#i’m going to the laundromat today

[shvoowsh]

wearing my favorite outfit today! might be a bitttt too cold but i am holding on to sundresses for as long as i can

[vulcanette]

truly, Fred Durst. It’s just one of those days!

[thnksfrthmmrs]

having autism and adhd and chronic pain and chronic fatigue all act up at once is……. well i’m miserable!

[ephemeral-winter]

it’s so funny to me that I get checked out and/or catcalled the most when I wear my overalls because to me these are my “fuck I need to do laundry” clothes

[macfrog]

homesick

a cowboy like me one shot

oh, i missed these two. here's a little check-in on my favorite morally irresponsible outlaws.

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you spend the weekend back home in austin with joel.

warnings: age gap (early 20s/late 40s), twinge of angst, piv sex in the shower (beware of slippage). you know the drill with these two. part of the cowboy like me universe, but can probably be enjoyed as a standalone.

word count: 6.3k

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“This is Joel Miller. I can’t come to the phone right now, so leave a message and I’ll get back to ya.”

You wait for the beep, pacing along a wall of steel cylinders. The laundromat is stifling, the machines’ drumming deafening. It’s eighty-something degrees out, and it’s only six o’clock.

“Pick up, Miller. Hello? Hello? I know you’re there. Can’t come to the –” you clear your throat, strum the twang in your vocal cords, “– Can’t come to the ph-owww-ne right n–”

The line clicks as he picks the handset up.

“Did you call just to make fun of me, kid?”

You halt, spinning on your heel. “So you were screening me?”

He scoffs. “Didn’t notice the time. I’ve been out back with Tommy.”

“Oh,” you mellow, tongue curling around your ice cream, “We don’t have to call right now, you know. I’m just doing laundry.”

“It is six there, right?”

“Yeah, but don’t let me keep you. Go hang with your brother.”

Joel sighs as he sinks back into his couch. “Keep me. He knows you were calling tonight. He’s probably outside fraternizing with the neighbor, anyway. Won’t even notice I’m gone. Laundry, huh?”

“Mhm.” You suckle on the lip of the waffle cone. “It’s a beautiful night, and I’m stuck being force-fed Mötley Crüe and watching a steel drum shred my panties.”

“Sounds like a good time to me.”

“Enough, cowboy.”

“I like Mötley Crüe,” he chuckles. “They got some hits under their belt.”

“Name five.”

“Five,” he says. “You’re asking a lot there, darlin’.”

“Of Mötley Crüe or of your memory, old man?”

Joel hums. “Should’ve seen that one coming, baby.”

You boost yourself up onto one of the dryers, swinging your legs. If there were anyone else in the laundromat, you’d care to hide your fluster – but you’re here on your own, and the man just melts you. All girlish and giggly, you feel his words swirl around your stomach like sweet honey.

“Tell me about your day,” you say, covering the flutter in your voice with another mouthful of ice cream.

“Well,” Joel says, “weather’s fine, work’s fine. Almost done with that renovation for your favorite clients.”

You gasp. “The old couple with the cats?”

He grumbles. “That’s them. They still hate me, by the way.”

“The couple, or the cats?”

“…Jury’s out.”

You snicker.

“Then, uh, I called Sarah, had some dinner, and now here I am talkin’ to you.”

“Hm. I’m your favorite part, right? I’m your favorite part of today?”

Joel pauses, breathing for a moment. Slow, quiet, but sure, he says: “You’re my favorite part of every day.”

The smile on your face cracks, crumbles into something more pained. Your heart sinks.

It’s been three months since you were last home. Technically, it’s been seven weeks since you were in Austin – but Joel was out of town for the weekend, and you spent four days cleaning your dad’s gutter and watching westerns.

It’s been three months since you were last in Joel’s arms. In his house, in his clothes, in his bed. Three months since you heard his voice not through the crackle of a thousand miles apart; since you smelled him on your skin, not on the flannels you’ve stolen from him.

Three long, tough months.

And it means nothing, anyway. All this missing each other. So you tell yourselves, and so you tell everyone else. You’re not together, you’re not committed. You’ve been seeing other people, so has Joel – even if he’s only been on two dates in the nine months since you moved away.

Spending a casual weekend together here and there is enough to get you by. It’s easier this way, right? It’s cleaner. There are no crossed wires, no strings at risk of becoming tangled.

Only – your entire relationship is woven in tangled strings. Messy, knotted, twisted around your fingers and threaded through your ribs. A summer’s worth of weaving yourselves closer and closer together, only to be pulled apart come fall.

It didn’t take long to prove that when a knot is pulled, it only binds tighter.

It only binds sorer.

“Anyway,” Joel says, “your turn. How was your day?”

You gulp, slipping down from the dryer to check on your wash. If you speak, you’ll break, and if you break, you’ll sob.

“Baby? You still there?”

“Yep,” you croak. You wipe your eyes with your sleeve and shake your head. “I – uh…Yeah, my day was fine.”

The line quietens.

“You sure? Everything okay at work?”

Your reflection blinks back at you in the window of the machine, warped and molten. She opens her mouth and replies, “All good.”

He can read you even three states apart. “Let me call you back. Hold on.”

The call disconnects before you can protest. Over your shoulder, another regular shuffles into the laundromat.

She smiles, skin supple and sun-spotted, looking but not looking you in the eye. She slides her full basket over one of the machines on the other side of the room, and tosses her clothes into the drum.

When your phone vibrates again, you pass by her and out onto the street.

Joel’s pixelated living room stretches across your screen.

“Joel,” you sniff, “Joel, it’s –”

“Can you see me?”

“No, you gotta flip your –”

“…never know why the damn thing don’t –”

“The button with the arrows. The camera button, Joel, it’s –”

His coffee table flips, and in place – straight, dark brows drawn tight in a frown. Crows feet, scar across the bridge of his nose. Peppered hair a little longer than the last time you called, beard a little thicker.

The only person in the world who can weaken your knees and splinter your chest, in one fleeting glance.

“Hi, baby girl,” he whispers, expression softening. “Look at you.”

You slump against the warm wall, sliding down. One sight of him, and your knees give. “Oh, my God, I miss you today.”

Joel laughs. His head cocks, smirk tugging at his lips. “I miss you every day.”

“Yeah, that’s – that’s what I…” you sigh, “…That’s what I meant. It’s just – some days, you feel a little further away.”

“Today one of those days?”

You nod. A car soars by, whipping hot air from the road which pours over your bare legs. “It’s just…been a day. That’s all.”

“We can talk about it, if you want. You’re hell of a lot smarter than me, darlin’, but I’ve had my share of bad days before. Never does any harm to get it off your chest.”

He smiles. It breaks your heart.

He works ten hours straight, some days. Out at the crack of dawn, home with only enough time and energy to nuke something in the microwave. Somewhere amongst that, he fits in beers with Tommy and ridiculous DIY jobs your dad elicits his help for.

And still – he sets aside an hour or two every few nights, specially for you. He collapses into his couch, decaf in his mug, and puts the world to rights with you on the other end of the phone.

The meaningless work dramas, the paper building up on your desk. The commute, for the love of God – the traffic jams you swear will one day be the death of you. The last thing Joel needs is to listen to your problems on end, and you tell him so.

“Bullshit,” he replies. He shakes his head, takes a sip of his beer. “I asked, didn’t I? Talk to me. Tell me what’s goin’ on.”

You groan. “I just…I wish I could turn my brain off. Just for a little while. No meetings, no call times. No helping my dad trim the trees in the yard when I’m home for the weekend.”

He laughs. “He rope you into that one too, huh?”

“Sure did.” You tense your fist, wince at the memory of splinters you were still plucking from your palm even weeks later.

“I got nothing to complain about,” you tell Joel, “I know that. This job is…it’s right where I want to be. Just – sometimes, I miss being back in Austin, following you around Costco and hiding from my dad. It’s like life was simpler then.”

Joel chokes. “I guarantee you,” he coughs, thumping his chest clear of beer, “life was not simpler. Not by a long shot. Goddamn.”

He swings to his feet and wanders across the room to his kitchen. Past his armchair, past the guitar mounted on the wall. Past the dining chair he always hangs his coat from. You know the anatomy of his home better than your own, it feels like.

You sure as hell miss it more than your own.

“Lemme see…” Joel squints over his phone. He leans over his kitchen counter. “What’s next weekend look like for you?”

You shrug. “My weekend off.”

“Nothing planned?”

“Nothing yet.”

He nods. “I’m meeting a supplier on Saturday afternoon, but if you can stand to be without me for a few hours, then…”

His eyebrows lift.

So do yours. “Then…?”

“I can look at flights,” Joel says, “get you booked tonight. Pick you up Friday, drop you off Sunday. Spend the whole weekend with your brain shut off, if that’s what you’re lookin’ for.”

A wave of warmth floods through your chest. Relief, maybe – or simple adoration for the man on the other end of the phone. Most likely, the way it always seems with Joel, it’s both at once.

He loves you. Enough to break every rule in the book. To go behind his best friend’s back for an entire summer. He loves you enough to let you go, watch you follow your wildest dreams, and then be the safety net at the end of each long day, each hard night.

He loves you enough to scratch everything off his calendar for a few days, just to make sure you’re okay. Just to hold you in his arms, heart beating a rhythm he knows better than his own. Just to sing you to sleep, and wake you up with burnt toast and runny eggs.

You pull the collar of your shirt over your nose and weep into the material. “I ever tell you how much I love you?”

He smiles. “Not half as much as I love you.”

“Gross.”

“I know.”

The laundromat door flings open.

Face now flushed and hair scraped back, the woman clocks you immediately and throws a pointed finger in your direction. “Are you coming to get your panties or what, little girl?”

She clicks her teeth and disappears again. The blind hanging over the door rattles with the force it slams closed.

“Guess that’s my cue,” you whisper, heaving to your feet. “Better go get my panties.”

“Why?” Joel’s making his way back outside. “Ain’t like you’re gonna need ‘em.”

You scoff. “Talk later, cowboy.”

Austin welcomes you back with a delayed flight, a screaming seatmate, and a raging headache.

The airport is busy. Loud busy. All chittering couples, hordes of kids with nauseatingly bright backpacks. You drag your suitcase through to arrivals, careful not to trip over the wheels of the stroller ahead.

When you spot his tall, dark figure weaving between bodies, the gate hushes. You move towards him by instinct, parting the crowd as you go. The magnet in your chest senses its partner drawing nearer, and nearer, and nearer.

And nearer, until he’s reaching out. He’s close enough that his hands land on your waist, and it’s the first time in three months that you’ve felt this weight – his weight, the way only he feels – all around you.

Joel pulls you in to his chest. He locks you in, resting his chin on your head.

“Hi, honey.”

You inhale his scent, breathe in the comfort of him. “Hi,” you exhale.

Tears prickle at your eyes. It feels stupid. He looks down at you, thumb swiping across your cheek, and a salty droplet spills.

“How was the flight?” he asks.

“Good.”

“You okay?”

“Perfect, now.”

“You look perfect,” Joel grins, “Look like the sun.”

And you could swat him away, could shrug him and his flirting off. The sun sure as hell doesn’t look stewed in three-hour plane, too tired to move and too clingy to unhook from her dad’s best friend’s arm.

But that’s not what he’s saying, is it?

You do look different. You feel different. You feel brand new. Golden – just like the sun.

These days, it feels like there are two versions of you. One, you’ve spent the better part of a year polishing off – electric and vibrant, eyes wide and head spinning, moving through her day like gliding on air and then collapsing in a heap come nightfall. Chaos with a clipboard and call sheet.

And the other – slower. Steadier. Surer on her feet, simpler in her ways. Dust under her heels and a Texan shine in her smile. Honeylike; moving where her body tells her to go, drinking up the world as she pleases.

There’s a moment, stood under the fluorescent lights of the terminal, where you feel the first give way to the second. Safe now, in Joel’s arms, to slip back into her old, worn boots and shutter her mind – even just for this weekend.

“Come on,” he whispers, wrapping his hand around yours. “Let’s get you home.”

And there never seemed like a better idea than that.

He keeps your things in his shower caddy.

Bottom basket, strictly yours. Shampoo and conditioner and bodywash and a loofah, all exactly where you left them last time you were here. He says it as he cranks the handle, holds his palm under the flow until it’s just right.

“The strawberry stuff…?” Joel nods to the bottle, face screwed.

You gasp. “You don’t like it?”

He shakes his head. “Like it on you. I smelled like a fruit farm for a week, baby.”

“Makes a change from wood trimmings,” you mutter, peeling the shirt from your chest.

Joel glares over his shoulder. “You wanna say that a little louder?”

“No, sir,” you whisper, and step into the cubicle.

The water pours over your head and down your spine, breathing life back into your body. You close your eyes and let it wash down your face. LA feels so distant, so lost to the steam and serenity in Joel’s ensuite.

He lingers in the doorway, watching as you turn under the shower. He smiles when you hold your hand out and flick your fingers.

“Soap, please.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, dropping it in your palm.

You slip the velvety bar over your skin. The soap lathers in thick, milky bubbles, cascading over your chest down to your hips. Your hands lift from your navel to cup your breasts, pinching your nipples between soft fingers.

Joel’s jaw ticks. He crosses his arms, shoulders tensing. “Easy, darlin’. Dancing with the devil here.”

It burns low in your stomach.

You pass him the bar back. “Maybe I want to dance,” you murmur. “Maybe he does, too.”

His eyebrows lift. “Maybe he does,” he agrees. He trades the soap for shampoo, tapping the bottle against your hip.

The heat grows under your skin. Having him watch, his close eye on you as you wash the suds from your hair and slick bodywash over your skin.

His eyes drift from your chest to your waist, looping up to your soaked eyelashes and dripping bottom lip, diving again between your legs.

Hungry. Starved, even.

Three months of secret photos and sexy phone calls to get you both by. Three months of imagining you, fist around his cock in the dead of night, coating his stomach just with the thought of you.

And right here, right now, in his shower: the real thing. The forbidden fruit. Body hot and skin soaked, just as desperate as he is. Just as needy.

You step forward, reaching for his shoulders. Arms around his neck, dampening the collar of his shirt, you pull him closer.

“Dance with me,” you whisper against his lips, stealing a kiss.

Joel’s gaze darkens. He takes your jaw and tilts your head back. Voice like thunder rolling over you, he warns, “I told someone we’d be somewhere.”

You smile, tugging on the hem of his shirt. “We’re running late. Something’s come up.”

His arms lift and you pull the cotton over his head, tossing it to the floor. He’s the same solid sculpture as always. Strong and wide, torso scattered with hair which thickens across the span of his chest.

He rids himself of his boots and jeans, kicks his underwear off, and joins you under the water. So big that he corners you, so tall that he has to adjust the showerhead.

Pressed up against your body; warm, manly scent raining over you. He’s hard, tucked right by your hip, rutting gently as he steals kiss after kiss.

He’s addicted to it. To you. Has been ever since that first night, the first taste of poison. Has been, probably, since that first glimpse of you last summer. For all the wrong reasons and in all the wrong ways, for better or worse –

You break him open. You make him weak.

Joel groans when you wrap your hand around him. That familiar weight in your grasp. He glances down to watch your slow strokes, fighting back a filthy smile.

“Missed you,” he breathes, voice lost to the patter of the shower. He slips a hand between your legs. “Ain’t gonna last long, are you?”

“Fuck,” you hiss, grinding into his palm. You toy with his bottom lip, nipping at the edges of his smirk. “We got all weekend. Just – just fuck me.”

He hikes your leg over his hip and lines up. A blooming ache when he notches at your hole, tip teasing your entrance.

Your back curls. You wrap your arms around Joel’s neck, whimpering into his chest.

“’s alright,” he kisses your neck, “Just take it nice ‘n slow. Get her used to me again, baby.”

He pushes inside, two heavy hands on your waist. Always in control, always easing you in. He holds you delicately, moving inch by inch, watching the twist of your brow and bite of your lip before sinking in further.

He reaches up and tilts the downpour to the wall. Lifts your fragile body, split in two on his cock, and pushes you against the tile.

Your cunt aches as he slides out. She clamps around his tip. It hurts – but you don’t want to let him go.

“Stay,” you cry, nails digging into his shoulders. “Stay inside me.”

He hums and presses his lips to the hinge of your jaw. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere, baby. I’m right here.”

His hips move forward. Your cunt opens for him the deeper he moves. Like welcoming him home, remembering the way it feels to be this full. The stretch of taking him, the air stolen from your lungs. The love you can never find the beginning nor the end of.

And then he’s moving quicker, sharper, one arm wrapped around your neck to cradle your head. Hips snapping against yours, slowing to a roll when you yelp.

Whispering sweet nothings in your ear – how good you’re taking him, how tight she is. How much he’s missed this, missed her, missed you. Never wants to let you go, never wants to be anywhere except right here, feeding you his cock and watching you come undone.

“Made for me, huh?” Joel grunts. He presses his forehead to yours and slips the words across your tongue. “All mine.”

“All yours,” you echo, weeping under him. The flame catches and curls around your stomach.

The missing piece to the last nine months. The dead-end dates, the hazy hookups. Awkward good mornings, and goodbyes that never seem to come quick enough. Sneaking off home to shower the scent of it away, to replace it with something sweeter.

Him.

Because none of them are him.

They don’t make you laugh and they don’t make you come. They don’t see you, don’t hang on your every word. They don’t – they can’t break your world apart and paint it something new. They don’t know your every move, don’t understand the most fleeting glances.

You could spend forever circling every bar and every diner; what do you do for work and where did you grow up. You could chase the tail of every flannel shirt, search all over for that twinkle in his eye.

They’re not him. They’ll never be him.

Joel coaxes you where he needs you. He fucks you until you’re quivering in his arms, head rolling across his shoulder. His thrusts begin to stall, breathing turns to panting, teeth sink into any part of your skin he can find.

He moans into your neck. The sound nudges you towards the edge.

“I’m close, baby,” he grits, “’m so close.”

You look up at him through tear-soaked eyes.

Three months. Since the last time he touched you, kissed you, fucked you like this. Since the last time he lost control, came deeper inside than anyone before, or anyone since.

Three months since the last time you held him in your hands, lined your lips with his, and begged him to stay in you.

Joel laughs. “Dangerous little game, darlin’.”

But he’s fading. He’s falling under, same as you are.

You want it. You need it. Need to be full of him – that ache when you walk, the warmth leaking down the inseam of your thighs. The feeling of being his, all his; ruined and wrecked in the sweetest way.

“Stay – inside,” you plead. “I want you to – want it so bad.”

“Keep begging, honey. Sound so cute when you’re desperate.”

“Please, Joel,” it’s getting harder to hold, “Just wanna feel you in me –”

“I know, I know,” he shushes.

You tense in his arms, gasping. “I’m gonna – come –”

“So,” Joel smirks, “come.”

And it snaps.

