#hug yourself today and remember that sometimes all you have to do it make it until tomorrow 💕

[cacoetheswriting]

girl you have that really angsty Eddie fic where he gets hooked on things he shouldn't and it ruins his relationship with reader - please please please write some more Eddie angst, BEGGING

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader [modern day au] word count: 5k

summary: a weekend gateway to with your old high school friends? sounds like a dream! only it’s not really as it’s been three years since you last saw them. three years since you left hawkins without so much as a goodbye, and certain people tend to hold grudges.

content warnings: heavily unedited (sorry): angsty angst, mature themes & adult language, mentions & descriptions of underage alcohol consumption / substance abuse, anxiety / panic attacks, emotional hurt / no comfort, unrequited (sorta) love, some mutual pining, love triangle?, eddie is a bit of an asshole, also touches on topics of: divorce, death, grief — pls let me know if i missed any!

AUTHOR UPDATE: SERIES MASTERLIST HERE

Parking your car at the desired destination, you glance out the half-opened window and note how the weather is far from ideal for the planned activities. 

It’s cold. Cold enough to make anyone's atoms shiver. Dark grey clouds cover every inch of the sky above, hiding the beautiful autumn sun. The air is brisk. It’s harsh against your skin as you eventually get out of the red Jeep and the unwelcoming breeze that follows makes you wish that you had packed warmer clothes for this weekend.

Jesus, you think, as if this trip wasn’t going to be hard enough.

When your feet hit the gravel below, you exhale, wondering whether it’s too late to change your mind about agreeing to come. Since the weather was seemingly against you, what’s to say the universe wasn’t going to continue ruining this weekend? But before you get a chance to decide what your next move is going to be, the door of the lake house swings open and Nancy runs out, arms spread wide as she squeals with excitement.

“I can’t believe you actually came!”

The hug she gives you is strong, almost full force. It takes you a second to register that one second she was running out of the house, and the next, her arms are wrapped tightly around you as if no time has passed between now and when you last saw her. Therefore, it takes you a second to hug her back, but when you do, a small smile circles your lips. Familiarity. Maybe this trip won’t be so bad after all.

“Of course I came,” you say as she draws back, “You know me, Nance, always down for a good time.”

Nancy laughs. “Oh, I remember.”

Then her smile falters just as fast as it appears and you know exactly which memory crosses her mind because your own thoughts wander back to that moment too, along with the people involved.

“Sorry, my joke was in poor taste. If you can even call that a joke.” You admit with a lighthearted huff.

“No, no.” Nancy shakes her head, but even with the years that have passed since you last saw each other in person, you know the look in her eye is one of concern.

You think to try and ease at least some of her worry since she did go through all the trouble to organise this weekend for your high school group to get together and the last thing you’d want is for her to second-guess ever inviting you.

“I- uh… I actually don’t really drink anymore.”

Her facial expression shifts to one of surprise, though she doesn’t say anything which would demonstrate that. Instead, she smiles again.

“Good for you,” the tone of her voice conveys pride and you’re grateful.

“Thanks, Nance.”

One day you’ll tell her about the road that led you to sobriety, but today’s not that day.

Today is about reintroducing yourself to the friends that have helped you get through four hellish years that were called ‘high school’. The people that were there for you through the good and the ugly; which got real fucking ugly sometimes. The group that most often than not was your literal lifeline. 

Nancy, your best friend. Robin, your sidekick. Jonathan, your unlicensed therapist. Steve, your partner in crime. And Eddie…

You haven’t seen any of them since graduation.

Three years of virtually no contact.

Sure, it made you wonder why you were even invited to this weekend getaway in the first place, but Nancy was always like a sister so you knew her motives were definitely not malicious.

“Let me help you with your bags,” the brunette girl offers and before you get a chance to decline, say you’ve got them on your own since you really didn’t bring much with you, she’s at the boot of your car.

While Nancy fills you in on the plans she’s made for everyone, the various activities she’s organised for the days ahead, the two of you gather your belongings before making your way towards the big house. 

Apparently everyone is already here.

Nancy, Jonathan, and someone called Argyle (a new addition to the group, undoubtedly a breath of fresh air following your departure), got here last night. Steve, Robin, and Eddie arrived this morning.

“But the boys went to the shop to get all the groceries we need for this weekend, so right now it’s just me and Robin.” Nancy explains, fingers wrapping around the door handle. It’s her way of saying not to be nervous, he wasn’t here right now, and with that your shoulders relax in relief.

The inside of the house is even more impressive than its exterior. High ceilings, all wooden floors, and decor that undoubtedly cost more than anything you own or could actually afford. In the living area, there’s paintings on the walls that depict the home during construction, then in its full glory, as it stands now. Various knick-knacks fill the shelving, and the bookcase at the back of the room is filled top to bottom with stories you’ve never even heard of.

You allow yourself to continue into the kitchen, which looks like a piece out of Architectural Digest. Modern touches to the original design, upgraded appliances that look like they’ve never been used. There’s a large dining table in the back of the space, already set for dinner. The windows behind it offer a perfect view of the lake and as you look at the water; peace. For a split-second, you let yourself really think that coming wasn’t a bad idea after all.

“Jesus, Nance, how the hell did you find this place?” You ask in awe once the girl stands beside you.

“Argyle has this aunt who’s an avid Airbnb user. Honestly, when he first showed me the pictures, I thought he was out of it, like he usually is, but here we are...”

You don’t get to tell her how beautiful you think it is ‘cause there’s a high-pitch screech that startles you, and within seconds, someone’s arms wrap around your frame, swaying you from side to side.

“When Wheeler told me you agreed to come, I swear I thought she was bluffing!”

Robin drops her arms, allowing you to turn in your spot and face her. The grin on her face is wide, complimenting her new haircut, which is about the only thing that’s changed in her physical appearance over the last three years.

She playfully smacks your arm. You do the same to her. It’s reminiscent of a handshake, an acknowledgment that despite the years of only sending and receiving generic birthday texts, you guys were still as close as ever.

“Long time no see, Buckley. Loving the new look.” You point to her long bleached locks.

“Yeah? I was going for that badass lesbian vibe. What Daenerys should’ve been.”

You chuckle. “Well, I’d say mission accomplished.”

“Thanks,” Robin smirks then takes the duffle out of your grasp and turns to Nancy, asking to lead the way to the room that’s been assigned to you.

Up the stairs and down the long hallway, the girls point to the shared bathroom, but Nancy says your room actually has an en-suite. Then she outlines which door leads to whose bedroom — Eddie’s is first up the stairs and you wonder whose choice it was to deliberately keep you two away — before stopping at the last door and pushing it open to reveal your safe space for this weekend.

First thought that crosses your mind is how this one bedroom is bigger than your entire apartment. The bed alone would probably not fit in your current home. Second thought is how you have the same view as in the kitchen, only higher up, and you thank Nancy for assigning you this room for that reason alone.

“It’s no big deal,” she replies with a shrug, “You had the longest trip out here, only fair you get the best room, so you can properly rewind.” 

“As the organiser, you should have the nicest room,” you counter, but Nance just waves her hand, dismissing what was going to be an offer to swap.

She proceeds to place the bag she was holding at the foot of the bed.

“Get settled in and we’ll start on food once the guys return.”

“You should have enough time to shower, if you want,” Robin chimes in, also dropping the duffel she carried up for you, “Knowing the four of them, they’re still trying to locate the gluten free sticker on the pasta Nance asked for.”

“Rob,” Nancy snorts.

The blonde shrugs. “You know it’s true! Those idiots can’t fucking read.”

They leave you shortly after, telling you to take your time to clean up and change into something more comfortable. 

When the door shuts with a soft thud, you exhale a breath you didn’t even realise you were holding. It’s all okay, it’s all okay, it’s all okay, you repeat to yourself silently, and although you feel a little calmer than when you first arrived, there is still tension in your neck. There’s only one reason for that. One that isn’t here right now, but is bound to arrive at any point in the next hour.

‘arrived safe & sound. still feeling a little nauseous about this whole thing, but I’m taking your advice.. keep positive.’ - The text to your mom sends with a whooshing sound as you throw your phone on the large bed.

You glance around the room again, taking in the decor as a distraction to the anxiety bubbling in your chest. The furnishings are similar to the rest of the house, classy with a modern twist. Peaceful colours that perfectly compliment the wooden fixtures, and the birds chirping melodically outside the open window only add to the serenity. It’s really one of the nicest places you’ve ever stayed in and you take a mental note to send Nancy a bouquet of flowers when you get home, as a thank you.

When you step under the shower, you’re even more grateful. 

Back in your own apartment, you’re not guaranteed warm water, having to often make a choice between rinsing off the hectic day or cleaning the dishes so there’s something to eat off. It’s the life you chose, so you really can’t complain, but standing here in silence as the hot droplets wash over your skin, you think maybe you chose wrong. Then you think how fucking selfish that is of you since there’s a clear list of reasons why, aside from the comfort of a scolding shower, the choices you made three years ago where far from good.

Leaving without saying goodbye to everyone, for one. No explanations, no notes.

Only Nancy knew of your plan. After all, she was the one that talked you into leaving. 

The final nail in the coffin — so to speak — was her opinion on the literal shitshow that the final months of your high school career had become. And when she sat you down, the afternoon before graduation, she made it clear how she was worried about you and perhaps it was for the best to get away from Hawkins. Leave everything and everyone behind, allowing yourself time to heal and get your head straight.

You had only planned to be gone that one summer. But things never go to plan, especially for you.

Three months turned into four, then six, and before you knew it, a year had passed since your departure. Some of the group had tried to reach out at various points during that time, but you didn’t engage — only replied to Nancy the odd time, and texted Robin the mentioned before birthday wishes. 

The one person you really wished checked in on you, was the only person that didn’t. Not like you could blame him. You broke his fucking heart.

It wasn’t entirely a secret that Eddie Munson had a big fat crush on you.

He wouldn’t call it love at first sight, but it was pretty damn close — as you later found out from Robin. Later. Too late. She then went on to say, when the rocker first laid eyes on you, standing at Nancy’s locker and laughing at something she’d said moments prior, Eddie’s heart skipped a beat. Then two. The metalhead thought you were perhaps the most gorgeous girl to ever walk down the halls of Hawkins High, although he never said it out loud. 

(Not to you anyway.)

Things changed however, when you started dating Billy Hargrove. 

That boy was a bad influence for sure, even more than Eddie’s wild antics, but at that point in your life, you saw the world through rose-coloured glasses and turned a blind eye to Billy’s shitty behaviour.

Your first drink was provided to you by the scruffy blonde.

The first time you blacked out was after his funeral.

Earth shattering, his sudden death. Having lost the first love you’ve ever had, you didn’t know what to do with yourself. You didn’t know how to cope. By the time your senior year came around, and Eddie’s third attempt at graduation, your life only continued to spiral out of control.

Your parents announced their divorce. It was apparently no one’s fault — irreconcilable differences — but their break up meant the house you’d grown up in was being put up for sale and you suddenly had to choose who you wanted to live with. 

Being an only child never brought with it any pressures, until now. Your father was moving cross country. Relocating with his job, who no longer needed him at their Indianapolis location, preferred he run the new branch in Las Vegas. Your mother was also venturing outside Hawkins, just not as far. She apparently found this cute place in Fort Wayne and was already in talks with a local school there for a part-time teaching position.

The Wheelers took you in following a conversation between Karen and your mom about how you shouldn’t be finishing your high school education someplace new, so this solved one problem.

But being away from your support system unfortunately made you feel increasingly isolated. Your parents had this “open door” policy that you didn’t realise you needed until it was no longer readily available. Phone calls and texts just weren’t the same.

This time in your life proved how difficult it was to pretend you were genuinely happy.

Eddie was the first to notice the subtle change in your attitude. He’d often ask what was bothering you, but you’d always tell him nothing, so he eventually learned to stop and simply tried to distract you with his usual antics.

You hated him for it. You hated how he just knew how you were feeling. How he could sense those deep and inner thoughts you were trying to hide. And you hated now he would try to make you feel better when all you really wanted was for the sad feelings to swallow you whole.

Without proper supervision, your after school activities also shifted into ones that would fill the emptiness you were constantly feeling. You were always quite outgoing, always the first one to say yes when someone mentioned a party, but the months between December and April unlocked a new version of you. One not many people in your friend group were particularly a fan of, though all too afraid of saying something.

It all came crashing down the night of Chrissy Cunningham’s farewell party. A few days before graduation, she invited the entire senior year to her parents’ lavish home for a get together that her dickhead boyfriend called: Project X 2.0. 

You asked Steve to come with you — much to Eddie’s dismay.

In the end, Carver got his wish. The party was indeed memorable for all the wrong reasons and the endless list of mistakes you made that night, in your inebriated state, was precisely why you left Hawkins in a hurry.

Las Vegas turned out to not be so bad.

There were a few bumps in the road upon your first arrival. A few too many drunken nights, drunken fights, and drunken one night stands. But once your dad acknowledged your reckless behaviour was becoming a serious problem, things got a little easier. Therapy helped. 

A year and a half later, there was only one thing that made you want to reach for a drink to flush the hard work down the drain: Eddie Munson and how you treated him at that party, what you put him through that night.

In retrospect, you should’ve been the one to reach out to him. At least a call to say I’m sorry for the things I did and said. No time just felt like the right time and then, when Chrissy posted a picture of herself sitting happily in Eddie’s lap, it seemed a little too late.

Did it hurt to see him move on from the crush he had on you? Yes. 

Again, you couldn’t blame him for doing so.

-

“How was your shower?” Nancy asks when you come back downstairs.

She’s sitting on one of the sofas, a cotton blanket covering her legs. Robin is next to her, fingers working the keyboard of her phone, and looks up following Nancy’s question.

“No offence, but you look a lot better than when you first arrived.” 

The comment earns Buckley a good nudge to the rib cage by the brunette beside her. 

“Ow! Jesus Christ, Nance—”

“We talked about this,” Nancy interrupts, narrowing her eyes at the girl.

“It was a simple observation,” Robin defends, “I’m sure she’s fucking nervous to be here, rightfully so—”

“Robin!”

“It’s okay,” you chime in and the girls simultaneously turn to look at you once again. “Buckley’s right. I am nervous.”

Both their expressions simultaneously turn to one of sympathy. You plaster on the best smile you can muster before making yourself comfortable in an armchair by the open window, feeling their gaze follow your every move. You want to tell them to stop, tell them that the nerves will pass so it’s no big deal, but they’d see right through you. The topic of you, Eddie, and that horrendous high school party will haunt this group like a ghost, lingering in the background even if it’s addressed — which you’re going to have to do very soon. That’s why you came.

“He asks about you all the time,” Nancy says after a long pause, “What’s she doing? Is she working, studying?”

“Is she seeing anyone?” Robin adds.

“Is she happy…”

The ache in your chest increases with every spoken word, fueled by the guilt you carried every single day for the last three years. Somehow knowing now that Eddie asked about you was worse than thinking he’s moved on because, selfishly, if he was happy, then it wasn’t all bad. If he was happy, then the harsh truths you drunkenly sputtered in his direction weren’t a cruel thing to do, they weren’t as vile as you remembered them to be. If he was happy, then what you did after wasn’t a complete betrayal.

“I-I never meant to hurt him,” you finally whisper, forcing down the tears that threaten to break. “I never meant to hurt any of you.”

The girls both offer you a smile.

“We know,” Nancy reassures, “That’s why we thought it’d be a good idea to invite you this weekend. What happened three years ago is so minor in terms of the rest of our lives, it’s time we all move past it.”

Nancy, the peacemaker.

“Plus I’m planning a trip to Vegas for my birthday and I need your help with organising,” Robin chips in, her smile shifting into a grin. “You wouldn’t have answered my call, but now there’s no escape.”

Robin, the girl that can always get you to laugh.

The chuckle that escapes your lips is genuine. For a split second, your nerves are eased and you’re transported back to the basement of your childhood home where the three of you spent hours planning your futures while flicking through trashy magazines in accompaniment to old hits blaring through the docking station your dad’s iPod was connected to. 

Back then, turning twenty-one seemed like a distant dream. 

So you proceed to reassure the blonde you are going to get her name on the list of some of the best clubs Vegas has and she squeals, jumping up to squeeze you with excitement, and telling you how Vickie, her girlfriend, was going to lose her shit over this, then she disappears into the kitchen, presumably to call Vickie with the news.

“You just made her day,” Nancy says, smiling kindly.

“I’m glad I could do at least that,” you reply, then add, “I’m happy to be here. Thank you for thinking of me, Nance.”

Whatever Nancy is about to say next is interrupted by the sound of tires on gravel. The engine is shut shortly after your head snaps in the direction of the entryway, a large gulp forming in the back of your throat.

The next few minutes pass at an agonisingly slow pace. You think you hear Nancy call out your name, but your focus is on the door alone, waiting for it to open, waiting for him to come inside. You’re anticipating his reaction to seeing you after all this time, wondering if he’d even acknowledge your presence or skip straight to the kitchen with the acquired groceries.

From a recent post on Instagram, you know what he looks like. Really good, if anybody asked. You were careful not to like it despite your finger hovering over the image for a few seconds too long. Then you were careful not to like any other picture as you scrolled through his profile until you reached the very end: a post of the two of you at a Halloween party your junior year, the night you finally talked him into creating an account. 

Thanks to the light stalking, you also know him and Chrissy broke up a few weeks ago. He seemingly deleted any trace of the preppy blonde from his profile, she did the same with him, and you couldn’t deny the stinge of satisfaction that cursed through your veins upon that revelation.

When the doorknob rattles, you hop on your feet.

There’s no going back now. You prepared yourself for this moment ever since you accepted Nancy’s invitation. Time to face the music.

Jonathan walks in first. He greets Nancy with a kiss before offloading the twelve-pack of beers onto the floor and turning his attention to you. His smile is big and you’re feeling a little less nervous when he pulls you into a silent hug. When he pulls back, he pats you on the shoulder, then picks up the box he’s after placing on the floor and walks in the direction of the kitchen.

The guy that introduces himself as Argyle is next. Heavy lidded, he’s holding an open bag of Doritos and jokes about how he’d also give you a hug but he doesn’t trust himself with the orange residue on his fingers.

“White t-shirts are the devil, man,” he draws out the last syllable and flops onto the couch next to Nancy, offering her a corn triangle. When she politely declines, he just shrugs and throws it in the air, only to not catch it with his mouth, the piece falling onto the wooden floor.

With your gaze now focused on the chip, a single step away from you, Nancy scolds Argyle to not do that again. In the midst of this small ordeal, you don’t hear your name being said. Only when a white Nike sneaker appears in your field of vision, stepping on the Dorito and smashing it to pieces, you look up at the person addressing you.

