#like... not that. i hope everyone knows what i mean when i say that. you can do fun and interesting posts and analyses on a ship without | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luv-lock · 1 day ago

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ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤCATCH ME, KEEP MEㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Wally West x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How Would He Be When He's Obsessed?

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Wally doesn’t fall hard at first.

Not really. He’s a people person, used to talking to everyone. Charming, fast-talking, always the loudest in the room—but when he meets you? You don’t flinch at his confidence. You look him dead in the eye, half-bored, half-amused, and say, “You talk a lot.”

And that’s it. That’s the moment.

The silence you leave in your wake buzzes louder than his speed ever could.

He starts noticing you everywhere.

You aren’t trying to stand out, and that’s what kills him. While the world is screaming for attention, you just exist—quiet, steady, untouchable. You don’t need to chase validation, and that burns something unfamiliar into Wally’s chest.

He tells himself it’s just a crush. One of many. He’s had dozens. He’s charming like that, right?

But no. This one sticks.

He starts moving at your pace.

Literally. Wally West—the Fastest Man Alive—slows down just to match your steps. You walk? He walks. You take the long way home? He memorizes every corner of it. You like quiet places? Suddenly, Wally knows every hidden rooftop in the city.

He starts showing up in places he swears he was “just passing through.”

He’s lying. He calculated every path to run into you.

The obsession sneaks in like a thief.

He remembers every little thing: your favorite snack, the way you tie your hair when you’re irritated, the exact inflection in your voice when you’re sarcastic. He collects those details like trophies, files them away like a case he needs to solve.

And god help the guy who flirts with you. Wally’s smile doesn’t falter, but there’s an edge to it. A twitch in his fingers. A flash in his eyes.

Fast as he is, he’s even faster when he’s angry.

He gets possessive in ways he can’t explain.

He doesn’t mean to sound jealous. But when you talk about other guys? Other heroes?

“You think Nightwing’s hot?”

“He’s got nice hair, I guess,” you shrug.

That’s it. Dick’s getting his shampoo swapped out and his uniform ‘accidentally’ burned.

He knows it’s irrational. He just doesn’t care.

He doesn’t need to be around you all the time. But he wants to.

There’s a difference. He’s still Wally—funny, fast, loyal—but something about you makes everything else dim.

You become his constant. His gravity. His anchor. The world could end, but if you're safe? He'll laugh through the apocalypse.

And if you're not?

Well. That’s a problem no one wants to see the end of.

He watches you when you’re not looking.

Not in a creepy way (okay, maybe a little). But he stares. Long, intense, unwavering. Because when you’re not paying attention, you’re real. Soft. Human. And that’s when he wants you most.

You once caught him doing it.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

“…Like what?”

“Like you’re hungry.”

He grins. “Maybe I am.”

You laughed, but it wasn’t a joke.

When he touches you, it’s always gentle.

His hands are made to break the sound barrier, but when he brushes your skin, it’s like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. He touches you like you’re sacred. Like you’re the only thing that makes him feel human in the blur of the world.

He wants to be close. All the time. Arm around your waist. Pinky brushing yours. His jacket on your shoulders. His heartbeat synced to yours.

It’s not enough. It’s never enough.

He gets scared of how much he loves you.

Because it’s not just a crush anymore. You’ve carved your name into the core of him. Wally would tear the world apart for you. He’d time travel, bend physics, throw away the League, burn everything just to keep you close.

He’s terrified of losing you. Of you not loving him back. Of you realizing what he really is underneath: a boy who never stops running because he’s scared of standing still.

But with you? He wants to stand still.

He confesses in a way only he could.

He grabs your face in his hands, eyes wild, chest heaving like he just ran to the ends of the Earth.

“I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you,” he blurts out. “And it’s driving me insane. I’m not good at this—waiting, wanting—but if you told me to slow down, I would. If you told me to stop, I would. Just—don’t leave me behind.”

And when you kiss him?

Time. Stops.

After the kiss, he changes.

Not in the loud, obvious way. Wally still jokes, still grins, still makes the room warmer just by being in it—but something in his eyes shifts. He looks at you like you’re not just his girlfriend—you’re his reason.

And he tells you that.

Not once. Not twice.

Every single day.

“I’d die for you,” he says like it’s a fact, not a metaphor. “And if someone tries to take you from me—well… they’d better be faster than me.”

His obsession turns quiet. Dangerous. Protective.

You don’t notice the little things at first.

Like how your co-worker suddenly transferred the day after he got a little too flirty.

Or how your phone never dies anymore, no matter how often you forget to charge it.

(He swaps batteries in your sleep. Replaces your charger. Monitors the voltage. You don’t know.)

Or how your ex texts you, and the message deletes itself before you can open it.

(He’s been in your phone. In your cloud. He’s faster than any firewall.)

You never feel unsafe. You just feel… watched. But it’s Wally, right? Your Wally. He wouldn’t—

He doesn’t trust anyone with you.

Not your friends. Not the League. Not even Barry.

He masks it well, with smiles and sarcasm, but under the surface, he’s seething. Every time someone makes you laugh, every time they touch your shoulder or stand too close, he catalogues it. Keeps score.

And later, when no one’s around, he whispers,

“You know you don’t need them, right? You have me. I’m all you’ll ever need.”

He’s not asking. He’s reminding.

He has nightmares. About losing you.

They start slow—harmless, even. You walking away. Forgetting his name. Laughing with someone else. But they escalate quickly.

You dying. You screaming. You reaching for him as he’s too slow.

(He’s never too slow.)

He wakes up drenched in sweat, vibrating from head to toe, fists clenched hard enough to bruise his own palms. Some nights he just stares at you sleeping, watching your chest rise and fall, whispering—

“I won’t let it happen. I promise. I promise. I won’t lose you.”

He starts testing you.

Little things. Subtle.

“What would you do if I disappeared?”

“Would you still love me if I wasn’t a hero?”

“Would you run away with me right now? No questions asked?”

He watches every flicker in your eyes. Measures your every breath.

You always say the right thing. But he’s waiting. Waiting to see if you’ll betray him.

He hopes you don’t. He prays you don’t.

Because if you do?

He already has a plan.

He starts talking about the future.

But not in the dreamy, romantic way. Not with rings or white dresses or picket fences.

No. Wally’s version of forever is you and him against the world. You don’t need a big house. You don’t need anyone else. You just need him.

“We could disappear,” he murmurs into your skin one night. “I could take you so far no one would find us. Ever. Just me and you, baby. Nothing else. Doesn’t that sound perfect?”

You laugh, a little unsure.

But he doesn’t laugh back.

If anyone hurts you? Even emotionally?

They. Vanish.

He doesn’t kill. He doesn’t need to. He’s smarter than that. Faster.

But you better believe they never show their face again. Maybe they get blackmailed. Maybe they’re framed. Maybe they wake up halfway across the country with no memory of how they got there.

You ask Wally if he knows anything.

He just kisses your forehead and says,

“You don’t have to worry about people like that anymore. I’ll always protect you.”

And god help you, it makes you feel safe.

He keeps something of yours with him. Always.

A strand of hair. A necklace. The first note you wrote him. The chapstick you lost. He keeps it in a little box, hidden in a place no one can find. A shrine, almost.

When he misses you (which is always), he opens it. Smiles to himself. Breathes you in.

You are his god. His everything.

And he loves you too much to let you go.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

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riastarthe · 2 days ago

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sure whatever. Yes. that's fine. i do think it's pretty irresponsible to say all this and not offer alternatives, something to go on that Can be trusted. i think providing exceptions helps prove the rule, no?

The people in the notes, particularly, who are very comfortable asserting that the vetters themselves are suspect would do well to share their own criteria, what their methods of vetting are, who they DO trust. if the answer is no one then you're as much of a fool. much of the vetting is also done offsite by talking to multiple families and their friends. yes, many of these people know each other, or know friends of friends, just like people from enclaves in a city are more likely to. "why so many emojis in a war zone" "why do so many messages sound the same" look, most of these people don't speak fluent english and don't know that this is the shit that looks like spam/scams to you. as someone who habitually talks to palestinians on bluesky and whatsapp,

1) emoji usage aren't grounds for disqualification. they're trying to express how they feel, like yourself.

2) they aren't FLUENT ENGLISH SPEAKERS! THEY COPY THE SAME MESSAGES OVER AND OVER BECAUSE IT'S A PAIN IN THE ASS TO MAKE NEW ONES! and many explicitly ask for help writing new messages because they KNOW that goes much further than what they already KNOW is brushed aside— worse, reported— as spam.

3) YES they have time to "panhandle" during a genocide. how do you think time works? how many people do you think there are who need help? no one can go to work anymore, there is no work, no fun, no hobbies to enjoy. everything is taken up by trying to get food and water and get a stable enough connection to ask your mean bitch ass for help. but they have some time to do that, and the people doing it are often mothers and their older children. they have the time.

4) you don't have to like what they say. no one in Gaza wants to be talking to you, personally, about their abject horrific circumstances. you wouldn't like it if you were in their position. when someone says "i've thought about killing myself" or "i'm ashamed to be their parent" or somesuch thing, think about what the fuck is going on. you don't have to listen, you don't have to reply, but there's nothing outrageous about this. bombing. starvation. illness. planes overhead. an armed quadcopter hovered in my friend's window before thankfully leaving. you can think you'd act better in this scenario! you can chide a desperate parent in front of everyone to prove it! i hope you never have to go through it yourself.

it is much easier to block, delete, and ignore suspicious messages than it is to escape a war zone. if in fact the messages are dishonest, then it should be no trouble to shrug it off. please put whatever overwhelm you feel into context— either it's people who cannot act their best and cannot communicate in keeping with your personal standards while trying to survive, or, it's scammers/bots.

yes, you DO need to be able to filter this stuff for yourself and do work that is difficult and time-consuming in order to learn to be discerning. you need to be more uncomfortable with the fact that real people who are suffering, even dying the slow death of starvation and disease, will slip through. you need to figure out how you're going to deal with that. the confidence you have that there is a one size fits all way of judging these things is false. it's not enough to say "yeah i get a bad vibe"— does that bad vibe just help absolve your conscience?

also the people in the notes saying "what's the point of donating money when there's not even any food to buy :/" hey: go to hell anytime. many organisations can't reliably or consistently distribute aid, let alone enter gaza. israel is blocking that aid so donating to orgs is not going to reach palestinians effectively. maybe sometime. but PEOPLE can withdraw money via gfm and chuffed, and gfm is pretty stringent, maybe overly so, given how many Very Verifiably Factually Confirmed For Real people have their donations returned and fundraisers shut down. many people also sponsor or otherwise facilitate these campaigns, and there are extensive guides on how to do this, which includes knowing how to be smart and fact check, or vet, people.

but how can you do that without organising with and learning from the people who have dedicated their time to doing exactly this, dedicating their time to establishing networks in and outside of palestine, educating others on how to both identify scammers and even through language barriers help palestinians differentiate themselves from these scammers— but when everyone's hungrily and racistly looking for a way to write them off, very often no amount of evidence is good enough. these networks of dedicated assistants even facilitate the apologies necessary when photos are sometimes taken from verified real palestinians to be used by Other verified real palestinians— something which near-exclusively occurs because they can't take new ones of their own, or, feel everyone has lost interest in the facts they've already provided. this is something which is completely understandable given the situation, but is looked down on as a major faux pas by palestinians themselves, and will call each other on it. this stuff doesn't go unnoticed. and if you are capable of noticing it, it's worth saying so, but you ALSO MUST COMMUNICATE. there's no sense in making a callout for a person you can so easily cut off and to relegate them to such terrible circumstances while leaving no room for improvement, that's just bastardly.

i have been honest with my dear friend in Gaza about my limitations. they have no reason to be as patient with me as they are— i have no money to offer— but following my honesty, they are. they are consistently patient and understanding even under constant threat.

but seeing you go "ummm that is NOT how you speak to someone when you want their help!" and "phew! i support palestine or whatever, but come on!" in the responses to this post, i actually do not trust that you are capable of the diligence you believe is required!

I miss when I would get Tumblr asks that actually said things and weren't just digital panhandling scams.

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wbbobsesser · 2 days ago

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ᯓ sweet spot — chapter two

pairing: paige bueckers & azzi fudd

notes: i really enjoyed writing this chapter! looking forward to writing more and seeing where it goes. i love the idea of paige being completely obsessed and gone for azzi i couldn’t not make her that way. please keep in mind this is meant to be silly and unserious so don’t take it too literal. i hope you enjoy this chapter— i’m already working on the next one, so it should be expected soon. love you.

wc: 2.5k

it had been three weeks.

three weeks of pretending azzi fudd didn’t occupy 99% of paige bueckers’ waking thoughts. three weeks of trying not to stare during film, of forcing herself not to “accidentally” sit next to her at every team meal. three weeks of scrolling through azzi’s social media accounts like they held the secrets of the universe. three weeks of watching every reposted workout clip like it was a sacred ritual. three weeks of dying. slowly. softly. lovingly.

it was hell.

because azzi was still azzi.

sweet. soft-spoken. warm to everyone.

she high-fived her teammates. she brought extra protein bars to practice in case anyone needed one. she complimented everyone, everyday.

and paige? paige was losing her mind.

she’d never felt like this before. not about anyone. there had been hookups, of course. flings. a very short-lived situationship with a girl from back home who smoked too much weed and ghosted her after two weeks. but azzi?

azzi made her feel like a middle schooler with a crush. like she was trying to act normal during a fire drill while her entire body was combusting.

and the worst part was that azzi didn’t even know.

or maybe she did, and she was just too nice to say anything.

practice had ended an hour ago, but paige was still in the gym, sitting on the bleachers with a bag of ice balanced on her knee and her phone glowing in her lap. she wasn’t texting anyone. she was just looking at azzi’s most recent post: a photo from the locker room after the team’s first practice. azzi smiling, flushed, holding up a peace sign. caption: “i love it here already.”

she’d liked it within 0.3 seconds of it going up.

now she just sat there, staring at it like it might change.

“hey.”

paige nearly threw her phone across the gym. she looked up. it was azzi, hair pulled into a high bun, hoodie slung over one shoulder, and a water bottle tucked under her arm. she looked like a nike ad. or her own personal dream.

“you good?” azzi asked, stepping closer. “didn’t see you leave with everyone.”

paige sat up straighter, hiding her phone screen. “yeah— just icing. knee’s a little sore.”

azzi nodded, then sat next to her. right next to her. their knees almost touched. paige stopped breathing.

“you looked good today,” azzi said, like it was just a fact. “sharp on that last drill.”

paige shrugged, trying to act chill. “you always look good.”

silence.

paige’s eyes widened. “i mean— you played good. you looked good playing. like— your shot. your form. it was— good.”

azzi laughed quietly. “thanks.”

paige wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

they sat in silence for a few moments, the quiet hum of the lights buzzing overhead. azzi leaned back on her palms, gazing out at the empty court.

“you like being here?” paige asked finally, voice low.

azzi turned her head, smiled. “yeah. i do. it’s… different. but good-different. i feel like i’m supposed to be here.”

paige nodded, then swallowed. “you are.”

azzi’s smile lingered. “what about you? you still like it?”

paige glanced down at her hands. “i used to think it was just about winning. getting a national championship. now… i don’t know. it feels like it matters more when you have the right people around.”

azzi looked at her, something soft in her eyes.

before paige could completely combust, someone called from down the tunnel— lou, probably. something about team dinner.

azzi stood, brushing imaginary dust off her pants. “you coming?”

paige blinked, then nodded. “yeah. just need a sec.”

azzi lingered for a moment. “you sure?”

“positive.”

azzi gave her one last look, then jogged off.

paige watched her go, heart a tangled mess of hope and helplessness. she grabbed her phone again and looked at the photo. zoomed in just a little.

yeah. she was so, so screwed.

the team dinner was supposed to be casual. nothing fancy— just some bonding, a little pasta, maybe a couple of dumb games nika liked to spring on them out of nowhere. coach had even given them the evening off to “build chemistry,” which everyone knew really meant “don’t get in trouble and try not to burn the dorm down.”

paige almost didn’t go.

because azzi.

and because paige had barely survived three practices without turning into a puddle every time azzi looked in her direction. but nika wouldn’t let her skip, practically dragged her by the collar out of her room with the promise of free garlic knots and good lighting for selfies.

the restaurant was small and loud, with big booths and sticky menus. half the team was already there, squeezed into one corner and tossing crumpled straw wrappers at each other. azzi sat near the end, her curls pulled up and her smile lighting up the table like a lantern.

paige picked the seat next to her before she could think twice.

“hey,” azzi said, voice soft over the buzz of conversation. “glad you came.”

paige nodded too fast. “yeah. me too. i like… food.”

azzi blinked.

nika snorted soda out of her nose.

lou choked on her breadstick.

“smooth,” aubrey muttered, bumping paige’s knee under the table.

but azzi just laughed— a quiet, melodic sound— and passed paige the basket of garlic knots like she hadn’t just committed a social crime. “i meant to tell you— you’ve got a really quick first step. it’s hard to guard. you kinda burned me yesterday.”

paige blinked. her soul left her body.

“i— uh. i didn’t mean to? i mean, i did, but not like— burn— like basketball, not like… fire.”

nika buried her face in her hoodie.

azzi smiled. “i got what you meant.”

it was fine. everything was fine. except her hands were sweating and her fork was now mysteriously on the floor. paige reached down to get it and hit her head on the table.

azzi leaned over, voice low so the others wouldn’t hear. “are you okay?”

“never better.” paige’s voice cracked. she never wanted to die more.

later that night, paige laid in bed, phone screen glowing inches from her face. she should’ve been asleep— they had weights in the morning. but instead, she was twenty minutes into another accidental deep dive of azzi fudd’s instagram.

it started innocent. a few scrolls. a couple likes.

and then she found him.

noah.

the boyfriend. azzi’s boyfriend.

smiling next to azzi on some beach in california, both of them mid-laugh. another post from valentine’s day— azzi in his hoodie, captioned “my favorite human.”

her stomach twisted.

azzi didn’t post often. but when she did, the captions about noah were always so full. like she really meant them. paige lingered on one in particular— a photo of the two of them in front of the usc gym. the caption read: “through every win, every loss, every late night practice— you’ve been my home. i love you so much.”

paige closed the app.

then opened it again five seconds later.

she wasn’t proud of herself.

she was about to close the app for good when nika barged into her room with her blanket wrapped around her shoulders like a cape.

“you’re so gone for her.”

paige flinched so hard she dropped her phone.

“excuse me?”

“don’t even try to deny it,” nika said, plopping onto the bed like she owned it. “you short-circuit every time she so much as looks at you. i’ve never seen someone so flustered.”

“i don’t—”

“you do.” nika pulled paige’s pillow out from under her and whacked her with it. “you’ve got the biggest gay panic i’ve ever seen. and i roomed with lou.”

paige groaned, burying her face in her hands. “she has a boyfriend.”

“yeah, and you have zero chill,” nika leaned back. “i’ve never seen you like this before. nervous, shy. it’s weird.”

paige didn’t answer. she couldn’t.

because now, every little moment replayed like a loop— azzi’s compliment. the softness in her voice. her dimply smile that lingered too long.

well, fuck.

practice had ended twenty minutes ago, but paige was still out there, lazily flipping a ball between her hands as the last few teammates trickled out. her shirt clung to her back, sweat drying slowly in the gym's faint breeze. she could’ve left. should’ve. but something told her to stay.

and then azzi appeared.

“hey,” she called softly, pulling her hair into a ponytail as she approached. “you staying to shoot?”

paige’s heart dropped to her knees, then tried to crawl back up her throat. “uh— yeah. just a little.”

azzi smiled, grabbing a ball from the rack. “mind if i join you?”

“join? no. i mean yes. i mean— of course.”

they started with simple catch-and-shoot drills. easy rhythm. azzi’s release was still perfect, every shot as clean as glass. paige couldn’t stop glancing sideways, watching the way azzi’s eyes followed the arc of each shot, the way she bounced lightly on the balls of her feet after every make.

paige hit her stride eventually, sinking threes from the corner, then fading toward the wing. they passed back and forth, no words, just the soft echo of the ball and their sneakers squeaking on the court.

azzi shot like she was born doing it. No wasted movement. every jumper was soft, clean, perfect rotation. paige tried to stay focused— tried to match her rhythm— but she kept getting caught in the way azzi would laugh lightly when she missed, like even failure didn’t rattle her.

“your arc’s so pretty,” paige said before she could stop herself.

azzi looked at her. “mine?”

paige nodded, suddenly shy. “yeah. it’s, like… the perfect rainbow.”

azzi smiled. “thanks. yours is faster, though. quick release. super smooth.”

paige’s stomach did an actual flip.

“thanks. i, uh— yeah. i work on that,” she said, for what felt like the tenth time this week. why was she always saying the same thing around her? like she had five phrases and two working brain cells?

they continued shooting.

after a few more rounds, azzi passed her the ball and stretched her arms over her head. “you know, you’ve got such a calm confidence about you. like, on the court. even when you mess up, you never look rattled.”

paige literally missed the rim.

not the net. not the backboard.

she missed the rim.

azzi’s eyes widened, a little startled. “you okay?”

“i— yeah. i’m just— tired,” paige mumbled, retrieving the ball like it wasn’t the most humiliating moment of her life.

azzi laughed, light and genuine. “that was kinda cute.”

paige stopped breathing.

she didn’t even know what to say. her mouth opened, but no words came out— just a small, embarrassed sound like a kicked puppy.

azzi tilted her head. “sorry, was that weird?”

paige shook her head fast. “yes. i mean, no. i mean— not weird. totally fine.”

azzi walked over and gently bumped her shoulder. “you’re funny.”

you’re funny.

paige wanted to throw herself into the sun.

just then, nika popped her head into the gym.

