#essentials hoodie tags

[fearofgodessentialhoodie]

As a designer streetwear item, this hoodie represents the pinnacle of contemporary fashion. You can shop here.

[essentialshoode]

However, finding the perfect essentials hoodie is no simple task. Beyond the fabric and fit, it is about the connection it forges between the wearer and the garment.

[instructionsonback]

[fearofgodessentialshoodie]

The comfort of an oversized essentials hoodie is even more popular.

[heavensoutofsight]

stay with me | b.e.

SYNOPSIS: when your emotions get the best of you, billie is always there.

WORD COUNT: 1.2k

TAGS/WARNINGS: a little bit of angst, but mostly fluff, emotional hurt/comfort, established relationship, reader is implied to be socially anxious (just like me fr)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: hello i am so sorry if maybe this short lil fic is boring but honestly this is really self-indulgent and what i fantasize about often as a stressed as fuck college student to be real and i just wanted to get it out of my mind 😞😞 idk if this will be comforting to any of you as well but if so i'd be glad :))) enjoyyy.

(divider cred: @/strangergraphics-archive)

[ TAGLIST: @hannahluvsbillie, @bilssturns, @bla1rxoxo, @billiesrighthand, @weluvwbb, @belleishot, @natbelovasblog, @wilfdflwr8, @likefirenrain, @amara-eilish, @sevikasleftbicep ]

The second you stepped through your door, your feet began moving on their own, walking you toward a specific room in yours and Billie's home that was quickly becoming a place you spent more time in than your own shared bedroom.

Billie still went over to Finneas's place to work sometimes, but whenever she wanted to do some stuff on her own, she'd play around in her own studio at home. It wasn't perfect by any means, and she was still in the process of decorating the space and buying more equipment, but she had the essentials, and even though her little studio was still a new place she was already well acquainted with the space.

You were well acquainted with the area as well, because there was one thing you loved to do more than anything, and that was sit down on the little sofa in there and watch and listen your girlfriend work; which was exactly what you were desperately wanting to do as soon as you came back home from work.

Before you entered the studio, you could hear Billie recording some vocals, and for a few minutes you stood outside the door, listening carefully sporting a small smile. The stress of everything that happened at work and during the rest of the day was already leaving your body.

You gave a couple of small knocks before slowly entering the room, and upon hearing the door creak open, Billie swiveled around in her seat, her microphone still in her hand. The image of her, with her long hair framing her face and looking all cozy in an oversized shirt and simple sweats made your heart warm. To you, she was home personified.

A smile that stretched from ear to ear immediately appeared on her face as she greeted you. She stood up, meeting you eye-to-eye, wrapping her arms around your waist and giving you a quick kiss. She squeezed your waist ever so gently, pulling away and looking at you with pure affection in her eyes.

"How was your day?" She asked softly. You didn't immediately respond with a verbal answer; you simply sighed, leaning forward to rest your head on her shoulder, pulling Billie in closer. You inhaled the clean scent of her hoodie, which smelled like her perfume, a scent that very quickly became comforting for you.

"Exhausting." Was all you said as a response after a couple of minutes of silence, and Billie was quick to understand how you were feeling in the moment. You usually came home tired, but there were small things that you would do when you had a day that was a bit more intense than usual, and she could always pick up on those things. Everything about your body language in this particular moment told her everything she needed to know.

"Today must have been a lot, huh?" Billie asked you, although she already knew the answer. She moved her hands to around your shoulders, hugging you properly, while yours were now around her waist. Billie never minded embracing you for as long as you needed, and she even rubbed your back a little, the action further helping you relax.

"Yeah," you started, your voice quiet. "I just got so overwhelmed today and I couldn't get out of my own head and was feeling anxious the whole time and I just… wanted to be home and away from everybody." You spoke earnestly.

"I know, baby. I know. I'm so sorry today was rough." Billie said, sincerity in her tone. She pulled out of the hug, only so she could hold your face in her hands. She could see the tiredness in your eyes.

"Is there anything you need right now?" Billie asked. Whenever she could tell you were drained, she was always ready to provide you with anything you needed, be it food or a cuddle session on the couch; the simple gesture made you fall in love with her all over again. In this moment, though, there was only one thing on your mind.

"No, I don't need anything. Just you." You replied with a small, tired grin. Billie just nodded, returning the warm expression, leaning in to kiss you a couple more times.

"Okay, angel." She replied sweetly.

With that, you sat down on her little couch, as she sat back down in her swivel chair. She resumed working, and you immediately became transfixed, admiring the soothing sound of her voice and the beautiful snippets of music that she'd play from her speakers every now and then. There was nothing more calming to you than watching your girlfriend in her element, focused and working hard at her little desk.

Every now and then, she'd turn to glance at you, giving you a smile or blowing you a kiss, and every time a series of chuckles would escape you. If she ever had to get up to use the bathroom or grab a snack, she'd always give you a peck on the lips before leaving and she'd always ask you if you wanted her to grab anything while she was out. Her thoughtfulness only reminded you of why you chose to spend the rest of your life with her—you truly wouldn't have it any other way, especially on days like these.

In the comfort of her studio, you were away from the bustling, loud atmosphere that was your workplace. You didn't have to fake any more smiles or put on any carefully constructed masks. In Billie's presence, you could finally just be.

At some point, after many hours, Billie had found a stopping point, feeling satisfied with the progress that she had made. When she turned around in her seat to look at you, she noticed that you were lying down on the couch now, resting your head on a throw pillow, blinking slowly as you were adorably trying to fight sleep.

Billie immediately found herself walking over to you, kneeling down to be close to your face. She moved some hair out of your eyes, gazing at you fondly. You looked back at her, your eyes just barely cracked open.

"Hey, babygirl," Billie said, her voice just barely above a whisper. "Wanna go to the bed?"

After letting out a yawn, you nodded. "Mhmm." You replied sleepily, and Billie chuckled, kissing your cheek.

"Come on then, sleepyhead. I could use a nap myself."

You found yourself a bit reluctant to get off the couch, but you did eventually, grabbing onto Billie's hand and walking with her to your shared bedroom. The natural sunlight filling the room was enough, so she kept the lights off, and the two of you immediately crawled into bed atop the covers. You were still in your day clothes but you were far too worn out to give a damn. Billie definitely didn't care at all, happily pulling you in close.

Billie was behind you, taking the role of a big spoon, her arms wrapping around you comfortably.

The world knew Billie as a superstar; but in your modest little home, Billie to you was your everything, your safe haven, your future wife who'd you spend your last days on earth with.

"I love you so much." You suddenly heard Billie whisper. You smiled at the sound of her voice.

"I love you, too." You responded, melting into her.

(author's note pt. 2: need her to speak softly and gently to me irl so bad i'm crashing out 💔💔💔)

[riddlesbunny]

just a girl

You miss pop music, lip gloss, the mall. You miss roll on body glitter, your warm bed, giggling with Jackie during Friday night sleepovers. You miss your mom's voice yelling at you for leaving your dirty uniform on the bathroom floor. You miss everything.

It’s not that you miss it more than anyone else but it’s no secret that you’re not adapting. Nat has become even more badass than she was before, hunting and getting food for you all. Shauna butchers deer like it’s nothing. Even Misty Fucking Quigley has found a way to make herself essential. You cried when you broke your nail on a tree branch.

Currently, you’re sitting by yourself near the dimly lit fire. Digging dirt from beneath your once perfectly manicured nails, wrapped up in someone else’s dirty hoodie as you try not to cry, again.

Travis notices.. he doesn’t belong here either. You were on JV, and he was just the coaches son. It wasn’t supposed to be you. It shouldn’t have been you. He’s quiet as makes his way over to you.

“How you holding up?” he asks, crouching down you meet your eye level. You can’t bring yourself to answer. Instead, you just shrug, your gaze never leaving the fire.

He sighs and shakes his head, “you’re too pretty to be sulking like this, y’know that?” You’re caught off guard by his compliment. Travis is harmless, a little bit of a himbo, even. But he’s not one to compliment. You look up at him, not sure what to say, but his smile only widens. Before you’re able to answer, his hand is reaching down to you, pulling you up from to your feet with a strength that makes you feel small but safe.

“Come on,” he says, his voice soft now, almost teasing, “let’s get you out of your head for a minute.���

You don’t argue with him as he gently tugs you away from the fire, his hand still holding yours, warm against the cool air.

There’s no music, no walkman, nothing but the sounds of the wilderness surrounding you— but Trav doesn’t need any of that.

He pulls you into his arms, guiding you into a slow, swaying rhythm. His hands rest on your waist, steady and reassuring, while your hands find their place on his shoulders. It’s awkward at first, but quickly the world falls away—there’s no tension, no panic. Just the feel of him close, his breath steady in time with yours. You realize it doesn’t matter that there’s no music. His presence is enough. His touch fills you with butterflies as one of his hands moves to the small of your back.

You sway together quietly, in his arms, it’s just you and him—and for once, you feel like maybe you do belong here.

tagging those who were interested: @skeletonontheroad @nemesyaaa @fromjas, @district2222 @pa1nfullyalive @boopiemadz @pb-n-jen @lllivia @maddielovesurmom321 @strawberryblossomsblog @hxlaenahalliwell

[jnnul]

falling in love at first sight (x3)

a/n: so i woke up in cold sweat and i had to write this. there's like 30k i could've written about this but tbh, i needed to get this out lol. also taesan has been living in my head rent free so this is his eviction notice. quick note: feedback, comments, etc. GREATLY encourage writers! if you felt any sort of way (in a good or bad way!) about this fic, pls leave feedback!

word count: 6.3k

tags: college au!, basketballplayer!taesan x nurse!y/n, honestly it's just a fluff piece, idiots in love, dongmin is DOWN BAD and falls in love with the same girl 3 times, uhh y/n is a feisty nurse warnings: taesan is called dongmin, uhh alcohol + memory loss involved with getting shitfaced lol

HAN DONGMIN DIDN'T REALLY BELIEVE IN SUPERSTITIONS. to him, things like 'knocking on wood' or 'not opening an umbrella inside' were just old wives' tales that didn't have much substance to them.

but after dongmin had shattered his bedroom mirror this morning (he'd accidentally launched his alarm clock across the room after sleeping too late last night), nearly every single thing in his life had gone wrong.

he'd put expired milk in his cereal because kim donghyun (his roommate) hadn't switched out the milk like he'd promised to the day before. then he went to take a shower, only to be burned by scalding hot water since the landlord refused to change the heating system, even though they'd been suffering through the sticky heat of august for fifteen days already. as if all of that wasn't enough, he'd accidentally torn his favorite hoodie trying to clean up the fragments that'd fallen on the floor. and when he was trying to salvage his hoodie, he scraped his forearm against the fragments, meaning he had a nasty gash along the long side of it.

which meant he'd have to go to the hospital to take care of this stupid bloody mess instead of going to class.

that was how han dongmin found himself sitting in the waiting room of the urgent care center of the hospital, a shoddy rag wrapped around his forearm, his essentials hoodie covered in blood, expired milk, and mirror dust.

needless to say, dongmin had gotten more than a few strange looks from the other people in the waiting room in the last four minutes he'd been there.

"han dongmin!" the receptionist calls out, and dongmin launches himself out of his chair, impatient to get this over with as soon as possible.

something about hospitals just gave dongmin the heebie jeebies. the fluorescent lighting, the smell of rubbing alcohol, the tangible feeling of sickness that wafted through the air.

ugh. dongmin hated hospitals. in fact, he was so sure that he would never even step foot in a hospital after this. if he needed to wrap himself in bubble wrap to do so, then so be it because he hated hospitals and he would never come ba -

dongmin stops dead in his tracks, right next to the recovery bed that the receptionist had led him to. standing in front of him was the most gorgeous person he'd ever seen in his life.

you were smiling at something the patient in front of you was saying, leaning over to bandage the patient's scrape with a little bandaid that had cartoon ryans all over it.

fuck that.

dongmin was ready to break his leg if it meant that he got to stay in the hospital and stare at your beautiful face all day. before he could find something big and heavy to knock his leg into, however, you make your way over to dongmin, clipboard and first aid kit in hand.

"hello," you say with a soft smile. "my name is y/n l/n and i'll be taking care of you today. is there anything i can help you with?"

"will you go out with me?" the words escape dongmin's mouth before he can even process what he's saying and you immediately lean backwards, a disproving wrinkle between your eyebrows.

"excuse me?" you say, and it's clear that dongmin's not gonna be in your good graces if he hits on you. he really hoped you were like this with everyone and not that you just found him super unattractive or anything (donghyun swore up and down that dongmin was not ugly - especially now that he'd dyed his hair! but donghyun also never had to chase after a girl in his life so...). or worse, if you already had a boyfriend.

but before he can ruminate about your affronted stance too deeply, dongmin rushes to fix his mistake. "i mean, hospitals really freak me out. the ethanol smell and the lighting and everything kinda gets in my head, you know what i mean? do you think you could just slap some gauze on outside?"

the tension in your shoulders immediately relaxes and you take a step forward once more, setting the first aid kit down next to dongmin.

"oh yeah, that makes sense," you say, sounding relieved. "unfortunately, i can only provide care while inside the hospital to make sure that the instruments and gauze are sterile to prevent any contamination. i promise i'll be as quick as possible so i can get you out of here!" you explain, a slight pout tugging your lips down in the most adorable way as you seem genuinely sorry for dongmin.

it was official: han dongmin was in love.

"no, don't worry. take your time. i mean, the cut is pretty bad and i don't wanna leave any mirror guts in it," dongmin says. as quick as possible, my ass, he thinks to himself. i gotta find a way to make this last for as long as i can.

"of course!" you assure, before looking down at the clipboard. "so i assume you cut yourself on a broken mirror? does it hurt when you apply pressure?"

what was the answer that would keep you here longer?

"yes?"

"are you asking me or telling me?"

"telling?"

"very convincing. i'm gonna need to apply pressure and confirm for myself then, if that's alright with you?" you look at him in a way that seems to be somewhat apprehensive and dongmin has never wanted to reverse time more than in this very instant.

until he doesn't because your hands are on his forearm, examining the wound gently and applying pressure around the open gash.

