#i'm still stressed and low key turned on thinking about it

[realcube]

dilf decemeber

day one ⭑ tsukishima kei ⭑ hot neighbour x reader

tw : age gap, second-hand embarrassment

you know you shouldn't, but when you see the flickering lights of his car pulling into the apartements' resident parking bay, followed by the whirring of the elevator as it brings him up to your shared floor, you can't help but press your ear against your door from the inside to hear if he bought his kids home with him today.

they always fill the apartment complex with such a jovial and chipper energy; the other residents of your floor complain that his kids are too loud when kei brings them home after work, but you think 6PM is a perfectly reasonable time for them to be a bit boisterous.

regardless, it was a shame when all you heard was his lone feet dragging over to his apartment's door. but on the bright side, it meant you might get a moment alone with him tonight.

originally your plan was to let him get changed and have a moment to himself first before you started bothering him, but you quickly realised the food you made would be cold by then, and you'd rather him enjoy it while it's fresh and hot.

so without delay, you throw on a pair of flats and cute hoodie over your pyjamas and rush over to his apartment door, knocking on it eagerly.

it did concern you that greeting him so soon after he finished work would be irritating for him, and the last thing you would want is to be on his bad side, but he seems to have a soft spot for you. whenever you talk to him, even if he has his phone in one hand trying to make a call, and his kid pulling on his other arm, his gaze still appears to relax when looking at you.

and you hope he really does like you and this isn't all in your head, as you've also had your sights set on him ever since he moved in next to you. something about the way he sents off in the morning with his fitted beige suit on and hair perfectly pulled back. how stern and determined he looks behind those glasses in the morning, but come evening, it's typically melted into a stirring pit of stress and fatigue. but he still looks hot hauling himself to his door.

that why you decided it would be nice if you brought him something to eat — at least then he wouldn't have to worry about making dinner himself. you cooked a lasagna because you heard it was his kids' favourite meal.

it took a minute or so but eventually tsukishima dragged himself over to the door and pulled it open. "yes?" he calls out in a gruff, low tone. evidently he was expecting someone else, as when his eyes fall upon you in his doorway, he visibly straightens his posture, clears his throat and adjusts his glasses. "oh, (y/n). can i help you?"

"yes! i mean, no. uh," you catch yourself awkwardly strumbling over words already, while he just silently snickers, "i made this for you and your family. i hope you enjoy it." you offer him the lasagna, and he hesitantly reaches out and takes it.

"thanks. but it's not poison, is it? because i know how badly you all want my kids to be quiet." he jokes, but you immediately jump to defend yourself, abash at his implication.

"oh, no. of course not. i actually don't mind your kids making noise, i think it's sweet that they have so much energy and they should be able to express—"

tsukishima interupts your ramage but smirking and placing a large hand on your shoulder, "i'm kidding. i want them to shut up as much as the rest of you do." he says light-heartedly, glancing half-lidded between the lasagna in his hands and your glowing face, "but even if this was poison, i think i'd still have a bite. looks pretty decent."

"pretty decent?" you laugh.

"yeah, decent. might even be edible." he nods, trying to suppress a cheeky smile, "but i need to try it first to confirm. want to join me?"

"join you?" you repeat in shock, raising your eyebrows.

"yes. you're the one who made this, after all. you should try some." he turns around to head inside his apartment, looking at you from over his shoulder and quirking an eyebrow, "unless you've done enough volunteer work for today. you probably have better things to do then entertain the elderly." he teases, and you trail after him, following him inside.

"i always have time for the old and senile."

"well, aren't you just an angel sent from heaven?" he says mockingly, still brandishing a playful smirk, as he sets out places and begins to serve the slices of lasagna.

he motions for you to take a seat across from his at the dinner table, and you do so. he sits down too, after retrieving a tall bottle of red wine and placing it on the table for you to gawk at.

"ooh, that looks fancy. what's the occasion?"

he rolls his eyes and works at uncorking the bottle and serving it, "first childless dinner in three months. though, that's assuming that you count as an adult, which i'm not too sure about."

you can tell there is banter in his tone, so you reciprocate and reply in a light-hearted manner, scoffing playfully, "what the hell do you mean?"

"i can see your rainbow socks sticking out from your shoes." he replies monotonously, which causes you look down in dismay. and indeed, there it was. but instead of being outwardly embarrassed by it, you agonisingly try to conceal it with confidence and repartee.

"so what? they're comfortable and economical." you weren't entirely certain why you related your socks to the economy but fortunately tsukishima moved on. as he was pouring the drinks into your respestive glasses, he noticed you hadn't started eating yet so he encouraged you to do so.

"go on. what're you waiting for? are you waiting for me to take the first bite so you don't have to consume the poison?"

you roll your eyes and just to prove a point in a dramatic fashion, you cut a large section of the lasagna off and attempt to stuff it into your mouth. and for the most part you do, but in the process, a large serving of tomato sauce spills down your cheek.

you hastily grab a napkin and begin to clean it up, while tsukishima just sits across the table and laughs. loudly. "wow, angel. your status of an adult is really coming into question again."

you scoff, and once your finished chewing your large portion of lasagna and have seemingly wiped your face clean of any remaining sauce, you mutter, "just because i've not got cataracts yet, doesn't mean i fail to qualify as an adult."

"wow, rude. i don't have cataracts; these are regular glasses for regularly blind people." he teases, then follows it up by pointing to your cheek, "and it seems like you need them more than me. you missed a spot."

your face flushes in embarrassment, as you pick up the napkin and follow his gesture to locate the smudge, "where is it?"

he leans in closer, until his hands is near to your face, then quickly runs his thumb against your cheek — right beside your lips — and smearing cold sauce against your skin in the process. "right there." he chuckles.

you groan, using the napkin to wipe it away again. "so childish." you shake your head disapprovingly, and he just raises his eyebrows at you.

"well, that makes two of us."

btw ik it's not said explicitly but he's obviously divorced, this isn't a cheating fic.

[the-oblivious-writer]

Let the Light In |8|

Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Chapter Eight: Old Temptations

Summary: After hiding yourself away for weeks, Anika and Henry get you to return to the living. While you're at the party they bring you to, you run into Tara before a third-party runs into your fists.

Warning(s): Swearing, fighting - whoop whoop!! that's the sound, social interactions, and drinking (underage)

Notes: I made at least ten drafts, combined them, adjusted, and here is the final product. This is more of an R focused chapter, so you'll start to see more of the internal struggles she goes through along with a special guest start. As always, I hope you enjoy

Masterlist|Previous Part|Next Part

The incandescent lights of Henry's apartment building buzz overhead as you follow him and Anika up the concrete stairs. Your boots echo against each step, creating a hollow rhythm that matches your reluctant heartbeat. You've been dreading this party all week, but your friends had worn you down with their relentless enthusiasm and pointed comments about your "hermit tendencies."

"I still can't believe you actually agreed to come," Henry says over his shoulder, his keys jingling as he searches for the right one. "Usually getting you out after exams is like trying to coax a cat into taking a bath."

"Maybe I'm turning over a new leaf," you mutter, knowing full well it's a lie. The only reason you'd agreed was because they'd caught you in a moment of weakness—specifically, when you were coming down from a three-day study binge and your defenses were too low to properly deflect their persistent pestering.

Anika snorts, adjusting her glittering top that catches the harsh hallway light. "Right. And I'm going to start watching silent films with you."

"Charlie Chaplin’s a classic," you defend, following them into Henry's apartment. The familiar scent of his signature sandalwood candles hits you immediately. 

"Whatever you say, grandma," Henry teases, disappearing into his bedroom. You can hear him rummaging around, probably looking for whatever he plans to wear tonight.

You collapse onto his worn leather couch, the same one he'd rescued from a curb three years ago. Despite its questionable origins, it's the most comfortable piece of furniture you've ever encountered. Maybe if you sink deep enough into it, they'll forget you're here and leave without you.

Anika perches on the arm of the couch, already touching up her makeup in a compact mirror. "You know," she starts, and you recognize that tone—it's the one she uses when she's about to say something she thinks you won't like. "Tara might be there tonight."

Your stomach does an uncomfortable flip. "And why would I care about that?"

"Oh, I don't know," Anika draws out the words, applying another coat of mascara with practiced precision. "Maybe because you've been moping around ever since your little disappearing act?"

"I haven't been moping," you protest, but even you can hear how weak it sounds. "I've been studying. There's a difference."

"Right," she says, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

You open your mouth to argue, then close it again. The past few weeks have been a blur of textbooks, coffee, and a blend of mathematical formulas and historical documentations. You'd thrown yourself into exam preparation with perhaps more vigor than strictly necessary, but that was just your way of dealing with stress. 

It definitely had nothing to do with how you'd ignored her texts afterward.

Dork (3:47 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) I can't make it tonight

Tara (3:48 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) oh. lemme knw when u can reschedule 

Dork (3:48 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) Tara, don't do that

Tara (3:49 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) dont wat????

Dork (3:49 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) I know what 'oh' means

Tara (3:50 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) well then eblighten me cuz idk what ur ymmaring abt

Dork (3:51 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) *Enlighten/*yammering, and never mind

Tara (3:51 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) 🤓 is u fr 

Dork (3:52 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) Excuse me? 

Tara (3: 52 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) i have to explain??? but i thougt u were all knowing!

Dork (3:53 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) *Thought. I know you know how to spell, you're just reckless with a keyboard

Tara (3:53 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) my question is when did i ask

Dork (3:54 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) That's an improvement

Tara (3:54 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) stfup.

Henry emerges from his bedroom, now wearing a fitted crop-top that every guy wore in the 80’s. "Are we talking about the Tara situation?"

"There is no 'Tara situation,'" you insist, making air quotes with your fingers. "Can we please just go to this party so I can suffer through it and get back to my peaceful, drama-free existence?"

"Drama-free?" Henry laughs, grabbing his keys. "Is that what we're calling your one-person production of 'Hamlet' these last eighteen years?"

You bite your thumb at him, but there's no real heat behind it. These are your best friends, after all, and you know their teasing comes from a place of love. Even if they're being particularly annoying about it tonight.

The drive to the party is a blur of street lights and the sound of Abbey Road. You're behind the wheel of your beloved '70 Ford Maverick, a car that Henry constantly ridicules. Anika claims the passenger seat, still fussing with her makeup, while Henry sprawls in the back, giving you directions that are more confusing than helpful.

"No, no, turn left at the next—wait, I meant right. My other left."

"Your other left?" you deadpan, making the turn anyway. "How many lefts do you have?"

"Don't sass the navigator," he replies primly. "Oh, there it is! The house with all the cars out front."

You pull up to the curb about half a block away, already feeling your anxiety spike at the sight of the crowded frat house. Music pulses from within, so loud you can feel it in your chest even from here. People mill about on the front lawn, red cups in hand, their laughter carrying through the night air.

"Remind me again why I agreed to this?" you ask, killing the engine but making no move to get out of the car.

Anika turns to you, her expression softening slightly. "Because Henry threatened to sing the entire soundtrack of 'Cats' outside your bedroom door if you didn't come."

"That was a low blow," you mutter, finally unbuckling your seatbelt. "You know how much I hate that musical."

"Desperate times," Henry says cheerfully, already out of the car and bouncing on his heels with excitement. "Come on, let's go find out what kinds of terrible decisions we can make tonight!"

You follow your friends up the walkway, trying to ignore the way your palms are already sweating. The last party you'd attended had been... well, it had been a week before your self-imposed exile. The night Tara had looked at you with those impossibly dark eyes and asked if you wanted to get some air, and you'd panicked and made up an excuse about needing to check on your nonexistent fish.

The front door is already open, music and voices spilling out into the night. As soon as you cross the threshold, you're hit with a wall of sensory input that makes your head spin. The air is thick with artificial fog from a machine hidden somewhere in the corner, mixed with the distinctive scent of cheap beer and various perfumes and colognes. Multi-colored lights pulse in time with the music, turning everything into a strobing dreamscape and your nightmare.

Henry guides you through the crowd with a gentle hand on your back, navigating the sea of bodies with practiced ease. You catch glimpses of familiar faces as you pass. They all blur together in the dim light, becoming a kaleidoscope of features that makes your head swim.

You end up at yet another worn leather couch that's seen better days, probably around the same era as your car. Henry gestures for you to sit, and you do, grateful for something solid beneath you. The cushions seem to want to swallow you whole, and for once, you don't fight it.

"I'll get us drinks!" Henry shouts over the music, already backing away into the crowd. "Don't move!"

Anika lingers for a moment, looking torn between staying with you and pursuing whatever—or whoever—has caught her attention across the room. You wave her off with a weak smile. "Go. I'll be fine right here, becoming one with the furniture."

She hesitates another second before grinning. "Try to have some fun, okay? And text me if you need an escape plan." Then she's gone, disappearing into the crowd with the grace of Mindy, someone who actually enjoys these sorts of gatherings.

Left alone, you let yourself sink deeper into the couch, watching the party unfold around you. A group of girls near the makeshift dance floor are attempting some sort of choreographed routine, though the alcohol in their systems is making it more comedic than coordinated. Two guys are engaged in what appears to be an intense debate about pizza toppings, their gestures becoming more animated with each passing second.

The bass line of whatever song is playing thrums through your body, making your bones vibrate in a way that's not entirely unpleasant. You find yourself timing your breathing to it, using it as an anchor in the chaos. This isn't so bad, you think. You can handle this. It's just a few hours, and then you can go home and binge-watch your comfort shows until the sun comes up.

"Y/L/N special!" Henry's voice breaks through your thoughts as he returns, thrusting a red solo cup into your hands. The liquid inside is an alarming shade of orange that definitely doesn't occur in nature.

You eye it suspiciously. "What exactly makes it a ‘Y/L/N special'?"

"The fact that it's specifically designed for the same people who despise candy unless it's 99% cacao," he explains, dropping onto the couch beside you with his own drink—something amber-colored that you assume is actually beer.

"That's... oddly thoughtful," you admit, taking a tentative sip. It tastes like water that’s had lemons and limes soak in it for months, the kick makes your tongue tingle. "And dangerous."

"Just pace yourself," he advises, watching as more people filter into the already crowded space. "Oh hey, isn't that Charlotte?"

You follow his gaze to see Charlotte, the person you ended things with through a text message. You try to hide behind the red plastic in your hand as you sip, but you nearly spill your bitter bread water all over yourself when she notices you. You can tell it caught her off guard; her eyes slightly widened and she took an uncomfortably long pause mid-sentence. This pause caused her friends to look over which only made things even more awkward—at least for you. After shooting daggers at you and one of them flipping you off, they linked elbows with Charlotte and took her to a different room.

You know you deserved it.

Henry sucked his teeth. “Ouch. Casanova strikes again,” he chuckled with amusement.

“Ugh,” you express in response to the name for you before downing the last of the liquid in your cup. “I’m out. I’m gonna get one more.”

One drink turns into two, two turns into three, and somewhere during your debate with Henry over which Ninja Turtle’s the best one, you’re interrupted by a pair of familiar dark brown eyes meeting yours. Your attention always seemed to gravitate towards Tara Carpenter. 

You momentarily pause your expression of admiration for Leonardo, peeking over Henry’s shoulder to give Tara a downwards smile paired with a finger wave. She rolls her eyes and returns your finger wave in a mocking gesture. After Henry realizes what’s grabbed your attention, he makes an excuse to walk away.

You're nursing your fifth orange drink when she materializes beside you, seemingly out of thin air. "Seriously?" The word drips with exasperation. "You're actually hiding behind Henry?"

"I'm not hiding," you protest, pulling yourself up to what you hope is a dignified height. "I'm strategically positioning myself for optimal social avoidance."

Tara snorts—an inelegant sound that somehow makes her more endearing. "Is that what we're calling it?" 

The space between you crackles with a tension that's part irritation, part something else entirely. 

"I could ask you the same thing," you counter with a crack in your voice. Tara notices this and slightly raises an eyebrow while giving you a once-over. "Pretty sure you've been standing in the exact same spot for the last twenty minutes."

