#every time he says that i feel like im going to vomit

[not-actually-human]

writing about capitilism for school and i am so exauhsted and out of it that i might accidently say some stuff that would make my history teacher a little upset el oh el i am going to have so much fun with this aha

[alluralater]

hey everyone, i won’t be as active for a while. got home last night super late after being on the road for 20 some odd hours. dealing with some family things and as an older sister, my priority of taking care of my siblings comes first before anything else. being on here is amazing for me but i don’t think i’ll have much time for it. reminder to please treat those in your life who are battling addiction with patience and care. i lost my older brother (sweetest person i’ve ever known and he remained that way up until his last night) to suicide and alcoholism, trauma and ptsd, depression and his feelings of hopelessness. talk with the people you care about. another of my siblings is dealing with the same and i refuse to let it escalate to such a terrifying end twice in less than a fucking year. remind the people you care about that there are beautiful things to live for. show them kindness and love. there is all kinds of misinformation out there but know this, you can make a difference for someone. don’t let them suffer in silence.

[bi-writes]

bestfriend!roommate!simon helps you get dressed for a night out because i love when men kneel

cw: nsfw content (18+), suggestive language and content, mature language and content, kisses through the mask, size kink, praise kink, a little oral (fem!receiving), a little suggestive touching (fem!receiving), simon likes thicc thighs, simon "my girl doesnt lift a finger because i worship her" riley

more bestfriend!roommate!simon

you haven't gone out in a long time. you were stuck working overnight shifts at the diner for extra money, busy every time you got a friendly text or a sweet call asking if you'd like to join your friends.

you hadn't told simon yet. you hadn't told him you were leaving tonight, but more worriedly, you hadn't told him you were struggling paying the bills. you scraped by the edges of your teeth last month to give him your half, and you remember looking at the cash in your wallet afterwards and wanting to vomit.

it was embarrassing. the landlord just kept urging you both for more, and while simon was always able to negotiate the raise every few months (one look at simon, and he always lowered his number), you were finding it difficult to keep up.

simon was successful. he was a decorated lieutenant, and he had many powerful friends. he never indulged in showing off his wealth; he wasn't raised with money, neither were you, and it was more than he knew what to do with. you remembered walking past him one night as he paid off a credit card on his laptop. you gagged when you saw the number in his account, the commas in the number.

why the fuck was in this piece of shit place with you when he could buy a house on a pebbled beach somewhere?

the dress was not cooperating. it had many straps that came in at the back, and they were twisted and crooked, looped around the corset back and making you a little frustrated. you sighed deeply before making your way across the hall, knocking gently on the bedroom across from you.

"simon?" there was no answer. "simon, i...could you help me for a second?"

the door opened a few moments later. a surgical mask was fit over his nose and mouth, a beanie over his head to cover the rest of him. you turned around in front of him, looking over your shoulder.

"i need help. it's all a mess, i can feel it."

his dark eyes flickered down to the back of your dress. the skin of your back was bare. you weren't wearing a bra underneath. you help up the front of the dress with both of your hands, cupping your breasts to keep it situated as simon finally reached over and began to unravel the laces of the corset.

"you goin' out?"

you nodded, rocking to the side a bit as he tugged the edges of the laces loose and began to tighten up the back of the corset. you held onto your stomach as the fabric of it began to shape the curve of your waist.

"yeah, just with some of the girls. they've been dying to go out, but i've just been working so much..."

"hmmm," he grunted in agreement. "'v hardly seen your face around here."

you sighed as he straightened out the straps, tying off the end of the corset with a tight bow at the bottom. you turned around to face him, and simon had to bite back the curse threatening to leave at the sight of you. the skin along your chest looked so soft, plump to the touch. he wanted to lean down and lick over the curve of your breasts right there, feel it bounce back with a hard kiss, watch your nipples harden if he blew on the sensitive contours of your neck.

"sorry...work has been...really busy."

"dunno 'bout that, luv. i know you're pickin' up shifts. i can hear you on the phone, asking to come in."

there was something more in that comment, something more he wanted to say lingering in the air. you frowned a little, meeting his eyes.

"im just trying to make extra money, simon, thats all."

he leaned in a little closer.

"if you need help--"

"no," you said immediately, shaking your head. "i know what you're going to say. i don't need your...i'm fine."

simon lowered his head slightly. for a moment, just one fleeting moment, you suddenly understand perhaps why men cowered on the battlefield. there was something dull and lifeless swirling there in his eyes. he was so much larger than you, big enough that he could probably wrap his whole hand around your neck and squeeze, and the life would leave you easy--and somehow you knew, those eyes wouldn't change, even knowing they would have taken the light from your own.

you knew, suddenly, that you were face to face with somebody else. a beast with a quiet name, a killer that rarely made a sound, the last whisper that one might ever hear.

you had angered simon, and his protector had come.

"you're lyin'."

"simon--"

"you're lyin' to me, sweetheart. where are your fuckin' manners?"

"i'm not one of your fucking soliders, simon. you can't give me orders," you snapped. you moved past him, hitting his shoulder with your own and going back into your room. you picked up your heels, taking a seat on your bed as you furiously slipped them on. your shadow followed, coming into your room and standing before you.

"how many times? how many times have i asked if everything is straight?"

you ignored him, continuing to slip your shoes on. of course, the ones you had picked out for tonight had straps that needed to be tied up your ankle.

"so i'm going to ask you again, luv, and you're gonna answer me well. do you need my bloody help?"

you let go of the ribbons of your shoes, letting them fall. you put your hands into your lap, your eyes on your crudely painted nails and skin of your knees and the way the shadow at your front began to come closer.

you swallowed hard when he knelt down at your feet. you watched with soft eyes as he picked up your foot gently by the ankle, resting it on his thigh. his gloved hands picked up the silk ribbons, beginning to cross them over your ankle. he straightened out the creases and made sure not to tie them twisted, being careful to make the ribbons look presentable.

when he finished tying the bow on one foot, he brought your ankle up, pressing the mouth of his mask to the silk of it and letting it fall. he picked up your other foot just as tenderly and with the precision of a sniper, he tied your ribbons and pressed a kiss to the silk.

with both your feet on the ground, and simon on his knees seemingly not going anywhere, you reached forward and slipped a hand under the hood, caressing one side of his face.

your palm was warm, fitting into the curve of his cheek. the fabric of his mask was soft as always, black cotton that shielded his pretty face from your eyes always. you never cared to look under it, never felt the need to make him take it off. even now, with his face in your hands, you felt no urge to see what was underneath. as far as you were concerned, the mask was his face--even if you had once seen that face and how stupidly handsome he was.

simon was an enigma. he had a poker face that many envied; the mask hid so much of his emotions, so much of what he might feel, and often he was even able to control the scrunch of his brows or the twitch of his eyes so you could read nothing. but he needed his eyes; he needed them to see, to engage, and if he could cover them, he would, but he needed them, so they were dark and wide, the one piece of him that he allowed.

so you tilted his head back with your hand on his face, letting the soft light of the room break him his hiding place. he wasn't wearing any eye-black today, and you smoothed a thumb just under his eye, watching his lashes flutter for a second. fuck, he was so pretty.

"you worry too much, simon," you whispered. "i'm fine. i promise."

you leaned forward, sighing deeply.

"i promise, simon," you said under your breath. "if something was wrong, i would tell you."

you tried looking into his eyes to convince him, but you knew as soon as you did, that you crucified the lie. something was wrong. you were scraping along, getting dragged by life, but you had learned a long time ago how to bury things into a box and swallow it all down.

you knew, also, that he didn't believe you. simon was too intelligent a man to think you were being honest there, but he didn't say anything. he just followed the warmth of your hand, and if he was a cat, he'd be purring.

you moved to stand, but simon reached for you, his gloved hands on your knees as he held you there. you opened your mouth to speak, but then he leaned forward, his head against your chest as he held you close. it forced your knees to spread to make room for him, and you sucked in a breath as both of his palms slipped up your thighs and caressed the soft skin there.

"simon--"

"don't want to bloody talk--"

"but--simon--"

it happened fast. one moment, you were sitting upright, cradling his head to your chest and feeling his hands along thighs, and the next, you were on your back, splayed across your bed, your dress riding up your hips and the stilettos of your heels digging into the meat of simon's back.

simon was not all muscle; sometimes, when he relaxed, you could feel the softness of him under your palm, a warmth that was solid, like a bear--something protective and built to last, like the foundations of a good home. and then sometimes he was like this--tense all over, muscles constricted, abdomen as taut as a rock, arms bulging as they worked and lifted and manhandled you like the lieutenant he was.

his head was buried between your thighs. you panted, breath heavy as you felt his heavy breath suddenly, his mask pushed up just enough so that he could lick a warm stripe up the inside of your thigh.

"you won't talk," simon murmured against the skin there. he wrapped his arms around your thighs, yanking you forward until he could kiss where your pelvis met your thigh. you shuddered at the feeling of his lips grazing the lace of your panties. "you won't fuckin' talk, but you will sing for me, luv."

"simon, i need to go..."

your voice was protesting, but your hands found the back of his head, smoothing over the locks of his hair. you whimpered when you felt the wetness of his tongue along the fabric of your panties. his entire mouth enveloped your mound, jaw hinging wide as he tasted you through the lace. you bucked up into his mouth, your hips chasing the wet feeling. he growled out angrily, keeping your hips pinned down as he sucked messily, his teeth nipping at the delicate lingerie.

you sucked in a shaky breath as he used a gloved finger to push it to the side, your cunt on display. he cursed when he spread your folds, watching the drip of you as it drenched your panties more, your sweet hole puckering around nothing.

"fuckin' hell--" he sucked on his teeth. "you're fuckin' drippin', luv."

"s-simon, i-i...i can explain, i..."

"don't have to explain anythin'."

you whined as he finally put his mouth on you. his tongue started low, teasing your cunt with a slow circle before curling, trying to flood his mouth with the taste of you. you tasted good, tasted familiar somehow, and his chest swelled at the thought that you were this wet because you were thinking about him.

he could listen to you for hours. the moans that passed through your glossy lips, the languid roll of your hips as you chased his tongue, the sweat that gathered at the base of your spine and along your forehead and the sound of his name sputtering in choked breaths out of your gorgeous mouth.

a vision. simon didnt believe paradise existed, but he believed there was something close to it. it used to be the side of a bullet hitting exactly where he aimed, the feel of foreign soil hitting his enemy's eyes before he took them down, getting his squad out of the gutter when they were pinned down on all sides. he was good at his job. he was good on the field, he was good with chaos, but this was new.

this feeling had always been somewhere under the surface whenever he was with you. he didn't recognize it at first because he had never felt anything quite like it. the feeling one gets when they get home after a long day. the light in someone's eyes when they see a face they recognize when they're in a place they don't belong. the light of a flame in room so dark, you can't see your hands held up in front of your face.

he wondered sometimes if he had ever felt this way with his family. if looking into his nephew's eyes, he had ever felt something like this--and he did, somewhat, but this was more. this wasn't the gentle nip of a soft animal, this kind of love had fangs, and it had sunk itself so deep into him, he knew it was latched onto him. sucking on his blood, draining the shit from his veins, and putting something else there, something addicting.

and he didn't care. he gripped your hips with his gloved hands, sucking on your clit and licking up the slick of you and trying so hard to please the woman that plagued every fucking thought in his head.

"simon--"

your voice was a sob, practically. whining his name, tears coming down your face as he ate you out furiously. he was gentle at first, and then he was nearly aggressive, slurping at your folds and fucking into your cunt and barely coming up for air. when he did come up, his tone was low and drunk-sounding, slurring out soft phrases of "like a fuckin' sweet" and "so fuckin' pretty."

your back arched off the bed. your makeup was ruined by now, surely. your corset askew, your stilettos digging dark holes into his back, your throat hoarse from the crying--simon had you like no one else. simon had you wrapped so tightly around his gloved finger, you might as well have been a brand there--an extension of that glove, one of the crude white bones painted along the back of his hand. he had carved a hole so deep inside of you, shaped perfectly to the beastly size of him; you would never be rid of him. your whole life after this, you just knew--nobody would ever eat your cunt the way lieutenant simon riley ate it, that was a fucking fact.

he moaned when you came. a deep, guttural moan that came from deep in his chest. his eyes rolled to the back of his head when you gushed right onto his tongue. he drank it like he was running desert dry, a kind of eagerness that was making your vision go a little fuzzy, sparkling dots hazing over you. your head was a mess of emotions, all clouded over by pleasure and your body limp in his arms. your body was jelly, so worn as if you had been fucked brainless, but, oh--simon hadn't even gotten that far with you, and his mouth had you spineless.

you sat up, hair tousled, legs shaking, breaths warm and heavy and easy. everything was easy with simon. living, breathing, loving, touching--everything was easy.

he stood up finally, rising from his knees and rolling out his shoulders, and even though you could see him subtly adjusting his pants, he didn't make a move on you. he didn't reach for you, didn't try and touch you again, didn't reach for the bow he had tied on your corset to try and undo it. no, simon had just given you a mind-numbing orgasm and if not for the strain on his zipper, you'd think he had just filed his fucking taxes.