“ohhhh,” she called, loud and dramatic. “what’s this? a little after-hours hoop date?”

paige glared. “we’re just shooting.”

azzi, ever the sweetheart, smiled and waved. “hey, nika!”

nika waved back and winked directly at paige. “don’t stay too late, lovebirds.”

she disappeared before paige could cuss her out.

azzi giggled. “she’s funny.”

paige swallowed hard. “yeah. real funny.”

they kept shooting a little longer. paige never fully recovered from the embarrassment she put herself through.

when they finally called it a night, azzi walked beside her toward the locker room. “i’m really glad i transferred,” she said quietly.

paige looked over. “yeah?”

azzi nodded. “everyone’s been really welcoming. especially you.”

paige could barely breathe.

“oh. uh.” she blinked, thinking of the words. “well, you’re easy to welcome.”

azzi’s smile curled into something almost shy. “that’s really sweet.”

paige scratched the back of her neck. “i mean it. you’re… like. good. at everything. and nice. and— you know. people notice that.”

“people like you?” azzi teased, gently.

paige almost dropped her water bottle. “i mean, yeah. maybe.”

azzi smiled so softly, paige thought she might cry.

paige was halfway through tying her shoes when she spots azzi just a few feet away, standing by the gatorade cooler, laughing at something aubrey just said. it should be normal. it is normal. but paige’s brain short-circuits the same way it always does lately when azzi’s in the room.

and then it happened. a moment. a mortifying, soul-leaving-your-body moment.

“yo, paige!” nika yelled across the gym. “you left your phone in the locker room. again.”

she tossed it with a perfect spiral. paige reacted late and fumbled the catch. the phone hits the floor with a dramatic thud, screen up, very much alive, and very much still open to instagram.

specifically, azzi fudd’s instagram page.

a beat of silence. then a few beats.

someone snorted. probably aubrey.

paige dove for the phone, her face already bright red.

“i’m fucking killing myself,” she muttered, squeezing her eyes shut.

out of the corner of her eye, azzi’s gaze landed on her. she never said anything. but she smiled.

oh, jesus.

during a quick water break, azzi was sitting beside paige on the bleachers, who was untying and retying her sneaker for no real reason. nika and caroline are arguing about music again. nobody was really listening.

“god,” azzi groaned softly, scrolling through her phone. “i forgot how cursed my finsta is.”

paige, stretching her calves, froze like someone hit pause. “you have a finsta?”

azzi laughed. “unfortunately— i don’t call it that, though. more like my friends-only account,” she paused. “my friends at usc made me make one. it’s mainly me complaining about homework or pictures of my boyfriend.”

she didn’t mention the username. but paige tucked the information away in the back of her mind.

“sounds cool,” paige said casually, but her mind was already in overdrive. she knew what she’d be doing later, that’s for sure.

paige was supposed to be writing a paper. she had three tabs open for it. but none of them matter. what mattered was the list of usc mutuals she’s stalking, scanning every tagged photo of azzi from the past two years.

it took time. it took way too much time.

but eventually, she found it.

@fuddleazzi. azzi’s not-so-secret account.

private. 63 followers. the profile picture was azzi in a pair of massive ski goggles, wearing a bright smile with her dimples on display. no bio, no nothing.

paige stared at the screen for a full five minutes, thumb hovering over the follow button.

she doesn’t press it.

instead, she swiped up, into the messages app and texted nika:

p: i found azzi’s secret account and i think i deserve a metal

n: SEND ME THE @ U MANIAC

p: it’s private. should i request or would that expose me as terminally obsessed

n: baby u already dropped u phone OPEN TO HER IG. embrace ur downfall

paige groaned into her pillow.

she didn’t request.

but she did screenshot it.

and maybe saved the profile pic too.

just in case.

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers #paige x azzi #uconn wbb #pazzi #pazzi fics

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jackce · 2 days ago

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I was commissioned by a mysterious person to work on 6 Prussia themed months 🖤🤍🖤 First is February was inspired by Valentines day ofc, but the main focus is Prussia's dissolution 😭 (That's a funeral flower arrangement, he's a prisoner after WW II and has just been informed of his fate) I wrote an small one shot in case you want to read it, it's Prussia's POV (English first / Español al final):

FEBRUARY

— The celebration is not on time, true, but you still have to look presentable.

I didn't ask what was so special about celebrating Valentine's Day on the 25th, in the Soviet Union they don't even celebrate that date, they said it's because it is a capitalist invention, but if you ask me, I think it's because they don't understand what love is.

Is not like I wasn't curious while they cut my hair the way it was when I arrived, while they shaved my beard and handed me a suit that could barely hide the kilos I've lost. But I learned the hard way not to open my mouth too much, something that I'm sure everyone who knows me would have wanted impossible. Ivan is miraculous, I suppose.

— You'll receive the visit you've been waiting for, see? I'm not as bad as you think — Still, Russia seemed eager to pique my curiosity.

"He's playing with me," I tried to convince myself. But when I mentioned it to Ukraine after she brought the first decent meal in years to my cell, she reacted with joy.

— It's your brother for sure!

She doesn't know, but even though my heart twisted with joy, the hope was painful.

But two years had passed already... And even though Russia had played me in other ways, it was the first time he tried too hard to make me look presentable, as if he wanted to cover up the dealings he's been having with me. "You're the only person who has a villain role and who he can vent to," Belarus had excused him once.

I tried not to think, but I still couldn't get rid of that bad habit. I was going to show myself to someone, that was for sure. But who? Maybe it wouldn't be one of us... Maybe just a politician, or even some errand boy. But... What if it was West?

Surely my brother had been asking about me all these years, if there's one thing he has, it's that he's tireless. I'm sure he hasn't given up, I'm sure this little meeting is the fruit of his efforts, just a glance to know that I'm fine, that despite the division of my territory, that every day I'm more just a name... I'm fine.

— I'm fine, West —I murmured to the broken mirror they lent me, joining the theater that Ivan wanted so much to present. Despite everything, I didn't want to worry Ludwig... I didn't want him to see me with pity.

— Let’s go. —Russia in person came for me, and for the first time in a long time I left my cell without chains or ties to hinder me.

He took me to a dining room where three places were set, my heart tortured me again when I confirmed that it was a visit.

Ivan asked me to sit down while he went to get the guest, he knows well that I no longer try to escape, besides, I don't want to escape, not now that I'll see...

— West... —I got up as soon as I heard the door open.

But it was just Russia, his victorious smile.

“I'm so sorry, it seems he's had other more important matters... But don't worry, he sent you a present.” He was hiding something behind his back, but I could see the flowers from there.

I managed not to make any expression, neither anger, nor shame, nor sadness, I wasn't going to give him the pleasure of knowing that his stab was accurate. Braginsky didn't wait for me to say anything and showed me the decoration of lilies and chrysanthemums. It was a wreath that followed the shape of a heart, a ribbon with my name crossed through the center...

I must have lost the ability to hide my emotions, because the smile of the man in front of me widened.

The funeral arrangement could only mean one thing...

... I'm not even a name anymore.

----

FEBRERO

— La celebración se atrasó un poco, sí, pero tienes que estar presentable. No pregunté qué tenía de especial celebrar San Valentín el 25. En la Unión Soviética ni siquiera celebran esa fecha, que por qué es un invento capitalista, pero si me lo preguntan creo que es por qué no entienden lo que es el amor. No era que no sintiera curiosidad mientras me cortaban el cabello a la manera en que lo tenía cuando llegué, mientras rasuraban mi barba y me entregaban un traje que poco podría disimular los kilos que he perdido. Pero aprendí por las malas a no abrir demasiado la boca, algo que seguro todos los que me conocen habrían creído imposible. Iván es milagroso, supongo. — Recibirás la visita que tanto esperabas ¿Ves? No soy tan malo como crees — Aun así Rusia parecía ansioso por pescar mi curiosidad. "Está jugando conmigo" intenté convencerme. Pero cuando se lo mencioné a Ucrania luego de que trajera a mi celda la primer comida decente en años, ella reaccionó con felicidad. — ¡Seguro que es tu hermano! Ella no lo sabe, pero aunque mi corazón se retorció por alegría, la esperanza fue dolorosa. Pero habían pasado ya dos años... Y aunque Rusia había jugado conmigo de otras formas, era la primera vez que se esforzaba demasiado por qué yo me viera presentable, como si quisiera tapar los tratos que ha estado teniendo conmigo. "Eres la única persona que tiene un papel de villano y con quién puede desahogarse", lo había excusado Bielorrusia una vez. Intenté no pensar, pero aún no lograba quitarme esa mala costumbre. Iba a mostrarme ante alguien, eso era seguro ¿Pero quién? Tal vez no fuera con uno de nosotros... Tal vez solo un político, o incluso algún recadero. Pero... ¿Y si si era West? Seguro que mi hermano había estado preguntando por mi todos estos años, si algo tiene él es que es incansable. Seguro que no se ha rendido, seguro que está pequeña reunión es fruto de sus esfuerzos, solo un vistazo para saber que estoy bien, que a pesar de la repartición de mi territorio, que cada día soy más sólo un nombre ... Estoy bien. — Estoy bien, West —Le murmuré al espejo roto que me prestaron, uniéndome al teatro que Iván tanto quería presentar. A pesar de todo, no quería preocupar a Ludwig... No quería que me viera con lastima. — Andando —Rusia en persona vino por mi, y por primera vez en mucho tiempo salí de mi celda sin cadenas o ataduras que me entorpecieran. Me llevó hasta un comedor donde estaban puestos tres lugares, mi corazón volvió a torturarme al confirmar que se trataba de una visita. Ivan me pidió que me sentara en lo que iba por el invitado, sabe bien que ya no intento escapar, además, no quiero escapar, no ahora que veré a... — West... —Me levanté en cuanto escuché que la puerta se abría. Pero solo era Rusia, su sonrisa victoriosa. — Lo siento mucho, parece que ha tenido otros asuntos más importantes ... Pero no te preocupes, te mando un regalo —Escondía algo tras su espalda, pero podía ver las flores desde allí. Conseguí no hacer ninguna expresión, ni rabia, ni vergüenza, ni tristeza, no iba a darle el gusto de saber que su puñal fue certero. Braginski no espero a que dijera nada y me mostró el adorno de lirios y crisantemos. Era una corona de flores que seguía la forma de un corazón, un listón con mi nombre atravesado al centro... Debí haber perdido la habilidad para ocultar mis emociones, por qué la sonrisa del hombre frente a mi se amplió. El arreglo fúnebre solo podía significar una cosa... ... Ya no soy ni siquiera un nombre.

#my art #hetalia #hws prussia #aph prussia #hetalia fanart #hetalia fanfiction #fanart #fanfiction #fanfic #hetalia fanfic #oneshot #hetalia oneshot

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steveseddie · 2 days ago

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clarity

read on ao3

Steve hoped that coming here would clear some things up for him. It’s why he suggested driving to Indy and going to a queer bar when Robin said she wanted to do something fun for the weekend.

Of course, Steve told her it was so she could meet a cute girl. He never said he wanted to find a cute boy to try to figure out some things about himself. As far as she knows, he’s just being a supportive friend, that’s all.

Only now that Robin has disappeared into the dance floor with a pretty brunette, leaving Steve alone by the bar, he can stop scanning the crowd for girls that Robin might be into and start looking for guys that he might like. Because that’s the question Steve is trying to answer– whether or not he’s into guys.

A few of them catch his eye, but that doesn’t clear anything up– Steve has always been able to appreciate a hot guy when he sees one. That doesn’t mean he’s attracted to them, just that he has eyes. Or at least that’s what he thought until he asked Robin if everyone else did that. Hypothetically speaking, of course.

“I don’t,” Robin said after thinking it over for maybe two seconds.

“No?”

“Nope, like, I know what most girls find hot, but I’ll look at those guys on posters and magazines and I just think they’re– eh,” she said, sending Steve into a spiral for the rest of their shift.

Maybe that’s what he’s doing here, he thinks. Maybe those hot guys are just guys he thinks girls would like. Maybe it doesn’t say anything about him.

He has almost convinced himself of this when he makes eye contact with a guy leaning against the bar. When he smirks at Steve and starts to approach, he feels less sure about it.

He’s seen guys try to hit on Robin a few times, and he’s seen firsthand the uncomfortable and panicked reaction that comes with being approached by someone you’re not interested in at all.

That’s not what Steve is feeling right now.

He’s panicking a little, yes, but his stomach is also flip-flopping in a way that isn’t entirely unpleasant.

It reminds Steve of how he feels when he’s with–

“Hey, darling,” the guy says, sliding into the stool next to Steve’s.

The pet name throws him for a loop, and he blushes. “Hi, uh, hey.”

“First time here?” The guy asks, giving him an obvious once-over.

“Yeah, I’m here with a friend. She’s– she’s dancing.”

The guy cocks his head, grinning. “Do you want to dance too?”

“Yeah, okay.”

He lets the guy drag him to the dancefloor, lets him put his hands on his waist after guiding Steve’s arms so they wrap around his neck. They’re pushed against each other by the people moving around them, and Steve’s stomach flip-flops again when their chests and hips press together.

Maybe his plan was a good idea. This does clear some things up.

Turns out Steve is into guys. Huh.

He’s definitely into dancing with someone as tall as he is, and he’s into big hands gripping his waist and the scratch of stubble when they move closer and their cheeks press together.

He’d probably be into kissing this guy, grinding against him, dragging him back to his car for more–

Or at least he would if his mind didn’t keep drifting to someone else– the reason why, after years of blissfully ignoring this part of himself, Steve finally decided to explore it.

Eddie. And Steve’s now confirmed crush on him.

He can’t help but think about him when the guy’s warm hands sneak under his shirt, wondering if Eddie’s would feel cold because of his rings. When Steve’s hand tries to tangle in the hairs at the back of the guy’s neck, he’s a little disappointed when he doesn’t find soft, long curls to grab onto. When the guy starts to lean in, his blue eyes sparkling with interest, Steve wishes he could be staring into big brown eyes instead.

“Shit, uh, sorry, I–” Steve stammers out, placing a hand on the guy’s chest.

“Everything okay?” He asks, pulling away.

Steve brushes his hair back. “I can’t– it’s just– there’s this guy–”

“Ah, did you come here to try to forget about him?” The guy asks, he seems a little disappointed, and Steve can’t blame him for that, but at least he’s also giving him a sympathetic smile.

It’s probably what makes Steve want to tell him the truth. "No, I– I came here to try and figure out if I really like him. He’s my friend, I don’t want to hurt him if I’m just– confused, you know?”

“Are you? Confused?”

“No,” Steve says without hesitation. There’s that clarity he came looking for. “I do like him.”

“Well,” the guy says, squeezing Steve’s hip. “You should tell him that.”

With that, he walks away. Steve leaves the dance floor and heads back to the bar. His spot is no longer available, but it’s fine; he feels like getting some fresh air anyway. He scans the crowd, looking for Robin, and finds her still dancing with the same girl. When their eyes meet, Steve gestures towards the door to let her know where he’ll be, getting a thumbs up in return before her attention returns to the pretty brunette.

Shouldering his way outside, Steve steps out into an empty alley. He’s only been there for a few seconds when the door opens behind him and someone else walks out.

“Stevie!”

The flash of panic he feels at being recognized in a place like this is quickly replaced by a fluttery feeling when he recognizes the voice.

He turns around and sees Eddie, and when his breath catches in his throat as he takes him in, from the eyeliner and the cropped shirt he’s wearing to the bright smile he’s flashing at him, Steve feels a little stupid for ever doubting he was into him.

“Hey, Eds,” he says with a little finger wiggle.

“I knew it was you! I’d recognize that Farrah Fawcett hair anywhere,” he says, and Steve remembers he needs to make Henderson pay for spilling that one. “But I gotta say, Stevie, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Steve could say the same thing. Eddie might be the reason why Steve even knows about this place, but he never said he was planning to come here anytime soon. He didn’t even tell Steve he was driving to the city!

Then again, Steve didn’t say anything either.

“Well, Rob wanted to do something fun, and we remembered you mentioned this place– She’s inside, dancing with a girl.”

Eddie whistles. “Get it, Buckley!" He says, and Steve chuckles. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Did you dance too? Pretty boy like you must’ve gotten quite a few invitations,” he says with a wink that makes Steve feel warm all over.

“Oh, uh, yeah, there was this guy,” Steve says, noticing the way Eddie’s finger tightens around the pack of cigarettes in his hand. “We danced for a while until–”

“Until the guy got handsy and you had to tell him you’re straight and only here to support your lesbian friend?”

Steve thinks about the guy he danced with, the reason why he turned him down, how he urged Steve to tell Eddie, and he thinks about the jealous tilt he can hear in Eddie’s voice right now–

“That’s not the only reason why I’m here actually,” Steve says, which makes Eddie pause in the middle of lighting a cigarette. “I– I thought this was a good place to figure some things out.”

“What things?” Eddie asks, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. He realizes that the hand that’s holding the lighter is suspended mid-air and brings it to the end of the cig, flicking it and lighting it up, taking a quick drag–

Only to start coughing when Steve says, “Whether or not I’m into guys.”

“You– what?” Eddie sputters in between coughs. “Uh, I didn’t know– uh, did you– did you figure it out?”

Steve’s lips twitch at the hopeful yet cautious look on Eddie’s face. “I did.”

He takes a long drag of his cigarette. “Good, good, that’s– but you know, you didn’t have to come to Indy, Stevie. I could’ve helped,” he says before his eyes widen and he starts shaking his head frantically. “Not like– not like that! You know, like, talking since I’m into guys myself.”

Steve smiles amusedly at Eddie. It was his own feelings that Steve needed clarity on, not Eddie’s, because Eddie always wears his heart on his sleeve. Or rather, his face. Right now, he looks hopeful but a little scared, so Steve decides to make things easier for him.

Anticipation runs through him as he moves closer, pressing Eddie against the alley wall. “I couldn’t talk to you about this.”

“Um, why not?” Eddie mumbles, his eyes widening as Steve presses closer.

“Because I was also trying to figure out if I’m into you.”

Eddie curses under his breath. “And are– are you?”

Lips curling into a grin, Steve reaches for the cigarette between Eddie’s lips and puts it out against the brick wall before letting it fall to the floor.

Then he grabs hold of Eddie’s neck and surges forward, pressing their mouths together. Eddie makes a surprised noise but starts kissing back instantly, his hands settling on Steve’s waist. He shivers when the cold metal of his rings comes in contact with his skin, where Steve’s shirt rides up, much like he figured it would be like.

Steve’s hand shifts to the back of Eddie’s neck where it grabs a handful of hair, fingers tangling in the soft curls. He gives them a playful tug, angling Eddie’s head a little better so he can deepen the kiss.

When he pulls back so they can catch their breath, his gaze meets Eddie’s big, doe eyes, blown and a little darker than usual.

Steve is so glad he waited for this to be the first time he kissed a guy. For Eddie to be the first guy he ever kissed.

He’s also the second, and the third, and the fourth– and after that, Steve loses count. One kiss mingling with the next as they make out against the wall.

“Is this– did the guy you danced with– did you kiss him too? Is that how you–” Eddie mumbles between biting Steve’s lip and licking into his mouth.

“No, he was going to, but I stopped him,” Steve admits, trailing kisses down Eddie’s neck. “He was hot, but all I could think about was you– doing this with you.”

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes, and then he’s shoving Steve’s back against the brick wall, switching their positions. “Stevie– Jesus, I’ve thought about doing this for so long, sweetheart. I hoped, but I can’t believe–”

Steve shuts him up by hitching up his leg and hooking it around Eddie’s waist, pulling him closer. It brings their hips together, and he feels that Eddie is hard in his jeans. Steve isn’t far behind either.

“Motherfucker–” Eddie curses with a wounded noise when their erections brush together. “Stevie, as embarrassing as it sounds, I’m gonna cream my fucking pants if we don’t slow down.”

Eddie’s words do the opposite of what he intended. They urge Steve on, making heat pool in his stomach. He grinds against Eddie again.

“Fuck, Steve, we’re– are you sure you don’t want to– oh fuck, go somewhere else?”

Steve shakes his head. “I know you’ve hooked up here before,” he says, grabbing Eddie’s shoulders for leverage so he can keep rutting against him. “One time when we got drunk you told me and I– fuck, Eddie, I was so jealous. I thought I was just pent up and annoyed that you were getting any and I wasn’t, but– fuck, I was jealous of the guys who got to do this with you.”

“Oh my God, Steve, fuck, fuck, fuck–” Eddie gives in and tucks his face into Steve’s neck, matching the movement of his hips.

“I wanted it to be me, Eds. I wanted it to be me who jerked you off, who– who sucked you off,” he admits, tugging on Eddie’s hair, making him whine against his neck. “Fuck, Eddie. Wanted to be the one you fucked.”

It’s the last part that drags a strangled moan from Eddie and makes his hips stutter, his entire body shuddering as he comes in his jeans.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Steve,” Eddie pants as he comes down. Steve is painfully hard and twitching in his jeans so he does his best to move them so he can get friction from Eddie’s stomach without grinding against his overly sensitive dick.

“Eddie, Eds–” He moans because making Eddie come in his pants is probably the hottest thing Steve has ever done, and while the friction feels good, he needs more if he’s going to come.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, his lips brushing against Steve’s neck, pressing kisses against his pulse point.

“Touch me,” Steve pleads and feels Eddie grin.

“I got you, big boy,” he whispers, letting go of Steve’s waist and pushing one hand between them. He undoes Steve’s pants and reaches inside his underwear to pull out Steve’s cock, wrapping his fingers around it and giving it a few strokes, which are almost enough to make Steve lose his balance.

Because Eddie’s hand is big and his fingers are rough and calloused, but they move expertly, and they feel so good. Steve doesn’t think he’s going to last.

“God, Eddie, I– I’m close,” he stammers out soon enough, his voice breaking when Eddie thumbs at the slit.

“Already, sweetheart?” He asks, half-teasing and half-awed.

