#had high high hopes for this film and for the most part i enjoyed it a lot

[pop-punklouis]

-

[rcmclachlan]

wind finding

buck/tommy

8x14/8x15 spec fic

I wrote this right before my first morning meeting, so if it's rushed and makes no sense, I'm well aware. Enjoy!

+

The very second Tommy went with helicopters, people came crawling out of the woodwork to offer their two cents on everything from industry politics (all dangled carrots and empty promises) to what constitutes a good operator (whoever's actually signing your paycheck at the time) to which jobs would bring in the most money (ditching helicopters entirely in favor of planes) to the best ways to manage stress (avoiding utility altogether).

But the one piece of advice Tommy has never forgotten came from one of his first operators in Afghanistan, who had a face like a mountain crag and every word that came out of his mouth had to first find its way around the wad of dip permanently attached to his bottom gums.

"Being able to find the wind is the only skill you need to nail down, or else you're gonna frag out faster'n you can say 'high as bat pussy'. The odds of being able to see the leaves on a fuckin' tree are less'n nothin' out here, never mind spottin' a fuckin' windsock, Kinard. The second you get in the air, you just listen to your bird; she'll tell you point blank where the wind is, so long as you've got your ears on."

Then Warrant Officer Harold hocked a loogie the size of a crow at the ground and stormed away, shouting, "PRIVATE KEATON, IF YOU DON'T STOP FONDLIN' THAT REFUEL PROBE I'M GONNA SHOVE IT IN YOUR DICK HOLE!"

Twenty years later, Tommy's in the cockpit of his favorite AW139 with the mouth of a glock pressed right above his brain stem, and the second he achieves optimal altitude, he finds the wind.

"You make it look so effortless, like it's just something your body does. Like breathing," Evan had said during their one and only legal flight together, like he wasn't furious that Tommy had woken him up at 3:30 in the morning on his day off to go for a joyride. Even as the sun peeked over the horizon to see if the coast was clear, it couldn't hope to match the sheer brightness of Evan's smile.

If being able to find the wind wasn't practically part of his autonomic nervous system at this point in his career, Tommy'd have no business being in the air at all.

"Remember," the guy with the gun, Remo, murmurs into the headset he'd forced Tommy to give him. "Top of the Aon. We're making the switch there."

"Nakatomi Tower would be better for this sort of thing," Tommy mutters.

Instead of being whipped with the gun, the speaker in his ear crackles with Remo's laughter. "I was more partial to the second film."

Tommy grips the cyclic a little tighter. "That's the worst thing you've admitted to so far."

It's not. Bombing multiple police stations was bad enough, but one of them was right next to a school. The last thing that came through the comms before Remo's buddies hacked it was the 118 being called to 309 Lucas Ave in Westlake North for fire containment and emergency medical assistance.

He glances at the dashboard. Tucked right above the radar is a little photo he'd printed out at his local CVS on a whim while he was getting a 'Happy 80th birthday, grandma!" card for Sal. It's barely anything: a portrait forced to inhabit a 4x4 square, so the quality is extra shitty. But the man in it is smiling brighter than a sunrise over the ocean, and Tommy's heart gives a pitiful thud just looking at it.

Melton would've shit a brick if he'd known about it. Despite what Hollywood would have the general populace believe, having pictures of loved ones on a pilot's dashboard can be a hell of a distraction. It goes against LAFD regs.

But having spent the last month reacquainting himself with Evan's smile and the wild hope that they could have a future together, it felt right to tack the photo up. He was professional enough that he wouldn't let it get in the way of the job.

He thinks of Evan watching him from the bed this morning, tangled up in sheets that smelled like the both of them. He thinks of the blurred, sleep-damp smile on Evan's face as Tommy hid the evidence of what they got up to the previous night.

"You're covering up a masterpiece," Evan had said, voice a little blurred with sleep. "That's some of my best work."

"Let me guess: if I connect all the hickeys, it's gonna turn into a dolphin or something?"

Evan had thrown back his head on the pillow and cackled, and Tommy had thought, We could build a life on this.

Except Evan is pulling tiny bodies out of the ruins of Gratts Elementary, Tommy's got a gun to his head, and Remo's little cell of opportunistic assholes are using the bombings across the city to distract from the 51% blockchain hack they pulled off two hours ago. Tommy doesn't understand crypto for the life of him, but what he got from Harbor's newest probie was something something a blockchain’s distributed ledger was changed and double spending was enabled. At the time, it seemed like a lot of bullshit that boiled down to "they now control the invisible internet money conveyor belt," but at least 200 people are dead, and according to Remo, there are still 70 bombs wired and ready to explode on his say-so.

Unless Tommy flies him and his weird, silent friend to the Aon, where someone's going to be waiting to whisk them away to all points nowhere. Tommy knows exactly how this is going to shake out: the second he lands the bird, Remo's going to bury a bullet in Tommy's brain before disappearing into the wind, leaving the world in shambles. But it won't be enough. Remo will get bored before long—the smart, psychotic ones always do—and then pop back up at some point to do even worse if he has the opportunity.

Ten years from now, they'll make a documentary series about all this. Evan will watch it, because he's contractually obligated to seek out things that will hurt him for some reason, and it'll probably be like cutting open a just-healed wound. He'll spiral until Maddie or one of the others forces him to stop. The series will be called something stupid, like Finding Remo.

That is, of course, if Remo has the opportunity.

Swallowing, throat clicking, Tommy glances at the photo on the dashboard. Evan beams at him from where he's posing like the dorkiest Greek god in the pantheon on top of a boulder somewhere on the Temescal Canyon Trail. That had been a good day. It seemed like the start of a lifetime of them.

He looks away and out the windshield where, up ahead, the Aon stands tall against the sky. But standing taller, and closer, is Library Tower.

Exhaling, Tommy keeps his eyes straight. "Listen, you can put the gun away. It's not the threat you think it is."

"No?" Remo presses the glock harder against the back of Tommy's head, and Tommy stifles a wince. "You think I won't shoot you?"

"Oh, I know you're gonna shoot me," Tommy says, almost cheerfully. He refuses to look any closer at that. "I just don't think you're gonna do it while we're hanging 900 feet above the city."

The pause that follows is probably only a second or two, but it feels like a decade. Finally, the press of metal disappears, and Tommy hears the safety clicking back on.

"You seem pretty calm about all this," Remo says, curiosity making his already light voice positively airy.

Tommy shrugs. "Last year I stole one of these to fly some friends into a category 5 hurricane, then landed it on a capsized cruise ship. This? Doesn't even break a 6.5 on my Crazy Shit-o-meter."

Remo laughs, and Tommy hears the tell tale rustling of the gun being holstered. Thankfully the rotors completely drown out the sound of his heart pounding, which would otherwise be audible from space.

"Let me just say that of all the pilots I could've kidnapped, you're by far the most entertaining."

"Thank you," Tommy says seriously.

Below them, the Walt Disney Concert Hall is lit up for the night's show. They'll be passing the BoA Financial Center, and from there it's only a couple of minutes until their destination.

"Hey, uh, since this does end with me getting shot," Tommy ventures, trying to keep a lid on the massive amounts of adrenaline that are being dumped into his bloodstream. He must be visibly vibrating. "Could I... could I make a call?"

Remo snorts. "Let me guess: 9-1-1?"

Okay, that's kind of funny. Tommy cracks a grin. "Not quite. I have someone... I have someone, and there's something important I need to say."

One of the drawbacks of a helicopter's cockpit is there's no rearview mirror, which would really come in handy right now. He has no idea what Remo's face is doing. He has no idea if he's looking at his silent companion and having some kind of wordless conversation, if Remo is the kind of guy who would grant the last wish of someone he's using.

Finally, after what feels like years, Remo says, "You get ten seconds. You'd better make them count."

He's done more with less. "That's fair. But I'm either going to need you to call it for me or let me hook into an open line."

The air inside the helicopter seems to squeeze inward. "An open line?"

"My... my boyfriend's LAFD." He bites down on the inside of his cheek as they pass the BoA Center on the left, and hopes against all hope that Remo isn't too much of a homophobe to deny the request.

But surprise, surprise. Remo only laughs and says, "How romantic. Urs, get him on an open line to his firefighter boyfriend. It's the least we can do after everything he's done to help us."

Tommy can't see what Urs is doing, but his headset crackles with the familiar static of a live comms line.

"Ten seconds," Remo reminds him. Below them, the roof of Library Tower seems both miles away and impossibly close.

It's all he needs.

"This is LAFD pilot Tom Kinard. Evan Buckley, if you're listening, look in the drawer to the right of the microwave. There's something in there for you." He quietly undoes his harness and kills the engine. "It's yours. It's always been yours."

Just as the AW139 is about to clear the roof of the tower, Tommy shoulders open the door and kicks off into the sky.

The wind is blowing southeast.

+

"N-No, no, no, hey, it's okay, don't fight it, you're okay—hey, I need some help in here! He's waking up! Tommy, they're going to take it out, just wait."

There's a tree trunk growing out of his throat, but trying to move it is impossible, and the effort takes everything out of him. So he gives up, gagging and drifting in and out, then decides to just climb the entire length of the tree to get a look at the view. From there, it's just a matter of finding the wind and floating away with it.

The next time he surfaces, there's something hard over his face, warm and humid, and when the clouds clear from his vision he's able to see two things: Evan's wide-eyed expression of relief, and a giant orange poster board in Lucy's familiar, blocky handwriting that says 2 DAYS SINCE KINARD LAST TAUNTED GOD.

There's a 1 in front of the 2, but it's crossed out.

"Hey!" Evan breathes, and the mattress at Tommy's hip dips a little under his weight. "H-Hey, there you are. Morning! Well, not, uh, morning exactly—it's like 8 o'clock at night—but you're awake!"

"I am." It's muffled by the oxygen mask.

"How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?" Evan leans in, blocking Tommy's view of anything else. He hasn't shaved in a bit, and the hair at his temples looks a little greasy. He's the most gorgeous thing Tommy's ever laid eyes on.

"No pain," Tommy rasps. "M'body's full'f cotton."

Evan smiles a little. "Yeah, they've got you on the good stuff. I can't tell you how many bones you've broken, because it seems like they're still finding them. The doctor did say he'd never seen a pneumothorax quite like yours before, though. He keeps bringing other doctors in to look at your scans. I think a couple of them cancelled their surgeries so they could watch yours yesterday. You're like a celebrity. You've got, like, four tubes in you sucking the excess air out."

For a second, Tommy has no idea what he's talking about. Pneumothorax? How'd he manage that? Lucy's gonna give him shit for the next year.

Then, like a breeze kicking up from the west, it all comes sweeping in. Something starts beeping a little erratically. "Did—did he... he didn't... did... R-Remo...?"

The words are slow and thick, like they have to climb over the broken branches the tree had left behind, but understanding lights up Evan's face almost immediately. He thinks Evan must be holding his hand, because there's pressure on his fingers that feels like it's coming from another room.

"He didn't," Evan says softly, but there's a sparkle of brutal satisfaction in his eyes that Tommy can't look away from. "The helicopter went down like a sack of bricks after you ditched it. It took out the coffee shop in the library. Before you ask: they close at 2:30, so no one had been in there for hours. No one was hurt. Except, well, what's his name."

Tommy closes his eyes and breathes in the canned, almost metallic stuff they're feeding him through the mask. It's so pure, it makes him a little dizzy.

"Good." His sinuses prickle hotly. "Good. That's..."

"Hey, hey, shhh," Evan coos, and Tommy opens his eyes just in time to see Evan press his mouth lushly to the curve of the oxygen mask. Despite whatever they're giving him, Tommy's lips ache with the need to feel that kiss.

"Evan," he whispers.

When he pulls back, Evan's got a wide, almost gleeful grin tugging the corners of his mouth to his ears. He looks like he's about to blow up a Gotham City school bus to try and draw out Batman. Instead, he lifts his left hand.

The lights in the room are low, so the ring on Evan's finger doesn't really glint as brightly as it should, but the light in Evan's eyes is almost blinding.

"Drawer to the right of the microwave, huh?" He laughs a little, like it's bubbling out of him, like he can't stop it. "How long had that been in there?"

It takes a moment for Tommy to pick through the cobwebs in his brain. "Mm... got it... after we did that flight over... hm... Channel Islands."

Evan stares at him, then his bubbly laughter morphs into maniacal cackling.

Tommy glances down at his hands to see if they gave him a button for the pain meds he's on. He's going to dilaudid himself into oblivion.

"That was four months into..." Evan uses their joined hands to wipe away the tears beading on his lashes. "When I asked you to move in, you ran away so fast you left a trail of dust behind you. But you bought an engagement ring four months into dating me?"

"In my defense," Tommy says, suddenly very jealous of Remo for dying a fiery death in the LA Library coffee shop. "I knew... you were it for me. You, on the other hand, had no idea... hm... what you wanted. Asking me... to move in wasn't—it wasn't about me."

Pursing his lips, Evan ducks his head and doesn't deny it, but when he tilts his chin up, the only thing on his face is bare, earnest truth. "I knew I wanted you, Tommy, any way I could have you. I didn't know what that looked like, and not knowing made me... I don't know if you've noticed, but I tend to cling when I panic."

Tommy thinks back over the last month—how every time he showed up on Eddie's doorstep, Evan practically threw himself at Tommy, clutching at him like he was afraid Tommy might go back down the walkway and leave; how getting up to take a piss or grab a Gatorade meant leaving the bed, and the look on Evan's face every time was like watching a car crash—and squeezes Evan's hand. He thinks he does, at least.

"Do you... know what it looks like now?" It takes almost all his strength to get the words out. A wave of exhaustion rolls over him, and he pinwheels a little with it. Kicking his way back to the surface takes concentration.

Evan lifts his hand again. The ring fits his finger perfectly. "It looks like you, about to fall asleep."

Another wave bowls him over, and he fights to keep his eyes open. Lucy's stupid poster blurs like someone's upturned a can of Sprite over it.

"I'll be here when you wake up, and so will half the LAPD and a bunch of people from the FBI. You're the hero of the day," Evan murmurs, and Tommy grumbles a little. "But, hey, Tommy. Before you—how did you know? How'd you know I was it for you?"

Even as he's being pulled down into the dark, he looks up, and he sees the surface roiling, dancing with the light of an old sunrise that couldn't hold a candle to the phenomenon of Evan Buckley's smile.

"Found th' wind," Tommy mumbles, drifting down, down, down. "'s easy. Like breathing."

[fawnnlvr]

club infatuation | spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x bombshell!reader

masterlist

summary: in which spencer reid decides to attend a club to experience what he didn't in his early 20s and there, he meets a beautiful woman who volunteers to show him why one should enjoy clubbing

word count: 3.1k

author's note: hiiiiii :3 i hope you all enjoy this. i know i did while writing it. i tried something new with the format of my writing so i hope its alright. thank you for reading!!! maybe part 2. sorry this reading is so long. UPDATE: i wrote this right after i found that studies showed that dancing can help with mental health. i have a strong need to rewrite it now... :(

The club was loud.

Music blared throughout the establishment with colorful flashing lights from the dance floor occasionally leaving him partially blind. This was not Spencer's normal scene. He wasn't too keen on crowded places, especially breeding grounds for human fluids and bacteria which is amplified with the factors of alcohol and the high of having letting loose for a night out.

Spencer wove through the crowd of people, politely excusing himself as he did his best to try not to make contact with anyone. He came to the club for one thing and one thing only.

Fun.

Well he wanted to experience fun. He was nearing his late twenties, his entire life filled with further advancing his knowledge and brain power with the help of his eidetic memory. Due to this memory, he has never once remembered a time where he ever felt normal. Like he belonged. Like he could consider himself apart of the rest of the people his age. He has long come to terms that something like that wasn't possible, yet there was always a desire to experience it. Just for one simple night.

Normally, his weekends and leisure time off of work were filled with 'boring topics' his coworkers didn't consider fun in the slightest. Any chance for Spencer to try and connect with the BAU outside of work through film festivals, horror movie showings, and science fiction conventions were all turned down without a spare thought.

Spencer was used to being alone. He was so his entire life, so he led himself to believe that the rejections of his colleagues didn't affect him much but it all so did. His colleagues possessed a knowledge that wasn't in his realms of understanding and that were the abilities to socialize so easily with others. When out at bars, he'd watch the girls easily make friends with a group of girls they meet and Morgan would always find a way to flirt with girls to the point where he would quickly leave the function with somebody in his arms. Spencer, wasn't quite like them.

He wasn't too sure why he chose to go this club in particular. It was a twenty minute subway ride from his home, newly opened which meant heavily popular, and most importantly, he never had a good time at clubs, but he decided on a whim, that tonight would be the night to change that.

Now Spencer was sat at the bar, seeking asylum for his sensitive hearing and eyes away from the dance floor. He asked the bartender for a mocktail, carefully making sure that he participated in safe and healthy behaviors as he is already in a place he felt uncomfortable in.

He held the drink up to his lips, taking a small sip as he let his eyes wander over his environment. The main center was filled with a lot of people dancing fervently to a pop song with more drum beats than a marching band and the constant repetition of one syllable of a word that fades into a remix of another pop song. He watched as couples drunkenly put their hands on one another. He furrowed his eyebrows at the corny smirk a man would have as he introduced himself to a group of women. Then finally, his eyes roamed towards the booths near the corners of the club, tucked in a place that was separated with a velvet rope.

Within those booths held the prettiest girl he has probably ever come across.

You.

You sat in the booth, your legs crossed over one another as you leaned back into your seat. Your booth was surrounded by a few people, all of whom looking nice but for some reason, Spencer couldn't tear his eyes off you.

He didn't mean to stare with the intent of lust or romantic pursuence, but simple admiration. You had a unique beauty he could have only ever imagined in fantasy books, but when the human mind imagines something not seen before and creatively put together, it gets blurry. Yet you were like the ethereal goddess of a fantasy book being brought into real life.

The way you carried yourself, the energy that surrounded you that he could feel even meters away, and your features made it almost impossible for him to turn away. Keyword being almost.

It seemed as if you had this feeling that somebody was staring, very intensely, and your eyes quickly glanced in the direction it was coming from. Spencer felt the heat rise to his cheeks as he hastened turned away, taking another sip of his drink with nervous gulp. His adams apple bobbing up and down to emphasize his racing heart.

His eyes betrayed him by flickering back so soon after the initial eye contact and you were still looking at him. Instead of your body facing those at your booth, it was now open towards him, arms crossed as your eyes freely roamed his entire body before stopping at his face.

Spencer could've sworn he saw you bit your lip but the lighting of the club made the validity of his eyes seem weak. He felt as if all his senses became numb the more he stared.

You stared at him with half lidded eyes, giving the effect of being simply tired or maybe your eyes were strained from the events of the day.

The only thing that snapped him out of his daze once again was when you broke away your gaze to quickly mutter some words to your friends; an apologetic yet happy smile on your face as you stood up, waving goodbye.

The bouncer that was stationed at the section protected by velvet ropes had opened it for you and Spencer noticed that you were walking in the direct path towards him. His mind started to race. Did you think he was creepy? Was the staring too much? Were you about to throw him out? He had gotten the feeling that you were a V.I.P guest since you were in an inclusive area so maybe you held power to throw out whomever you pleased.

Having an IQ of 187 did not help him at all in making a quick decision on what to do as you neared.

"Hi." You smiled as you sat down in the seat beside him, body fully facing him as you rested your arm on the bar table to rest your head on.

"H-Hi." Spencer stuttered and quickly regretted even opening his mouth.

"Come here often?"

"Considering the club just opened last month, not really. It's my first time."

"First time here?" Your soft voice inquired. Despite the chaotic sounds surrounding the two of you, Spencer felt as if you simply calmed down and slowed the world around him.

"At any club actually." He felt almost ashamed to admit it aloud but his mouth moved faster than his rational at that moment. Nervous brown eyes met yours, expecting to be met with judgement but you simply had no reaction.

"Not your thing?" You asked and he nodded, feeling understood for once.

He looked down towards his lap, the sense of nervousness not really going away, "I just came here to see what it's like. Why people find it so fun."

"What do you think of it so far?"

"Loud. Messy. Crowded. Breeding grounds for bacteria." He could go on with the list but decided it'd be better to not rant about negatives on his first time meeting someone new.

"Yeah, you pretty much hit all the points on clubbing." you laughed at his descriptions, watching the mild disgust in his face as he recounts all the things he disliked about the club and clubbing culture within the small times he's been there.

"Do you enjoy it?" he inquired, wanting to see your opinion on this event that he believed only advertised to extroverts who were good at socializing like you.

"It can fun at sometimes, but you really just need to go with someone to make it fun and to ignore all the, "you paused to think, "unfavorable aspects of it."

Spencer wasn't an idiot. He knew what you were insinuating and to some extent, he still wasn't sure if he wanted to believe it or if his mind would allow him to believe it.

Your eyes flickered to the drink on the table, his fingers her fidgeting with the ends of it. "Mocktail?"

"I don't want to drink." Addictions are something he doesn't take lightly. He doesn't want to participate in any of it really as statistics show that one can be more susceptible to an addictions if one had another prior.

Nodding your head, you left it at that. "Well drinking no alcohol and sitting by your lonesome self here doesn't quite sound like fun. To see why people enjoy clubbing, you should immerse yourself in the experience." You looked at him through your eyelashes, "Do you want me to show you?"

Completely enamored by your entire person, who was he to deny such a reject.

He nodded his head, almost too fast, and you moved his drink away from his hand while using the other to grab his hand. The two of you stood up and he simply followed your lead.

As you moved through the crowd, it was like they made a way for you. He watched as those looked towards your figure with suprise before quickly falling out your way. Oh's and small gasps escaped their mouths as if it was their first time ever seeing somebody like you.

You walked with such confidence— head held up high, indifference on your face as men tried to stop you (while you clearly held the hand of another) but you swatted them away with your hand, and you walked so professionally that one may have mistaken you for some sort of a celebrity. You might just have been one if Spencer had to guess but due to Spencer's great memory, he figured he would've known if he had.

Before he knew it, you and him were in the middle of the dance floor and you kept your grip on his hand, very loosely, as you locked eyes with him, pulling him closer.

This was different.

Spencer has never danced before. Well never danced in front of people, let alone a gorgeous woman who he considered way out of his league. And he has also never had a woman dancing in front of him. He was scared to look down, scared to see her.

That was until she brought a hand to his chin, pulling his focus down. "Come on, join me."

"I don't da—"

"Just let loose and follow my lead."

His heart must've skipped multiple beats the moment you gently grabbed his hands and placed it on your figure as you moved to the music. Hands resting on your waist, he couldn't find it in himself to get a grip because he still wasn't sure if this was alright at all.

The moment you took a step closer, making your bodies just slightly touched, paired with the friction of your movements, he was sure he was in fact not dreaming.

Loosen up. Your words echoed in his mind. His eyes searched those around him, wanting to try to copy their movements but with you so close to him, he did his best to match your movement— then he quickly stopped when he realized he was not at all coordinated or blessed with groovy rhythmic genes.

A small smile crept up on your face as his awkward movements made even him cringe.

"Sorry."

You laughed, "Let's start with what your comfortable with."

"The robot?" He questioned with a nervous chuckle.

"Okay, then let's see it, handsome."

Oh how that word flowed off your tongue so easily and carelessly yet it was the beginning of his demise. His brain blew a fuse but thankfully, the added factors of your touch had disappeared when you stepped back to watch him work.

He once again looked around, seeing if anybody was watching him about to make a fool of himself but your voice called him back to focus.

"Are you worried about people watching?" he nodded, "Shall I blindfold you with my bra?"

He laughed. It was more of a yell than a laugh because of the absurdity. You stared at him, head tilted with the most genuine yet teasing smile when you stated such a random thing like it was the best solution.

You laughed along with him, seeing his body relax a bit more. "There you go. Release all that tension in your body."

"I actually needed that for the robot so your little trick to make me laugh and dance better just actually made it worse."

A gasp escaped your lips, "You're right. Let's catch it in the air before it leaves forever." You acted out grabbing the air around him before pushing it towards his body, making little sound effects to complete it all. "Phew! Phew! Phew!"

Spencer joined in on your little show as he wiggled his body to act as if your efforts were fully affecting him.

And at the last little sound effect, you sent a flying kiss, to which he smiled, caught, and placed it to his heart.

"I can feel the music monsters taking over my body now." Spencer smiled as he mimicked robotic movements, making angles with his arms and moving very stiffly. Now this was a move he could get behind.

"Oh no, its spreading to me too." You imitated Spencer, mirroring him almost exactly.

How did Spencer get to this moment? He went from sitting alone at the bar drinking a mocktail to getting woman he deemed to have a beauty, that could compare to no other, dancing like a robot. He wasn't sure what suprised him more, the face that he was doing a nerdy robot move in front of a crowd of people (most of which already has their attention on the woman he was with) or the fact that you were doing it with him.

The fact that you adopted your dance moves for him to feel comfortable when he was so out of place and visibly uneasy, made him feel special. Like he was listened to.

After a small moment of doing robotic dance moves, his and yours eyes connect once again before your lips opened to laugh.

