#of COURSE I do- what do you expect of me?

[whorelaud]

WRONG NUMBER, LOSER – rafe cameron (1)

a rafe cameron mini smau series

summary Rafe gets tangled in a complex love-hate relationship when shooting his shot at a party, merely for him to end up with the wrong number instead, leading to a new beginning, or so he assumed, unaware of who really was behind the screen; his next door neighbor, whom he'd define his sworn enemy.  contains neighbor!reader, enemies (?) to lovers, wrong number trope, mostly texts, sexual jokes, shameless flirting, loser!rafe, lots of tension, attempt at humor

Unknown Number: Hello there, I don't know if you remember but I asked for your number earlier

Unknown Number: I know I’m moving rather fast, but I couldn't help myself you’re too pretty ;)

Unknown Number: I was wondering if I could take you out to dinner. Only if you're down of course ❤️ 

You: im sorry who? 

You: oh that red heart you must rlly like her

Unknown Number: What? What do you mean? 

Unknown Number: Is this not Brian? 

You: this aint no brian

You: no way did brian turn you down 

You: Wowwww very low of her im so sorry king 

Unknown Number: You don't know that

Unknown Number: She probably mistyped one of the digits by accident 

You: Dawgggg ☠️☠️

You: no way you believe that

You: she told you her name was brian what did you expect

Unknown Number: Hey what’s wrong with that

Unknown Number: My dad’s name is Brian 

You: woahhh :o

You: is it actually 

Unknown Number: No I made that up

You: Haha Very Funny. 

Unknown Number: This sucks

Unknown Number: Why am I even talking to you

Unknown Number: I thought what we had was real wow I’m offended

Unknown Number: Who would even think of rejecting me 

You: smb get this guy’s phone before i beat his ass ☠️☠️

Unknown Number: Bruh

Unknown Number: I’m already going through enough can’t you at least be nice

You: the audacity of you to say that after disturbing MY peace 

You: you got the wrong number loser

You: i'm no brian, i think ive made that clear. im sorry some girl rejected you, im sure she had her reasons, as ive seen enough!!! but yeah, i think now’s a good time to delete my number and never contact me again 👍 

Unknown Number: This is my cellular device 

Unknown Number: I’ll do what I want 

You: … ermmm 😅

You: is this your way of hinting you still wanna talk to me? 

Unknown Number: Maybe

You: damn

You: youre one clingy bitch

You: I see Why Sh e rejected You. 

Unknown Number: She didn't reject me. 

You: And I didn't fail my calculus exam. 

Unknown Number: What? That doesn't even make sense

You: wah wah cry me a river

You: youre really annoying has anyone ever told you that

Unknown Number: Plenty actually 

You: love a self aware king

Unknown Number: Why do you keep assuming im a man

You: no woman texts like you 

Unknown Number: Is that supposed to hurt my feelings

You: take it as you will

Unknown Number: Ah man

Unknown Number: What should I refer to you as

You: that shouldn't be any of your concerns???

You: who said im contacting you after this. 

Unknown Number: Me. 

You: nah fuck that im blocking you

You: dealing with a lousy bitch of a neighbor has alr done numbers on me i do not want to associate with you in any way or form.

Unknown Number: WHAT DONT BLOCK ME

Unknown Number: I am in no way or form associated with your lousy bitch of a neighbor. Do not block me please. 

You: How do you Know That. 

You: You Seem Just as Annoying as Him. 

Unknown Number: I just noticed 

Unknown Number: Are you mocking me? 

You: ?? why would you Assume That

Unknown Number: You are 

Unknown Number: See you did it just now

You: Nahhhh this fool is crazy We Assuming things Now?

Unknown Number: Bruh 

Unknown Number: You’re so mean

You: glad you noticed that

Unknown Number: im into it

You: what

You: pardon me

You: am i seeing things

Unknown Number: Definitely 

You: bye

You: im done

You: i no longer want to be apart of this conversation 

Unknown Number: Ugh

You: ugh??? UGH???????

Unknown Number: Whatever 🙄 can you just tell me your name at least?

You: no

Unknown Number: Why

You: im not telling a random stranger online what my name is

Unknown Number: That’s just not a good reason 

Unknown Number: Fine I’ll come up with something to call you then

You: uhh??? i never agreed to any of this

Unknown Number: Sugar is cute

You: what the fuck

You: that is diabolical (get it cause its sugar) don't you dare fucking call me that

 Unknown Number: Sugar it is then

You: stop

You: STOP. 

You: NO

You: how did that even come to mind

Unknown Number: Cause you’re as sweet as sugar, baby ;) 

You: youre doing this on purpose aren't you 

You: including you in my suicide note

Unknown Number: Have fun doing that

Unknown Number: You don't even know my name sugar

You: Dtop It. 

You: It feels like You're flirtinf With Me. 

You: I Do Not like That. 

Unknown Number: Deal with it. 

You: no

You: is this you admitting you're head over heels in love with me

Unknown Number: Definitely 

You: im leaving

Unknown Number: Joking hahah haba Ha ha

You: i actually have to leave

You: i own a needy cat who demands my attention

Unknown Number: Oh okay

Unknown Number: Have fun with your cat 

You: thanks boo

You: it was (not) fun chatting with you i guess… 

Unknown Number: It was a pleasure chatting with you sugar

Unknown Number: I look forward to more in the future 

You: die

You: it feels like youre mocking me. 

Unknown Number: I am not you.

You: hey whats wrong w me… 

Unknown Number hearted your message!

a/n hi!!! hehehe lmk what u think this was so much fun 2 write! dk if im making a taglist or not but we'll see, this is chapter one for now :p i also wanna make a masterlist but idk GRRAHH well see

[hoonsluvr]

cherry - p.sh

pairing ; bsfsbrother!sunghoon x f!reader

synopsis ; you never thought that an unexpected obsession formed during your trip to southern italy would teach you one life’s cruelest lessons, never fuck your bestfriend’s brother

genre ; summer au, best friend’s older brother, forbidden romance, smut, a bit of fluff, a bit of angst

word count ; 4.8k

inspired by ; cherry - lana del rey

this work contains smut, mdni

cw ; p in v, unprotected sex, spit, choking, gagging, oral fem!receiving, mating press, edging

note ; hii, this is my first work so i’m a bit nervous!! lmk what you think of the layout and feedback in general is appreciated! :)

Was it wrong that you felt happy when your parents announced they wanted to take a vacation alone this year?

You sit opposite them at the dining table, your mom explaining herself for the hundredth time over. Clearly she felt guilty about it but you didn't mind. “You know its our anniversary during that time darling and I hope you understand that we love having you with us, of course we do, but 50th anniversaries are rather special and we’re booking a honeymoon resort.”