If Steve’s brain wasn’t melting out of his ears he’d make a bitchy comment about not coming in his jeans at least this but he can barely string two words together as it is.

“Y–yeah, please, Eds,” He whines brokenly when Eddie speeds up his hand, pleasure building up almost painfully. “Oh, fuck!” He moans as he topples over the edge, his knees buckling as he comes all over Eddie’s hand.

Eddie has Steve pinned against the brick wall, which is probably the only reason why he doesn’t collapse to the ground after his legs stop working. Resting his head back against the rough surface, he tries to catch his breath. Meanwhile, Eddie reaches into his back pocket for his bandana and uses it to clean his hand before tucking Steve back into his underwear and zipping up his pants.

It’s still blatantly obvious what the two of them were up to– their hair is sticking every which way, their faces are flushed, and their clothes are a mess, not to mention there’s a wet spot in the front of Eddie’s jeans. But at least this way, they won’t get arrested for public indecency if anyone decides to step out into the alley for a smoke. It’s already a miracle no one has walked through the door yet. They really should go before anyone does.

“We should head back inside,” Steve says, playing with a lock of Eddie’s hair.

“Er, you go ahead. I’m–” He gestures at the front of his pants, and Steve bites down on a laugh. “Hopefully I’ve got a change of clothes in the van or it’s gonna be a very uncomfortable drive home.”

“Sorry,” Steve says sheepishly.

Something hot flashes across Eddie’s face, and he cups Steve’s jaw. “Fucking worth it,” he says with a low voice and a wink.

Steve wants to kiss him again, but if he starts, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stop, and he really needs to head back inside–

“I gotta find Rob, we should be heading back too,” he says, averting his eyes from Eddie’s tempting pink lips.

“Think she got lucky too?” He says with a ridiculous eyebrow waggle.

Steve cocks his head. “Is that why you came here? To get lucky?”

Eddie shrugs, tugging a lock of hair across his face. “I thought– I figured it was a good way to get my mind off– well, you, Stevie.”

“Was it working?”

“Hell no, when I saw you, I thought I was losing my mind, that I was hallucinating you.” A laugh tumbles from his lips. “I’m not sure I ain’t hallucinating this.”

“You’re not,” Steve says, tucking the hair behind Eddie’s ear. “I really like you, Eds.”

“I really like you too,” Eddie says with a giddy smile.

“Hey, wanna come over for breakfast tomorrow? Rob will be there, but she’ll probably want to sleep off her hangover, so we could–” He grabs the hem of Eddie’s cropped shirt, trailing off.

“Sure, sweetheart. I’ll come over,” Eddie says, giving Steve a short kiss. “Now go find Birdie. I’ll see you back home.”

“Bye, Eds.”

Steve watches the way he awkwardly waggles towards the street, laughing to himself, before heading back inside.

Where he bumps right into Robin.

“Dingus! Guess what? I kissed a girl!” She says, aggressively shaking Steve’s shoulders. “A girl kissed me!”

Grinning, Steve offers his hand for a high five. Then he blurts out, “I kissed a guy! Hooked up with him actually.”

Robin’s eyes nearly bulge out of her head. “You– what?”

“It’s Eddie!” He says, and her eyes grow impossibly bigger. "Also, we might be dating now."

At that, her jaw goes slack. She gawks at him before her face scrunches up. “I can’t believe you’ve been gay for five minutes and you’re already better at this than I am. Ugh!” Grabbing Steve’s hand, she starts pulling him towards the exit. “We’re leaving, dingus,” she says, “I need all the details.”

Steve sniggers. It’s a good thing that the drive back to Hawkins is two hours long.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddiebingospring #stranger things #stranger things fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #monse writes

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onlyancunin · 3 days ago

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I think we're talking about the same thing perhaps, but from different angles then.

Armchair diagnosis refer to someone with no degree nor qualifications attempting to "diagnose", a.k.a. say they see somebody display behaviors commonly understood as part of a certain condition, in my understanding.

And this itself is not a problem, in my opinion, it's what happens after. They say that just by doing so we're throwing the people behind the diagnosis - either diagnosed by a proper professional or just assumed-diagnosed for the purpose of giving their therapy/pharmacology a direction - under the bus.

Which implies: somebody thinks Trump is NPD -> all people with NPD are like Trump. But it can happen only if there's an understanding that NPD equals being an asshole.

So my point is that saying all "armchair diagnosis" is bad because some people don't get the nuance of the diagnosis being just a part of someone, not the whole picture & explanation, is a blanket statement.

So - I don't think it's the "diagnosing" that's the problem, it's the stigmatizing of the certain conditions. Because then we also come to situation when people start thinking "he's an asshole, therefore he must be NPD".

Maybe it's too deep of looking at the thing? But I've both been accused for being "albeist" by pointing out somebody displays certain potentially diagnoseable behaviors (even if I didn't use this as an excuse) AND been vilified and have my own diagnosises thrown in my face in an attempt to invalidate my opinions or feelings. And this is all the same root problem the way I see it, which is seeing cluster B personality disorders and/or mental illnesses as invalidating, people-breaking and dangerous.

I think there's space for understanding where someone is coming from without it being an excuse, which is another thing I see happening often. An explanation is not an excuse, again, it's just a map on how to navigate certain situations.

And in case of Trump... There's even more to that. Once I've learned of his father complex he has, with his father being a successful businessman and Donald growing up in his shadow, and desperately grasping at grand projects to "prove himself" - his behavior starts making even more sense. Not because its justified, but because it can be explained. He, to this day, keeps on repeating how he does things Biden would not. He strives for acceptance of billionaires, like his father, to heal his own wound. Do I think his behavior is damaging? Absolutely. Do I think his behavior is justified? ABSOLUTELY NOT. But it is interesting to me to observe where it comes from, also for the purpose of knowing how to prevent this happening in the future.

I'd say it's part of an even bigger picture, with the male loneliness also entering the stage.

So does that maybe make it more clean?

I understand OP wants to do the "just because someobe has this mental illness doesn't mean others with the same diagnosises are like them", but people attempting to understand even the worst people in history are not the issue, and this is what their post seems to suggest.

It's the stigmatizing and flattening what the mental disorders/illnesses actually are, which works both ways. Just covering someone's mouth is fighting the symptoms, which is also important, but There's more to that.

And by the way thank you for stating rhat you're not here to attack me, and please know I'm not here to attack you either. I want to insert more perspective into this, because I've seen the "armchair diagnosis" term used as a stick to beat up everyone, no matter the context. I remember you, I know your blog and I enjoy your presence on my dash and I hope we can continue with being friendly to one another.

Which brings up another thing - do we cater to people unable to distinguish between the diagnosis and the person?

I feel like I'm about to get hit with the "its not that complicated" argument - and I can see why. But it's also not that simple and I've experienced the effects of it being oversimplified.

So no, I don't think spotting patterns of behaviors or even bringing it up is bad. But leaving it at that can be harmful, and at the very least unproductive.

And I think I said my peace with that, iI'm not here to upset anybody. I just want us to see the real root of the problem. And approach it with more empathy, than going black and white on an issue. Which again I don't mean it as my take is superior... Just explaining my reasons for chiming in.

It’s weird that we keep trying to armchair diagnose asshole behaviour with mental health labels and in doing so throw people with mental health conditions under the asshole bus when we could just call a guy an asshole and leave it at that

It just seems far more straightforward, you know

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hheonki · 1 day ago

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ೀ C U GIRL (／＼)

I wanna see you girl I wanna please you girl

Alternatively: Behind the facade of rivalry, You and your bf share a secret romance—full of teasing, stolen moments, and the constant fear of getting caught in school wherein everyone believes you two can’t stand each other.

정원 x gn! reader ✦ est. secret relationship, academic rivals ★ 1.1k ✴︎ oneshot ☘︎ fluff, crack, close proximity, one curse word, Jungwon in love, playful teasing (as kids till now, still dumb)

notiza: lwk inspired by les - childish gambino but steve lacy also works me thinks

The whole school knew the rivalry between you two, but not the kisses and the sweet nothings easily spilling from your mouths, that you shared secretly.

Yang Jungwon did not care if the other students found out about your relationship, he seemed to always be in your space bubble.

More under the cut!

No matter how persistently you told him

“We can't get caught”

He would tune it out and gaze mischievously at your face as he brings up his hands to hold up your cheeks with gentleness and warmth.

Gazing with fondness and adoration as if you'd hung the stars in the sky. Introducing a new world that was once so unknown to him. Now filled with love, affection, tenderness, and soft intimacy.

Even in the classroom as the teacher in the front lecturers about Trigonometric Graphs, sitting across from you, he tries to peep toward your way, only to catch you already staring.

No matter how many times this has already happened it never seemed to change, ending with the both of you flustered and trying to concentrate on the lesson.

After classes, he whisks you away to an empty classroom. Confused, you ask “Aren't you supposed to meet up with your friends?”

“I'll meet up with them after school” Jungwon answers nonchalantly, peeking at you from time to time.

Absent-mindedly, you said “Oh well.. I'm going to work on my homework we got in the morning”.

Taking a seat on the first chair in sight you pulled out your materials.

A pout made itself evident on the boy's face, which seemed to give away he wasn't surprised by your actions.

“You seriously amaze me, everytime I pull you away from everyone's sight, you start doing school stuff”.

Glancing up at him, you squint your eyes, “I mean, what else do you want me to do?” and muttered “What if we get caught while being all lovey dovey, everyone believes we dislike each other..”

“And why's that?” asked the boy with feline like eyes. “We both know it started because of you” with a deadpan expression on your face you simply objected to his challenging question.

“What?” Jungwon drags out the question in disbelief with a frown adoring his face, a hand on his chest in mock offence.

you let out a sigh just at the thought of how annoying he was (still is).

“You would literally poke me for attention only to annoy me about how you got only one mark higher than me on your results.”

“Yeah but there was no need to kick me after!”

“Yes there was! you'd always pull my hair!”

Jungwons shoulder slumped as he took a trip down memory lane when he used to sit a seat behind you and pull at your hair, in hopes of getting your attention.

he had to admit he was glad he did so, or else he wouldn't call himself your friend and now boyfriend.

“Okay fine.. but that's what brought us together!”

He tried to convince you with an innocent look.

“You're so weird” you say with an amused laugh.

“But you like my weirdness”

“right” He challenged more than asked as he leaned over the desk to gaze down at your eyes, that he swore sparkle like the stars.

his trance wandered down to your plump lips, that called for him. The tension grew, the two of you however, quiet. As he leaned in, a sudden knock came from the classroom door.

Jungwons whole body stiffened as he stood straight like a pencil. “We should hide”

“Should we?” another knock “Hello is someone in there?” which sounded like a teacher's voice that was all too familiar.

"We should!" you whisper yell anxiously.

you grab your things to somehow hide them in the art supply cabinet. Jungwon pulls you from your waist “forget those”

“But-” you mutter but essentially give up after he drags you away “No buts babe now isn't the time..”

You hide inside the classroom storage that was usually filled with the old supplies covered in dust long forgotten but is somehow empty and clean now, which managed to fit you both as Jungwon pulled you closer toward his body.

“You alright?” he asks in a quiet tone.

"Yeah.." you could feel his shaky breath on your neck that sends goosebumps up your spine.

The classroom door opened with a ‘click’.

Footsteps seemed to near the storage, as you both looked at each other nervously but suddenly a booming voice was heard throughout the hallway which meant it was a group of rowdy friends.

The strides of the teacher became distant.

Which made you both let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

“That scared the shit out of me..”

as you looked at him he seemed to hold in his laughter, with a smack on his chest he finally burst out laughing. “Ow- What was that for?”

“We could have gotten caught!” with another smack on his arm, you try to pull away from his grip. “Yeah and we didn't, relax..” Jungwon’s hold on you only seems to tighten as you finally give in.

Leaning his head against your shoulder he inhales your scent, mumbling as suddenly a gloomy look adorned his face “I don't get why we have to keep our relationship a secret, not like we're committing a crime”

“I know.. it's just-” deep in thought you try to convey it the best way with words hoping he will understand “Even we are so used to us being..” ”opponents?” you roll your eyes at his words

“If you wanna put it like that, sure”.

His hands make their way to your cheeks tilting your head at an angle so your eyes lock as he gazes at every speck on your face “You know I love you?”

at his question you nod your head, snaking your hands over his.

“Then trust me” Jungwon utters in the softest tone possible, “We shouldn't care what others say, and that pretty head of yours is stressing to much”

both of you inch closer and his lips brush over yours as he eventually places tender kisses against the corner of your mouth before finally capturing your lips in a saccharine kiss hinting at a taste of the cherry airhead he ate earlier.

One of his hands trailed down to hold your waist, as if it was any more possible to be closer than already.

Your lungs felt like they might give up, so you tried to pull away to catch your breath but Jungwon had no intention to stop anytime soon.

With a poke to his chest, Jungwon laughs as he let's go, only for you to huff breathlessly,

“You sure you can't stay underwater for 20 minutes?” with a raised brow he was ready to tease you, “Can't handle a few kisses from your oh so loving boyfriend?”

“Oh my gosh, you're so annoying!”

you remark with no true malice underlying your tone while opening the door to the storage room, only to leave him behind trailing like a kicked kitty.

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formulaonecrumbs · 1 day ago

Note

ok, so this is my first time requesting ever so... if you could write something about younger brother lando (around 8 yo) being made fun of at school and older sisster reader comforting him (i'm talking about your older sister au ) if you don't write it it's completely fine just wanna say i really love you wrok 💗

you’re too cool for them

Lando Norris x older sister!reader

summary: lando comes home upset after being made fun of at school. reader finds him and comforts him in the way only an older sister can.

warnings: bullying mention, protective older sister energy

A/N: AHHH im glad i could be ur first request ever :) hope it lives up to wiat u expected. thank u sm, baby. i was going to make this much longer but i’ve been writing for like 4 maybe 5 hours straight WHOOPS. again thank u for the request, happy reading and i love u ❤️

༻ ❤︎︎ ༺

home film #11 (out of a gazillion)- found in a cardboard box labelled ‘memories’

(recorded: norris family home, bristol)

timestamp: 3:03 pm 11-15-2007

the clip starts mid-focus, camera pointed at the hallway, picking up footsteps—quick ones, heavy ones—and then the slam of the front door. lando rushes in, head down, backpack nearly falling off his shoulders. it’s raining outside, his socks are slightly damp, and he doesn’t even say hi.

the camera shakes as someone picks it up—adam’s voice murmurs something about “what’s got into him?” before the screen cuts to the living room.

you’re already there, curled up on the couch with a snack and a book, still in your school uniform. you barely look up until lando stomps through, dropping his bag with a thud.

“lando?” you ask.

he doesn’t answer. he just mumbles something under his breath and disappears into the hallway.

cut.

the next shot is more still. you’re holding the camcorder now, awkwardly pointing it at yourself like you’re not sure if you’re allowed to use it. the angle shifts wildly before settling just outside your bedroom.

you knock once, gently. “hey.”

no response.

“i know you’re in there.”

a sniffle.

your voice much softer now, “bean? can i come in?”

a beat. then, a quiet little “yeah.”

the video cuts again, and when it comes back, you’ve set the camera on your desk. it’s angled slightly crooked, catching you and lando sitting on your bed. he’s curled up, knees to his chest, eyes red and puffy.

“they said my teeth are weird.. that the gap is ugly,” he says quietly. “and that my voice is squeaky. and that i’m too short.”

you blink, something in your face hardening—not at him, but at the thought of whoever said it (murder is wrong murdering is wrong murder is wrong murder is wrong). “that’s stupid.”

lando shrugs, trying to act like he doesn’t care. “it’s true though.”

you shake your head. “your voice is fine. everyone’s voice is squeaky at eight. and your teeth are just your baby teeth. they’re perfect as is, sweet like dads. and being short doesn’t matter.”

“easy for you to say.”

you nudge his knee gently. “hey. i get picked on too sometimes. for different stuff. people are mean when they’re bored.”

lando doesn’t reply. just looks down again, and you reach over, pulling his hoodie hood up over his head.

“you’re cool,” you say firmly. “you’re funny, and you’re smart. you’re literally my favorite person.”

he peeks up at you.

“really?”

“yes, really. don’t tell the others.” you smile. “now do you want me to punch them or what?”

lando giggles for the first time.

“maybe.”

you wrap an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a sideways hug. “just ignore them, alright? or tell me. i’ll handle it.”

he leans into you, sniffling again, but this time a little softer.

the video fades out just as you toss him one of your stuffed animals and say, “you’re cooler than all of them. trust me.”

fade to black.

THE END :>

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marauder-misprint · 2 days ago

Note

Hey! I had a Sirius x reader request where the reader is James sister and in a secret relationship with Sirius and the marauders are trying to guess who Sirius’s secret girlfriend is and Sirius is just like “you know her VERY well” and ofc James flips out when he finds out LOL

Hi! Thank you for this request! ❤︎ I love love love a good fluffy piece. Lowkey oblivious Sirius, but let's be real - when aren't boys oblivious?

Hope y'all enjoy ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

'Acceptable company'

Sirius Black x Potter!reader

3.5k words

cw: fluff, secret relationship, pining if you squint

You didn’t mean to fall for Sirius Black. It’s embarrassing, really. Predictable. Your older brother’s best friend? Of course he’s the one who makes your heart flutter. You tried to ignore it, push the feelings down so far that maybe they’d just vanish.

They did not.

Sirius also didn’t mean to fall for you. He didn’t realize he was falling for you until he was in too deep. In his defense, when you arrived at Hogwarts and got sorted into Gryffindor, his first thought was ‘Oh, sweet, another Potter!’

For the first few years, you’d occasionally enter Sirius’ orbit. James would complain about how annoying you were, but Sirius never saw it. You were alright. You would give him a small smile while waiting for James to get you whatever you had requested. Sometimes you’d ask Remus for help on homework when Lily was busy; Sirius thought it was amusing that you refused to ask James for help. And until he joined the quidditch team himself, you sat with Sirius in the stands during matches and practices. You offered him your snacks and sounded like James when you spouted quidditch facts and critiqued the team’s form. Even when Sirius visited the Potter’s home during the summer months, you didn’t hang around him and James much.

Sirius didn’t know what to do with himself when he found himself wishing you would hang around them. When he started looking for you in the stands at his quidditch games and practices. When he suddenly offered to help you with an assignment because Lily and Remus had prefect duties. When he got uncharacteristically upset when you got your first boyfriend. When he realized that he was upset because it wasn’t him.

Luckily for Sirius, it didn’t last. Something about you not giving him enough of your time. You ranted about it in the common room. Loudly. Sirius could recall you saying, “Merlin forbid a girl has friends. And friends that I don’t have any classes with! Sorry I don’t want to eat dinner with him every evening!” James gave you your space despite his muttered threats about this boy.

That night Sirius couldn’t sleep. So he did what everyone does when they can’t sleep: he went to sit by the fire in the common room. And by chance, you were already sitting on the couch, legs tucked underneath you, as you stared into the dancing flames.

“Am I acceptable company?” Sirius asked, standing off to the side.

“Why wouldn’t you be?” you responded. You didn’t even look away from the fire.

He sat down on the other side of the couch before casting a wary glance your way.

“Maybe you have a vendetta against all blokes now. Dunno.”

You gave a dry laugh. “No. Just against gits.”

“Hmm, surprised I don’t qualify for that.” Sirius would be an idiot if he didn’t know that he could use some work on himself.

“Yeah… well… I have nothing against you.”

With your gaze set on the fire, Sirius took the opportunity to watch you. Because why had he been so happy to know that you broke up with that boy? Why had his heart skipped a beat when he saw you sitting by the fire in the deserted common room? Why did he want to smile when you said you have nothing against him? Coming to terms with how much he liked you was more difficult than he’d ever admit.

“I can feel you staring, Sirius.”

“‘M not,” Sirius said, immediately looking at the fire.

You sighed and turned your body so you could face Sirius. He looked back at you, his body still facing forward.

“I know I’m not wrong for wanting to be my own person. I’m not a… a… a thing to be flaunted,” you said, sounding and looking frustrated.

Sirius nodded. “Right.”

“And Sam couldn’t accept that. That’s on him. Not me.” You paused and your expression shifted. “Right?”

“Yes. Some blokes are a bit dense.”

You sighed. Then you fell forward, resting your forehead against the side of his shoulder. He gave you a slightly confused look.

“Are you alright?” You mumbled something into his shoulder. “You know I didn’t understand that.”

With a dramatic sigh, you sat up, but only to move closer to Sirius so you could rest your head on his shoulder without blocking your face.

“Getting there. I’m getting there.”

You sat like that for a while, neither of you saying anything. When you were ready, you thanked Sirius and then went to bed. He sat there for a little bit longer before heading back up to his dorm. He wanted the moment to have lasted longer. Sitting in that easy silence with you was something else.

For a few days, you regretted that night in the common room. Your brain was telling you that you had been too much, an annoying little sister who put Sirius in an uncomfortable position. You should’ve just let him stare and not said anything. Now that you’ve made him uncomfortable, you can tell that he’s avoiding your gaze whenever you’re near each other. Before, when you’d make eye contact with him across the room, you would exchange polite smiles. There was an acknowledgement. Not anymore. He won’t meet your eyes.

You needed to apologize for it, tell him not to worry about you. You’d find him after quidditch practice. You would keep it casual. Because you were James’ cool, confident, easy-going little sister. Not an annoying one.

Like usual, you watched the practice from the stands. You tried to watch all of the players equally, but you kept returning to Sirius. His flying was sloppy and he was missing easy hits. He was obviously distracted and Jame was biting his head off for it. It felt like the practice dragged on forever. But when it was done, you lingered just out of sight of the locker room door. You knew you had to ambush Sirius to get him to talk to you; the only thing that would prevent him from listening to you would be if James walked back with him. Maybe it was good that Sirius was distracted during practice – he wouldn’t want to leave with the guy who yelled at him for like ten minutes straight while on a broom.