"does it hurt when i do this?" you ask, eyes trained on the way that his forearm muscles ripple and move as you apply pressure in different places.

dongmin's not the most buff guy on the planet, and you checking out his muscles was definitely not for your own pleasure, but at least all of his time on the court and in the gym has paid off in some way.

"uh...no. not unless you're super close to the cut," dongmin says and you nod with a gentle smile. it's in that moment that dongmin decides that he would kill anyone and anything just to see you smile like that again,

"that's good to hear. well, i guess that all we need to do is 'slap some gauze on' after disinfecting the wound and making sure we don't have any 'mirror guts' in it," you say, a hint of cheekiness in your tone. dongmin doesn't know what it is about it but it makes him blush, regardless.

"yeah. that sounds good," he says dreamily, trying hard to compose himself once more when you flash him a questioning look.

you work carefully on his arm, making sure to give a tiny little stress ball to dongmin to use when you descend upon his wound with some antibacterial medicine and rubbing alcohol on a cotton ball.

"so, uh, you look pretty young for a doctor...?" dongmin says, trying very hard to focus his attention on you instead of the stinging pain that came with every touch of the cotton ball on his wound. the more he looked at you, the more he began to wonder if he'd seen you somewhere before.

dongmin wasn't the superstitious type, and didn't exactly believe in 'love at first sight', but no matter how much he thought about it, he couldn't place you anywhere in his memory.

"that might be because 'm not a doctor," you say somewhat distractedly. "i'm a nursing student."

"oh. oh! you're a nursing student?" he asks. student. that means that you were either his age or just a few years older than him. and it also probably meant that you were a student at a university near by - maybe his?

"yep. a second year. although, don't worry, i've completed all of my first aid clinicals last year itself," you explain, leaning back in satisfaction when you finish cleaning up the wound.

"my school has a pretty famous nursing program, you know. maybe you've heard of yonsei's nursing program?" dongmin asks, eyes shining with hope.

it's only then that you look up at dongmin with an excited look in your eyes, turning to throw away the used cotton balls.

"i go to yonsei as well! i'm just starting my second year. it's a little strange because the nursing program runs through the summer, which is why i'm working clinicals right now. i'm almost done though, so i'll be switching into a field i'm more interested in," you say and dongmin swears he hears wedding bells in his mind. beautiful, kind, intelligent, and the same age as him? it was like god was basically handing his soulmate to him on a platter. maybe love at first sight was real after all.

"me too! well, i'm not a nursing major, but i'm a second year electrical engineering major," dongmin says, watching you turn back towards him with a clipboard.

"mhm, well, i've gotta tell you to be careful for the next week or so. no heavy lifting, sports, and definitely no cutting things. we don't want to make the wound worse, now do we?" you say chidingly, scribbling instructions on the clipboard of how to clean the wound with rubbing alcohol and how many pills of ibuprofen to take per day.

"of course," dongmin says half-heartedly. as much as dongmin hated the feeling of pain, the was the only way that he could think of to get to see you again was to somehow hurt himself again.

"how about you come back in a week to just make sure that it closed up well? make sure it didn't get infected or anything?" you ask, handing him the sheet of paper.

god was real.

dongmin swore he was going to go to church and donate at least 10,000 won for the blessing after blessing he was receiving today.

"oh sure," he says, a mischievous thought popping into his head. "but is it ok if i find you on campus? i have a lot of labs over the next week and i can't miss them if i can't even participate in them, so i can at least get the information. i won't really have time to stop by the hospital," dongmin says carefully, watching your expression to ensure that it wasn't changing with every word that escaped your lips.

technically, it wasn't a lie. dongmin did have a lot of labs next week but that's definitely not why he wouldn't have time to stop by the hospital.

"i don't see why not. i don't need any sterile instruments to just check quickly, so that shouldn't be an issue," you say slowly, nodding to yourself as you look around the little station to make sure you wouldn't need any of the equipment.

"perfect," dongmin says, shuffling out of the bed that he was sitting in to leave before turning around nonchalantly. "do you think i could get your number? so i know where to find you?"

you look up at him, and dongmin tries his best to seem sincere and genuine rather than as calculating as he felt, trying every tactic possible to see you again.

"yeah. yeah, here let me type it into your phone."

he hands his phone over to you, and it takes every single fiber of his being to keep himself from looking excited about any part of this transaction. you were already suspicious enough of him; you definitely didn't need more reasons to add to the list.

you're frowning slightly when you hand the phone back to him so dongmin pockets it without a second thought, to prove that he wasn't trying to be weird.

"thank you so much again." dongmin waves as he leaves, flashing the award-winning smile that he usually reserves for aunties and restaurant owners for free sides. oh, and for his fans.

you don't blush and trip over yourself when he does like his fans do - although you offer him a soft smile in return.

although, dongmin muses, i guess it would be weird if a nurse who met me for the first time would be anything like a college basketball star's fan though. maybe.

he shakes his head, opening the door to the hospital, looking down at his arm wrapped in gauze. yeah. there was no way that dongmin was taking a break from basketball. season started in less than three weeks and as yonsei's point guard, he had no choice but to just power through the injury.

it might work out in his favor after all. at least it would give him more chances to see you.

+++

turns out, the universe gives him a chance less than two days after he sees you for the first time. and in any other case, dongmin would be incredibly excited to see you again. he'd probably be ready, waiting with freshly showered hair and clean clothes and nice smelling cologne.

instead, when he sees you again, he's wearing raggedy shorts, a stained shirt, and holding a basketball that he definitely should not be holding.

dongmin knew he was fucked the moment you walked in through the double doors that opened up to the indoor basketball court of yonsei, light spilling in from the outdoors, along with the chatter and excitement of students returning to university.

you walk in wearing white, along with six other people dressed similarly, the basketball team's physician (dr. moon taeil) at the head of them all. dongmin hopes that you don't recognize him - or at least don't see him actively playing but of course, you manage to turn your head to see dongmin throw the ball out of his hands in a random direction in panic.

the ball, then of course, managed to fall neatly through the hoop, as though dongmin had intentionally thrown it there, causing him to want to die on the spot.

so he couldn't do that during a game with korea university, but now that he was doing everything in his power to keep you from seeing him play basketball, now he manages to throw it in the one place it shouldn't go.

your eyes narrow when dongmin turns to face you, your gaze falling to his (poorly) wrapped forearm. he offers you a trembling grin, which slowly turns into a frown when you look away, shaking your head as you start talking to the girl next to you.

at least you wouldn't say anything to coach about how he wasn't supposed to be playing right now, dongmin thinks to himself. even if i've effectively ruined my chances of her ever believing me about anything ever again. uh. not that i've had more than one conversation with her. or might have more in the future.

dongmin shivers, jogging over to where the basketball had fallen to pick it up and return to his place at the three-point line and continue shooting practice.

he returns to where he's supposed to be practicing, so that his back is facing the group of people who'd entered - namely, you.

"i forgot coach mentioned that we've got new on-site medical staff," dongmin mutters to himself, dribbling the ball before lining up his shot. "i didn't know that she'd be a part of that though - she can't be the sporty type if she didn't recognize me from the hospital."

dongmin is so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't even feel the dark presence looming over him until the ball is released from his hand.

"HAN DONGMIN!" someone yells, right next to his ear, and dongmin scrambles to attention, wincing when the basketball bounces off the rim and into the cart of basketballs he was practicing with with a resounding clang!

he turns slowly, eyes closed, as if that would make you go away.

"i cannot believe that i bandaged you up so carefully just for you to start playing again! how could you be so careless? do you not want to be able to play during the season? you're yonsei's ace and you're being this irresponsible!" you're heaving by the end of your rant and dongmin blinks, trying to come up with a response.

you definitely didn't know him well enough to yell at him like this - much less in front of all of his teammates - but for some reason, that's not what stuck out to dongmin.

(much to his chagrin, you being angry was hot. like really hot. especially since he'd thought you'd be the soft and cozy type, not the impulsive and quick to anger type. he really liked this side of you.)

"you know who i am?" he asks slowly.

"OF COURSE I KNOW WHO YOU ARE! OH, YOU ARE GETTING ON MY NERVES. YOU ASS, I DIDN'T BANDAGE YOU UP THAT NEATLY FOR YOU TO BE WALKING AROUND SHOOTING THREES!"

you're yelling at him, and for some reason, dongmin has never wanted to kiss someone more in his life. he'd never though he'd be this attracted to someone that he's just met yelling at him, much less in front of his entire team and her own entire team. but for some reason, as dongmin looks at you waving your hands all crazy and annoyed, all he can think about it how much he likes you.

it wasn't just physical. of course, he thought you were beautiful - possibly the most beautiful person he'd ever seen in his life and he would die on that hill - but it was more than that. it was as though he'd genuinely fallen in love at first sight.

you could tell him that you were a serial killer and at this point, dongmin would just admire your bloodlust.

"uh. dongmin?" coach jung says behind him, hands crossed over his chest. "do you guys need a moment to step out and come back?"

even coach jung seems a little bit intimidated by your livid state of being and dongmin has to cough to cover up his life.

"no coach. we're done here," you say, turning dramatically on your heel to turn back to your friends. but dongmin moves quicker than even his own mind can process what happens.

before he can think, his hand is wrapped around your wrist, spinning you closer to him, almost as if the two of you were ballroom dancing.

you look up at him, shocked, but dongmin is slow to let go of your wrist, not wanting to lose contact with you.

"no, we need just a moment," dongmin says, his eyes never leaving your own. it's clear that you neither expected this nor were used to this kind of behavior from anyone and before the fight that's building inside of you bubbles out, dongmin tilts his head toward the door that leads to a hallway extending to the equipment room, practically begging you with his eyes.

you aqcuiesce - or at least, dongmin thinks you do - from the way that your shoulder melt just the slightest and you let him pull you into the hallway.

"what?" you snap the second the door shuts behind the two of you. "okay, maybe i didn't let on that i knew you from our encounter, but that's irrelevant. i didn't need to tell you that i knew you. and besides, as your healthcare provider, it would have been extremely irresponsible on my end for me to let slip that i'm a fan - or that i know you personally at all."

dongmin can't help but let a small smile slip. "personally? we know each other personally?"

you fluster in that moment, looking anywhere but at dongmin, bringing a large smile to his face. he'd never thought that the feisty, quick to temper and quick to lose it, loud type was his type but he was starting to enjoy it very much.

"alright, well i know you personally enough, alright?" you huff, crossing your arms over your chest. "we've met before."

now it's dongmin's turn to look flustered, as he wracks his brain, trying to come up when or where the two of you have met before. he wasn't the one-night-stand type, so that couldn't be it. he also didn't have an insane amount of friends outside of the basketball team and donghyun's friends, so that wasn't it either.

"i'm really sorry - and i'm definitely trying to hit on you, just not right now - but i don't remember. i'd definitely remember someone like you," dongmin says, and he's well aware of the fact that his tone does not sound any level of displeased, and rather dreamy.

you roll your eyes, looking down at the ground. "we kissed once. twice actually. but um. that's not my point."

you clear your throat, as if you hadn't just dropped the biggest bomb of the century on dongmin, shaking your head. "why the hell are you playing basketball on an injured arm anyway? i specifically said no sports!"

dongmin raises an eyebrow. "you say you're my fan and yet you're still asking me why i'm playing when we have our first game in a week. and hold on. i'm not letting go of that first part; we've kissed? twice?"

you shrug, but it's clear that you don't think of it as nonchalantly as you're trying to make it sound when you speak. "yeah. in freshman year. once in spring semester and then once in fall. it's not a big deal. to you at least. clearly you kiss a lot of girls, if you don't even remember us kissing at all."

"now that's not fair," dongmin pouts, but he's well aware that he's not conveying this well at all. suddenly, a flash of a girl wearing a red dress, looking up at him with big eyes and a pouty lips crosses his mind.

good god. were - were you dongmin's mystery girl?

+++

"what do you mean dongmin finally found his mystery girl? the one he's been crushing on for a full year?" myung jaehyun says incredulously, instantly pulling out his phone to look you up on instagram.

dongmin sits in the middle of his friends, all sitting at the same table as they were supposed to be eating lunch, his head resting in his hands.

"you mean the one that he swore was the love of his life? god, he wouldn't shut up about that for at least six months," lee sanghyuk says, shoveling noodles in his mouth.

"try a year," donghyun groans, rubbing his forehead in pain. "do you remember the state of this kid when he woke up the next day?"

"good god, it was horrible. all he could say for a full week was that he wanted to jump out of the window because he'd lost her number and that he was never going to find true love because he couldn't remember her name, number, or even what she looked like," sanghyuck adds.

park sungho, the newest addition to their friend group, blinks, looking at dongmin, who's head is still in his hands.

"you were down bad, man," he muses and jaehyun on the side of him snorts.

"down bad doesn't even begin to describe it. it got to the point where we had 'girl in the red dress' and 'true love' jars because he would talk about her." jaehyun sighed, looking at dongmin pointedly. "he'd put enough money that we'd bought alc for the rest of freshman year. just in spring semester."

"that's what you get for trying to prove that you could drink a 4lokos without getting shitfaced," donghyun says, nose crinkling as he recalled the hours he had to spend making sure that dongmin wasn't going to die by choking on his own spit. "and he went and did it twice. it took us months to get to the point where we could invite this guy anywhere so as long as he swore not to bring her up again."

dongmin looks up, almost excitedly. "do you think that if i drink another 4lokos, we'll kiss at another party?"

sungho leans over, smacking him upside the head. "you're so fucking dumb. and i can tell just by these stories. you're not allowed to drink until season's over, idiot. and she's on your medical team. why don't you start by making a good impression while you're not so drunk you're going to start insisting that spongebob is hydrophobic."

("you were there when that happened?")

("you idiot, you thought i was spongebob. you kept throwing my drinks away because you thought i was going to disappear into them if i drank them. which makes no sense because that's not what hydrophobic means.")

("oh. sorry man.")