You scream into his chest. Your climax pulls you under, drowns you in a heavy wave of pleasure. Your hips lock, legs clamp around his waist as you cry out.

He plants a hand flat against the tile to steady himself. He holds you still as his own orgasm rolls through, pumping your swollen cunt with each rush of warm release.

You collapse against his body, bubbling and mumbling something incoherent.

He hears you, though.

He shuts the water off and rocks you back and forth. His cock slips from between your legs. “Shh, shh,” lips to your temple, “’s my girl. Such a good girl, baby. So good for me.”

You hum in response and pull yourself upright. You trace the shape of his beard, soaking wet and soft under your touch, following the droplets of water to his chin.

He kisses the tips of your fingers. “I love you,” he says. Chants it like a prayer, leaning closer and closer until his lips are against yours. “Love you more ‘n anything.”

You giggle. “You’re tickling me.”

Joel nuzzles his nose into your neck. He wriggles his fingers under your ribcage. “Can’t get enough of you,” his tongue swipes across your hot skin, “Swear to God, baby, you’re killing me.”

“Joel,” your head falls back with a clap of laughter, “Joel, stop – oh, my God, you have to stop, please – Joel!”

He hoists you onto his hips and turns. Hands still exploring, still pinching and squeezing everywhere they shouldn’t be, he carries you out to his bedroom and drops you onto the mattress.

“Here,” he chuckles, wrapping a towel around your body. He knots it over your chest and rubs your waist, before flopping down onto the bed with a sigh.

You roll over on top of him and fix the dripping hair from his forehead. “Missed you,” you whisper, trailing kisses along his collarbone.

He smiles. His heart flutters beneath yours. “Missed you more,” he says.

His semen drips between your legs. He’s softening against the inside of your thigh. The bed is soaked, sheets that’ll need changed before you sleep tonight. You’re tired, spent, pussy throbbing from the loss of him – and it’s all so perfect.

Being here, with him. Seeing him, feeling him on your body. In your body, for crying out loud. Holding him, kissing him, loving him up close.

It’s fucking perfect.

“What are we running late for?” you ask.

Joel’s eyes flutter open. He cocks his head, frowning.

“You said we had somewhere to be,” you clarify.

“Oh,” he winces, “Uh, your dad’s. He’s havin’ us for dinner.”

“Oh,” you echo. “When is he expecting –?”

He glances at the clock. “Half hour ago.”

“Nice.” You push yourself up, slipping from his grasp. “Well, this is about to be awkward.”

Joel folds his arms behind his head. He tracks your flurried movements: lugging your bag across the floor, tearing through it for an outfit that doesn’t scream, Your best friend just fucked me senseless in his shower.

When you straighten and lift your arms, eyes wide, his lips turn.

“You said you wanted to dance, baby. I was just following orders.”

The sun filters through the leaves, breathing back and forth with the sway of the trees.

You’re horizontal in a deckchair, feet in Joel’s lap, blanket around your shoulders. Full on burgers and baseball talk; if it weren’t for your dad’s riveting conversation about his new lawnmower, you’d probably be asleep.

“Ride-on,” he tells Joel, nodding. It makes gardening a real thrill, apparently. He flicks a hand over the span of the yard. “Whole thing done in less than twenty minutes. Hank says he’s half a mind to make an investment himself.”

Joel purses his lips. He strokes your ankles soothingly. “Sounds like a good buy,” he placates.

Your dad drums on his armrests, admiring his yard some more. He mumbles something about raking the leaves, painting the fence, then – with a vigor that makes you jump, he taps your arm.

“How’s work, kiddo? Still rockin’ ‘n rollin’?”

Your eyes flash across Joel’s. The hell does that even mean?

The corner of his lip twitches. Your guess is as good as mine.

“Yep,” you lie. “Living the dream, Dad.”

Joel says nothing. He hasn’t told your dad why you came home – hasn’t even mentioned the tears outside the laundromat. Your secret is safe with him, you know that. Some puzzles are easier to figure out, the less eyes that are on them.

He hasn’t even brought it up with you yet. Granted, you’ve been home all of four hours, and a solid quarter of that time has been spent naked with him back at his place – but he’s waiting for you to make the first move.

This weekend doesn’t have to be about work. Hell, it doesn’t even have to be about you feeling homesick. It can be as simple as you hadn’t seen your dad for a few weeks, or you heard the news about the damn lawnmower and just had to pay a visit.

It’s what you’ve always loved so much about Joel. It’s what reeled you into him in the first place.

He just lets you be. No questions, no pressure, no worries. He knows you’ll figure it out – you always do. And if he knows that, then it makes you believe in it, too.

Dad sinks back into his chair with a sigh. “What’s on the cards this weekend, then?”

“Joel’s down San Antonio way tomorrow,” you yawn, “Some supplier meeting.”

“You don’t feel like a road trip?”

Your eyes roll to Joel. He’s already staring back. You cock an eyebrow, smirking into your glass.

His shoulder rolls in a shrug. “Your call, chief,” he says, tipping his drink to you.

The minute he mentioned the meeting last week, you knew you’d be tagging along. Two hours each way and an hour in between is too big a chunk of your weekend together to miss out on.

That – and you’ve missed Joel’s front-seat singing.

It doesn’t matter what you planned on doing – rolling around his bed for three days straight, driving to San Antonio and back. Hell, trimming your dad’s trees and cleaning his guttering.

As long as you’re doing it with Joel, it’s enough.

It’s what you came home for in the first place.

The drive passes quickly enough. Joel’s truck doesn’t have Bluetooth, and he only keeps three discs in his glove compartment: Don McLean’s American Pie, a Guitar Classics compilation album, and a blank disc with SARAH MILLER, SECOND GRADE scrawled in Sharpie.

He whips it from your hands when you fish it out of the compartment.

“Listen, listen to this,” Joel says, slotting it in the tray. “Found it a couple weeks ago. I listen to it when I’m drivin’ to work.”

Her squeaky, seven-year-old voice punches through the cabin. “Welcome to my presentation –” she roars into the mic, pausing when a voice picks up in the background. “Huh?” Sarah asks.

“You’re holdin’ the mic too close,” Joel murmurs, almost fourteen years younger. “Farther. Farther,” he says, and then – “Alright. Go.”

“Welcome to my presentation on Amelia E-Earhart,” she resumes, clearing her throat. “She…Oh, Daddy, we gotta restart. I forgot to tell ‘em my name.”

Joel covers his laughter with his fist, reciting it line for line. “Tommy said he’s gonna make her a copy for her birthday,” he says.

“Oh, my God. She’s gonna hate you guys, you know that, right?”

He nods. “I’m countin’ on it.”

Sarah rounds off a few facts about twentieth century air travel before Joel swaps her for the radio. He hands you the disc and you place it safely back in the glove compartment.

You curl up in the passenger seat, swinging your legs over to his lap.

He rubs your calves and glances over, smiling. “You okay over there?”

“I’m more tired than I was when I landed,” you reply, and he laughs.

You haven’t had much of a chance to catch up on sleep. The second you made it home last night, your dress was on the floor at the foot of Joel’s bed. He woke you this morning with his lips on your thighs, your underwear around your ankles.

He was midway through cooking breakfast when you floated into the kitchen to return the favor. The toast burned, the eggs shriveled to a crisp, and your knees bruised.

Fuck it, right? You’ll miss him when you’re gone. When all that’s left are the memories, and the sound of his climax through speakerphone.

An afternoon spent on the road is good recovery time, then, for all that’s waiting for you when you make it back to Joel’s tonight.

A few off-key covers of fifty number ones from the last fifty years later, you’re pulling into a barren lot headered by a beige trailer. The supplier springs out – a beefy guy with a full head of thick, white hair. He crosses the lot as Joel parks up.

Joel rounds the truck, pausing when he spots you lingering at the tailgate. He curves a hand around your neck, thumb circling over your pulse point. “You comin’?”

You twist the hem of your tee around your finger. “Maybe I’ll stay out here and wait. It’s a nice night, and you ain’t gonna be too long, right?”

He shakes his head. “Be as fast as I can. If it gets dark out, you come inside, alright?”

You shuffle into his embrace. “Promise.”

He kisses your head and steps back. “Here,” he slips the flannel from his shoulders, “If you’re sittin’ out. Got my phone if you need me.”

He disappears inside and the door falls closed. A cluster of moths twirls around the light on the trailer’s side. You hop up on the bed of the truck, crossing Joel’s shirt around your frame, and nestle against the back window.

The sun pulls down towards the horizon, sending dregs of daytime in ripples to the stars. She’s still alight just beyond the trees, still burning a hole in the sky. She winks at you from a distance.

The world looks different from Austin. Bigger, like the view from your bedroom window. There’s always more, just beyond the horizon. There has to be more, right? More than four pink walls and a chest of drawers. More than Sal’s store, more than Rita’s cross stitch.

You chased that more halfway across the country – only to realize it was in your hands the whole time.

Him and his lazy smile, sarcasm as thick as the accent he speaks it in. Rolled up sleeves and messy collar; a half-empty cup of coffee and a cracked watch face.

He’s all the more you could ever need.

You’re still perched on the tailgate, staring skyward, when Joel finishes up.

He swaggers across the lot, tan arms speckled with dry dirt, boots kicking up dust. He tosses a fistful of papers in the front seat, then drifts around to settle between your knees.

“Hi,” he whispers, tucking his nose under your jaw.

“Hi.”

He plants his hands either side of your hips and kisses your neck. “Home time, sweet girl.”

You glance over your shoulder.

This time tomorrow, you’ll be on your flight back. Row twelve, seat C. Joel’s flannel over your shoulders, slowly forgetting the scent of him, mile by mile. You’ll sleep with it tucked under your chin until it no longer smells like oak or pine, or the mint bodywash he uses.

You’ll miss it the way you’ll miss him. Holding onto every last moment. Deep morning voice, warm, safe embrace. The rumble of a laugh in his chest, the glimmer or mischief in his eye. The touches he saves just for you; the words he whispers when the lights turn out.

You wrap your arms around his neck.

“Can we go watch the sunset somewhere?”

Joel glances off behind you. His eyes flit back to yours, sunlight catching their ochre and setting him ablaze.

“Get in,” he pulls you down, “I know just the spot.”

It’s almost dusk by the time you reach the outlook.

A twisty dirt road which opens up between some trees, halfway out of the city. Joel reverses the truck and parks in the clearing. The two of you slide onto the tailgate, sharing a bag of fruit gums he had stored alongside Sarah’s CD.

The stars turn one by one, dotted across deep indigo. The last of the day’s blush still lingers where the city meets the sky. Tucked between trees and twilight, it feels as though you’re the only two in the world.

Joel holds the bag out, and you pinch a couple pieces of candy. “How you feelin’?” he asks, looking out to the skyline.

“Okay, I guess,” you mutter. “This has been a nice reset. I wish I could take you back with me.”

Joel laughs. “I don’t.”

“No?” you suckle on the sweet fruit, “I think you’d fit right in.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” He shakes his head, pinching your chin. “Naw, LA is yours. It’s something you did, all by yourself. I am so proud of you, honey, do you know that? I mean, I miss you like hell, I really do…”

He glances back down, rustling the bag in his hands. He’s hiding, you know him well enough. Staring at his lap instead of in your eye. When he looks back up, there’s a glimmer along his waterline.

“…But the way I feel any time you call, and I know…I know you’re out there doin’ something you actually give a shit about. You ain’t stuck here, too big for your own bedroom, too comfortable for anywhere else.”

He slips a hand over your knee and squeezes.

It’s infuriating, how right he always is. You’re working your fucking ass off, and for good reason. Austin was always too small for the world inside your head. Missing each other is a price you’re both willing to pay, for the luxury of not missing out on every dream you’ve ever had.

But –

“What if it keeps getting harder?” you sniff, “What if I need you more?”

Joel clicks his teeth. “’s always gonna get harder. That’s life, darlin’. But the hard times won’t last forever. And when it feels real tough, and you feel like you can’t do it no more, you call me. You jump on the next flight. You switch your brain off, and you let me take care of you for a little while.”

You shake your head. Tears break loose, rolling down your cheeks. “I can’t ask that of you, Joel, you got your own shit to worry about –”

“Baby.” He sighs. “I’m old. I’ve done everything I think I oughta do. You know, the days I know you’re gonna be callin’ at eight o’clock – it’s all I can think about. I’m at work checking my watch every five minutes.”

You giggle, turning into the crook of his arm.

“It’s true,” Joel snickers, “I’m like a goddamn teenager. That’s what you do to me.”

He catches you and pulls you against his chest.

“What I’m saying is – there ain’t nothing that matters more to me in the world than you. My own shit to worry about? You mean – you?”

“Shut up,” you scoff, spitting tears into his shirt.

“You call,” he says, resolute, “and I’ll be there.”

“I’m calling,” you whisper. “I’m always calling.”

“Then I’m always here.”

You sit back, bracing yourself on Joel’s thighs. He wipes the wet from your cheeks and fixes his shirt over your shoulders.

“You know, one day,” you tell him, “you’re gonna get a call, and it’s not just gonna be for the weekend.”

He smiles. “I know.”

“One day, I’m gonna come home forever, Joel.”

“I know,” he repeats. “And I’ll be on the front porch waitin’.”

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 2

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a–less–oblivious player. That’s it, that’s the plot. A/N: Ok, I’ve decided to make this by series, so this one’s just going to be purely Sylus. I hope nobody minds the specific names/places/etc. I wanted to create a personality for the “player” and add a bit of backstory work (loosely based on yours truly lol) for the sake of storytelling, but there won't be any distinct description of the player’s physical appearance <3 Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, suggestive language, bouts of delusion

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3

Riiiiing– RiiiNGGGGG––

“Huh… whazat—?” 

A shrill – earsplitting, headache-inducing, completely fucking loud – noise wakes you up rather rudely from your peaceful slumber at… Jesus Christ, what time is it? 

You blink your bleary eyes open, once… twice–fuck, all you know that it’s too goddamn early for all this ruckus. Groaning, you clumsily try to find the source of the unexpected wake-up call – quite literally in this case. 

Your hand bumps the vibrating phone straight off the edge of the mattress – along with the charger cord still attached to it – and you cuss up a storm when you hear it clatter on the hardwood floor.

The ringing finally stops, and you’re perfectly content to just leave it there and fall back to sleep when, not even ten seconds later, the blasted thing rings back to life, taunting you awake. 

Angrily, you wrestle against the threadbare blanket wrapped around your body like a warm cocoon, pushing yourself out of bed with all the rage of a sleep-deprived insomniac who’s been up til the buttcrack of dawn to grab your—huh, relatively intact—phone off the ground, while the charger cable swings haphazardly from the weight of the power brick on its tail end.  

Without checking the caller, you swipe right to answer. “What?” 

“Don’t use that tone on me, young lady,” Your mother grouses on the other end of the line. “It’s almost noon! Did you just wake up?” 

Barely five hours of sleep. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you shut your eyes and sigh. “No, mom. Sorry, just had a late night,” you clear your throat in an attempt to sound more composed. “What’s up?” 

“Oh, dear. Is it because of work again?” Something akin to sympathy replaces the sternness in her voice, and you dread the all-too-familiar spiel that comes next. “You know, honey, there’s a job opening for a– what was it again? I have to double check, but it’s where your Auntie Helen works. You know your Auntie Helen—” 

“Mom,” you interrupt, before she could go off on a tangent. “Work is fine, don’t worry. Why d’you call?” 

“Should I need a reason to call my only daughter who's living by her lonesome, a country away from—” 

“Mom!” 

“Oh, alright,” she finally relents, sounding slightly exasperated. “Were you able to book me and Jodie the roundtrip flight to Orlando? Your cousin’s wedding is barely a month away and I want all the documents ready by now, sweetie.” 

Shit. “Ah— yeah. I’ll email you the flight itinerary in a bit, I’m just–” you catch sight of your protruding hamper, innocuous but an eyesore nonetheless, right by the doorway of your humble studio unit. “I mean, I just left the condo. To do errands and stuff. I’ll send the details to you when I get back home, okay?” 

“Okay, honey,” she sighs. “You stay safe outside now. Don’t talk to strangers.” 

“I am a perfectly responsible adult—” The call disconnects. “Hello? Great.” 

You rub away the remnants of sleep from your eyes, fully aware that your day’s already started, despite your reluctance. Might as well get a head start on today’s agenda.

First thing’s first– brunch. Oh, it’s almost one. Lunch, then. I could maybe grab a hotdog from the corner store before heading to Landers. Oh wait, your laundry– gotta pass by the laundromat downstairs, too. Ugh, c’mon, chop-chop. 

Just as you’re about to stand up from your supine position on the floor, another ping! pulls your attention back to your phone. 

“Mom, I swear–” 

Ah, you’re finally awake. You’ve had a very long night, kitten. Take it easy for the day – make sure to get enough rest between errands.

I’ll know if you don’t.  

Your heart skips a beat.

Oh! Um. That’s… new. 

… Apparently another one on the growing list of “new features” from the latest update. It doesn't sound like an invitation for you to open the game, strangely enough. It's not a call to action to claim your daily stamina, nor a prompt for you to check your Galaxy Explorer rewards. 

It’s nothing more than a greeting, really. Just one that’s particularly targeted at you, with unnerving accuracy.

You recall the weird (?) events from last night, and the now-erratic beating of your heart suddenly picks up a notch. From the unexpected dialogues to the outrageous amount of dias you’ve somehow ended up with—something you still think is some kind of glitch in the system—you can’t shake the feeling that you’re living out the plot of a Black Mirror episode, as fucking dumb as that sounds. 

Not to mention during Quality Time, Sylus_v2.0 (as you so lovingly dub this version of him in your mind) had been acting more aware of you.

And you’re not talking about the pre-programmed glances that you usually get. No– it’s like he actually hears you. 

He doesn’t say anything. But whenever you make a comment, or utter something under your breath, he reacts with a huff or a hum–depending on the context. If it’s a slew of expletives aimed at your boss, the reaction you’re met with is one of amusement. A snort; sometimes a quiet laugh, if you’re lucky. When you say something self-deprecating, however, it elicits the heavier sighs, the sharp clicks of the tongue. 

At one point, you heard him make a low sound of dissent, something close to a... growl, almost, after making a casual joke about being just another cog in the machine and how offing yourself wouldn’t really matter in the grand scheme of late capitalism. As you oft do. 

Your eyes met, and for a split second, it felt like you weren’t looking at just pixels. His gaze weighed heavy on you–almost accusatory. 

It made you feel… naked, somehow. Perceived. 

You recall how quickly you averted your eyes from his, face flushing hotly from a feeling you couldn’t put into words. 

Bone-tired from last night’s (morning) overtime, you didn’t have the time to look up the news on this recent version update – although you really don’t remember any notifications in-game – so you quickly Google, “sylus acting sentient in rcent update loveamd Deepspace???” on your phone browser.