You listened as the door opened and closed. James left with Marlene, both ranting about how the practice wasn’t their best work. Perfect. With James gone, you waited a little closer to the door. The seeker left, followed by the other beater, the keeper and the last chaser. Sirius was the last one. You waited for about five minutes before you started getting nervous. You had to keep your wits about you.

You opened the locker room door and knocked on it loudly, to announce your presence.

“Sirius?” you called, looking around.

“What?” he snapped from around the corner.

“Can we talk?”

He peeked his head around the corner, hair dripping and not wearing a shirt.

“Potter? Shit, what are you doing in here?” he asked, his voice suddenly much nicer and almost nervous.

“I was waiting for you,” you said. “Should I go back outside?”

“Um, no, just give me one minute.”

You sat down on the bench in between the rows of lockers and fidgeted with your fingers. You could hear Sirius muttering to himself but the only things you could make out were swears. When he came around the corner, he was wearing pants and pulling a shirt over his head.

“What’s up? Everything okay?” he asked, standing in front of you.

“I, erm, I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable the other night. I’m good. Fine.” You nodded with a small smile on your lips.

Sirius furrowed his brows in confusion. “What made you think I was uncomfortable?”

He didn’t think he had shifted at all when you had your head on his shoulder. Maybe you mistook the quiet as awkwardness, rather than the easiness he felt.

“Oh, um, you haven’t been able to look at me?” Your throat tensed. “Kind of felt like you were avoiding me.”

Sirius nervously rubbed the back of his neck and looked away from you. “I have been avoiding you, but-” He clicked his tongue. “-not because I was uncomfortable.”

“Then why?”

“Because I was comfortable.” You tilted your head in confusion. “Too comfortable.”

“Okay?”

You weren’t getting it. Why was him being comfortable around you a bad thing? Why did it make him avoid you?

“Godric… screw it! Every time I look at you, I want to kiss you. I want to treat you how you deserve to be treated, so much better than how that git treated you. But I can’t ‘cause you’re James’ sister.”

You stared up at him with wide eyes. Oh. You stood up, making Sirius take a step backwards. He thought you were going to slap him. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your pounding heart.

“What if… I wanted you to kiss me?” Your heart was trying to escape out your throat. “We could just not tell James.”

“Not tell James…” he repeated. His eyes flicked between your eyes and your lips.

You took a step toward Sirius and he didn’t take a step back. Instead, he gently took your face in his hands and kissed you. It was soft and gentle and you wasted no time in kissing him back. You were about to thread your fingers through his hair when he pulled back.

“Are you sure?” he asked breathlessly.

“Yes.”

Not telling James ended up becoming not telling anyone. It was too risky. If you told anyone, how could you guarantee that they wouldn’t tell him?

In public, you were just James’ little sister and his best friend. Polite. Cordial. Sharing smiles and eye rolls from across the room. In the privacy of the common room late at night, when you knew his dorm would be empty, in random broom closets, in unused classrooms and the locker room after quidditch practices, you were more than friends. It was more than snogging too. He would read to you. You would bring snacks and have a makeshift picnic. You would sit next to each other, talking about your day and anything else on your mind. But yes, there was snogging.

You were doing a good job at keeping it secret. At least, good enough. Your friends caught on pretty quickly that you had a new someone – it was the only explanation of where you were disappearing to so often and how smiley you were when you returned. Sirius was proud of himself for keeping it from James, given that they had the map. He made sure that he had it with him whenever he was meeting up with you. Remus was the only one who seemed suspicious of his keeping the map so close, but he didn’t say anything.

But then one night after quidditch practice and a heated session with you, Sirius tied his hair up before heading up to his dorm. You had made a good habit of returning to the common room at different times after practice to prevent any rumors. So you weren’t with him to see that you had left a mark. Well, several marks along his neck.

“Merlin’s balls, Padfoot!” Remus gasped when he walked through the door.

“What?” Sirius asked, not looking at Remus.

“Did you get attacked by a colony of leeches?” he asked, now attempting to stifle his laughter as Sirius’ hand flew to his neck.

He forced a laugh. “Something like that.”

“Who is it?” James asked, sitting up a little straighter on his bed.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Sirius answered.

“Hiding his latest conquest… That’s new,” Remus muttered, turning back to homework although he was smirking.

“Yeah, since when don’t you tell us who you’re snogging?” Peter asked.

Sirius put his stuff away in his trunk and got out his own homework. “Since she asked me not to.”

James and Peter exchanged a look that Sirius chose to ignore. He wanted them to drop the topic. If they asked him to describe the girl, it would only take so long before they put two and two together. They did drop it. For that night.

The next day, walking to class, Remus asked, “So who is it?”

“Huh?”

“The girl giving you hickeys.”

“Told you last night. I’m not saying.”

“Ah, come on, Padfoot. It’s just me.”

Sirius shook his head. “Mate, drop it. I’m not telling you.”

“You’ve always told us who you’re with. Never had any shame in it. Why you getting all shy with it now?”

“I said drop it. She asked me not to tell you and… I like her. So I’m not going to tell you anything until she wants to.”

Sirius quickened his pace to get to class, leaving Remus behind. He watched him go with a curious expression on his face. Sirius usually bragged about who he took into broom closets, but he was being protective of this girl and that only made Remus want to know more.

The boys badgered Sirius about his mystery girlfriend more than your friends did with you. It went on for weeks after that night with the hickeys. Whenever Sirius came back to the dorm alone, various questions were launched at him.

“Same girl?” “Any visible hickeys?” “How far you’d get?” “Where’d you snog? The greenhouses? Quidditch pitch? Back of the library?” “What’s she like?”

Sirius brushed them off every time. He wasn’t going to give them anything, but that seemed to egg them on. They were determined to find out who it was. One evening, they started asking Sirius about the girl in the common room.

“Alright, Sirius, is she a Slytherin? Is that you’re so secretive about it?” Peter asked, shoving his Potions homework away from him.

Sirius didn’t answer.

“Is she in our year? Older? Younger?” James asked. More silence from Sirius.

“Ah, give us something,” Remus begged. “You’ve been seeing her for weeks and you’ve told us nothing!”

You entered the common room and Peter, James and Remus’ voices reached your ears. They weren’t being quiet with their interrogation of Sirius. So, naturally, you walked over to them.

“You’re being loud,” you said matter-of-factly.

“We have reason,” James said with an eye roll.

“And that reason is…”

He sighed. “Sirius here has been seeing this girl for weeks and he won’t tell us who it is. He won’t even describe her.”

You smirked and turned toward Sirius, who was already looking at you with a rehearsed neutral look on his face.

“Aw, that’s kind of cute. But come on, Sirius. It’s just the boys,” you said, gesturing to them. “Give ‘em something to get them off your back.”

Sirius swallowed thickly. You had just given him permission to say something. He tried to cover his shock with an exaggerated sigh.

“Fine.” He looked around the group, trying to figure out what to say. “Ah, got it. You lot know her very well.”

“Oh, that narrows it down,” you laughed, turning to leave the group, but you didn’t go far. You picked a spot on the couch nearby and took out your Charms book. You wanted to eavesdrop.

“That’s rubbish!” Peter exclaimed. “We know a lot of people!”

“It’s not rubbish,” Sirius defended with crossed arms. “I just eliminated practically all of the Slytherins.”

“And a fair amount of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs,” Remus added. James and Peter gave him stern looks. “What? He said we know her very well. We know eagles and badgers, but I wouldn’t say we know them all that well.”

“So she’s a Gryffindor?” James asked, turning his attention back to Sirius.

He gave him no answer. Not even a facial expression.

“I think we can assume that much,” Remus said. “And it’s certainly not Lily. I know that much.”

“How?” James asked.

“Been studying with her when Padfoot returns from his rendezvous.”

“She can’t be more than a year on either side of us,” Peter said. “Younger they get, the more scared of us they are.”

“Valid,” James said with a solemn nod.

Sirius just rolled his eyes. He didn’t know if he could relax, but he needed to have a relaxed air about him. He stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned backwards, supporting himself with straight arms.

“Right, so that leaves us with what, twelve girls? We can narrow it down,” James said after mentally counting the girls in their year, the year above and year below. “We’ve already checked off Lily and we can check off my sister and Marlene.”

You hid behind your book so the boys couldn’t see your smile if they looked over at you. James dismissed you as an option right off the bat. They would never get it right at this rate.

“Cross off anyone he’s already been with. There’d be no point hiding it from us if they’ve done it before,” Remus said, waving a hand at James.

Sirius snuck a worried glance your way. He thought his hint was clever, but his friends were going to run through the girls quickly. And once they did, they’d have to go back over the list. There was no telling if they’d come to the conclusion that it was you. You flexed your eyebrows. He needed to turn back around.

You found it amusing as the boys tossed around names and found each one not feeling right. Sirius looked more or less mortified. He lost his relaxed air when he looked at you and couldn’t get it back. It was only getting worse as they moved on from girl to girl and then started renaming girls.

“We’ve listed everyone,” Peter said, sounding defeated. “Are we sure that he didn’t fall into the lake and is just too proud to tell us?”

“Why would he be by the lake after quidditch practice?” James sighed.

Something about what James said made something click in Remus’ head. After quidditch practice. He looked at you, at first with wide eyes of realization and then the wicked smirk of someone about to unleash hell.

“I know who it is,” Remus said firmly, not looking away from you.

All three boys looked at Remus, and then they followed his gaze to you. Sirius went pale. James turned red. And Peter laughed.

“Oh, that’s rich.”

“We do know her quite well,” Remus said.

“Padfoot,” James growled. “For the love of Merlin, tell me that Remus is wrong.”

You looked up slowly. You knew they were looking at you. You heard it go down.

“I can’t,” Sirius said in a small voice.

“At least he had a good reason for not telling us,” Peter said between fits of laughter.

“Yeah, Wormtail? What’s his reason?” Remus asked, clearly enjoying the building tension between James and Sirius.

“He loves his life. Because Prongs is going to murder him.”

“My bloody sister? You are mental?” James yelled, jumping up.

Sirius immediately mirrored him. “Maybe, yeah.”

James turned on you. “You! What do you have to say about this?”

You hummed and flipped a page in your book, as if you were disinterested in their conversation, as if it didn’t completely concern you.

“What the others say is true: he’s good at snogging.”

Sirius broke into a stupid smile because that answer was so you. A little bit of sass to your brother. It was also a compliment to him. James, however, did not like that answer as he turned a darker shade of red.

“I… argh! That’s my little sister!” James shouted at Sirius, and then turning back to you, “My goddamn best friend? Could you have chosen anyone else?”

Still feeling unbothered, you leaned forward and looked at Remus. “Remus is kind of cute.”

“Oi!” Sirius said.

“I said kind of!”

“Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!” James roared.

He glared at you and then at Sirius before storming off to their dorm. You broke into your fit of laughter when he started up the stairs.

“I think he took that well.”

“So, you’re really… together?” Remus asked, watching Sirius run a hand down his face as he stared at the stairs James disappeared up.

You nodded. “When you’d figure out Sirius was seeing someone?”

“Few weeks ago. You left a mark.”

You tilted your head in slight confusion. You left marks on Sirius before only a few weeks ago.

“Oh, he put his hair up.”

“Ah,” you said. Then you looked at Sirius. “He’ll get over it. Let him cool down and come to terms with it. You’ll be fine.”

“He’s pretty pissed,” Sirius said, voice low.

“For now. He’ll get over it.”

“He’s pissed at me.”

“Mate, relax. She’s right. He blows up, but he always cools down,” Remus said.

“Yeah… right…” Sirius muttered before collapsing on the couch next to you. “At least I can kiss you in public now.”

“That’s what you’re excited about? I can’t wait to go on a real date-date with you.”

“Oh, gross… Maybe they should’ve kept it a secret,” Peter said to Remus.

tags: @navs-bhat, @bruxa0007

#marauders #marauders fic #marauder-misprint #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black fluff #request #potter!reader

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hyunjincanraptoo · 1 day ago

Text

Escape... to Rio- H.HJ

So, I promised myself that I wouldn't write for skz in my country cause I'm already delulu af but after seeing my boys in Brazil... I kinda had to. And I know Brazil isn't just Rio but it's a city I really want to meet one day. Also, I was going to post this fic in 2 weeks on my bday but it's done and I felt bad for not posting anything these days so, here it is.

A special shout out to my beautiful friend @jehhskz. Thanks for giving me ideas for the dancing scene. At least in the fanfic we can dream hahah

Note: I made a summary with references to Brazil and words in Portuguese. It's linked in each of them. Hope it helps 😊

Word count: 6.3k (2.1k is smut 🤭)

Warnings: smut

Alexa, play So Good by Hyunjin (this song is 🔥)

Rio at night had a different kind of magic. The air carried the scent of grilled meat and the sea breeze, music spilled from every open doorway, and the streets pulsed with laughter and warmth. Hyunjin had been here for only a few days, but he was already spellbound.

He hadn't planned on stumbling into this bar tonight. It was one of those small, modest places tucked into the corner of a lively street, the kind that promised cheap drinks, good music, and a night worth of remembering. He barely noticed the neon glow of the sign when he stepped inside cause his focus had immediately been drawn elsewhere:

You.

You were on the tiny stage, a mic in hand, singing in a language he didn’t fully understand, but it didn’t matter. Your voice wrapped around the room like honey, drawing everyone in. Including him— especially him.

He didn’t mean to take so many pictures, but his fingers moved on instinct, capturing every shift of light on your face, every flicker of emotion in your eyes. He didn’t even realize how many shots he had taken until you finished your set and the applauses died down. And then, suddenly, you were walking toward him.

You approached with a confident stride, amusement glinting in your eyes. At first, you spoke in Portuguese, words he quite recognized but couldn’t string together fast enough.

"O-oi…?", he fumbled, the greeting coming out uncertain.

You tilted your head, "Hum?".

Still lost, he opened his mouth, but you cut in smoothly, switching to English with a teasing smile dancing on your lips, "Will you ever talk to me, or are you just going to keep taking pictures like a creep?".

His face burned instantly, "I… I'm sorry! I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable". He stumbled over his words, rubbing the back of his neck as he laughed in embarrassment, "Your performance was beautiful. I just… wanted to remember it".

You slid into the empty seat across from him, "Let me see”.

Hyunjin hesitated for half a second before handing over his camera. He watched as you looked through the photos, your expression shifting between intrigue and amusement.

"You’re really good at this”, you admitted, looking up, "But I still think you like me too much".

He choked on his own breath, "W-what?!".

You laughed, eyes twinkling under the bar soft lights, "Just saying. You’ve got, like, thirty pictures of me in here".

He had no argument for that. Instead, he grabbed his drink and took a hurried sip, only to wince as the alcohol hit his tongue, "Oh my god, that’s strong!"

"It’s cachaça. Strong, but good".

You waved down a waiter, ordering a round of caipirinhas. Hyunjin had heard about them but never tried one. When the drinks arrived, he took a sip and immediately blinked in surprise, "Wow. That hits harder than I thought".

You grinned, "Told you…"

He looked at you,eyes wide— apparently, you had no idea who he was. “Hyunjin. Hwang Hyunjin”

“Nice to meet you, Hyunjin. I’m Yn”.

“Yn”, your name rolled off his tongue like it was something holy.

“Where are you from, Hyunjin?”

“South Korea”

“Wow! You’re far from home… Anyway, welcome to Brazil”.

The conversation flowed easily from there, laughter between sips of caipirinha and small bites of snacks. Hyunjin had never felt this at ease with someone he just met, but something about you— your energy, your presence— drew him in like a tide, unstoppable and sure.

At some point in the night, you leaned in slightly, eyes holding his as you smirked., "You know what, Hyunjin? I’m starting to like you"

And just like that, he was completely lost in you.

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°

Days passed, and you and Hyunjin became inseparable, like the sun and the sea. Everywhere you went, he was by your side, wide eyed and eager, taking in every new experience with a mix of curiosity and wonder.

One afternoon, you took him to the Leme Beach— a stretch of golden sand where the waves kissed the shore in a healing rhythm. Hyunjin was used to being busy, constantly moving, constantly expected to be somewhere doing something.

But there, under the Brazilian sun, you taught him how to do nothing. How to stretch out on a beach towel and let the ocean breeze carry his worries away.

How to sip on fresh coconut water directly from the coconut and let the salt of the ocean cling to his skin. How to enjoy a cold and sweet açai bowl, to let the deep purple stain his lips as he unworriedly hummed in delight.

"This is my new favorite thing", he declared, spooning another bite into his mouth, "I swear, I could live off this".

You laughed, "Just wait till I take you to eat real homemade Brazilian food".

Later that day, you brought him to a cozy restaurant owned by a family, a place that smelled like the aroma of spices and homemade meals. The plates came full, steaming with feijoada, rice, farofa, and manioc fries. Hyunjin was in heaven. That is, until he took too big of a spoonful of farofa and nearly choked.

"Oh my god…", he coughed, reaching for his drink as you tried, and failed, to hold back laughter. "Why is this thing so dry?!"

"You have to mix it with the beans, rookie".

Despite the near death experience, he finished every bite, sighing in satisfaction while rubbing his full belly, "I think I love Brazilian food".

That night, you took him somewhere different— one of those small corner bars, where the music was loud, the beer was cold, and the air was filled with the scent of fried snacks and laughter. Hyunjin didn’t know the song playing, but he knew it made him want to move. So when you grabbed his hand and pulled him to dance, he didn’t resist.

"I don’t know how to dance like this", he admitted, glancing around at the swaying bodies.

"It's called funk. I’ll teach you. Just follow me”.

He stumbled at first, his movements stiff and unsure. But then he caught on— especially the hip movements. You raised an eyebrow as he got a little too much into it.

His confidence only grew as he experimented, testing the rhythm with sharper, more fluid motions, rolling his hips in sync with the beat. His eyes lit up, and he turned to you with a mischievous grin, getting closer.

"Like this?", he asked, his voice low, his movements now, fluid and confident.

The sway of his body had an effortless sensuality to it, something that made your breath hitch for half a second.

You huffed a laugh, pushing his shoulder playfully.

"Alright, showoff. I see you", you teased, laughing as he grinned, rolling his hips with ease now, "How do you learn this so fast?"

"I’m... a dancer", he said with a cheeky smile.

But then, the music shifted, melting into a softer rhythm— a slow forró that made the entire bar quiet just a little, conversations dipped into whispers, and the sway of bodies turned tender. You didn’t need to say anything. Hyunjin was already pulling you closer.

"You lead", you murmured with a teasing smile, already placing your thigh between his legs, your chest brushing against his as he instinctively adjusted to the closeness.

He hesitated only for a second before your arms slid around his shoulders as his hands settled on your waist, fingers spreading gently like he was memorizing every curve of you. His touch wasn’t bold, just warm and delicate but with enough pressure.

His forehead almost touched yours, heavy breath brushing your skin. You could smell the faint trace of cologne on his neck, something woody and freshy, mixed with sweat from the long day.

Hyunjin’s gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips and back, his hand gripping more confidently on your waist as you swayed your hips together as one.

"You’re good at this”, you whispered, voice low near his ear.

He chuckled softly, his breath warm on your skin, “I’m just following the music. And you”.

Your fingers tightened on his shoulder as the space between you disappeared entirely. The kind of closeness that wasn’t about bodies, but energy. Something magnetic.

Hyunjin’s thumb brushed soft circles on your skin as he held you. You didn’t know if it was the music, the drinks from earlier, or just him but your whole body felt warmer.

"You smell like summer" he whispered, voice barely brushing your ear.

You glanced up at him, smiling softly, "And you smell like temptation", you murmured back, eyes glinting with amusement.

He laughed, soft and breathless, but his gaze didn’t leave yours. Not for a second. In that moment, everything else faded— the crowd, the music, the bar itself. It was just you, him, and the slow rhythm pulling you closer, like the universe had turned everything else off just so you could feel this.

Just so he could fall a little more with you.

When the song ended, neither of you moved right away. His hands stayed where they were, yours still resting on his shoulders, as if letting go would break whatever spell between you. But the world slowly returned— the clinking of glasses, a burst of laughter nearby, the next song picking up with a faster rhythm. You both blinked, a little dazed, before stepping apart.

Hyunjin scratched the back of his neck, cheeks flushed, “I think I just fell in love with Brazilian music”, he said, voice light but eyes serious.

You smiled, “Only the music?”.

He opened his mouth, then closed it, laughing nervously, “Guilty as charged”.

You nudged him playfully and reached for his hand again, tugging him back toward your small table by the sidewalk. The streets were alive with people, warm yellow lights hanging above like stars that never left, and your drinks waited, sweating slightly in the tropical night air.

“Do you always make strangers fall for you this easily?”, he asked, half joking as he sipped his beer.

You tilted your head at him, “Are you always this obvious?”.

He nearly choked, coughing into his drink as you laughed, wiping a drip from his chin with your thumb. It was casual, intimate, like it wasn’t the most natural thing in the world to touch him like that.

And somehow, it was.

He stared at you for a second longer, brows drawing together like he was trying to figure something out.

Finally, he said it, “You really don’t know who I am… do you?”.

You blinked, “Hyunjin, right? Tourist. From Korea. Likes açaí, bad at farofa, weirdly good at hip thrusts”.

He grinned, “That’s one way to put it”.

You leaned closer, voice soft and teasing. “Is there something else I should know?”

Hyunjin just smiled, “No, not yet”.

And with that, the night went on filled with shared food, stolen glances, and a sense that something was shifting. That something real was blooming between the differences of language and culture.

And Hyunjin, in his quiet heart, already knew: this trip was never just about Brazil. It was about finding you.

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°

A few days later:

The day dawned sunny, perfect for the beach. But at the moment the two of you put your feet on the sand, the sky shifted before you even realized it.

The warm sunlight gave way to sudden dark clouds, then a soft drizzle that turned heavy within seconds. People around you ran for cover, but you and Hyunjin just stood there, drenched.