Steve’s expression is full of emotion, but he doesn’t move from the spot he’s found himself in. He doesn’t attempt to hug you or reach out for you like the others did, only staring into your eyes as if he was mesmerised by the fact you were actually here.

“Shit– I mean…”

“Yeah…”

That’s all that you can say right now because it’s not yet the time to address what also went down between the two of you at the infamous party. Steve seems to be on the same page as you, opting instead to finally take that step forward and hesitantly wrap his strong arms around your frame.

The hug is awkward at first, but when you nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck as if no time has passed, exhaling softly when your hands make home on his back, the boy relaxes and his grip on you tightens ever so slightly. He whispers, “I missed you, sweetheart.”, into your ear and you instantly return the sentiment because it’s true, you missed him terribly. More than you cared to admit to yourself before this very moment.

For a few seconds, you forget where you are. Inhaling the scent of Steve’s aftershave and revelling in the way his arms perfectly folded around you, making you feel safe. For a few seconds, you feel at peace. For a few simple seconds, you forget about the person you’re still to see. The person that most likely wouldn’t be as open to seeing you again, especially now that you were in Steve’s arms.

The door shuts with a tame bang, a distinctive sound of runners tapping against the wooden floor, Nancy says your name as Robin calls out for Steve, you think you hear Argyle murmuring “Ohhh shit, dude”, then someone clears their throat and you finally open your eyes, which seemingly have closed moments prior.

Your throat dries.

There, leaning against the archway with his hands hidden in the pockets of his dark denim jeans is the boy who was once your friend, if not more.

Unlike Steve, Eddie stares at you with a blank look in his eyes, devoid of any real emotion. The emptiness behind the mahogany sends a shiver down your spine and you’re suddenly hyper aware of the position he has once again found you in.

Freeing yourself from Steve’s grasp, you hold your arms close to your chest for protection. He places a hand on your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, before motioning for Argyle to follow him out of the room, where Nancy and the rest of the group just disappeared — leaving you alone with Eddie.

Neither of you says anything for what feels like an eternity.

You’re afraid to blink, just in case he disappears during the brief second your eyes close. Truthfully, he has every right to do so. Rush upstairs and slam his bedroom door shut as you remain right where he left you, forever haunted by the choices you made three years ago.

No, no. 

There’s a reason you came and that’s to say you’re sorry.

Before you get a chance to break the silence, Eddie scoffs under his breath, dipping his head while running a hand through his brown locks. His hand remains at the back of his neck when he looks up at you again, a stupid smirk now plastered across his face.

“So, you and Harrington seem close as ever.”

Not the first words you expected to come out of his mouth, but given the situation he’s just encountered, they’re not surprising.

You nervously clear your throat, hugging yourself tighter.

“Uhm… No, we were just—”

“I don’t care,” he interrupts, his words cold yet the tone of his voice deceives him just a little. Also, if he actually didn’t care, then why make a sly comment in the first place?

But you don’t get to point that out, firstly ‘cause you’re still building up the courage to speak, and secondly because he’s quicker to continue with making his opinion known.

“Obviously you’ve always done whatever the fuck you wanted. Whoever you wanted.”

Ouch.

“Eddie, I-I…” you sigh quietly,  “We were just hugging. We haven’t seen each other in a while.”

Eddie scoffs. “Cute.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t be condescending.” You shake your head. “I didn’t come here to argue with you.”

“Then why did you come here?”

“‘Cause I missed all of you, plus Nancy invited me and I-I wanted to take this trip to apologise. Explain myself.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. 

“Well as far as I’m concerned, you can keep your apology,” he states sternly, standing up straight and taking a step in your direction. “Clearly the rest of them are right back to licking your ass, just like they did in high school. Entertaining your shitty behaviour, but I’m not interested.”

His words hurt. It feels like tiny nails are being hammered into your heart and you’re helpless to stop it.

“I don’t care for you and I don’t want to be around you. Since we’re stuck here, just refrain from jumping on Harrington at every chance you get. It’s fucking desperate behaviour.”

Tears burn down your cheeks slowly. They blur your vision and make you look like a giant fucking fool, even bigger than you already are. Eddie doesn’t owe you anything, you know that. Yet here you stand, silently crying over his animosity.

Nancy's words ring in your ears, “he asks about you, he asks if you’re happy.”. What a load of bullshit. He clearly doesn’t give a shit.

“I’ll make sure to stay out of your way then,” is all you manage to blurt out, wiping the wet droplets with the back of your hand.

Pushing past him, making a point to shove his shoulder with a little force, you hurry upstairs and into the confines of your bedroom. You make sure not to let the door shut with a bang, steering away from the dramatics Eddie undoubtedly wanted to provoke. Yes, he hurt your feelings, but you sure as hell weren’t going to let him ruin this weeknd for you and the rest of your mutual friends.

His reaction didn’t surprise you. In fact, you expected it. 

That doesn’t mean it’s any easier to digest.

Taking a few minutes to collect yourself, you check your phone and begin to open unseen notifications from various social media sites in an attempt to think about anything else than Eddie’s words.

“Deseperate fucking behaviour,” he’s said that to you before. The deja-vu hits harder than anticipated, making the nausea you thought you surpassed earlier spring right back up, stronger.

Yup. As you regain control of your breathing, you think for sure that coming here was definitely a mistake.

thank you for reading & please support your writers by reblogging <3

AUTHOR UPDATE: SERIES MASTERLIST HERE

[kissbyoon]

(📷) . ݁₊ “HOME”

╰┈ Seungcheol is your home; your comfort and happiness.

₍ 𝑓𝘵. ₎ 𓈒 승철 ˶ fluff, est. rs, comfort * skinship, cheol being too real, petnames (baby, love, hun) ⎯⎯ 1.9k ꒱ ✦ husband!csc x wife&fem!r

♪ A/N : first fic on this blog !! happy new year <3

After what felt like a minute of holding your breath in—you finally breathe a sigh of relief, in disbelief that the project you had been working on for more than six months was complete. All complete.

The project that caused you to do constant night shifts, sometimes even all alone when your colleagues left early, those exhausting hours of work that resulted in you not being able to give enough time to your husband—Seungcheol, was finally complete.

Only the fact that it was Seungcheol, saved you from multiple fights that couples go through, when one can't find the time to give their significant other.

You're grateful. Beyond grateful.

Leaning back in your chair, you throw your arms in the air with contentment, letting out a squeal as you do so.

“Finally,” you couldn't help the grin forming on your face, brightening your face features.

However, as you took the time to look around in search of a colleague to share this happy moment with, your grin immediately dropped.

“Everyone left?” Sighing, you glanced at your watch. It indeed was too late, it shouldn't be a surprise that everyone had left.

You were so focused on completing your project—determined to get it done before the deadline—that you can't even remember when your colleagues left.

You rose from your seat, piling up all the paper works and placing them neatly on your table by the corner, before taking your phone to call Seungcheol—only to frown as it didn't turn on.

“Huh? I had it switched off this whole time?” Confused and slightly panicked, you turn your phone on—now concerned as the screen flashed with text messages from Seungcheol and 10+ missed calls.

Without wasting a second, you immediately call Seungcheol, taking your bag as you make your way out of your department office.

Weirdly enough, Seungcheol wasn't picking up your calls, causing you to stress even more. He did say he would be working for late hours today, but he had tried calling you just an hour ago.

As you reached the elevator, you let out a loud groan at the sight of an ‘out of service' sign.

A million dollar company? Sounded more like a joke to you right now.

You had to take the stairs, Seungcheol didn't pick up the call, he would be working late hours, you'd have to go home alone at this hour, and last but something that leaves you devastated the most—having to sleep on the cold bed that lacked his warmth.

‘Thanks, life.’ you could only think to yourself, your soft footsteps echoing with each step you took down the stairs.

Reaching the bottom floor, you breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of the bright city illuminated with lights, the road filled with cars passing by in front of you.

As you step out of the building, you're immediately hit with the cool breeze of the freezing winter, causing you to hug yourself tightly.

You're always thankful that your company building is located at the centre of the city, meaning you never have to worry about going home late at night.

But today, even this breath-taking view of the city couldn't make your day better or make your eyes shine with awe. Because you know whom you need and he wasn't here with you at this moment.

You just wanted a kiss from him, wanted to hear ‘you did a great job today, baby, I'm so proud of you’ from him, wanted to spend the rest of the night with him, and just wanted him.

Sighing, you take slow but steady steps towards somewhere—you just wanted to take a little stroll before going home, because the one you wanted to see so much right now wouldn't be there when you enter the comfort of your home anyway.

Because the comfort of your home was Seungcheol. Without him, your house just felt like an empty, cool space you really don't feel like living in.

After a few minutes of walking, you stand by a bridge, admiring the view of the calmy flowing river. Indeed, it was too beautiful to resist—causing you to smile finally.

“What's got my baby so smiley?” The voice and the man you recognised right away cooed, carrying a hint of amusement that only you could pick up, followed by his strong arms wrapping around your waist so gently.

Immediately turning around, your face brightens, your lips curling up into the happiest grin that was only reserved for him.

“Cheollie!!” You swear you sounded like an excited child chirping over an ice cream, but you couldn't care less because Seungcheol was in front of you right now. Throwing your arms around his neck, you hugged him tightly.

Maybe too tightly because even Seungcheol couldn't return the hug with the energy you had.

“I think this is enough, love,” he laughed when you refused to let go even after a minute. One of his hands rubbed your back while the other tried to hug you back with the same energy you were hugging him.

“No, it's never enough.” You were quick to defend, immediately shaking your head as you only tighten your grip around him more.

“Hm, let me guess. You missed me too much?” he teased with an intention to get a reaction out of you, only to fold immediately when you nodded so genuinely.

“A little too much.” Finally pulling back from the hug, you look him in the eye with a pout. He softens, his eyes looking at you so intently as he pulls out his hand to hold your face.

“I’m here now, and I love you,” his voice was low and soft, as if it was only meant for you to hear. “But why were you working overnight again? Didn't your boss tell you that you would have a break today?”

Seungcheol was indeed right—your boss had informed your department that the employees can take a day off, except for the ones working on the recent project. This included you and four others, but you had to revise it all over again, which meant you had to stay overnight anyways.

“It wasn't for the ones working on the project,” Seungcheol’s eyebrow immediately furrowed, his expression unpleasant.

“Who is he? Who does he think he is—”

“Cheol, he's my boss.”

He pouted at that, and you let out a giggle.

“Well, unfortunately.” He rolled his eyes, waving his hand in the air—always more than happy to let you know that he despises your boss.

“I always told you, I'm a better CEO and boss than him, with a better company and a better income.” There he goes again, not leaving a chance to convince you to join his company.

“Cheol, hun, we talked about this.” you say, referring to the fact that working in his presence would be difficult for you. Not because he is distracting— No, screw that, he is distracting. You don't like to think that you’d have to work properly, aware of the fact that Seungcheol is in his office, just a hallway away from you, and you wouldn't be able to just run there to hug or kiss him.

He is that distracting.

“Hmph, fine. You love me so much, it's difficult to work in my presence—I get it!” Crossing his arms, he spoke in his pouty manner.

“Oh!” Your eyes widened, remembering the fact that the project causing you (Seungcheol) to go crazy, was finally all done. “I have good news!”

Seungcheol's hand paused mid-air, his eyes dramatically widening—the way you could basically see through him and what he was thinking, you couldn't help but let out a laugh.

This was not how he planned to know about this good news.

“W-what good news…? Why are you laughing?” He whispered, his face speaking out loud—he wanted to hear that.

Seungcheol seemed confused but eager to know the “good news" as your body trembled with laughter. The thought of him being nervous yet so giddy over something that's, unfortunately, not the case, made you want to squish his cheeks.

Finally taking control over your laugh, you let your intrusive thoughts win—reaching out to hold his soft cheeks in your hands, squishing them together.

“No, baby, that's not what I meant,” you look at him with an amused smile as you notice the shift in his expression—now, embarrassed but a hint of smile played on his lips.

He avoided your eyes and hung his head low, cheeks dusted with a bright shade of pink.

Tilting your head, you try to look at him in the eyes, smiling. “Or perhaps you really wanted me to be…”

“No, no,” he shook his head, letting out a chuckle, taking your hands in his. “Forget about that! Tell me what you wanted to say?”

“I completed it.”

“Completed? Completed what, hun?”

“Your most hatest, the project that was causing headaches.” The way Seungcheol’s face immediately brightened, a gasp escaping his mouth.

“Really!?”

“Really!”

Seungcheol kept himself from squealing with excitement right in front of everyone, and instead trapped you in his arms (hugged you), and spinned you around with the brightest smile.

“Cheol! Put me down!” You laughed, and he did, leaning forward to peck both of your cheeks.

“Does that mean you finally get paid leaves? Oh my god?” Exaggerating, the man in front of you covered his mouth and gasped. You hit him lightly on the shoulder.

“I will! You hate that company so much?”

“I do.”

“Me too.” You mumbled, turning around as you rested your elbow on the guardrail.

“You hate your own company? Then stop working there! Why are you there anyway?” He followed, intertwining his fingers with yours.

“Money, cheol, money.” You shoot him a look, followed by a laugh. He chuckled, but his eyes were focused on how the city lights enhance your beauty by far more.

“Which is something I make everyday, and it is more than your boss’s monthly income.” Him and his internal arguments with your boss never failed to make you burst into laughter.

“Hm, why do you hate him though?” Amused, but curious, you ask. He cocks his head to the side and scoffs.

“Why wouldn't I? Just because he is the boss doesn't mean he doesn't have to do anything. He can't rely on his employees for every damn work, and expect them to do it at light speed.” He sighed, rolling his eyes.

His rant went on and on, and you listened to him patiently—your smile never leaving your face as you stared at him.

“What is he, a man in his sixties?” he took a deep breath, huffing with disappointment.

“Cheol?” You called out, wrapping your hands around his arm, looking up at him.

“Hm?” He shifted his eyes on you, waiting for you to continue.

“Did you know? I love you.” Resting your chin on his shoulder, you told him that so sweetly, he had to pause for a moment to process it.

It wasn't like you and him didn't shower each other with ‘I love you' every single minute, but something about you taking your time to say it so sweetly and lovingly—the sincerity and love in your eyes visibly clear—it had an effect on him even after years of being with you.

“W-well,” he cleared his throat, looking away from your gaze. “I love you too. No, more.”

“Yeah? How much more?”

“Definitely more than your boss’s daily salary.” Again, you burst into a fit of laughter—followed by Seungcheol’s giggles and pleading for you to quiet down.

And this is what you mean, when you say he is your home.

@kissbyoon ⌕ ۫ all rights reserved/copying strictly prohibited.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Happy 6k!!!! That’s so exciting and you deserve it :)

Can I request Bucky & touch starved?

.⋆｡Small Adjustments｡⋆.

Bucky Barnes x plus size reader

To Bucky, touch brought with it pain and suffering but maybe it can be different with you

Warnings:  touch starved!Bucky, fluff, mutual pining, mention of torture, bit of hurt/comfort WC: 1.3k

6k Follower Celebration Bingo

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

It was an unspoken agreement amongst the Avengers that under no circumstances was Bucky to be touched. There were one too many instances of him lashing out at even the smallest of touches and after Peter’s arm was almost broken when he grabbed Bucky’s shoulder to steady himself after tripping, the rule was firmly set in place. 

Touch had always been the harbinger of pain to Bucky. He had experienced and survived thousands of experiments; he knew the difference between acids just based on how much they burned him when they made contact with his skin. He knew what it was like to be ripped apart from the inside out as he was stitched back together while fully conscious. Bucky’s nerves were permanently scarred with each and every moment of pain, ensuring that he would never forget what he had gone through. Needless to say, he appreciated the physical distance the Avengers afforded him, even if it did make his chest ache sometimes.

He saw the friendly touches between them all— a hug after a hard mission, a clap on the back during training, even the occasional platonic cuddling during movie nights and he couldn’t help but be envious, especially when it came to you.

You were, by far, the most affectionate person he had ever met. You didn’t hesitate to wrap yourself around anyone who needed a hug, your hand was quite frequently clamped with someone else’s (Natasha’s or Wanda’s more often than not). You weren’t selfish with your touch and though it could be deadly thanks to your training, Bucky knew that you would never hurt the people you cared about.

“Barnes~ where are you!” Bucky’s lips curled into a gentle smile as your voice floated through the hallway, immediately brightening up the entire building.

“I’m in the kitchen, doll!” He shouted back before your footsteps quickened and you burst into the room. Your eyes, although still bleary with sleep even though it was 2 in the afternoon, positively sparkled as soon as you spotted the ex-assassin. Bucky raised an eyebrow at you, and you flustered slightly, looking down at what you were wearing.

“I thought I lost that shirt.” 

“Yeah well don’t leave your stuff out if you don’t want someone to steal it.” You shrugged as you skipped over to the pot of fresh coffee still sitting in the machine.

“I seem to remember putting that shirt away, in my closet, in my locked bedroom.”  Bucky took a sip of his own coffee.

“I don’t know what to tell you, I think old age is finally getting to you.” You tried to hide your warming cheeks behind your mug but he could see right through you.

“Whatever you say doll.” A comfortable silence settled over the both of you for a moment before you cleared your throat.

“So… we have the place to ourselves today,” Bucky knew what was coming, “wanna binge-watch Supernatural with me?” You looked up at him with such a hopeful expression on your face, it made his heart skip a beat.

“I don’t know, I was planning on going for a long run today.” His voice tilted up but in your post-sleep haze, you couldn’t pick up on the shift in his tone. Immediately, your eyes dropped and your bottom lip poked out. Bucky’s stomach flipped and suddenly all he wanted to do was to scoop you up into his arms and kiss away your pout. Instead, he blurted out quickly, “Hey, hey. I was just teasing. Of course I’ll watch with you. Gotta see what Sean and Dan get up to.”

You sniffed. “It’s Sam and Dean and you know it. Don’t pretend you’re not as obsessed as I am.” The band around his heart loosened.

“Yeah sure. You want Chinese or Thai?” He fished his phone out from his pocket.

“Like you even have to ask.” You retorted.

——————

You felt like you were sitting next to a feral cat as the food coma finally set in. Empty boxes of food were scattered around the coffee table in front of you while yet another episode started up but it wasn’t as if you were paying any sort of attention to the screen in front of you.

Somehow, during your feast of questionable takeout, Bucky had migrated from where he had been perched on the other side of the couch to sitting beside you, the thick muscle of his thigh almost touching your knee where you were curled up. His blue eyes stayed glued to the TV while he sighed heavily and leaned back into the couch cushions.

