#how does it feel to be this fucking stupid

[madamechrissy]

Escort! Satoru- part five

Pairings- Escort Satoru Gojo x shy CEO F! reader

Warnings- mutual pining like a mf, obsessed ass/whipped ass Gojo, mutual pining, lots of yearninggg, kissing (I KNOW YAYYY) dry humping, teasing, fingering, public play, fluffy and cute- there will be a part six! (final) pretty woman vibes 🤭

<<<Part Four

Escort! Satoru finally does it, he asks you on that date, watching the shock in your eyes, the trembling of your lips as you step back, and Satoru feels it then, the hammering of his heart. Is it too late? Should he have reached out again to you after the first night, when you didn't answer? His blue eyes peer at you over those glasses, as the sunlight beats down on your skin, making his cheeks just a little reddened, striking across his pale skin.

Escort! Satoru eases his hands gently off your face, when you swallow nervously - he hurt you so badly that night, the embarrassment of asking him to hold you, dying for a mere kiss on the lips. How could you be so foolish, truly, you had to try to forget him in any way you could, after sleeping with him and knowing he would never be yours, always sharing him, he was just there because of your money and maybe he enjoyed it. But it wasn't more.

Escort! Satoru realizes how much he fucking missed you now, as if some void is filled by your presence, but you lower his hands gently, holding them for a moment. 'I was so...' stupid, you were stupid 'I'm very sorry I asked you for things you never do,' you sigh, looking around, seeing people walk by. 'I should have respected your-' Satoru stops you then, tilting your chin up, your gaze focused on him. 'I should have held you, okay? I'm sorry...' you feel your eyes fill with the tears, as words you've dreamed of are spoken, and they feel just like that- a dream. 'I want a real date, could we?'

Escort! Satoru eyes you when your phone rings, and you look down nervously. 'I have a date tonight, the first in... years' Satoru steps back now, glaring at you. 'With who?' you blink in surprise. 'Why does it matter to you? Do you think after months I wouldn't ever wanna try?' Satoru grips your wrist, thumb brushing against the veins gently, sending shivers down your spine, as he tries to compose himself, he has no right to be so mad, so jealous. 'Fine, then give me a date after' he murmurs, desperate for you, how can he see you and not try? After everything he's been yearning for appears before him, and he knows how badly he fucked up. 'I don't know...' you want to, god you do, but you also know how badly Satoru can hurt you, uniquely. 'Please just, give me a chance to explain myself, to be myself and not...' he trails off, the wind blows gently and a little blossom lands on your hair, which he sweetly brushes away. 'One chance'

Escort! Satoru is furious thinking about anyone touching you, though it's toxic and unrealistic in every aspect. His job was to touch, though he'd throw it all away if you asked, god he would, because he doesn't find joy in any of it. No amount of money fills this emptiness, but he never thought he'd have a chance with you - only to ruin it. 'I'll go out with you this weekend, but you pick the place, and pick me up' you say softly, his heart thuds as he nods eagerly, desperate and pathetic for you - something he's never been until you ruined him with just your energy, your body, that laugh he'd love to have back. Memories of your night fill him then, as he aches to touch you, to know you, to kiss you.

Escort! Satoru plans the date to a tee, but the whole time he's wondering - where are you going, and with who? Would you prefer them over him? Meanwhile you're trying to get through that date, mind wandering, you just tried to open up for the first time since Satoru broke your heart - even if it was your own fault. You try to smile, and enjoy him, a handsome man that surely was perfect on paper, and interested in you. As the night goes on and the drinks pour, you think to yourself, you should try, letting him kiss you at the end of the evening, wondering what you'll feel. It's nice, but it's nothing like just being near Satoru. Frustrated almost to tears, you're laying in bed that night, as the man in your head that you almost pushed down enough, is back front and center.

Escort! Satoru can't stand it, knowing you're on a date, he almost texts you so many times before he caves - 'ready for our date?'- he smirks, hoping your with whoever it was. But you don't answer him for hours, until you finally write him - yes - and that's it, no sweet banter like the two of you had. It's different, had you really already moved on? He trembles as he texts you - 'how was the date?' - and you write - 'it was fine, any jobs tonight? - and that's when he realizes you're mad. The sweetest girl he met is so clearly mad. He hadn't taken a job tonight, and he's cancelled his week, but he gets it clearly. - 'no job tonight, I'm excited to see you' - He's never said that to anyone. You heart the message, emotions catching, excitement but apprehension in equal parts, you just don't know if he's serious, you're so scared to let go again.

Escort! Satoru picks you up that night in his car, some little Maserati sports car that looks like it goes way too fast. You can't act like he's not sexy as fuck as he steps out of it, opening your door and grinning at you, but you try to hold back, smiling with a 'thank you' as you slide in next to him. Satoru's hand craves to press on your thigh, but fuck if he's not nervous, he hasn't had a date since he started this career despite his job being to go on dates, not a real one, not with someone he asked. He's damn near shaking with his nerves, trying to play it off, as he drives through the quiet streets, smiling over at you with a quirk of his lips. 'You look beautiful' his words make you flustered, nervously tugging a bit on the gorgeous dress you're wearing, glittering like the stars in the sky - fuck your very skin itself glitters. 'you're saying it truly this time?'

Escort! Satoru glares now, foot on his break, scowling at you. 'what do you mean truly? you think I didn't mean any of it?' you blink back unexpected tears, looking out the dark tinted window as he drives once more. 'It was your job, that's all, and I told you I took it too far, you shouldn't feel bad that happened. I - ah!' he skids to a stop suddenly, pulling off the side of the road, and unbuckling your seatbelt so fast you can barely register. He's got you on his lap so fast, as cars whirl by, shaking the fucking car and shocking you further, as he handles you like it's nothing. You brace your hands on his chest, so nervous now, hands clenching the black jacket of his tux, breaths faster and faster. 'You are beautiful, I never said that because of a job' he swipes away your tears, lips hovering over yours, as he exhales, breath tickling your lips. 'What are you doing, Satoru?' your whisper is weak, as he drags you even closer, and his eyes dart to your lips. 'What I should have done that night'

Escort! Satoru slams his lips on yours then and there, you feel it like hot, electric shots going through your body when he does, when he's pressing those plush, glossy lips on yours, and you're shattering over him, lost in his kiss. Satoru has never felt anything like it, like finally kissing you, his tongue slipping in your mouth, drinking up your every cry, every gasp, as you roll your hips just right, and he feels the heat he's been dying for against his aching cock. 'Fuck...' his hushed words are met with your little cry, which just has him dragging you down harder, ready to devour every sweet inch of you, but barely being able to drag himself from your lips, gasping as he pulls back, eyes meeting yours, glimmering now. 'Satoru you... kissed me...' you're close to crying now, trembling as he sighs, cupping your pretty face, the one that's haunted him. 'I've wanted to since I first saw you'

Escort! Satoru keeps kissing you, over and over, desperate and messy, you almost cum just from that friction against you, his teeth sinking into your lower lip, as his huge hands press into your skin. 'I need you, fuck I need you sweetheart- god you have no clue' you're easing back, struggling to compose yourself. 'Am I so VIP?' you tease softly, and he feels it then, the soft way you're asking - not judging, but scared. He exhales, resting his head on yours, shaking his head and pulling you down again. 'I'll gladly delete my whole fucking profile, for a chance with you' his words sink in fully. Your cheeks are hot under his gentle touch. 'I just don't... Satoru, you don't have to do this for me. I understand...' He kisses you once more, before your phone rings.

Escort! Satoru glares, and you can't help but giggle. 'Are you jealous?' he just sets his jaw, as you look over and see it, holding the phone with a shaky hand, and he pulls you harder on his cock, having your eyes roll back in your skull. 'Tell him you're on a date' he whispers, gripping you so tight, before easing you to sit back in your seat, kissing you over and over. 'Let's get there, okay?' you're trying to compose yourself, seeing him shift and wince while he drives once more, pouting. 'You enjoying my pain, sweets?' you can't help but giggle again. The date is pretty and serene, the restaraunt on the roof top, swathed in moonlight. Satoru feeds you carefully, the two of you sharing dessert, talking and laughing like the first time he fucking met you - when he knew then, something was so special about you, something he could never pin fully, but he sees it, with how the candle light hits your face, your sweet blush as his hand slips up your thigh.

Escort! Satoru is not happy to learn you've had a kiss, and your amused little smile is quickly lost, when he slips his fingers between your thighs, and you wildly look around, as he smirks at you. 'That's cute, you kissed? did you like that?' he's taunting now, possessive gaze, that you can't get enough of, fuck you want all of him, even though you're scared, so scared to be hurt again. He's pressing his fingers against your panties, which are soaked, watching as your eyes get lidded, hand gripping the thick white cloth, and he slips under then, feeling the heat he'd been dying for, leaning in close. 'Asked you a question, hmm?' you lean closer, hips shifting, jerking as he thumbs your twitchy little clit, making you gush. 'Would you be mad if I liked it, Satoru?' he sighs, slipping two fingers in your slick hole, making you almost moan in the fucking restaurant now. 'You're wet for me, aren't you, all me?' He's curling them now, acting so casual as a waitress refills your wine, and you pray no one hears the squishing noises your juices are making.

Escort! Satoru can't help but suck you off his fingers, right before he makes you cum, and you're throbbing around nothing, wanting. You're clenching your teeth as you watch, as if he's finishing his dessert- and when he tastes you again!? He can barely control himself, eyes dilated while you sink into his tastebuds, ready to finally give you what you want, and need, and deserve, fuck you so good you can't function, and hold and kiss you. Satoru slips his lips on yours in front of the restaurant, and you taste yourself, whining into his lips. Suddenly a girl sees him, a frequent client who'd gotten too obsessed, and walks right up to him, crossing her arms. He eases back in the seat, as you look down shyly, unsure of who she is. 'I'm on a date' his words make your heart flutter now, as she glares. 'ah, so you do kiss? was this some special package, do you know how expensive you are?' you bite back a smile, and Satoru just grins, shaking his head like a little shit. 'It's different, she's my girlfriend.'

Escort! Satoru blushes when you whisper 'your girlfriend, huh?' in his ear moments later, as a very angry client stomps off, and he brushes back your hair, hard body against yours, studying your face. 'Would you... be my girlfriend?'

I need one more part for these two - it'll probably be all sex lolll hope you enjoy this one!

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[star-5truck]

Jealousy, Jealousy

Sypnosis: Blue Lock men getting jealous! Characters: S. Nagi, R. Itoshi, S. Itoshi, M. Kaiser

Jealous - Nick Jonas

Cause you're too fuckin' beautiful

And everybody wants a taste

That's why (That's why)

I still get jealous

Nagi Seishiro

-Reo and you are the only people he hangs out with. But you and reo are closer than he thought.

-he trusts reo, he trusts you, so why is there a pit in his stomach?

-The feeling doesn’t go away for DAYS and he can’t stand it

-Ends up going to isagi for advice

-Isagi just looks at him confused “You mean your jealous, right?”

-Jealous? But reos his friend??

-Gets the balls to talk to you about it.

“Reo?” You said, a look of confusion on your face as you looked over at your boyfriend. “I mean, he is a nice guy. But I’m dating you, Sei.” You give him a kiss on his cheek, making his ears tint the slightest bit of red.

“Jealousy is a hassle.” He murmurs, wrapping his arms around your waist and holds you tight. He settles in the crook of your neck, sighing in content. “I trust you angel. ‘m sorry for feeling that way.”

He feels your body shake from your giggle, he’s about to ask why before your hands are raking through his hair. “It’s fine. Jealousy is normal.” That’s all the reassurance you both need.

Itoshi Rin

-Gets jealous when you ask one of his TEAM MATES to teach you soccer.

-He’s right here??

-Worst part, he found out about it through said team mate. You didn’t even bring it up with him.

-Keeps thinking about it every second now

-Did you not deem him a good enough teacher?

-He knew he was harsh with words but that was only SOMETIMES (It really isn’t)

“Rin?” Your voice brought him out of his thoughts, making him look up at you.

“Huh?”

“You’re staring again. Something on your mind?” You’ve noticed he’s been quieter nowadays. Staring off into nothing like his thoughts were so important- which they could be. But you’d like to help him in his predicament.

“Do you not want to spend time with me?” He asks suddenly, making you blink in surprise.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I know you asked Shidou to teach you soccer.”

Your face is immediately red. He wasn’t wrong, anyway, it’s just that Rin took it the wrong way. You’d asked Shidou to teach you soccer because you wanted to spend more time with Rin. You just wanted to impress him. Rin tells you that’s a stupid idea. Immediately makes you stop your lessons with Shidou.

Itoshi Sae

-First of, Sae doesn’t get jealous. He’s perfectly comfy with how your relationship is and knows you wouldn’t cheat on him.

-Never fucking mind

-Who does this waiter think he is asking for your number?

-Sae is literally sitting infront of you on a DATE

-Gives the guy the worst stare you’d ever imagine

-Of course, you don’t give the guy your number but it still irks Sae.

“We should stop going to that restaurant.” Sae says after he starts the car and you’re on the road. You look at him surprised. Considering Sae’s the one who suggested you eat there in the first place.

“What? Why? Isn’t this one of the few restaurants that consider your diet?

“I don’t care. The staff there aren't that friendly.” He’d rather DIE than admit he’s jealous. He might even crash this car right now if you decide to push it. He’d ask you to step out before crashing the car, of course.

“Sae are you sure-?”

“That place doesn’t have [favorite drink] right? Thought so. We should go to places with more variety anyway.”

Michael Kaiser

-You’re at his game, like always, of course.

-And like at every game, there is a kiss cam.

-See, Kaiser makes sure to get you VIP tickets so you don’t end up there.

-That fails when another VIP sits next to you, and the kiss cam lands on you both.

-The guy is already leaning in and Kaiser is already fuming.

Every player on the field actually stops playing out of shock. Considering the fact Michael Kaiser is the biggest opponent for BOTH teams. They all watch as he runs over to the VIP seats, jumps over the railing, and curtly flips off the camera and the guy. He kisses you, it's quick, but the stadium still erupts in cheers. “There’s a kiss for you.” He says to the camera, making another round of yells come.

“Micha, WHAT do you think you're doing?” You tell him baffled by the events that had just passed.

“Showing them you’re taken, what else?”

You now wear one of Kaiser’s jerseys every game.

[naamahdarling]

This.

Trap card.

I have struggled so much with this.

I ask this and just get people being nasty, or people trying to convince me of something I already believe but not actually answering the question.

Cut because this got brutally long.

Please don't attack me when I agree with ditching what we have, and just have questions about how to make it work. Just...consider how we go about this conversation nearly every time.

Prisons do not do what they are "supposed" to do. I fully get that. I fully get that the current system is ALREADY failing people who have been hurt, and making that harm even worse. I fully get that killing people is bad and that NO system for deciding who lives and dies will go uncorrupted for long because the very idea that we should be allowed to kill people in the context of creating justice is indicative that the system is already badly compromised. I totally and unilaterally oppose the death penalty (it is not the same as self-defense, at all). I know the current system creates far more victims than it helps. The system creates far more criminals than it deters, many of whom are not actually guilty of anything meaningful or who were not until they were victimized by the system.

What we have is really bad and needs to go!

We need to focus on victims and supporting them, and currently what we do does the exact opposite of that.

We need to focus also on offenders and how to prevent re-offense. What we do now does not prevent re-offense. It creates offenders.

I don't need to be convinced of any of that.

I do not see acknowledgement that there are going to be, always, a very few people who are dangerous and will not be able to be reformed, or steered away from offending again.

And saying "stop bringing up the very worst people as a gotcha!" isn't helpful. I'm not trying to be a smug smartass who wants to justify a love of prisons, violence, and revenge, or excuse a lack of support for ending this horrible system of abuse and violence. I don't want to throw people away or put them out of sight and out of mind. I don't think enacting vengeance on people has a place in a system based in any way on justice, even if the victim wants that vengeance. That sickens me to say, as someone who very much wants to harm with my own hands some people responsible for hurting me, and my loved ones, and who does not feel bad at all when bad things happen to terrible people. But how I feel is not how things should be run.

I'm genuinely asking for an answer.

Because we need to have an answer for better than "in our ideal society these crimes would not exist because they are caused by factors we would alleviate or eliminate".

I kind of think we need to assume that these people will exist, and we need to deal with that.

Not because some people are innately evil, I absolutely think that is a breathtakingly stupid idea on multiple levels, but because I really don't think that our current fucked up society is responsible for every harmful thing people do. Most, probably! But not all.

Literally when you look into the backgrounds of some people who have done really terrible shit, there just isn't always a reason for it. Or sometimes the reason appears to be shit that couldn't have been prevented.

I know people go to rape because it is genuinely unjustifiable EVER.

But because I know more about them, I think a lot about people who murder repeatedly without cause. So that is the big one for me personally. That is the one that seems both most fucking inexplicable to me, and yet most thoroughly studied. And it also usually comes with sexual abuse. Horrible!!!

Like, if we abused kids less there would be fewer of these folks. We could prevent that, sure. But head injuries while young are a very very common factor if you look at serial killers. It's honestly very fucking sad. And what the hell do you do about it? Kids fall out of trees or fall down stairs or just get fuckin dropped, and it isn't anyone's fault. I'm sure there are other factors we have not identified but will. We can hopefully eventually compensate for those as best we can, but because some of those are probably not going to be preventable, I think we are still going to have to deal with a non-zero number of genuinely very very dangerous people.

Bringing them up is not inappropriate, and they aren't so rare that we don't need to consider the issue.

I don't understand how you can know the details of what certain people did and think "this is so aberrant and rare we don't need to include this in our considerations." I won't name names, because then people start arguing specifics of those cases, but there's two I am thinking of, and I can't say that I feel great about answers that are just making fun of people for bringing them up because Jesus Christ.

Also, horribly, a lot of people who have done horrific things repeatedly say that they have always been different and couldn't have been made different, and believe they always will do these things if they can, and many do not feel too much shame about it. I say that not to make them look fundamentally evil, I don't think they are because evil doesn't exist (and the idea has no place in justice anyway) but to point out that these people are often by their own admission probably never going to be changed into people who won't hurt others. We shouldn't give up, but I think maybe we should acknowleege that they may be right sometimes, and what then?

We need to have a plan in advance so when it happens, we know what to do. If we don't need the plan, great. But I really think that we will. For sure, if we catch someone doing this shit for the fifth time, clearly we aren't doing a great job at stopping them.

I will readily accept that prison as it exists isn't the answer. I don't want to push them out of the community, they're part of it! Every single person who does bad things is also a neighbor, a coworker, a partner, a relative, a friend. They are all either loved by someone/were loved by someone, or have been utterly failed. Exile isn't the answer to this! Exile is the opposite of what we need!

What is? What are some alternatives? For the very worst offenders you can imagine, what should be done? And are those solutions ethical? Or simply less bad?

Keeping someone under constant observation is super bad for their mental health. Keeping people comfortably captive while you "rehabilitate" them is, to me, just a really polite prison with overtones of psychiatric abuse and brainwashing -- your system would not be immune to that, trying to influence people's behavior while subjecting them to an imbalance of power is inherently if not abusive, at least bordering on it at all times -- and furthermore it is a thing we have tried and it also has not worked out so well. I hear people throwing ideas around that sound suspiciously like psychiatric detainment, which also must be abolished, as it is a form of imprisonment, without even the few benefits of being allowed a trial. And some will not be able to be rehabilitated, either because they don't live long enough, the right approach has not been applied, they flat-out do not want to be, or they possess a personality that violently conflicts with the method chosen (if you look at psychiatric patients, some who do very poorly and become violent in nonconsensual or coerced detainment would benefit from other solutions and never be a risk to themselves or others; detainment, basically being abducted, makes lashing out much more likely).

We recognize detainment and surveillance and violating privacy is bad to do in prisons and that these things beget violence, and hopefully people recognize this is bad in forced inpatient facilities for the same reason. It's going to be an issue in any situation where we infringe upon someone's rights to go where they like and do what they like and have privacy. Those are at the core of alternatives proposed by many.