He laughed, tilting his head back as the rain soaked his buzzed hair and clothes, his white shirt clinging to his chest. You covered your face, squealing at the cold, and he took your hand, spinning you in a playful circle right there on the sidewalk.

“Hyunjin!”, you laughed, slipping slightly on the wet stone.

He caught you with both hands, pulling you into his chest. You looked up at him, rain dripping from your lashes, and he smiled. His eyes were full of that quiet warmth he saved just for you. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing along your jaw, and he kissed you.

It was messy and wet but it was perfect. The mix of the cold rain in contrast to his warm tongue against yours made something stir inside your chest.

When you broke apart, he leaned his forehead to yours, grinning like a fool. “A vida presta", he whispered in accented Portuguese, soft and sure.

You laughed, heart full of warmth, “Yeah, a vida presta when I’m with you”.

As the time passed by and you both dried and changed clothes, Hyunjin found himself sitting comfortably on the couch, legs stretched out long, absentmindedly playing with the rim of his glass. The warm glow of the late afternoon sun was filtered through the wooden blinds, creating golden lines across the terracotta tiles of your living room.

“I swear, I almost got scammed at the market the other day”, he said, shaking his head, “The lady tried to charge me double for a coconut. She thought I wouldn’t notice”

You laughed, stretching out on the couch beside him, “You do kind of scream tourist, you know”.

Hyunjin feigned offense, pressing a hand to his chest, “Excuse me?! I blend in perfectly”.

You raised an eyebrow, “You were wearing an ‘I Love Rio’ shirt yesterday”

“Okay… fair”, he grinned, dimples appearing, and leaned forward slightly, “But it worked, didn’t it? I got my coconut and a free snack out of pity”.

You shook your head, watching the way the golden light highlighted the curve of his jaw and the soft edges of his mouth. He looked at home there, stretched out lazily, long fingers tracing patterns on the couch fabric. It was unfair how effortlessly attractive he was. How could he be ridiculously stupid one second and devastatingly handsome the next?

“You’re so funny”, you murmured, tilting your head as a teasing smile played on your lips, “Or maybe just cute”.

Then, with a softer voice, you added, “I could keep myself busy with you for thirty hours”.

Hyunjin blinked, his grip tightening slightly around his glass. His expression shifted from playful to something more unreadable, more dark, “Yeah? I can satisfy you for thirty hours”.

His voice was lower now, rougher, like he was already imagining exactly what thirty hours with you would include.

You only smiled, tilting your chin up in a silent challenge. Hyunjin exhaled a quiet laugh, then set his drink down and moved closer, one hand resting on the back of the couch beside you. The air between you two grew thick, heavy with something unspoken yet undeniably present.

“That’s a dangerous thing”, he murmured, studying your face and lips, “To say things like that so casually”.

“And you’re easily flustered”, you teased, brushing a finger lightly over the inside of his wrist.

The heat of the afternoon wrapped around you, making the air feel heavier, making the warmth of your bodies feel even hotter. A trail of sweat rolled down the side of Hyunjin’s neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his tank top, and you had the sudden, dizzying thought of following its path with your tongue. Hyunjin must have felt it too, because his fingers twitched against the couch’’s fabric before he finally touched you— just barely, fingertips skimming over your exposed knee, slow and teasing.

“Thirty hours?”, he murmured, voice dripping desire against your skin. “That’s a long time”

“You think you wouldn’t last?”, your voice was softer now, teasing but breathless, because the way he was looking at you— like he wanted to consume you whole— was making it hard to breathe.

He smirked, “Oh, I definitely would last”. His hand slid higher, an unhurried movement, the heat of his palm brushing against your skin, “I’d take my time with you”.

The ceiling fan spun lazily above you but you felt sweat gather at the back of your neck as Hyunjin leaned in, so close now that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek.

“If I kissed you right now”, he said, voice impossibly low, “You think you’d still be talking?”.

You swallowed, heart pounding hard, “Try me”.

Hyunjin didn’t need to be told twice. His lips brushed against yours, slow and lingering. The way his fingers tightened on your thigh, the way he deepened the kiss, slow but devastating made everything hotter.

And when he pulled back, just enough to meet your eyes, he was already smirking. “That’s one hour down”.

You exhaled a shaky laugh, fingers curling in his clothes to pull him back in, “Then you better make the next twenty nine worth it”.

Hyunjin hummed against your lips, tilting your back into the couch with a lazy smile, “Oh, I will, baby”.

And by the way he was looking at you, you knew he was keeping his word.

Hyunjin’s lips moved slowly against yours, but still teasingly, as if savoring the taste, the feel of you. His fingers curled around the curve of your thigh,gripping tightly, spreading fire to your whole low body. You could feel the heat of his palm through the thin fabric of your shorts, the contrast of his cool rings against your flushed skin made you shiver.

“You feel warm”, he murmured against your lips, and you could feel the smirk on his voice.

“Is it the weather?, his fingers traced slow, lazy patterns against your inner thigh, “Or me?”.

You exhaled, nails digging into his shoulder, “You talk too much”.

Hyunjin chuckled, a soft, teasing sound that vibrated against your mouth, “Then do something about it”.

And you did.

Straddling his lap, your body arched on top of his. His skin was hot beneath your fingertips, damp from the lingering warmth of the hot day. The scent of salt clung to him, a reminder of the beach, of the sun, of how long you had wanted to do this.

Hyunjin groaned softly as you moved against him, his hands gripping your waist, guiding your hips down onto his in a slow, maddening rhythm. The thin layers of fabric between the both of you did nothing to lessen the friction. If anything, it only made the anticipation worse.

“You’re so…”, his words trailed off into a low, breathy sigh as you rolled your hips against his, slow and torturous, “You’re… fuck…”

You smirked, pressing an open mouthed kiss to his neck, feeling the way he swallowed hard beneath your lips, “What was that?”, you whispered.

Hyunjin’s breath faltered, “N-nothing”. His grip on you tightened, fingertips pressing into your skin with just enough pressure to make you dizzy, “Just… keep going”.

The only sound aside from your breathless sighs was the quiet creak of the couch beneath you.

Outside, the sun had begun to set, but still, the heat of the day still clung to the air, heavy and suffocating, but neither of you minded. Not when his hands were on you like this, guiding, gripping, making slow, torturous movements.

Not when his voice dropped to a whisper, rough and needy against your skin, “You said thirty hours”.

His teeth grazed the shell of your ear, making you shudder. “But I don’t think you can handle that”.

You exhaled shakily, your fingers threading through his damp hair, “You’re the one who should be worried”

Hyunjin let out a low, breathless laugh before flipping your positions in one smooth motion, pinning you beneath him on the couch. His knee pressed between your legs, his weight warm and heavy, making you gasp as he leaned down.

“Oh, baby”, he murmured, smiling, “I’m just getting started”

And then, just like that, the heat became overwhelming in the best way possible.

The couch creaked beneath you two as Hyunjin kissed you again— slower this time, deeper, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a hunger that left you breathless. One of his hands slid under your shirt, fingers tracing the curve of your waist, dragging higher, until he found the swell of your breast.

“God”, he whispered, his voice hoarse and shaking, “You feel so good… I’ve been thinking about this since the night I met you”.

You arched into his touch with a quiet gasp, your hand slipping beneath the back of his shirt to feel the heat of his bare skin, damp with sweat and impossibly soft.

“You’re talking too much again”, you murmured, but your voice was ragged, your words breaking into a moan as his thumb rolled over your nipple, slow and deliberate under the fabric of your bra.

“I can’t help it”, he breathed, dragging his mouth down to your jaw, “You drive me crazy, Yn… I don’t think you know what you do to me”.

His other hand slipped beneath the waistband of your shorts, palm pressing low onto your stomach, making you let out a soft whimper at the promise of it.

“Can I?”, he asked, eyes dark, pupils blown wide. He was breathless— completely wrecked— and yet still waiting for your word.

“Yes”, you whispered, hips tilting up to meet him, “Yes, Hyunjin… please”.

Seeing you beg for him made something twitch inside of his boxers.

So he didn’t hesitate. His fingers dipped beneath your underwear, sliding through the heat of you, and his breath caught hard in his throat.

“Shit…”, he cursed, eyes locked with yours. “You’re soaked”

“It’s the heat”, you teased, “And I’m not talking about the weather”.

Hyunjin laughed but the sound was cut short as he pressed a finger inside you, slow and deep. Your mouth fell open, hands fisting in the back of his shirt as you arched off the couch. The rhythm he set was unhurried, purposeful. Each stroke of his fingers driving you more and more wild. His mouth was never far from your skin, kissing, licking, tasting you completely. Sweat slicked your bodies, making it easier to slide, to grind, to move together like you’d done this one hundred times.

His name left your lips in broken pieces, again and again.

“I want you”, you gasped, pulling at his shirt, desperate. “Now, Hyunjin… please”.

He kissed you harder then, wild and open mouthed, pulling away only long enough to strip the shirt from his body, then from yours. Finally allowing your skins to meet, bare and burning, heat radiating off both of you.

Hyunjin reached for his waistband, then paused, eyes searching one last time, “If you want me to stop, say it now cause once I’m in… I don’t think I can go back”

“Don’t you dare stopping”.

He smiled crooked and hungry, then pushed his hips against yours, the press of him finally settling between your thighs. You both groaned at the raw contact, bodies already shaking with pleasure. When he entered you, it was slow and deep and intense.

“Fuck”, he rasped, burying his face in your neck, “You feel like heaven”.

You clung to him, nails dragging down his back, legs tightening around his waist “Move”, you begged, voice breaking, “Please, move”.

He did.

Each thrust was slow at first, measured, as if he wanted to savor the feel of you, the sound of your breath, the way you gasped his name every time he hit just right. But it didn’t stay slow for long. The heat, the sweat, the way you kept pulling him closer, it all built into something rougher, messier, desperate.

The couch shifted beneath you. Your bodies moved rhythmically, heat slicking your skin, breath catching in the thick air, mouths parting only to find each other again.

"Thirty hours” he growled, slamming into you harder. The slap of skin on skin echoed in the humid air, “I could do this for thirty hours straight”

“Then don’t stop”, you begged again, wrapping yourself around him completely, “Don’t stop. Ever”.

And stopping wasn't on his plans.

You could barely breathe at this point. Every thrust sent you higher, every drag of his hips made the knot in your stomach tighter. Endlessly tighter.

“I’m close”, you gasped as your body burned with pleasure.

“I know”, his forehead was pressed to your, and his body was trembling.

His hand slipped between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, circling, stroking, pushing you closer to the edge. “Come for me, baby. Let me feel you”.

And when you did, your body tensed, your back arched, and your mouth fell open in a silent cry as pleasure crashed over you, hot and maddening. The heat swallowed you whole, thighs shaking around him as you shattered beneath him, around him.

Hyunjin wasn’t far behind. The way you clenched around him, the way your body pulsed with pleasure, it sent him spiraling.

“Damn, Yn…”, his voice broke as he buried himself deep, his body shuddering as he lost himself in you completely.

His breath stuttered against your neck, his grip on your hips tightening before finally, finally, he collapsed against your body, shaking, completely done.

Hyunjin let out a breathless, exhausted laugh, rolling onto his side and pulling you with him, keeping you close. His fingers traced slow, lazy circles against your sweaty skin.

“Think that was at least two hours”, he murmured, “Only twenty eight to go”.

You let out a tired laugh, tucking yourself against his chest, letting the heat of him lull you into something soft and drowsy.

“We’ll see if you last that long”, you teased, voice heavy with exhaustion.

Hyunjin only smiled, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, voice full of mischief, “That sounds like a challenge”.

And with that, you had a feeling the night was far from over.

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°

The morning sun painted orange stripes across Hyunjin’s bare back. He was sprawled out on the couch, one arm dangling off the side, the sheets barely covering him. His lips were slightly parted, and his breathing was peaceful, heavy with sleep. Last night was… kind of intense. After round after round, it was no surprise he was that exhausted.

You sat on the floor nearby, knees pulled to your chest, sipping from your hot mug of coffee. It was still early, and the house was quiet, save for the occasional hum of traffic outside and the soft clink of your spoon against ceramic. You couldn't stop looking at him.

Maybe it was the way the light kissed the curve of his shoulder, or the fact that his presence somehow filled the whole room even while unconscious. He looked so far from the Hyunjin who popped his hips in front of the crowd last night,and yet, still entirely himself.

You reached for his camera and carefully turned it on. The shutter clicked softly as you framed him in the morning light, capturing the vulnerable stillness he never let the world see. Then, he moved. You held your breath as he blinked slowly awake, lashes fluttering, eyes squinting against the sun.

“...Are you taking pictures of me?”, he mumbled, voice thick with sleep yet still adorably.

You smiled into your mug, “Someone’s gotta return the favor, don’t you think?”.

He rubbed at his eye, pouting slightly, “That’s not fair. I probably look like a mess”.

You tilted your head, lifting the camera again, “You look too beautiful not to be photographed”

That earned a sleepy chuckle from him, followed by a mischievous grin that made your chest feel too full.

“I think… you might be the most dangerous person I’ve ever met. You keep making me fall for you over and over”, he murmured, stretching with a soft groan before letting his arm fall over his face dramatically.

You leaned in, pressing a light kiss to the corner of his lips, “Get up, pretty boy. I’m taking you out”

“Where to?”, he asked, still not moving.

“You’ll see. And put on a shirt this time unless you want more photos like these”.

He peeked at you through his fingers, playful. “Maybe I do”.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. You were already falling— fast and sweet and deep. And from the way he looked at you, you believed in his words when he said he was too.

You took him somewhere quieter this time, away from the crowds and noise. A place you loved as a kid, tucked behind winding roads and thick greenery. The kind of spot only locals knew about— a hidden waterfall.

You watched his eyes light up as you guided him through the forest path, hand in hand, laughter echoing between trees. When the water came into view, cascading down smooth rocks into a natural pool, he stopped in his tracks.

“This is… wow!”, he stepped closer, “It doesn’t even look real”.

You kicked off your shoes and dived in first, the cool water wrapping around your ankles.

“Come on, city boy. It’s even better when you come in”.

He followed, splashing in beside you, both of you soaked and breathless in seconds. He tossed his head back and let the water hit his skin, smiling wide like a child.

Later, you sat together on a sun warmed rock later, legs dangling in the water. He had his camera again— a polaroid this time— pointing it at you.

“Don’t move”, he whispered. The click of the shutter was followed by a brief silence before you broke it.

“What are you thinking?”, you asked.

He hesitated, his gaze fixed on your face like he was memorizing it, “That I wish time would stop right here”.

You smiled gently and leaned your head on his shoulder, “Me too, Hyun. Me too”.

Hours later, you were browsing the little vendor cart set up near the edge of the beach with strings of colorful handmade bracelets swaying in the breeze. Your fingers stopped on a pair of tiny cowrie shells.

Hyunjin leaned in beside you, eyes twinkling, “Matching ones?”, he asked, already reaching for the other.

You grinned, “Only if you’re the one to tie mine”

“Of course, baby”.

You held out your wrist, and he took it carefully in both hands, the shells clicking softly as he looped the string around. He was so gentle, like he was afraid of hurting you, and so focused, brows furrowed in adorable concentration.

“Perfect. I tied it like it was meant to stay forever”, he whispered when he tied the final knot.

Then, as if to seal it, he pressed a soft kiss to the inside of your wrist.

You blinked at him, heat blooming in your cheeks, “You’re really leaning into the romance, huh?”

“I can’t help it” he said, slipping his own bracelet on, “You bring it out of me”.

Just then, a small group of teenagers wandered by, fresh from the ocean and still dripping water onto the pavement. One of them gasped, whispering something to her friend and then, with a little push from her friend, she stepped forward shyly.

“Licença… are you Hyunjin from Stray Kids??”.

Your brows furrowed as two girls stood up, eyes wide, walking toward you both.

“Can we get a picture with you?”, one asked, holding out her phone.

Hyunjin let out a soft, nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hum, sure... yeah.”

You stood there, confused, watching him pose and smile politely for the photos. They thanked him and walked off, still whispering and giggling.

You turned to him, eyebrows lifted in disbelief, “Okay… what was that?”.

Hyunjin looked down for a moment, then back at you with a sheepish expression. The breeze ruffled his loose clothes, and he scratched the back of his neck like he was trying to buy time.

“I was going to tell you”, he started, voice softer now, “Eventually”.

You raised a brow, “Tell me what? Are you in a famous dance group in Korea or something?”

He took a deep breath, “I’m an idol. A singer. In Korea. I’m in a group called Stray Kids”.

You blinked, “Like… famous famous?”.

He winced, chuckling nervously. “Yeah. Kind of”.

You stared at him, speechless, as he kept going, his words fast and honest, tumbling out like he’d rehearsed them in his head a dozen times.

“I came to Brazil for a break. I was burned out, tired of being ‘Hyunjin the idol’ all the time. I just needed to breathe, you know? I didn’t plan on meeting anyone, and I definitely didn’t expect you. But when I saw you... Damn, you were everything. You are everything I’ve been looking for. And you were just so you. Funny and confident and real. I didn’t want to ruin that by bringing in everything that comes with my name”.

You stayed quiet for a beat, watching him. Observing the nervous look in his eyes, the way he fidgeted with his fingers, waiting for you to react.

Finally, you stepped a little closer and said, with a faint smile, “Okay. Thank you for telling me”.

He blinked, startled, “You’re not mad?”.

You shook your head. “No. I get it. I mean, I don’t know what that kind of life is like, but I understand needing to breathe. And I’m glad you trusted me enough to tell the truth”

A moment passed, and then you poked him gently in the chest, “But don’t start acting famous now”.

That made him laugh, relief rushing through his features, “I could never”.

You rolled your eyes playfully, "You’re still the guy who thought cachaça was water and nearly cried drinking it”.

He laughed, loud and spontaneous as always, “God, I’m so lucky to have you”.

You smiled shyly before reaching for his hand, “Let’s go, I still have a lot to show you”.

And without any hesitation, he followed.

Later that afternoon, as the sun dipped lower over Leme Beach, the sound of laughter and a bouncing ball caught Hyunjin’s attention. A group of locals had formed a loose circle on the sand, keeping a small soccer ball in the air using only their feet, thighs, and heads.

You noticed him staring, so you poked his arm, “That’s altinha. Wanna try?”.

He looked intrigued, “A- Al… altinha?”

“Yeah. It’s kind of like juggling, no hands allowed. Think you can handle playing against the locals?”.

He scoffed, “They are kids”.

You crossed your arms over your chest, “They are good. I wouldn't be surprised if they beat your ass, Mr. Adult”.

That was the challenge he needed. Grinning, Hyunjin jogged over barefoot, and with a few gestures and smiles, was welcomed into the circle.

At first, he fumbled a bit. His timing kinda off, the ball escaping his reach, but soon his body adjusted, and his natural coordination kicked in.

You watched from the sidelines as he kicked the ball up with ease, laughing with the locals like he belonged there. His clothes were tousled by the wind, skin glowing golden in the sun, and he looked so at peace— playful and so genuinely himself.

You even cheered after a particularly impressive save with his chest.

Hyunjin turned to you, flushed and breathless, radiating happiness like a kid, “I’m officially good at this game. Definitely gonna play it with my friends in Korea”.

You laughed, cupping your hands around your mouth, trying to ignore the fact that one day, he was going to leave you.

“You better not get recruited for a team and forget about me”.

He winked before leaning in to peek your lips, “Never, baby”.

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°

Weeks later:

The airport felt colder than it should. Maybe it was the artificial lighting, or just the air, or the fact that your heart was being tugged in directions you didn’t know how to handle.

Hyunjin stood in front of you, passport in hand, hoodie drawn up to hide his face from the world but not from you. Not today— or ever.

“This is for you”, you said softly, pulling something from your bag.

It was a polaroid, the one he'd taken of you at the waterfall with the sun in your eyes and body dripping wet.

Hyunjin took it carefully, like it might fall apart in his hands.

His eyes lingered on it before they lifted to yours, “I can’t believe it’s been a month”

“I still can’t believe you hip thrusted during samba. That’s not a thing, Hyunjin”, you teased, trying to lighten the moment, even though your throat felt tight.

He chuckled, but the sound was low and sad, “I don’t want to go"

“I know”, you whispered, “I don’t want you to go either”.

You kissed him then— soft and slow. A kiss full of all the things you couldn’t say out loud without breaking.

When you pulled back, he touched your cheek, gaze locked with yours, “I’m going to call. And text. Every day. I mean it”, he said.

You nodded, trying to keep it cool, “You better. Or I’ll come to Korea and haunt you”.

He laughed, but there was a glint in his eyes, charged with raw emotions.

“And I’ll still be in love with you. Even if we are miles apart, okay?”, he added, voice just above a whisper.

You looked down, smiling sadly, “Yeah, I know” you said, “Me too”.

Then, just before the final boarding call echoed through the terminal, he reached out his pinky finger toward you, “Promete?”, he asked softly.

You stared at it for a moment, your lips trembling before curling into a smile.

Slowly, you raised your own pinky and wrapped it around his, “Prometo”.

You stayed like that for a breath longer, fingers interlaced in a promise that felt stronger than anything either of you could say. And when he finally walked toward the gate, his figure getting smaller with every step, you didn’t cry.

Because somehow, you knew he wasn’t really gone.

A part of him belonged to Brazil now.

And that part… was you.

I really want to write a part 2 or some epilogue idk, so wait on me 🫶🏻

Taglist: @hyyunjinnn , @jehhskz , @mbioooo0000 , @nightmarenyxx , @rozsdascsaptelep , @thatonegirlonhere , @notmedina127, @sweetlifeofjoy , @jeonginsleftcheek , @yelhsaa , @my-neurodivergent-world , @hyunles , @lexlikesbts , @imagine-all-the-imagines , @mysterysold , @teenagepeterpan , @hangonhyunjin

If you enjoyed it please consider liking and reblogging. Feedbacks, loves notes and requests are very much appreciated 😊

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skzstarl0ver · 2 days ago

Note

I know you did a long distance Felix but can you maybe do an in person one. It would make me really happy. and if you would allow me I'd love to reblog it if you do. But over all I absolutely love your work ♡

if you do accept my request please make sure to tag me if you can.