You scroll down for a bit, but none of the search results yield any relevancy, nor are they in any way similar to your current… predicament. 

(Okay, so calling it a predicament is a little unfair. You’re not exactly complaining about anything per se. No complaints from you. At all.)

Deciding that you’d do a deeper dive on Twitter (X) at a later time instead – probably tonight when you do your daily login – you briefly press the side button to lock your phone… not without a final peek at the banner notification from Sylus. 

You press your lips together in an effort to hold back the stupid giggle bubbling in your throat. 

Unfortunately, all the self-control in the world can’t help you and your need to have the last word – girl, from what even – so you ask aloud, to no one except the person you've deluded yourself into thinking is a valid recipient of your one-sided conversation: 

“... Yeah? And what if I don’t?” 

You’re not really waiting for a response (or were you?), but the nervous flutter in your stomach betrays the impatience you're trying to mask with casual indifference. It’s small, unassuming– but there. 

Impatient for what, exactly, you’re not sure. But maybe, just maybe—

Feeling a bit braver now, are we? How bold. Care to say that to my face, sweetheart?

Oh. 

Oh.

An inhuman noise escapes your throat, embarrassingly loud, almost a keen, and you fumble with the device in your hand; the new banner notification still in full view—taunting you. 

You don’t know what to think, you don’t know how to feel. You–

Spring up, like an agitated jack-in-a-box, and the sudden rush of blood in your head leaves you dizzy. You’re a molotov cocktail of emotions; one more bombshell dropped on you and you might just blow. 

“I’m– later, okay? Uh,” Whew, girl, keep it together. “I need–I need to go.” You almost stumble as you speed walk towards the bathroom.

-

-

-

If you didn’t switch your phone to silent, didn’t make the conscious effort to ignore any incoming messages, notifications, and whatever else, in a rush to get dressed and go about your day as if it's just like any other weekend–nope, nothing unusual here–you would’ve seen one last cheeky reply:

Of course, sweetie. You take care now. 

Don’t talk to strangers. X

Endnote: This one's pretty short, but I’m world-building, trust. 

Thanks for reading! 

[prentisslvr]

congrats on 100 followers. i’ve been following since your first spencer fic, checkmate. i absolutely love your writing. could i ask for a spencer reid, with prompt 4 (he’s saying it) and then 8 (with reader saying it)

WHATS MINE IS YOURS

summary; you spill something on your shirt and you borrow spencer’s

genre: fluff, mutual pining, bestfriends to lovers.

prompt; “is that my shirt?” & “stop looking at me like that.”

authors note: i’m not sure if i like this, this was a little rushed but 🤷‍♀️

you had arrived at work in a haste, two cups of freshly made coffee in your hands, one for you, the other for spencer.

which was what you did every morning, but it’d just so happened that today, emily had her intern running around completing tasks, one of them being running right into you, causing you to spill piping hot coffee all over your white top.

you would’ve screamed had it not been for the fact the intern looked like she was going to burst into tears right then and there, so with a strained smile, and a pat on her shoulder you’d made your way back to your car looking around for something to wear.

the only thing being a spencers fresh laundry you’d picked up from the laundromat for him, he woke up pretty early in the morning, but he lived a walk away from the nearest laundromat.

and since you had a car, you grabbed them for him.

he appreciated this greatly, even if it had taken you weeks to convince him to allow you to do it, you lived like five minutes away from the laundromat, he live about fifteen minutes away in a car, probably thirty minutes to walk like he did.

you just liked making things easier, penelope had once said your love language was acts of service, whatever that meant.

you walked into the bullpen in one of his button up shirts, you sigh taking a seat at your desk, the shirt was white with stripes, it wasn’t your usual attire and it drew attention, from almost everyone.

especially the man who owned it, at first, he’d just thought you changed up your style for a moment, but when he really looked, he noticed what you were wearing.

his shirt.

and, god, he was having palpitations, you were in his shirt, and you looked really good.

it was no lie to the entire team, and well, pretty much the world, that whilst you and spencer were best friends, there was something more than that between the two of you.

“is that my shirt?”

your eyes shoot up from your paperwork and you guiltily nod. “i spilt coffee and im not exactly the most prepared person in the world, i had your laundry and—”

“don’t worry about it.” he smiled cutting your little rant off. “what’s mine is yours.”

you sigh thankfully. “thanks spence, you really are a lifesaver.”

as you continued work though, spencer would not stop sending you glances, if it were someone else, you may even have seen a hint of desire in his eyes.

but it was spencer, surely he wouldn’t.

“stop looking at me like that!” you exclaimed, it’d been ten minutes and spencer wouldn’t stop staring at you, granted you’d been looking too, but still.

spencer blinks. “like what?” his ears going red, he’d been caught, but he couldn’t help it, you just looked so good in his shirt, he’d never felt so attracted to you before now.

“nothing, nevermind.” you bite your lip looking down at your work with frown and spencer smiled, he’d tell you one day.

but for now the dr would settle for his stolen glances and making sure he kept a couple spare shirts in case you ever happen to ruin one of your own once again.

[dira333]

A private man - Suo Hayato x Reader

My first Wind Breaker fic y'all. For @revasserium

“Would you love me if I was a worm?” Suo turns at your question, his visible eye crinkled in a seemingly kind smile. But you know him better.

“That depends. What kind of worm would you be?”

“Well, what do you think?” You lean back in your chair, drape yourself in it like you’re posing for a picture.

“Ah, when you’re sitting like that, I can’t help but think of the King Ragworm. Some deem them the most beautiful worms in the world.”

You fluster a bit at the compliment. “So, uh… you’d love me?”

“No.” He turns away, leaves you to scramble for something to say.

“But I’m your girlfriend.”

“Ah,” he turns back, smiling. “And I love you.” You try to catch a breath before his smile slips away again. “But I’d not love you if you were a worm.”

- - -

“The kid’s coming by again,” your father says as you clean the dojo. Training today was hard, but fulfilling, like it is most days. 

“You could offer him a spot,” you say, trying not to show your emotions on your face. You know you’re not as successful as you should be, as you want to be.

Your father hums low in his throat before sending you a look you know too well. 

“Something has me thinking he’s not just here for the training.”

And you want to agree. Laugh about it. But it’s not that easy.

-

“Hey,” you close the door behind you, shut your father in and yourself out. Or maybe it’s the other way around.

Suo smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eye. You’ve grown aware of the mask he carries, though you’re unsure how to look behind it. 

“Hello.” 

“Care for a walk?” You lift the bag of dirty laundry on your shoulder, lead the way without looking back. You’re almost sure he’ll follow.

Today he’s quiet. So you let him be.

The first few times you’ve found him lingering around the questions had fallen out of his mouth like marbles, like he’d been holding them too tight, too many all at once. Maybe he’s outgrown his curiosity for you just as you’ve grown curious of him.

He knows how long your family has owned the Dojo, how long you’ve trained, where you go to school, even your name. But that’s all you know of him. His name. 

Sure, you’ve noticed that he doesn’t smile with his eyes or that he wears a patch over his right eye. But you’ve never gotten as far as to ask about it.

Today, training hasn’t drained you. Not that it wasn’t tiring. You’re the best fighter in your father’s dojo, sure to go on in his footsteps. But you’ve noticed lately that the other students no longer challenge you. Or maybe you’re just on edge. 

Dreaming of Suo certainly doesn’t help your nerves, not that those dreams stop when daylight arrives.

“Would you-” Suo interrupts himself, lifts the laundry bag off your shoulder as you arrive at the laundromat. 

“Yes?” You ask, embarrassingly breathless.

“Nothing.”

“Oh.” You look away, listen to his footsteps disappearing down the hallway as you fill the first machine.

“Here.” He’s offering you a bottle of tea. “I noticed you like this one.”

“Oh, thanks. What do you get-”

“Nothing.” He shakes his head, stares through the dirty window at the empty parking lot outside.

“What do you want for it then?” Your heart is hammering against your ribs.

For a long while, there’s just the sound of the machine whirring behind you. If Suo’s got a talent then it’s being so quiet, standing so still, that you just might forget about him. And then, when you do that… he strikes.

“Fight me?” He asks. You take the first deep breath in weeks.

-

Suo says he didn’t know beauty until he saw you fight.

Suo says it tastes different to lose if he’s losing to you.

Suo says…

“You know,” you say one harsh December morning, your breath glowing white in the morning light. “This reminds me of that one Anime. What was the name… One Piece, I think?”

Suo laughs, hands in his pockets, staring up at the sky.

“Are you saying I’m Zoro?” 

“Maybe,” you smile cheekily, watch as he reciprocates the gesture. This time, his eye’s smiling too. “But I’m Kuina for sure.”

“No.” He shakes his head slowly before moving fast, his hand grabbing yours with a strength that surprises. “You’re not Kuina.”

“Who am I then?” You ask, breathless.

There are a million answers to this question. You are yourself. You are his teacher. His friend. Maybe even the girl he could love.

But Suo doesn’t answer. He just cocks his head and smiles, like he’s just thought of a joke he’s not willing to tell.

“Why are you asking me?”

-

Training isn’t that expensive. 

Your father makes sure that even those who are low-income can attend his classes. 

Still, you’ve got a feeling Suo doesn’t even have that kind of money to spare.

Not that he talks about it. And when he does, he’s sure to tell you everything but the truth.

“How did you get that eyepatch?”

“It is to hide the ancient spirit that is sealed away.”

You’ve grown used to it like you’ve grown used to the way he fights. Ever changing. Never quite the same as he was the day before.

He’s good. And he’s going to be better than you.

“I think you should let him join,” you tell your father one night, doing the dishes after dinner. He stops drying the plate he’s holding to watch you, conversing, like often, through something other than words.

“Tell him to come by next week.” He puts the plate away. “I suppose you want to have a few days to convince him.”

-

“Here,” you drop the pouch in Suo’s hands, cross your arms to hide the tremor in your fingers. “This is for you.”

Suo stares for a while before he opens it, lets the tassel earrings drop into his open palm.

“What are they for?” 

“My father… I… You can start next Monday.”

For a second, his features harden. It’s gone the next moment but you’ve always been observant.

“You don’t want to?” You ask.

“Do you want me to?” He turns the question around. Your fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt.

“I want you to want it.” You tell him honestly, let your tongue run loose. “I want you to want me.”

Suo stays silent, so you grab your broken heart from the ground and put it back in your chest, knowing that it will take some time to figure out how to beat again.

“You can come in on Monday or you can stay away, that’s your choice. But if you don’t come, I don’t want to see you again.”

You wish you could say that walking away was easy. That you didn’t turn at the corner to look back. That he was still there when you turned.

But you can’t. So you don’t.

-

Monday rolls around. The students assemble. Suo isn’t among them.

Your father calls you over, asks you to take care of the beginners. It’s easy work but distracting. They tend to hurt themselves more than their opponents.

You miss the door opening. Miss the footsteps, quiet but well-aimed. Miss everything but your father clearing his throat.

“Ah, our new student.”

And when you turn, Suo’s looking at you, the yellow strands of the tassel earrings twinkling in the sunlight.

When he smiles at you, his eye smiles along.

- - -

“Is that your girlfriend, Suo?” A blond boy asks as they approach the street, the school quieting behind them.

“No, no,” Suo smiles, “That’s my master.” He bows before you, hands pressed together.

You mock the serious gesture by pressing a kiss against his temple when he raises, winking at the blond.

“So you’re telling them lies?” You ask as you link your arms, taking a left turn as the blond and his friend take a right. 

“No lies, my dear. I’m just being a little creative with the truth.”

“Ah.” You smile. “So that’s what you call it.”

“Don’t fret.” He pulls you in when you turn the corner, the street quiet and lonely around you. Suo’s a private man, always has been, always will be. Maybe that’s why his kisses taste so sweet. “I’m telling you the truth, ain’t I?”

[satorhime]

. ･｡･ self checkout ࿐ nagi seishiro.

── ◜ ⪩⪨ ◞ content ㆍ﹒fluff, aged up!nagi, pro footballer!nagi, height difference (reader is shorter than nagi), shopping trips, slightly suggestive, established relationship. f!reader. w.c. 2k & not proofread.

── ◜ ⪩⪨ ◞ synopsis ㆍ﹒nagi enjoys running errands if the two of you go together. & ໒꒰ྀི ´ ꒳ ` ꒱ྀིა notes: baby’s first blue lock fic !! honestly i’m supa nervous bc i haven’t written 4 them before n i’m still figuring things out but i hope u enjoy reading this anw <333

“this date is so tiring,” nagi laments for the fifth time since you stepped through the automated sliding doors of the neighborhood supermarket. he blows out a breath from his puffed cheeks, sounding as if he is on the verge of collapsing while you browse the shelves for pantry essentials and late night snacks. “when can we go home?”

a trendy song from a summer spotify mix croons over the tinny speakers overhead, its bubblegum pop lyrics interrupted every now and then by a cheery voice advertising new items and upcoming discounts. the supermarket is busier than when you and seishiro usually stop by, which isn’t all that surprising considering it’s the end of the day. college students carry armfuls of instant ramen and sugary sodas for study sessions and old ladies browse for medicinal teas while parents push full carts of groceries, ignoring their wailing children who press their little noses against the frosty glass of the freezers, begging to be given overpriced ice creams locked away inside.

and you resist the urge to roll your eyes with exasperation, glancing over to where your boyfriend leans heavily on the handle of the cart he has been tasked with pushing for you— his long fingers tapping away at a mobile game on the screen of his phone.

“that’s because,” you begin, wagging a finger at him when you turn around and toss an item into the bottom of the cart. “it’s not a date, sei. i told you that i had to run errands today and you insisted on coming with me when you hate it.”

“‘s’boring at home when you’re not there, so it seemed like a good idea at first,” he shrugs, rolling the cart further down the aisle when you’re on the move again. slothy, midwinter gray eyes drag lazily over your body— taking in the way your faded t-shirt (which is, really, just one of his old ones) rides up a little on your body, exposing the cute little dimples in the soft part of your back as you stand on your tiptoes, struggling to reach one of the higher shelves in the freezer section.

you are well aware that nagi hates daily tasks. things such as making the bed in the morning, washing the dishes after dinner, or visiting the laundromat once a week requires too much energy from your drowsy footballer boyfriend, but it makes you happy to know that he tries, even if he falls asleep while doing it; that he will do anything if you are involved, and nothing if you aren’t.

like right now, he abandons his mobile game and the shopping cart in the middle of the aisle without care to come over and help you, making a mother of two-under-two glare at him viciously. he snorts, sliding his hand into the back pocket of your denim shorts, a romantic comedy habit of his when the two of you are walking anywhere together. nagi’s head tilts cutely to one side, blinking owlishly up at the shelves. “which one d’you wanna get, shortstack?”

“i am not short,” you huff, twisting your mouth to one side at his teasing, but you point to the item you want— an assorted pack of ice lollies. “shelves are designed against short people. and i dunno— are we in the mood for ice cream or popsicles?”

it’s hard to make a decision because freezers full of summer treats line both sides of the aisle. tubs of gourmet gelatos, variety packs of creamy ice candies, and an endless selection of mochi with custard fillings in the middle that make your mouth water at the thought of bringing them home with you.

“i’ll eat them no matter what anyway,” he shrugs, unwilling to be the one to choose, but then his gray eyes glance down at your lips, then back to the items in front of you. you swear that his eyes darken to a stormier color, even though his expression never changes. “you make cute sounds when you suck on ice pops, and you always taste sweet after. get those.”

and then he faces forward, browsing the selection of ice creams with interest, as if his words didn’t short circuit a current in your brain. you’ll never understand how seishiro can say the most outlandish things so casually, only to return to what he’s doing while you’re left attempting to calm your fast heart.

“ice pops it is,” you say, a little winded. “make sure to get the second pack, and not the first.”

“mhnn, why’s it matter? the second one’s farther back. they all look the same to me.”

“they’re not. the first is one everybody has touched or returned.”

“that . . . makes sense,” he considers it, then he nods, lips formed into a little ‘o’ shape. “okay, we’ll get the second one.”

you watch as he steps forward, pushing the first pack of ice lollies aside to select the second as you requested, reaching the item with ease and heavens, it’s moments like these when you are reminded just how much bigger seishiro is. he’s always towered over your shorter height and it’s so, so unfair how he uses it to his advantage, making your tummy burn at the sight. frosty air wafts from the open door of the freezer, bringing chills over your heated skin. “‘s a good thing i was here, since you’re so little— there was no way you could reach it.”

“‘m not little,” you mumble, all pouty because nagi is squishing your cheeks between two finger pads. “you’re just so tall. it’s unfair.”

“want me to be shorter?” he asks, and before you can ask what he means, nagi drops the pack of ice pops into your hands and deflates dramatically, bending down to drape himself over your frame. his head tucked against your shoulder, the footballer’s milky fringe tickling the skin of your neck as he closes his eyes. “man, now ‘m even more tired.”

“seishiro, you’re heavy.”

“i know,” he sighs, eyes shuttering below thick lashes, but he makes no effort to move away from your body. instead, his hand slithers under your shirt. making you shiver because his fingertips are dewy and cold from the arctic blast of the freezer and the frozen treat he picked up. you hiss, squirming under his touch as his fingers trail across your belly. “but i’m tired ‘n’ you feel s’soft, like a pillow.”

“nagi, off,” you wheeze, his extra weight making it hard for you to properly breathe. it’s easy to forget how solid he is, straight lines of athletic muscle that usually has you cow-eyed and cooing, as long as it’s not weighing you down in the middle of a supermarket. you try to shake him off, but the midfielder only squeezes you against his body even tighter, his slightly damp lips pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. “we’re never gonna get anything done like this, you lazy boy. if you don’t wanna walk, go wait in the sitting area with the grandpas.”

he sighs in defeat and shakes his head, pressing his lips together in that cute frown he pulls whenever he’s thinking. then, he’s dropping his arms from you suddenly. “mmhn, got a better idea.”

“and what’s that—”

you face nagi, only to catch your boyfriend with one foot in the shopping cart as he tries to hoist himself over the railing and inside of the basket.

“sei, you can’t fit in there—!” your eyes flicker between him, and the elderly man judging the two of you at the other end of the aisle. “you’re too big.”

“you’re always saying things like that,” he says, and the innuendo intertwined in the words flies over your pretty head because with one boost, he’s hopping over the railing and sinking into the cart, the metal rattling in protest. you stand there, dumbstruck as he settles. “now i can stay with you without walking.”

“yeah, but now that means i have to push you,” you grumble. “i should leave you here and get a new cart.”

but it’s hard to refuse when your boyfriend is that cute. his impossibly long legs are folded against his chest so that he can fit inside the shopping cart comfortably, taking extra care not to crush any of the delicate items surrounding him. the lower half of his face is buried into the collar of his soft hoodie as he absently chews on the drawstrings, but you can still see the sanrio bandaid you put on him yesterday after he got a nasty elbow to the cheek during football practice.

even though you two are already receiving strange looks from other shoppers passing by, you grip the handle, pushing the cart and your boyfriend dutifully, rolling it onto the next aisle.