You held your breath as his shoulders dropped, leaving barely an inch of space between you. This was the closest Bucky had ever gotten to you and you would be damned if you fucked this up. Of course you knew about his aversion to touch, you had even witnessed his violent response to it first hand but Jesus did you want to feel the heat of his skin, the strength of his body as he hugged you.

Bucky was undoubtedly your best friend out of all the Avengers yet he was the only one to have never felt your embrace. 

Your body trembled as you tried to keep yourself still. You didn’t want to accidentally brush against him and send him scrambling off but you also didn’t want to move away and give him the impression that you didn’t want him near you. And selfishly, you did want him beside you if only to fuel your hopeless crush on the man. 

There was a gunshot on the screen, startling you. You jumped and suddenly, you were half on top of Bucky. 

Your palm spread across the expanse of his stomach, letting you feel the hardness of his abs and the warmth that radiated off of him. The tip of your nose brushed against his as your eyes locked. You both stayed there for a second before the reality of the situation hit you squarely in the chest.

“Oh god Bucky I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.” You threw yourself back against the arm of the couch as panic bubbled up in your gut. Bucky remained frozen where he sat, both his hands slightly raised as he looked down at his lap. “Bucky I-“ Your voice was thick with tears. 

You shook your head as you pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes, desperately trying to keep them away. How stupid were you? You knew you should’ve just given him some more space, paid attention to the TV so you would know if something would startle you. Do literally anything else besides jumping on the man with severe trauma. You messed everything up.

“Doll,” Bucky cooed as his hand gently wrapped around your wrists, slowly pulling them down so he could look at you, “I’m not mad.”

“You’re not?” He chuckled softly, now bringing your hands into his lap so he could hold them.

“How could I ever be mad at you? I know it was an accident but more than that, I know you would never want to hurt me. I’m safe with you.” You could feel the slight tremble in his hands like he was struggling to keep touching you but Bucky refused to let go, he even shuffled closer to you. You nodded but stayed quiet. He finally smiled. “Besides, I think it’s time I got one of those famous Y/N hugs. Not now of course, I’m way too fucked up for that, but soon.”

“Don’t be mean to yourself Barnes,” you scolded, “lots of people hurt you. You get to be patient with healing. We just make small adjustments, build up to it y’a know.”

“Yeah, small adjustments.” His right hand slid into your left, your fingers intertwining as you both melted back into the couch, your eyes drifting back to your show that neither of you would be paying any attention to. After a few minutes, Bucky’s thumb began to rub against the skin of your knuckles, a delicate back and forth that both sent a flurry of butterflies into flight in your stomach and ignited your cheeks with a blazing heat.

Small adjustments indeed.

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[luveline]

hello lovely angel!! humbly requesting zombie!steve au, perhaps more of jealous steve? i love their dynamic so much💗 maybe someone is flirting with reader, and enter protective steve:)

thanks for requesting! fem, 2k

You tend to think of it in two weird halves. You love Steve, and you never would’ve known that without the end of the world, so things are okay. Sometimes you wonder if he ever could’ve loved you if he hadn’t been so close to you for so long, but he loves you in this insane capacity of softness that says otherwise. Like, soulmate style. 

It didn’t begin that way. Steve your reluctant guide, and you his unlikely saviour. You’d stopped him from dying at the very start of it all and he couldn’t leave you behind. And Steve, he’d been mean to you. He didn’t want to take care of you initially, but you’d grown to get along. You’d argue black and blue and he’d still rub your back at night. 

There are so many moments you’ve shared that make what you have all the more special. A hundred different memories from before you’d ever kissed. You think about it now, watching him across the firepit as he shows a young girl, Cassandra, how to braid her hair. 

The one that’s sticking today is when Steve got really bad food poisoning for the first time. When you’d known you were in love with him for a while, and when he’d stopped pretending he didn’t know. He’d been sick everywhere, on both your shoes, and you’d rubbed his back through everything.  

It was nice to take care of him. Nicer that night when you’d shared a bed and he’d hugged you half to death. 

He has no idea how much he means to you, or how much those moments with him kept you going when you were all alone. You’re lucky now to have found community, but those stolen hours in bed with him hugging him and getting to be his support, you wouldn’t have made it here without them. 

“Hey.” 

You look up as a man sits down. A boy, a man —what do you call twenty somethings? You don’t feel like a woman most of the time, but you are. 

“Hi,” you say. 

“I’m Jamison.” 

“You’re Eddie’s friend, right?” 

“Who, Munson?” Jamison makes a kidding face, a disgusted scrunch of his eyebrows that falls away to more friendly fondness. “Yeah, we go back. You’re Eddie’s friend too, right? I saw you guys taking out some laundry a few days ago.” 

Jamison is handsome. He has tan skin, short hair, and a crooked nose. His smile is disarming. If you hadn’t fallen in love with the handsomest guy around, you might feel nervous under his gaze. 

Time spent ugly under Steve’s reverent handling makes you confident. You genuinely feel prettier knowing Steve loves you, and it makes it easier to be yourself with strangers. 

“Eddie’s awesome,” you say easily. “I thought he was gonna kill me when we first met, but he’s too nice.” 

“Nice, really?” 

Jamison is casual, as people go. You wonder what his motivations are for talking to you at first, but as conversation stretches, littered with the cracking pops of the fireplace and brief pauses of surprisingly comfortable silence, you realise he’s just talking. Maybe he’s lonely. You know how that feels. 

He tells you that he and Eddie had been in a rock band together before the apocalypse. You’d known to some extent that Eddie was in a band, but Jamison tells you all the details you’d been missing. They were called Corroded Coffin, four members, Eddie played guitar and Jamison thought he was pretty fucking good at it, actually. 

“I don’t think we would’ve been, like, Metallica. But we could’ve been good. We were gonna make a record.” 

You smoke sympathetically. “I bet you could’ve been.” 

“What were you doing? Before all this?” 

“I honestly barely remember,” you say quietly. Your life before Steve is a blur, and it’s painful, too. “Things are harder now, I know that. I wish every day that we could go back to how things were, you know, I miss TV and grocery stores and my family.” You lick your lips. “I wish things were different, but somehow, I think I like my life now. I have stuff to do. Is that crazy?” 

“It’s not crazy. Everything fucking sucks,” —you both laugh— “but that’s not crazy. I’m lucky, I still have my dad, and my friends. There’s purpose in being here.” 

You nod emphatically, just once. “Exactly.” 

You have purpose, now. You get to be a friend, a girlfriend, a confidente. You take care of people. 

It all comes back to Steve, at the end of the day. Would you change the world if it meant never having met him? 

Nope. 

You glance across the fire for him, but he’s not there. 

You put your arm behind your back and bend, looking for him. 

“Looking for someone?” Jamison asks. 

You deflate with relief when you spot him standing near the gaggle of tents about fifty feet away. He’s looking at you from over Robin’s shoulder. You wave, and he waves back with a big smile. 

Something seems a little wrong. 

“Steve,” you explain. 

“He’s your boyfriend, yeah? Eddie told me you’ve been together since the start.” 

You don’t bother correcting him. He might not mean together as how you’re thinking it. “Yeah, that’s him. Have you met him?” 

“Kind of. We all thought he was a huge dick, back then.” 

“He sort of was,” you say. “I mean, we all had our own stuff going on. I get that I’m biased, but he’s my favourite person I’ve ever met. He’s so kind, I don’t think I could describe it to you or anyone just how much he cares about people. I wouldn’t be here without him, and… I don’t know, I’m not saying you’re wrong, but if you ever wanted to meet him again, he’s amazing. He’s a great friend. He’s so fucking funny, he makes me laugh every day.” 

“He’s sort of giving me the stink eye,” Jamison says. 

You wave your hand weakly. “He has raging jealousy issues.” 

“Shit, am I getting you in trouble?” 

“No, never!” you say, tempted to laugh. “He doesn’t get mad at me for stuff like that. He’s normal, I promise. Just sensitive.”

You tell Jamison that it was nice talking to him because it really was, but you’ve been missing Steve for hours already and you need to get back to him before you go totally bonkers. 

He’s sitting on the floor in the tent. The weather has been beautiful lately, you could sleep under the stars if you weren’t scared of being zombie charcuterie. Steve has stripped down to just his jeans and socks, no t-shirt or shoes to be seen. He has his sketchbook splayed open on his thigh, but he abandons it the moment you kneel down. 

“Hey,” you say. 

Steve folds his book closed, pencil between its pages. “Hi. Have I told you lately how beautiful you are?” 

You shuffle in to take his hand. Clumsy touches, his fingers warm and a tad clammy between yours. “You told me yesterday that I have a smile like an angel. I know you were kidding, but I still felt it.” 

“I wasn’t kidding,” he says, wrinkling his nose with a smile. “You think every compliment is a joke.” 

“Don’t make me laugh so much, then.” 

He squeezes your fingers gently. “Sorry I didn’t introduce myself to Jamison. Just, I knew him already from school. And he did not like me.” 

“That’s okay. He seemed nice, I think you’d get along if you met now.” You kick your shoes off and crawl as close to him as you can get. He looks up at you, but you look down at his lap. “What are you drawing?” 

“I was just trying to touch up that landscape I did of the river,” he says, a sheepishness to him as he opens his sketchbook. 

You read it with affection, trace lines and hatchings in awe. “Steve, I really wish you had time and space to do this stuff properly. Not that you aren’t doing it properly, just, I know you could make something just as beautiful as this with paint.” You slide to be sitting properly, putting you both at the same height, so you can meet his eyes as you continue. “Did you know what you wanted to do, when you were finishing school? Did you ever think about art?” 

“I thought about it.” His lips quirk. “Mostly about how my dad would’ve kicked me out if I said something that stupid.” 

“It’s not stupid.” 

“I know.” 

That would’ve been a nice life. You and Steve living together, with a basement for his paintings, or a garage turned studio. You’d read books together every night like you do now, and you’d scrub paint smudges off of his cheek. 

You love him so much it must give you an aura. 

“I’ve got nothing to worry about, huh?” he asks softly. 

You drift in, tipping your head back for a kiss you don’t take. “I don’t know, Steve, Jamison used to be in a rock band.” 

He scoffs in disgust. You think it might be a mixture of anger at Jamison and himself. “Who wants to date a rockstar?” 

“I might’ve.” 

You’re teasing, of course, smiling as your kiss draws nearer, and nearer. 

“Well, I can be a rockstar,” he says quietly, warmth of his breath on your lips. “Just give me a chance to get there.” 

You brush the tip of your nose against his and hold your breath. “That’s okay,” you say, letting it rush out of you in a huff, your excitement to be kissed too much to bear, “I like my guys all mixed up. Preferably good at track, and swimming, but with a soft side. Kind of guy who fills a sketchbook up with my face.” 

Steve lists to the side. Your lips are so close, you can feel the phantom of them against yours as he moves in. “It’s not just your face… it’s your hands, your arms… your everything–”

He cuts his own explanation off with a soft kiss. That softness swiftly hardens, turns rough, ten long seconds of sweetness before his hands coming up behind your head and he’s pressing inward, deepening the kiss, and giving you little room to breathe. 

You have no intention of dating any rockstars, but his jealous streak has nothing but upsides for you. Steve knows that his jealousy over the innocuous is his own problem, his own insecurity that he’s working on, and while you sympathise with him (after all, haven’t you yourself worried he’d find someone else he liked more?), you have to confess to enjoying the edge to his kissing. 

You make a pleased, humoured sound as he breathes you in like you’re a drug he’s been waiting for. He gets sloppier, and you can’t help pulling away to laugh. 

“What?” he asks, thumbing at your cheek in a soft juxtaposition. “Sorry, am I being a dick?” 

“No, it’s fine. Kiss me how you want to.” 

Steve kisses your cheek softly. “He knows you have a boyfriend, right?” 

“He knows.” 

Steve hums like he’s smiling and nudges your nose with his, until you part your lips, and he wades in for another dose. 

[iznsfw]

Reputation, Or Whatever That Is

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 12 - Jang Wonyoung

IVE's Jang Wonyoung x Male Reader Smut

7,063 words

Categories | daddy kink, brat!Wonyoung, squirting, blowjob, please appreciate Wonyoung's power bottom capabilities

Sorry, Yena is coming out sometime but I wanted to finally write something timely. JANG WONYOUNG WHAT THE FUCKKKKK.

Please bear with the religious metaphors, I have Catholic guilt and Wonyoung reignites it. I'm not sorry for all the other fucked up shit here I'm just ooga boogaing because what the FUCK

It’s a little brighter today than usual. The sun surely knows what's about to happen upon its rising. It has no plans of telling you beforehand, so you’re forced to find out yourself. 

You open Instagram, which is insane because you never bother to look at pictures—much less edited, filtered ones made for meaningless impressions. Your blissful ignorance of online concepts is what would make your fans hate you if they had space in their deluded hearts to. Or maybe that’s your age talking.

But today, clicking on that app is what you do, and that already should have been a sign that something’s not right. The usual run of your universe has gone off course. Who could have made that so?

Coffee. The black stillness that’s pure of sweetness and sugar. That’s supposed to keep everything normal. You sip on it as you scroll through clickbait, fan accounts, edits—

Then you wish you never took that hot gulp at all.

Wonyoung. 

It’s all because of her. 

She stands there from behind your screen, silky hair tangled in those lithe long fingers. She’s looking at the camera like she wants whoever took the time to click on her profile to come over and fuck her right now. Man or woman, poor or rich—it doesn’t matter. What ought to matter though is the fact that she doesn’t have someone’s hands slipped around her waist and pulling her close.

You shouldn’t even be thinking about it.

Usually, she’s dressed in knitted pink coats and miniskirts; looking fashionable but modest, modest but unplain. That’s what everyone loves about Jang Wonyoung: she’s prim, sweet, and the daughter of the nation. 

Now, she’s the ideal girl to take right home and have your wicked way with. Yes, you’d feel guilty since she’s so young, just the little age of nineteen. Still, that doesn’t mean you’d have any regrets. She’s the kind of girl you can’t get away from. You’ll always come back for more.

You’d hate to be so upfront, but there’s no other way to interpret it. 

There’s that fucking denim bra hugging her tiny chest, stitched up so high that her abs are on full display. That little pinch of a waist curves so perfectly right up to her wide hips that invite and invite and invite—

Remember to exhale.

So, yeah. That’s how Wonyoung ruined your day, and you barely had your morning coffee.

A text message from your boss appears. You nearly miss it because of how you’re staring all ogle-eyed at the tempting girl on your screen. Before you even click it, you already know what you ought to do. 

hey, it reads, you need to—

-

—go to Wonyoung, and for such a scandalous photo, she’s chosen a remote but classy hotel only the biggest stars know of to shoot it. 

There’s no going back when you drive like you’re running from the law when you’ll break one if you pull the wrong stunt with her. Your throat’s coiled with an unreleased breath that won’t go away unless you see her. It’s like traveling with the promise of meeting a goddess, and although you’re not religious anymore, you wear very, very close to rediscovering faith.

The hotel is grand—clear marble floors and shining chandeliers—and it’s no surprise. Wonyoung wouldn’t have things any other way. You know that when she’s come to your office to complain about her outfits and brands. 

You go up to the desk with prepared evidence for what you’re going to say. “I’m an associate of your client miss Jang Wonyoung,” you say to the lady tapping away behind her computer, “and I’ve come to visit her.”

Associate? It’s more like mentor. You’re a veteran idol whose efforts inspire the rookies, therefore getting you the responsibility of looking out for Wonyoung. So, father figure, maybe? You wince at that.

She makes a polite sad look, still not removing her eyes from the screen. “I’m sorry, miss Jang doesn’t have—”

Slide your ID card on the counter.

She glances at it, stiffens, then looks up at you. There’s only one of you in the entire South Korea, and although the 1x1 traces back to when you were a bit more youthful, it’s not hard to put two and two together. 

She apologizes quickly and offers you an elevator ride exclusive for VVIPs. Smile. It’s been a while since your last return to music, but everyone knows you here. Everyone knows your power.

Wonyoung’s place is the first room on the twelfth floor, a flinching irony.

Knock. You rap your knuckles three times for good luck and charm, because you’ll need it with her. Jang Wonyoung is everything save an easy girl. You remember the many times she refused to give up a debate on how she’s managed, how she’s styled, how she’s treated. She wants things to go her way only.

“Wonyoung,” you call out. Fidget with the handle of the door that refuses to budge. “It’s me.”

Knock a little more. There’s no eye behind the peekhole or a soft “come in.” You receive only the unlocking of the furnished knob and a welcome that makes you wish this could go the way your morals would want it to go.

The door opens you to a gorgeous suite that’s the supreme of all room tiers. This is the kind that only the richest of the rich are able to attain. Big as a house with a soft carpeted ground, there’s a queen-sized bed before a wide window of the city. Picture frames commissioned by the wealthy hang from the painted walls. All for the fucking aesthetic.

Even you, a star who paved the way for the Korean entertainment industry itself, aren’t used to this type of wealth. 

Find her sitting on the ledge of the window frame. Wonyoung has her hands resting on the sides of the window frame. She doesn’t try at least a stance at nonchalance—no admiring stare at the beautiful view, no worried gaze at her clean fingernails. Her interest is you standing before her like you’re afraid to touch her. She might be right, but it’s not like you’d ever have it in you to admit that.

Even you, a man lusted over by girls and women all over the world, aren’t used to this kind of woman—the kind that eats away at you.

“Wonyoung.” Inside, you feel like the weakest man in the world.

She has this smarmy, confident smile on her perfect lips that tells you that it’s no surprise that you’ve come all the way here for her. No surprise at all. She expected it. Anticipated it, if you will.

Don’t mistake the coquettish float of her lashes for theatrics. No, Jang Wonyoung’s just naturally someone you’d want to fuck, no matter the politics of it. “Yes?”

Her voice is also just that pretty. That’s a large part of why it’s so hard to act professional in front of her when she’s your mentee. Even more so by the fact you’re someone she’s looked up to for the majority of her trainee years, which is already something that would make people’s brows lift.

“Wonyoung.” You let your shoulders rest. “Why are you still dressed like that?”

You know all the dialogue that passes around the general public. Oh, Jang Wonyoung’s so gorgeous! Jang Wonyoung’s even more beautiful in real life! You hate to say you can’t disagree. She’s deadlier in person; her body’s there before the glass like she’s waiting for someone to give in to temptation. That coy simper can ruin careers. It can ruin yours. 

To think it all could be gone because of a nineteen-year-old celebrity with a tiny waist and legs you’d love to have around your head.

