#no reaction from his only living close friend??

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

The Soul Yearns

Author’s note: More of First Words Can Damn You. Soul Mate Horror AU in the 40k. *bold italics* means it's from Book paraphrased, to be from Honsou's perspective.

Summary: Honsou's reaction to first meeting his soul mate. And one of the people who he'll become utterly obsessed with.

Warnings: Yandere vibes. Honsou. Let me know if I need to add anything.

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams

Tagged: @sleepyfan-blog, @ms--lobotomy , @thevoidscreams, @i-am-a-dragon34, @gra93fruit-blog

Tagged: @felinisnoctis

You are Honsou?

That is the first words that his soul mate will ever say to him. He'd grown up in a version of hell. As a child experiment of Fabuis Bile, learning to fight, to survive, to kill, to hunt, to expect betrayal and cruelty from all around him.

So learning about Soul Mates- was something he'd only heard about in snippets from his older brothers, the bastards, were frustratingly closed mouthed on the subject.

And trying to figure out what a Soul Mate is, and what The First Soul Words are and what to expect had been information that he'd collected over the centuries that he'd lived.

You are Honsou?

Once he'd learned of all of the different things that there is to know about Soul Mates, and First Words, and how different people could be affected by them.

He was pleased- that his soul mate would know his name, would know of him. Although he wonders what the context, ever a very important context for such things.

He'd been told that he would know without a shadow of a doubt, just who his soul mate is. No one, and nothing can fake a soul mate bond. Not with how the soul pain burns, not with how the words glow and pulse in time with the heartbeat of your soul mate.

You are Honsou?

It was such a short phrase, but it was a simple one. Many people could say those words, many people had. It's a casual phrase, but no matter who said it, he would only feel a rush of disappointment that they are not his soul mate.

During one of the many battles he'd fought, a certain blue and gold clad Space Marine- with the Ultima scratched out- but the gleaming of his armor marking him out as a Son of Guilliman.

Rare is it so see one of them on this side of the Eye. And there are two- the one who'd nearly taken off his head, and his large friend who'd fought side by side with him.

"I know you," Honsou says, recognizing the warrior who'd nearly killed him.

"You are Honsou?" said Unnamed Ultramarine, for now at least. As the Ultramarine spoke those words. Instead of the anticipated rush of disappointment, he felt the euphoric rush of soul deep pain.

He keeps his face stone still and doesn't react to the pain to the best of his ability. To Show pain, to show weakness, was to be showing vulnerability to others, and that would have his older brothers tearing him apart.

He was already thought of as a bastard hybrid. Should it be known, without the Ultramarine proving his allegiance, either way, that this one is his Soul Mate.

Someone might be stupid enough to try and use this as of yet unnamed Ultramarine against him in the dance of bloody politics that the Chaos Marines, particularly the Sons of The Iron Lord Use.

*An Iron Warrior stepped in and hammered the butt of his weapon across the back of so far unnamed ultramarine's skull. He dropped to one knee, the wound on the back of his head opening once more and fresh blood soaking his armor.**

With that, his Soul Mate's face was briefly shadowed, hiding the fact- that he's likely reeling from the soul deep agony of a fresh soul mate bond.

Mine. Honsou thinks to himself. This one. He's mine. Now and Forever.

*Honsou nodded, "You know of me, but I don't know of you. What are you called?"*

Honsou has waited so long to meet his soul mate. He had wondered what faction his soul mate could be from. If they were mortal, xeno, dead, alive, or something else.

I finally found you. Honsou thinks to himself pleased as he eyes his soul mate.

"I am called Uriel Ventris," His soul mate says.

"A Former Ultramarine," Honsou says.

His Soul mates jaw jumps and clenches a little at his statement. How curious.

[sequinsmile-x]

A Lot of Lonely Places

She used to be good at being alone. 

-x-

Hi friends,

Truly could not tell you where this came from. Opened my laptop, opened google docs and started writing and here we are.

I hope you enjoy it, and as always, let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: None

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She used to be good at being alone. 

She used to pride herself on it. Full of false bravado about how she excelled in her own company that was borne out of necessity, a side effect of her mother’s job that had left her with no other choice. She was good at being alone and she enjoyed it. She’d painted a lonely picture as a kid, something that had followed her into her teenage years and early adulthood. It was only in college, when she spent four years in one place - the longest she ever had - that she started to make stronger connections. Threads of convenience and coincidence that tied her and her friends together during that time, holding them close until drunken promises before graduation that they’d always have each other turned out to be lies. They’d drifted apart, seeing each other only at reunions and organised events, and she knew she wasn’t blameless. She hadn’t been great at keeping in contact, not entirely used to having people to stay in contact with. It was something that slipped away entirely when she’d joined Interpol, her work not something that allowed the connections she had once treasured. 

Even though she’d barely spent time alone when she was eventually with Ian, something he ensured by always having people around her, she’d felt lonely. At first, it had been drowned by the ever-present fear she’d be caught. That he’d see through her practised lies and kill her before she could call for backup. As that faded, as time made it clear he’d fallen for her charm and the skills she’d honed at a young age, the loneliness took over. The strange desire to hear someone call her by her actual name one that never quite went away. 

Returning to her actual life was overwhelming. She was suddenly surrounded by people who knew who she really was. Every single one of them telling her she’d done an excellent job before it was all classified, anything she’d done a secret to anyone who didn’t already know. It made the loneliness bone-deep, so much a part of her she wasn’t sure she’d ever be without it, but it also made it easier to pretend it never happened. To file it away into one of the boxes in her head, the lid of it liable to slip away whenever she heard an Irish accent or smelt expensive whisky and cigar smoke. 

When she joined the BAU, her sense of self pieced back together after her time as Lauren Reynolds, and a fake background typed out on a piece of paper, she wasn’t sure what she’d find. A small part of her hoped she would make friends, something that felt childish and misplaced after everything she’d seen and done, and even that had been dashed by some of the team's initial reaction to her. The mistrust she’d since learnt was a defence mechanism, particularly on Aaron’s part, more painful than she cared to admit even to herself. 

She never expected that she’d find a family, that she’d find people who felt like home. People she would, and eventually did, die for. It made the loneliness in Paris even sharper. Nights that would have once been spent drinking with JJ and Penelope, or watching kid's movies with Aaron and Jack, long and painful as she lived under a name they did not know. She treated the loneliness like a penance, something she deserved for the lies that had led her there, the choices she could never regret but wished hadn’t happened. She got used to it again. The loneliness. The silence that came with it.  She got used to it but every now and again it would weigh heavily on her chest, crushing it inwards until it became unbearable. Gasping sobs would steal the air from her lungs until she’d eventually cry herself to sleep, ready to be tortured by dreams of everything she had lost. 

When she came home, unsteady and unsure of her place in the life she’d built herself, she was overwhelmed again. Everyone’s desire to see her, to spend time with her they thought they’d never get again, almost too much to take. She’d sought out time on her own, would issue white lies that tasted bitter as she told her friends she was tired or had other plans just so she could sit on her couch alone, the television and radio off, the silence a comforting blanket as she tried to learn to be herself again. 

As time went on, she found her footing. Found her new place in her new life, the broken pieces of her old one at her feet no longer a tripping hazard, but the very thing she used as a foundation for what she had now. 

Loneliness became a thing of her past, something she knew she could thank Aaron, and by extension Jack, for. The day after their conversation on the jet, when she kept her side of the deal and admitted she was having a bad day, Aaron showed up at her apartment. He was casually dressed, or as casual as she’d ever seen him at the time in jeans and a polo shirt, and he said he was there to help her unpack. To this day, she had no idea how he knew she hadn’t unpacked, how he knew that her meagre belongings that hadn’t been sold on after she died were still in boxes. She’d let him in, too tired to argue with him, and she’d let him help without argument - something she now knew was a sign of just how much she trusted him even when she wasn’t sure she could trust herself. He’d turned her mood around that day, had arrived to her on the edge of a panic attack and left her laughing, her smile shining with adoration as he dryly told her about something Dave had done whilst she was away. 

He’d come back the following weekend, with Jack and breakfast from their favourite diner in tow, matching smiles on their faces as they told her they were there to cheer her up, and it had been a tradition ever since. Something that followed her and Aaron from friends to boyfriend and girlfriend and now husband and wife. 

She was never alone now and if she ever was, she was terrible at it. On the rare occasion she was in the house alone she’d struggle. She was used to Aaron’s laugh, or the low timbre of his voice that would travel even through closed doors. She was used to Jack’s excited chatter, or the sound of his video games or cartoons he loved. When it was just her, it was too quiet, something she’d try and counteract by turning on the television or simply calling her husband and asking him when he’d be home. She’d feel nothing short of absurd for it, and she knew a past version of herself would mock her for it, but she loved having him near. Loved the reassurance of his presence, and the only thing that stopped her from chastising herself for it was that she knew Aaron was the same. 

The team made fun of them for it. They’d gently tease them for how they would gravitate towards each other, never able to be too far away as if they felt unsteady if they were. In the same breath as they made fun of them their friends would tell them they were happy for them, that they both deserved what they had now.

___

She sighs contentedly as she wakes up, stretching her limbs as she rolls onto her back, a yawn escaping her as she reaches for her husband's side of the bed. She furrows her brows when she finds it empty, the sheets cold to the touch, and she sits up, her eyes flicking to the also empty bassinet on her side of the bed. A quick glance at the alarm clock, and the lack of daylight streaming in through the curtains, let her know it’s 3.35 am, that she’s likely been pulled from sleep by the cold emptiness of her bed as well as the dull ache starting to build in her breasts. 

Even though she knows that they’re safe, that Aaron will have taken their little girl downstairs to give her some more rare and precious sleep, she’s still met with momentary panic. It greets her like an old friend as it wraps its hand around her throat, stealing the breath from her lungs before she can reason with herself, memories of when she was alone and being hunted by the man who had killed her briefly overwhelming. She shakes her head and blows out a slow breath and she shoves the covers off her as she climbs out of bed. 

“Get it together, Emily,” she mumbles to herself, grabbing Aaron’s robe from the back of the bedroom door as she passes it, wrapping it around herself to warn off the slight chill in the air. 

She checks in on Jack on the way past, takes a moment to rearrange his bedding around him and kisses his forehead before she sneaks back out of his room, not wanting to wake him on a night when he’d somehow slept through his baby sister’s cries. She finds Aaron and the baby exactly where she knew she would, snuggled up on the couch together with only the light of a single lamp in the corner of the room illuminating them. She can’t help but smile as she walks into the living room, her chest aching with love at the sight of her little girl fast asleep on Aaron’s chest, her cheek squashed against his t-shirt and a line of drool visible even in the low light. 

“Can I join this party, or is it invite only?” She asks, careful to stay quiet, to not startle him or wake up their daughter. 

Aaron turns to look at her, his smile soft and sleepy, and he removes one hand from Violet’s back to tap the couch next to him, “You’re always invited,” he replies, just as quietly as he presses a kiss to the dark hair on the newborn’s head, “Right, Vi? Mommy can always join us.” 

Emily crosses the room and sits next to him, immediately snuggling into his side, sneaking under the blanket he had draped over his lap. She rests her head on his shoulder and reaches out to run her knuckles up and down Violet’s soft cheek. “Is she okay? You could have woken me up.” 

“She’s fine,” he says, turning his head to kiss her temple, smiling when she tilts her head to capture it, his lips slightly chapped against hers, “She was fussing, but I think she just wanted to cuddle,” he smiles as he pulls back, “Now I may lack the facilities to feed her, but I’ve got it on good authority I give amazing hugs,” his smile gets wider as she lovingly rolls her eyes, “So I thought I’d let you rest until she did need feeding.” 

Emily hums gratefully, kissing the corner of his mouth before she rests her temple against his cheek, unable to tear her gaze away from the sleeping baby, “Daddy really does give the best hugs, sweet girl,” she says, her words disappearing into a laugh as more drool lands on Aaron’s t-shirt, “Although, I used to be the only girl allowed to drool on him,” she strokes her daughter’s head, following the swirl of dark hair. It was the very first part of her that Emily had touched, encouraged to reach between her legs by her doctor and feel the top of her little girl’s head when labour was starting to feel like it was too much, “I guess I can share him with you though.” 

Aaron chuckles and wraps his arm around her, tugging her closer as he securely holds Violet close with one arm, “Did we wake you?”

Emily shakes her head, “No, I think it was because the bed was empty,” she mumbles, reaching for his hand and unhooking herself from under his arm so she can hug it to her chest, his hand sandwiched between both of hers as she tucks them under her chin, “I’m not good at sleeping alone anymore. You ruined me.” 

He raises an eyebrow at her and smiles, “I’m…sorry,” he says, his tone teasing and she squeezes his hand tighter. 

“As you should be,” she replies dryly, feeling sleepiness take over, the warmth of him and the sound of Violet’s breathing slowly pulling her under, “There’s only one way to make up for it.”

He kisses the top of her head and then hides his smile in her hairline, “Oh yeah, what’s that then?” 

“Sleeping next to me forever.” 

He chuckles “You drive a hard bargain, but I’m sure I can manage that,” he says, and she leans into him, his voice something that calmed her, something that pulled her in, “You should get some sleep, sweetheart.” 

She grumbles, trying to fight him on it even though it was a losing battle, “But you’ll be trapped here with both of us sleeping on you.” 

“There are much worse places to be trapped, Em,” he assures her, his words murmured against her forehead, “And Vi will wake us up soon anyway,” he kisses her forehead, “Get some sleep, and I’ll be here for you both.” 

She hums, no longer able to fight it, exhaustion and the comfort of him washing over her, “Love you.” 

The last thing she hears before she falls asleep is his reply, his I love you too whispered against her skin, and she knows that not only would she never be good at being alone again, but that she’d never have to be. 