“you look ridiculous,” you tell him, but you’re grinning. “but here, you’re on list duty. what do we need to get next?”

nagi’s eyes dutifully scan over the shopping list open in the notes app of your phone, his fingernail scrolling the screen lightly.

“it says ‘ramen because my greedy athlete bf keeps eating it all’ so y’need to get . . . oi, you mean me—”

“i wonder who wrote that there,” you whistle innocently, plucking the device out of his hands, wheeling him away fast.

the rest of your shopping trip is a blur, except for you turning a corner too fast and nearly dumping him out of the cart or the weird looks shoppers continue to give you because by the time you’re lining up in the queue, nagi is buried under the items because he takes up too much space. there’s a bag of rice on one shoulder, a pack of ramen on the other and fresh radishes sprouting from the snowy peaks of his head. not to mention, he’s still holding the pack of ice pops, condensation dripping over his hands.

“you’re making them melt, sei.” because he runs hot a heated blanket in the summer, and you can sympathize with the poor popsicles being defrosted in his big hands.

“‘m gonna eat one so they won’t— oh, hey this one is lemon,” he says, prying open the cardboard lid and tearing open the plastic wrapper of a lemon crème ice pop. tongue peeking out to lick before he’s holding it over his shoulder for you to taste next. “try it. i don’t sound as cute as you when i eat them.”

“sei, you’re not supposed to open those before we—” but nagi pushes the cold treat between your lips insistently, your eyes rounding wide, whining in protest as the ice pop hits your sensitive teeth. but it does taste good— creamy, sweet and sour flavors coating the surface of your tongue. “oh, it’s sh’good. we should get another pack.”

“see? y’make the cutest sounds when you suck it.”

“shut up, seishiro.”

you begin placing the items on the conveyor belt, listening to the irritating bleep, bleep, bleep of the scanner as the cashier rings up each product. you’re not frugal, but you peep at the total on the screen every now and then with a wince.

“that’s it for you, or are you buying the man in your cart too, ma’am?” the cashier asks, glancing at nagi as he finishes off the melting ice pop in the shopping cart, chin resting on top of his knees.

“no,” and you giggle, cheeks warming as you roll your eyes in exasperation. “this one is already mine.”

[khjcs]

group: ateez

pairing: idol!hongjoong x fem!reader

genre: angst, smut, oneshot

trope: lovers to strangers ? to lovers again *head scratch*

rating: 18+ MDNI <<< don’t make me block

word count: 6.3k

warning: angst, mild cussing, mention of death (no one dies or plans on it), argumentS (yes, plural), mention of cheating, pregnancy on two occasions (not reader), mention of an abusive partner (neither mc), if i missed any, please lmk

synopsis: an argument between you and your significant other leads you to ponder on whether the man you’re with is actually the one indicated for you.

song playlist recommendation: “west coast” “young and beautiful” “video games” “say yes to heaven” all by Lana Del Rey

a/n: i know for pairing i put “idol” hj but it’s only alluded that he is. there is no actual scene in which it shows he is an idol, just small mentions of it. don’t get your hopes up if that’s what you were looking for. also, this is, in NO WAY a depiction of the artist. think of this more of an au than a fanfic if it helps. i really hope you enjoy:)

special thanks to: @luvt0kki for proof reading🙂‍↕️🫶🏼 oh and my sister for putting me in such angsty mood (by playing lana del rey in the car), bringing this piece to life. but she’s not on tumblr and let’s keep it that way. oh and the rain outside for pushing me to post this. i swear the mixture of rain, a good playlist, and a comfortable bed is such a good cocktail for writing.

navigation ・❥・ masterlist

Waking up in the arms of your lover on a lazy Sunday morning was on of the best feelings ever. You cuddled your face deeper into the crook of his neck, taking in his scent as the morning sun began seeping through the white curtains of your room. “That tickles,” he let out a chuckle. “I’ve got to take advantage of you allowing this skin-ship,” you retorted, both of you just smiling, allowing yourselves to be engulfed in each other’s embrace. “We have to get up,” you grumbled while pulling the covers off of your body, the cold rushing in quickly, creating goosebumps on your skin. “I don’t want to. Let’s just sleep in today,” Hongjoong whined as he got up. “You’re already out of bed. Tell you what, after we finish cleaning, we can have ourselves a small movie marathon, yeah?” “With cuddles?” His eyes sparkled. “With cuddles,” you laughed at his hypocrisy of “hating”skin-ship. It had became a habit of his to spend the weekend at your place. On Sundays, you two would clean your entire apartment together just before Hongjoong had to go back to the dorms for work. This week, however, you both had been busy and only had Saturday night and Sunday to yourselves, making the cleaning all the more dreadful.

“I say, we just do the laundry,” Hongjoong was still trying to negotiate with you. Missing your boyfriend’s presence, you were quick to give in, “okay fine.” Both dressed in comfortable clothes, you grabbed your load and the sheets, making your way to his car. On the way to the laundromat, he received a call that happened to appear on his car screen to which he declined. The all too familiar number kept calling. “Just pick up,” you rolled your eyes as you answered the call on his screen. A woman’s voice was heard, “Joong, I think I’m in trouble,” she cried through the phone. Hongjoong glanced your way and back to the road, “I’ll have to call you later, I’m a bit preoccupied right now.” Your mood had turned sour in an instant, you knew in a few seconds he’d be running to her rescue. “Love—“ “I know, you have to go to her,” you cut him off as he arrived at the laundromat. “I shouldn’t take long,” he got off to help you carry the load inside. “See you in a bit, okay? I love you.” You didn’t reply, you couldn’t. I mean, how could you? Your boyfriend of almost three years was still running behind his so called “best friend” when she needed him. “Love, please don’t be mad, it might be serious.” He tried soothing you, but you were too angry with him. “Serious? Hongjoong, I’ve seen you drop everything for that woman. Don’t think I’ve forgotten how you practically ran out of your studio when she called. But Lord forbid I need you while you’re at work. I called you to hang out Friday afternoon and all I got was a sad excuse of how you’re stuck at work. And I get it, maybe you needed to get your creativity out onto a piece of paper and get it started. See, I kept thinking that to myself, making excuses for you. I thought you and I were in a relationship, not you and her.” You began walking off, trying to not cause an even bigger scene in public. “It’s not like that. You know it’s not like that. Please love,” he reached out for your hand. “Please what? You want me to be understanding of the situation? Because trust me, I have tried these past two, almost three years. Even before we started dating. I just can’t anymore,” you half whispered the last part. “What?” “I can’t anymore Hongjoong,” you spoke up this time, “I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want to be second to no one in your heart.” “But you’re not,” he held both your hands. “Oh but I am,” you pulled your hands away, busying them with the load that you were to wash. “Look, I have to go. We’ll talk about this at your place later.” “No. I’ll just finish cleaning on my own. Just go straight to the dorms afterwards. I’m not counting on you to come back.” You waited for him to fight for you in any way. You begged inside of you for him to understand you and stay. But of course, like a fool, you sat there waiting for your clothes to wash after seeing his car drive off. All of this ripping away the feeling you had not even 2 hours ago.

With a heavy heart, you finished cleaning the rest of your apartment. You had cried as you folded his clothes neatly, placing them in the drawer you had cleared out for him. Everyone had warned you about this. At the time, you were so naive, seeing him only through pink glasses, wanting so desperately to feel loved, which you did. He had made you feel so important when he worried about your wellbeing, sending you money so you could buy yourself whatever it was you needed. He had always checked up on you when you were sick, even calling days off to go and personally take care of you. All of this making you think that you were the one he loved, so it didn’t matter if every now and then he ran off to help his best friend, given their history. You couldn’t blame him for your obliviousness when he had been so honest with you from the start about their friendship. “She lived in my neighborhood so we would play a lot when we were younger but only gotten closer at age 14 when we started walking home from school together. She opened up to me a few years later when her parents were having a messy divorce. She really just needed a shoulder to cry on, and I was there to provide comfort. I see her more as a younger sister than anything, I promise you have nothing to worry about.” You laughed at yourself remembering his words seeing as he’s with her right now instead of with you.

You plopped yourself on your couch, in front of the television, eating a spoonful of ice cream to help with the sadness. The doorbell rang, making you jump. You reached out for your phone, wiping your tears away, to check the time. It was already past 8:00 pm, with no messages on your notifications; you certainly weren’t expecting anyone at this time. “Love, please open the door,” your heart clenched. You quietly rushed to turn off the TV, making your apartment pitch black. “Don’t pretend you’re not here, I saw the light of the TV turn off.” You curled yourself back into a ball on your couch. He had the pin to your apartment door, so why didn’t he just come in? If he really wanted to come inside to talk, he would have, but he never came in on his own. You waited until he left, which only sadden you even more. Only realizing now that he wasn’t fighting for you, for your love, or your relationship, making you conclude that he doesn’t love you the way he claims. The way you loved him. That if it came down to it, you were ready to lay your life for him, but was he willing to do the same? This only saddened you more. You reached out for your phone to call him, but the longer you stared at his contact, the more you thought about how he chose to leave instead of staying to talk things out.

You no longer had the energy to deal with this. Even if your heart ached, you knew you had to end it with him, for your sake. The thought making you feel stuffy; you planned for a late night run to help you muster up the courage to end the relationship. Making your way out of your apartment, you stumbled upon something, or more like someone. It was too dark to make out who it was. Afraid to take a step closer, you waved your hand in front of the motion censor light. With it illuminating right outside your door, you were finally able to see. Noticing a sleeping Hongjoong, your eyes soften as you reach out for him, “wake up.” You shook him, but he didn’t budge. “Hongjoong,” you shook him again abruptly, waking him up. “Y/N, I’m so sorry,” he stood up, unaware of his surroundings, that is until he saw you, “please, can we talk?” “Let’s just talk tomorrow,” you sighed. “Can you drive? Do you need me to call your manager? A taxi?” You pulled out your phone. “No,” he placed his hand over yours to stop you from calling whoever it was, “I just really want to talk. I want to fix this.” Hesitating a bit, you decided to let him into the apartment, figuring you should hear what he had to say. After all, he did wait outside for you when you thought he wasn’t willing to fight for your relationship.

You two settled down on the couch after you fetched him some water. “I really am sorry. I realize now how you must be feeling with all of this. I’m sorry I made you feel like you were second to her.” “Then why do you still go running after her? Why do you prioritize her so much? Her parents’ shitty ass divorce happened years ago. She doesn’t need to be coddled anymore! She has a boyfriend for fucks sake, why does she have to go out looking for you?” You got up the couch. “Love, it’s not that simple! I wish I could explain it all to you, but that would be an invasion of her privacy!” “Bullshit Hongjoong! This is all complete and utter bull shit! Why are you so fixated on her and her needs? What about mine? What about when I need my boyfriend here? To come coddle me?” “Really? When have you ever needed coddling? Every time you feel down, you push me away! You want to be independent so bad! Maybe you should be!” “What?” Afraid of where this was leading, your eyes began to tear up. “Maybe we should break up…” he looked down at the floor. “No! You don’t get to break up with me over this! I do! I’ve put up with your bullshit friendship with that woman, so I get to do this! I am the one breaking up with you! I’m the one letting you go!” You abusively stabbed your chest with your index finger as your eyes let loose of the tears. Ironically, his phone began ringing. He took one quick glance at it before putting it back inside his pocket. “For fuck’s sake, just fucking go to her already! Run to her as you so desperately want to!” He just looked at you with a sad expression. “Just be honest with me,” you looked at him with pleading eyes, “do you love her?” You were honestly afraid of his answer. “I do, but—“ you cut him off after getting the answer you expected of him, but expecting it didn’t make you hurt any less. “Get out! Just fucking get out Hongjoong! I don’t ever want to see you again!” You threw the water bottle at him as he made his way out. He knew you like the back of his palm. He knew he fucked up and that no explanation, not that he could give you one, would help you two recover from this. So he did the only thing he could do that night: to disappear from your life as much as he could.

As much as it pained him, he found himself in his car driving off to his friend’s. You couldn’t possibly fathom what had happened that night, or why he had to urgently leave. But he had no one to blame except himself for always running away from you when his friend needed him. Hitting the steering wheel as he drove, angry at himself for letting the best thing he’s ever had go. “Fuck!” he screamed into the silence of his car, coming to a complete stop when he approached a red light. Resting his hands on the steering wheel, followed by his head. He couldn’t comprehend why his heart hurt so much that he wished to rip it out of his chest. The tears that flowed down his face a burning sensation. He wanted to give up completely in that moment. To just turn back time to where the two of you were still in the warmth of your bedsheets, wishing he hadn’t woken up. All this felt surreal, to go from being in his happy place with you to living a nightmare of having to steer clear from you. Even if he moved across the world, the distance wouldn’t be enough. He’d still want to run back into your arms and make everything alright. A car honked behind him as the light had turned green, he wiped his tears along with his runny nose before he proceeded to drive.

Stepping onto his friend’s doorstep, he knocked on the door. “Hey, you don’t look so good. Are you okay?” She reached out to cup his face but Hongjoong shooed her hand away. “I only came to tell you to not call me ever again. I’m done.” Hongjoong walked away. “Wait! I can’t raise this kid alone! Please Joong!” She hugged him from the back. “You can and you will. You’ll be fine. And stop calling me that, we’re not in a relationship for you to be calling me by my nickname.” He undid her grip from his waist and left her standing on her doorstep. Even though he wanted to run to you and tell you he completely cut his friend from his life, he knew he couldn’t. Nothing would make you take him back after he hurt you so badly. All he could do now was drive back to the dorms.

Meanwhile, you were a mess. It had only been a few minutes since he left but you could only assume he went rushing into her inviting arms. That he was happy while you were miserable on your bed. It was already past midnight when you felt a migraine creeping in, knowing you’d have to call in for work in a few hours, you decided to put on another movie. The migraine, however, won and made you fall asleep in the middle of the movie. The only thing that woke you up the next day was your coworker who had worriedly called your phone about 100 times, that being an exaggeration of your own. “Hey babes, are you okay? You didn’t come in today, did something happen? Did you and Hongjoong fight?” A stinging sensation arose in you as you heard his name. Your burning eyes couldn’t produce any more tears, as if you were dried out of your liquids. “Uh, no, I’m just feeling sick today. I should be feeling better by tomorrow,” you lied. “Okay, if I don’t hear from you soon, I’m coming over.” You let out a forceful chuckle, “okay,” and hung up the phone. Forgetting to close your curtains last night, the sun, brighter than most mornings, illuminated your room. You took this as a sign to get up and do something productive around your house. You sighed when you walked around remembering that you had just finished cleaning it yesterday, instead you went into your closet with a gym bag. You began packing every little thing Hongjoong had left behind in your apartment, down to his toothbrush. You decided it was time to take this step since you were serious about not seeing him again. It started off with you folding his clothes neatly into the bag, but as you came across the clothes you gifted him, you began just throwing the clothes in there. The room only became suffocating the longer you stayed in there to pack his belongings. Taking a break from it all, you went to the kitchen, preparing a small snack with water to replenish from your dehydration. You sat on the small dining table, that’s when you took notice of your picture frames displayed around your apartment. Most of them were pictures of you and your now ex. You just couldn’t get a break from all of this so you made it your mission to finish packing by today. After your very needed break, you grabbed all of your pictures, throwing them [carefully] in the bag. Only keeping your favorite one hidden in your closet, the pain of discarding it encouraging you to do so. What you initially thought would be one bag, quickly turned into four. This shocked you as you hadn’t noticed how deeply rooted he was in your life.

The ache in your heart only grew bigger when you saw the building to his dorms appearing bigger in your sight. You were too much of a coward to confront him at work, so you decided to drop off the bags at the dorms, knowing well he wouldn’t be there. As you stepped out of the elevator, his roommate emerged from their dorm, flashing you a big smile as he recognized you. “Hey Y/N,” the man you knew as Wooyoung waved to you. You forced a smile back with a wave. “Awe man, you just missed Hongjoong. He went to work really early this morning. Something about needing to write down lyrics for a tune he came up with last night.” He looked down to the bags you had placed by your feet, “is that for him?” “Uh, yes. Do you mind putting it inside?” You picked them up, walking closer to him. “Yeah, no problem,” he walked to you to help you carry the bags, taking all four from you. “I have to go now,” you smiled and turned around. “See you soon,” you stopped in your tracks his words catching you off-guard, “yeah, see you…” you couldn’t bring yourself to say ‘soon’ knowing fully well it was a lie. The taxi ride back home was all too quiet, but as it turns out, it was all you needed. You felt like you could breathe again now that you got some closure. What you didn’t know was that it wasn’t the closure you needed.

Once inside your apartment, you were determined to fill the void that he left behind. Now that you no longer needed the drawer, you contemplated whether to throw it out or to store it. Your heart not fully being able to take in the pain of you two being over, you decided that the latter was less painful. As you moved the furniture out to the living room, the doorbell rang. Cautiously, you made your way to the door, hoping it wasn’t him coming to grovel again. “Babes, open up. You haven’t answered your calls and I’m only growing worried for you. Talk to me, yeah?” Relieved to hear your friend’s voice through the door, you opened the door for her. Strangely, your emotions overcame you when you saw her and you fell to the floor, a crying mess. No longer being able to contain your sobs along with tears that appeared out of nowhere. “Oh sweetie,” your friend joined you on the floor, hugging your body, trying her best to provide you with comfort. She could tell something was really wrong with the way you have never showed any sign of “weakness” in front of her. “I fucking loved him so much, why am I the one who gets betrayed this way? Was I never good enough for him? Or was I just too blind to see he was never going to choose me over her?” “No sweetie, don’t blame yourself. Don’t beat yourself up over this. He is the blind one for choosing her countless of times when he had a treasure in front of him. Trust me babes, he’ll regret his decisions one day. It’ll come back to haunt him when he least expects it.” She helped your zombie-like state off the floor. “Have you ate?” She sat you down at your dinner table when you shook your head. “Let’s get some food in you, yeah?” She looked through your fridge, taking a few ingredients out to whip up something for you. You thanked the universe for sending you an angel like your friend. She had been there when you needed her the most, helping you recover from your heartbreak. You felt indebted with her for life. Jokingly, you told her you’d be her first-born’s god-mother. Funny how the universe works, the face on your friend’s face only shocking you, “how did you know?” She looked back to you. “What? What are you talking about?” Trying to understand what she meant, you looked at her. Only when your eyes fell on her hand that was on her lower stomach did you realize what she was trying to tell you. “I came here to tell you, but you took me by surprise with your situation. I didn’t want to make this about me.” Running to her, you went to hug her, crying once again, “I’m so happy for you.”