Her eyes narrow. "I'm observing."

"Stalking," you correct automatically.

"Strategically positioning myself," she throws your earlier words back at you, and there's a glint in her eye that makes your breath catch.

For a moment, you felt uncharacteristically at ease in such a setting—when you catch a fragment of a conversation that makes your blood run cold. 

“—Carpenter's got a mouth on her that could—"

The words slice through your alcohol-induced haze like a knife. Your head whips around so fast you almost give yourself whiplash, searching for the source of the comment. Two guys are leaning against the wall near the stairs, one of them making crude gestures as he continues to make vile comments about Tara.

The pleasant warmth in your system transforms instantly into liquid fire. You recognize one of them—Marcus Wheeler from your Calculus class, the one who always makes inappropriate comments during lectures and thinks he's God's gift to mathematics. The other is unfamiliar, but the way he's laughing and encouraging Marcus makes your skin crawl.

Your muscles tense. Tara notices immediately. "Don't," she warns, a single word packed with more meaning than should be possible.

But you're already moving, your body acting before your brain can fully process the decision. 

Your fist connects with his jaw before you even realize you've thrown the punch. There's a satisfying crack that you feel more than hear, followed by a burst of pain across your knuckles that you're too angry to properly register. The pain sends a rush through you, pushes you, tempts you for more. 

Marcus staggers back, both surprised and hurt, but recovers quickly. He lunges for you, but your muscle memory kicks in. You sidestep, using his momentum against him, and somehow you end up on top of him, getting in another solid hit before strong hands pull you away.

The world comes rushing back all at once. The music has stopped, replaced by the murmur of shocked voices and the ringing in your ears. Everyone is staring at you, their faces a blur of surprise and judgment. Marcus is on the ground, blood trickling from his split lip, and presumably broken nose, looking at you with a mixture of rage, disbelief, and fear.

Your chest feels too tight, like someone's wrapped steel bands around your ribcage and is slowly tightening them. The weight of what you've just done crashes over you like a wave, threatening to pull you under. You need to get out—now.

You shoulder your way through the crowd, ignoring Henry calling your name, ignoring the whispers that follow in your wake. Someone tries to grab your arm, but you shake them off, focused solely on reaching the door. The cool night air hits your face like a slap when you finally burst outside, but you keep walking, your hands shaking as the adrenaline starts to wear off.

The crisp winter air hits you like a slap when you stumble outside, your breath forming small clouds in the freezing night.

“Wait!”

When did she get here?

"Let me see," Tara's voice cuts through your alcohol-induced haze, her hand reaching for yours with a familiarity that makes your head spin—or maybe you've had one too many of those orange drinks.

You thrust your hand toward her dramatically, wincing as the movement sends a spike of pain through your bruised knuckles.

"I totally got that incel good," you slur, a giggle bubbling up from somewhere deep and slightly unhinged. The ice beneath your feet seems to shimmer with your triumph.

Tara's fingers hover just above your hand, not quite touching but close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from her skin. "You're going to need ice for that," she says, her tone caught between exasperation and something else—something softer.

"Ice, huh?" You look down at the ground, the irony not lost on you. 

With exaggerated precision, you bend down and scoop up a handful of snow, pressing it against your knuckles. The cold bites, but it's a welcome contrast to the burning anger and alcohol still coursing through your system.

"This works, right?" You look up at her, your eyes wide and slightly unfocused. The world tilts slightly, but Tara remains steady—an anchor in your spinning vision.

Something flickers in her eyes—amusement, maybe. "You're something else," she mutters, but there's no real bite to the words.

Emboldened by alcohol and adrenaline, you lean in closer. The words tumble out before you can stop them. "So… I never did get an answer to that proposal."

Tara goes very still. A smile begins to form, tentative and fragile as first light. 

She chuckles at your remark before shaking her head and scoffing to herself. "Sometimes I just don't get you," she says with a smile still etched on her face, but there's more complexity in those words than simple dismissal as she stares back into your eyes.

Confusion must show on your face because she looks away, the streetlight catching the curve of her cheek, the set of her jaw. You didn’t know what else to say so you just said the first thing that came to mind. 

“Merry birthday, Tar,” you said. 

She’s taken aback by this. She didn’t know what to say, yet still opened her mouth to respond. Maybe something would come to her, but before anything did—

"There you are!" Anika's voice cuts through the moment like a knife. Your car pulls up to the curb, engine running warm against the freezing air. "We need to get out of here before that guy calls the cops."

The moment dissolves. Tara takes a step back, creating distance that feels more emotional than physical. You're left standing there, snow melting between your fingers, the taste of unresolved everything burning at the back of your throat.

As you climb into the passenger seat, you catch one last glimpse of her in the side mirror—a silhouette, perfectly still and impossibly distant.

—

The drive home is mostly silent, broken only by the occasional sigh from Anika and the gentle humming of your car's engine. Your knuckles throb in time with your heartbeat, a steady reminder of your momentary loss of control. The adrenaline is wearing off now, replaced by a mixture of embarrassment and alcohol-induced wooziness that makes you slouch lower in your seat.

"You know," Anika finally says as she pulls into your shared apartment complex, "when I said you needed to be more social, starting another fight wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

You grunt in response, too busy focusing on the way the world is tilting slightly to form actual words. The drinks are hitting harder now that the excitement is over, making everything feel soft around the edges.

"Use your words," she chides, killing the engine. 

"Words are for people who don't punch assholes at parties," you mumble, fumbling with your seatbelt. The simple mechanism seems impossibly complex right now.

Anika reaches over to help you, her movements gentle despite her exasperated tone. "Come on, Rocky Balboa. Let's get you inside."

Getting up the stairs to your second-floor apartment proves to be an adventure. You insist you can do it yourself, but after the third time you miss a step, Anika wraps an arm around your waist and practically drags you up.

"I can walk," you protest, even as you lean heavily against her.

"Sure you can. Just like you can make rational decisions at parties, right?" 

You attempt to glare at her, but the effect is somewhat ruined when you stumble over your own feet. "He deserved it."

"Oh, I'm not arguing that point," Anika says, fishing her keys out of her purse while still supporting most of your weight. "Marcus Wheeler is definitely in the running for Biggest Douchebag of the Year. But maybe next time we could handle it without violence? You know, like adults?"

"Adulting is overrated," you declare as she manages to get the door open. "If I was a kid, I could just pull Tara's pigtails or something."

Anika steers you toward the kitchen, depositing you none too gently into one of the mismatched chairs around your small table. "Okay, first of all, that's not the approach to crushing on someone that you think it is. Second, stay put while I get the first aid kit."

You slump forward, resting your forehead against the cool surface of the table. "Not crushing," you mumble into the wood. "Just... emotionally compromised."

"Right," Anika calls from the bathroom, where you can hear her rummaging through cabinets. "And I'm just 'casually interested' in my hot girlfriend."

"That's different," you argue, lifting your head slightly. "You two are together. You’re attached to the hip—you don’t hide from each other."

"Ha! So you admit you were hiding!"

You let your head thunk back down onto the table. "I admit nothing. I was studying. Very intensely. In locations where certain people were statistically unlikely to appear."

Anika returns with the first aid kit and a bag of frozen peas, setting both on the table. "Sit up, you disaster. Let me see your hand."

You comply with a dramatic sigh, straightening in your chair and holding out your injured hand. Your knuckles are already starting to bruise, spots of purple blooming across the skin. There are a few small cuts, probably from where you caught Marcus's teeth.

"This might sting," Anika warns before dabbing at the cuts with an alcohol wipe. You hiss through your teeth but don't pull away. "So," she continues, her tone deceptively casual, "want to talk about what really happened back there?"

"Not particularly," you mutter, watching as she carefully cleans each cut. "Can we just chalk it up to temporary insanity and move on?"

"You punched a guy for talking shit about Tara." She applies antibiotic ointment with practiced efficiency. "That's not temporary insanity. That's feelings."

You try to pull your hand away, but she holds firm. "It's not— I just— He was being gross!"

"Mhmm." She wraps your knuckles in gauze with precise movements. "And the fact that it was about Tara specifically had nothing to do with your reaction?"

"I would have done the same for anyone," you insist, even though you both know it's a lie. "It's about basic human decency."

"Right. Basic human decency. That's why you've been moping around our apartment for two weeks, taking different routes, and muttering under your breath when you think I can't hear you."

Before you can form a suitably indignant response, your phone buzzes. Henry's face appears on the screen, caught mid-laugh at some long-ago hangout.

You put the call on speaker, feeling too exhausted to hold the phone. Henry's excited voice crackles through, bursting with energy.

"Holy shit! Are you okay? That was the most badass thing I've ever seen in my life!"

"I'm fine," you mutter, wincing as Anika presses a bag of frozen peas against your bruised knuckles. "Ow! Except for my so-called best friend trying to give me frostbite."

Anika's tone is no-nonsense. "Keep the ice on, or your hand will swell up like a balloon."

Henry can barely contain his excitement. "You should have seen Marcus's face after you left. He was completely shaken. I don't think anyone's ever stood up to him like that before."

You groan, tilting your head back. "Great. Now I'll be known as the crazy chick who starts fights at parties. That'll look amazing on my resume."

"Are you kidding? You're going to be a legend!" Henry starts, then suddenly there's a scuffle in the background.

"Am I on speaker?" you ask, suspicion rising in your voice.

"No!" Henry says simultaneously with another voice declaring, "Yes!"

You recognize the second voice immediately. "Henry James Martinez," you say, using his full name—knowing how much he hates it—"Are you and Tony back together?"

"No!" Henry protests. "His place flooded, and he needed a place to stay!"

"Sure thing, Hef," you chuckle, catching Anika's amused smile.

Tony's cheerful voice joins the conversation. "Hey, heard you knocked some douche on his ass for talking shit about your girlfriend. Nicely done."

"She's not my girlfriend," you respond quickly.

Henry can't resist. "Define girlfriend."

You're ready with a comeback. "Define sharing a living space with—"

"Uh oh, bad connection," Henry interrupts, and suddenly the line goes dead. Anika bursts into laughter.

“I’m gonna get you some aspirin,” Anika offered, patting your shoulder as she passed. “But just so you know that whole ‘emotionally compromised’ thing? Yeah, that’s basically the definition of crushing.”

You make an incoherent noise of protest into the table. 

"Oh, and by the way," Anika calls from the kitchen, "you're totally teaching me that right hook tomorrow. After your hangover wears off, of course."

You lift your head just enough to deadpan at her. 

"Love you too, champ. Now take your aspirin and go to bed before you fall asleep on the table. Again."

Not long after she went to her room, you stumble into the bathroom, hand throbbing and head spinning—the former a reminder of the night’s events. The light is harsh against your alcohol-fogged brain. The tile floor is cold beneath your bare feet as you stumble to the sink, turning on the water and splashing your face.

When you look up, he's there.

Your Uncle's bloody corpse stands behind you in the reflection, that familiar crooked smile that's always been more predatory than comforting. His appearance is exactly as you remember from old photographs—that slightly manic glint in his eye, the way he holds himself like violence is always just beneath the surface.

"Killer punch," he says, leaning against the bathroom wall. No greeting, no preamble. Just direct observation.

You don't jump but roll your eyes. "Go away," you mutter, gripping the sink's edge.

He chuckles—a sound that's more bark than laugh. "I saw myself in you tonight. That rage? That precise moment of calculated violence? Pure genetics that chose you."

"I'm nothing like you," you snap, turning to face him directly. The bathroom suddenly feels smaller.

He takes a step closer. "Oh, but you are. That moment when you heard those guys talking about your girl? That split second before the punch? That wasn't just anger. That was hunting instinct."

You close your eyes, trying to block him out. "I'm not a killer. I'm not you."

"Not yet," he says, and there's something almost proud in his voice. "But you've got the potential. I saw how you moved. How you calculated. How you knew exactly where to hit to cause maximum impact."

"My dad’s a professional pig," you counter. "It’s not like I attended murder school."

His laugh is sharp, brittle. "Call it what you want. But we both know there's something inside you. Something sharp. Something waiting."

The argument feels familiar—like every nightmare, every family gathering where his memory haunted the edges of conversation, their fear of the parallels you both held. You're tired of it. Tired of him.

"I'm going to bed," you declare, pushing past his spectral form.

He doesn't disappear immediately. Instead, his voice follows you. "We're not so different, you and me."

You pause at the doorway, not turning around, as your hand tightly grips the edges of the doorframe. "We're nothing alike." 

The silence that follows is answer enough.

As you crawl back into bed, the room feels normal again—just another night, just another internal argument with a ghost who refuses to stay buried.

But somewhere in the darkness, you can still feel him watching. Waiting.

-----------

A/N:

gobble, gobble

[honeypiehotchner]

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part three

I'm the most impatient person I know, so here's another!

Warnings: reader smoking cigarettes, just more case stuff, and as usual their bickering (but also moments of...non-bickering? gasp?)

Morgan finds you outside the precinct, pacing.

“Hey,” he says. “We’re going to get lunch and stop at the school, come on.”

You stop pacing. “Fine. Can we make a pit stop?” You follow Morgan over to the car, yanking the door open.

“Sure,” he shrugs. “Where?”

“Just a gas station,” you reply, pulling yourself into the passenger seat. “I need a fucking cigarette.”

“Uh-uh, woah,” Morgan turns his body toward you. “Since when do you smoke?”

“On and off,” you shrug. “When I’m stressed. Can we go?”

“Yeah.” Morgan turns the key in the ignition. “But cigarettes are the last stop.”

“That’s fine,” you say, trying hard to sound nonchalant, even though you know Morgan sees right through you.

Still, he says nothing, and heads toward Lila’s school.

“Marie’s mom is on the way to the school to pick her up,” Morgan says. “And to be there while we talk to her.”

“Alright,” you reply. “I don’t think Marie knew what was happening.”

“I don’t think she did, but I don’t think she’d say if she did either,” Morgan says, “but I’m hoping something about her behavior will tell us what she doesn’t say.”

“Do you think we’ll be able to talk to her without her mom present?” you suggest. “I mean, at that age, I probably wouldn’t say anything if my mom was in the room.”

“It’s not likely, but we can ask,” Morgan says. “Sometimes the parents surprise us.”

“I don’t think I want any surprises,” you say. “I just want Lila to be home safe.”

“She will be,” Morgan says. “We’ll get her home.”

“I need that optimism,” you tease. “Got any to spare?”

“I have plenty to go around, believe me.”

+++

The middle school freaks you out. It’s so small.

“I haven’t been in a school since I was…in school,” you murmur. “Is it just me, or are the ceilings really low?”

Morgan looks up and laughs. “It’s just you. Come on.”

The two of you flash your badges and the school secretary takes you right in to see the vice principal. The principal is out of town, so not only is the VP doing two jobs, but now she has a missing kid. You introduce yourselves to the frantic, yet somehow collected administrator.

“Thanks so much for letting us come as well,” you say, shaking her hand. “I understand our colleagues, Agent Hotchner and Prentiss, were already here.”

“Yes, very brooding, that man,” she says. “I’m Mrs. Henry, I have our SRO doing another sweep of the campus to see if Lila might be hiding anywhere.”

“I don’t think she’s hiding, Mrs. Henry,” you say.

“But we appreciate the effort,” Morgan adds. “Better safe than sorry.”

“Yes, exactly,” you agree, covering up your quick mouth. It really will get you in deep shit one of these days. “Is Marie Laud here yet?”

“She’s in the counselor’s office,” Mrs. Henry says. “Her mother is on her way, but I can take you to her.”

“Thank you,” you smile.

“And do you mind if I ask you some questions while Agent L/N speaks to Marie?” Morgan says.

“Not at all,” Mrs. Henry shakes her head, grabbing her radio. “Right this way.”

The counselor’s office is just around the corner, and you spot Marie instantly. She’s doing homework by the looks of it, and the counselor is next to her, simply typing on her laptop. Marie doesn’t look closed off, but she’s also not an open book — that much can be told from her willingness to do homework instead of talk.

You observe her from a distance for a while longer, listening to Morgan’s questions.