"That was the first time I had ever done that at a club." you admitted.

"I feel honored to be the first one to experience it."

"Well you should feel so honored, it's not everyday one gets blessed with such a scene. Although, I guess it'll be safe to say your ready for another step towards being the dancing queen as ABBA put it."

"More than ready."

You smiled, more of a smirk, as if telling him he won't be prepared for what you had in store. Sometimes Spencer hated when he was right and this was a moment that nothing could have prepared him for.

The music the DJ had played thus far was very pop and chaotic that was perfect for when one wanted to simply let loose and dance crazy. However, one glance and nod towards the DJ table, most importantly, the clock behind the table, had completely changed the scene.

Blue lights that danced along the bodies of the people of the floor had slowly faded into a purple and the music changed into this sort of jazzy but pop instrumental with a sultry voice that completely changed the mood of the scene.

"It's 10pm."

"What does that mean?"

It seemed like everybody around him had found a partner and were beginning to move in a seductive manner. Spencer looked down towards you, you seemed closer than you were before. A small difference but it had a huge impact nonetheless.

"Watch, pretty boy." you walked closer to him and turned around, pressing your back side to his chest before reaching for both his hands and guiding them to the sides of your figure. Leading his hands from the sides of the top of your waist, all the way down to your hips, and towards your thighs. Very, very slowly.

You felt his breath hitch, his heartbeat start to speed. Unsure fingers slowly finding its way as you held it.

He stuttered, "I-Is this alright?"

You gave him a small nod, before moving your body to the music, creating more friction between the two of you. The heat of both your bodies created this bond, an intertwinment that none of you were willing to break.

This was the second time you've done this move, yet this time it felt much much more intimate than before. Bodies fully pressed against one another while the mood was set with the slow and erotic music, Spencer felt the last strand of his uptightness let go.

All he could focus on was you. Your intoxicating, confident, beautiful self.

He felt a sort of confidence with you by his side, a confidence that only you brought out because you made him comfortable in the first place. A confidence that only you could've brought out of him within only thirty minutes of knowing each other.

His hands slipped towards your stomach, pulling you closer and your head tilted back in his chest to look up at him with a smile. You used one arm to rest on top of his arm that was wrapped around your waist, before using your free one to touch his face, down his jaw, and to his neck.

You both swayed to the music; he used your body to guide his. His hot breath kissed your skin.

"Hey." you softly called out.

"Yes?" he exhaled, in a total daze.

"What's your name, handsome?"

"Spencer. Spencer Reid." he sounded breathless, maybe due to the fact that the two of you shared such an intimate moment, or maybe because they two of you did that and still didn't know each others names.

He felt you stop for a moment before you completely turned around, your hands steadying his as his hands rested on your hips.

"As in Doctor Spencer Reid that wrote those articles about psychology and neurology."

"Y-You've read them?"

Your hands rested on his chest as you stared him up and down, your teeth catching your lip. "Gosh, your brain is hot and so are you. God really does have favorites."

Spencer felt his face and ears heat up even more.

"Wanna get out of here?"

It didn't take much for Spencer to start nodding like his life depended on it like he did when you first asked him if you could show him how to have fun. And just like earlier that night, you grabbed his hand and led him to a new night and adventure towards fun he wouldn't have thought was ever possible.

—

"What the actual f—" Emily Prentiss stared at the scene in front of her, utterly speechless as her jaw was like a magnet to the floor. Her eyes trailed towards the two figures leaving the establishment. Her coworker followed around this beautiful, bombshell of a girl like a lovesick puppy. She also watched as the youngest of her team was dancing with a complete stranger in a place he would've been screaming about the different bacteria.

"I am either not sober enough or too drunk." The pair had disappeared into the night and that's when Emily took a deep breath, before minding her own business and getting to work on why she came in that night.

[transboyswitchytales]

'Not Like The Movies Baby'🔒 🎬

🔒Maya Mason x RomCom Queen Reader 🔑

You are the most famous RomCom writer in Hollywood. And Maya Mason is head over heels in love with you. Too bad you won't give her the time of day. And Maya? Well, she's never been one to shy away from something she wants. And Maya wants you and only you. Can you still make the movie for The Studio? Why can't Maya just leave you alone?

WARNINGS:

Sexualy Explicit Stories / Dirty Language / Drugs / People High / Big Parties / Hollywood Tropes / Enemies to Lovers / RomCom Refrences / Yearning / Reader has past sexual trauma mentioned / Reader isn't nice and that's ok she doesn't have to be all the time / Movie Refrences / Maya is obsessed with us / Mommy Kink/ Slow Burn

(Want to read more Maya fics? Here's: My Masterlist) This is gonna be another long story. Let's fucking goooo!

It all started on a random Tuesday in a coked-up, crazy backlot of Hollywood. A place where no love story really begins.

Maya saw you the first time with actors and actresses swarming around you. You had just won another award. She eyed you in your group of bigwigs. You had more known actresses acting gay for you than a stupid bachelorette party in Vegas.  

You smiled as Julia Roberts gave you her signature laugh. But Maya saw it, as everyone was distracted, your face fell. And then you pasted it back on quickly as Chris Evans refilled your champagne and told you another bad joke. 

But from that moment on, something about you just stuck with Maya. At frist she’d tried to find a look a like, fuck some nobody and get it out of her system. But as your look alike was kissing Maya’s neck, Maya whispered your name. Said poor girl freaked out and Maya looked into her dates eyes and didn’t see you, and she ended the date then and there. Paying for the girls Uber. And going home alone.  

That was a few months ago, and Maya had set up her Google alerts to any news on you. New movie rumors, sure, but dates you go out on, sightings of you on vacation, anything she could find really. 

When Matt excitedly told Maya and the team that he’d bought one of your new scripts, everyone was excited, and Maya froze on the spot. 

Patty was the first to notice this.

“Maya, aren’t you excited we got the Ravishing Rom-Com Lady herself!” Patty said only seeing another Golden Globe in her future. Maya quickly plastered a look on her face for the team. 

“Of fucking course! We’re gonna make so much fucking money with this girl! When is she coming in?” The last part didn’t hold the same excitement. 

“Uh, tomorrow I set up the meeting.” Matt said and Sal jumped up and down in excitement. 

“Dude when she wrote ‘Days of Delight’ with fucking Matthew McConaughey and Kate Hudson! Fuck that’s their best movie!” He squealed like a little girl. 

“How to lose a guy in ten days was good, but Days of Delight is fucking quoteable and it grossed twice as much!” Matt pointed out and the two of them quotes the movie to each other over and over. 

Maya didn’t stay, she grabbed her ipad and Stanely cup and went to figure out how she was going to score a date with the rom com queen. 

When you came in, Maya surveyed your outfit and was so impressed she felt outdone. But she stared at your ass as you shook everyones hand. 

When Maya reached her hand out you look down at it and then turned to Patty and started to talk. Everyone noticed, how could they not, you snubbed Maya Mason. 

“Patty I read your email, I’m almost done with the script. I enjoyed your notes, I think the side plot of the best friend is wonderful to change. But I was hoping we could cast Kathryn Hahn as a lead, not the friend in this film.” You told Patty and they all sat, and Maya cut in front of Quinn to sit next to you. 

You don’t look at Maya. 

“But she’s kinda a girl next door look no?” Matt tries and you disagree with him immediately. 

“I know you are used to having her in comedy roles in your Studio, but she’s very dynamic. I know she can show the turmoil of this broken, raw,  feeling I need for this role. So she’s my first choice. And I do have her number, she said she would be interested in reading it. I just wanted to make sure we gave her first looks.” You explain and Sal is scribbling notes which everyone thinks is ridiculous.  

They all talk for about twenty minutes about how much they love the script and the yearning core you are going for. Maya’s eyes never leave you. Just as you are standning up Maya cuts in and finally asks;

“Kathryn Hahn is very in right now with lesbians, but what about your leading man?” Maya asks and you ignore her and turn to look over her at Quinn. 

“Can you email me the timeline on advertising.” You say and all eyes look to Maya who is pissed and so turned on. 

But you walk out after shaking Matt’s and Patty’s hand and then turn on your leather boot heel  and walk out. Maya leaves her stuff and runs after you. She hears Sal saying ‘damn burn’ and she yells loud enough for the entire floor to hear her, turning over her shoulder to call his ‘dick floppy and his wrinkly scrotum matches that of E.T.

People laugh but she doesn’t care, she’s almost sprinting to catch you.   

“Hey! WAIT!”

You don’t turn to her and so she walks in front of you and blocks your path. 

“What did I do to deserve all of that sweetheart?” She says and your face turns even colder at the nickname.

“Ms. Mason-” You start as if you are already exhausted from having to speak to her. Maya is floored at how much of a dislike you have for her. 

“Maya, It’s Maya, please come on. I’m head of marketing on your movie. You can’t even look at me?” The older hollywood head says to you. 

“Ms. Mason, your reputation is…” You trail off and Maya has the nerve to look proud of her reputation. Though your face doesn’t mirror the pride she seems to feel for what people say about her. The fear she evokes. 

“So you hold whatever that was against me?” Maya finishes the thought for you. 

“No, actually it’s just….” You are working so hard to be civil and Maya doesn’t like all this stupid pussyfooting around. So when she tilts her head to the side and decides to lay on the rizz. 

“So are you jealous baby? You don’t wanna have a good time too?” She says and your bullshit attempt at staying aloof but professional goes out the window. And fuck does your anger turn Maya on. 

You chuckle like a villain in a movie. Before saying what you really think. Maya would have paid good money for this kind of humiliation. 

“I’ve met so many of you, you know that right? That you aren’t anything new. I respect your job, I respect your studio. Which is why I’ll sell you the rights to my movie. But Maya Mason, make no mistake. I see you. You wear more labels than a NASCAR driver. You say the most ‘lit’ terms and you have your hand on the pulse of social media. You probably know when Angelina Jolie’s sex tape drops before Brad Pitt. But here’s the thing, I don’t like you. You like cheap stimulation, you reak of one night stands, and reused pick-up lines. We have nothing in common. You are everything that’s wrong with this industry..and honestly this town.” You say and you feel such relief in not having to play nice in the sandbox. You expect Maya to retaliate or say her studio won’t make your movie anymore. 

You don’t expect her to laugh and Maya to look giddy at you. 

“Damn, my mother should take notes from you. I think my past therapist took six months to gently tell me a word of what you just said in five seconds. Fuck you are something else Miss RomCom, let me buy you a cup of coffee? Or there’s this great bistro?” Maya flirts and your eyebrow twitches. Before you sneer realizing what this is. 

“Mason don’t do this.” You say like she’s being stupid. 

“What! You might actually find the conversation stimulating! I could surprise you. What with my original pick up lines. Come on baby?” Maya says and you pull your phone out to see a text.  

“I don’t have time for this.” You say like you are telling a toddler you can’t possibly play Barbies right now. 

Maya makes a mental note that she’s never felt more alive. Fuck gentle banter at a bar, you had her veins lighting up more than any drug she’d ever taken. 

“For coffee? Or lunch?” Maya says like it’s innocent. 

But you put your phone down and glare again. You feed her another round of insults. 

“For your games. I’m not here for this. Please do me a favor, don’t take this as me challenging you. It’s so toxic, just like whatever you are probably thinking right now. Marketing head Mason, you are so predictable. We aren’t kids on a playground. You want me because I’m not interested and that’s gross. Listen, I could tell you a bunch of cliche shit. You aren’t my type, I’m not looking for what you are right now. Whatever you want to hear. But the truth of it is, I’m not interested. And you are so not used to being turned down by a girl…that you think that means you should push harder is just so…predictable. Just leave me alone, go fuck a model or an assistant or some new actress. Someone who’s never heard of Virginia Woolf or Margaret Atwood, who thinks classic music is Harry Styles. Ok? Call me a snob to your buddies, and do a line in the bathroom like everyone else.”

You say and Maya just smirks. Her voice drops an octave and she stepps forward and you try not to let the power play show that you are actually having fun now. 

“You think you got me all figured out sweetie?”

You don’t let this nickname thing keep going, it’s so worn out. You practically make the same face Anne Hathaway does leaving the gross hotel suite in Paris in Devil Wears Prada. ‘I’m not your Baby.’ The line plays in your mind and you channel that energy as you say it to Maya. 

“I’m not your sweetie Mason. I’m just another writer in this town. I’m nobody to you, ok? Sell my movie, that’s great. I’m grateful for all you are going to do. I’m sure you will do a wonderful job. But I don’t want your coffee or cheap tricks in bed. I’m sure you’ll be one of those pillow princesses, anyway. If I wanted cheap sex and to be left unsatisfied I’d go to any bar in town and pick up a vapid straight man. I don’t have time to draw you a map to my clit and teach you what clockwise means. You seem like a boring lay.” You say and you feel, like Maya, the most alive you had in a long time. 

This was so much better than pretending to laugh at an actors shitty joke while wearing a designer dress you can’t breathe in, at a party you never wanted to go to. This was practically therapeutic. 

You tried to push down the thought that this would come back to haunt you later. 

Because Maya stepped forward again and you were sure she was just as turned on as you. 

“Wanna bet?” Maya says and she get’s a little closer to your ear to whisper it, her breath teases your skin. But you don’t take the bait and move away. You keep your expression unfazed. 

“I don’t have the time to waste. I am looking for someone who has read a book, can hold an adult conversation. Not a vain girl who’s main news outlet is Twitter, or X or whatever it is this week. I want someone with an IQ over the legal drinking age, not to sit with you as you scroll through Tik Tok. I’m so not your type Mason. Thank you for the meeting. I’ll try to be kinder now that we both understand each other.” You put your gentle face back on, the one you’d practiced. Maya for the first time looks upset, not liking you putting your claws away. 

You think of that Taylor Switft song and you want to tell Maya why you can’t be yourself any more. You have to put it all away.; I was tame, I was gentle 'til the circus life made me mean."Don't you worry, folks, we took out all her teeth"

Maya seems to read you and she also puts on a facade.

You put your hand out, it’s meant as a sort of truce. You both got to play, and now you both had to pretend again. You could pretend all day, but Maya was a master at manipulation. She knew this game you were playing and wouldn’t be fooled. 

So Maya takes your soft scarred hand and then leans down and kisses it, her lips are so soft. The lipstick no longer sticky on her lips, she smells of expensive perfume and money. And you almost close your eyes to enjoy the feeling, but you won’t allow it. You let her touch you, because you don’t have the strength to deny her that. But as she stands back up you slap another glare at her. 

Maya only seems amused at your attempt, and you wonder if you are losing your touch.

“I hope you aren’t kinder, what a waste fake pleasantries are. You busy tomorrow night?” Maya releases your hand and smiles and you scoff at her and turn around. So she calls out behind you. 

“How about Friday?” She yells and you walk to your car. 

Quinn comes from around the corner. 

“Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone tell you…no. That was kinda pathetic. She really told you off.” Maya didn’t say a word to Quinn though, in her head she was already planning your wedding together. 

She mumbles as she can no longer see you, ‘What a woman.’

_______

That’s how it was for a month. Maya sent you flowers, chocolates, weed care baskets, she sent you invites to parties and endless expensive gifts. In turn you gave no indication to any of her advances. You returned the expensive gifts, and Maya had heard it from someone on the lot that you tossed every flower out. 

But Maya wouldn’t be easily ignored. 

You worked through Quinn when you needed to tell Maya something. Maya threatened Quinn one day with a letter opener for your phone number, but she swore she didn’t have it. That you came in person to talk to her. She was shaking like a leaf when Maya rolled her eyes and stabbed the letter opener into her wood desk and walked out.

The whole lot figured out quickly the tension and Maya was like ‘Pavlov’s Dog’ she was so hungry for you. She stopped dating, she stopped social media scrolling, it did feel like….cheap stimulation. Just like you had said. 

That weekend Maya got a new google alert about you. 

She instantly wished she hadn’t looked.

Because this was the first time she’ seen you out on a date. 

The picture made her skin crawl in jealousy. 

It had you on a date…with the stunning and funny Aubrey Plaza. 

Maya felt nauseous, ready to throw up her Hailey Beiber 20 dollar strawberry smoothie. But Maya read the whole article. And then she saw Aubrey had taken you to a famous bookstore in L.A. Maya screenshotted every photo…you laughing as Aubrey touched your cheek gently. And after she zoomed in on your face, Maya moved down to see the book you had bought. 

She threw the phone onto her sofa and wondered if she needed to smash all her crystal wear in the L.A mansion. 

Maya sat on her sofa and bit her acrylic nail in anger. Before rolling her eyes and getting into her expensive Benz. Driving an hour and a half to the stupid book store across town. She walked up to the pimply teenager and asked for the book. 

“Do you have Gone with The Wind?” She growled and he gulped obviously intimated by her screaming at him. But ne nodded and ran across the store to get it. 

That’s how it started. Your little book club together. Not that you knew what Maya was doing. But Maya liked to imagine you were trying to communicate via all these books. 

She read; Mrs. Dalloway, Their Eyes Were Watching God, A Raisin in The Sun, Camilla, Giovani’s Room, Carol, and so many more.  

Maya kept sending you expensive sentiment, understanding that you couldn’t be bought. But unsure of how else to get to you.. and you in turn.. kept ignoring her.

 For a whole month you worked on the filmset, but Maya steered clear of you on the lot.  She knew she needed to hatch a better plan. This wasn’t the way to your heart. 

Yet every weekend Maya would lose her mind all over again. 

You were photographed with Aubrey Plaza the most you two seemed to love going to record stores, bunch places, and book stores. Frequenting even once a sex toy store. It was enough that it made Maya throw a retro Versace vase across her foye. It shattered into a million pieces and Maya still felt like she wanted blood. 

 But it wasn’t just Aubrey, you were photographed with; Sandra Bullock, Marisa Tomei, and Anne Hathaway. It was ridiculous. 

 All brunette, all powerful and strong women, all 40 and over. You liked women older than you… Woman who held power and intellect. 

 Maya felt like you were taunting her. But you always had a book in your hand as you went on lunch outings and late night drinks. 

Paparazzi followed you like dirty hound dogs sniffing a scent. They called you ridiculous names ‘ Little Lady Ephron,’ Shakespeare Secret Harlot, Bridgett Jones’s Slutty Muse, Lesbian Bradshaw, Gary Marshall’s Concubine.’  And Maya ate up every article they made.

Maya needed to know more about you.

Everytime a new story released she’d buy the book you had in your hand in the photo. She’d read it in a day, unable to put them down.. and then one slow night she went into her theater room. No new TMZ story about you this weekend, no new book, so she’d been bored. 

And Tik Tok felt like it no longer held Maya’s attention. 

Opening the Instagram app she looked your name up and found no account, of course. Sighing she threw the phone down and picked up the remote.  

Maya couldn’t even remember the decision, but she rented every singel movie you’d ever made. She watched them all over the course of a  week. Maya was ashamed to say she cried and laughed and felt like she’d been on a rollercoaster. But every film she watched, Maya found herself even more in love with you. Not just your beauty in those TMZ photos, not your great choice in books. 

But the way your mind told a story. 

The way you wrote about humanity and two people finding solace in one another. 

‘The Queen of Yearning’ now that made sense for you, that’s what your fans said. And Maya found that she hung on every word you wrote for your films. 

So two months in Maya was about to call the florist to do your daily flowers to be sent to your side of the lot.. when she hung up. Instead opening her laptop in her office she decided on a different present. 

Maya felt like after watching all of your movies, and reading your weekly book recommendations…Maybe it was time to send you one of her favorite books.

So when Maya left that night she opened her designer bag to get her keys she really wasn’t expecting you to yell at her. 

“MASON!” 

She jumped and turned around. 

You were holding the book up, like this was Hamilton and it was the Reynolds Pamphlet. It was dramatic to say the least and Maya realized how much she missed you. 

Maya was famous for being big and dramatic, it was fun to see you do it too. Even though Maya was clear you didn’t like that fact about yourself.  

“The fuck is this?” You say and you walk across the lot, your black boots clicking on hot L.A cement. Maya had to admit, the whole of Hollywood thought you were this big mush. Timid and romantic obsessed, completely without bite. You wrote all these big love declaration scenes. And yet to Maya you were like a fucking rotwiller. She’d never met anyone with more layers, it was intoxicating. 

You stalked forward and pushed the novel against her chest. Maya grabbed it and flipped it over, already knowing what she’d done. 

“Well, it’s a book Austen.” Maya hadn’t called you baby or sweetie this time. Remembering the look she’d received last time. 

“What did you call me?” You glare raising your voice at her like she’s mocking you now. A few people on the lot turn to stare. 

Maya could care less, she’d not gotten to talk to you in two months. 

“Oh yeah, you got a new nickname. You are the new Jane Austen. Pretty big praise, you do that yearning thing like Pride and Prejudice. Which is a little wrong, since you don’t do time pieces. Not much for the sandals and horses as Rebecca Ferguson calls it. But the marketing team heard it from TMZ. So it caught on.” Maya says and she’s not answering your question. 

“So you gave me another shitty nickname? Thanks I guess?” You shake your head and Maya eyes you curiously. Something seemed off about this exchange, not that she had many to go off of. But you seemed more frantic then the first verbal game of chess you two had played. Maya made a calculated move to not scare you away. She lowered her voice and didn’t push as hard back as she’d wanted to.

“You refuse to call me Maya, so I guess we both get nicknames.” She says it with no real challenge in her voice and you can’t figure her out as you stare at her. Maya keeps holding the green novel. You point at it. 

“The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo, why did you send me this book?” You ask. 

“I figured you’d read all the old classics. I thought…you might like that..It’s my favorite well one of my favorites. I like the long yearning in it.. like your movies. But there’s something beautiful about loving someone and just…Being so..devoted? I mean there’s also that toxic hollywood shit we deal with on a day in day out, which is written well in this.” Maya says and you look at her like she’s grown another head. 

This wasn’t Maya Mason. Maya threw shit at assistants, she did coke off of Miley Cyrus once. Maya was feirce and gorgeous yes, but no one had ever seen her read a romantic anything..You were so confused and then the reminder that this was all fake hit you. 

“What is this, some game to you? You couldn’t get into my pants with the flowers so you what?”

“Holy shit Austen is it your favorite book too?” Maya was not stupid, and you had to admit that. Even if it hurt you. You tried to shield your emotions from her. 

You’d been trying to get the rights to the book so you could screen play it and make it into a fucking movie for the past four years. 

But you couldn’t say that. 

You looked at Maya Mason for a second, fuck she was gorgeous. 

You had to fake it with so many people in Hollywood. You didn’t ever fake your disgust with Maya, and that was kinda nice. But you wouldn’t do this with her. So you bit your bottom lip and made up your mind. You point at her putting your walls up high. 

“Mason, leave me alone. I’m not another notch in your belt, or something for you to brag to Sal and Quinn about. You don’t get to fuck me up on drugs and then fuck me in front of your shitty friends or some shit. I’m not a toy! Ok, you don’t-” You say and Maya looks genuinely concerned that you thought of that. Wondering if that happened to you. And you can’t stand her concern. 

Let her be Maya again, let her say the crude thing. Let her throw her power around, don’t have her look at you like you matter. That is too much to take. 

“Hey, woah. I’m not trying to do that. I just want you to let me buy you dinner. You seem to think you have me all figured out but..Who did that to you? I swear they’ll never work in this town again..you tell me the name and it’s done!” Maya scowled in anger at the very idea of it. You throw your hands up to stop her and she doesn’t want to drop it but she listens for now. 

“Mason, is that really your favorite book or is this some kinda sick thing you figured out about me? You pay my ex or stalk me or something?” You try to think of all the worst case scenarios now. 

“Damn, who the fuck did this to you. You write the most amazing love stories…did all of that happen? Or are you..are you really are afraid of love?” Maya asks and your body flinches and she wishes she could take it back instantly. Maya had never spoken to anyone this way and it felt foreign, but the horror on your face says she’s done it wrong. This was not how intimacy worked for you evidently…Maya had just learned what intimacy was, and it was new for her too.

“Fuck you!” You shout, turning around and Maya panics and she shouts after you. 

““You do not know how fast you have been running, how hard you have been working, how truly exhausted you are, until somewhat stands behind you and says, “It’s OK, you can fall down now. I’ll catch you.”” 

Maya looks around at a few people staring at her, but she doesn’t care. It’s not something she’d say to anyone, ever. But she quotes the book in the hopes you’ll come back. 

Two months of wanting to talk to you was hard, Maya did like instant gratification.  

You stop and Maya waits, afraid if she approaches you you’ll run. 

But you surprise her by turning around and walking back to her. 

“Maya, just forget about me. I’m nothing special. I write all this crap. But that’s where it ends ok?” The head of marketing loves her name on your tongue, but she hates what you are saying. 

“You can’t mean that. You are lying. You are so talented. No one can write that and then…then believe..” Maya says and you both let the thought sit there. You clench your fists and Maya wonders why you don’t believe her. 

“Goodnight.” You whisper and then leave her standing there in all her sexy designer glory. 

Maya opens the book to the front page, where she’d wrote the note this morning. Her fingers trace over the letters before she sighs and throws the book into her bag. 