"simon...s-simon--"

"have fun tonight," he murmured, brushing a stray hair out of your face. he tucked it behind your ear, the glove making you shiver. "you call me when y'ready to come home."

your lashes fluttered as you looked up at him, a soft smile on your face.

"m-maybe i dont...maybe i don't wanna go out, m-maybe i wanna stay here...with you...w-watch movies like we usually do."

he shook his head, his thumb swiping just under your chin.

"no. go have fun. i'll be waitin' here for you, luv."

his fingers traced along your neck, something in his eyes that said he wanted more. but a ghost doesn't beg, right?

but maybe simon does.

"okay. i'll call you."

"right then."

and when the click of your bedroom door shut, you looked down at your shoes, so prettily tied with a bow on the end. you reached down, gripping the end of the bow and pulling, watching the silk unravel and come undone.

and then he heard the call of his name again.

[highvern]

YUCK

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung x f!reader

Genre: fluff, suggestive moments

warnings: mentions of illness/body fluids (snot, vomit), avoidant attachment from reader, Hoshi best boy

Length: ~2.9k

Note: more of this couples bc im crazy thank u @gyuswhore

series m.list: Houdini [s], Green Light [s, f], Talk [a, s, f], Casual [a, s, f], Mine [s], espresso [f, s]

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

Two and a half months of hooking up with a guy who may or may not be a furry and things start feeling…comfortable. 

You’ll pretend until the day you die that every time the weekend rolls around you won’t end up naked in Soonyoung’s bed. Or your own. Usually it is your own because he has more roommates than you and yours leaves to stay at her boyfriend’s until Monday night which means there is no need to keep quiet (which you and Soonyoung both struggle with but you refuse to acknowledge that fact). 

It allows for many nights bent over the kitchen counter, Soonyoung’s chest hot against the back of your thighs as he works you up with his mouth. Or occasional nights on the couch after you both are too into each other to make it upstairs to your room, planted firmly in his lap while pinning his hands to the cushions. There's also the nights he drags you straight to bed and demonstrates exactly what all the pictures you took while tucked away in the privacy of a gross bar bathroom did to him. 

You’re pretty sure Soonyoung has picked up on your game by now because instead of asking ‘if’ he’s taken to asking ‘when’ he can come over. And it's annoying that it doesn’t really annoy you at all.

Soonyoung comes over on Friday nights and leaves Saturday afternoon, except when he shows up on Saturday mornings and stays well into Sunday night. Or the occasional weekend where you remember who you are and show up on his door and leave three hours later with cum still drying on your thigh as you walk past his roommates still pregaming in the living room.

Except now it's Friday and you’ve got nothing on your mind except for the inside of a toilet bowl and the cool tile of the bathroom floor.

Call it food poisoning or maybe the flu, but you’ve been in and out of sleep since the early hours of dawn. Shivering on the floor, the only company you have is a pile of dirty clothes. Even the crack of light under the door is too much stimulation for your illness-racked brain to tolerate.

“Y/N?” your roommate calls from the other side of the darkness, out in the hallway where it's safe from whatever curse is making home in your gut. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay home? I don’t mind.”

“I’m fine,” you groan. Your words couldn’t convince the deaf but you try anyway. 

She responds but it slips right past because another bout of nausea takes hold.

You manage to fall asleep at some point, clammy on the floor with aching hips. Maybe an hour or maybe ten minutes. It doesn't really make a difference because you still feel like shit when the door opens and the hall light burns through your retinas.

“Hazel, I said I’m— What are you doing here?” you croak from the floor. 

Soonyoung stairs down at you, face soft with something that might be worry but it’s probably just the fever melting your brain. “You look like shit.” 

“You always know just what to say.” The usual snark isn’t there, replaced by a pathetic helpless whine of discomfort because all you want is to curl up and die. “Did you come to insult me or…?”

“Hazel let me know you were sick and usually sick people need medicine and soup so I brought that and this tea my mom used to give me as a kid.” 

“Are you trying to cure me so you can get your dick wet?” 

“No. If I wanted to stick my dick in a Petri dish I feel like there are easier ways to go about it.” He kneels right next to you like he isn’t the slightest bit concerned about catching the plague brewing in your immune system. A cool hand cups your cheek, thumb gentle at your temple where a dull throb has haunted you all day. You lean into the comforting touch without much thought.  “When was the last time you showered?” 

“I don’t know. Like two days ago?” 

“Yeah, I can smell that. Alright my little germ cell, let’s get you cleaned up.” 

His arms snake under yours, dragging you from the floor even with your muscles limp. It takes more maneuvering but you don’t bother helping. If he wants to play not-so-sexy nurse and patient then that's his problem. The warmth of his sweater is welcome though. 

“Is this some weird fetish thing?” Nose buried in Soonyoung’s chest, it comes out in a jumble. “Because I can’t handle this and the furry stuff.” 

“Yes, caring about your health is a fetish for me. Really gets me off knowing you’ve been a good girl and taken your vitamins.” 

“I knew it.” you whisper. “I’m not calling you daddy if that’s what you want.” 

Soonyoung laughs and the movement sends another bolt of pain through your skull. He tuts over your responding whimper and what may be his lips press to the side of your head briefly. It’s warm and comforting, the beat of his heart lulling you into the first satisfying rest since you woke up. Your hands bunching the front of his shirt are desperate for anything to keep you steady. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t release you while setting things up for a shower; accommodating for your weight with a slow shuffle and more placating coos against your hairline every time you protest a sudden jostle. The chill of the bathroom fully sets in when he pushes down your sweats and shucks off your snot stained sweater before tossing away his own. If you weren’t barely functioning it might even be impressive that he’s kept you in his arms the entire time.

“If you’re trying to fuck me, I hope you don’t mind snot.” You blow your nose against the curve of his neck just to be a bitch. 

You feel more naked under the stream of water than you ever have, which is ironic given you’ve had Soonyoung face to crotch more times than you can count. Something about the non-sexual nature of nudeness, feeling the least sexy you ever have while he scrubs you down with gentle hands, turns your stomach more than before.

“I’m not trying to fuck you,” he laughs again; a thousand volts straight to the heart. “Don’t worry.” 

You pop out of hiding, hurt by the idea. “You don’t want to fuck me?” 

Soonyoung’s face is soft, cheeks round and hair already damp to his forehead. He isn’t disgusted by the puke on your breath or the sweat matting your hair. Or if he is, he hides it well. “I always want to fuck you but right now I’m trying to make sure you don’t die.” 

You dive back into his shoulder, mind numb to anything beyond the silky feel of hands washing away days of ick. You’ve felt his hands on almost every part of your body but right now they lack the characteristic urgency from those moments where you can’t get enough of each other quick enough. He’s touching you the way he does in the glow of the moon after you’ve both been satisfied, when Soonyoung thinks you’re asleep and you let him as every curve and dip and hill of your body is covered in gentle strokes like he’s committing you to memory.

“I can do that on my own,” you argue. 

The facts aren’t stacked in your favor right now but it’s the principle: you don’t need him to take care of you. You can handle it on your own. He’s only here because you let him.

“Oh, I know. Now close your eyes so I don’t get soap in them.”

He cups your face, thumbs rubbing away the sweat that's been caked on since morning. Then it’s a rough washcloth doused in the scent of your face wash but you swat it away in favor of the calluses on his fingers. If you weren’t a dead woman walking he’d never get a chance to be this close. 

How is it more terrifying for someone to wipe away your boogers than let him see you naked multiple times a week? A question knotting your stomach into tight pieces as Soonyoung hums some tune you don’t recognize like he’s more than happy to do so.

Your brain stops working after so long; too exhausted from everything to think more about what this all means. Not even the familiar flat press of his front against yours can incite a response beyond content. All the world shrinks into the pitter patter of the water swirling around the drain, and the parts that are warmed by Soonyoung and the parts that are waiting to be.

When you come back to awareness, the waters off and he is whispering something into your clammy forehead.

“Hmmm?” 

“I said, it’s time to get out.”

More shuffling gets you back into your room where the mattress takes your weight while he digs around for fresh clothes. You roll onto your side, clad in a towel and nothing else, resound to fall asleep then and there.

“Alright, arms up,” he commands. 

You try to pull away, diving back into the pillow soaked from your hair but Soonyoung gets you up at the waist, maneuvering stiff limbs patiently.

“Do you have an armpit fetish too?” you ask with the collar stuck around the top of your head. 

“And you call me a freak?”

Next is pants, and it takes a few tries for you to even consider being helpful. Soonyoung lifts each leg individually, working the fabric as far as he can. Then a few dramatic grunts from coordinating your entire body weight but you’re back in a clean pair of pajamas and tucked under the covers. Soonyoung didn’t rise to any more of your snide remarks about being naked. He simply avoiding your bare skin like it’d burn. Not even his favorite thing about you (boobs) gets any attention, just a few chuckles and more kisses into your temple.

You melt into the plush mattress, hidden beneath a pile of blankets from the cruel world that cursed you with new realizations you're not prepared for just yet. 

Eyes closed the entire time, you hear Soonyoung leave without so much as a goodbye. In theory it’s what you want. Exactly how you prefer; you alone, him somewhere you can pretend all the confounding feelings don’t exist. You didn’t even want him to show up in the first place, but now that he’s been here and you’re horrifically aware how nice it feels to have someone take care of you. You miss him. 

And as soon as the pit opens up, you hear someone shuffling down the hall coming towards your room.

“Alright, once you eat something you can sleep.”

The thought of food tightens your stomach more than the fact he didn’t leave you but he’s right. You need fluids and you’re not strong willed enough to get them yourself.

After the first few bites, you feel a little more human and less like a walking sack of shit. With it, the discomfort of this entire ordeal rears with a new vengeance. 

“Why are you here?” It sounds like an accusation.

He doesn’t even miss a beat. “Because I like you.” 

Soonyoung says it matter of factly, the same way the sky is blue and water is wet, while shoving another bite into your mouth.

You’re too exhausted for a fight right now; not with the only person making a real effort to keep you alive, but the instinct is strong after years of low expectations and plenty of disappointment.

“Why?” 

“Because I just do.” 

Your eyes meet over the spoon. He doesn’t look annoyed or perturbed or even angry. He likes you whether you like it or not. 

“I don’t date.” 

“Okay,” he agrees, wiping at the spill dripping from your chin.

“You aren’t gonna argue?” 

“Nope.” He pops the ‘p’ and your need for confrontation with it. “You don’t wanna date? That’s fine. I’ll take whatever I can get, even if that’s spoon feeding you on your deathbed.” 

You take the next bite before commenting, “You’re so weird.” 

“I like you too. Now open up for the airplane.” He makes the noise and the medicine twists your brain into actually finding it funny. “How are you pretty even when you’re blowing your nose on my shirt?”

“Deal with the devil.”

He passes you a cold cup when you brush away the remainder of the soup. One sip is all it takes.

“How did you know I like the orange Gatorade?”

“I asked Jun to give me June’s number and she gave me Hazel’s number and I asked while I was at the store.”

“You went through all that trouble just to buy me the right Gatorade?” you snort.

“It really wasn’t any trouble.”

It isn’t but it’s more than anyone else has ever done for you. The fresh wave of nausea has nothing to do with your cold.

“I’m tired,” you tell him. 

The mess is cleaned up in silence. You pretend to fall asleep and Soonyoung lets you until he’s shoving more medicine your way. 

You shake your head, failing to refuse because Soonyoung is doing that dumb airplane nose again and when you cough up a laugh he shoves the spoon in your mouth and you’re left with no choice but to swallow.

Then he’s up and you watch through heavy eyes as he gathers his things. You’ll blame it on the drugs loosening the clutch you have on your emotions later.

“Where are you going?” you ask with faux apathy, negated by the fist tangled in the hem of his sweatshirt in case he evaporates away.

“Home. Unless…you want me to stay?” A tug at the sweater is your answer to that horrible thought. “Oh, thank god – I was getting sad.”

You roll over, offering him your back to curl around. The muscles tensed around your spine soften when he does. 

I sleep better when you’re here.

You won’t tell him that but Soonyoung stiffens for a moment and the fear you’ve said the wrong thing creeps in where fatigue hasn’t rooted just yet. But a kiss to your covered shoulder and a hand under your sweater, flat against your stomach so you stay as close as possible calms the thoughts enough you can drift off.