“Is every door locked at all times in this building?”

“Well, yes, but anyone inside can open them. It would be a fire hazard if no one could get out.”

“I understand,” Morgan nods. “We just want to cover every base. Now, you’re positive she was present this morning?”

“I’ve spoken to the teacher personally, as well as Marie, and yes, Lila was here.”

You turn your head. “Marie is in Lila’s first period?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Henry nods. “They have almost every class together. Their fifth periods are different, but that’s all.”

“Okay,” you reply quietly. “I’m gonna try to talk to her.”

Waiting for Marie’s mom might be the smart thing to do, but you can deal with the mom’s anger later. You worry that Marie will feel judged or like she’s in trouble if her mom is around, especially if she knows something about Lila’s disappearance. 

You walk into the counselor’s office with a warm smile, introducing yourself to the counselor, Ms. Blackwell. 

“Is it alright if I sit?” you ask.

Ms. Blackwell nods. “Of course, go right ahead.” 

Marie’s eyes are glued to her homework, but you see her attempt to look at you through the very top of her peripheral vision.

“Algebra?” you ask. “You’re better at it than I am.” She is blasting through each question. You don’t even know if they’re right, but it looks like they must be. She seems confident. “Is that what class you’re supposed to be in right now?”

It’s tiny, but Marie does nod. She doesn’t look up, but she says, “Me and Lila have it together.”

“Oh, I see,” you murmur. “Did you see Lila this morning?”

Another nod. “Yeah, in homeroom.” Marie pauses, looks up. “That’s first period.”

You chuckle. “I had a homeroom, too.”

Marie looks back at her worksheet. “She just told me she had to go to the bathroom.”

“What was that?” you ask.

The counselor looks dumbfounded. Clearly you’ve gotten more out of Marie than Ms. Blackwell has this entire time.

“Lila said she had to pee,” Marie says again. “We were about to go to second period, but she had to pee. I didn’t wanna be late, so I went to class. She said she’d be there.”

“Okay,” you nod. “Was she really eager to leave? Did it seem urgent?”

Marie nods, looking at you weirdly. “Yeah. I thought she just had to pee really bad or got her period or something.”

“Yeah, I get that,” you reply. “Was she texting anyone?”

“I mean, she had her phone in her hand, but I dunno if she was texting anyone. We usually text in class,” Marie glances guiltily at the counselor.

“I used to pass notes in class, old fashioned texting,” you chuckle. “Did Lila say anything else that was maybe really weird or just something else you remember?”

“Yeah, I mean,” Marie shrugs. “Her book bag looked bigger.”

“Bigger?”

“Yeah, like she had a lot of stuff in it. She usually only has one notebook and her planner, but it was like. Big.”

“Huh,” you comment. “That is odd.”

“Right?” Marie says, looking back at her math. “I asked her why and she said she just felt like bringing her lunch today. It was weird.”

“Does she not normally bring her lunch?”

“Nah, we get the salads in the cafeteria,” Marie says. She tries to solve a math problem, then stops, and looks back up at you. “Is she gonna be okay?”

“I hope so,” you murmur. “Hey, if you think of anything, here’s my number.” You hand your card to her. “You can text or call me, any time.”

“Thanks,” Marie says, smiling a little. “Oh, there’s my mom.”

You turn and see Mrs. Laud coming toward you, so you stand. “Mrs. Laud, I’m Agent L/N.”

“Hi,” she says. “Did you speak to Marie?”

“We just finished,” you smile. “I apologize for not waiting for you, but every minute counts.”

“Oh, yes, I understand, that’s no problem,” Mrs. Laud replies, surprising you. You’ll have to tell Morgan. “Is Lila going to be okay? Her mom is so distraught; I just got off the phone with her again.”

“We’re doing everything we can,” you assure her. “My partner and I need to get back, but if you think of anything that might help us,” you hand Mrs. Laud your card, “please, don’t hesitate to call.”

“Thank you,” she smiles.

“Of course,” you reply. “Excuse me.”

You head back outside in the hall where Morgan stands, listening to the vice principal ramble. You’re not sure if she’s said anything helpful, but Morgan looks ready to go when he sees you.

Once you’re back in the car, you tell Morgan everything that Marie had to say.

“So she had a bag packed,” Morgan says, coming to the same conclusion as you did. “I wonder if her mom noticed. I feel like you’d notice if your kid suddenly took a lot more with her to school than usual.”

“Lila could’ve had the clothes in her locker,” you suggest. “I don’t think it matters much if the mom noticed or not. The point is, she clearly had a plan.”

“You’re right,” Morgan nods. “We should get lunch and head back. You can call Hotch in the car.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you,” Morgan chuckles. “If y’all are gonna work together, you need to work your shit out.”

“Derek, you have no idea how impossible that is.”

+++

Admittedly, Hotch is shocked to see your name come up on his phone. It still flashes with your old workplace; he needs to change that to BAU. As well as your photo. It’s one he took ten years ago when you first put your number in his contact list. You were glaring at him then, the same way you do now.

“Hello?” Hotch answers, half expecting Morgan’s voice, but he gets yours.

“Hi.” You don’t sound too happy at all to be the one calling him. Hotch wonders if you know the feeling is mutual. “We spoke with Lila’s best friend. Marie said Lila left in a hurry. Said she had to use the bathroom, but Marie didn’t want to be late for class, so she went ahead, thinking Lila would catch up.”

“Did Marie say what time? That must be when Lila left school.”

“Right before second period,” you reply, then add, “which puts it around 9am. The teacher must’ve called roll as soon as the bell rang.” 

“Alright,” Hotch sighs. Unfortunately, this doesn’t tell them much that they didn’t already know, but he supposes confirmation is better than nothing. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Morgan’s voice comes through. “I spoke with the vice principal. She said every door is open for safety reasons. Lila could’ve walked out any of the doors and no one would know. None of them have alarms.”

“And not all of them have cameras,” Hotch fills in. “Garcia has run into a wall. None of the footage shows Lila leaving. We only have her entering school that morning. JJ is going over it with Garcia right now to study her behavior.”

“It’s not looking good, Hotch,” Morgan says.

“I know,” Hotch replies. “Grab lunch and get back here. We need to find her.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” you sing.

Hotch sighs deeply, ending the call without a goodbye.

Rossi looks at him with raised eyebrows.

“What?” Hotch asks.

Rossi only shakes his head, looking back at the file he has in his hands. “Nothing.”

+++

“Did you hear that?” Morgan taunts. “Lunch, and high tail it back. No cigarettes, sorry honey.”

“I’ll get some tonight,” you mock him. “I’ll need one to calm me down enough to sleep, anyway.”

“I’m gonna lock you in your room,” Morgan says, turning into a random drive-thru. He sounds a little too serious.

“I’ll jump out the window,” you grin. “Now shut up and order.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Seven hamburgers and fries later, you and Morgan are headed back to the precinct to deliver food.

“Food has arrived,” you announce as you walk into the conference room. “What’s the verdict, boss?” You toss Hotch a hamburger, surprised that he catches it so easily.

He scowls at you, unwrapping it to find you remembered exactly what he likes. Or Morgan did. Probably Morgan.

“Don’t tell me he messed it up,” you groan, seeing Hotch’s frown. He’s grumpier than usual if his food isn’t right, and you have more important things to argue with him about than his damn food. “I gave Morgan every detail. Did you say it wrong?” You take a fry from Morgan’s share out of spite.

“No, it’s right,” Hotch says, still shocked that you remembered and didn’t purposefully order incorrectly just to irritate him. “Thank you.”

“Welcome,” you nod, grabbing yours and tossing Spencer his (plain, only ketchup). “How’s the chatroom, Dr. Reid?”

“Interesting, actually, I’ve been comparing Rich’s messages with other texts that we have from a few years ago, and they’re not the same person — unless he’s changed drastically since being in hiding, but I doubt that. People can change how they speak, but not that much, look at this,” Reid forgets all about his food and slides two papers over to you. “See how he talks to Lila here? He lets her think she has made the plans, but that’s not at all how Richard talks; he’s too dominating, and—”

“Kid, kid,” Morgan interrupts. “Eat something, then continue. You need fuel if you’re going to run that fast.”

Puzzled, Reid says, “I’m not running.”

Morgan and Emily laugh, shaking their heads.

“Metaphorically,” Rossi says. 

You nod, pushing his food closer. “Eat up. Then you can run it by me.”

“Oh,” Reid says. “Right, right, that makes sense.”

“It’s okay,” you smile. “Where’s the footage of Lila entering the school?”

“Here,” Hotch says, taking the seat next to you and turning the laptop around toward you. He presses the spacebar and it begins playing.

Lila walked into school, clearly struggling with the weight of her book bag. She looked around, almost paranoid, but then she saw Marie and went right to her. They hugged, talked, put their book bags down as they waited for the bell to ring. It looks normal.

Three minutes later, the bell rang, and the two girls went to class.

Hotch presses the spacebar again, stopping the footage. “That’s it.”

“Damn,” you mutter, swallowing your last bite. You reach over and reverse it, starting the video from the beginning again. “She must’ve had more than clothes in that bag. Look. She can hardly get it up on her shoulders. She’s looking around, social anxiety, maybe? I was the same until I found my friends, like she does when she finds Marie. Then she’s fine. They’re talking, laughing. Marie points to the book bag,” you pause, watching, “but Lila shrugs.”

“We’ve already been over this,” Hotch says. “While you were out with Morgan.”

“Yeah, whatever,” you wave Hotch and his attitude away. “I know. Fresh eyes, isn’t that what you preach?”

Hotch glares at you, but leaves you alone. He stands and walks to the board where pictures of Lila, Richard Monroe, and Lila’s mother are posted. Rossi joins him, the two having some sort of silent back and forth.

Nothing about Lila’s behavior seems overly concerning to you, and that is what worries you.

“Reid, how does Lila sound in the chat room?”

“Calm,” Reid says around a mouthful of fries. “She trusts this Rich person, and clearly thinks it’s her father.”

“Does he ever say that he is?”

“Not exactly,” Reid replies. “He says so in a roundabout way, but not explicitly.“

“So, it’s not Richard Monroe,” you conclude, much to Hotch’s displeasure, which he makes known by his glare. “Can I see the messages?”

Reid hands you the papers, and you tell him to finish his food while you look at them. The kid needs to slow down and eat sometimes.

JJ’s phone rings and she sighs. “More press. Gotta get this.”

“Tell them we have no comment right now,” Hotch says.

JJ only nods, putting on her facade to speak to the reporters.

“They want us to make a statement, don’t they?” Emily asks, and Morgan scoffs, knowing how the media can be.

Hotch nods. “This is going to get out of hand if we don’t find her. Quickly.”

+++

Hotch sends everybody to their respective hotel rooms for a minimum of seven hours of sleep. That is, if anyone falls asleep as soon as they set foot in the door. Otherwise, it’s looking more like five or six hours.

For you, maybe four.

You take a walk next door to the gas station, grabbing a pack of cigarettes against Morgan’s better wishes. He’s not here to stop you, and he’s probably snoring by now anyway.

Besides, you need something if you’re going to make it through a case like this.

Why did this have to be your first with the BAU? Couldn’t you get something lighter? A regular, run of the mill serial killer?

Now you have to deal with memories resurfacing, and hiding that from the rest of the team, who is probably profiling you every second they can just because you’re new. Or at least Hotch is. He’s never stopped profiling you. You wonder if it’s exhausting for him. 

You ponder the thought, and many others, as you step out onto the balcony from your hotel room.

Hotch… He really hasn’t changed. You think you have, but then again, a lot has happened to you in the past ten years. 

A lot has happened to him, apparently, too. He doesn’t wear a wedding ring anymore.

Not that that’s any of your business, but you noticed. You thought he and his wife were happy when you first met him. High school sweethearts, too. It seemed blissfully perfect. Must not have been true.

Whether or not he’s broken up about it, you can’t tell. He’s always had that damn frown on his face, even back when he was (allegedly) a happy husband. 

You scoff as you bring out your lighter. He’s a mystery. An annoying bastard, sure, but mostly a mystery.

The first inhale after a long time is the hardest, yet the most relieving, too. You can practically feel your shoulders drop in relaxation, something they haven’t done in a while.

“You shouldn’t smoke.”

“JESUS fucking Christ,” you shout, dropping your cigarette and stepping on it by accident. Thank god you put on shoes, or else that would’ve burned like a bitch. You turn your head toward Hotch’s voice, finding him sitting on the balcony next door, his feet propped on the little table. He’s without his jacket and tie now, and his dress shirt is unbuttoned three down. “Seriously?”

“What?” he replies, looking straight ahead, out at the horizon, not at you. “It’s bad for your lungs. Don’t you have asthma?”

“Sometimes,” you mutter, annoyed that he remembered. It only acts up when you do smoke, but that’s not his business. You light another and take an even longer drag. “What are you doing out here?”

“Same as you,” he says, threading his fingers together over his lap. “Sans cigarettes.”

“I’ll give one up if you’d like,” you say, knowing he won’t take it.

He doesn’t budge. “No, thank you.”

As weird as it sounds, this might be the nicest conversation the two of you have ever had.

“Suit yourself,” you shrug, taking another drag. “Can’t sleep?”

“No,” he says. “I probably won’t until we find this girl.”

“You used to sleep.”

He turns his head toward you. The moonlight highlights his features. His cheekbones, his nose. “Pardon?”

“You used to be able to sleep,” you repeat. “At least for a few hours. Did you develop insomnia while I was gone?”

“No,” he deadpans, turning to look straight ahead again. “What about you?”

“Sometimes I just don’t sleep,” you shrug. It’s not entirely the truth, but not entirely a lie, either. You would be sleeping right now if it weren’t for the nature of this case. If it weren’t so close to the hell of a childhood you lived through.

“Will you be able to work tomorrow?” he asks, sounding accusatory.

“Yes, Agent Hotchner,” you scoff. “I’ll be able to work tomorrow. Will you?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Good.”

“Good,” he echoes, taking his feet down and standing. “Get some sleep.”

You roll your eyes. “Good night.”

He disappears into his room and closes the curtains. You blow smoke in his direction anyway, watching it cloud your view of his room.

[sonarspace]

safeguard, kento nanami

synopsis: bf!nanami comforting you after an incident with a stalker. content: (dealing with a stalker). comfort. fluff. wc: 1.1k a/n: based on an ask. ee being stalked is so scary. need all stalkers to d!3 immediately 😒!

𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. on your way to your boyfriend's apartment for a movie night you stop at a grocery store to grab some snacks. you get back in your car and start driving to his place. 15 minutes.

you're on a red light when you notice the van behind you has their headlights off and a dark tint. it's nightime so and the street lights are dim so you couldn't really see their face.

you start getting anxious, trying to think if you've seen this van before. and you immediately recall that it's the same van you saw at outside your gym a few days ago, with a beaver sticker on it's side.

the light turns green and you drive slow to see if they would overtake you but they don't. your anxiety is at an all time high confused about what to do, you call your boyfriend. "pick up, pick up," you mumble anxiously when the call goes to voicemail. you call him once more but still no answer.

you take a turn and the van follows. you're getting closer to your destination but the van is still tailing you. your phone rings and you quickly pick it up "hey sorry, i was in the kitchen. where are you? it's been twenty minutes." nanami's voice comes through.

"kento," your voice is shaking as you’re on the verge of tears. a sense of relief flooding you at hearing his voice, finally. "baby? are you okay? where are you?" he questions you worriedly. "yeah 'm okay. i— there's this van following me. i don't— i don't know what to do," you reply.

"what do you mean following you? where are you?" he asks and you can hear dishes clanking and nanami whispering a “fuck” when he hurts himself. "remember i told you about that weird van i saw at the gym the other day. i think it's the same one. i'm close to your place. i don't know how to lose them."

you hear him grab his keys and the apartment door shut in the background when he replies, "go to our usual cafe. i'll meet you there. okay?"