[gayleatherstories]

Selfbondage gone wrong

I couldn't believe it. I had flown a little too close to the horny sun and tightened the belt encircling my wrists just a tad too tight and now I couldn't get out. There was no way I was letting one of my friends see me like this. I was going to have to text my landlord..

Let me set the scene. I was 29 years old and I had finally reached a point financially where I could live alone, no parents, no flatmates. That level of privacy finally gave me the freedom to explore my kinks. Those kinks being leather, bondage and anal play. I had asked my ex-girlfriend how she felt about pegging. To say her reaction wasn't positive was an understatement. Anyway I'd saved up some money and bought myself a pair of black leather jeans with a two way zipper that ran from front to back, a nicely shaped plug, a leather muzzle head harness, a thick stainless steel cockring and a black mesh thong to give it all a certain level of sluttiness.

Combining all these attributes one evening I found myself googling how to bind wrists together with a belt. Flashforward a couple minutes later and now we're back to where this story started.

I clumsily I texted my landlord, a likeable man in his mid forties who so far had only ever been helpful. My text basically told him in vague terms that I needed his help with something. He texted back that it might take a bit but he'd get there as soon as possible.

45 minutes of unsuccessful struggling later I heard a knock on the door and someone entering my apartment.

He asked me where I was and I made a muffled sound hopefully pointing him to my bedroom.

The minute he steps inside my bedroom he starts laughing. But when I thought I was finally getting released from my self-made bounds. Steve, my landlord, takes out his phone and starts taking pictures. After I make an inquisitive noise he tells me it's been too long since he'd fucked a boy in bondage and before I realise he's touching my leather clad legs.

Through my gag I try to tell him that I'm not gay but when he forcibly turns me on my stomach and notices that there's a zipper running between my ass cheeks I realise how this looks. Especially when he zips it open and sees a plug nestled in my hole.

He takes his time fucking me with my own plug which in turn gets me hard as rock. He slaps my ass hard telling me to get on my knees and present my hole to him. Feeling like I have no other option I obey. Since I was already lubed and stretched from my plug it doesn't take him a lot of effort to start fucking me. I tried to resist at first but he knew what he was doing and before long I was pushing back on every thrust. He kept calling me a good boy and occasionally slapping my ass while he was fucking me.

He fucked me for a while before I could feel his dick pulsing and coating my insides.

Stupidly I thought that that was it but then I heard Steve make a few calls telling whoever was on the other end that he'd found a cum dump slut that loved anal. I started loudly objecting until he showed me the video he had taken. Apparently he'd put his phone on my dresser and it clearly showed me getting my ass bred and liking it. He told me that if I didn't do as I was told selected clips and photos would be posted online with all my personal info attached.

Six more loads were deposited in or on me that night. All of it recorded and photographed. When the last guy left I passed out from exhaustion.

When I woke up the next day I realised a couple things. My wrist were not stuck together anymore, my ass was plugged effectively trapping last night's cum deposits inside me and my muzzle was locked on.

On shaky legs I walked to my living room where I found my landlord sitting on the couch. He had changed his clothes and was currently decked out in a tight shiny black leather uniform.

[fushiglow]

you guys have got to stop cooking with the gojo comeback theories. i’ve accepted his death, no matter how much i hate how it was done. please don’t give me hope, i can’t handle any more disappointment if it doesn’t happen 🥲

(has anyone else realised that this is the first person we’ve seen sukuna cleave/dismantle who didn’t have their head split into two or more parts??? 👀)

if you saw me clowning for a moment there, no you didn’t.

[puppyeared]

Atla live action 😐

[shotmrmiller]

simon who can afford a better flat than the budget friendly flat he lives in but won't move. johnny doesn't understand. he wants to blame it on simon being the enigmatic, intentionally perplexing man he tends to be but he has a flat.

he doesn't have to. he's got no significant other, no kids (that he knows of, god only knows if simon's got a bairn somewhere. it makes him heated thinking about it. he's it's uncle, damn it.) why does he rent here when living in base is free?

the question answers itself when he's over one evening, empty beer bottles on the table, amber glass reflecting the warm glow of the lone lamp overhead. the television is on, volume turned down, blending with the other sounds of the night— the distant barking of dogs, the quiet hum of simon's fridge, the occasional car passing by outside.

the conversation had died down already, not like they don't spend almost every waking breath with each other at work and they'd been sitting in a comfortable silence when there was a sudden, sharp knock at simon's door.

it startles johnny, reaction instinctive as he reaches for his hip, hand curling around the grip of his holstered gun but simon seems relaxed. he pins him with a look and mutters, "s'alrigh'."

what does he mean it's alright? it's 'witchin' hour'' as his mam calls it, who could possible be at his door? he cranes his neck to look and—

it's you, standing up here with a flour-dusted apron, small hands holding a warm pastry, the steam twisting and curling off of it. you're exude homely charm, soft face glowing from the corridor's light (or maybe it's at the sight of seeing simon, who knows?) he can smell it in the air, sweet, inviting.

what johnny finds interesting enough to send a quick text to kyle is how simon is looking at you. as if you're handing him more than just a custard tart, but also a little piece of heaven, a fragment of a dream he hopes to have one day.

"'m sorry, simon. i wasn't aware you had any company. i just really needed to stress bake or i would've gone off the deep end and end up in prison."

violent little bonnie. he can see the appeal.

simon cups his hands over yours (he definitely did it as an excuse to touch you) as he takes the treat. if you make food to unwind and give it to your neighbors, johnny oughta move in next door too. he'll never turn down free food.

"don't worry about it." johnny's eyebrows shoot to his hairline at the softness in his tone, bottle halfway to his lips.

clearly more than a passing fancy.

"i'll just uhm, if you're friend wants some too—" but simon gently interrupts you before he can ask for some of that sweet comfort too.

"he's not hungry."

cruel, cruel bastard. he'll remember this day, jot it down in his calendar. when he gets a girl of his own, he'll be sure to do the same.

johnny wonders if you've got a crick in your neck from looking up at simon as you speak hushed words, meant only for him. can he get at least a nibble of that tart?

you shoot johnny a shy ㅤsmile before turning around and simon closes the door, turning back to the warming beers, golden tart in hand.

even the plate it's on is cute.

"ah can see the hearts in yer eyes, lt."

johnny can practically hear the air parting as simon's fist cuts through it, aimed at his head. he avoids it with practiced ease. "ooh, touchy. ah'll leave ye be if i get a bite o' tha'."

he doesn't gets not even a crumb because simon is selfish.

(simon moved here purposefully because he knows you live here and can't be at peace without knowing where you are at all times. there's a tag inside your favorite pair of shoes you left out in the hall once to dry after a hard downpour. the bakery you work at is down the street, if he looks out the south facing window, he can see you going in and leaving work. he likes to let himself in your home and smell your cushions. took one of your shirts too but at least made sure it wasn't one of your faves. he has to wash it every other day)

[miss-jaye]

cw: slightly suggestive! aizawa seeing his wife in literally anything gives you the same reaction: awe, admiration, love and lust.

he still can’t believe he landed someone as beautiful as you. so when you walk into the house in a beautiful, blue floral sundress? someone might need to give him cpr—this man is on the verge of a heart attack from how stunning you are.

"honey, i'm home~" you giggle, slipping off your shoes and entering the living room, knowing your dark-haired husband is there. "hi shouta~" you give him a radiant smile and lean down to kiss his cheek.

he swallows hard. "where…" his voice is rough. "hm?" you tilt your head. he stands up, closing the distance between you, and slides his hands around your waist, pulling you closer. "where did you…" aizawa trails off, admiring the dress on you.

"oh, this?" you glance down at the dress, then smile and rest your hands on his chest, looking up at him again. "it was a gift from a friend! she ordered it online, but it was the wrong size. instead of returning it, she gave it to me as an early birthday present!" you explain.

he nods, absorbing your words. "that was nice of her…" he mutters, his thumb caressing your waist through the fabric. "it really was~!" you agree, nodding along, unaware that all he’s thinking about is how much he wants to tear that dress off of you. his fingers tighten slightly on your waist, pulling you even closer.

"shouta…?" you notice the shift in his demeanor, the way his eyes have darkened with something more intense. "is everything okay?"

he doesn't answer right away, his gaze fixed on you, taking in every detail—the way the dress flows down your body, the softness of your skin, the way your eyes sparkle as you look up at him.

"you’re just… perfect." aizawa murmurs, his voice low and rough.

you blush at his words, a soft giggle escaping your lips as you playfully swat his chest. "oh my love, you're such a flatterer." you tease.

he leans in, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers, "not flattery, just the truth."

before you can respond, he captures your lips in a slow, deep kiss, pouring all the love and desire he feels for you into it. as the kiss deepens, his hands start to wander, his fingers brushing over the fabric of your dress, tracing the curves of your body.

you melt into him, your arms wrapping around his neck as you kiss him back just as passionately.

finally, when you pull back for air, your forehead rests against his, both of you breathing heavily, hearts pounding. "i love you, shouta," you whisper, your voice full of emotion.

he smiles, his eyes softening as he gazes down at you. "i love you too. so much."

aizawa kisses you again, slower this time, savoring the moment. when he pulls away, he looks at you with a small grin, "i think it's about time we take that dress off of you."

you laugh and shake your head. "shouta, you’re insatiable."

"only for you."

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗙𝗔𝗞𝗘 𝗦𝗠𝗜𝗟𝗘

　　　　　　　　𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where Chris records a TikTok with Tara after many requests from both fandoms, but fans reacted contrary to what he expected, generating questioning thoughts in Y/N.

WARNING: Crying, comparison, fighting.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anon

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

The morning sun beamed beyond the half-open curtains in the living room, painting the room with orange and gold tones. Sitting at the kitchen table, Y/N immersed herself in her books, trying to focus on her notes as the sounds of Nick and Matt echoed around the house.

At that moment, Chris was absent. He had gone to Tara's house, a new friend of the triplets and, consequently, of Y/N, who had recently become a frequent figure in their lives. The objective was to record a video for Tara's channel since after the large group's social media post together, both fandoms started begging for collabs.

As Y/N immersed herself in her studies, a notification flashed on her phone screen. The girl looked up at her device, seeing the new message.

pretty boy: hi baby!! look, we did a tiktok! I look so cool: link.

A smile curved Y/N's lips as she clicked on the link, curious to see the result of one of Chris and Tara's creations. The video started, and she immediately recognized the song as one of her favorites, humming softly as her eyes captured the funny dance and interaction between the two.

A laugh escaped her lips when she saw Chris shaking his head in the lyrics "Would you get down on knees for me?", remembering all the times the song played when they were together, and exactly in this part, Chris always got down on his knees in front of Y/N, making her laugh.

For a moment, Y/N allowed herself to relax and enjoy the scene. It was a genuine demonstration of their new friendship, and Y/N felt grateful to be part of that dynamic.

However, her joy was momentary.

As the video came to an end, Y/N scrolled through the comments, eager to see the reaction of Tara's followers. What she found left her cold.

Among the funny and complimentary comments, there was a barrage of messages that cut like sharp knives. Ardent fans of both Tara and Chris were heavily shipping them, completely ignoring Chris's long-standing and public relationship with Y/N.

"Chris and Tara are so cute together!"

"I so wanted them to be a couple 😭"

"I'm sorry, Y/N, but you don't hold a candle to Tara. Chris deserves someone like her."

The words echoed in Y/N's mind, like a distant echo of an approaching storm. She felt a tightness in her chest, a mixture of sadness, anger, and confusion.

How could they be so cruel? How could they judge their relationship based on fragments of a distorted reality? Y/N felt vulnerable, exposed to the relentless cruelty of the virtual world.

Her thumb moved automatically as she left the comment box, sliding the screen to the TikTok below the one she was watching, craving a quick distraction. But her hope was suddenly dashed when she saw that the next video was an edit of Chris and Tara's TikTok and all the others after.

She knew the fans were fast, but at that moment, she wanted them to be as slow as possible.

Y/N closed the app with a heavy sigh, fighting to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. It was difficult not to let the strangers' words and opinions get to her.

With a determined effort to forget about it momentarily, Y/N turned her attention back to the books, seeking refuge in the comforting familiarity of the printed pages, forgetting to answer Chris.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The day was coming to an end. In the room shared by Y/N and Chris, the atmosphere was filled with a silent energy, interrupted only by the gentle slide of Y/N's fingers over her phone screen, and the low sounds of various videos.

She was lying in their bed, having already taken a comforting shower, but her mind was still shrouded in a haze of dark thoughts. As she scrolled through her TikTok's For You, romantic edits of Chris and Tara popped up with disturbing frequency. Y/N's expression was a mixture of sadness and self-questioning, her eyes reflecting an inner storm.

She felt her mind defeat her with thoughts of comparison. She knew she would never reach Tara's beauty, humor, and even body.

The heavy atmosphere was interrupted by the sound of the door opening gently. Chris entered the room, radiating an aura of euphoria. His eyes sparkled with joy, and a smile spread across his face with ease.

"Hi, my pretty girl!" Chris greeted, closing the door behind him. "You won't believe how amazing the video with Tara turned out. I can't wait for her to post it so you can see it!"

"Hey, baby! I'm so happy you had fun." Y/N looked up from her cell, forcing a smile on her lips, trying with all her might not to reveal her current state - the last thing she wanted to do was ruin Chris's excitement, but the sadness still hovered in her eyes.

Chris immediately noticed the change in her expression and approached the bed, worried.

"What happened, babe?" He asked in a worried tone, frowning and sitting down next to her.

She just shook her head slightly, unable to put her tumultuous thoughts into words. Chris reached out to caress her face gently, seeking to comfort her with his loving touch.