It’s strange. Having the heat of his body at your back without the limpness of a good fuck still coursing through your veins to thaw the parts that hate pillow talk and the stickiness that come with it.

What's even stranger is that you don’t really mind it all. If anything, it’s actually pretty nice.

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie

@gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire

@missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @sliceofwoozi @writingbarnes

@dokyeomkyeom @christinewithluv @minwonfairy @idkjustlovingbts @wobblewobble822 @futuristicenemychaos

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

[frudoo]

just saw the anon for reader helping slasher 141 and now im thinking about actually doing the whole thing. like finding someone, kidnapping them and torturing them. she does it as a gift or surprise. maybe its their anniversary and she wants to give them the best gift ever.

I love this idea, but I just can't see reader ever participating in the torture aspect of her boys' work. She's absolutely not above kidnapping, though.

Warnings: Dark!Fic/DDDNE. Y'all this one is gross (just not in a gory way). Kidnapping/drugging.

 “I have to say, little girl, you look absolutely delicious tonight.”

     You giggle, allowing him to twirl you and trying not to suffocate on the smell of his cheap cologne. The man is loaded and he won’t even spend a pretty penny on some quality fragrance? Although, what else could you expect from a conman like him?

     “Not so bad yourself, Mr. Chief,” you purr, yelping softly when he pinches your asscheek teasingly.

     You want to vomit. Really, you could do it right here, all over his pristinely polished shoes, or on his tailored suit jacket and annoyingly bright tie. The fact that you’ve managed to keep this charade up for the past couple of weeks is astonishing, to say the least, especially given the fact that you’ve been hiding it from the boys. It kills you to see their disappointed faces every time you turn down a night in with them, making up poor excuses about how you’re just going to decorate your classroom, or that your friend has been having a rough time and you’re going to her house to support her.

     The truth is that you’re doing it for their benefit. Herschel Shepherd has been on your boys’ radar for years now, long before they ever met you. It’s just been too risky for them to attempt anything, be it a kidnapping or assassination. He’s too public of a figure as head of police, meaning that he’s protected by a multitude of security personnel, and on top of that, can easily defend himself. Even if they tried to befriend him, suspicions would be raised and it would likely fail.

     That’s where you enter. You’re exactly the chief’s type—a pretty young thing with big, soft tits and a charming smile. The only thing you’re missing is the naivety he’s so desperate to corrupt, but you’ve proven yourself a wonderful actress and he’s none the wiser. For someone who used to be a detective, he really is clueless. Someone should have taught the old man not to flirt with strangers on the internet. You’re just grateful that he took the bait so easy, all too eager to get his dick wet. 

     “Since I’ve treated you to such a nice dinner, how about giving me some dessert?” You hear his knees pop when he bends to whisper into your ear.

     “Anything for you,” you murmur back, “Daddy.”

     For the love of all things holy, you cannot wait to get this bullshit over with. Shepherd wraps his arm around your waist and ushers you into his limo—he really wanted to go all out for his ‘girlfriend,’ apparently. The inside smells like cigar smoke and you have to bite back a frown. It makes you think of John and how desperately you’d prefer to be in his arms instead. In all of their arms. With every disgusting, sloppy kiss the sick fuck peppers across your jawline, you have to remind yourself that it’s all for them.

     For them, for you, for every poor family he’s ever screwed over. It’s all too familiar, the coverups, the paying off coworkers and employees so that they keep their mouths shut. You’ve read about countless cases against heinous criminal acts that were suddenly dismissed when a certain slob threw a large sum of money towards the judges. You can’t even begin to imagine how many women alone have been assaulted because this corrupt piece of shit paid to let their abusers go—and for what? To gain favor? To get reelected? God knows he cheats his way through the system anyway.

     You feel your hand being tugged and realize that you’ve arrived at the parking lot where your car still is, some random garage located in the heart of the downtown area—about an equal walk from any little shop or restaurant in the vicinity. Your ‘date’ furrows his eyebrows and looks at you, confused.

     “A little Toyota Corolla is more inconspicuous than a limousine, don’t you think?” you hum as you pull out your keys.

     “Right,” Shepherd nods, opening the driver’s side door for you. “We are still going to the hotel?”

     “Of course.”

     He buckles into the passenger seat while you start the car, messing with the air conditioning like it’s his right. You avoid rolling your eyes as you begin driving, softly humming along to the radio. There’s a tin of mints in your glovebox that you pull out and offer to him. All according to plan, he takes the bait.

     Almost instantly after popping the tainted mint into his bastard mouth, he starts getting woozy, saying odd things and swaying in his seat. Adrenaline rushes through your veins—this is really happening. You’re kidnapping the chief of police, your husbands’ most desired target, driving him back to your home to be tortured and killed. It’s surreal, and there’s guilt eating away at whatever sense of retribution you’d created in your head. Still, there’s no turning back now.

     No turning back from the rattle of his unconscious body as you drive over the gravel path leading to the barn. No turning back from the strain you put on yourself as you haul his deadweight through the random pieces of hay, nor the act of tying his arms behind the metal pole in the stable where horses should be but has only kept victims. This is a decision you made and will have to live with. For the greater good, you ask yourself, or for the praise you know you’ll receive from your boys? In the end, it’s all one and the same to you. 

     As you stand over the comatose-laden sleazebag, you hardly make out the sound of the barn door slamming open and all four of your lovers trailing in with wide eyes.

     “Bloody hell.”

     “No fuckin’ way.”

     “Steamin’ Jesus, hen.”

     “Darlin’, how in the fuck did you manage this?”

     There’s a beat of silence before you turn around to look at them, your face maddeningly neutral.

     “Happy anniversary, guys.”

[dantakeyoman]

I would reallyy love if you could write about how when the Sully family reaches the new tribe all of the Metkayina girls are trying really hard to get Neteyam to notice them (Cause you know he's the oldest, a good warrior and is gonna be a leader soon) but they dont know he already has a mate and the reader gets jealous. So neteyam has to comfort her and when she realizes she is being silly and has nothing to worry about...this one metkayina girl really pushes it....(im talking getting touchy with neteyam, always finding ways to get him alone and is rude to the reader) and she loses her absolute shit and you can decide what she does but i want it to be very possessive like behavior😏 sorry this is long😅

Metkayina Girls Start Falling At Neteyam's Feet and You, His Mate, Get Jealous (SFW)

Reader is Fem! Omaticaya

CW: a story of jealousy with aa twist, these girls are really shameless, Kiri and Lo'ak duo, sorry im posting so late, my stomach actually really hurts rn, but not writing for so long has been driving me crazy, anyway, enjoy <3 ( i barfed in my mouth a little bit writing some of this cringey shit )

"Humans?! That must've been so scary for you! What happened next?" Leyelu asked as she stretched, laying herself stomach-down in the sand in front of Neteyam, batting her eyelashes.

"Yeah, did you fight them? I'm sure you did, since you are such a strong warrior," Nayat smiled, scooching her seat closer to the boy.

"Um...well, I didn't-." "Impossible. I can imagine you swooping in and saving your family. All heroic-like," Srraza smirked, openly raking her eyes up and down Neteyam's body, not caring how uncomfortable he looked.

Their shameless display made you want to vomit, and possibly scream, at the same time.

There were a total of three girls. Leyelu, Nayat, and Srraza. And all were practically throwing themselves at Neteyam.

It had been about a week and some change since you and the Sullys arrived at Awa'atlu. And every day, without fail, these girls managed to tail Neteyam, following him and showering him in praise whenever they could.

You hadn't had not two seconds alone with him before one of them, or all three, came barging in with some fake excuse of a heavy basket they needed help lifting or a boat they needed help loading.

You knew Neteyam never entertained their advances, and were thankful for it.

But being his mate, you couldn't help but feel frustrated. (and maybe a little jealous)

"If you scowl any harder, it's going to become permanent," Kiri playfully warned, your face amusing her.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," you curtly answered, tearing your eyes away from the scene angrily.

"Yes. I'm fine is stretched tightly across your face right now," Lo'ak smirked from his spot in the sand, hands behind his head as he subathed.

"(y/n), I hope you know that Neteyam would never-." "I know," you sighed, already guessing what Kiri was going to say.

"I trust Neteyam completely. It's just-."

You couldn't finish the sentence. It was embarrassing.

"Just what?" Lo'ak asked, ears perking in intrigue.

"Give her a minute," Kiri shushed, smacking him in the arm, earning an annoyed ow! from the boy.

"It's not that I'm scared Neteyam will leave me. It is just...I don't see why he won't," you started, staring down at your feet in shame.

Kiri and Lo'ak both whipped their heads towards you in disbelief, their expressions contorting into ones of confusion.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Lo'ak asked, confused.

"Lo'ak!" Kiri scolded.

She was thinking the same thing, but he could've been a little easier on the delivery.

"Look at them," you sighed, holding out your hand to the girls, who were still fake listening to Neteyam's story.

"Leyelu's father is one of the best hunters in the clan, only second to Tonowari. Nayat's mother is incredibly skilled on the loom, who is now teaching Nayat everthing she knows. For Eywa's sake, Srraza is studying under Ronal to be a healer."

The brother ans sister's expressions slowly softened, the meaning behind your words now coming to light.

"You are the best dancer the Omaticaya have ever seen. And the best the Metkayina have seen, as well," Kiri tried to comfort, a warm smile on her face.

"Oh, yes, because dancing can help me hunt for food. And dancing can help me make clothes. Let's not forget, it can help me heal as well," you sarcastically agreed, snippy.

Kiri sighed.

She didn't take it to heart, not one bit. She understood your frustration.

"They all have spent their years learning skills that can be of use, be important. All I have to show for mine are a couple of dance moves."

Lo'ak looked like he wanted to say something, but decided against it until you were finished.

"And the best part of it is they are all gorgeous, the most sought after girls in this village. And I'm just...me."

Kiri felt her heart ache.

She had no idea you had been feeling this way this whole time.

She thought it was just a small case of jealousy. But it seemed to be much deeper than that.

"So, no. I'm not frustrated or scared of Neteyam leaving me. I am frustrated and scared because he has every reason to."

You turned back to the scene, only to see Leyelu resting her hands on Neteyam's chest, leaning into his face.

"Hey, Neteyam. Have you ever given thought to who could possibly be your mate?" she asked with a smirk, peering up at him through her beautiful eyelashes.

It was as if you didn't even exist.

"(y/n), wai-." But you ignored Kiri, abruptly standing up, not wanting to watch the scene any longer.

"Dammit, (y/n)! Sit down and look," Lo'ak groaned, roughly pulling you back down and turning your face to watch Neteyam.

"Do not touch me," Neteyam sternly ordered, grabbing the girl's wrists and pulling her hands of him, harshly.

"I know that you know I already have a mate. And you trying to make advances on me while knowing that is incredibly disrespectful."

The girls were giving him puppy dog eyes, as if that would guilt him into stopping.

It made you gag.

"I do not appreciate how you've been disregarding (y/n) this entire week. Especially when she has done nothing to you."

"That's exactly the point. She does nothing. She is just there with you. You two do not even act like mates," Srraza scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"That is true. I never see you two hug, or kiss, or embrace each other romantically at all," Nayat agreed.

"Because any time I get alone with her is interrupted by you three!" Neteyam exclaimed, annoyed.

His sudden burst shocked you.

You didn't know he felt this.

"I only get time to myself every once in a while, and I like to spend it with (y/n). But ever since I've gotten here, you three have used every mean under the sun to keep that from happening. For Eywa's sake, that was what I was on my way to do now before you all came along!"

"But why? She doesn't hunt, she doesn't loom, she doesn't heal, she can't even carry a tune. She's boring, plain. Why would you willingly want to spend time with her?" Leyelu asked, cocking an eyebrow s she crossed her arms.

Ouch.

"That's why you look like a dead fish, bitch!" Lo'ak loudly called, making you and Kiri die in snickers.

The girl whipped around, glaring daggers at the boy.

"Lo'ak!" Kiri tried to scold, but couldn't through her laughter.

"It's true! If her eyes were any farther apart, she'd be able to see the back of her head," he huffed.

You were his friend. And he didn't like people talking shit about you.

Meanwhile, Neteyam was using every ounce of his strength to not bare his teeth at the girl.

"I don't care about what she can't do. I love what she can. She's a phenomenal dancer, and has forgotten more moves than you three will ever learn. She's funny, she's kind, she's caring, the farthest thing from boring. And her beauty makes the three of you look like a patch wet sand. I am lucky to call her my mate, and if you all would excuse me, I'm going to spend the rest of the day with her," Neteyam angrily corrected, pushing past them and walking towards you.

And as he drew closer, you smiled, wider than you had in a while.

You felt foolish for thinking he could do better than you.

Especially after he just confessed that he believed he could do no better than you.