Going to her car she blasts her bad ass boss playlist. She curses as the song ‘INTIMACY ISSUES’  plays. Finger hovering over the next button.  

Always on the low

'Til I'm with a guy

Distracting my mind

Hope they do not mind

I need to get high

So I put a record on

Then I roll

Then I smoke

I just need someone who listens

I just need somebody close

Keep it simple

Keep it sweet

I won't be that girl you need

'Cause I'll be writing love letters

'Til my fucking wrists bleed, oh

High off nicotine

While they're asking about my dreams

Don't remember, don't remember

I've been smoking too much weed, oh

I don't want the intimacy, ooh

Don't lie to my face and tell me you will never leave, ooh

Please, I don't want the intimacy 

Maya screams at the top of her lungs and slams her strong palms against her steering wheel over and over. Turning off the stupid song and then speeds off cutting people off in traffic. 

______________________________________________________ 

Maya see’s you three nights later at a big party, it’s not where she’d expect you. You were obviously there to rub elbows with the rest of the big wigs. And Maya saw that look again, the one that made her so curious about you in the first place. 

You had leaned over the bar, top of your breasts on display. Your ​​cleavage was a sight.

 You held a twenty between your fingers and asked for a drink and your face fell to the side, and then Maya was caught staring. You found her familiar gaze, more of a comfort than you’d expected and you scanned her outfit for a minute, before you nodded once. A small nod, but it was better than Maya had gotten from you…well ever. 

Maya wonders if this is her shot, her chance to talk to you, really talk. Tell you how she feels.  

The bartender handed you a strong drink and you melted back into the party before Maya could cut through the crowd and say hi. 

A few hours pass and she doesn’t see you again. 

Maya was talking to another studio exec when she heard someone yell and then a streak of your hair comes into view as  you shove a tall man roughly against a wall away from you. The jackass crashes into one of the ugly modern paintings that line this expensive mansion. 

He curses at you ‘Fucking cunt! You write all that crap because no one wants to fuck you!” 

It’s not unique, and you don’t care about him or the people watching at this moment. 

You just laugh manicly and look down at your now ripped dress, what a prince charming this guy was. 

But Maya didn’t need to see another second of this show.  

She didn’t even politely excuse herself, she pushed her martini into Matt’s hands and rounded to where you were. 

But the guy didn’t take your shove as the final act of this show.  

The upcoming Netflix special starring actor had the nerve to lunge at you, upset at being embaressed.

 Maya was faster though, she kneed him in the balls and he cried out and fell over. Grabbing his genitals like they might have just burst, Maya hoped they had. 

 She stood over him with her sharp heels and killer outfit. His perfect curls falling into his face as tears formed in his eyes, his perfect jawline was next to Maya’s heel. And she stopped herself from putting her shoe on his face, leaving that pretty indent of her stiletto heel against his sculpted cheeks.

 Flicking her hair over her shoulder. The music scratched and everyone got quiet.

A Maya fight was always a fun thing at a party, talked about for years after. Even though it happened more often than not. 

“YOU BITCH!” The actor who’s name Maya couldn’t place wheezed. But she bent down and let the toe of her heel move under his chin so he was looking up at her. 

You were watching, everyone was watching.  

“You limp dick-nepo baby bastard, your whore mother should have swallowed you and done this town a favor. You just ended your career pretty boy. Not even Daddy can bail you out now. Don’t ever come near her again.” Maya spits and it hits his face as he is holding his crotch in pain. 

You tried not to get turned on at the sight, honest you did. 

But you were brought back to reality as a flash went off in your face.  

People took photos on their smart phones like they couldn’t wait to post it. Keanu Reeves clapped and shouted ‘Go Maya!’ 

But Maya didn’t care as people got excited, she saw your look of displeasure, of horror at all the attention. And then you ran out of there and Maya was fast on your trail.

Maya heard Lisa Ann Walter call your name to stop you, but Maya was sprinting after you.  

You got to the back of the house, and you felt anxiety spike so hard in your body. Maya fell out of the door of the party after you. You turned and cursed yourself. 

You’d just made another TMZ article, you were so ashamed. You wanted to behave but you just couldn’t it seemed. 

You look behind you to see Maya and she was gorgeous, her outfit, her hair, her make up. You thought of her shoes on the stupid assholes face.

 It was all perfect, but that wasn’t what was the worst. It was the fact that Maya was so unapologetically Maya. 

You craved her. You wanted to fall to your knees and eat her out right here. 

But the reminder of all those people and your career taking another beating made you panic once more.  

“Hey, take a breath Austen.” She says and you shake your head and pull at your once perfectly styled  hair. Maya steps forward and you take a step back. You hated being touched when you were upset. It was a stupid movie trope to hold the girl as she was angry. If Maya touched you right now you’d give her a black eye. And Maya seemed to figure that out fast.

“Easy, I’m not gonna touch you. I’m not gonna hurt you. Just..put your hands over your head. It opens the airways. Ok, no one’s gonna come up here. Look! Look!” Maya says and she walks over to the door you both came out. She easily lifts the giant planter with a huge palm and she props it against the door with a thud. You are impressed by how strong she is. But you don’t let yourself analyze why you are looking at her gorgeous arms flex. 

Maya puts her hands up like you are holding a gun to her. 

“Just me and you Austen. Take a breath, no one to fake it for. You don’t need to pretend right now.” She tells you and you lean over and put your hands on your knees. Feeling the room is spinning before you listen to Maya. Placing your hands over your head, standing tall, and closing your eyes to take a breath. 

“Good girl, keep breathing.” Maya says and your body shivers at the praise. And Maya saw it, but she doesn’t throw it in your face, or make a sexual joke at you. She just watches you and you want to hate her, but it’s hard right now to. If you were honest you never disliked Maya. 

But as soon as you think it you have to lash out. You can’t like Maya. You need to put space between her and you. 

“I didn’t need you to fight my battles. I’m not into that..White knight shit. I’m not in need of saving. I don’t know how many Taylor Swift songs you listened to in the 2008, but I don’t need your help.” You snarl and Maya laughs. She likes how creative you are with your cuts. But she doesn’t want you to focus on that right. So she drops her hands and gives you a gentle gaze. Her voice is soft and sinful, and you try not to find comfort in any part of Maya Mason.  

“Why don’t we just table you despising me until your panic attack passes, eh? Then I can be the bad guy again.” Maya teases but she’s smiling and you smile at her now. Damn it. Fuck Maya Mason! 

You get further down the spiral of anger at your own girly statement;

“You stopped sending flowers.” You want to slap yourself for saying it and Maya fishes into her pocket a gold cigarett case, it snaps open, and her manicured fingers pinch a rather large blunt. Maya let’s that sentence sit for a moment, putting the blunt between her dark red lips. She eyes you and you use all your will power to not look at her lips, really you do.

She swaps out the case for a lighter, you see words on it but you can’t make it out without your glasses. 

Maya lights her drug of choice with the sentimental family arloom lighter, then snaps it closes. She takes a hit and then fingers the joint like she’s Cruella or something, it’s full of power, it’s gangster and feminine. It makes her look like the ultimate siren. Maya is dripping with confidence and sexual power. 

And yet Maya doesn’t feel like that right now. But to you, fuck, you couldn’t write or instruct an actor to get close to the ease in which Maya had you aroused from just lighting a joint and smoking.  

You never had seen anyone smoke in such an erotic way. 

Maya rubs her forehead with the finger holding the joint and then answers.

“You didn’t like the flowers I thought, or the presents.” She says and you reach your hand out and Maya is quick, handing you the blunt wordlessly. She was a little taken aback, but she doesn’t show it. Maya wants you to feel comfortable around her, she wants to get to know you. Fuck she wants to marry you. And if Maya makes comments or a face to make you self conscious she’s afraid that she’ll scare you away. 

You take a drag and hold it in your lungs, handing the dark joint back. Maya seems entertained by you, but she doesn’t break your moment to dwell on this. Maya tries not to think about how her lips are about to touch the same spot yours were just warming. 

She feels like a lovesick teenager just entertaining the idea.  

The song plays inside the party and it has a sinister low bass and you can hear the lyrics. It’s ‘Such a Whore’ remix by JVLA.

You're such a whore, I need her

When she's one me I don't feel so lonely

Don't leave me horny

Ride me like a pony

Her sweat, her moaning

She's just such a fucking whore, i love it

I just fuck her on the side

When she's pinched for me on light

For that pussy I would die 

You feel like Maya isn’t listening to the song, she probably can’t even hear it, but it’s making you feel like this is a scene in a movie.  To be next to her, this close, as those lyrics play. But Maya doesn’t let you keep listening to the lyrics. Doesn’t let you write your next story in her presence. 

“I didn’t stop sending you things all together.” She points the joint at you before bringing it to her mouth and taking a hit again and you, in response, let the smoke out slowly. Unable to hold your breath any longer. 

“Four Weddings and a Funeral, No Reservations, You’ve Got Mail …I’m sensing a theme.” You don’t mean for it to come out as flirty as it does. But Maya just seems to feel smug, like she won a prize or something. 

Maya figured you’d seen them all before, but it was a theme she was going for. 

“Yeah, you need to start writing more queer romance. Because there’s so much straight stuff.” Maya teases and then takes a hit holding it and passing the blunt to you. You inhale too, and hold it. Before looking behind you to see if anyone else can see you two smoking outside of this expensive actor’s party…or was it a Studio Exec? 

Maya let’s the smoke billow out of her mouth like a dragon. Before you jump to fill the gap in the silence.  

“Two people not compatible at first, one even not liking the other. Then..one person… giving them a chance…Kids these days call it ‘enemies to lovers trope. Though it could be argued four weddings and a funeral doesn’t fit that.” You say, calling Maya out. But she let’s her fingers brush against yours for longer than she needs.

Your breath hitches as the warm pads of her fingers graze your knuckles and then down to the ends of your black fingernails, she let’s them stay for a moment longer.

Before taking the joint out of your grip. Maya flicks the ash onto the lavish backyard patio. You wonder if she’s ever used an ash tray, or if she’d just put her spliff out on gorgeous models tongues. 

The idea of it was so hard to push away, you were angry at your over active imagination. And why the idea turned you on so much. 

Maya was watching you have an internal battle, and she would kill to know what you were thinking. Not just a saying in this moment, she had family in the Mafia, she’d do it. 

But Maya let the doobie sit in between her fingers as she eyed it to see if the cherry had gone out. But the head of Marketing spoke to you as she fiddled with her lighter in her pocket again. 

“Hmm, you know I like how you write all of that yearning. Your fandom really enjoys it too. The focus groups and first teaser trailer proves they’d watch you read a Take out Menu, as long as it was you. You have a way with words…A way with setting a scene.” Maya’s compliments don’t touch your skin, they don’t sink into your low confidence riddled mind. You are a tortured artist, just like every other waiter in this cursed town. So you focus on the interesting thing she’d said in that. 

“You watched my movies?” You weren’t sure why that was so off brand for Maya. Not Maya coded at all. Maya puts the half smoked blunt inbetween her lipstick stained lips and uses one hand to block the Santa Ana winds. You think of ‘The Holiday’ with Jack Black being a gentlemen and helping Kate Winslet get the eyelash out of her eye. You try not to feel like you are in a movie again, try not to feel like love is at all possible, as you watch Maya take her engraved lighter and cup one hand to block the wind.

It blows from both sides now and her flame goes out. 

Her manicured nails don’t get in the way as her thumb strikes the wheel to make another flame. You hate yourself for leaning in and cupping your hand to help her.

The memory of her breath against your ear the first day comes crashing in. You try to school your features.  

Maya’s eyes gaze up at you now, she’s taller by a few inches normally. But you had higher heels on tonight, and she’s bent just enough to block the windy night. So looking up at you through her dark lashes feels too intimate. 

But she doesn’t torture you, she lights the end of her blunt. And inhales, you step back and she flips the lighter closed. Breathing out before pinching the paper and handing it to you once more. 

“Is that so shocking?” She says and you feel stupid. 

You had made so many assumptions about the head of Studio Marketing. It felt jaded and childish now. You were a queer writer, you were never supposed to come to L.A and make movies. You wanted to write novels. Somehow you were writing straight love stories. 

You weren’t supposed to be here. And people made grand assumptions about you all day. How you could fall into the same trap with Maya was now a little embarrassing. 

You didn’t know Maya Mason. And it was becoming very clear, that you’d written her off quickly for the wrong reasons. 

You shouldn’t have assumed she was just a player with no brains. Maya had proved to be different in every way. You read every note she sent in those flowers and you were quickly discovering from her desire to send you a movie every day….that Maya didn’t give up easily. She was driven in more than just her work, and she was so fucking smart. 

You should have pushed her away because her blue eyes could only mean you falling into her, and that couldn’t happen. 

You warrded off love, and you meant it. 

Never again would you fall, never again would you give up your power. No, love and war were the same and you had no intention of bleeding again. 

Maya was off the menu.

“Just doesn’t seem like you’d be the type to sit it and watch people fall head over heels for each other. Just figured you weren’t into romcoms. I figured you were more of a…trashy reality TV girl.” You can’t apologize and tell her you realize you’d been wrong. You keep up the lie. Keep the words hoping they sting. 

‘Fall out of interest with me, I’m not worth this..’ You hope the remarks will do that. 

Maya watches your lips as you take the quick burning joint.

She curses the paper for burning too fast. Not ready to go back in, not wanting this moment with you to end. How could she talk you into getting out of here? Going to a local restaurant and sit with her. Talk until the early hours of the morning, Maya wished. 

“You don’t know me. And everyone wants that, that one person who see’s them. I don’t think that desire has a ‘type’ of audience. Everyone wants to be wanted, to be chosen in a crowd of people. To be taken home and grow old with someone. That’s just…perfect.” Maya says as she looks off into the distance. And you can see the hollywood sign in the expensive home.

The light bleeds against the dark backdrop, it would have made you feel dreamy the first month you’d been in L.A. When you believed this was the land of Angels, where people made history with their art. What a kid you’d been.

But time had made you mean and now it was just a sign on a hill. Just like the 405 highway. Nothing special as you saw it. 

The color bled into the night like water colors becoming blurry on a canvas. 

It was fake, just like everything and everyone in Hollywood. 

But as you gazed at Maya you had to admit; 

“You aren’t what I expected.” You wished you hadn’t shown your hand. Your cards felt bare on the table now. You hand her the blunt and stare at her hand instead. But Maya whispers and looks at you. 

“Yeah, I suppose I’m not. But did you really think I was going to be… on…be like I am in the studio..All the time? You don’t think I put my feet up on a sunday, have a relax button? Don’t think I can chill?”

You think for a moment, before bursting into a fit of laughter. 

“Fuck no!” You say dramatically and Maya laughs along, glad you get her brand of humor. Realizing you two had a lot more in common than Maya could have ever dreamt of. 

And Maya’s sides hurt as she laughed. 

“No, I really don’t. I am a lot, all the time. I actually threw an iced mocha at a producer an hour before I had to come here. Pretty sure he was wearing a vintage Armani suit too.” Maya cackles and you laugh too. Fuck it felt good to not fake a laugh too, but to actually laugh. To be naughty and enjoy a bad joke, someone somewhere would get angry at you for not being kind to the poor producer, but not Maya.  

When you both caught your breath, Maya looked at the ends of her joint. 

Time was up.

“It’s not so bad,” You whisper looking down at the end of your pot. 

You felt a little floaty, but you’d smoked enough in your time here in California to know one joint wouldn’t do it. 

“The weed? Yeah I picked it up so it’s fresh roll.” Maya says and you wonder if she’s being obtuse on purpose. As she flicks it into the big planter pot she’d used to barricade the door. 

“No, being authentically yourself. Unapologetically crude and say what you mean and do what you want. Seems like it would be pretty..freeing.” You uncover a secret in the space between you and the gorgeous woman and Maya thinks about this. Eyeing the sign, the lack of anyone around, and then you once again. 

Like she’s deciding, and you are curious what goes on in her mind. 

“It is, that is until you lose someone important from your reputation.”

It feels like a declaration of love. And you almost want to be annoyed you hadn’t written it for a character in your storys. Because it was fucking good. 

You both stared at one another, and you wondered if Maya would close the distance and kiss you. But she didn’t. And that made you want her to more.  

“Thank you for what you did in there…” You point to the door with your thumb. 

“I thought I was being toxic and saving you?” Maya’s eyebrow raises but her face is playful. 

“I didn’t need your help…but it was nice to have someone in my corner..” You give her the insight. And now you really wish you would stop talking. Or better yet, be rude again. Because this was all too….romantic. 

“Where’s Aubrey or Sandy? Not very gentlemanly to leave you.” Maya says and she realizes that she ruined your shared moment. But it’s too late to hit delete. Not a text she can unsend. 

Your face sours and Maya opens her mouth to say words. Any words to have you look at her like you had a moment ago. But your walls slide back up so fast. 

“What are you talking about? I didn’t bring a date. Oh, I see. You read that TMZ shit, you think I’m such a slut. That I’m going out every weekend with actresses older than me and fucking them, is that it? Jesus, I don’t know what I was thinking. You are just like the rest. Not that I care what the fuck you think, or anyone else. But those women are my friends. They’re strong and smart and-forget it! If I wanted to have a fucking orgy in George Clooney’s summer home with Viola Davis and Helen Mirren fucking me with their straps at the same time! It would be my business, not anyone elses! ” You say and Maya yells your name as you push past her and kick the big heavy planter, your shoe holds up. But the planter breaks and you step over the dirt and roots of the tree. 

You throw open the door and go back into the party so you can get your keys and leave. 

Maya tries to catch you but you are gone. 

____________________

Maya doesn’t apologize.

She wan’t raised to. No one in her family had ever taught her how to, in fact. 

So she isn’t sure how to say sorry. But she knew she regretted how things ended that night. And she still was desperate for your company. Even if you never believed her, she just wanted to talk to you.

Maya was in love, already so far gone, and it was embarrassing. If Maya did get embarrassed by feelings, which she didn’t. 

So on Monday she opened another browser on her computer and ordered a book again. Hoping it would get you to talk to her, even if it was just to throw it in her face.

So three hours later when she was taking a meeting with Patty and Sal and you threw the door of her office open. She was relieved, not upset. 

Maya’s assistant was trying to stop you but she shushed him. 

“The fuck is this?” You held up Viola Davis’s memoire. But then you saw Sal and Patty and your face paled. 

“We’ll leave, this seems like a couples thing.” Sal says and you open your mouth to say that you aren’t dating Maya. But you can’t find it in yourself to correct him.

So when Patty lightly pats Maya’s shoulder like an understanding friend. Who is very aware that she’s gonna sleep on the sofa you wonder if the whole studio believes you two are actually dating. 

Maya closes the door and then puts her hand out for the sofa. 

You don’t want to give her the pleasure of being obedient. So you throw the book at her and Maya ducks. Not catching it as it hits the wall. 

“I take it you aren’t one for memoirs then?” Maya teases and the vein in your neck pops out. Maya eyes it and wonders how you taste. She wonders if she licks that vein, what noises she’ll get in return. 

“I don’t get the game you are playing. But I mean it, I’m not interested.” You say and Maya feels like she knows you well enough in this moment to know you don’t actually mean it. Your voice just doesn’t hold the same venom now. 

“Did you read it?” Maya asked and you ground your jaw. 

“Yes, Viola Davis is amazing, I thought it was very well written and very moving. Why did you send it?” You say and then wonder why the fuck you are still in her office, with the door closed. Alone with Maya Mason. 

“You left the party before I could talk to you again..and you said that thing about double penetration with Viola Davis. So…it was my way of…I wanted to…” Maya trailed off and you both look at each other with such intensity. 

But Maya’s door is opened and Matt is holding up a report on marketing that he’d printed out. He’s holding it up and then he eyes you across the room. 

Maya grabs the cup full of pens off her desk and chucks it at Matt’s head. He curses as it hits him in the face. Wow, she had great aim.

Blood quickly squirts out of Matt’s nose like he’s a pierced Capri Sun. He cups his face and drops the pages and they go fluttering to the floor. 

“MAYA WHAT THE FUCK! OW! I’M BLEEDING!” 

Wow Matt bleeds a lot, is he on blood thinners you wonder. Realizing Matt is an only child, because he couldn’t take a hit. You however had brothers, and you learned how to take a punch by the age of seven. You realize you should help your boss…or feel bad?

“HAVE YOU NEVER HEARD OF KNOCKING? GET OUT! GET OUT!” Maya screams and you try not to laugh as she goes feral. This was the Maya you’d heard so much about. Short tempered and unpredictable, ready to set someone on fire if they got her coffee order wrong.

Not the gentle looks you’d been receiving, book club conversations, white knight, and romcom hobbyist. You kinda liked watching this actually. Maya wasn’t just prince charming, she was…well Maya Mason. Not a fucking nail unbedazzled or wrinkle in her outfit as she wounded the head of the studio. 

You couldn’t help but chuckle as Matt used his hideous tie to dab at his now bleeding nose. But he turns out of the office and his tie and shirt have giant blood stains on them. 

Maya walks after him and you wonder if she’s going to apologize but she slams the door.

You can’t help but make a joke.  

“I didn’t knock either, is that what happens if I don’t knock next time?” You tease, knowing you should feel bad for enjoying this so much. Matt was innocent and didn’t deserve it, but it was hilarious. 

“No, I like you. I want to go out with you. Fuck I’m trying to woo you here! Besides don’t pity the twat. This is far from the first time I’ve told Matt to respect the closed door. And if I’m in the middle of a meeting and my door is closed you just…open it. Come in, okay Austen?” Maya says and her hair is a little wilder than before. You wonder if she even realized how honest she was being. 

“Okay.” You say the word slowly, like you are trying to process all of that. And you don’t know why you feel like you are going to blush. 

“Okay.” Maya repeats she takes in the sight of you, your outfit makes her want you. The hair not in your ponytail is begging to be placed behind your ear. 

You both stare at each other and you walk around her desk  to pick up the thrown book. You are extremely aware that Maya is staring at your ass as you bend over. But it doesn’t piss you off how you’d like it to. It feels like flattery, which makes you feel like a stupid teenager. 

After you pick up the book you make your way to the door and Maya goes to grab your wrist, to stop you but you throw open the door and walk out. Your signature black boots clicking on the marble floor.  

“Are you free tonight? I’ll take you to that new sushi place on Sunset!” Maya yells for the whole floor to hear. You flip her the bird from behind, you but don’t turn around. 

“Not happening Mason!”

Maya smiles as she watches you put a little more sway into your hips. But her phone starts to ring and she knows it’s HR. She’s going to get another complaint filed against her and she rolls her eyes but goes to answer it. 

_______________

The next day Maya is at Matt’s house for a party. She looks all over for you, but doesn’t find her gorgeous and tortured Jane Austen sitting in a corner surrounded by pretty Mommy actresses.

Maya tries not to pout as she goes over to her group of executives. Knowing she’s here on business. Not wanting to spend time at the lame venue longer than needed. 

Patty gives her a shitty mixed drink that Matt is serving. There’s a theme to the party but it got lost somewhere. Maya takes a sip and tastes vanilla vodka and Malibu rum with a little bit of pineapple juice. It’s fucking gross.

But Maya sees the alternative is what Patty is drinking. 

Which is a play on Sangria..only for some reason it’s 75 percent fruit in her glass. And she keeps spitting out chunks of rancid mushy old fruit into a napkin. 

Sal is high as fuck. Matt is trying to get anyone around him to get Zoe Kravitz to come to his party. From the looks of it, everyone at the party either works for the studio. Or is a B level celebrity. 

Maya thought she’d seen Luke Wilson but it was actually the Wilson’s youngest cousin. It was a pitiful party and Maya was counting down the minutes until she could leave.

“Patty I’ll give you a fucking raise if you get Kravitz here!” Matt tried and then eyed Maya.

“Where is your girlfriend? Can you call her? We need a big name!” He says and Maya has seen this look from him before. It’s that desperate need for be cool to others, it’s nasty to be around. 

“Haven’t you heard, Maya can’t get a date! So it it just sex then?” Quinn asks coming out of nowhere and Patty and Maya both grimace at her drunken state. 

“Of course it’s not just sex! Maya is in love. And our young Austen is the queen of romance. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were already picking out vacation homes. You guys u-haul it last weekend?” Patty jokes but everyone belies it as the truth.

Maya sips her gross drink before putting it onto a passing survey’s tray to get rid of it.

“Matt I’m sure someone will show eventually.” Maya says not willing to tell the reality of her love life, she wanted what they said to be the truth. 

“You really believe that? You think your girl will show?” Matt said excited and Maya smirked.

“Of course not. But HR said I can’t make you cry again this quarter without getting a pay cut.” Maya said and the whole group laughed, except Matt who checked his phone again.

“Patty don’t you have Al Pacino’s number from when you used to give him blow jobs?” Matt asks and Patty is chewing a grape from her weird drink. She chuckles at the memory.

“He’s 85 Matty. You want a repeat of Vegas? You wanna see if you can kill him with mushrooms.” She taunts and everyone finds that entertaining. 

Maya can’t help but chuckle with the group at that memory. 