Time passed you by so fast. Suddenly you were attending the baby shower you had planned for your friend. As you walked through the venue, checking with the guests to make sure they were comfortable, making sure they didn’t need anything, your friends approached you. “Hey, you look good,” one of your friends mentioned. “Thank you. You do as well,” you complimented back with a smile. “Sorry to bring this up, but you are okay now, right?” Your other friend asked. You knew she was only concerned about you, but you couldn’t help but wish she hadn’t brought it up just as you felt like you were finally healing from the pain that Hongjoong left you with. “Yeah, I’m doing so much better now.” “I’m here whenever you’re ready,” their mutual guy friend added. He had been trying to get with you the moment your friends introduced him to you. You were thankful to your friends for trying to put you out there, frankly, you weren’t ready for that yet. You let out a playful laugh, “you’ll be the first to know when I’m ready,” you half meant it. You considered to give him a chance once you were ready to get back out there. He was a good guy with you, much different than him… He made sure to go at your pace. He wanted nothing more than for you to be comfortable around him. Leading to him often waiting for you to initiate any contact, but you never really did. You didn’t want to lead him on unless you were sure of your feelings. You managed to slip away from your friends and went to the bar that your celebrated friend insisted on having. Her excuse to you was that, “just because I can’t drink doesn’t mean the rest can’t. Just add it for them. For you. You never know, you just might need a drink or two.” She just so happened to be right. Your energy depleted, you felt the need to get a drink. Right as you received your drink, your heart dropped lower than the pit of your stomach as you caught a glimpse of a man who looked a little too much like him. In a discreetly manner, you followed him, only to be even more disheartened. It truly was him, and he was with her, except now she had a huge belly, had to be nearing birth. Leaving your heart a reopened wound. Out of all things you could have imagined, the idea of him cheating never crossed your mind until now. You gave him too much credit because even seeing them in front of you, looking at each other so fondly, you still couldn’t help but make excuses. Maybe he didn’t cheat. Maybe he only got with her after he lost you. There was no way that what he felt for you was never real. Except you have all the proof you needed right in front of you. With that, again, you felt a single teardrop fall onto your cheek. Still staring at them both, finally noticing when Hongjoong turned around to see you, making eye contact with you. He was the first to break it by walking away only after whispering something into the woman’s ear. You knew you were the one who told him you didn’t want to see him anymore, but you wanted an explanation of what you had just witnessed, so you followed.

It wasn’t that he tried fleeing away from you, willingly, at least. He only wanted to ensure he kept his promise of staying away from you, as per your request. He wanted to stay so bad, to go up to you and hold you again as he used to 9 moths ago, but he knew he couldn’t. He knew that his presence alone would only taunt you, more-so that he was accompanied by his friend. He mentally cursed himself as he made his way to the parking lot, beating himself up remembering your expression, he knew he had hurt you once again. He had told himself he wouldn’t contact you first, even if he was so close a couple of times. Only until you contacted him first would he talk to you. Not for petty reasons, nothing like that, but instead to allow you the space you needed. Even if it meant you would never contact him. A sudden thought popped up in his head. Without a second wasted, he went against all he promised himself and went running back inside the building. He needed to clear something up.

You had walked around the whole building before giving up when you couldn’t find him. You leaned on the hallway outside of the venue, catching your breath. The feeling you were feeling right now contradicting what you had previously told your friends. You clenched your chest, trying to keep your composure to go back into the party. You made your way back inside the venue, but your heart and legs had another idea, pulling you away from the venue. Speed walking towards the entrance of the building only stopping when you saw Hongjoong running inside. You both paused, locking your eyes with each other. Everything about that moment felt like a movie, down to the way that time seemed to slow down. You approached each other slowly, neither daring to break the silence, that is until you saw a tear rolling down his cheek. “Why are you here? I didn’t add you to the list of invitees.” You hadn’t meant to be harsh, but you only had one thing that you wanted to really say. Instead of beating around the bush, “congrats by the way. On the baby that is.” Hongjoong shook his head, “it’s not mine. That’s why I came back inside looking for you. To clear that up.” He walked closer to you, keeping his eyes on you attentively, making sure to not scare you away. “I figured that’s what you thought when you saw me. Your expression gave it away,” he stopped mere feet away from you. “I’m ready to tell you everything. The reason I kept going to her. Personal matters and all. No more keeping stuff from you. Of course, only if you’re willing to hear me. But not here, I don’t want to cause a scene at your friend’s party. And to answer your question, she was the one who invited me.” Hesitant at first, you saw the fondness in his eyes, which is why you followed him to his car, making your way to his dorm. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, instead you settled for staring out the window. “You do realize you left her at the party, right?” You rested your head on the window, still looking outside of it as it began raining. He sighed, “I’m sure she’ll find a way back home.” His response shocked you, making you sit up in your seat. “Don’t be too shocked,” an inaudible chuckle left his throat, “she’s really not my top priority.” He quickly glanced at you and your expression before driving into the parking garage.

Sitting on the couch across from you, he cleared his throat, forcing you to face him, “can I just start off by saying I’m sorry,” he looked dejected. “I truly have been miserable without you, I hope you believe me.” ”Even if I do believe you, that doesn’t change the fact that you ran after her countless of times while being with me.” “I know,” he sighed, bringing himself closer to the edge of the couch. “I know this isn’t much of a rational excuse, but you have to understand, in the moment I felt that I had to.” You let out an exasperated laugh, “you had to?” “Yes… her boyfriend was very abusive. The night you and I argued, she had called me crying because she had found out she was carrying his child. Not wanting her kid to meet the same fate as her, she decided to leave her house, to stop the cycle before it became more serious. But she was too afraid to take that step on her own. She needed a push, and a place to stay at in the meantime. I helped her pack all of her things that day and took her to one of her friend’s house. Both me and her friend encouraged her to report him to the police, though, they didn’t help much, we were able to put a restraining order on her boyfriend that same day.” “If you had settled everything that day, then why did she call you again at night?” You hadn’t noticed the tears that rolled down your face until Hongjoong sat next to you, wiping them away gently with his thumb. “She was afraid of the idea of raising a child alone. She had thought she wasn’t strong enough for that yet.” “So she called you to co-parent with her? Ha, I knew it,” you fidgeted with your fingers, looking away to hold back the rest of the tears that threatened to fall. “No—On the contrary, she wanted me to talk her out of giving up on her baby. She’s dating the friend that took her in. He’s a real good father figure already and the baby isn’t born yet. Y/N, please look at me…” it came off not as a demand, but a plea. He held your chin to make you face him. “Me and her are nothing more than friends, I mean it.” “What about when I asked you if you loved her? You told me you loved her…” Your voice now wavering. “Is that why you came with her today?” “I—“ he sighed, “I meant it. I do love her. But I’m not in love with her. I only came with her because I owed her an apology for ending my friendship with her the way I did that night.” A silence overcame you both momentarily, “I’m sorry,” your voice barely audible. “I feel like a fool for not trusting you.” “Don’t apologize. I know I didn’t help by keeping all those secrets when I shouldn’t have. I know now that there shouldn’t be any secrets between us…” he hadn’t used that word in so long, yet it felt right and wrong at the same time. He didn’t know if there was still an “us” to claim. To him, you wouldn’t accept him back, all he could hope for is for you to accept his apology.

You threw yourself at him, hugging him tightly at his words. You so badly wanted him back and the fact that he referred to you both as “us” was the perfect indication that he wanted the same. Or so you assumed. You took his face in your hands, looking into his eyes, searching within them the answer to your assumption. His soft gaze encouraged you to kiss him. He placed his hands on your shoulders stopping you right after you tried to deepen the kiss. “I’m sorry, I can’t,” Hongjoong pushed himself off of you. “Why? Why can’t you?” You looked for an answer in his eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you,” his head hung low. “You can’t hurt me any more than you did 9 months ago. You sat up on the couch. “I want you Hongjoong. No, I need you,” you stood up, slowly undoing the zipper on the dress you were wearing. “Please, not here. Not like this…” he rushed you two to his dorm before your dress could fall to the floor.

His room still being filled with pictures of you two, pictures that held beautiful memories. “You still have them” you held a picture frame of you two, one you had packed in the bag you returned to him. “Of course,” he approached you from behind, wrapping his hands around your waits, leaving a trail of wet kisses down your neck to your now exposed shoulder. This brought tears to your eyes. He really does love you the way you loved and still love him. “You were the best thing that has happened to me.” You leaned your head to the side, giving him more access. Holding the back of his head with your right hand, closing your eyes, taking in the moment. Hongjoong helped you walk towards his bed, never detaching himself from you, not wanting you to slip from his grasp once again. Swiftly turning you around, he guided you to sit on the edge of the bed. Kneeling down before you, wiping away your tears that threatened to fall. “I need you to stop me if this isn’t what you want. Because this is what I want. I want a future with you. I want more than just forever with you. If we take this step, just know I’m not letting you go again. I will fight to the death for you.” You nodded, “this is what I want Joongie.” He quickly attached himself onto you, the kiss being very needy. With a hand to the back of your head, he urged you lie down on his bed. Treating you the entire time as if you were a fragile object. His left hand roaming down your side, reaching your panties, gently assisting you out of them. For each piece of clothing he took off from you, you helped him out of one of his too. Lying fully exposed on his bed, you waited as he grabbed a condom from his drawer. He slid the condom on, fixing himself back on top of you. “It’s not too late to back out love,” the latter word brining you such bliss, you pulled him into another kiss. “I wouldn’t back out for the world.” He nudged at your entrance, entering you painfully slow, allowing you to get used to the sudden stretch. You gasped when he was fully inside you. His movements were slow, causing a small sting on your heat. “Let me know if you feel even the slightest discomfort love.” He moved a bit faster, taking a few moments to kiss you ever so passionately. Never once detaching your hands from him, that is until you saw the sweat forming on his forehead. You helped him into a new position that allowed you to ride him. You planted your hands on his chest as you moved your hips up and down. The new position aiding him to be deeper in you, bringing you to loll your head back with your eyes closed, enjoying the feeling all too much. “My beautiful lady,” he reached out for one of your hands, bringing it closer to his lips, giving it a gentle kiss, “I love you.” At his confession, you slowed down, fluttering your eyes open as you brought yourself to face him again. “I love you Joongie,” you intertwined your fingers with his as you made your way down to kiss him. He let go of your hands only to fully embrace you, deepening the kiss once more. He reached for your hips to help you move against him, brining you both close to your high. You were the first to reach your orgasm, brining you almost to a complete stop. His hands, still on your hips, assisted your movements once again, allowing him to chase after his.

You laid next to him, both your chests heaving. Hongjoong went into the bathroom, coming back with a small wet cloth. He placed it at your heat, letting you warm up to it so he could wipe you clean. After cleaning himself up too, he lied down next to you, taking you into his embrace. You smiled at the man, overjoyed that you were in his arms again. “You should consider yourself lucky. You’re the only one I like to have skin-ship with.” The room was filled with your laughter. Happiness spread across both your faces now that you were back together. “I have something for you,” he left the room for a few seconds. “I made this thinking of you,” he settled down next to you again, giving you the usb in his hands. “Untitled (choose you)” was written on a piece of tape that was attached to it. He had composed a beautiful song describing how he felt for you. It was, if not, the best gift you had ever received. Well, a close second. The universe gifting him back to you was your first best gift.

[hatsukeii]

fragrance: lazy sunday morning, replica / college!kageyama tobio x reader

notes: lily of the valley (top), iris (heart), white musks (base)

description: fresh laundry pulled from the wash, lazing around in the embrace of linen sheets.

disclaimer(s): faint sillage, poor longevity

wc: 3224

warning(s): mentions of panic attacks, but other than that nothing!!! gn reader too!!!

The first Sunday morning you spend together is at 6am in a residential laundromat. The two of you have occupied the lonely space, watching clothes spin as soap bubbled and sloshed against fabric. You kneel in front of the opening of the washing machine, basket in hand as you lazily yank dripping clothes and soaking sheets out. Kageyama leans on the edge of another washing machine, hip pressed against the side of it with his phone in one hand and the other propping him upright as he waits for his own bedsheets to finish .

You go home with a basket of double sized bed sheets, ones that hang much too loose on your twin bed, despite your many attempts to tuck them beneath your mattress. Kageyama goes home with a basket of twin sized sheets, ones that stubbornly snap off the corners of his double bed as he desperately tries to pull them across.

————————————————————————

The second Sunday morning you spend together is at the same laundromat, at 6am again. A week of sleeping without bed sheets has rendered both of you impatient, itching to reunite with your own. Both of you assume that the other would be at the laundromat again the next week, and both of you are correct in thinking so. This time, you arrive with a duffel bag, alongside a basket of unwashed clothes, and Kageyama enters the laundromat with two baskets, one stuffed with bedsheets, the other with his own dirty laundry.

“Sorry, grabbed them by mistake last week, didn’t even fit on my bed properly.”

“All good, I also slept without bedsheets for the week.”

Bedsheets are exchanged, stuffed into baskets and bags, and the two of you continue your laundry in silence, shoving dirty clothes and towels into separate washing machines. You glance at Kageyama, a D1 volleyball jersey peeking from his basket.

“You the new first year on men’s D1 volleyball?”

He hums in confirmation, tugging the jersey from his laundry as he shoves it into the machine.

“I watched you guys play last Friday, it was good.”

“Thanks. I’m pretty sure you’re in my lecture hall tomorrow too.”

Your eyebrows rise, surprised. You swear you have never seen him in your lectures, only ever on the court. You aren’t even too sure of his name yet. Standing up, you slam the washing machine door shut, pressing lazily at the buttons until a droning beep sounds, and soapy water begins to trickle into your laundry.

“Really? Never seen you there before.”

“I sit behind you most the time. y/n, right?”

You scratch at your frizzy bed head, too dazed to register his question. You hear the beep of a second machine, and the sloshing of clothes and water.

“Yeah. Sorry, what was your name again?”

“Tobio. Kageyama Tobio.”

————————————————————————

The twelfth Sunday morning you spend together, unlike the first, or the second, or the third, or any previous ones so far, is on campus instead, at 8am. Somehow, the both of you have managed to do your laundry during the week, perhaps for the reason of making it to the college’s open day on time. You rub your arms against a school emblem hoodie, and a staff lanyard, whilst Kageyama is clad in full volleyball attire, kneepads and jersey proudly representing the school’s men’s volleyball team as the two of you make your way from the residential quarters to the main campus.

“Don’t you look extra cool today, Mr. D1 athlete?”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, TA nerd.”

You grin, slinging an arm around Kageyama’s neck haphazardly and yanking him down. He yelps as his arm shoots up to your own, wrestling you off. Clicking your tongue, you kick the back of his knee and watch him catch himself halfway into his leg buckling beneath him, snickering vengefully. Ducking down swiftly and picking you up by the legs, he slings you onto his shoulder, arm wrapping around your waist as he continues walking. Kicking and flailing, your fists rain down on his rigid back, a vain attempt at forcing him to release you. His steps come to a stop, just to tighten his grip on your body.

“Let go of me! Or I’ll take your bedsheets again, asshole!”

“Yeah, if you can make it down, that is.”

Offended (not really), you stretch your arm as far as it can go, poking at his side. Kageyama squirms and writhes, the shit eating smirk once plastered on his face contorting into a pained laugh. His arm finally loosens around your waist, and you take the chance to wriggle out of his grip, landing on the ground in front of him.

“D1 athlete, but can’t keep someone half your height and weight on your shoulder, get good.”

Kageyama rolls his eyes. He is good. Great, even. He does, however, wish he could have revelled in the feeling of his arm around your waist for just a little longer.

————————————————————————

The twenty-fifth Sunday morning spent together is, once again, as always, at the laundromat. However, with the months of friendship the two of you have accumulated, a new step to your laundry routine has been introduced. No more are the days of staring at bubbling clothes and spinning sheets through the veil of chatter and gossip amongst the two of you, instead replaced by morning coffees, walks, even the occasional jog. Today, the two of you have decided on a coffee walk, the steaming cups residing within your numbingly cold fingers, their heat emanating into frosty winter air.

You blow at the opening of the lid, wisps of steam puffing from the liquid as you take a sip of the latte (ordered with only half a shot and extra milk with sugar). Still too bitter, you wince, smacking your tongue to wash the caffeine down. Kageyama huffs out a chuckle, before gulping down his own (also ordered with only half a shot and extra milk with sugar), and grabbing yours from your hand, devouring it too. Then, he tilts his head, looking at your surprised expression with furrowed brows and nibbling his lip in confusion.

“You don’t actually like coffee, do you?”

“Well it’s the only thing they have at this cafe. Plus, you like this place, so I keep coming anyway.”

Kageyama stares, baffled. Him? Liking coffee? Where did you get that from?

“I thought you liked it, considering you started these coffee runs? I’m pretty indifferent to be honest.”

You let out a breathy laugh, pointing at him instead.

“I thought I could try to like it, but I only started because I thought you’d be into coffee? Isn’t that what brooding guys like you enjoy drinking on Sunday mornings, while their laundry is running?”

Kageyama hates coffee. He has to order it with a 1:7 ratio of espresso to milk. Yet the hums of satisfaction (or so he thought) that seem to escape your throat at every first sip of hot coffee on chilly Sunday mornings makes every disgustingly bitter swallow of caffeine just this much more enjoyable. You also hate coffee, albeit not needing as extreme of an espresso to milk ratio (1:6 to be exact), yet Kageyama’s fluttering grin makes it clear what you have to do- suck it up and swallow your scathing, sickeningly tart (half) espresso shot, so you can keep, whatever this is, going.

“Yes, brooding guys like black coffees in the morning. But no, I don’t like coffee at all. Wanna go somewhere else from now on, my treat?”

From that Sunday morning onwards, the two of you skip the usual coffee stop, and head around the block for a cafe that serves chocolate instead. Kageyama’s grin would stretch into a satiated smile from the corner of your eyes, and your small, fleeting hums would turn into droning ones of actual satisfaction, much to the delight of Kageyama’s ears.

He wants to keep this going, through winter, then spring, then summer, and autumn too. You want to take the longer walks to the new cafe with him, for hot chocolate, maybe even iced coffee one day, if either of you suddenly develops the palate for it.

“So, you stuck around the cafe only because you thought I liked it? That’s sweet, Mr. D1.”

“What, like you didn’t suggest it because you thought I liked it in the first place? How nice of you, TA.”

————————————————————————

The thirty-fourth Sunday morning spent together, the two of you are perched on the edge of Kageyama’s couch, eyes trained to his laptop as a grey circle spins, and spins, and spins. On the coffee table ahead sits two cups of hot chocolate, stale and lukewarm.

“What if I’m not in?”

“Don’t be an idiot, look at you. You’re so in.”