It made you feel happy, and loved, and secure in your relationship.

There was no one that could take your place because you were the place, and the only one who could ever be it.

And now knowing that fact, sent you over the moon.

…

taglist !!

@vane28282, @remutoast, @p1nkprint, @ladyorchidia, @anthonys-viscountess, @karmz-7319, @cantbuysophialove, @scarabruhs, @an0th3rsss, @deloe18, @mariiyoushi, @av1xar, @alexxcorona113, @may-and-lay, @overlyfancybreakfastfoods, @harshita-hiranyamayi, @qui-02, @myheartfollower, @morks-watermelon, @bangtanxberm, @adavenus, @sweetdayme4427, @lilac13, @torchbearerkyle, @dazedshoon, @rovckwell, @wonieee, @0710khj, @multifandomreader73, @kadu-5607, @la-cey, @roseazura, @sophiejiro, @angelbeari, @bludyl

[rotthepoet]

More Bsf!theo

Pt 2 where he sneaks you into his common room too talk bcs your still friends but when you fall asleep on him and everyone questions it he's just very smug

Im a little bit obsessed with bsf!theo 🫣

Everyone knows to leave you and Theodore alone when you have common room gossip time. Theo is a sassy Italian man, and you are a sassy you, and together your side eyes could send a grown man to his grave<3

So lets say you’re not a Slytherin, not a problem. Theo’ll dress you up in his spare robes and pronounce you an honorary Slytherin for the night. And no one dares question him. The green robes help with the narcs(prefects) trying to do their jobs, but Theo will pay off anyone who tries getting in the way of the two of you hanging out.

If you are a Slytherin, no worries, but it’ll be harder to separate you two. Practically conjoined at the hip, in class together, in the dining hall, and its not even the littlest bit suspicious because you’re both in the same house! Duh! (Its really suspicious, rumors are spreading like wildfire)

Nevertheless, it’s really not uncommon to find you and Theo chatting on the couches in front of the fireplace, or even tucked away beside one of the stained glass mirrors looking into The Black Lake. You’ll sit there for hours on end running your mouths, playing chess, or even just sitting in comfortable silence as you both work on schoolwork. Theo’s friends may come by time to time, eyeing you suspiciously, glancing back and forth at your every micro-expression. Blaise and Lorenzo have a 10 galleon bet on whether or not you’re exclusive.

When the hangouts lead far into the night, when the fire burns until it’s nothing but embers, when the last prefect had been paid off to leave you alone, Theo feels adventurous. He gets handsy, his lips attached to your neck, warning you to keep still and quiet.

“Wouldn’t want us getting caught now, hm?”

He lets you squirm against his chest while he stuffs his hands into your robes, playing with you. He’ll whisper sweet nothings in your ear, humming about how obedient and sweet you are. He’ll talk you through orgasm after orgasm until you’re shaking and begging him to stop in a quiet, broken voice. He’ll lick his fingers clean of your cum, tracing his warm and wet hands under your shirt to rest on your stomach.

He just wants to hold you. To feel you. Theo craves skin-to-skin contact. Helps him to ground himself, to focus on shoving down and stomaching the feelings fluttering in his heart. It always comes back up, and he often bites his tongue to stop the word-vomit from falling from his mouth. To stop himself from ruining everything. To stop himself from losing you. You’re just a friend. A friend he sleeps with. A friend he wishes would hold his face and tell him he’s loved. The feelings never stay buried for long, and Theo’s learned to accept that.

So, while he forces each confession of love down, he traces soft circles into your skin, humming a song he remembers his mother used to sing when he couldn’t sleep. He doesn’t move when you do slip into peaceful slumber, and he won’t move until you wake up again. It would be unfair to stir such a lovely thing.

Naturally, as all good things must come to an end in Theodore Nott’s life, his jaw clenches when Mattheo walks into the common room, quite loudly I must add. He walks with a stupid smirk on his face, sitting down on a chair opposite of Theo.

“Really? Nothing going on here?”

“Not a thing.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

Don’t get me wrong, Theo and Mattheo are like pb&j. Best friends since the beginning. Theodore knows everything about Mattheo. And Mattheo thought he knew everything about Theo. He doesn’t like this secret-keeping.

“I would tell you if there was something, Matt.”

“Really? So you don’t care that I overheard someone saying he was going to ask them out?”

Theo looks down at you, still sleeping in his arms, stomach still wet with the mixture of your own arousal and Theo’s saliva. In that moment, you were completely Theo’s, and no one could take you away from him. Not now. And nothing else matters right now. Not when you look so happy. Not when you look so comfortable. Not when he knows no one can bother you while you sleep in his arms.

“Nah, doesn’t bother me.”

[eightmakesonebraincell]

i have a little request! what happens with mafia mingi & yn? do they ever meet again? if so, how?

same with wooyoung! do they still meet at the convenience store every night? did he bring the others over to introduce reader to them?

oh im curious yeahhhhh

ateez as mafia members pt 2

original post here

pairing: mafia!mingi x reader, mafia!wooyoung x reader, mentions of ot8!mafia

genre: fluff, crack, a continuation of the mafia tropes brainrot-fest

length: 2.1k

c/w: explicit language, violence, weapons, mentions of alcohol, unedited

a/n: thank you anon for requesting (and special thanks @sorryimananti-romantic for validating my writing 🫶) this was only meant to be like a five dot-point thing explaining what happens, but obviously mafia!ateez has me in their chokehold. mafia!ateez in my brain: it's free real estate

mingi

it takes a few days for you to reopen your bar after your fateful meeting with ccg

ccg as in cute coat guy

because quite frankly, that night shook you up a little

mingi most definitely notices your absence

but it's not like he can just check up on how you're doing

not when your bar is closed and he has no real excuse to show up apart from "i was worried about you"

after he reports back to base and rejoins ateez, hongjoong's girlfriend offers to hack into the database and find out what your phone number is

("it'll literally take me like, two seconds")

mingi refuses though because he wants to do things the right way

at least...when it comes to things concerning you

after you reassure yourself that the thugs chasing after cute coat guy aren't going to kill you by association, you feel safe enough to open up the mist again

his leather coat usually sits draped over your chair behind the countertop

originally, you think about washing it before returning it to him

...whenever he shows up you suppose

but then you kind of like the smokey smell of gunpowder with an underlying hint of his cologne that is on the coat

so you leave it as it is

in fact, you might have actually worn it a couple of times

you like how the end of the coat brushes against your calves, how the sleeves fall past your fingertips, how it engulfs your entire frame like an embrace

but mostly, you like how it reminds you of the handsome stranger; who claims he is a good bad guy; who you still do not know the name of

you wonder if he made it back safely that night

you're wearing the coat as you're closing up for the night - it's already well past midnight

you're just about to reach for the last glass on one of the tables when you hear the door to your bar opening

"sorry, i’m closed for the nigh- oh," you pause

it’s ccg

who currently has one leg and arm halfway through the threshold of your door, now frozen mid-step at your words

“if now’s not a good time, i can come back another day?” he starts out hesitantly

“now’s great! good. yes,” you chuckle nervously and try not to be too enthusiastic at his appearance. “now’s good, come in”

you catch his eyes briefly flicker down for a moment before they return to your eyes

then he gives you a soft look and greets you gently, “hi”

“hi,” you return, brain shutting down on you

“you look cute in that,” he jerks his chin down slightly to motion at what he was looking at just moments ago

his leather coat

that you are currently wearing

you squeak in embarrassment, hands fumbling to take it off while you vomit out explanations as to why you’re wearing it

your fingers get caught up in the sleeves

but then he is stepping closer slowly so as not to alarm you, before he grasps the ends of the sleeves and helps tug them off your arms

mingi can’t help but use the opportunity to tenderly hold one of your hands

he’s missed the way your smaller hands fit snugly in his

“did you come back for your coat?” you try to break the silence, because otherwise you are afraid he will hear the heartbeats coming from inside your chest

he nods, “wanted to make sure you were okay, too”

there is a third reason that he does not say

that he just wanted to see you

“i’m okay now,” you reassure him

because he’s back now and he’s safe

he folds the leather coat and places it on the countertop before he says, “i don’t think i ever got your name?”

you tell him then ask him for his

“mingi”

“mingi,” you repeat

he repeats your name in return

“mingi,” you say yet again

“y/n”

you both laugh at the ridiculousness of the whole conversation

“mingi, want to help me close the bar?”

and so you find yourself in his company as you give him easy tasks to do

closing up has always been a tedious job, especially when your body and mind are groggy with fatigue

but with mingi around, an accidental brush whenever you shuffle past each other, a conversation easily flowing between you both, you are awake as ever

even long after all the tables and shot glasses have been cleaned and polished, floors swept, bottles of alcohol reorganised, mingi still has not left

and at some point during the night once you two sit at the countertop to rest your legs, both of you have subconsciously inched closer together in your seats, bodies seeking the warmth and proximity of the other

you are unsure how long you two talk for

but just like that first, fateful meeting with mingi, he stands up to take his leave all too soon

“goodnight, mingi”

mingi buffers for a minute before he decides to do it

he reaches out for your hand, clasping it gently to bring it up to his lips as he presses a light kiss against the back of your hand

and with a goodbye of his own, he turns for the door

except he lingers in the doorway, asking, “will i see you again?”

a smile graces your lips at the irony of the situation and you tell him it's not like you'll be going anywhere; he's free to come visit any time

but you also feel your stomach flutter

because last time, you were the one tugging on mingi’s vest, timidly wondering if that was going to be the last you saw of him

tonight, he is the one unwilling to part ways

not to say that you aren’t either

“i’ll see you around, then,” he says with finality, voice still soft-spoken

and then he leaves

but just mere seconds later you spot it

his leather coat

still folded on your counter where he had placed it earlier

"wait, your coat!" you rush outside with it

mingi is only a few feet away

he could very easily turn around and take it from you

but then he just winks, gives you a tip of his hat and says, "next time," before he's walking away again

you chew on the inside of your cheek to stop the silly grin from blooming across your face

because something tells you that you're going to be hanging on to mingi's coat for him for a while

even after next time

wooyoung

it feels like deja vu

a whole gang of mafia members sauntering into your convenience store like a scene straight out of a movie

admittedly, they are much more pleasing to the eye than the group that was chasing after wooyoung weeks ago

but still

these are several muscular men in tank tops, leather jackets and heavy chained necklaces

your hand itches for the comforting weight of the pepper spray in your purse that wooyoung had gotten you just last week

you haven't had a reason to need it since wooyoung basically lives in your store now

and he always walks you home after your shift

but now seems like a more than good enough time to use it

"you usually work the night shift here?"

a voice causes your eyes to snap up

the man at the head of the group addresses you with a quirk of his brow - it's pierced, you notice

"...yeah," you answer

you wonder if this is your last shift at work and at life

and then just like a repeat of last time, you spot wooyoung's frantic bounce of curls appear from across the street of your store

you pray to the heavens above that he isn't being chased by anyone else this time

because the thought of two gangs crossing paths inside your modest store?

you don't think it's going to look like a store after their fight is through

you see the way wooyoung's eyes widen when he spots the thugs just mere feet away from you and you see a curse form on his lips

you just need to hold out until he gets here

wooyoung will keep you safe

wooyoung will-

"then you must know," the man leans in a little closer to grab your attention, "where i can find-"

wooyoung bursts through the door

"-the super sour gummy worms?" the man finishes

you physically cannot help the words that blurt out of you in disbelief, "the fuck you just say?" 

"hongjoong!" wooyoung's piercing shout interrupts you both

wooyoung worms his way through the gang and you stare incredulously at him before you say, "the fuck did you just say?"

he ignores you in favour of pressing his hands against the chest of the man - hongjoong? - and trying to push him towards the doors of your store

quite unsuccessfully, you must add

"the fuck are you guys doing here?" wooyoung yells

"what the fuck is going on?" you demand

"holy fuck, not even hongjoong swears this much"

"fuck yeah, potty mouth!"