You feign a look of sadness to act like you’re listening but your mind is already elsewhere. It wasn’t that you didn’t like spending time with your parents, that wasn’t the problem at all, but now that a family vacation was out of the picture, joining Stella’s family in Italy was back in the conversation.

Soojin, or Stella as she liked to be called was your best friend, your ride or die. Years ago, when you moved to a new town, the Park family were your next door neighbours and you and Stella quickly became close, bonding over your hatred for the town and its people. You two had always felt suffocated in its environment, the way everyone knew everyone’s drama, everyone’s problems, everyone’s secrets. You promised each other that one day you would escape and explore the world together for that very reason.

You were over at her house so much that you were basically a part of the family. You had your thumbprint on their security system, the password to the garage door, and even your own designated chair at the dining table. Her mom used to jokingly call you two sisters, but honestly, that didn’t feel far off. You and Stella had grown up together, seen all of each other’s phases too. The cringe phase, the boy-obsessed phase, oh god- the emo phase, and yet your friendship was still going strong. From weekend sleepovers where you giggled and gossiped all night long to crying on each other’s shoulders after not feeling accepted in school, to smoking your first blunt together, you two had been through every whirlwind experience together. After all these years, you still struggled to express just how much admiration you held for her.

And now, it had come. This was the last summer you had left with her. In 3 months you were going to head North to New York City, to pursue a degree in arts while Stella would remain in your hometown. When you broke the news, you expected her to be angry at you because of the promise you made to travel together forever, but she simply smiled and told you she was proud of you and that she always knew you would make it far.

You felt a pit in your stomach thinking about being apart, you had never really imagined life without her, so imagine your relief and excitement when she proposed that you join her family on their vacation to Italy this summer. One last chance to have the time of your life with your best friend while you were both still young? No one could catch you dead saying no.

-

“Mom, please.” You beg, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from frustration. You sit across from her on the kitchen island, sipping on a mango smoothie as she prepped dinner for tonight. At this point, the conversation had been going on for far too long and both of you were running thin on patience. “I just don’t understand why you won’t let me go.” You huffed, used to getting your way.

Your mother sighs. “Sweetie, I’ve explained this to you. The Parks have done so much for you, your entire life! I just don’t want you to be a burden on them when they’re trying to have a family vacation. They're extremely sweet for offering but it’s a tough situation.”

“Ugh!” You exclaim and your mother shoots you a don’t-be-so-dramatic look. “They offered to have me! And besides, with you and daddy going to Mexico and Stella going to Italy, I’m going to be alone this summer. My last summer before college is going to be spent wasting away. It’ll be years before I see Stella again!” You pout, your eyes sparkling with hope as you see her expression soften, triumphant that you clearly struck a soft spot.

“We’ll see about it darling.” She sighs.

Even with her weary expression, all the tell-tale signs were there. She had been convinced. You stand up, satisfied as you go to text Stella the news.

And that’s how you find yourself going to the South of Italy for three weeks with the Parks: Stella, her mother and father, and her older brother Sunghoon.

Sunghoon had always been a little shy and introverted making him hard to talk to, your four year age gap not doing much to help create a relationship either. Despite that, Sunghoon had always tried being sweet to you. After many attempts of trying to talk to him over the years, you finally managed to break his shell the one time he rescued your prized possession, a teddy bear plush named Ben, from a tree branch. You still remember the warm hug he gave you when you cried over Ben’s stitching being torn and ever since that day, although you wouldn’t call yourself friends, the relationship shifted. It changed from nods of acknowledgement to smiles, from waves of greeting to hugs.

During your last years of middle school, you even developed a small crush on him but you never once told Stella, knowing she would have killed you. Once you turned fourteen, Sunghoon left to go for college and you hadn’t seen him since then. You had no idea what he was like now, his personality, his likes and dislikes, his interests. Honestly, the thought worried you a little. You just decided you would try sticking to Stella on the trip, hoping that things wouldn’t be awkward.

Only if you knew. Only if you knew what was about to happen, you never would’ve chosen to go on that godforsaken trip.

-

The last minute nature of your decision to join the vacation meant that tickets weren’t available on the same flight as the Parks, so you booked one for a flight that arrived in Italy just two days later. You didn’t mind however, you were just excited to spend time with Stella.

And so you arrive in the quaint beach town of Taormina, located on the shorelines of the island of Sicily. The drive from the airport to your location spans over rugged hills overlooking the Loian sea. You maintain small talk with the barely english speaking driver, chatting about what to do in town and what beaches to visit. A gasp leaves your mouth as the taxi comes to a halt outside a stunning Italian villa style Airbnb. You know the Parks aren’t exactly middle class, neither were you, but you weren’t expecting this much grandeur.

Cobblestone bricks line the pathway to the house, leaning up against the ivy covered walls. Heaps of colorful potted flowers are placed at the entrance and a wooden gazebo in the corner catches your eye. Stella is sitting in the gazebo, sipping tea. When she sees you, she jumps up in excitement and rushes over.

“You’re here!” She squeals and twirls you around as you both laugh excitedly. You hear claps of joy from the back as Shin-ah, Stella’s mom steps out of the front door, her husband, Ji-hun in close pursuit. You quickly wish the driver goodbye and thank him before hugging them both fondly.

“Gosh, we only just saw you a month ago and you’ve already become prettier!” Shin-ah exclaims, making you blush and immediately resort to your usual ‘humble’ deflections that you recited out like a poem whenever she complimented you.

You lean to the side, getting up onto your tip-toes to get a glimpse of the dark haired boy who just stepped out of the door. Sunghoon. His short black hair was now grown out into a mullet and he no longer held the smiley expression that his face once always used to carry. You glance at his arms, his thin tank top showing off his muscles, a striking difference to his previously scrawny build. He looks so different. He’s grown now and more confident, no longer the sweet, shy boy you used to crush on. Theres no doubt, Sunghoon Park has matured. He’s a man now. A fucking gorgeous man, that too.

Sunghoon murmurs a half-hearted greeting towards you, reminiscent of the way he used to speak to you before you two became comfortable. You’re not surprised-it had been years since you’d seen him. Traces of your previous dynamics were long gone by now. You return the soft greeting as Shin-ah ushers you into the house, Stella following behind, wheeling your luggage in.

“You must be hungry, come, we’ve already set the table.” And sure enough, the intricately carved wooden dining table was all set up with dishes, cutlery and a large pizza in the centre. Dinner with the Parks is comfortable as you go back and forth with them, discussing the trip’s itinerary, recent stories and more.

Shin-ah glances at Sunghoon before turning back to you. “So, you and Sunghoon haven’t seen each other in a while. He’s been asking what you’ve been up to.” It was horribly obvious that Sunghoon couldn’t care less about what you’d been up to. His mouth opens in annoyance at his mother’s words. “What? No I—" But he’s cut off by a sharp nudge from his father who scowls at him. Embarrassment pools inside of you and you laugh awkwardly before Shin-ah nods encouragingly for you to continue.