“Why didn’t you ask me? I’m your best friend!” Sal said and he takes Pattys drink and throws it on his chest.

Yeah he was really high. Patty just looks relieved she doesn’t need to keep eating the fruit salad.

“You don’t have anyone’s phone number. You once told me you were fucking Brie Larson. You are a liar!” Quinn said and Patty looked at her concerned that she may have got her drink spiked. She was sweating and being very blunt. 

“She knows we got to second base! Besides; I have everyone’s phone number. I got Brad’s Pitt’s phone number and even Anthony Hopkins Fax number!” Sal brags and opens a small container of cocaine.

He looks around for a surface and then goes to the bar.

Maya arches an eyebrow and makes her move;  she corners him at the end of the bar as he pulls out a rolled up fifty to use to snort.

“Sal, I need a phone number.”

He leans down and does his line before using his finger to rub the excess on his gums. 

He eyes Maya for a minute like she’s a unicorn before realizing what she’s saying.

“Your girlfriend need to get in touch with Sally Fields. Get it cuz you both are old and have dark hair? She has a type!” He jokes and Maya tries to remain non homicidal to him. 

“Will you get me Austen’s phone number?”

“You don’t have your own girls number? Oh shit is she such a romcom queen you gotta like..send her letters or something? Or oh, did you get in trouble again and she changed it! That would suck! Is that why everyone said she won’t go out to eat with you?”

Maya focused on box breathing. Sal had already decided on the idea of payment as she tried not to set him on fire with her lighter.

“Wow, Maya. I wonder what I want.” He pulled the coke out again and put it on the glass bar.

Maya was planning his demise, and her alibi. But she focused on counting down from five trying to not reach across and slap the phone out of his hand and then take out his eye with one of the appetizer toothpicks. 

Sal got an idea before doing another line, holding up his finger like he found the holy grail. Maya was sure he wasn’t Harrison Ford and he had not.

“Ooh how about like a blank check as they used to say in old Hollywood?. I want you to owe me a favor!” Sal says through his coked out mind and Maya doesn’t like that. She grew up around the mafia, she knew better. 

Maya leaned in and took her phone out. She used the passcode on one of her secret apps. Sal’s face fell as he looked at the screen.

“How about this? You give me her number or I’ll show the entire party the video of you getting a golden shower at Angela Lansbury’s Easter party from Bette Midler and Mark Warburg. How does that sound? I believe I saw a projector in the main room, I can’t wait to tell everyone it’s movie time! Do you thing we can connect the Bose speakers?” Maya taunts and her face is so excited and Sal is shaking his head. But her finger hovers of the play button.

“Fuck no! I opened my mouth the whole time…Please ok I’m sorry! Fuck I didn’t know you had that! You are so scary! Jesus!” Sal grabs his phone out of his tux jacket and scrolls. He reads the digits out and Maya quickly adds them to her phone.

Sal runs away and Maya grabs the drink he ordered and downs it in two gulps. Phone sitting in her manicured nails like a sacred prize of war. 

__

To be continued. ...

[snowseasonmademe]

Wow! Guardati!

word count: 6,003

warning ‼️: smut. kind of fulffy at the end.

pairing: lewis hamilton x black female reader

summary: an encounter with an extra flirty journalist results in the expansion of your family

tag list: @sucredreamer @irishmanwhore @dexastres @coffeevacation @goldenngt @btslover117 @kennaskorner

@leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro

@jessnotwiththemess @thepointlessideas

@kjlovesbigwilo

note: let’s act like lewis has a documentary coming out okay? just for the storyline! anyway, here’s a cute little something for my lewis girls :) i really enjoyed the end of this and i hope you all like it! next is an aurélien fic, then a wilo fic and then an alejandro fic :) as always, enjoy and tell me what you think!

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

The atmosphere buzzed with elegance, anticipation, and a kind of glamour that could only be conjured under the Italian moonlight. Florence’s old-world beauty was the perfect backdrop for a night like this—timeless, opulent, and humming with flashbulbs. The red carpet shimmered under the weight of the moment. Lewis’ latest passion project, F1, was premiering tonight, and the turnout had been nothing short of cinematic. Everywhere you turned were tuxedos and gowns, laughter softened by champagne bubbles, camera lenses blinking like stars just inches from your face.

And through all the spectacle, Lewis hadn’t let go of you once.

You were still high on love—on the marriage, on the promise of forever. Five months into your union and it still felt like you were floating, like each morning you woke up next to him was the start of something new. He kept you close the entire night, fingers tracing soft, reassuring lines over the fabric at your waist, pulling you in like you were the anchor in the sea of lights and attention. His hand never strayed from you—always grounded, always present. There was a reverence to the way he held you, like you were both part of the show and entirely above it.

He looked stunning, of course. That effortless Lewis Hamilton kind of stunning—tailored black tux with crisp lapels, the soft glint of jewelry against his skin, and that signature calm that made the loudest rooms feel intimate. But tonight, it wasn’t just about the way he looked. It was about the pride in his eyes. His movie. His vision. His voice finally made cinematic.

And you… you were the dream incarnate beside him.

Your dress was bold—a strapless red that kissed your curves in all the right places, tailored within a breath of scandal but wrapped in pure class. It shimmered under the flash of every camera, the neckline a delicate frame to your collarbones and shoulders, the hem grazing just the right amount of leg when you walked. You were red wine in silk. Velvet flame. He hadn’t stopped staring at you since you stepped out of the car, his eyes lingering like a man deeply, wildly in love.

The photographers had eaten it up. Posing together, Lewis’ hand steady on your waist, your smiles in sync—it was art, really. The kind of love that makes even the most jaded paparazzi pause behind the lens. After the photos, it was time to make the rounds—answer questions, shake hands, show face. Lewis kept his hand locked with yours as he guided you from one cluster of journalists to the next, answering questions about the movie, the creative process, his transition into film.

And, of course, about marriage.

“She’s been incredible,” he said more than once, nodding toward you with the kind of smile that made your stomach flutter. “Honestly, I don’t know how I did any of this without her.”

You tried to stay quiet in the background, but Lewis made sure you were never just an accessory. His answers were laced with love, and his glances in your direction were nothing short of devout. The glimmer of your wedding rings caught the light more than once.

It had been smooth sailing—until you approached him.

The flirty journalist.

He was standing at the end of a velvet rope, credentials swinging from his neck, mic already raised before you even reached him. Tall, tan, and smug with confidence, he had sun-kissed skin and chestnut curls that framed a chiseled face. His hazel eyes sparkled with something cocky, like he was more interested in the fantasy than the facts. His suit was sharp, but his smile was sharper.

As soon as you and Lewis stepped up, he zeroed in on you.

“Wow, guardati!” (Wow! look at you!) he said with a flirtatious grin, eyes unapologetically raking over your silhouette. “Mrs. Hamilton, you look absolutely gorgeous tonight. Are you enjoying yourself?”

You felt the weight of the attention immediately, felt it coat your skin like heat. But your years beside Lewis—your years of practice with poise—had trained you well. You didn’t falter. You smiled, nodded, poised like a diamond. You were used to the attention, used to being watched, admired, and occasionally tested. But something about this man’s tone felt a little too eager, a little too personal for the setting.

Still, you knew the drill: smile, thank him, and redirect. It wasn’t the first time you’d had to politely deflect on red carpets.

But before you could respond, Lewis stepped in.

His voice was smooth, but the tension in his jaw was subtle and unmistakable. “She does look absolutely stunning tonight, doesn’t she?” he said, eyes fixed on the journalist like a man quietly staking a claim. His hand squeezed your waist, fingers a little firmer now, pulling you ever so slightly closer to him.

The message was clear. Crystal.

You smiled through it, gently brushing a loose curl away from your face, giving the camera a glimpse of your glistening wedding stack. “I’m honored to be here with my husband,” you said, deliberately drawing out the last word like honey on your tongue. “He’s worked so hard on this project. I’ve seen the hours, the passion. I’m just so proud he finally gets to share it with the world.”

Your voice was calm, collected, elegant. But you didn’t miss the way the journalist’s eyes flicked back to your neckline, or the way Lewis stiffened ever so slightly beside you.

“And Lewis,” the man continued, clearly unfazed by the shift in energy—or maybe just too bold to care, “you’re looking sharp as ever. Marriage suits you. Has Y/N been helping with the wardrobe lately?”

Lewis didn’t miss a beat. He smiled—tight, amused, challenging.

“She actually picked out all my jewelry tonight,” he said, holding up both hands to show off the glint of his watch and the rings that adorned his fingers. His wedding band sparkled the brightest.

“She makes great fashion choices,” the journalist added, casting another glance your way—lingering, greedy.

And that was it.

That was the moment Lewis’ patience ran out.

He tilted his head slightly, a sharp motion almost too subtle to catch. His eyes narrowed just enough to shift the air between them. The sweetness in his smile dissolved into something darker, more pointed.

“Did you wanna marry her too, or—?”

The question was tossed like a blade disguised as a joke. Your lips twitched, stifling a laugh as your gaze dropped to the carpet for a moment. You could feel the heat blooming at your cheeks—part embarrassment, part delight.

The journalist blinked. “No, no,” he stammered, taken off guard but trying to recover, “she just looks so beautiful, I can’t help—”

“You are not her type” Lewis cut in smoothly, voice low and final. “Enjoy the movie man.”

And just like that, he gently guided you away, a protective hand on the small of your back, shielding you with the strength of someone who knew exactly what he had—and refused to let anyone else forget it.

You kept a soft smile on your face as you walked off the red carpet, the sound of your heels echoing lightly on the stone steps beneath you. Lewis’ hand remained steady at the small of your back, guiding you with that same mix of intention and tenderness that always made you feel like the only woman in the world. The flashes were still going off, camera bulbs catching the sharp lines of his jaw, the glossy sheen of your lips, the way your bodies curved toward each other like you were made to fit—like he belonged nowhere else but beside you.

But even as you kept your composure, your mind was still spinning a little. That journalist. The way he looked at you, the audacity in his smile, the not-so-subtle flirtation that slipped between his words like smoke. It wasn’t your first time being flirted with in front of Lewis—but this had felt different. Bold. Purposeful.

Still, you didn’t let it show. You walked gracefully back into the venue, back through the velvet-lined corridor that smelled faintly of fresh paint and expensive perfume. His fingers twitched once at your waist but stayed respectful, possessive only in the way he tilted his body just enough to keep you between him and the wall.

Only once you were in the elevator did you allow yourself to break the silence. The doors glided shut with a soft chime, cutting you off from the chaos behind you. The moment felt suspended, like the city was holding its breath.

You giggled, the sound light, teasing, deliberately casual. “Was he actually okay?” you asked, tilting your face toward him, your cheek resting briefly against his arm. “That was kinda crazy babe.”

Lewis didn’t answer right away. He inhaled, jaw clenched just slightly before his shoulders dropped and his voice came out low and steady.

“He must’ve lost his mind,” he muttered. “That guy’s fuckin’ crazy. Who talks like that to someone’s wife? On camera?”

You smiled again, tracing little circles against the fabric of his sleeve with your thumb. “He was kind of cute though.”

He turned his head slowly to look at you, mouth parting as if to say something, but what came out was laughter. Deep, amused, slightly exasperated.

“Y/N, don’t joke like that,” he said with a playful warning in his voice. “Even if you did find him cute—which I know you didn’t—he can’t dress, and he smells like pepper. Like, full-on crushed black peppercorns. Who wears powder yellow to a movie premiere? In linen? Is it 1973?”

Your laughter burst out before you could stop it, sharp and bright in the small space of the elevator. “You’re so mean”

He smirked, rolling his eyes. “Nah. I just have taste. Can’t have my wife being hit on by a man dressed like a lost Easter egg.”

You leaned into his side and sighed, smiling to yourself. You could feel his arm shift as he brought his hand up to your waist again, this time resting his fingers just beneath your ribs. There was a comfort in it—protective, proud, and just the tiniest bit possessive. But not in the way that smothered. No, this was different. He was reminding you that he was here, that you were his, and that anyone with eyes could see how lucky he was.

~~~~~~

The rest of the night unfolded in golden, surreal fragments.

The lights in the screening room dimmed slowly, and the room fell into a silence that was reverent. The movie began without any grand title cards or booming score. Just the hum of an engine, the sound of breath through a helmet, the stillness before the chaos.

You saw the world through Lewis’ eyes—literally. The camera moved like a body. Like his body. You were pulled into the cockpit, thrown into corners, accelerating, braking, dodging raindrops and grit, hearing radio chatter and sudden silence. It was breathtaking. Terrifying. Intimate.

Every flick of the steering wheel was a decision. Every race was a war. And beneath it all, you could feel the unrelenting pressure—the constant negotiation between perfection and catastrophe.

And then came the personal parts.

The montages of his childhood. Footage of him karting. Shaky home videos with his father. Archive clips of headlines that vilified him, commentators dismissing him, critics dissecting his every move.

You held your breath during those moments.

Lewis didn’t move beside you. His posture stayed the same, but you saw the tension in the set of his jaw. The way his hand tightened slightly around yours as a clip played of a journalist calling him “too flashy,” “too emotional,” “too political.”

And then came the joy. His first win. His championships. The scenes of him working with his engineers, pushing his team to be better, standing at the front of protests, speaking up when everyone else stayed silent.

By the end of the film, you weren’t just emotional—you were transformed.

You turned to look at him as the credits rolled. There was a stillness in his face, but his eyes were soft. Brighter than they had been all night.

“I’m so proud of you,” you whispered, your fingers tracing the back of his hand.

He didn’t say anything right away. He just leaned over and kissed your temple, long and slow, breathing you in like you were the only safe place in the world.

~~~~~~

Later, you were home.

The bathroom light spilled out across the marble tile, casting a soft glow that made your skin look warm and golden. You were standing in front of the mirror, unclasping your earrings with a tired sort of grace. Your feet ached, your body was starting to slow, but you still looked stunning—red gown hugging your curves, lip gloss smudged just enough to be human.

You heard him before you felt him—his bare feet on the tile, the soft rustle of his jacket hitting the armchair. Then his arms wrapped around your waist, his hands spreading wide over your stomach as he pulled you back into him. His lips found the slope of your back, trailing kisses up your spine. Gentle. Thoughtful.

“I loved the movie baby,” you murmured, your eyes meeting his reflection in the mirror. “I know I already said it, but… it was so good. I think—” you yawned mid-sentence, covering your mouth—“I think I wanna watch it again tomorrow.”

He chuckled, the sound low in your ear. “We can watch it again. Maybe we’ll invite Mr. Wife Stealer too.”

You laughed, turning in his arms and walking slowly to the edge of the bathtub, sitting with a little sigh.

“Can you take my shoes off?” you asked, looking at him through tired lashes.

He raised a brow as he followed you over and knelt, one knee touching the cool tile. “Babe, I already said yes,” you said, teasing. “Now can you take off my shoes?”

You smiled and let your head fall back as he unstrapped your heels one by one, his touch reverent. When the first one came off, he cradled your foot in his palm and began to massage it slowly, pressing into the arch like he’d done it a thousand times before. Your mouth fell open in a quiet moan of relief.

“This color makes you look really sexy” he murmured. “If I’d known this was what Ferrari red did to me, I would’ve signed the contract years ago.”

You opened your eyes and looked down at him, his face bathed in the amber light, devotion etched into every line. He moved to the other foot, giving it the same care, same attention.

Your voice came softly. “Do you think he would’ve still flirted if I was pregnant?”

He paused, just briefly. Met your eyes.

“I mean… unless he’s secretly from a scouser, probably not,” he said finally. “But clearly we never know. I would think the big ass ring on your hand would be enough.”

You pulled your foot from his hand gently and shifted, rising up to straddle his knee. He leaned back slightly, one hand instinctively catching your waist.

“It’s not too soon for kids, right?” you asked, fingering the open collar of his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin just beneath. “I know you said you wanted to wait until you retire, but…” you trailed off, eyes searching his face, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want another cute Italian journalist flirting with me.”

Lewis looked at you for a long moment. Then he smiled—slow, certain.

“I wouldn’t say it’s too soon,” he murmured, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand. “We’re gonna be married forever. Might as well get started now.”

You didn’t say anything. Just smiled, slow and private, like you’d just made up your mind about something important.

Then, wordlessly, you stood and reached for his hand.

He took it.

You led him to the bedroom.

The room was dim—near dark. Only one candle burned in the far corner of the room, a slim, flickering flame perched on the mantel above the fireplace. Its soft golden light cast long shadows across the walls, dancing over the sheets, painting you both in warm amber and deep, stretching shadows. It smelled faintly of bergamot and wax. Quiet. Private. Tranquil.

Lewis reached for you with both hands and pulled you into him like he couldn’t bear even a sliver of distance. The kiss was immediate—no teasing, no gentle buildup. Full-bodied. Deep. Tongue and breath and heat. His mouth moved over yours with a hunger that felt old and familiar, but new somehow too. Urgent and tender all at once.

As you kissed, his hands moved. Purposeful, but never rushed. He undressed you both right there—standing in the center of the room like no one had ever taught him patience but you. His shoes came off first. Then your gown, sliding down your body in one red whisper. His socks, his belt. His pants pooled around his ankles. Your bra, unhooked with a single snap of his fingers. His shirts—both layers—peeled away to reveal warm, waiting skin. His boxers. And finally, your panties. Every layer felt like it mattered. Like a ritual. A vow.

He walked backward toward the bed, never once breaking the kiss. He held your face, your jaw, your shoulders, like you might disappear if he didn’t touch enough of you. Your knees bumped into the mattress, and before you could lower yourself, he pulled you into his chest and let both your bodies fall together. The bed caught you, the sheets cool beneath your backs, and in one fluid motion, he flipped you over—settling himself above you, kneeling between your thighs.

He wasted no time. His lips descended to your throat, and his mouth opened against your skin. He kissed, then sucked—soft at first, then harder, then slow again—leaving deep bruises that bloomed like ink beneath your skin. He moved lower. Your collarbones, your chest. He took his time with your breasts, kissing them like they deserved worship, like they were speaking a language only he could understand. His mouth was soft and warm, and his toy—already thick and lengthening—rested against your thigh. It twitched when you gasped. Hardened when your hands found his hair and tangled, fingers tightening with every graze of his tongue.

You could feel how aroused he was. Not just in his body, but in his intention. Every breath, every pause, every pass of his thumb over your hip bones screamed one thing: I want to get you pregnant tonight. And not by accident. By design.

He looked at you like he was etching you into his memory. Not the kind that fades—but the kind you revisit every night before sleep. He wanted you to remember this too. So when your belly was swollen and your feet were sore and you felt like a stranger in your own body, you’d be able to close your eyes and remember this moment: the way he made you feel like a goddess while planting something inside you that would change your life forever.

You ground your hips against him, needy, aching, seeking relief. His mouth curved against your stomach as he kissed down your torso, slow and indulgent.

“Relax baby,” he whispered against your skin. “I’ll give you what you want.”

The way he said it—low, sure, almost reverent—made your toes curl.

He kept kissing lower. Over your navel, down the soft skin of your pelvis. Then, finally, he reached your center and didn’t hesitate. He spread your thighs wide, his hands anchoring your hips like he needed them open. Needed them generous. Needed you to be his in this way.

And then he devoured you.

His tongue moved in slow, languid strokes—no rush, no teasing. Just firm, unbroken pressure that melted your spine and made your mouth fall open. He licked you with full attention, full intention. And when he sucked—low, soft, rhythmic—you whimpered, hand flying to the back of his head. His braids slipped between your fingers like silk. He hummed against your clit, the vibration thrumming through you like music.

One hand left your hip and slipped down—he pressed a single finger into you, deep and unhurried. You gasped. It curled, then stroked, then curled again. Right against the spot that made your legs tremble.

He never broke his pattern. Mouth on your clit. Finger inside you. Controlled. Certain.

“Lewis,” you whispered, breath coming fast. “Oh—Lewis, you’re gonna make me cum.”

Still, he didn’t stop. He didn’t even pause. That same pace, same pull, same promise.

And when you came—when your body finally gave in and clenched around his hand—he groaned against you like he was the one being undone. You shook beneath him, voice catching, thighs closing around his head as if trying to keep him there. You didn’t mean to. It was instinct. Desire. Need.

He didn’t let up until you sagged into the sheets, boneless and dazed.

And all he could think, as he looked up at you—eyes heavy, lips glistening, chin wet with your release—was I can’t wait for her to cum on my dick like that.

He came back up to your face slowly, like a man drunk on something sacred. His lips were soft, parted and glistening. His chin slick with the mess he made of you, your sweetness still clinging to his skin. He smelled like you now—warm and musky, earthy and raw, the scent of sex thick between your bodies.

Your chest rose and fell, trying to catch the breath he’d already stolen. You let out a soft laugh, your fingers curling loosely around his shoulders. “This is why your beard’s ginger.”

He smiled, the corner of his mouth twitching upward before it spread across his face, wide and boyish. A little smug. But affectionate.

“I wouldn’t care if your pussy dyed my beard green,” he said, voice gravel-thick and low. “I’d still eat you.”

And then—before you could respond—his mouth was on yours again, like the words had only been a bridge back to your lips. He kissed you like he missed you. Like he’d been gone for days. Like tasting you wasn’t enough—he needed you under his tongue, around his dick, under his weight, everywhere.

He kissed you until your lips were sore. Until your thighs started to tremble again. Until your breath came in shallow gasps.

His mouth trailed down from your lips to your jaw, your throat, your collarbone. Then back up. He sucked at the edge of your bottom lip again before dragging it slowly between his teeth. His tongue flicked behind your earlobe, then his teeth grazed it—gently, then not. You whimpered, hips shifting on instinct as he ground his length against your clit. Slow. Deliberate. Unrelenting.

The weight of his dick pressing into your center was torture. Your body jolted, sensitive and swollen. And he knew what he was doing. He ground against you like he was memorizing your pulse, like he was setting it.

Your fingers curled into his back. “I can’t wait any longer,” you breathed. “Put it in, baby. Please. I need it.”

He lifted his head, eyes dark with desire. “You need it?” he asked, as if confirming. Then he smiled again—this time with hunger.

And he gave you what you wanted.

He reached down, letting your hand guide him. You both looked down between your bodies to where you held him—thick, hard, veined and leaking. He was already ready. More than ready. He pressed the flushed head of his dick against your entrance and slid inside with one, slow, devastating stroke.

He didn’t stop until he was all the way in. Until his hips were flush with yours and your pussy was wrapped around him like a vise.

A gasp tore from your throat. Your hands flew to his arms. You were full. Stretched in every direction. But it felt so good. So right.

He dropped his head into the crook of your neck, breathing hard, moaning low against your skin. “Fuuuck,” he groaned, like the heat of you melted something inside him. He stayed buried there for a moment, barely moving, like he wanted to memorize this exact feeling—of being surrounded, held, welcomed.

You were trembling already.

“Give it to me, Lewis,” you whispered, voice shaking. “Put a baby in me. Right now.”

That pulled a growl from his chest.

He started to move. Slow and smooth. His hips rolled forward and back with perfect control. Like a wave. Dragging the thick length of him along every sensitive inch inside you.

Your mouth fell open. Your hands slid up to cradle his face, making him look at you. You wanted to watch him fuck you. Wanted to see what he looked like inside you, lost in you.

His eyes were glassy and dark, and he didn’t look away.

Your body was making the most obscene wet sounds—loud and raw and needy. Every stroke of him was met with a squelch of your arousal, and it only turned you on more.

“I fuckin’ love that sound,” he said, never breaking eye contact. “Fuck.”

You whimpered when his fingers found your breast. He rolled your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, soft at first, then harder, pinching until your back arched. “Mmmm yes,” you moaned, voice high and stretched.

His forehead rested against yours, and for a second, it felt like you were floating. Drifting in the heat of each other’s breath.

Then he paused—only long enough to reach beneath you and slide a pillow under your hips.

The second he started again, you felt the difference.

The angle changed everything. He was right there now, hitting your spot again and again. Slow and steady, but deep and hard. Every thrust made you cry out, body jerking.

“Ohhhhhh my God, Lewis!” you shouted, nails digging into his arms.

The slap of his skin against yours echoed in the room—wet and urgent, a rhythm that stole your thoughts.

You were gone.

He was breathing hard now, muttering curses into your shoulder. “Can’t believe how wet you are for me…”

He shifted again, and suddenly your leg was higher on his shoulder, bent back nearly to your chest. He gripped your thigh with one hand, the other dropping to your throat.

He was hitting your g spot.

Dead on. Over and over.

Hard and slow. Just how you liked it.

His fingers wrapped around your neck—tight enough to hold, soft enough not to hurt.

“You want me to get you pregnant baby? Huh?” he asked, breath fanning over your face. “You have cum for me first. I can only get you pregnant if you cum for me.”

His voice was laced with heat and command.

He felt it.

And he fucked you harder.

The room blurred. You couldn’t hear your own screams. You only felt him. Felt how his dick dragged against every sensitive part of you. How his fingers squeezed just enough to keep you open, gasping, eyes locked on his.

Then it hit, your body obeyed.

Your orgasm rushed toward you like a freight train. Your eyes widened. Your thighs started to shake.