Love, Ember_Fires ♡

ℙ𝕝𝕒𝕪𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕗𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤

Hii @emberfiresbitchy I wasn't 100% sure what kind of fic you prefer so I just mixed a little bit of smut and fluff, I hope you like it xx

Lee Felix x reader / classmates to lovers / slow burn / smut / fluff / one shot

**involves!!** sex, strong tension, cursing, teasing, dirty talk

enjoy xx (request open)

★.•☆•.★★.•☆•.★¸.•☆•.¸★ skzstarl0ver ★⡀.•☆•.★⡀.•☆•.★¸.•☆•.¸★

There’s a rule in our class that everyone hates, except for maybe two people.

Every Friday, Ms. Jang makes us add one song to the shared class playlist. She says it “fosters emotional intelligence and communal bonding through sound.” I say it’s just a way to expose everyone’s deeply embarrassing music taste.

But fine. Whatever.

At first, it was funny. Someone added “Barbie Girl” ironically, another added a 12-minute Norwegian death metal track that played at full volume while we were doing worksheets. But then..

The first time I notice it, I’m curled up in my dorm bed at midnight, trying not to cry over a theory exam I definitely failed. The shared playlist starts auto-playing, and instead of some chaotic EDM garbage or meme audio clip, it’s… soft.

Lo-fi. Gentle. Intimate.

The lyrics?

“I keep noticing you.” “How you laugh. How you lean back in your chair like you own the world.” “I shouldn’t, but I do.”

The title is even worse: “if you knew what i felt, would you smile?”

My heart clenches.

I glance at the username. felixlee

We barely talk. He sits a few seats behind me in class, always in hoodies, always with that quiet, raspy voice that makes you want to lean in closer. He laughs easily. Smiles like he means it.

We’ve had small talk about—coffee machines, shitty printers, dumb assignments—but never anything real.

So why does this song feel like a secret he accidentally let slip?

The next week, he adds another one. And then another. Every Friday night like clockwork, after everyone else has already dropped their songs, he adds his: quiet confessions buried in dreamy lyrics.

“You smile at me like I matter. I don’t think you know what you do to me.”

I don’t say anything. I pretend I don’t notice.

But I do.

I start listening alone in my room, legs tangled in blankets, headphones in, heart in my throat.

I start looking at him differently, too.

The way he drums on his desk absentmindedly. The way his hair flops into his eyes. The way he’s started waiting at the classroom door for me.

I tell myself it’s a coincidence.

But when I laugh too hard one day and glance behind me, he’s staring.

And smiling.

We get paired for a midterm project.

Three weeks of working together. Study sessions. Shared notes. Coffee runs. Him leaning over my shoulder to look at my screen. Me catching his scent—clean and warm and a little vanilla—and pretending it doesn’t do things to me.

He teases me constantly.

“You always chew your pen when you’re stuck. It’s cute.”

“Is that a playlist of sad girl indie music? On brand.”

“You gonna steal another one of my pens?”

I roll my eyes. I call him annoying. I think about kissing him every goddamn day.

It finally breaks one night, deep into our last project session.

We're sitting side by side on the floor of an empty practice room, laptop between us, snacks spread out, low music playing from his speaker.

“I like your taste in music,” I say casually.

He glances at me. “Yeah?”

I nod. “I’ve been listening to your playlist songs.”

A pause.

His voice drops, quiet. “What do you think they’re about?”

“I don’t know,” I lie. “Someone you like?”

He looks at me. His eyes are soft and unreadable. “Yeah. Someone I’ve liked for a while.”

My breath catches.

He leans closer.

The air between us snaps.

And then he kisses me.

It’s soft. Gentle. Warm.

His lips move against mine slowly, like he’s giving me time to pull away.

I don’t.

I kiss him back—harder, messier. My hands in his hoodie. His fingers sliding into my hair.

We’re breathing into each other’s mouths, flushed and panting, when he pulls back just enough to whisper, “Do you wanna—?”

“Yes.”

We stumble into his dorm thirty minutes later, soaked in rain and adrenaline.

He shuts the door behind us, then pins me to it—gently, hands braced beside my head. He kisses me again, slower this time. His tongue slides against mine and I groan softly.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he breathes.

My shirt is gone before I realize it. His hoodie follows. I run my hands down his chest, and he shivers under my touch.

He lifts me. I wrap my legs around his waist. He carries me to the bed and lays me down like I’m something delicate. Then he kneels between my thighs and just looks at me.

“Been thinking about this for weeks,” he murmurs, fingers sliding under my waistband.

I whimper. “Then stop teasing.”

He grins—and pulls everything off me.

His mouth on me is heaven.

He licks slowly, deliberately, eyes locked on mine while he holds my hips in place. I moan shamelessly when he flicks his tongue just right. His name slips from my lips like prayer.

When I come, it’s with his fingers inside me and his tongue still working my clit.

He climbs up my body after, kissing his way up my stomach, chest, throat, lips. “You okay?” he asks softly, voice hoarse.

“Condom,” I whisper.

He grabs one from the drawer. Rolls it on. Lines himself up—

And sinks into me with a groan that sounds like he’s been holding it in forever.

“Fucking hell,” he breathes, forehead pressed to mine. “You feel so good.”

He moves slowly at first. Deep, languid strokes that leave me gasping. He holds my hands above my head, kisses my mouth every time I moan. It’s not rushed. It’s not just sex.

It’s him saying everything the playlist couldn’t.

When I come again, I cry out his name. He kisses me through it, whispering how beautiful I look, how much he likes me, how he can’t believe he finally has me like this.

He follows right after—hips stuttering, breath catching, forehead pressed to mine like he never wants to let go.

We lie tangled in his sheets after, sweaty and breathless.

His arm is wrapped around my waist. I’m tucked into his chest. He kisses my forehead and murmurs, “You know they were all about you, right?”

I smile against his skin.

“I do now.”

The next morning, he adds a new song to the playlist.

“your name tastes better than coffee.”

And that’s when the class group chat blows up.

I feel like this one was kinda short but I still hope you liked it xx

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kaiyunsim · 2 days ago

Text

dangerous —

pairing : neighbor!taesan x gn!reader

genre : fluff

summary : what do you do when you get a text from your neighbor in the middle of the night asking to head outside? answer it. who knows what’s to come? no one. but one thing is for sure. it’s not going to be a normal night

a/n : this is the last one guys !! hope u enjoyed 19.99 :)) very fun to write and lots of love to everyone reading <3

queueing : dangerous - boynextdoor, say - keshi, flamin hot lemon - jaehyun, rendez-vouz - baekhyun

[19.99 masterlist]

— wc : 3.8k — not proof read —

you’re brushing your teeth when the first pebble hits the window.

at first, you think it’s nothing. probably just the wind or a tree branch or a cat being annoying again. but then it happens again. a sharper sound this time. too precise. and you freeze with your toothbrush halfway to the sink.

you shuffle to your window and peer out into the dark.

han taesan is standing in your yard.

no. more accurately, han taesan is standing just outside your yard, leaning casually against the fence like he owns the street, like he didn’t just pelt your window with two small rocks. his hoodie is up, shadowing his face, but the flashlight in his hand flicks on and off twice. deliberate. like a signal.

you blink. and then blink again.

because han taesan is the neighbor you’ve always kept a healthy distance from. he’s the reason the neighborhood group chat has three different emergency threads. he’s the kid who climbed onto the school's four-story roof last year just because someone dared him. he’s always getting written up. always being talked about. always loud, always laughing.

but tonight, he’s quiet. tonight, he’s looking directly at you.

you don’t move. he shifts slightly, then pulls something out from behind his back.

a sign. well, it's a napkin, but it works as a sign. he holds it up, and in bold, messy marker it reads:

come with me. just for a bit.

your heart skips.

you’re not the type to sneak out. not the type to say yes to things like this. you’re the “text me when you get there” kind. the “curfew means curfew” kind. your phone is already in your hand, screen glowing with the drafted text you were going to send to your mom about finishing homework and heading to bed early.

you look back out the window. taesan grins and pulls out another napkin where he starts scribbling onto it once again.

you’ll regret it if you don’t.

the grin gets to you more than it should. it’s not cocky. it’s a little hopeful. a little excited. like he’s waiting to share something no one else gets to see. like he picked you.

you sigh. your thumb hovers over the text message. you think about deleting it. you think about shutting the window. you think about how weird tomorrow might feel if you go. and like a ghost possesed you to be different tonight, you delete the draft and throw on a hoodie.

you leave the light on to make it look like you’re still in your room. your heart is pounding in your throat. this is ridiculous. this is so dumb. you’re halfway down the stairs before you even realize you're moving.

you make sure to take out the batteries from the door alarm and open it but the front door creaks. you wince. freeze.

nothing.

you slip outside and shut it again, as slowly and silently as possible. the porch light is off. the night is cold and still and too quiet. every crunch of gravel beneath your sneakers feels like a siren.

taesan is already walking backward, waving you toward the end of the street.

you jog to catch up.

“you actually came,” he says, eyebrows raised.

“you threw rocks at my window,” you whisper back, still out of breath.

“and you came,” he says, like that’s proof of something. “i’m impressed.”

you roll your eyes. “what is this, exactly?”

taesan shrugs, flashing the flashlight briefly at your feet. “just something i want to show you. it’ll be worth it.”

“is this the part where you reveal you’ve been hiding a stolen motorcycle in your garage?”

he grins wider. “nah. that’s next week.”

you laugh before you mean to, and he catches it. his gaze lingers on you for half a second longer than it should. you pretend not to notice.

the neighborhood looks different at night. each house is a sleeping giant. windows glowing softly. no cars. no noise. just the two of you, cutting across sidewalks and hopping fences like fugitives.

“we’re gonna get arrested,” you mutter.

“technically,” he says, “we’re just walking.”

you glance over at him. “most people walk on the sidewalk.”

“most people are boring.”

you duck as a red dot from a camera catches your gaze. taesan hisses a laugh and grabs your wrist, yanking you behind the nearest hedge.

you land too close together, knees bumping, breath tangled.

you don’t say anything. neither does he.

the light eventually shuts off.

“okay,” you whisper, barely audible. “maybe this is kinda fun.”

“told you,” he says. “but it gets better.”

“what is this place, taesan?”

he looks at you, serious for a moment. “it’s where i go when the rest of this place feels too small.”

you stare at him.

he scratches the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “that sounded cooler in my head.”

you nod slowly. “nah. it was kind of cool.”

he perks up again. “yeah?”

“don’t push it.”

you keep walking, this time side by side.

the thrill is still there, tingling just beneath your skin, but there’s something warmer now too. a weird quiet comfort in the way your steps sync. in the way taesan hums softly when there’s no conversation. in the way he sometimes looks at you like he can’t believe you’re still here.

“so,” you say after a while, “do you do this often?”

“sneak out? yeah.”

“no, convince innocent bystanders to join your criminal antics?”

“not really,” he says. “you’re kind of a first.”

you glance at him.

he doesn’t look back.

instead, he points ahead to a chain-link fence.

“almost there,” he says.

you don’t know where there is yet, but you know one thing for sure: you’re not turning back.

not yet.

you’re halfway across a playground you didn’t know still existed when taesan suddenly veers left, hopping a low fence like it’s muscle memory.

you follow, breathing harder now, adrenaline buzzing under your skin in a way that makes you feel alive and reckless and a little bit stupid.

“we’re really far from my house,” you say.

“you mean our house,” he corrects, turning around with a crooked grin. “we’re neighbors, remember?”

“yeah,” you mutter. “this feels like the kind of bonding experience that ends with a demon being summoned.”

he laughs, loud and bright in the empty dark. it echoes between the old school buildings as you both duck into a narrow path between chain-link fences.

“you always this dramatic?” he asks.

“you always this mysterious?” you shoot back.

he considers this. “i try not to be. people make assumptions when you stop explaining yourself.”

“so you just stopped explaining?”

“i got tired,” he says, voice quieter now. “and my friends moved away. it’s easier not to miss them if i don’t talk about them.”

you glance at him. there’s something different in the way he walks now. slower. not just because the path narrows, but because he’s remembering.

“this the part where you tell me about your tragic backstory?” you ask, teasing, but softer.

he snorts. “nah. just… there used to be five of us. every friday night. we’d sneak out, go exploring, steal snacks from the convenience store if we were brave enough. we called it ‘operation getaway.’”

you raise a brow. “wow. that’s so dramatic.”

he nudges you with his shoulder. “shut up.”

“i’m just saying,” you grin, “sounds kind of adorable. were you, like, the fearless leader?”

“duh,” he says, then adds quickly, “i mean—no. maybe. i don’t know.”

“taesan,” you drawl. “are you sentimental?”

he stumbles over a crack in the pavement.

“what? no,” he says too fast. “no way.”

“you totally are.”

“i’m not.”

“this is your secret memory lane. you’re taking me to your old hangout spot. you’re sharing stories about your childhood gang—”

“okay shut up, you’re ruining the moment.”

you’re laughing when he shoves you lightly, and he’s laughing too, except it sounds more like relief. like he’s glad you didn’t run at the first sign of something real.

you climb up a slanted dumpster and hop down the other side, landing next to him in a hidden alley you didn’t even know existed. it smells like asphalt and wild mint.

“how do you know all these weird paths?” you ask, brushing your hands on your hoodie.

“been running through them since i was twelve,” he says, glancing around. “they don’t teach this stuff in school.”

you pause, realizing you’ve been walking for a while now, and not once have you felt lost.

“now, where are we going?” you ask.

he smiles. “you’ll see.”

you roll your eyes. “vague. mysterious. definitely suspicious.”

“all the best things are,” he says.

you keep walking, but something changes.

at first it’s small, a flicker in your peripheral vision. a low hum. the kind of noise you don’t notice until it’s been going on for too long.

you glance behind you.

a car. old. paint chipped. headlights off. moving way too slow for a place with no stop signs.

you squint. taesan hasn’t noticed yet. he’s ahead of you, already halfway through a shortcut behind someone’s backyard. but when the car creeps past again, this time from the other side of the block, you speak up.

“hey… that car’s weird.”

he stops mid-step. turns. his eyes scan the street, sharp now, calculating.

“which one?”

you point. it’s gone again.

his jaw tightens. not dramatically. just enough that you notice.

“it’s probably nothing,” he says, voice level. “somebody getting lost.”

but he’s looking around more now. less joking. more alert.

you don’t ask questions. not yet. you just fall in step beside him again, a little closer this time. and when you reach a side street with no streetlights, he reaches out and takes your hand.

just like that.

no big deal.

except your fingers are burning where they touch.

“shortcut,” he says, tugging you into the dark between two buildings. “we’ll cut through here.”

you don’t argue.

your shoes scuff against broken pavement, and his flashlight flicks on, just long enough to catch your footing. it smells like rain and something else, dust maybe. you can hear your own heartbeat louder than your steps.

“you okay?” he asks quietly, still holding your hand.

you nod, even though he’s not looking.

“yeah.”

you’re more than okay. you’re terrified, and excited, and fully aware that you’re wandering through alleys with a boy you barely know but somehow trust anyway.

and then, as you turn the corner, he stops. you almost run into him. he’s staring up at a narrow fire escape tucked between two brick walls.

“this is it,” he says.

you follow his gaze. “what is?”

he grins. “our rooftop,” he says. “c’mon. don’t wimp out on me now.”

you eye the ladder. it looks… less than safe.

“you first,” you mutter.

he’s already climbing.

you wait until he’s halfway up before starting after him, hands trembling with cold and adrenaline.

when you reach the top, breathless and heart pounding, he’s standing there—arms spread like he’s welcoming you into a secret universe.

and what you see takes your breath away.

city lights stretch in every direction. soft, glowing. like someone shook glitter over the world and let it settle in the cracks. the wind brushes your face. it’s quiet up here. peaceful. far away from everything.

“taesan…” you say, voice small.

he glances over. “told you it’d be worth it.”

you don’t realize how hard you’re breathing until your back hits the cool rooftop, and the stars spin a little above your head.

“oh my god,” you gasp, laughing between breaths. “we almost died on that ladder.”

taesan collapses next to you with a dramatic sigh. “worth it.”

you turn your head. he’s grinning again, eyes squinting up at the sky, hoodie bunched at his elbows. you’re close enough that your arms touch, and the heat from his skin is louder than the wind.

“so,” you say after a beat, “this is your big secret spot.”

he hums. “yep.”

“it’s actually kind of... amazing.”

“you sound surprised.”

“well,” you grin, “i was expecting like, a junkyard. or maybe a haunted gas station.”

“jeez, you just hate me i guess,” he deadpans.

you nudge his shoulder. he doesn’t nudge back.

instead, he says, quieter now, “i thought you weren’t gonna come.”

you glance at him.

his eyes are still on the sky, but his voice dips, softer around the edges. “i had the sign ready and everything. would’ve felt dumb just standing down there.”

your chest squeezes. “so you planned that?” you ask, raising a brow.

he side-eyes you. “no.”

“taesan.”

“okay maybe.”

you laugh, and he smiles like he can’t help it. there’s something different about this version of him. less troublemaker, more boy with too much heart and nowhere to put it.

you sit up, the city stretching behind him like a dream, and for a second, just a second, you wonder what would happen if you leaned in.

he’s looking at you.

you’re looking back.

his hand brushes yours, light as static.

you close your eyes, move closer

and then—

“oh hell no.”

you both jolt upright.

from the opposite side of the rooftop, two shadows emerge, both climbing over the edge like it’s their usual entrance.

taesan groans. “you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“bro,” the short one says, stepping into the light, “you knew we were coming tonight.”

“i forgot!”

the second boy, a much taller, with round cheeks and wide eyes, waves cheerfully, like he hasn’t just interrupted the moment of the century.

“hi!” he says brightly, to you. “you’re not part of the usual rooftop squad.”

“not yet,” you mumble.

“don’t be nice,” taesan grumbles, standing. “you just ruined the vibe.”

“you ruined the vibe by being early,” the short one fires back. “we had a whole timing plan!”

taesan sighs like this is a very old argument.

“y/n,” he gestures between them, “this is riwoo, angry, dramatic, and woonhak, baby of the group.”

woonhak beams and does a little wave again.

you can’t help it, you whisper to taesan, “he is the cutest.”

taesan just groans louder. “don’t encourage him.”

woonhak plops down like this is his house and you’re the guest. “you guys bring snacks?”

“do i look unprepared?” taesan mutters, already pulling a bag of chips, two rice cakes, and a bottle of melon soda from his backpack like some kind of urban picnic magician.

riwoo raises his eyebrows. “you brought donuts? for them?”

“shut up,” taesan says, tossing the pack across the rooftop. “you can have half.”

“i want a rice cake,” woonhak chirps.

“you’re lucky you’re cute,” taesan says, handing it over.

you watch all this unfold. three boys on a rooftop at midnight, bickering over snacks and spots on the concrete, and suddenly, the night feels warmer. this is the side of taesan no one gets to see. the one who keeps old traditions alive. the one who remembers to bring enough snacks for everyone. the one who laughs like he means it.

you end up sitting between woonhak and riwoo, passing the soda back and forth as stories start to spill out. ones about rooftops and ruined bikes and the time taesan broke a pipe trying to slide down it like in a movie.

“he landed in someone’s pool,” riwoo says, deadpan.

“i was aiming for it!” taesan insists.

“you broke your arm.”

“yeah, after the pool part. technically still a win.”

you’re laughing too hard to respond. your face hurts from smiling.

taesan glances at you, eyes crinkled. there’s something in his gaze you can’t place, soft and searching, like he’s trying to memorize the sound of your laugh.

you look away, heart thudding louder than before.

somewhere in the distance, a dog barks. a train hums. the city never really sleeps. but for once, it feels like the world’s paused just for you.

you tilt your head back. above, stars scatter across the sky like glitter spilled on black velvet. below, you can see the town, tiny houses, sleepy streets, the faint glow of your porch light still on.

you think about curfews. about rules. about how this night wasn’t supposed to happen. and then you think about how glad you are that it did.

the sky is turning that pale, impossible blue, like someone pressed pause on the night right before it gave up.

you walk slower now, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, the rooftops and alleyways behind you, your house still just out of sight.

it’s not the kind of slow that comes from being tired. it’s the kind of slow that says please don’t end yet.

taesan’s quiet too. not in a bad way. just thoughtful. he kicks a pebble down the sidewalk, his hand close to yours but not quite touching. you want to say something. you don’t know what.

instead, he says, “you ever stay out this late before?”

you shake your head. “never.”

he looks over. “so… i was your first time?”

you scoff, elbowing him. “don’t make it weird.”

he laughs, but it’s soft. tired. fond.

you turn onto your street and the quiet shifts. not peaceful anymore. heavier. because from here, you can see it.

your porch light is on.

and the light inside the living room, off when you left, is now glowing faintly behind the curtains.

your heart drops to your knees.

“shit,” you whisper.

taesan stops next to you. he sees it too.

you both just stand there for a second, frozen like deer in someone else’s headlights.

“okay,” he says finally, breath visible in the morning chill. “don’t freak out. could just be uhh—like, someone got up to pee. lights got left on.”

“yeah,” you say. “totally. because my family just loves wasting electricity.”

you take another step. then another. your yard is a war zone of betrayal. every twig looks louder. every shadow feels like an accusation.

taesan nudges your fingers with his. not quite a hold. just a reminder he’s there.

“don’t worry,” he says, too gently. “if you get caught… i’ll take the blame.”

you blink at him.

“taesan.”

“i mean it.”