“Why are you still dressed like someone from the eighties?” Wonyoung taps her chin, then grins. She’s figured it all out. “Oh wait, you are.”

You’re not taking insults from someone who’s below you in experienced years and power. Unluckily, she’s not taking advice from someone above her or below her.

The step you take towards her, towards the little star seated comfortably waiting for you, feels like a sin. 

“You’re incredibly unprofessional for a girl who’s worked her way up here,” you note. Cross your arms and give her a reprimanding look. 

Wonyoung’s immune to nasty looks, too. She’s been doing this since she was a child. If someone gave her a glare that read all too well of a career assassination, she’d wink the bullet away sweetly. “Hm,” she says contemplatively, “I don’t think you get to say that, honestly.”

Your laugh is blunt and sarcastic. Unbelievable. Wonyoung’s the kindest girl according to the people who work for her, so why is she a rebel in your hands? It doesn’t make sense.

“Look here, we—”

You take three steps closer to her. You’ll keep your little rituals and superstitions to keep yourself grounded. Without them, you’d go insane. 

Then without her having to do anything, she comes nearer, like a doomsday foretold by a ticking clock. Who knows? That clock could be a bomb, and that bomb would set off if you dare to touch her with a trembling fingertip. You’d leave the scene injured. And eventually, you’d die the moment they try to help you, because the deed’s been done.

“Oh, I’m looking, alright,” she chirps. She’s doing what you’ve held yourself back from doing: letting her eyes wander. “And I really, really like what I see.”

You’re someone several awards her senior, and you’re still quite intimidated by her at this moment. She’s so sweet yet so honest—she won’t make up a lie to make you feel better and she won’t hide the truth to make you comfortable. Refuse the truth her eyes locked on your crotch tell. You won’t accept it. It’s not right.

“I’m serious.” Approaching her makes you want to go on your knees and beg the lord for a little saving. Do it anyway. No one will rescue you. That’s what the industry taught you. “You’ve made it all the way up here. All by yourself. There’s gotta be something. What are you throwing it all away for?”

She laughs. Funniest thing she’s ever heard. “I’m not. How am I throwing it all away?” 

“Those posts,” you hiss. Doesn’t she get it?

Before she could ask you what you’re talking about, you whip out your phone. Click on the app icon. It instantly shows you the opened tab containing Wonyoung’s recent Instagram posts. Look at her, wrapped in nothing, not even those curtains—giving the camera bedroom eyes when girls her age shouldn’t be shooting them at anyone or be aware of how to. 

It’s already massed a million likes in under an hour. But you know what people who turn on anyone easily will say, and what they say could blot Wonyoung’s bright future by a lot. A million people around the world have caught sight of the abs she’s worked hard for, her toned back, and just about everything. A loud minority with frisky influences can sabotage her whole reputation.

“These posts,” you continue, shoving the screen into the poor girl’s face, “can take away everything you’ve worked for. All that fame, all that money, you can’t brag about them after this.”

Wonyoung looks on innocently. She stares at the screen with uninterested eyes, then switches them back on you. She looks like such a good girl in that second, with her hands seated beside her and that face so full of sparkling perfection. 

Deception can’t lead you away. 

“So, what’s it gonna be, Wonyoung?” 

Long silence that builds up your frustration. Finally, she clicks her tongue. Gives you a shrug of her thin shoulders.

“You liked it.”

“What?”

She points to your phone. “You liked my post,” she repeats. “It says so right there.”

What the hell is she talking about?

You look at the device you’re brandishing. For a while, you can’t find out what she’s referring to. You can never take a liking to her posts, although if they switch on something you didn’t know you can feel. You’d die before—

The heart. 

Wait.

The heart button below her set of pictures is filled with red.

Your heart pumps faster, a button pushed and played.

Fuck.

You turn to her and open your mouth. No sensible words come out. You swear you didn’t tap twice on her update or take it to a private setting. How did it happen? Worse, even if you say that to her, she’d take it as a pathetic lie.

Wonyoung giggles. It’s a tinkly sound that’s adorable, but you’ve long realized that being cute is not all there is to her. She rises slowly, sets her palms over your blazer-clad arms, and gives you an empathetic face. It’s so condescending that you want to dissolve. 

“I know what men like you are all about,” she tells you. She speaks with a sultriness that makes you feel warm and has bumps appearing in masses across your skin.

She smiles. Her eyes disappear into crescent moons and the dimple appears on her cheek. You’re done for. 

“Come on,” Wonyoung continues, squeezing your forearms. “Here you are, a big old man known for being a good singer or whatever. You’re so popular that the first thing that pops up on Naver is your face. Everything goes right for you, doesn’t it?”

You have no idea where she’s going with this. You’re afraid to even ask. Your teeth grit as her massages grow stronger, harder. 

Something else is, too.

“Then, of course, you see me.” 

Her hand. It’s curling around your wrist and bringing your fingers right around that flawless waist. She closes them there tightly.

It’s so bad that it’s good. You want to keep touching her, maybe slip your gliding fingers down her jeans. Oh, you shouldn’t. You can’t.

“You see me, and you get all hot and bothered. And what’s so funny is I’m not even doing anything. I’m just being myself, you know. Being young and rich… a beautiful girl…” Wonyoung is unbuttoning your shirt and you don’t realize it. “You can’t understand how I’m allowed to be this hot when you can’t even fuck me with a normal conscience.”

It’s all so wrong. You want to shake her by the shoulders and tell her to shut up. But if Medusa has her eyes, Wonyoung has her lips to turn you to stone. They keep opening elegantly to speak the filthiest, most fucked up shit, and you can’t deny anything.

Her eyes are creased with knowing pride. Her youth doesn’t rescue her from being so messed in the head already. Those thoughts don’t go along with such a pretty face.

“That’s why you like to get rough with me. You tell me to watch how I speak, watch how I act. You tell me to stop talking to you like you’re no one. You tell me that I’m such a little brat. But you only do that so you can get to control me. That’s your most fucked up dream, right?”

Her mouth is the tiniest space away from your chin. 

You’re another word away from saving yourself a spot in damnation.

Her finger that scratches a flaw on your blazer beckons you to the fire. “You’re not breaking the law or anything,” says Wonyoung, “so why not break me instead, daddy?”

That’s a deal sealed with a rough kiss.

You grab her cruelly and cover her lips with yours. They’re more amazing than you imagined, soft and competent with how she pushes in deeper, depriving herself of the air she needs the most just to get what she needs just a bit more:

You. 

Your tongues collide and clash, striving to get the most taste. She pulls your blazer off (because fuck professionalism, right?) while she kisses you with a hunger that’s equally mental and physical. It’s not like she’d bruise up if you didn’t get your hands on her yet it’s close to that. 

And, in your case, it’s not like you’re breaking any law. She’s nineteen, not anywhere under the limits you’d kill others and yourself for touching. Nonetheless, you’re much older—by age, she could be your daughter; by career, she’s your junior; by power, you’re much stronger. 

So, it’s still so wrong.

Can’t be when Wonyoung’s fist, firm around your cock, feels so right. 

Can’t be when she lands on the edge of the bed with her lips parted in delight as she watches your dick stiffen under her service. 

“There you go, daddy,” she coos, smirking. “Just get all hard for me, then you can stuff that big thing up in my pussy.”

Her thumb toys with your cockhead. You purse your lips to hold back a groan. Let go of it anyway when her smooth, closed palm rubs your sensitive flesh. She cups your balls lovingly before gliding her teasing fingertips under your length, right up to your tip. The girl knows how to do this; she’s good at more things other than MCing and performing.

Wonyoung hones this skill with firmer pumps, giving you the handjob of a lifetime. Her long fingers are just made to handle dick. Each stroke is perfection that holds and pulls and slides. You’re leaking so much already. 

So you turn into the driver of the hate train, the press that loves getting her bad angles and the articles that slash up her name:

Blame it all on her. 

Because you have here a girl, young and pretty and confident, so of course you have to scrape off your sins and nail them all on her, like a quivering hand to wood.

“You think you’re getting it that easily?” you say. Your moan is squeezed in your throat. “Baby, you’re not even close to it.”

Wonyoung smirks. It’s that self-assured, elegant smile that tells you that won’t work on her. She might be a rookie, but she knows how to play the game. 

She tightens her grip painfully. That’s what you get for trying to one her up. Do that to anyone, just not Jang Wonyoung. Your cry goes unheard as she yanks you rather than jerks you off. Spits on your head for good measure. Wonyoung’s eyes make a connection with your soul and says, Yep, that’s what I’d do if you weren’t my senior. In fact, I’d do it regardless. I’d choke and spit and leave you to die, because a pretty Samaritan is better than a good one.

“You’re really out of touch, daddy.” 

With Wonyoung slathering her drool all over you, you’re forced to teeter on the line between heaven and hell. It burns yet the offer of pleasure leaves you sated.

“You think I’m like the pretty girls out there? Other girls might have broken down and begged you to come back.” 

Your rod is subjected to a brief torrid kiss, then a smile as the wicked girl looks up at you.

She laughs, gives you this smile full of haught and womanly power. “Too bad I’m Jang Wonyoung,” she says, her last words before taking you in.

Yes, it’s too bad she’s Jang Wonyoung. It’s too bad she’s not the other girls who’d kneel for a burning touch of stars like you. She wouldn’t be holding control over you with the power of her lips if she had sanity in that pretty head.

Her plump tiers wrap around you and seize everything, encasing it in softness and wetness. Her tongue, the one she uses as a killer expression for her selfies and Instagram updates, kills you all the same with how it swirls around your skin and tastes you. Trying to pretend the girl wasn’t a pro at this like she is with everything else is useless. She’ll keep proving you wrong and overpowering you.

The whole of your shaft is sucked in, then, when her cute nose is pressed directly to your stomach, she lets out a hummed laugh. You shudder—as much as it makes you feel good, fear grips your muscles and makes them limp. She’s loving how wrong everything is, and you’re not sure if you like it.

Her jaw slacks, and then Wonyoung’s swallowing you like you’re water. Can’t be water when you’re this solid in her throat. You let out a shivering groan. You can picture the bulge in Wonyoung’s neck and it’s the last thing you’d count on turning you on, but they did tell you to expect the unexpected. 

Her saliva becomes excessive, resulting in some dribbles down her chin that help her work her mouth on you. Wonyoung’s drool sheens you entirely and she keeps adding more. On the occasion she pushes her face into your stomach, your cock gets wetter. She does, too. 

“Fuck.” Cussing won’t help deter the onslaught of pleasure. You’re unsalvageable. Say it anyway. You babble meaningless, slurred words and not one gets to Wonyoung. All she can hear is the sound of your quivering moans and her mouth taking you all in.

She becomes less of an idol, less of the elegant princess for the cameras, and instead a fleshlight. However, she reminds you that it isn’t that way with a fierce sneer that stays on at all times. She’s not your girl—she’s Jang Wonyoung, and you’re already incredibly lucky that she chose to go down on you.

All that beautiful hair isn’t of any purpose if you don’t get to touch it, to gather it in a ponytail, to pull on it. Your fingers creep into her brown locks not only to give it a little meaning but also for sanity. 

That isn’t a thing in Wonyoung’s world. She pulls your hand off and slaps it on your side. “No,” she says with a shake of her head. “Daddy can’t touch me, not when he’s pretending that he’s hot shit.”

Her nails bury themselves in your hips. Oh, the manicured talons of a gorgeous monster. Oh, the pain that runs through your sides. Should you run before she devours you? Too late for that.

“Wonyoung,” you breathe, and then ask, genuinely: “What the hell is wrong with you?”

She’s so proper and serene on her shows that not even her most desperate fan would think she’s a terror. They don’t know she’s a girl who likes older, weaker men who’d ruin her if she hasn’t the pretty face and attractively black heart to do them the favor instead. 

“What’s wrong with you?” 

You’d respond if you knew the answer.

Wonyoung rubs her thumb under your dick, sending little sparks aflying. “Why’d you kiss me earlier?” Her lipstick decorates it as a kinder girl would to your face. “Why didn’t you grab my hair and tell me to be a good girl? Why didn’t you leave? It’s not my fault you want to fuck me.”

All these words of destruction and your cock remains standing. It’s a staunch reminder to her that you can say whatever you want and the hard evidence remains. You want to fuck Wonyoung. You want to do it to a rookie who’d turn the story around on you if it ever came out. You want to fuck her so bad it’s borderline pitiable.

“I’m just giving you what you want, daddy.” Her fingers caress your sides. “Trust me, I could be a very good girl if I wanted to.”

You almost didn’t believe that until Wonyoung started to suck you off again. 

Her lips stroke you effortlessly as if this were her pastime. That’s your most accurate guess, because this seamless performance—the one of her mouth working on you with the impression that this whole thing is nothing to her—can’t be a natural gift. The combination of dripping saliva and her soft lips is lethal.

It’s unbelievable how she manages to find all your tender spots. She preys on them, licking and licking until you’re very sure you were going to blow all over her. But you can’t give her that satisfaction. 

You’re very close to doing so though. She’s perfectly sloppy and rough. You glare at her when she lightly teases her teeth on your girth. She winks at you in response. She leaves you breathless in so many ways. 

“Wonyoung, Wonyoung, god—” you whine. It’s so hard to adapt to the girl sitting there with that innocent face and wild mouth that doesn’t dare give up on you. 

Her expressions on camera are always poised. Off camera, there’s this one she flashes you as she shoves her face into your stomach that looks downright evil. Although she’s already fucking you with her throat, Wonyoung partners it with strong suction that’s sure to drain you. 

“Yes, daddy?” She doesn’t pant when she goes up for air, replacing her sucking with her long fingers. 

“I’m really close,” you admit. It’s obvious from your shaking legs. 

Sounds of returned wet suction start to increase. Criticism and compliments prod Wonyoung on. How else would she improve in her idol life? In blowing you? In devouring you?

You realize you’re fitting the cliché. There’s you, an idol whose name is uttered on the daily by both young and old fans, igniting a scandal in the making by fucking a girl beneath you in everything. There’s this expensive suite where stars go for a little precious privacy to do what they want. There’s the two of you doing exactly what you desire: fucking each other. There’s the classic maneater trope with how it’s more like Wonyoung fucking you—she fucks you with her face, fucks you in the head, fucks with your righteousness. Well, fuck.

Wonyoung drools so much that you’re invited to a sea the moment your head pushes past her tongue again. It’s slicker, sloppier, and so much sexier because she’s so completely devoted to your cock. Her hypnotizing eyes trap you and so does her body, tight and tiny—that tummy is flatter than a board and only thin panties hide what her long legs lead to from the bottom.

The only time she stops sucking you is when she darts her tongue side to side with an unhinged pace on your sensitive tip. “Good. Cum in my throat.”

“Shit, god, I can’t—”

Wonyoung attacks you again, and there, in her warm orifice, your plentiful orgasm spends itself. Her throat welcomes you tightly every time. Her hot restricted breaths fan your groin and evokes more semen that spills with no care. 

Your hands ball into fists. Although you’re hot and shaking, you can’t touch her. Why are you following her rules when it should be the other way around? It’s a reversal of roles, a Stockholm’s Syndrome of some sorts whose victim is your cock never wanting to leave from the predatory embrace of Wonyoung’s puckered kiss.

Of course, after she gathers all of your cum in the pool of her mouth, she swallows.

She really could be a good girl.

“Awh.” Wonyoung pouts mockingly. “Daddy, are you crying?”

Touch your face. To your horror, she’s right. The electricity and shock of her continuous blowjob results in a few tears on your cheeks. You haven’t done that in years. Wonyoung is the first one to make you cry like this.

You flush. What more to hide your weakness than anger? “Wonyoung,” you start, then you realize you don’t know what to say, “I—you—”

She smiles. You aren’t going anywhere.

She shoves you to the bed. You’ve reached rock bottom in spite of the softness of the quality pillows. You’ll scrape your way out if not for Wonyoung finishing the job by keeping you there assisted by her legs. They close around you with not even a courtesy false promise of an escape. No negotiation, no coaxes. 

Wonyoung is sitting on your crotch but not on your dick, which is a problem. Which is a solution. Her hands are pinned to your chest while you try not to meet her eyes. It’s a losing game when your runaway glances are met by her grinding hips, silky thighs, and the hard, flexing abs of a perfection of a midriff. 

Her fingers tug on the waistband of her panties before slowly slipping them off. Her pink pussy clear of blemish or hair comes in contact with your length. Up and down she goes, her dancing hips always seeking for more friction. You understand their need because you share the same—Wonyoung’s splayed lips on your member feel heavenly. It’s kind of disappointing that she might as well have climbed her way out of hell.

If she did, she’s the prettiest little devil you’ve ever seen.

“Ohhh, don’t you get it?” Wonyoung asks. She moves so smoothly, you nearly forget she’s humping you rather than dancing. Her soft moan brings you back. It’s the first time you’ve heard it, and you’re melting; it sounds so seductive and innocent in the same breath.

You know her. She knows you. So it’s clear: Jang Wonyoung can be anything—supermodel, actress, dancer—but she cannot ever be innocent. 

Her gorgeous voice is silky when it twists into moans and gasps. Looking down at your crotches meeting and swaying is a better show than end-of-the-year performances. The blowjob and commanding you around must have turned her on by a lot—her flesh is hot and wanton with juices as it slides up and down you.

“You’re not going anywhere, daddy!” Wonyoung giggles. She kisses your nose, then your chest until her lipstick marks you. You burn up with feverish lust after each peck. “Daddy is only Wonyoung’s. And I knew your perfect cock would be mine when I posted those pics. I know men like daddy would do anything for me.”

“Wonyoung.” Breathe again, because you’ll need to after this, so why not do it now? “Why are you doing this?”

You thought her flirtatiousness in your office was just her coyness coming out to play. She’d rest her chin on your desk, suck a red lollipop on some days, maybe run her fingertips over your knuckles. Day in and out, she plays the same game. You didn’t know it would reach this level.

“Because I want to mess you up, daddy,” Wonyoung says. Her tongue swipes at the cavern of your mouth right until she nibbles at your lower lip. Her lipstick peppers your face. “I want to fuck my daddy up so bad he’ll never go a day without thinking of me.”

Swallow. The friction of your sexes is driving you crazy and close to the edge. All the same, you don’t want to make a fool of yourself cumming early for Wonyoung. 

What happened to your dynamics? Your relationship? There wasn’t a romantic one, but it was always you holding the reins professionally and her just being an insistent passenger. Now she’s wrapping that rein around your neck and claiming you for her own. Looks like you have control everywhere excluding the bed.

“That’s it?” you ask. Shut your eyes—just seeing her grind on you with her utterly wet cunt can make you bust. “Your career doesn’t matter to you?”