The circle goes on for an unsettling period of time, and you swear you can hear the veins popping in Kageyama’s head. They can’t possibly reject him, they won’t. And if they do, you’ll be there to make sure the decision is fixed hastily. You’ve seen him play countless games by now, taking sessions of TA work off for the sake of watching a ball hit the ground over, and over, and over. Even for someone who doesn’t know the slightest thing about playing volleyball, you could tell that he deserved this. He was perfect, through and through.

The circle disappears, and the webpage goes blank. Then, twelve portraits pop onto the screen. The two of you inch forward, noses almost touching the laptop as you scan for one particular name.

"No.9: Kageyama Tobio, position: setter”

You barely have time to register his name in the national team roster before strong arms engulf your entire body in a tight embrace. Kageyama’s weight knocks you into his couch, his head buried in the crook of your neck as he finally exhales from relief. He’s close, closer than he ever has been before, and you catch a hint of white lilies and cotton on his pulse. Smiling, a pang of pride surges through your head and heart, and you let your arms wrap around Kageyama, pulling him close. You feel a trail of water trickle down the side of your neck, followed by a flurry of badly hidden sniffles and sobs, and one of your hands moves to stroke the back of his head.

“I made it…I actually made it.”

“I knew you would, Tobio.”

————————————————————————

The forty-fifth Sunday you spend together doesn’t start as a Sunday at all. Instead, it starts as a gloomy, rainy Saturday night, red numbers glaring from Kageyama’s bedside clock while he holds himself close, quivering breaths wheezing from his chest. The bed is damp beneath his sweating figure, hair sticking to his face and neck in his unmoving, curled up position.

The door to his dorm unlocks with a click, and you tuck the spare key back beneath the pot of the houseplant outside, nudging it in until it disappears, before stepping inside. The room is pitch black, spare of the buzzing streetlights seeping through his blinds, dissipating in hospital white threads. Your heart drops at Kageyama’s erratic breathing, his body curled into a little ball and sinking into his linen bed sheets.

“Hey, you called?”

He doesn’t respond, so you shut the door behind you, and shuffle towards his bed. Your hand presses into the mattress, the fabric damp beneath your fingers, and you sit beside him, your thigh pushed up against his back. His back remains turned away from you, yet you can feel the tension loosen ever so slightly. Your thigh nudges into his spine, and your hand taps at him to get up. 

“Your bedsheets, they’re sweaty. Go take a rinse, I’ll change them for you, okay?”

Kageyama obeys, getting up for the first time in the past three hours and dragging himself into the bathroom. Pulling open every single drawer in his room, you search for his bedsheets, before finally finding the same set that you accidentally took home once. Water splashes and taps from the bathroom as you peel the old, sweaty sheets off the mattress, tucking in the new ones instead, and giving his blanket a fluff. His room is a mess, a volleyball sitting beneath his bed, scattered papers across his desk, knee pads slung carelessly over his chair. The national team jersey, however, hangs proudly at his door, as if to remind him who he is now. He is no longer just Kageyama Tobio, college student, health major, D1 college athlete. He is so much bigger than that now, reaching so high that his feet might just leave the ground forever. 

Yet pain fills your chest as you stare at his new jersey from his bed, the school’s D1 shirt now tucked away into some unceremonious drawer. Is this really worth it? Is this worth hours of panic attacks? Or mornings consumed by training entirely, leaving your Sunday habits behind? You can’t remember the last Sunday you saw him at the laundromat, or grabbed that hot chocolate together, each week a cycle of training, class, training, then sleep. Like the unending spinning of wet laundry in a washing machine.

The bathroom door creaks, and Kageyama finally steps out of the bathroom to see a fresh set of bedsheets on his mattress, cool and dry beneath his body as he crawls in. This time, he doesn’t turn his back to you. 

“Thank you, y/n. I’m sorry.”

“Just game nerves, I get it. I’m sorry I can’t be there tomorrow, Tobio.”

A knowing pout creeps onto his face, before it dissipates into a sad smile. He knows you’ve never missed a single one of his games, and that the only reason you won’t make it tomorrow is because of a TA promotion initiative. Of all games to miss though, why did it have to be his first nationals match? 

“It’s okay, you deserve that promotion. You have to get it.”

You reach over to grab his broad shoulders, shaking them a bit as you stare him down. 

“You are, quite literally, the best player I’ve seen in my life. You’re gonna be amazing tomorrow. Don’t worry.”

Getting up, you grab your phone from the floor, rolling over to leave the bed, when Kageyama’s arm shoots out to grab your wrist. If he can’t have you tomorrow, he’ll need to have you now.

“Can you stay the night?”

Your face flushes. Never have you ever been offered to stay the night before by a partner, let alone a friend. Yet he looks like a lost puppy, eyes searching desperately for some semblance of calm within the harrowing match that looms dreadfully in the near future. Somewhere in there, is a thick cup of hot chocolate, puffing steam from the opening of the lid on a frosty Sunday morning, a basket of clean bedsheets, freshly dried and warmed from the laundromat as the sun rises above the horizon, and the stupid TA lanyard that he searches amongst crowds and lecture halls for, day in and day out.

“Of course.”

The bedsheets shuffle as you crawl back in, making sure to inch away from Kageyama’s body just enough to give him space. You look at him, face pressed into his pillow and eyes threatening to snap shut at any moment, and smile gently. The mask of lilies diffuses into something even softer, like morning dew sitting on iris petals, and pollen wafting into spring air, so delicate that it threatens to drift away at each breath. His fingers shift around the bed to find your own, hooking his pinky with yours as he drifts off to sleep, finally, after two hours of sweating, and crying, and failing breathing exercises. 

Your phone buzzes, text messages from your professor popping up to cancel your meeting for sick leave.

The clock by his bed ticks into 00:00. Sunday morning has come.

————————————————————————

Kageyama wakes up before you do on the forty-fifth Sunday morning, national team jersey stretched across his body and a duffel bag hanging from his shoulder. He watches your nose twitch a little, adapting to the warm, now empty spot on his bed. He decides to watch you a little longer, so he can remember your finger wrapped around his beneath his blankets, and the stripe of light on your face as the morning sun shines through the blinds. He swears it will make him better, as long as he knows every detail of your knee touching his own under the covers, and can hear the small, hitched breaths you take in your sleep in his head, and he steps out the door.

You find yourself sprinting out of a taxi towards Kamei arena at 1pm, finally having read the messages from your professor. Wet hair from your morning shower leaves lines of water in the fabric of your sweater, barely having had the time to take it in the first place. The arena is expansive, every corner turned leading you to the wrong sports hall, until roaring cheers erupt from one of them, and you finally burst in through the right door. 

Kageyama stands at the serving line, bouncing the volleyball against the ground. If they take this set off this serve, they might just have a shot at qualifying. Warm fingers, hot chocolate, knees touching, fresh laundry, hitched breaths, lanyard. He has to remember it all. Feel it all. He scans the crowd, and a lone figure stands at the door. 

“You got this.” He can roughly make out from your lips, now realising that he doesn’t need to remember, or feel, or envision it at all. 

He takes aim, jumps, slams his hand into the ball with as much precision and power as his arms can conjure up. The serve hits right on the line, too close for anyone to think to save it, yet in bounds nevertheless.

The referee calls the match point, and the team hasn’t even had the chance to approach him in celebration, before Kageyama sprints off the court, and towards you. He runs into you, knocking you back a few steps as his entire body engulfs your own in an embrace. He doesn’t spare a second, before grabbing your face, and pulling it towards him, planting a firm kiss onto your lips. You hesitate, confused, before your arms find his neck, looping around to hold him as your eyes flutter shut, and you breathe in the notes of lilies, and musk, and irises, mixed with his sweat and adrenaline. The smell of Sunday mornings. The crowd screams. His teammates also scream. His hands pull your face away from his, so he can properly stare at you, irises darting between your eyes. Fuck a trophy, or a medal, or a national title. He would happily pretend to like coffee, just so you could take him to every single coffee shop in the world if you so desired. He would be satisfied with your knees touching beneath his blankets on lazy Sunday mornings, maybe his arms around your waist too, and your legs tangled up in each other, instead of just his finger wrapped around yours. He would willingly do laundry every single morning for the rest of his life, if it meant getting to pull bedsheets out of washing machines with you. 

“I thought you couldn’t make it?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Tobio.”

author's note:

this was ok! i wanted to experiment with vignettes but it's hard to find a balance... but! im 4/7 done with finals, and i finally have the weekend to rest, so i decided to get it over with and finish off this piece!! im so stupid i like accidentally posted it way too early while checking my blog at like 6am so i was very confused when this draft went missing ummmm

anyways! hope you enjoy!! don't let the word count get to you!! please!! i poured a lot of effort into this because 3k words is more than i have written in like weeks!!

tag time!!

@starlysama @chuuya-brainrot @bailey-reeds @fiannee @afyrian @iiwaijime

ok love u guys see u soon bye bye

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

The Scallion (The Surprise, Part 16)

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: explicit language, pregnancy times, vague mentions of sex, very vague mentions of past trauma (let me know if I've missed anything!) Word count: 2.3k

Summary: You're almost at the third trimester, and Emily decides to take you on a surprise babymoon. The catch: she absolutely will not reveal where you're going. Road trip fluff ensues.

Week 26: The Scallion

You floated somewhere in between sleeping and waking, reluctant to move, relishing the weight of Emily’s arms around you, the warm solidity of her body pressed into your back. It wasn’t often these last few weeks that you woke up with her next to you. She was early to work and late coming back. You knew she was just trying to get everything in order, so that when she went on parental leave, her team would be okay. But you’d missed this, you’d missed her.

You blinked your eyes open, fighting off a stretch so as not to disturb Emily, but jerked up, throwing the covers off when you saw the time. Emily grabbed your arm instinctively, protectively, bleary with sleep.

“What!?” she called, blinking into the sun that streamed through the curtains. “What is it!?”

“It’s 10:30!” you yelled, waddling as fast as you could toward the closet and fumbling as you pulled on a pair of shorts. “I’m supposed to be at work! You’re supposed to be at work!” You poked your head out of a t-shirt, staring at Emily with a mix of frustration and panic. “Why aren’t you at work!? You always get up first. I know because I get up when you get up.”

“Sweetheart, calm down.” Emily chuckled, standing to squeeze your hands in hers and plant a kiss on your forehead. “I’m not going to work today.”

Your annoyance gave way to a flood of concern.

“Are you sick?” you asked, looking at her a bit more closely and placing the back of your hand on her forehead.

“No,” she said, leading you to the bed, even as you were fidgeting to get to your home office and log on to Slack. “You’re not going to work today either.”

“Oh, but I am,” you argued, trying and failing not to get drawn in by her lips tracing down your neck. “I’ve got important stuff to do. Not, you know, catching-serial-killers important, but a little important. It’s kind of hard to play hooky when you work from home. My boss will kill me.”

“What if I told you I already talked to him?” Emily teased, and you pulled back, taking her face in her hands to see if she was being serious.

“You talked to my boss?” You were incredulous. Emily had only met your boss a handful of times, at the company holiday dinner, where they flew you in and put you up at a hotel.

“I did.” Emily placed a warm kiss on the corner of your mouth and stood, leaving you confused and honestly a little worked up. She disappeared down the hallway, her voice trailing back to you. “And you’re not going to work today. Or tomorrow. Or next week.”

She reemerged, rolling two suitcases behind her, presenting them to you with an expression of such self-satisfaction, such unbridled joy and devotion, that you would have acted thrilled even if she’d said she was taking you on a trip to the laundromat.

“Emily Prentiss,” you exclaimed, standing and tucking her hair behind her ear. “Are you taking me on a surprise vacation?!”

“I’m taking you on a surprise babymoon,” she clarified, wrapping her arms around your waist and kissing you.

Emily refused to tell you where you were going, not then, not even as you dug into a box of Cheez-Its she’d packed for the road and watched her merge onto I-95 South.

“South?” you commented, handing her a few Cheez-Its as she held out her hand. She nodded, then shrugged.

“Not too far South, I hope,” you said, staring out the window. “I know you didn’t grow up in the South like me, but I meant it when I said Florida’s not safe for us.”

“I’m not taking you to Florida, Y/N,” she scoffed. “I wouldn’t take you somewhere you didn’t feel safe.”

After a few minutes, she continued. “Also, you know I’ll always keep you safe, no matter where we are. I mean, fuck, I’m packing!”

“You are?” you said suggestively, twirling a finger through the hair at Emily’s nape.

She blushed. “Not that kind of packing. A gun!”

You leaned over the center console to kiss her cheek, massaging her shoulders. “Yes, Emily, love of my life, I know you’ll keep me safe, even in Florida.”

You drove in silence for a while when a horrible thought struck you. “You did bring the stuff for the other kind of packing, right?”

“What is this, amateur hour?” Emily replied. “Of course I did.”

You loved road trips. You were a passenger princess down to your very core. You loved choosing the podcasts and the music and handling the snacks and holding Emily’s hand as she drove. But you weren’t used to being six months pregnant on a road trip. You had a hard time getting comfortable, shifting and squirming in your seat. And you had to pee all the time.

You’d already stopped for lunch and a bathroom break once, but you were starting to feel the pressure yet again. You were passing through Norfolk, Virginia, and the further South you got, the more conscious you were of cities. You’d stopped at enough rural Southern gas stations to know that sometimes it was hard to find ones that felt safe. You knew that’d be doubly true now, as a visibly-queer, pregnant couple. Emily alone could pass as straight, except around other queer people, who clocked her almost immediately. You, on the other hand, looked queer. It was dangerous enough for you in the South, depending on where you were. Pregnant? And with a wife? You knew it’d be worse.

“How much longer?” you asked.

“What are you, six?” Emily teased.

You huffed, pouting. “No, I’m six months pregnant with your baby, and I have to pee all the time and my back is killing me.”

You immediately regretted snapping as you watched Emily’s face fall. “I’m sorry, honey,” you said, rubbing the back of her hand. “I’m so sorry. You’re doing something so nice for us, and all I can think about is my next pee break.”

She cracked a smile and lifted your hand to her lips, planting a kiss on your knuckles. “It’s okay,” she assured you. “I forget the little rapscallion is taking up all your bladder space. We’ve got about two hours left. I’ll find somewhere for us to stop.”

You gasped and pointed out the window to an exit sign. “Emily, look, look, look! Cracker Barrel!”

She gaped at you. “That’s where you feel safe peeing?!”

“They’re LGBTQ-friendly,” you protested. “And they’ve got those candy sticks like Little House on the Prairie.”

As you pulled into the parking lot, she looked apprehensively at the rocking chairs, the old, straight couples making their way in, the several lifted trucks.

You clambered happily out of the passenger seat, Emily trailing behind you, hand lightly grazing her concealed carry holster. She felt nearly assaulted by kitschy Southern goods upon walking in, making sure you’d made it to the bathroom before looking around. So much stuff. All with dumb sayings like, “Bless your biscuits and gravy,” or “All I need is Jesus and coffee.”

It was moments like this that Emily realized just how different your upbringing had been than hers. Of course, Emily’s childhood was anything but normal, but her home environment had been–she thought–rather generically American. But you! You’d expanded her ideas of the South as a racist, bigoted, ignorant monolith because you were none of those things. You were one of the smartest people she knew, the kindest and least judgmental. She hated when people made assumptions about you based on where you were from or on the fact that you said “y’all.” She hated even more that, a decade ago, she would have made those exact same assumptions.

“Hey,” you said, startling her. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Emily breathed, conscious and a little sad to notice how you stopped yourself from looping your arm with hers, from using pet names, from doing anything to suggest that you were more than friends. “Did you get your prairie snacks or whatever?”

“Yep!” You grinned and held up a fistful of colorful, striped candy sticks.

Another hour in the car and you were dutifully sucking on a strawberry lemon candy stick, bouncing your head in time with Salt-N-Pepa’s “Whatta Man.”

“This song makes me think of you,” you observed out of the blue.

Emily cackled. “What!? Why!?”

You grinned. “Because you’re crazy and you make me laugh and I do want to have your baby!”

She laughed, and it made your heart soar. She was so pretty when she laughed, really laughed. It was something not a whole lot of people got to see.

“So I’m the man in this scenario?”

“No!” you argued. “Sometimes I’m Whatta Man. Just depends on how I’m feeling. That’s what’s great about being gay.”

“Mm, I don’t know, I can think of a few better things about being gay,” Emily said, squeezing your thigh.

As the car approached a bridge and a big, blue expanse of water, you sat up straight and craned your neck.

“Water!” you exclaimed, looking for signs to identify it. “The Currituck Sound?” Your heart leapt and your stomach did somersaults.

You turned to Emily, nearly falling on her to lean over the console. “Are we going to the Outer Banks!?” you squealed.

Emily nodded, smiling big.

You were nearly bursting with excitement. “That’s where my family always went! Before…” Well, before your family hadn’t been able to go anymore.

“I know it is,” Emily said, holding your hand. “I got us a little beachfront house with a balcony and a hot tub right down the street from where your family used to stay in Nags Head.”

“How did you know where it was?!” you asked, breathless, bringing Emily’s hand to your lips and kissing it again and again.

“I called your mom,” she smirked.

“God, I love you so much.” You rolled down the window and hung your head out like a dog, much to Emily’s amusement, smelling the salty, briny air that was so familiar and so nostalgic to you.

Half an hour later, you were pulling down a sandy drive on a street that was synonymous with childhood happiness. Your mom had grown up here, and you’d spent your summers as a young child tramping about the marshes, boogie boarding, identifying shells, and building sand castles. You remembered fish fries on the back porch, how you always hid from your grandfather as he cleaned the fresh-caught flounder and red drum. You remembered ice cream cones dripping down your fingers, washing them off in the surf. The fresh, almost sandpapered feeling of emerging from a shower after a day spent outside. The way your body still rocked with the waves when you crawled into bed at night.

You were beyond thrilled to share it with Emily. It was as if you were inviting Emily back in time, to a place you had felt so deeply yourself. You couldn’t wait to be there with her. To show her all the shell shapes and watch the sunrise and tell her about the dunes and how important they are. You couldn’t wait to fall asleep rocked by Emily and by the memory of the waves.

As you stepped out of the car and followed Emily up the stairs and into the house, you both stopped and stared at the wall of sliding glass doors. The perfect ocean, mellowed in the late afternoon light. The sound of the waves crashing was music to your ears. You wrapped your arm around Emily’s and took her hand, planting a kiss on her shoulder and leaning into her. You didn’t know how it’d be possible to be happier.

And then it hit you–you could come back with the baby. You could come back again and again, just like you had when you were little.

“Em,” you said quietly.

“Yeah, baby?” She moved to wrap her arms around you from behind, resting her palms over your baby bump.

“Can we come back here? With the baby?”

You could feel Emily’s breath on your neck.”I booked this week in June for the next three years.”