“that’s the dumbest thing i’ve ever heard,” you whisper, but you’re smiling. kind of. it’s tight. terrified.

you reach the edge of your driveway and crouch instinctively. like you’re in a spy movie. or about to commit a very boring felony.

taesan follows your lead, ducking behind your mom’s flowerbed.

“okay,” you mutter. “plan?”

“i distract. you sneak in. climb up that janky trellis like you’re in mission impossible. easy.”

“you do realize i’ll owe you for life if this works.”

he shrugs. “worth it.”

you glance toward the house.

the window to your room is slightly cracked open, just like you left it when the nights got too warm. but that means you didn’t close it. which means someone might’ve noticed. might’ve gone to check.

your throat is dry.

“i’ll go first,” you whisper. “if it looks bad… run.”

he frowns.

“i’m serious,” you add. “don’t make this worse than it is. just—run.”

he hesitates. but nods.

you creep across the yard. one foot. then the other. the grass is damp. your hoodie feels too loud. everything is glass and you’re walking with a hammer. you reach the side of the house. make it to the window. fingers wrap around the wood. you glance back—

taesan’s crouched low, watching you. he gives a tiny thumbs-up.

you roll your eyes and start to climb. it’s harder than it looks. the wood creaks. your foot slips once. but you make it, window ledge, fingertips, finally swinging one leg over—

and then it happens.

the creak.

that one stupid floorboard by your desk. you always forget. it always betrays you.

your heart stops.

you freeze, mid-step. barely breathing.

down the hallway, something moves.

a shadow.

a person.

you hiss—“go!”—at the window, barely loud enough, but taesan hears.

he’s already moving. but he doesn’t run. he hesitates. stares up at you one last time. something flickers in his eyes. regret, apology, maybe just goodbye. and then he bolts.

vanishes behind the neighbor’s hedges like he was never there. you’re alone now. and the shadow’s getting closer.

—

the house is too quiet after the storm.

you’re still standing in the hallway when the words settle in the air like dust:

“you’re grounded for a month.”

you don’t argue. you just nod. what would you even say?

the silence that follows is somehow worse. the kind where you can feel someone’s disappointment before they even say it. like static in your bones.

you mumble something like “okay,” something like “goodnight,” and shut your door behind you.

your room is dark except for the bluish light bleeding through the window. you can’t bring yourself to turn on the lamp. the adrenaline’s gone now, but your heart is still racing like it doesn’t know the night’s over.

you’re not even sure what you’re feeling.

regret?

not exactly.

fear?

kind of.

mostly it’s just… him.

taesan.

his hand brushing yours. his laugh on the rooftop. the way he ran when you told him to, but didn’t want to.

you sit on the edge of your bed and realize your fingers are clenched around something.

it’s a note, on another one of those stupid napkins. you forgot he gave it to you, folded into your palm like a secret before you climbed the trellis.

it’s crumpled now, smudged from your grip, but you unfold it anyway.

his handwriting is messy. like him.

“if we get caught, blame me. but if it’s fun, you have to admit i was right.”

you close your eyes. you don’t even hear your phone buzz until the second time. you dive for it.

taesan: did you make it?

you bite your lip. thumbs hover over the screen.

you: define “make it.”

you wait. your heart is loud again.

taesan: define “regret.”

you almost laugh. almost cry. your fingers tremble as you type, curling under the covers like the walls can’t hear you.

you: i don’t.

a pause. then the three dots again.

taesan: knew it.

you roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling. your cheeks hurt from how hard you’re trying not to smile. you don’t know what this is. you just know it matters.

—

it’s past midnight when you hear it.

click.

soft. quiet. outside your window. you pause your music and sit up. it’s nothing. probably. a squirrel. the wind. you peek through the blinds anyway. and there he is.

taesan.

hoodie up. hair messy. standing at the edge of your yard like a dare you forgot to take. he sees you and holds something up.

a napkin.

scribbled in sharpie, crooked but clear:

“worth it?”

you stare at him, press your forehead against the cold glass, and nod.

taesan’s grin splits across his face. cocky. blinding. he doesn’t stay.

just throws you a wink and disappears again. back into the dark, like a secret the night let slip for just a second.

you crawl back into bed and keep the napkin. fold it. press it into your notebook. write the date in the corner.

because later, when you’re older and the world feels a little less magic, you’ll want to remember this:

the rooftop.

the laughter.

the near-kiss.

the sprint through shadows.

the moment your heart cracked open at the worst possible time.

you got caught. but you also chose it. and that kind of feeling?

that’s worth everything.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

tysm for reading :>

series taglist : @somber-reads @saritahwang

bnd taglist : @bxnedo

perm taglist : @s0shroe @minoouz @the0p @mon2sunjinsuver @solkver @lov3lyaaru @tanghuyuj

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antianakin · 3 days ago

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I'm not sure Obi-Wan actually... knows? He's not in the room when Anakin gives them to her and she ignites them, so while I imagine Obi-Wan's aware that Anakin kept them and has been maintaining them and such, there's nothing to me that indicates that he knows what color they are now, and every interaction he has with Ahsoka afterwards is over a holo call and she doesn't have her lightsabers ignited during those.

The creepiness of it I think is mostly subtextual and comes from the audience's understanding of Anakin and the way he tends to view love as a possessive thing. His gestures can often SEEM very sincere and sweet at first glance, but with another look or two or three, you start noticing some weird undertones. TCW has quite a few scenes like this, mostly with Padme, and what's interesting is that they ARE different than the way they're done in the films. In the films, the creepiness factor is WAY higher in a lot of ways, and the balance is honestly kind-of off there, too, just in the opposite direction, and it's nearly impossible to understand why Padme would even LIKE him when he just comes off entirely as an overdramatic selfish creep. TCW keeps those scenes a LOT subtler and so the sweetness takes center stage and the creepiness only comes in if you go back a few times, maybe as an older person with the added perspective of age and experience, and pick up on the subtext and the ways in which the things Anakin says can SEEM sweet but really are disrespectful or possessive or both. He's using all the right words in the right tone of voice but it's the motive that's flawed.

The lightsaber color change is clearly intended to have Ahsoka's sabers match his own. If we go with the idea that the color itself doesn't really have any meaning to the Jedi and the word of God explanation that they are still her sabers and all Anakin did was like... shift it three degrees to the left to change the color, then there's nothing SUPER invasive or offensive about it. It's a little weird, one of those things you roll your eyes at a little because it's kinda like Anakin handed her matching PJs or matching Jedi robes or something because why NOT match? It's kinda stupid, it's a little cringe, but whatever, they're still her crystals and the lightsabers still work and the fact that Anakin's kept her lightsabers with him as well as continued to maintain them shows how much she meant to him and the hope he kept around that she would one day return. Even the color change is, in some ways, part of that gesture of hope that she'd one day want to come back.

The creepiness comes in when you realize it's more about him and how he feels than about Ahsoka at all. The creepiness comes from Anakin seeing Ahsoka as HIS. He wants a visible symbol that she is HIS Padawan, he wants to BIND her to him in a way everyone can see. She left him once, and he views that as a disappointment, a failure. And not even necessarily HIS failure, but Ahsoka's failure. That deleted scene where he talks to Obi-Wan makes it pretty apparent that, on some level, he's disappointed in what he perceives as Ahsoka's failure. Taking her lightsabers with him and changing the color to match his own is just another sign of how Anakin is upset that Ahsoka left HIM and how bad he is at letting anyone go and how possessive he is towards the people he claims to care about.

It actually makes sense to me that Ahsoka doesn't react to this as something creepy. She's never had to experience Anakin's possessive behavior before, she has no concept of just how much Anakin struggles with letting go and attachment and how fucked up he is by her choice to leave. She doesn't have the context through which to find the creepiness in this gesture. As far as Ahsoka is concerned, with what she knows of Anakin, this is just a big brother doing something a little cringey as a prank at worst. It's a little embarrassing perhaps, but it shows that he missed her. The creepiness SHOULD only really be visible to the audience at this point. YOU'RE the one who is supposed to be bringing the context of what you know of Anakin to this scene and recognizing all of the ways in which Anakin means this gesture, even the ones Ahsoka is incapable of seeing.

And in the same vein, that sweetness is equally as important to the scene to get across. The whole point behind Anakin is that he isn't some monster with no redeemable qualities to him. The whole point is that there was a lot of good in him and a lot of good intentions and real genuine care for people, and that all of it got twisted up by his fear and his pain and it consumed him step by step until he took that last leap over the cliff into the darkness completely. Before that, it's mostly meant to be simmering underneath the surface. But if there isn't a good person in there that you can see and recognize, then his choice to come BACK in ROTJ has a lot less impact.

Obviously the issue here is that the scene leading into this one is Jedi critical as all get out, we know Filoni has a massive boner for Anakin as the "greatest Jedi of all time" and the ways that impacts Ahsoka's own greatness, and that the balance between Anakin's goodness and his darkness is probably the narrative that is the weakest across the films and TCW. TCW does it a little better but only because they turned Anakin into Obi-Wan with slightly more anger issues and so he feels a little more likable most of the time, but he's also not... Anakin anymore in some ways, which is a whole different conversation. But it can be hard to view this moment without some of those other pieces of context, and so it can feel like the creepiness that Filoni claims is intended to be there is intentionally being overshadowed by the sweetness because of Filoni's personal bias.

We are also seeing this particular moment THROUGH AHSOKA'S EYES, she is very much the point of view character in this scene, and so it makes sense that SHE sees it as an embarrassing but sweet gesture, even if WE know that there's some darker shit behind it. Because that's the whole emotional core of the rest of this arc. WE know that Anakin is four days away from committing a genocide. WE know that as Ahsoka is taking out Maul, Anakin is falling more and more into darkness. WE know exactly what Ahsoka hears in her vision even when she doesn't. WE know exactly how Anakin abandoned her to die as we watch her fight her way through her own men. Ahsoka barely understands what's happening and has no idea of Anakin's involvement in it and the betrayal that just happened, BUT WE DO, and that's literally the entire driving force behind WHY it's emotional in many ways. It's why that last image of Darth Vader going to that planet and finding her lightsaber is meaningful at all. He knows he betrayed her, he knows he abandoned her to die, he knows that whatever happened here is his fault, and he has to live with that knowledge. Ahsoka gets to wander off in ignorance, but Anakin never does.

Ahsoka's ignorance is the tragedy, and that tragedy begins right here, with these damn lightsabers and their new color.

So there's ways I think this scene works, I do think that having it land both sweet and creepy is pretty par for the course for how a lot of Anakin's scenes go (especially with the big three: Padme, Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka) and that the creepiness IS meant to come more from your own knowledge while the sweetness comes from Ahsoka's limited knowledge, but Filoni's personal biases that we all know about and are bringing to this scene as well make it feel like that sweetness is perhaps getting overemphasized and so the creepiness factor isn't coming across the way he thought it would.

Anakin changing the color of Ahsoka's lightsabers is such a weird writing choice to make because it honestly makes zero sense with everything we've been shown or told up until then about how lightsabers work.

In the Gathering arc, we see all of the kids pick up what appear to be pretty similarly colored white crystals, but they don't all end up with the same color lightsaber. We hear them discuss the importance of choosing the design of the hilt to suit them, but never once hear them discuss any importance to choosing the COLOR of the saber. There's never any indication that the Jedi can choose the color of their saber, it's effectively chosen for them when they're led to a crystal to begin with.

The only other times we know someone can change the color of a crystal is bleeding and purifying which requires a lot of effort and appears to result only in red or white blades.

So for Anakin to have changed the color of Ahsoka's sabers from green/yellow to blue, either we need to completely discount that worldbuilding and assume that the hilt provides the color somehow and can be engineered differently, or Anakin somehow found two new crystals that he was able to confirm were blue and replaced her crystals with the new ones.

The option was there to just have Anakin have adjusted the design of hilt if they wanted to have Anakin do something to her lightsabers that was invasively sweet in a typically Anakin sort of way, to make them match his and Obi-Wan's more or something. Or if they wanted it to be genuinely sweet, he could've just given her back the sabers normally. And instead, they just... threw out everything we ever knew about the lightsabers just to give Ahsoka sabers that they were going to have her throw away in 3 episodes anyway and never get back. I don't really see the point of it when the lightsabers have no emotional impact upon anything.

#anakin #ahsoka #filoni critical #dave filoni critical #tcw

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iheartchv · 23 hours ago

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🍒 "Please" 🍒

🍒You've begged him for it... he's gonna let you have it [f/o x f!reader; everyone is a consenting adult ok?]

🍒cw: 18+, mentions of female parts, recieving oral

🍒a/n: short HC style, ovulation took over >////< ; this isn't for any particular fandom, just whoever you want it to be with. hope you enjoy~💋

"Please, baby?~" 🥺

You've been begging him to have his way with you, wanting to fuck you so deep and so hard

You rubbed against him, softly mewling at him

Like a cat in heat

Well, you were...

... In heat, I mean

Ovulation makes you feel so horny, so needy for him

And he knows it

He knows that you are

He can smell your arousal

And can't help but to get hard as he imagines your pussy, lips so puffy and drippping wet...

He wants to go raw and feral

But he wanted to take his sweet time with you

With a wicked smirk he takes you to the bedroom

He's taking his time with you

Teasing you

Playing and massaging your breasts as his hot tongue twirls and licks your nipples

A shiver of desire runs through you

Your body feels like its being set on fire

You can't help but to moan sweetly

Every small gasp and soft whimper

Every little sound you made was music to his ears

He slides down to between your legs when your hips start wiggling and grinding into him

When he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties you eagerly lift your hips, helping him

He gives you that teasing smirk that makes your lower belly flutter

He lowers his mouth to your slick sex

...he's hovering...

You can feel his breath fanning over you, making you shiver once again

"B-babe..."

You whine when he hasn't done anything but kept you anticipating for a second too long

"What's the magic word?" he teases again

He loves playing this game of cat and mouse with you

You're so turned on you couldn't think of anything else

"You've been saying it all day non stop... say it, tell me how much you want it..."

Oh the seductive tone of his voice made your belly burn hotly and rush to your very core~

Between tiny moans, you pleaded with him

"Please... please baby, I want it...~"

As soon as his tongue lightly flicks your sensitive clit your eyes rolled to the back of your head with a soft gasp followed by more moans

He spreads your legs and holds them open while he's licking and kissing every inch of your pussy...

... Leaving you a trembling mess

You almost lost it when his mouth covered your mound

He was licking and sucking your sensitive little nub again

Your hands held onto the top of his head as he continued to pleasure you

"Oh~ oohhh god~" you groaned loudly

His tongue slid inside you, and he loved tasting your hot wet velvet heat

Your brain felt foggy

You were feeling high from all the ecstasy that flooded through your whole body

The knot in your belly tightened and tightened until it snapped

You came hard, your love juices soaking his mouth and tongue with your essence

.....

"M-more, I want more, please~" you panted and begged

He gave you all you wanted and more

He made you cum... how many times was it again?

If you like my work, support me on Ko-Fi ☕ It'll help me keep creating content ^v^

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xomakara · 1 day ago

Text

If We…

SUMMARY | You and Hansol pretend to fake date to get Mingyu jealous. But somewhere along the way, you start to develop feelings for Hansol.

PAIRINGS | Hansol/Vernon (SVT) x Reader

RATING | Mature, NSFW, EXPLICIT, MDNI, 18+, Any Minors and Ageless Blogs will be blocked

GENRE | smut, just pure unadulterated smut, friends with benefits, fake dating

CONTENT/WARNINGS | profanity, unprotective sex, fingering, breast fondling, creampies, dirty talk, kissing, biting/nibbling, praising, hair gripping, oral sex (f.receiving)

LENGTH | 6,131 words

TAGLIST | –

NETWORKS | @k-vanity @ksmutsociety @keopihaus @cosyhomenet @winerys-collection

AUTHOR’S NOTE | First of all, I want to mention that this is a continuation of ‘What Are We?’ but it's also a standalone fic as well. There will be 2 more parts coming soon because we all need to know who she picks, right?

Also want to thank @heechwe and @lovetaroandtaemin for reading and beta-reading this and cheering me on! I love you two and I always appreciate the hype and the love. Hope you all enjoy! 💚

Seventeen Masterlist

"You guys still aren't dating?" Seokmin nudges you a little, making your drink spill a bit out of the cup and onto your pants.

You groan in annoyance as you grab a handful of napkins from the table to pat away the wet stains on your pants. "Why does everyone seem hell-bent on us getting together?"

"You guys have been bangin' it out for two years!" Minghao said from his seat, mouth full with the last of his hamburger. "You'd think you two would be together by now. What're you even waiting for, dude?"

"I don't know!" you exclaimed exasperatedly, sipping loudly on your drink. "I just don't know."

Mingyu is hanging with his other group of friends today, so here you are in a booth with Seokmin, Hansol, Soonyoung and Minghao, and no matter the topic of discussion, it always boils down to the relationship between Mingyu and you. It gets tiring hearing the same thing everyday from each person you hang out with. But in the end, you can't get angry at them. You can't stay mad at people who mean no malice in what they are saying. They all know the situation between you two and how delicate of a position you are in.

"Did he ask you to be his girlfriend again?" Soonyoung asks.

"Yes, and for the hundredth time, I told him no." You want so badly to tell them that you told him one day you'll agree, but a part of you is afraid that maybe when the day comes that you and Mingyu do become exclusive, it won't work out like it did when you two had first started fucking each other's brains out. That when it's confirmed that you and he have actually something serious, and when feelings get hurt, and when tempers get raised, then things will fall apart and crumble like the fragile foundation between you.

Because all this time, it has been based on a sexual relationship, not an emotional one.

You feel like things may be good for the first couple of weeks of an official relationship. Maybe it can even last six months, nine even.

But what about a year or even three?

"Seriously?" Hansol looked incredulous. "So what, you're happy with just sex, no strings attached?"

"Well...no, but it's complicated, okay," you grumble.

"How complicated can it be?" Seokmin asks. "You like the guy, and he likes you back. Just go be in a relationship together; you'd both be happy."

You're scared. Scared that everything could work out at the beginning, and then one day it would just fizzle out. The worst possible scenario you could think of is if Mingyu suddenly meets the perfect girl—a girl so amazing, perfect, beautiful, caring, understanding, and everything he had wanted in a girl, that he'll no longer want you anymore and leave you alone, forgotten and heartbroken.

The silence spoke for you, but Soonyoung picked up on the difference and eyed you carefully. "Are you scared?"

You inhale sharply and avert your eyes, "...He could just up and leave me. What if everything starts and then something happens? What then?"

"But what if nothing happens," Soonyoung replies. "Wouldn't it have been worth it?"

"Maybe... maybe not," your teeth bite your bottom lip anxiously. "I'm not sure."

"So what? You're gonna stay alone forever?" Minghao questions, not in the least bit teasing. He actually looked concerned. "What happens if he does date someone else? Would you really let him go to the next woman without a fight? If you care about Mingyu as much as we all know you do, you'll either go out with him or let him be happy with somebody else."

"Guys, cut it out," Hansol cut them off before any argument starts to ensue. "We're just going in circles. Now's not the time for this. It's a sensitive subject to Y/N."

Everyone slumps into their seats. A long awkward silence follows before Seokmin blurts out. "Why don't you just date someone else? Then Mingyu might get jealous and want you for himself and stuff!"

Maybe he's right. You need a distraction; you need someone new. Then maybe these feelings of uncertainty will dissipate, and you could actually have a reason to try going into a romantic relationship with the guy. Maybe then you would get over your fear of rejection. But maybe not.

Hansol then sighs heavily and scratches the back of his head before pulling you out of the booth. "Hey, I have an idea. Come on Y/N."

"Wait, what?" you yelp when your arm gets tugged at again. You reluctantly let yourself be led out of the café, leaving your half eaten salad untouched. Your friends wave at you when you exit, and once the door shuts, you shoot a look at him. "Why'd we just leave?"

He turned to face you and said. "Do you trust me?"

You shrug in response, unsure where he's going with this. "Of course I do, but where are you planning to take me?"

Hansol smiles as he puts an arm around your shoulder, leading you further and further away from the café.

"Let's give Mingyu some competition."

"Competition? Why, how?"

"By having a fake relationship. Make him think you've got another man, and then hopefully you two will settle on an agreement together or end it all," he replied simply.

"You really want to get your ass kicked by Mingyu, don't you," you ask dryly and shake your head. "Why do you even want to get involved in the drama?"

"Someone has to," Hansol snorts, turning a corner to the parking lot. "Besides, we can get him riled up. And if we get enough jealous tension, he'll ask you out. Then boom, job well done."

"Look, Mingyu and I may not be official, but I'd never stoop that low as to cheat." Your tone is firm and a little exasperated.

"It's not cheating if you're not dating him," he fires back, and you bite the inside of your cheek. He's right. The man you've been crushing over has never called you his girlfriend, and therefore you aren't doing anything wrong.

But you never intended to lie to him and keep a secret about this. How could you? Mingyu doesn't deserve it. And besides, if you wanted a real relationship, you wanted something solid. Not temporary or fake, especially if you wanted it with Mingyu. "This isn't gonna make me feel good in the slightest."

"Trust me," he responded, a playful grin plastered across his face.

"Do I even have a say in this?"

"Do you have anything better to do?" Hansol retorted.

That shuts you up for a while. After pondering his offer for a couple more minutes, you heave a huge sigh and shrug your shoulders defeatedly. "When you put it that way, no."

"Good!" He smiles victoriously and hugs your side closely. "Now that that's over with, what do you want for lunch?"

As much as you want to protest, his arm has stayed tightly around your shoulder, and after a few more moments of consideration, you choose to shut up and lean into his embrace, enjoying the warmth and intimacy. He's just so warm.

Maybe pretending to be someone's girlfriend will give you a chance to think and get some perspective on things.

"Pizza sounds nice," you grin up at him, looping your own arm with his.

"Perfect! Pizza it is."

A week has passed since your lunch date with Hansol, and apparently word spread like wildfire between your group of mutual friends about the fake relationship. You were getting messages right and left from every single one of them asking about the status of your newfound 'romance'.