“I could say the same thing to you.” Wonyoung lifts herself up and flashes that wicked smile again. “But I want to feel this in me before you wimp out.”

You and Wonyoung fall down a bottomless hole of consequence and wrongs but Wonyoung makes sure to bottom out the first time she sits on your dick. She engulfs you whole and traps you there with her soaked, grippy walls that slide all the way down. 

You’d say her pussy has a vise grip, holding onto you like all goes wrong if it didn’t, except you think it has the grip of a vice. Need for her juices that coat you replaces the need for alcohol. Even if you get out of this suite alive, (which is a low possibility), you can see yourself always coming back for more. You could be addicted to anything—smoking, eating, cheating—but it just so happened your vice is Wonyoung.

“Daddy!” she yelps, and from there you can’t count the times she slams her cute butt down your thighs. “Oh my god, daddy!”

Her dainty, cute yells make you throb inside her. Perhaps it’s the kittenish quality of it that turns you on so much. She sounds so appealing, so fucking ruinable that it’s surprising to see that she’s doing the ruining here. Her expression in bed is more animated than the ones she makes onstage—her nearly closed eyes look upwards while her mouth falls open. 

The squeeze of her tight, wet cunt renders your knees weak. It’s a good thing you’re lying down. Wonyoung makes sure you stay that way by penetrating herself with you over and over again. Her being barely a weight on you doesn’t stop you from lying there uselessly. You know better by now not to challenge her, not when each time you enter her vagina is better than the last. Her pussy is slippery and tight, proving to be the smallest and the best fit for your shaft simultaneously. Her hole is too tight and too good. 

“Is this all for me, daddy? Huh?” Wonyoung circles her hips, making you moan, then continues her up-and-down movements. “You’re so hard, you naughty daddy. I know you got a b-boner when you looked at my posts. Now I’m giving you another one.”

You always thought of Wonyoung as justifiably confident yet arrogant. She told you once at your desk that she doesn’t deserve a stylist who only has a four-star rating. She lamented about the lack of competence of her staff preparing her comeback stage. All those you turned down to give the topics of her complaints the benefit of the doubt, but you know she’s right. She doesn’t deserve less when she’s better than the best. She doesn’t deserve less when she knows her place: a royal throne. So you can’t deny that she’s too hot to handle, undiscriminating to you whose connections always have impossibly beautiful women somewhere in there.

She’s so hot that her small breasts bouncing from behind that denim bra and tube top looks appealing. She’s so hot that the heat between her legs grows wetter. She’s so hot that when her soft ass crashes down on you again, you don’t find it a repetitive bore. 

She’s so hot that you’d let the slim, tall girl use you until dusk turns to dawn, even if the curtains behind her are drawn apart and the secret cameras get to snap a photo.

“Shit, Wonyoung,” you say, your core squeezing. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“I bet you’ve thought about this, daddy. You thought that one night, I’ll be so bad that you could book us a whole hotel and fuck me in all the rooms, just like this one. I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Yes, fuck yes.”

“You wanted to open my legs and use my little pussy all day long, huh? Until I’m yours to throw around and do whatever?”

“Y-yes.” Nod. Your face twists—she shouldn’t speak when she’s fucking you because all the filth she says makes you want to blow inside her already. It’s the kind of truth that arouses rather than hurts.

Wonyoung’s riding switches to a rapid intensity that makes you yell. She lets you in so deep to the point that her butt cheeks touch your heavy balls. She’ll drain them for sure; the pace she sets is terrifyingly quick. It seems that she becomes tighter after each bounce, and it’s not helping you hold out at all.

Watch the wildness in Wonyoung’s eyes become animalistic. It makes you all the more certain now of one solid fact: there is something seriously wrong with Jang Wonyoung.

She smirks. “Well, you got it wrong. I’m not all yours, daddy.” She leans down, resting her palms on your shoulders. “You are all mine.”

Her hands might as well be a chained collar waiting to close around your neck. Her devilish simper is supposed to scare you, not turn you on. Somehow, it does both. 

She flicks back her hair as she sits up again. Through it all, her riding doesn’t stop. “This cock?” she asks before slamming her pussy down it with a different kind of ferociousness. Cry out but she shuts you up with a furious kiss. “It’s gonna be my dirty secret. I’ll always go to daddy after my schedules so I can make him cum—over and over again.”

To think that a young girl like her has you at her beck and call is laughable, but there’s no laughing now. As you stare at Wonyoung’s fluid body and her hair bouncing beautifully, you realize she actually can have you for herself. It only took one Instagram post to lure you to her. She sees you’re falling deeper and deeper for her.

She didn’t exactly tell you how to escape.

“You gonna cum, daddy? Is my perfect pussy milking you?” 

You can do nothing except nod.

“Of course, I can feel you throbbing, i-it’s making me lose it,” gasps Wonyoung. Her whines are making you lose it yourself. “Let’s cum together, okay? You can only cum when you feel Wonyoung squirt all over your massive cock.”

She squeezes tighter on top of you when she reaches down to rub her clit. She’s in search of any kind of stimulation: the slap of her ass on your thighs, the upward shoves of your erection, the pulse of her clit. Her moans increase in their whiny girlishness. Their tender vulnerability makes you think she should be the one underneath your body though you’re aware that’s never going to happen. Wonyoung belongs on top, just the same with her name in first place in the list of brand reputation rankings, browser searches, followers.

Once upon a time, you took charge over her. You managed her lessons, her videos, her behind-the-scenes duties. Funny how it’s the opposite now, wherein she jounces on you freely with the domineering message of caution: don’t cum until she does.

And god, is she making that hard. Everything about her is so attractive, from the bounce of her hair to her midriff showing your entering cock to her pretty pink pussy clutching you. What gets you, however, is her face—everyone loves looking at that face. Today, you’re under an aphrodisiac for it: you’re in love with the roll of her eyes as she rides you, the pink on her cheeks, the part of her lips. 

“Fuck yes! Ugh, daddy, you feel so good inside me…” Wonyoung’s core clenches and slides your penis along its textured, sensitive walls. Her gasp is straight out of fantasies. “You’re balls deep, see? Look how your meat’s filling me. My pussy’s going to be so sore after this.” She chuckles. “Wait, who says we’re stopping?”

You shudder. You’re getting very close. Your earlier orgasm still has its effects on you. You’re afraid you’re going to do something you shouldn’t under her bedroom law. She’ll imprison you with her thighs and waterboard you with all the girl cum she promised until you confess that she’s the best fuck you ever had. 

“Daddy’s going to cum so hard he’s probably going to breed me. Then I’ll, oh, I’ll feel it inside my tummy and it’s going to be a scandal. Wouldn’t you like that? Getting to knock up Jang Wonyoung? I can hear you moaning. I think you really like that. I think that’s why you’re thrusting up in me. You want to be a real daddy and make your baby girl a mommy. That’s so fucked up, you know that, right? You shouldn’t be having sex with me, let alone breeding me. But you’re a fucking weak old man, so of course you like that.”

You’re burning up. They’re the signs of what’s to come. If her confident words inspire her young fans, her monologues of lust make you feel like you’re the worst person in the world. Of course, the boner is part of the effect. 

You groan. “Wonyoung, baby girl, please—”

“Oh god, daddy, I’m going to cum!” she squeals. Her emotions control her and tell her to go harder, bounce harder, squeeze harder. She’s pushing past her limits. “Agh, agh, you’re cumming, too, right? Cum for me. You’ll be—fuck, my daddy’s going to make me cum! I’m squirting all over his cock!”

She slams herself down roughly and repeatedly till your lower body’s flooded with her cum. You can’t take it anymore. It feels like dying because you swear you can see stars in the ceiling, stars of lust in her eyes. La petite mort. How poetic, since Wonyoung’s screaming still sounds as beautiful as her singing and speaking. 

Her shouts are close to breaking the windows’ glass. Anyone can figure out what’s happening without the destruction of the pane—the curtains are wide open, letting the world see the youngest icon of the new generation pumping herself onto her co-worker. 

You wonder if there’s actually poor watchers out there seeing you cream Wonyoung’s princess pussy, grab her ass to guide her, and kiss her when she leans down.

Wonyoung tastes the best when she’s squirting.

-

Consequences always catch up no matter what. You can hide under a cloak, in another country, underneath the earth in a secluded bunker and all that won’t help. You’ll be stuck dealing with the outcome, thorns from a rose you thought was too pretty to have some. 

That’s the first thing you remember when you wake up, wrapped in the bed sheets and by Wonyoung’s arms. Someone’s calling you. Bad news: it’s your boss—the ringtone itself sounds angry, too. 

“Hello?” you ask. You can’t help the grogginess of your morning voice, try as you may. If your boss didn’t know what happened, he can perfectly guess from the exhaustion riddling your greeting. 

“You dumb little shit.” You can feel the spittle of your boss’ insult from miles away, cities away, screens away. “You’re lucky I’m friends with the fucking CEO.”

“What happened?”

“Don’t give me that. Some janitor saw you from the wing. I needed to hear it from you: did you fuck Jang Wonyoung?”

Unexpectedly, a veiny hand you remember holding something else grabs your phone. Wonyoung leans against your shoulder wearing nothing as she holds the phone to her ear.

“Why?” she quips, loud and clear. “Wouldn’t you?”

[a-writer]

Invisible String - Part 7

Not a preview but the whole part!!! Sorry it’s a long one hehe. Hope you enjoy feedback is always welcomed and appreciated!!!!!<3

Azriel x reader

Warnings: smut, injuries, toxic relationship, a little fluffy

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Madja’s office is always welcoming, almost like a second home. The old woman has always treated you like a daughter, more than a pupil, and your relationship has turned into something that goes way beyond potions and healing spells. You are helping her with some concoctions made of different plants and herbs, and although this kind of simple healing is not your favorite, you needed to do anything to get out of the House of Wind.

Luckily for you, Rhysand sent Azriel away on a scouting mission right after that night with him. Now it has been three days, and you know he is going to be back today. In order to get your mind straight, you came here, with Madja, where your mind kept quiet and your hands did all the work. So, here you are, mixing aloe with some calendula and a little bit of lavender oil.

“How’s your stay at the House of Wind?” Madja doesn’t take her eyes off the book she’s currently studying.

“Good.” You keep mixing, also not looking at her.

“Cassian told me you were eager to get off the House today.”

“Cassian is a busybody.” You look up at her, and she’s smiling. “I had been at the House for days, I just wanted a change of scenery.”

She doesn’t say anything else, but her silence makes you feel uncomfortable, as if you need to explain yourself, so you decide to change topics. “Have you found something on a spell that could break Koschei’s curse?”

“Not yet.” Her expression changes, becoming more serious. “But I don’t think what it needs is a spell. His curse is like a braid, full of little tendrils woven together.”

“So, it needs to be undone… Every healer would be able to do that.”

“No, not every healer. It needs to be someone quite powerful, who is able to endure the raw power of his ancient curse. Someone like you, my dear (Y/N).”

Goosebumps erupt on your skin, the mix before you long forgotten. “Why me?”

“Only the gods may know. I never discovered who your parents were, I only know that you appeared at my doorstep one day, full of light, of raw power, and I just knew there was something special about you.”

You don’t remember anything about this, you relied on what Madja had told you: that one day you had appeared outside her door, no older than a teenager, and showed her your abilities. She had taken you in, showed you everything that you know, and asked Rhysand to also trust you to work with them. And the rest is history.

Madja gets up from her chair, and you can see how old she has become these past years. She hugs your shoulders lovingly, stroking your hair. “I’ve always told you that the Mother had great things for you in store.”

“I’m not so sure about that…”

Madja furrows her brows at your words, and as if reading your mind, she hugs you a little bit tighter, her words squeezing something deep inside your chest. “Magic works in mysterious ways, you know that better than anyone else. Sometimes, what should be obvious, takes time… Magic needs to sort itself out, just like us.”

You look at her, and the words are on the tip of your tongue. What about a mating bond? Is it possible that it will take time to sort itself out, too? Your mouth opens, but before anything can come out, a strong knock at the door interrupts you. Madja walks to the door and Cassian stands there as she opens it.

“Cassian, hello.” The old woman smiles warmly at him, but he looks around the room frantically until he spots you. The look in his eyes makes your stomach twist.

“What happened?”

“It’s Az.”

He doesn’t need to say anything else as you approach him and both of you jump into the skies and to the River House.

———————————————

Cassian lands right on the entrance, and he barely has time to put you down before you’re jumping from his arms and running inside the house. Something tugs at your heart, as if in guiding you to Azriel. Your feet take you straight to the living room, and when you’re close you can smell blood.

As you open the door, you freeze and take the scene in. Feyre has her arms crossed, a grim expression on her face, Rhys is right by the couch, face as serious as his mate, and Azriel is sprawled on the sofa, his forehead caked with fresh blood coming from what seems like a big cut on his scalp. He is grasping at his side, his hand bloody from a gash there, too. For a second, you stay still, your heart pumping rapidly.

“I said I’m fine, Rhys.” His words are clipped, and he tries to stand, but a withering look from Rhysand keeps him from moving.

“What happened?” Your feet finally take you forward, and Azriel closes his eyes at hearing your voice.

“He encountered some Autumn Court soldiers.” Feyre says as you kneel next to Azriel, who is still not looking at you. “Right outside their borders, they ambushed him.”

“And they did this?” Your voice is quiet. You look over his wings and see two holes. Ash arrows, probably.

“They were looking for a fight.” Rhys’ words are clipped. “Now they have an excuse to counterattack. Azriel you’re not going on any more missions. At least for the time being.”

“Rhys I said I’m fine, this is nothing.”

“You’ve lost too much blood.” You put your hand over his head, light coming out, and he hisses.

Rhysand raises a single eyebrow at him, and Azriel clamps his mouth shut. Once you’re done with his head, Cassian helps you get Azriel’s jacket and shirt off. You concentrate on the deep cut across his hip, and not on his tanned skin and the ripped muscles beneath. Your fingers dance over the gash, skin slowly threading back together, and Azriel’s labored breathing fans over your face. You look up, his face too pale due to the loss of blood.

“He’s fainting.” You try to breathe deeply, telling your heart that he’s fine and that fainting is quite normal in these situations, you’ve seen it a million times. But your heart beats fast, too fast, as if not understanding that Azriel is not in danger. “I’m going to winnow him to a room.”

You look up at Rhys, who nods, and you winnow both you and Azriel to one of the bedrooms in the River House. You both land on the bed, and you finish quickly with the wound on his hips, putting your hands back on his head. As your magic washes over him, you see color popping out on his face once more, and his eyes flutter open, going straight to you.

You make a glass of water and some chocolate truffles appear, forcing Azriel to drink and eat. He does without protesting, the corners of his mouth quirking up at your instructions. Once he’s finished with the water and chocolates, you look over his wings.

“I’m going to let you rest and then I’ll heal the wings.”

“I’m fine, let’s do it now.” You eye him suspiciously, but agree. The earlier you get this over with, the earlier he is going to be able to rest.

“Okay, sit straighter.” Azriel slowly does as you tell him, sitting on the middle of the bed and against the headboard, his wings slumped on both his sides.

On your knees next to him, you raise a little, trying to get a good look of the small but painful hole in his right wing. Azriel’s warm hands grab your hips, and although he steadies you, you feel as if your whole body has turned to jelly.

Your hands work quickly, taking out the venom and stitching the wing back together, a small scar appearing. You breathe deeply and turn your body to work on the left wing. The wound is bigger, as if in trying to take off the arrow, he had torn the leathery skin.

You straighten your arm, one hand leaning on the headboard to avoid falling, and as your fingers start moving, Azriel squeezes your hips. You stop, looking down at him, scared that you’re hurting him. But he is looking at you, his hazel eyes glassy, his mouth slightly parted. He squeezes again, and you know what he is asking.

You and Azriel have always been able to do this, knowing what the other needs with just a simple look. You swallow loudly, but nod your head once at him. He lifts you just enough for you to move your leg across his lap, and he lowers you once you’ve settled, his hands not leaving your hips. Straddling him, you come face to face with Azriel, a small smile on his lips. Not sexual, but content. A trembling sigh leaves your lips, and you straighten your hand once more.

As you start to wove his wing back together, Azriel hisses, his fingers hardening on your hips. You stop, looking at his face.

“Am I hurting you?” Your voice is raspy and you cough.

“No, no.” He grits through his teeth. “Just sensitive.”

“Oh.” You widen your eyes. “Sorry, I’ll go slower.”

Azriel just nods at you, his eyes closed. You’re aware of wing play, you used to do it with Azriel all the time when you were together. Your cheeks redden at the thought, but you keep going, this time slower, although this wing is taking longer. Azriel keeps his eyes closed, a furrow on his face, his bottom lip between his teeth. He hisses more than once, or tightens his grip on you, and you stop for a few seconds, letting him recompose himself.

But the air feels hot and heavy, a bead of sweat travelling down the strong column of Azriel’s neck, and suddenly you want to lick it. Before you can give in to your impulses, your fingers meet skin, and you realize there’s no rip anymore.

“I’m done.” You look at his face, as he slowly opens his eyes to look at you.

“Thank you.” His voice is low.

You stare at each other, neither one of you making a move.

“You scared me today.” It comes out as a whisper, but Azriel’s eyes soften at the words.

“I’m sorry.” His thumbs caress your skin over the fabric of your dress.

You reach for him, tucking a strand of hair away from his brow, and your hand travels down his face, cupping his cheek. Without thinking, you lean into him, kissing the corner of his lips. You retrieve a little, looking at his eyes, so full of love your heart constricts at the sight. But before the emotions can come pouring down, you kiss him. Slowly, deeply, lovingly. Azriel kisses you back immediately, his tongue working with yours. There’s no rush, only longing. Your other hand comes to his cheek, holding his face as if he’s some precious thing, and Azriel grabs your waist, pushing you against him, your chests flushed together.

You separate, breathing loudly, Azriel’s pupils so dilated there’s no hazel in them. You feel pressure in your chest, as if your body is asking for more, more, more. As if you will never know a time when your whole soul doesn’t crave the male in front of you. Azriel kisses you again, this time deeper, his tongue exploring your mouth relentlessly, his hands traveling down to grab your ass. You quickly separate from him.

“You should rest.” You pant at him.

“I need you.” He whispers, almost pleading. “Please.”

Something breaks and builds again in your chest, as if your whole soul is changing, morphing. You kiss his mouth softly, your lips travelling to his sculpted cheekbones, down to his jaw, until you tenderly bite his earlobe and he moans deeply.

“Let me ride you.”