"stop swearing you fucktards!"

one of the men who has been lingering on the edge of the group sidles up to the counter, looking at you with an apologetic grimace

"sorry you have to deal with...this," he shakes his head just as another man comes to join you both, "i'm jongho, by the way"

"seonghwa," the other man introduces himself with a gentle voice

these mafia men are surprisingly kind

and normal

except, you suppose, anyone in comparison to wooyoung would be normal

"are you all wooyoung's, uhh, friends?" you don't know whether they know you know

they chuckle, "yeah, we're his friends. his brothers, too, you could say"

you realise the rest of the men have started to settle down and are standing in a rough semi-circle around your counter

wooyoung is currently grumbling and muttering indignantly under his breath with someone's arm thrown over his shoulders, though it looks more like he's a child being scolded by his father than it looks a friendly gesture

"so to what do i owe the pleasure of a visit from all of you?" you ask them, now that there is no swearing being thrown across the room and you realise they aren’t going to shoot you through the head

"had to see for ourselves who was making our wooyoung all smitten. always sneaking out at night like a tween"

"yunho!" wooyoung hisses and elbows said man in the ribs

except with the height difference, it's more like his hips

it's amusing to see how everyone has the upper hand over wooyoung's brattiness

"am i meeting the in-laws already?" you smirk at wooyoung, "you like me or something, jung wooyoung?"

he flushes bright red and you're quite positive that if you made him take his socks off, you would find him blushing straight down to his toes

"that's it!" he hollers, arms flailing and shooing everyone, "out! out! out!"

you know they can easily resist his pushy hands, but they simply snicker and let themselves be herded towards the doors

"bye, darling!" someone jumps up and down to catch your gaze over the heads of everyone else

"shut up, san!"

yunho, you think you recall his name being, flutters his fingers at you cheekily, "we'll be back soon!"

and then he lets out an indignant yelp when wooyoung slaps his back with a screech, "no, you guys won't!"

you're laughing heartily by this point, unrestrained and very much enjoying their antics

"bye, everyone," you wave them off and then blow wooyoung an exaggerated kiss, "see you later, wooyoungie!"

everyone cackles with glee at the sight of him trying to dig himself into the ground

the sound of their ruckus finally dies down as they exit and walk further away from your store

and then you hear a distant wail

"i didn't get my gummy worms!"

you shake your head with a fond smile and take a seat at the register, but not before setting aside a pack of those ‘super sour gummy worms’ for hongjoong

and then, like always, you look at the clock and count the seconds as they tick past

counting down the seconds until wooyoung comes back to see you

again

[starlitfragment]

: ̗̀➛ Straight to the point.

In which he's still human.

Summary: Everyone has something in the back of their mind, something that terrifies them to the core, something that keeps them up at night. Sebastian is no different. Luckily for him, he already has someone to hold him and reassure him.

Notes: Established Relationships, Reader is gender neutral, Sebastian's Backstory Spoilers (not really),He is not a fish yet, wrote this at 4 am, unhealthy amount of fluff, idk what im doing, Sebastian is a menace, this is a literal word vomit. Enjoy ..!

The squeaky creak of the wooden bed and the slight shifting next to you jolts you awake, eyes opening to cautiously wander around the room in search of anything, or anyone. You almost close your eyes and go back to sleep at the reassurance that nothing was there, before the sound of the hitched breathing next to you forces you to open your eyes again. You turn to your side, arms subconsciously reaching out for the one laying right next to you. To your surprise, you find him awake already, his softened gaze seemingly on anything but you. You can't see too well in the darkness, but one look at his troubled expression is enough for you to know whats going on. You reach out your hand, slowly placing it on top of his as to not startle him. The moment he registers the slightest touch of your hand against him, his eyes move back on yours. He furrows his eyebrows, huffing slightly.

"...Did I wake you?" He asks, his voice coming off as nothing more than a mere whisper. For the time that you've known Sebastian, you've come to realize that he is never one to outright trouble anyone with his struggles, that includes you. If you want to know anything, you have to fish it out of him. And so you do. You gently squeeze his hand in a comforting manner. "Not really." You respond quietly, inching a bit closer to take a better look at him. "Can't sleep?" You whisper, the close proximity and the way you feel his cold breath sending a slight shiver down your spine. He stays silent, averting his eyes from you. Now, you know all too well what's bothering him.

Your lover has a tendency to often deprive himself of sleep, that resulting in him staying up and contemplating each and every fear he has ever grown to have until he's sure he has suffered himself enough. This, of course, pains you to see. You're well aware you can't undo past traumas, or.. what is yet to come, for that matter. So, for now, you settle for comforting him. You let go of his hand and lean in, arms wrapping around him as you pull him closer. He tenses slightly, before giving in to your touch. As you run your fingers through his hair, he quietly exhales and buries his face into your neck, a hand finding it's way to your waist. He moves his fingers up and down, tracing random shapes on your skin rather anxiously. You're both silent. You, lost in idea of him and him, lost in the idea of losing you. He slightly tenses up again, his hold on you tightening a bit and a hitched breath escaping him. You can tell he has his own thoughts that he runs away from, his fears that keep him up at night and nightmares that he fears for his life. He clutches onto your shirt, the idea of him ever losing you, losing this, losing everything leaves him shivering like he is now. You slowly start to feel something wet against your skin, his tears staining your shirt as he holds onto you for dear life. Needless to say, you're overwhelmed too.

The Sebastian you've learned to love is constantly hiding behind an act of nonchalance and sarcasm, and only now you realize how vulnerable he really is behind all of that. You can only hold him, listen to the sound of his muffled yet soundless sobs against you and whisper sweet nothings. "I'm not going anywhere." You tell him, fingers combing through his hair as your other hand slowly moves up and down on his back, in an attempt to comfort him. He hides his face into your neck even more, in an attempt to muffle his last sobs. Your tender touches, your oh so sweet promises that you'd never leave and your mere presence soothe him like he needs. You're both silent for a bit, neither of you daring to disturb the comfortable silence. He eventually leans back, slightly wet blue-ish green eyes staring into your eyes.

You can tell he is mildly embarrassed, all his attempts at keeping you from witnessing such vulnerable side of him now all wasted and for nothing. And so, he does what he always does. He moves his hands to his face, covering his face with both hands as his shoulder's slightly shake again, because of laughter, this time. The sound of his chuckles disturbs the nights silence. You'd be confused, had it not been for the fact that you're all too familiar with how he tries to laugh his way out of any awkward situation. He finally moves his hands away, his eyes still slightly wet. "You're... such an idiot for dealing with my bullshit. Honestly.." He says, letting out a bitter chuckle. You smile, cupping his face with one hand, your thumb gently carressing his face. "I am.. your idiot, afterall." You whisper, your finger moving to gently wipe away one last tear on his face. He only gazes at you, a gaze that holds the countless words he's been meaning to say. You move your finger, slowly tracing his features, and it moves to the scar in the middle of the face.

The way your finger tenderly brushes against his skin.. He sighs, his hand moving to catch your wrist and guide it out of his face, though he never lets go. He leans in, back to where he was sobbing not too long ago. He pulls you closer, a hand resting on your hip. He nuzzles comfortably into your shoulder, and this time, he presses a slight, delicate kiss on your skin. "I... love you, idiot." He mutters, quietly enough for only you to hear, and no one else. You're the last thing on his mind before he finally passes out, safe and sound in your embrace.

[yuff7e]

hey! You could make a male reader x Bakugou where they have an argument and their marriage is no longer the best, so Reader asks for a divorce and Bakugou regrets it and tries everything to achieve it not happen? (with a happy ending, please!)

˗ˏˋ you’re the only thing i want. ´ˎ˗ violence / angst / fluff

male reader (could be gender neutral)

hi h0osyy !! i’ll totally write this for you !! i love me some bakugo brainrot … jejwjwjr he js such a baby !! he got that sweet baby boy syndrome he js has a hard time expressing it guys trust he’s the best he js needs all ur love !! (╥﹏╥)

the cuties song -> www.spotify.com

“okay and what the fuck do you want me to do?!” katsuki yells at you from across the room, he’s thrown about items and was seething with anger. you just stare at him, it was never supposed to get this bad. you knew he had issues, you thought he was starting to get better.. but you were wrong.

you’ve begun to fear for your life as he punched walls a little too close to you, threw utensils that would fall not that far from your head, etc. you feared your own husband was going to hurt you.

that’s when you knew you had to get out.

as you stare at him his anger rises, “speak will you?!” he screams, taking a hand and grabbing his face - clenching his jaw. “why do you never fucking speak?!” this was another one of your arguments, another scary, loud, argument.

“katsuki stop.” you cross your arms, stiffly standing against the door - he just looks at you. “you want me to fucking stop? are you serious? you’re the one that started this you bitch!” he seethes, clasping both of his hands to his sides - “you make me feel like this!”

your eyes were filled with tears at this point, when you two would have these arguments you’d have flashbacks to when you were teenagers - how he would hold you as you walked through festivals, keeping you close. smiling in your ear and kissing your cheek every so often, telling you happy he was with you, how he’d never hurt you.

now look at where this has put you both, “i thought you got better, i guess i was wrong.” you blink a few tears away, them sliding down your cheeks. “oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” he bangs his fist down on the drawer beside him as he stand next to the bed you both share, you haven’t slept in the same bed for a whole week now.

you couldn’t even look at him as you gulp, your hands shaky and sweaty, your heart racing. you were scared, you knew this isn’t how a marriage is supposed to be. the more you think about the relationship you two share, the more you realize how abusive and unstable it’s become.

you’re a firm believer of stable, safe relationships. and this wasn’t one of them, you tried to say the words - but they just wouldn’t come out. you grip your arms tightly, your heart was beating so fast but you knew you had to get out of.. whatever this was.

“i want a divorce.” you croak, hot tears staining your face as you bring up a hand to wipe them away - you realized you hadn’t been wearing your wedding ring. katsuki turned around to face you, a hand on his mouth - rubbing his chin.

“yeah sure, go take a fuckin walk.” he laughs and shakes his head, putting his hands on his hips and turning away from you again. “im serious katsuki, im scared. you scare me, i.. i need out.” you confess, you were literally about to vomit.

katsuki stopped for a second, looking at the ground. he turned to you again, a more serious look on his face. “what?” “you heard what i said.” he stared, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “you really mean that?” he sounds a little panicked now, and he begins to walk toward you.

“yes and… please keep your distance.” he stops at your words, his hands had fallen to his sides and he looks absolutely crushed. he loved you so much, you really think he scares you? “what do you mean i scare you?”

“you just do, the way you act, the things you say. katsuki im fucking tired.” you sigh, you can hear him get choked up and you look at him. “what the fuck? no i.. i would never hurt you. i married you for a reason [name]. i want to be with you. i’m just.. tired too.” he admits, slowly walking towards you again.

you don’t stop him this time, he places his hands on your arms and you tense up. “please.. please god.. please don’t be scared of me.” he pleads, his hands began to shake.

you look at his hands and then into his eyes, he was looking down at your body - he couldn’t bare to look you in the face. you take a hand and place it on his and he breaks down, leaning into you. you break down as well, clutching onto each other in a desperate attempt to not run anyway from one another.

“i don’t want to leave you katsuki, you’re the only good thing i have in my life.. i fucking love you. i wouldn’t want to leave you but i fear i need to because of how aggressive you’ve been lately.” - “please don’t say that, you know id never hurt you. fuck [name] i’m just scared.. everything i’ve ever wanted has come true and im so used to everything failing on me.. i don’t want this to fail and… fuck..”

he grabs onto you tighter, burying his face in your neck - squeezing his eyes shut. “you’re the only thing i want, [name].” he sobs into you and you cradle him, hearing you being afraid of him is one of the things he never wanted to hear. “i want to work this out with you, im just…” you trail off, caressing the back of his head. he pulls away from your touch and looks you in the face, his eyes red and puffy, cheeks stained with tears. “im so sorry.”

you apologize and he touches your face with one of his hands, you don’t pull away or flinch you just stare at him. he leans in to kiss you and you hesitate, he waits - and you lean in too. he puts his hand behind your neck gently, holding you like glass in fear you might break under his touch.

“don’t apologize [name], this is my fault. i’ve been treating you horribly, i’ve been.. scaring you. that isn’t what a husband should do. i’m going to start treating you better from here on out - i promise, [name].” you look into his red eyes, and he looks back into yours. “i’ve wanted to be with you since the first day i saw you in that academy katsuki, and now that i finally have you i want this to work… so bad.” “i know, i know.” that comforting tone of his makes you tear up again, but he wipes the tears away.

“no more cryin’ .. we’re going to work this out.” you go in for another kiss and this one is longer, knocking the breath out of you both for a moment. you chuckle and he does too, “now you need to clean this damn room.” he blinks at you and looks behind himself, realizing how much of a mess he made. “right.” he looks back at you, “i love you.”

“i love you too, katsuki.”

—

REQUESTS : OPEN

[greenunoreversecard]

Don't hide your pain

-> Angel dust x reader

A/N: I made this of my own violation. I needed to therapize myself

Reader POV, ftm male, who's ✨️traumatized✨️

It always starts like this.

Things go well for a while. Things go great, even.

And then it gets bad. And it stays bad, and i ruin every close relationship and im alone.

And then it repeats.

I just wish I could be better. I guess that's why I'm at the hotel.

Things have been good for a while, so good, infact I though the cycle could be over.

Angel brought so much light to my life. He made me feel so happy, and wanted and needed.

And I was so much better. But it seems like the happier I was the worse i fall.