"You didn't answer my text, I really thought something was happening... You know you can tell me anything, right?" Chris continued gently. He didn't want to force anything out of her.

Y/N nodded, feeling a lump form in her throat. Before he could say anything else, Chris noticed the phone in her hand with almost silent sounds escaping from the speaker, leaning over to peer at the screen.

Romantic edits of Chris and Tara filled Y/N's device. He swallowed hard, instantly connecting the dots.

Chris's comforting touch on Y/N's face seemed to turn cool. His eyes narrowed slightly, and a sigh escaped his lips before he could control it.

"Y/N, are you really upset because of these silly edits?" The boy questioned, his voice filled with disbelief. His touch against the warm skin disappeared within seconds, the boy removing his hand from her face before sitting down on the bed.

Y/N flinched at the accusation implicit in his words, feeling suddenly exposed and vulnerable. Tears threatened to overflow her eyes as she struggled to find a coherent response.

"It's not just because of the edits..." She, her voice shaking with turbulent emotions. "Did you see the comments? They-"

Chris shook his head impatiently, cutting her off abruptly, frustration beginning to seep into his expression. He couldn't understand why something as trivial as fan edits could affect his girlfriend so much.

"Y/N, this is ridiculous!" He continued firmly. "These edits and comments don't mean anything. They're just fan jokes. It's not the end of the world." His voice came out louder than before, his posture now rigid.

His words hit Y/N like a sharp knife, making her feel even more inadequate and misunderstood. Anger bubbled inside her, a simmering mix of resentment and hurt.

"You don't understand, Chris!" She snapped, her voice shaking slightly. Her right hand worked to lock the screen of her phone in one quick motion, tossing it aside. "This isn't just about the edits. It's about how I feel about being compared to Tara, about how it's making me feel inferior to her! How would you feel if people started wanting to see me with a man other than you? While I'm in a relationship with you!"

Chris rolled his eyes dismissively, his patience beginning to wear thin at the intensity of Y/N's emotions.

“You’re so tiring sometimes, Y/N.” He snapped without thinking, his voice tinged with irritation, not giving a damn about how his girlfriend felt. "I can't deal with all this insecurity all the time. It's fucking exhausting."

The words hit Y/N like a punch to the gut, leaving her breathless, her rigid posture quickly crumbling. She felt tears run down her face without force as the painful realization settled in her heart.

She was tiring. She was insecure. She was too much for him to handle.

The pain of rejection burned in her chest as she retrieved her phone again, ripping the comforter off her legs. Her lips were pressed into a thin line tightly in an attempt to stop the ugly sobs that she wanted to let out. She wouldn't give herself the luxury of showing Chris how much he hurt her.

The girl got up from the bed in one quick movement, grabbing her pillow and heading towards the bedroom door.

"Where are you going?" Chris's voice echoed harshly behind her, his body rising from the mattress quickly.

"I'll sleep in the living room." Y/N responded curtly, turning the handle with ease before walking through the door, slamming it, feeling more alone than ever amidst the multitude of turbulent emotions.

She could feel her heart being crushed a little more when she didn't hear Chris call for her again, let alone try to reach her.

The stairs leading to the living room were silent, and her pillow clutched to her chest as a last vestige of comfort in a world that seemed to be falling apart around her. Each step up echoed like a lonely echo in an emotional void that seemed to swallow her whole.

Upon reaching the living room, Y/N found refuge on the empty couch. She curled into the soft upholstery, hugging the pillow tightly as tears continued to roll down her cheeks silently. The phone rested next to her, emitting a dim light that wouldn't turn off, almost begging her to pick it up again.

Hours dragged by like centuries as Y/N fought the ghosts of her own mind.

At some point, she had given up resisting and was on her TikTok again. The algorithm seemed to hate her, delivering her frequent videos of Chris and Tara, which were like a sharp dagger in her heart.

They would really look beautiful together.

Dawn fell heavily upon her, but sleep refused to welcome her into its comforting arms. Instead, she found herself trapped in a whirlwind of torturous thoughts, her mind pounding incessantly with doubts and questions about her relationship with Chris.

Until her brain shuts down completely, letting tiredness win.

At 3 a.m., in the darkness of the night, a familiar figure appeared at the entrance to the room. Chris was there, his tired face etched with worry and regret.

His eyes quickly found Y/N's figure lying on the couch, already asleep, curled up and shivering slightly from the cold. Her eyes were closed, but he could see the swelling that surrounded them, the traces of tears on her cheeks and her still damp face. Next to her, her phone repeatedly played one of the videos she had watched before falling asleep.

A lump formed in Chris's throat. He intensely blamed himself for not having thought before acting and, much less, noticing how much his actions had affected his girlfriend.

With hesitant steps, he approached her, feeling the weight of his own anguish on his shoulders.

Gently, Chris turned off her phone, cutting the endless cycle of pain that had consumed Y/N. He then crouched down beside her, studying her peaceful face with a mixture of love and pain.

With a resigned sigh, the boy carefully took her into his arms, hooking them around her back and behind her knees, feeling the weight of her fragile body against his own chest. Y/N hummed softly in response to his touch but didn't fully wake up.

Chris carried her down the stairs and back to their bedroom, where the soft light from the lamp bathed the room in yellow tones. Tenderly, he placed her on the soft mattress, covering her with the comforter carefully so as not to wake her.

Y/N shifted slightly under Chris's touch and the new surface beneath her limbs, her eyebrows furrowing in an expression of discomfort. She looked restless, as if she were immersed in a nightmare.

Chris watched her for a moment, feeling the weight of his own harsh words weigh on him like an anchor. He knew he had hurt Y/N deeply, and the pain of seeing her suffer was almost unbearable.

With a heavy sigh, he sat down next to her, his hand reaching for her with a tentative touch. Y/N stirred slightly, her eyes finally slowly opening to meet Chris's. She fought the urge to get up and leave the room again, her anger at Chris's actions and sadness in her mind, making her want to avoid him.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other, sharing a silent understanding that transcended words, Y/N making the decision to let him say what he wanted.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry.” Chris muttered, his voice thick with regret. "I was insensitive and selfish. I didn't want to hurt you, I acted on impulse and completely without thinking. This whole situation is not silly if it hurts and bothers you, and I promise that we can talk better about what you saw and how you felt, and solve this together... Just please, give me this chance?"

Y/N blinked slowly, her eyes locked on Chris's as she processed his words. For a moment, she felt the weight of hurt and disappointment pressing against her, but then she saw the sincerity in Chris's eyes, the pure, unconditional love he had always offered her.

And in that moment, she knew that forgiveness was the only good choice to make. With a sigh, she squeezed Chris's hand tenderly, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders.

"Just one chance. I want you to fix what you did and do it right this time."

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[vagabond-umlaut]

you kiss the back of my legs and i want to cry

only the sun has come this close, only the sun

gojo satoru x wife!reader; tooth-rotting domestic fluff; gojo LOVERBOY™️ satoru; you aren't any better than him [but less poetic abt the predicament]; tw: pregnancy, 1 tiny mention of throwing up; satoru calls you 'cookie'; and he redefines the word besotted here; his thoughts are also a little yandere-ish but tht's cute, methinks; 2.3k wc; i just wish satoru was real and in my arms rn T-T

belongs to the series 'you make my heart flutter and fibrillate' but can be read as a stand-alone fic if you wanna

the fic title and summary don't rly hv a very strong connection to the fic plot— except the fact they fit both satoru's & reader's characters in this series to a tee ^_^

fic title and summary from 'gps' by shauna barbosa // header frm pinterest // divider by @/benkeibear // jjk isn't mine

you are clingy.

always have been, in fact, now that gojo thinks about it. long before the two of you were married. long before you were engaged. quite a long time before the two of you were anything apart from friends at best, acquaintances at worst.

yet now, as he feels a pair of arms squeeze tighter around his middle, not really still very much squeezing the air out of him— your husband reckons you've grown loads clingier now—

and he loves you for this. loving you even more when he feels kisses being pressed into the space between his shoulder blades.

soft lips, a tad chapped. not without the shy grazing of your teeth.

just how he likes it.

very much how he adores you.

affection, settled deeper than should be feasible into the hollow of his chest, flutters a little when you nuzzle into his back; that pleased little hum of yours quick to follow it. smiling, gojo turns his head a touch to catch a glimpse of you. it takes a beat before you remove your face to lock eyes with him, before returning your face to his back.

he huffs a chuckle, sounding incredibly fond all the same. his feelings for you can never be suppressed anyway. time has proved this to him enough number of times.

he runs a finger down the length of your arm, relishing how it leaves a line of goosebumps in its wake—

"you wanna tell me something, cookie?" your husband finally asks.

your reply doesn't come immediately. and when it does, it is nothing more than a noncommittal noise. too spoiled. too stubborn. a bit too satisfied as well, the emotion further expressed when you nuzzle his back yet again.

gojo's smile grows bigger. his cheeks hurt a little.

he thinks he can live forever with this kind of pain, not even a sigh of complaint ever leaving him.

"aha—" he exclaims loudly, still soft enough to keep the quiet of this sweet bubble you've pulled you both into, "so it's just my irresistible charm that's making you so clingy tonight, hm?"

another beat passes.

and just when he thinks he might have to do with another one of your indistinct sounds for an answer, you speak. to be more precise, whine and grumble, everything so sweet in your adorable voice.

"it's not me being clingy, 'toru— it's the baby— the baby is making me so clingy. making me feel as if i can't live even for one second without squishing you like thisss!!!"

the first reaction your tightening grasp brings out is the wind getting knocked out of his lungs— the second reaction being all that oxygen, nitrogen and carbon dioxide being replaced by a feeling so fierce and so tender— the strongest thinks his knees would have buckled under its weight had he not been lying down but standing—

not that he really minds that, though.

for you, he's always on his knees. whether you ask it of him or not. the only light in this world he is willing to bow his eyes before.

it takes him not too much effort but gojo makes a point of struggling whilst he shifts in your hold. and grins when he finally comes face-to-face with you, drinking in the way your brows are puckered and lips a little parted in an incredulous expression.

his grin simmers down however, when his six eyes notice the spark in your tummy. so tiny. so blinding. so priceless— to him and you both— he knows this, surer than he is of the scars on his palms.

thumbing the hem of your t-shirt, he hums, dragging his eyes back to be drowned in yours, "how many weeks along are you, wifey?"

"satoru," you start, voice turning sharper and just as skeptical as your face was, still is— only to be shushed by a finger to your lips. the man addressed feels his heart skip a beat at your confused big scowl— it's got to be a crime to be as cute as you— really!!!

he pinches your cheek lightly.

"it isn't like i don't remember that, cookie. i just wanted you to say it— c'mon, tell me quickly!" he presses, noting then utilising the moment your face begins to lose its cynical hue over his words.

the scowl lingers there however, twisting your delectably pretty lips—

"nine weeks," you say, hooking a leg over his waist to pull him closer. can he be any closer to you, though? your answer is always a yes, he knows you well enough to know this.

"thirty-one weeks more before we meet our baby."

it's not exactly thirty-one weeks; it's thirty weeks and five days before either of you can meet the baby, but gojo decides not to point out the error. you always hate it when he points out your tiny errors and make a point of snarking about it every time he opens his mouth to speak a word next— the man is wary not to upset his wife, yes, thank you very much.

he offers a sage "hm" in response, one he observes you accept slowly. the scowl lifts itself into a curve so fond— gojo thinks once before he vaults his next query your way. not wanting to see that smile vanish in front of him—

the ask won't cause anything so. but he can never be too sure. he has read too many books and articles to not grasp how fragile pregnancy hormones can make one be.

he tucks a strand of hair behind the shell of your ear.

fingers tarrying there when he sees you lean into his touch— not akin a moth to a bright flame, no. he can never hurt you. not even for once in his wildest dreams—

but how the north pole of a magnet hurries towards the south pole of another magnet. so different in their nature, a perfect pair of opposite crafted by the nature— maybe that's why nothing can ever stop them from rushing to each other once they're proximated, the lines of their mutual attraction existing even when thousands of miles apart.

just like you and him.

contrasting, complementing, completing each other every instant, in every facet of life.

he lets his fingers dance through the tangles in your hair, unravelling the knots in there. that pleased little hum of yours reaches him once again.

stowing the sound away, later to be placed on a pedestal in an ornate glass case as the most valuable praise ever given to him for his effort, he runs a gentle hand, nails scratching your scalp carefully.

"and at nine weeks old, just how big might our baby be?"

"i think there is a chart comparing our baby's size to fruits..." syllables unhurried and a pinch mumbled, you press your heel to draw him in a little more. "i did not really read that too attentively— oh. but. yeah!" a grin forms on your features, sleepy still twinkling in excitement.

"shoko sent me a link to this website earlier today— any ideas, 'toru, what it might be about?"

gojo does have an idea. he has a very, very good idea.

but he chooses not to say that aloud. you look so extremely adorable when you are being this excited. he would hate nothing more than to see your amped up self getting interrupted by him.

he shakes his head. your grin brightens. eyes crinkling with a glint, he can tell even without looking, is knowing.

the tips of your fingers caress his bare back, softer than a breath. "it's about when our baby forms which organs— our baby's eyes are being formed now!!! isn't that too cute, 'toru?"

"it is, cookie," he hums without any hesitation, six eyes activating one more time to zero in on that teeny-tiny spark. then deactivating when he looks back up to your sleepy eyes. a terribly tickled, equally wicked glimmer creeps into his grin. "so our baby is just like a tiny ball of cells with two big blue eyes, huh? they must look so scary, heh— ouch!"

your pinch did not really pain him, but gojo does his best to mimic an awfully wounded puppy, sogging wet from the rain and waiting at the doorstep with his moving blue eyes— it takes less than three seconds before you let go of your glare with a sigh.

you massaging the sore spot on his arm, your husband watches you give yet another sigh.