If we say that some harms are permissible in order to prevent harm to others, which ones? Who makes that call?

I'm not asking this because I think "prisons are great, actually, or even better, some people should be killed!", or because I am a wiseass and think asking these questions will poke enough holes in the idea of prison abolition that it sinks and goes away.

I'm asking because I have never actually seen this answered to my satisfaction. And I need it to be, because until then, I will not be able to successfully advocate for it.

The best I have seen is "What we are aiming for is so different from what we have, I am not sure how to get there. We know some things will help, let's do those. We work out the rest."

I love that a huge part of this answer, MOST of this answer, is "smarter people than you and me are working on this, so let's look to them, and let's also bring in victims and ask what they need, and let's bring in "criminals" and ask them what they needed and what they do need, and let's make sure everyone has the supports they need to thrive both before and after trauma, and that people who have done harmful things are kept from doing it again but not treated horribly.

I love the truth that preventing and supporting is going to fix more than punishing and ostracizing. The recognition that what we are doing is a complete failure is great.

But it doesn't answer the question everyone makes fun of. And we need to do that -- yes, even though the number of people who will offend repeatedly is small and will get smaller if we start addressing the actual root causes of people doing harm to others -- or this idea won't get much further into the general population, and outside activist circles.

This question is a huge stumbling block for communication. It prevents people from getting on board.

At the very least, there's going to be a very long transitional period where we do need to decide what to do with these people, because the measures we eventually want to put in place to prevent and protect won't be there yet.

If we put them in place tomorrow, there would still be people so damaged by their circumstances that they wouldn't be able to be helped in the remaining time they have left. Those people need to be helped, and treated well, but the damage is done. And there will still be victims who will never be able to move past the idea of retribution in the time remaining to them.

The problems will remain for more than one lifetime. We should still push hard against what we have, I'm not saying we shouldn't. I'm saying that the end goal actually doesn't tell us how to deal with the ugly parts of getting there.

Even if people who have been hurt don't like the answer, they very very much do deserve an answer to their question that is more than ridicule.

Not having an answer to give them seems an awful lot like telling them their pain doesn't matter because the way they express it is unacceptable.

I should know, because that's how it feels to me. I'm still on board, but I still need an answer. I NEED an answer.

"so youre saying we should just allow rapists and abusers to remain in society?" where else would they go ⁉️😭🙏 so confused can you show me this place outside of society

[sanguineterrain]

mark grayson x afab!reader. dumbification, sub!mark, increased stamina and sensitivity, needy!mark, reader is a little mean and mark thinks it's HOT <3

Thinking about Mark Grayson's heightened sensitivity... and how stupid and easy he gets when he needs a release.

Thinking about how sometimes during a fight or a long training session, all that adrenaline and pumping blood results in Mark getting hard. He wears a cup for decency so it's moderately uncomfortable when it happens. Not to mention, Mark gets embarrassed. Very embarrassed.

Mostly because you seem to know when it happens. Mark doesn't know if it's the way he walks or if something in his voice gives it away. But if he doesn't want to get teased into coming, he'd best wait until his erection flags.

(Mark has never waited. He always comes home.)

It's not his fault! He stays hard for a long time if he tries to ignore it. He doesn't have the patience to wait. And Mark loves how your eyes get sharp and feral when they land on him, his cup removed, sweaty and chubbed up in his suit. You like to corner him against the wall and part your legs and rub against him. Like to feel his dick poke at your folds. He's there for you to play with. You make sure to remind him.

And the thing is, Mark gets stupid when he's hard. Big and easy and leaky.

"Still can't figure out how you focus on anything with such a fat cock," you tell him. Mark is lightheaded. He's obscenely big in his suit, and you're wet at the sight of him bucking his hips against you, humping you like a dog. You get a tight grip on his hair, tell him to settle down and be good.

"Don't get too excited. You'll cream your pants," you say lazily, and Mark whines. You get a little mean when he's like this. He loves it. You tell him to bring you both to the bed and he obeys instantly. You rest a hand on his stomach, just above where he's made a wet patch in his suit.

"Please, pl-please, G-God," Mark's saying, abs tense under your palm. You finally free his cock, pulling his suit pants down enough, and you take in the sight of it. It's red, agitated, steadily leaking. This is one of your favorite parts. Mark doesn't need much to come. He's got a big dick and big balls but none of that matters when he blows his load in less than a minute. You tease his cock at the base with two fingers, rubbing and tracing the veins that go up to his head. It takes nothing before Mark is tensing, legs trapping you as he comes. He makes high, weepy sounds as he does, his eyes squeezed shut. You pull his hair and that heightens Mark's orgasm, making him buck into the air.

And then, the next best part.

"Oh my God," you say with a laugh. "Dumb, fat cock can't even get soft after coming? All those muscles and strength and you're still fucking needy. You can't even think when you're like this, can you?"

A Viltrumite effect. Mark needs at least two orgasms to soften. He can't even reply now, he's so desperate. Once, you'd made him stay hard on purpose, not allowing his second release for ages. When you had let him come, Mark had cried, red-faced and dizzy with arousal.

You don't do that now, pitying his desperation. You press Mark down into the mattress instead and he lets you, never resistant with you. You rake your hand through his hair. Mark cranes his neck, wanting a kiss. You indulge him and he moans into your mouth, rutting against your stomach.

"Ah-ah," you say, slipping your hand between your bodies and trapping Mark's cock against his stomach. He whines, forgetting himself and bucking his hips, his strength coming easily. You squeeze him in warning.

"Be good," you say. "Be good or I'll leave you like this, stupid and leaking."

Mark shakes his head, eyes wet. "No, no, please, need it, need you. Please, please, 'm s-so hard."

"Oh, I know." You take your other hand and squeeze Mark's pecs, first the right then the left. He moans, arching beneath you. You flick his nipples until they're hard under his suit. "Is this all you're good for? Fighting and emptying your balls? Your stupid dick can't even tell the difference between the adrenaline of a fight and me touching you."

Mark whines, squirming beneath you. "That's not t-true, I'm—I—"

"You what?" you ask, mocking. You take his cock in a tight grip, tighter than you'd hold a regular person. But Mark can take it. Mark wants to take it. "What are you gonna say, baby? You gonna tell me you're smart? That you're more than your fat tits and cock?"

Mark doesn't manage an answer. You grind on him hard, your pussy still clothed. His eyes are fluttering so you hold his chin and shake him a little.

"Eyes on me, big guy," you say. "You want me to fuck you? Wanna cum inside me?"

Mark nods eagerly, hair wild, cheeks blotchy. "Yeah, yeah, please—"

"Take off my underwear," you say.

Mark immediately grabs the band of your underwear and pulls. The fabric rips like wet paper. You look down, mouth open.

"Oh, baby," you say. Mark's already fumbling over an apology, promising to buy you new ones. You roll your eyes and pull his hair. "Why did I think that would go any differently? You'd tear through anything to get your dick wet."

"'M sorry, I thought—"

"Well, that was your first mistake, wasn't it, sweetie? Don't think, you're not good at it right now."

You take Mark's wrists and put them above his head. It takes both of your hands to do so. You know the only reason you can hold him like this is because he's letting you.

"Gonna be a good boy and fuck me?" you ask, arching your back so you can drag your pussy over Mark's cock. "Gonna make me cum? Or are you just gonna rut into me like a dumb dog?"

Mark shakes his head. "No, gonna be good. I can make you cum. Make you feel good. Lemme do it—lemme feel you, I can do it, please—"

And finally, finally, you let him inside. Mark loses all coherence, only panting and whining as he meets you thrust for thrust. You barely need to move, he's so eager. He's gorgeous like this, suit disheveled and pulled up only as far as it needs to be for you to play with his cock. His hair is messy and he's shiny with sweat. You can't imagine how overwhelming his arousal is, coursing through him and turning his brain to soup even when he's not with you. It's no wonder he'll let you do whatever you want to him.

"Are you being good, honey pie?" you ask. "Are you gonna hold it till I tell you?"

"Can't," Mark says, like he always does, but you know better.

"You can," you say. "You can or I'm pulling off of you. Can you rub my clit or are you too dumb to do that?"

"I can, I can," he says. You free one of his hands and he clumsily finds your clit. Mark rubs you as you fuck him, his cock making a mess in your pussy.

You feel your orgasm swell. "Wait till I cum," you order. "You couldn't even hold your first one, so wait."

Mark's eyes are wet. "Are you close? Can I cum now? Please, can't hold it—"

"Yes, you can," you say, digging your nails into his scalp. Mark whines loudly, his thrusts sloppy and fast. "Fucking hold it, Mark."

And he does. He manages to hold off until you cum, your orgasm washing over you. Then you say the magic words. "Go ahead."

And Mark forgets himself and breaks out of your grip, grabbing your back and waist instead. He buries his face in your shoulder, grunting and whimpering as he fucks you, one leg over your hip for leverage. You can't do anything but hold on as Mark chases his release. He cums for a long time, shaking against you. When he's done, he rolls you over so you're lying on your side.

"That was s-so good," he says, voice cracking from pleasure. "You're so mean to me, I love it. Was I good? Was I your good boy?"

"Pretty boy," you say, kissing his temple. "You were the best. So good for me, sweetheart."

He sighs happily, seemingly satisfied, but you know better. It's never a complete night without Mark's head between your legs.

[professional-rat-eater]

I genuinely cannot believe anyone still uses Twitter. Guys… just stop looking. Nothing they say about IWTV matters.

- Devil’s Minion is coming (and has already happened perchance???)

- LBF is still employed so we’re getting more young Daniel regardless.

- It’s still the Loustat show. They’re endgame. So are DM. Both are happening. That is an irrefutable fact. Long live the diabolicule.

- The entire cast and people who aren’t chronically online adore Eric. Also he’s seventy years old, incredibly self-assured and also employed so he doesn’t give a fuck about what anyone is saying about him in general, but especially not jobless people on Twitter. He has had seven decades of learning to not give a fuck. It’s fine.

- Lots of Lestat coming in the near future. Doesn’t matter how many people who don’t get the show complain about him.

- Lots more Armand too. People can misunderstand him all they want. It does not matter.

- Lesmand is going to happen. Fight it if you want, but they are messy and they are coming.

- More Louis and Daniel too! Ships aside, they aren’t going to virtually vanish like they did in the books.

- No one in that cast is looking at Twitter if they know what’s good for them. It’s a hellscape and they’ve mentioned that they know that so you shouldn’t look either.

Literally the only actual issue that I can recall rn is how weird AMC are being about Assad, and their iffy marketing and Emmys strategy. There are some real problems. Mostly everything else is unimportant. Don’t let it get to you. They enjoy being miserable over there. If it wasn’t this show, they’d just be complaining about different one.

And delete that stupid fucking app. It’s evil (and owned by someone infinitely eviler.) You will feel better once you do. Speaking from experience. Get out of there.

[sir-renaissance]

(If this post is too long for you to read or have time to read I implore you to use the text-to-speech function on your device and listen)

I feel like we need some ‘How to Make Friends on the Internet Etiquette’ cause while I also agree that it’s weird and rude, most people don’t know anything else. There’s a reason why it’s so normalized

Sometimes all it takes is reminding someone of the fact that not only are you a person, but so are they. If you really don’t know how to make friends on the internet or deal with the rudeness there are a couple options!

Find common interests - like no duh but also this can be harder than it sounds especially in fandom spaces. So often in this modern age we tie the media we enjoy to what is essentially our fucking souls. ‘If this person doesn’t like the show/book/song I like, then they don’t like me!’ No, wrong. Don’t build that association. And if it’s already built, bulldoze that bitch. That’s Stupid Thought that takes up too much space in your brain. What it actually means is that they’re a person with different opinions and tastes than yours and that’s wonderful because you have the opportunity to peak inside a world entirely different than your own! When you’re trying to make friends in fandom spaces, not only like/reblog people’s posts but comment your thoughts- POSITIVE thoughts. Examples are ‘This theory is incredible, how did you come up with this??’ ‘I LOVE your art style and composition, what’s your general process/inspiration?’ ‘This is hilarious, would you be willing to post more of this?’. So not only are you complimenting, you’re asking leading questions that could go towards more conversation and then boom friendship. Not always but sometimes! And furthermore, if people approach you with these kinds of comments, don’t be afraid to talk back! Often times I see people complain about the lack of community and fandom spaces but a lot of times it’s because we self isolate.

Seriously compliment people’s work and encourage them to continue and ask them questions about their work. This is the fastest way to people’s hearts I find as a creative who posts. We all want to be seen and understood, open up the door for that! And artists, try to be open to that as well!

Ignore/Delete the snark. I know, I know, sometimes it can scratch that part of us that wants to see justice done and watch as some asshole gets absolutely tomato’d while wearing a jester hat. However the internet is a curated experience. If you get snark and it makes you feel bad even when you turn off the phone, DELETE IT. Or ignore it if you’re fine looking at it! Perhaps underneath you can write ‘please do not interact with this comment’ and then anyone who does (cause self control is hard sometimes) you delete that too. I promise you I promise you I promise you— deleting a comment does not mean you’re losing the argument/fight. There isn’t one in the first place. There are times when you have to stick up for yourself, yes, but most of the time the comments aren’t worth keeping. That post you made is YOUR property, why are you letting some random person be mean to you there? Get ‘em out!

Reading comprehension. *takes a deep breath* Some of you read too fast and don’t process what someone is trying to say and it shows. Now I know it’s hard to read tone over text. However if I may posit a suggestion: attempt a PEMDAS style formula! It’s not as fast as scrolling and it will slow down your internet experience, but I think that’s for the better. Some of y’all need to slow down and chill and I say that with love and care for you. So here’s the abbreviation for after reading a post: Stop. Think. Re-read. Emotions. Analyze. Understand. Or STREAU (I’m bad at abbreviations haha). After reading a post, Stop scrolling. Think about what was just said. Re-read the post (maybe a bit more thoroughly if you just skimmed the first time!). Feel your Emotions but don’t just listen to the initial reaction! Pay attention to what follows after, actually feel what you’re feeling. Analyze your Emotions and what you Think in conjunction with the post you just Re-read. And lastly, Understand that this is a person just like you are and give them the benefit of the doubt. Of course, if a post is very obviously in bad faith, don’t give them fuel and block them (or report them if it seems serious!) and see #3. But otherwise, this is the best way I’ve found to avoid misunderstandings and fix that pesky reading comprehension issue. We simply go too fast when we do not have to. And if you don’t wanna read so much, use the text-to-speech and listen to posts like audio books. I know it’s corny, but seriously, give it a try! I’ve been doing it lately and my brain feels so much better and my interactions have been thoughtful and nice!

Practice in real life and take it to the online stage. Scary I know but it seriously helps. Try to spark a small talk conversation with someone, a stranger. See how it goes and keep trying. It’s pretty much the same as the internet, only people aren’t as brazen in real life. Politeness and manners and good interactions can happen and it’s not the same level of easy for everyone. But it’s always worth it to try. In the words of Waymond from Everything Everywhere All At Once: We have to be kind. Please. Be kind.

TLDR; Don’t just look at this TLDR! Go read this post! And then talk to me or the other people in the comments about it! Slow down how you do the internet and you’ll be able to see the people behind the screen.

We've all gotten just a bit too comfortable being jerks to strangers on the internet I think

[sswed]

dammed if i do, dammed if i dont

lucy bronze x swimmer!reader

A/N: pure unadulterated smut, thus minors DNI, thanks

You pull at the collar of your turtleneck. You don't know how your stylist convinced you to wear this but it's a little late to take it off now. So now you're sweating to death in a hall filled with other so-called 'nike' athletes.

You don't really want to be here, drinking sparkling water in a champagne flute rather than alcohol and looking at the little cakes instead of eating them because you're in season .

It's all far too boring for you to be here, something about bringing female athletes together and nike being at the centre of it all.

It sounds like a bunch of crap to you and it probably is but your agent says that nike pays half your paycheck. So, you rather remain in their good books for an extended period of time than be dropped. Swimming doesn't pay much, unfortunately but sponsors do.

You pull at your collar again. Not only is it hot but itchy as well. You glance down at your empty glass, you're not even that thirsty but you'd rather have something than nothing. You scan the room for a waiter, ignoring all the swanky décor, when someone catches your eye.

She's got the most daring dress on, sleeveless, tight and black with a slit right down the left side. Suddenly, you feel extremely thirsty. She's drop dead gorgeous and her arms are to die for, the perfect ratio of muscle.

She's something out of a wet dream and she's standing in the same room as you.

You don't think you've seen someone more attractive in your life. She's got lovely hair, dark and tied up. You want to undo it, let it run down her shoulders.

God, you want her more than anything else. You'd drop to your knees for her and you don't even know her. She's like a cardinal sin and you're very ready to commit.

Lucy shifts on her feet uncomfortably. She doesn't know why today of all days, she's picked to wear heels for once. What she does know is that she deeply regrets it.

She's already got blisters on her feet and it doesn't help that she's been standing around for the past hour talking to people who are far too uninteresting. She wishes that anyone she knew was here but it's just her luck that the only person who actually bothered to attend this, happens to be her.

Lucy sighs deeply and looks around the room. She doesn't know most of these people. There are only a few footballers from teams she vaguely remembers playing against and the rest of the faces are foreign.

Then her eyes fall on you.

You're perfect, or so she thinks. Tall and dressed in a dark suit with long hair around your shoulders. You've got a grimace on your face that Lucy can appreciate, she too finds this event a little pointless.

Yet the expression doesn't take away from the fact that you're built like a statue. Even under the various articles of clothing, Lucy can tell that you've got lean muscle hiding there. Your back is wide and clearly contoured into the suit, she wonders what it would be like to run her nails down it.

She was bored a second ago but now? Now, she's a woman on a mission.

You go to the drinks table soon after looking at Lucy. She's got you thirsty and a little needy, so you decide that a few sparkling waters will take off the edge. Instead you're met with her.

Lucy's standing right next to you and you've barely even noticed. You bite the inside of your cheek to stop you from saying something stupid. This could be your chance and you really don't want to fuck it up.

"Err... Have we met before?" You ask with a slight smile.

You kick yourself mentally. She's probably going to think you're a weirdo, asking her if you've met when you clearly haven't.

Lucy blinks a few times before matching your smile, "I don't think so."

"Awe, must have been in my dreams then," You smirk and Lucy laughs loudly for a moment.

It's a horrible line that you picked up from a television show but it seems to work anyway because Lucy's laughing now and so are you.

"You're dreaming about me?" Lucy's face dons a smirk of her own and your heart races at the sight.

"Maybe," You tease and shuffle a little closer to her.

God, she looks even better up close. She's got a strong jawline that begs to be grabbed and those eyes. You don't think you've seen greener eyes in person, they're like forests in the form of irises.

"Maybe?" Lucy raises a brow and laughs.

"I don't think it's a maybe." Lucy questions and she'd be correct. You're actually certain she's out of a dream.

You chuckle lowly and it's like music to Lucy's ears. You've got the hottest voice she's ever heard. The perfect mix of hoarse with a slight rasp and your accent, Aussie if she's correct which she is, adds to the whole tone.

"Oh no, you've caught me," You murmur close to her and Lucy feels goosebumps rise on her arms.

"Have I, now?" Lucy leans closer until her breath is practically ghosting over the shell of your ear.

You resist the urge to grab her right then and there. You wonder if you're drunk, this sudden confidence alarmingly new but you're not. Not on alcohol at least. You feel giddy like you've found someone to match you in this boring place and now everything seems so much lighter than before.

"I've got another one," You grin and wait a moment until Lucy is looking at you expectedly.

You drop your smile for dramatic effect, "I'm not a photographer, but I can picture us together."

Lucy's hand falls on your forearm as she laughs again and you don't think anything has felt better. Her touch is light but you can feel it through the material of your suit and turtleneck. You want her to touch you everywhere with those hands.