"okay. don't hang up." your breathing is erratic. "i'm here baby. don't worry, i'm here." he comforts you. "tell me. what snacks did you get for the movie," he asks trying to distract you. his footsteps hurried as he half runs to the cafe trying reach you quicker.

"i see you and i see the van. park on the side and come inside," he says and you let out a sigh of relief. he quickly snaps a pic of the van and sends it to ijichi 'get me information about the van and driver. quick'.

you make your way into the cafe and run into his arms. tears coating your face. "you're okay," he whispers into your hair. "i was so scared," you mumble into his chest. he hugs you tighter. "me too baby. but you're okay now. they can't hurt you, alright?" he pulls back a little to see your face.

you nod as you wipe the tears, "i'm sorry for—" you try to apolgize for worrying him but he quickly shuts you up "don't. don't apolgize." he furrows his eyebrows. "i'm always here for you, yeah? gonna always take care of you, don't do that." he gives you a quick kiss on your forehead.

"come on, let's go back home." you walk out of the cafe and the van is still there, parked a few meters away. "it's still here" you speak in a low murmur. your grip on his hand tightens.

as you start walking back to his place, nanami gets a text back from ijichi 'van belongs to an ex convict. served for 2 years for violation of restraining order and stalking. got out last month.'

he turns around. his expression something between disgust and rage. "fucking creep, let me go have a chat with him," he drops your hand but before he can go further you grab onto his arm "no, please ken. please. let's just go home," your voice quivers.

not wanting to stress you further he does as you say. "i'm going to take a shower," you sigh walking into the apartment. he texts ijichi and tells him to handle the guy.

as he’s waits for you he fluffs the pillows on the couch, adds a blanket, and dims the light, — wanting to create a comforting atmosphere for you. he decides you’ve been in the shower for far too long and joins you.

your head’s resting against the shower tiles when you hear the door open and shut. a quivering breathe escapes your lips as his hands wrap around your waist pulling you back into his chest.

you turn around in his arms and bury your face into his chest. your body trembles with each silent sob. he tightens his hold on you. “you’re safe. you’re okay. i’m here. never going to let you get hurt, my sweet angel. i promise.” he reassures you, gently rubbing your back.

at his words you finally look up at him and his heart clenches at the hurt in your eyes. he swears to himself then to make sure that guy ends up in prison again and to do his best to not have you feel this way. he kisses your forehead as if sealing his vow. he pulls you out of the shower and dresses you in his clothes.

he spends the next couple of days not too far from you. driving you to and from anywhere and everywhere you wanted to go. your personal chauffeur, bodyguard, boyfriend all in one. you were so grateful for him.

soon enough that guy ends up behind bars. he gives you a brief background on the guy in the van and how you were one of the few victims of his stalking mission.

one night while you’re watching a movie together, nanami hands you a black box with cute bow on top. inside it, you find a key. “we should pack whatever you have left at your apartment so you can move in with me,” he says – catching you off guard. you snap your head towards him and he smiles at you cheekily.

ever since you’ve moved in with him, he urges you to go out on your own – not wanting you to live in constant fear. apart from that nanami hires security personnel that follows you around from a distance to not overwhelm you but still makes you feel protected. moreover makes him feel at ease knowing you’re under safe watchful eyes.

𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆.

a/n: comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated!

© SONARSPACE 2023 | DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR REPOST MY WORK ON OTHER PLATFORMS!

[lovelytsunoda]

don't go breaking my heart // lance stroll

soft moments stolen between wedding and reception

weddings are joyous and festive, but can be stressful for introverts like lance and his wife. so when they were able to steal some moments with each other in the peace of his aston martin between the ceremony and the venue, they know these are the moments they will treasure the most from that day.

pairing: lance stroll x newlywed reader

warnings: just fluff, a minor minor allusion to sex.

author's note: i have no idea why i have written so many wedding things for this man, but i think it's because he is the raw definition of husband material. thank you and good night lmao.

“don’t go breaking my heart…I couldn’t if I tried”

elton john and kiki dee crooned over the speakers as lances aston martin drove through the quebec countryside. it was a quiet night, stars high in the sky as he ran his thumb over his wife’s thigh.

“I love you.” he hummed, daring to look over at the love of his life as he took a corner too fast. “my darling darling wife.”

she smiled, meeting his gaze. “eyes on the road, handsome. you’ve got the rest of your life to stare at me. I love you too.”

the wedding had felt like a blur, maybe because of how wired they both felt. it should have been a smaller ceremony, in all hindsight considered.

it was an odd thing: you want to celebrate your love around all these people, but then the day arrives and suddenly you feel anxious at letting them see you pledge your heart to another.

lance and y/n had always been the quiet, soft couple. the one evoking ‘awe’s and heart eyes from the groups around them. they knew each other like the backs of their hands, better than any track map or textbook.

“enjoy the quiet while it lasts.” she hummed, nimble fingers gently easing the pins for her white lace veil out of her hair. “is it bad that I’m dreading my own reception?”

lance laughed. "nope. because i am, too. i know it's all about us and all that, but i hate being the center of attention. i would have rather had a dinner party."

she snorted. "technically this is really just a rather large dinner party."

"i mean, there's food and wine, you picked a damn good throwback playlist. dinner party." lance shrugged, taking his foot off the gas, headlights illuminating the empty road ahead.

lance had decided to take the scenic route, savoring this moment alone, this little bit of calm before the storm. before the party, the noise, the people.

just him and his wife, falling a little bit more in love with each other every day.

"if scotty throws his back out dancing to 'suicide blonde', i'm not fucking helping." y/n laughed, reaching for the stereo to flip to the offending inxs song. "i still cannot believe that this song was about kylie fucking minogue."

"there's a reason we invested in the mocktail bar."

"you know most of the guys have flasks hidden in their suit jackets, right?"

she would have preferred something low key, but her family had wanted the big party. it wasn't all bad. she got to pick the food (pasta bar, anybody?), the drinks, the decorations, the music. she'd made a throwback playlist of all her favorite happy songs, all the ones that made her feel alive, giddy and in love, ranging from inxs to def leppard to kesha.

she'd waited twenty-five years for this moment, so why was she suddenly getting this bad feeling about going to the party that followed?

the event venue slowly came into view over the distance, the white brick building with it's pillars and vintage charm, the walkway to the door lit up with fairy lights. the small parking lot was already almost full, the rest of the guests waiting inside for the happy couple. lance parked his car furthest from the door, but kept the engine running.

he took her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. "we can turn around and drive away." he was dead serious when he looked over at her. "i'm serious, we can run and go get burgers and milkshakes and see a movie and then go back to the hotel and not sleep a minute because we are too busy having the goofiest, most romantic sex of our lives. i just want you to be comfortable."

"i know. and that's why i love you so much, lance." she sighed, a smile blooming on her face. "but our friends are in there. our parents are in there. hell, your dad is probably trying to sell my dad on buying a time share villa in biarritz."

lance laughed, leaning over the center console to kiss her forehead. "whenever you want to leave, you just tell me. if you need a minute to yourself, just shoot me a text message and i'll come and find you. or don't, if you just want a walk in total solitude. i'll probably need one of those at some point, too."

"i knew there was a reason i married you." she joked, tilting her head up to press her lips to his. "i love you to the moon and back, lance."

"you wanna go inside?"

"we might as well."

lance took his seatbelt off, shutting off the car and sliding out of the driver's door. her dramatically slid across the hood, earning a laugh from his wife as he skipped towards her door, opening it for her before extending a hand for her to take.

"beautiful girl, love of my life, may i help you out of this shockingly low car?"

she laughed, slipping one of her hands into his warm one. "yes, my beautiful husband. yes, you may."

she stepped out of the car, the hem of her white silk dress dusting the gravel in the parking lot. a breeze ran through the area, making the hair on the backs of her arms stand up.

"love, you're shivering." lance said softly, slipping out of his suit jacket and draping it over her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her forehead as she put her arms through the sleeves, wrapping her arms fully around her husband. "i love you."

"i love you, too." she took a minute to stand there, her nose in his dress shirt, breathing in his cologne. bath and body works, today. she liked that. something playful and romantic instead of the heavy, stinging designer scents he usually wore.

"we should go inside." he whispered, their bodies swaying together in the silence, her skin warm against his.

"or we could stay out here just a little longer."

and who was he to argue with that?

"you get five more minutes. i'm starting to get hungry and the pasta bar has my name written all over it."

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @cartierre @diorleclerc @httpiastri @silverstonesainz @lorarri @twinkodium

[atinywhore]

stuffed

pairing: jongho x (fem) reader

word count: 2250

genre: spicy spice :)

warnings: soft dom jongho, biting, lots of praise, fingering, size kink, sorry not sorry, but yo can't convince me that jongho doesn't have a thick cock so, low-key breeding but he just likes to fuck her raw idk what kinda kink you call that (psa: use a fucking condom bitches), uber romantic to lol I feel like he's such a softy, gets off when you come, I think that's all.

an: this is the first fanfic I wrote since returning from my hiatus so it took me a little to get back into the writing and rediscover my own writing style! So I hope you enjoy and please interact and give this lots of love! Happy Turkey day whores ;)

taglist: @mingigoo @ravenjoongie @wickeddarkness-place @whatudowhennooneseesyou @teezers99 @mirror-juliet

The boys love to celebrate American holidays with you. Every year you have fireworks and hot dogs on July 4th, and you always host a thanksgiving day meal. This year is no different. It’s a three day prep event for you and you can’t forget the cooking still needed the day of! Just to say it, it's a stressful but very rewarding day to be able to have a nice meal with the people you love most in the world. They always try to schedule events and showcases around the actual day of thanksgiving so they can celebrate with you. Last year they couldn’t and it really made you upset. It was the first time in three years that you weren’t able to celebrate your favorite holiday with anyone. They saw how upset it made you and they were determined to make it up to you this year, especially your boyfriend Jongho. He took the days leading up to the holiday off of practice for their next comeback to help you prepare the food. 

It was the day of thanksgiving now and despite the help from Jongho, you still were behind. You appreciated his help so much and you knew why he was doing it, but you had to go back and fix the stuff that you assigned him. Most of the time he just sat on the other side of the island and just watched as you moved around the kitchen. 

“Baby can you help me with the turkey.” You asked without looking up from the stuffing you were preparing. 

“Mmm” he replied standing up. You looked up to give him a smile to show your appreciation, but when you looked up you paused all your movements. This happens often. Ever since you two started dating. Jongho’s presence is so big. His shoulders are twice the size as your own and his biceps are almost as big as your head. From the moment you saw him you were attracted instantly. He loves to remind you how big he is and how small you are, especially in the bedroom. Sex with Jongho is very romantic and tender, with a hint of kink. He loves being on top, entrapping you beneath his thick, muscular body. He’ll lean down and speak hot things into my ear to make my orgasm that more intense. You can feel your face warm and your pussy grows slick with excitement. You try to look away before Jongho can see, but I know he knows what I'm thinking about. We haven’t had sex in over a week because his schedule has been keeping him in the studio all day and late into the night, and there was  a huge project that you needed to get done before you could start the thanksgiving prep. 

“What do you need me to do baby?” Jongho says as he steps behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and places a quick kiss on my neck. You can't help but giggle and instinctively push your ass into his groin. He lets out a little moan into your neck. Before you can get swept up into what's about to happen you kinda push him off of and turn to face him.

“Can you please turkey from the other counter. It’s too heavy for me to lift baby.” He nods and you give him a quick kiss on the lips as a thanks. Turning back to the counter you remember the potatoes that have been on the mixer and rush over to turn the machine off. Lifting the top of the mixer up and removing the mixing attachment you lick some of the potatoes off to make sure the seasonings are right. The butter and salt coats your tongue and you can’t help but moan a little at the taste. You feel a familiar presence behind you once more. 

“Taste good?” Jongho whispers in your ear. His voice sends a shiver down your spine and jolts of electricity straight to your pussy. Your knees go wobbly but his grip on your waist keeps you grounded. 

“Jongho..” You attempt to protest, but it’s weak. 

“Yes, baby?” He says peppering kisses down your neck and onto your shoulder. His hands smooth up your torso and one stops at your breast to tease your nipple beneath the dress and apron you are wearing. His other hand moves up to your neck moving your head to rest on his shoulder so he can have better access to your weak spot. 

“I need to f-finish.” You manage to get out as he sucks on the sensitive part of your neck

“Oh yeah baby? Finish what?” 

“The m-meal. The turkey n-needs to be st-tuffed.” 

“I think you need to be stuffed, not the turkey baby.”

You can’t help but give in to him. Your body continues to sink into his embrace and before you know it you feel your ass rubbing against his thick cock straining beneath his jeans. He continues to suck and leave marks all along your neck and when you reach back and caress his cock, he growls and bites your neck at the contact. You can’t help but let out a gasp. 

“Fuck baby. I need you now.” He says, as he turns you around and throws you over his shoulder. He easily walks the two of you toward the bedroom. In this position the skirt of your dress is bunched up slightly toward your hips exposing your pussy to the cold air of the room, you shiver at the sensation. You start to squirm in anticipation. While keeping your locked on his shoulder Jongho flips your dress the rest of the way up and uses his thumb to tease your entrance. 

“Someone is wet for me.” He says continuing to play around with your pussy. Jongho shifts his head to the closest part of your thigh and bites it hard. You squeal and moan at the pain. He kisses your new mark before tossing you onto your bed. “The things i’m going to do to you (y/n).” He stands at the end of the bed looking down on you and the only thought that is going through your mind is, big. His wide form casts a shadow over you and you can’t help but shiver at the form before you. He lets out a frustrated sigh before he grabs the collar of his hoodie and pulls it off in one smooth move. He pauses with the sleeves of the hoodie still on his forearms, the material gathered at his middle covering his bare stomach. His broad and muscular chest is now exposed revealing the deep heaving breaths, you realize your own breathing matches his. He is pointing daggers at you with his stare, it's so intense and pointed that you swear your heart skips a beat. His eyes shut slightly as his head tilts left and right, the movement accompanied with the popping of his neck joints. He lets out a moan and his usually big eyes, now half lidded, are pointed at me once more. He removes his arms from his hoodie sleeves and his full torso is now bare. He doesn’t have a full set of abs, but the area is muscular nonetheless. His hands now reach for the button of his jeans but he makes no move to unbutton himself.

“Why is my girl still dressed?” He asks with a shit eating grin lighting up his heated features. He extends his strong hands to help you to your knees. Your shaky hands make a move to undo the bow tying the apron to your figure, but you can’t seem to get the thin straps to budge. You look back up at him to see his arms crossed, making his shoulders look that much broader and stronger than he already does. 

“Need some help baby?” You nod still not able to find your voice, lost in the fog of arousal. He pulls you to your feet, keeping one arm around your waist and the other makes quick work of ripping the fabric off your body, leaving you in your favorite black dress. He turns you around and slowly unzips you from the dress. As the fabric slides from your body you are hit with another rush of arousal. The dress hits the floor and Jongho makes quick work of your undergarments. His hands explore your body, your moans echoing you in the room. His thumbs tease your nipples the way you like as he leaves kisses and hickies on the untouched side of your neck. Once he has you melting in his hands he moves one down over your stomach stopping at your pussy. 

“I bet you are going to be so wet for me baby.” He slides two fingers between your folds, groaning at the state of your pussy. He sinks his teeth into your neck again as he rubs circles around your clit. Your breath hitches and your moans get louder.

“That’s it baby. Sing for me.” He coos as he continues his motions. Kissing and moaning into your neck as he rubs your clit. The build up is coming at you fast, your breathing becomes more erratic and you find yourself swearing Jongho’s name. 

“Fuck- Jongho! I’m-m gonna cu-m.” His thumb takes over for his two fingers so they can slide into your pussy. You gasp and the new sensation sends you over the edge. Your eyes shut and your entire body goes fuzzy with your orgasm. 