I sigh, rolling over in my bed, grabbing my phone. Fuck it's late in the day. Charlie will be upset, but i cant seem to care. I just- I don't wanna leave my bed.

I look away from my lockscreen, a blurry picture of angel in my Hoodie chasing after nuggets, who has his phone in his mouth, trying to run away with it. It caught angel off guard, and i was laughing so hard i couldnt get a steady photo.

Its one of my favorite memories. I feel a small smile tug at my lips, but my body and my face feel like led that I can barely move.

Theres a knock at my door.

"Hey, baby. Are you ok? Haven't seen you in a day, and I wanted to make sure ya alright.." I hear his quiet voice as the door squeaking lightly as Angle peeks in, silhouette gently illuminated from the light in the hallway.

I grumble in reply and roll over. He sighs, and for a moment I think he leaves but i feel him sit on my bed, next to me. I can feel his warmth. Despite having the features of a cold-blooded spider, he's always run rather hot.

He rests his hand on my back.

"Baby, I can't help you if you dont talk ta me"

Irritation rises in me.

"Don't. I dont need you. I dont need your fucking pity. Just fuck off, please." I say, voice rough and shoulders tense.

His determination doesn't deter, though.

"I don't pity you, love. I just wanna help."

I know my irritation is irrational, logically. But I can't help being angry. Angry I am this way, angry I'm so helpless. And I'm ahry he has to see me like this, considering he has it so much worse. He deserves better than this. Better than me. But I can't seem to stop the slow of my defensive anger, vomiting out words I'm uncertain seraid him I know they do me coming out my mouth.

"Don't pretend, angie."

"I'm serious, though. I want to help."

"Don't play with me. I don't need you, and I don't need your pity."

"Why are you doing this?"

This freezes me. I tense. I don't know why I do this. I don't know why I'm hurting him. I don't know why I'm hurting myself by hurting the only person thats treated me like a fucking sentient being..

I realise, at this point, he's as rigid as a brick, and I look over at him. He tears in the corners of his eyes, eyes slighrly red from the effort it takes to stop his tears. His hair is a mess, and he's shaking, God's he's shaking.

"I- please, sugar. I just wanna help you but- but I can't if you push us away. I you push me away. I- I don't wanna lose you. I can't fucking lose you. And I can feel you sliping and its- it's scary. Please, if not for you then for me."

At this, a sob wracks its way through my body, every viceral emotion I've held back hitting me like a dam destroyed. Apologies spewing through my lips like it's a lifeline. And in a way, it is. Because, I know hes right. And I know if I continue on the way I do, I'll be destroyed at my own hands. And I'll lose him, I'll lose my lifeline.

...

..

.

I don't know how long I cry for. It's all kind of blurry, really. I know i tell him everything ive hid from him about my life through choked sobs, and at some point he's holding me to his chest, gently stroking my hair, touch gentle but deep, afraid to let me go as if I'll disappear, or break like glass.

The good never used to last for long, but maybe this time I can make it last forever.

So long as I have him.

--------------

End note: vv rushed lmfao. Anywhore, hopes this gives a small gauge as to my writing style. I can also try my hand at different possibilities.

Hope ye likey likey

[jakexneytiri]

hii here are some ideas/deets from my last request <3

- scenario where y/n has like a super rough pregnancy and she’s always sick and vomiting. Lots of fluff but also kind of angst idk??!! the kids are worried abt her and neteyam as well so he takes on all 4 kids by himself and lets y/n rest

- neteyam and y/n have their 5th baby and the details on the birth and all the other kids meet the baby and its just a lot of fluff!! and jake and neytiri meet the baby too as well as loak, kiri, tuk

IM SO EXCITED IF U WRITE THESE OMG AND TAKE UR TIME <3

AWEEE i love your mind! (the second part of your request is comingggg, i’ll post it when it’s finished :D)

in sickness and in health

⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰

a sharp jolt of pain surges through your abdomen, forcing you awake as you sit up, wincing. you gently place your hand on your lower stomach, feeling strong kicks right where your hand is placed. you begin to take short, shallow breaths, as another kick lands just below your ribcage.

your mouth begins to salivate as you grab the pot closest to you. you knew the feeling all too well. it’s been happening every morning for the past several months. sweat beads on your forehead, collecting and dripping down your face, while your entire body feels like it’s overheating. that familiar feeling returns to the back of your throat, causing you to gag. you begin dry heaving, which turns into vomiting everything you consumed the night prior.

meanwhile, neteyam is just outside of your marui, peeking through the flap every now and then to keep an eye on you. truthfully, he’s been worried sick about you, especially these past few months. you both are familiar with all the symptoms of pregnancy. you’ve been pregnant four times now. but it’s never been this bad. so, he decided to give neytiri a page through his throat comm, hoping she might have some answers to your worsening symptoms.

“mother, is this normal?…yes, she’s still getting sick. it’s every morning, i thought you said that would stop. i don’t know what to do, how to help her…i feel so useless. i just want to ease her pain, please…” his voice cracks with his last beg. “please help me help h-” his ears perk up to the sound of you vomiting. “i must go. it is happening again. please send grandmother!”

neteyam quickly opens the flap, seeing you doubled over, emptying the contents of your stomach into the pot he set aside for you. guilt courses through him, settling like a rock in the bottom of his stomach as he hastily makes his way to you.

you feel your mate’s warm hand run along your back, attempting to comfort you while his other hand holds the braids out of your face. once you’re certain you’ve thrown up everything in your system, you sit back against the wall of your home.

neteyam goes to move the pot outside, as to not make you more nauseous. he grabs a bowl of water as he makes his way back to you, guilt clawing at his insides.

you slightly pull your knees to your chest, as best as you can with being pregnant, and bury your face in your arms, sobbing.

neteyam kneels beside you, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. it broke his heart in two seeing you like this.

just then, you hear the flap to your marui open, revealing your four children, with jake, neytiri, and mo’at. neteyam looks up, glaring at his mother and father, speaking through gritted teeth. “i thought you weren’t supposed to be back for a few more hours.”

“yeah, we weren’t expecting this either. it’s an emergency, we gotta go.” jake quickly says, holding the flap open.

“what? dad-sir…i’m not leaving her!” neteyam begins to raise his voice, fist clenched at his side as his other hand is still rubbing your back.

“neteyam.” neytiri gently says. “we would not ask if it was not necessary.”

you give your mate’s arm a gentle squeeze, silently encouraging him to go. “it is all right,” you speak, your voice extremely hoarse. “grandmother is here, i’ll be okay.”

“we gotta go, now!” jake’s yelling now, and neteyam stands, quickly grabbing his bow before kneeling to kiss your forehead. “i love you. i’m so sorry, i’ll be back soon, okay?”

Neteyam turns one last time to lock eyes with you, before being yanked away by his parents.

“mama? where’s daddy going?” se’ayl asks, looking at the flap where her grandparents and father just exited.

i want to go with him!” tsantu states, a firm grip on the bow strung around his shoulder.

“mom, i’m tired.” txonuk yawns, stretching his arms above his head and curling up to your side.

nima gently stretches her hands over your protruding stomach, shifting them around a few inches. “wanna feel kicks!”

“children, please!” mo’at exclaims. “let your mother rest.” she begins taking out herbs and plants from her satchel, mixing them with water in a large bowl.

“it’s all right…” you say weakly. “daddy’s going hunting with grandma and grandpa, he’ll be back soon. you can’t go with him, it’s only a trip for adults. you know what, txonuk? mama’s sleepy too. how about we all lay down for a nap, and when we wake up, grandpa grandma and daddy will all be back!”

you shift forward slightly, so your head is resting on your pillow instead of your back. txonuk curls right up to your side, draping your arm over himself like a blanket. se’ayl and tsantu follow, laying beside you comfortably. nima rests her head on your stomach, ear perked up against your skin to “listen” to the baby. mo’at raises the bowl she’s been preparing to your lips. “drink, child. it will help with the nausea.”

you lift your head up, parting your lips just enough for the cool liquid to ease its way down your throat. “thank you, grandmother.”

mo’at nods, setting the bowl aside. “you may rest, i will keep watch until they return.”

“no, no…i can………..stay……………….awake…….” your eyelids droop with exhaustion as you speak, and as you speak your last word, they stay closed. you finally succumb to a comfortable sleep, as you wait for your mate to return.

⋆｡ ﾟ ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ ☾ ﾟ ｡⋆⋆｡ ﾟ ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ ☾ ﾟ ｡⋆⋆｡ ﾟ ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ ☾ ﾟ ｡⋆

[tojivu]

# OFFICE HOURS ‣ GOJO SATORU

✰ — author’s note i feel so guilty bc gojo is literally the only character i write for LOL anyway this is an old draft from months ago. idk why this is so long im so horrendously down bad for this fucking snowman.

✰ — cw / tags arrogant ceo!gojo x secretary f!reader, sfw, not rly enemies to lovers bc gojo has fat feelings, gojo satoru being a billionaire playboy

✰ — playing death & taxes by daniel caesar.

✰ — word count ~3k LOL

nothing about gojo satoru really strikes you as the serious type.

even in a professional environment, your boss always has a carefree demeanour. his laugh is so nauseatingly loud that you can hear it from outside the office, and you wonder how someone as busy as him manages through his day; much less with a positive attitude. you take one look at his schedule, and you want to vomit with the way you hardly see any gaps between appointments.

you suppose you could learn that from him. it's his only good quality.

you admit that he's likeable, on surface level. there's a reason why you detest him, though: as his closest colleague, you know him way more than you would prefer. most people would think such a well to do man like satoru would have a wife by his side, but that's unfortunately not the case. you almost feel more miserable than him—because now you're forced to be the listening ear and comforting hand at his beck and call.

you think he'd be just fine if he was just a little more humble. he has a nice face. it's his fault for being so stuck up. you know how many women ask him out—painfully aware, actually.

'they just aren't suited to my taste,' he would say to you. 'i need someone that makes me feel alive.'

one time, gojo even asked you to bail him out of a date—something about the way she held her fork and knife disturbed him, and you were expected to show up at the restaurant and act as if there was an emergency.

'i'm so sorry, sweetheart. i have to go, duty calls.' his disgustingly charming tone made you want to slap him then and there.

she called him again the following week, and he completely forgot who she was. he didn't even save her number.

the sheer number of people asking him out had stroked his ego so hard that gojo firmly believes no woman is deserving enough. he rambles on and on to you about how snobby some of them seem, and it takes everything in you to bite your tongue when he does. 'takes one to know one,' you would say, if not for your job at stake.

you think gojo satoru is full of himself. you are a strong believer of that. a witness, as well—it's not like he didn't try his way with you, too. unlike the women he ranted about, you turned him down every single time.

it's been a long while since any of that has happened, though. the most recent ordeal was months ago, but that didn't inherently mean that people stopped asking him out: it just meant that he was rejecting every single offer.

it's a thursday morning when you find yourself eating a sandwich you purchased on the way to work, at your desk—wondering when the big boss will finally arrive. the clock read 9 a.m., and you're expecting an extravagant "good morning!" to surprise you any moment now.

just then, you notice mr. conceited walk in: except something is different. he has no stride in his step. there was no good morning. there was no playful teasing directed at you as he walked past your desk and into his office, not that you were complaining—it was just strange.

you stand up, a mouthful of your sandwich still being chewed. you take a big sip of water and fix your skirt and blouse, making sure your hair is presentable—before swiftly making your way into his office.

──────

"i cannot believe this." he mumbles. you're standing in front of his desk, but he's not facing your direction.

gojo's chair is turned to the giant window that overlooks the business district, and he's gazing out of it thoughtfully. you think this is the cheesiest thing you've seen him do.

you can see how disheveled his hair was, even from where you were standing. you don't want to irritate him further, in case teasing you was still on his to-do list that day.

"what is it, mr. gojo?"

he swivels his chair around, and he is a mess—just what could have he been up to?

"i woke up late today."

"you're the boss, mr. gojo. you can come in any time you want—"

"not the point." he interrupts you. "i forgot my lunch. i was in the car, with the driver, on the way here already. . . and then i realised i left my donuts at home."

gojo's face is absolutely distraught. he looks like he's gone through a divorce and had his house set on fire with how he stands up dramatically—his hands now on his desk. you open your mouth to speak, but he shuts you up by talking again.

"i didn't want to inconvenience him. i'm too thoughtful, miss y/n."

you want to scoff, but you bite your tongue and hold back.

"so i got out of the car and ran back for it," gojo recounts. "i arrived home after the treacherous journey—only to discover that my donuts are gone."

you feign an expression of shock, just to humour him; he gives you an 'i know right' look, and continues his nonsensical story.