You look back at him, and Azriel’s eyes are so wide you can see the white in them. He nods once, and something stirs deep in your chest at seeing him completely at your mercy. With a flick of your fingers, you’re both naked and cleaned up, and the smell of your arousal mixes with his, a musky but sweet scent that makes your head spin.

You pump his hard cock a couple of times, Azriel breathing hard at the movement, his hands squeezing your ass eagerly. You’re already soaking wet, ready for him, so you rise on your knees and guide yourself over him. Looking at his hazel eyes, you impale yourself on his dick, a groan escaping both of your mouths. His length stretches you to the point of being deliciously painful, and you stop for a moment, adjusting to the feeling of him being completely sheathed in you.

Azriel’s fingers travel up your back, goosebumps erupting on your skin, until his arms envelop you, hugging you, your bodies completely flushed. His face on the nape of your neck, he kisses your shoulder as you start moving, hugging his neck for leverage. It starts slow, Azriel peppering you with kisses across your skin, jaw, and collarbone.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers and you look down at him.

His pupils are dilated, his mouth parted, and he’s looking at you with so much love in his eyes, you feel your own line up with tears. Something cracks open in your chest, as if this is the moment of truth, as if something big is about to happen. Emotion clogs your throat, so you kiss him and accelerate your pace.

He moans into your mouth, the sex turning faster and wilder. You break the kiss, grinding on him, as his arms are still around you, holding you. You tentatively graze your fingers across the top of one of his wings, and Azriel sucks in a breath, his arms tightening on you. You move slower, as your hands explore more and more of his wings, curse words coming out of his mouth, and you lean down to lick at his neck. Azriel’s hand shoots up to grab your wrist, and he looks at you.

“If you keep doing that, I’m not going to last much longer.”

“Good.” You give him a small smile, and start moving faster, sharper, looking for your pleasure.

Your hand keeps stroking the leathery skin of his wings, touching where you know it will make him see stars. The fucking turns more erratic as you shamelessly grind on him, and you feel your pleasure building. Azriel hugs you tighter again, bringing your body to his, and as you reach your climax, he roars and spills inside of you. At the same time, as one soul, one body. You lay there, his arms holding you, his dick still inside of you, your head on his shoulder.

You stay like this, both of you panting, and as Azriel’s fingers draw circles across your back, you close your eyes. It does really feel like home whenever you’re with him. One of his hands travels to your head to stroke your hair lovingly, and this seems so different from these past years.

Since you and Azriel broke up, it has always been about fucking roughly, about taking the edge off. Teasing and biting and quick fucks, leaving each other without really saying goodbye afterwards. But this somehow seems different. And you want to say it’s because Azriel is injured, and he’s the one who is normally in charge, but, somehow, it doesn’t feel like it’s about that. As if today it was more than a hook up, as if you both needed to reassure that the other was still there.

Azriel’s hands stop after a while, and you hear his breathing go slower, deeper. As you slowly look up at his face, you see he’s asleep. Slowly, you get up, missing the warmth of his body the moment you separate from him. Before you can crawl off the bed, his hand grabs your wrist, tugging you back into him silently.

You obey, a small smile on your lips as you lay next to him, his arm across your shoulders, yours hugging his waist. A force tugs at your heart, as if your body needed to be even closer to him. You try to ignore it, resting your head on his chest.

You don’t remember falling asleep, only the sound of his steady heart like a lullaby and the recurrent thought that there will be no going back from this.

[softsunnyy]

you let your studies consume you, taking advantage of the fact that Quinn wasn't home, but now that he's back, your body is crying out for help and he's willing to give it to you.

warnings: bad eating habits; you neglect yourself physically and emotionally; crisis; angst; fluff; Quinn is just an angel

words: 1,5k

A/N: I'M SORRY, i don't even know what this is, it just came up when i started thinking about how i'm going back to college life in a week. I need my personal Quinn.

poorly written

divider by @cafekitsune

you're having a bad day, and a bad week, maybe even a bad month. Your head is pounding, your eyes are sore and heavy, your hands are cramping. You try to pretend it's not like that, even though deep down you know it's not healthy. You know he'll notice at some point, but you don't want to deal with it now, not when you have to keep reading another 100 pages of a book whose information you're not even really processing anymore. 

you love your career, you love what you do, and you wanna believe it'll all be worth it in the end. It's not all bad, you're not always this broken, but when it is it feels like the end of the world, like you're only functioning to read, understand, and ace a test. 

you take advantage of the days Quinn isn't around to be a little more careless, letting yourself be consumed by everything for a moment. Sometimes skipping meals, or losing hours of sleep. You don't care, you stopped feeling the pain of hunger when you were on the second book, and your eyes miraculously stay open, even though the pain in your head wants to force you to close them.

today Quinn came back from a road trip, and you spent the afternoon together. You tried not to panic about the hours of studying you were missing, with a test in just two more days, but every time you were silent your mind would start working again, making you feel guilty.

he can sense that something´s wrong, so after asking you he decides to give you some space so you can study, leaving you in the living room while he went to the room you share, ready to continue the book he was reading on the plane.

an hour, two. You wanted to go back to him, melt into his arms and sleep deeply until it was all over, but you still have more things to read, to try to understand and remember.

as you debated with yourself, the world began to spin, your eyes closed instinctively, your hand hit the floor you're sitting on and the noise made your eyes open wide again. Your chest is heavy, and your fingers hurt so much you can't even clench your hands. You want to call Quinn, ask for help, but your throat hurts from the urge to cry. 

you slowly get up, your legs feeling numb and like they were made of jelly, and so you walk to the room, trying not to make noise, not to disturb him. You can't even fully understand what you're doing. A part of you tries to force yourself to keep studying, but another part of you just needs love, a space to put your pieces back together now that you feel broken and exhausted. 

Quinn notices you immediately, so he quickly abandons his book.

“hey, baby, what’s wrong?” he got up from the bed without making any sudden movements, trying to get closer without disturbing you. Hearing his voice, you burst into tears, almost falling to your knees on the floor, if it hadn’t been for him, who took you in his arms, taking you to the bed, where he helped you sit on the edge. He knelt in front of you, watching as you tried to dry your tears, but your hands were shaking too much for that. He took your hands in his, sharing his warmth and drawing your attention, making you look at him, with your cheeks wet, red nose and little whimpers coming out of your lips. 

it drives him crazy not knowing what’s happening, not understanding the reason for your crying. He can feel his heart breaking seeing you like that, but he prefers not to show you that, because he knows that you don’t need a look of pity right now. So he makes a quick decision, hugging you tightly. Your arms surround his neck, and you cry until you’re exhausted. 

the two of you are silent for a few minutes. Quinn knows you won't give him long answers, and that today probably won't be the day he knows for sure what happened, but he wants to try to make you feel comfortable enough before you fall asleep.

“do you need something, angel?” he murmured, as softly and delicately as possible, moving away just a little to help you dry your cheeks. You shake your head, denying, but the growl of your stomach reminds you that you haven’t eaten anything for a couple of hours, and your body is starting to miss food. 

“maybe food,” you answered quietly, embarrassed. Your eyes hurt even more because you cried.

“okay, how about you get some sleep while i prepare something for you to eat?” he suggested, and you, already completely exhausted, just nodded, letting Quinn move your body with ease, helping you into bed, comfortably covered under the blankets.

he smiled sweetly at you when he made sure you were covered up, and leaned down to place a soft kiss on your forehead.

“i’ll be back soon, just rest, love,” he said, "i love you" was the last thing you heard before giving in to exhaustion. 

Quinn got to work. Normally, you’re the one who takes care of him, making sure he eats right, that he doesn’t stress himself out too much. You’re the one who helps him stay healthy, even when everything seems wrong. Sometimes you do it with small acts, like a kiss on the cheek that you know will make him smile. Sometimes it’s thoughtful actions, like cooking something he likes.

he’s always appreciated every act, and he knows that now is the time he can return it to you, helping you.

a part of him feels not only worried, but guilty as well. Maybe if he had noticed the signs earlier...

he wants to pay more attention, he wants to be more present. He never wants to see you hurt yourself again. 

he started cooking something not so light, so he could fill your stomach a little, but still not so heavy considering the hour. He tried to be quiet, so as not to disturb your sleep, and he took care of putting your things away, thinking of a way to help you that wouldn't involve more suffering.

he hadn't been through anything like that, not when he used to study. Sure, he tried to be a good student, but his focus was more on other areas, so he never worried that much about the subjects. He didn't stay up all night studying or neglect himself in order to learn. So he doesn't know how you feel, not beyond what he saw. However, he understands the frustration, the need to understand, to put theory into practice and be good at it. He knows that you don't just study to pass, but because you want to understand every detail of your career, to know what you do in order to do it well. He knows your goals, he knows why, and that's enough for him to spend all his time cooking thinking of different ways for you to study.

he´s tormented by the memory of the way you seemed so fragile in his arms, losing a battle against yourself. He's grateful that you trust him like that, grateful that you let him into your space and give him the freedom to comfort you in some way, but he never wants to see you like that again. His heart broke when he saw you, and he would give anything to go back in time and realize it sooner. 

the smell of the finished food caught his attention, so he quickly began to serve, putting everything on a tray and carrying it to the bedroom, then leaving it on the nightstand. He carefully woke you up.

you blinked heavily, trying to adjust to the dim light in the room, your vision a little blurry for the first few seconds, until you finally started to make things out and saw Quinn, sitting next to you, giving you one of those smiles you love so much. Slowly, the pains began to return, a sign that you were coming back to reality.

the smell of food filled your nostrils, and your stomach began to growl once more. With his help you slowly sat up in bed, groaning at the pain in your hands and shoulders. 

“here, you need to eat something,” Quinn said. However, he soon realized how strong your pains were, so he changed the plan.

yes, he will help you eat, even if he has to feed you himself. 

you don't have to move if you don't really need to, Quinn will be there, and he'll help you in any way he can, even if he has to carry you to the bathroom because your legs still hurt. 

and what does it matter if you get used to that kind of treatment? he will be happy to give it to you. He would do anything for you, for your comfort and happiness.

he regrets not being there when it started, but he's not going to leave you now. He's not going to let you destroy yourself. You should never let yourself get too low.

you will be fine, and you will be able to learn, but he will make sure that it is healthy, that it really works.

you have him, and as long as you let him, he will do everything in his power for you.

[vettelsvee]

DON'T BELIEVE WHAT THEY SAY | Oscar Piastri

f1 masterlist | wattpad | ao3 | instagram

oscar piastri x gf!reader

summary: reader is quite insecure about herself due to fans and paps comments, and oscar tries to comfort her

word count: 1206

warning: wait till the end and tell me if you'd like a part 2 *kiss kiss*. reader feeling insecure about herself and thinking she's not good enough (remember: you are good enough, don't hear what others say!). use of y/n. corrected the translation at almost 1am so i apologize if there are mistakes

you can send your one shots requests here! feedback as well as comments and reblogs are truly appreciated! <3

After a long day in the paddock, and after a race that was supposed to be the highlight of the season but ended in a DNF for Oscar, your boyfriend decided to cheer both of you up by inviting you to have dinner in a fancy restaurant. You have been in a relationship for several years since you both were high school sweethearts, so sometimes the romance wore thin. Today, he wanted to give his best after a day worth to forget.

Lately, he had noticed that your behavior was a bit strange. You seemed uncomfortable with yourself, and your self-esteem was at an all-time low, judging by the unpleasant comments you had been making lately about herself. Moreover, the media and "fans" criticism didn't help either, as paparazzi and journalists had been harassing and spreading rumors about Oscar cheating on you, or that you have been gaining too much weight for Piastri’s liking. All of them, among others, were damaging your relationship slowly. 

For those two reasons, and because he felt like changing the scenery after the weekly training stress, Oscar told you that you would go out to enjoy a peaceful dinner. He was conscious of all of those criticism, and he was going to remind you how special you were to him and most of it, how perfect you were for him. Also, that you shouldn’t give a damn shit about others opinions, specially when Oscar was the one dating and loving you.

Although you initially resisted to go because you didn’t want to be the center of attention once again, you finally accepted because you knew it hadn’t been an easy day for your boyfriend. You dressed in a beautiful electric blue dress he had gifted you for you birthday las year, and decided not to wear makeup and jewelry. However, you still felt nervous. It was the presence of paparazzi, who followed you wherever you went, made you feel increasingly insecure about yourself and your relationship once again.

In those moments, you thought that Oscar deserved a girl better than you.

"Love," you addressed you boyfriend, a bit hesitant. "Do I look fine like this?"

"My God, Y/N… You're perfect. You always are."

You looked at yourself in the mirror once again. You tried to fake a smile, but you didn't like what you saw in front of you.

"I don't know… I feel a bit ridiculous in this dress," you explained. "Do I look too fat? I don’t think this color suits me very well either..."

"Don't say that," Oscar scolded, approaching you. "It looks amazing on you. Do you remember when I gave it to you? You loved it! You have been wanting it, for months actually, and even though you didn't say it, your face said it all."

"Yes, I remember perfectly, but the problem is that I don't feel comfortable with myself," you continued. "I'm tired of everything that's being said about us and the opinions people seem to have about us. To be honest with you, every day I feel more like… well, that I don’t deserve to be in your life. At least, not as your girlfriend.”  

Oscar sighed. He knew you were right. He was pretty conscious about the media and obsessive fans’ behaviour towards you, and he didn’t like that part of fame either, especially when it was for no reason, and because they had no right to comment on your relationship, which was definitely private, but not secret.

You started to cry shily. He did nothing but hesitate to hug you and make your head rest on his chest. He immediately starting to stroke your hair while gently rocking you from side to side, trying his best to calm you down.

"That shouldn't worry you because you're the most important person to me," he assured you. "I love you just the way you are, for the worst and the better, and I’ll keep doing so every day for the rest of my life, ok?."

"Yeah, I know," you said, pulling away from him quite angrily, "The thing here is that I don't care about what you think, but what other people think. I hate that there are people who are spending their free time, or not so free, making theories about us as if we were a Marvel movie!t”

"Darling..."

"Don’t," you exclaimed, interrupting him, "I understand, and I respect, that you're a public figure, but that doesn't mean I can't be tired of the treatment I receive from girls that are in love with you! Aren't they such big fans of yours, and do they admire and love you so much, that they can't have a minimum of respect for the person you share your life with?"

Oscar knew you were right.

"Don't let that worry you," he explained. "What matters is that you and I love each other, and it's not a fake relationship like many out there, so don't let the negative comments affect you. Remember: those people don't deserve even a second of your thoughts."

"Well..." you replied simply. "It's difficult, Osc… I feel like people are analyzing and judging me all the time, no matter what I do."

Your boyfriend sighed again. He didn't know what to do to calm you down. Seeing you hurt made him feel really bad. Although he was familiar with the daily attention and hate comments, it didn't mean you, his girlfriend, had to get used to them. He felt frustrated and worried for you because, even though he knew you were aware that negative attention was part of the deal you signed when you started dating back in high school, it didn't mean you weren't bothered by seeing the love of your life being constantly mocked.

Oscar started thinking what to do. He wanted to make you happy, but if going out to have dinner isn’t what you desired that night… 

"What do you think if, instead of going out, we stay here, at the hotel?" he proposed to you. Immediately, you seemed a bit cheered up by the suggestion. "We can order something and have dinner in bed while watching a movie or a series you fancy."

"Really? You don't mind? I'm sure you already had the reservation made, and I really feel so bad..."

"Of course I don't mind," he explained, giving you a kiss on the forehead. "You are the most important thing in my life, so I will do whatever it takes to make you feel better."

Your eyes were still red, but you tried to feel better and fake you were ok. You hugged Oscar and thanked him again for what he just did.

Immediately, you both snuggled up in bed while watching a movie you chose, while Oscar phoned to the hotel’s reception so you could have room service for dinner. Pizza, most specifically, as you wanted it and told your boyfriend.

You didn’t know, but that moment made Oscar the happiest man on earth. He made you smile, even amidst the sadness. However, it was time to start thinking how he could propose to you in a different way because your insecurity, sadly, ruined his plans to kneel and pull the question.

[cwwv9]

"Silence heard"

— without gender!depressive!reader x Isagi Yoichi, Meguro Bachira, Hiori Yo, Karasu Tobio, Michael Kaiser, Alexis Ness, Mikage Reo, Hagi Seishiro, Itoshi Rin, Itoshi Sae, Shidou Ryusei.

Warning: depression, emotional detachment, mention of apathy, inner pain, attempts to cope with mental difficulties, passive suicidal behavior (hint), obsessive behavior.

mailbox open for queries!!!( I need it )

Isagi Yoichi

He notices it from the very beginning - how you hold yourself apart, how you keep silent at times when others are laughing. Isaiah is lost at first: he can not cope with the pain of others, because he always made up for himself at the expense of the goal. But one day he will just say:

- If you’re sick, I won’t distract you with happiness. Just... let me be there. Even if it’s silent.

And it really stays - quiet, attentive, not pressing.

Meguro Bachira

His first reaction is an obsessive positivity. He thinks that he can "spin" you like a toy. He dances, jokes, wears stupid glasses.

But then he realizes: you don’t need funny clowns. Then he begins to share his loneliness - about the imaginary friend, about the silence in his head when there is no football.

- You don’t have to laugh. I know what it’s like to live in your own world. Just... let me in for a second, and I won’t tell anyone what’s inside.

And you believe.

Hyori Yo

He can immediately feel the familiar sadness in your eyes. He doesn’t ask questions - he just starts making you tea, leaving playlists, sometimes writing short messages: "Did you eat today?"

His care is unnoticeable, almost imperceptible. But at one point you catch yourself waiting for him to walk down the corridor with his hands on your shoulder.

Hyory never demands changes from you. He just exists as a warm room in a cold house.

Karasu Tabito

At first he gets irritated. Like, "Why are you being so pushy?" - but it’s a defensive reaction. He can’t say "I’m worried".

And then you start noticing - how you’re slouching, how your eyes are slipping away from the light. And it becomes cautious, almost careful. He will start calling you to the gym, explaining:

- Exercise helps. Seriously. I’m not a doctor, but when I have shit in my head, I run. We can run together.

And you run. Be quiet. This is also a form of closeness.

Reo Mikage

He wants to "fix" you. Right away. Money, gifts, trips, everything to make you smile.

But when he sees that it doesn’t work, he breaks himself. He sits down next to him and says, almost whispering:

- I can’t love any other way. But if you just need to be held by your hand in the dark, I’ll learn.

And it holds. Long. Until you want to come out - yourself.

Nagi Seichiro

He’s not very emotional, but even he can feel the weight you’re carrying.

- It’s exhausting, isn’t it? Living at all.

It will not make you feel. Just lie next to it, plug in headphones, throw a gamepad:

- Let’s just not think. Together.