You came with a cry that scraped your throat raw, body convulsing as your walls clamped down around him. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. You only felt the pleasure explode and ripple through you like fire.

“Fuck, that’s it—fuck!” he growled, fucking you through it, his own breath falling apart.

His pace stuttered. You felt his legs tense, his rhythm grow erratic.

With the last thread of strength, you grabbed his face, eyes wide and desperate. “Give it to me, Lewis pleaaassee” you begged. “Cum inside me. Please. Give me a baby.”

That pushed him over.

He moaned loud—raw and unrestrained—and slammed into you with a final, bone-deep thrust.

And he came.

You felt it. Hot. Deep. Endless.

You could feel how much more he gave you this time—thick ropes of him spilling into you, pulsing with every twitch of his dick. Your body opened up to him, holding every drop.

He stayed like that, buried inside, chest heaving against yours. Then he collapsed fully, his body resting on top of you. Heavy and solid. Safe.

You kissed his temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. Still grinding gently, still chasing the feeling.

He chuckled, eyes still closed. “Give me five minutes, baby,” he murmured. “We’ll go again in a minute.”

And he kept his word.

He fucked you everywhere.

On the carpet beside the bed, your legs over his shoulders again as he whispered filthy things into your ear.

In the closet, with one of your dresses still hanging behind you, his fingers dug into your hips while you bit down on his shoulder to keep from screaming.

In the hallway, where he took you standing up, pressed against the wall, his hand covering your mouth as you whimpered.

In the foyer, bent over the console table, your hands flat against the glass while he drove into you from behind.

In the kitchen, on the cold marble counter, where your back arched and your legs shook as he licked your nipples and fucked you slow.

In the living room, on the couch, on the floor, on top of the throw pillows.

And finally, against the living room window. His hands gripping your waist, your breath fogging the glass, the night pressing in around you like a curtain. No one could see. But it wouldn’t have mattered.

By the end of it, your mind was blank.

Your body wrecked.

Your legs barely working.

But you knew. You felt it deep in your core, heavy and full and certain.

This pregnancy only needed one try.

And tonight had been it.