"the maids threw them away, miss y/n."

you can't help yourself: you let a small giggle slip through your lips. you quickly use your hand to cover your mouth, thinking of a quick excuse.

you cough. you pretend to, at least—but gojo satoru is not stupid.

no, maybe a little. though, not enough to be convinced of your terrible acting.

"nothing about this is funny."

you nod, looking down at the floor. "i apologise, mr. gojo, but it's just a few donuts. i'm sure someone in the office could fetch some for you."

"yes, i agree." he says, and you shift your gaze from the marble tiling of his office to his face. his hair is a mess, yes—but he still looks revoltingly handsome. his eyes are piercing through yours, and pieces of hair cover his face in just the right places.

you're staring a little too long and gojo finds his pulse quickening with the eye contact—but the spell he has you under is soon broken when he clears his throat.

you quickly look away, embarrassed that you were caught staring at your boss, by your boss.

"you'll pick some up for me, yeah?" his smooth and silky voice echoes through the empty space of his office.

you look at him again, and there's a gentle smile on his face; one you're all too familiar with.

you're aware of satoru's charismatic nature, his playboy-ish attitude, and all sorts of tricks he uses to make women fall head over heels for him. that didn't mean you were completely resistant to them, though—you find yourself playing with the sleeves of your blouse, your ears beginning to redden. "of course," is all you manage to say.

at least you were self-aware.

your mind was rational. should gojo satoru try to hit on you for the nth time—all it took was some self discipline to say no, and you'd like to think you had plenty.

you think the conversation is done with the way he doesn't speak another word, so you turn on your heels and make your way out of the office.

just as you touch the handle of the door, your boss adds: "i'll come with you."

you turn back to him, confused. you didn't need your boss babysitting you for a donut run, you knew his favourite flavours—it's all he ever insists on buying for lunch. "there's no need for that, mr. gojo."

satoru shakes his head in disapproval. "you don't even know my favourite flavours, miss y/n."

that was a blatant lie. he knew you knew. you were his personal donut grabber for a few months up until august, and it was only october. you suppose that it would've continued on if not for your complaints about the long lines in the morning.

nevertheless, you don't argue with him. gojo satoru was the type to get what he wants, when he wants, if he really wants it.

you smile at his disregard for the months you spent as his errand runner, and how idiotic the excuse he just used was. satoru knows he's lying through his teeth, and your smile makes him more nervous than your eye contact.

so nervous, in fact, that he takes back what he just said. "unless. . . you're fine by yourself."

you're surprised that gojo's confidence is dissipating, or that it could even fade at all. you can tell with the way he's avoiding your eye contact, exactly how you evaded his earlier—the red on the tips of his ears are much too obvious in contrast to his hair.

"i don't mind," you respond a bit too quicker than appropriate. "mr. gojo."

gojo curses himself mentally, thinking about how stupid he must sound. he's usually the one making people nervous, but he doesn't know why it's different when you look at him like that.

──────

the atmosphere is deafening in gojo's favourite bakery. you always knew he had a sweet tooth, so you expected his choice to be a spectacular one—and you weren't disappointed.

you had personally visited this bakeshop before, and the confectionery was truly as good as people made it out to be; it proved evident in the amount of people crammed into this small establishment. though, you can't tell if it was for the food or for your boss, with the way most pairs of eyes are turned in his direction.

you two spend a good five seconds looking at the menu before gojo states his order, which was exactly what you thought it would be—the lady at the cashier smiles a bit too long at satoru, before asking: "eating in?"

you want to open your mouth to say something, but he beats you to it. "of course."

it was still very well your work day. he (or maybe you and him, considering you helped him plan seventy percent of his appointments) had a meeting in 3 hours to prepare for. you think this donut adventure is already unnecessary enough—but here he is, suggesting to waste even more time eating the donuts in the bakery itself.

"we have a meeting in a bit, though. you could eat it in your office."

he looks at you with a confused look, as if he forgot that there was a meeting at all—because he did forget. gojo gasps, turning back to the lady and retracting his previous statement.

──────

gojo eats his donuts agonisingly slow and no conversation is initiated.

you're alternating between staring at both your laptops and the swirls on the wooden desk, unable to say anything because you didn't plan for such an occasion: an eating donuts with your admittedly handsome boss that makes you nervous while simultaneously planning for an important meeting occasion.

"miss y/n, you should try some."

you shift your eyes from the table to gojo, and he's holding a small piece of his donut to your lips: the powdered sugar practically calling your name.

"it's fine, i ate earlier," you decline his generous offer. "you should eat."

"i'm not asking you to eat all of them, miss y/n." he smiles at you. "just a bite. it's really good, y'know."

you sigh, reaching for his hand to take it from him—but he swiftly pulls it away and shakes his head. "open your mouth."

you feel the tips of your ears burning, blood rushing to your cheeks and you wonder how the girls he takes out manage themselves when he's like this—you've worked with him for so long, yet you can't recall a time when his gaze wouldn't make you shudder.

you think you'd stutter if you spoke one more word to him, so you save yourself from the embarrassment and bare with his request.

he feeds you the piece of sugar-coated donut, and you're sure you have powder on the corners of your lips with how it's width barely fits into your mouth.

you chew and swallow, feeling the residue of sugar on your skin.

"do you have any tissues?" you ask him, a serious expression plastered onto your face.

gojo tries to suppress the chuckle itching to escape his throat—the sugar on your lips and cheeks catch him off guard, and after a few seconds he can't help but let a small laugh slip. you stand up from your chair, scanning the room for any boxes of tissues you could lay your hands on.

he stands up as well, shaking his head—still giggling.

"it's not funny," you frown, and the smile on his face only grows wider—you're too cute for your own good when you sulk. "stop laughing."

you're not sure if you want to punch him or let him giggle to himself. for some reason, seeing you embarrassed is a great cause of joy to him. you can't bring yourself to tell him to shut up; you always imagine doing just that, it's strange how you couldn't muster the courage just when you needed it most.

"it's quite funny," gojo's laughter eventually calms down.

he leans closer to you and his right hand gently holds the side of your jaw—he uses his thumb to gently wipe the sugar off your cheek, and then your lips. "i got it."

his thumb stays on your bottom lip after dusting the sugar away. his pupils are locked onto the surface of your lips, which were glossy in the harsh light of his office: they looked so soft.

before long, they trail up your face until he's looking directly into your eyes: and this time you're not nervous, you don't look away, and your heart is completely calm.

satoru's fingers are easy on your skin. he handles you like fragile glass, as if he doesn't want to break you: and it's the same for the way he looks at you. gentle.

you're reluctant to speak because the way satoru has his thumb on your bottom lip sends shivers down your spine. you feel breathless.

you don't want this feeling to leave, not just yet.

a few seconds of tension pass. his hand moves back to your jaw, and your nervousness returns when gojo satoru leans his tall figure even closer to you; his head tilting ever so slightly.

it's a random thursday morning when you discover a few more good qualities gojo satoru possesses: his lips and his hands. maybe the way he kisses, too—it's slow and precise, unlike his attitude. he tastes sickeningly sweet and it makes you want to savour this moment even more.

you promised yourself you wouldn't fall victim to gojo satoru. yet, you just can't pull away: instead finding yourself slithering your arms around his neck and your chest pressing against his.

gojo's hands are wandering down to your waist and he's desperate to have you as close to him as possible, showing in the way he tries to close the already small gap between you two.

it takes only a fraction of a second for a small thought to form in your mind: just how many women have been in this position?

you quickly forget about that thought, though—you think it's pointless to regret it now, gojo satoru kisses you too good to be full of remorse.

gojo thinks he could stay like this: kiss you all morning, afternoon and pay you overtime if it meant he could be this close to you for just a bit longer.

there's hints of neediness in gojo's touch—as if he'd been waiting for this forever, wanting to relish it before it ends. his few seconds of bliss don’t last very long though, because you're soon pulling away—gasping for air.

he sighs mockingly, his hands sliding down from your waist to your hips. "can't last longer than 10 seconds, miss y/n?"

of course he would say some cocky shit like that—you'd forgotten for a minute that this was the same, arrogant mr. gojo you always knew, and no kiss (however heavenly) was going to change that.

"i'm sorry that i don't go on dates with every man that breathes."

gojo smirks at you after you say those words. "come on. just because i go on dates with people, doesn't mean i kiss them like this."

"sure you don't." your jealousy shows a bit too much in your reply, and he finds himself smiling even harder.

"is someone jealous?" he teases you again, rubbing circles with his thumb against the flesh of your hips.

you feel flustered, knowing that you're definitely done for now—he saw right through you. "nobody is jealous, mr. gojo."

"stop it with the formality. just call me satoru."

"it's still office hours. it's only polite."

gojo rolls his eyes, sighing in the process. you grin a little at him, knowing that this was the first thing you denied him of today—complying with the donuts and the kissing was already spoiling him enough.

"then i suppose there's only after work," there's his nauseatingly charming voice again—low and smooth. he knows exactly what he's doing to you, and you know it too. "i'm off after 6."

you think long and hard about whether you want to be mean and add this to the list of things you've declined to do for him. the ratio was starting to get really unbalanced—but you remember the way his hands touch you and how his lips greet yours so lovingly: and you think that there's no point turning back now.

"my boss doesn't let me off until after 8, though." you try to poke at his buttons—you put on a fake pout, knowing you’ll accept his invitation anyway—but gojo satoru is eternally patient when it came to things he sincerely desired.

"fuck your boss." he says, "he'll be fine with it."

you laugh at his response. you never thought you would see the day gojo curses at himself, after all, he's so self-obsessed: but you suppose you've seen—and tasted—parts of him that you never knew existed.

"then i'll see you at 6, mr. gojo."

what was the harm in discovering more?

230323 — i kinda hate this but.. wtv… anyway i couldn’t be bothered to proofread have my brainrot of gojo in a suit Mmmm yumyum

[yeondollie]

ɪᴛ ᴀʟᴍᴏsᴛ ᴡᴏʀᴋᴇᴅ ♡ 𝜗𝜚

. . paring ; toxic! yeonjun x fem! reader

. . warnings ; ANGST .ᐟ, fighting, drabble, explicit language, crying, degration, junnie is mean, kinda? fluff, apologizing, good ending, nicknames (baby, pretty girl, princess), i thinkkk that it :D !

a/n ; hiiii guys !! i missed you so so much im so sorry for the sudden break . . i had a lot going on n stuff but i'm feeling better and back to writing fics :> ! i was listening to it almost worked-tv girl this morning and omgg i love tv girl smm but i needed to make a fic about something like this soo enjoy ᥫ᭡

“why the fuck are you so dramatic?” yeonjun scoffed, looking up at you as he sat on the couch. you two had been fighting for what seemed like forever but in reality, it had been on and off for about a week. yeonjun was pisses, livid even because of the way you’ve been acting.

you had blown up his phone, went on a drive at three in the morning, and even blew up his friends phone because after another argument about god knows what he had left. he left without saying anything and to you that meant possibly another woman.

as he stared up at you in anger, you suddenly started to feel bad. maybe you had took it too far this time, maybe you needed to have some trust in him. “jun.. i was just worried. thats all..” you say, in a quiet and gentle voice.

you were never one to get anger or yell or even cuss; he was the complete opposite of you. “_____ i dont give a fuck! you’re so clingy it’s disgusting..” his face made it clear, he wasn’t lying. he meant every word that came out of his mouth.

it was coming out again. not word vomit, not even actual vomit but just pure tears. they started dwelling in your eyes and suddenly your vision went blurry. “y-yeonjun..” he noticed your shaky voice, shaky hands, and most importantly- glassy eyes.

his heart started to crack and he realized just what he had said to you. his mind went blank and all he could do was slowly wrap his arms around you. when you called him ‘yeonjun’ rather than ‘jun’ or ‘jjunnie’ his heart stopped.

“i-i didn’t mean to.. u-upset you yeonjun. i was j-just worried.” while not hugging him back, you just stood there- limp. he desperately held onto you. this was the first time that either two of you have had any type of physical contact in weeks.

his words started to sink in. no not into you but into him. had he really said that to you? his hands were all over you. caressing your face, hugging you, even planting kisses all over your pretty face. “i-i didn’t mean any of that princess.. i-i where are you going?”

before you could reply to him, you walked your way to your bedroom. locking the door before you slumped on your bed and started crying into the pillows. you could hear loud banging on the door accompanied by a few “im sorrys” from time to time.

eventually, you fell asleep. all the crying did really tire you out and you just wanted to forget about the situation at the moment. it was now 7:38pm and it was silent. silent outside, completely dark, and yet you could see your phone light up, over and over again.

jjun !!

im sorry baby i didn’t mean any of it i miss you please im sososo sorry pretty girl r u sleeping? sorry i love you so much

you

im awake now come in my room plz i miss u more baby

you slowly hear the door crack open and your boyfriend walks in, his glassy eyes staining his originally cold ones. “_____ i.. please im sorry i didn’t mean to hurt my b-baby..” he carefully sits in your bed, placing a hand on your head and comforting you.

safe to say it worked, it always did. here was the thing, it was always a cycle with yeonjun. there was no “time apart” or even a break of some sorts. he always convinced you to stay or hear him out. and you did just that, time and time again.