"yeah. just go to the med clinic tomorrow, apologize to her, and bring her flowers or something. women eat that shit up!" sanghyuk says with a mouthful of noodles and jaehyun nods, pointing his chopsticks at him excitedly.

"they do! my girlfriend always feels better with food and flowers," he says, cheeks stuffed to the brim with carbonara.

dongmin's mind races with all of the implications of doing so, but every single one of his thoughts fade away in light of the fact that he could redeem himself in your eyes. he slams his hands down on the table, swinging his legs over the bench to run to the nearest flower shop.

"i'll be back before practice!" dongmin calls out over his shoulder, waving a quick goodbye as he sprints towards the florists.

he makes it to the edge of the courtyard before he hears the yelling of his friends behind him, turning to see them waving at him (and waving some very rude fingers at him).

"YOU FORGOT YOUR WALLET, YOU IDIOT!"

+++

dongmin's friends were useless. absolutely useless.

he'd went and bought the prettiest bouquet of flowers he could find, a nice meal from his favorite bento place, and had even bought three different types of ice cream bars because he didn't know which one you'd like.

he'd walked right into the medical clinic office, his apology gifts all in hand, ready to apologize to you, redeem his honor, and become your own true love.

the last part probably wasn't going to work anyway, but the first two should've been foolproof.

instead, he manages to prove that he was a fool.

as it turns out, he wasn't the only person who thought that the flowers were beautiful; dongmin had managed to bring the queen bee as a secret surprise in the bouquet, which meant that the rest of her hive was NOT very happy that he'd committed royal kidnap, as far as the bees were concerned.

"HAN DONGMIN WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU!" you yell from underneath your desk, where you were hiding from the sudden swarm of bees that had followed dongmin in.

he doesn't respond, too busy opening the window to drop the flowers out of, hesitating when he sees the number of people that were lounging around the courtyard that the medical office looked out of.

dongmin lines up the bouquet, sending a prayer to god (any one that would listen) as he shoots the best three he's ever shot in his life, so that the bouquet (and all of the bees that accompanied it) landed far away enough from people to prevent them from getting hurt.

of course, a few brave souls had stayed behind to exact revenge for their queen on dongmin, resulting in upwards of five bee stings, before dongmin finally evaded the great medical bee disaster once and for all.

he turns sheepishly, scratching the back of his head.

"i don't suppose i could find medical care in this clinic, could i?" he says, and he's well aware of the fact that he's flushed bright red, as he always seems to when he's made a fool of himself.

thankfully, there are only four or five people, including you, in the office to witness this disaster - although, dongmin can see the girl you were talking to yesterday surpressing a smile.

"yeah, of course you could. but we're all headed on break so unfortunately, y/n is the only person who's gonna be able to give you medical care. you know, since you've already brought lunch for her," your friend says with a knowing grin. she ushers the rest of the medical staff out of the office, closing the door behind her with a telltale click.

"you can come out from under the desk now," dongmin says, and despite the situation, he finds it adorable that in the case of a bee swarm, your first instinct had been to hide underneath a desk.

"i was going to," you grumble, slinking out from your hiding spot and dusting off invisible dust from your pants. "what were you thinking, bringing flowers with bees in them?"

dongmin blushes, tilting his head as he tries to look anywhere but where you were. "i wanted to apologize to you. in my defense, i kinda always thought bees were made up. i mean, they're so fat! there's no way they should be able to fly. that directly violates like every law of aviation in the world."

your eyebrow quirks upward as you look at the ice cream and lunch he had set down on your desk in his bee-induced panic. "i can't believe you're quoting the bee movie at me right now."

"i can't believe you know i'm quoting the bee movie. i should've known the love of my life was an internet connoiseur," dongmin says with a sigh, examining the bee stings on his arm. how did these bees even manage to crawl underneath the sleeves of his shirt?

"excuse me?" you bark, hands on your hips. "did you just call me the love of your life? when you couldn't even remember who i was like yesterday?"

"okay, wait. you don't understand. first, i need you to help me out by getting some ointment on these stings because they're starting to burn and i don't know if that's so normal. and then, i'll explain everything, trust me."

you reluctantly reach back into a cabinet that reads 'insect stings' and grab the kit for bee stings, pulling a cream out of it, beckoning dongmin to come closer so that you could treat it.

"do you remember what happened that night? or those two nights, i guess?" you ask softly, eyes trained on dongmin's arm so that you don't have to look him in the eyes and he nods.

"i remember. well, as much as i can, anyway. i was blackout drunk both times. and from what i remember, you weren't exactly sober either, so i don't know how you remember me but trust me, whatever you think about me is not true. i was - i was so down bad that my friends had to make a 'no y/n' jar!" dongmin yelps the last part when your hand on his arm presses a little too hard.

"i'm sorry! sorry!" you gasp, immediately leaning over to blow cool air on the place you'd accidentally put too much pressure. "what do you mean by a no 'no y/n' jar though? i thought you didn't remember my name."

"i didn't! and it killed me! i don't remember exactly what happened those nights but i remember how much i liked you. i remember thinking that i'd never meet a girl like you in my life. it still frustrates me that i lost your number - although, i do remember the part where you smacked me over the head the second time that we met. i think i suffered permanent brain damage from that.

"but i remember glimpses of that night. like that red dress you were wearing and how much you were rambling about stars. you were giving me an in-depth explanation about how black holes work and something about how rockets look like they're stuck in time in black holes. not the point. but the point is that i genuinely fell in love with you that first night we met.

"i've got this horrid habit though, when i get drunk - i become either super scared of water, or super infatuated with it. it's honestly a coin-toss. so imagine my feeling the next morning when i wake up with a dissolved piece of paper in my pocket that's supposed to have your number on it, semi-wet clothes, and a raging migraine.

"i thought i met the love of my life and i couldn't even remember her name, number, or even her face. it drove me and my friends absolutely nuts. me because i didn't know how to find you when i couldn't remember anything. my friends went insane because i would talk about you so much that they bought me those swear jars for every time i mentioned you.

"of course, i didn't know your name so you were just 'the love of my life' or 'girl in the red dress' but i think i dumped at least 300,000 won in those jars by the end of the semester. and then as if the universe was out to make my life living hell, we met again and i was shitfaced again. i swore to never touch a 4lokos after that, if that's any level of redemption.

"anyway. i brought you flowers and all this stuff because i wanted to tell you that - that i've liked you for a lot longer than even i've known! i remember most of the conversations that we had, even if i couldn't remember exactly who you were. when i saw you at the hospital, i genuinely thought i was falling in love at first sight. but i guess, that's kinda not true. cause that would be my third time falling in love at first sight."

"why, though? three times? i mean, i don't think i'm ugly or anything but three times? yeah, i mean i guess i kinda also had a thing for you after those two nights. god. i wish i remembered what we talked about for us to get this attached," you say, mumbling the last part. dongmin turns to you somewhat confused, watching you as you open up the bento box he'd bought you.

"you don't remember what we talked about? besides the black holes and stuff?"

"nope. but i've also got a horrible reputation amongst my friends for how much i talked about you. the worst part is that i remembered you but not what we talked about. it was so stupid because no one believed me that han dongmin, yonsei's point guard was the guy i'd had my heart for the past year." you instinctively smile the moment you take a bite of the food and even though it's so small, dongmin's heart swells with pride.

"why didn't you ever come up to me? i mean, this whole year of pining could've been avoided if you'd talked to me," dongmin says, accepting the ice cream bar you handed him. how the hell did you know that was his favorite ice cream?

"i gave you my number once, and i kissed you twice. i figured you were just ghosting me at some point if you weren't going to reach out to me. and besides, nursing really picked up right after basketball season so...i kinda just ended up torturing my friends for the past year," you say, somewhat sheepishly, but dongmin is barely even listening anymore.

after all, how many people can say that they fell in love at first sight with the same person three times?

"well. we're here now. will you go out with me? i promise i won't even touch a 4lokos!"

"deal. as long as you promise to tell me everything we talked about that night. i still can't tell why i fell so hard for you that i chased you down a basketball court in front of your whole team."

"my stellar looks? my killer smile? my stupidly handsome personality? my superb basketball skills?"

"try your stupid attraction to water molecules."

"i have a feeling i shouldn't have told you about that."

+++

freshman year, spring semester.

"really? you've never fallen in love before?" you ask incredulously. you and dongmin are sitting on the balcony of some random friend who decided to throw a party, feet dangling over the edges in between the bars.

"nah. i don't think so," dongmin says, leaning backwards on his palms. "i don't think i've ever met someone who's ever made me feel like my entire heart is their's to do whatever they want to do with."

"then let's play this game," you say, clumsily pulling out your phone. "that one thing on new york times, where you fall in love with someone within 36 questions."

"why? you want me to fall in love with you?" dongmin says, leaning over with a cheeky smile. you push him playfully, focused on trying to pull up the questions list.

"you'd do that whether i told you to or not," you fire back. "and besides, i think i'm a fantastic kisser. so you're probably already in love."

"you're right," dongmin says with a sigh. "i think i am."

freshman year, fall semester.

"question 36. i can't believe we never finished all the questions last time," you say. this time the two of you are sitting so close, dongmin can still taste the watermelon chapstick you're wearing. at this point though, dongmin might as well be the one wearing it.

"to be fair, last time i think we were otherwise preoccupied."

"get your mind out of the gutter!"

"i was talking about how many times you kept getting distracted by the dog."

"anyway. we're on question 36; are you in love with me yet?"

"i should be asking you that. i've been in love."

"han dongmin! i thought you weren't the superstitious type?"

"i'll be whatever you want me to be."

[mandukkul]

hey so for your 1k celebration event, could i request Jay with a childhood friends, using prompt 39 please?

12:27am – pjs

tags: jay park x reader (established relationship), childhood friends to lovers, prompt #39, “freeze. I know you’re not wearing socks and trying to go to sleep right now.” fluff, crack, possible ooc, self-indulgement sozzie

word count: 0.9k , not proofread, likes + comments + reblogs appreciated

°❀⋆manny's 1k celebration event .ೃ࿔*:･

It's the dead of winter, so cold that even Jay’s thousand dollar built in heating system can’t fight off the frosty bites of cool air.

Despite your old ages, you and Jay will always, always, have your obligatory weekly sleepover. No matter your schedule, if you are busy, halfway across the world, dead, you will always have a sleepover. It's a tradition you've held since diapers, where your parents would set up weekly playdates for you both that soon turned into platonic sleepovers and then into not-so-platonic sleepovers. 

Despite the newness of your relationship, some things never change.

Jay laid comfortably on his bed, scrolling mindlessly on his phone while you take possibly the hottest shower known to man. He could practically see the steam escape the cracks of the doors, and cant discern between the heat coming from the radiator or radiating from the bathroom. 

After the long 30 minutes of boiling water you call a shower (he doesn't understand how you still have skin), you step out the bathroom with a billow of steam wafting behind you. Jay could basically hear the theme music playing in your head, practically feel the way you think you're having a main character moment despite your large barbie and the diamond castle shirt tucked into your awfully-pulled high sweatpants as if you were a grandfather. Even despite the tight pull of the drawstrings around your waist, it does nothing for the shape except make you look like a senior citizen. 

And then you walk over to the sock drawer, and fish out the ugliest pair of south park socks known to man, and slip them on, making sure they are over the cuffs of your sweats, essentially trapping all heat inside.

You finally complete your… amazing… outfit with a neon yellow hoodie that you bought during your haikyuu phase, wanting to “feel connected” to Sakusa, whatever that means.

Your nightly routine is essentially the same every week, wearing variations of ugly outfits to sleep thanks to the awfully cold season. You sit on the chair for hours before bed, whilst he divots his spot on his side of the bed. Change into every and all sitting positions despite how utterly uncomfortable they seem, because they're “the most comfy positions ever”. And before bed, you shed off the layers and climb comfortably next to him, because– while you run cold– he runs hot.

“I still dont fuck with the fact you dont consider 2 voices a musical masterpiece” you complain as you haphazardly slide off the chair and head to the bed. “Honestly, the fact that i don't see barbie and the diamond castle in your top 3 songs appauls me” you pull the hoodie off and toss it on the chair. 

“Maybe i should make a subliminal to convert you” you eerily say casually, but he's used to your weird way of talking. 

He waits for you to pull off your socks as well, waiting to see which direction you'll throw them at this time so he can scoop them up later– no one likes missing a sock.

But you don't. 

You're mid crawl onto your side of the bed, mid sentence about making a manifestation subliminal for yourself when Jay stops you.

“freeze. I know you’re not wearing socks and trying to go to sleep right now.”

You instinctively follow forth, freezing mid crawl like a cat caught in the light. 

“And what about it” you retaliate, taunting him despite your hilarious feline pose. 

“You're a freak is what it is” your face pulls in offence, about to shoot your own strange insult. Though, you never get to, not even registering the way Jay practically launches himself into you, stuffing his legs into your face as he essentially tears the socks off your feet. 

“Hey, I'm cold!” you protest. 

“Fuck that, we have the heater up, 4 blankets and me sleeping next to you, youll survive” 

“No I won't! I'm gonna lose a toe in my sleep” 

Successfully de-socking you, Jay casually slips himself back to his side of the bed, on his phone once again while you mourn the loss of your socks. 

“You monster” you sob as you crawl under the covers, taking 3 blankets for yourself, whilst you share the one large one with Jay. 

He doesn't tear his eyes away from his phone, only stretching his hand over your shoulder to pull you in.  

“Oh whatever will i do”

“You need to repent, Jay”

He offers a noncommittal hum which only makes you silently sulk in his side. 

“Im telling my 69 twitter followers that you hate me” you threaten which does nothing, because he only offers another hum.

“And ill make a cap cut edit of you and shadow and start a meme”

Silence.

“And ill call your mum–”

“It's time for you to go to bed” he declares.

Jay shuts his phone and tosses it to his side, switching off the lamp and pulling you into his chest as he feels you stick your feet under his pant leg, siphoning his warmth with your already cooling toes.

“Its giving “ojou-sama, it's time to go to bed”” 

“I'm revoking your tiktok privileges”

“nooooo”

author's note: first time writing for jay, please tell me how it is! also its the subtley in for the childhood friends to lovers, can you sense it????