"That does ever actually work?" Lucy raises a brow in question and you chuckle.

"I dunno, did it work on you?" You raise your own eyebrows in a challenge.

Lucy smiles then with a sly expression, "I don't know, maybe?"

You lean in close until you get your mouth against her ear and you can feel her hand ride up your arm. She's everything you need right now.

"I think it did."

You're correct, it did work, somehow because the next second you're outside against a wall on a balcony without anyone else near you. Lucy's got her leg between your legs and you do desperately want to grind down against it but instead you're focused on kissing her. She tastes like wine, sweet and you can't get enough.

You let your tongue trace the inside of her mouth, feeling each tooth. You've got your hands on her waist and she's holding onto your back, her fingers digging into the fabric of your blazer. Lucy's got you feeling hotter than ever. You're on fire, veins pumping blood around faster than in any race and every touch of her lips against yours feel like a burn.

You don't care that you're boiling to death or that you're in the middle of a public place where, in theory, anyone could come and find you. You want to give Lucy what you've been thinking about since you spotted her.

You pull away and take shallow breaths that match Lucy's own. You're gasping for air and it's never felt so good before.

You flip the two of you around quickly, in a split second, you've got Lucy's back against the wall and she's got wide eyes while you're smiling wolfishly.

"You always get your way don't you?" You ask, even though you can already guess the answer.

Lucy seems like the kind of person that loves to be in charge and you'd love to break that down, at least for the moment.

Lucy scoffs, "No."

You smirk, "So, you'll listen to me?"

You seem to catch Lucy out with that one. Her eyes widen slightly and that solidifies it to you. She's always been in charge but now you're here to change that.

You don't let her answer that, instead you press your lips to her in a hard kiss. It's bruising, hard to the touch and you can feel her teeth pull at your bottom lip.

When you pull back, you make a show of yourself. You kneel in front of her slowly with exaggerated movements until your knees are on the stone ground. It's cold, you can feel it through the wool of your trousers but you don't care.

Instead you place your hands on Lucy's thighs.

"What are you doing? Someone is going to see," Lucy hisses from above you and you look up at her with hooded eyes.

You've taken that into account and decided that it would just make things even more interesting.

"Well then keep quiet, Luce." You husk out.

You then pull her dress up until you're half under it, only the darling slit showing half your face. Lucy takes a sharp breath in, you're so close to her now and she needs you badly. Beyond anything else right now, she needs you.

You press an open mouthed kiss to her underwear and feel how wet she is. Lucy's soaked, practically dripping and you can feel it as you press another kiss to the fabric.

Lucy presses her hand against her mouth, trying to stifle any kind of noise from coming out. If someone were to find you, you'd be kicked out and this... meeting... would be made public knowledge.

Neither of you feel like being part of a scandal so she keeps quiet or tries to.

You decide that you've done enough teasing after a while and hook a hand under the waistband and tug her underwear down. Then allow her to step out of them. You grin, the cotton is soaked through and you pocket them without another thought.

Lucy watches you do it. They hang out your back pocket like a flag and she resists the urge to groan.

You lick your lips and kiss up one of her strong thighs. In your wake you leave small bites and long licks that leave Lucy breathless above you.

Then you get to her pussy, it's soaking wet from what you can see in the darkness and you grin. You've waited for this moment and now you've got it, you plan on using it wisely.

You let yourself take a long lick down her cunt first. She's silky on your tongue and you can't help but love the taste of her. Lucy's hand's fly to your head and you gasp against her at the sudden pressure.

This is a dangerous game that you're both playing. Anyone could come outside, on this very balcony and see. You decide to take a gamble and continue anyway.

"Fuck," Lucy gasps above you when you circle her clit with your tongue.

You smile. She's so reactive, it's perfect. Every little touch of your tongue results in her fingers digging further into your skull. Then suddenly, Lucy throws a leg over your shoulder, giving her just the right amount of leverage.

You smirk and pull away for a moment. You look up and meet her eyes, they're hooded with lust and you feel yourself melt at the sight.

"You gonna use me, Lucy?" You tease, it's daring and you hope Lucy falls for it.

"Shut up," Lucy mutters then presses a hand to the back of your head, urging you back.

You go willingly, circling her clit just like you had been doing. Your mouth is wet and you're not sure if it's your saliva or Lucy's wetness, you hope it's the latter.

Lucy does well with her promise. She grinds her hips forwards, right to your face and you stilt your movements, letting her take charge for a moment.

She's got a hold on your hair, pulling it back and forth with each roll of the hips and it's got you gasping for breath. God, she's so good, tastes fantastic and you'd stay on your knees forever if it meant that you could have her.

"You're so good," You hear Lucy murmur above you in a half moan.

The praise goes straight to your core, igniting a flame there. You let yourself flatten your tongue against her and you hear the soft mewl above you.

"Shit, how are you so good at this?" Lucy groans out as she snaps her hips forwards.

Your hands fly to her hips then and you encourage her movements. Letting your hands guide the rolling of her hips with a firm touch and that has her quietly moaning above you.

You know Lucy's close, you can tell by the way her grip tightens on your hair. She's pulling it in all sorts of directions but you don't want this to end so soon. So you slow down her movements with a firm hand.

"What are you doing?" Lucy groans above you and tries to snap her hips forwards but you've got a hard grip on them.

You pull away and Lucy frowns at the lost contact. You look over her face for a brief moment, her face is a little flushed and her lips are parted slightly. She had clearly been close.

"Taking my time, Lucia," You smirk.

This time when you duck your head to go back, you don't swirl your tongue around her nor do you let yourself lap over her whole cunt. You kiss your way around her pussy teasingly and Lucy tenses with every touch.

"Stop teasing," Lucy pulls you head back.

You look at her with a grin, wetness clear around your mouth. You look like a mess, hair spiking up from the tugging, eyes wide with lust and tongue out.

"Can't you wait?" You ask with an eye roll.

Lucy responds with a half whine and you decide to give her what she wants. You go back to her pussy with a wolfish grin and immediately dive back in.

You swirl your tongue around her clit as she moans quietly above you. You feel the light rolls of her hips in your hands as she gets closer and you smile against her.

"Close," Lucy groans and her hold on your hair tightens again.

This time you don't pull away, instead you speed up your efforts. You lap over her quickly and let her thrust her hips without restraint. Now, she's practically grinding on your face and you're happily letting her.

Then, suddenly, her hips stutter and she gasps loudly before slapping a hand over her mouth. You can feel the leg on your shoulder tighten around you and you grin.

"Fuck..." Lucy moans without restraint and you pull back to look at her.

She's got her mouth open, gasping for breath, face flushed with heat. You think she looks divine like that, back against a stone wall with you between her legs. Like a goddess of some sort.

You shuffle out from between her legs and stand, you're slightly taller than Lucy but that doesn't stop you from pressing yourself against her as you kiss her again. She can taste herself on your tongue along with the glass of wine she drank earlier.

You have your hands on her waist and hers go to your neck. The kiss is soft, a warm embrace after the main event and you take your time savouring it. Letting your hands explore Lucy's wide back and curve.

You pull away after a while, to take your breath and Lucy does the same. You lean forwards and rest your head against her shoulder, one of her hands comes to card through your hair gently.

"Can I see you again?" You whisper into her bare shoulder and you can feel Lucy chuckle.

"Yeah, you can," Lucy murmurs and you can't help but smile.

Turns out boring events for nike can lead to fun activities and new relationships.

[bytemee]

· . BETTER THAN ME ⋆ you gon' figure out you lost one and that's me ⸝⸝

# in which— you and karina broke up, but neither of you really moved on... or moved out at that.

౨ৎ [ 𝙱𝙴𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝙽 𝙼𝙴 ] ‘ — yu jimin x gp!reader. 3.1k words. exes to ? ⊹ 18+ smut, p in v (unprotected), sub!reader, dom!rina, nipple sucking, cowgirl, she really wants to slap u vro, and um cliffhanger kinda lol haha.

─── authors note. where’s all the angst requests. why is everything smut. i am not built for this. i hate my writing 💔 augh. sigh. k. bye.

[navigation] [main masterlist]

you could just hear it now.

"why on earth would you move in with a girl you dated for six months?"

fair question. really solid. probably the kind of thing your friends said behind your back. probably the kind of thing your mom would've said if you hadn't lied and told her you and karina were just roommates from the jump.

but when people were bold enough to ask you the question to your face. you gave them the same analogy every single time.

dating karina was like a rollercoaster. the excitement you got when everything was just starting, the stomach-dropping terror and exhilaration of the first drop, and the wild, out-of-control twists and turns. even the slow crawl and the pause at the top, the momentary reprieve. the end that came just a little too quickly.

then you had the aftermath, the afterglow, the dopamine rush, and the blissful comedown.

and like any good ride, the second it was over, you wanted to do it all over again—even if your head was spinning and your chest still hurt.

so when the lease came up and karina didn't move out… you didn't ask her to. you didn't think it was a problem… because the actual problem was that you still loved her.

you still notice how she folds her laundry with perfect corners and how her keys always jingle twice before she opens the door. how she hums when she washes her face. how she still wears that stupid oversized shirt you left in her room months ago, back when you were allowed to touch her.

you pretend not to notice.

you pretend a lot these days. like how it doesn't bother you when she comes home with her hair tousled and her lipstick smudged. like how your chest doesn't ache when you hear her laugh through the bathroom door, phone pressed to her ear, someone else on the other end.

you act like you're over it. because you should be. because you shouldn't have broken up with her. because it was your fault. because you should have let her go, you should have done a lot of things.

tonight was supposed to be nothing.

a girl with kind eyes and soft lips. someone to distract you. you didn't take her into your room. you didn't even kiss her for long. it didn't feel right. it never does.

you showered the second she left—hot water, hard scrub, hands on your face like you could rinse away the shame. then you threw on your old hoodie and dropped onto the couch because your body was too heavy to carry anymore.

you're not sure how long you sit there, staring at the tv screen, but eventually you hear her door creak open.

she doesn't say anything at first.

just walks into the living room like a ghost you summoned.

she's barefoot, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, legs bare under a shirt you haven't seen since—fuck, since before the breakup. one of your shirts, oversized and faded, hanging off one shoulder. her face is calm in that terrifying way only she can pull off.

she says nothing. just stares.

you don't move. again, you pretend. pretend as if her presence isn't affecting you.

then she walks over and stops right in front of you, blocking the glow from the screen. what a fucking ass.

"i smelled perfume earlier," she says. her mouth moved immediately afterwards. "was she pretty?"

you glance away.

"i didn't sleep with her."

karina hums. "did you want to?"

"no."

a beat. she takes another step closer.

"did you think it'd make me jealous?"

you're silent.

you truly don't have an answer. if you did make her jealous, it wasn't in an active, conscious way. a way to shove it into her face and say, "watch me move on," but you remember how you glanced at the door before it closed. how you stood a little taller walking back to your room, knowing karina was home.

karina scoffs under her breath. as if she's sifting through the bullshit in your silence and pulling the truth straight out of your thoughts.

"cute," she muttered. "real subtle, by the way. real mature."

you shift on the couch. "karina…"

she takes another step, standing between your legs; her knee brushes your thigh. her fingers lift, and then she's grabbing your jaw, just like she used to. fingertips pressing into your skin, forcing your face upward so she can look at you.

"do you miss me?" she asks. it's quiet… but the way her eyes dance around your face, they seem loud.

your throat tightens. you should lie. you always do. you've been doing it for weeks, months—hell, since the day you broke up.

you try to look away again, but her grip tightens just enough to keep you there.

"i asked you a question," she says, a little rougher this time.

your voice barely makes it out. "yeah."

karina doesn't react—not right away. she watches you, lips parted just slightly, her chest rising and falling.

"i miss you," you repeat, your hands slide up, gentle on her hips, and you rest your forehead on her stomach.

she exhales.

it sounds a lot like relief.

her fingers comb into your hair, and her other hand comes up, cupping the back of your head, keeping you close.

"you don't get to do that," she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. "you don't get to try to fuck someone else and then say you miss me."

you squeeze her waist gently, holding her like you're trying to keep her from slipping out of your grasp again.

her nails scrape lightly against your scalp.

the sound that slips past your lips is almost pitiful.

"i'm sorry." it comes out choked, your voice muffled against her. "i didn't mean to—"

you cut yourself off, unsure of what to say next.

karina hums, her fingers tighten, pulling your head back, forcing you to look at her.

she studies you for a moment, trying to figure out if this is worth it—if you're worth it. and god, the part of her that misses you is louder than the part of her that's angry. but just barely.

"i should slap you," she murmurs…but she's already moving, already climbing into your lap, considering it's second nature, this is her place, well it was at one point. and some twisted part of her still believes it is only hers.

your breath hitches when her thighs settle on either side of yours, her hands sliding to your shoulders, grounding herself. you shift slightly, letting her settle, your palms sliding up her back, memorizing the curve of her spine.

it feels a little like the first time.

back when your hands were nervous and shaky and she was too good to be true. back when she was this bright spot in your life that you didn't know how to handle.

fuck, you handled it so fucking wrong.

karina leans in—closer, closer—and you tilt your head up to meet her, lips parting, desperate for it, aching—

but she pulls back just barely. enough to make you chase it. enough to make you curse under your breath.

karina smirks.

there is nothing gentle about her. not like this.

her lips press to the corner of your mouth, and then her teeth are nipping at your bottom lip, tugging just enough to make you gasp, and her tongue is hot, sliding into your mouth, curling against yours.

karina kisses the way she fights. with her whole body. with her soul.

you hold onto her like a drowning man, like you need her, because you do. because the second she breaks away, you realize that no one can kiss you like her. no one can touch you like her.

her hips roll down, hard, and your moan is muffled by her mouth, the sound swallowed down, greedily consumed. she pulls back again, just to catch her breath, and her hands are in your hair, pushing the hood off, and her lips press to the spot under your ear, her nose brushing along the curve of your jaw.

you inhale sharply, your hands sliding down, groping at her ass, pulling her harder against you, desperate, desperate, desperate.

she groans, the sound low and soft, her hips rocking, her teeth nipping at your throat.

your brain knows this is bad. that this isn't real, that you're going to wake up tomorrow morning, and she's not going to be there. it'll be worse than any hangover you've ever had.

but the rest of your body couldn't care less.

it feels good. it feels right. like you're both exactly where you're supposed to be.

karina lifts her head, her forehead resting against yours, her breath fanning against your lips.

"i hate you," she whispers.

you swallow.

"i know."

her eyes flutter shut, and you kiss her again, trying to say everything you never could. trying to make up for all the things you said with words that aren't even half as pretty.

the angle is a little awkward, but karina doesn't seem to notice. her hands are cupping your jaw, holding you in place, kissing you like you're oxygen and she's dying. she pulls back, panting, and before she can speak, you're lifting her shirt—your shirt—over her head, throwing it somewhere behind the couch.

karina doesn't bother hiding the way she stares at you.

you try not to preen under her attention, but it's hard when she's looking at you like that. like you're everything she wants, everything she's ever wanted.

"i need you," you breathe out, hands on her waist, her hips, squeezing just enough to feel the way her skin dimples under your fingers.

"then have me," she says, leaning in, her mouth hot against your neck.

the sound that slips out is downright filthy—you tilt your head to the side, giving her better access. karina's nails scrape against your scalp before they slide down, dragging hard down your back. your breath stutters, your back arches slightly, and your teeth sink into your lip hard enough to draw blood.

"rina—" your voice cracks. "i—please, i need…"

her laugh is low. it's wicked.

"you're lucky i missed you." her words are hot against your throat, punctuated by the sharp nip of her teeth. "because this doesn't mean shit."

"okay." you try to catch your breath. "yeah—whatever, okay. you—you can slap me, okay, i fucking deserve it, okay, i know—fuck…"

karina lifts her head. "shh," she murmurs. "i'll slap you later. but put that pretty mouth to a better use, yeah?"

you nod. you think you nod. you can't be sure. her hands find yours, trailing them from the bottom of her rib cage up to her chest. she hums softly. "do you want me to show you, baby? want me to walk you through it?"

"no—no, i remember, i can… fuck, i can do it…"

she presses her lips against yours. it's more gentle than the kiss from earlier. a soft reminder to breathe, a reminder that she's still there.

her hand moves to the back of your head, leading you, guiding you, and then your hand pushes up your shirt—yours—her back arching, her head dropping back as your mouth moves, teeth scraping, tongue swirling.

"that's good," karina says, her voice quiet. "fuck… you were always so good…"

her other hand rests on the back of your neck, and it's a comforting weight—but also a reminder that you're doing this because she's allowing you to, not because you're entitled to it.

you take your time—kissing and biting and sucking, red blooming under your tongue. karina's hips move against you, seeking out pressure, her body remembering every place to rock against yours, especially over the tent in your sweats. she gasps softly when you pull away, eyes meeting hers, a question in the way you stare.

she nods, just slightly, and your tongue flicks against her nipple, your hand squeezing the other one gently, just enough pressure to make her shiver. she groans, fingers tangling into your hair, keeping you close, and her breath comes in sharp bursts when your lips close around it, teeth nipping, her chest pressed to yours as her head drops forward.

she doesn't say anything.

her words have always come through actions, anyway.

a sharp tug at your hair—more—another gentle press to the top of your head—enough—and her head falling forward, lips pressing to the top of yours, fingers gentle—perfect—

it's a silent exchange, a secret language only the two of you understand.

"baby." her voice is hoarse, fingers combing into your hair, pushing it back, trying to keep it out of your face.

your eyes lift up.

"need to feel you," she says, almost a demand, but there's an edge of desperation that betrays her.

she knows as well as you do that this is the last night. that the second the sun comes up, she'll be gone again. that tomorrow, things will be just as bad as they were before. that tomorrow, you'll both wake up and pretend none of this ever happened.

tomorrow, you won't remember how soft her thighs are. how good it feels to touch her.

tonight is a luxury that neither of you can afford.

but karina doesn't like waiting.

she slips her fingers under the hem of your sweatpants, and her breath is warm against your face, and her chest is red and splotchy, and her mouth is swollen—and you know you have no choice.

her fingers are hot, curled around your length, her hand stroking up and down—and you almost choke on your next breath.

karina watches you through her lashes. she knows how good she is. how she's ruined every single girl that came after her—that none of them could ever come close to the way she feels. how the only touch that makes you squirm anymore is her own.

but she never gloated about it. she never threw it in your face, either. it was just something the two of you both knew.

but now with her body straddling yours, her hair a dark curtain falling over you both as she smiled against your mouth, a smile that basically said, "remember how good i can make you feel?"

the reminder never hurt.

her thumb swirls against the tip of your cock, smearing the bead of pre-cum leaking from it.

your hands slide down to her ass, fingers squeezing. your hips jerk, your lips parting with a soft whimper.

"fuck."

she smirks.

"i think," she murmurs, pressing her lips against the corner of your mouth, her fingers squeezing just enough to make you twitch in her grip, "we can skip the condom tonight."

your throat tightens, and you nod.

she lifts her hips, obviously too far into it to remove her underwear, so she goes for the easier option, just shifting them to the side. her hips lower, her fingers wrapping around your cock, holding it steady as she slowly lowers herself.

and then—

"holy fuck."

karina hums in response, a quiet sound in the back of her throat that's just enough to tell you to shut the hell up.

you watch her closely, trying to memorize the look on her face, the way her eyes squeeze shut, the way her bottom lip is tucked between her teeth, the way her nose scrunches, and the way her eyebrows furrow. the soft groan that slips out.

"shit," she says, her head dropping forward. "you're…"

she trails off, not bothering to finish the thought.

her eyes open, and she glances up, catching you staring. you look away, and her hand is on your jaw, forcing you to look at her.

"watch me," she murmurs. "be good."

"yeah—yes, okay, i will. i'll be good, promise."

she rolls her hips slowly, adjusting, and then she's leaning forward, pressing her mouth against yours. your hand rests on her hip, and the other slips behind her neck, holding her close, kissing her like it's the last time you'll get to do it.

she starts moving.

she rides you slow, taking her time, and her moans are quiet, her breathing soft, and her hips are grinding down, chasing the pressure. her hands rest on your shoulders, and she moves, her thighs flexing with each movement.