You don’t really feel it, but somewhere in your comedown Jongho moves on to the bed. He positions himself between your legs and resumes pumping his fingers in and out of your dripping pussy. His back is bent showing off the strong muscles to your hazed eyes as he takes your nipple into his mouth. Pleasure erupts from you again. He moves to your other breast and he hooks his fingers inside, skimming his fingertips over your g-spot. He releases your nipple with a ‘pop’ and removes his fingers from your pussy. You start to whine but stop when you see Jongho take his fingers and suck them clean of your juices. 

“You taste so good, baby.” He smiles and leans in to kiss you. Your lips move against each other like a dance. He takes off his pants and underwear and repositions himself at your entrance. 

“You ready for me baby?” You nod and he doesn’t move.

“I need to hear you baby.” He gives you a longing look, and places a kiss on your forehead.

“Yes baby. Please.” He smiles and pushes himself into you. You hiss at his size as he stretches you. He moans as he slides his full eight inches inside you. He slowly pulls himself back out, repeating the movement. The pain slowly turns to pleasure and you begin to feel the slow build of another orgasm rise inside you.

“Fuck (y/n), your pussy is so good.” He pants. He flexes his hips harder and harder slamming his cock deep inside you.

 “Oh baby, I can never get enough of you.” The mix of your moans and curses fill the room and create a beautiful symphony. He continues to moan sickly sweet confessions into your ear, making your building orgasm hurdle faster toward release. 

“Baby, I’m so close.” You whimper into his general direction, unable to focus your eyes due to the overload of pleasure fogging your vision. You run your hands up his arms dragging your nails along his smooth tanned skin until you reach his shoulders where you sink your nails. He growls and pounds harder into you hitting that special spot causing your moans to grow louder and more intense. 

“Fuck, come for me baby. Come for me (y/n).” He leans down to kiss you, claiming your mouth as he fucks you. The pressure continues to build until you come again. He follows after you shortly, filling your pussy with his load. After a few moments he slowly pulls his dick out of you and watches as his cum spills from your entrance. 

“So much better than that turkey.” You can't help but burst out laughing. He looks at me confused, but after a minute he understands the joke. 

“It sounded like you fucked the turkey then me.” You say sitting up on your elbows, your smiling face looking at his now rosy one. He grabs both of your cheeks and plants a big kiss on your lips. 

“Seriously, I have to finish the turkey. The boys will be here in 6 hours!” You jump up from the bed, forgetting your boyfriend's cum spilling out of your pussy and running down your legs. He laughs as you run from the room and into the bathroom to go get yourself re-ready for the party tonight. 

—------

Hours Later:

Everyone is gathered at your dining room table and starting to dig into the meal you have spent days preparing. Yunho and Hongjoon are talking about the latest comeback and how the dance routine is going to go with the new title song, Wooyoung is basically flirting with San and the former is pretending not to love it. 

“This turkey is delicious (y/n)!” Yeosang praised.

“Thanks Yeo!” I raise my drink toward him.

“The secret is in the stuffing.” Jongho added. You kicked him under the table and gave him a dirty look, He just smiled and leaned over to kiss your cheek.

[0oolookitsme]

So Despicable

Type - A One-Shot (yet again!)

Verse - Singer!Harry x Ceo!Y/n

Word Count - 2.1k

Warnings - Uses of degrading slurs such as slut and whore. Do not read if that's not your cup of tea!

A/n - Legit posting this an hour late and I'm sorry! I just finished proofreading and am right away posting this. Not exactly my best, but it's good! Hoping you'll think the same hahah <3

Kinks - Sir Kink, Degradation Kink, Choking and Begging (if you squint)

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

Please rb to share!

As she turned the lock of her house, Y/n felt like her knees would simply give out if it took one more second to get the door to open. On the final twist of the key, she pushed the door open and immediately swung her purse on top of the shoe rack.

Bending to undo her heels, she left them thrown there and walked further inside the house. She was confused when she didn't find Harry downstairs but nevertheless poured herself a glass of water.

If he weren't down here, then he must be up in their bedroom or his office. Dreadfully, she climbed up the stairs, her shoulders droopy and her back aching after the long day. "Harry?" She called out, hoping that he would hear her and come out. Alas, he didn't.

She looked around in all the rooms before going inside the bedroom, dropping her body onto the mattress right away. After lying in silence for no more than a few seconds, she got up and fished her phone out of her purse – pressing on Harry's contact before putting the phone on speaker and stripping her clothes.

"'ello?" He answered, his voice serious in a way that made her doubt if he didn't know it was her on the other end of the call.

"Where are you, H?" She questioned him right away, picking the phone back up when the only clothings on her body were her under garments. "Searched the whole house, didn't find you."

It was silent for a moment, and Y/n felt that something was off. "I'm in the gym, didn't hear you come in," he said in that same tone and it was starting to make her skin crawl.

"Oh, I didn't check the gym. When are you going to be done?" She asked, fidgeting with her fingers as her mind raced a million miles per second to come up with all the things that she could've done or said wrong.

Yet, she came up empty. Harry wasn't the one to go to gym after noon, it happened rarely – mostly if he had been out and about during the morning time. So, it was clear that he was avoiding her.

"Dunno, should be done in half an hour," he said and she could tell he was doing push ups or something else by the sound of his strained voice and heavy breathing.

"Okay, I'm going in the shower," Y/n told him before he agreed and cut the call.

Taken aback, she shut out the situation before jumping into the shower and letting the warm water wash away all the stress off her muscles. After rinsing her hair rid of the shampoo, she came out of the shower, water still dripping from the ends of her hair.

When she turned around, her hand immediately went to her chest on a sharp intake of breath. "Fucking hell, Harry," she exhaled deeply, heat creeping up the back of her neck once she realised how ridiculous it was of her to get scared by the sight of him seated on their bed.

She just hadn't expected him to be there, that's all. "I'm sure there's still water left, I didn't shower for too long," she told him while walking towards their closet.

"Drop the towel and come here," Harry said, his voice deep and low. She couldn't help but ask him to repeat himself, caught off guard. "I won't repeat again, Y/n. Drop the towel, and come here," he said again, this time weighing down on each word as he spoke.

His arms were crossed across his chest, the veins more prominent because of his recent workout session. One of his legs dangled off the bed while the other one was folded. Nothing but a white undervest covered his upper half, a short pair of shorts clinging to his thighs.

Hesitant but because of her trust in him, Y/n dropped her towel and walked to him. Uncertainty and anticipation caused her hands to start fidgeting again. Slowly but surely, she reached right where he was sitting on the bed, her hands seemingly frozen on her sides as she stood upright, unable to move any further.

"Lay across my lap," Harry said, unfolding his leg and laying it straight on the bed to make the spot comfortable for her.

Y/n did so, all of the silence and holding-back of Harry was causing her brain to spiral. But one thing she knew was that whatever was coming, it wasn't going to be very holy.

She felt Harry's cold hand grab her ass before he started massaging it. That's when she knew she had surely done something wrong, because he was punishing her.

His palm met her ass cheek with a sharp blow, causing her to jerk forward. "Count for me," he told her, kneading her other cheek before hitting it with the same blow.

"2," Y/n counted, her voice shaking with thrill.

Harry watched her bum jiggle at the impact, the skin already begining to grow red. He stopped kneading the skin by the fifth blow when he couldn't hear pain in her voice. Now, he was just spanking – one side before the other. He was going at a fast pace, his hits unrelentlessly hard as he finally began hearing despair in her voice.

He kept going, not giving the skin much time before slapping it again.

"P-please, Harry–" Y/n stuttered, stopping when he gave a especially hard hit on her ass.

"What do you say? Have you forgotten your manners?" Harry said, his voice sterner than ever and Y/n was beginning to feel like he was being unnecessarily mean to her.

"Sir – It's Sir." She blabbered, answering him as if he would give her a reward. Yet, she was met with another hard spank. "W-what-ever have I done wrong, Sir?" She asked desperately, still lost on the cause for this side of him boiling up to the surface.

"A pathetic mess already? Can see your cunt glistening," he mocked her, swiping one of his fingers through her folds. "What have you not done wrong today? Cut my calls, answered back in short answers as if I were wasting your time, didn't even tell me if you were going to be back for the night or not," he answered her, massaging her bum.

"Didn't even apologize to me," he said, his eyes fallen into angry slits as he slapped her ass harshly.

He pushed her off of his lap and watched her roll over, unable to balance herself and get up. "Can't do anything right, can you?" Harry said as he pulled her up by her shoulders and sat her on her bottom.

She moved around, her bum hurting too much for her to sit on it. "Hurts," she whimpered, the corners of her eyes moist and wet hair sticking to the skin on her back, neck and forehead.

"Of course it does. Wouldn't have done it if it pleased you."

Both of them knew it pleased her. And if they didn't, then her juicy cunt would have surely given her away. She sat on her calves in front of him, her hands in her lap as she looked anywhere but in his eyes.

"Still, you aren't apologizing." Harry pointed out, causing her to flush. But before she could say anything, Harry pushed at her chest so she would fall on her back on the soft mattress.

Her legs immediately fell open in order for her to get comfortable, and just as she took notice, Harry's hand had already met her pussy in a harsh slap.

"Instead, you're pathetically dripping out of your hole," Harry sneered, slapping her puffy pussy again. A wet noise came from the impact and when he brought his hand back up, the string of her arousal connected them.

"So despicable you are."

Y/n jerked each time Harry hit her cunt, her thighs aching to close and protect her core yet she knew better than to do that. She counted each hit and once she counted the tenth slap, Harry dragged a finger across her dripping hole and covered her clit with her own arousal.

"I've been punishing you over here, and you've done nothing but drip out of that needy hole and blabber out the shit I've asked you to." Harry said as if he were disgusted. "Can't think of anything else with that dumb little brain of yours, can you?" He tsk'd at her, shaking his head.

He pinched her clit, laughing hoarsely when she instinctively closed her thighs shut. "Hook your hands under your knees," Harry instructed her and once she had done that, he was glad to have full access to her pussy.

He pinched her clit again, this time not releasing the hissing hold. With his other hand, he filled her hole with two of his fingers right away – sliding them in and out with great ease due to her wetness.

"Such a poor little thing you are, getting off on being a pretty whore – on me being mean to you," Harry crooned.

When she started to moan, he took her panties that she had taken off of herself before going into the shower, and stuffed them into her mouth. Pathetically enough, she hadn't stopped moaning even with the cloth in her mouth. The noise came out muffled, which Harry seemed to enjoy.

He then created an unrelenting pace, his back crouching in order to give all his strength in fucking her. He was still pinching her swollen clit, a grin plastered on his mouth as he heard the wet noises her pussy was making.

Her clit had grown red in colour due to his harsh pinch that didn't seem to know how to release its hold. "Fuck – fuck , sir. Sir I'm coming, I'm coming I'm so close –" Y/n stuttered as her body shook violently, her face scrunched up in pain and pure ecstasy.

Her body burned and her pussy pulsed as Harry continued fucking her with his fingers mercilessly. "What do you say?" Harry cooed at her, impossibly increasing his pace. "What do you say, my darling slut?"

Her eyes glazed over at the slur, tears springing in her eyes as she felt the knot begin to lower in her tummy.

"Can I please– please cum, Sir?" She said with great strain in a voice, like she was holding back.

"Why are you holding back? Not going to comply with your sir, hm?" Harry asked her his voice shaking due to his violent movement. "Guess I'll just deny you the permission, then."

Harry got off on dominating her. After all, she dominated all of the people around her, especially the ones in her office. She always had a hunger to control people, so the fact that he got to control what she would do or not do, dominate and manhandle her, and be mean to her like she was to most of her employees who deserved to be fired, he felt absolutely euphoric.

"Can I please cum," she cried out, her body shaking vigorously. "May I – may I please cum, Sir?" She cried again, repeating her request until it turned into beg for him to let her cum.

"Please, Sir!" She yelled, knowing that she wouldn't be able to hold back. "Please – please, let me come Sir," she kept on begging.

"Ah okay okay, don't need to be so annoying about it," Harry rolled his eyes, watching in amazement as she became a shouting mess.

He felt as her walls clenched around his fingers, and pinched her clit a bit harder. He heard her let out a final cry before she finally gushed all over his hand.

He maintained his pace as her cum spurted around due to his force. She arched off of the bed and pushed into his hand while heaving gibberish. "Fuck – fuck," she stammered, when he stopped and put his mouth on her – lapping at her as if he hadn't quenched his thirst all day.

"P-please, sir – sensitive," she whimpered, now trying to pull away from his mouth but unable to do so because of the position he had put her in. Her legs ached, but his palms laid flat on the back of her thighs as he sucked at her clit.

Harry finally detached his mouth from her and rose up, wiping his mouth with the back of his clean hand. He put the hand that was covered in her juices in front of her mouth, and ordered her to suck.

When she licked his hand clean, he wrapped it around her neck in a choking manner and weighed on it when he leaned down to get closer to her.

"See? You can be good, too." He grinned, pecking her cheek as she turned her face away from him to hide her rosy cheeks.

"God, I love you no matter what you be – my pathetic slut or my pleasing little darling," he chuckled, nipping at her jaw.

[http-paprika]

BLUE / simon riley

my very, very late submission for @glitterypirateduck simon "ghost" riley challenge. this was heavily inspired by the new billie eilish song of the same title because I thought it fit him so well. i used the prompts "face touching", "the heat goes out and it's freezing", and "a confession is made"

simon ghost riley x female reader / 1106 words / contains angst, alcohol, and smoking

WITH every patron that hurried into the bar, cold and snow blew in with them—leaving those even in the darkest corners of the bar chilled and draining down more liquor. The drink spilled through her veins, warm and potent as she waited another hour, shrunk away in the shadows with her cost pulled tight. Simon wasn't coming, she knew better than to keep waiting for him. 

 Finishing her glass of whiskey, she lets it sting her throat the same way the tears in her eyes did. With remorse, she sets the glass down and rises from her chair. Through the crowded bar of happy couples and friends, someone's celebrating a birthday, another girl is sobbing in the corner with her friends trying their best to comfort her. The whole room pulses with life, feelings, love, and hate and she can't seem to find herself amongst the crush of emotions. Dull, apathetic, and removed as she slinks out of the door and into the blue moon night. 

 Winter still holds a fierce grip over Manchester, spilling white flurries in the air as she walks down the quiet streets with a cigarette to warm her from the cold. If he were there, they'd be sharing the smoke and she'd be warmed by the blushed haze that always befell her when their hands brushed exchanging the cigarette. 

 Her hand fumbles with her phone, the bright, blue light warning her of how late it was. But even with the early shift she had in the morning, she loiters along her route imagining he’ll be waiting by her flat like Simon would sometimes do. Giving her the delusion that he cared enough to come looking for her, even if he couldn't be bothered to grab drinks with her. 

 Despite all logic telling her not to bother with a call, she finds the number that she's left a hundred voicemails for. Sounding desperate and pathetic with every call as she tries to convince him into calling her back. 

 “Hi, Simon. It's me… again. I'm just calling to check in, I haven't heard from you in a week and I just want to make sure you're alright. Okay, I'm going to go, I'm at my flat. Call me, please.” The sound of the voicemail being replayed causes her to cringe, maybe he'd never hear it like he never hears the rest. Maybe he's got a new number, that was the type of thing someone as shifty as Simon would do. But she can't find reason in his sudden absence, no foreseen notice of a deployment or mission. No text to tell her he'd be unavailable. Nothing. 

 When she rounds the gate into her apartment complex, she can see in the low light of the second-floor walk, the lone figure waiting in front of her door even though he had the keys. Burly hands shoved into the worn pockets of his jacket with head tilted down as she climbed the stairs to join him. 

 She didn't need to see Simon’s face to know that he was thinking. Always thinking about the past he refused to tell her about. One that she could only dream up, trying to picture what had happened to turn him into the man he was. The man who she desperately tried to get over, but couldn't move on from. 

“I waited for you. It's the third Wednesday of the month, or did you just forget?” She asks, stubbing out the cigarette on the melt railing. The frame creaks as her fist tightens around it in frustration. “Simon?” 