You were pregnant.

~~~~~~

Six months later:

November. The São Paulo Grand Prix.

The sky above Interlagos was a wide, searing blue, streaked with the barest wisps of clouds. The sun was high and golden, baking the asphalt and flooding every corner of the paddock with a kind of electric heat. The Brazilian crowd was still roaring, their cheers echoing long after the checkered flag had waved. Flags flew, champagne glistened in the air, and camera flashes lit the pit lane like tiny bolts of lightning.

And there you were.

Plump. Glowing. Radiant in a way that stopped people mid-sentence.

Six months pregnant.

Your belly rounded out the silk of your dress, soft and prominent beneath the hand you kept cradled over it—like a natural extension of your body, like you were made to carry this baby. The swell of your breasts pushed against the neckline of your dress, full and sensitive. Your skin was dewy, warm, bronzed by the sun and made even more vibrant by the joy in your face. Your lips were painted a soft, glossy pink, your edges laid, curls pinned back with a silver clip that glittered when it caught the light.

You looked exactly like what you were—loved. Wanted. Cherished beyond measure.

The day couldn’t have gone better. Lewis had taken pole position yesterday and sealed it today with a win so commanding it had people whispering about vintage Hamilton magic. He climbed out of the car with his arms raised, fists clenched in triumph, confetti in his hair, champagne in his mouth, and the first thing he’d done was point toward you.

The cameras caught it. You, smiling from the edge of the crowd, your hand pressed to your stomach. Your other hand lifted in a small wave, tears in your eyes, unable to stop grinning.

That was how the world found out.

A baby.

His baby.

You’d waited six months. Not out of secrecy, but because it was yours first. Something sacred and quiet, just for the two of you. After that night—the one that changed everything—you’d known right away. You felt it the next morning in the way your body ached, in the way your insides felt different. Like something had taken root.

But just to be sure, you and Lewis kept trying. Again. And again. And again. For four weeks straight. He couldn’t keep his hands off you. Morning, afternoon, middle of the night. In the shower. In the car. In the kitchen. He was a man on a mission, and the mission was getting you pregnant.

You laughed now, remembering the look on his face the morning the test turned positive. That glassy, soft-eyed smile. That whispered, “I knew it.” The way he’d kissed your stomach for fifteen straight minutes, whispering things to it like it could already hear him.

He hadn’t stopped kissing you since.

And now—here you were. Walking through the paddock hand in hand with your husband. Husband. The word still made your heart race.

His fingers were laced with yours, thumb brushing the back of your hand every few seconds like he couldn’t help it. He was still in his race suit, peeled down to his waist, fireproof shirt clinging to his skin, hair damp from champagne and sweat. The gold chain at his neck caught the light. He wore his win like it was stitched into his skin. But more than that, he wore you.

He didn’t let go of your hand once.

People kept stopping to congratulate you—soft smiles, gentle hugs, nods of admiration. Engineers, journalists, even rival drivers. Some offered a light touch to your arm, others beamed at Lewis and shook his hand with firm, proud grips. Everyone seemed to feel the magic between you. The way your hand never left your belly. The way Lewis kept stealing glances at it. At you.

“Baby’s first race win,” someone joked.

Lewis grinned. “First of many.”

Your steps slowed as you walked past the Mercedes garage. The air shifted slightly. You felt it before you saw him.

The journalist.

The one from that red carpet in Italy. Young. Handsome. The same dark eyes. The same sharp jaw. He was standing beside the pit wall, notebook in hand, headset slung low around his neck. This time he didn’t wear a smirk. No cocky tilt to his chin. No hungry eyes trailing over your frame.

He looked at you. Just once.

And you looked back.

Not with disdain. Not even with warning. Just a soft, knowing smile. The kind that said: You could never have handled me. Not like he does.

And maybe he understood that now. Maybe that’s why he didn’t smile back—just lowered his head in a respectful nod.

Lewis saw the whole thing.

And the way his jaw ticked made you tighten your grip on his hand, thumb tracing soothing circles into the back of it.

You leaned over and whispered, “Relax. He learned his lesson.”

Lewis didn’t respond right away. He just slid his arm around your waist, slow and possessive, resting his palm flat across the curve of your belly. His thumb stroked the side of it like he was drawing a boundary.

“He better have,” he muttered, mouth brushing your temple. “Next time he so much as thinks about you, I’ll remind him whose last name you’re carrying.”

You smiled and turned into his chest, letting the sound of the paddock blur around you. The crowd. The engines. The hum of celebration. None of it mattered.

He kissed the top of your head, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. “You hungry?”

“For you or for food?” you teased, and he groaned softly against your ear.

“Both,” he said, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “But I’ll feed you first.”

He helped you into the hospitality suite, kept one hand on your lower back the whole time like he was guiding royalty. You knew once the sun dipped and the sky turned dusky and rose-tinted, he’d take you back to the hotel. Strip you down slowly. Kiss every stretch mark, every swollen curve. Run his lips along your belly and whisper promises against the skin.

Because even after the win, after the podium, after the cheers—

You were his prize.

And he was yours.

Forever.

[world-of-aus]

Still In the Frame

Pairing: Hockey Player!Bucky x Sports Photographer!Reader

Warning: a pinch of fluff, pinch of angst, a hefty dose of Bucky Barnes.

Author's Note: It's been such a long time since I've written and I fear i may be in over my head here. But alas I will not back down I am getting this story out! i hope you all enjoy this first part, back to my dark cave i goooo!

The doors to TD Garden had opened nearly two hours ago, but you had been here long before that mentally preparing yourself for the adrenaline the night would bring. 

Hoisting your gear bag over your shoulder you move through the arena, tapping your badge against the security scanner, weaving your way through the tunnels that once upon a time had felt too big, too loud, too unreal for a dreamer like yourself. But you had fought to build your name in this industry, long nights of hard work finally earning you a place with the Boston Bruins as their official sports photographer.  

 A second home. 

Dropping your bag behind the rink side media table you unzipped it with practiced ease, laying out your lenses, checking your batteries, running through the quiet rhythm of getting ready.  

Your own pre-game ritual. 

“Hey y/n, I know this is your thing by now but you know you get here early right, you could at least wait until the players are out on the ice warming it up before you show up.” Mark one of the newer videographers was tangled in a cable of wires behind the media table a crooked grin on his lips as he paused his work to watch you set up. “Are you really that afraid you’ll miss the puck drop if you don’t check every setting seven times? It’s you, you never miss” 

You shake your head, smile pulling at your lips as you adjust the strap of your camera around your neck. “While you’re right that I never miss, I also can’t help that I’m thorough Mark, I am a professional. Unlike some people.” you tease. 

He mock-gasps, eyes rolling, Mark was as professional as they came when it came to the wiring of the media board, but if he was going to dish it, he could certainly take it. “Rude,” he huffs, “you just happened to catch me at a bad moment.” 

You didn’t answer, instead lifting your camera and aiming it right at him. Click. He groaned head thrown back. “Now I caught you,” you grin flashing him the display. 

“Oh God y/n delete that, save that film for the players,” he murmurs ducking out of frame to tend to his tangled wires before you can get another shot of him. 

Chuckling to yourself you turn to the ice surveying what will be the background of many of your shots tonight. The arena is glimmering in the warmth of a dozen overhead lights, a Zamboni humming in the distance, stands beginning to fill with anxious fans. While you loved the game, this was the part you loved the most, the calm before the chaos, the quiet just before the thunder of the crowd.  

The calm however was short lived as players began to file onto the ice, like the fans filled the stands. 

Warmup. 

Warmups passed as they always do; in a blur of skates and sticks, high-speed passes, and the clang of a puck against the post. And you captured it all without a second thought tracking the motion through your viewfinder, framing the pre-game like a dance you knew by heart, and you knew it well.  But it was when the players cleared the ice, the lights falling dim for the player introductions that something in the atmosphere began to shift as it always did.

 The announcer’s voice was loud, matching the energy of the arena as his voice boomed over the speakers, the crowd swelling with anticipation as the players' names echoed off the crowded walls. 

“Number 88, Steve Rogers!” 

 

 “Number 63, Sam Wilson!” 

  

“And now, making his official debut with the Boston Bruins -” 

Your camera slipped from your fingers, breath catching in your throat as you took in the image that flashed on the screen above the ice. It couldn't be. 

“Number 14 - Bucky Barnes!” 

Time didn’t just slow - it shattered. 

Your ears rang, your heart skipping a beat in your chest. The roar of the crowd turning hollow, as if your head had been dunked in a tank of ice water, his name spinning in your head, once, twice, like a puck skimming ice - then sinking deep and fast. 

Bucky. 

You hadn’t heard his name aloud in over four years. Not in person. Not like this. 

Your stomach dropped as you gripped the camera like it might anchor you, like the weight of it could hold you still while your world suddenly tipped. 

Four years had apparently not been long enough to convince yourself it hadn’t meant a thing.  

And then he was there; in person stepping onto the ice like he owned it, his stride smooth and familiar. Your brain refused to catch up. It can't be.

And just then, like something cosmic twisted the moment tighter, his eyes found yours. 

Bucky Barnes, four years gone, looked across the rink and found you like he’d known exactly where you’d be. 

The world vanished in a moment. 

Only the ice that separated the two of you remained. 

You should’ve looked away then. Should’ve focused on your job, the game, literally anything else. But you didn’t. Couldn’t. Bucky’s gaze was locked on yours, steady and unflinching, and for the first time in years you forgot how to breathe. The arena came to life around you; players skating, music pounding, lights flashing, but in that single breath of time, none of it mattered. It was just him, you, and the ghost of a promise that still echoed louder than the roar of the crowd. 

Don’t forget me when it happens. 

I couldn’t if I tried. 

You took this time to study him, he looked different now than he did all those years ago. He was sharper around the edges, jaw more defined, shoulders bulked from years in the league. But his eyes, his eyes were the same; ice blue and intense, soft around the corners like he still carried pieces of a boy who used to skate backwards just to make you laugh. 

Click. 

Turning as quickly as you had snapped the photo, you let the camera drop to your chest pretending to mess with your gear, pretending you weren’t on the verge of losing yourself over him again. Your pulse pounded through your fingertips as you toggled with your camera, you could feel it in your throat, your ribs, it was disarming. You exhaled heavily pressing your palm flat against your chest like that would calm it. It didn’t. 

“Y/n,” Mark called over the boards concern in his voice. “You good?” 

You forced a tight smile nodding your head. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” 

“You sure? You look -” 

“I said I’m fine Mark.” 

He held up his hands in surrender as he ducked away, though you could sense his lingering curiosity, he had never seen you waver, not like this. Not wanting to give him more to worry about you turned your back to him, to the ice and took a few grounding breaths. 

Bucky Barnes. 

Here. 

You hadn't seen his name in the pre-game media emails. Hadn’t caught a single whisper about a last-minute roster change. How could you have missed this? Digging your phone out of your coat pocket you unlocked the device to do a quick scan through the league’s news alerts and sure enough, there it was: 

TRADE CONFIRMED: Star winger Bucky Barnes heads to Boston in surprise move just days before season opener. 

How had you missed this? 

The article was dated two days ago. Two days, and no one had uttered a single word. Had the team kept it quiet on purpose? Or had you just been so deep in prep mode that you missed it? You swallowed hard, fingers hovering over the article, but you didn’t tap it open. You didn’t need to read it. You already knew the stats. You knew how good he was. You knew the numbers, the accolades, the goals. The reason behind why he was here, why he had been traded.

What you didn’t know - what you hadn’t dared to think about - was why he hadn' tried harder. Why didn't he try harder to reach you. You’d given him space when he made it, telling yourself he needed time to adjust to the big leagues that you didn’t want to be the one to distract him. That when the time was right for him, and he found himself that he would find you. 

But he never did. 

And now he’s here. 

You curl and uncurl your fingers shaking the digits out as you will yourself not to fall apart. This wasn’t high school. This wasn’t the night you stood outside the rink and watched him drive away with everything he’d ever wanted. 

This was your dream, the one you had chased without him in it. 

And you weren’t going to let a single look crack you open. 

Even if it already had. 

The buzzer pierced the air tearing you from your reverie, the first period beginning in a flash of movement. Stepping into your role like a second skin you moved with it, slipping down the edge of the boards, crouching into position, camera poised and ready. 

It was easier once the puck dropped. The motion, the rhythm, the muscle memory, you let it carry you as you focused on the angles, light, shutter speeds. You caught clean shots of face-offs, passes, hard checks against the glass. And through it all, Bucky moved like a storm just waiting to break. Controlled. Calculated. Focused in a way that pulled your gaze again and again, even when you didn’t mean to follow him. 

Halfway through the period, he stole the puck mid-zone, spun off a defender, and passed it clean to his line mate. The crowd roared. The shot missed, but it didn’t matter. The energy shifted. He was electric. 

And then, he caught your eye again. 

Just a flick of his eyes, right before the play reset. Almost like he wanted to be sure you were still there. Watching. 

Your fingers curled around your camera, you didn’t know what that look meant.

But you felt it down to your bones. 

And by the end of the first period, your entire body was buzzing with something other than adrenaline. 

In the nearly short time, you’d manage to capture nearly three hundred frames already, clean, crisp shots of first-game adrenaline, a few hard hits, and a couple of near-misses that would look perfect on the team’s social media page. You worked through the intermission, head down as you sorted through previews, selecting the best for upload. Your fingers moving, dragging files to folders, checking lighting, adjusting contrast—but none of it felt real. None of it felt normal to you. And you knew why. 

No matter how busy you tried to keep yourself you could feel his eyes on you. 

And he looked at you like he knew. As if no time had passed at all.  

But time had passed. Four years of it. Four years of silence. Four years of building a life without him.  And still, despite the time that passed, you remembered everything about him. 

The curve of his mouth when he smiled. The sound of his laugh when you tried to take his picture mid-fall. The way he laced his fingers through yours when the two of you skated alone that night, his cheeks flushed from cold and something sweeter. 

“Just… don’t forget me when you do.” 

“I promise, no matter how loud it gets out there you’re the only part I’ll never forget.”   

Your throat tightend as you shoved the memory down like it burned. 

“Yo Y/n, you catch that last play?” Benji from the team’s social video crew dropped onto the folding chair beside you, holding a hot dog in one hand and a clipboard in the other. 

“Of course I did Benj,” you said, without looking up from your work “Great puck control. Good chemistry it was a good play.” 

“He’s something, huh?” Benji mumbled around a bite his head tilted towards the ice. “Barnes, I mean. Hell of a pickup.” he said around a mouthful. 

You didn’t answer. 

“He’s gonna be a fan favorite. Like, immediately. We’ve already got two new merch drops planned with his name.” 

“That so?” you questioned voice flat, neutral. 

“Yeah. Honestly surprised you didn’t know he got traded.” Benji nudged your arm. “You’re usually on top of this stuff.” 

“Yeah, well I’ve been busy,” is all you can muster. 

Benji snorts drawing your gaze to him, “well, prepare to be busy with him. Word is the front office wants a full feature – I’m talking photos, interviews, maybe a docuseries down the line. That guy’s a gold mine.” 

You looked down at your camera. The screen still displaying the last photo you’d taken—Bucky mid-turn, looking over his shoulder, eyes aimed squarely at you. You clicked the shutter closed and tucked it into your lap. 

“Hey,” Benji said, noticing your shift. “You, okay?” 

“M’fine Benj.” 

“You sure, you don't like fine.” he tried 

“I said I’m fine.” you repeated as you got to your feet slinging your gear over your shoulder. 

“Alright. Sorry.” He held up both hands, backing off. “Didn’t mean to upset you.” 

You sighed not answering as you moved to walk down the tunnel toward the photo bay, ignoring the nerves spiking beneath your ribs. Your boots echoed along the concrete, each step louder than the last. 

You needed air. Or silence. Or both. 

Instead, you slipped into the Bruins’ media room and sank into your work. It was your safest space; rows of monitors, quiet keystrokes, and the hum of image processors. You worked in silence as you transferred the files to your editing station and let yourself go still for the first time all night. 

And then - you hesitated. 

There it was again. 

That photo. 

Bucky’s face on the screen, sharp and real and heartbreakingly familiar. His expression unreadable, but his eyes.

His eyes saw you. 

You reached out touching the edge of the screen like it might offer clarity, like it might tell you something you didn’t already know. 

“Why now?” you whisper.

You didn’t expect an answer. The screen stayed silent. The room stayed still. 

And in the quiet, something old and aching surfaced, something you’d buried for your own good. 

You had loved him. 

That wasn’t the hard part. 

The hard part was knowing you might still. 

The Bruins won their season opener in overtime. 

The locker room was chaos; shouts and laughter, music blaring, the thud of backs being slapped, skates being kicked off and gloves tossed aside. You stayed in the shadows like you always did, ducking through the edges of celebration to capture the aftermath. The triumph. The sweat. The fire burning in their eyes. 

Your lens stayed steady. 

Your pulse did not. 

You caught a shot of the team crowded around Bucky, slamming hands into his shoulders, shouting praise and calling him a beast. He smiled; wide and unguarded. For a second, it looked like he belonged here. 

And maybe he did. 

But he used to belong to you.

You take the photo and back away before he could see you. He hadn’t looked in your direction since the third period. Maybe you could still fade out of this night without being - 

“Hey hotshot.” 

His voice stopped you cold. 

You turned slowly, heart thudding. 

Bucky stood their in the hallway just outside of the media room, dressed in Bruin's warmups and damp from the post-game shower. A towel slung around his neck. His hair was a little longer than you remembered, curling slightly at the ends. His face held the same structure, only harder. More carved. But his eyes? 

Same. 

Too much. 

Blue and full of something unspoken. 

For a second, neither of you say anything. The world narrowed to the space between the two of you - four years wide, but shrinking fast. 

“Hi Bucky,” you say, voice coming out quieter then you meant. 

“Y/n,” he breathes, like it's the first time he’d been allowed to say your name again. 

Your breath hitches. 

You hated how easily he made you feel sixteen again. Awkward and hopeful and afraid of your own heart. But you weren’t that girl anymore. You had lines now. Boundaries. You had built yourself back from the pieces he left behind. 

You didn’t smile, didn’t move. 

“I didn’t know you were with the team,” he said after a pause, voice gentle, like anything louder might make you run. “I mean, I should’ve figured. Your work’s all over the site. You’ve gotten really good.” 

You blinked. “You didn’t recognize my name?” 

“I did,” he said. “But I didn’t believe it. Thought it might’ve been someone else.” 

His words hang between you. It hurt. It wasn’t fair, but it did. 

“Well,” you said, stepping back. “Now you know.” 

“Y/n - ” 

“Congratulations on the win Bucky.” You turned to go, but his voice stops you. 

“Wait. Please.” You freeze. 

“I didn’t forget you,” he whispers, and the words knock the breath right out of your chest. 

Slowly, you will yourself to face him again. 

His face is earnest. Raw. “That night - before I left, I meant what I said. About not forgetting. I tried to call you. A few times actually. But you never picked up. And then the season started, and things got crazy and I thought, I thought maybe you moved on.” 

You felt the sting behind your eyes, but you blinked it back. “Forgot? I waited, Bucky. I waited for months and all I got was radio silence.” 

“I know,” he said softly. “ I'm sorry, I should’ve tried harder.” 

A beat of silence. 

He looked like he wanted to close the space between the two of you but didn’t. “Can we talk? Not here. Just - sometime. Catch up.” 

Your hands found your camera, gripping it like it might save you. “I - I don’t know.” 

“You don’t have to say yes right now.” he rushes.

You shake your head, sad smile pulling at your lips, “I don’t know if I ever can.” 

Your words silence him.

The hallway feels smaller.

He looks at you like he understands, like he knew what he’s broken. 

And maybe he did. 

Not waiting for his reply you turn on your feet to go, and this time, he doesn't stop you. 

By the time you've made it home, your feet are sore, your back aches, and your head is too loud with everything you hadn’t said. You dropped your gear by the door and kicked off your boots as you padded through to your kitchen. Tea. You needed tea. Something warm to wrap your hands around while you pieced yourself back together. 

Again.

The kettle hissed to life as it heated the water, doing little to block Bucky’s voice still echoing in your ears. 

“I didn’t forget you.” 

Too late. 

You poured the water, letting the tea steep as you took it to the worn armchair in your living room. The walls were lined with framed shots from your last few seasons—mid-air slapshots, slow-motion goal celebrations, players locked in motion like dancers with blades. 

But none of those photos rattled you. 

Only one had. 

You set the mug down as you grab your laptop, plugging in your memory card. The folders from tonight were still there, untouched since the arena. You opened the preview set and flipped through until you found it. 

The shot. 

Bucky turning mid-play, the crowd blurred behind him, eyes locked on the camera. 

On you. 

You stared at the image, heart clenched too tight to ignore. It was a perfect photo, technically flawless. But it wasn’t that that stopped your breath. 

It was the expression on his face. 

Not fierce, like during the rush. Not celebratory. Not focused. 

Just open. 

Like he was still trying to say something you hadn’t let him finish. 

Your fingers hovered over the trackpad; you could delete it. Bury it in your archives. Pretend it didn’t feel like a bruise you hadn’t expected.  Instead, you copy it into a private folder. One you hadn’t touched in a long time. 

You name the file firstlook.jpg. 

Then you shut the laptop pushing the device away from you.

Outside, the city is quiet. The streetlights bleeding soft gold into your apartment, catching on the glass frame above your mantle. One of the only personal photos you kept on display. 

A boy and a girl on a frozen lake, four years ago. He's skating backward, holding her hand. She's laughing, scarf trailing behind her like a ribbon of light. The picture wasn’t perfect. The angle was off, the focus a little soft. 

But the look on her face? 

It said everything. 

You took a long sip of tea, eyes on the past, and let the silence settle around you like snow. 

Maybe Bucky Barnes was back in your life. 

But that didn’t mean you had to let him stay. 

Still. 

That look. 

That stupid, aching look. 

It lingered. 

[kumabeom]

saudade love 🫧

pilot ; you’re my lover <3

pairing : actor!soobin and actress!yn

love triangles :(

synopsis : actress!yn and actor!soobin are forced by their companies to date as a publicity stunt to promote their latest releases. however what’s to happen when yn and soobin spend more and more time together even though yn’s closest friend is keeping secrets.

“last question..” the mc announces before letting a reporter take the lead on the final question.

“soobin and yn, throughout the filming process of saudade love. the two of you were rumored to be seeing each other as more than just friends, can we get some kind of response to that ?” the reporter in front of you asks. you and soobin sitting on a theater-like stage, two high chairs next to each other. while on the other side of the stage was the director of saudade love, and a few supporting cast members.

saudade love was the new film that you had just starred in, alongside soobin, who played the main male lead. the plot was a story about yn meeting chaebol soobin. issues arising within yn’s family, which end up harming her relationship with soobin. never being able to get an end to her family’s ruthless behavior towards her, she only seems to find comfort in soobin. soobin, who comes from a wealthy family, is forced into a marriage, any kind of rebellious actions from soobin during the wedding is covered up. soobin ends up giving in, yn ends up even more hurt as it gets harder and harder to keep their secretive relationship as a healthy relationship. however, the two still only seem to feel happy around each other, the only issue being each other’s families. yet it is enough to keep them apart.

you knew that there were going to be issues with your so-called ‘controversial’ ending, since it wasn’t necessarily a happy ending, not many people were too pleased. but there was another majority of people, or rather yours and soobins fans, that enjoyed the movie due to its rawness. not every single relationship was going to end in the most fairytale way. which was exactly what saudade love’s message was trying to deliver, although it seemed to go over others’ heads.

you laugh a bit into the microphone, knowing exactly what you were supposed to do and how your company wanted you to react. taking the microphone up close to your lips, not exactly letting the two touch. you put on a flushed image, as you turn to look to soobin, who also knew his part of the live script the two of you were supposed to follow. his lips turning upwards, attempting to look rather confident about the situation, and it was working.. after all he was an actor.

“me and soobin…” you pause, taking a second to smile to yourself. looking up instead of looking at the crowd full of photographers, reporters, and journalists, a few fans in the crowd as well. “i thought we had announced a response, but i suppose not. me and soobin have been seeing each other. something about us during filming saudade love.. it just seemed to click.. we’re a few dates into our relationship but i hope that everyone will support us and our decision to be together.”

and with that, the crowd cheers, journalists and reporters typing as quick as they can. photographers snapping their pictures to use on articles that are probably being released within the next second. soobin grinned, bringing his mic up to his mouth. the image of two lovestruck actors up on stage manipulating the minds of the entire media. you looked at soobin with a tiny smile on your face. putting your best heart eyes on display.

“i think the people who have seen saudade love will notice, but the love that the two characters display is not something you can act out..” it’s funny, because he’s completely spewing out nonsense. the two of you are just convincing actors, using all the skills you’ve learned to play out your character. “at one point during filming, i stopped thinking of the script and i just started seeing yn as yn, no character or anything. i think our relationship was inevitable. yn was the sweetest person i could ever meet.” that’s a lie, well you weren’t necessarily mean, but the two of you never even spoke outside of necessary means. “i turned to her when i needed help, and she was always there to listen. not to mention, anytime yn was around, i couldn’t help but feel a certain way..” soobin grinned shyly, trying to convince everyone that he was simply too shy to continue on. which worked as majority of the audience were in complete awe.

the mc picks up his own mic, “let’s give a round of applause to our newly discovered couple !!” he pauses letting the crowd take over with their clapping, “since that was our last question, the cast and crew will give their goodbyes now !”

you stood up along with everyone, giving a bow to thank the crowd for their time and attention. afterwards you link pinkies with soobin, attempting to keep up the image of the new shy couple.

release date: july 13, 24’

4th gen it couple ! ; little minions ! ; soobin’s fave brats !

episode 1 : i was hitting my marks !

episode 2 : thinking it can change the beat of my heart when he touches me, counteract the chemistry and undo the destiny.

episode 3 : that’s my girl, y’know what i mean ?

episode 4 : and so it begins..

episode 5 : i’m gonna marry him !

episode 6 : we’ll make it through, just like we always do.

episode 7 : the thing..

episode 8 : the love of my life

episode 9 : red lipstick 💋

episode 10 : i know i shouldn’t

episode 11 : just a coworker

episode 12 : it meant the world

episode 13 : as slow as you’d like.

episode 14 : i just need a little lovin’

episode 15 : sometimes i laugh whenever im sad

episode 16 : late night mascara

episode 17 : i can do it with a broken heart

episode 18 : there’s so much loving we could be making

episode 19 : MY boyfriend

episode 20 : i know it’s probably much too late

episode 21 : drunken thoughts are sober thoughts

episode 22 : i guess sometimes we all get some kind of haunted

episode 23 : netizens are dumb

episode 24 : taehyun’s unprofessional plan

episode 25 : like we’re made of starlight ! ⭐️

episode 26 : hot people are intimidating

episode 27 : loving him was red

episode 28 : ‘cause i ain’t ever been more for real !

epilogue : saudade

an : AHHHH!! so happy to be back, i feel quite refreshed since im back after seeing txt…. three times 😁😁 BUT im so ready to put out posts, remember how i said i was gonna pre-write ? well that didn’t work out because i had like 0 inspiration, i feel like i work better under pressure…

taglist (send asks !) : @run2seob @soobadooba @mrsyawnzzn @matcha-binz @taehyhunnzly @20crowsinahoodie @lun4kazumii @lunathewritingcat @wonjws @yourenzoo @missychief1404 @304blur @coconutjjun @theycallmelolla @natokkiz @everythingvirgoes @pinkhor1zon @nshitae @damn-u-min-yoongi @jiweok @wonderstrucktae @thing89 @pagetammgyu @virgo-and-libra @blossommi @cheekycountesschoi @taysfairies @20-cms @soobiluvr1205 @bloomngspring @thyunzzn @hyunj00 @yanagisprettygf @tkooooop @bamgeutori @sunooqvrlsx @flowzel @zeizeisjy

[lurkingshan]

hi there i hope im not bothering you but i was hoping you could recommend me some good japanese bls? hopefully completed ones? no pressure ofc!

Can I recommend you some good Japanese bls? *laughs maniacally* Oh my anonymous friend, you have come to the right place.

First, go here for a nice little variety pack of some of my all time favorites to get you started. I will add some more gems here in no particular order (all of these are complete and available to stream):

Kieta Hatsukoi (Viki)

You have probably heard of this tumblr fav about a very confused mess of a boy who gets into all kinds of Situations while trying to sort out who he has feelings for and what it even means to like somebody. This one is super sharp, funny, and has an endearing ensemble cast.

Kabe Koji Nekoyashiki kun Desires to be Recognized  (Viki)

Two childhood friends--one a doujinshi artist, one a pop idol--reconnect and get the chance to sort out old feelings. This one has great wacky energy while still being quite emotionally deep.

Life: Love on the Line (Viki)

This bl film follows a pair of high school lovers through coming of age and the challenges of adulthood as queer men. It's so lovely.

Seven Days (Youtube)

A short film told in two parts, this is a very simple story about a high school boy who is willing to date anyone who asks for a week, and the classmate who is so curious about this guy's deal that he decides to take a week for himself. I bet you can guess what happens next!

Takara-kun to Amagi-kun (GagaOOLala, Viki)

Two high school boys decide to date each other. That's it, that's the show, and despite that incredibly simple premise there's a lot here.

If It's With You (GagaOOLala)

A jaded before his time kid who doesn't believe in love meets a nice boy and reconsiders. Another very simple one, but so well executed.

My Personal Weatherman (GagaOOLala)

And on the not so simple end of the spectrum, this is a story about two men whose communication problems run so deep that they've managed to enter into a relationship with wildly different ideas of what exactly they are to each other. Equal parts kink and confusion.

Perfect Propose (GagaOOLala)

The story of an overworked salaryman who reunites with his old high school friend and moves him in as a de facto caretaker. This one is very cathartic for anyone who's ever had a soul destroying job.

At 25:00 in Akasaka (GagaOOLala)

Two former college classmates are cast opposite each other in a bl drama. Old feelings and insecurities return, professional and personal boundaries get blurred, and communication struggles ensue.

A Man Who Defies the World of BL (GagaOOLala, Viki)

This hilarious parody of Japanese bl is most fun to watch after you've immersed yourself in the others, because the jokes will land harder the more familiar you are with the genre and its tropes. There are now three parts to this and they play out as a continuous story.

I will stop there for now or we could be here all day. I hope you find some shows to enjoy, anon! Feel free to stop by for recs anytime. And for ongoing shows, I am always tracking Japanese ql here.

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Love strategy p.4

Hii guyss, I hope you enjoy part 4, if you have missed part 3 here it is :)

After Lando drives you to your hotel, you make your way to Carlos's room, focusing on the work at hand. You knock, waiting for the familiar sight of Carlos to greet you.

But when the door swings open, it’s not Carlos who stands in front of you—it’s his latest girlfriend, her expression unreadable, though her stance seems less than welcoming.

"Hey, sorry to bother you," you begin politely, forcing a smile, "but I need to talk to Carlos about his schedule and interviews for tomorrow."

Her eyes narrow slightly, and she doesn’t open the door any wider. "Couldn't you do this later? Or, I don’t know, just send him a message or something. We were… in the middle of something."

You try not to let her cold response get to you, but before you can reply, Carlos’s voice drifts from behind her. "Who's at the door?"

She rolls her eyes but steps aside just enough for Carlos to come into view. He spots you and waves you inside with a casual, "Come on in."

You walk into the room, feeling a bit awkward under his girlfriend's lingering stare. Carlos notices your unease but seems oblivious to the tension. "What's up?" he asks, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Why didn’t you tell me about this on the plane?"

You blink, momentarily taken aback. "Carlos," you say slowly, "I didn’t fly with you. I was on a different plane."

He looks confused for a second, clearly trying to piece things together. "Wait… you didn’t? I didn’t even realize."

A flicker of disappointment tugs at your chest, but you brush it off. "Yeah, I flew with someone else," you say, your tone neutral as you shift focus to work. "Anyway, I just wanted to give you a heads-up for tomorrow. You’ve got the usual interviews in the morning, and you need to film a video with Charles after that. Also, you and Charles are filming a collaboration with McLaren tomorrow afternoon."

Carlos nods, processing the information, though he still looks a little distracted. "Right, got it. Thanks."

But as you finish, the awkward tension in the room only intensifies. His girlfriend is sitting on the bed now, watching you with a thinly veiled irritation, like your presence is an unwelcome intrusion. You feel the weight of her stare, and suddenly, the air in the room feels thick, stifling.

"I should go," you say quickly, stepping back toward the door. "I’ll see you tomorrow."

Carlos looks up, but he doesn’t argue. "Yeah, see you."

As you slip out of the room and back into the hallway, you release a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

You head straight to your own room, shutting the door behind you. Between Lando, the unexpected airport headline, and now the icy reception from Carlos's girlfriend, it’s been a long day. All you want now is some peace and quiet.

But just as you’re starting to unwind, your phone buzzes from across the room. You sigh, standing up to grab it, half-expecting it to be another work-related message. Instead, it’s Lando.

Lando: Hey, how’s it going? Lando: Surviving over there with the Ferrari crew?

A small smile tugs at your lips as you read his message. You quickly type back.

You: Barely. Had a lovely chat with Carlos’s girlfriend. You: How about you?

It only takes a few seconds for Lando to reply.

Lando: Oof, sounds intense. I’m sure you handled it well. Lando: So, listen—I’ve been thinking. Tomorrow, during the interview McLaren’s doing with Ferrari… maybe we should just, you know, drop the news then?