You don’t have to "be better" with him. He accepts your apathy as something natural. And this, surprisingly, heals.

Michael Kaiser

His first instinct is to ignore. He doesn’t have time for other people’s pain.

But you hold him in your detachment. And one day he comes up, looking straight into his eyes:

- You look like you’re already dead. Do you know what I do when I’m dying inside? I look in the mirror and remember who the hell I am.

He is provocative. He is stiff. But then he hugs - suddenly, firmly.

-And you won’t die while I’m around. Remember that.

Alexis Ness

He feels more than he understands. He looks at you and squeezes his lips.

- I want you to see yourself with my eyes. There’s so much beauty.

He starts doing little things: folding origami, leaving candy, telling stupid stories.

He doesn’t expect a reaction, he just hopes that one day you will smile. Even for a second. And that will be enough.

Rin Itoshi

Rin thinks you’re weak for a long time. He doesn’t understand why you can’t just stand up.

But then one day he sees you crying quietly at night, thinking no one notices.

He hasn’t said a word to you since.

- You hold on. That’s enough. I’ll take care of the rest.

He can’t be soft, but he stays. Every day. No explanation.

Sai Itoshi

He frowns. Not because you’re sad, but because he hates that the world made you do it.

- If someone hurt you, I’ll find them. I’ll break them.

But on those rare evenings when you’re just sitting next to him, looking at one spot - he’s stroking your hand, barely touching it.

The room does not demand, does not ask, just gives you the right to be who you are. And then quietly adds:

- If you want to feel alive, I’m here for you.

Ryusei Shido

He’s laughing in your face. Literally.

- Oh, the dark girl! Let me fuck you - maybe you’ll come back?

But then he sees how you tremble at night, and all his pofisticism flies away.

He is angry. At himself, at you, at the whole world.

- You don’t have to be funny. But you do have to live. I won’t let you disappear. Not you, okay?

Becomes aggressive in caring. It annoys. But saves. Because he is always near - like a storm, like a fire. Like life.

[penkura]

Christmas Decorations

Summary: Law never decorates his office for the holidays, so you take it upon yourself to do so, without his knowing.

Note: I give you some fluffy Law content before the angsty bit next week. :)

You’re very sneaky when you want to be, much to Law’s annoyance when it comes to special days. You’ll hide yourself behind the door of his office and throw yourself on him when he comes in, yelling ‘happy birthday’ or whatever else might be happening that day. He really does try not to push you off, with his face bright red from the affection, but he does wish you would settle down at times. You’re more excited during holidays than he’s used to, but Law has come to enjoy your reactions to all of it.

It makes him remember the times he had with his family, he’d never take away your joy at decorating the sub as long as you stayed out of his office.

Though, you’re not very good at listening sometimes, and Law should really learn to expect you to sneak in like you’ve done today, box of decorations in hand and Bepo keeping watch. You swear Law acts like a grinch at Christmas, even though he’s never rejected your own desires, he seems to shy away from celebrating with the whole crew. You realize it’s likely from the loss of his family and Corazon, but still wish he’d join you all more.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Bepo is highly concerned and nervous that Law is going to show up and reprimand you both, but you just shrug and go back to decorating his office.

“It’ll be fine! If he asks, put it all on me, he can’t be mad at me for too long.”

“I didn’t think Captain ever got mad at you anyway.”

“Me and you, Bepo, Law never gets mad at us.”

While Bepo still worries and watches out the door, you quickly work to put up all the Christmas decorations you’d bought just for Law’s office. A few ornaments that you hang on the wall and bookcases, a small garland across his desk, you thought about some fake snow but knew Law would make you clean it so you scrapped that idea. You keep it simple, trying to finish quickly before Law returns or Bepo gets too nervous while watching.

He’s going to know it was you who did this, but you hate seeing his office so plain and normal during the holidays.

“Okay,” you hang one more ornament off the garland with a nod to yourself, “That should be good.”

“Oh really now?”

That’s not Bepo’s voice, you know this very well, freezing up and not saying another word. Maybe if you stay still long enough he’ll leave, Law will forget you’re there, he definitely hasn’t caught you decorating his office secretly. He’s not there, it’s your imagination! Maybe it’s just Penguin or Shachi messing with you, that has to be it.

“Care to explain yourself?”

You bite your lip trying to think of a good explanation, knowing Law wants to hear one, but nothing comes to mind. You have no good excuse or anything, even when Law says your name to get your attention, though he does it with a sigh.

“…you didn’t have to sneak in to do this, you know.”

“You would’ve let me if I asked?”

“…probably not.”

That makes you pout a bit, but Law comes up behind you and gives you a hug, pulling you against him with a kiss to the top of your head.

“But I would’ve considered it, since it would be you asking.”

“…yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You lean back against him and nod, knowing that’s the truth, Law would have thought about it before he said no. He did the same when you first told him your feelings for him, though that turned out positively, he just needs some time to think things through, see if it’s what he wants too.

If you had asked he likely would have agreed to a few decorations like what you’ve done, nothing extravagant. Just a bit here and there for some holiday cheer in his office, that would he acceptable.

“I’ll take them down, I know you—”

“No, just leave them,” while you turn around to hug him back, Law gently pats your hair and looks around at what you’ve done with a slight smile, “It looks nice, thank you.”

You give him a bright grin before leaning up and kissing him, only stopping when you remember something.

“How did you get in here without me knowing? I had Bepo watching!”

“…did you forget about my powers? I needed something and—”

“You used Room to just bypass Bepo…”

“I didn’t even know he was standing guard for you. He’s probably asleep by now.”

Sighing, you nod and start to pull away from Law.

“Guess I owe him a treat now, he did his job.”

“Stop bribing him into your schemes.”

“Can’t promise that, Captain~”

[dixonsbugaboo]

𝑆𝑙𝑒𝑒𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠.

ꜱᴛᴀɴʟᴇʏ ꜱɴʏᴅᴇʀ🚬

GN!Reader

Summary: You are alone at night, and your worst thoughts take over you. When will your boyfriend come back to you?

Warnings: depressive thoughts, swearing, a little bit of angst if you read between lines

Word count: 1200+

A/N: This is my first ever Dr Stone fic (-人-) I doubt I have done Stanley justice, but I really hope he is not much OOC. I think this might be a kind of approach to writing more for this fandom, as I just enjoyed a lot writing this. It's kinda based on some thoughts that come to me from time to time, and I want to dedicate it to all people with depression that struggle specially during night. Hope you like it and hope to see you soon here with more content!

︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿

You cannot sleep at all. 

In the middle of the night, everything looks different. 

Sitting in front of the window you watch it rain, and think about the things you should be doing instead of procrastinating. But is it really your fault? When it's also in the middle of the night when you feel the saddest, and when you realise how lonely you are when he's not around.

He.

Stanley Snyder.

The man who stole your heart and for whom you yearn every day.

You prop your feet up on the chair and hug your legs, remembering how easy it all seems when he's home with you.

It's been two months since he had to leave for duty. That's definitely the worst thing about having feelings for him: his job; his job and all the time he had to spend away, and his absence, and the loneliness... Sometimes you imagine that in reality his time is a constant competition between you, and his job, and that you're always losing. And in the middle of the night, you are even more sure that he would choose his job over you.

Sometimes you even think he'd choose Xeno over you, if he had to pick.

Xeno was in his life first, Xeno knows him better… 

You sigh and slap your cheeks.

No.

You can't keep thinking like that. That's not who you are. 

Stanley has been showing you how he feels about you for years. He's been showing you how he feels about you for a long time, so now you shouldn't think those terrible pessimistic things that are nothing but lies. That’s the thing you do most to yourself when you are alone awake in the middle of the night: lie to yourself. Harm your self-steem. Make sure that you are nothing but a pity soul awake and alive.

But you have to stop. You have to be okay; both for him, and for you too.

It's going to be alright.

You keep saying it over and over again. But in the middle of the night, everything looks different. And you cannot sleep at all.

¸.*☆*.¸.*☆*.¸.*☆*.¸.*☆*.¸

Stanley is tired of being away from you. He's tired of the mission he's been given, tired of the rain, and tired of the fact that even though he knows he'll finally be home today, you'll be asleep by the time he gets home. 

Two and a half months without you have felt like years without water, like an eternity of torture, and imagining you waiting for him in your shared flat, alone, makes his heart pound.

He still doesn't understand what he's done to deserve you. To deserve all the love you always show him, even though he knows he has to be away due to his job.

He is observant, and he also knows the pain you suffer when he is away. He knows that even though you are the kindest person he knows, your inner demons eat you alive when you are alone. He knows that you are the best at giving advice to the people who are going through hard times, but that same advice never applies to you. 

Maybe you get tired of him. Of waiting for him. 

Maybe, while he’s away, you found another.

Maybe you change your mind.

Maybe you decide that the depression created by his absence can be cured by rooting out the problem: leaving him for good.

It is your right, isn’t it? It's your choice, and yours only.

But If he had to choose… If he had the opportunity to turn back time and change things… To decide not to start a relationship with you, to grow apart from you, not to hurt both of you… he wouldn’t change shit. He would still choose you over everything. 

You.

Bold enough not to shrink from him, to tell him exactly what you thought to his face, and to show yourself in your moments of weakness. You showed that you were more than a pretty face, but also a clever and funny person, someone caring, honest and unique. How could he not fall head over heels for you, huh?

He is tired, really tired.

He takes a cigarette out of his jacket pocket and lights it up.

It's three in the morning. It's the witching hour. The only sound that accompanies him as he arrives at the door of your shared home is his own footsteps. He takes out his keys and just as he is about to slide them into the lock, the door bursts open.

You.

In your pyjamas (his, actually), with your hair all messed up and your eyes full of tears and longing. With that pretty face he is incapable of stopping reminiscing in his hardest times. 

You.

Stanley doesn't have time to react in surprise when you're already in his arms, face buried in his chest, snot and tears all over his jacket.

“I've missed you too, doll.”

¸.*☆*.¸.*☆*.¸.*☆*.¸.*☆*.¸

You cannot sleep at all. 

In the middle of the night, everything looks different. 

Sitting in front of the window you watch it rain, and think about the things you should be doing instead of procrastinating. But this time, you're not alone. 

Stanley approaches you with a steaming cup of tea and a tender smile spread on his lips. 

He knows you can't sleep, so he'll at least try to help you relax.

He sets the cup down on the table and puts his arms around you to pull you up and sit on his lap.

“I forgot how it was having you home”

He does not answer but hugs you tighter instead. 

Stanley recognises he is not the best with words. He just prefers to show you with actions. 

He knows by the dark marks under your eyes that you haven’t been well during his absence. He is aware of your depressive thoughts, of your manners and your self-deprevice way of going on. But he also knows that you are doing your best, working everyday on fighting your demons.

Stanley takes one of your hands and brings it to his lips. His other hand rests on your waist, in a place that seems made for his hand and his hand only.

You lean to his touch, to his love.

Oh, how much you have missed him…

You missed his smell, like smoke and metal. You missed the sound of his voice, rough but sweet. You missed his touch, his kisses and his presence.

You are so bad over Stanley Snyder that you thought to yourself that now that you know him, you weren’t sure how to live without him.

He massages your shoulders, strokes your hair, kisses your temple…

It's his way of showing you how much he loves you, and to make sure that you know that you are not alone.

Making up for lost time, even if it's in the middle of the night.

“Stan,” you call, leaning your head on his shoulder, “it's late. Let's go to bed.”

He smiles. 

How could he possibly say no to you?

In the middle of the night, everything looks different. Lying in bed, you let Stanley wrap his arms around your waist and press your back against his chest. You're where you want to be.

You feel loved. You feel complete.

And you can finally sleep peacefully.

︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿

A/N: I'm not sure what to think of this... It's been years since the last time I've writen something, I feel this one kinda personal, to be honest. BUT I have soooo many ideas and projects in mind... I hope you liked it! ( ’ω’ )

See you soon,

Nun🐇​

[hyunnie04]

tender

lee know x reader, hurt/comfort | m.list

wc: 1.4k | warnings: themes of depression and struggling with mental health

a/n: this fic is a little self indulgent as i haven't been feeling great lately. so i hope this brings comfort to anyone who needs it ♡

you don’t remember how long you’ve been sitting in the tub. you’re sure your hands have pruned and wrinkled due to the prolonged time you have been in here, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to care.

the sides of your head pulses as a migraine at the forefront of your temple starts to fully form. you had hoped a moment of reprieve in the bath would calm your nerves and ease your headache, but it had yet to do so.

the droplets fall slowly against your furrowed eyebrows and taut expression, dripping freely down on your chin and on the dewy expanse of your chest. both arms are splayed limply across the sides of the tub, staring blankly ahead at the white tiled walls above, unmoving. 

the temperature was warm, too warm for your usual liking but you didn’t seem to mind today, welcoming the dull pain it brought. the white tiles that you’ve been staring at for what seemed like forever stared back at you.

the silence was deafening.

a lot has been on your mind lately. the restless and constant feeling of not being good enough and comparing yourself to others caused you to no longer find enjoyment in the things you used to love doing.

words that usually meant nothing had stuck themselves inside your head as well, dissecting every meaning when they had none. sleep did not come easily to you these nights, tossing and turning, failing to succumb into the comforting arms of sleep.

isolation became your company in these moments, withdrawing yourself from everything. missing out on a lot of stuff, in turn, made you feel worse than you already did.

you knew you should probably tell someone about your problems but you just couldn't find it in yourself to do it. the last thing you wanted to be was a bother.

some days are admittedly better than others, where you’re able to get things done, to do your obligations and continue on with life like normal. but when you least expect it, it creeps up on you, pulling you back into that unhealthy head space.

you tried to force these thoughts and feelings down for a long time, pretending that everything was fine. today was apparently the day it all came rising up, unable to keep a lid on your bubbling emotions.

a sense of dread hung over your head, eyes aching from all the crying you did. wet strands of hair had clumped together, obscuring your view, perturbed by how sometimes your skin doesn't feel like yours.

“y/n?”

the bathroom starts to fog with mist, clouding the glass and mirrors, the water slowly scalding your skin. the call to sink down into the water and never come up are louder than ever.

“-y/n? are you in there?” a voice makes itself known. lifting yourself up a little bit, startled at the faintest sound of knocks.

you forget that minho would be home around this time. a hand flies towards your forehead to ease the pounding pain. shit, you haven't started making dinner. 

it takes a while before you answer, collecting yourself as to not sound as shaky. “yeah! just finishing up, i'll be out in a sec.”

“don’t get out, i'll join you.” he yells back, the sound of padding feet against the wooden floors reverb through out the apartment. your eyes flicker at his sudden decision, causing you to sigh and sink down into the water once more.

as much as you adored and love him and how most days would let him join you with no hesitation, you silently hoped that he wouldn't today. you couldn't bear to let him see you in this state, all disheveled and puffy eyed. but it was rare when he was even home, given his grueling schedule.

so you wait for him patiently to come over to your shared bathroom, hugging your legs tightly. you remember to turn the cold tap on and off before he enters, water droplets filling in the silence.

when he finally creaks open the door with nothing on but a bathrobe and a silly cat headband that kept his hair away from his forehead on, you can't help but smile even if it doesn't quite reach your eyes.

you inch farther into the corner, making space for him quietly as he gets in. if he had noticed the temperature of the water that had yet to cool down, he made no attempt to comment.

the two of you don't say anything for the time being, just in each other's corner, relaxing and leaning your arms on the cool edge of the tub.

“you’re quiet.” his voice echoes. minho’s voice cuts through the silence, a stark contrast to the quietness of the bathroom just moments ago.

“i’m sorry.”

feeling minho’s heavy unwavering gaze into the side of your head, you can’t help but feel awful. you don’t mean to be so curt with him, but any more words from your mouth frightens you, afraid that the underlying shakiness of your voice will give you away.

your eyes still keep averting his, afraid of what expression he might bore. will he look at you with pity? with a tired gaze of disappointment?

he does not. instead, minho grabs one of the lavender scented shampoo bottles placed neatly on the shelf and gestures for you to turn around. you follow his request, albeit apprehensively, turning around.

“there we go.” he says. even if you refuse to meet his eyes, you could tell he was smiling as he said it.

minho takes great care to shampoo your hair, his blunt nails gently raking over your scalp, unknowingly soothing your dreadful headache. minho is observant, very much so. it doesn’t surprise you at all anymore when he suddenly asks.

“what’s wrong, hmm?” he finally says amidst the stillness of the atmosphere, tone dripping of comfort as his hands continue to lightly massage through your soapy tresses. you lean into it like a desperate cat, melting at his simple touch. oh how you've yearned for his touch.

although you don’t answer, his intuitive nature already knows that something was amiss.

“you know i’m always here for you.” minho says, pressing a delicate kiss on your shoulder. his sweet words and murmurs of comfort act like a salve to your aching heart as tears start to gather at your lash line once again.

you always hated making him worry.

the overwhelming emotion brings you to tears, immense guilt ebbing at your seams. minho places his head on your shoulder as you cry, hands running up and down your sides in an attempt to soothe you.

he doesn't deserve this, to be left out, to not know the reason you're so distant lately. he trusted you and you trusted him. so you spill every little thing to him.

voice starting to rasp, your stuttering cries now unrestraint without fear of judgement and just allowing yourself to be vulnerable. salty tears start to meld together with the water in the tub, rippling as they fall. at last, you feel lighter. the weight that you carried for so long in your heart doesn't have to be carried alone.

after a while, the hiccupping in your throat and the tears start to subside, leaving you a sniffling mess. turning around to finally face him, you fought the urge to hide in your hands.

"feel a little better now?" minho looks at you with nothing but a loving smile, no underlying judgement, just adoration, and one that makes you dive into him. you feel so utterly loved, what did you do to deserve him?

your arms wrap around his neck, placing apologetic kisses on his lips. he reciprocates, hands going around your back to steady your form. your mouth tumbles out watery apologies as he caresses the skin of your nape, gentle as he can.

you release him, arms still hooked around his neck, looking deeply into his eyes as if he's the center of the universe, and to you, he is. "i love you." the edges of your vision cloud with the tell tale signs of drowsiness, finally finding it in yourself to relax in his hold.

and he lets you, guiding your head to rest on his broad chest, the steady beats of his heart thumping against your temple, grounding you, his feathery light touches lingering.

feelings like these come and go, but minho is a constant that you keep close to your heart.

“thank you for putting up with me.”

"of course, i love you too."

[skzdust]

Can I request a Han fic where the reader is an idol under JYP who also happens to be Chan's little sister?

I thought I wouldn't have much time to write recently but I LOVED this idea so I worked on it last night and today on my lunch break and I finished it!