“Well uh— I’m going to NYU after this summer. I’m going to be studying art history and I’m hoping to get an internship with a local gallery this summer, after the trip of course. But yeah…” You trail off awkwardly as Sunghoon pretends to be interested. An awkward atmosphere settles over the table and you finish in silence.

After dinner, you head up to your room that you’ll be sharing with Stella. You’re sitting on the floor, unpacking your suitcase while she removes her makeup.

“Hey,” she turns to you, “I’m sorry about what happened with Hoon earlier. I don’t know why he’s acting like that.”

You wave it off. “No, don’t worry about it at all, it’s all good. I’m sure it’ll settle down in a while.”

She nods comfortingly but deep down you feel a little hurt. You knew that it wasn’t going to be the same but you didn’t expect him to be so cold.

-

After a few chaotic days of what felt like never-ending sightseeing and cold shoulders from Sunghoon, you finally collapse onto a picnic blanket out in the back-garden, your white sundress pooling around your knees. You roll over onto your stomach, kicking your legs into the air as you grab your book, the pages soft between your hands as you slowly flip through, trying to find where you left off. Pop. The sound of plastic popping as you open the box of glowing red cherries next to you. Your favorite.

You're a few pages in when a soft voice calls from behind you. “Hey.” You glance behind to see him standing there in a loose white shirt and khaki shorts, holding a book. He laughs softly as you scramble to straighten yourself. “No need for that, you can sit however you want.”

“No, no it's okay,” you shake your head, sitting up straight now, confused at his cheerful demeanour “what do you need?”

“I was wondering if I could join you,” he tilted his head, “you seem to be having fun.”

You squeeze internally. Something about Sunghoon was making you nervous right now but you plaster on a sweet smile nonetheless, “of course.”

You’re hyperaware of his every movement as he approaches and sits down next to you on the blanket. He holds up the book he had and it takes you a second to realise that both of you had gotten the same book to read, ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’. You smile at him, “that’s funny.”

“It is, isn’t it?” He hums. “How’s Ben doing?”

You laugh, the anxious feeling in your stomach fading a little. There’s no need to be nervous in the first place, it’s just Sunghoon. “He’s doing okay. No more accidents since the last.”

The two of you fall into silence. He coughs. "Listen... I uh— I didn't mean to act that way when you first came."

You nod almost immediately. "You don't have to explain yourself, I get it, it's fine."

"No, I was acting like a jerk for no reason. I mean- you know how I am with people at first and I hadn't seen you in a while, it just took me a while to get used to. That's not an excuse for how I acted though, I'm sorry."

You peer at him. "I get it, I figured that's the reason you were acting distant. It's okay. I'm glad we can be pause normal again." You both look at each other and for a second you feel him glance at your lips but his eyes move away so fast, it's impossible to tell. He smiles softly at you.

-

Your legs are crossed as you lounge lazily on a chair on the balcony, taking in the view of the salty sea, waves lapping against the rocks. Once again, a box of perfectly round Italian cherries lay on the table behind you. You couldn't seem to get enough of them.

“You must really like these.” Sunghoon murmurs from behind you, pointing at the box of the sweet fruit. You smile lazily at him, not surprised by his interruption. Somehow, he had been finding you in all sorts of odd places recently, almost as if he was looking for you from the second you disappeared from view. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Sunghoon thought you were pretty. You realised fairly quickly from the way his eyes flicked up and down whenever he saw you, resting on your tits for just a second more.

“They’re my favorite.” You nod, grabbing one and popping it into your mouth as he watches. Maybe it's the way he’s staring at you hungrily but a newfound confidence takes over you. You reach for another cherry but this time, you make sure to hold eye contact with him, looking up with big bambi eyes as your tongue swirls around the sweet fruit. You bite into it and the red juice dribbles down your chin, your eyes glinting. His finger instinctively reaches down, a millimetre away from your chin before you nod to give him permission.

He swipes at the juice on your chin, before pulling his finger back, licking it slowly. Your throat suddenly feels like it’s constricting. You should not be doing this— holy shit you should not be doing this. You stand abruptly, coughing slightly. He doesn’t react much but a slight smirk plays on his face. Pause. “I should go,” you stutter as you rush into the house, heart hammering in your chest.

You try your best to ignore him for the next few days because you had no idea what possessed you to do that. Your mind constantly replayed the moment. The way he stared at you. The way he touched you. The way he licked his finger. God you were so fucked. Every time you saw Stella, you couldn’t help but feel guilty but then you tried comforting yourself. It wasn’t like you had done anything wrong, nothing actually happened.

You didn’t even notice what you were doing at first, your actions seemingly innocent in your mind. You just wanted to make the most of the summer clothes you owned and the heat in Taormina was intense, right? But your skirts were growing shorter and shorter by the day, your bikinis became skimpier and skimpier. That, accompanied by the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when he came around, batted your eyelashes at him, knowing it made him crazy-you hadn’t even realised but that little incident between the two of you had made you develop a little obsession with Sunghoon Park, just like the one you had all those years ago. And you were desperate for his attention now.

Right from your shiny olive skin that glistened in the Italian sun to your long hair that swayed as you walked, Sunghoon Park knew you were gorgeous, even more so now that you were making it painfully obvious. He knew. He knew you were doing all of this entirely on purpose but that didn’t mask his staring as you lather on sunscreen, resting beside him in the sand in a floral pink bikini.

You know you have him.

"Hey can you help me with this?" You ask softly, holding out the bottle of sunscreen towards him. His jaw ticks but he takes the bottle from your hand.

"Actually," you smile sweetly, "on second thought, I think I'm done, what do you think?"

If looks could kill, you would strike dead at this very moment from the way he was looking at you. “What’s your game?”

You stare at him, not expecting him to say those words so soon. “What do you mean?” You pout, pretending to be oblivious, a little upset that you didn't get to have that much fun with him before he called you out.

He scoffs. “You know exactly what I mean. Don’t play dumb. You like teasing me and then pulling away at the last moment, don’t you?” When you don’t respond, his expression hardens. “You’re trying to win a game you don’t even know how to play.”

Before you get the chance to respond, the two of you are interrupted as Stella runs to you, laughing.

“Hey are you having fun?” Stella smiles down at you.

“I’m having a great time, thanks.”

She nods as she moves to sit down on the sand, between you and Sunghoon.

Theres a moment of silence before you speak. “Hey Stells, thank you for letting me come. I appreciate it a lot. I would’ve had a terrible summer without you and I’m just really glad we get to spend time together before … you know …”

She smiles at you again. A genuine smile. “I’m gonna miss you. A lot. And I know you’re worried but i’m not, because I know we’ll always be friends. We’ve been through everything together and stupid New York isn’t going to change that.” As she pulls you in for a hug, you feel a pang in your heart. You love your friend and the last thing you want is for her older brother to come between you. But you just can’t help yourself.