"look at me," she breathes out, her hand cupping your cheek.

you blink, your eyes focusing.

"i want you to watch," she says, her words barely making it out as she moves faster. "wanna you to see when i cum. you're gonna make me cum first, right? because you're good for me, aren't you?"

your throat tightens.

"i can… yes, okay, i can do that, i'll be good, please—fuck, let me touch you…"

"go ahead." her lips brush against yours.

your hand slides between her legs, and she moans, her head falling forward, lips parted, eyes squeezed shut, and the sound that comes out of her throat is something that's barely human.

you press your thumb against her clit, and she curses.

"faster," she orders, her hips rocking. "more, baby, c'mon…"

you obey, and then she's moving faster and harder, and the hand on your shoulder is gripping onto you like you're a life raft, like if she lets go, she'll fall overboard. her body arches against yours, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she reaches the edge. you feel her muscles tense, her nails digging into your skin so hard it'll probably leave marks.

who were you to complain?

"fuck, baby, i'm so close," she whispers.

"good," you murmur, pressing a kiss to her temple, and then her forehead, and then her cheeks.

it doesn't take much more.

a few circles of your thumb, and her eyes roll back, her voice breaking, a cry slipping past her lips, and her body tensing, and her walls clamping around you, and her chest pressed to yours.

"oh, oh, god, holy shit, fuck."

her eyes soon lock onto yours, her gaze not leaving you, watching the way you react to her. how you bite your lip, the soft grunts, the way the tendons in your neck stand out, the way your brows knit together, and the way your arms wrap around her waist and pull her closer, and the way your hips jerk upwards, and the way the moan rumbles in your chest, and the way the warmth spreads through her, and the way her name slips off your tongue.

her arms wrap around your neck, her head resting on your shoulder. her hips roll, riding out the last waves, and you can feel her pulse against your tongue, beating just as fast as yours. your hand rubs her back gently; you don't want her to leave the circle of your arms.

not yet.

"did you…?"

"mhm."

"okay, good, that's good, perfect, thank you, thank you, rina, thank you."

"stop babbling," she mumbles.

but her hand is still on the back of your head, and her lips are brushing your ear, and her body is warm against yours.

then her hand wraps around your length, and her hips rise, and the loss of her makes you whimper.

"shh," she says, her lips finding yours. "did you think i'd forget about you?"

[puck-luck]

hi qween, could i request mocha with qh43, whipped cream = established relationship, and cold foam 💗💕💞💗💗💞 happy 1 year i love your writing :3

hi!! thank u for requesting!! since you didn't specify what you wanted with the cold foam, i used this kink prompt generator to determine the wild card.... which was sexting!

so, warnings (1.2K): sexting, slight angst (they're fighting, the mocha part is that they're making up here), mentions of ass-eating, no actual sex but lots of allusions to it, puns and double entendres about cooking/sex, quinn is persistent and dorky and stupid and i love him, reader is doing her best to not fall for his goon-ness <3

Things have not been good between you and Quinn lately. It wasn’t by any fault of yours, or of Quinn’s, but you haven’t had sex in weeks. You’ve barely seen each other with Quinn’s schedule and your work. It’s been driving both of you crazy, and you’re both stressed in your own jobs, and it hasn’t been manifesting well. 

Quinn left his sneakers in the middle of the hallway one day and you tripped over them while carrying a fuck ton of groceries inside. That had started a big fight, which hadn’t been resolved, and you’re still upset whenever you see something out of place… like the toothpaste this morning, left on the bathroom counter capless. The cap was next to the tube. How hard is it to screw the cap back on the tube when you’re done brushing your teeth?

You’d lost track of time and been late to picking Quinn up after a roadie one night, which sparked a fight on his end. That also hadn’t been resolved entirely. You know Quinn is still holding it against you because he’s driven himself to the arena every single time since you were late, insisting that he’ll just take himself so he doesn’t have to worry or wait. 

So there’s been tension lingering in the air of the apartment ever since. You’re sure that when you and Quinn have more time, you’ll be able to talk about it. The hockey season is almost over and the presentation you’re working on at work is almost due, so you both will be free in a couple of weeks. The light at the end of the tunnel is growing brighter and drawing nearer.

Quinn is at home tonight, which is nice most of the time. Over the last two years that you’ve been together, it’s rare for you and Quinn to avoid each other. Today, though, you’re staying away from each other. You’re both still upset and holding a grudge.

Quinn sits on the couch flipping through a book. You worked on your computer at the dining room table and now you’re on your lunch break, chopping up stalks of celery to toss into the pot of soup you’re brewing.

As you turn and make your way around the island in the kitchen, you can feel Quinn’s eyes roaming over your skin. You pay him absolutely no mind, keeping your head down and returning to the cutting board to chop up a few carrots.

Your phone buzzes a minute later. 

I’m starving

The text pops up from your lovely, annoying boyfriend and strikes a chord within you. Does he expect you to be cooking for him? The pot of soup is big enough for four people at least, but Quinn didn’t ask you. He just said he’s starving and expects you to do something about it. He’s a big boy; he can make his own meal. You let your screen fade to black without replying.

Another buzz:

But not for food ;)

Unimpressed, you raise your gaze to Quinn on the couch. He’s watching you with a barely-suppressed, smug smile tugging at the corners of his lips. You shoot him a glare, letting him know that you’re not budging, and go back to chopping a carrot into tiny pieces. 

Whereas you were unimpressed, Quinn is undeterred. 

Buzz.

Baby your cooking smells so good, it’s making me crave YOU… wanna add something sexy to that savory?

You squint at the text and return to your carrots, scooping them off of the cutting board and dumping them into the broth.

Buzz.

Cooking looks good on you. Making you moan is even better. Come and let me season you up properly ;)

You pick up your phone and face Quinn, staring him in the face as you shut it down entirely. You place the phone on the counter out of reach and go back to stir the pot. There’s shredded chicken and veggies in this pot, plus some spiral noodles that have been thoroughly cooked in the simmering broth.

He clears his throat behind you and starts to speak. “Hey, babe, I thought I’d give you a call since you hadn’t replied to my texts. Your hands must be full since you didn’t answer, so I hope this voicemail will be fun for you.”

You take a deep breath and press your lips together, closing your eyes. He is such a fucking dork.

“Hm, what am I up to?” Quinn fake-ponders aloud. “Nothing much, just sitting on the couch, rock-hard, and thinking about bending you over the stove.”

Your nostrils flare and you halt your movements. 

“I’m going to need you to turn off the stove and turn me on, though. I’m dying for a sample of your other delicious skills.”

You’re at your wit’s end, about to break your silence. You’re not sure whether you’re going to tell Quinn to shut up or if you’re going to fall for his silly sexting-turned-voicemail, but you’re almost at the point of saying something. 

You can hear Quinn holding back a laugh. “You look so hot stirring that pot, beautiful. Wish it was your ass I was stirring instead. Lemme grab a bite, yeah?”

You scoff, surprised and amused by his pick-up line. “I am not letting you eat my ass, Quintin.”

He chuckles and stands from the couch, his feet padding over the wooden floor of his apartment as he enters the kitchen. “Okay, not your ass. We can still skip the utensils and I’ll put my tongue on something else. I promise I’ll be thorough.” His reflection in the microwave shows you that he’s still talking into the phone. He’s close enough to touch now and he makes a point to splay his fingers over your hip, standing with his crotch pressed against your behind. “Can I serve you something hot and hard, baby?”

His breath washes over your neck, followed shortly by the scratch of his scruff as he kisses the curve of your shoulder. Instinctively, you bare the skin to him. 

Quinn drops the call and places his other hand on your other hip, holding you steady as he rolls his hips against your bottom. He kisses your jaw, then your cheek. “‘m sorry I haven’t been very happy lately. Things are tense. I don’t want them to be.”

“It’s just a difficult time right now,” you reply softly. “I’m stressed and every tiny thing that goes wrong gets on my nerves and makes it worse.”

Quinn takes the spoon from your hand and turns off the stove, moving the pot to the backburner and off the heat. “You get an hour for lunch?”

“About forty-five left.”

“I only need fifteen.”

You laugh. “It’s been long enough that I think you could do it in less.”

“Ouch, you’re making fun of my stamina?” Quinn pouts. “I’ll show you, baby. I’m a machine.”

You release a breath of a laugh, relaxing into Quinn’s touch. “Is sexting your new way of initiating?”

“Only when you’re mad at me. It’s cheesy enough that it’ll diffuse the tension, right? Did you like my lines?” Quinn asks, seeking your approval. One of his hands is unbuttoning your blouse, the one you threw on to look professional in your video meeting this morning.

“I liked that you were trying,” you confirm. “But you’re still not going to eat my ass.”

Quinn steers you toward the bedroom. “I’m perfectly content eating your pussy, baby. You’re my main course.” He scoops you up bridal-style and carries you across the apartment. Once you enter the bedroom, he tosses you onto the bed and grins at you. “Alright, spread ‘em. Gotta lick my plate clean.”

[jesuistrestriste]

death with no dignity; patrick zweig

“ amethyst and flowers on the table

is it real or a fable ?

well, i suppose, a friend is a friend

and we all know how this will end ” - sufjan stevens

cw (18+) : mentions of depressive symptoms, masturbation, and heavy yearning.

wc : 1.9 k

When Patrick was eighteen, he killed a doe. 

It was an accident, it truly was, in every sense of the word. 

He had been driving home from Art’s house around 11 PM and had been playing some stupid song on the radio. He’d thrashed his head and slapped his palms against the leather steering wheel to the stupid beat, carefree and unassuming. It had been so dark, and he was distracted, and then suddenly the deer was in the center of the road. Big, black, shiny eyes and pointed ears and a deep brown coat. She was beautiful. For the split moment that he had before the impact, that’s all he could think about. 

He didn’t have enough time to swerve and avoid her because he’d been speeding, and everything afterwards happened in slow-motion. The skidding squeal of his tires against the asphalt. His heart lurching in his ribcage, almost enough to make him feel sick. The harsh jolt of the car and the brutal sound of metal hitting muscle, followed by the animal being sent hurtling a few feet forward and onto her side, accompanied by the painful sting of the seatbelt digging into his chest. When the car finally came to a stop, Patrick froze. His hands stuck to the wheel, shaking, and his eyes were peeled open wide as he stared through the windshield at the lifeless creature he’d just hit with his car. He was practically panting. He didn’t quite recall ever being so scared in his entire life, not even when he’d played his first professional match. Not even when he’d nearly drowned one summer years ago when he and Art were swimming in a lake upstate. 

He’d never killed anything before. Not like that. 

The aftermath was a blur. He almost called the cops to let them know that there was a large, dead animal in the road on so-and-so street, but he didn’t. To this day, he doesn’t really know why. Maybe it was all of the adrenaline. Maybe it was all of the guilt. Regardless, he’d mumbled a soft, “Oh, god, I’m sorry,” and then slowly pulled off and around it. He never told his parents, or anyone for that matter, that he had cried so hard on the rest of the drive home that he felt lightheaded by the time he was in the driveway. 

Mommy and Daddy Zweig offered–no, begged–to get him a new car the next evening (when they got back from Greece) because his hood and bumper were horribly dented, but Patrick had refused. He’d laughed off the incident in front of them, and then waited until they went to bed to slink into their massive garage and pick all of the little tufts of fur out of the vehicle’s grille.

He’d traced his fingertips along the indentations and the scratches in the paint and blinked away the wetness clouding his vision. Tried to mentally retrace his steps that night, too. What if he hadn’t been listening to that stupid song? What if he hadn’t left his best friend’s place so late? What if he’d been quicker? Smarter? Luckier? 

Could things be different? Could he have spared a life? 

Could he have spared the victim, and himself, the pain?

Patrick’s twenty-one now, and he does a lot of retracing his steps these days.

Tennis is his priority; he’s always on the court, or in a car or a bus that’s traveling to a court of some kind. Forehands, backhands, volleying, serving, smashes–it’s all he lives and breathes. And, of course, it’s easier now to focus on tennis when he no longer has friends. 

Art and him haven't talked in many months (has it really been years?), not since Tashi’s knee had gotten injured during that match at Stanford. 

Fuck that fucking match. And fuck them. 

He didn’t need them, he was doing just fine on his own. 

If his best friend of over a decade wanted to kick him to the curb like he was nothing more than a dog that had bitten him a smidge-too-hard to be loved, then whatever. If his grotesquely-talented girlfriend wanted to break up with him because he didn’t want to be treated like a lesser athlete nor sit in her shadow, then fine. He’d enjoy his tennis career and roll freely in the expendable income he was sure to continue collecting.

But that’s not really who Patrick is. 

And so he can’t help but lie awake at night, trying to pin-point where things went wrong–what he could have done to prevent this outcome–and tracing the indentations and scratches in his relationships that surely were only indicative of his faults. Compulsively picking at the tufts nestled in the wreckage. Eyeing the bloody brutalization, punishing himself by reliving the sting.

Sometimes he drags his fingertips over some of his old, banged-up rackets that he can't bear to get rid of, and he thinks about all of it. Tennis academy days with the shy, funny blonde kid that he became close with from day one. Learning and teaching and discussing with him all of the typical adolescent lessons that gave way to life outside of the bubble. Doubles matches–so many doubles matches. So many wins. First beers, first girlfriends, first cigarettes, first kisses. They shared everything with one another and they (almost neurotically) timed their experiences to happen around the same time so that they'd be able to talk to each other about them afterwards. As they got a bit older though, Patrick began to realize that he was feeling things for Art that he probably wasn’t supposed to tell him about. And he usually told Art everything.

That was his first mistake, he thinks, like when he hadn’t heeded the speed limit that night. Or, maybe, that was like playing the stupid song on the radio and going home late. It was the start of their untimely end. 

When he’s in one of his usual depressive spirals, the kind in which he can’t seem to find his appetite and he forgets to shower and he ignores his manager’s texts, he argues with himself about what exactly could be considered the “impact”. Was it when he had cheekily served like Art during that one casual training session, ball to the neck of the racket, confirming that he had slept with Tashi and thus beginning the festering of that awful jealousy in his friend? Or was it when he praised her in front of Art before her match in the singles tournament that fateful afternoon, igniting his friend's interest? Patrick remembers the look that glossed over Art’s eyes when he first caught sight of her; he had looked at her and suddenly Patrick felt like he’d been forgotten–like he’d melted into those bleachers and disappeared. He can’t really blame him, Tashi was talented and beautiful and ambitious and confident and mature–she was everything that Art steadfastly admired in a person. She was twice the person that Patrick had been back then.

Usually though, he comes to the painful conclusion that the impact was certainly the day of the Stanford match. More specifically, it was when Art had yelled at him for the first time in the entirety of their friendship. 

“Patrick, get the fuck out!” 

Those four words ring through his head on the worst of days.

He knew he’d fucked up by not pushing aside his pride and going to support Tashi after their fight, so he could pretty easily swallow down the discomfort that came with being yelled at by her. They yelled at each other pretty often when they got into their little spats, it was relatively normal. But god.. It was so much different when it was him. Patrick's muscles had locked up; he was shaking and breathing hard like he’d just run a marathon, able to see nothing but that pair of angry, familiar eyes. The vitriol that came spurting from the blonde’s mouth was like the worst toxin he’d ever known. It paralyzed him and began to rot his insides from that very moment on. And then all of the suffocating memories came flooding back as he turned and walked out of that campus health center. 

Giggling under blankets with a flashlight, reading comics until the sun started to come up. Practicing for hours on the courts at the academy, sometimes until they both got sunburns and heatstroke. Sleeping in the same bed on summer nights at Patrick’s house–tiredly watching the way Art’s chest rose and fell with each of his breaths and trying not to look at his lips. Holding each other when Art’s parents got divorced and he cried so hard that he got a nosebleed. Bandaging each other’s blisters. Wearing each other’s clothes. Having each other's back.

He doesn’t understand what he did to truly deserve being treated like that in the end by Art.

He’d been a good decent friend, hadn’t he? 

How could Art’s infatuation with her be enough to snuff out everything that they built together? It was supposed to be the two of them for the rest of their lives. Sure, they could each get married, pursue a career, have kids, but at the end of the day it was always meant to be them, wasn't it? Fire and Ice? Did he get that part wrong?

He habitually questions how much he really meant to him.

When Patrick does muster up the strength to drag himself to the shower, he generally stays in there for at least an hour. “Waste of water” be damned. He closes his eyes and lets the warmth run over his hair and his naked body. He presses his back to the cold shower wall and rubs his eyes until he sees white flashes dancing in the darkness. It’s not uncommon for his mind to wander back to you-know-who. In fact, that’s who’s usually on his mind whenever he’s not trying harder to forget. And it’s easy for Patrick to fixate on those blurry white flashes and suddenly see yellow curls, bright blue irises, deep smile lines, flushed cheeks. Breath smelling of that peppermint gum he always chewed. The sound of his nervous laughter and joyous cheers. Patrick would know him even if all of his senses were somehow dulled or taken from him. He would know Art by the feel of his soul breathing life into his own. He would know him, surely.

And maybe it’s an act of pure filth and desperation, or one of flesh-tearing grief, but many times Patrick winds up touching himself. Slow, steady, tender–the way he assumes Art touches Tashi. The way he had always wanted to touch Art, though he never even gathered the courage to try to hold his hand. He thumbs his weeping slit and keens as he feels the sadness and arousal roiling in his gut. He chokes on little moans that sound like sobs that sound like screams. He’s starved. How is it possible to miss someone when they’re everywhere? He thinks it’s funny that he’s forgotten what Art’s speaking voice sounds like but also refuses to watch any of his latest interviews on TV. He doesn’t want to see if there’s a ring on his finger, and he certainly doesn’t want to think about all of the ways Tashi gets to keep him as her own. He was mine, he unfairly thinks as he strokes himself under the scalding water, he was mine and I loved him and you lured him in and then he was gone.

The orgasm usually comes quick, spurred on by the near-lethal dose of petulant thought. He feels his thighs tremble and then his hand starts to lose its rhythm and then he’s crying out as he comes hard over his curled fingers. Sticky, clotted, putrid evidence of his lack of control. When he finally opens his eyes again, salt spills down his ruddy skin from wet lashes. He gets dizzy from the heat and the steam, he feels like he’s choking on all of it. He brings his dirtied hand under the showerhead and watches as his mess is rinsed away, down the drain in a gurgling spiral. It takes everything in him not to collapse.

“Oh, god, I’m sorry,” he whispers, before he forces himself out of the bathroom and collapses in a wet heap over his bed. His skin sticks to the sheets and makes him feel like some sort of dirty, beastly thing that crawls out of swamps and swallows up all of the good it can touch. He figures that the feeling is not far off from the truth.

When Patrick was eighteen, he killed a doe. 

And that doe followed him for the rest of his life.

note : to anyone who's ever had a childhood crush on their best friend. to anyone struggling with the grief.

This was intentionally written to be a bit "all over the place"; I wanted to show how scattered Patrick's thoughts can be. Also I love, love, love Tashi, I just think Patrick maybe sometimes (early on, before they reconnected) blamed her for his and Art's split for unjust reasons.

tags : @venusaurusrexx @tashism @grimsonandclover @diyasgarden @weirdfishesthoughts @gibsongirrl @newrochellechallenger2019 @jordiemeow @artstennisracket @cha11engers @fawnnpaws ♡

[straows]

“Why are you so clingy?” P.4

—In which, after waking up in bed with a certain someone, you start to question things.

A/n: this is wrapped up in a nice little bow. (Final part.)

<<part one, part two, part three

You didn’t open your eyes when you woke up. Your head ached, absolutely pounding.

Fucking wine.

And even tho you had a hangover that was just as bad as a kidney stone, the warmth you felt around you was intoxicating. It had you sighing softly and curly further into said warmth.