[captain-hawks]

run the table

rintarou suna x f!reader

In which a night spent playing pool with Suna at a local dive threatens to broach the flimsy boundaries that exist between your professional morals and the chart-climbing musician's steady, loaded gaze.

wc: 2k

c: 18+ only, musician!suna, manager!reader, reader is in denial, semi-public sexual activities, thigh riding, fingering, handjob

a/n: suna's music is essentially = cigarettes after sex

(requested by @cheesypuffkins87)

SPICY SLEEPOVER WEEKEND — PART V

[sunarin.x] tagged you in their story!

There’s a gentle vibration against your wrist, and you set the pool stick currently clutched in your hands upright as you tilt your arm to read the notification that lights up the screen. Furrowing your brow, you slide your phone out of your back pocket, navigating until you’re met with a photo of yourself from the game you just lost—bent forward over the table seconds before mistakenly sinking the eight ball.

Spinning around, you let your indignant gaze fall on the amateur photographer in question, who’s currently leaning against the wall nearby, face lit up by the glow of his own phone screen as a thumb adorned in black nail polish continuously swipes upward.

(You’ve been stalking around the table contemplating your first move in the current game for ten minutes.)

“Do you enjoy broadcasting my mediocrity to your devoted followers?” you ask flatly with a hand on your hip as you idly twirl the wooden cue, well aware that your presence in the musician’s post is bound to draw the ire of more than a few of his fans.

His eyes flick upward in your direction, and as always—unfortunately—being on the receiving end of his cool, assessing gaze proves to elicit something akin to a minor case of spontaneous combustion throughout your nervous system.

Suna’s music career has taken off over the course of the past year, his devastatingly attractive looks (the most recent words an interviewer used to describe him, not your own, for the record) and beautifully soft, raspy pitch (once again, courtesy of another thirsty interviewer) the perfect storm for a viral social media breakout after he shared one of his catchy ambient, dreamy, indie rock tunes (okay, you’ll own up to that comment). 

Thanks to a handful of mutual acquaintances, namely your close friend Semi—who introduced the two of you in the first place, you’re now Suna’s manager. 

Of sorts.

For all intents and purposes.

Also sort of a public relations liaison.

When he deigns to listen to any of the advice and guidance you dole out on a daily basis.

Mostly you just end up reaming him out for the nights he has too much to drink before shows or for taking risky liberties with his snarky attitude on the internet as his name continues to grow. 

When you’re not doing that, you’re inevitably using your spare key to drag his hungover body over the threshold of his apartment for whatever interview he’s late for. (You’re still seething about the time he shuffled in wearing an oversized hoodie with eyebags for days and still had the interviewer stumbling over her goddamn words.)

Okay, so Suna’s attractive.

Objectively.

When he’s somehow wriggled his way under your skin to now become one of your closest friends, it’s a factual observation you unfortunately can’t deny when you spend most nights of the week sprawled out on the other side of his couch with takeout food.

(The traitorous thought becomes a particularly sore spot when he deigns to stretch out across said couch and drop his head into your lap, eyes never leaving whatever bad movie is playing on the television screen while he does it.)

Suna thinks it’s funny—the amount of times you’ve been mistaken for his girlfriend at this point.

You hate him, just a little.

“You looked cute,” he grins, pushing off of the wall and striding toward you while his cue is left behind.

You valiantly ignore the eruption of warmth in your chest, fingers clenching tightly around your own stick. 

“The goal was to beat the girlfriend allegations. Let me manage your difficult ass in peace, Suna,” you huff, turning around to resume lining up your shot.

And suddenly he’s way too fucking close when his voice dances against the shell of your ear, “I liked it better when you were calling me Rin last night.”

Your arm jerks forward quicker than you were planning, and the white cue ball goes careening in the wrong direction, knocking into an entire cluster of Suna’s striped ones. Somehow, you still manage to sink one of your own balls in the process. When you turn to look at him, your noses nearly brush, and the clean scent of his body wash invades your senses. 

Eyes going wide, you slam your palm down on the edge of the table a little harder than necessary as you take a step back and retort, “You wouldn’t share the Skittles with me until I did!”

The entire situation was far less sexual than his low, rasping tone implies—you’d wrestled him to the floor in your kitchen over the pilfered bag you had bought, and he wouldn’t relent until the words, “Please share, Rin,” fell from your lips.

(Though you’d tried not to think too much on the expression that briefly flickered across his face when you said it at the time, now, the memory of it leaves your throat uncomfortably dry.)

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“Then please stop distracting me so I can beat you this time, Rin,” you snark, lifting the pool cue once more and turning back to the table.

Without warning, a warm body presses up against yours from behind, and Suna’s hands come to rest atop your own on the stick. 

“You’re horrible at pool,” he murmurs into your ear, and you fail to suppress the shudder that runs through you.

At a loss for words, and somewhat afraid of what might come tumbling past your lips under the duress of this proximity, you let your body go pliant beneath his touch as he readjusts your stance, using his hips as well as he nudges and presses you into place.

It can’t be good for your health, the frantic rhythm your heart’s currently beating against your ribcage, fighting to claw its way out. (Fighting to beat out the level-headed logic of your brain that’s kept you from embarrassing yourself up until now.)

—because Suna’s a flirt.

He’s just a flirt.

And you’re not about to lose your fucking job and friend over—

“What if I want to prove them right?” he whispers.

The world tilts, just a little.

You’d drop the pool stick if not for the way his fingers are curled around your own, your body rocking back into his ever so slightly under the loss of support from your stupid, weak knees. He pushes you forward, your hips pressing into the side of the pool table, and it becomes abundantly obvious in that moment just how hard he is, the outline of his cock firmly pressed between your asscheeks through the fabric of your skirt.

You’re not sure who’s in control of the cue stick at this point when it moves, three of your balls cleanly finding pockets in the process.

And just like that, something inside of you snaps free, leaving a heady, unrelenting flood of heat in its wake.

In a perfect world, one free of the multitude of prying eyes mingling around this local dive, you might find yourself rocking back into the cradle of Suna’s hips, delighting in the rough, low groan the action drags out of him.

(Okay, so you do allow yourself that much.)

But then you’d find yourself bent over the pool table while Suna bunches your skirt up against the small of your back and spreads your legs for the stretch of his cock.

(You’ll die before you admit how many times you’ve imagined this exact scenario.)

It’s the four walls bathroom stall adorned with phone numbers scrawled in black sharpie and hastily scrawled graffiti that end up privy to the moment Suna’s lips finally come crashing into yours instead in some desperate, messy approximation of a kiss. His mouth is a searing, hungry, insistent brand against your own, and the relentless chase of his tongue into your mouth leaves you dizzy as he nudges your thighs apart with his own.

“We shouldn’t—” you gasp out.

The door to the bathroom swings open, creaking on its hinges, and he gently covers your mouth with the palm of his hand, gazing at you intently. Shoes shuffle across the tile floor into another stall, and Suna’s eyes crinkle with amusement, the only warning you get before he blatantly slots his firm thigh against the heat between your legs.

Pleasure flares in your gut as your hips unconsciously rock into him, your cunt aching with need from the tease of friction against your damp folds. 

You bite down on the flesh of his palm, which only further fuels him to press into you even harder. A moan nearly escapes past the boundary of his skin against your lips.

He tilts his head to the side, biting his lower hip before glancing down at where you’re—for all intents and purposes—straddling his thigh, and then back up at you again. 

Maybe it’s the way his brown hair falls messily across his face, courtesy of your fingers. Maybe it’s lust-blown pupils. Maybe it’s the unsteady rise and fall of his own heaving chest.

(Maybe it’s just the way all of these feelings you’ve tried so hard to ignore are now ruthlessly reaching a feverish, unapologetic crest.)

Whatever’s to blame, you can’t bring yourself to care under the thrall of the satisfying burst of pleasure that unfurls between your legs as you grind down against Suna’s thigh.

Suna looks just as drunk on the heady wave of pleasure you’re riding as you drag your slick heat up and down against his leg, his forehead falling against yours as he bunches up your skirt around your hips. A hot huff of air hangs in the space between your mouths as he catches sight of the mess your soaked panties now leave behind on his jeans with each thrust.

You’re both momentarily shaken from your silent, lust-addled haze when the sound of the sink running echoes throughout the room, followed by the door slamming shut once more. 

Hardly a beat passes before you’re scrambling for the button on Suna’s jeans, the movements of your fingers a mirror to the determination of his own as he hooks a digit in your panties and tugs them aside. Dragging his lips back against yours, Suna groans into your mouth when you wrap your hands around his cock, a sound that devolves into something even hungrier when his fingers make contact with the wet, dripping mess your folds have already become.

The walls of the bathroom stall groan in protest as Suna thrusts two fingers in and out of your tight hole, lips tangling with your own in a filthy kiss while you rapidly stroke his thick, throbbing shaft with a spit-soaked palm.

“You’re fired,” he pants into the kiss, voice rough.

“What the fuck, Rin,” you gasp, the coil of tension in your gut trembling as he strokes his thumb over your swollen clit.

Bucking into your grip, he fucks your fist, groaning as you pull hard on the hair at the back of his head with your free hand.

“Be my girlfriend,” he exhales, taking your bottom lip between his teeth.

Your entire body arches forward into Suna’s touch, and you nearly stumble as you let out a keening whimper into his mouth, vision going white as pleasure explodes inside of you. 

Suna tips over the edge of his climax while you’re still trembling from your own, his open lips against the corner of your mouth as he groans your name while hot, thick ropes of cum spurt from his cock and coat your fingers.

—

Later, when the sun’s just beginning to creep over the horizon and you awake tangled beneath his sheets while he softly snores against your shoulder, there’s a notification waiting on the lock screen of your phone as you lift it to check the time.

[sunarin.x] tagged you in a post!

It’s a picture he took of the two of you sitting on his couch a few days ago, a fondly exasperated look on your face as you’re glancing down at where his own face is pressed against your shoulder, his mouth curved upward in a grin.

There’s a single heart that fills the space where the caption should be.

[luvfae]

omg hiii ! i loved ur mini series CENTER STAGE and i wanted to know if i could request a thanos fanfic :p btw i love ur accs theme its BEAUTIFUL :3 so basically y/n breaks up w her boyfriend su bong because he does to much drugs XD so she tries to find a small job as far as possible from her old work place because she knows he will come visit (iykyk) Y/N starts working in a gaz station in the highway ! And guess what her dear dear ex bf thanos finds her :p im so sorry if is this so badly written btw you can do litteraly whatever you want (smut,angst,fluff its really up to you) OFC dont feel pressured to do this request and if you do pls tag me :) TOODLES

YOU CAN RUN, BUT

YOU CAN’T HIDE

parings: thanos/choi su-bong x f!reader

warnings: smut, oral (reader receiving), p in v, unprotected sex (don’t be a dummy), public sex, swearing, thanos is lowkey a stalker

You should’ve known better.

You should’ve known he wouldn’t just let you go.

It had been two months since you left him. Two months since you packed up and disappeared, taking nothing but the essentials, leaving behind the mess of a man who had become more of a ghost than a lover.

Thanos had always been reckless, but the drugs made him worse. He was slipping, spiraling, drowning in a lifestyle that had already eaten away at him, and no matter how much you tried to pull him back, he wouldn’t stop. So you left. Because if he was going to destroy himself, you refused to let him take you down with him.

You thought you had escaped.

But you were wrong.

You got a job at a gas station on the highway—a quiet, out-of-the-way place that barely saw more than a handful of customers on a good day. You liked it. The silence. The stillness. The fact that no one knew you here.

Until tonight.

Until him.

You felt it before you saw him—that suffocating weight pressing against your ribs, the eerie sense of being watched. The store was empty, the dim fluorescent lights buzzing overhead as you restocked the shelves.

Then the bell above the door chimed.

You turned.

And there he was.

Thanos.

Standing in the doorway, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, watching you like a predator who had just found his prey.

Your stomach twisted.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then he smirked. “Took me a while to find you.”

Your throat went dry.

He took a slow step forward, then another, the automatic doors sliding shut behind him. The air in the store grew thick, the walls closing in.

“Nice place,” he said, glancing around before letting his gaze settle back on you. “Not really your vibe, though.”

Your fingers curled into the edge of the shelf. “What are you doing here?”

He cocked his head. “What do you think?”

Your pulse hammered against your ribs. He was high—you could see it in his eyes, that dark, hazy look that always meant trouble. But there was something else, too. Something sharper.

Something dangerous.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you said quietly.

His smirk faded. “Yeah?”

His steps were slow, deliberate, as he closed the distance between you. You forced yourself to stay still, even when every nerve in your body screamed at you to run.

Then he was right in front of you, so close you could smell the faint traces of smoke and cologne clinging to his hoodie.

“You left,” he murmured.

Your fingers twitched. “Yeah.”

His gaze flickered over your face, as if searching for something. Then, in a voice quieter than before—softer, in a way that made your chest ache—he asked, “Why?”

You swallowed hard.

“You know why.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked.

“No,” he said. “I don’t.”

His hand lifted. Not to grab you. Not to hurt you. Just to touch.

You flinched.

That made something in his expression crack.

“Did I ever hurt you?” His voice was low, rough.

You hesitated. “No.”

“Then why?”

Your breath shook. “Because you were hurting yourself.”

Silence.

For the first time, Thanos looked away. His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but no words came.

Then, just as quickly, the softness vanished.

His hand shot out, gripping your jaw—not rough, but firm, holding you in place.

“You think you can run from me?” he murmured, tilting your chin up.

Your pulse pounded. “Let me go.”

He didn’t. Instead, his thumb traced your bottom lip, almost absently, his expression darkening.

“You left me,” he said. “Do you know what that did to me?”

You shuddered. “Thanos—”

His grip tightened just enough to make you gasp. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind you that you were his.

“You broke me,” he muttered.

Then he kissed you.

And it wasn’t gentle.

It was teeth, tongue, and desperation—his hands moving from your jaw to your waist, pulling you flush against him as if he wanted to crawl inside your skin. You gasped against his mouth, your hands shoving against his chest, but he only kissed you harder.