You glance up at Sunghoon who's watching you two hug with an emotion in his eyes that you can't quite place. He meets your eyes and you shut yours, unable to look at him any longer. You hold onto Stella tighter, suddenly feeling disgusted with yourself. You're sickening. Sickening and selfish.

-

Your phone screen shows 4:36AM and sleep wasn’t coming. You sit up, rubbing your eyes as you glance at Stella snoring beside you. You get out of bed slowly, the wood creaking beneath you. You desperately needed a walk to clear your mind. Stepping into your fuzzy slippers, you leave the room, entering the narrow corridor outside. Sunghoon’s door stands tall in front of your face, which you would have normally ignored, except today, streaks of light peek out of the crack at the bottom. Why is he awake?

You know you shouldn’t. You know you really shouldn’t but you do it anyways. You knock softly. A few moments pass and you think he might not come. Right as you’re about to leave, the door clicks open and he stands there in grey sweats, shirtless. You choke a little but he doesn’t notice, neither does he seem surprised to see you.

He looks you up and down and you realise what you’re wearing—a tiny pink lace-trim nightgown, barely covering anything. He’s smirking now. “Come in.”

“Uh I—“ You start to say as you begin to regret your decision but you’re cut off by his harsh tone, his smirk now faded, replaced with a hardened expression.

“That wasn't a question. Come. In.”

You swallow nervously as you follow him into the room and shut the door behind you. Sunghoon sits on the edge of the bed, motioning for you to stand in front of him. You do as he asks and now you're staring down at his face, your silky hair hanging loosely, brushing against his cheeks. He starts to grab harshly at your waist and you gasp slightly.

"You think this is funny huh? Playing all these games? Do you have any idea what you're doing at all?" When you don't respond he starts again. “What? Cat got your tongue? Are you all nervous now? Don't be, you started this after all."

You breathe out shakily, hands finding his neck. "Please—"

"Please what?" His smirk is back, he likes that he's finally the one in control. "Say you want me."

"God I want you, I do." You whine pathetically. And whatever little power you may have had over him was gone, he had claimed it back. His dark eyes glint sinisterly as he stands, picking you up by the waist and placing you down onto the bed. Your legs are raised, being held up by his hands as he presses kisses on your left ankle. He slowly makes his way down, nuzzling his nose into your inner thighs. His teeth lock onto your panties and you gasp as he drags them off, discarding them on the floor, leaving you exposed.

"Fuck you're beautiful."

He dives in again, his nose pressing against your clit as he laps harshly at your folds. You throw your head back, a jerk reaction to the sudden sensitivity. You cry out and feel him immediately stop what he was doing. You whine softly in annoyance. "Wow baby, it seems like you really want my sister to know I'm fucking you right now." You swallow harshly as his eyes shoot daggers at you. "Keep. Quiet."

He's looking at your pussy now. You wait, burning to see what he would do. And he spits on it. You gasp, biting your lip to stop the moan. He spits right on your pussy, using his fingers to spread his saliva around your messy area. He begins to lick up your folds again, pressing his tongue down on your clit.

You can't handle it. It's pathetic but you already feel a knot building up in your stomach. "Hoon— I'm going to—"

"Not yet," he spits out, coming up.

You moan weakly in protest but he doesn't seem to care. "You don't deserve to cum yet. You've not been a very good girl have you?" You shake your head.

His hands reach for his pants now, pulling them down in one quick move and you could see how painfully hard he is. Your eyes widen as he pulls out his cock. It was big. Too big. Bigger than you'd ever had before and you didn't know if you would be able to handle it. He laughs, looking at your expression. "Don't worry baby, we'll make it fit."

He pushes your legs up all the way and you were practically bent in half in front of him, your knees blurrily shifting in and out of your peripheral vision. He lines his cock up with your entrance and rubs the tip across your wet folds, groaning softly as his eyes shut. Without warning, he pushes it in and you shriek in surprise, causing him to shove his fingers into your throat. You're choking around his fingers now as he thrusts into you, quickening the pace. Tears stream down your face as you gag, you're close again, you can feel it, but so can he. Just as you're about to reach your high, he stops his motion again and you lean back into the bed, panting hard. You're desperate for release now but as you stare up at his fucked out face through your lashes, smirking down at you, you know he's not going to give you that release anytime soon.

So you go four more rounds. Four more rounds of chasing that desperate high that he pulls away from you at the last moment. You're fucked up now, sweating and panting, your hair splayed across your face as you cried and cried, begging him. The sun had risen now and it pooled in through the window, enveloping you in a warm glow, making your tan skin look golden.

"God baby, you look so fucking sexy right now." Sunghoon reaches an arm towards the desk nearby, where a small pile of digital cameras lay. Stella's digital cameras. The one's she had excitedly bought for the trip, wanting to capture every memory. He points the lens of one of them at you and you don't even have enough energy to protest. Click. And just like that, a picture of you in one of your most fucked up moments was captured forever. He tosses the camera aside, turning his attention back to you.

"You up for one more?"

Strings of gibberish come out from your mouth and he chuckles as he pushes into you once again. He thrusts in and out and you're moaning loudly this time but neither of you cared anymore. You're so sensitive at this point that it doesn't take long for that familiar feeling to arise again. This time, Sunghoon lets you have it. You let out a strangled moan as you feel your orgasm wash over you. Pure fucking euphoria. He collapses on top of you after cumming as well. You reach out, your hands tangling in his hair, stroking his face gently.

You realise you haven't kissed yet. You lean down, placing a gentle kiss on his pink lips. He kisses you back immediately but there is no lust behind it. "You're a goddess, you know that?" He speaks, muffled against your arm. You laugh this time, reaching for the camera next to you. Click. Another picture. But this one is much cuter, the two of you staring into the camera, laughing as your arms are wrapped around him. Click. And another. He's kissing you and you just want to stay in this moment forever.

-

The remainder of the vacation is spent stealing glances and kisses with Sunghoon as you two sneak away at random times together. You visited his room every night, sometimes it was sex and sometimes you just wanted to cuddle.

If there was one thing you were sure of by the end of the vacation, it's that you were madly, madly in love with him. And he was in love with you too.

-

1 month later

You step into your room, flopping onto the bed, exhausted from your shift at the gallery. You pull out your phone to texts from both Stella and Sunghoon. Sunghoon's reads 'see you tomorrow :)' while Stella had texted to cancel your bar plans for the night, wanting to hang out at home instead. You almost feel relieved, too tired to even think of going to the bar. Instead, you quickly change your clothes and head over to the house next door. Shin-ah opens the door and she's delighted to see you as ever.

After exchanging some small talk, you head upstairs to Stella's room, briefly glancing at Sunghoon's door.

"Hey Ste—“ You stop. She isn't there.