And the fact that she’d brought you here, that she’d known this is where you’d want to be, where you’d want all of you to be–it brought tears to your eyes. She was starting a tradition. No, she was restarting a tradition, in a new way, that would fit your new family. It was perfect. She was perfect.

“Hey, now,” she said as you sniffled, wiping your eyes. “No tears.” She kissed you softly, lovingly, running her thumbs back and forth along your cheekbones.

When she pulled away, you were smiling, eyes twinkling and mischievous.

“You want to go put your toes in the water, don’t you?” Emily grinned.

You nodded, and grabbed her hand, pulling her after you. Out the back door, across the boardwalk that protected the dunes, running as fast as your little pregnant body could take you until you hit the water. It was cool and salty and strong and you felt happier than perhaps you’d ever been–especially as Emily joined you.

And as she watched you kick around in the water, hair blowing in the salt air, cheeks red with heat and excitement, she knew she’d done good. She’d done good with it all. With the beach house. The Outer Banks. With deciding to have a child with you. With choosing you. You were just right. You were perfect. She could watch you forever, content to bask in your joy. As if you were the sun. And, to Emily, you were.

[teekays]

hello! if memory serves you are the blog that talked about boy band pretty as a marketing tactic (or something to that effect? the search function does not work so if i’m wrong i’m terribly sorry) and i was wondering if you would be willing to find someone from each team (can include prospects if you want) to create the ultimate nhl boy band. this is not a necessary thing to do, solely shits and gigs and if you ever feel like it doing it. have a lovely day!

HIIIIIII that WAS me and you sent this at the perfect time because i am at the laundromat with time to kill and i LOVE to discuss this.... let's chop it up.... a few disclaimers: this is subjective so don't get mad at me and i will be including prospects and ahl players where i know its applicable BUT for most of these teams i will be going off the main roster + looks alone because if i did a full deep dive vibes analysis on every team's roster and prospects it would take me like two months to answer this ask... you understand. we are being SHALLOW here today in the true spirit of the boy band industry. let's go!!!

carolina hurricanes: i know everyone wants me to say sebastian aho but he is 1) too old 2) too unsettling looking. the elf on the shelf is not boy band pretty im sorry 😭 i do love him but he's just not the vibe here... i will say based on looks either scott morrow or jackson blake and his 90s heartthrob hair. i want to say seth jarvis because he's my special pop pop but that does contradict almost everything i have said previously so i will not be biased but know that if he was a pop star i would be his biggest fan i would kiss his poster. and that's my truth

columbus blue jackets: in the interest of journalistic integrity i went to their roster instead of just saying it's obviously kj as the intimidating aloof one in the boy ("boy") band but actually i do think it's cole sillinger.... teen heartthrob. also i didn't know that he was born in columbus because his dad was playing for the team and his brother is also on the team??? imagine having a whole destiny like that and its for COLUMBUS OHIO 😭

new jersey devils: jack hughes. open and shut case argue with the WALL

new york islanders: NOT MAT BARZAL. HE LOOKS 35. STAND UP LADIES!!! lowkey i do not know any of these dudes and this roster is kind of busted as fuck 😭😭😭 (NOT ANTHONY DUCLAIR who is too old to be a boy band boy but who i do love) bargain bin team... anyway isaiah george YOU! are the only cute person the new york islanders

new york rangers: matt rempe. those pictures of him lounging around on the phone??? wow. no words. diva heartthrob behavior. it's sad what they're doing to him what are we doing to our beautiful queens :(

philadelphia flyers: after much careful deliberation.... i think denver barkey is taking it. denver is such a deeply boy band name tbh he was born for this!!! i know everyone thinks it's jamie (who i still forget is a flyer 😭) but can you imagine him on a stage? singing a song? they are reinventing shoegaze for him. negative star quality (AFFECTIONATE!!!!!!! LOVING!!!!!!!!!!!!)

pittsburgh penguins: well NOW the obvious answer is rutger mcgroarty... not even worth going through that senior center roster when he's there tbh sorry pens

washington capitals: AGAIN. SENIOR CENTER ROSTER. i had to go to their prospects page to find someone suitable and my vote is patrick leonard he's a cutie!!! also im so sorry to say this but my jaw dropped when i got to this guy why are you playing hockey you need to make a children's album RIGHT NOW. i know he could do a banger cover of the We're going on a bear hunt song. but i digress...

boston bruins: matthew poitras is adorable and exudes star quality NEXTTTT. shoutout also brett harrison who looks like a long lost jonas brother

buffalo sabres: JACK QUINNN JQUIZZY HIMSELF partly for looks mostly for vibes... he has extreme "jack dylan grazer vape apology video" energy and also he has that boyish charm... either him or devon levi (hot) not miss owen power for the same reasons as jamie. she could never be a pop star 😔 ryan mcleod used to be the oilers popstar boy but now he's got too much competition he's a little niche for the title

detroit red wings: my gut tells me simon edvinsson but a look at the roster tells me there is some competition in the form of amadeus lombardi... if we were discussing this two years ago mo seider would be the obvious answer but he's too grizzled now 😔

florida panthers: 🙄 here comes another busted fucking roster... i guess denisenko??? panthers are not really representing here....

montreal canadiens: ARBER <3 he's like the bad boy hottie in the boy band. the one that makes your dad shake his head when he sees him on tv

ottawa senators: wow the atlantic division is fucking WACK this was another case of like. okay i guess ill pick one of yous but REALLY? so congratulations jorian donovan YOU are in the boy band

tampa bay lightning: seriously what is going on in this division. jack finley looks like he was the closeted one in a boy band from the early 2000s but he's aged past that now and he has a husband and a wine brand.... so we will bring him back for nostalgia points. welcome to the team. also i have to be honest i thought of myself as pretty well acquainted with the ahl but the SYRACUSE CRUNCH? that's crazy

leafs: JOSEPH WOLL! boyish charm out the ears on that one. a real cutie

chicago: obviously it's bedard. we all know it's bedard. on the surface he has no charisma but he does have a certain kind of shy boy charm and he IS adorable... he's the one in the boy band who makes your mom tut over him like "he seems like a nice boy"

colorado avalanche: wow huge props to matt stienburg for having maybe the single most boy band roster photo i have seen yet... THIS is the guy they get in the boy band because he's already had huge success with his hit single called like, Heart React Girlfriend or whatever. this is jacob sartorius if he played hockey. this is chase dreams. this kid is going places

dallas stars: it's obviously wyjo, joining the ranks with cbedard as The Nice One <3

minnesota wild: okay i was going to say brock faber because every group needs a kevin jonas (SORRY BROCK) but WHO is kyle masters and why does he look like knockoff brendan brisson. budget briss. diet briss. we have briss at home.

nashville predators: this just reminded me cody glass is a penguin now 💔 anyway the preds have some STRONG contenders here wow.... jeremy hanzel is taking it but i think luke evangelista could pull it off... now if you asked me to be really subjective it would be ozzy wiesblatt who would also be the subject of much poster kissing and rigged "which member of the nhl boy band should you date" tests so i get him as the result but that's just me....

st louis blues: jeremie biakabutuka your radiant smile has charmed me.... welcome to the band....

utah whatevers: MONTANA ONYEBUCHI I AM SO FUCKING SORRY THE SHARKS DIDNT APPRECIATE YOU. BUT WE WILL..... also matt villalta kinda giving off brand kj... you could build a whole off brand version of that umich team just with guys from other teams i bet

winnipeg jets: dylan coghlan you will always be famous to ME but i fear you are a little too old for our purposes here.... other than him they kinda don't have a lot going for them.... brayden yager it is your time to shine as off brand owen power ♥️

anaheim ducks: some strong competition here... tz is the obvious choice but i think we need to think bigger... olen zellwegger please step forward....

calgary flames: matt coronato i am free on thursday if you would like to hang out on thursday when i am free and also join this boy band

edmonton oilers: yet another old ass roster 😭 they're lucky they got so many sabres because matt savoie is saving their asses rn

los angeles kings: angus booth is smizing in every single photo i saw of him so. come on now

san jose sharks: it's so obviously will smith i don't even know what we're doing here tbh

seattle kraken: tye kartye looks like he would be into white water rafting so he can be the nature guy in the boy band.... strong competition from tucker robertson but he's just a touch too gay porn for this vibe

vancouver canucks: JETT WOO... HELLO.... but also shoutout cole mcward for having 2014 gay youtuber phenotype. a connor franta troye sivan type face if ive ever seen one

vegas golden knights: BRISS ‼️‼️‼️ my little tabloid queen... not only is he in the boy band but he's in the news and the media. he was born to be a star. natural ham. child actor energy. alex holtz is also a strong contender for this but i think he's off on his own doing his little pop star solo act thing

this took way longer than laundromat time but it was worth it i had so much fun!!!!! thank you!!!!!!

[ducktoo]

Syncing Dream [Aespa x M!Reader]

4. Day off…not?

Note: just fluff

Masterlist here

Y/n woke up to the sound of nothing. No buzzing alarms, no frantic phone calls about schedules, and no urgent notifications lighting up his screen. For the first time in what felt like forever, it was quiet. He stretched lazily, savouring the peace. It took him a moment to remember what was so special about today—his first day off in weeks.

"Finally," he muttered with a smile, sinking deeper into his pillow. No errands, no last-minute crises, just a day to himself. Maybe he’d stay in bed all day, watch some TV, or—

Ding. The unmistakable sound of a text message cut through the silence.

“Please don’t be whoever I think it is..” Y/n groaned and lazily reached for his phone on the nightstand. It couldn’t be work; the staff knew he was off today. Still, out of habit, he checked the screen.

Ningning:

Oppa, can you do me a huuuge favor?

“Yizhuo, u kidding me…”

Y/n rubbed his eyes, blinking at the message. He hesitated, half-considering ignoring it, but something told him that wasn’t an option. His thumbs hovered over the screen before he typed a quick reply.

Y/n:

Ning, it’s my day off.

He felt a small surge of pride for setting boundaries. Today was about him. He wouldn’t get sucked into their usual chaos—

Ding.

Ningning:

But I forgot to pick up my laundryyyyy 🥺 Please, Oppa, I’ll owe you big time!

Y/n sighed, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Of course, Ningning had a way of getting what she wanted. He typed out a reluctant, “fine,” and tossed the phone aside. Maybe he could do just this one thing. How hard could it be?

As he moved to get dressed, his phone buzzed again.

Ding.

Giselle:

Y/n, I think I lost my keys… help?

Y/n stopped mid-motion.

“Seriously?” He thought, staring at the screen. This was supposed to be his day off. He shook his head and responded.

Y/n:

Aeri, it’s my day off.

Ding.

Giselle:

I knooow, but it’s an emergency!

Sighing deeply, Y/n realised the quiet, relaxing day he had envisioned was rapidly slipping away. He grabbed his jacket and keys, already resigned to his fate. First stop, laundry for Ningning.

-

The laundromat wasn’t far from aespa’s dorm, so Y/n made quick work of grabbing Ningning’s clothes and heading to drop them off. On the way, his phone buzzed again. He didn’t even need to check the notification to know who it was.

As always, the comedy (pain) comes in 3 acts.

Winter:

Pabooo, can you get me some snacks? You know the ones I eat all the time. Pleaseee?

Y/n:

You do realise I’m not working today, right?

Winter:

That’s why I’m asking! You’ll be free later, right?

Y/n:

You dipsh-

Y/n sighed. He couldn’t win with these girls. After dropping off Ningning’s laundry and being thanked with a bright grin and a peace sign, he made his way to the convenience store. If he was going to spend his day off like this, he might as well commit.

-

By the time Y/n reached aespa’s dorm, bags in hand, he felt more like a delivery boy than a manager. He pushed open the door, greeted by a mix of tired-but-not-really faces and a familiar tension in the air—mostly from Karina, who barely acknowledged him with a curt nod.

"Didn’t expect you here on your day off," Karina said, arms crossed, her tone neutral, but Y/n could feel the underlying coolness. She still wasn’t completely over the fact that he had been thrust into the role of their manager with little experience.

"Yeah, well, apparently days off don’t exist when you’re the manager," Y/n replied dryly, his eyes briefly meeting hers before shifting to Winter, who was eagerly waiting for her snacks.

Winter popped her head out of the practice room and grinned. "Let’s goooo, good job, Y/n!” she chirped, grabbing the snacks he had brought. "I knew you couldn’t resist helping your best friend."

"I had a flipping choice?" Y/n quipped, though he couldn’t help but smile. He watched Winter tear into the bag like a kid on Christmas, feeling the warmth of their friendship creep in. Despite the tension with Karina, Winter’s presence always brought a sense of ease.

Karina, though, stayed reserved. Even now, after weeks of working together, there was still a quiet unease between them. It wasn’t like they openly disliked each other, but there was something unsaid lingering between every glance and conversation.

-

Later that day, Y/n had finally managed to leave the girls alone and get some semblance of quiet when his phone buzzed again.

Ding.

Giselle:

Any update on my keys?

Y/n rolled his eyes. He had scoured half the dorm for those stupid keys, and they were nowhere to be found. He groaned, heading back to the practice room where Giselle was crouching on the floor.

"Aeri" he sighed, "Where did you even lose them?”

"If I knew, I wouldn’t have lost them, would I?” she replied with a grin, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Karina, who came to help out, leaning against the wall with her arms folded, shot Y/n a look, as if to say, “You see what I deal with?”

"Let’s retrace your steps, I guess," Y/n said, rubbing his temples, though he couldn’t help but smirk at Giselle’s casual attitude. Karina reluctantly followed suit.

-

As Y/n sat up from the couch he accidentally crashed in aespa’s dorm, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the sound of giggling caught his attention. Ningning, Winter, and Giselle stood over him, smirking in a way that made him feel a little uneasy.

"Good morning, oppa," Ningning teased, barely containing her laughter as she nudged him lightly.

Y/n frowned, still groggy. "What time is it?” he groaned, trying to shake off the fog in his brain.

"Late," Winter replied, tossing him a water bottle. "Didn’t know you’d stay all day.”

"Neither did I," he muttered, taking a sip of water.

Something felt….off. The way they were all staring at him, the mischievous grins they were failing to hide—it didn’t sit right with him, but he was too tired to dig into it.

Just then, Karina appeared at the doorway, arms crossed as usual. "Go home," she said, her voice softer than usual. There was an unfamiliar warmth in her tone. "You’ve done enough for today. Sorry that you have to deal with these children even on your day off.”

Y/n blinked, a little thrown off by the sudden kindness, but he wasn’t about to question it. "Don’t have to tell me twice,” he mumbled, getting to his feet.

"Y/n, you look... different," Giselle said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Ningning and Winter tried to stifle their laughter, looking away.

"What are you talking about?” Y/n asked, confused. He glanced down at his clothes—everything looked normal. Shrugging, he grabbed his jacket and started to head out the door.

"Nothing! See you tomorrow, Oppa!” Ningning called out, bursting into giggles.

"Yeah, see you...idiot” Winter added, her voice trembling from trying to hold back her laughter.

Y/n gave them a suspicious look but didn’t press further. He was too tired to deal with their antics tonight. He left the building, heading out into the cool night air, finally ready to go home and get some real rest.

-

As Y/n made his way through the convenience store to grab a drink before heading home, he noticed a few people staring at him strangely. A cashier gave him a weird look as he paid for his drink, and a couple of girls passing by couldn’t stop giggling when they saw him.

“What’s their problem?” he thought, feeling a little paranoid. Shrugging it off, he pulled out his phone to check the time. But as he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the dark screen, his eyes widened in horror.

There, scribbled all over his face in colourful marker, were ridiculous doodles: a poorly drawn moustache, cat whiskers, and the words “Manager Oppa” and “Best Idiot” written across his forehead.

Y/n stood frozen for a moment, processing the full extent of what had happened. Those friggin devils! No wonder they’d been giggling! He must have looked like a complete idiot walking around with his face like this.

With a sigh, Y/n rubbed his temples—thankfully, the markers weren't permanent. Grabbing a napkin from his bag, he tried wiping it off, but some of the ink had already settled too deep for a quick clean-up.

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice…of course Kim Minjeong was the mastermind of this crime…”

As he walked out of the store, trying to hide his face from any more passersby, his phone buzzed. A message from the group chat appeared on his screen.

Ningning:

You looked soooo cute with your new look today, oppa! 😂

Winter:

We’re so proud of you, “Best Idiot” 😸

Giselle:

Thanks for being such a good sport!

Y/n groaned, but couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips. Sure, they’d tricked him, but it was harmless fun—typical aespa chaos. Tomorrow, though? He was going to make sure they paid for it.

With that thought, Y/n trudged home, already mentally planning his revenge…after he had his sleep.

-

The next day, after washing off the colourful madness on his face since he was too tired to do so last night, Y/n was just about to fully enjoy his day off on his bed when his phone buzzed again.

He sighed, part of him tempted to just throw it under the pillow and pretend the world didn’t exist for a few hours. But when he glanced at the screen, he saw three unread messages, all from the aespa group chat.

Giselle:

Y/n, I lost my keys again...

Ningning:

I tried washing my clothes but messed up the detergent ratios. Now there’s foam everywhere.

Winter:

Please get some snack. Thanks lol

Y/n rubbed his temples. “Day off?” He scoffed to himself. “Yeah, right.”

Despite his fatigue, he found himself grabbing his jacket again and heading back out. He figured he could at least get Giselle’s keys sorted, swing by Ningning’s place to fix the laundry disaster, and grab Winter’s snack in one go.

But first, he made a quick stop at a nearby convenience store.

-

By the time Y/n got to Ningning’s place, it looked like a small laundry soap apocalypse had occurred. She stood in the middle of the room, her hands covered in suds, giving him a sheepish grin.

"Help..." she pleaded, pointing to the washing machine, which was overflowing with bubbles. "I thought more detergent would make it cleaner, but now it’s like this.”

“Well, they clearly not, Ning.”

“I know! Help me out please!”

Y/n let out a deep sigh, but couldn’t help smiling at her cluelessness. "Alright, step back." He quickly adjusted the machine’s settings, drained some of the excess water, and cleaned up the foam. "Next time, use less detergent, okay?”

"Thanks, oppa!" Ningning beamed, but before Y/n could leave, she added, "Oh, and can you fix my bed too? It keeps creaking loudly for some reason."

-

After taking care of Ningning’s detergent disaster and bed crisis, Y/n swung by Giselle at the practice room to help her find her keys. They were wedged between the couch cushions—again.

"You really need a keychain or something, Aeri" Y/n sighed as he handed the keys to her.

"I know, I know... I keep losing them," Giselle admitted with a grin. "But hey, you’re always there to help, so thanks Y/n!”

Y/n chuckled. "Yeah, maybe I should start charging."

“Aren't you already charged from the company?”

“Yes, but I’ll get my overtime from you all.” Y/n joked.