You hated that you kissed him back.

Hated the way your body melted into him like it never forgot, like it never wanted to forget.

Hated that part of you missed this.

“Mine,” he murmured against your lips. “You were always mine.”

His hands slid lower, gripping your thighs, hoisting you onto the counter like he belonged between your legs. Like he had every right to claim you again.

And maybe he did.

Because you weren’t sure you had ever stopped belonging to him.

And that terrified you.

His hands were everywhere.

Sliding up your thighs. Digging into your waist. Claiming, possessing, reminding.

You shouldn’t let this happen. You should push him away, tell him to leave, remind yourself why you ran in the first place.

But you didn’t.

Because the moment his lips crashed against yours again—hot, desperate, hungry—you were already gone.

Thanos groaned into your mouth, his hands gripping the back of your thighs as he pulled you flush against him. You could feel him—hard, needy, pressing against the seam of your jeans like he’d been craving this as much as you had.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips. “You’re still so fucking perfect.”

Your breath hitched as his hands slid under your shirt, fingers tracing the curve of your waist before pushing up, dragging the fabric with them. You arched into his touch, and he wasted no time yanking your shirt over your head, tossing it aside before his mouth was on you again.

His lips found your neck, kissing, sucking, biting. He wanted to mark you. Wanted you to remember who you belonged to.

You gasped as his hands unclipped your bra, letting it fall away before he palmed your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples.

“You missed me,” he murmured, his teeth scraping against your pulse point. “Didn’t you?”

You refused to answer.

So he punished you.

His mouth moved lower, trailing over your collarbone, down your sternum, until he was sucking a nipple into his mouth, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak.

A whimper escaped your lips before you could stop it.

That made him grin.

“Yeah,” he muttered, kissing his way down your stomach as his hands made quick work of your jeans. “That’s what I thought.”

Your jeans hit the floor. Your panties followed. And then he was kneeling in front of you, his mouth inches from where you ached for him most.

You clenched your thighs together, but he pried them apart easily, gripping your knees as he looked at you.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured, his thumb teasing over your slit. “Did I do that?”

You shuddered.

He chuckled. “Yeah. I fucking did.”

And then his mouth was on you.

You choked on a gasp, your back arching as his tongue dragged through your folds, slow and deliberate. He groaned against you, as if he had been starving for this, as if he had missed the taste of you like a man deprived.

He sucked your clit into his mouth, and you nearly screamed.

Your hands shot to his hair, gripping, tugging, trying to ground yourself against the overwhelming pleasure.

He loved it.

“Hold on to me,” he muttered against your heat before diving back in, eating you out like he wanted to ruin you.

Your legs trembled. Your body burned.

And when he slipped two fingers inside you, curling them just right—fuck.

“Come for me,” he ordered, his voice hoarse.

You did.

Your body locked up, pleasure crashing over you in waves as he worked you through your orgasm, sucking, licking, owning you.

When you finally slumped against the counter, breathless, he pulled back—his lips glossy, his eyes dark, his smirk filthy.

“Not done with you yet, sweetheart,” he murmured, unbuckling his belt.

And the moment he pulled his cock out, thick and hard and aching, you knew you were in trouble.

Because you weren’t going to stop this.

Not tonight.

Not when he was looking at you like he would die if he didn’t have you.

And maybe—just maybe—you felt the same.

You sat on the counter, praying on one would come into the store, legs spread just for him. His cock pressed against your slick folds, teasing, sliding, waiting.

Without warning, he thrust inside you—deep, all of him, stretching you open in one slow, unbearable motion.

You gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your body adjusted to the thick, perfect burn of him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his head falling forward, forehead pressed against yours. “You’re still so fucking tight.”

You clenched around him in response, just to be a brat.

His grip on your thighs tightened.

“Don’t start.” His voice was strained, barely in control. “Or I won’t be nice.”

You smirked. “You’re never nice.”

He laughed—dark, low, wrecked.

And then he moved.

A slow pull out, a deep thrust back in, setting a brutal, punishing pace. Every snap of his hips slammed you against the counter, his hands gripping your waist, holding you still so he could take everything.

You were already unraveling, your body too overwhelmed, too sensitive from before. You felt everything—the drag, the stretch, the way he hit just right every time he bottomed out.

“Look at you,” he muttered, watching your face, watching every reaction. “Taking me so fucking well.”

You whimpered, your hands fisting in his hair, pulling him down for a kiss—sloppy, desperate, more teeth than lips.

He swallowed your moans, groaning as he fucked into you harder, faster. The counter shook beneath you, the sounds of skin slapping and breathless gasps filling the small, dimly lit gas station.

“Missed this pussy,” he muttered against your mouth. “Missed the way you squeeze me—fuck, baby—”

Your thighs clenched around his waist, locking him in, pulling him deeper.

His rhythm stuttered. His jaw clenched.

And then he lost it.

He grabbed you, yanking you against him, fucking you harder, chasing his release, chasing yours.

Your orgasm hit you fast, ripping through you like fire, your nails sinking into his back as you came with a broken cry.

He followed, his hips jerking, his breath ragged as he spilled inside you, filling you, owning you.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Just panting. Clinging. Feeling.

Then, after a long pause, his lips brushed your ear.

“Told you,” he murmured, voice wrecked but smug.

You frowned. “Told me what?”

His teeth nipped your jaw, lazy, possessive.

“You can run,” he muttered, his hands sliding up your spine, his cock still buried deep inside you.

“But you can’t hide.”

[fearofgodessentialhoodie]

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[moonieandi]

snapshots pt. 11 | stanley pines x f!reader 

Summary: a record-breaking blizzard has both you and stan out in the snow one fateful february night. you both find something in the snow. 

warnings (TW): swearing, idk blizzards?, panic-induced situtions

tags: mutual-pining, sibling dynamics, affection

notes: yoooo this was crazy hard to write guys! I had to do this in pieces! And like the ending may have been.. A last minute decision (no it was not i was thinking about it for months) but like helllooooo everyone! I am here and kinda around sometimes! I missed you all so much life has been allll over the place! I hope you all enjoy <3 look forward to the comments always i love feedback on writing and or storyline!! It keeps me going and motivated to hear for you all!! (special thank you to cass for the playlist <3 it helped w writing!!) much love to you all enjoy ! 

word count: 5.1k

| masterlist | 

February, 1988 

Living this far north had it plights, she learned. 

Not that she had never experienced winter, but it was different when it came around in Gravity Falls. 

There was an eloquent sequestering they pivoted into come the first snowfall in November. Stan had a tendency to hunker, moving blankets to and from different rooms. She especially loved stealing his hoodies and pants from their new dryer. They fell into a routine of drawing closer and closer come the colder months, and he had a tendency to ensure she always left with the appropriate coat, the red one, and her hat and gloves. He floated and pestered more when it began to snow each season. But for some reason, released the reins when it came to her driving to school despite the icy roads and blurred white windshield. 

After the escapade at the lake last January, and her handling the drive home, essentially alone, he was fairly confident in her home-taught driving skills, despite her being somewhat nervous about the road in the early snowy mornings. The headlights always cast shapely shadows on the snow and trees, blurring the lines of the road and making her reliant on the brakes too much for her comfort. She knew the breaks could not actually fight against the slick traction and black sheet ice that lay just below the surface of freshly fallen snow. So sometimes she’d give him that look in the early school mornings, staring at him across the kitchen table as he peers through the newspaper again. She’d nudge her feet across his lap, his fingers curling around her ankles, nudging her sock up her leg. 

“Yes, dear.” He’d say, not questioning. Because he knew after so many times of her insisting and nervous fretting. He always said it in a joking tone, a quick phrase his father would always say to placate his mother. A dismissal of her usual rantings and worrying and lingering in doorways. 

He liked to believe he used it in a more endearing way. One that meant more, he hoped. He enjoyed doing things for her, he discovered. A more innate need than anything, to give into her ploys so easily. He thinks that's what husbands do, anyway. Complain about their wives in an endearing way, because everything that perhaps should have been annoying about her only made him all the more dizzy about her. So he’d drive her most mornings. 

But he couldn’t today. 

He was tied up with work and the giftshop that day. Despite the reduced hours, he was insistent that morning that he needed to stay in. He had fucked up the exact delivery he usually gets every two months to resupply some of the smaller novelties up front. After the rush of a small local Christmas crowd, he was in need of some smaller and more centered gifts for the upcoming Valentine's holiday. He had been distracted by the holiday, thinking about an appropriate gift to give her for the holiday. He hadn’t ever gotten her anything for the holiday before, but things felt… different recently. There was a hairs breath between the line they continually both danced around. He was thinking about the perfect gift to give her that also danced along that winding line, when he scheduled the next upcoming order to come in at 8 a.m. sharp, instead of the usual late-day delivery of 6:30 p.m. He had sworn at the mishap, and sent her on her glum way with a brush of his hand along her hairline. The snow wasn’t that bad that particular morning anyway, he reasoned. 

“Do you want me to come and get you?”  His voice crackled over the landline, muffled by the snow on powerlines.  

She sighed. “No, Stan. I don’t want you walking in this snow just to drive me home.”  

“I don’t want you driving in it, though.” He pauses, a grunt front along the line. “I’m on my way.” A fumble and a thud along the line, a boot, perhaps. The zip of his new coat. 

“No!” She pulled the phone away from her ear, wringing her hand across her chest. He was too stubborn for his own good at times. “Stanley.” She whispered. “Don’t, please, I’ll be leaving in the next 10 minutes. I should be home in 45 minutes.” She predicted, eyeing the heavy snow out the window. The kids had been let go early today, but work from past weeks had piled up, and she insisted the lead teacher go back to her own family. (“Don’t you have your own?” The older woman had asked.) 

He humphed, unhappy at the prospect of her discomfort with the dark road. “You got 30 before I start walking hun’.”

Her shoulders fell. He always got his way when it came to her. Something she didn’t completely mind, except when it was at his own expense. Which it currently was. She hated seeing him cold in any capacity. It’s why she constantly dried his clothes and invested in more throw blankets. And why she no longer took baths in the tub she laid his blue body in last January. She was frustrated at his insistence, but also painfully aware of her nervousness at the darkness outside waiting for her. But she’d rather face some selfish fear of dark roads than have him blindly stumbling through the snow and sludge to get her. She’s never asked him to do that, but seemingly he’d do it of his own volition anyway. 

“I’m on my way, Stanley. I’ll see you soon.” She clips, the edge of a confession curled on her tongue. She thought it may be the hectic day she had, but him annoyingly strongarming the conversation was only really ever endearing. She wondered how many years it would stay that way, when she would be sick of his deep and sheltered sweetness. 

He hums, it crinkles through the phone line. A resolute tone in his deep voice. “30 minutes, hun’.” He says again, she sighs, hanging the phone back up to the head office’s receptor. Folding loose papers into her shoulder bag, cleaning up the head secretary’s desk before shrugging on Stan’s coat and her secondhand gloves before flicking off the last light on in the building to head off into the parking lot. 

Stan’s car sat rigid and the leather of the seat was cold under her thighs. She had to dig the back tires out of the deep cavern that the fastly falling snow had created. The imprint of where she had parked that morning now lay under several inches of new fresh snow. She spent exactly 5 minutes digging the tires out with her now sopping-wet gloves. She had 25 minutes. 

The inside of the car didn’t prove to be of much comfort either. It felt darker in the driver's seat, the only cast of light coming from the radio and her headlights. The staggered street lamps acted as pacers, marking the next point on the road in which she could unwind her hands from their deadly grip along the leather wheel. There were next to no other cars on the country road that led her home. She had 20 minutes. 

The radio sizzled in the darkness of the car. Scrambled late-night talk show reruns sounded crisp and rattled the dashboard of the aging car. The rumble of the motor broke up the silence between the muffled voices on the radio. She thinks to flick the radio, disturbed by the noises of the turning tires and the faint voices. She’d prefer Stan’s voice now, and his rumbling while she hummed to the radio. A song would distract her from the crispness of her breath in front of her, the coldness of the cabin, and the gentle slip of the tires. The tug of the wheel from time to time as the car displaces the inches of snow on the road. 

She glances at the clock. She has 15 minutes. 

She glances again, one hand steady on the wheel and the other reaching for the radio nob. She knows the channel she will flick to already, to that annoying 70’s music channel that Stan always grumbles at but secretly enjoys. 

Movement catches her eye in the dimness of the upcoming street lamp, and the car slips along faster against the ice than her foot can move to the brake. A flash in front of her, and a heavy movement of snow. An animal perhaps, she would believe, if it weren’t for the distinct color of clothes that moved in front of her, spotted between the heavy snowfall. 

She breaks and veers as quickly as she can.

“Oh my god.” She breathes. “Oh my god.” Hands heavy against the wheel, still she unwinds them finger by finger. Breath heavy, hand meeting her chest above her heart. She begins to rattle the door open, stepping out the driver’s side and rushing into the snow. Forgoing her hat and gloves. 

The figure is deep in the snow, directly under the street lamp. Flashes of color move in the deep snow, and the grumbling of a voice meets her. It’s too dark to ascertain, so she quickly moves closer, calling to what she believes to be a person insane enough to walk in this blizzard. 

Only Stan was insane enough to walk in the snowy dark like this. 

“Oh my god.” She thinks to take a breath again, calm her chest, and to disassociate the ringing in her ears. “Stanley!” She calls, rushing forward. 

Except she does not find Stan’s stature in the snow, but comes upon the constant movement of the snow instead, sort of like the person she had almost killed was struggling to get up above the snow. Voices grew more distinct as she reached to assist the person. 

“Give it back! It’s my turn!” The voice of a young girl met her, in sequence with a young boy’s. 

“You’ve had your turn, and we just keep going farther back!” 

She reaches into the pile now, realizing in the dark of this particular Thursday night she had stumbled upon two siblings battling it out in the middle of the road during the worst blizzard of the season. 