You look around, confused for a moment before realising she's sitting outside on the balcony.

"Hey, what's up?" You smile at her as you take the seat beside her.

She doesn't respond, staring straight ahead into the pink sky. She's holding an envelope, nothing too special, just a plain white envelope.

"Do you know what this is?" She speaks for the first time, holding the envelope up, still refusing to look at you.

Your eyebrows furrow. "No?"

She breathes out, finally turning to meet your eyes. You recoil slightly when you see the wild anger looking straight at you. She opens the envelope slowly, almost teasingly. "You know..." She trails, "I recently sent in the film from the trip to be developed."

Your stomach drops.

She knows.

The envelope is finally open and she pulls out three photos. The first one of you laid down on the bed, fucked out with his cock still inside you, then you and Sunghoon are hugging naked, then you're kissing.

You're going to throw up.

"Look at me." She speaks softly, gently, but her voice is full of venom.

You look up to meet her eyes but you just can't do it. Your world is spinning.

"I want you to go to New York," her voice drops to a whisper, "and never come back. I never want to see you again. I never want you to see my brother ever again. Do you understand?"

You're nodding now, pleading silently, tears streaming down your face but you know it's not going to do anything.

She takes your nod as a yes. "Good, then we're clear."

[dior-luxury]

Pretending You Didn't Know Their Birthday Was Today

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . fluff/drama - no prns .

- [𝐜𝐡.] deuce . ruggie . jade . floyd . epel

- [𝐩:𝐬] Mild emotional distress . Romantic themes . Light teasing/pranks .

Note: This is such a mean prank to do on them guys (ﾉД`) But yk me, I LOVEEE writing drama (; ω ; ).

Deuce Spade

At first, Deuce tried not to take it personally.

You had been acting totally normal all day—sweet, attentive, just like always—but… that was the thing. Just normal. Not a single “Happy Birthday” from you. Not a cupcake, not a “Hey, wanna do something later?” Nothing. And at breakfast, when Ace loudly tossed Deuce a small box and yelled “Happy birthday, dumbass!”, you just… smiled politely and went back to your juice.

He told himself you probably had something planned. That maybe you were just being subtle. But as the hours passed, his confidence started to crumble.

By mid-afternoon, he couldn’t even focus in class. Every time he looked your way, his stomach did this weird, anxious twist. Maybe you were mad at him? Maybe he’d forgotten something important? No… your smile didn’t look fake. You laughed at his jokes. You walked to class with him like usual. But still—nothing.

By the time lunch rolled around, he couldn’t take it anymore.

You were sitting together under a shady tree in the courtyard, sharing fries from a bag. He stared down at his lap, fingers fidgeting, his voice awkward and small.

“H-Hey… um… did you… maybe forget what today is?”

You blinked at him, biting into a fry. “Hmm? Oh… is something happening today?”

The color drained from his face.

“…O-Oh. No. Never mind. I just thought—no, forget it,” he said, trying to hide the flash of hurt in his eyes. His posture stiffened, clearly trying to pretend like he didn’t care, but it was so obvious he did.

And that’s when you pulled out the surprise.

From your bag, you retrieved a small, neatly wrapped box and set it in his lap. “You’re so easy to mess with, Deuce. Happy Birthday, baby.”

He stared at it. Then at you. Then back at it.

“…You knew?!”

You giggled as he turned bright red, torn between relief, embarrassment, and this ridiculously bashful happiness. “Of course I knew. You really thought I’d forget my favorite person’s birthday?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, still stunned. “I… I thought I messed something up. Man, you’re evil for that,” he said with a pout, even though he looked like he wanted to hug you and never let go.

Later that night, you surprised him again with a little party in Ramshackle with his closest friends and a handmade cake. And as he sat beside you, eating your lopsided but delicious creation, he leaned close and whispered in your ear:

“You scared the hell outta me today. But… that just makes this even better. Thanks, babe.”

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie had been dropping hints for weeks.

Not because he expected much—he never really did on his birthday—but because the idea of you remembering something special about him… it made his chest feel warm.

So when his birthday finally came around, and you—the one person he thought would for sure say something—didn’t, he didn’t know how to take it.

The sun had barely risen when he bounced into your dorm with a grin. “Mornin’, babe! Sleep well?”

You nodded, still wrapped in a blanket burrito. “Mmhm. Wanna grab breakfast in the cafeteria?”

“…That’s it?” he asked, his brow furrowing.

You looked at him, head tilted. “What?”

“Nothin’, nothin’,” he said with a wave of his hand, brushing it off with a chuckle. “Just thought maybe you had somethin’ special planned for today. Like… a surprise churro. Y’know. For, uh… no reason at all.”

You blinked innocently. “Why would I do that?”

“…No reason,” he muttered, a little too fast.

As the day went on, he kept waiting for something. A “Happy Birthday!” A present. A note in his bag. Anything. But there was nothing.

At some point, he began to seriously wonder if you just… didn’t care.

That stung more than he wanted to admit.

By evening, he sulked into his dorm, only to find you waiting inside with a bright grin, his favorite snacks on the bed, and a banner that read Happy Birthday, Hyena Boy!

He froze in the doorway. “Wh-What the—?! You knew?!”

You laughed, pulling him into a hug. “Of course I did, silly. You’ve been hinting at it all month. I just wanted to mess with you a little.”

“Jeez, and here I thought I was bein’ subtle…” He rubbed his temples, a smile cracking through his flustered expression. “You little sneak. I almost cried in the middle of laundry duty.”

“Aww, don’t worry. You can cry now—in happiness!”

“Pfft, yeah right,” he scoffed, turning away dramatically… only to spin around and tackle-hug you onto the bed. “Okay, maybe just a little happy cry. Maybe. Don’t look too closely.”

That night, as you both lounged on the bed sharing snacks and laughter, he kissed your cheek and mumbled, “No one’s ever done something like this for me before… Thank you, babe. Seriously.”

And just like that, all the teasing in the world couldn’t hide how much he really appreciated it.

Jade Leech

Jade is not the type to let his emotions slip so easily.

So when the morning of his birthday came and you greeted him with your usual serene smile and a sweet "Good morning, Jade~," he returned it effortlessly—mask flawless, voice calm. But the second you walked away without even a hint of birthday acknowledgment, he blinked once… and a curious smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

How… intriguing.

He didn’t say anything. Not then. Not at lunch, either, when you asked if he wanted to go herb-hunting later like it was any other day. Not even when you kissed his cheek in the hallway and said “See you after class!”

But every time you looked away, he was watching you. Observing you in the same way a predator watches prey, fascinated and a little amused. The wheels in his mind were turning.

You had to know, didn’t you?

…Or did you forget?

He couldn’t quite tell. You weren’t nervous. You weren’t acting strange. No subtle glances, no hidden smiles. Your performance was suspiciously perfect—which only made this more entertaining for him.