-

With those dilemmas sorted, Y/n made his final stop: Winter’s room. She greeted him at the door with an eager smile, immediately grabbing the bags of snacks from his hands.

"Finally! I was starving." She didn’t waste any time ripping open the snacks.

Y/n rolled his eyes. "You could’ve just walked out and bought them yourself, you know.”

"But then what’s the point of having you around?" Winter teased with a grin. "Besides, you do the whole manager thing so well now. It’s almost like you're used to dealing with all our nonsense."

"Am I now?" Y/n muttered, though he couldn’t deny that things had become somewhat smoother lately. "But seriously, don’t call me on my day off unless it’s an emergency."

"Is snack hunger not an emergency? Is your best friend wanting to snack not one at all?” Winter retorted, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Y/n shook his head with a sigh. “You’re lucky you’re a small bean, Minjeong.”

“I know, I’m abusing it.” Winter snorted.

-

As he walked out of Winter’s dorm, he hesitated before making one final stop. Karina’s room was next on his mental checklist, though she hadn’t messaged him today. Their tension had been palpable for a while, and he figured it couldn’t hurt to try and lighten the mood.

Knocking lightly, he waited a moment before Karina opened the door. She looked surprised to see him, after he fully declared he will enjoy his day off.

"Uh, hey," Y/n began, rubbing the back of his neck. "I... uh... didn’t get any distress signals from you, but I brought you something anyway."

Karina raised an eyebrow, curious. Y/n handed her a small bag containing her favourite snack. "Just... you know, a peace offering or whatever," he added awkwardly, not quite sure how to approach the tension between them.

She stared at the bag for a moment, then back at him. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

"Thanks," she said quietly, taking the bag from him. The awkwardness between them hung in the air, but something in her expression softened.

"Karina," Y/n continued, fidgeting a little. "I know we’ve been... off lately, and I just wanted to... you know, make sure we’re cool. I mean, I’m still figuring this whole manager thing out, but I don’t want us to be at odds all the time."

Karina looked down at the snack in her hands, then back at Y/n. "It’s not that I don’t appreciate what you’re doing," she said slowly. "You’ve improved a lot since the beginning... it’s just..."

She hesitated, as if searching for the right words.

"I guess it’s hard to adjust to someone new in the group. Especially someone who used to be a trainee, like us, with skills that does and does not correlate with the role" she finally admitted. "But I don’t hate you or anything. It’s just... a weird transition."

Y/n nodded, understanding. "Ahhh, I get you.”

Karina took a deep breath, then gave him a rare, genuine smile. "Thanks for the snack, though. It helps."

Y/n chuckled softly, feeling a bit of the weight between them lift. "No problem…Jimin. Just... don’t let the others know I’m handing out free snacks. They’ll start demanding a whole shop."

Karina laughed lightly, the sound easing the remaining tension between them. "Deal."

As Y/n turned to leave, he felt a little more hopeful about where things stood between him and Karina. Small steps, but steps nonetheless.

-

Heading home after the day’s unexpected chaos, Y/n finally felt like he might actually get that day off... tomorrow, maybe. But for now, he’d settle for some well-deserved rest. He pulled out his phone one last time and texted the group chat:

Y/n:

Next time, I’m charging you all for manager duties on my day off.

$50 USD per hour. Take it or leave it, suckers.

Unknowingly, Winter replied.

Bet.

[teddyeyeseddie]

The Cherrywood Motel

Starry Haze, Crystal Ball

rockstar!Eddie x housekeeper!reader

masterlist

(a/n: ITS BACKKKK AND SO AM I!! Enjoy my lovelies and visit my blog for some life updates!)

warnings: soft eddie, smut, minors dni, oral (fem rec), p in v, cream pie x 2, riding, showering together, a jump from last chapter.

now playing:

You lug all your clothes into the laundromat down the street, heaving the heavy bag onto the table before you once you’ve made your way inside. The smell of bleach and laundry detergent mixes in your nostrils as you sort your piles of dirties.

It’s early in the morning, the only person in the place being you and an elderly woman. You enjoy the quiet, only the soft whirring of the dryers breaking the silence.

You separate your lights from darks, throwing your first load in when a familiar voice resonates through the quaint room.

“Shit- fuck,” you look over to see Eddie struggling with a bag of laundry. You chuckle to yourself, your eyes meeting his. His face lights up when he sees you.

“Hey stranger,” he breathes out as he settles in at the table next to you.

“Hi Eddie,”

Ever since Eddie woke up in your bed, things had been different. Eddie seemed happier, his demeanor not so jittery. You talked more, Eddie revealing more about his life.

You learned he was really a dork. Knows a little too much about horror movies, still plans D&D campaigns for fun, and collects mugs from every new place he goes.

He’s become softer, more himself in the last few days. You found yourself getting closer to him, his magnetic force drawing you in with every little conversation.

His captivating personality had you expressing more things about yourself, like your favorite flower, how you got the scar on your shoulder, and all about your childhood cat, Mr. Snuffles.

Talking to Eddie when he was sober was easy, he didn’t go on unnecessary tangents, he wasn’t as flirty and he looked oh so pretty when he was healthy.

His usual red eyes now pure, no sign of distress in them. He even started taking care of his hair, his usual frizzy locks now smooth and curly. He was doing better. You were proud of him.

“Didn’t think I’d be seeing you today,” he says, pulling out all of his clothes and settling them into a pile. He gathers them all in his arms, walking towards a washer.

“Aren’t you gonna sort them?” you ask, chuckling to yourself as Eddie struggles with the large amount of clothes he has in his hands.

“I never do?” he says as if it's almost a question.

“Well, I’m sure you have some 200 dollar shirts in there that are begging to be sorted,”

“My uh- lady at home usually does it. This is how I used to do laundry when I was a kid,”

You roll your eyes, motioning for him to come back to the table.

You sort his dirty clothes for him, it feels pathetic but the smile he has on his face as you help him makes it somewhat worth it.

“You’ve gotta sort lights from darks. I’d suggest separating your whites too but I don’t want you to keel over,”

He chuckles, grabbing the pile of darks and carrying them to a washer. He puts in his quarters, handing you some so you can start the pile of lights.

“So what are you up to for the rest of the day?” he questions as he strolls back to the tables where your clothes still lay.

“Nothing really, apartment hunting for a little bit and then back to the motel,” you gather your pile of clothes, turning towards the washers and placing the items inside. Eddie swoops in front of you and puts quarters in for you, you playfully roll your eyes but smile up at him nonetheless.

“Oooh, that should be fun,” he scratches at the back of his neck, “I uh- owe you for bailing me out so just let me know what you need for the security deposit and I’ll write a check,”

“Thank you Eddie, but you don’t have to. I lost your jacket, I bailed you out, were even,”

Eddie shakes his head, curls flying in all directions at the erratic movement.

“Someone stole my jacket from you, you didn’t just leave it for anyone to take. Plus I can,so let me,” he states, eyes locking with yours in a stare.

“Just let me, it’s the least I can do-” you nod your head, allowing the man to help you pay your way into a new apartment.

A feat that was easier said than done, you had looked at 5 separate places with Christa, none of them being anything close to what you wanted or needed.

You finally decide to call it quits and return back to the hotel, smiling when you see Eddie waiting outside your door with a pizza box in his hand. Christa sends you a wink as you get out of the car, a soft “enjoy yourself” falling from her lips.

Eddie grins widely when he sees you step out of Christa’s car.

“Sorry- thought you were home from your hunting,” he motions towards your car that is parked a few spots down from your door.

“Kinda got stuck at our last place. Creepy landlord,” you straighten out the pleats of your skirt as Eddie sucks in a breath in through his teeth, wincing dramatically.

“At least you dodged that bullet,” he says as he leans against the doorframe waiting for you to open it, his slim shoulders doing a good job at boxing you in. The smell of his cologne makes your mind whir, gone are the days of dried puke and alcohol.

You unlock the door, Eddie’s hand pushing it open forcing you to duck underneath his arm. He lets the door close softly behind him once he is inside, being sure to lock the deadbolt.

He places the pizza box on the small table by the window. He draws the curtains, blocking out the rest of the world and turning the room into a space that was only for the two of you.

“Got your favorite,” he motions to the box with his thumb as he walks up behind you. You’re stepping out of your shoes when Eddie’s arm snakes around your front, under your arm and resting on your collarbone. He’s come over every night since the cleaning fiasco, you talk about the ten-day-whirlwind that the two of you have embarked on and get to know eachother even more.

Eddie spends most of his time apologizing when you recall anything from the short time of knowing him, ashamed of how much he had hurt you.

It’s been a week of take-out, today bringing you to day seventeen. Ten days of hell and seven of something in between a raging fire and a rumbling earthquake- scalding your skin and shaking off the dust settled deep in your soul.

His arm comes undone from you, his hand tracing down your tricep, over your elbow, ghosting down your forearm, finally grasping your hand as he draws you towards the radio sitting in the corner of the room.

Eddie liked to dance- he twirled to what he called your “teeny bopper” music, he swayed his hips to country music, he even danced to his own music when you forced him to listen to it one night.

Eddie danced with you tonight- his fingers fit perfectly through yours, his hand rested right in the dip of your waist, his lips looked pretty in this light.

“Are you thinking about kissing me, sweets?” He questions, a smile forming on his lips as he leans forward. You blush nervously, nodding your head. His smile gets even wider before he leans in, lips capturing yours.

Both his hands come to cup your face, cheeks tugging and eyes crinkled as he leans in further. His other hand comes to rest on your hip, pushing backwards until your knees hit the back of the couch. You pull away, shifting from foot to foot as you wait for Eddie to take the reins. He chuckles softly before capturing your lips in another soft kiss before pulling away and plopping down onto the couch. He pulls you into his lap, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then down your neck, all the way to your shoulder.

His eyes meet yours, his hands fumbling with the edge of your sweater. A plea on the edge of his lips as he looks up at you. You nod, letting him remove the garment from your body. He audibly moans at the sight, your breasts bouncing freely only leaving you in your skirt.

“Please tell me you have panties on,” he mumbles, hand snaking down to your center. He bites his lips and groans when he’s met with your sticky folds.

“S’ laundry day,” you giggle.

His fingers trace through your slick, he has half a mind to shove the fingers in your face, make you lick yourself off of him. But When he glances over your face, your pouting lips and furrowed brow send his heart racing. He decides right then that you're an angel. He thinks there’s no way you're real, there is absolutely no way you’re here with him.

He wraps his arm around your waist, standing from his place on the couch. He walks you back to the bed as you kiss up the side of his neck. He lands you on the middle, arms caging you in as he leans down to kiss you. He’s much slower this time, desperate clashing of teeth melting to well thought out movements.

You pull away from him, hands coming to mess with the edge of his old band tee.

“You’re much too dressed for the occasion, Mr. Munson,” you giggle out. He smiles down at you, getting up to strip out of his clothes. You hold your breath when he pulls down his boxers, his cock springing out and slapping against his belly. It’s big and you’re sure he knows it.

He crawls back up the bed, kissing from your ankle to your neck. He splays kisses across your face, finally meeting your lips in a sweet kiss.

His eyes bore into yours as he pushes some hair from your face before kissing you again, but he pulls away much too quickly for your liking.

“M’ gonna eat you out now, kay’?” he mumbles against your lips, you nod, throwing your head back as Eddie begins to kiss back down your body. He stops at the waistband of your skirt, mumbling something to himself before hooking his fingers in the band and pulling the fabric over your bottom.

He moans at the sight of your center, leaning forward to press a kiss to your thighs before diving in completely. He licks from your hole, up to your clit, tongue dancing around the bundle of nerves. Your knuckles grip the white sheets, mind reeling as he works you up to an orgasm. He laps at your pussy, pulling away to spit on his fingers.

His ringed fingers come to push through the sticky mess the two of you have created, one finally pushing in, drawing a guttural moan from your lips. The cold metal of his rings bump against your skin every time he thrusts his fingers in and out. He works you up to three before pulling them out completely, mouth still assaulting your clit, causing you to squeal.

“You ready f’me?” he questions, mouth still between your legs. You tug on his hair, pulling him away from your center, nodding profusely with a smile on your face.

He pushes you further up the bed, settling in between your legs. His cock nudges at your hole, the tip catching inside, you mewl quietly when he pushes in. He leans down, arms settling on either side of your head, his hair tickling your nose as he looks down at you intently.

“So pretty,” You mumble, hand coming up to cup his cheek and draw him into a kiss. He smiles into it, pulling away and admiring the way your face contorts every time he punches that spongy spot inside you.

“S’ all you, sweets,” He moans, forehead pressing against yours as he drives into you. The pace he sets draws moan after moan from deep within you.

Your hand stays cupping his face, kissing him again, your lips barely brushing his when he pulls away.

“C’mon pretty girl, tell me what it is. Wanna know what I should be moaning while I ruin you.”

You shutter a breath out- your name falling off your lips and into the air.

“F-fuck..” he’s full on smiling, his eyes crinkling as he languidly thrusts inside you.

“Eds-Eddie. M’ close,”

“Shit-ok. Where do you want me?” He picks up his pace, cock nudging at all the right places.

“Inside- want you inside,” Your legs lock around his waist, forcing him to bury himself to the hilt as he spills inside of you.

He’s giggling when you finally release him, pulling his still hard cock from inside you and smearing around the mess that has formed between your legs.

“Look so good painted all pretty for me. Could take a picture and look at it all tour long. Would never haveta’ look anywhere else. Just me this little memory and my hand,” he’s pulling your ass cheeks apart, releasing them before his thumb hooks into your pussy as he rummages around on the side table- careful not to knock down the countless polaroids around the camera.

“Can I sweets? Take a pretty little polaroid of this pretty little pussy?” he thrusts his thumb in further, drawing more cum out of you. You giggle when you feel it run down your thighs as you give him a soft hum in response to his question.

He snaps a picture of your most bare area, the idea makes you blush but then there's the idea of Eddie- using it. That makes it feel alright.

“Just wanna take one more,” he says as his cock nudges at your hole again, the puffy skin wanting to scream no but the burn short circuiting your brain at the same time.

He snaps another picture once he’s half inside you, your hands covering your face as you giggle.

“Enough of that,” he says with a small chuckle as he tosses the camera back onto the bedside table. His hands grip your hips as he lazily thrusts into you.

After finally having enough of Eddie’s teasing, you push at Eddie’s belly, signaling him to stop. He flashes you a confused look as he pulls out but soon gets the idea once you scramble off the bed and begin pushing him towards the couch.

He flops down onto the cushions, legs spreading wide. Deft fingers wrapping around your hips as you sink down onto him, your arms snake around his neck and pull at the hair sitting at the nape.

Eddie looks up at you in awe, his eyes never leaving yours as you ride him. His lips are parted, soft breaths and moans tumbling from his mouth.

“Shit- baby I- I can’t last like this-” He groans as he tries to stop your movements. You grab his hand, raising it and placing it on your breast.

“C’mon sweets, come in me again,” He moans sweetly at his own pet name being used against him, his hips stilling once he is settled inside you. He buries his head in your neck as he comes, teeth biting in as he silences himself.

You let him stay inside you for a while, finally pulling off of him when Eddie begins to rub at the skin on your hips.

You’re up on wobbly legs, shooting Eddie a glare when he begins to chuckle.

He throws his hands up in defense and motions to the mess between his legs. Cum has dripped down his balls and pooled in his seat.

“Gonna need to spot clean this one miss housekeeper,” He winces as he gets up, collecting you in his arms and placing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Let’s shower, yeah?”

You nod, taking his hand as he guides you to the small porcelain tub. He turns on the water, testing it with his fingers before stepping in once it has warmed up. He extends his hand to you, thanking him quietly once you're standing before him in the tiny shower.

He takes a step back, moving out of the spray and allowing you to warm up under the water. You take turns getting your bodies warmed up, Eddie finally assuming his position behind you washing your hair.

“You mentioned tour,” you blush as you recall the memory from moments ago. Eddie’s stops scrubbing your scalp and sighs.

“I- I’m leaving,” he says in an almost whimper.

“Oh, when?”

“Two days,”

[superiorsturgeon]

DeadPyr:

Adam: *tosses tied-up Jaune on the ground*

Jaune: Oof! What do you assholes want?!

Cinder: *crouches down in front of Jaune* Don’t worry, blondie, we’re not going to hurt you. You’re just bait for your girlfriend, Pyrrha!

Jaune: My girlfriend is dead!

Cinder: Yeah…see, that’s what I thought! But she just keeps coming back!

———————————————————————

Pyrrha: *at the laundromat, trying to scrub bloodstains from her suit*

Maria Calavera: *doing her laundry beside Pyrrha* Use lemon juice and baking soda to clean blood out of clothes.

Pyrrha: 😲

Maria: …idiot…

———————————————————————

Garbage Truck: *pulls up beside shady hideout building*

Pyrrha: *half climbs, half falls out the back*

Pyrrha: Thanks for the ride! Sorry for bleeding all over your garbage!

———————————————————————

Pyrrha: *tearing through a hideout of bandits*

Vernal/Shay D Man: *run to safe room and slam the door behind them*

Pyrrha: *trying to break into safe room* Come on! It’s my anniversary today and I’m running late! 😫

———————————————————————

Neo: *behind the bar* So you’re back from the dead, huh? Have you told your boyfriend?

Pyrrha: No…! I’m terrified of what he’ll say when he sees my face…😭

Neo: Oh, come on, how bad can it-

Pyrrha: *pulls back her hood, revealing her scars*

Neo: WHOA!! Your face looks like an avocado face-fucked a topographic map! 😨

Pyrrha: Thank you…😑

Neo: It must’ve been serious hate-fucking…there was something wrong in the relationship…😰

Pyrrha: Thank you…😓

Neo: I’m sorry, but you look…haunting…!

Pyrrha: *face on the table*…thank you…😭

———————————————————————

Pyrrha: *smashes phone down* AAAARGH!!!

Neo: Shit, they’ve got Jaune?!

Pyrrha: …I need guns!

Neo: Which guns?

Pyrrha: ALL OF THE GUNS!!! 🤬

———————————————————————

Pyrrha: Okay…I need your help…! They’ve got Jaune! 😓

Nora/Ren: 🤨

Ren: All right, but in return we’d like you to consider joining us!

Pyrrha: Okay…FINE…

Pyrrha: *muttering as she turns away* …it’s funny…all the other teams have four members, but I only ever see two of you…

Pyrrha: …it’s almost like the writer was too lazy to add more characters…

———————————————————————

Pyrrha: *standing on Cinder’s body*

Cinder: 😵

Pyrrha: …I’m just a girl…standing in front of a boy…

Pyrrha: …Oh my gods, what the hell am I going to say to him?!?!

Ren: *turning away* Well, you’d better think of something quick…!

Nora: 🤭

Pyrrha: What…? *turns around*

Jaune: 😡

Pyrrha: 😱