But you aren't the only person they are annoying with questions. You notice that Hansol is fielding the exact same interrogation from everyone in your group circle, and honestly, you feel a tad guilty knowing how nosy your friends are being with him, knowing the purpose is to get Mingyu to finally cave in and accept a real relationship.

Mingyu looks like he doesn't even want to breathe in front of you anymore ever since the rumor began circulating. Not that you blame him. The first time he laid his eyes on the pair of you since word broke out, his eyes widened like two giant saucers.

And to think Hansol was literally trying not to make a scene when he had to bring his lips upon yours to 'seal the deal' in public, a show of affection in order to convince everyone that there is definitely something between the both of you, with Mingyu standing literally right beside the both of you. It wasn't even a full blown kiss, just a brush of the lips in a mere second, barely a kiss.

"Just how fast does news travel?" Hansol's jaw practically drops to the ground as he walks you home one night.

"No fucking idea," you scratch the back of your head anxiously and chuckle. You trip on your own shoelace, and Hansol reaches forward to hold your waist and catch you. His body presses snug against yours, and you are met with a wave of overwhelming scent.

It smells wonderful, absolutely irresistible. He always smells nice—a mix of woodsy fragrance and spice, mingled with his natural musk—an intoxicating blend. It’s an attractive scent.

The two of you linger a little longer than necessary, a little too close for two people who are only supposed to be friends, acting like lovers, a little longer than two people in a false relationship should.

It feels comfortable though. Comfortable in your arms, his body pressed against yours, the faint smell of cologne lingering in the air around him, his warm palms against the curves of your waist. It feels different than being in Mingyu's embrace, but not a bad difference. Just different.

The more your nose fills with his fragrance, the harder your mind begins to fog up. What should you do now? The plan was only to pretend to be a thing and get some sense of jealousy to rise inside of Mingyu to then eventually ask you out. But how could you and Hansol remain friends after this?

You bite the inside of your mouth before stepping away, fingers gingerly gripping his forearms. "Th-thanks."

He shakes his head slowly. "Anytime." He clears his throat. "Don't mention it."

He steps a few inches back from you and pulls a hand through his hair. You then hear him sigh deeply. When he lowers his hand and meets your stare, he laughs sheepishly. "This might not turn out the way we think."

You force a laugh and reply, "Probably."

His stare turns solemn. "Are you regretting agreeing to this?"

"No no!" you reply a little too quickly. "Of course not, just a little nervous."

He moves to pat the top of your head affectionately. "It'll be fine. Like I said, just let me take care of you, yeah?"

"Stop that," you swat his hand away.

"But you're cute," his smile widens before kissing your temple and continuing to walk towards your apartment. "We'll think of something. Let's just let it work on its own for a bit."

You know damn well the effect he's having on you with each small act of physical contact. You know full well that with the way his hugs, touches, or kisses are affecting you that your heart rate is picking up the longer you remain in his company. Your mouth feels drier the more you breathe in his scent. You know he feels it too.

One of you has to break the silence. One of you has to voice your concerns.

But you are hesitant to speak and ruin the nice pace that you and your relationship with Hansol have been taking recently. The truth is, you just don't want to stop spending your time with him, to stop being in his warmth. He's a good friend who listens, a kind-hearted friend and good company, a funny and loving friend.

A part of you feels awful that you agreed to fake date him in order to get someone else jealous. It's unfair that he ended up being roped into this whole mess. But a small part of you, hidden deep down within, also wants to stick with the plan. To have him spend more and more of his time with you. And since the both of you have entered into this silly scheme of pretending to have a relationship with one another, this would give you more chances to indulge yourselves in the other's company.

The air feels somewhat tainted, but you breathe in deeply to try to dispel the thick air and shrug, "Sounds good to me."

And the two of you walk along in silence for the remainder of the way.

Your insides start feeling conflicted and chaotic. Part of you hopes that Mingyu will notice you spending time with Hansol, which you have been doing frequently, and that he gets jealous and angry because he is secretly pining for you just as you are for him.

And part of you just doesn't give a fuck and wants the relationship between you and Hansol to continue until...

Until what exactly? When and how could you guys bring this facade to an end?

Just a bit more. You want just a little more time together, a little more fun with him. The truth is, you wouldn't have wanted to spend less time with him. You're curious now. It was as simple and as stupid as that. You have never spent time with Hansol, just one on one together. Sure, you've always hung around each other in large groups, or some others were there, but still, never one on one.

And for the life of you, you never thought he would have such an effect on you, nor the other way around.

You swallow and look back at Hansol, his facial features, every line and dip of it, down to his body movements.

Now you really wonder what could've happened between the two of you had you two not been pretending.

"Get home safe and sleep tight," he smiles at you. He's so, so beautiful. So warm. "Message me when you do."

Your heart skips a bit and before you have any time to hesitate, you give in to instinct and stretch on your tippy toes to kiss his cheek gently, hoping you didn't cross any boundaries or lines you shouldn't. "Goodnight," and you disappear into the warmth of the lobby, press the elevator button and take in a deep, calming breath.

You check your phone in a half asleep haze and see that Mingyu has sent you a text.

'Are you and Hansol a thing now?'

You tap the glass quickly and reply, a little afraid at how the response may affect you or change you. But this was going to happen at some point.

'Yes.'

For the remainder of the day, you replay the expression of Hansol and how his face softens when you enter his line of sight, and the way his arms feel snuggly around you whenever he's pulling you close or for a side hug.

Yeah, you know for a fact that Mingyu is smart enough to connect the dots. You just hope that your little stunt ends up working out in your favor.

Two weeks into the fake relationship, it gets increasingly easier and more natural being in Hansol’s company. A kiss here and there on the cheek or temple is no longer awkward or unnerving. The physical contact doesn't weird you out anymore, and when he wraps his arms around you to hug you, your heart has stopped jumping in your chest. Your heartbeat remains steady and calm.

Things are surprisingly casual between you both. You start to invite him over to your place more frequently. For lunch, a cup of tea or coffee. You like having him in your space. His company is sweet, and every conversation, no matter the content of discussion, you can't help but crack a smile. He's nice and warm, a sweetheart to be exact. And sometimes you find yourself watching him cook up a storm in your kitchen whenever he offers.

At this point, it feels too real. All of it. The hand holding, the constant close proximity to each other, and you like it. The amount of attention and consideration given to you by him, a man you just decided to spend time with out of the spur of the moment, and you are enjoying his company more than the original plan was supposed to.

"What's wrong?" Hansol places his palm across your forehead worriedly, and you lean away, shooing his arm.

You mull over a reply, trying your best not to come off too rude or hasty. But you honestly have a lot of stuff you want to share with him. "I'm confused. I feel so different now... and I'm not sure if it's a good or bad feeling."

"Bad and good... about?" Hansol tries to prod, and you shake your head.

"Mingyu. Me. Us. I'm just confused about what's happening between the three of us," you answer simply, unsure of how to phrase it. You aren't sure about your feelings and emotions right now. "All this and..."

He slouches back and leans forward onto your bed, lying on his belly and looking at you through his long eyelashes. You blink, surprised to see him look like a curious puppy. Your hand comes over and pets the top of his head tenderly, and his smile deepens in reaction.

"Me being like this is probably affecting you in a weird way," his expression is soft, and yet his smile looks a bit tense. "Right? Maybe me acting this way is messing you up. Especially in a weird way. Since this entire thing was to make another dude jealous, and we are faking it. Maybe you're having mixed feelings because of it. How could you not? Maybe we shouldn't keep up with this."

"I don't know. My own feelings and thoughts are a mess right now," you sigh and tug the bottom of his sweater, pulling his form over you to lean into your side and snuggling against him, loving the natural scent and warmth he has, enjoying the subtle intimacy.

"If it's getting too uncomfortable for you, just say the word, and I'll drop it, okay?" Hansol mumbles next to your ear. "This is already bad enough, Y/N, having these kind of feelings for you is fucking up my head."

"You have feelings for me?" your eyes widen and your heart skips a beat. A tingly, good feeling blossoms in your chest, and it stays warm there. It feels wonderful and almost intoxicating, leaving you craving to have him be by your side or be near him. That is, if you let him.

You bite your lip. Fuck. What are you thinking? How could you let yourself feel anything at all for someone other than Mingyu?

His answer is hesitant, even a little stuttered and slow. "That's what I... yeah, guess so."

In the past week, your mind has been everywhere but yourself. It had only started to register now that he said so much, but no words could pass through your lips and into sound. All you were able to muster was a soft, quiet: "Oh."

Hansol pauses and gazes straight into your eyes. His nose nuzzles yours softly. Then his eyes narrow, and he leans into you. Slowly, he nears you. He pauses and gently, ever-so-softly, and sweetly kisses you. The tip of his nose grazing yours gently.

His hands brush a lock of stray hair behind your ear before leaning back from you, cupping your cheeks and caressing the soft surface. The entire scene looks sweet and tender. "Is this okay?"

He's asking to kiss you. Aot just any kiss, a real, actual kiss. This is going against the original plan. What's worse is that it's turning your world upside-down.

You gave yourself a mental shake. God, what a mess. You're starting to get infatuated by him.

This isn't the same type of butterflies that happens when you're around Mingyu.

With Mingyu, he makes your entire world stop. It's like those scenes from your favorite rom-coms: the ones you swoon at, making you lose track of time and melt right before your screen, never wanting the movie to end.

With Hansol, it's... different.

It's sweet and cute and warming. A cozy, loving feeling settling deep within your bones and giving you tingly good feelings all over. A nice, calm and soothing feeling taking over and embracing you.

You nod. "Yeah, it's okay," and he's quick to move closer. Hansol's nose brushes your jaw, and the both of you angle your head towards each other, noses touching. "It's more than okay, actually."

A small smile, gentle and calm, stretches on his lips, and his hand comes over to cup your jaw and slowly pulls you closer. His warm lips touch yours. Your head begins to buzz, and everything feels a little lightheaded and woozy. He smells nice, and his hand is strong but comforting in a way.

Nothing lasts long, though, and he pulls away, stroking your cheek a bit and turning you back to face him, studying every little bit of your facial structure and expressions. "As much as I've waited for this, we have to stop now before we get caught up in each other and start doing more than kissing," he laughs, pressing another peck and resting his forehead against yours and closing his eyes.

You've always thought Hansol is incredibly attractive. Any woman with eyes can see it.

And ever since you agreed to this whole fake dating plan, it's not the first time your brain has registered the attraction that you felt for the male in front of you.

Even now, it's not the first time. But now the attraction you were feeling was no longer platonic. He is just too charming and funny, warm and sincere to not be attracted to and you're grateful, and not at the same time, because it was making your entire world start spinning a little.

But at the same time, you also remembered how Mingyu made you feel the same, and then a twang of guilt aches in your chest at the thought of losing the guy you had originally intended to fall for. You sigh and close your eyes. Fuck. This is a huge mess you just made.

Your arms move forward to circle them around his waist, pulling him in a close embrace. You need comfort right now. Hansol doesn't protest or try to fight the movement, but you hear him sigh contentedly, and he pulls you even closer.

You inhale deeply his natural smell of spices, pine, and cologne. His natural scent that is. And damn, did he smell amazing.

"Hansol?" Your head rises from his shoulder, and you look at him.

"Hmm?" he grunts, tilting his head down to gaze at you.

You lean up to capture his lips with yours once more in the same manner. It’s tender and sweet, and something shifts a bit. It feels natural being close to him like this, not as foreign or awkward. You realize the chemistry you have is good between the two of you. His gentleness and demeanor makes it easier to mesh together. He feels safe, warm. And you like it.

It feels different from when you're with Mingyu, but not a bad difference. Just different, like nothing you had imagined it could. It's a new emotion and sensation, something to experiment with. You're unsure what it all means, and it frightens and exhilarates you at the same time.

"I want more of you," the words spilt from your lips faster than your brain could comprehend or your mouth could stop the words from coming.

"More?" Hansol echoes, blinking owlishly, eyes full of curiosity.

"Uh," your mind tries to form a coherent thought to save face, to cover up what just happened. "N-nothing! Nothing."

He laughs before pushing a lock of hair from your forehead and leaning down to whisper into your ear, his deep voice sending chills all down your body and back. "Well, I want more of you too."

"I'm not saying that we're together or anything," you murmur, fighting off a shiver. "Just... just let me have whatever is going on. A little while longer. Okay? Can we?"

"Ditto. Like you just said, no labels. It's just me and you," Hansol hums in agreement, wrapping an arm around your waist and drawing your frame close.

As if there aren't a lot of feelings to explore and unravel, Hansol leans forward and claims your lips in a softer kiss. Loving and warm. Not as heated or passionate like Mingyu or full of emotion like the one just a minute ago, but soft.

Sweet. Comfortable.

You find that with each kiss and each minute that goes by, the more lost your brain and body gets. The more into the sensation that it forgets who he is or why the kiss was happening in the first place. The more you feel the strong and protective hands that hold you, and his scent fills your lungs, the more and more you realize how much you want his company and how badly you need him to make sense of yourself.

The truth is you are scared of losing Mingyu, losing the 'you and him' together because of Hansol and his presence, who has been steadily becoming a source of comfort for you and the confusing muddles of thoughts in your head.

Because of the immense and growing warmth of him, the growing affection you have towards the male has become impossible to ignore and push down. It's unlike anything you've had before, unlike the wild sparks of desire and heat that you had felt with Mingyu and the comfortable familiarity the two of you shared.

The passion is burning hot, a blazing bonfire that blazes and spreads as far as your senses can feel, licking at your flesh and feeding your desire for the guy before you. It's the dangerous heat you yearn for, but it isn't one that burns. It's gentle.

The gentle, loving way he treats and holds you. The soft kisses and soft way the tips of his fingers rub across the delicate skin of your arm as the hand draws a languid pattern across your waist, coaxing your frame closer.

"Fuck, Y/N," he mutters as he hovers above you with a gaze so focused on you, you have a difficult time hiding the effect he's having over you. Your hair is splayed wildly behind your head, fingers tangled in the short dark strands of his hair, tugging him close.

"What?"

"Don't say anything and just—" his lips descend upon your own again, biting and licking the delicate skin to savor the taste, memorize and take in every bit that he can. "Stop talking. Let me make you feel good," his head lowers and pecks the skin of your throat gently before biting the fragile skin, making you flinch and whimper, tightening your hold in his hair.

"Yeah?" you swallow, watching him grind his hips slowly. His dark eyes flicker and become brighter than before, and you watch them gloss over.

"Yeah," his hands come around and lift your sweater upwards, exposing your bra and bare abdomen. He licks his lips, desire flooding into his expression. "Jesus Christ," his warm palms cup your bare flesh, massaging and stroking the soft skin, teasing the waistline of your panties.

He lowers his mouth over the soft flesh. Licking, sucking and biting every square inch he can cover. You gasp, pushing his shoulders for his shirt to lift and come off. He smirks and sits upwards to rid himself of his clothes. "What? Can't wait to get a little more skin-on-skin?"

"Stop talking and just do," you mutter and sit upright to pull his face close to yours and claim his lips. "Make me feel good, yeah? You offered."

His gaze turns a little fiercer and lustful. "Don't have to tell me twice."

One hand falls back against your pillow, and the other buries itself in his soft, dark hair. You groan quietly against his lips and pull him closer. You aren't sure what brought you to do it. Hell, you aren't sure why you've let it continue and escalate. Maybe it’s because you have become curious. Curious about having sex with someone other than Mingyu. Curious if sex with Hansol would be as exhilarating, earth shaking or out of this world like with Mingyu. You and Hansol might not be a couple just like how you and Mingyu weren't one. But that still doesn’t stop the heat and electricity, the high the friction created and the way his hands touch and knead your breasts from building up a white-hot, intense energy to leave you gasping.

You hear him whisper his compliments, and it isn't long before he's slipping your panties past your knees and sliding between your thighs, his mouth enveloping the soft and sensitive bud. Your fingers are sliding into his hair and pulling him closer. You aren't sure how you look like this, but judging by the glazed look on his face, he doesn't seem to be complaining.

"Just like that, Hansol," you whimper and tug at his locks. "Fuck, you are good with your mouth."

"Babe, you have no idea how amazing you sound right now," he chuckles, holds your thighs down tightly, and kisses the swollen bud lightly. "I'm no Mingyu but, I'll do my best to make you come, and cry, and scream and feel like a fucking queen, yeah? Do me that favor."

You chuckle and groan softly, tilting your head back. Hansol is right, he's not Mingyu. But even without the sheer size, muscle or mass, he’s still holding his own and damn well giving you a good fucking experience. He knows exactly what to do. Hansol's fingers squeeze your thigh, and before you can say another word, the flat of his tongue licks slowly. "Taste so fucking good."

"Jesus fuck— don't say another word. Just," you take a deep breath, "just keep going," you shudder and roll your hips upwards.

He gives a light laugh and works his fingers around your flesh, flicking and rubbing your most sensitive place and chuckling a bit when your hips buck, and the sweet sounds of moans fall from your parted lips. "Mhm, keep those pretty lips parted for me. I want to hear every little beautiful sound, every breath you take." When his thumb rubs between your clit, it is slow and steady. "Don't hold it back," Hansol groans softly.

Your back arches and lips part when he strokes and licks at the pink, swollen bud of nerves, the rough pad of his thumb slipping past your soaked slit, rubbing in tight, little circles.

Your eyes slam shut, and your fingernails dig into the sheets as you fight hard not to come apart. No words need to be spoken, just the mutual need to touch, the need to be consumed. He fucks his tongue inside your cunt, licking your swollen bud. Licking, stroking and driving you insane.

"Hansol!" you scream his name and arch your hips, legs twitching uncontrollably, toes curling into the bed sheets beneath your feet. "Oh God. Please!"

Your core and insides twitch, and you scream loudly as the orgasm crashes over, wave after wave of pleasure, unable to catch the breath Hansol had knocked right out of you. He licks his bottom lip and smirks at you.

And only then do you realize how he has moved away from his spot to position between your parted knees and line himself at the center of your throbbing entrance. "All ready for the real fun," he moans and sinks slowly, inch by inch into you.

And when he does, his cock fills and stretches you deliciously.

"Fuck, so fucking good," Hansol growls and moves slowly, almost languidly.

He's not as big as Mingyu, but he still hits all the right spots, and it's enough, more than enough, to drive you fucking crazy. To feel the muscles in his back move under your fingers, to hear his loud groans as he pumps into you. To have his muscled arms around you, holding onto you. To know it was Hansol, Chwe fucking Hansol, fucking and making you a mess, and you are more than pleased.

"Yes!" you moan, enjoying the drag and stretch, the friction. You bite his shoulder and draw out a moan from him as well. "Fuck Hansol!"

You should've known the minute you agreed to fake dating that it wasn't a good idea. Now that you are actually having sex with him and enjoying the ride and the feeling, the urge to do it more is growing more and more each second.

He’s right. He’s no Mingyu. But Hansol has been more than everything, giving it to you as well as Mingyu had, giving it good and just enough, just the right amount to leave you craving for more. You don't know what it is. If it's just how he is during sex, or if it's just you reacting this way with Hansol only because he has just fucked and treated you so fucking good, leaving you addicted.

"How does that feel?" he leans closer and asks in a husky, sensual whisper, punctuating it with a short thrust, and your nails scratch across his lower back. Hansol looks like a damn model with the amount of control and sex appeal he exudes.

"Fucking incredible," you manage to gasp.

Hansol laughs, but it comes out as more of a soft chuckle. A low rumble deep within his throat and chest, the reverberations sending you deeper into bliss.

He rocks his hips slowly against yours, then presses his palms onto the backs of your thighs, pushing your knees wider and pressing his forehead against yours as he lengthens and quickens the strokes of his cock. "Fuck, Y/N, this feels..."

"Yeah," you respond breathily.

"Yeah," he says again.

It felt different than sex with Mingyu. Yet Hansol isn't better or worse, but his tenderness and careful caresses and handling of your body have you flustered. Every touch has a specific purpose. It is, for a lack of better explanation, pure and clean, sincere and passionate.

No shame and no embarrassment as the both of you rock into each other, the tension reaching a breaking point, and your whole body jerks as you come and shout. It seems that Hansol can feel the tipping point because he loses any hint of coordination he had and fucks harder.

"Yes, yes, Y/N," his voice is strained. "You're doing so good."

After he takes what he needs, Hansol follows you over the edge and spills his release. "Fuck," he sighs deeply, taking a shuddering breath and gazing deeply into your eyes. He leans forward, his arms on either side of your head, caging you.

There were no words needed to describe the experience. Your legs hooked around him, bodies stuck together with the heavy, damp and heat of a sticky mess. His forehead rests on yours, and you can see his beautiful chocolatey, caramel brown eyes shine. Your own gaze full of awe and content.

"So I wonder..." he murmurs, gazing into your eyes, studying.

"About?" you swallow thickly, staring back.

"If this is a one-time deal... or not?" his thumb strokes your bottom lip. "I know how much you like Mingyu," his words pause, his throat swallowing and eyes turning a little bit unsure. "But can you not choose him yet? Not just yet?" he inhales through his nose and licks his lips slowly. "I'd like a fair shot. At whatever this is, if I have the chance. Then you can decide after."

Hansol lays there beside your frame and gathers you closer to him, holding you and giving you the chance to rest. It’s comforting, his warmth. And you decide it wasn't as bad or awkward as you had thought, letting Hansol stay longer, maybe spend the night? And being beside him. Maybe having sex with him wasn't the worst or best idea ever. You like him. If you weren't infatuated with Mingyu, he'd have definitely given Mingyu a run for his money.

You hum softly and rest your head upon his broad shoulder. A smile, content and small stretches on your lips. "Yeah. Sure." You agree, making his whole face brighten up.

Mingyu or Hansol?

You were fucked. Absolutely fucked.

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