Except, said warmth loved.

Said warmth had a heartbeat.

Said warmth smelled fucking amazing and painfully familiar.

Forcing your eyes open, your whole body tensed when you were met with a muscular chest. Then the feeling of strong arms wrapped around you registered—

Oh shit.

Immediately, you sat up so fast it had Gojo jolting away. His voice rough and gravelly from sleep, his eyes squinting as he looked up at you. “What’s wrong, sweets?”

“You— You. WHY are you in my bed?” You tore at out bed so fast you were tripping over your own feet. Almost busting your ass as you yanked on a hoodie over your shirt and a pair of sleep shorts. “Did we— oh god. Oh no.”

Your skin crawled. You were mad. So mad. Mad and sick. Your stomach hurt. Why did you do this?

“What? No. You got drunk last night off wine, and I took you home. You kept whining about wanting me to stay so… I did.” Gojo shrugged and rubbed his eyes, before sitting up, back against the head board.

“..oh.” Now, that anger was replaced by embarrassment and that sick feeling only deepened.

Ok. So this is my fault.

“Relax, we didn’t do anything.” Gojo crossed his arms, biceps flexing as he did, “but we could if you wanted to.” He winked.

“You are insufferable.” You rolled your eyes, finally calming down. Putting a hand on you temple, trying to calm the migraine— you made your way into the kitchen. “This is so fucking stupid. Fucking wine.”

Chugging down a glass of water, you stared at the stove top. That was, until you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist.

And oh, that feeling of warmth and that familiar scent. It felt so nice, and yet so sickening.

“Did you mean what you said last night?” Gojo murmured against your shoulder, not missing the way you side eyed him.

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t remember?” His brows were furrowed now, almost offended.

“No??”

“You said you loved me. That you missed me.” Gojo filled in the gaps, and turned you around in his hold. Eyeing you with so much hope.

You stared at him for a long time, a long long time. Debating whether or not that was true, regardless it didn’t matter. “So what? Not like we’ll ever get back together.” You pulled away, huffing at the way your heart ached slightly as his shoulders slumped.

“Wait what?” Now Gojo was pulling you back. “It does matter, because if you do love me, we can— no we need to get back together.”

“And why would I? You’ll just become an asshole all over again. Remember? ‘Why the fuck are you so clingy?’” You did air quotes before slapping his hand away.

“But— but come on now, I’m— I was stupid. I took you for granted. I’d never do that to you— not ever, ever again. I will spend the rest of my life making you see how I’ve changed if I need too.” Taking a step closer to you, “please, please just give me another chance. Do you want me to get on my knees? Want me to beg?”

You glaring at him, “yes.” You didn’t think he’d do it. When you’d dated him before he was all pride. ‘Worlds strongest’ this and ‘chosen one’ that.

However, your breath stalled in your throat when he knelt down in front of you, literally on his knees as his hands found your hips. His eyes almost puppy like as he literally begged you.

Like a sinner at an alter, pleading for forgiveness.

You hated how much you like it. How it made you so happy to see him like this. So weak that he’d beg— on his knees.

“Please baby, I swear on everything— I swear on my eyes that I’ll never hurt you again. If I ever do— you can have them.” He pressed gentle kisses to your knuckles.

You swallowed thickly, your heart pounding in your chest. “…you ever, and I mean ever, talk to me like you did— behave like you did, to me again— I’ll hold you to that swear.” Your hand held his jaw, fingers digging into his jaw.

He nodded so fast, and when you pressed your lips against his, he was just as fast to stand up. Kissing you like a man starved and you were a tall glass of ice cold water.

Gojo’s hands held your hips in an iron grip, pulling you flush against him. Lord he was moaning into the kiss, murmuring about how thankful he was— how much he missed this, missed you.

You weren’t much better. Your nails clawed up his arms, his chest, dragged through his hair just to tug slightly hard.

“Missed you so— fucking much.” He grunted against your lips. Already hard and throbbing and oh so pathetic.

“You really are a desperate ex.” You smiled against his lips.

“Yeah, ‘m desperate for you. Sure as shit not your ex anymore.” He leaned down to press bites and nips all across your shoulders.

Now that had you smiling. “Yeah. Not my ex anymore.”

Your next kiss was sweet, all love and adoration.

This time, you knew he wouldn’t fuck this up. Who’d want to lose their eyes?

[minkieater]

EIGHT FIRST DATES ꨄ︎

008 》 JEONG YUNHO

after a long awaited talk, yunho wants only one thing from you. do you accept or deny the one thing that will change the trajectory of both your lives forever?

~14k | gut wrenching fluff

today is the day. you don’t want to open your eyes. 

so you don’t. instead, you let your mind drift in your half-asleep state, wondering how the fuck everything has gotten so twisted. it still feels unreal, the idea of yunho loving you, but it’s real– and you still can’t seem to feel optimistic. you scrunch your eyebrows together as reality slams down onto you in the form of a weight on your chest, sitting heavy, pushing you further into your mattress. 

yunho loves you, and you have openly gone on several dates he knows about, even more that he doesn’t know about. yunho loves you, and you’ve openly been talking about many men to him. yunho loves you, and you hooked up with someone at the same place he was at, while ignoring your feelings, ignoring his. 

right, this was your fault. you were the common denominator here, the moment you lied to your cousins everything had gotten messy, or maybe it was when you downloaded tinder. poor decisions, one after another, your brain has been fogged over since the beginning of october. if you’d just opened your eyes, seen things for how they were, you wouldn’t be in this situation.

for the first time in two months, you think you might be thinking clearly, and the realization slices through you like a blade to your flesh. ace was right, you had been acting selfishly, saturday could have gone so differently if you had trusted your gut, if you allowed yourself to believe what your feelings were telling you. because they were telling you– you think they had been telling you for a long time, hell, even yunho had been telling you himself for a long time. when he dropped you off for that first date with hyunjin there was something in the air between you, and you’re not blind, you’re not stupid. could you blame all of this on fear?

and the worst part, yunho doesn’t even seem angry at you. you ignored him for five days after he told you he loved you, and you still ignored him like he was nothing to you. he’d be silly to have any sort of feelings lingering for you at this point.

when your comforter starts to feel heavier than your chest you drag yourself out of bed without your phone, not even checking the time before you’re carrying yourself and this weight down your staircase, eyes still swollen and hooded with sleep. the smell of coffee brings you to your kitchen, where out of all people, matt is standing at the island. 

thin reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, a long, silk navy blue robe hanging off his body, slippers on his feet. you would groan if you had the energy, but you don’t. 

“tiny?” he questions when he hears your footsteps, staring at you in disbelief as you round the corner of the island. “you’re up early.” 

you grumble, not any words but just a muffled sound as you walk to the coffee maker, pouring what’s left into a mug. you bring it to your lips, the bitter taste feeling deserved as the scalding temperature hits your tongue, you’d do without the oat milk for today. you take a step back, letting your body hit the island, head hanging low, nearly below your shoulders. 

“you okay?” matt asks from behind you, concern clear in his voice, the inflection of his words. you didn’t want to answer, but at this point you don’t think you have a choice. there’s no one else down here to interrupt, to save you from the interaction. 

“fine,” a short answer, your tone leaves no opening for him to ask any further questions— but matt is matt, so he does. eight years of being your stepdad, of you not giving an inch, of him still expecting a mile.

“did something happen?” he asks, rounding the corner so he comes into view. he pushes his glasses up into his hair, black and straight yet messy from sleep, you wonder what time it is. you had two options: you could lie and say no, blame it on exhaustion and kill the conversation where it was. or, you could talk to him— and for some reason, whether it be the time or purely circumstantial, something is tugging at you to opt for the latter. 

seonghwa crosses your mind. you’re lucky to have another father figure, and it sounds like he’s still trying to be one after almost ten years of you pushing him away. take it from someone who’s dad never gave a fuck about him, if he wants to be in your life, you should let him.

“what do you think about yunho?” you ask, raising your head to actually look at him when you ask the question. he blinks for a second, mouth opening and closing like a fish, clearly taken aback by your question. you raise your eyebrows in expectation, waiting for an answer, impatiently at that.

“i—” he starts, then closes his mouth again. he smiles, “i think yunho’s a great kid. smart, good head on his shoulders, comes from a great family.” 

you purse your lips, stretching your mouth to scrunch at the left side of your face. that wasn’t the answer you were looking for, maybe you should try a different question. you look down at your mug, eyebrows furrowing as you stare at the black liquid swirling against the cream colored ceramic. “what do you think about yunho… for me?” 

you look up at him again slowly, feeling shy, of all things. matt looks flabbergasted, like that’s the last question he’d ever expect from you, but he quickly covers it with another smile. this one feels warmer, not performative, but genuine. 

“i think he’s perfect for you,” he says it so simply, like it’s the only thing that’s ever made sense. “you’ve been close for so long, he understands you, knows how to treat you.” 

you give him a slow nod, then bring your attention back to your mug, thinking. he could have stopped there, but because matt is matt, he kept going instead, “you have a stronger personality than he does, and he’d encourage you to shine brighter than you ever would on your own, but his will is strong enough to keep you grounded. he’s always been gentler with you than the others, always kept his eye on you when your brother didn’t, always defended you when you aren’t there to do it yourself. you know how the moms are.” 

you let a sound of amusement out through your nose, you know how the moms are all too well. matt chuckles too because he’s been the victim more than once, especially after your dad passed, the comments that the moms made about him were brutal— those insults you could get behind, though. you fall into silence for a moment, his fingers hitting the island, and you hear his lips part to speak again. part of you wishes you never opened your mouth. 

“did something happen between you two?” 

you pause for a moment. yunho had replied to your texts within minutes, yes of course we can, what time? and i’ll be over as soon as i wake up. so willing to make up with you, so selfless, you didn’t deserve any of it. yes, something happened, and it was all your fault. the room started to feel smaller.

the weight in your chest that you carried from your bedroom, the self deprecating thoughts, the tightness in every one of your muscles, everything seemed to let loose. tears hit your hands before you realized you were crying, verbal choked noises coming from your lips, you released a sob that was trapped so deep in your throat it was loud. 

matt didn’t seem to know what to do. he took the coffee mug from your hands, setting it down on the island, and your hands came up to cover your face, sobs racking through your body. matt’s hands were raised, hovering over you as if you were emitting a force, a barrier he couldn’t push through. 

his hand finally hit your shoulder after a few more sobs, giving it a few awkward pats before he felt comfortable rubbing your back, his hand moving in languid circles. it felt weird, yet comforting— seok matthew, your stepdad of eight years who you had never even hugged, was now comforting you as you cried, without giving him any context. you’ve never let him in, not once, what made this time different?

he didn’t ask any questions, didn’t say anything, but instead let you release. he stood next to you, awkwardly rubbing your back, supporting you by being present, and it’s exactly what you needed. support, stability, company. 

when your cries died down to sniffles and your eyes were damn near swollen shut, you spoke first. your voice came out rough, voice high pitched and strained, “i think i fucked up with yunho, really bad.” 

“it can’t be that bad,” matt tries to make you feel better, his voice encouraging and light. you weren’t sure if you’ve ever been this close to him before. “you’ve been friends since you were in diapers, teens.” 

“he told me he loved me.” you finally pull your hands from your face, needing his reaction, the truth behind whatever he’d say to make you feel better.

his eyes widened, his mouth parting to an o shape. he mutters oh shit under his breath, and you nod. oh shit is right. 

“i didn’t think he had it in him,” he puts his hand on his hip, “he’s been looking at you with those sad, puppy dog eyes since you were what? eighteen? seventeen?” 

he mimics the face and you choke out a laugh, which sounds more like another sob than a laugh. you frown, “did everyone really see it except for me?” 

“you had more important things on your mind,” he shrugs as if it was nothing. “school, becoming a teacher, your future. you’re a busy girl, and he knows that just as well as we do.” 

“but— all the dates i’ve been going on,” your bottom lip quivers again, “he’s heard every single detail. how can he still love me after all of that?” 

“it probably made him love you more,” all you can hear is honesty from him, and it threatens to freak you out more. how can you accept that yunho sees you for exactly who you are, all your mistakes, all your weaknesses, and still loves you anyway? “men are stupid, tiny, they see a potential threat and start to think they’re running out of time. your interest in other men probably just made him confess sooner.” 

“you think so?” you ask, silent tears falling down your cheeks, hot against your skin, much like your coffee against your tongue just minutes earlier. 

he nods with his eyes closed, like this was the only truth. the only answer. you shake your head, disbelief shooting through you, but matt had no reason to lie, and you knew he wouldn’t hold anything back. he never has before.

his eyes are kind as he looks down at you, “whether you want him back or not, you’ll make it out the other end, you’ve known each other too long to let something like this destroy your friendship.” you nod, still only half believing him, so he adds, “who knows, he might end up being the one you bring to thanksgiving.” 

you smile, his words hitting exactly where they needed to, “karina and sakura are gonna be sick when they see him.” 

matt smiles wide, success written all over his face, a feeling you shared with him because this exchange undoubtedly felt like progress. something you never experienced or expected, didn’t think you needed, something you never wanted— you should really shoot seonghwa a text sometime. 

when your eyes finally glaze over the clock on the stove you realize it’s six thirty in the fucking morning. no wonder matt was so confused, why no one else was awake, not even your mother. she was always up at the ass crack of dawn, too. 

she woke up shortly after your conversation with matt in the kitchen, hair and makeup already done by the time she reached the living room, body still clad in silk pajamas. you were sitting on the couch, matt on the recliner, the news channel playing on the tv— not that you were paying attention. your mother sat next to you without a word, pulling out her phone after putting her reading glasses on, tuning out the sound of the tv entirely. 

even if your conversation with matt made you feel better about your relationship with yunho, the stress of having the conversation with him still hung over your head. you tried to dissociate, let your mind run blank as you stared at the tv, and it was truly working until it wasn’t. you hadn’t even fully figured out your own feelings yet, but maybe you didn’t have to, maybe that’s what this conversation was for. fuck around and find out, right?

──────  ꨄ︎

“i think you should wake her up.” 

“but she looks so peaceful.”

“peaceful? she’s fighting demons in her dreams, nothing about her is at peace right now.”

you crack one eye open. with confusion sweeping through you, you take in your surroundings, you don’t even know when your eyes closed for you to be waking up on your couch right now. your three best friends and your twin stood two feet away from you, huddled together talking about you like they did when you were little, the sight brings a small smile to your face. they were talking too loudly for you to sleep through it, which they always have, you’d think a decade later they would have learned by now. when your gaze cracks down on yunho, both eyes shoot open– in gray sweatpants and a deep brown hoodie, the pair was much too baggy to show his strong thighs or his muscled torso, your stomach drops. 

he’s here. you haven’t seen him in days. 

the first thought that crosses your mind– what the hell do i look like right now?! your body is curled up on the couch, legs bent beneath you, one arm under your head, you were probably drooling onto the velvety surface by now, and he’s here?!

you sit up straight in surprise and slight embarrassment, rubbing the back of your hand across your mouth, uncurling your legs from your body, eyes wide and body rigid. you try to smooth out your bedhead as your movement catches in their peripherals, and yeosang is the first to speak, a wide smile on his face. “oh, look at that! sleeping beauty!”

“let down your hair,” san adds theatrically, as if he was finishing yeosang’s sentence.

“that’s rapunzel, dumbass,” yeosang grumbles, smacking san’s arm. 

you wish you could hear them, because you probably would have laughed, but your eyes have been trained on yunho since you opened them, and he’s finally meeting your gaze. comfort is always swimming around in his big brown eyes, they usually help to soothe your nerves, to calm your heart rate– this time they did no such thing. you look away too fast, finding your tv stand, the deep oak suddenly much more interesting. 

“okay… i guess we’ll… leave you to it?” yeosang finally catches your ear, you watch him grab both san and ace’s arms, pulling them in the direction of your basement– it was clear they were talking to the two of you, and you were too locked into your staring match to realize. when your eyes meet yunho’s again, you can feel the tension in the air, the awkwardness, it’s painful. this might be the first time you’ve ever felt awkward around him in your life. 

yunho scrunches his lips, looking down to the ground– he doesn’t know what to do either. you let out a shaky breath when you hear three pairs of footsteps walking down your basement steps, pissed at yourself for napping when you could have planned for this. first and foremost, you need to see what you look like. 

“wanna go upstairs?” you ask, meeting his eyes again, and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. 

“you mean like, up to your room?” he asks, clarifying, as if going up to your room was a big deal. you supposed everything was different now. 

you tilt your head, uneasy in your own answer, “yes? unless you want to risk my mom and matt hearing the whole thing.”

he nods, “no, yeah. your room, okay, that’s fine.”

you stand on weak legs, fuck, maybe you were more nervous than you thought. this was unknown territory for both of you, there has never been this much weirdness between you, ever. it was clear you were both feeling it. 

he follows you upstairs, and when you get to your room, you make him wait in the doorway so you can quickly make your bed. after making sure your comforter is spread evenly and your pillows are placed where they’re supposed to, you turn to him, “i’m gonna go wash my face and brush my teeth really quick, i’ll be right back.”

he nods silently, sitting down at the foot of your bed, stiff and uncomfortable and weird. you try to shake off the feeling as you reach your bathroom, finally getting a glimpse of yourself. you gasp at the mirror, if you ignoring him for five days didn’t make him lose feelings for you, your appearance definitely did. skin dry and dull from lack of skincare, eyes swollen from your meltdown this morning, a line of crusted drool on your chin from your nap. you sigh, this was already worse than you could have imagined.

you tried to come up with something as you washed your face and brushed your teeth, a game plan to distract you from the anxiety about the conversation waiting for you in the other room. there were no excuses to be made, no rebuttals to be had, you fucked up and made this so much messier than it needed to be. you need to apologize, everything else can come after. 

everything else… everything else was the unknown– how long has yunho had feelings for you? when he said he loved you, what exactly did he mean? what did he want? you wish you had all the answers so you could sort out your thoughts, but you supposed there was no preparing for a conversation like this. every reaction yunho would receive from you would be the honest truth, no more hiding. no more ignoring.

it was weird seeing yunho sitting so stiff in your bed instead of lounging out like he usually did– long, lanky body sprawled out across your comforter, feet hanging off the edges. seeing him sit straight up with his legs hung over the edge felt so wrong. he made a dip in your perfectly laid white comforter, the fuzzy throw blanket laid on top sat crumpled beneath him. baby pink sheets lived under it all, too many pillows, your bed was your haven, your safe space, your entire room was. it’s a space that you keep clean and tidy because you respect it, how it helps you, the peace it gives you.

you really needed the peace as you crawl over the bed, sitting with your legs criss-crossed at the top, back leaning into your pillows. you grab your favorite throw pillow, holding it on your lap, letting your fingers mindlessly play with the frayed seams as you glance at yunho who was still wearing the same uneasy look as he had when you left him.

both of you in sweats, wearing uneasy faces and hearts beating a mile a minute, both sitting in the weird, uncomfortable silence. you’re sitting farther apart than usual, the space between you feeling heavy, charged with the words you need to say. he stared at his lap, letting his fingers twist together, picking at his cuticles. you assumed he would have started first, needing to get everything off his chest, but he seemed just as unsure as you did. like he didn’t know where to begin. 

yunho was internally panicking, and he knows it’s obvious. his heart is thumping against his chest, he could feel his throat jumping, he didn’t know where to start– he had so much to say, but he didn’t want to scare you, he didn’t want to push you away any more than he already has. he’s had days to figure out verbiage, to plan a script in his head, but now that he was sitting across from you with your bare face and cozy attire? oh, every word he had planned was gone. his brain was empty. he had half a mind to look at you and simply say i’ve loved you for years now, please give me a chance?

ah, fuck it. if that’s what he says to get the ball rolling, to get the conversation flowing, then so be it. 

you both look up at the same time, both saying, “i–” 

then you both pause. you crack a smile, saying, “you go first.”

yunho shakes his head, “no, you.” 

you let out a shaky breath from deep in your gut, “okay.” 

you needed to apologize first. for not answering him for days, for falling off the face of the earth, for taking so fucking long to make a decision. you swallow, clearing your throat, staring at the pillow in your lap. “i’m sorry.”

yunho’s head snaps up to you, eyebrows twisted in confusion. your lips purse, but you don’t give him a second to interject. “this week has been… rough. i’m sorry for not answering, for icing you out, for making you feel like shit. you didn’t deserve that at all.” 