Your heart skips a beat as you stare at the message. He’s talking about going public with your "relationship" during one of the most high-profile interviews of the weekend. It makes sense, but the thought of it being so… public, especially with both teams involved, makes your stomach twist in nervousness.

You: Tomorrow? You: In front of everyone? Isn’t that kind of… a big deal?

Lando sends back a laughing emoji.

Lando: Isn’t that the point? Gotta make it look convincing, right?

You bite your lip, anxiety fluttering in your chest. You knew this was part of the plan, but now that it’s so close, the reality is setting in. You type back hesitantly.

You: Yeah, I get it. I’m just… nervous. It’s a lot.

A moment passes before Lando responds, and when he does, it’s with his usual playful tone.

Lando: Don’t worry, I’ve got your back. We’ll drop it casually, like it’s no big deal. Lando: I’ll just say something like, “Yeah, we’re dating. No biggie. Now let’s talk about the race!” 😎

You can’t help but laugh out loud at that, the image of Lando casually announcing something so major with that level of nonchalance easing some of your nerves.

You: You’re impossible, Norris. You: But seriously, what if I mess it up?

His response is quick, and this time it’s more reassuring.

Lando: You won’t. Besides, I’m nervous too. This whole thing is crazy, but we’ll make it work.

It helps to know that even Lando, who seems so effortlessly confident, is feeling the pressure too.

You: Fine, let’s do it. But if it goes terribly, I’m holding you responsible.

Lando: Deal. But trust me, it’ll be great. See you tomorrow!

You set your phone down, a small smile lingering on your face despite the lingering nervousness. Tomorrow is going to be a big day, and the thought of stepping into that interview with Lando, letting the world believe in this staged relationship, makes your heart race. But somehow, knowing that he’s just as anxious as you—and still managing to joke about it—makes it feel a little less overwhelming.

Here's part 5

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[melobin]

જ⁀➴ casting couch 𐙚 wonbin

part of the riize as porn plots series.

summary - as a newbie to the porn industry you go through the same hazing process as everyone else. the casting couch. you were just as nervous as you were excited when you found out famed porn star park wonbin would be conducting your interview.

wc - 4.3k

warnings - experienced porn star!wonbin x amateur female porn star!reader, dom wonbin dom! wonbin, finger sucking, hair pulling, nipple play, oral f and m receiving, face fucking, spitting, manhandling, unprotected sex, rough sex, being recorded.

a/n: sorry for taking so long !!!! i've been sick really sick , don't recommend it. i'm still sick but i've been trying to finish this up for a while!!! i hope you enjoy, not proof read!!

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“all you have to do for the mean time is sit there and look pretty, once the shoot starts we’ll ask you a question or two and then wonbin will come in and talk to you, sound good?” you nodded at the director, trying to not let the bright lights blind you too much as he spoke “try not to worry about the cameras too much, pretend like we’re not even here”

it felt strange to say the least, you’d never been on such a high budget set before, everything you’d done was alone in the space of your own bedroom or filmed on a shitty low quality camera, something to do with amateur porn was that they loved their dark lighting and low resolution cameras. so this was all so new to you, daunting in a way, but nothing was as daunting as working with park wonbin. 

wonbin was one of the most famous porn stars within your generation, he was pushing 22 and had only been active in the industry for around a year but that meant nothing, once people got him in their sights they never let go. you understood the obsession, wonbin was one of the most gorgeous men you’d even seen. big pretty eyes, longish hair, toned body and that gold, glistening necklace that always adorned his pretty neck, he beat everyone else by at least a mile. he also knew how to fuck, every video he had been in he had easily reduced the female start to tears with his cock. he was filthy, messy. rough. the dream.

one thing about wonbin was that he was incredibly difficult to hire, he may have been a porn start but he was still cautious about where he put himself and who he stuck himself inside of. people don’t approach wonbin, he approaches them, so it was a shock to you when his manager contacted you saying wonbin wanted to work with you personally. he was searching for an official partner to work with, so he wouldn’t have to rotate between women, it baffled you when you found out he wanted to do a casting cough interview because he thought you’d be perfect for the job. you accepted the offer immediately, you would’ve been insane to not take it. even if you didn’t get the job in the end, you would’ve been walking out of here having been fucked by park wonbin, that’s enough of an achievement for you.

“wonbin’s here, all we’re gonna do is ask you a few questions, try and act a bit ditsy just for the show, you ready?”

“yes” the female makeup artist crouched in front of you, gently dabbing a brush against your lips before standing up. 

“you’ll do great” you smiled and thanked her. you weren’t wearing much, just a short dress that hugged the top half of your body, pushing your tits together and flowed out a little bit at the bottom, it barely covered your ass but it didn’t matter, you had nothing on underneath the dress anyway.  

the camera man sat in the chair across from the black couch you were perched on, he held the large camera on his shoulders as the director cued for the shoot to begin. it was quiet as you waited for the camera man to talk he spent a few seconds just recording you playing with you hair and smiling to yourself.

“you ever done this before?” you forced a giggle at the camera man’s question.

“i’m not a virgin silly” you twirled your hair around your finger, playing along to any other question he asked before you heard the door handle turn. lord, he was here. you weren’t necessarily nervous about the shoot, but you were nervous about meeting wonbin.

you gulped when he opened the door, shutting it behind him before turning to look at you, a small smile played on his plump lips as he eyed you. he didn’t say anything at first, he let your eyes flick down his body. he wore a lose white shirt with a low neck line, collarbones on show with his necklace sat gently against his skin. he was insanely gorgeous, there was no doubt that he caused a thirst to erupt inside of anyone that looked at him.

“aren’t you just the prettiest little thing” he reached a hand out to hold your jaw, thumb pressing against your bottom lip. he pulled it down causing you to open your mouth before he placed his thumb flat on your tongue, watching as you closed your lips around the digit and sucked on it, tongue slowly lifting to circle around it. the one little action had wonbin hooked already, he had wanted to fuck you from the moment he first laid his eyes on you. he’d stumbled across a video of you fucking yourself with some toy in your bedroom, the way you whined when you first pushed the toy into your sopping cunt had his cock throbbing  and the sight of your abused cunt after you’d finished playing with yourself had him spilling all over his hand. wonbin had to give it to you, not many people could make him cum from a video alone but you had him with your very first one. that’s when he knew he needed to have you.

wonbin was a natural, he didn’t seem phased one bit that there were cameras filming him, it felt as if he actively ignored them and done whatever he wanted, what he would’ve done even if they weren’t there. you admired it but it also turned you on, he was so shameless, as of he knew you’d accept anything he wanted to do, even if it was going as far to humiliate you in front of the millions of people who would inevitably be watching this video. 

“got the perfect lips for sucking cock, don’t you?” you nodded, humming around his thumb whilst looking up at him, not breaking eye contact as you took his thumb deeper into your mouth. he grabbed your hair with his free hand, pulling your mouth off of his thumb before looking down at you. his hand dropped to the front of your dress, fingers hooking over the neckline before pulling it down, exposing your bare tits to him. he squeezed one in his hand, slowly loosening his grip before pinching your nipple, pulling it away from your body before letting it go.

“why don’t you find out?” wonbin pushed his tongue against his cheek, amused at your question. of course he wanted to find out, he’d be an idiot not to. 

“show me, baby”

you stood up from the sofa, falling to your knees and looking up at him as your fingers went to the zipper of his jeans. wonbin parted his lips as he watched you, eyes trained on yours whilst you pulled his cock out of his jeans. he had nothing on underneath the rough fabric, he was ready for whatever you were willing to give him.

you wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, pumping him in your hand, thumb brushing over his slick tip each time you reached his head. you brought your other hand up to push up his shirt, nails lightly digging into the skin of his abs as you lifted yourself to press your tongue against them, saliva wetting his skin whilst you traced his abs with your tongue. you felt wonbin shiver slightly under the touch of your tongue. his eyes stayed on your as your tongue got lower until it left his skin, hand still pumping his cock as you stuck your tongue out and pressed it against the side of it. letting his cock rest against your tongue before you closed your lips around the tip. 

wonbin groaned as he felt your tongue press into the slit of his cock, the taste of his precum filled your mouth as you took him a little deeper before taking yourself off of him. you held him in your hand as you collected as much saliva as you could in your mouth, moving your head to spit on the end of his cock before wrapping your lips around him once more. 

park wonbin was the only man you wanted to impress, so that’s what you done. slowly inching your mouth lower on his cock with each bob of your hea, your eyes still on his, you took him until there was no more of his cock to take, gagging around him slightly but no letting it stop you. wonbin loved the sight beneath him, your nose pressed against his abdomen with each push of your head forward, eyes watering and spit falling from your lips. the sounds you were making were downright filthy, you sounded like you were enjoying sucking his cock and that just made wonbin harder. 

he watched cautiously as you pulled your mouth off of his cock, closing your eyes and letting out a few deep breaths as a string of saliva still connected you to him. wonbin’s hand found your hair, brushing it out of your face before gripping it and pulling it back so you had no choice to look at him, he expected you to be surprised by his actions, maybe moan, what he didn’t expect was for you to smile at him and let out what he could only describe as a sadistic laugh. 

“do you want to use my mouth, binnie?” he almost groaned at your words, deciding to hold himself back and laugh back at you instead. 

“you know exactly what i want, doll” you kept the smile on your face as you watched him wrap other hand around his cock, keeping the other in your hair. he could see the excitement in your eyes even when he guided his cock into your mouth, you leaned closer to him and held the backs of his thighs as he pushed his cock deeper into your mouth. you let him use you, his thrusts gradually increasing in speed as he fucked your mouth, fingers tightening their grip on your hair the longer it went on. eventually you had tears falling from your eyes, but the look you had in them urged him to keep going, you were more than happy to let him use your throat until he was filling it with cum but wonbin had other ideas. 

at some point he had to pull his cock out of the warmth of your mouth, if he didn’t he was going to cum and wonbin didn’t want to do that until he had your sweet cunt wrapped around him instead. he pulled you off of him by your hair, watching as you gasped for breath but still smiled up at him. you still looked so pretty with tears falling from your eyes and your lips wet and swollen. wonbin wanted nothing more than to ravage you and make a mess of you, he wanted to see you wrecked because of him, he wanted everyone to see how pretty you’d look all fucked out because of his cock. 

wonbin signalled you to stand up by pulling on your hair slightly, you followed his instructions, finding his lips on yours as soon as you were up. the kiss wasn’t gentle, his tongue pushed into your mouth only seconds after he placed his lips against yours. his felt soft, it was a drastic comparison to how filthy his tongue felt in your mouth. 

“you’re almost too good at sucking cock” his fingers move your head away from his by pulling at your hair “might need to keep that pretty little mouth all to myself” wonbin pressed his thumbs against your bottom lip before laughing, fingers tightening in your hair as he turned your head to look at the camera, hand dropping from your mouth to squeeze your tits again “everyones gonna be so jealous of me when this video comes out, doll”. you shivered as you felt his lips by your ear, lips parting so you could whine at how he was treating you. 

wonbin’s hand fell from your hair to unzip the back of your dress, watching you as the straps fell down your arms and the dress fell to the floor. his fingers trailed down your bare back before reaching your ass, squeezing it in his hand before pulling it back so he could strike it against you. you moaned at the rough contact of his hand hitting your ass, wonbin just laughed. 

“you’re so fun to play with”

“bet i’ll be even more fun to fuck” you turned to look at wonbin with a smile on your face, he groaned as his eyes flicked down your body. your fingers pushed the material of his shirt up, tracing his abs as you pushed it over his head. 

“i can’t wait to find out” once you pushed his jeans down properly you took a proper look at wonbin, he was utterly delicious from head to toe. every inch of him was devourable. 

you weren’t sure what his next actions would be, you let yourself try to be natural in front of the camera whilst his fingers touched your body. it took you by surprise when he curled them around your waist and pushed you down onto the sofa, your back almost sticking to the material immediately due to the layer of sweat that had accumulated on your skin. you watched wonbin carefully as he dropped to knees in front of you, fingers digging into your inner thighs as he held your legs apart. 

“hold them” he gestured for you to hold your legs apart and replace his hands with your own, as soon as you did he was bringing his fingers to your pussy, using both hands to spread apart your lips so he could get a clear look at you. he let the camera see, he let it watch the way you whimpered when he lightly brushed his finger over your swollen nub and he let it watch as he collected as much saliva as he could in his mouth before spitting onto your cunt. you gasped at the filthiness of his action, taken by surprise but incredibly turned on as you felt his spit drip from your cunt.

wonbin pressed his tongue flat against your cunt, licking a direct line from your hole to your clit, sopping up every drop of spit and your slick he could with his tongue before spitting it back onto your clit. wonbin was filthy, you could already tell that he liked it wet and messy, he liked you wet and messy.

something else wonbin really liked was the way you tasted, the taste of your cunt filled his mouth and took over all of his sense, he was obsessed from the first lick. you melted against his tongue, filled his tastebuds with your sweetness whilst digging your fingers into your own skin. the camera stayed next to you both as he continued to lick at your cunt, moving closer to where wonbin’s lips wrapped around your clit and he harshly sucked on the nub before releasing it and flicking his tongue over it, all whilst continuing to hold the lips of your pussy open with his fingers.

the feeling of wonbin’s tongue flicking over your clit was indescribable, it sent shivers through your body as the pleasure over took you. your nails dug deeper into your thighs as you tried to keep them open for him, eyes watching the way he buried himself into your cunt and lapped up every drop of slick that you had. you wanted nothing more than to push your fingers into his hair and pull on the strands but you knew he wanted you completely open for him, it made it easier for him to abuse your clit with his tongue and leave you a wreck because of it.

you weren’t sure if his goal was to make you cum, considering he didn’t let you make him cum you half expected him to do the same to you but he didn’t. once wonbin got a taste of you, he needed to feel your cum fill his mouth, need the taste of it to completely overtake all of his senses. you were the sweetest thing he’d ever had the chance to taste and he wasn’t going to let that go so easily.

so he pressed his face a little closer to you, positioning himself so he could quickly flick his tongue over your clit, he tortured the swollen nub before his lips closed around it once more. he had no plans to let you relax as he sucked on it and pressed his tongue against it, he loved the way he could see your thighs tremble from the corner of his eyes and how your eyes stayed on him despite the fact you were falling apart. he knew part of you was putting on a show for the camera, trying to keep somewhat of a professional front despite the fact he was making you lose your mind. 

wonbin lifted his head for a moment, your slick covered his lips as he looked at you “you’re gonna cum on my tongue” his words were short and to the point, it took it by surprise when his hands pushed away yours and replaced them on your thighs, stretching you by pressing them further apart and diving back into your cunt. tongue licking up your slit, circling your hole and pressing in so he could coat himself in you again before he pressed his tongue flat against you and licked up to your clit.

wonbin groaned against you when he felt your fingers grab and pull at his hair, the vibration of his groan made your back arch, hips bucking forward to be closer to his face. he let you grind yourself into him as you whined, babbling about being close.

“i’m close god wonbin i’m so close” the camera was a little further back now, it captured the entire sight of wonbin holding you down and licking up every last drop that left you. you were sure before going into this that you weren’t going to be as into it due to the cameras and the people around you two but wonbin took that thought away from you. somehow he made the experience more intense, wonbin was definitely talented with his tongue and he was eagerly to make you cum with it.

your words caused wonbin’s lips to close around your clit, he was determined to push you over the edge with his mouth, he needed it to happen before he could even think about fucking you. he knew he was pushing you closer with the way he sucked on your cunt, he could feel the way you was harshly pulling at the strands of his hair and how you cried out his name. your voice was higher in pitch, moans coming out in frequent and desperate tones. he felt your clit throb under his tongue as your orgasm hit you, he kept his lips wrapped around it just to be sure he gave you the most intense orgasm possible.

you were shaking by the time wonbin pulled away and let go of your legs but he didn’t give you time to calm down before he was standing up and grabbing you, he manhandled you in the position he wanted you in. he had you knelt on the sofa, your forearms resting over the back of it as he pressed on your lower back and made your arch your ass out. you felt the tip of his cock press against your overstimulated clit, your thighs shook at the sudden contact.

wonbin looked down at his cock, lips parting to let a string of spit fall onto it. he pumped his spit over his cock whilst dragging the head down to your clenching hole, wonbin groaned at the feeling of your wetness seeping onto his cock, he couldn’t wait to fuck you. he watched carefully as he pressed the tip of his cock inside of you, the camera being close to where the two of you were connected in order to get the perfect shot.

the stretch you felt as he pushed inside of you made your head spin, the groan he let out only caused you to tighten more around him, wonbin was sure that if you squeezed around him anymore he wouldn’t be able to move “you’re so fucking tight around me”. wonbin’s own voice sounded shaky as he spoke to you, a deep husk surrounding his tone as he pressed the rest of his cock inside of you “starting to think no one’s fucking you right, sweet girl”. 

he gave you a few moments to catch your breath but it wasn’t enough, the moment he pulled out of you and pushed back in he was taking your breath away. whilst his movements weren’t exactly rough to start off with, the force behind his thrusts had your thighs shaking, the intensity of your previous orgasm staying with you as he dragged his cock along your walls. 

wonbin had his hands on each cheek of your ass, his nails dug into the skin of them as he pulled them apart to be able to watch himself slide into you, each time his cock left you it came out wetter than before. he was obsessed. he was sure to let the camera see it too, letting it focus on the way his cock stretched your open and wedged itself as deep as it could go inside of you. 

his hands moved, he leaned forward to wrap his hand around your neck whilst his other hand held your jaw, his thrusts speeding up and gaining more power behind them. with how he was holding your jaw you couldn’t close your mouth, moans of his name fell from you because of it, curses following behind. 

“gonna let them see you, pretty girl?” wonbin’s voice hit your ear as he pressed his lips against your neck, the camera found its way in front of you, recording the way his fingers dug into your skin and how you cried out his name “everyone gonna be so jealous of me” his voice was barely a whisper in your ear, as if he didn’t want the camera to pick up on the words he was whispering to you “need everyone to see how well i fuck your perfect little pussy”. 

you could only whine as he spoke to you, his words falling into a groan as you tightened your grip around him and began fucking yourself back against his cock. the camera man walked around the two of you, the camera being focused on the scene of wonbin fucking into you harshly from behind whilst you met his thrusts. you were a wreck as his fingers tightened their grip on your throat, your moans turning broken and your fingers digging a little deeper into the back of the sofa.

“feel so good, binnie” you choked out, wonbin felt as if he was at least four thrusts away from spilling his cum inside of you so he pulled out. his hands left your skin as he stepped backwards before they found you again, fingers digging into your hips as he turned you around, your back was propped up by the arm of the sofa as he knelt against the sofa and spread your legs apart. 

wonbin groaned as he pushed his cock back into you, he kept your legs spread as he began fucking you again. he watched the way your cunt took his cock eagerly, he found himself engrossed in the way your cunt spoke to him with each harsh thrust he made forward, how it let out wet cries and squeezed around him. it was just as pornographic as your moans were, wonbin thought you were perfect. 

“gonna fill you up so well” he was close and he was sure to let you know, he needed to hear you begging him to fill you up with him cum and have it leak out of you.

“please” was all you could whine out, wonbin repositioned your legs, letting one hook over his shoulder whilst the other fell to the floor, he moved his body to cage in yours as he fucked you, hide hands grabbed yours and pinned them down against the arm of the sofa either side of your head. you tried to focus on his face as his hair fell in front of his eyes but you found yourself watching his necklace that hovered over your face, barely grazing the skin of your lips with each sharp thrust. the star that hung off of the chain glistened under the harsh lights of the room, you found yourself mesmerised by it, knowing you’d be lying in bed later that night picturing the way it swung over your face. 

“gonna make me cum so hard, doll” wonbin had a whine in the tone of his voice as you squeezed around him, one of his hands left yours so he could press it against your clit, he used his other hand to run his fingers through his hair as he leaned back on his knees, hair falling back into his eyes as he fucked into you. he was sweaty, his body glistened under your gaze, as did his face. you found it hard to believe you were being fucked by a man who looked that good and wanted to make you cum again “cum around my cock, sweet girl”. 

you were more than happy to listen to his words, your cunt clenching harder around his cock as he drove you to the brink of your orgasm. your moans got louder, your legs shook and your fingers reached out for something, anything to grip onto as your orgasm washed over you. 

then it was wonbin’s turn to cum, his thrusts grew more frantic as his fingers dug into your thighs once more. he was determined to cum, determined to fuck you full of his cum and have everyone watch him claim you as his. and that’s exactly what he done, the after maths of your orgasm had you clenching tightly around him, squeezing his cock for everything he has as he came inside of you, thrusts slowly until he was barely dragging his cock against your walls. wonbin came with a broken moan of a short fuck, he made sure he didn’t pull out of you until every drop was inside of you. 

wonbin’s final show for the camera was by slowly pulling his cock out if you, he was sure to watch the way his cum slowly built up at your entrance and seeped out of you, letting the camera catch every moment of it. 

“i think you’ll be perfect for the job”.

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[bengiyo]

Ben's Big BL Blurb 4: I Hope I See Jay Sorathon Again

New year, new blurb. Time to reflect on a few shows finishing, talk about some new shows, and see where we're at in January.

Haunted Hearts Sucked

Final Verdict: 5.5, Not Recommended. Y'all don't need to watch this weird mess of a show. Despite joking about "devirginizing" its lead multiple times, it was so chaste in the end. It also did some weird world shenanigans I was not feeling. The leads are supposed to be in another Oxin Films project soon, so we'll see if they're better there.

Caged Again Flopped

Final Verdict: 6, Recommended Only For Jay Sorathon. This one really hurts me, because I genuinely loved the first half of this show. Jay Sorathon as Junior was one of the most refreshing experiences I've had in a while. This young actor is charming in a way that felt different, and I found myself enjoying every scene he was in because he could deliver what he was asked to do. However, the show generally failed to do much with most of its themes, and I think it was a real waste of Nokia and Jaonine as a pair. There were interesting themes about how Junior and Sun wanted different things out of their relationship that didn't get resolved, so all of their skinship felt disconnected from the big themes they were teasing out.

I am sad that I cannot really recommend this as a complete viewing experience, but I do not want that to detract from how much I enjoyed the entire cast's chemistry. I just cannot pretend that this show didn't peak at the gif used above before floundering completely.

An Apology to City of Stars

Final Verdict: 8, Recommended. I skipped this show originally because I was overloaded and unmoved by the first episode. However, this show was actually one of the most consistent narratives we've had about the consequences of fan culture, sponsorship, and commercialization of queer actors we've had this year. Unlike Only Boo!, this show inflicted real consequences on Feuang for coming out to the point that he essentially had to change careers (which happens to real actors all the time, going back as far or further than William Haines).

The leads also kept having sex after getting together! A novel experience! I loved that Krom had almost no swag, and Feuang fell for him entire on family photos and his mom gushing over him. He really won as a tech worker. Watch this if you're interested in seeing a show with clear ideas about the entertainment industry and are willing to deal with some weak acting.

Our Youth Left Me A Bit Wanting

Final Verdict 8: Recommended With Reservations. I wrote my write up for this already, and will say here that I like parts of this show a lot even though I wasn't fully satisfied by the viewing experience.

See Your Love Got All The Important Things Right

Final Verdict: 8, Recommended for the Mains. I will admit that I didn't much care for the side couple, but I loved Shaopeng and Sean's relationship. I loved that this wasn't a story about fixing someone's hearing so they could be in a romance. I also love that one of our final scenes in Shaopeng's dad telling Sean's dad to go fuck himself. The leads reminded me of Jimmy and Tommy from Why R U and I loved their work together.

Love in the Air Koi Was a Genuine Delight

Final Verdict: 9, Highly Recommended. I liked it a lot. I think new and old fans will be able to enjoy it. I have high hopes about cross-cultural adaptations as a result.

Love is Like a Poison Was Spectacular

Final Verdict: 9.5, Highly Recommended. I had so much fun with this show. I love that this show blended multiple genres together, and I loved that Shiba was always in a legal drama. By blending this together this way, the show supports the idea that the different ways we love and see the world are not incompatible in relationships. Shiba and Haruto are one of the best couples we had this past year, because they each made the other better, and they each add something to their relationship. Also, this show was actively horny the entire time. Run, do not walk, to support this show (if you can) on Netflix.

Fragrance You Inherit Was The One of the Kindest Shows I've Ever Seen

Final Verdict: 9.5, Highly Recommended. Thanks to the constant efforts of @isaksbestpillow we were able to enjoy this incredible show. @twig-tea already wrote a great review. I will be thinking about Sakura and Touki for years. I will just add that I really loved that Hoshii was just a goofy dude that loved the women in his home. He respected both of them, and was just so happy to be included in their shenanigans. I cannot overstate how much the episode where we met him properly kicked this show into overdrive for me. I loved that he was a good dad and husband and that it was clear his wife and daughter felt safe and happy around him. I loved that this show was about kind people doing their best.

Okay, on to the currently airing stuff.

Your Sky is Faltering, but I Still Like It (8/12)

Look, I am just not keen on the Oh redemption arc. I'm also feeling the show dragging its feet at this point. I also am not sure what the relationship between the various sides are contributing to this story. That being said, I continue to enjoy the chemistry between the leads, and I am looking forward to seeing their dating era. This show has been riding the line on the bubble, and I am curious to see where it lands.

Ossan's Love Thailand (1/12)

I've grown to love Ossan's Love over the last year, and so I was cautiously optimistic about this adaptation. I don't think the humor is as tight or zippy as I would expect, and I think the branded pair component is hurting some of the initial setup. I also feel like the shower scene shifted in a way that doesn't entirely work. In addition, making Kongdetch a widower slows down his dramatic development. I'll check in again next month.

Call Me By No Name Started Weird (1/8)

gif by @my-rose-tinted-glasses

This show got off to a moody and somewhat intriguing start. I am looking forward to our little gamer's interactions with this possibly-fey creature for the coming weeks. It's difficult when the show starts coy.

When It Rains It Pours Has an Uphill Battle (1/7)

I am personally interested in the journey this show wants to go on as what will more than likely be a double cheating narrative. I like that the show started with boy guys in relationships they feel a bit frustrated with due to a lack of intimacy that is being actively ignored by their respective partners. I'm also intrigued because both partners seem like they're overall committed to our leads. This one started off in a mild note, so I'm curious how it holds audience attention. Still, both leads had sad masturbation scenes, one explicitly remembering when his partner used to fuck him, so it has my attention.

That's all for now! I'll check back in with one of these in a few weeks and we'll see where we're at.

[fanfictionsweetheart]

His Place

Part Two

Pairing: Jey Uso x Reader

Summary: (Name) and Jey have been together so Long everyone wonders why they aren’t at least living together yet. He knows and he hopes he can change her mind. Maybe proving he will take care of her no matter what will help.

In this chapter: Jey tells his family everything he can, what (Name) gives him permission to share. Then he spends the weekend making sure she is taken care of and that she knows she can count on him.

Trigger/Content Warning(s): reader is disabled, self doubt and worry, mentions of a past abusive relationship, a shitty family, and shitty friends

Word Count: 2170

A/N: A second fic today? Yeah, I just felt like it. While my iPad was busted I was stilly typing on my phone. this is so self indulgent for me I love it, dealing with any kind of physical disability is hard, especially when it makes it hard to walk. I and describing my experience with how Sciatica affects me physically and mentally. It was a car accident that caused the bad disc, but the way it happens in the Fic is different and totally fictional. Enjoy part two of my self indulgence.

There will probably be another part.

Previous Part(s):

Part One

The pain meds and Jey’s warm hands massaging her hip thankfully worked like a dream and (Name) was able to doze off in his bed. Jey checked on her again after they’d finished their talk about their upcoming filming plans.

Still, his family hung around, they had questions. He knew that. And he knew what he could share. What she gave him permission to share.

“Hey, your girl okay?” Roman asked him.

Jey sighed, “She will be,” Jey said, “Gonna take some babying this weekend,” He did his best to joke.

“What happened to her leg?” Solo asked.

Jimmy, who’d heard that it could be bad, was concerned with seeing just how bad it could get, “I mean you told me sometimes she has trouble walking that looked like she can’t fucking walk sometimes,” he said.

“Yeah, it’s not always this bad...she didn’t think I noticed, but I could tell her leg was gonna act up in some way today…” he shook his head.

He figured how he was going to explain this was to just be plain about it. Talk around the fact that her ex caused the accident on purpose.

“She was in a...car accident, really bad, messed her back up, then when they tried to fix her back they messed it up worse, she’s pretty much stuck dealing with sciatica. She don’t know when it could get better or not. But she knows that she doesn’t wanna go back under the knife for it,” Jey explained, “At least now with her meds she can walk most of the time.”

Jimmy knew his twin well, he knew there was more to the story just by how Jey said ‘car accident’. There was more to that accident and that worried him.

“There anything else she can do?” Solo asked.

Jey shook his head, “Not as far as she knows,” he said.

“That why she won’t move in?” Roman asked, he’d heard over and over how much Jey wanted her to move in.

“Yeah, that’s also why I want her to move in. I hate the idea of her suffering alone...but she doesn’t want me to take care of her…” Jey sighed, “She was fucking terrified when I had to just now.”

“Why? You’re her man, that’s what you’re supposed to do,” Jimmy voiced what they were all thinking.

(Name) hadn’t told him anything about explaining this side of things. And while Jey felt guilty about maybe betraying her confidence he needed to vent about this at the same time.

“Cause she had one ex leave her over this shit, but not just him, like half of her old friends...so called friends more like it, pretty much dropped her the second she couldn’t always be available to take care of their shit and needed their help instead...the second she needed a fucking cane to walk through the damn mall…” Jey ranted, “Even her high school best friend,” he sarcastically added, “dropped her from her wedding party ‘cause of the cane.”

“Nah man, that’s fucked up,” Jimmy said and the others readily agreed, voicing their disappointment and anger on (Name’s) behalf.

“There ain’t a thing you can say to comfort a woman whose crying cause of that...and it’s worse because her of fucking family started doing that shit too, she didn’t even get an invite to her brother’s wedding, she found out he was married when we were on a date...cause of Instagram,” Jey ranted, “Hold on I took a screen shot of the post you need to see this bullshit…”

He got up and grabbed his phone to pass it to the other three men at his kitchen table. The post was of her brother and his bride, now wife, all dressed up at a table in a nicely decorated venue, a hotel if he remembered correctly. You could see her parents beside the brother at the table and their smiles were bright and happy. Like a piece of their family wasn’t missing.

The caption read: “So happy to have our day with everyone special to us. I love you all.”

Jimmy froze, “Did she confront them?” He asked, the double meaning to the caption clear.

“Yeah...I was with her when she called her parents and they just made excuses saying that even though her issues had gotten better, she was still too much trouble to risk it,” Jey sighed, “I heard the call, it was on speaker. I wanted to step in...but she told me not to. Said it wasn’t worth it.”

“Sounds like that as the last reason she needed to give up on them,” Solo said.

Jey nodded, “Ever since she got hurt people have dropped outta her life...she’s scared I’m gonna be next. I just wanna show her that she ain’t gonna lose me just cause she needs help sometimes,” he admitted.

“Maybe use this weekend to have that talk, but more than that, show her,” Roman said, doing his best to be supportive.

Jey planned on it. He wanted her to know he was serious. Serious about her. Serious about their relationship. He was going to take care of her.

But he’d gotten almost everything out. Explained (more than) what she told him to explain. She’d been living with this issue basically alone for over six years. He wanted to show her that didn’t have to be alone anymore.

—

Solo and Roman left after another hour, going back to refine their plans. Jimmy stuck around. He knew there was more to this story that he needed to hear.

Jey checked on (Name) again. She was sleeping soundly. Her eyes still puffy but that couldn’t be helped from how hard she’d been crying.

He walked back out and looked at his brother.

“What didn’t you tell them?” He asked.

“And ex caused the car accident. He was driving too fast while she was on the floor of the backseat of his car after he threw her in there.” Jey said, ripping it off like a bandaid.