"first of all, there's no guarantee our baby will have your eye color and not mine, 'toru," you explain, pinning him under your drowsy stare, "it is very difficult to predict that for sure— and secondly: i'll punch you if you ever call our baby scary— sure, they don't really look like a human in this moment, but they'll slowly get there in forty weeks— as per the website, their face, hands and feet are forming in the ninth—"

"okay, alright!! i get your point, my insanely smart, insanely beautiful, insanely sexy wife," gojo cuts in, smiling while warning bells chime in his head at the faintest gloss in your eyes—

but maybe they weren't noisy enough. that is why he doesn't bite his tongue, rather continuing, "but you weren't actually blaming our poor human-ey baby for your clinginess, were you? it's not like they have a telepathic communication set up with you— hell, maybe they haven't even started forming their brain!"

"the baby's brain starts forming by the fifth week, satoru," your quiet reply reaches him exactly when he gets his last giggle out. the moist sheen in your eyes grows more prominent.

and his insides begin to twist—

one-third helpless. two-thirds contrite.

you don't stop talking, tone lower than he has heard you use in nearly forever, "and you better not comment on my bond with our baby— i'll punch you twice if you—"

"i wasn't doing that and i promise to never make you feel that way, my cutie-pie cookie," gojo interrupts, voice far gentler than earlier, just as low as yours, "but feel free to throw me out the house if i ever do that, even accidentally. okay?"

you're not okay.

you never are, when it comes to you being actually harsh to him, even when he's the one asking you to be— shakespeare once called love to be blind— your husband doesn't think you're blind, however. it is your well-contemplated decision to see his mistakes and see each of them as excusable, perfectly pardonable, no matter how silly or serious the world might regard them to be—

you make a noise. somewhat annoyed. unhappy too, yeah. before you push your face into the crook of his neck, nose nuzzling into the flesh there.

you would have bitten him by now. but he reckons you might be a bit too tired for all that. you couldn't even finish your dinner before facing the urge to throw up tonight, yet again.

feeling sorry, almost, gojo resumes his ministrations to your hair, half because you need to fall asleep now; the hands on the clock are close to striking midnight. the other half because he just loves playing with your hair— only to still when you suddenly pull your head back.

brows furrowed as you peer at him, eyes big and earnest.

"you don't really mind when i hug you like this, do you, 'toru?"

"no, cookie!! of course not!!" the man wastes not even a breath before he rushes to explain— because seriously, what!??

sure, he wasn't the first one to fall between you two. but ever since he did fall, he has never not expressed how every second away from you, every fraction of an instant away from you, causes him pain.

and yeah, he might have been a tad too dramatic whilst doing so, but you've always been so good at reading him— then why on earth can't you read him now? why don't you read, he loves it when you seek him out, he loves you more than anyone and anything else??

"good," your satisfied little chirp gives him a light shove away from his frantic thoughts. something tells him he should be put on alert by the way your lips curve into a smug smile next.

but gojo finds himself uncaring. just immensely relieved as he trails his fingers from the back of your head to your chin. thumb reaching out to brush the corner of your infectious smile. you continue.

"but even if you did mind, sorry not sorry— you were the one who put the ring on my finger, so you have to deal with everything i'm, mister!! no refunds nor complaints can be filed here, gojo-san~"

and neither refunds nor complaints he wishes to file, satoru muses to himself as he cups your cheek in one hand. bending down to steal the taste of your beam, your tease, your love for him on his tongue—

not when he has received the world in exchange for letting go of that poor splintered mess of a heart, he used to call his, but is now yours.

and will always stay yours—

"hey 'toru— what will you do if i chomp on your fingers right now, like really hard? will you yell? or will you be the freak that you're and enjoy it, huh?"

gojo pauses.

and wonders.

is there any binding vow one can make to secure oneself to another in every lifetime, for all eternity?

he hopes there is.

your husband really, seriously hopes there is—

'cause no way in heaven, earth or hell, does gojo satoru want to let go of you— and he will not let go of you.

this idea was ROTTING in my brain for ages, but wht gave me the spark– the boost to write this was the wonderful sukuna fic written by ari @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat ❤️❤️❤️ i seriously love u & ur writings sm, babes 🥹🥹 everyone pls go check their masterlist out. it's studded w diamonds and pearls 😌😌🥰

and this is also for my sweet & sour bestie mimi @avatarofstars 🤭🤭— u 🤝 me in being clingy af towards our fictional hubbies 😂😂🥰

hope this was an enjoyable read! pls don't plagiarise, translate or repost this ❤️❤️

masterlist

[taegimood]

— my girl (c.yj) ♡

pairing: choi yeonjun x fem!reader genre: friends to lovers, non-idol au, smut, fluff rating: nsfw, mdni wc: 6.1k warnings: unprotected sex, pwp (6k but most of it is smut tbh lol), softdom!yeonjun, inexperienced!reader, dry humping, oral + fingering (f receiving), squirting, petnames (baby, princess, doll, good girl, pretty girl), yeonjun refers to himself as daddy, spanking, creampie, multiple orgasms (f receiving), light choking but not (he doesn’t squeeze), one instance of spitting, it’s established that jun is older than reader so OPPA IS USED AS AN HONORIFIC and idc if people hate it lol as a korean speaker i’m tired of westernizing shit

a/n - pls picture temptation era hair yeonjun 😵‍💫 this is inspired by a dream i had.. dreamt every part in his room up until the actual penetration 😮‍💨 cockblocked by my own brain

──────────────────────

yeonjun’s sheets are soft as you sit observing his bedroom, taking note of all the little details that his strong personality shines through, the first time you’ve seen the other side of his door — though how you even got to this point in the first place is still something you’re going over and over in your head as you wait for him to come back.

his soft smile is met with your nervous one as he enters the room with two water bottles in hand, shutting the door quietly behind him — your eyes follow his lithe fingers as he turns the lock — and you watch as he places the drinks on his nightstand before turning to you.

the air suddenly feels much warmer when he sits down on the bed beside you, so close that you’re almost touching, and that fond look on his face only serves to heighten your nerves as you remember that he knows what he’s doing, and you don’t.

well… sort of.

everything happened only a few hours before.

your best friend kai had invited you to hang out with him and his roommates, a chaotic group of guys who you’ve grown to call your friends as well; even yeonjun, who you may or may not have developed the hugest crush on ever from the minute that you’d first met him.

it’d been a few months of back-and-forth, sometimes convinced that it must be mutual and other times doubting your judgement completely — has he always been this flirty, or is it your imagination when his eyes linger just a little too long? — and it was on this fateful day at their apartment when it all fell apart.

(or should you say, all came together).

everyone knows to watch out once beomgyu’s got a couple of drinks in him, so it was only a matter of time before your unlucky day came when he’d decide that you would be his glorious first victim of the afternoon; and that was exactly where you found yourself as he took it upon himself to announce to everyone in the room that you and yeonjun needed to admit you wanna fuck each other already, or else he’d “just have to do something about it himself” (whatever that meant).

to say you wanted to crawl into a ditch and die would be the biggest understatement of the century.

your wide eyes were pinned to the floor as the room erupted into multiple reactions; soobin groaning with a smack upside beomgyu’s head as he scolded the younger not to say stuff like that, taehyun’s “damn,” as he knocked back his beer to cover a laugh, kai burying his head into his hands with a shriek — he swore he didn’t mean to spill your secret to beomgyu a few weeks ago, it just slipped out — and of course, the culprit in the center laughing his ass off unphased.

the only one who had yet to say anything was…

you steeled yourself and glanced up, meeting yeonjun’s eyes that were already watching you from across the living room.

your own widened marginally.

he didn’t look disgusted. he didn’t look put off. in fact, he looked…..

your breath caught. there was a small upturn to his lips, a confirmation, the hint of a smile that solidified as he quirked a brow as if in question. as if he was asking you,

“well? what should we do about it then?”

and everything changed from there.

~

it hadn’t taken long for beomgyu’s quick-moving attention span to be directed elsewhere thanks to some faithful effort on hyuka’s part, the others following suit to spare you from the spotlight — and it was only about an hour later when you found yourself alone in the kitchen for a breather, the sounds of your friend’s quarreling and laughter slightly less eardrum-shattering now from where you stood leaning against the sink.

a few minutes passed before the sound of someone else slipping into the room grabbed your attention.

your peace quickly morphed into apprehension.

“hi,” yeonjun whispered, a small smile on his face that read somewhere between gentle and amused.

his hands were in his pockets as he came to lean casually against the counter opposite you, head tilted slightly to the side as his eyes trailed over your expression, and you cursed your mouth for going dry at the sight of him.

his simple black tank top and sweatpants combo had you fighting to keep your eyes on his face — his face, pretty and framed so nicely by silky black hair that was grown out quite a bit longer than usual these days, and you wanted nothing more than to run your fingers through it as your thighs rubbed together subconsciously.

“…hi,” you whispered back.

he breathed out a small laugh.

“i wanted to talk to you, but i didn’t want the others to hear.. figured this was a good opportunity when i saw you get up.”

“r-right..”

why am i so awkward? what the fuck? oh god wait why is he coming closer-

your hands gripped the counter behind you as yeonjun stepped forward. his voice was low, quiet, meant only for you as he stood in front of you with a look on his face that had you melting in more ways than one.

“listen... i know that we’ve never talked about this thing between us. i didn’t wanna scare you off by being too forward, but now that beomgyu ran his mouth about it…”

with a feather-light touch, yeonjun reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

“well, i’m not gonna deny what he said, and i’m pretty sure that i’m right when i say.. i think you want me the same way that i want you.”

you felt heat running down your entire body like a zap of electricity.

your fried brain didn’t even have the chance to fully process before you heard beomgyu shout from the living room, “hey, what’s taking so long?!” and the scent of yeonjun’s cologne was like a drug as he leaned in and whispered in your ear,

“if you feel ready to see where this goes.. stay here with me when they go out.”

and just like that he was gone, random assortment of snacks in hand to avoid suspicion as he called back to beomgyu, “i’m coming, just couldn’t decide what to eat!”

and you slumped against the counter with legs like jelly.

~

you received a chorus of groans and boos when you told the guys you were gonna go home instead of joining them elsewhere for dinner and drinks, earning brief suspicion only from taehyun as he eyed you questioningly for a moment — their focus primarily resting on yeonjun’s uncharacteristic opt-out that he’d blamed on a sudden migraine.

you felt ridiculous as you even headed down the elevator with them to the street outside, going out of your way to be believable, rounding the corner towards the subway station until they were well out of sight before heading back up towards the apartment.

you’d’ve been lying if you said that you didn’t consider leaving yourself; your jittery nerves and quick-beating heart nearly convincing you, until you remembered the look in yeonjun’s eyes and the wetness between your legs returned.

yeonjun, choi yeonjun, one of the most popular and charismatic guys that you know — wants you.

and now here you are on his bed.

when you think about it, in your eyes yeonjun is a lot of things that you’re not; the way he just naturally draws people in, the way he carries himself, always making friends so easily; the fact that he’s genuinely cool, somehow good at everything he does and always looks hot doing it; he’s older than you — not by much, but still — and the number one thing on your mind right now:

he’s experienced.

now you’re no virgin, but your measly 1 past boyfriend is nothing in comparison to the fact that yeonjun’s ability to please a woman is a very well-checked box on his long list of skills (if beomgyu is correct about anything he’s blabbed about, at least. which today so far he seems to be).

and now, as he sits here so close to you with that same look on his face as before, that gentle smile and amused little twinkle in his eyes — well, you know right then that you’re a goner.

“hi,” he whispers, just like he did in the kitchen earlier, and you whisper it back with a shy smile.

this is the first time you’ve ever truly been alone with him.

he looks at you for a few moments, and you wonder if this is what amoebas feel like under a microscope until he places his hand on the bed beside you and rests his weight on it, by default leaning in even closer than before.

“i like you.” he says simply.

in panic mode, you resort to sarcasm - “y-yeah-“ you clear your throat - “um, yeah, i think we established that.”

his laugh sends tingles through you as a real smile not stricken with awkwardness finally blooms on your face, the ice slowly melting for you as you start to remember that right, okay, he’s a friend and not some unreachable deity (for the most part, at least).

“i.. like you too,” you respond sheepishly, and you bite your lip at the underlying shift in his tone as he keeps his eyes locked on yours and says,

“i know.”

the mood has suddenly deepened into something else.

his hand comes up to your cheek, thumb ghosting over your bottom lip as he murmurs, “is this okay?” and you don’t know when his face got so close to yours but your eyes are already threatening to flutter shut as you hum in response, lidded gaze glued to his full, pretty lips that you want so desperately all over your body.

“words, baby.” he voice is a whisper, breath warm against your lips, his own so close now that you can almost feel them —

“y-yes.”

and just like that, choi yeonjun is kissing you.

whatever you thought a real kiss was supposed to feel like, whatever kisses you had felt with your ex —

none of it compared to this.

you feel his smile when you quietly moan, his lips even softer than you had imagined, moving against yours slowly, deliberately, expertly, the hand that had been on your cheek sliding gently to the back of your neck as he deepens the kiss.

his tongue is warm and soft as it traces along your bottom lip, and you don’t care how eager you probably seem as you let it in immediately, trying not to moan again as he slips it past your lips to caress yours; you melt as he sucks lightly on your tongue before giving a teasing, gentle bite to your bottom lip as he pulls away.

you can’t even imagine how dazed you must look — but his knowing smile tells you enough.

you can’t explain it, but in that moment you gain a hunger-fueled confidence. you want to give yeonjun everything.

fuck, you want him bad.

you’re pulling him back to you faster than you can chicken out otherwise, and the pleased noise he makes as you connect your lips again only spurs you on further to do what you’ve been so badly wanting to:

you touch him, hands sliding from his shoulders up to his soft hair, pulling at it gently as his lips travel down your jaw to suckle at the skin of your neck; you moan, freely this time, eyes sliding shut and head tilting back to give him all the access he wants as you wrap an arm around his shoulders and keep him close.

his hand slides around your waist to your lower back as he slowly guides you down to lay against his sheets, your legs instinctively widening for him as he slots his hips between them, and you groan at the bulge now resting comfortably against your clothed core.

it doesn’t take long before he gently rocks his hips forwards.

you whimper, clutching to his tank top as he continues to kiss and suckle along your neck; your legs tighten around his hips and his lips tilt into a smirk against your skin as your body responds to his like it’s what it was made for, and so he does it again, this time continuing into a steady rocking pace.

the hardness of his cock drags deliciously against your center as he rolls his hips into it again and again, slow enough so that you feel everything, but firm enough that it makes your head spin and your thighs twitch with need.

