she needed.

Carmy finds her colorful, warm presence a soothing contrast to the often gray and chaotic atmosphere of his kitchen.

In one of these rare moments, Carmy is cooking in his own kitchen, reader loves to help out. She’ll chop vegetables or stir sauces while teasing him about his intense focus. He secretly loves these moments.

Occasionally, she’ll attempt to make him breakfast—simple pancakes or eggs—and Carmy will quietly fix little things without her noticing. He never wants her to feel like she isn’t good enough in the kitchen.

The reader knows how much pressure Carmy puts on himself, so she makes it her mission to leave little notes for him to find, saying things like, “You’re enough, with or without a Michelin star.”

The reader knows how to calm Carmy when he’s spiraling, either with a warm hug or by distracting him with a ridiculous story from her day.

Carmy helps her through her own stressful days by listening attentively and offering practical advice—or, if that fails, making her a delicious meal that instantly brightens her mood.

Their relationship is full of lighthearted teasing. She loves poking fun at how serious he can be, calling him “Chef” in a mock-stern voice while dramatically bowing. He’ll roll his eyes but can’t help the small smile that sneaks onto his face.

Carmy is fiercely protective of her, especially after seeing how draining her job can be at times. If someone crosses a line, whether it’s a rude parent, a random person or an ex, he’s the first to step in.

Similarly, the reader is protective of Carmy’s emotional well-being. She’s not afraid to tell him to take a day off or call out the staff (including Richie) if they’re piling too much on his plate.

Carmy admires her ability to manage a classroom of kids with humor and grace. He’s constantly amazed by how much energy and love she pours into her work. He often tells her, “I don’t know how you do it.”

The reader admires Carmy’s dedication and talent, even if she worries about how hard he pushes himself. She’ll often remind him that his worth isn’t tied to his achievements.

Carmy isn’t big on grand romantic gestures, but he shows his love through thoughtful actions—making her coffee just the way she likes it, fixing her scarf before she leaves the apartment, or cooking her favorite comfort food after a long day.

Reader, on the other hand, loves leaving little surprises for him—like a new knife roll she found on sale or a framed photo of the two of them that she sneaks into his office.

The staff at The Bear adore the reader, and they tease Carmy relentlessly about how soft he gets around her. Richie especially teases Carmy about how “whipped” he is, though it’s clear he’s just happy his cousin has someone who makes him smile.

When Carmy visits Abbott, the professors give the reader knowing looks, nudging her about “her handsome chef.” Janine even asks if Carmy can give a cooking demo for the kids someday, and while Carmy is shy and somewhat reluctant about it, he agrees because it makes reader happy.

Their late-night talks are a cornerstone of their relationship. After a long day, they’ll sit on the couch, and talk about their respective days, childhood memories, or Carmy’s culinary dreams, these moments become the heart of their relationship.

They’re perfectly comfortable doing their own things in the same room—Carmy scribbling recipe ideas while the reader grades papers or works on the next class projects. Silent yet intimate moments.

Carmy struggles to open up fully about his past, especially his guilt over Mikey’s death and the pressure he feels as a chef. The reader often has to gently coax him to share, which can lead to frustration on both sides.

The reader’s naturally sunny disposition occasionally clashes with Carmy’s more grounded (and sometimes pessimistic) outlook. While she tries to see the silver lining, Carmy sometimes feels like she’s dismissing his concerns, even if unintentionally.

Both have hectic schedules—Carmy’s long hours at The Bear and the reader’s commitment to Abbott. They often struggle to find quality time together, sometimes going days with only fleeting interactions.

Carmy’s obsession with perfection often spills into his personal life, making it hard for him to disengage from work. The reader sometimes feels like she has to compete for his attention, especially during busy weeks at the restaurant.

When they argue, Carmy tends to shut down, while the reader tries to resolve things immediately. This mismatch in conflict styles can make their fights drag on longer than necessary.

However, they’ve learned to meet in the middle—Carmy working on staying present in discussions, and reader giving him space when he needs it.

Carmy sometimes struggles with feelings of inadequacy, wondering why someone as bright and compassionate as reader is with him. He fears that his flaws—his temper, his workaholism, and his messy past.

Sometimes, Carmy doesn’t realize he’s shutting the reader out until she points it out, leading to heartfelt apologies.

Thanks to her gentle encouragement, Carmy is learning to open up more. She’s teaching him that it’s okay to lean on someone else for support.

meeting

[dahlibae]

BABYGIRL.

(wanda maximoff x fem!reader)

summary – today was the worst day of your life. everything you’d built seemed to crumble in an instant, leaving you hollow and adrift. but then there was wanda—beautiful, kind, and impossibly understanding. she didn’t ask for explanations or offer empty reassurances… just did what she did best as your girlfriend and also your mommy.

warning(s) – oneshot: hurt/comfort, mdlg, comfort nursing, nipple suckling, mommy wanda, reader needs all the hugs. (18+)

notes – hii, everyone. this is my first request ever and i’ve decided to make this a part of my unofficial mommy wanda series. i also think this is one of my fave pieces so far. thank you for reading! <3

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You stepped into the living room, exhaustion pressing down on you like a heavy weight. The soft hum of the house greeted you, but it felt quieter than usual. Normally, Wanda would be curled up on the couch, a cozy blanket draped over her lap and a book resting in her hands, waiting for you to come home. If not there, you'd always find her in the bedroom, lost in her novel but never too lost to look up and smile when you arrived.