“i-its okay jun.. come here please.” you sniffle and he enters the covers and wraps his arms around you. he was so warm, so comforting it almost made you forget what he made you feel like when you weren’t in his arms. the next hour and a half consisted of his corny compliments to get you back where he needed you.

“you’re so pretty princess, you know that?” he whispers in your ear, planting kisses all over your face. he was trying to butter you but god it was working. you could feel the butterflies in your stomach and the heat rising up to your face. “junnie..” you cover your face in embarrassment.

yet he removes your hands and starts smiling at your flustered face. he cant help it. you look so cute, so gorgeous, so beautiful he couldnt help but continue to stare and smile at you. “its true.. but im really sorry i didn’t mean any of that. i..i really wanna make us work pretty girl.”

god just that nickname got you latching onto him for dear life like he was gonna run away from you. he wanted to make it work. just for you guys? your heart was touched yet a part of you doubted every word that came out of his mouth. but maybe this time he’d be different.

“i know jun.. me too. i want you. i want you more than anything.” you smile, feeling content for the time being.

a/n ; i know i’ve been gone for FOREVER and im so so so so so sorry ! school was stressing me but im on spring break heheheh :0 so expect more fics! (i hope)

[partycatty]

Right hear me out on the new johnny skin

Please can you write something for this ugly bitch the shock worn off and now im delusional

(Im sorry for asking for this he just looks so stupid i couldnt not)

I HATE YOU FOR REMINDING ME OF THIS ALLGAHJGIAKG

johnny cage > carrot

oh my god he looks like a carrot

warnings: look at him.

[ masterlist ]

you're sitting on johnny's couch, as it's become a regular occurrence for you to waste your time in his home. your phone becomes your best friend nearly every time, as his career of being a celebrity commonly rips his attention from you more than you're happy with. your bubbling frustration with the situation dies down when you hear his front door unlock.

"babe," he calls through the cracked door. his voice is high pitched, like he's hiding something and ashamed about it. "i-i need you to do me a favor."

"yeah?" you reply, eyes still transfixed on your phone for the moment.

"i lost a bet," he shamefully admits. "and i need you to not laugh. if you laugh, i will die."

"you'll die?" you repeat, now intrigued by whatever he's on about. he falls silent, the door barely opening more.

"baby," he tries to sound sweet but it sounds closer to him being on the verge of tears. "is it true... that thing... where like, you lose feelings if your man gets one bad haircut?"

oh, no.

"depends," you shrug, making your way to the door. "if you buzzed it, i won't be able to look at you until it grows back."

"i didn't... buzz it," he mutters. "it's... please don't laugh."

his dodging is starting to confuse and annoy you, so you walk over and pull the door completely open. the sight in front of you pulls a horrified gasp, which then turns into amusement like you've never seen. johnny's hair was gone on the sides, and a vomit-green wisp sat on top. johnny frowns with large eyes. it kind of reminds you of that really sad hamster meme. maybe if you focused enough you could imagine sad violin music at the scene.

"jo—" your attempt at saying his name comfortingly is ripped apart when a snort creeps up on you, and you slap a hand over your mouth. tears well up in your eyes as you fight for your life to not laugh.

"don't," he pleads, arms flopping to his sides. "don't laugh."

you let out a cackle through your hand, slapping another hand over it in a stupid attempt to hold it in.

"it's not funny—" in a while, you think, it wouldn't be. sure, he has the haircut, but you're the one looking at it regularly. "it's not funny."

"you're laughing. i will die."

"how in the genuine fuck did this come to be." your eyes feel like they're going to pop out of your skull from straining yourself so hard. johnny can't even look at you as he explains.

"kung lao and i made a bet that i could cut more fruit than him with his hat."

"you bet your appearance on a hat that's not yours."

"it didn't look that hard! it's a sharp hat!"

"okay, so how did the... haircut come to be??"

"he..." johnny rubs his face, groaning. "he had me walk into a barber and told the guy to fuck my shit up. he said that to the barber. oh my god i look like an idiot, don't i."

"you..." you search for something, anything to compliment him on. your eyes settle on his orange button-up and you stifle a snort. "you kind of look like a carrot."

johnny pulls his head up to meet your eyes. "what."

"it's... it's kinda cute," you murmur with the most strained grin of your life. you step forward and grab the entirety of the hair left on his head, tugging upward. "it's like... plucking you from the soil."

"ow. you're an asshole," he adds, not entirely serious. you try so hard to keep it together, so hard. but his furrowed brows, frown, and carrot-coordinated outfit finally make you snap. you double over in laughter, similar to a hyena. it is quite literally the funniest thing you'd ever seen in your entire life and you laugh so hard you lose your breath.

"IT'S NOT FUNNY!" johnny pouts, stomping his foot and crossing his arms while you howl and slap him around as you try to ground yourself. "I LOOK LIKE A DUMBASS."

"OH MY GOD I'M LOSING IT, I'M GONNA THROW UP— YOU LOOK LIKE A CARROT —"

"STOP SAYING THAT."

[ifimdreaming]

its all my fault

quinn hughes x reader || angst

authors note: sorta rewrote this but i still dont love it. mild cw: alcohol, fighting, toxic relationship protrayed

word count: 1.6k

-

“why do you act like ive never told you this bothers me? Every single time you go out, you stay all night and get drunk, and then come home at 4am and act oblivious as to how I could possibly be upset at you.” you say knowing that talking to him in this state is like arguing with a brick wall.

Without answering you, Quinn stumbles around the apartment discarding clothes from his body on his way towards the bathroom, and you watch as they fall carelessly to the floor.

It wasnt like this was an everyday occurrence, but it was happening more and more often and you knew it was getting worse. In the beginning of your relationship the two of you used to go out together. Always together. 

And it wasnt that you didnt like going out anymore, it was just that you didnt like the way he acted when you went out with him. So you stopped going. It was the same everytime. Always getting drunk whether you were drinking or not and never caring about spending any time with you at all. It was always about making himself feel good. Or maybe just to feel nothing. 

To be honest you didnt know why he was drinking to the point of complete and utter insensibility, and it hurt you the first time you brought it up to him. It was over dinner and he insisted you both finish a second bottle of wine. Again. On a thursday night;

-

“Why dont we just save it for the weekend? I dont mind having a glass or two over dinner, but it seems unnecessary to be drinking so much on a weekday, no?” you say cautiously.

Your boyfriend is sitting across from you with a hazy look in his eyes. you watch him fiddle with the bottle of wine as he places it on his lap momentarily. His left hand is around the throat of the bottle as he begins anxiously picking at the cork with his right hand. 

“Are you insinuating something?” Quinn says without making eye contact. 

His eyes stay peering down at the bottle in his lap as he speaks, then at your both empty glasses that are sat across from each other at the table and you can feel the heat in your cheeks intensifying. 

“Im just trying to look out for you..its not that i d-” you start but are quickly cut off by your half-drunk boyfriend.

“Then whyd you bring it up? What does the day of the week have to do with it?” He says with a mocking tone.

Quinn didnt raise his voice. He never would. But honestly what he said caught you off guard. It wasnt that you were scared of him, you were just worried about what he was doing to himself, his career, his relationship with you, his future - so many things were running through your head. 

You knew it was all getting worse too, and it was hard for you to admit it to yourself because you knew he was refusing to admit it himself. His absolute defensiveness is what you knew would be the hardest wall to tear down.

“Forget it. Lets just finish dinner, ok?” you say picking up your fork and trying to just forget the whole conversation. You hoped he would just forget about the alcohol altogether but deep down you knew it would be brought up again.

-

Following after him seemed like the most daunting task in the world right now. It was like living with a teenager at this point. And you knew it wasnt your job to take care of him. You wouldnt put up with that. 

But its been weeks, and here you are. Putting up with it.

“Quinn, we need to talk about this. Can you come out here?” you say as you begin down the hall to find him.

Although you say this calmly, as you walk further down the hallway you can hear him vomiting on the other side of the bathroom door and your anger suddenly intensifies. It makes you cringe hearing the sounds of his booze emptying into the toilet. Mostly because of how much it frustrated you how often this occurred.

Regardless of the state he was in when he walked in the front door, you knew once he was done throwing up his guts, he would be sober enough to talk to you at least 70% sensibly.

Waiting was the worst part. Recalling all of the other nights he came home in this state. Fearing he’ll completely ignore your attempts to talk this through. Worrying this might end up the night he finally lands himself in the hospital. 

After hearing silence for more than a minute you softly knock on the bathroom door.

“Just give me a fucking minute… Please?” Quinn says with a growl in his voice that he softly lets up as he speaks, knowing he shouldnt be talking to you that way.

You want to walk away so badly, but manage to stand your ground. 

“Im waiting right here.” you say proudly, but also, defeatedly.

Honestly you didn't understand how you had so much patience this late at night.

Finally Quinn opens the door. He slowly walks out towards you and looks terrified to face you. You didnt want your relationship to be this way. The overarching feeling of dread lingering over the both of you.

“Can you just try and understand where im coming from?” You begin to say,

“Just put yourself in my perspective.” You add quietly.

His eyes were clearly tired and you could see them gently squinting as he stares at your lips. Trying desperately to comprehend every word coming out of your mouth.

Maybe he wasnt getting it. Maybe he genuinely didnt understand how big of a toll his drinking has taken on your relationship - On your lives.

“Its not that easy.” He says in a whisper, matching his tone with yours.

“Ok?... Its not easy? I know its not that easy.” you try to hold back the disgust in your voice as you say this, but fail.

You close your eyes and air lets out from your nose in disapproval. You cant help it. Under communicating was what Quinn did best. He knew exactly how to piss you off and it was working right off the bat. 

“Are you going to let me explain or are you just gonna keep up the disappointed girlfriend act?” Quinn says as he looks at you through the doorway of the bathroom, leaning his shoulder on the wall.

He watches you as you uncross your arms, trying to appear open to whatever he is going to say next. But he stays silent which infuriates you even more.

“Go ahead Quinn! Its about goddamn time you explain yourself!” you knew yelling is not the right approach but just couldnt contain your frustration any longer.

Quinn takes a step towards you and you can tell he is desperately holding himself back from just giving up on this conversation altogether. 

He runs his hands through his hair, holding himself back from his anger and looks utterly defeated. And suddenly it is really hard to be angry at him. You can tell he has no idea how to express himself to you in this moment.

You were scared if you got any closer to him you would just hold him and never let go.

“I dont know whats wrong with me… I dont want to make excuses to you because i know you can see right through my bullshit.” Quinn begins and his voice wavers, “But i dont know whats wrong.” He repeats.

His eyes are bloodshot and glossy as he peers into yours. 

“Its unforgivable. How ive treated you? Its horrible.  makes me feel like shit to think about that.” He says.

His apology of sorts made you sad. You felt sorry for him, but mostly you wondered how much of this he'll remember in the morning.

You fight back tears as you continue looking at him without a word. You were afraid if you spoke it would open up the flood gates of your tears and you didnt want that.

Quinn scans your face looking for any clue whatsoever as to what you could be thinking before he brings his gaze back to your eyes. You couldn't stand the prolonged eye contact any longer so you look down at his fingers and watch as he begins to pick at his cuticles, his anxiety clearly getting the better of him. 

His hands are red and calloused and the only thing you can focus on. Suddenly the urge to hold them takes over.

You walk towards him and grab his hands in yours. Quinn immediately accepts your touch. He steps even closer towards your body and rests his chin at the top of your head, your forehead resting lightly on his chest. And for some reason the simplicity of his embraces finally brings you to tears.

You sob into his chest and he grips the back of your neck tightly, your hair wrapping messily in his hand. His other hand wraps around your body, pulling you into a tight hug. The sounds of your sobbing fills the room and almost begins to embarrass you with how loud it is.

Your arms grasped Quinn so strongly it almost hurt you to hold him that tightly. Everything hurt. Your throat burned as you continued crying, your eyes stung from your mascara bleeding into them, your body was physically and mentally exhausted from staying up all night worrying about Quinn. 

He was all you could think about and you really wouldn't be surprised if he was beginning to lose oxygen from your grip on him in this moment.

“Its all my fault. Everything.” Quinn chokes out and its then that you realize he is crying too.

He strokes your head gently and you let him console you.

But honestly you didn't know if allowing him to console you after being the reason for your pain was toxic or romantic.  

-

-