By the time evening fell, Jade accompanied you into the Mostro Lounge for "a quick drink," following along with that same soft smile on his face. You chatted like always, sat in your usual booth, sipping tea. Nothing seemed different.

Until the lights dimmed.

And Azul’s voice came over the mic—“Happy Birthday to Jade Leech”—and a cake was brought out, decorated with ocean-themed shells and pearls, your handwriting proudly scrawled across the fondant.

And that’s when Jade laughed.

Not a quiet chuckle. A genuine laugh, melodic and laced with amusement. He turned to you with sharp but delighted eyes.

“Oh my. So you did remember.”

You gave him an innocent blink. “What? Of course I remembered. I was just having fun watching you squirm a little.”

He placed a hand over his chest, mock-wounded. “Me? Squirm? Dearest, I was merely observing your fascinating acting skills. Though I must admit… I nearly believed you forgot.”

You smirked. “Then the plan worked.”

Jade leaned in closer, his voice a silky whisper near your ear. “You’re quite the mischievous little eel, aren’t you? I might have to return the favor someday…”

And though he wore that ever-pleasant smile the rest of the night, you could tell—underneath it, Jade was thrilled. Not just because you remembered, but because you played his game so well.

Floyd Leech

Floyd was hyped for his birthday.

He didn’t say it out loud, but everyone could tell. He was unusually bouncy that morning—tossing students over his shoulder with more enthusiasm than usual, humming a weird little tune while walking to class. Even Azul was keeping a safe distance.

So when he spotted you coming down the hallway, his eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store.

“Shrimpyyyy~!!” he beamed, immediately throwing his long arms around you in a tight squeeze. “Guess what day it isss?”

You blinked, looking puzzled. “Umm… Tuesday?”

He froze.

You tilted your head. “Why? Is something happening today?”

His arms slowly dropped away. His smile faltered. “…You serious?”

You gave him your most convincing innocent look. “Did I miss something?”

“…You serious?!”

Now he looked genuinely offended—like someone had just told him there were no snacks left in the vending machine. “You forgot my birthday? My own girlfriend?! What kinda low-tide tragedy is this?!”

He slumped dramatically over your shoulder like a dying fish. “Shrimpy doesn’t love me anymoreee~ I’m gonna cry…”

“Floyd—”

“No, no, don’t talk to me! I’m gonna go sulk and punch a wall or something…”

And off he went, dramatically dragging his feet down the hall.

…Only for you to text him twenty minutes later with “Emergency in the Lounge. Come quick.”

He came stomping in like a storm cloud, pout still fresh on his face—until the moment he saw the room.

Balloons. Streamers. A giant cake shaped like a sea turtle. And you, standing in the center with a party horn in your mouth, grinning.

“Happy birthday, big guy~”

His mouth opened. Then closed.

“…You LIAR!” he laughed, bolting forward and sweeping you off the ground in a bone-crushing hug. “You tricked me, shrimpy! That was so mean!”

“You deserved it,” you giggled, arms wrapped around his neck. “I had to keep you on your toes somehow.”

Floyd nuzzled into your hair, tail practically wagging. “I was this close to crying real tears! You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He spent the rest of the night showing off to everyone, dragging you around and introducing you like you were the best gift of all. And before bed, he curled up beside you with a satisfied little sigh.

“You’re lucky I love ya, shrimpy. Next year, I’m pranking you. Hardcore.”

Epel Felmier

Epel didn’t like to make a big fuss over his birthday.

He wasn’t the type to announce it to the world, parade around the dorm, or demand gifts. Still… he was kind of hoping you’d remember. Just a simple “Happy birthday” from you would’ve meant everything. He didn’t want something fancy—just… you.

So when the day arrived and you didn’t say anything, he tried to play it cool.

Tried.

“‘Mornin’, sugar~!” he greeted with a bright grin, brushing his hair behind his ear the way you liked.

“Mornin’, Epel!” you chirped back casually, linking your arm with his as you both walked down the hall.

He waited. One second. Two.

Nothing.

“…Anything special goin’ on today?” he asked, trying to act nonchalant.

You blinked. “Uhh, I don’t think so. It’s Tuesday. Why?”

He felt his heart sink a little.

“…No reason,” he mumbled, gaze flicking away. “Just… felt like today was s’posed to be important or somethin’.”

You tilted your head. “Did I forget a test?”

Epel forced a smile. “Nah, nah… forget it.”

But he didn’t forget it.

All day, he kept sneaking glances at you, silently hoping you were just pulling his leg. Maybe you'd jump out with a cake or tackle-hug him and yell, “Surprise!” But each hour that passed without so much as a cupcake made that hope dim a little more.

He tried to laugh it off with his friends. “Guess I ain’t worth rememberin’, huh?” he joked, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

By the time the sun dipped behind the walls of NRC, he had retreated to his room, lying face-down on his bed, arms folded beneath his head.

“…It’s fine,” he muttered to himself. “Ain’t a big deal. Birthdays’re for kids anyway. I ain’t soft.”

But just as he was wallowing in his disappointment, there was a knock at his door.

“…Epel?” your voice called softly from the other side. “Can you come with me for a sec?”

He rolled over, groaning a little. “Not really in the mood, darlin’.”

“Please?”

He sighed. “Fine…”

You led him outside Ramshackle—under the stars—into the courtyard where the fountain glowed soft gold. And that’s when he saw it.

Fairy lights strung up between trees. A little picnic blanket with two slices of apple pie and warm cider. A small, wrapped box sitting atop a folded note with his name written in your handwriting.

“…You didn’t forget,” he whispered.

You turned to him with a gentle smile, a flicker of mischief in your eyes. “Course not. I just wanted to see your pouty face. You’re so cute when you sulk.”

He gawked at you, cheeks burning red. “Y-you—! Ugh, I oughta put you over my shoulder and shake the mischief outta you!”

You laughed and took his hands, pulling him toward the little setup. “Happy birthday, Epel. I love you.”

The tension melted from his shoulders all at once. He dropped down beside you, arms wrapping tight around your waist as he buried his face into your shoulder.

“Dang it… You really got me,” he muttered, voice muffled. “Thought you forgot. Thought I didn’t matter…”

“You matter to me every single day,” you whispered back. “Today’s just an excuse to prove it.”

And under the starlight, as you fed him a bite of pie and leaned on his shoulder, Epel couldn’t stop grinning. He might not be the kind to shout it from the rooftops, but tonight—he felt special. Loved. Yours.

“…Next year, I’m gettin’ ya back for this, y’know,” he said with a playful smirk. “Hard.”

[snail-day]

Satoru gets into little giggle fits from time to time, especially when you refuse to kiss him back. It’s late, well past bedtime. You’ve been dozing off at the dining room table, phone slipping from your fingers, head tilted just barely to the side. Across from you, Satoru sits hunched over his laptop, supposedly reviewing his students’ reports, but his eyes keep flicking up to you. Watching. Those baby blues crinkle at the corners when your head bobs for the third time.