“oppa,” you whisper, pleadingly, and you don’t even know what you’re asking for but you know that you just need more.

“hm?” he hums back, lips still sucking pretty bruises into your neck,

and it’s like he can read your mind as he asks with another smirk against your skin - “want more, baby?”

you nod quickly with a weak, “mhm,” and your heart jumps as his lips move up to your ear.

“tell oppa what you want.”

the husk of his voice sends shivers straight downwards.

he pulls away just enough for you to meet his eyes and you feel like a rabbit hunted down by a fox, but in your case, you never want to escape from his grasp.

“i.. i-i want…”

you can feel the heat blooming in your cheeks, remembering once again how much you haven’t experienced, and you want to tell him exactly where you want him to put his mouth — but instead your eyes avert from his as you mumble in admission,

“i-i’ve never been… well i’ve never been eaten out before. s-so.. um..”

in your peripheral you can see yeonjun’s brows lift to his hairline in disbelief. “what?”

a finger beneath your chin gently draws your gaze back to his and the genuine bewilderment in his eyes is enough to deepen your blush as he asks, “how could that bastard have possibly survived never tasting you?”

your body buzzes with electricity as your eyes widen; there’s a hunger and determination dancing in yeonjun’s stare that you’ve never been looked at with before.

his intensity makes you shiver in anticipation and it’s like you can taste the honey dripping from his words when he says,

“let me make you feel good, baby. let me give you everything that he should’ve.”

your head spins.

you’ve never felt so desired.

the second that you say okay, yeonjun places one last dizzying kiss to your lips before he’s moving down your body, guiding you out of your shirt as he slowly maps out your skin with his lips — you breathe out a sigh at the way his large hands caress you, intentionality in every touch.

eventually he sits up on his knees, pulling back from a kiss to your navel to reach for the hem of your panties. you shiver when his fingers ghost over your hips.

“lift for me,” he instructs softly, and you do, biting your lip as he begins to slowly pull them down, eyes glued to your cunt, and you watch the way his breath hitches in his throat at the strings of wetness that cling to the fabric.

“fuck,” he whispers, practically groans,

“can’t believe no one’s ever tasted such a pretty pussy before… gonna eat you so good, baby..”

you’re going out of your mind with need, his words alone sending another gush of arousal to your heat, your hungry eyes traveling down to trace the imprint of his rock-hard cock in his sweatpants.

teasingly you ghost your foot over it as he slides your panties from your ankles, and his eyes flicker up to yours as you stare back innocently; his gaze narrows and lips quirk up into a lopsided smirk as his warm hands slide up your legs.

“getting brave, now, are we?” he taunts, stopping at your thighs as he wraps his hands around them and spreads your legs open.

slowly he lowers himself between them, all the while keeping his eyes on yours, and your hips jump at the whisper of his breath against your aching cunt when he says,

“better be careful, doll… any game you try to play, i can play it better.”

and when his fingers spread you open and his lips kiss your clit, you already know that he’s ruined you for any other man.

how could you even dream of anyone else when the tip of yeonjun’s velvety tongue slips out to trace teasingly up and down your slit, or when the pad of his finger circles so lightly around your leaking hole that you might even be imagining it?

no, there’s no way you could be imagining this, not as the warmth of his mouth caresses you as he closes his lips around your clit and gently begins to suck, your head tipping back with a shudder as you whine at the feeling.

“eyes on me, princess,” he murmurs against your cunt, and when you manage to bring your gaze back to his, the sight before you is sinful.

his foxlike eyes dark and dangerous and twinkling as he watches you through his lashes, pretty lips forming a smirk that you can only feel and not see as he whispers “good girl,” - before the next thing you know, his tongue is flattening against you as he licks a firm stripe up your pussy, big hands keeping your jerking hips in place as he begins to ravish you, sucking, licking, kissing, groaning shamelessly at the taste of you and sending vibrations straight through your quivering core as you unravel beneath his touch.

“so fucking good,” he moans, sliding a finger inside of you with ease as he begins to pump it steadily in and out, practically making out with your pussy as you whimper, hands instinctively flying to his hair — you almost pull them away when suddenly he adds another digit, the stretch causing your fingers to tighten in his dark strands as your hips instinctively grind forwards against his mouth.

you’re about to apologize when yeonjun moans even deeper than before.

“that’s it, baby,” he grunts, “use my face. want it so bad, don’t you? go ahead and chase it, cum all over daddy’s tongue.”

something unholy snaps inside of you at that.

“f-fuck-” you cry, doing exactly as he said; you can’t help it as you grind your clit down on his warm tongue over and over and over, hands tightening in his hair as his fingers work impossibly faster, and a new sensation takes over you as the dam breaks and you reach your peak;

you don’t realize what’s happening at first as you’re carried through the most mind-blowing orgasm, until you feel the unusual amount of wetness soaking his sheets and hear yeonjun groaning “fuck, fuck, that’s it, baby, that’s it -“ and he’s three fingers deep as you realize you’re squirting.

it’s as though he can read your body like a book the way he can tell when it’s suddenly too much, his pace slowing gradually until he gently slides his fingers from your sopping hole, placing a final feather-light kiss to your clit before his lips and hands move to soothe your quivering thighs.

“you did so good, baby, holy shit..” the bottom half of his face is soaked in your juices as he mouths along your skin, hands massaging and caressing whatever his lips aren’t kissing;

you’re still bewildered, and can feel the raging blush on your cheeks as you’re quick to blurt in embarrassment, “i-i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to-“

“y/n.” yeonjun looks up. “seriously, that was so fucking hot, you have no idea.”

you can see in his eyes that he’s telling the truth.

“r-really?”

he laughs, finally sitting up; “baby, i- fuck, like, you actually have no fucking idea how sexy you are.” he pushes his hair out of his face and it’s only then that you realize how heavy he’s breathing, the bulge straining against his pants somehow a million times more prominent than it was earlier.

“y/n, i’m so turned on right now that i can hardly think straight. please-“

you meet his eyes again quickly,

“please, i need to be inside you.”

apparently today is the day that you learn just how crazy choi yeonjun makes you, because despite your still-twitching thighs and your pussy so sensitive that you’re sure a slight breeze would send it into overdrive, your body is quick to betray you at his toe-curling words when your walls clench from the emptiness and a fresh wave of arousal gushes from your soaked heat.

“if you don’t fuck me right now i’m gonna go clinically insane.”

his brows lift only for a moment before he’s laughing, swooping down to catch your lips in a kiss. “well we can’t have that, now, can we?”

he gets off the bed, your eyes hungrily tracking his every move as he peels the tank top from his torso and casts it to the ground; “fuck,” you whisper as your gaze trails down the defined ridges of his abs; “fuck,” you groan when he hooks his thumbs around the waistband of his sweatpants and pulls them down with his boxers in one go.

his cock is long and slender and flushed pink, the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen as you imagine the weight of it in your mouth.

if it were anyone else, you’d wanna slap the shit-eating grin right off of his face, but this is yeonjun, and the fact that he knows he’s all that only makes him 10x hotter.

you can’t tear your eyes away from his length as you sit up on your elbows to watch, and he enjoys it, pumping himself in his hand and smearing the pre-cum around his tip with a satisfied hum.

but as he reaches for the condoms in his desk drawer, you surprise both him and yourself when you stop him.

“no.”

he pauses, looking over his shoulder at you with quirked brows —

“want you to fuck me raw.”

his mouth goes dry. you can see the fire dancing in his eyes as he slowly straightens, keeping himself under control as he asks carefully,

“are you sure?”

you bite your lip and quickly nod. “wanna feel you,” you breathe, and that does it for yeonjun as he’s back on top of you in an instant, his lips pressing to yours in a searing kiss as you moan around his swirling tongue.

his hand is on your throat, not squeezing, just resting there as if to say you’re mine, and you whine deep in your chest when you feel the tip of his cock sliding through your slippery folds.

“gonna fuck this pretty pussy so full of my cum that it’ll be dripping out of it for days,” he rasps as he taps the head of his cock repeatedly over your clit, the lewd noise met with your whimpers as you grasp at his bicep.

“please,” you whine, “want it, please-!”

his hand slides from your neck down to squeeze your tit as he sits up and hooks one of your legs over his shoulder with his free hand.

“so good for me,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded and lusting as he looks down at you, dragging his shaft back and forth along your slick pussy; “such a good girl, begging for daddy.”

and when he finally pushes the head of his cock past your entrance, stretching you open as he sinks inside, stars explode behind your eyes and you nearly cum again right there on the spot.

“fuuck..” he groans in a drawn-out moan, eyes sliding shut and head tipping back as your walls suck him in, mouth falling open before he catches his plush bottom lip between his teeth and looks back down at you through hazy eyes, giving another rough squeeze to your tit in his grasp.

he slides his hand down to press against your lower belly as he bottoms out, your hips twitching as you gasp, and with his other hand he grips your leg that’s slung over his shoulder as he begins to grind his hips against yours.

you can’t breathe, can’t speak, overwhelmed by how fucking good it all feels, the head of his cock massaging places inside of you that you didn’t even know existed as he rolls his hips over and over, whispering fucked-out nothings;

how tight you are, how good you feel, how he’s gonna make you forget your own name by tomorrow.

and when he starts really moving, hips separating from yours only to connect again with a lewd slap of skin on skin each time he delivers a slow, firm thrust to your cunt, holding you in place so you don’t jolt up the bed — well, you never knew that something so delicious existed, and now that you’ve had a taste, you’re already rendered insatiable.

you paw at any part of him that you can reach, hands finding purchase on his thighs as his pace picks up into a steady rhythm, your lips moaning and pleading and begging around words that you can hardly get out of your mouth.

“look at you,” yeonjun coos breathlessly, “so drunk on my cock already.. perfect pussy made just for me, hm? taking daddy so well? good baby.”

he looks as blissed out as you feel, face wracked in pleasure as he picks up the pace, his hand so large where it still presses over your lower belly that his thumb is able to reach your clit, and the added stimulation along with the pressure of his palm sends your head lolling as you twitch and tremble underneath him.

“j-jjunie..!” you whimper, and you can’t help the nickname from slipping between your lips; you’ve never called him so intimately before, never said his name so freely, but your accidental drop of honorifics seems to stir something inside of him as he groans and fucks you harder;

“say that again,” he grunts as you gasp out from the sudden increase in pace.

“jjunie,” you keen immediately, gripping the sheets, gripping his arms, gripping anything as a muttered curse leaves his lips and his thumb circles faster around your aching clit.

“love it when you say my name, fuck,” he groans, hips slamming into yours and jolting you like a ragdoll as you cry out for him, the knot in your stomach tightening so fast that you swear it’s about to snap, and when he leans forward with your leg still gripped over his shoulder and his cock pounding into you at a far deeper angle than before, fireworks fill your vision as you cum around him harder than you’ve ever came in your life.

“yes, yes, yes, fuck, that’s it, cream on my cock, baby, fuck you’re so- s-so tight, fuck- just like that, let go for me, baby, good girl-“

yeonjun’s voice sounds far away as you spasm around him, his thrusts growing sloppier as your cunt clenches him so tight that it nearly forces him out; he lowers your leg back down to the bed and slows down a little to let you catch your breath but he doesn’t stop, and your watery whimpers are like music to his ears as you clutch onto him desperately.

“t-too much, too much-!” you hiccup, tears spilling from your eyes at all the overwhelming sensations, but you don’t actually want him to stop and he knows it too — he coos at you, hand sliding up to rest on your throat again as he leans down and licks a stripe up your neck to your ear.

“you can give me one more, baby, can’t you?”

a shiver rolls down your spine at the devilish smile in his voice, sweet like honey as he catches your earlobe between his teeth.

“one more so daddy can stuff you nice and full.”

your pussy clenches. “w-want your cum,” you whimper dumbly in response, too fucked out to think of anything else, and yeonjun smiles as he leans back and runs his hands down your body until they reach your hips and squeeze.

“i know,” his thrusts are still steady as he watches you with twinkling eyes; “and i’m gonna give it to you.”

your eyes widen in protest as he suddenly slides out of you without a warning, but the words die in your throat and are replaced with a squeak of surprise when he flips you over onto your stomach instead.

“ass up for me, pretty girl.”

you obey immediately with what strength you have left in your shaky limbs, a quiet whine escaping your throat over not being able to see or touch him anymore.

his little laugh from behind you indicates that he caught it.

“don’t worry, baby,” he soothes as his hands massage over your ass, “we have all the time in the world.”

your heart doesn’t even have time to skip a beat at the promise of his words when suddenly his tongue is on your pussy, your knees nearly buckling at the heat of his mouth as he licks from your clit up to your fluttering hole, and you gasp as he spits on it before his cock enters you fully in one single thrust.

you cry out, knees buckling for real this time as he holds you up, sheets crumpled in your fists as his hips immediately pick up into a quick, dizzying pace.