The children are not swayed by her hands and words, too caught up in the argument between them. Constantly grabbing and reaching for an object, passed back and forth from hand to hand. Each time a sibling breathes for a break the other moves to snatch the object back. No rest between their fight. They move in sequence as if the other can predict the nexts’ very move. 

It hadn’t been the first time she had broken up a fight between children, and definitely not the first one broken up between siblings. She had learned these past years that a sibling could be someone's greatest asset or someone’s very downfall. She had always wondered what it would have been like, to have a little shadow to teach and play with, but these years had reflected a rather different light on her pre-teen pipedream. Stanford had become another blight in a bright dream of hers. 

So, she doesn’t hesitate to reach into their tussle, separating them between her wingspan, her feet dug into the snow and ice of the road. The street lamp had reflected weird lights on the dark snow before, but the image of the children standing in front of her flashing headlights now drove her to her knees. 

They breathed separately now, the object they had fought valiantly over sat between them. Before her sat a slightly dented but sleek tape measurer. But that truly wasn’t what drew her attention. The feel and grasp of each of the children's shoulders grounded her, the heat of them spoke of their reality. 

They shared faces. They had no coats on, no boots on, and no gloves on. They looked to have popped directly here from some sort of vacation, their skin tan, their freckles distinct along the bridges of their noses. But they looked much the same. 

They shared eyes too, each looking confused from her, back to each other. They seemed to cool off, their breaths even now, the chill of the night seemingly seeping into their bones now, as their teeth chattered slightly. Stilled under her hands, their shared confusion at being caught, at being seen, passed back and forth between them now. 

She looks from each one, not being able to restrain both and keep an eye on both at the same time. First the girl under her left hand, her hair tousled and her stickered skin shining under the headlights. She looked at her confused, eyes clouded, like she was realizing something, like placing a piece of a puzzle.

She looks to her right, the boy wore his emotions plainly. His hair tousled also, and his pine tree hat tumbled off in the snow long ago. He looks contemplative and deeply guilty about something she could not piece. Like he was living his mistakes as he stood before her, and felt guilt when he tucked his face closer to her hand. 

She can’t stand to turn her face for a fourth time, doesn’t want to think about turning her head to and fro and having one of them disappear while her neck is turned. The fading of their visage on some dark horizon line. So she drags them together, bringing her wingspan to have the siblings meet side by side again. Their silly argument, forgotten on the ground between their feet. 

She must look a certain way. Perhaps it’s the tilt of her head or the quickness of her breath that gives away her clear understanding of them. She knows them. Had placed them in countless daydreams and nightmares. Recurring dreams (visions) that have wracked her head since she settled into this lonely Oregon town. She would know them in a crowded room, and in the dark of night. They shared her Stan’s deep-set eyes and streaks of stubbornness. 

She never imagined they were real, though. Thought it was a bandaid her brain had conjured up to quantify the numerous oddities in her life. Thought her mind twisted her nightmares and wishes into a litany of these children, threaded her desires into images and a realness she could not touch until now. She thought her mind had been mocking her. Had grown peaceful in her slowing madness if it meant she woke to Stanley again. Ignored alarms and forgo sleep in favor of simply wondering about the children that had seeped into her dreams. 

But they were real, or at least felt real to her. Looked real too. Reminded of the brisk wind as it tousled their matching brown hair. They both stood before her now, their matching brown eyes looking over her, confused by her visage here in the dark of this particular  night. The boy’s face looks beyond her, behind her, looking for another figure to emerge from the car. 

“W-what are you doing here?” The boy asks, not yet having shrugged her hand off his shoulder.

“I was on my way home from work.” She replies, like it’s a normal workday, like it’s a normal conversation, like it’s repetition, like it isn’t odd that the fixation of her years-long dream stands before her now. “What are you doing here?” She asks, no real scold in her voice. A litany of amusement in the brush of her voice, amusement at his typical imploring questions. (Typical?) 

The girl, who has not moved her eyes from her face, suddenly moves a piece of the puzzle behind her eyes. A flicker of some sort of recognition and excitement at having the older woman in front of her now. With a brilliant smile on her face, the girl stumbles from beneath her hand, moving forward to wrap herself closer to the woman who isn’t so mysterious now. 

“Mabel!” The boy chastises, reaching for his sister's arm to pull her away from the embrace. 

Mabel takes the boy's arm instead, bringing him forward and into the embrace they share now. A ridiculous embrace, a dangerous one. Out here in the dark of the night in the midst of the road in the middle of a blizzard. Something in her relaxed her usual anxious worrying though, with both of them folded into her embrace. Like somewhere in some universe in some time, they had done this before. That the puzzle pieces behind the girls' eyes were them somehow.

That the children knew who she was. And somehow, she knew them. 

She didn’t think to reason it out beyond that at the moment. The impossibility of the illusion of them didn’t falter her in the white blurry of the snow. It felt disproportional and ignorantly stupid in the face of the improbability of their appearance. But they felt real under her arms, as real as the coldness seeping through her pants. Warm and whole under her arms now, able to scoop the entirety of what she believed to be a dream into her body now. 

The boy's mind was always a whirlwind though, never restful and flightful, unpredictable like the scattering of the snow and wind around them. He nudges back from her embrace, tucking his head back and into the wind again to truly look at her flushed and nipped face. 

His eyes widened, noting the tearfulness of her eyes, the wet tracks around her cheeks. She hadn't noticed, hadn’t cared about raining in her emotions when it came to them. He looks at her like Stanley does at times, the quirk of his head and the squint of those same dark eyes. Like he can’t place her emotions, but can place the rest of her entirely. 

“How?” He says, the rest of the question held in the air between them. How does she know them? Why does she recognize them? Is that what this is? 

She knows them not to be a complete figment of her imagination. Suddenly made real, despite everything in this world contradicting as such. 

But in all her seeping dreams, she remembers distinctly that this one in particular is set farther into the future. That there are indications, and blurs, in her dream that hint at the dreams being beyond vague premonitions, rather than a living of the current reality. That and Stan’s demeanor in these wishful far of dreams usually acted more… well more familiar with her than he does now. Act in ways that woke her abruptly now, shamefully not wanting to dream of him in such an intimate way while he lies so closely. 

So in some impossible way, beyond her current comprehension, how could they stand in front of her now. That if, for some reason, they were real, then how could they possibly be here? Here, in her current present, if they were from her distant future?

The unrestful thoughts strike her the same way the boy’s seem to also. Which inevitably sends her on another whirlwind of thought. If the children were a figment of her imagination, a concoction of wishfully wanted familial pictures, a piece of some manipulative puzzle in her own mind, then there should be no concern from the boy. Because they were not wholly real. Until now. But if this figment of some small-version of Stan was so very concerned, struck by her image and pulling himself away from her arms like she burned then how could she argue her case in sanity in the end of all this?

The boy brushed back, flung  himself from her arms and fell quickly back into the snow. He looked scared, scared of her. Scared of what followed in her wake. Because in his mind, it made complete sense how he would recognize her. But it shook something in his core when she reached forward to brush her fingers through his tangled hair, away from his forehead to reveal the scattering of stars across his brow. It had him moving, pulling the back of his twins’ sweater, away from the embrace of the woman they both knew. Has him reaching for the tape measurer again when she finally calls his name in the flash of their exit from this time to the very next. 

Because they hadn’t been born yet. Because in 1980-something his mother was a child. 

Because how could she possibly know his name? 

And who was Stanley? 

The thirty minutes had come and gone quickly. 

Stan truly hadn’t bothered to take off his boots and coat since he put them on thirty minutes prior when his doc’ called. Because although he believed in all her abilities, the ability to drive through a record-breaking snow-storm with no state sanctioned training or driver license, left him fitful by the front door. 

But when he made promises to her he rarely broke them. Unless it was to prove a point of course. But they both didn’t play games when it came to the cold now. 

He made it out the door (truthfully) 2 minutes early. He had spent a time clearing out an adequate spot to put the car an hour prior. Looking at the almost-covered spot now had him trudging through the snow early. She was always too tactful though, he smiled to himself, she’d probably curse him out for spoiling the extra 2 minutes she had. 

He thought nothing of it now, out here in the dark with only a shitty compass his brother had left behind, a flashlight, and the driving force of getting her safely home. 

He had been following the overhead lamp-light of the street lights for a while now. Trudging through the driveway was the worst of course, but he didn’t imagine she would have trouble remembering where to turn to their house. The huge Mystery-Shack sign pointed well enough to the direction of their cabin now. Even if it was eerily covered in snow and the dark. 

It had him stumbling, running without the flashlight and compass, to see his car and her form collapsed under said lamp-light. 

She was curled into herself, her knees folded under her body, her face sheltered into the snow away from the wind. Her coat open, and her gloves gone- like she had stumbled out of the car for something. Like she saw something out here. 

“Hun’!” His yell has her flinching upwards, her arms curled around her body against the cold. Her face flushed from the wind, and the unspeakable tracks of never-ending tears from her eyes. 

He thinks nothing of falling to his own knees, grasping and reaching for her over wind and snow. He can hear her over the endless gale, her own howl's disappearing into the snow and the forest beyond. 

“No, no, no.” He hums, his hands running up and down her back, the spring of worry about the cold and her condition having him moving again. It’s too loud out here now. The wind picks him up, has him curving his arm around the bend of her cold and sodden knees to pick her up. 

Her arm curls into her body, the other grasping and reaching for the hem of the collar of his coat. Some comfort in being so very despondent in front of him and it not shaking his resolve to simply care for her despite it. 

Because she can’t breathe. 

He folds her body into the passenger side of the car. Cursing and thanking God that the car remained on. If the car shut off he was unsure if it’d restart in these temperatures. 

He takes another look at his surroundings before getting into the driver's side. No tracks, no evidence of anything that would pull her out into the street like that. Nothing he could conjure up in his mind that would have her stuck in the snow breathless and freezing. 

She’s shivering in the passenger's seat, and he instinctually pulls her into his side, into the middle of the seat. Buckles be damned, he’d drive slow but he sure as shit needed to get her home. 

She tucks her face close to him, timid now, still sniffling from the cold and the wracking sobs that overtook her not even minutes before. His simple presence calmed anything that stirred within her now. She sags, exhausted by her train of thoughts, resolute in what she needs to confide in him now. 

Because in a way he knows. He has known of her fitful dreams and triangular shadows that creeped into corners of her mind now. She had been too ashamed up until now, to confide in him about it all. Confide in him about… about them. 

Because before it was simply a figment of what she believed she wanted. But now she knew parts of it existed out there, in some plane of existence. The twin’s were that simple existence, the girls warm embrace case enough and the scattering of stars across the boys brow that she just knew were there was case enough. 

She was scared of the bigger things though. The monsters she had seen and the twisted dreams of death and loss. But wasn’t it better if Stan knew? If he knew of the danger to come? If they could prevent some of it? 

Or was she playing into something far more sinister than her twisted mind could conjure up? 

It has her sagging closer to Stan. Touching her face close to his shoulder and neck, letting her eyes droop at the heat and scent of him had her relaxing her hands more. They had been clenched before, her nails sore in the palm of her hands. She brings them up now, uncurling them to turn Stan’s face to her as he parks the car right outside their warm waiting home. 

Her hand turns his face, curving her sore palm around his jaw to his chin. 

He looks at her, so similarly. Like something she remembers from a dream. His eyes deep, a contemplative look to them. A deep concern and quirk of his brow has her pushing her hand up his face to settle his furrowed brow. 

He was always so worried about her. Always looking at her with this frustratingly endearing look. His dark eyes drawn to her in every room, in every setting. And she was always so worried about him. Even now, she complated telling him about everything that transpired in her mind, in those fitful dreams. She fears reliving some of them, of reliving the death of the children she now holds dear. That she somehow knows so well. 

There is one part of the dreams though, that she'd love to make a reality. 

Parts of it they live now. The domesticity they share is undeniable. They flit and work around each other so well. The simple affections they share also, the mornings and coffee’s he makes, to wake beside him is sometimes the best part of her day. Some days she goes the whole day waiting for darkness to creep across the horizon line, just so she could tuck herself close to him. 

They even shared a last name. 

Who were they kidding, truly? 

There is just one thing they don’t share, she thinks. Her hand moves back to his strong jaw again, her fingers thumbing the edge of his lips. She looks back to his eyes again, and the flutter that begins behind her chest at his shaded look has her gasping as he moves his warm hand to cradle her own face too. 

She leans deep into his palm, her eyes still trained on his as he leans as close as he dares. Before the quirk of his lip has her palm shaking to her chest to circle over her staggering heart. 

“May I?” 

She thinks nothing and everything when she surges forward, silencing his inquisition completely. 

She had dreamed of him, and longed for him for what felt like ages now. Touches and looks passed back and forth like some sort of game. But it was so easy to sum up the parts of him to her now, so easy for her to lilt and bend to him. It wasn’t some game now, she resolved, and she was resolute in living life more truthfully with him now too. Starting with not denying herself anything he ever offered her again. Especially if it was this. Something that still terrified her racing heart even now. 

He is wholly warm, his palm warm along her jaw and neck. It grasps her entirely, curving her head to the side to angle her lips to his, pulling her forward to swallow the noise she makes in surprise at her own instinctual action. 

She had dreamed of it of course, kissing Stan like this. But something about kissing him for the first time, she is glad she never dreamed of it. She didn’t simply want to relive it, she didn’t want it to end. 

His lips moved in a certain cadence, not too slow to call this all consuming kiss a simple peck, but fast enough to have her breathing heavily, having him tilt his head more to the side to slot himself all the more closer to her. 

He nips at her purposefully, his mouth working to dance along hers. She continues in like, opening up to allow air to pass between them. Their breaths heavier with every passing moment. 

His other hand found the curve of her waist, a warm trail from her thigh to her hip to the curve of her ribs. He hooks his arm around her now, and she tries not to think about how he moves her so easily to curl up on his lap, the steering wheel behind her. 

His enthusiastic onslaught has her being pushed back, her back arching along the curve of the wheel. His hand curves around her jaw again to pull her away from his lips only for a moment, for him to give her that frightful dark look again before they flicker to her lips again. It gives her only a moment of solace to find resolve in the future she has chosen. To feel only a flicker of guilt in having tied Stanley to her once again. 