Tonight, the couch was empty, so you trudged up the stairs, the day’s stress clinging to you like the dampness of your clothes. As you pushed open the bedroom door, the warm glow of a bedside lamp welcomed you. There was your girlfriend sat propped against the headboard, her book resting in her lap, and her eyes lifted to meet yours as soon as you stepped in.

“Hey, sweetheart.” She greeted, her voice soft as she set the book down. Her brow furrowed slightly as she studied your rugged state. “You look like you’ve had a hard day.”

You hesitated for a moment before shuffling toward her. She reached for you, her thumb tracing soothing circles over your knuckles, and tugged lightly, urging you to sit beside her, but instead of settling into her comforting presence, you slipped out of her hold. Without a word, you crossed the room to the wardrobe. The soft rustling of fabric filled the space as you stripped off your damp work clothes, their cold weight falling to the floor, not caring about your nakedness in front of the older woman. You reached for a familiar oversized top, one that belonged to Wanda—and still carried her subtle scent you noticed—as you brought it forward, inhaling deeply.

“What’s wrong?” She asked quietly.

You shook your head, chewing on your bottom lip as you searched for the words, refusing to look back at her. “Just everything.” You finally murmured, voice trembling, as you slipped the top over you. “Work, life—everything went wrong today.” The weight of the admission pressed down on you, and a sharp sting of embarrassment followed as you felt tears welling up, threatening to spill.

Today had been, without question, one of the worst days of your life. Nothing had gone right. Work had been a disaster—projects falling apart, deadlines missed, and criticism piling up. The disappointed look on your boss’s face wouldn’t leave your mind. Then, as if the universe wasn’t satisfied with your despair, a sudden downpour caught you unprepared. Soaked to the skin, you trudged home only to realise your headphones Wanda had gifted you were ruined beyond repair, forcing an expense you couldn’t afford. Each moment felt like another cruel twist of fate, leaving you drained, defeated, and wondering how much more you could take.

Wanda noticed your anguish, tears falling even if they were hidden behind your hands, and moved over to you. She cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing away a stray tear you had missed. “Oh, my love.” Her tone full of compassion. “Come with me.” She urged softly, pulling you towards the bed and into her lap.

And you couldn’t hold it back anymore—the weight of it all was too much. The disappointment in yourself, the crushing realisation that normal life felt like an insurmountable mountain, left you trembling. A choked sob escaped your lips, then another, breaking free like cracks in a dam. She wrapped her arms around you, her embrace firm yet tender, grounding you as you leaned fully into her.

After a moment, when your tears had finally stopped, you felt her hands under your shirt shift, gliding tenderly from your back to trace slow, soothing circles along your pelvis, up passed your breasts, and to your collarbone. Her touch was deliberate, grounding, yet charged with an unspoken intimacy.

“Baby,” she murmured softly, her voice a velvet caress that pulled your attention, “do you need Mommy to make you feel all better?”

Normally, words like these from her would ignite a fire, turning the world into a hazy blur where nothing else mattered. She had a way of consuming you entirely, of making you forget everything—even your own name and especially what had you so overwhelmed. Sex with Wanda always helped. But tonight, the pressure of the day lingered, sitting heavy on your chest, and even her gentle allure felt like too much. You turned your face slightly, unable to meet her gaze, the vulnerability too raw to confront.

“Not… not like that.” You mumbled, voice barely above a whisper, laced with a mix of exhaustion and nervous hesitation.

Her hands immediately retracted from underneath, but climbed back up to cup your face. She wanted you to look at her as you spoke, but she knew how nervous you were right now. It was clear that whatever you wanted was new territory for you both. And so, her thumb stilled on your cheek as she studied you closely. “Okay. Tell me what you need, sweet girl.”

Your throat tightened as the words clawed at the back of your mind, desperate to be spoken yet caught in the tangle of your hesitation. The thought had crossed your mind—a quiet, intimate need, something grounding and nurturing—but it felt too vulnerable, too strange to voice aloud. “I…” You started, the single syllable trembling before it broke apart. You lowered your eyes, shaking your head as your unspoken longing clung to your lips. Silence stretched between you, but her eyes never wavered from you.

Patience was one of Wanda’s greatest virtues.

“I don’t know how to say it.” You admitted in a whisper, the confession spilling from your lips like a fragile thread of truth.

“Just try, darling?” Wanda prompted, her voice a soft coaxing.

“But it’s… weird.” You replied, still avoiding her eyes.

She shifted closer, wrapping her free arm around your waist. “You can tell me anything. You know that, right? There’s no judgment here.”