 “Was busy with work, forgot to call.” He shrugs, pushing his hood back and shaking out his dark blond curls. A rough, wartorn face that she'd memorized like the back of her hand. It was so enticing to her, mesmerizing with his pale lashes and dark haunted eyes. The type of man that kept her safe at the bar and kept her up at night in stress. 

 “You're always busy.” She holds back a scoff, knowing arguing never got anywhere with Simon. He'd go silent with every accusation she'd throw, leaving her intimidated and guilty for yelling. Even if she knew he deserved it. 

 “It can't be helped. Times are tough.” Simon responds, his eyes trailing over her as she moves to unlock the flat. Fumbling with the lock like she did with the phone until his hand reached out and steadied her grasp. He leads her into the apartment like it was his own, with an empty place on the coat rack for his jacket, and a spot next to all of her shoes for his boots. An indent left throughout her home for whenever he'd find it in him to return.

 “Would you like a drink?” She asks, still feeling the need to play hostess as if he were a stranger visiting for the first time. At the edge of her seat waiting expectantly for a response and reaction. 

 “Sure.” He shrugs, pulling off the cloth mask as she shuffles into the small kitchen. Tiny enough that when he joins her there's tension as she tries not to bump into him. Pretending like she wasn't up the night before craving the warmth he gave, the firm touch of his hands, when her space heater died. 

 “I am sorry, love. I'll be there next time, I promise.” Simon apologizes, watching as avoids his presence like the plague. She chewed the inside of her cheek, knowing that she'd accept this apology like she'd done before. Knowing full well he never changed, and she’d never ask him to. 

 He reached out, sensing her indifference, and cupped her cheek in his calloused hands. That touch always turned her into mush, clay for him to mold to his will and whims. She knew it was pathetic how easily she swayed for him, knew that her friends always criticized her for being so weak-willed. But how could she possibly say no to him when he always came back, even if it was days late? Wasn’t she better off with him than trying to find someone else to love, wasn’t the heartache worth it? 

“You could do so much better than me, sweet girl. Sometimes I wish you would.” Simon confesses, his voice low and full of regrets. He turns his head down towards her, wrapping her close in his arms, taking the glass of water out of her hand, and setting it down. 

Her mouth opens to speak, but no words form when she realizes she’s just as guilty as him. She’d never change, he’d never change. Together, they’d stay unmoving, frozen in the longest, blue winter.

[buddie-buddie]

"I'm so excited you're here" for buddie 🙏

"I'm so excited you're here," Christopher says, grinning up at Buck in the way that never fails to set his heart on fire. 

Buck smiles, tousling the curls on top of Christopher's head fondly. "You didn't really think I'd let your dad have all the fun, did you?"

Chris laughs at that, and for the first time since Buck watched him walk out Eddie's front door two months ago, it starts to feel like maybe everything is going to be okay again. 

It's not that Buck ever doubted Christopher and Eddie would find their way back to each other again. It wasn't a shock to him that Chris wanted to come back to LA– that he wanted to come home– nor was he surprised when Eddie dropped everything to get on the next flight to El Paso as soon as Christopher said he was ready. He never doubted that any of it would happen. 

Some selfish part of him just wished it hadn’t taken as long as it did. 

He knows it’s what Christopher needed, and he knows that Eddie did the right thing in letting him go. It just hurt, is all. Worse than he ever could have imagined. 

It felt like Buck’s chest had been cracked open, a piece of his heart ripped off, torn out. And as much as time helped to close the wound, it still ached with each breath he took. He still spent the last two months walking around like a piece of him was missing. 

And maybe it was. 

He and Eddie had gotten together not too long after Chris left, and Buck had spent the majority of the flight fretting over how Chris would react to the changes that occurred in his absence. Somewhere over New Mexico, Eddie had placed a hand on Buck’s bouncing knee, the familiar warmth of his touch instantly grounding. It washed over him like a balm, instantly soothing the restless hum beneath his skin. 

“Baby,” Eddie had said, his voice low so as to not disturb any of their fellow travelers. “It’s going to be fine. Great, even.”

Buck had let out a tiny sigh, trusting Eddie and yet still finding it hard to shake the last of the stress away. “Wh-What if he changes his mind?” he asked, the words bitter on his tongue. “What if he refuses to get on the plane? What if he– if he wants to stay with your parents? Eddie, I– I’ll never forgive myself if I’m the reason you lose him again, I–”

“Shh,” Eddie’s hand moved from Buck’s knee to take his hand, lacing their fingers together and giving Buck's hand a reassuring squeeze. “He’s over the moon,” Eddie reminded him. “Has been since we told him.”

Which was true. They’d kept it a secret for nearly a month– from Christopher, from the 118, from everyone. There was something special about it, keeping their relationship to themselves. Something almost sacred about walking around with Eddie’s heart in his chest and being one of only two people in the world who knew it. 

As special as it was, nothing came close to how good it was once they decided it was time to share it. 

Christopher had been their first call, with Eddie assuring him that if it wasn’t something he was comfortable with, they’d end it. The thought alone had Buck’s chest aching, his stomach turning. He only just got Eddie, only just started to feel whole for the first time in his life. The fear that accompanied the thought of losing that– of losing Eddie– was nearly paralyzing. But it wasn’t one he had to sit with for too long. Christopher had broken out in a huge grin, mumbled something that sounded a lot like “Finally.” 

They’d told everyone else after that, and Christopher wasn’t the only one whose reaction to the news included a wide smile and the word “Finally.”

And when Chris had texted this morning and said he wanted to come home, Eddie booked two tickets on the next flight out while Buck threw their things in an overnight bag and grabbed his keys. 

Buck struggled to get the words out. “I know,” he let out a long, shaky exhale. “I– I just–”

“You’re worried,” Eddie, as always, knew exactly where Buck’s head was at, even before Buck did himself. “Because you think you’re not going to be enough for him. You’re afraid you’re not enough to make him want to stay. And you love him so impossibly much, that even the thought of possibly losing him again makes your heart break all over again.”

Buck nodded, swallowing around a lump in his throat. “Yeah.” He took a deep breath, trying to will away the hot tears pricking at the back of his eyes. “How’d you know?”

Eddie sighed, squeezing Buck’s hand in his. “I feel it, too.”

Buck's eyes shone with unshed tears. He brought their joined hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to Eddie’s knuckles. “What a pair we make.”

Eddie had taken his phone from his pocket, pulling something up before passing it to Buck. “I feel it,” Eddie repeated. “But I’m not too worried anymore. And this is why.” 

Buck looked down to see Eddie’s text conversation with Chris. 

Buck’s heart swelled in his chest. He didn’t know if he’d ever be used to the feeling, to being loved like this. 

“There’s more,” Eddie said, scrolling down to newer messages, the time stamp indicating they were exchanged just before takeoff. 

Buck lost the battle then with the tears welling in his eyes, the first one slipping free as he smiled down at Eddie’s phone screen. The tears blurred his eyes until the messages were nothing but blue and gray blurs. 

Eddie had taken Buck’s face in his hands, wiping away the tears with his thumbs. And then he met Buck’s lips in a soft, sweet kiss, one that said more than his words ever could. 

“Nothing to worry about,” Eddie had said when they parted, calm and reassuring. “Except maybe the javelinas.”

Buck grinned, blinking back the last of his tears. 

“What are you smiling about?” Eddie teased. 

Buck nodded at Eddie’s phone in his lap. “I think you have something to ask me.”

The corner of Eddie’s mouth tugged up into a shy smile, his eyes bright. “Will you–”

“Yes,” Buck didn’t even let him finish, too eager to get the word out, to dive into the next chapter of his life with Eddie. “Yes,” he repeated, grinning as he closed the distance and kissed Eddie again. 

“Yeah?” Eddie breathed, equal parts hopeful and hesitant, the word coming out just shy of incredulous. Almost as if he couldn’t quite believe it. 

Buck nodded, never more sure of anything. “Yeah.”

And now, they’re standing on the front steps of Eddie’s childhood home and Chris is laughing and wrapping his arms around Eddie and Buck is watching them with a smile so wide his cheeks are starting to hurt.

And then Christopher looks at Buck and goes “Buck do you want to see a javelina tomorrow?” and Buck feels like he just won the lottery. 

“Absolutely,” Buck says. 

He’s the luckiest man in the world.

[macgyvermedical]

In regards to mental health and routines post, do you have any suggestions on how to start increasing those habits. This last year, I've been having similar issues and I know I need to work on doing my hygiene routine more, but am struggling to start. Do you have any advice? Please and thank you!

Maybe.

So I'll start by saying that I am not working for money due to mental health problems at this time. This makes it so my spoon allotment is skewed in my favor when it comes to personal care. If I were working, my personal care progress would be a lot slower going.

Also, my experience with personal care problems are a result of living with schizoaffective disorder. Some of the things I do might resonate, some might not. Your Mileage May Vary, and all that. That's why I'm saying "I do a thing" instead of "you should do a thing" with the language in this post.

Next, I honestly don't love the term "habit" because it implies that eventually after doing something for a long time it becomes easy. Might be a thing. Personally I've never experienced it. I have the same resistance to showering I had 4 years ago when I stopped doing it more than about once a week. But now I just have the spoons to trick myself into doing it every other day.

So on to some things I do that might help:

I fill up my day as much as possible. I try for lower spoons activities that have some kind of imposed structure. This gives the personal care a specific place in my day, and gives me a reason to do the personal care if the activity is around other people. Some ideas:

Clubhouse International. Many cities in the US and Europe (as well as some other places) have an in-person chapter of Clubhouse. Clubhouse is a free work-ordered day program, which means it provides a low-stress, workplace-like environment to go to every day.

Volunteering

Free online courses such as those offered by Harvard. These can be up to a semester long and are paced from 2-20 hours of work a week.

I think about things in terms of problem solving. I don't plan to take a shower every day. But I do plan to get up and ask myself if my hair is uncomfortably greasy (I can find an uncomfortable problem like this for just about every personal care action). If I decide yes (which happens every other day about), I then get to problem solve.

Problem solving here is an exciting alternative to just planning to shower every day whether I need to or not. I get to come up with a solution (which might be a shower, or it might be a baseball cap, or it might be a quick wash in the sink (I have short hair)).

Then, and here is the key part, no planning ahead. I have to do the solution right then before I can think about it too much. Or I have to wait until I forget it and then remember it again, which is not as reliable.

I figure out when I naturally want to do a thing. This has been particularly helpful in working out. Turns out, working out in the morning is not for me. I'd rather not get out of bed at all than get up and work out.

But after dinner? When I have all that nice energy from all the glucose available to my muscle cells? I feel a lot better about working out. Plus, I usually don't have as much to do at that time.

This just makes it easier to say "yes" to a workout. I still have to sneak up on myself by planting workout supplies (shorts, a yoga mat, and a gallon milk jug filled with water I use as a weight) and knowing what workout I'm going to do ahead of time (it's the same one every day until I get bored or it gets too easy).

I track my "streaks". I have a calendar with a key that has different symbols for each personal care task. I have brushed my teeth at least once per day for the last 58 days. I have averaged showering every other day in that time. The last three weeks? I've averaged 5 workouts a week.

The more I have put in, the less I want to screw things up. Sometimes I get out of bed after laying down at night to brush my teeth just to keep the streak going, but it's better than not brushing at all.

I compromise. I used to think if I wasn't doing a thing the best way possible, I shouldn't do it at all. But here's the secret: something is genuinely better than nothing. I often have to compromise with my brain "I'll only do half the workout" or "I'll wash my hair instead of showering". And you know what? At the end of the day I got more personal care done than if I didn't compromise.

The ability to do things also just naturally waxes and wanes. Sometimes compromising keeps things going through the tougher times. Keeping track of things like when I'm compromising a lot helps me help make decisions about my care.

I hope this was helpful!

[jules-writes-stories]

First JEL is a beautiful love story. rly. Its the Azris ! but I think you ruined it a little when you made Eris top in your update, I just can't picture Eris topping a big masculin tattoeed batboy like Az. your Eris has a nose ring, pretty hair and is soft with his mum. I just can't picture him topping Az. the romance in it is top tier and smut is top tier til now. your ocs are rly hot-Mithras I see as bottom and silvan a top. that makes sense to me. and the action and plot is 10/10, so I will keep reading but Eris toping gave me the ick. I just don't see it and hope it doesn't turn pl of from yr story and make ur readers or kudos go down bc its such a beautiful love story !!!

Anon,

I wasn't planning to reply. I deleted your first 3 messages this morning. I told myself that responding would give my story, a story that's 200,000 words and taken months of my life to write, the wrong kind of attention.

But as I watched the messages roll in, now at 9, the thought of you holding my inbox hostage started to stress me out. So here we are.

I'll start with the angel on my shoulder. She thanks you for calling Just Enough Light a love story, because that was always my intention. To write a beautiful, heart wrenching love story for a fictional character I've come to care deeply about. (Yep, I know...silly) But I think I know what's going on here, anon.

You love Eris Vanserra too, don't you? You picture him, and maybe Azriel, a certain way, and that was comfy and nice, and you were settled in, then I went and "switched" that on you and that felt uncomfortable because now the Eris that you've grown to love is different from how you want him to be. It's ok to feel unhappy with my choices as a writer. I'm low key touched that you are invested enough to feel this intensely. But it's not ok to bombard my inbox, or tell me I've ruined my own story.

Because here's the other thing: JEL is a love story, but it's always been an unapologetically queer love story. And my Eris is a queer male. He's not a stand in for a girl. He can have pretty hair, love his mother, wear jewelry and eyeliner and top his masculine, tattooed Illyrian lover. These things can coexist. One should not read a M/M love story and try to force it into a hetero-framework even if that's what one feels more comfortable with. I challenge you to read JEL as it is: an unapologetically queer love story between two queer characters.

And if this is something you cannot do, you are free to click away and find a story or a ship that is more within your comfort zone. I'll be sad to lose readers, but I would rather write for myself than compromise my story in this way.

Now, if you're still with me, the devil on my shoulder wants you to know that I think my smut was hot AF this week and I'm proud of it. I make Azris hurt, but I give them good loving too.

I won't be taking any more anons that are anti top Eris or anti bottom-Az. But if you want to talk more, come out of anon and let's talk. I'm open to civil discourse.

[morlock-holmes]

I didn't say I think "dominant" culture values rational systems (and what dominant culture do you even mean), just that rationalism falls way short on its claims to do so. And I dunno, this is personal, but I can't agree that the subculture that told me "actually you should reframe your entire life around your scrupulosity" is much of an improvement, even if the bar is extremely low. Not when that subculture is full of all the kinds of social manipulation and cruelty it claims to be above.

I'm making very narrow claims that don't really have anything to do with what you're talking about here.

I have trouble communicating how much even high functioning autistic people have struggled with things that allistic people "just know", (a phrase I've heard again and again when interrogating allistic people).

Here's an example, which I believe I heard as a real life example although I can't recall where:

You have issues with the texture of clothing and there are only a few dress shirts you have that you can stand to wear. You have a sudden nose-bleed on one of your shirts and get blood all over the collar and down the front.

You launder the shirt but the blood stains have set in and are still very visible.

Should you wear that shirt to the office?

Most allistic people already know that the answer is, "almost certainly not."

An autistic person is likely to go through this process:

I have no idea if I should wear that shirt to the office or not, so let's figure it out.

Well, I have laundered the shirt so it is clean and sanitary, the stains are just visual blemishes.

All the social messages I've heard since I were a kid say that you can't judge a book by its cover and that looks don't matter, it's what's inside that counts.

And, I have a desk job, I wasn't hired to look a certain way, but rather to produce a certain kind of work, and wearing this comfortable shirt makes it easy for me to work without being distracted by uncomfortable clothes.

Therefore, logically, I can't imagine that anybody at the office will object to my wearing this shirt.

That last sentence is key, and I really want you to focus on it. You **aren't** thinking, "Well, maybe the button down drones at the office think this is a problem, but I know better than they do."

No, you aren't thinking that at all. You're thinking, "I put together the clues so I'm sure everyone at the office will feel the exact same way as I do"

And when they don't, it's a shock.