“Jesus Christ,” Jimmy cursed.

Jey sighed and shook his head, “She told me I could tell you the truth.” He said, “I just wanna take care of her uce, there ain’t another woman for me.”

Jimmy laughed and shoved his shoulder, “Man she got you all soft and shit,” he teased.

He couldn’t blame him. He had seen how happy (Name) made his brother. He wanted him to stay that happy.

—

A couple hours later (Name) stirred awake when there was a soft knock on the bedroom door. Jey came in with a glass of ice water. He set it on the bedside table and sat beside her, gently running his fingers through her hair.

“Hey baby, how you feelin?” He asked.

“A little better, but I’m not gonna risk moving just yet,” she mumbled, leaning into his touch.

Jey chuckled, “You gave us all a scare, Mamas,” He murmured and leaned over to kiss her temple, “You shoulda called me if something was wrong.”

“I didn’t want to bother you with it,” She admitted.

“It isn’t a bother to help you, baby, I love you, I wanna take care of you,” He said seriously.

(Name) hid her face in the pillow and whimpered softly. She didn’t know what to do. She wanted to believe him. Wanted to trust.

He loved her, she knew that.

She loved him.

It should be so easy to relax and let him take care of her. But it wasn’t. That nagging voice in the back of her head telling her she was too much.

“Jey,” She murmured, “I...I don’t know…”

He stroked her hair softly, “Give me the weekend to prove it to you, please,” he pleaded softly.

“Okay…” (Name) murmured, peeking at him with a nervous smile.

She wanted to trust him.

Desperately.

—

It was around seven when the dinner Jey had ordered was delivered. He made them both plates and brought them into his bedroom. He didn’t usually eat in bed, but he didn’t want her to have to get out of bed if she didn’t have to. She needed to rest her leg.

He helped her sit up and they ate together while a movie played quietly in the background.

“How you feeing?” He asked.

“Better, honestly you were better at remembering when I need to take the next dose of my meds than I was…” she laughed softly.

Her brain was foggy due to the pain. But it was clearing up more as the day went on.

Jey wanted to tell her he was right and she needed somebody to help take care of her. But he didn’t. He was certain that she was thinking it already.

“Thank you...for putting up with me today,” she mumbled.

“It’s not ‘putting up with you’ if I wanna take care of you, baby,” he insisted.

She just nodded a shy smile on her face. It was actually nice to not have to deal with all of this alone. Having someone with her to even just hold her hand while she cried was a relief.

He set his plate aside to reach out and gently take her hand. Giving it a reassuring squeeze. He wanted to tell her without words that he would be there for her no matter what.

She squeezed his hand back, looking at him her soft eyes shimmering with things she was scared to speak just yet.

—

That night they lay down to sleep her head on his chest, his arm around her. His fingers tracing patterns on her shoulder. While she traced the lines of his tattoos on his chest. She wasn’t speaking but her feelings were loud and clear.

She was still nervous. But she was starting to trust him.

“I love you,” She said softly, “I trust you.”

The word trust meaning more than love at this moment.

Jey’s heart swelled at the meaning behind those words. He had earned her trust to take care of her. At least for the weekend. He turned his head to kiss her forehead.

“I’m gonna keep that trust, baby,” he assured her, “I love you too.”

—

That entire weekend Jey was stuck to (Name’s) side like glue. He still worked out in the morning, after making her coffee perfectly and being sure she had something to eat. Usually one of the muffins she had baked the first night she stayed there before her leg went to hell. And made sure she took her meds.

After he worked out and grabbed a shower he would climb back in bed with her and cuddle her.

If she needed him to rub her leg again he would.

When it hurt too much he would hold her and let her cry.

He helped her stand when she needed to move.

And by dinner the next night she was able to lounge on the couch without pain.

Jey insisted on carrying her out there still. And she wasn’t really complaining about her man showing off his strength like that.

He sat on the couch with her, letting her use him as a pillow and allowed her to pick what they watched. Laughing when she settled on Stranger Things...again. It was one of her favorite shows to watch when she didn’t feel well. She called it her current comfort show.

“I love you,” She murmured softly.

“I love you too, Mama,” He said softly.

He didn’t say anything now. He would later. Right now he wanted to enjoy this moment with her feeling better.

“Jimmy texted me asking if you wanted to come to a pool party at his place next weekend, before we gotta hit the road again,” he said.

It was unspoken that Jimmy was worried she wouldn’t be up to it with her leg. She thought for a moment.

“I should be up to it,” She said, “Even if I’m not at 100, I’ll at least be able to relax on a deck chair looking good.”

Jey laughed and nodded, “You gonna wear that sexy two piece...the red one? Makes you look like an ice cream sundae with a couple cherries on top?” He asked.

(Name) laughed and smacked his chest playfully. Even after taking care of her for almost two entire days he hadn’t let up on his dirty flirting in the moments when she felt better.

“Maybe, you gonna keep your hands appropriate when you gotta put sunscreen on my back?” She asked.

“Only if you promise me you’ll nail Roman in the back of the head like you did Jimmy last summer with the water balloons I’m bringing.” Jey grinned.

“Deal. And besides you can get into my swimsuit anytime after baby,” She said and leaned up to press her lips to his softly.

Her heart was pounding with joy. She was still nervous but she was starting to truly believe that Jey meant it when he said he was going to take care of her.

[bubblyi3]

Between Us, Before Us | KTH

“she wasn’t just his best friend. she was the version of me he didn’t have to answer to.”

pairing: taehung x female reader

genre: slice of life, angst, fluff

word count: 1.6k

content warning: angst, mild smut, trauma, cheating themes, unplanned pregnancy, heartbreak, toxic relationship, time jump here and there, trauma bond

summary: between the past and future lies the aching space of now. with taehyung, you've journeyed through love, heartbreak, and growth. once strangers, then lovers, now something more complicated, your connection is shaped by time, mistakes, and second chances. this is the story of who you were when you first fell for him, who you became through the pain, and who you might still become if you dare to hope again. in the space between healing and longing, one thing remains: him.

author's note: after a long time contemplating if i should get back into my writing era. i've been missing it so this is for anyone who has felt alone. hope you guys enjoy!

© disclaimer: please do not copy, translate or reproduce any part of this work without my permission. thank you!

playlist:

supercut - lorde

hit me where the heart is - mega simone

the cut that always bleeds - conan gray

undressed - sombr

*fiction rooted in real emotions and experiences.

PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8 || PART 9 || PART 10 || PART 11 || FINALE

The lights of the city shimmered in the distance, casting a warm glow across the darkening sky. You stood there, watching the world move on as you took a deep breath, your hand gently holding Nora's. So much had changed, some of it painful, some of it liberating. But as you looked at her daughter, whose smile was soft and innocent, you realised that the most important part of this journey wasn’t the pain or the broken pieces, it was the healing, the growth, and the hope that came after.

You had lived a life shaped by other people’s expectations, by the idea of what you thought love was supposed to be. The hard lessons taught you that love was never about sacrifice or losing oneself for someone else. True love was about standing strong in one’s truth, finding peace within, and building a future that felt whole.

Looking at Nora, you knew that you had made the right choice. You've let go of the past, and with it, the belief that love could be anything less than real and fulfilling. The journey wasn’t easy. It wasn’t perfect. But it was yours.

This was the beginning of a new chapter, one where you would be the author of your own story.

You were seventeen when Kim Taehyung first stepped into your world. Not through fate, or fireworks, or some cliché hallway run-in. It started with a school project.

You were in your final year of high school, buried in the chaos of final year exams, when your Media Studies class was assigned the task of creating a short film. Your project partner, Nari, was everything you weren’t, she was bold, chatty, and always two steps ahead of deadlines. She already had an aesthetic in mind, a vibe for the film, and most importantly, someone in mind to play your lead.

“Kim Taehyung” she said, without hesitation. “He’s perfect. Everyone loves him, and he’s got the kind of energy that’ll pop on camera.”

Of course you knew who he was. Everyone did. Taehyung floated through school like a beam of light. Funny, charming, always surrounded by friends. He wasn’t the brooding mystery type. He was loud, loveable, and always in the middle of something. Teachers liked him. Guys relied on him. Girls either had a crush on him or a story about him.

You were quieter. Observant. Focused on school and your tiny circle of friends who preferred long lunch breaks under the trees over parties. You existed in the same building, the same hallways, maybe even the same assemblies, but that was it. You had zero connection to him. No shared friend groups, no classes together. You knew of each other, the way everyone does in high school where lives brush shoulders but rarely collide. He was orbiting in a totally different world, until Nari pulled him into yours.

“He already said yes,” she announced casually, like she hadn’t just flipped the script of your entire semester. “He’s keen. I told him you’d be directing.”

That Friday after school, he showed up. Sweatshirt slung over one shoulder, long socks pulled up just below his knees, a lazy grin on his face. He carried a confidence that didn’t feel like arrogance, just ease. He greeted the room like he’d been there before, even though he hadn’t.

“You must be Y/N,” he said.

“Excited to be bossed around by you.” He added.

You smiled back, pretending to be unfazed. “Only if you take direction well.”

And just like that, he was in. Not just in the project, but in your world. He brought energy to the room, made everyone laugh during takes, and took his role seriously in a way you hadn’t expected. He lingered after the others left. Made jokes only you would catch. Asked about your weekend, your favorite films, your goals after graduation. Things that felt too small to mean anything and yet, they did.

“You’re easy to talk to,” he said one afternoon as the group packed up the equipment. “Not many people are.”

And maybe that’s how it started. Not with fireworks or some dramatic scene, but with quiet moments. With glances that lasted a little too long and conversations that stretched past the final bell.

At seventeen, you don’t always know when something important is beginning.

But looking back now, that film project was the start of everything. Not just a story you captured on camera, but one that would replay in your life again and again, long after the credits rolled. And while you thought you were the director of that film, life would prove otherwise.

It’s a sunny Saturday afternoon when Taehyung asks you out, but it isn’t just any ordinary day. You’re hanging out with one of your best friends, Nari, and her boyfriend at the time. You roam around town, spending the afternoon taking in the sights. You spend the afternoon by the Han River, the peaceful flow of the water and the city skyline giving you a sense of calm, the breeze lightly tousling your hair. You’ve always been a little afraid of heights, but today, it doesn’t matter. You’re more focused on the company than the view.

Taehyung is there, too. It’s been a few weeks since you finished the school project. Since then, you and Taehyung have spent more time together, texting, hanging out, and talking late into the night. But today feels different. There’s an unspoken tension between you two, something that buzzes in the air like static electricity. The kind of tension you don’t know how to name, but you feel it deep in your gut.

You’d wander through the city, checking out little shops, grabbing coffee, and just being you.

But when you find a bench outside one of the parks, everything seems to quiet down. It’s just the two of you. Taehyung has been acting strange all afternoon. Fidgety, lost in his own thoughts, like there’s something he’s waiting to say but can’t quite figure out how.

You have your suspicions. Is he going to talk about something serious? Is he having family issues, or is it something to do with his friends? You can’t help yourself, you have to ask.

Is it about family or friends?” you ask casually, trying to avoid the nerves building up in your chest.

Taehyung pauses, glancing down at the ground, his lips pressed tight as if he’s debating whether or not to say what’s on his mind. For a second, you think he might change the subject, but then he looks up, his eyes locking with yours.

“Y/N…” he begins, his voice wavering slightly. “No. It’s about you.”

You blink, your heart suddenly hammering in your chest.

“About me?” you ask, trying to sound calm, but you can feel the heat rushing to your face. This is it. The moment you’ve been expecting, but not prepared for.

He lets out a breath, as if he’s gathering the courage to say the words that have been stuck in his throat. You can see the internal struggle on his face, and you want to reach out, to tell him that whatever he’s about to say, it will be okay. Not going to lie, but you’re getting impatient by the second.

“Y/N,” Taehyung says again, his voice soft but steady. “I… I really like you. And I’ve been thinking about this for a while. I think you’re incredible, and I don’t want to mess this up, but I want to ask you something… Will you be my girlfriend?”

His words hang in the air for a long, breathless moment.

You’re caught off guard. Completely and utterly surprised. You knew that something had been building between you two, but you never expected him to be this direct. This honest with you. And the truth is, you don’t know what to say. Part of you wants to jump up and down, excited that he feels the same way. But another part of you, the one that’s spent years living by the rules, hesitates. Your parents would never approve of you being in a relationship before finishing school. They’ve always drilled into you the importance of education before everything else. The idea of having a boyfriend, especially one like Taehyung, with his outgoing personality and the way everyone seems to love him, feels so… complicated.

He’s watching you intently, waiting for your response.

You take a deep breath. The weight of everything. The fear, the excitement, the uncertainty settles in your chest. It feels like a big step, something you’re not entirely sure you’re ready for, but you can’t deny how you feel when you’re around him. How easy it is to be yourself.

“I like you too… and yes,” you finally whisper, the words surprising you as much as they do him.

Taehyung’s face lights up immediately, his eyes wide in disbelief, like he hadn’t expected you to like him back. You laugh nervously, feeling a wave of relief and uncertainty wash over you at the same time.

“Really?” he asks, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You nod, your heart racing. “Yeah.”

Without saying another word, Taehyung grabs your hand, and you both head for the nearest pizza place. The smell of cheese and freshly baked dough fills the air as you sit down, but all you can focus on is the fact that you’ve just agreed to be with Taehyung. Here you are, holding his hand across the table, sharing a pizza and smiling like it’s the most normal thing in the world. But deep down, you know this is anything but normal. This is a new beginning.

And as you glance at Taehyung, you can’t help but wonder what the next chapter of your story will bring.

[heartofbusan]

Keep Going.

Let's have a group therapy session for a second here because is it just me.... or

Is this whole concept giving our Sun and Moon couple?

Furst of all, there are two opposite ends marking 12, Seokjin said in the Bangtan Special report that the theme of this year's Festa would be 00:00. A kind of reset.

Turn this all around

When everything resets at zero o'clock

The reset signals the beginning of new opportunities. After all we've been through, we can come back together and reset our timeline. Be happy again 🥲

The colours they used are orange and blue. Gold and indigo. It's a stretch, but how about yellow and purple ??? Orange and blue are contrasting colors often used together. There's also night and day. After the long night, the lonely time, a new dawn approaches. These are all heavily used themes in BTS's lore.

The most obvious references to jikook are the Sun and the Moon. BTS using the sun and moon motif for mingukki was their black swan pas de deux for MMA 2020 that began with an eclipse: the temporary melding between the sun and moon. So, this is established storytelling. And it happened more than once, even during BTS RUN.

The sun and moon are depicted on a timepiece, something resembling a nautical clock. So the sun and moon are, very generally said, the orgin of the push and pull of the tides. The ocean. The purple ocean perhaps? Hobi did reference 'purple waves' approaching.

But, doesn't a timepiece in conjunction with nautical theme make you think of a mindboggling jikook moment?

Look at these potato quality photos of watch gate 2023 while I breathe into a paper bag.

The theories regarding Jimin’s Patek Phillipe Aquanaut timepiece and the time it showed (which was NOT the actual KST time when he was streaming) have been heavily covered by blogs far more eloquent than mine. Please do look it up if you have no idea what I'm talking about. For the rest of us *screaming into a pillow*

The name aquanaut refers to an underwater swimmer. The Nautilus the watch has been shaped after comes from the name of Jules Verne's submarine in Twenty thousand leagues under the sea, a wonderful adventure book.

Jimin wore this, and his other PP watch named Complications, during AYS?!. That watch features a pretty moonphase window with stars. Jimin just loves the constellations, he even had a constellation lamp in his house.

I'm getting off track here because how come we're not talking about watch gate anymore. That sh*t was WILD.

So, we know, just last week, Jikook went to Japan for around three days. We can assume they met up there. Their diversion tactics aren't very stealthy. So...

What if... and this is a big what if, what if they filmed something there for Festa? What if it's their song for Festa as a subunit. Or a performance of some kind?! 🤡 Keep Going?!

Both Jimin and Jungkook have written/performed several ARMY fans songs. Some they've attributed to ARMY as their inspiration and some where I go, huh... for 'ARMY'...suuuuure baby.. whatever you say beautiful. *plays Letter*

Jimin told us they've been practicing while enlisted, singing together, far removed from other's so they wouldn't be overheard. What if it was for this song???

Devil's advocate here: If this turns out to be true, be prepared for haters to claim this song, aka fanservice, was the reason they enlisted together. End of rant.

We don't know why they went to Japan, and as much as I hope they went to enjoy themselves, however that looked like, their work is such an important part of what bonds them. Their work ethic, their drive and dedication. Their mile high ambitions, for themselves and for BTS. So, work is never separate from Jikook, but Jikook do separate themselves within their work.

And a subunit song from them is something we've all been eagerly waiting for. It's been years. I don't care if they use AYS as a jumping off point or if Japan is the setting.

Hell, if it's another GCFT featuring their homoerotic song called 'Keep Going', featuring lyrics like

I'll keep it going, just for you baby

I'll keep up the pace and

Never falter

The push, the pull, the wonderful song you sing

The endless breathless beauty of the night

In your arms, baby

Keep going, keep going until..

We crest

A breath

A call

And we're safe together again

The mv is them, swimming in a water tank, simulating the ocean, and they have to claw their way from the depths, where the seaweed tangles in their legs, to the surface, where the light breaks through the surface. They come up for air, look at each orther, cling to each other, and they say: 'For ARMY'

I'LL BE SO PLEASED..SKKSKSK I DON'T CARE.

We all know Jikook live in their work, and their work lives in them.

Hope you all have a wonderful Sunday. We're almost at single digits for jikook too. Keep Going. We're almost there!!! 💜💛

[ghost-bison]

a christopher eccleston appreciation post

i will never say this enough because i don't know enough words, nor do i think such words exist, that could even begin to summarize how much i love christopher eccleston, but... i love christopher eccleston. and, more importantly, i have a deep-rooted respect for that man.

i started doctor who as, let's be honest, a sci-fi hater, forcing myself because i was obsessed with david tennant, and i was kind of dreading the first series because of this. but i was dead wrong.

he broadened my mind, gave me so many laughs, and so many cries, and i'm not the first to say that whenever eccleston is on the screen you just can't take your eyes off him, even when he's not supposed to be the main focus of the scene.

the way he can switch from silly goose to traumatized soldier in a matter of seconds will never cease to amaze me. or how he can play with both like he's on a swing by balancing it out with sarcasm?

i think whoever doesn't give him the title role in their shows/films is either an idiot, or they know the main character just isn't always the best.

i think it's downright idiotic and shameful that he gets rejected from ever playing some shakespeare just because of his northern accent (they're just posh elitist pos). now that he's older, and that times are evolving (i mean, i hope the world of theater is vibing with this evolution, but i'm not delusional), i hope we get to see him portray a character like leontes in winter's tale cause i know he'd be absolutely perfect for the role, and who better than shakespeare (this character especially, with his nuances and highs and lows and breakdowns and breakthroughs) to match acting like his?

saw an article where eccleston talked about how the moment he really knew he wanted to be an actor was when he had to wear mascara for a play, and had enjoyed it. i think he talks about it in his autobiography too (you should read it, btw, it's frankly affordable, and he happens to be a marvelous writer as well).

eccleston knows he is mistakenly type-cast, because of his background, as macho men and tough blokes in general. he's aware that it's kind of a big part of his culture. again, he talks about it i think in the very first chapter, how for instance he used to dress up as james bond, the pinnacle of "masculinity", which i think was a disguise in the metaphorical sense of the term, to mask his delicacy and femininity (or at least, that's my interpretation of it).

in his biography, eccleston talks about the differences between him and his dad, ronnie: he was surprised, as a child, whenever his father's affection manifested as a kiss or a hug, cause that usually wasn't his father's way of doing things. he compares it to how he, in contrast, has the habit of kissing his own son, albert, and telling him he loves him.

you can find it as well in how he talks about his anorexia, his body dysmorphia and, i think we can call it that, gender dysphoria. he's from a time when those concepts didn't even exist, they weren't a thing to the public eye. my father and my step-father, both feminine men in their own way, and both around eccleston's age, both told me about the struggle that it represented, not being the stereotype of the macho tough guy, and being surrounded by boys who didn't struggle with that issue. it made my dad a junkie, my stepdad a depressive artist, and, apparently, it made eccleston an anorexic actor.

i think it takes a lot of courage for people that age (the boomer generation as we call them), especially men, from whom we expect toxic masculinity, masculinity pushed to an extreme, to be able to openly call it out and dissect it into what it is: a ridiculous standard. but to be a PUBLIC FIGURE, in his 60s, and still find the strength to express it? damn. takes guts, i think.

most of us on this website, we're babies. most of us are at most in their thirties. the millenials and the gen z, and now the gen alpha, we take that for granted. or get offended and scandalized that being able to express oneself isn't yet a basic standard.

but then, i talk to my mum, and i realize that she had to stray from her catholic, sexist education, she had to make up her own mind about things in order for me to be born a free spirit. and that's just considering my mum's a cishet.

christopher eccleston expressed in other words that he doesn't fully consider himself to be cisgendered. i have mad respect for the way he talks about it, and for even talking about it at all.

then, there's his honesty. the more interviews i watch, the more it impresses me. he knows honesty goes hand in hand with dignity. i'm sorry but i'm tired of people who are nice all the time. you never know when they're being honest, and maybe some of them are, who knows. but i'm not stupid enough to think that so many people are just pure sunshine all the time (respect for tennant for lashing out publically about transphobia, i think he passed the test).

eccleston? he knows how to be both brutally honest and yet respectful at the same time. no ukulele apology from this man and holy fuck, it feels good!

i've seen him call russel t davies out for his lack of professionalism on the set of doctor who, and then list him amongst the great writers he's worked with. which makes me want to believe eccleston's side, because, if you're always either too polite, or too full of spite about eveything, who's to say you're not the problem? i've got way less trouble believing you if you can stay unbiased about a person you're having beef with than if suddenly everything said person does turns into shit just cause you don't like them. that's just maturity and wisdom.

one last thing i love about eccleston is that he is interested in other people's lives. there's a critic by marcus berkmann in his book that perfectly expresses my point: "you know what to expect from the autobiographies of most actors, i think: anecdotes, charm, more than mild self-satisfaction and faux-modesty by the bucketload. but christopher eccleston is not most actors".

and that's it. watch him in interviews and at convention panels, where he lets his younger co-stars speak before himself, and seizes the occasion when journalists ask him questions that are meant to make him talk about himself to praise his writers and other actors instead.

read his autobiography, which is both a love letter to his dad and a big let's-be-honest about the struggles of growing up poor and his personal struggles, because he thinks raising awareness is just as important as protecting himself.

look at his instagram posts where he unabashedly disses the monarchy and stays true and loyal to his background even after getting a taste of money. and his other posts where he shares his love for acorns and spending time with his kids.

i've seen him nearly break down in shame and regret on television for having stolen a kid's crisps in primary school. and not trying to find lame excuses for his behaviour. no ukulele apology, just facts, just christopher eccleston showing us what masculinity in its purest, most beautiful form should be about

[sickskz]

Could you write a fic about I.N after that one kingdom performance where he gets really upset and worked up with himself? Him and Changbin talked about it in their two kids room and it just sounded so adorable how they all came rushing to him when they realised he was sobbing all alone in the kitchen 😭❤️

YESSSS! When I read this request, I immediately felt a burning need to write something on it... So here I am ✋🏽😩

A little psa: I’ve written this as if Hyunjin watched the performances from somewhere backstage and was just not a part of the filming as he was on hiatus during that time. I needed to include Jeongin-protector Hyunjin in this, of course😌

I hope you enjoy!❤️

"Because of me..."

Whumpee: I.N / Jeongin

Caretaker/s: Stray kids <3

____________________________________________

It had been a long day for all of them, but for Jeongin, the exhaustion was bone deep, far beyond the physical aspects of the word. 

The others had ventured out into the living room after dinner, gathering together to watch something on the TV. The volume of their chatter rose and fell rhythmically throughout the dorm, laughter and playful shouts spilling into the air.

The warmth and familiarity of their presence should have been comforting, but to Jeongin, it only made the silence around him feel heavier. 

He was lingering behind, sitting quietly by the dinner table as the bowl of ramyeon in front of him remained untouched, getting colder by the minute. 

Jeongin poked at it absentmindedly, stirring the limp noodles around the broth with no real intention of eating them. Every bite he’d tried to take felt wrong, and everything just tasted the same. Bland, sour, bitter..

No matter what, he couldn’t seem to quiet his own mind. His thoughts constantly circled back to their Kingdom performance earlier in the day, to the moment his voice had cracked on that high note.

Jeongin had rehearsed tirelessly for that performance, pushed himself to the limit to get it perfected. Yet in that one moment, when it mattered the most, everything had just fallen apart. 

All the hard work he put in, and he still couldn’t do it. 

Now, the memory clung to him like that one storm cloud hanging low in the sky that refused to let up, soaking his mind in an unshakable darkness.

Chan had reassured him that it was alright, he even told him he did a good job. That it was just a small mistake, small enough that the audience wouldn’t necessarily even notice it.

But Jeongin knew, he noticed, he felt it. 

Then their ranking had dropped.

Jeongin's fingers curled tightly around his chopsticks, knuckles turning white as the shame coiled deep inside his stomach all over again. 

How could that have been a coincidence? 

It wasn’t, It couldn’t be. 

It was his fault. 

He had let them down, all of them.

The lump in his throat grew bigger, tightening until he could hardly breathe. His vision blurred, and before he could even attempt to stop it, the first tear slipped down his cheek. 

The dam he’d built up broke down in an instant, tears spilling from his eyes and dripping into his dinner bowl.

Jeongin buried his face in his hands in a futile attempt to muffle the sounds of his anguish, but it only made it worse. The more he tried to contain his emotions, the more overwhelming they became. What started out as sniffles quickly turned into ragged, broken sobs, his shoulders shaking as the sound of his cries echoed out into the empty kitchen.

The TV was cut off, and soon the sound of scraping chairs and hurried steps filled the space around him. 

Jeongin kept his face in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut as he willed himself to disappear, to shrink into nothing. 

“Iyen?!” 

“What’s wrong?”

“Innie, why are you crying?”

“Are you okay?!”

Their voices mixed together in a frantic, dissonant chorus, each question overlapping the next in a desperate rush to reach him. 

Then they went quiet, like they had all collectively taken a breath as they waited for him to respond. 

“Iyen-ah?“ 

It was Chan. His voice was gentle, cautious, as if he was afraid he would startle him. The tenderness of his voice only made Jeongin's chest ache even more, his cheeks burning with indignity. 

“Whats wrong?” Chan asked softly, a warm hand landing on his shoulder. The touch was meant to be consoling, but it only made Jeongin's mind spin faster, grappling against the shame inside him. 

“I’m so-so sorry….” Jeongin choked out in between sobs, his breath hitching painfully in his chest. “Be-because of me…” his voice trailed off into a whimper, a new sob tearing from his throat. 

The weight of his guilt was crushing down on him and the apology seemed so small in comparison, too insignificant to atone for anything. 

He heard Chan inhale sharply, likely trying to gather up the right words to say. Someone else muttered a soft “Oh, Innie..”, but amidst his misery, Jeongin couldn’t bring himself to look at them. He couldn’t face them, couldn’t bear to see the concern in their eyes. Not when he felt so pathetic and underserving of it. 

Why were they comforting him? HE was the one who ruined it. They should be angry with me, he thought bitterly. They should be upset.

Why weren’t they upset?

Jeongins sobbing filled the room, a raw, heart-wrenching sound that made everyone else feel the sharp sting of emotion in their own eyes. The tears poured down his face relentlessly, dripping into his hands until he was certain he could drown in them.

“Hey.” A hand carefully grabbed onto Jeongin's wrists, prying his wet hands away from his face and leaving him exposed, vulnerable before their pitying eyes. Jeongin slowly blinked through the haze of tears to see Seungmin beside him, his grip firm but gentle against his skin.

“Iyenie, it’s not your fault..” Seungmin muttered softly, his expression warm and filled with something Jeongin couldn’t quite place. Sympathy, maybe, but there was something more to it. Something deeper, something Jeongin wasn’t sure he deserved at all.

“B-But it is!” Jeongin insisted in a wail, his voice breaking under the weight of another sob. “I-I went off pitch… I-I.. I messed up” the words felt bitter in his mouth, twisting in his chest with each passing breath. “That’s w-why we-we dropped...”

“No, it’s not.” Hyunjin interjected, his hands dropping onto Jeongin shoulders and giving them a couple of reassuring squeezes.

Suddenly, Chan was kneeling beside his chair, his voice steady and kind as he spoke again. “Iyen, listen to me. It wasn’t because of you.”

“You’re ju-just saying t-that-“

“I’m not.” Chan cut him off, his voice firm and his eyes holding a depth of understanding that Jeongin couldn’t even begin to fathom. There was something about those eyes, something in the way he looked at him that told him Chan wasn’t just comforting him for the sake of it. That he actually believed what he was saying.

“Performances aren’t ranked based on one moment like that.. you know that.” Chan paused for a moment, resting his hand lightly on Jeongin's thigh. “I know I’ve already said this, but you did a really good job out there today. Really good” 

The words made a fresh wave of tears spill from Jeongins eyes, the sobs still rattling freely through his chest. Still, the wrap around his ribs had eased its tension a little, no longer actively strangling him. 

“Channie-hyung is right, Iyen-ah.” Jisung was the one to speak up next, standing behind Chan with big eyes and a small, reassuring smile on his face. “Seriously, you were awesome out there today. That’s not just something we’re just saying..” 

Felix, who had taken a seat on the tabletop, leaned over to gently brush Jeongin's hair out of his forehead. “Voice cracks happen to all of us every once in a while.” he smiled warmly, so warmly that Jeongin felt the heat of it spread across his own neck.

“We’re live singers after all.” Lee Know said matter of factly, his chin resting against Jisung's shoulder as he peeked over at the maknae with an unusually soft gaze. “It’s a testament to our commitment, really. Shows we’re the real deal and not some dumbasses who just lip sync everything.”

Jeongin pondered over those words for a moment, eyebrows creasing and his breath hitching. Lee Know had a point…  but still, he was the one to ruin it today, he-

“Besides..” Hyunjin chimed in from behind him, slowly leaning forward and sliding his arms down around Jeongin's neck to give him a gentle back hug. “That voice crack really wasn’t as bad as it could have been. I easily would’ve believed it if someone told me it was planned.”

The room filled with a chorus of agreement, murmurs of ‘yeah’ and soft hums, each voice a reminder that Jeongin wasn’t alone in his struggle. They were all there, despite his mistake, steadfast in their presence and grounding him with each and every word. 

“There’s always a next time.” Seungmin added, his voice light and reassuring. His grip on Jeongin's wrists had shifted so he was instead holding his hands gently in his own, rubbing his thumb across his knuckles. “Don’t let one tiny mishap drown out all the good you did.. you’ll have plenty of opportunities to redeem yourself anyways.” 

Jeongin blinked rapidly, expelling the final remnants of tears that clung to his lashes as he felt the comforting warmth of Hyunjin's body embracing his own. He leaned into it despite himself, his head rolling back against the dancers shoulder with a shaky inhale. 

“We’re a team.” Changbin broke the silence that was starting to settle, and Jeongin looked towards his voice, seeing him behind Seungmin. “You can’t bear the burden of these things alone, that’s not how this-” he vaguely gestured around to the lot of them. “works.. you made a small mistake. Okay, so what? Iyen-ah, we’re not mad, we don’t blame you.. how could we? if it was anyone else, would you blame them?” 

Jeongin's sobs had finally started to die down, leaving behind ragged breaths and a bout of soft, teary hiccups. His gaze lingered on Changbin for a little longer, seeing the genuine care on his face as Jeongin considered his question.

With a shaky exhale, he shook his head. “N-no, of course not…”

Changbin smirked softly, sending the youngest a knowing look as he reached his hand over to gently ruffle through his hair. “Exactly.”

Their words filled Jeongin's mind, slowly but surely taking up any space that had once harboured his doubts, guilt and shame. 

With his members gathered all around him at every angle, he should have felt overwhelmed, suffocated even. 

Instead, Jeongin realised just how badly he needed to just… be held, if only for a moment. 

Hyunjin pressed his nose into his hair, muttering soft reassurances and planting a small kiss to the top of his head. 

Usually, Jeongin would be a little disturbed  by the intimate gesture, but for some reason, he didn’t feel that insistent urge to pull away. 

Instead, a different emotion washed over him, warm and unfamiliar, yet undeniably comforting. He was still getting used to it, still learning how to hold onto it without hesitation.

It came with the quiet realisation that, despite everything- the lonely days, the times he’d felt lost or out of place, he finally felt… at home. 

They were his home.