“tiny, i-”

you look up, and he stops himself mid-sentence. “i was blindsided last saturday, the last thing i was expecting to hear you say was that you love me. i’ve been going on all these dates and rubbing everything in your face for weeks, months now, that is so fucking unfair to you, even if i didn’t know.” 

“don’t apologize for that,” his voice was as shaky as yours, breathy and light, like he couldn’t control what he was saying, let alone what he sounded like. he couldn’t.

“you deserve better than me,” your voice is even smaller now, “i couldn’t even answer you, yunho. i couldn’t be honest with you, i couldn’t even figure out my own feelings until someone else spelled them out for me. it’s not fair to you.” 

yunho was looking at you like that same puppy matt mentioned. lost in his own mind, his own feelings, like he couldn’t believe he was sitting across from you talking about this. quickly, he says, “obviously i forgive you, tiny, i wish you wouldn’t say that. i don’t need you to apologize at all.”

“did you know you sent me thirty nine texts?” you ask, your voice slightly cracking at nine. you tried to fight the tightness in your throat that was inevitable, the tears crawling their way up their ducts, “over the course of five days, i let you send thirty nine texts and i didn’t answer a single one.” 

“but you did answer eventually,” he countered, the pit in his stomach heavy– he hates seeing you cry more than anything, and the fact that you’re crying because you think you hurt him? because you think you don’t deserve him? yunho thinks he might throw up. “i put a lot on you that night, i’ve been hiding this from you for five years.” 

“five?” you ask, eyebrows raising, your voice fully cracking at the word. you tip your head back, eyes on your ceiling, trying to cut a deal with gravity so your tears wouldn’t fall. you face him again, your jaw tight and your voice barely above a whisper, “why didn’t you tell me?”

“because we’re best friends,” he gives you a small smile, his lips pressed together, ever so slightly lifting at the edges, the kind of smile that hurts. it wasn’t a smile of happiness, it was one of disappointment, laced with fear. “i didn’t want to ruin our relationship.”

you shake your head, racking your brain for the right words to say. you sniff, eyes glancing to your lap again, “yunho, i don’t think we have the kind of relationship that can be ruined.”

he says your name. not tiny, the nickname your entire family called you your entire life– he says your name. it’s strained but it’s serious, he says it like a prayer, like it’s special. like you’re special. 

you’re special, teens, you can’t go around giving yourself to just anybody. you deserve someone who’s gonna appreciate you, cherish you, all the little parts about you. 

“i love you,” he says with his chest, the most steady you’ve heard his voice so far. yunho told himself fuck it, and he meant it. “i love you when you’re happy, when you’re smiling, when you’re sad, crying about some douchebag in the backseat of my car. i love you when you’re making your coffee in the morning, dancing around your kitchen, and when you’re frustrated trying to play a video game. i love you when you’re focused, doing your homework, when you’re asleep next to me, when you’re mad because one of the guys pissed you off. i love you all the fucking time.” 

your mascara-less eyes widen, dry lips parting, yet you have nothing to say in return. you love him, too, but do you love him like he loves you? as if he can read your mind, his voice is strained as he says, “don’t say anything. please.”

“i love you when you don’t answer me for five days, i love you when you’re glued to my side. i love you when you’re mad at me, i love you when you’re over my back, about to throw up if i don’t put you down.” you cringe, your entire face scrunching up— he smiles. 

“i love you when i’m dropping you off on a date with someone else, when i’m picking you up from a different one. there’s nothing you can do that will make me stop loving you, there’s no reality where i don’t love you,” he takes a breath, “these feelings, they’ve been one-sided for five years, i don’t expect a response from you, i don’t want one. not yet. i want only one thing from you.” 

you wipe the tears that slipped past your lashes, cutting your deal with gravity short. “one thing?” 

“go on a date with me,” he takes a breath, chestnut brown hair laid over his forehead, over the matching eyebrows that you’re sure are twisted beneath his bangs. yunho can’t believe he just said all of that, but he can’t stop while he’s ahead, he has to keep going, for himself, for the future he wants with you. “just one date, and i’ll prove it to you. you won’t show up to thanksgiving alone, you’ll show up happy.”

you look at him, really look at him. there’s determination in his eyes, a glint of hope in the sea of chocolate, like he’s put so much thought into this, that he’s sure about you. you believe him, because aside from that determination, there’s love paired with it— warmth in the haze of brown, eyes you could get lost in, because they look at you like you’re all that’s ever mattered. you’re his already, and you weren’t sure you ever had a choice. 

you’re nodding before your brain could signal your muscles. your voice is shy when you say okay, you have nothing else to say to his confession– yet you weren’t put off by it, you weren’t scared. you weren’t uncomfortable anymore. this was yunho, after all. 

yunho, for some reason, is shocked you agreed. he didn’t think he’d have to convince you, but he didn’t think it’d be so easy. he wonders if he should have asked more questions about your feelings, if you should have talked more– if this conversation was enough to fill in the space he created just last saturday. he brushes it off as the two of you walk downstairs, and when he heard you laugh just seconds later at something san said, he feels at ease again. you’re gonna be okay. 

──────  ꨄ︎

november twenty third.

less than a week before thanksgiving, you’ve devoted your last saturday, your last possible chance at obtaining a date to your family’s thanksgiving to jeong yunho. it still feels ridiculous to say out loud, to even put into perspective. 

yet you’ve never taken longer to get ready in your whole life. 

even if you were instructed on how to dress, after your breakfast was dropped off to you in your room by your twin. 

“this is so corny, i can’t believe i’m doing this,” ace’s voice rips you out of your thoughts as he kicks your bedroom door open, oversized sleep clothes on his body, his face looking tired and irritated, yet you could see appreciation slipping through the cracks. he speaks with a hollow tone of sarcasm, “breakfast for the queen, hand delivered, at your fuckin’ service.”

you sit up in your bed straighter, eyes furrowed in confusion. “breakfast?” 

he places two containers on top of a tray on your comforter, all tied with a thick pink ribbon, an envelope tucked under the bow. your heart rate picks up as your eyes widen– is this from who you think it's from?

“hopefully i’m discharged from my services after this,” ace says, teasing, his irritation still hollow. his lips curl upward ever so slightly, “have a good time today, teens. for what it’s worth, he’s who i wanted you with from the start.”

you smile, “wish i knew from the start.”

“everything happens for a reason,” he shrugs, “eat before it gets cold.” 

he’s out of your room in a second, leaving you with your meticulously wrapped breakfast. you untie the ribbon, laying out each container on top of the tray, then pick up the envelope. it says your name on the front in yunho’s handwriting– you pout, wishing he came inside when he dropped it off. the pout doesn’t stay long, your fingers are ripping over the envelope immediately, pulling out the white index card that lived inside. 

‘since you can’t flip a pancake on your own nor would you eat breakfast if it wasn’t made for you, here’s a gift from my own kitchen (and my cooking that i know you love. don’t lie to yourself)

dress warm and cozy, i’ll pick you up at two.

— with all my love, jyh’

inside the first containers was two pancakes, a glass container of fruits and another of syrup, then another with eggs, toast, and a small container of dairy free butter. he packed a fork and a knife too, and a closed mason jar of orange juice and two airplane bottles of champagne– you didn’t even know they made shooters of champagne. your breath catches in your throat, your heart twisting in your chest. 

it was your first insight into what yunho was like as a lover, the bar was set for the rest of the day just after nine in the morning. 

he was right– you did love his cooking. 

the past week has gone just like this. yunho has been complimenting you nonstop, texting you goodmorning and goodnight, even doing little things for you like paying for your dinners when the five of you ate together, getting you drinks before you had the chance to mention you were thirsty, openly sitting closer to you on the couch in the living room, the basement, the kitchen island. everything went back to normalcy after your talk, the five of you were back to a team, yunho just didn’t have to hide anymore— it all weirdly felt good. like nothing had changed, yunho was always supposed to sit next to you, the compliments that left his lips felt genuine, the small favors felt special. 

today was just a completion to a maze, one that’s lasted far too long, too winding with too many dead ends that set you both back to zero. today was a path, a walkway— and the light at the end was yunho, who it was always supposed to be. 

by one forty five, you were finishing up getting ready in your room, and you hear your front door open, and the loud chatting of your family following soon after. he’s here. 

he said to dress warm and cozy, so you opted for wide-legged jeans, an off the shoulder sweater and a huge scarf to wrap around you, a pair of faux sheepskin boots on your feet. it seemed warm and cozy enough, while still being cute— you didn’t want to overdo it in fear of what exactly he had planned, you had ripped apart the majority of your closet before settling on something so simple— not having a concrete plan both stressed you out and excited you at the same time. 

after adding the finishing touches on your makeup, you took a deep breath at the top of your stairs, eyelashes brushing against another when your eyes flutter closed. 

today would change the entire trajectory of your friendship. even if the past week felt natural, today was the deciding factor, and it’d change everything. you thought of hyunjin, of chan, of mingyu, jisung, seonghwa, heeseung and hoshi— seven men that had completely different lifestyles, backgrounds and personalities, you think every single one served a purpose, each one taught you something, nudged you a little farther in the direction you were always meant to go in. his direction.

you deserve to be loved. you deserve to be treated well, to be cherished, to be known, to be appreciated, every little detail about you. you ache to reciprocate the feelings, outside of needing a boyfriend for thanksgiving, you want someone by your side, to know all your weaknesses and bad habits and love you through every revelation. someone to share secrets with, to kiss, to hold, to nurture. 

a smile washes over your face, your heart jumping beneath your skin with the possibility— no, confirmation that someone is yunho. 

sitting around your kitchen island was the man of the hour— but also your mom, matt, ace and vivi, all gathered around in the middle of a conversation you weren’t sure you wanted to butt into. 

“tiny!” your mom catches your eye first, her arms slinging outward so you notice the arrangement of things on the marble counter. your breath catches in your throat at the sight. 

a bottle of aged whiskey, one you learned was matt’s favorite the night he educated you on whiskey for mingyu. two bouquets of flowers, one an assortment of lilies and angel’s breath, the other an assortment of roses— red, orange and yellow, an ode to her first name, jangmi. your mom’s hand lays over her heart, eyebrows twisted upward in appreciation, “if you two don’t get married, i swear…”

“mom,” you hiss through gritted teeth, heat reaching your ears. you catch vivi’s eye over her shoulder, the blue haired sixteen year old silently mouthing don’t fuck up this time– you scowl at her for just a second before you finally meet yunho’s gaze, he looks you up and down with a soft smile, a fondness in his eyes that has a shiver racking through you. 

he stands up, grabbing the bouquet of lilies, muttering a small hi as he steps toward you— fuck, he knows you so well. lilies have been your favorite flower ever since your dad passed, as morbid as it is, there was the most beautiful arrangement of pink lilies and angel’s breath at his funeral that has stuck with you throughout the years— something you’ve only mentioned once or twice since the funeral. of course yunho would remember.

you feel yourself overflowing with warmth and gratitude as he holds the bouquet out for you to take, “beautiful flowers for a beautiful girl.” 

a shaky breath leaves your lips before your grin stretches across your face, “thank you, for breakfast this morning too,” you look down at the bouquet again, “i can’t believe you remembered.” 

“how could i forget?” he’s beaming. excitement is exuding off his skin, filling you up as if you were an empty glass, your nerves were easing by the second. 

you finally look him up and down— he looks delicious. wide leg light denim jeans, a blue button up beneath a cream cardigan, where the deep blue of his shirt matched the embroidered decal on his cardigan. his hair was clean cut as if he got it trimmed for the occasion, brand new brown converse on his feet… you were matching. not fully, it was more subtle than anything, but your cream scarf matched his cardigan, your brown sweater matched his sneakers, the light wash of your jeans was almost identical. completely by accident, yet the realization only encourages the idea that this was meant to happen. 

“you two look so cute,” your mom coos as if she realized at the same time as you. “come on, let me take a picture!” 

vivi snorted from beside her, even ace wore a lopsided grin as the words left her mouth. your jaw dropped at her proposition, eyebrows hanging low over your eyes as you glanced up to yunho who just shrugged. his nonchalance would really be the death of you. 

“come on, honey,” said matt from beside her, finally ripping his star-filled eyes away from his new bottle of his favorite whiskey, “let them go.” 

she smacked her lips together, a scowl on her face as she turned to him, “she asked me to take pictures!” 

you knew she was yunho’s mom, which had you laying the flowers on the island and tugging on his arm towards your front door before your mom noticed. “let’s go, stealth mode.” 

yunho cracked a snort from behind you, “you haven’t said stealth mode in years.” 

stealth mode was a saying the five of you adopted whenever you were doing something sneaky growing up. sneaking out of the house, stealing food from the pantry, vodka from the bar just off the side of the kitchen. “i haven’t had a reason to!”

you’re both still giggling when you make it outside, smiling like idiots when you come to a stop just before his old, dark green bmw. he let out a tch noise when your hand reached for the handle, playing annoyed as he said, “let me open it, this is a date.”

“i’ve been opening your car door by myself for years,” you roll your eyes as he steps in front of you, opening the car door, the smell of his air freshener already greeting you from a foot away. smokey and leather and man. 

“i know, but this is different,” he says as you walk forward, a hand resting on top of the car door, “i wanna do things right.”

you pause before you get in, one leg bent up on the frame as you meet his eyes, “you know, i’m really excited for today. to be with you like this.”

you watch his smile grow, that warmth in the chocolate of his eyes shining under the sunlight, matching the chestnut of his hair that hangs over his forehead. he motions his chin in the direction of the seat of his car, “then get in so we can go.”

you laugh as you finally get in, the leather seats warm beneath you from sitting under the fall sun, the seat at the perfect setting– something you usually have to change when you’re in his car. the first thing he does after he turns the car on is plug in his phone, connecting the aux so he can play one of his perfectly articulated playlists. 

instead of soft rock playing through the speakers, which is what you expected, jungle starts playing through the car. you gasp knowingly, eyes widening ever so slightly, “shut up.”

“what?” he asks through a smile as if he has no idea what you’re talking about– you know him better than that. 

“give me your phone,” you face him as he puts the car in reverse, pulling out of your driveway, “you did not make a playlist for today.” 

“of course i made a playlist for today,” he eyes you from the driver's seat, right hand on the wheel, left hand on his thigh. “i will not be giving you my phone, you can have the playlist after. i want each song to be like a little surprise.”

“you’re so corny,” you tease, shaking your head in disbelief, grin still wide and genuine, because who wouldn’t want a playlist specifically curated for their ears? 

“where are we going, anyways?” 

“another surprise,” he nods, “they’re all surprises.”

“all surprises?” you whip your head over to look at him again, eyebrows high, “as in there’s more than one place?!”

“okay fine, i’ll give you a spoiler,” he holds up three fingers, “we’re going to three places.”

“can i guess where?”

“no.”

“ugh, fine.” 

you sit in silence for a moment, your brain still going a mile a minute about where he could possibly be taking you. “but what about my dress code? warm and cozy? we aren’t going anywhere fancy, right?” 

he gives you a look through lowered brows, “do you really think i’d give you a dress code that didn’t match the vibe?” 

something you tend to forget— he knows you better than that, too.

“fair,” you nod, your lips pursed. you settle in your seat as he pulls onto a highway, shifting around to get comfortable. tv girl starts playing through his speakers, lover’s rock, and you can’t help but sing along– to your surprise, yunho does too. 

it doesn’t take long before you’re both singing louder, your head rolled towards him, smiles on your faces. it seems like neither of you can wipe the smile off your face– this kind of comfort doesn’t come easily, no shame in your terrible singing, no panic about being off key… even if the man beside you had the voice of an angel. he’d kill you if you said that to him, though. 

a few more terribly sang (by you) songs until you were pulling into the parking lot of a record store. it wasn’t far from your house, a quick fifteen minutes into the city, just off of the highway. you’ve never been here before, but you know yunho has, he’s always been deeper into music than you. 

“a record store?” you ask as he turns the wheel to back into a parking spot, you twist your head to watch him as his right arm stretches behind your headrest, his left hand turning the steering wheel. you make a face– lips scrunched together, eyebrows knitted, trying so hard to pretend you weren’t affected by how good he looked– it still felt strange to think of him like that. 

a smirk grew on his lips as if he could see through you, he put the car in park as he answered, “yes, a record store.” he reached in his backseat, grabbing his camera, one he only brought out on special occasions— you let out a groan that he swiftly ignored. “don’t get out yet.”

he was out of the car and beside your door in a moment, a huff of amusement left your lips as you watched his little jog as he made his way over, slinging the camera around his neck by the strap. when he opened your door, you gave him barely a second of reprieve, “thank you, gentleman. why the camera? and why a record store?” 

“you’re so nosy,” he teased as he held his hand out, pulling you up out of your seat. “excuse a man for wanting to document the day he’s been waiting five years for. do you remember when your cousin got married?” 

you pop an eyebrow as he closes the door behind you, your hand still in his, “which one?” 

“karina, that’s the only family wedding we all went to,” yunho says as if you should know this already. 

“oh, duh, yeah i remember,” you mindlessly answer as he tugs you across the parking lot and toward the entrance, your hand still swallowed by his– your eyes couldn’t look anywhere else other than where you were linked, your palms growing sweaty at the feeling of your hand enveloped by his. 

he opens the door for you, letting your hand go so you can walk through the glass doors, “at the reception, it was one of the first times i thought i might like you.” 

you snap your neck to look at him, “yunho, that was years ago.”

“yeah, five,” he says obviously, “you were seventeen, i was eighteen, you wore that long, pink, barbie looking dress. you don’t wear pink a lot, but it suits you.”

he follows you inside, the walls covered in framed pictures of artists, singers, bands, guitar players, aisles upon aisles of records, different sections for CDs and albums. it smelled of dust and incense, the low hum of rock music playing through the speakers, you wondered if the building had been here for a long time– it seemed like it had. 

you start down one of the aisles, eyes racking the different crates of records laid in alphabetical order, trying to hide the flush in your cheeks. yunho was hot on your tail, “anyways, we were in the middle of the reception, you had too many glasses of white wine and i was throwing back beers like any eighteen year old would at an open bar. we were all on the dance floor the entire night, all five of us.”

“oh my god, i remember that! san took the microphone from the dj at one point,” you turn to him, throwing a hand over your mouth in remembrance, “he was so fucking drunk.”

yunho laughs, “all of us were hammered.” 

“that was a good wedding,” you walk further down the aisle as you think back on it– as much as karina’s husband sucks, that wedding was incredible. lavish, expensive, the decor was just a display of wealth, no actual decorum. the open bar and lack of checking for IDs made the wedding enjoyable. you glance back at him, “back to realizing that you liked me?” 

he rolls his eyes, amused. “right, how could i forget?”

“we were in the middle of the reception, hammered as hell, screaming the words to can’t take my eyes off you by frankie valli. it felt like it was just me and you in that room, you looked so pretty, and i could’ve sworn you felt it, too.”

you did remember that– as much white wine as you ingested that night, you still remembered that moment. you had styrofoam microphones and silly sunglasses on, singing the words to one another in the middle of the tiled floor, surrounded by family and karina’s friends, your bodies inches apart. back then, you didn’t think anything of it, you just thought you were singing a song in a funny way with your funny friend– purely innocent. the idea that yunho was feeling these things while you were ignorant to all of it made your heart skip a beat. 

yunho smiles, “i want to buy you the album, i think it’s on one of those compilation albums, frankie valli and the four seasons best hits or something like that…”

you curse, your cheeks heating up, a pout on your lips, “yunho, that’s so fucking sweet.”