He leans back in his chair, stretching his long limbs with an exaggerated yawn. “C’mon,” he hums, voice lilting and sweet. “Do I need to carry you?”

You don't answer. You're too tired or maybe you just want to see what he’ll do. And, of course, he does exactly what you expect.

He scoops you up effortlessly, arms sliding beneath your legs and back in one smooth motion. Your body molds against his without resistance, limp from sleep and too much comfort. He’s annoyingly warm. Radiating heat, soft clothed chest solid under your cheek as he carries you to the bedroom.

Satoru giggles. Not once, but in little bursts, like each sleepy twitch of yours and cranky grumbles as you try to make his life harder.

He sets you down on the bed, soft sheets enveloping you in their warmth, hands trailing from your thighs to your hips as he shifts you into place. Those slender fingers, a little calloused at the joints, but always gentle. They slip down at the waistband of your pants with ease, murmuring nonsense as he goes. Small complaints when you don't make his job easier. Kissing your skin between every motion, your temple, your nose, the corner of your mouth.

“You could try cooperating,” he grumbles affectionately, his voice vibrating against your ear. “I’m not undressing you because I want sex, you silly goose, I just want you to be comfy.”

And still, you don’t kiss him back. Brat. Causing him to freeze, his lashes to flutter. His white brows twitch, pinching up in soft annoyance.

“…Did you just not kiss me? Me?” Satoru leans back slightly, arms bracketing your head as he looms above you. “Wow. That’s crazy.”

You should’ve run when you had the chance. Without warning, he straddles your waist, knees caging you in, his ridiculous grin stretching wide across his perfect face. “Guess I’ll just have to punish you.”

Lunges forward, fingers finding your sides, your thighs, your ribs, and god, he’s relentless. Satoru is the worst person to be tickled by. Not just because he’s strong and fast (though both are true), but because he knows exactly where to touch. Reflexes honed from years of battle and used solely, exclusively, to torment you.

You shriek, trying to twist away, but it’s hopeless. He pins you with his whole body, lanky and giggly. His chest presses flush to yours, thighs snug around your hips, and his hands won’t stop moving.

“Where’s my kiss at?” he teases, laughing right in your ear. “Oh? Still nothing? Wow. I guess I gotta tickle you again! What a tragedy!”

You’re breathless by the time he relents, tears at the corners of your eyes from laughing too hard, your body aching from how tightly he held you. He finally settles, lowering himself until he’s practically draped across you, his head nestled under your chin. One arm loops under your back, the other curling protectively over your stomach. All that heat, all that size, and he just melts on top of you like a blanket.

Eventually, when he leans up to steal another kiss - warm breath fanning over your cheek - you give in. Just one. Barely a brush of lips.

He exhales like it’s the first breath he’s taken all night. Nuzzles into your neck with a pleased little whimper. “Mmm. There’s my girl.”

You roll your eyes, but your fingers still find his hair.

[blackcandlesinwinter]

Yeah, doing jury duty is good, actually. Intentionally getting yourself removed from a jury pool is not radical or admirable. It's a capitulation to our system of injustice. And it's alarming to me how often I hear "leftist" people encourage folks to say extreme and combative stuff during jury selection to get removed as if that's a good thing. The lives and future of people are on the line! You should WANT to be in the room if at all possible!

In the case that I was on, a cop lied during his testimony. It was obvious to me that he lied because we got to watch the body-cam footage afterwards. The lies weren't about anything that fundamentally changed the evidence for/against the crime in my case - he told a false story intended to make him look more proactive and competent than he actually was. But his testimony was still CLEARLY and BLATANTLY false, which totally discredited him as a witness in my mind. And when I brought it up in the jury room NO ONE ELSE HAD NOTICED. Literally not a single other person in the room had noticed that his testimony was completely contradicted by the footage in incredibly obvious ways. Because most people TRUST COPS. They might be open to scrutinizing other witnesses (though still not as much as they should) but it just didn't occur to any of them to be applying a critical eye to the testimony of the cops. And it required someone being in the room who didn't trust the cop to get them to notice the blatant contradictions between his testimony and the actual video footage.

Just... just think about that for a second. 12 people in the room and only 1 noticed that the cop lied. It's not that all other 11 were radical right-wing extremists. MOST people trust cops way more than they should, because that's the culture we live in. And if I had intentionally gotten myself removed from jury consideration, probably no one would have noticed.

Seriously, we NEED more people who are critical of the justice system and the cops to be on jury duty. The deck is stacked against us, since a lot of people with the most understanding of the failures of the justice system are not eligible to serve on juries (felons/former felons, homeless folks, people too poor to be able to take the time needed to attend a trial, etc). So those of us who CAN be in the room SHOULD be. It's our responsibility.

Also, you probably don't need to lie in order to pass the jury selection process. I was asked during jury selection "what are your thoughts about cops and are you able to impartially consider the testimony provided by cops?" And I could honestly answer that I am critical of the police system and I've participated in anti-police protests, but that I am still able to evaluate police testimony objectively and impartially, just like any other testimony. And I got on the jury. I didn't have to gush about how much I love cops or hide the fact that I've been critical of policing. Of course, every jury selection process is different - I can't promise that you will or won't be removed. But from my experience, it's expected and unavoidable that there will be a range of opinions and politics present in the jury room. That alone generally won't be enough to get you removed.

for no reason whatsoever here’s a reminder that if you consider yourself a leftist/punk/abolitionist/anarchist/radical in any sort of way and get called into jury duty, you are to become the most square person on earth during the jury questionnaire!!!

don’t be that guy who says fuck the police in the jury questionnaire! that just gets you sent home! if you want to generate change, interact with the case and use your jury vote for good! ESPECIALLY if it’s a high profile case!

[bernardsbendystraws]

You Don’t Own Me

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chris Sturniolo lives by his own rules, refusing to be controlled. Some see him as a rebel, a troublemaker—but is that the full truth? Meanwhile, Y/N is focused on making the most of her last year of high school, determined to have a normal teenage experience. But when their worlds collide, they realize they may have more in common than they ever expected.

WARNINGS: COPYRIGHT NOTICE. Kissing, making out, face sitting, munch!chris, fem!receiving, slight family angst, mentions of previous relationship age gap

A/N: I'm sorry but they have so much chemistry that the smut is irresistible to write sometimes...(I'm not sorry)

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

P22: Relax, Baby…

It’s warm. I feel the soft caress of one of his hands on my waist, the other massaging under my thigh. My head is nuzzled on his chest, my leg resting across his body as I try to keep my heavy eyes open, the slight rain against my window creating a peaceful aura that makes it hard to stay awake with the exhaustion pulling on my mind. 