She figures he perhaps wouldn’t mind much, this time. 

She breathes, sitting forward in his lap. His lips curve again, not in that suave way, but in that frightfully giddy way. The way she imagines she looks now. His eyes still carry that weight, that dark look of what she now knows is a conjuring of want and abortion. She brings her hands back to his face again, and he turns his face to kiss the center of her sore palm. She didn’t want that look to disappear from his eyes, but she could not continue to explain away a part of herself if it meant a future alongside Stan. 

She sighs, her brow creased. 

“There’s something I have to talk to you about.” 

[scarletlizzard]

Part 2: Remembering

Sessions Series

Pairing: psychiatrist Wanda x female reader

Tags Minors DNI: therapy, paranoia, mentions of mental illness, stalker, little cigarettes and drinking at the end

Masterlist

Current Fall 2018

"How did you sleep?" Wanda asks as she sits in front of you. You shrug, putting your hands in the pocket of your hoodie.

"Not too great. I uh, I sometimes have these dreams. Nightmares really, about that night." You swallow hard and look at the breathtaking woman in front of you. Even casual, in a yellow sweater and jeans, she would always be the most beautiful woman in the room. You blush at your own thoughts.

"You said you don't remember everything about that night?" She asks, you nod. "I believe you're blocking it out, mentally. Suppressing a trauma so hard you can't get yourself to open back up about it."

"So you believe me?"

"Of course, I believe you." Her tone is wavering.

"Every time I have one of these dreams, it reveals little pieces to me," you lean forward. "Maybe I can remember who it was, or more about them."

"But they were wearing a mask?" Wanda asks, making a note. You nod.

"They spoke to me, though.. I'm not sure. Sometimes they feel so close," you sigh, shaking your head. Wanda is still writing.

"And what did your shadow say to you?"

"They told me to run."

Wanda is silent for a moment, her eyes searching yours for something. Did she really believe you? When she had a list of your mental disorders and police forms at her fingertips?

"When your shadow told you to run," She stands and looks to the fire that was burning behind her in the fireplace. Her hands held behind her back. "What did you feel in the moment? What was your first thought?"

"I-I didn't know what to feel. Panic? Fear?" Your cheeks heat up, as you think back to the haunting voice. You were almost too embarrassed to speak. "But after, after the fear sunk in it felt.. exhilarating."

Wanda smiles at the fire, her back still to you. "So in your fear you felt, excitement. For what, why?" She asks thoughtfully, and you're thankful she still had her back to you.

You had thought about this a long time, every day. Why? "My life is the same, every day. The routines, the job, the same bottle of wine. Everything. You know I used to paint?" You ask Wanda. She turns to look at you.

"Really?" She asks with a smile, sitting back down.

"I had some work in an art gallery actually, in the city. Back when I felt.. more alive," you sigh again, looking into her emerald eyes.

"What made you stop?"

"My mom got sick, I had to take care of her. Then she died and I moved here and.. things were never the same."

"Your OCD intensified, essentially trapping yourself in your daily routines."

"That's how it feels, yes," you reply with a nod. Wanda reaches her hand out to rest on your knee. Your skin ignites under her touch.

"We'll bring you back," Wandas words are sure, you find yourself resting your hand on top of hers.

***

Summer 2017

You ran throughout your house, footsteps following close behind you. Before you can close the door to your bedroom, a strong hand reaches out, hitting the wood hard and swinging it wide open. You fall to the ground, heart racing, chest moving rapidly as you crawl backwards. Your shadow steps closer, taking 4 heavy steps towards you.

Another head tilt down at you, examining you. Behind the mask, under the hood, red strands of hair peak out.

***

Current Fall 2018

You stared at the brunette in front of you, a playful glint in her eye. "What?" She asks, leaning forward.

It had been a couple of weeks since your sessions with Wanda had started. Your anxiety had taken a backseat, and the compulsive thoughts in your head were easing. The two of you had even been flirting back and forth even, lingering stares and touches.

Wanda knew it was unprofessional. You knew it wasn't right. But neither of you couldn't help it. Each time she touched you, you felt your skin ignite. Each crooked smile ran up your spine with a shiver of pleasure. You look at her hands and count 4 rings between the two of them.

"Nothing, I really shouldn't say," you chuckle to yourself and sit back against the couch. Wanda grins, twirling one of the rings on her finger.

"No point in being shy now, Y/N. We practically know each others whole lives at this point," She says casually and mirrors you, leaning back in her chair. You think about her words.

"Actually, I don't know much about you, Wanda. I mean, I know some details, but you seem to have the upper hand."

She chuckles and lifts out a hand as if offering to you, "Ask away."

"Where are you from? I notice on some of your words, there's an accent." There's a blush on your face as you think of the way she says your name, her tongue sharp.

"Ah, you caught that, huh? I was born in Sokovia. I've lived here most of my life, though, the American accent kind of snuck in," Wanda thinks fondly of her home, it makes you smile.

"Do you visit often?"

"Not as much as I'd like. Last year, I had to go home for quite a while to help out my brother, Pietro. He got himself into some trouble," Wanda sighs and shakes her head. "We're twins," she smiles.

"Twins! Wow, I'd love to see a picture of the two of you sometime." You think of Wanda being a twin, not being able to imagine he was anything like her. She nods and crosses her legs.

"I'll see if I can find one for your next session," She says with a smile. You nod and smile back politelty.

"What did you do before all this?" You ask her and point to the room around you.

"I lived in the city for a while, actually. But I found something more... worthwhile here." Wanda grins, goosebumps on your arm arise.

There's a comfortable silence, and the fire behind her crackles softly.

"Tell me more about your art," Wanda says, a glimmer in her eye and a warm smile on her face.

"I wasn't good, by any means. But I wasn't bad. I was creative, if anything," you laugh as you think back to your paintings. "There is one hung still, I think, at the gallery I told you about. It's my favorite one. My last one."

"What was it?"

You find yourself laughing hysterically as you think of the painting, leaving Wanda confused. She leans forward to rest a hand on your knee.

You start to sob at her touch.

You think of the large painting that hangs in a gallery. People passing by not realizing it would foreshadow your own current state.

"It's of a beautiful woman.." You speak between cries.

"A woman running from her own shadow."

***

Summer 2017

"What do you want from me? Just leave me alone!" You shout at the figure standing above you, watching as they shake their head.

The shadow kneels down, a gloved hand reaching up to brush their thumb across your lips. Their eyes are hidden behind the white faceless mask, yet you can feel their gaze burning into you.

A spark of adrenaline and excitement fill your own.

"Game on," your shadow says.

***

Current Winter 2018

You awoke quickly in sweat covered sheets, thunder rumbling from outside. You rub your groggy eyes and reach for the nightstand to flick on the lamp. Your hand reaches for the notebook and pen you kept for this reason, and you began writing down your dream.

They were happening more frequently now. The details are becoming clearer each time. You had never felt so close. You were closing in on your shadow.

Yet, everything felt wrong. There was something you were missing. You read and re read the journal the rest of the night.

"How are things going with Wanda?" Natasha asks over lunch. She had invited you out today, hoping to hear some good news.

"Pretty great, actually," you smile at her, not telling her that you were still chasing your shadow. "I've actually started painting again." You look outside the window of the Cafe, seeing snow begin to fall.

"Have you really?" Natasha says in disbelief, but a smile on her face. "I knew this would be good for you! Almost two months and look at the progress you've made.." She beams at you, a guilty feeling rising inside of you.

"I'm having my Christmas party early this year, I'm going to spend actual Christmas at Yelenas this year. You'll be able to come, right?"

"Of course, I wouldn't miss it," you smile, counting 4 snowflakes land on the window.

As you walk home from lunch, the snow beneath your feet crunches with every step. You wrap your arms around yourself, wishing you had worn a warmer jacket, when suddenly you're aware of another set of steps from behind you.

You freeze, standing still. You inhale deeply, then exhale, and slowly turn around... to nothing. Empty air besides the light snow that stuck to the ground below.

Your hand reaches for your phone, dialing Wandas number. "Hello?" She answers on the 4th ring.

"Wanda.. can I come see you?"

"Do you need me to meet you somewhere?"

You look around, still seeing no one.

"No, I'll come to you."

You finish the walk home and grab your notebook and a warmer jacket before driving over to Wandas. When you get there, she's standing on the porch waving to you.

"Y/N, is everything okay?" She asks worridly, putting her arm around you and leading you into the warmth of her home. Wanda gets a fire going and watches as you sit on the floor in front of it. Instead of questioning it, she sits next to you, her warm body pressed next to you.

"What if it isn't real?" You finally admit, staring into the red and orange flames.

"What if what isn't real?" Wanda asks, looking at the notebook you clutched to your chest.

"My shadow," you whisper, feeling Wandas hand on your back. "You told me you believed me.. what do you believe?"

There is a silence between the two of you while Wanda sighs. She knew you would eventually ask this question.

"I believe that the mind is an extremely powerful thing. It's capable of persuasion and delusions. It can hide the truth from you.." she trails off, tears fall from your eyes.

She didn't believe your shadow was real.

"You believe... that I believe it's real. Right?" You ask and turn to her. Wanda nods slowly.

All this time spent chasing and running, you were tired. How many innocent people would have to get hurt before you gave up? How many more lies would you have to tell yourself and others?

You held out the notebook to Wanda. Her fingers brush against yours as she takes it from you and opens it up.

"My dreams, of a faceless shadow. That's all it is anymore. I'm done chasing it."

The rest of November passes quickly into December. You were back to your routine, ignoring the paranoid delusions of your mind. You continued your sessions with Wanda, trying to figure out why you had imagined up this person. You took medication. You still locked all the doors and windows. You painted. You dreamed.

***

Summer 2017

When the words came out of your shadows' mouth, you lift your leg, kicking them hard in the stomach and onto their back. You're able to run past them into the hallway, but you're quickly knocked down. Your shadow climbs on top of you, pinning your hands to the floor and straddling your stomach.

The two of you breathe heavily, adrenaline coursing your veins. "Such a pretty little mouse.." The shadow whispers.

***

Winter 2018

The party has long started by the time you walk in, a bottle of rum in your hand. The house is filled with familiar and unfamiliar faces. People in ugly Christmas sweaters, some in just red or green. You look for Natasha and wish her a Happy Christmas, along with a hug.

"I brought rum," you smile, holding up the bottle.

"Yes! Ugh, you know this is my favorite thank you," she laughs and hugs you again, clearly has already had a few. You decide to catch up with her, taking a few shots and pouring a cup of rum. After a while, the cup is empty, and you find yourself sweating in the heated house, filled with warm bodies.

"I'm gonna step outside," you say to Natasha, who is all but preoccupied with the girl in her lap.

You step out front, sighing in relief as the frigid air hits your skin.

"Alright, there?" A voice sounds, you turn to see Wanda standing in the driveway, leaning against her car. "Nasty habit, I know. I usually only smoke when I drink." She holds up the cigarette, letting out a puff of smoke.

You walk over, soaking in her appearance. "I'm alright.. alcohol goes straight to my head," You chuckle and stand in front of her. The alcohol also boldening you to reach out and take the cigarette from her, putting it between your lips. Wanda watches with playful eyes, putting a hand in her pocket. You take a slow drag, blowing into the air between you and handing it back to her.

Wanda wets her lips, shaking her head as she takes it back from you. "You're something else, you know that?" She says in a husky voice. You can smell a hint of vodka and mint coming from her as she leans closer. Your hands rest on her chest, tugging on her jacket. A familiar excitement swells in your chest.

The cigarette is tossed into the wet snow, her hands moving to wrap around your lower back. "I'm probably crazy," you whisper to her, a smirk on your face. Wanda chuckles and leans closer.

"I can deal with crazy," She whispers back, taking your bottom lip in between her teeth. Your blood runs hot, and you let out a small moan at the feeling. Wanda wastes no time connecting her lips to yours, both of you in familiar territory as your tongues sloppily twist together. Her grip is stronger than you remember as she pulls you against her chest.

"Your place?" You mumble into the kiss, not wanting to fully part. Wands hums and continues to kiss you. You feel her lips pull up into another crooked smile.

"Let's go," Wanda says after she finally pulls herself away from your lips, her green eyes darker than you had ever seen them before.

Goosebumps cover your skin. Everything in your body tells you to run. The feeling of your shadow was looming over the two of you.

You look to the house, then to the gorgeous brunette in front of you. There was no doubt in your mind that you would be going home with her.

[thef1diary]

Don’t Date Him | P. Gasly

Summary: When you finally try to let go of the silly little crush on Pierre, he makes every effort to keep you from doing so.

Warnings: none just fluff

Word count: 2.4k

Pairing: pierre x fem!reader

It starts with recognizing that you'll never be anything more than a friend to Pierre. You knew each other for eight years now. All those years ago, you were new to Monaco, you had made the decision to pursue post secondary education in a new country. You are originally from France, which meant that you easily fit in the Monégasque culture. Since it is a small country, you and Pierre happened to find yourself in the same place multiple times.

Now, you were one of his closest friend. But that's all you'd be. Just a friend.

You don't remember the day you actually started liking him, but you do remember when you realized it. You usually tag along with Pierre when he goes to the gym, claiming that you'd only go if he'd accompany you. That day, you also accompanied him. Pierre and his trainer would be working out while you would do your own workout.

You don't remember when you started liking it when he would take off his shirt, or when he'd take a break to drink water and a small amount would dribble down the corner of his mouth.

That day, you had your headphones on, listening to music from your carefully crafted playlist with all your favourite songs. You were alternating dumbbells in your hands, doing bicep curls. You watched yourself in the mirror since your form wasn't the best, perhaps it was because you moved on to the next heavier weight which was slightly challenging.

You saw Pierre in the reflection, walking up towards you so you moved one side of the headphones so you could hear him. Pierre walked up behind you and placed one hand around your waist while the other was underneath your hand that was holding the weight. You sucked in a breath when his hand made contact with your bare stomach as you took off your zipper hoodie and now only in a sports bra.