“for a sweet girl,” he smiles, then grabs your hand again, pulling it up to his lips to kiss just above your knuckles– you just about died, looking away in embarrassment that you might squeal out of the sheer emotion coursing through your body. 

you didn’t know yunho was so… nostalgic. he has never shown so much passion for anything, so much emotion, this was a completely new side of him and you were obsessed with learning about every new detail. to think five years ago he was already looking at you this way… and it took you this long to realize? he was either really good at hiding it or you really are blind. 

you heard the camera click, the shutter sound ripping you from your thoughts. you look up from the records you’d started sorting through again to scowl at yunho, who lowered the camera from his eye with a smile. he pulled up the picture on the screen, leaning the camera over to show you. 

you couldn’t believe you didn’t notice it earlier, maybe the air freshner in his car was too overpowering to allow you to smell him— citrus, woody, notes of sandalwood, you devoured the scent as he stood closer, your body involuntarily leaning in, your side pressing into his as you stared at the screen of the camera. surprisingly you liked how it came out, your hair laying over your face as you sorted through records, fingers sifting between the vinyls, it was cute enough to post, even. 

“that’s actually cute,” you comment, surprise clear in your voice. 

“of course it is,” he responds, “it’s a picture of you, and i took it. you know what they say…” 

“i do not know what they say,” you flatten your lips as you give him a dumbfounded look, feeling like this is something you’re supposed to know. 

yunho opens his mouth, and then closes it, lips pursing before he looks like he’s fighting the sheepish smile that grows on his cheeks. his voice comes out lower, coated in embarrassment, “i forgot what they say.” 

you can’t stop the loud cackle that rips through your lips, a hand flying over your mouth when you realize your volume in the near-empty store. yunho says through his laughter, “it’s not funny! it’s a good saying, it’s something like your pictures come out better when you’re taking pictures of someone you love.” 

you groan, leaning into him, teasingly nudging him with your elbow. “who knew you were such a lover?” 

“me,” he answers plainly, “i knew— for five years, mind you.” 

“okay!” you start off again, looking through another bin of albums across the aisle. “enough with the five years thing, you’re making me feel guilty now.” 

“every time i say it you get all shy and embarrassed,” he follows you across the aisle, “it’s cute, but i’ll stop. i’m sorry.” 

you playfully glare at him— but the expression leaves as soon as he lifts the camera again. 

you spent at least half an hour in front of his camera lens while sorting through albums, picking up different ones, talking mindlessly about artists to debating who’s music is better– which songs off of albums are the best, which ones you love, which ones you hate. 

“no no no, entombed is the best off of koi no yokan,” you stand your ground, holding up the deftones record, shaking your head at yunho. 

“okay, fine, but swerve city is a close second,” yunho points at the record in your hands, “for the first time in your twenty two years of life, i agree with you.” 

“how about this one?” you hold up speak and spell by depeche mode, “favorite on three.” 

you count to three while facing him, and you both answer simultaneously, “just can’t get enough.” 

you cheer and then high-five him, saying, “we’re so good,” as you put the record back in its spot. you skip a letter, gravitating towards the F section to find the album that you came here for. 

yunho stands just behind you, the back of your shoulder touching his bicep, and the reoccurring thought that he’s huge plagues you all over again. he’s peering over your body as you sort through the vinyls and you can’t help but bask in the feeling of comfort. he isn’t overly flirting, he isn’t making it unbearably clear that this is a date— you don’t feel any pressure to act any sort of way. it feels natural to be out with him alone, to feel him pressed against you, to know there’s this feeling of romance shared between you even if it isn't obvious. 

when you finally pulled out the square blue record named the very best of frankie valli and the four seasons, you looked up to yunho, “you were pretty spot on with the name.” 

yunho shrugs, “i had a feeling.” 

“now, the only issue is,” you turn to him, holding the record to your chest, “i don’t have a record player.” 

yunho squints as he looks far ahead of you towards the cash register where plenty of record players stood on the wall just behind the store clerk. like it’s a no-brainer, he says, “they have plenty up there, i’ll just buy you one.” 

“yunho,” it sounds more like a whine than anything, “the record is enough. i’ll buy it.” 

he gives you a twisted look, “you’re choosing now to fuss over me buying you shit?”

you smile, because that rebuttal is more than fair. “at least let me pretend i’m not gonna let you. independent woman and all that.” 

yunho rolls his eyes as he takes a step in the direction of the clerk, a smile playing on his lips as he reaches for your hand. you peel your fingers from the album to slip your palm in his, your fingers linking together, heat consuming you from head to toe. as if on command, you can feel the sweat forming in your palms, you just hope yunho didn’t notice as he leads you to the register. 

you leave the record store nearly skipping across the parking lot, a bright smile on your face under the strangely warm autumn sun, the weather must have known what you were getting up to today. yunho opens the car door for you another time, you wonder if you’ll ever open a car door for yourself again, but if you didn’t, you wouldn’t mind one bit. 

after yunho turns the car on and connects his phone, he says, “okay, we’re off to stop number two.” 

you sink into the car seat, slipping off your boots to put your sock covered feet on the dash. he points his eyes at you, “if you were anyone else i’d be cursing you out for that.” 

you smirk, “but i’m me, so i get a pass,” you put on a funny, teasing voice, “‘97 e36 m3 ain’t got nothing on me.” 

“wow,” his eyebrows raise, shooting you a surprised glance as he pulls out of the parking space, “impressive.” 

“hey, i remember things,” you hold up a finger in rebuttal, “you talked about this car for months before you bought it. let’s race someone.” 

“what am i? nineteen?” he objected as he reached forward, turning up the volume dial so you could hear the music he put on, “remember this one?” 

you take a second to hear the familiar strum of the guitar, a loud gasp leaves your chest, your entire face warping into shock. “oh shut the fuck up, jeong yunho– you did not!”

yunho laughs as he pulls out of the parking lot, his head tipping back into the headrest, a deep chuckle. anyone else but you specifically the version by michael cera and elliot page played through his speakers, and he reached forward to turn it up louder. he glances at you with a smile, “i was hoping this would play, it brings back memories, right?” 

“god, too many, and they’re all mortifying,” you shake your head, cheeks flushed, a smile still playing on your lips. you must have been eleven or twelve when you discovered the movie juno– you asked your mom to watch it and she flat out told you no, you’re too young. 

butthurt, you threw a tantrum, but when she was firm on her answer you eventually forgot all about it. until one night months later when all the boys were having a sleepover in your basement, back when you still made forts out of couch cushions and thought drinking soda past ten pm was scandalous, you and yunho found yourselves the last ones awake. eyes wide with sleep fighting through at the edges, you found juno on a streaming service and rented it without your mom’s permission. you and yunho watched the movie from start to finish, and became obsessed with anyone else but you, a song on the soundtrack. 

a month later the two of you had all the words memorized, young enough for giggles to leave your lips every single time you sang ‘squinched up your face and did a dance, you shook a little turd out of the bottom of your pants’. your parents were pissed when they found out you watched juno– but the anger didn’t last long when they made you and yunho put on the performance of a lifetime. 

“come on, don’t tell me you forgot the words,” yunho teases from beside you and all the memories rush back, the matching outfits, the tv remotes used as microphones. “your part is about to start!”

“you’re a part time lover and a full time friend…” you start singing along and yunho cheers, your cheeks flushing immediately. 

“there we go!” he encourages while you sing along, his fist pumping in the air, his grin stretched from one side of his face to the other. your embarrassment dies quick, your voice growing louder and steadier as the first verse finishes, yunho’s part coming right after yours. 

“i kiss you on the brain in the shadow of the train, i kiss you all starry eyed, my body's swinging from side to side,” he sings enthusiastically, his head swaying back and forth, “i don't see what anyone can see in anyone else, but you.”

neither of you miss a beat for the entirety of the song, and not a word was stuttered– even if you haven’t sung the song together in nearly a decade. you both still giggled at that one line like you did when you were twelve, like no time has passed at all, your cheeks even started to ache from smiling. 

the high from the song lasted you all the way until he pulled into the parking lot of a mall. you raised an eyebrow when he pulled into a parking space, “are you taking me on a shopping spree?” 

“you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” he teased, unplugging his phone  and grabbing his camera from the backseat again, “we are going to one store and one store only, the shopping spree we can do another time.” 

“interesting how you didn’t say no to the shopping spree,” your smile is devious, and he lets out a sound of amusement as he opens his car door, stretching his lanky limbs out of the small car. 

he slings the camera around his neck and does his little jog around the vehicle again, opening your door for you, opening his mouth before you even had the chance, “i’m surprised i didn’t have to tell you to wait again.”

“i’m a quick learner,” you say after taking his outstretched arm to get out of his car, “and i’m kind of enjoying the princess treatment.” 

“i knew you would,” he keeps your hand in his as you walk through the parking lot which was flooded with cars, the mall on a saturday afternoon was risky– it’s always busy on the weekends. 

“do i get a hint for which store we’re going to?” you ask as you step through the entrance, automatic sliding glass doors that brushed you with a wave of hot air as you walked through the threshold. 

“so nosy,” he wrinkles his nose, “we’re going to be there in literally two seconds.”

“yeah, but i know you have some kind of lore for this store, too,” you counter, and yunho blushes. the rosy pink hue to his cheeks only made you press further, a pout on your lips, “tell me, please?”

he shakes his head with a smile as he guides you down the main aisle of the mall, different stores and scents on either side of you begging for your attention, but you couldn’t rip your gaze away from the man beside you. he finally says, “fine, but you are not allowed to make fun of it.”

you come to a stop at the end of the main section of stores and you finally rip your attention away from yunho to look at the store before you. your jaw drops, your head slowly turning to look up at yunho again, “we’re at a build-a-bear?!” 

“hear me out! there’s a reason,” he lets go of your hand and it feels cold without his skin against yours, “this is one of my core memories.” 

your amused smile is nowhere close to leaving your face– you nod, telling him to continue. he swallows, “damn, this was so long ago. i think you were fifteen, vivi was maybe nine?” 

“oh no,” you groan, your head tipping back– you already know where this is headed, and yunho giggles at your realization. 

“you had this stuffed bear, he was brown, his name was jacob, you slept with him every single night. you had him since you were probably around vivi’s age back then? anyways, we were all over, and vivi somehow had brought jacob downstairs and you flipped shit that she had him– the two of you back then were like animals.”

“my poor little man jacob.”

“exactly– you both started fighting over jacob, vivi wanted to keep him, but he was yours. so you started playing a game of fucking tug-of-war.”

you slap a hand to your forehead, a smile still on your lips, “she was such a fucking asshole back then.”

“back then?” he raises his eyebrows.

“still is,” you agree with your lips pursed. 

“you guys fought so badly you ripped poor jacob’s arms off, so i figured we could make a new jacob today.”

you’re shaking your head in disbelief when he finishes, “yunho, i can’t believe you remembered that.”

“i told you it’s one of my core memories,” his smile turns into a devilish smirk, “i’ve never seen you fight like that, and you were a whole fifteen year old fighting a nine year old.”

“she killed my fucking bear!” you defend yourself, arms swinging just like they did back then, seven years ago. 

“hey, i’m on your side,” he throws his hands up in defense, “that’s why we're here, we’re reviving jacob.”

“i fucking love you,” slips right out of your mouth without any thought, and your body tenses. you’ve told yunho you love him a thousand times, for over a decade– but now it’s different, he loves you in a different way, and you still weren’t saying it like he says it to you. you weren’t sure if it was okay to say to him anymore– especially on a date, your first date. 

“i know you do,” he says smugly, grabbing onto your hand and leading you inside, as if that was no big deal. maybe it wasn’t– yunho knows how you feel about him, you know how he feels about you, you’re on the same page. you don’t have to stress with him. 

you and yunho decide on a bear that looks the most like jacob– brown, fuzzy, wearing the warmest smile. it was nostalgic, thinking back to when you slept next to the stuffed animal every night, he was your lifeline for years. 

yunho brought out the camera again when you were stuffing the bear, pressing your foot on the small pedal that brought life into the stuffed animal. you both kissed his heart before it got stitched into his body, you made yunho pick out the red heart from the bin beside the stuffing machine– he took another picture of you kissing the heart again before giving it to the employee. 

the two of you decided on the cutest little outfit for jacob. a pair of baby blue overalls, a yellow shirt underneath, and a pair of sneakers on his feet that looked close to converse. while they boxed jacob up you filled out his birth certificate, a list of information like his name, his height, weight, eye color, fur color, his date of birth, his parents. 

“you’d think we were adopting a kid with this amount of information,” you mumble, staring at the screen with squinted eyes. you glance at yunho, “how tall do you think jacob junior is?” 

“at least two apples tall,” yunho says simply while holding up two fingers, making you smile. you type in three apples tall on the screen, and yunho laughs from behind you. “you really wrote it?”

“duh,” you say over your shoulder. where it says belongs to, you type in your name and yunho’s name, grabbing yunho’s attention again. 

“oh my god, we’re parents?” he asks, coming closer and bending down beside you, shorter than you from where you were sitting on the chair. 

“he’s our son,” you nod without sparing him a glance, “having a kid before we’ve even kissed… we’re like mary and joseph.” 

yunho’s head tips back at that, a loud rip of laughter leaving his chest, making you laugh, too. you whisper through your giggles, “shut up, people are looking.”

“that might be the funniest thing that’s ever come out of your mouth,” yunho’s head is tipped down, exhales of laughter still leaving him, and his laughter only encourages you to laugh more. 

two twenty-something year olds non stop, out of control laughing in the corner of a build-a-bear was definitely a sight to behold, especially when the store was filled with children, not one over the age of ten. you finally finished the birth certificate, humor still charging the air between you two, yunho still fighting his laughter all the way up to the register. 

yunho paid again, and this time without a peep from you, except for the thanks of gratitude after he swiped his card. he carried jacob all the way out of the store, pulling your hand in his again by the time you made it to the main aisle of the mall again. 

“that was so fun,” you say, holding yunho’s hand a little tighter, your right hand reaching across your body to hold onto his cardigan. you lean into him, your head falling onto his arm, a dazed smile on your face– likely the aftermath of your case of the giggles. 

yunho stands tall even with you leaning against him, your legs walking in stride now, yunho walking a little slower so you could keep up with his steps. yunho looks down at you with a warm smile, “that was really fun. you ready for the last stop?” 

you look up at him, your smile brightening even more, “yes!” 

when you get back to the car, jacob junior takes his spot right next to your record player, yunho places his camera in its case on top of the rectangular box, and he opens his car door for you a third time. at this point you’re in dreamland again, so consumed with warmth and appreciation for yunho, by the time he gets in the driver’s seat your entire body is turned toward him. when his palm hits your thigh after he puts the car in drive, you don’t think anything of it, you just lay your hand on top of his. 

you don’t even ask him where you’re going– you let your mind run blank as you sing along to the songs playing through his speakers, humming along to the songs you don’t know the words to. when yunho has to take his hand off your leg to make a turn, he puts it right back afterwards, as if that’s its place, where it’s supposed to be. 

the drive is long. you watch the road as you make it out of the city, but pretty soon after that your mind runs blank entirely. watching the road but not seeing, you aren’t even thinking, just enjoying the music filling the space between you, enjoying his presence beside you– this might be the best date you’ve ever been on and it’s not even over yet. 

when you pull up on the coastline, a very specific drive you were making all last week, your attention is piqued. no, you think to yourself, he can’t know this, this is too specific. it has to be a coincidence. 

but when he makes a turn into a clearing of sand that’s been driven over so many times it’s begun to turn into something similar to gravel, you sit up a little straighter in your seat. you still don’t say anything, nor do you look at yunho, your peripherals don’t even catch the knowing smile growing on his cheeks. 

there’s one more turn he has to make– this clearing was already out of the way, but there was one more turn that took you to–

your jaw drops again, your head slowly turning to face yunho as he makes the turn. “how the hell did you–”

“you have to stop being surprised that i know everything about you,” he says casually, pulling his car next to a bronco that was pulled right up to the end of the gravel, the beach just beyond the makeshift parking area. 

you tilt your head to the side, eyeing up the deep blue bronco, “that looks like ace’s car.”

“it is ace’s car,” yunho points ahead of you, and the three idiots you call your twin and best friends are jogging up from the cove, wind pulling at their hoods they were holding close to their heads, teeth bared and chattering with cold.

when they spot you they all pause, eyes wide as if they were caught– your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and your hand reached for the door handle, pushing it open. you step outside, one foot still on the ledge, yelling towards your friends, “what the hell are you doing here?” 

yunho gets out of the car, too, but he doesn’t say anything– the three barely spare the two of you a look as they hurry towards ace’s suv. san yells over his shoulder as he gets into the car, “we aren’t here!” 

yeosang is smiling wide as he shuffles into the backseat, calling to you from the open door, “have fun, lovebirds!”

ace waves at you from across san in the passenger seat, through the window. you stare with furrowed brows as your twin starts the car, barely a moment passing before they drive away abruptly, sand stirring up in its wake. you turn to yunho, your eyebrows still knitted together, and he shrugs. “you ready?” 

you close the car door and take a step back, confusion still clouding your ability to think, the wind from the beach under the setting sun smacking you across the face and clawing at your exposed shoulder, shooting a physical chill throughout your body. 

“i have coats in the trunk, hold on,” yunho holds up a finger, with his camera slung around his neck again he grabs two coats from his trunk, walking over to your side to hold it up for you while you slip your arms inside. he even planned for this?

“what’s going on?” you ask as you zip up the coat, the inside warm and comforting, clarity finally washing over you, “why are we at my dad’s beach spot?” 

yunho grabs your hand again after putting his own coat on, leading you towards the beach. “we came with you guys to this spot a few times growing up.”

when he takes you to the tip of the dune, you can finally see what’s beneath, and your breath gets caught in your lungs, your hand flying over your mouth. a bonfire was lit next to a large blanket laid across the sand, two cushions and more blankets placed next to each other on top. next to the cushions were two different boards of foods– what was on them you couldn’t see from where you stood, maybe charcuterie or meats. a bottle of wine and two glasses were placed against one of the baskets, from its pink color you knew it was sickeningly sweet, the only wine you could actually enjoy– you could barely call it wine. 

muffled by your palm, you whisper yunho’s name, squeezing his hand tighter. 

“i know this is where you’ve been coming all week,” his voice is quiet, almost shy, “i wasn’t sure if i should do this.”

he turns to face you, and you turn your head before moving your body. “i knew your dad, and i know i was young, but… i figured we could hang out with him for a little bit so he can be… relieved up there, i guess, knowing you’re down here with me.” 

your throat tightened, chest burdened with the weight of this. your eyes filled with tears too fast, falling hot down your cheeks, and yunho’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. he lets go of your hand, reaching forward to wipe your tears from beneath your cheeks, palms holding your cheeks as he starts sputtering out his words, “tiny– i’m so sorry, we can leave. oh my god, i knew i shouldn’t have done this.” 

your hands come up to wrap your fingers around his forearms that were still holding your cheeks, pausing him, silencing him. “this is perfect.”

his eyebrows push together ever so slightly, a tremble in his words, “a-are you sure?” 

a picnic date on the beach– a place where you feel connected to your late father, with someone who he knew and loved, to plan people coming here and setting this up for you… all of this, for you. staring up at yunho, that warm, comforting chocolate swimming around in his eyes, with your heart pounding against your chest, you could feel something inside you fully cracking open. 

you didn’t recognize this feeling, you felt like you were exploding with appreciation, with gratitude, adoration, passion… you’ve never felt anything like this before. it was more than infatuation with the man in front of you. 

you nod with your head still in his hands, your voice barely above a whisper, “i promise.”

he smiles– taking over his entire face, his smile was contagious, he might as well have copied and pasted it onto your own cheeks. you stand there for a moment, staring at each other, his warm hands never leaving your face, but you don’t mind. you think you could stand here forever as long as he was your view.

his eyes drop to your lips, then back up to your eyes, and your breath hitches in your throat. 

please do it, please do it, please do it. 