“love the way you fall apart around me,” he murmurs from behind you, squeezing your ass, “love how you take me so well…”

you want to touch him so badly, want to see the pleasure pooling in his eyes; you don’t have time to respond before he lands a smack on your ass, your surprised squeak spurring him on as he does it again, drilling into your cute little hole like it was made just for him as he breathes out a moan.

from this angle he can see the way your pussy swallows him so hungrily, and his grip on your hips tightens as he drags you back and forth on his cock.

“love.. l-love your.. love this so much… w-wanna be yours…”

he almost misses your dazed mumbling over the loud sound of his hips slapping lewdly against your ass, but he makes out what you said, heart swelling in his chest and cock simultaneously twitching inside of you as he leans forward, his palm sliding up along your spine to brush the hair from your fucked-out face as he pushes your body down against the sheets, chest pressed to your back now and breath caressing your ear as he continues rocking his hips even deeper.

“you’re mine, baby, you’re mine..” he whispers between kisses along your jaw, a reassurance, your soft whimper of a response causing him to bite back a smile as he continues,

“i’ve wanted you for so long.. can’t believe i finally get to have you.” his hand slips beneath you to toy with your throbbing clit, and your ass grinds back against him as a result as you moan wantonly into his sheets.

“i’ve been yours since the.. fuck.. since the second i s-saw you..fuck, p-please don’t stop..!”

your hips are moving with his now as he works your clit faster, mustering your strength and pushing your weight back as you desperately try to fuck yourself on his cock, on his fingers, chasing the rising wave in your belly that’s threatening to break as he meets your quickening movements with his own.

“touch yourself for me, baby,” he murmurs in your ear before removing his hand and propping himself up on his forearms, allowing for a more concentrated angle as he ruts into you, your choked moan muffled by the sheets as you immediately slide one hand down to rub rapidly at your clit, your other one weakly moving to tangle your fingers with his the best that you can;

“gonna cum, gonna cum,” you whimper, drool pooling at your lips, the scent of yeonjun’s cologne and the weight of his body on yours like pure intoxication as he fucks you harder, breaths heavy and staggering in your ear as he grunts,

“cum for me, baby, need to feel it, cum all over my fucking cock-“

and when your third orgasm washes over you, you’re too weak to do anything but let it, body going limp as it wracks over you in pure bliss, the warm feeling of your clenching walls finally sending yeonjun over the edge this time as he shoots his cum into you with a loud and drawn-out moan, voice breaking as he spews filthy words and incoherent curses; he presses his hips impossibly deep against yours before stuttering into sloppy thrusts to fuck himself through the rest of his orgasm as your fluttering pussy milks his cock of every last drop.

the room grows silent save for your heavy breaths, both of your chests heaving as his forehead slumps down to rest against your back; you didn’t realize how tightly you were holding onto his hand until you carefully untangle your fingers from his.

he hisses from the sensitivity as he slides his twitching length out of you.

you look at yeonjun as he rolls off of your back and flops exhaustedly onto his side next to you, and when he meets your eyes, there’s only a passing moment of silence before you both giggle.

his smile is fond and blooming with affection as he rubs a hand up and down your back, moving to smoothe the hair from your face and gently brushing his knuckles across your cheek before resting his hand on top of yours.

“hi,” he whispers.

you giggle again.

“hi,” you whisper back.

“so.. would this be a good time to ask you to be my girlfriend?”

your heart skips a beat and you bite back a smile. “i was worried you’d just want to stick to the sex..” you admit.

yeonjun shakes his head, lips forming into an endearing pout as he laces his fingers with yours.

“nah, you’re stuck with me now, princess,” he grins. “i meant what i said… i’ve been wanting you for so long.”

an indescribable feeling flutters in your chest as you giddily turn your head to bury your face in the sheets, yeonjun laughing as he shuffles closer, rolling you over onto your back despite your giggle-ridden, poorly-executed attempts to fight him off.

you grin up at him and he grins down at you, hovering over you now with a hand on your cheek as his endeared eyes trail over each of your features as if to memorize them.

“my girl,” he whispers, tucking your hair behind your ear.

you tilt your head up to meet his lips when he leans in and kisses you softly, your hands playing with the long hair at the nape of his neck.

“i meant what i said too,” you murmur against him.

“mine since the second you saw me, huh?” yeonjun’s cocky grin is light and teasing as you scrunch your nose at him, flicking his forehead and sending him into another pout.

“yeah, yeah. whatever, pretty boy.”

instead of responding he buries his face in your neck in a flurry of kisses as you squeal in surprise, laughing as you wiggle around underneath him;“stop, that tickles!”

“gotta make up for all the lost time when i didn’t make a move,” he reasons as his kisses move to your cheeks, your nose, your lips — you’ve never seen this side of yeonjun before, so soft and gentle and sweet; the fact that it seems reserved only for you sends butterflies fluttering through your tummy.

you spend your evening like that, wrapped in each other’s arms as you talk about your relationship, talk about the feelings that led you here, talk about this and that and everything in-between;

“does this count as our first date?” you ask quizzically. he wrinkles his nose.

“no way, i’m gonna do the most romantic shit ever for that.”

you snort. “isn’t that what this is?”

but you don’t have the chance to tease him any further when the beeping sound of his apartment passcode being entered causes you both to freeze.

you were so caught up that neither of you considered the time; nor the fact that yeonjun does indeed have 4 other roommates who would in fact be coming home at some point or another.

that some point apparently being now as the rowdy chatter of your friends erupts into the foyer until you suddenly hear soobin’s tipsy mumble. “what the… what are y/n’s shoes doing here?”

you and yeonjun turn to look at each other as your friends’ voices fall silent.

the seconds pass and you almost wonder if you’re in the clear…

but of course, no peace lasts forever with beomgyu in the house.

“OH MY GOD,” he screams.

“THEY FUCKED!”

[luveline]

omg i love ur pregnant reader x hotch esp the flangsty ones…

maybe him and reader get into a little argument and the fighting plus the hormones plus the constant discomfort makes her leave to stay at a friend’s house for “space” (maybe someone in the bau hehe) then he shows up and grovels and they kiss and make up <333

ty for requesting! —hotch and pregnant!reader make up after a fight (neither being quite as mad as they’d claimed).

“Your boyfriend’s outside.” 

You raise your tired head from the couch cushion. “Who?” 

Morgan grins at you. “Hotch, mama. He’s at the door.” 

Hotch is your husband, not your boyfriend. You’ve got the ring to prove it. 

“You didn’t let him in?” 

“He said you might not want to see him.” 

You want to see Hotch more than you’ve ever wanted to see another person. It is absolute torture to be so heavily pregnant with someone’s baby and to worry they don’t want you anymore. If he’s here at such a late hour, he must’ve forgiven you for being grumpy. Right? 

You sit up and let Morgan help you into a standing position. He pulls your blanket tight around your shoulders. “Should I let him in?” he asks.

“Yeah.�� You drop your voice to a whisper, “But don’t let him know I’m eager.” 

He gives you a knowing smirk. “Course not. Stay here, okay? I’ll bring him in.” 

Morgan starts back down the hall. You stand in his living room wondering what Hotch is gonna say, if he’s still mad, if you’re still mad, and if he’s strong enough to carry you back to the car. You don’t wanna sleep in Morgan’s bed, as much as you love him. You want your bed, your Hotch, his baby boy snoring in the room across the hall. You love your life (most of the time, when you aren’t carrying the weight of a bowling ball on your abdomen and the hormones aren’t making you sick). 

“Hello,” Hotch says, still in the suit he’d been wearing when he got home that evening, strangely and obviously nervous where he stops in the doorway. 

“Hi. Where’s Jack?” 

“He went with Jess. I needed to talk to you.” 

“Could’ve brought Jack.” 

“I didn’t want to upset him if you stayed here.” 

You nod. Hotch —who’d cringe if he knew you still called him that in your head, though it’s the name he went by when you fell in love, so what are you supposed to do?— gestures for you to sit, not demanding, only concerned. “It’s late,” he says. 

You can’t be bothered to lower yourself awkwardly into the cushion nest you’d made. “Morgan offered me his bed. He has a California king.” 

“But you stayed on the couch.” 

You glare at him half-heartedly. “Maybe I was watching TV.” You’d been waiting for him to call, but it’s not his business.

He doesn’t seem perturbed by your reaction. He's about to apologise anyways. “I’m sorry for getting mad. I know how stressed you are, and I should’ve done better.” 

Your glare softens. 

“I’m sorry I upset you,” he furthers, the ever present pinch of his brows particularly severe. His eyes are dark like clouds full to bursting with rain. 

You don’t want to say it’s okay. You want him to cross the room and cuddle you up like you’re fragile, the way he does, his nose pressed to your temple as his hands grasp up your achy shoulders. 

“I’ll be better,” he says. 

“You really wound me up, you know? I already feel like I have cabin fever.” 

His eyes cast over you, sympathetic and sorry down to your stomach and up again. He’s pleading without speaking. 

You’re not mad anymore, anyhow. “Can you do that thing for me, please?” you ask quietly. 

Hotch crosses the distance between you and encourages you into his side and under his arm. Careful, he bends into your back, pressing his hand under the round bottom of your bump and pulling up. It takes some of the weight from your hips and spine, alleviating a certain heavy pain and discomfort, while also closing the sour gap between you both. 

“Aaron,” you say, a little shy, mostly relieved, “you should’ve brought Jack. You know I’ll come home if you ask me to. I wasn’t even that mad by the time we got back here.” 

His breath is a shudder by your ear. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” You look out toward the hall. “Where’s Morgan?” 

“He said he’d go for a walk.” 

“He's a good friend.” 

“He’s a great friend,” Hotch agrees, rubbing the side of you with his other hand before he pulls away completely. “He told me you can always sleep over when I’m acting like your drill sergeant.” 

You laugh under your breath, leaning in with arms held up to slide over his shoulder. He lets out a sigh as your chests touch, your bump smushed, like he’s finally been cut from a trap. To think he’d be so clearly relieved at having your forgiveness has you emotional all over again, but not with the same red passion you’d been angry with before. “I’m your drill sergeant,” you mumble into his shoulder. 

“You’re my sweetheart,” he says, so quiet you’re sure it wasn’t him, so out of character to admit something like that on a random day. There’s a hint of joking under it, but enough sincerity simultaneously that you melt in his hold. “You are, and I don’t ever want you to feel like you can’t sleep in your own bed.” 

“It’s not like I’d have been put out. Morgan’s got a California–”

“So you’ve told me.” His palm stays flat to your back, his fingers patting you gently. His voice mellows into that silken gentleness to match, the tone that drew you in and has you in such a terribly emotional position to begin with. “I couldn’t leave you here. I know you’d be more than comfortable, but I couldn’t sleep the night without you.” 

“Imagine how I feel when you’re away.” 

“I know. I know.” He kisses the skin shy of your eye. “Should we go and get Jack before bedtime?” 

“Can we get something to eat, too?” 

His answering smile is a curve on your cheek. “Mm-hm,” he hums. “Let me just say thanks to Morgan. Then we can go wherever you want.”

[thebeesatemyknees]

141 AND HOW THEY ARE WITH SOMEONE WHO THEY DISCRETELY AND SECRETLY LOVE. LIKE MAYBE NOR A HIDDEN RELATIONSHIP, BUT MORE LIKE BEST FRIENDS AND THEY LOKE READER BUT READER DOESN'T KNOW. IDKK

141 secretly in love with their friend

Word count: 2k || No warnings || Reader: gender neutral. Pronouns "you"

Simon Riley, who always chooses to sit next to you. It’s not even that he lets you sit next to him, no – he goes out of his way to sit next to you. When you’re hanging out in a pub, with him and a bunch of mutual friends (mostly the rest of 141), he lets you choose a seat while he goes to get your drinks. Once he’s back, he places your glass in front of you and tells you to budge up so he can sit next to you. Though, after a few times, it became a routine and you naturally began to make some space for him. Others also know to leave at least one seat beside you empty. If someone forgets, or isn’t privy to this unspoken rule – Simon slaps their shoulder and wordlessly points to a different chair. And so far, no one’s had the balls to tell him no.

He’s a master of dark humour and dad-jokes, and he tells them no matter what reaction he’ll get. He’s used to people rolling their eyes at his puns, but he doesn’t really care. However, with you? It's different. He closely observes your reactions, taking note of things that genuinely make you laugh and things that seem to make you uncomfortable. He catches himself yearning for your reaction, wanting to make you laugh. While in a pub with friends, he keeps telling jokes and adding sarcastic comments, but does it so quietly that only you can hear them. And when he manages to make you laugh, he has a hard time hiding the proud look on his face.

He gives you the “scary dog privilege” and goes out of his way to make it obvious that you’re under his protection. He’s not possessive nor aggressive towards others, but he can stand his ground and you’d have to be absolutely crazy to willingly get on his bad side. So whenever he’s home, he comes with you to all the places you frequent and makes sure all the regulars see that you’ve got a big, scary-looking man at home. They don’t have to know you’re just friends. Honestly, he’d like everyone to think that you’re together. That would keep all the wrong people, all the creeps away from you – that’s what he tells you after not correcting a stranger who commented on you being a cute couple. He then watches your reaction closely, wanting to figure out how you feel about the idea of being together. Whether he has a chance, or should he back off.

If you playfully flirt with him, he smugly reciprocates. As much as he likes puns, he doesn’t use pickup lines, but his witty, flirtatious comments are enough to make your face feel all hot. And he always tells them in the most deadpan manner possible, while looking at you with a half-lidded, almost lazy, look in his eyes. And he doesn’t look away, wanting to see your reaction. To see the smallest twitch of a smile in the corner of your lips. To see you roll your eyes at him or turn away with a blush creeping on your face. He wants to see if you meant it. If you’re willing to take it further.