Now, I want you to further imagine that this is how you reason about other people and the world, but through some cosmic joke you've ended up at an employer where dressing right is incredibly important.

You'll get yelled at by your boss if you wear the wrong thing and your coworkers will turn on you. But there's no published dress code, you're just supposed to "just know" what an employee should wear.

But look at your reasoning above! You *don't* "just know" what the fashion is. Imagine you eventually say, to your boss and some coworkers, "I'm starting to get really stressed about not knowing what to wear to work, I really want to wear the right thing and be part of the team but I don't know how and I'm getting stressed out."

Immediately everybody turns on you. Your boss calls you into his office to ream you out. Your coworkers start a petition to fire you because you're obviously trying to undermine the valuable work culture that they have worked so hard to create. Concerned work friends pull you aside and go, "Jesus, are you crazy? We all stress out about what to wear but you never say it in public!"

Think about what that might feel like.

Now imagine you get fired and at your next job the boss is like, "Hey, the dress code is pretty important here, here's a list of what we expect. Sometimes some stuff is kind of on the edge so you won't know, but it's always fine to ask me if something is appropriate, and if you accidentally wear something that's on the wrong side that's fine, I'll let you know and we'll work on getting you some more appropriate stuff, but you won't get in trouble."

I want you to really think about what it would feel like, as an autistic person, to be at that second job after decades working at the first. To suddenly know you could ask questions or make mistakes at something that doesn't come easily to you after so much time in an environment where you're told that this stuff comes easily to everyone and people only *pretend* to be bad at it to get away with things.

What you're doing is coming in and going, "Well, that second job might be bad for other, unrelated reasons."

I will completely grant that, you're utterly correct. That second job might be terrible for a bunch of unrelated reasons.

But I'm never going back to that first job.

[tuliptiger]

I just have a scene/idea stuck in my about the possible future of Vi and Jinx. I have no idea how their reunion would go, I want to genuinely believe that we will get one in the first place though.

Runeterra is a huge world, with a lot going on. In the great words of Ekko, "Your ideas change the world". I don't think Jinx escaped to fade into obscurity. Although I'd love for her to settle down and have a safe, loving and peaceful life surrounded by people who love her because she deserves that, I don't think we are there lol.

She still has a lot of experiences to have, places to change and people to influence. I really, really don't know who she is at the end of the show and I'm so excited to find out. I do know she has a better idea of who she is than she did at the start though. We've just started her story, literally. We got the start, and the end of the start but she has an entire life to live, she's like what 19-20 at the end of season 2?

Anyway, the scenario I've got in my head is Jinx gets involved in some crazy event in one of the other regions. It could literally be any of them, but her involvement is kept low key initially until the final, history changing event when everyone across the region celebrates all those that helped make it happen.

I can't stress enough, Jinx would be integral and a major shift of battle but she isn't the main lead. She's not "the hero" or group of heroes, she isn't a symbol anymore. She's a friend, she is... "I saw something important to me and I have to protect that here", she's "I didn't want to get involved but I made a friend and I can't walk away now".

Anyway, towards the end word starts getting around outside of the region and it makes its way to Piltover and Zaun and the change is noticeable. Most people are celebrating in the streets for solidarity for the changed region, some celebrating the fact that Jinx, their hero, is alive. The news spreads fast until it finally makes its way to Vi and Caitlyn (although she knew/had a suspicion long before news broke, she's smart as a whip and has excellent deduction skills).

Skipping over to Jinx, I still don't see her staying at any one place for too long. I think she'd finish what she needed to, help the people she wanted to help, and here's what's stuck in my head. I think she'd have a lot of growth, a lot of time to come to terms with all of her trauma, decisions, and just how bat shit crazy her life had been. How hurt she was and how she hurt others. I think at the resolution of the conflict, she'd decide to make her way back to visit Vi in Piltover.

To let her know she's alive and to see if Vi took her own worth and happiness seriously. (I think she trusted Caitlyn in the end, to be worthy of helping Vi do this tbh). And selfishly to see Vi again, for herself and HER own happiness finally.

I think it would be really funny, if Vi and Caitlyn having heard the news before Jinx actually arrived, were relatively prepared for Jinx' arrival. Caitlyn would see something in Jinx's action across the world to suspect her coming back to visit. After a long discussion between the two about what it could mean with Jinx coming back, long term or short term, Vi is %100 invested in fucking with her sister. And maybe to get her back a little bit for making her think she died to save her. That could not...have been easy to deal with.

Jinx would try to be sneaky and clever about it, subtle since she just wanted to check in on Vi. Gain some info and see if there was a good time or moment to pop in, she'd almost lose her nerve a couple times. Until Caitlyn looks directly at her through her and Vi's window when she was doing her rounds. Caitlyn gives a little smile and wave, and gestures behind her. Jinx is on top of a 3 story roof and almost falls from the shock of it (she thought she was doing a good job). She catches herself and turns to get the fuck out of there and face plants right into a familiar and solid body. With familiar and solid arms wrapping around her a little too tight, she instantly melts into it and she knows immediately who it is.

Not how she pictured this going but nothing in her life is ever what she expected it to be. They have a very, very heartwarming reunion with lots of tears and hugs involved. After they have their private moments Vi invites Jinx into her house. Jinx spends the rest of the night talking with Vi and Caitlyn. I think she'd spend a good chunk of time with them, getting caught up in local happenings with the twin cities and with Caitlyn and Vis lives.

Some time talking with Vi about... everything. Everything that happened and about leaving her after Vander. About the future, how Jinx can't stay long term but she can leave on more mutual terms this time. Calmer terms. Vi is just happy she's alive, incredibly grateful she came back to see her, to let her know she's alive and that it seems she's doing better. While she's worried to death about Jinx, she's also incredibly proud of her sister, proud for all the good she can do, always knew she could do, and how capable she really is on her own out there.

I think sometime after the first reunion, Vi would go on short trips with Jinx to places outside of Piltover. Or go visit her wherever she is, on the rare occasion Caitlyn could take time off to also go with Vi for shorter trips. Especially if Jinx is in a region Caitlyn has to do business with, Jinx will take the time to check in with Caitlyn and see what's up. Sister-in-law style shenanigans are not off the table.

I think they'd kick ass together frankly and this is completely self indulgent, obviously. In my head this is much more detailed, there's gravity to the scenes and they're as in character as I picture them to be. Do you see my vision, can you picture it? I want them to be happy and change the world and change each other's world for the best. I want the love to have been worth it 😭 There is enough crazy magical bullshit in the world, enough champions and heroes to take care of the rest of the heavy lifting for Runeterra. They can have a little time to enjoy living and being loved.

[serialkilluh1996]

𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄™

König & Deadpool; pt. 1

sfw, not proofread, no warnings, contact me if I need to add any.

It was unofficially the worst week of König's life. He'd failed missions before, having no shortage of guilt and stress about it, but this? This was ass. And his subordinates? Barely fucking alive.

He's dealt with traffickers, drug lords, terrorists, but a damn 10 foot serpent? Never in his life had he felt so embarrassed. So dejected and humiliated. He was ashamed of himself and of his team. He'd probably be out with them now as they drink away their failure if he wasn't being freshly discharged from the hospital with a broken right arm.

It's one of the rare times he doesn't wear his sniper hood, walking around raw with a black hoodie on, trying to substitute for the familiar feeling of his mask.

König keeps his head low as he walks through the hospital with a nurse, a shadow casting right above his nose and preventing his eyes from being viewed by any passersby.

The cast around his left arm brought way too much attention to him, as if his height and shape alone weren't enough to get a few stares. He hated attention yet always managed to attract it. Stepping through the sliding stores of the hospitals main entrance, he inhales with relief, sounding almost like a growl.

König was just grateful to get some fresh air. He's soon snapped out of his moment of relaxation as he hears a horn honk, turning to the source of it. A black SVU. With a sigh, he walks up to it.

The tinted window rolls down, revealing Horangi in the driver side with a stupid grin on his face. "Hurry up, don't you want to get home already?" He rushes. König rolls his eyes, opening the door with his good arm and ducking down. He slides into the truck, leaning his seat back just enough to get comfortable.

König's house ୨୧

"How's it feel being back?" Horangi asks, parking the truck in the driveway, the engine dying out as he turns the key. "Awful. I don't want to face my team after what happened." He admits. König knows it was practically an impossible mission for the average human. No one could take on a beast that big. But regardless, the guilt still lingered.

"Don't sweat it, König. I've got someone who will make you feel a lot better waiting inside your house. " Horangi tries to cheer him up, nudging his shoulder. He reaches for the handle, when könig stops him.

"Wait– I....I want to ask you something." König's voice is a lot softer than before. "Yeah?" Horangi leans back. "How.... are you so confident...showing your face? You know, with all the..." König gestures to the scar across his mouth that practically forced horangi to bare his teeth at all times, looking as if someone had tried ripping his face off.

"Well, i...I don't know. It just never bothered me much...." Horangi sounds more sentimental. "Oh, and the ladies think I look awesommme." "Ugh, you dog." König laughs, shoving his arm before they step out of the car.

As they walk into the house, Königs expression falters to one of confusion as he eyes down the man in the red body suit sitting on his couch, feet propped up on his coffee table with a bagel in his hand. He's immediately disgusted by the sight of the man's boots on his fine table.

"Woah..." the man takes his feet off, standing up to get a better look at König. "This..." Horangi points to the man. "..is Deadpool." König's eyes squint in confusion, he opens his mouth to speak, yet he's unable to form anything beyond "w-what?"

"You really are huge." Deadpool walks up, reaching up to pat and squeeze König's chest with no regard for his comfort or personal space. "Who the hell are you?" König grabs his hand firmly, his lips curled with annoyance. "Owwwww." Deadpool winces. "Easy there. Didn't he just tell you? I'm Deadpool!"

"Why are you dressed like Spiderman? This isn't some birthday party." "First off, how DARE you. My uniform is WAYYY more complex than Spiderman's could ever even DREAM of being. And Secondly, I'm here to assist you." He smiles beneath his mask, the main proof being the squint of his eyes.

"You? Assist me? How so?" He tilts his head. "Let me explain. You, my friend, are skilled in many fields, but monsters? Ain't one of em." "Who told you about the serpent?" König nearly yells at the man if not for his low, frowling tone. The incident had happened in a very secluded forest and they've been trying to keep it under wraps (as the government does) to avoid wide spread panic while they figure things out.

"Kortac reached out to me. You need my help."

"I don't need anyone's help." König retorts. "Hey! I hate to be the barrer of bad news but this isn't one of your regular missions, Schwarzenegger. You can't just fist fight your way out of this, its a massive cobra." Deadpool pokes his chest. "You dont tell me what I can do." "Hey! Hey.." Horangi intervenes, standing between the two. "Fighting with eachother just gives this snake more time to fuck things up. We need to spend more time working together if we're gonna stop this thing."

"Horangi is right. Youuu need to be more nice to me so I can help you." Deadpool pouts playfully. He's already getting on König's last nerve. "Let's start somewhere small!" Deadpool stands on his tippie toes, leaning his fave into König's big chest before wrapping his arms around his back, just barely able to reach around the sides. Horangi smiles at the sight, Deadpool nuzzling his nose into Königs sternum.

"We're gonna have sooo much fun together~" König groans at his words, not believing a word he says.

Thanks for reading! And remember, take care of yourself. <3

[justagalwhowrites]

i’m interested to see how joel would react to doc getting killed!! or bitten…. i love the angst tbh! 😅 maybe during that awkward time period where they weren’t really talking but still hooking up.. they still loved eachother so much couldn’t say it because they “hated” eachother 😮

OMG Hi Bestie! 

OK so because I'm a masochist (who shares in this fun hobby of tormenting myself with images of pain with someone who shall remain nameless) I've thought about this a lot. Shared below, with permission, is some of the noodling I've done on this topic with the aforementioned anonymous person who likes to give me INCREDIBLY ANGSTY AND DEPRESSING THOUGHT EXERCISES I SWEAR THIS IS A TWO WAY STREET Y'ALL. Please note that none of this is in story format and Doc is she instead of you because that's how I think about the fic in abstract terms? I guess? I don't know lol it's a mess in my head.

ANYWAY 

Putting this below the cut because it's probably a step beyond angst. I cannot stress enough that this is like... super depressing and also COMPLETELY RAW AND UNEDITED, all I did was pull out comments/prompts from the other person out of respect for them. So please limit your judgement as much as possible this stuff is real bad lol 

Below is Joel if she got bit on the Harvard run.

how terrified he was when he thought she might be bitten, how the first place his mind went was "I can kill her and I'll only need to be around for a few seconds after she's gone"If she got bit and he needed to kill her, he'd try so hard to keep it together for her. She'd be low key panicking and be like "Please don't let me turn into one of those things, please just kill me, please" and he'd just brush her hair back and hold her face in his hand all gentle and be like "I won't baby, not gonna let you go through that, OK? I've got you, it's OK. It'll be real quick, won't feel a thing and I'll be right behind you, OK? I'm right behind you, it's OK" and he'd hold her when he did it so she didn't feel alone and he'd keep holding her when he did it to himself, too

If Doc died in the tub the night that Joel left her in the QZ 

Joel is trying to avoid herTommy goes to the clinic that day and she's not there, which he expects because she's not supposed to be there on Sundays, but hears someone say her name and how they aren't sure how they're going to cover everything without her and there's a "...I still really miss her" at the end and he's like "wtf' and so he asks until he finds someone who will actually talk to him and he's like "no, we're old friends, I just haven't seen her in a few weeks, what happened?" and Marta just kinda looks at him like "how can you not know this" and says "She died. They weren't really sure how, if she did it on purpose or if she passed out but she drowned in her bathtub" and Tommy is, of course, reeling because he loved her, too. But he's also like "Oh fuck I have to tell Joel" and he's kind of in a daze and just walks around the QZ for a few hours and he gets home and Joel is just like "the fuck is your problem" and he's like "Joel... brother, you... I need you to sit down, OK? Need you to just... stay calm for me, OK?" and he says her name and then kinda stops and Joel gets this bad feeling and is like "what" and Tommy is quiet and he's like "what, Tommy. What is it. She fuck up something else, what'd she do, what's going on" and he's just like "She's dead, Joel." and Joel is silent for a minute and then asks what happened and how and Tommy really doesn't want to tell Joel what they told him and so Joel just gets up and Tommy tries to stop him and he's like "Don't fucking touch me" and he goes to Andrew's and he pounds on the door until Andrew answers and Andrew looks like hell, he's lost weight and he looks like he's hardly slept and he looks kind of dead in the eyes until he sees Joel and then he just looks like he wants to just set him on fire and he's like "The fuck are you doing here"

and Joel is like "what happened, you have to know what happened, please, fuck, please tell me what happened to her" and Andrew shoves him and just yells "You! You happened, you fucking happened! She died that night you fucking asshole, she lived for you and she fucking died for you, too. I hope you're fucking happy" and Joel is just practically frozen there and just lets Andrew wail on him for a minute before he looks at him and goes "you must fuckin hate me, right?" "Oh I more than hate you you fucking..." "Good. Kill me. Don't... don't care how just... please, fuck just..." and Andrew just kind of laughs at him darkly and says "No, no I'm not doing you any fucking favors, Miller. I have to live with the fact that I left her alone that night. You get to live with the fact that her blood's on your hands." Jess pulls Andrew back inside and Joel just trudges home but Tommy is kind of waiting for him, he's already stashed all the guns and the knives and he got Tess because he knows what Joel is like when he loses someone like thatand Joel only asked Andrew to do it because he couldn't risk flinching again, he had to do it right this time and he goes for where he keeps his gun as soon as he's in the door and it's gone and Tommy is just crying and he's like "Joel, you can't, I'm sorry..." and he's like "Just give me the fuckin' gun, Tommy! I can't do this, not again, I can't, I can't" and he just drops to his knees and Tommy holds onto him Tommy and Tess take turns, he's literally never alone for months. Eventually they think he can be trusted on his own and he's OK for a while but I think it wouldn't take all that long before he's gone, too it wouldn't be as obvious as a gun, it'd be him making a stupid mistake and getting bit or shot or an accident on a job in the qzand all the time in between he'd be such a shell of himself, Tess and Tommy always sharing a look when it's especially bad like "this has to get better at some point, right?"and when it eventually happens, neither Tess or Tommy are ever sure if it's really an accident or not. Joel wasn't really sure either, he just knew that the last thing he thought of was that last morning before Doc flew back to New York where he got her pregnant in the water and her and Sarah made French toast

SO YEAH that's just the most depressing shit in the world lol 

LOVE YOU!!