“can i–”

“please.”

he leans down after a huff of amusement leaves his nose, catching your lips between his, and fuck it if you’ve ever felt emotion with any man prior to this– this was everything. your lips molded together as if your bodies were waiting for this, your body leaning forward into his, melting into his touch like no one’s skin has ever been on your own. the sand was no longer beneath your feet, the wind was no longer biting your skin, all you could feel was the heat of yunho all over you. on your cheeks, your lips, your torso, your legs– yunho was everywhere, all at once.

you didn’t think a first kiss could be so devastating. rewiring everything you thought you knew, about love, about bonds, about the fucking fireworks that appeared when it was right. this was raw, an exchanging of emotion, an act of pouring passion into one another as if the other wasn’t overflowing to begin with. everything you’re feeling must have been laying dormant somewhere inside you, buried beneath fear and decades of hiding behind the facade of a platonic friendship– this couldn’t be something that just surfaced because you’re swapping spit. not something this heavy. 

when you finally broke away from each other, your face still between his palms as you stared into each other like you were the only thing visible, the only thing you could muster was a breathy, “holy shit.”

yunho laughed, which made you laugh, and he pressed his forehead against yours. his voice was ragged yet filled with relief as he said, “you have no idea how long i’ve been waiting to do that.”

“five years, i’d assume,” you tease, and you both fall into laughter again. 

by the time you made it down to the picnic, you’d taken a slew of pictures already, sorting through all the foods, pouring the fruity wine, you were deep into conversation again. yunho gave you the walk-through, starting from five years ago up until now, filling you in on all of his one-sided yearning. you sat dumbfounded that you didn’t notice anything. 

you talked about the night at the party, apologizing all over again, but you came to the conclusion that you wouldn’t be here right now if that didn’t happen, that was the push– you scrunched your nose when you realized matt was right. 

you even went as far back as talking about his bad mood the night mingyu came over– which you chopped up to nothing but a bad mood at the time, but found out yunho had an agenda against mingyu the entire time. he was threatened because mingyu was a keeper, a sentiment you still agreed with, but you couldn’t be mad when this turn out is so much better. his open admittance of his jealousy surprised you but impressed you at the same time, not only that he could admit it, but that he could overcome it– also the fact that he knew if he complained enough you’d comply. slightly toxic? maybe, but it seemed to be in good faith, a man at a crossroads– he proved his innocence the day he told you to call him anyways, after coming to terms with your decision instead of holding you back for himself.  

you talked about the future, yunho had immediately said there was no pressure on something coming out of today, which had you promptly laughing in his face. there was no way you were letting him out of your sight after today– he was yours. by the end of the discussion you weren’t necessarily official, but you were exclusively seeing each other, and when the time was right you’d take it further. this was your first date, after all. 

you sat in constant conversation until the sun had far past set and the only light was from the burning fire beside you. when the chill became too much and your blanket was wrapped around your entire body, even laying over your head like a hood, you decided to call it a night, cleaning up your picnic and packing everything into his trunk. 

when you were back in his car with the heat blasting, you could finally relax beside him with his hand on your leg once more, your limbs defrosting, exhaustion from the day laying over you like your blanket was just moments ago. you fell asleep against your will as soon as your eyes fluttered closed, as if you blinked and forgot the second half, the soft song playing through the speakers of his car lulling you to sleep. 

he woke you up by pressing a kiss to your forehead, his car parked in your driveway, moving pieces of your hair out of your face. his voice was too awake as he said, “wake up, sleepy girl.”

not fully conscious, you looked around, the night pitch black around you, you missed when yunho left the car. you didn’t have it in you to get up– or unbuckle your seatbelt, riddled in confusion. yunho opened the door for you just as you were rubbing your eyes, still confused and not all the way conscious. he laughed at the sight, leaning into the car to unbuckle your seatbelt, helping you out of the passenger seat with his hand linked with yours. 

he grabbed your record player and jacob junior from his backseat and led you up to your front door, surprisingly to an empty house– then up to your bedroom, where you slumped over your mattress, eyes closing the moment your body came in contact with the cushion. 

“no sleeping yet,” he said from behind you, unboxing jacob junior and throwing him onto your bed, placing your record player on your desk. “you need to change still.”

you, with a little more consciousness, mumbled, “i don’t wanna. the cold made me sleepy.”

“i know,” he stood behind you, his hands on his hips– not that you could see him. “but you’re in your outside clothes on your bed right now.” 

you groaned, pushing your body up with your arms, standing up straight so you could stretch. you turn to face yunho, still mid-stretch, “are you staying over?” 

“i can stay here, yeah.” 

“no,” you pointed your eyes, knowing he means he can sleep in the guest room, “are you staying in here with me?”

yunho purses his lips, “come on teens, i said i wanna do this the right way.”

this makes a devious smile crawl onto your face, your hands reaching your hips, “you’ve slept in here before, it’s the same thing. what are you afraid of? a little kissing?”

“it’s not kissing i’m afraid of,” he says under his breath, turning away from you and your wiggling eyebrows. 

“come on,” you whine out, grabbing onto his back from behind him, “please? you’re warm and i’m still cold.” 

he turns his head to look at you from over his shoulder, “fine, but no funny business.”

“yes sir,” you salute from behind him, a smile on your cheeks, and he shakes his head. 

within twenty minutes the two of you are showered and changed into sleep clothes, you laid with your head on his chest, his arm wrapped around you, your tv on and playing your favorite show– the intimacy of it all, the comfort, how you fell headfirst into routine, you haven’t stopped relishing in the feeling since he picked you up this afternoon. 

it might have been less than a week before thanksgiving, but at least you secured a date, and with time, a boyfriend. better late than never, you supposed. 

my baby is finished!!! the first story i have ever written and actually completed, i feel so accomplished right now. i hope you love yunho just as much as i do, this story is my heart n soul

8fd masterlist | main masterlist

taglist :p @chimivx @emmxxsworld @alisonyus @livixcore @skzswife @dawn-iscozy @yusalterego @velvetring00 @minvxq @moonlightgrleric @unicornwhisperer666 @sunnysidesins @hwashua-luv @hh0320 @moonl1ghtmuse 

[clownprincesshq]

you just made me realize one of the main reasons why i barely ever feel engaged w a lot of mark x reader fics omg, so many people on here characterize him as this of pliant “softboi” who can never do anything wrong bc he has trauma so much it feels like he’s an entire different person when they write him LOL no shade at all but if mark was as one dimensional and weak willed as ppl portray him as i genuinely wouldn’t like him like i do now 😭

INVINCIBLE SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT!!!!

oh my god YES you get it completely.

no shade to anyone, but you’re so right so many fics flatten him into this super soft, trauma-coded, shy, clumsy “yes man” version of mark, and it completely misses the core of who he actually is. yes, he struggles. yes, he’s emotional. but that doesn’t make him weak or passive. it makes him messy. it makes him reactive. and honestly, sometimes it makes him dangerous.

people forget that mark can and does do real damage. not in a harmless way, but in a way that hurts people because he leads with his heart and his instincts instead of thinking things through. he’s impulsive. he’s stubborn. he doesn’t just roll over when someone tells him what to do he fights back, even when it’s painful.

like when he literally gives up on heroism in the comics. not just because he’s mad at the GDA, but because he realizes the whole system he fought for is fundamentally broken, he wants to protect his family, and staying would mean betraying himself. that’s not some passive sadboy move. that’s a gut-wrenching, conscious choice to walk away from everything he thought he was supposed to be.

people really miss how mark is actually portrayed sexually too. the fandom loves making him this whiny, submissive mess in relationships, but if you actually read the comics? when he gets older, even in his late teens and early twenties, he’s way more confident. he’s not shy about wanting things, emotionally or physically. he initiates, he asks, he wants.

he's a man who likes sex, who gets good at it, and who is not afraid to get messy, greedy, needy and to give as much as he takes. no offense, but fandom keeps writing mark like he’s this shy, blushing bottom who falls apart if you touch him, and that’s not him at all. in the comics, he’s confident, physical, and not shy about wanting someone. he’s not some giggling teehee virgin or a trembling sub and he’s not a strict, cold dom either. he’s human. messy, eager, hungry. he fucks like he means it because he feels everything hard and real, not because he’s performing some kink stereotype.

it’s like people are scared of a guy who’s emotional and sexually aggressive/active in a healthy way, so they flatten him into some weird soft uwu caricature that has nothing to do with how he actually acts. mark is messy, he’s real, he’s passionate. but that’s who he is. he grows up. he’s allowed to want sex and have it without it being ooc.

he’s not some clueless virgin blushing at a kiss. dude would absolutely pin you down and ruin you with a stupid smile on his face.

and then there’s the Oliver and Allen fight one of the biggest proof that he’s not weak-willed at all. he literally goes against his own brother and friend to stop the release of the scourge virus, because he knows it’s wrong. he knows it would cause genocide, and even though it shatters his relationships, he still stands his ground. because that’s who mark is. he’s emotional, he’s stubborn, he screws up but when it matters most, he chooses what he believes is right, even if it costs him everything.

you can definitely tell when some fic writers either haven’t read the comics (which, fair, they’re long), or honestly haven’t even fully paid attention to the show. they just base him off a one-dimensional stereotype like he’s this helpless, submissive little softboy who needs protecting. and that’s just not mark grayson.

he’s layered. he’s messy. he’s a disaster sometimes. but he fights, and he grows, and that’s what makes him one of the best written characters out there.

i’m so glad this clicked for you too omg. same braincell, same emotional damage, same desperate need to defend comic/show mark’s honor forever <3 this ask had me going on a rant but i genuinely had to talk about it.. :)

[formulaonecrumbs]

Hi was wondering if you also wrote for Daniel?

Maybe like reader having an eating disorder and Daniel comforting her when she’s struggling again?

this body is still yours

Daniel Ricciardo x reader

summary: reader struggles with an eating disorder and body image issues. daniel comforts her during a breakdown and helps her take a small step toward recovery.

warnings: READ WITH EXTREME CAUTION eating disorder thoughts, body image issues, emotional breakdown, food avoidance, soft comfort

A/N: hi, my loves. this is a heavier topic than i’m used to writing, but i hope it does justice to how it feels when u have an ED. ik what it’s like and my heart goes out to anyone dealing with one. if u are, pls talk to someone, consider seeking help. i love u, pls eat. we need u here, alive, healthy and happy. with that being said, of course i write for daniel. i’ll write for any driver y’all request tbh, u’ll just have to bear with me while i figure out how some of them would act and talk. i’m wishing all of u the best. aim for at least 2 meals a day (if not 3) and 1 snack. ure doing amazing baby ❤️

p.s. enjoy my fav pics of dannyric for the mood-board cuz anything related to the actual theme of the fic felt insensitive

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

you hadn’t eaten all day. not because you forgot—no, your body reminded you every five minutes with the loudest growls—but because the mirror had gotten to you.

you stood there that morning for way too long, poking at your stomach, tugging at your hoodie, hating every angle you saw.

you didn’t cry right then. you just shut the lights off and crawled back into bed like maybe if you didn’t exist for a while, it’d go away.

daniel had been out for hours. you told him you were tired, wanted to stay in. you made it sound casual. easy.

he texted you a few times, checking in. he always did.

dan 🥵:

hey sleepyhead

hope you’re being kind to yourself today

want me to bring something home? i miss your face.

you couldn’t bring yourself to answer.

because what were you supposed to say?

hey, i’m spiraling and the only thing i’ve had all day is guilt and water?

you stayed curled up on the couch, hoodie pulled over your knees, blanket wrapped so tight around you it felt like armor.

your chest ached. not from hunger, but from all the thoughts you couldn’t shut up.

the door opened softly. you didn’t move.

daniel’s voice floated in, light and happy like always.

“guess who brought sushi and those weird seaweed chips you like? and your pink juice. i had to go to two stores, so you’re legally required to love me now.”

you still didn’t move.

he turned the corner and stopped.

his eyes found yours immediately, and everything about him changed.

his expression softened. his voice dropped.

“baby?”

you blinked at him. your face was hot. your hands were shaking under the blanket.

he walked over slowly, crouched in front of you, his hand resting gently on your shin through the fabric.

“is it one of those days?” he asked. not like he was annoyed. like he already understood.

you nodded. barely.

“okay,” he said, eyes never leaving yours. “talk to me when you’re ready.”

it came out faster than you meant it to.

“i didn’t eat today.”

his brows pulled together, but he didn’t flinch.

“okay,” he said again. “thank you for telling me.”

“i just—fuck” your voice broke. you looked away. “i hate how i look. i hate it so much. i feel huge and gross and i know it’s stupid but i can’t stop thinking about it. i just want to be small. and empty. and i thought maybe if i didn’t eat, it’d feel better, but it doesn’t. it never does.”

your throat closed.

“i feel disgusting, danny.”

he moved so gently, like the whole world had to slow down just for you. he sat beside you, wrapped his arms around you, pulled you into him.

you let him. you needed him.

“you’re not disgusting,” he whispered, his voice so soft it made your chest hurt. “you’re just hurting.”

you sniffled. “i just want to be skinny. like those girls on your instagram explore page. i see them and i just… wish i looked like that. i wish i could stop thinking about it, but it’s constant.”

daniel kissed the top of your head, then rested his chin there.

“you don’t need to look like anyone else. you’re not meant to. you’re you. and you’re the only person i want. like this. even when it’s messy. even when your brain is lying to you.”

you wiped at your face, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

“i feel so broken.”

“you’re not broken,” he said. “you’re tired. you’re overwhelmed. but you’re still here. you’re still trying. and that matters more than anything.”

you stayed in his arms, his heartbeat steady against your cheek.

after a while, he pulled back just enough to look at you.

“can we try eating something? just a little. not to fix anything. just to be gentle with yourself. i’ll eat with you. we can sit on the floor and watch that trash reality show you love. uh.. what was it- dubai bling?”

you hesitated. your stomach flipped.

but you nodded. because you trusted him.

he smiled softly.

“that’s my girl.”

he stood up and held out his hand like it was sacred.

and somehow, with the storm still raging in your head, you took it.

THE END :>

[kuurechr]

notes : sukuna takes toji's girlfriend for an ultrasound

"Thanks for doing this," Mayumi huffed, getting into the car. "I know it's last minute."

"Put your seatbelt on," Sukuna grumbled in response.

Mayumi shook her head, muttering to herself. "I just got in here, gimme a second." She pulled her seatbelt on, clicking it in, and sending Sukuna a pointed look. "Happy?"

"Don't give me sass," Sukuna shot back. "I'm missing work for you."

"Right," Mayumi nodded, with a small smile. "Y/N told me that you were more than happy to do that."

Sukuna almost let out a snort. "She's not wrong about that." He looked over at Mayumi pointedly. "You better have a strong kid, I need to teach some actual talent at that stupid school."

Mayumi chuckled, resting her hand over her stomach. "Considering Toji, I'm sure they'll come out just fine... what do you think they'll be by the way?"

"Huh?" Sukuna stopped at a red light and raised a brow at her.

"A boy or a girl?"

"I don't care what the kid is," Sukuna huffed, tapping his fingers against the wheel. "S'long as it comes out without being dead or killing you, what does it matter?"

"I'm not saying it matters," Mayumi said, rolling her eyes. The light turned green and Sukuna made sure to still check for the cars at the side before he went ahead. "I'm just saying it's fun to guess."

"Okay," Sukuna nodded. "What's your guess?"

"No, I wanna hear your guess first!"

"Who cares about my guess? It's not my baby, and you'd know best – it's in you, isn't it?"

"Ryomen." Mayumi took a deep breath. "Just... just tell me if you think it's gonna be a girl or a boy. You're making this way more complicated than it has to be."

"Fine," Sukuna nodded. He thought about it for a second. And then more seconds.

Mayumi couldn't put up with the silence. "Ryomen!"

"What?! I'm thinking, woman!"

"Just–" She inhaled sharply, wiping her hands against her pants. "Just what would you want me to have? A boy or a girl?"

"Fuck do I care?"

Okay, maybe he cares a little bit.

He really didn't think he would – this wasn't his kid. It was your friends' kid, and he had no relation to them whatsoever. Sure, he'd had pleasant conversations with Mayumi – he'd also had frustrating ones. He was never careful with her though, not how he was with you, because he never wanted to ruin things with you.

Mayumi had hated him when they'd first met, she was more hostile than any of your other friends. But Mayumi clearly loved you a lot, and Sukuna knew that was good for you. You loved her too.

Sukuna just never considered your friends to be his friends.

But right now, as the doctor showed off the ultrasound and the soft heartbeats of Mayumi's kid filled up the room, Sukuna had to pause. It was like his heart had filled up – it was the same feeling he always got when he was at his happiest with you.

"Ryomen." Mayumi had whispered his name, and it had taken him out of the trance of staring at the ultrasound. She held out her hand. Sukuna hesitated. He didn't want to touch a woman that wasn't you. In the Heian era he would've killed any woman who dared to even think it possible.

At his hesitance, Mayumi retracted her hand but smiled. "Have you thought about it yet?"

"What?"

Mayumi chuckled, her head falling back. "Boy or girl, Ryomen?"

Sukuna looked back at the ultrasound.

Mayumi wasn't like a concubine – she was a woman, sure, but she was a genuine friend to Sukuna now. She wanted the best for him, and he knew that. And he wanted the best for her.

"A boy."

Sukuna raised his hand up and ruffled Mayumi's hair.

"And he's gonna have your messy hair, too."

[secretgardensinmymindd13]

“you don’t respect buck and eddie’s sexuality if you insist on buddie getting together (like making buck’s bisexuality all about buddie, or ignoring that eddie is ‘straight’ (i can’t not put it in quotation marks))” takes are so fucking stupid, because the writers are literally on board with buddie

they get it, and they’ve been subtly - and not so subtly - hinting at it since the season 7 premiere

the minute they realized eddie was turning out to be gay, narratively speaking, they knew the only right person for him romantically - again, narratively speaking - is buck

and they’ve been planning bi-buck way before they noticed gay-eddie, but when they introduced buck’s bi-awakening, they made sure to show that his new relationship with a man doesn’t click the way it clicks with eddie. they’re cute together, sure, they have chemistry, yes, but it’s constantly highlighted in the show that the only right person for buck is eddie - because he’s just always fucking there, he gets buck like no one else does, their connection is unmatched and this new love interest can’t compare because they’re not meant to be

because the two characters who are meant to be already met each other

i totally respect buck’s bisexuality and how important it is for representation, but i also respect buck as a whole character - and if you respect him that way too, you also understand that buck’s the one is eddie. because it’s been shown across all seasons that eddie is the one person in buck’s life who matches his level of love and his personality

like, it all always comes down to people never actually seeing a proper queer slow burn before because it’s never really existed - previous queer relationships on screen were either fast-developing, pre-established, or never got a real resolution

so people keep dismissing buddie’s connection as “just friendship”, even though the signs of it being a love story have always been there - with both buck and eddie’s sexualities, and with how they relate to each other

the writers saw it because they’re not stupid. and the way they went about making these characters slowly understand themselves and realize their feelings for each other tells me they’re actually geniuses. there was an insane amount of subtext in s7, and basically plain text in s8

and if you can’t see it, then you’re stupid - sorry not sorry - ‘cause i genuinely can’t comprehend how bt-endgame fans or eddie-straight-truthers can’t see what’s happening right in front of them

we finally got a queer friends-to-lovers story for once, stop whining

every time someone says, “why do people always need to ship characters that are cLeArLy just friends?” i’m like:

‘CAUSE WE NEVER FUCKING HAD THIS TROPE WITH SAME-SEX CHARACTERS. it’s always disregarded, even when it makes perfect sense for the story - because of heteronormativity, homophobia, or a general lack of understanding of queer sexualities and experiences

so, yes, i root for them. because it’s a smart thing to do. because i can read between the lines. because it’s written in the story, and the story doesn’t make any sense otherwise. because it’s there in the chemistry between the actors, and in the compatibility between the characters