This was such a fun one to work on, thanks for the request and I really hope you like it!

-----

Intimate

Summary: You went to your brother Chan's place crying, but you found his roommate Han Jisung instead.

Pairing: Han Jisung x fem!idol!reader

Word count: 1k

Taglist: @weirdowithaphone, @caught-in-the-afterglow, @palindrome969, @skzstan12345

Includes: fluff, hurt/comfort, pie as a comfort food, cuddles, sharing a bed (sfw)

Reblogs, likes, comments all appreciated!!!

Masterlist

------

You knocked on the door and stepped back, shuffling your feet on the hallway carpet.

You’d been hoping it’d be your brother Chan who opened the door, but you weren’t so lucky. It was Han Jisung, who’d always been mostly nice but teasing to you. You didn’t need teasing right now.

“Y/n! Are you looking for Chan—oh, what’s wrong?” His voice was colored with worry as he saw the tear tracks on your face.

“Yeah.” You mumbled, pushing past him and walking into the living room to flop face-first on the couch.

“I think he’s in the studio right now.”

“It’s four in the morning.” You mumbled. “Why is he in the studio?”

“Dunno.” You heard one of the chairs in the room squeak slightly as Jisung sat down. “He does that sometimes, especially when he can’t sleep. He goes and works on music.”

“Mph.” You groaned. You could understand that, you did the same, writing songs for your group in the dead of night. You’d been hoping to wake Chan up, though, not miss him entirely.

“Is there… do you want to talk about it?” Jisung asked hesitantly, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

You considered for a moment, worried Jisung might make fun of you if you told him the truth.

If he does tease me, I can just leave and text Chan. You reassured yourself.

You tilt your head sideways so you’re not talking into the pillow. “I totally messed up in practice for this music video last night and I’m worried I’ll be dropped or something. We’re about to debut, and we have to be, like… perfect.”

Jisung hummed thoughtfully. “And that was last night? Your debut is set for… less than a month, right?”

“Three weeks and four days.”

“Been thinking about it?”

You sighed. “Yeah.”

“I get it. It’s terrifying.”

You looked up at him over your shoulder. “Not going to poke fun at me?”

Jisung tilted his head, confused. “No? You’re crying. You know, I only do that when I’m joking around. I never mean it genuinely.”

“It still hurts sometimes.” You sat up, hugging the pillow.

“I’m sorry.” Jisung cleared his throat. “I guess… I go too far sometimes.”

You nodded, new tears forming in your eyes. “I appreciate that.”

“Oh, did I say something wrong?” He leaned towards you.

You sniffed. “No, I’m just… emotional, I guess.”

“Here, I have a solution.” Jisung stood up and walked into the kitchen. You watched him go, curious. You heard the fridge open and close, and he walked back in with a plate of pie and a fork.

“Oh, that’s my favorite kind.” You smiled.

“Yeah. I remembered you mentioning it a little bit ago and I thought I’d give it a try.” Jisung shrugged, holding the plate out to you. “It was pretty good, but I got a lot, and I had some extra.”

You took the pie and took a bite. It was delicious, comforting, and exactly what you needed. “Thank you.” You said, your mouth full.

He laughed, and you were suddenly struck by how cute he was when he was genuinely happy.

Although I’ve always kind of found him attractive…

“I’m glad you’re liking it.” He sat back down and held out his hand. “Here, let me have a bite.”

You held out the plate. “Should you… new fork?”

“I don’t care.” He took it. “Do you?”

“No.” You said, your face heating up.

“You’re all red!” Jisung grinned. “You do care!”

“Whatever.” You mumbled, unable to hold back your smile.

He took a bite, then gave the plate to you. You broke off a piece of the pie with the fork, hesitated for a moment, then took the bite. You handed it back to him, and he had another bite, too.

It felt intimate.

When the pie was finished, Jisung set the plate down on the coffee table. “Did that help?”

“Yeah.” You leaned back. “Why are you still up, anyway?”

He pointed to the TV, where a show was paused. “I couldn’t sleep, either.”

“Is something up?”

He didn’t look at you. “No.”

“I told you mine.”

He sighed. “I guess I’m in a similar boat to you. I’m really struggling with some choreography, and I think Minho is annoyed with me at this point.”

“Yeah, I definitely understand that.” You nodded. “But if you want to get good at the choreo, you should probably get some sleep, you’re not gonna be able to dance tomorrow if you’re exhausted.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Says you.”

“I don’t want to go back to my place.” You said softly. “One of my roommates was mad at me about… tonight.”

“Sleep here, then.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” You shook your head. “I don’t like couches, I’ll be brave and go home and lay in bed or something.”

Jisung thought for a moment. “I have an idea, if you’re up for it.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Shoot.”

“We could both sleep in my bed. Maybe having someone else close would help.”

The part of you that had a crush on Jisung went wild.

“Sure, that sounds nice.” You smiled.

“Nice.” He stood up. “C’mon.”

You followed him down the hall and to his room, which you’d never been in before. It was a little messy, but you could tell he was organized. His bed was mussed up, like he’d been tossing and turning. Given what he’d told you, he probably had been.

He pulled back the covers and motioned for you to get in. “Get comfy.”

You did so, getting into the bed and pulling the comforter over yourself. You were suddenly exhausted, and you struggled to keep your eyes open. The bed dipped when Jisung got in.

You got an idea. “Jisung?”

“Hm?”

“Can we, um, cuddle? I’m just feeling a bit lonely, and I think it’d be nice, and I… I dunno, we don’t have to.” You rambled.

“‘Course we can.” Jisung opened his arms, and you scooted into them.

He was warm, and solid, and comforting, and safe.

Intimate.

You felt content for the first time since your disastrous practice as you cuddled into his chest.

“Chan might kill me.” He muttered, his embrace tightening a bit.

“No, he won’t.” You closed your eyes. “Chan’ll be fine.”

“Even if he did, it would be worth it.” He said with a soft laugh.

That was the last thing you heard before you fell into sleep.

[glowettee]

Hello, mindy~ Do you have any tips on getting back up again after major disappointment in both personal and professional life? I'm currently going through it🥺.

✧・getting back up after disappointment・゜✧

hey lovely 🤍

oh my heart goes out to you right now. disappointment in both personal and professional spheres at the same time? that's honestly one of the hardest things to navigate because it can feel like there's no safe space to retreat to when everything hurts at once.

first thing i want you to know is that you're not alone in this feeling. i went through something similar last year when a friendship ended the same week i lost a project i'd been working on for months. it felt like the universe was playing some cruel joke, and i spent days just existing in my pajamas, wondering how to even start picking up the pieces.

here's what helped me (and what i hope might help you too):

allow yourself to feel everything first. seriously. don't rush to "get over it" or "be positive" right away. disappointment needs to be processed, not skipped over. i literally had a designated crying spot (my bathroom floor) where i would just let myself feel awful for 20 minutes. then i could get up and face the day.

create tiny moments of control when everything feels chaotic. when both personal and professional parts of life are in shambles, focus on the smallest things you can control. make your bed. organize one drawer. choose a pretty outfit even if you're staying home. these tiny acts of order remind your brain that you still have agency.

find the narrative thread. disappointments are chapters, not the whole book of your life. journaling helped me see how these setbacks were actually redirecting me toward something that aligned better with who i was becoming. ask yourself: what is this disappointment making space for? what was i learning that i needed to know?

reconnect with the version of you that existed before these disappointments. what did she love? what made her eyes light up? sometimes we need to remember who we are at our core, beneath the layers of recent hurt. for me, it was rereading childhood favorite books and taking myself on little photography walks.

be ridiculously gentle with yourself. lower the bar temporarily. celebrate small wins. did you shower today? amazing. replied to one email? incredible progress. disappointment takes actual emotional energy to process, so treat yourself like you're recovering from something physical (because in many ways, you are).

find the others. disappointment can feel so isolating, but sharing your story (even just parts of it) with trusted friends creates bridges back to feeling connected. you don't need to trauma dump, just let someone know you're struggling and could use some company or distraction.

healing isn't linear. you'll have days where you feel like you're flourishing again, followed by random afternoons where grief hits you out of nowhere. that's completely normal, i promise.

the fact that you're reaching out shows me you already have the resilience to move through this. disappointment doesn't define you!! how you respond to it becomes part of your story, but it's never the whole story.

sending you the gentlest hugs and believing in your ability to not just survive this chapter but eventually find meaning in it. you're going to be okay, even if "okay" looks different than you imagined.

xoxo, mindy 🤍

p.s. my dms are always open if you need someone to listen without judgment. we all need that sometimes. 💭

🕯️ psst. there’s a place where you can finally ask the questions that keep you up at night.: https://bit.ly/glowetteehotline

[erwinsvow]

thinking about being rafe’s calm. when he’s about to actually start pushing and throwing punches and yelling, but if you’re there and run up to him and drag him away, he complies—lets you talk him out of the situation and walk back to his quiet car or an empty room. he’ll listen when you speak, when you try to calm him down, hug him, kiss him, until he stops seeing red.

the first time it happens he feels embarrassed on the inside—wondering how long you’ve had such a big influence on him. feels weird like he shouldn’t be reliant on anyone but himself, feels like it’s wrong because he’s supposed to be protecting you and not the other way around. 

he buries these thoughts the next time it happens, with his dad. you two were eating breakfast or maybe cleaning up after, he can’t remember, when ward comes in to have a discussion with rafe. he politely asks you to step out for a second but you glance up at rafe, and he looks so hard and angry already that you decide it’s better if you stay. ward starts talking—things that don’t make any sense to you but must mean something to your boyfriend—and you can almost feel rafe getting tense, his fist balling and jaw clenching.

on your side of the counter, his dad can’t see your hands, so you take rafe’s fist into your palm and force him to relax his fingers, holding his hand and gently rubbing his palm with your thumb, bringing him into a hug the second ward walks away. you can feel his heart thudding when you’re so close like this, fingers running through his hair to help him stay calm. you’re surprised it even works, proud of yourself for trying and not being too scared. 

it’s a  little bit harder with lots of people around. rafe’s prone to getting agitated by pogues no matter what they do. it doesn’t help that they’re all sarah’s friends now—seems like he interacts with them twice as much. you know it’s inevitable to stop them from yelling at each other, that these are just people who will never get along with each other, but you still try.

sometimes it doesn’t take much more than a tug of his arm while your hands are in each others to get him to walk away. it’s like if you make him realize you’re standing next to him, that he’s not alone and doesn't have to be alone ever again, he can snap out of it. it’s been working more and more recently, you think, incredibly pleased with yourself. rafe’s happy so you’re happy, and the two of you both know it and don't have to talk about it.

then comes a big one—your boyfriend is as angry as you’ve ever seen him. you don’t know what’s happened, just that you want to help him. you’re starting not to care who’s at fault, who caused this, and you’re beginning to blame everyone else for even doing something that makes rafe angry. that sentiment is a little brainwashed, you reflect, but you don’t really care anymore.

someone throws a punch and rafe’s not going to back down from a fight. when someone finally tears them apart, your boyfriend’s bleeding from a cut on his face and has a big bruise forming on the other side. you don’t look at the other guy because you know it’s worse. you drag rafe to his truck, heart beating fast—feeling really upset yourself. you thought you were getting better at this, that you were good for him, but you weren’t able to do anything today. you’re both silent in the truck, until you use your sleeve to wipe away some of the blood on his temple, sniffling. 

“just took a punch and you’re the one crying?” but it doesn’t come out harsh, the way you’d expect. he says it soft and gentle, like he’s mad at himself for making you cry. his tone doesn’t help matters so you start crying even harder.

“hey, hey, come here-” and in a few swift motions, you’re out of your seat and sitting on his lap, face buried in his neck while you get the collar of his shirt damp. “m’sorry, baby, didn’t mean to scare you.” you pull away to look at him, tears glittering in your pretty eyes and cheeks wet.

“i’m sorry,” you finally get out, quiet and weepy. you’re disappointed in yourself.

“what’re you apologizing for?” he asks, and you cry harder, unable to meet rafe’s eyes.

“i couldn’t stop it, i’m supposed to stop and help you so this doesn’t happen-” 

rafe’s not stupid—he knows what you do when you see him getting upset. he knows it and he’s thankful and he loves you, but he starts to feel the worst he’s ever felt thinking that you’re in tears because he couldn’t hold back from punching some stupid, inconsequential guy.

“hey, c’mon, stop crying.” rafe’s hands come up to wipe away your fresh tears, guiding you back onto his chest while you’re still sobbing. “hey, listen to me, no tears. you’re good, right?” you nod. “so be a good girl and listen to me.”

you sniffle again, quieting down and listening to rafe’s voice and the thud of his heart against your ear. 

“i love that you make me feel better. but it’s not gonna work every single time, okay? can’t have you in tears every time i get pissed or you’ll die from dehydration.” you laugh a little, breathing hard.

“i just wanna help.” 

“yeah?” he asks, getting another idea. “anyway you can?”

you nod against his shirt eagerly.

that’s how you get like this—in the backseat of his truck, your legs folded back to your chest and rafe’s hands pushing you into the seat and holding you in place. he slams in and out of you at a brutal place, probably one so intense the entire truck is shaking from the outside. your eyes roll back at each thrust, the pain in your limbs from the tight fit and position dissipating as rafe starts to talk to you.

“this’ll help me, baby, every time-” and you interrupt with a particularly loud moan when he moves a hand to play with your clit. “feel good? i’ll never get angry again, promise. jus’ let me do this every time.”

[honeymoondollie]

Fade into you pt.2

Boxer!sevika x topside!reader

Finally done part 2! (it literally took me a whole month) I kept losing motivation to write BUT I FINALLY FINISHED TODAY!! Hope y’all like it! (I don’t think I’ll continue this tbh) I feel like this kinda sucks ass can’t lie.

!! Minors do not interact !!

The following day, you couldn't stop thinking about Sevika and the interaction you had with her. The way she got so close to you, the way she looked as she was sitting there and smoking her cigarette. Ugh, you needed to stop thinking of her seriously! Are you actually considering going back? She told you she had a fight next week and you were off next week. 

"Just stop it!” You knew your parents would freak out if they ever found out you went to the undercity, let alone thinking about going back there, but why was the thought of not seeing Sevika making you feel so down? As the next week started approaching, you finally made your decision to go and see Sevika again; you couldn't shake her out of your head. The problem was, you didn't want to tell Sam about it, but you also didn't know your way around the undercity. God, this was going to be a mission. 

You decide to wear something cute this time around—a long-sleeve low-cut shirt and a cute black skirt. For shoes, you went with black combat boots. You do your hair and makeup, grabbing your phone and bag ready to head out, when all of a sudden your mother walks in. 

“Where do you think you're going, young lady?” She questioned you. Shit, what would you say?

"Um, im going to Sams, yeah. She's having a little girls night!” praying that she believed you, sometimes it blew your mind that as an adult your mother was still so stuck with you. You actually hated it, but you didn't say anything about it. Your mother nodded her head.

"Okay, be safe honey. Text me when you get home, okay?” she said as she hugged you and left you be. You sighed and went out. You kind of felt bad for lying to your mother, but it was whatever at this point. Stepping out of your house, you try your best to remember the way Sam took you, and you find yourself where she took you last time. 

As you walk your way over to the fighting ring, you can't help but feel eyes all on you. ‘Of course they'd stare; you literally look like you're from the topside.’ you say to yourself. You get there and see Sevika already in the ring fighting her opponent. You manage to get yours close enough to see her. 

The guy she is fighting is like 2x bigger than her, and yet she's so unfazed by it. He lands a hit on Sevika and knocks her back, but only for a second because she's right back and hits him back so hard he goes flying back. There's a small break that was called; Sevika looks into the crowd and manages to spot you. She thought you were so easily spottable; you see her and smile at her. You see the blood on her face, probably a bloody nose. She sends a wink your way, and you swear you passed out there. After the break, Sevika and the guy were at it again. He goes to hit him, but Sevika has him figured out this time and blocks his punch, and she knocks him to the ground; he stays there, probably passed out. 

Sevika is declared winner once again, and everyone goes crazy like last week. Sevika motions to the back, where the little room is. You make your way through the busy crowd and step into the room.

“You came, doll.” Her voice boomed; god, her voice was like fucking music to your ears. Why is she making you feel this way? You could listen to her voice all day.

"Yeah, I did come back; I don’t really know why.” Suddenly, your shoes became the most interesting thing in the world. A part of you wanted to get to know Sevika, possibly befriend her, maybe something more. But knowing that Sevika was from the undercity and a boxer, you knew it could never happen. Feeling a warm hand grab your chin gently and lift it up broke you out of your little trance. You are met with Sevika's eyes; god, you could get lost in those eyes of hers. She leans in a bit closer.

"Oh, you know why, doll, don't play stupid with me. You wanted to come see me; that's why you're here.” You hated how right she was. She pulled away from you and backed away. 

“Lets celebrate my win doll." She opened the door for you, and you walked out. The bar was crowded, and so was the dance floor; you felt a bit nervous about this not really being your scene. She grabbed your hand and dragged you to a table where a couple other guys were seated. She pulled you to that table sitting down; you sat beside her. 

Everyone looked a bit intimidating to you. Someone approaches the table and hands Sevika a drink; of course they would know what she liked. She fights here and celebrates here. Sevika chugs down her drink before looking at you. 

“So what do you usually drink? Something fancy?” The truth was you never really drank; when you did drink, it was just a small bit of wine or a little champagne. You didn't even know if you should drink anything tonight; I mean, how would you even go home? 

"Oh, I usually have a bit of wine, but I don't think I'll drink tonight.” You explain to her; she lets out a small chuckle. God,  she was perfect. No! You can't be thinking of her like that. Her voice brought you out of your thoughts.

“I figured as much; I don't think you'd find the best kind around here.” Sevika says as she starts on her second drink of the night. Hours go by and you have amazing conversations with Sevika; she tells you all about the undercity, and you tell her about Piltover. You knew that conditions down in the undercity were not great at all, and she was so passionate talking about her place here. You admired that about her. Hours pass, and before you know it, the time is 2330 and you have to leave. Sevika offers to take you at least halfway. 

Staying close to Sevika, you two begin the journey back. As you get closer and closer to where you need to go, Sevika asks you a question. “Would you want to come down again next week? "Uh, don’t have a fight, so we can maybe just spend the day together.” 

You put a hand on her bicep, smiling up at her, “Of course, Sevika. I’ll see you here again next week.” She pulls her phone out and gives it to you, typing in your number and saving it into her phone. You reach up and give Sevika a kiss on her cheek. “See you sev!" With that, you run off.

Sevika makes it her goal to get with you no matter what.