"Relax your shoulders" he muttered. Releasing a shaky breath, you listened to him. You moved your hand that was holding the weight and saw how his hand followed it but never held it.

He didn't move his hand away from your body, instead as you were working out, he pulled you closer so you could feel the front of his body. Those mixed feelings made you very confused but you didn't have the courage to ask him about it.

Since you didn't get any other indication from him that he liked you, you had decided to move on from him. Pretend like you never felt anything for him which was a lot harder to do. You definitely started avoiding him more often and made it seem unintentional. You two hung out often, very often which meant that you needed to change that habit if you were going to get over your crush. You still attended races, but it was the summer break now and for a moment you wanted to delay your plan. You knew he'd make more plans since he isn't busy with the races, but you felt bad knowing that you'd have to deny him.

Charles invited you and Pierre to his yacht which you agreed to because you knew that there would be other people. You didn't trust yourself to be around Pierre alone. This crush is very stupid and what makes it worse is that it's one sided.

You were looking forward to the party, knowing that some other drivers and their partners would also be there. You decided to wear a white bikini with a white button up shirt that you decided to leave open. Taking a tote bag and filling it with essentials you need if you were going for a swim later. You accessorized with gold jewelry that stood out on your slightly tanned skin.

You made your way on to the yacht and saw Charles first. He walked up to you and hugged you, enveloping you between his arms. You two always hugged like that, it was honestly very comforting. Charles was like a brother to you, and you knew you could count on him because he made that clear from the first time you two met. However, you never told him about your crush on his best friend. That's exactly why; Charles and Pierre were very close so if Charles knew, then he would tell Pierre.

You talked to him for a bit then you felt a pair of arms hug you from behind, picking you up. You instantly knew who it was and you cursed yourself for recognizing him so easily. "Pierre! Put me down" you exclaimed but couldn't stop laughing as well.

He listened and spun you around and put an arm around your shoulder, side hugging you. You didn't pay any attention to that, instead you noticed what he was wearing. All white linen. Shorts and a button up shirt that was completely unbuttoned so his tanned chest was on display. You also noticed how his chain with the crucifix was also shining in the sun. He was wearing sunglasses so you couldn't see his coloured eyes.

He poked you in the arm and that's when you realized he was waiting for you to answer his question. "What?"

"I'm getting a beer, want one?" He asked again, looking at you with an amused face.

"Yeah, sure"

He nodded then moved his glasses down and gave you a wink before walking away. You didn't know what that was for. Before contemplating his actions, you were approached by Carmen. "He's an idiot"

She commented as she saw you watch Pierre but then you turned your head to face her. "What?"

"You like him, don't you?" She asked. "I don't know, maybe but there's no point because he doesn't see me like that" you admitted and it sounded so stupid once you said it out loud. It sounds like a stupid school girl crush. You are more mature than that.

"That's why he's stupid" Carmen stated which made you chuckle. "Yeah, I guess he is. But yours isn't as smart either" you jerked your head in George's direction who was having a beer chugging contest with Charles. Carmen shook her head with a smile on her face "he might not be the brightest but I still love him"

You pushed her away in a playful manner "yeah yeah I know".

Pierre came back towards you and handed you the beer, "what are we talking about here?"

You shook your head "nothing" but you saw Carmen looking at you with a smirk before she walked away.

You faced Pierre and he instantly sparked up another conversation. "Wanna go skydiving?"

You laughed at his excitement to go, he's been talking about it for a while now. "When?"

"Tomorrow? Me, you, and Charles?" He asked but you frowned, "I actually have plans tomorrow, but you two should go"

"You have plans with people other than me?" He asked and placed a hand on his heart. You smacked his arm "not funny".

"But seriously, cancel your plans. Let's go, we're gonna have so much fun" he tried convincing you and usually it would work but now you weren't going to give in. "Pierre, I'm not going to cancel my date for you" you saw his eyes widen and you realized your mistake. You didn't want to tell him about the date because he'd ask you so many questions.

"You have a date?" He asked and slightly winced when you nodded. "Who is it? And why didn't you tell me"

"That's why. You ask too many questions" You started to walk away but he pulled you back. "But.." he wanted to say something but couldn't get the words out. You listened, maybe just maybe he'd tell you what you always wanted to hear.

But he didn't say anything so you walked away.

—

The next day arrived quickly and you were getting dressed for your date. You met the guy on a dating app which is not something you normally do but when you started texting, you were actually interested in him. But he wasn't like Pierre. You cursed when you caught yourself comparing him to Pierre.

This was the time for you to move on. You did feel slightly guilty for using this guy to help you move on from Pierre, but you knew that if you didn't then you'd only think about him.

It was a dinner date at a well known, fancy restaurant which meant that you'd have to wear a dress. You didn't own many dresses, in fact it was Pierre and Charles who insisted on buying dresses while you resided in Monaco due to the nightlife there.

You decided on a light blue satin ruched corset dress with a slit down the side. You didn't want to show off too much skin but this one seemed elegant for the first date, especially a dinner date. You were putting on a pearl necklace when you heard a knock on the door. You checked your phone first, not seeing a message from the guy yet.

You opened the door and saw Pierre on the other side. He seemed out of breath and frantically looked around before making eye contact with you.

"Pierre, what are you doing here?"

He didn't answer your question, instead he invited himself inside.

"Hey, weren't you supposed to go skydiving with Charles today?" You questioned, trying to lighten the mood since he seemed stressed out or something of the sort.

"I didn't go"

"Why not?"

"Told him that I was sick" Pierre looked up at you since he was now sitting down on the couch.

You looked at him from the top to bottom and raised an eyebrow. "Liar"

"You don't think I'm sick?"

"You don't look sick" you pressed your palm on his forehead then cheek but he held it there once you tried to pull back.

"Now come on, I have a date to get to. I need to get ready" he let go of your hand and you turned around to go to your bedroom.

"You're wearing that?" You turned around to face him but he was holding his hands up in surrender, "I didn't mean that. You look amazing but do you remember where you bought that dress?"

You shook your head and waited to him to tell you. "Remember when we were at the mall and you immediately went inside this one store as soon as you saw this dress" he told you as he walked towards you. You didn't think Pierre would remember it.

"Then when you tried it on and showed it to me-"

"You liked it and said that blue looks good on me" you completed his sentence and he nodded.

"You know, when I said I was sick, it wasn’t entirely a lie" Pierre stated. "I'm sick of seeing you distance yourself from me"

"Pierre" you placed your hand on his chest when he was getting too close, you could smell his cologne.

"No, no, let me say this because if I don't now, I might lose everything I never realized I needed and wanted"

"I guess it's true that when you start to lose something, you realise it's worth. And one of the greatest things that has ever occurred to me is you. I was an idiot for being so oblivious to this and your feelings. I was afraid that if I told you, I'd lose you as a friend, but now I noticed that you're pulling away from me because you think I only want to be friends with you"

"I don't understand, Pierre. Are you saying what I think you are?" Your hand was still on his chest and you only noticed when he placed his hand on yours, then pulled you closer.

"I've been in love with you for years now. You're all I think about. Your smile; especially that dimple, your laugh, your godawful sense of humour that never fails to make me laugh. The way you cheer for me when I get a good result but also the times you're there to comfort me when I don't do as well as I could've. You're there to listen to me, even if it's at three in the morning for you and you have work the next day. I don't know why I've never told you. I guess I never realized that you reciprocated those feelings" Pierre poured his heart out into his speech and tears started welling up in your eyes.

"If you haven't succeeded in your plan of moving on from me, and still happen to have a little bit of love for me in here" he pointed to your heart, "then please don't go on that date. Don't date him"

"How did you-"

"George"

"Dammit, Carmen. They tell each other everything" you remember telling Carmen the details on a phone call the night after the yacht party because she couldn’t resist not knowing.

You were quiet for a moment. "This would end very badly if you did actually move on" Pierre commented and you hit his chest.

"I just need a moment to believe all of this. This isn't an elaborate prank right?"

"No. I would never do that to you"

"Good"

Pierre groaned, "come on now, I'm desperate to hear those three words from your mouth"

"I want pizza?" You laughed while he placed his head in the crook of your neck.

Your little bubble popped when you heard a knock on the door, indicating that your date was here. You were about to move away from Pierre when you felt him tighten his hold around your waist and he started kissing your neck. "Don't go" he muttered in your ear.

You held his face and made him make direct eye contact with you. "I love you Pierre"

You saw how his eyes brightened and the smile on his face when you spoke those words.

Then, for the first time, Pierre pressed his lips on yours. The kiss was full of longing need but also the love that you two never got to express until now. The man at the door was long forgotten and perhaps you wouldn't feel too bad about it since it was only the first date.

Before the kiss could turn into anything more, you pulled away. "You know, I did dress up for tonight"

Pierre's hands roamed over your hips while he lightly kissed your cheek "and you're very beautiful"

Pierre looked up at you, "let me take you out before I make you my girlfriend"

"What makes you think I'll say yes?"

"Are you not going to?"

"Ask me at dinner" you winked and kissed him on the cheek before you left the bedroom.

Pierre shook his head with a smile on his face "I am so in love with her"

[celestialprincesse]

Can you please do an anemic reader on who her lack of red blood cells are getting worse enough that she has to be hospitalized?! And we have to see soaps reaction?!

OHH He shits his pants

It's a routine blood draw, nothing you're not used to. Just a cell count to make sure everything's working properly and that your supplements don't need to have their dosage increased.

"So this here is the red blood cells.." The nurse drones as you sit in one of the consultancy rooms of the local hospital, chin resting in the crook of your palm. "They're low enough that we'll need to keep you in for a couple of days for an iron transfusion and monitoring before and after."

"I'm sorry?" You choke, snapped from your reverie as you look at the nurse and your results paper she currently points at.

"It's really nothing to worry about. We'll keep a good eye on you, you'll probably be in for three days, tops." "No but I have work." The woman across from you looks frustrated at your resistance as she raises an eyebrow your way. "I'd really strongly advise you not to go back to work like this. It'll only exacerbate your condition." "Right. Fine. Can I just make a call quick? Get my boyfriend to swing by with some essentials." "This isn't prison. You can call who you like when you like."

You tap your foot anxiously on the linoleum floor of the hallway as the phone rings persistently, waiting for Johnny to pick up.

"Bonnie! How'd it go?" John's Scottish brogue still manages to send flutters to your tummy, even after three years of dating and just having received bad news.

"They're keeping me in for a few days." The anxiety in your voice is obvious, and John can practically picture you worrying at your bottom lip.

"Why? Wha' happened?" "Just a really low red blood cell count. They're going to monitor and do a transfusion on Wednesday. I was wondering if you could bring me some stuff? Toothbrush and pyjamas and whatnot?" "Course I'll bring ye a bag. Text me what ye need and I'll be there in a half hour." "Thank you Johnny." "You dinnae need to thank me. I love ye, bringin' a bag is nothing." "Well, thank you anyways."

Johnny must've sped with how quickly he gets to the hospital, conveniently sporting his tags on the outside of his khaki hoodie and a pair of military issue boots. If his charm isn't enough to wriggle the visiting hours around, his job most certainly is.

You give a little soft 'Hi' and he's already dropping a black duffel to his feet, scooping you up, trying to ease the tension from your back by rubbing soothing circles between your shoulder blades.

"Bought all yer things. Clean clothes, washbag, laptop, chargers." "You're an angel." "Am no, 'm just very worried for my woman."

[moonpie016]

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This song just fits this.

My goodness, they're simpler in design.

Good!

.....And so the rambling begins.

Which I would consider this a oc rambling, I don't know what these dudes are anymore. Except for Myst. But fun.

Though I already explained stuff here.

(If ya wanna read or re-read.)

The wall of words underneath.

⬇️

💛

Soooo.

Illy (she/her)

~~~~~~~~~~~~

First one up. Not much has changed honestly. Still trying to have some calculated way of thinking about things, either logically or critically. It's a struggle for her.

But likes using whatever knowledge she has to idk, rant? Spout random facts?

She's just minding her own business unless it IS her business. (Or nosy).

She has glasses now. Yay! Great! She can read without straining her eyes!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

💛

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💜

Waxing (he/they)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I kinda stole the name Waxing from an old oc of mine, sooo that's his name now. Old oc has no name now. :]

A new thing (other than the headphones) is that the center of his hoodie can basically become or resemble a pit.

Because that's how any strong emotion feels. Usually negative ones. He hates it, Illy tries to make Wax calm down with reasons he shouldn't be anxious, but falls out the window.

It only works if he's not too worked up. Man's eyesight is....ok. Not the best, because unlike his other part, he has to squint at most things. Like words on signs and stuff. Why doesn't he just copy his other half? Idk. He's stubborn. And character design reasons.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

💜

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❤️

Seeds (She/he/they)

Myst (she/her)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Imma just put Seeds and Myst together here.

Because they're basically one in the same. Yes, Seeds' jacket has stuff on it, I probably will draw something with more stuff on the jacket. (Because I didn't know what else to think of.)

The one side of his face is more expressive than the other. Mostly because each one of these guys looks upset every waking moment.

(They're not, they just look like that.)

But I guess it's to show being more comfortable in being expressive and just not feeling comfortable and trying to... understand the room. Confusion.

Is their goal the same as the album? No. They're all technically "whole", but don't understand anything about this life stuff. It's weird, tricky, and overall odd.

Living in a nice relaxing Void™ is all they know. But taking a step into unknown territory is the what they want, an adventure.

(Depending on whatever adventure really means to them. Or me.) Breaking out of this weird shaped shell. Because the world is scary.

Too much scary stuff that makes Wax retreat to his safe space, and essentially brings his other counterparts with him.

Myst doesn't like this because she knows that this isn't ok. But the others, especially Seeds and Wax just... don't do anything.

But, she and Illy continue to try and strive for new things. Even when the other two challenge them.

She's more honest and blunt about everything. Even when she's trying not to be. Her cold face, her voice. Always been how she's characterized in my head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🩵

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Ok, I think I've ramble enough again.

I really need to update tags on certain stuff.

But hope you enjoyed this... random redesign/ LORE (not really lore.). :3

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