John Price, who does a bunch of domestic things with you and for you. He makes your friendship feel as if you’ve been happily married for the past 20 years. He rarely goes back to his own flat, most of the time staying at yours. It started with him popping by for a cuppa or to fix something. Now, however, you go grocery shopping together, he has his own drawer in your wardrobe, you have movie nights that you don’t even have to invite him to. You don’t actually live together, he sometimes stays at his place to keep the sense of normalcy. But then you wake up and find him in your kitchen, sleepily drinking a cup of coffee after letting himself in with the spare key you gave him. Fresh bread lying on the counter next to him, as he scrolls through news on his phone. He greets you and stands up to start preparing breakfast for both of you.

He lets you borrow his clothes. Though, that’s a bit of an understatement. He wants you to wear his clothes. That’s why he started to “accidentally” leave his jumpers and shirts at your place. Once you officially let him have a drawer in your wardrobe, he brings all of his best, most comfortable jumpers, even going as far as spraying them with his cologne, in hopes that you'll find comfort in them while he's deployed. He also keeps an extra jacket in his car, though he only offers it to you if he’s not wearing one himself. He won’t admit it, not even in front of himself, but giving you the jacket he’s been wearing ignites a warm feeling inside his chest.

If you playfully flirt with him, he doesn’t flirt back, suddenly getting more serious instead. He might laugh quietly, but sometimes he looks downright annoyed with your teasing. At least that’s what you think. In reality he’s just worried, overthinking the situation while a sombre feeling sets in the pit of his stomach. He feels like he’s betraying you. Here you are, feeling comfortable and safe enough to joke with him like this, while the only thing he can think of is to make you his.

Kyle Garrick, who takes you out as often as possible. He organises lots of platonic (please end his misery) dates. If either of you wants to check out a new place or simply go to your regular spots, he immediately calls you. Cafes, arcades, shops, parks, galleries, bookshops. At some point, it might make you think that he doesn’t have that many friends, but no. He just chooses to spend time with you over anyone else. While eating out, you often get into arguments over who’s gonna pay the bill. He jokingly tells you that he needs someone to spend the “military money” on, but he really just wants to see you enjoy yourself properly without worrying about the expenses. To see you, being taken care of. And he’d be so damn happy to be the one to do that.

He’s also very attentive to your likes and dislikes. While walking through shopping centres, he takes note of things you seem to want but end up putting back on the shelf. That being said, he’s the best gift giver. And it’s not just expensive gifts. Honestly, he rarely gets you pricey things, worrying that it might overwhelm you. But he doesn’t stop himself from getting you knick knacks, your favourite snacks, or even simply picking some flowers for you when you go on hikes.

While deployed, he sends you short letters, sometimes adding some local sweets as well. He knows it would be much simpler to just text you or call you, which he does, but he believes that handwritten letters are more meaningful. The first time he tells you that, you roll your eyes at him. He then asks, pretending to be deeply offended, if he should stop sending them since you dislike them so much. No matter your response, he’d be sending them anyway. And if he ever finds out that you kept all of his letters tucked away safely in a box somewhere in your room, he will have a hard time hiding the tears welling up in his eyes.

If you playfully flirt with him, his brain short-circuits. The best he can do is huff a laugh quietly and reply with a simple “alright” as he looks away from you, trying to play it cool. He doesn’t flirt back, simply because he can’t. His face gets all hot, sweat suddenly coating his palms. Did you mean it? Are you teasing him? Did you finally find out about his feelings towards you? His heart is just as frantic as his thoughts. He shakes his head and tries to casually change the topic, which only makes him look more suspicious. You, oblivious to his internal torment, probably interpret his reaction as discomfort, which makes you step back and avoid flirting with him again. This, in turn, leads him to even more panic, worrying that he’s lost his chance, as he tries to bring your conversations back on the more flirtatious track.

[Sorry to my Scottish readers, you might feel a bit excluded here. Anyway, Johnny still takes you on a fun road trip!]

Johnny MacTavish, who takes you on spontaneous road trips. If you’re not from Scotland, he takes you there to show you his hometown and places he used to go to with his family when he was a kid. He picks you up and drives north but takes an indirect route, stopping at different locations that interest you. You get stuffed with snacks that he prepared for the road and lose both your voice and your hearing from how loudly both of you sing. Throughout the whole trip, he discreetly takes care of you, casually opening the car door for you, making stops so you can stretch your legs, making sure you’re not getting cold. And so, instead of getting to your destination in seven-ish hours, the trip itself takes you two days. You stop midway and find a decent room in a small inn, ending up sharing it together. He keeps his distance, but he has a hard time stopping his eyes from lingering, finding great pleasure in looking at you getting comfortable and ready for bed. His voice gets low and calm while you talk, letting the late hour lead your conversation towards more meaningful, intimate territory. Next day, once you get to his childhood home, he introduces you to his family, and at some point you catch his mum giving him a strange look. When you ask, he tells you he doesn’t know what you’re talking about. However, what you don’t notice is that he turns away while saying it, trying to hide his reddening face from you. You might be oblivious to his feelings, but his mother figured out that her son is head over heels for you the moment you walked into their house. 

He tries to teach you some Scottish phrases. You don’t really use them, worried that it would sound strange next to your regular, very not-Scottish accent. But then one day it slips out of your mouth. Maybe you got annoyed with him, which wouldn’t be surprising considering how often he teases you. The moment the words leave your mouth, a wide grin spreads across his face. He cheers like a lunatic, picking you up and twirling around with you in his arms. [And let me make myself absolutely clear – even if you’re a bigger person – you’re in the air. All you can do is dangle your legs above the ground and hold onto him for your dear life. His muscles are for practical purposes, not just visual.] 

If you playfully flirt with him, he shamelessly flirts back. With one simple comment, you unleash absolute chaos upon yourself. Hopefully you’ve got more pickup lines up your sleeve, cuz you’ll really need them. To this point, he was keeping himself in check, making sure not to overstep any boundaries. But once you flirt with him, it’s a green light, game on – he’s not stopping anytime soon. He’s a very open flirt too. He’ll use the most cheesy pickup lines on you, a wide smile permanently fixed on his face. Seeing him wiggle his eyebrows at you doesn’t even surprise you anymore. He’s also a rather physical person, so you’ll have to get used to him leaning in and playfully bumping your shoulders or knees together, or constantly resting his arm around the back of your chair.

[charliemwrites]

Sniff, sniff…. Woof.

Content: Voyeurism

“Johnny? Johnny, baby, come here!”

Your big wolf boy comes bounding in from the living room as you shut the front door, immediately rearing up to sniff at your neck and face and hands. Satisfied, he licks your cheek and drops down again.

“Alright, listen up, handsome.” You grab his cheeks, scritching along his jaw and grinning as his big blue eyes go dopey. “My sister and her husband are going to stay the night. You are going to be a polite boy because you love me and don’t want to give my sister anything to talk shit about. Yes?”

A sneeze that he (for once) aims away from you. You laugh, drop a kiss between his eyes.

“Good talk.”

As usual, he follows you through the house as you shed clothes and shoes and bags. You ramble about the grocery store and your day, mostly just to get it out so your headspace can be clear for the evening. Helps to have a little (relatively) listener following at your heels.

He camps out in the bathroom while you shower, licking the glass door until you scold him - per usual. And again when he tries to lick the clean water off your leg. Only starts getting restless and grumpy when he sees you change into “outside” clothes rather than pjs.

You groan as he tries to herd you away from your own closet. Must be mixed with a shepherding dog because he’s a damn pushy jerk.

“Enough, bud,” you sigh. “Look, I don’t wanna go much either. But it’ll be worse if I don’t.”

He mouths off at you, a new thing he’s started up that reminds you of a husky. Maybe you should get one of those doggy DNA tests.

“I know I know,” you coo, shimmying into a pair of pants that your sister won’t be able to tease makes your ass look flat. “I’d rather snuggle up and watch 90s vampire movies too. But I already said I’d go and this means I’ll be able to skip seeing her on her birthday.”

More grumbles, but at least he climbs up on the bed to pout. You finish dressing and head for the vanity - no way you can go out with your sister without makeup.

As you pass, you roll him over to scratch his belly - politely ignoring his reaction. God, you really need to get him in for a neutering. If you catch him humping one more pillow—

When it’s time to go, you drop down to give him one last hug.

“Be good, baby. I’ll be home soon with some new friends. I love you.”

—

After dinner, your sister’s husband suggests a bar. And, of course, it’s a sports bar. Man can’t go more than an hour or two without.

You and your sister chat while his eyes stayed glued to the screens. Well, she chats. You mostly just provide the audience she constantly craves, the validation she always needs.

At some point your excuse yourself to order another drink, weaving between the patrons and sighing at a chance to let your face rest for a moment. While you’re waiting, someone brushes up close behind you, startles you.

“Och, sorry, hen. Madhouse in here.”

You blink, tilt your head back to see a gorgeous pair of blue eyes shining down at you. Takes your breath away.

“Oh! Um, no problem, I get it.”

You try to scoot as much as you can - but it really is packed, especially at the bar - and the man takes the opportunity to occupy any free space you have.

Not that you’re complaining. He’s got the type of face they put on magazines with hooks like “sexiest man alive.” A killer grin as he winks down at you, arm bracing on the bar.

“Buy ya a drink for bein’ so rude?”

You’ve barely gotten the start of, “oh it’s alright,” out before he’s signaling the bartender. His stature and presence gets him instant service though, so you let it go, fidgeting restlessly.

Even his voice sounds like a sin worth committing. He’s too attractive. Too handsome to not know it; and definitely too handsome to be chatting you up and ordering you a drink.

“You here with anyone?” he asks with an edge that makes your spine prickle. Yet you almost feel like you imagine it. His tone is normal, his expression hasn’t changed and yet. Something subsonic in the timbre of his voice, maybe.

“My sister and her husband,” you reply.

“No husband of your own?”

You try to laugh, it comes out strained and awkward. “Ah, the only man in my life has four legs.”

Instead of looking annoyed by the brush off, his eyes spark.

“Dog?”

“Yup!” And okay, alarms in your head aside, you’re always happy to talk about Johnny. He’s a safe topic. You fish your phone out of your back pocket and show him your lock screen.

The man takes a quick look at the screen, an odd, private smile flicking across his face. There and then gone, before those intense eyes are locked on you again.

“He friendly?”

You laugh a bit, perk up as the bartender returns with your drink. “Not with men. Thanks for buying!”

as you turn to go, he grabs your hip. Not hard, or even too low. But you gasp quietly, the heat of his palm searing through your clothes.

“Name’s soap, by the way.”

Infinitely more nervous now, you stutter out your own and then retreat to your sister and her husband.

Spend the rest of the night pretending not to watch Soap. He doesn’t return the courtesy, eyes trained on you, lurking around the bar. So visible it seems to only you. Something about the way the light catches his eyes reminds you of when Johnny senses a threat. When he gets low and growly, hair standing on end, eyes focused.

Soap looks like he’s hunting you.

Thankfully, your sister complains about the noise after an hour or so and the three of you leave. You’re relieved to be going home.

As you step inside, you call for Johnny again.

“Wait, who the hell is Johnny?” your sister’s husband asks, an odd look on his face. “You’re living with someone?”

You snort a bit. Does he seriously not remember you talking about your dog?

“Yeah,” you joke, “he’s the love of my life, my one and only—”

You hear the clack of the doggy door and call out again. Johnny trots in panting.

“Did you just come in from a run?” you chuckle, putting a hand out in greeting.

He comes right up to you, presses his nose to the spot where “Soap” grabbed you and snuffles.

“I know, I smell wrong,” you soothe.

He grumbles and licks at your shirt, but you gently nudge him away, turning as your sister scoffs.

“You still do that thing where you talk to them like people?” She asks. “Don’t you think that’s… childish?”

“Johnny’s basically a person in a human body,” you reply, laughing. “You’ll see.”

“Dogs shouldn’t have human names,” her husband pipes up, reaching for Johnny.

“No, wait—”

Johnny snaps just shy of his fingers and puts himself bodily between you two.

“Easy!” you yelp, hooking your hand in his collar. “Sorry, I meant to warn you - Johnny’s shy with men.”

“He almost took my bloody hand off!”

“He’s just protective. Johnny, heel.”

He stops snarling, but plants himself at your feet right there, eyes sharply trained on your brother in law. Your sister snorts.

“How are you supposed to get men back here, then?”

You jump as Johnny barks, a full deep one that your rarely ever hear. Your sister startles too, then scowls.

“I don’t,” you answer, shaking your head. “Anyway, let me just get the sheets for the spare room and we can call it a night.”

Johnny stays close at your heels the entire time, though you swear he throws a nasty glance back at your sister’s husband.

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[miserycanary]

TELL ME THAT WE'LL BE JUST FINE ᡣ𐭩 previous ⤶ ⤷ next

pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & fem!reader

synopsis: the aftermath (inspired by T.S Afterglow)

tags: light angst (no comfort/comfort? who knows)

The door creaks open, the cheeriness that you usually carry to greet Ghost by the entrance of your shared home nowhere in sight. The whole place was eerily quiet with his footsteps the only source of life. “My love..?” he calls out, peeking in the kitchen where you’d usually be sitting with a laptop in front of you, the food forgotten and burning. It’s usually unsalvageable and you guys would just agree on ordering take-out while he soothes and assures you that you don’t have to cook for him. 

His long legs quickly take him to the bathroom, hoping he’d see you washing up and offering him to shower along with you. The water would run high as you let him wash you up while chatting about your day, then you'd do the same to him and he complains about the “useless recruits”; the vice versa. Yet, there was no silhouette of you there. With a sigh, he closes the door and approaches the final room.