[monnn]

>Winter Petal✧⁠*

Pairing: non-idol!Wonwoo x gn!reader

Genre: angst, angst and more angst, one-sided love, reader is LOVESICK for Wonu!! >o<"

Warnings: it's just gonna hurt a lot and doesn't end happily, so read at your own risk(I'm sorry)

WC: 3.1+

A/N: oof, hello folks. the past few weeks has been such a roller-coaster and I wasn't really feeling better. I'm doing better now and I hope you are too♡ since this was due for quite a while, it's a bit Ionger than expected. this is the last part of the unexpected series and I hope you have enjoyed it so far! I'll shut up now and let you read, so hold on tight and let yourself feel while reading this! a little song recommendation: I Love You So by The Walters on loop! @-@

part-1, part-2 here!

_________________________________________

PRESENT

Wonu was busy adoring Jiyeon, while your eyes were on him, Jiyeon’s voice snapping you out of your trance.

“You’ll be there as early as possible. I better see you at the venue, at least a week before. Please Y/N?”she goes on, from demanding to begging real quick.

“I'll try my best Ji. You know how busy I can get” you say, sipping your hot chai.

They were getting married.

Wonwoo was getting married and it wasn't to you.

The biggest heart break of all times.

The thought of Wonwoo being the first of your friends’ circle to be hitched, is beyond you. Wonu hated commitments, relationships didn't matter.

“I still can't believe you're marrying this annoying ass, Jiyeon. He must've really worked wonders for his previous eight lives” you say, playfully knocking Wonu’s head, signalling him to get off his phone.

“Are you really my best friend?! You're supposed to be happy for me!” he whines. You just laugh at him instead of replying. Honestly, you were happy for him. Though it wasn't something your heart desired for, you were happy to see Wonwoo happy. Even if it means that you won't ever have a chance with him. Maybe you'll eventually forget him, you think. Though that's almost impossible.

Almost.

“But I agree with Jiyeon. You need to be there ASAP, Y/N. You know how much of a wreck I turn into when I'm stressed. And all of us would have more time to spend with each other. I know how stressful all our lives have been and I'm sure we've all missed each other, so please?” he rambles, all in a single breath. As much as whatever Wonu told was true, you don't think you can physically handle it all. It’d be too overwhelming for you, with your emotions splayed out and heart on your sleeve, waiting to be ripped off by none other than the groom. So, you chose the safest option – to arrive on the wedding day.

“I'll try my best Wonu. I can only wonder how stressful it can be for the both of you, but I also know you guys are THE powerful duo who can overcome anything. So, I’ll root for the both of you, hoping everything would turn out well and I'll see you on your big day” you say, wearing a warm smile covering the growing pain in you.

The couple radiate the warmest of energy and nod at whatever you said as it’s nothing but the absolute truth. They've always been this way, unbreakable no matter what. You used to envy that, as your college-self wanted them to low-key breakup. You and Wonwoo were THAT powerful duo before Jiyeon came through, it was only human for you to be jealous of them. Now you just feel tender looking at them, there's no jealousy, which is truly surprising.

◇

Days pass by sooner than you think and you're on your way to the destination. As weird as Wonwoo can get, the wedding’s happening in winter instead of spring or summer like the others do. He was specific about this as he met Jiyeon in winter. Little did anyone know that the both of you met in winter too. Well, it was winter in your lives as you and Wonu were both loners. It’s almost fateful for the both of you to be stuck with each other for so long.

If only this wasn’t platonic, everything would be straight out of a well-written romance fiction. (haha, unlike this one)

Your said date a.k.a Seungcheol, had picked you up from your place early in the morning to drive you. Jeonghan had planned all this, since he can stay without a date as his sister was coming along. Cheol was great company, and he didn’t need to have conversations with you, making the whole scene feel alien. You were truly grateful for that, as you didn’t really have an appetite to digest the things spewed by others at the wedding. The weather was getting a bit warm for winter, making you roll your window down, feeling the sharp yet soothing breeze while you try not to feel like your heart’s about to be grilled because of the emotions you felt. Your thoughts were interrupted by Jeonghan calling Cheol, who’s phone was connected to the speaker. You pick it before he reaches, Cheol sending a small smile to you.

“Hey Cheollie, how far away are you guys?” you hear Hannie, enquiring like the mum he is.

“Hi Han, we’re an hour away. How’s it going over there?” you ask, warmth crawling up your cheeks.

“Hi Y/N!!! I can’t wait to see you,” he pauses, the boys screaming in the background as they hear about you. “These morons won’t let me speak to you, so I'm gonna hang up now and see you both soon!” he says, seemingly pushing Soonie away as he was whining over the speaker to you about not being there sooner.

Laughing, you almost hang up before pausing to ask something.

“Oh, and Han?”

“Yeah, love?”

“How’s he? Is he alright?” you ask, curiously.

Sensing how concerned you were, Han chose to not make it harder.

“He’s alright for now, babe. He’ll be okay. I’d ask about you but it’s way too early and I want you to be wrapped in my arms for at least 20mins before I ask you anything” he says, sighing in relief.

“Hannie, I thought WE were married!” Cheol whines, as you laugh at how he’s sulking over the affection Han has for you. It’s cute, how they’ve been each other's rock for so long and yours too. You’ve genuinely missed your friends so much, your heart aches a little at the instances where you avoided them to protect your peace.

Hannie’s giggles bring you back, as he replies saying that they’re over if Cheol doesn’t get us there ASAP. Now you’re dealing with a sulky Cheol, who’s whining at how Han’s pulling tricks always, though you can’t help but just laugh at your friends’ antics.

Time flies and you’re at the wedding, a whiny Chan and Soon clinging onto you as you walk. They lead you guys to where the others are and upon the sight of you, Han’s running over to you. He jumps on to you as you topple down, Hannie having no intention of letting you go. He asks about Cheol, who insisted that he can drop the bags in your room all by himself. You guys just lay on the grass for a bit and he gets up as the weather’s still a bit cold, to drag you inside the resort. Seeing all your friends made you tear up a bit, which led to all of you shedding a few tears as you guys hug the sadness away. It’s wholesome than sad, because of how much these idiots mean to you and vice versa. The friendships you’ve built with each of them is so darn precious to you and it’s baffling how you were ready to throw this all away, just for that one man. Who was now about to be married. Pushing this aside, you search for two of your other friends who were nowhere to be found. In the garden area of the resort, you find them caressing their own drinks. Mingyu’s got champagne while Jihoon’s in love with his whiskey. They’re still the same old dorks you met; you ponder over while walking towards to them.

“Already?” you say, startling the both of them as they were lost in their own drinking shenanigans.

Mingyu is the first one to get up, lifting you up while he gulfs you into him. He’s so warm and smells like home, you’ve missed this puppy.

“I’m so glad to see you, Y/N. Do you need a drink too?” he asks, ready to order one for you. You shake your head, not wanting to show up drunk at your best friend’s wedding. The minute Mingyu lets you down, you run to hug Jihoon. You feel tears stinging your eyes, heart feeling heavier than ever. Sensing that you need your time with Jihoon, Mingyu walks away telling that he’ll see you around and to contact him if anything. You hug him goodbye before turning back to Jihoon.

Honestly, he’s the best person to let your thoughts be and to just sit with it than avoiding it like a plague. Jihoon glances at you, ordering a glass of gin with ginger ale while you were settling down. Once the drink arrives, he pushes it to your side, signalling you to have it.

“Jihoon....I can’t” you say, hesitantly but low-key really needing some alcohol in your system.

“You’ll need it for later, Y/N. Have it please?” he requests, raising his glass and waiting for you to clink them with. You give up, taking the glass and toasting it with Jihoon’s before having a sip. The way your sip lasted more than it was supposed to, seemed like you were quenching your thirst but with alcohol.

Well, fuck being sober at the love of your life’s wedding, I guess.

You hang with Jihoon for a bit more, before a cute Joshua is waltzing through the room, letting you know that it’s time to get ready for the ceremony. At this, Jihoon just nodded at you and hugged you off, saying that he’ll see you at the hall in a bit. The hug lingered for a while which was broke by Jisoo, coughing to subtly steal you away from everyone.

What was with him?

Well, he had a crush on you. Everyone else knew, except for you. Even Wonwoo knew. Shua wasn’t sure if his adoration has stayed a crush for so long, but he wasn’t ready to give up on you. Though a part of him is sad that you’re not the bride, he’s slightly happier to have a chance to woo you. (PS: everyone knew you were head over heels for Wonu, cheers to being the monarch of simp nation. JK, you were too obvious around him)

Hand wrapped around his arm, Shua leads you to your room, informing that Cheol will be over to pick you up in two hours or so. You slowly get into your dress, adoring how beautiful it looks before the makeup artist’s knocking at your door. You let them in and then sit down to get your makeup done, while you snack on carrots and stay on your phone. In no time, you’re dolled up real nice and right on time, Cheol enters. He smiles at you before engulfing you in a hug, careful not to ruin the art you are.

“You look lovely, Y/N. If I weren’t gay and married to Han, I’d walk down the aisle with you tonight.” he jokes, making you laugh.

“There we go, a smile was all that was missing” he says, taking your hands in his.

“How are you feeling, dove?” he asks, eyes scanning for any discomfort or sadness.

“I’m doing alright, Cheol. Thank you for checking up on me, always” you say, giving his hands a tight little squeeze.

“Glad that Jihoon made me have a good ol’ glass of Bombay Sapphire with ginger ale. I think I can survive the ceremony without breaking down and confessing my love to Wonu, while he’s getting married to Jiyeon” you blurt out, jokingly. There’s a moment of silence as Cheol gawks at what you said before you tell him that it was a joke and how they should get going before it gets late.

Guess you are late, as the person you love would be walking the aisle with his lover, who sadly isn’t you.

Before entering the hall, you go over to see the bride and groom. You head to Jiyeon’s room, heart hurting yet happy for her. Knocking on the door, you open it to see Jiyeon, pacing around the room in her wedding gown. She looks ethereal, and so ready to share her life with your best friend. As soon as she notices you, she runs towards you to hug, and tries to collect her breaths.

“Y/N, I can’t do this. I can’t. Can you marry Wonwoo instead?” she asks, voice laced with panic. It’s pathetic how you actually consider that for a minute. Laughing it off, you pull Jiyeon back, holding her hands in yours, eyes meeting hers while you muster up the courage to say –

“Hey Ji. You’ll be alright, okay? It’s not someone you don’t know, it’s just Wonu. Everything will be alright. Breathe for me, please?"

“Right, you’re right Y/N. It's Wonwoo, why’d I didn’t think of that? Anyways, thank you Y/N. Though you’ve always been his rock, you secretly managed to be mine too” she says, a wide smile plastered on her face.

“So, I'll see you on the aisle, yeah? All the best Ji, you’ve got this” you say, leaving before she replies. Your feelings were up your throat, waiting to be pushed out anytime if you hadn’t left the room. You do the same thing you told Jiyeon – breathe. You take a few deep breaths, fixing yourself as you head towards your best friend.

Best friend.

As you were about to knock, the door opens revealing an equally nervous yet, oh-so beautifully dressed Wonu. He’s pulling you inside, locking the door behind, not giving you time to process. You wait for him to say something, instead he just looks at you like he’s about to cry if you don’t hug him.

So, you do. You embrace him in your arms, for the last time as a bachelor and probably the last time as your love.

After staying in each other’s warmth for a while, he lets go, letting you take a good look at him.

“God damn, Wonu! You look so sharp, didn’t know you could stop being in your nerd element” you joke, winking at him. He laughs, before twirling lazily to give you a 360 of his carefully crafted tux.

“Ready, big guy?” you ask, searching for any hint of resistance in his eyes. He locks eyes with you, nodding slowly. Things have always been like this with him, words didn’t seem like a necessity. You were more than glad to not be talking more than that because honestly, you wouldn't be in one piece.

“Yeah. Yes, I’m ready Y/N. Don’t think I've ever been sure of anything, than this moment right now.” he says, lips curling into a soft smile. That smile of his was reserved, only you had seen it apart from Jiyeon, of course. You reciprocate the same, hugging him for the one last time and leaving the room with the feeling of your heart, suddenly weighing a ton.

As soon as you exit the room, you find Cheol pacing around in the hallway. At the sight of you standing outside Wonwoo’s room, Seungcheol is walking towards you.

“Hey dove, you alright?” he asks, so full of concern. You smile so much as a reply. So much that your cheeks hurt and tears slowly start to well up from within the depths of your fragile heart.

“I'm okay Seungcheol. Let's head to the hall before we're late, yeah?” you slur, trying to shake your tears off. He comprehends how sensitive you are and just nods at you, silently hooking your arm to his while the both of you walk towards to hall.

You realize, the pain you feel, is beyond anything your brain could fathom and mere words can describe how much it hurts.

The hall looks so elegant and everyone there look so beautiful, like dolls in a dollhouse. There are lots of orchids and tulips, as an ornament to the room, making it look so soft yet neat. You move towards your friends, praising how good they look in their tuxedoes and chit-chatting your way through the whole thing, trying your best not to think.

Weirdly, Joshua’s by you the whole time, stuck like gum. Not that you mind it or anything, it's actually really comfortable. Cheol had left your side to sit with Hannie and he had taken over. His subtle touches and the way he looks at you – it helps you feel so grounded and you're more than thankful for that.

Music starts playing, indicating the beginning of the ceremony as you see Wonwoo, gracefully walking down the aisle with a faint blush and a soft smile set on his gorgeous face. Your heart falters at the sight and it refuses to function further when he looks at you, sending you one of his reserved smiles. You reciprocate the same, hands slowly being taken into Jisoo’s. You're amazed at how helpful his touches have been, it's shocking.

Gazing at Wonu, everything fades out for you except for the love you have for him.

And in no time, Jiyeon’s walked in, vowing to love your best friend until the last of her breath and with everything she’s got. You can feel your heart clenching, and Joshua senses the same too, as your clammy hands squeeze his unconsciously.

The thing was, Shua didn't need words from you to understand either. He looks at you, his pretty eyes checking for any discomfort and when you smile back at him, he decides not to bother you further.

There's a sudden cheering of the crowd, making you turn your head towards the couple as you see them kissing.

Vows were said, promises were made and bonds were created.

It was too late for you to do anything. You feel the emotions rushing out of you as you excuse yourself to get away from there.

I need some air you say, to all your worried friends. So busy running away from the love of your life, you don't notice Joshua following you.

As soon as you get out, clutching your chest you slump down onto the sofa at the lobby as tears paint your face. The pain is so much that you find yourself trying hard to breathe while the emotions keep nagging at you and drowning you in the depth of the love you have for Wonwoo.

While trying to calm yourself down, you feel a hand on your shoulder, the radiating warmth grounding you for the Nth time this night. You look up thinking it's Jihoon, but it's not.

Hong Jisoo stands there, tears in his eyes but also looking so fondly at you.

As if you're a porcelain tea cup who’d break if looked at any harder.

You feel pathetic, but Joshua pulls you into a hug, letting you wet his shoulders to your heart’s content. Hearts suddenly seem to weigh a ton, the energy draining all while you try your best to catch the breath you never had in the first place.

He's gone. The love of your life is no longer yours.

Jeon Wonwoo, your best friend but also the person who mattered so much, like how the sun was to the moon.

For the coldness in him, he had found his summer. But left you to be nothing, than a petal of the harsh Winter, waiting to writhe away in utter grief.

_________________________________________

A/N: There's now an epilogue to this series, you can find it here!