You took a shaky breath. “I can’t, Wands. You’ll think I’m weird.”

Her lips pressed gently to your forehead. “Never.” She said firmly. “Not my baby girl.”

Deep down, you knew this was what you needed.

No other comfort would work.

The warmth of her words gave you the courage to continue, though your voice came out in a rush, barely above a whisper, “I… I was wondering if I could kind of play with your boobs… just for comfort.”

Wanda’s lips quirked in a small, understanding smile. “You already do that, baby.” She replied softly, though there was a curious tilt to her voice, almost like a question. Still, what she said was true. After sex, your aftercare often included her gently cleaning you up, then holding you close while you suckled at her breasts, finding solace in her warmth until you fell asleep.

“I know.” You murmured, your gaze dropping shyly towards her chest. “But it’s different this time, isn’t it? I don’t want sex. Just… that.”

The silence that followed made your stomach twist. Panic surged as you began to pull away, regret pouring out of you in a rush. “Actually, forget it. It’s stupid. I shouldn’t—”

“Hey.” She interrupted softly, her voice warm and steady, hands tightening gently on your shoulders, grounding you before you could spiral further. Her emerald eyes locked onto yours, brimming with nothing but love and reassurance. “It’s not stupid. And I don’t think it’s weird.”

“You don’t?” Your voice cracked, still unsure.

She shook her head, a soft smile tugging at her lips as she brushed a curl from your face. Her touch was tender, her tone even gentler. “No, sweetheart. I think it’s brave of you to ask for what you need.”

She cupped your chin, bringing your gaze to hers for the first time this evening. “And for you to tell me when you don’t want to have sex.” Her words melted some of your fear, but it was the warmth in her eyes that truly soothed the ache of doubt in your chest. “Plus, I like when you suckle on me.”

You blushed deeply at her words, and found her leaning forward to press light kisses all over your flushed face.

“You’re so cute.” She added with a playful lilt, finishing with one lingering kiss to your lips.

Still shy about the entire thing, you let her guide you backwards, making enough space for her to pull off her long sleeved top, before cradling you against her.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed about this.” She said, her fingers threading through your curls. “This is just for you, to help you feel safe.”

You rested your head against her shoulder, cheeks burning with embarrassment, but the moment her warmth surrounded you, all your tension began to fade. And you started at the crook of her neck, where her perfume lingered most intensely—a heady mix that would always soothe you. Your lips brushed the delicate curve of her collarbones, pausing to press soft kisses there, the contrast of firmness and tenderness grounding you in the moment. Slowly, you traced lower, finding the pliant skin of her chest, your lips and tongue gliding over her silken flesh in reverent exploration. You hesitated, vulnerable in a way you weren’t used to without the usual lead-up of passion to mask the intimacy. Still, you gave in to instinct, brushing your mouth over her heavy breast before gently taking a nipple into your mouth. The familiar act carried a different weight now, quiet and raw, leaving you feeling exposed but safe in her presence.

She carefully adjusted your position, guiding you to lie on your side as she leaned over you. The shift instantly eased the tension in your back, a welcome relief after being curled up in her lap for so long. She hummed quietly, fingers moving from your hair to your face, stroking your cheeks affectionately.

“Such a good girl.” She whispered, her voice low and soothing. The phrase, usually electric with desire, took on a softer, more tender note this time. Instead of igniting heat, it coaxed you further into your headspace, filling you with a profound sense of safety, as the worries of today floated away. And she held you as if nothing else in the world mattered, her hands continuing their gentle exploration, tracing over your jaw, brushing against your temple, and finally tucking stray curls behind your ears. “Let me see that pretty face.” She’d say, and each touch was intentional, a silent reassurance that she was there, grounding you in the moment. You felt her other hand drift down your back in slow, deliberate strokes, the rhythm lulling you further into her embrace.

“You’re so precious to me.” She murmured, her words wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Her thumb grazed the edge of your lips, pausing for a moment as though memorizing the softness there before her hand slipped back into your hair, cradling you closer to her chest, your nose flush against her.

You let yourself relax completely, melting into her as your lips lingered softly over her skin, not in hunger or lust but in need. A quiet, intimate need for comfort outside the bounds of what you knew. She seemed to sense it, tilting her head to rest her chin against the top of yours. Her breathing was slow, syncing with yours as the last remnants of tension ebbed away. The steady beat of her heart thrummed beneath your ear like a soothing melody, anchoring you to her.

“Thank you, mama.” You managed to say, exhaustion seeping into your bones, as sleep threatened to wash over you.

“Go to sleep, sweet girl.” Wanda replied, her delicate fingers against your skin also coaxing you into a deep sleep.

And when she spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper, it was as if the universe itself paused to listen.“You deserve to feel loved and cared for.” She said, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “And I’ll always be here to show you that.”

Her words hung in the air, wrapping around you like a shield against the world, finally carrying you into the peace of sleep, where you were cradled by the unshakable certainty of her love and comfort.

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