There, Ghost sees you laying down with your legs huddled close to your chest. He noticed the little hiccups— an indication that you’ve been crying— and that broke his heart. When he watched your figure walk away from him, he knew he fucked up and that he hurt you. Ghost calls for you once again with a gentle voice, trying to coax you. “Y/N..? Baby..?” He approaches the bed. The mattress dips as he sits behind you and placed a heavy hand on the shoulder he saw was developing a bruise. Just the sight of the darkening blemish almost made him throw up. He did this. He did this to you, his darling flower. 

After his skin made contact with yours, you flinched and distanced yourself like you’re afraid he’d hurt you again. The way you looked at him was so.. foreign and unusual. Like he was an animal that’s going to attack any minute. He stilled at your reaction, betrayed at how could you even think of him like that. Ghost stayed silent and so did you, only staring at the wall in contemplation. Finally, the silence was cracked by something much worse. At that moment, Ghost would rather endure a century of you ignoring him than to accept the words that came out of your mouth. 

“I’m leaving. I talked to one of my friends and she’s letting me stay with her,” you mumbled. The pain shooting through Ghost’s heart was unlike any other. It felt like he lost his heart— because he did. “What..? No, no. Let’s talk, baby,” he begs of you, clasping both your hands with his and peppers it with kisses, yet you only pull away. His lungs seem to not take in any air. Everything you say was inaudible to him. The only thing running through his mind was he was losing you. That he was losing the only thing that made life worth living— worth surviving each day because he knows he’ll always have you to come home to, with a smile so warm and a hug so comforting.

“No! I’m not letting you leave,” he cuts you off. The firmness in his voice sent shivers down your spine but you stood your ground. “Ghost,” you start. 

| ‘Don’t call me that. I’m Simon. I’m your Si. Why would you call me Ghost?’ 

“I’m tired of this, okay? I’m tired of you trying to act like everything will pass and that it could be fixed by just burying it under the mushy lovey stuff. I’m tired of never getting an apology from you because you cannot communicate.”

| ‘I know that. I know I’m not the best at talking but don’t leave me. I’ll do anything. Please’

Ghost stays silent because he knows everything you said was true, while you desperately look at his eyes. The hope that he’d finally muster the courage to talk and ask you to stay was slowly being forgotten. Was this all you’re worth to him? Were you not worth being asked to stay? Won’t he at least try? 

“I’m leaving and that’s final.” 

| ‘Please don’t let me go, Si. Please tell me you want me to stay and that you’re sorry. That you’d do better. Please just say anything. I’m going to stay with you if you just tell me to. Don’t let this be our end. Fight for me… fight for us’

“Okay,” he whispers, getting up and leaving you alone in the bedroom you usually would say carry the love you guys bloomed for 9 years with the walls painted with your memories and milestones with him. Now it serves as the grave of what you guys were— of what you and Simon had.

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: part 2 is here!! I hope it passed people’s expectations.

dividers by @cafekitsune

Please reblog!! Ask is open!

⟢ taglist: @fictionallifestuff

check out my other works in the masterlist: ୭!

[gay-dorito-dust]

I saw the Dad! Stanley, could you make the Dad! Stanford one? Like how his reaction come back after 30 years saw Reader already become responsible adult

-🐈‍⬛

Ford kept a picture of you -his life’s greatest achievement- in his pocket at all times during his time in the multiverse, reminding him of who he had waiting for him back home when he felt as though he was at his limit.

Being a father was never on the docket but the moment you entered his life he dedicated himself to raising you as best as he could, even going so far as to do extensive amounts of research in preparation for any and every vital moment of your life.

You had became a pivotal part of his life and made everything he did even more important for he was doing it for you and the future you’d live in. He wanted you to grow up prepared for anything and everything life would throw at you, along with how to handle yourself for the inevitable day where he couldn’t be with you anymore. (He hates it as much as you did)

He commemorates everything you did and dedicated parts of his journals to you and your growth or things that you did that made him laugh. (You wore his coat once and Ford was fighting the demons within him known as cuteness aggression because of how it swamped your tiny form.)

An excerpt:

‘They look at me like I’m something and I’m worried that one day they’ll grow up and not view me as such when they see what I’ve done when they slept soundly in their crib, but all I do, I do for them.’

However this desire to watch you grow and be apart of your important developmental stages would be cut short when he fell into the portal when you were just 8 years old.

His last words before the portal closed entirely to Stanley were: ‘no! Y/n! I haven’t done everything I’ve wanted to do with them yet! Go trick or treating with them on Summerween! Go Fishing! Watch them grow up! Stanley, don’t leave them alone, they really hate being alone!’

And raise you Stanley did as he would try his hardest to keep your memory of Stanford alive and well, thinking it was the best he could do after accidentally taking his brother from you. He’d even make a whole album for when Ford comes back from the day he fell into the portal.

Stanley didn’t miss a single moment to capture you doing something adorable (dressed up as a paranormal detective for the summerween he took you out on) or similar to Ford himself (becoming curious about about the mystery of Gravity falls after an incident with a bunny demon and even making a series of journals yourself)

Stanley made sure to capture every little thing he could from you helping him run the shack, to you making your first friends, your little experiments on how much food Soos could stuff in his face without getting full. Which was fun until he always threw up.

You were so much like Ford it hurt Stanley to look at you sometimes because all he could see was his brother in you that he had to look away sometimes, and he knew that Ford would be so fucking proud of the person you grew up to be but also knew that he would hate himself for not being there for it all.

So when the day came when Ford finally retired home, his first words as he stepped out of the portal were; ‘where’s y/n?’

Dipper, Mabel, Soos and Stanley could only watch as you, a full grown adult of 38, stepped forward with tears in your eyes when meeting face to face with the man who raised you before his brother took over, reaching out to him whispering ‘dad?’

Ford was shocked to say the least when he looked over at this adult calling him dad, only for his brain to work fast and connect the dots as he pulls out the picture of you as a child from his coat pocket and made the connection that you and the smiling child in the picture he held close to his heart were one in the same.

You were now all grown up and he wasn’t there to see it happen with his own eyes, something that broke his heart into a million pieces knowing that he never got the chance to see it himself! The coat that hung off of your frame was his, he could clearly tell but it didn’t swamp your form like it use to, it suited you and the makeshift journal Ford saw you had clutched in your hand and knew you were his child in more ways then one.

You had his curiosity and his need to understand the unknown to great but sometimes dangerous depths, god he missed you so fucking much, his sweet child and his sweet child you’ll always will be in his eyes as he watched as you quickly walked towards him and hugged his frozen form tightly as you wept in his shoulder.

‘Dad.’ You said. ‘I’m all grown up.’

Ford chuckled weakly as he too found himself unable to keep the tears at bay, ‘I can see that sweetie pie,’ he said as he held you tightly against him. ‘I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to see it.’ He adds knowing that this will be one of his life regrets until the day he died, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t use this time to catch up with you and learn all about you all over again.

‘It’s okay.’ You reassured him, clinging onto him as though he’d disappeared again. ‘It’ll give me an excuse to talk your ear off about all my expeditions, my theories and my thoughts on everything that’s been going off here.’

‘They really are cut from the very same cloth as you.’ Stanley told Stanford as he watched you tuck Dipper and Mabel into bed that night. ‘They’re smart and even graduated from a prestigious college at the top of their class, they were even valedictorian just like you back in highschool, but they came back to gravity falls because they wanted to dedicated themselves to helping me in getting you back.’ He adds as Stanford looks at his twin with tears in his eyes.

‘And I wasn’t there to watch them walk across that stage…’ he mutters and Stanley pulls out a photo that he had taken during your graduation ceremony and gave it to Ford who could only smile weakly as he took you in. You had blossomed so much when he was away and it broke Ford even more when he realised that he knew little to nothing about you now.

‘I’m such a terrible father.’ He tells Stanley who grips him by the shoulders and looks him dead in the eye.

‘Hey! You are not a terrible father, they love you so much that they stay up late at night trying to decipher you work in hopes of finding a lead so that they could have their father back in their life. So don’t you dare say that about yourself when they’ve nothing but miss their father for the past 30 years!’ Stanley scolded him just as you walked into the hallway after bidding dipper and Mabel goodnight.

You heard them but decided not to speak up about it, after all today had been quite emotionally exhausting and all you wanted to do was sleep. ‘I’m going to bed, good night dad, good night uncle Stan.’

‘Hold it you.’ Stanley said as he walked over to you, pressing a kiss to your forehead, pulling away as he smiled at you. ‘Night pipsqueak.’ You smiled back before looking over at Ford, wanting to go to him and Stan could see the conflict in your eyes and pushed you towards his twin before retreating to his room.

‘So I was thinking that we could go monster hunting…you know like father and child. I’ve been trying to track down this dragon like creature that’s said to live on the highest mountain of gravity falls since its conception.’ You said awkwardly as Ford smiled at you and placed a hand on your shoulder.

‘I’d be glad too sweetheart, you don’t have to ask me to spend time with you because I’ll always want to spend time with my child.’ He replied and you couldn’t help but smile widely as you hugged him tightly again. Needless to say you and Ford made up for lost time in quick succession as you both ran away from being burnt alive by the massive dragon that was originally thought to be a myth.

[musaslullaby]

Stupid joke

George Russell x fem reader

Summary: Mercedes and George want to play a prank on George's Italian girlfriend.

Warning: just fluff

Masterlist

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"Well, umm… Mercedes wants me dead today. You’ve just witnessed my last race," said George Russell, extremely serious, as he spoke to the small camera wedged between the books in the living room cabinet.

In the distance, a familiar laugh echoed. "Mate, don’t be so serious!" exclaimed Lewis Hamilton, in that light-hearted tone that only a teammate and friend could get away with.

"You ruined my moment," George replied with a mischievous smile, looking off-camera toward Lewis, who continued to chuckle. After one last laugh, George refocused on the camera, the smile slowly fading, replaced by a mock expression of worry.

"They forced me," said George, pointing an accusing finger at Lewis and a Mercedes technician, "to play a prank on my girlfriend, and it’s going to end very badly," he added, his voice tinged with a mix of fear and anticipation.

"Now you’re exaggerating," Lewis responded, still laughing, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "And you don’t know her well enough," George quickly retorted, giving Lewis a serious look.

"You're probably wondering what they’re making me do. For those who don’t know, my girlfriend is Italian, and these fantastic colleagues of mine," George continued, throwing an ironic smile at his friends.

"Thanks for the compliment," said one of the technicians, passing behind George.

"No problem. Anyway, I have to ruin her beloved food," George confessed in one breath, letting out a nervous giggle as he felt the anxiety about Yn's reaction growing.

After setting up all the hidden cameras around the house, the Mercedes team, along with Lewis—who had come only to enjoy his teammate’s nervousness—left, leaving George alone with his plan.

A few hours later, Yn returned home from work, tired but happy to see George. "Hi, amore" she said, hugging him affectionately as he was pulling the food out of the shopping bags.

"Guess what? We’re having Italian tonight," George announced with a smile, holding her close, trying to mask the nervousness that was gnawing at him.

They sat together on the couch, plates of warm carbonara in hand. Yn looked at him with affection and a hint of suspicion. "Are you sure you’re not trying to poison me?" she asked, laughing playfully.

"I promise, I didn’t even touch it," George replied with a playful smile, trying to hide the excitement for what he was about to do.

After a few bites of pasta, George furrowed his brow, pretending to be puzzled. "Something’s missing," he said, as if deeply reflecting.

"Yeah, maybe a bit of salt," Yn replied, focused on the carbonara, not paying attention as George got up to go to the kitchen.

When George returned with a bottle in hand, Yn’s eyes widened in surprise. She didn’t immediately recognize what was inside, but as soon as he started squeezing the contents onto the pasta, her heart skipped a beat.

"Wait, che cazzo stai facendo?" she yelled, snatching the ketchup out of his hands with an incredulous expression. "Are you crazy?"

"Come on, it’s not that bad," George replied, trying to downplay it, though he couldn’t hide the amusement in his voice. "You’re just overreacting."

"I swear, if you eat that, I’ll leave you," Yn threatened, her tone serious and loaded with a mix of anger and frustration.

But George, with a provocative smile, shoved a forkful of spaghetti into his mouth, chewing with satisfaction. "Oh my God," Yn exclaimed, nervously standing up from the couch, incredulous. "You didn’t actually do that."

"It’s good. Want some?" George asked, lifting the fork towards her, his smile growing wider.

Yn stared at him, anger boiling inside her, but instead of responding, she grabbed the bottle of ketchup and sprayed the entire contents all over him.

George stood still for a moment, feeling the ketchup trickling down his face and soaking into his shirt. The cold impact of the sauce made him shiver, but what struck him the most was the expression in Yn’s eyes: a mix of disbelief, disappointment, and anger on the verge of exploding.

Raising his hands in surrender, George tried to calm her down. "Okay, okay, I was just joking!" he said, slowly approaching her.

Yn looked at him, confused, furrowing her brows as she tried to understand what was happening. George wrapped her in a tight hug, despite the sticky sauce.

"No, George!" Yn whimpered, feeling the ketchup transferring onto her clothes, but he burst out laughing. With a gesture of his hand, he pointed to the hidden camera.

Yn looked at it for a moment, and then, realizing everything, she burst into laughter. "You and the Mercedes guys are such jerks," she said, guessing that the Formula 1 team had a hand in the prank.

"So, do you forgive me?" George asked, making puppy eyes as he picked up the small camera, hoping for a happy ending.

"Yes," Yn replied with a smile. George, equally relieved, kissed her on the cheek, but she quickly added, with a more serious tone, "But my revenge is coming."

"Oh no," George murmured, pretending to be scared as he looked at the camera, knowing full well that with Yn, revenge could be sweet… or very spicy.