“Morning,” he says, his voice still rough with hints of sleep. My crusted eyelashes pulling apart with each flutter of my eyes makes a sigh of frustration leave my lips. 

The light rain against my window is comforting and so is his touch, but it’s not enough to make the ache in my heart any less apparent. 

“How’d you sleep?” he asks, looking down at me with a sullen expression. I shake my head against his chest, my eyes squinting shut as I try to push the relentless anxieties aside. 

Sleeping with Chris has always been refreshing, but right now I feel awful—exhausted, even. I know I slept, but it doesn’t feel like my brain ever stopped looping around the memory of my ex in my house yesterday. 

Shrugging, I hear Chris part his lips, closing them with a subtle smack. 

He wants to ask, I can tell he’s dying to know more, but he’s trying to just comfort instead of pry for once. Thank god. I don’t think I could handle another thing going wrong. Especially not with him. He’s the one thing I’ve been looking forward to when I wake up, sometimes the only thought that makes it easier to take deep breaths throughout the day. 

“Do you—” His words are cut off by a knock at my door. 

Chris grips me tighter, his body tensing as my moms voice sounds, “I’m leaving for my trip. Baylen has your phone, he’ll give it back later today, just—he’s in charge.” 

Of course he’s in charge. 

Of course he has my phone. 

Of course she only said goodbye instead of even checking up on me. It would suck to be caught with a boy in my room, but maybe then I’d feel like she cared. 

I don’t respond. Chris relaxes beneath me as we hear her footsteps drift further away from my bedroom. Before I can truly let out the breath stuck in my chest, another knock occurs. 

“Hey, I’m, uh, going to the gym, be back later.” 

Baylen. He sounds annoyed to even have to be telling me through the door, but he walks off before I even have the chance to process his words. 

Chris pulls me in tighter, kissing the crown of my head as he rolls us over, both of us on our side facing towards each other. “Are you…you okay?” he asks, bringing a hand upwards to caress my messy hair behind my face. 

Giving him a blank look, I spare a small shrug. Chris wordlessly pulls me into his chest, cradling the back of my head as I bathe in the comfort of his arms. 

“My ex…he’s gonna be Baylen’s new roommate apparently.” 

The statement leads to silence. I feel the subtle tighten of his grip before it loosens, his chest heaving with a deep breath as his jaw clicks. 

“Isn’t Baylen in college?” he asks, his voice horse and rough. I nod against him. Chris clears his throat, his hands shifting to comb through my hair again. “I…I’m trying not to push, but…but, help me out here…what’s going on? what’s this, um, what’s this…mean?” 

I melt at his soft request. My nostrils flare as I take in a big inhale, letting my lungs fill before slowly letting the air fall through my lips. “We dated a while ago—almost two years ago, but—but, um, Baylen doesn’t know. I knew he’d freak if he found out I was dating a college guy–” 

My words halt as Chris lets out a huff of air. He relaxes, his body collapsing into the bed as his hand soothes through my hair, almost as if it’s more his comfort more than my own. 

“I hate him,” I breathe, my lips pursing together as I stare into his chest, “-I hate him so much and now he’s acting like he’s all buddy-buddy with my brother. It—fuck, it’s so stupid. I just wish…I wish he’d just…disappear.” I mumble, my words barely coherent. 

Chris pulls away from me, looking down and peering directly into my eyes with his own. I feel my face grow hot, the lump in my throat unbearable as I try to swallow. 

“If…if you need me, I’m here, alright?” he says, his voice firm and direct with a hint of sympathy laced in his features. 

As I nod, he pulls me into his chest tightly. I let my body melt against his, breathing in his scent as I take a large breath of air. 

This sucks—this is absolutely awful—but it doesn’t feel as horrible in his arms. 

And at least that’s something. 

___

I didn’t wait for Baylen to come home, Chris and I walked to his house, immediately greeted by a big hug from Jimmy as soon as we went inside the home. 

A couple pieces of bacon and some hash browns later, we were both sitting on his bed, his hands on my hips as I straddled his lap, his eyes peering up at me with a soft gleam as the light rain patters harder against his window. 

Jimmy had taken Trevor to some pet store. He asked if we wanted to come with, which I thought was really cute, but Chris said he wanted to ‘lay down and relax,’ which obviously required me. 

He’s such a dumbass, but in a good way. 

And Matt wasn’t even home, he was with Mia. The thought of them together made it impossible for me to let the smile fall off of my face, even more impossible when Chris kept showering me in affirmations. 

“You’re pretty.” 

His words make my pulse hammer against my chest, the repeated compliment resulting in my cheeks hurting from how red and tense they are. 

My skin is crawling with warmth under his delicate touch on either side of my hips. I’m currently dressed in his sweatshirt and some sweats, but his fingers are underneath the fabric of the hoodie, resting above the hem of the pants with no intent other than to feel my bare skin against his own. 

“Shut up, Chris,” I joke, pushing my hands through his hair playfully. 

He leans into the touch. I watch as his eyes squint with a smile, his face flushed as he mumbles under his breath, “It’s true…can’t help it, baby.” 

Oh. 

Baby?

I freeze, my hands falling limp on his shoulders as I stare down at him with wide eyes. Chris bites on his lower lip, an evident smirk growing on his face as his eyes twinkle with mischief. My stomach drops, a knot of heat piling as he teasingly runs his hands up my sides. 

“My bad, my bad,” he laughs, licking over his teeth as he squeezes lightly under my breasts with both hands. Chris lets his hands fall downward. The heat of his bare skin on mine dissipates as he rests his hands on the tops of my thighs. 

He’s such a tease. 

Greedily, I reach down, pulling his hands back underneath my clothes. Chris laughs, squeezing lightly onto my sides, tracing his fingers lightly. “Want me to touch you, huh?” he taunts. 

Something burns inside of me from his words. I lean down, his eyes widening from the lack of distance. His breath fans across my lips. I let myself close the gap, my lips curling as I feel him slot his lips between my own.

A puff of laughter falls from my mouth as he holds the back of my neck, straining to close the miniscule distance between our lips as he slides his tongue across my bottom lip. I immediately let him venture the muscle into my mouth, his movements feeling slow and passionate. 

“Hmmmm,” he hums, the vibration against the kiss making my chest tighten as I feel the pressure build between my legs. 

The way he’s kissing me is everything—it’s warm, romantic, and torturously slow. 

I feel his tongue slide against my own, my hands clutching onto his shoulder tighter as my balance wavers on top of him. Chris drops his hands back down to right below my breasts, gripping firmly to keep me steady as we pull away from each other, gasping for air. 

“You—you good?” he pants. 

I nod my head, dizzy with my ears ringing. Chris tugs at the hem of my sweats, his eyes plundering into mine with a pleading expression etched on his face. 

“Can…can these come off? Can I…can I touch you?” he asks. 

My eyes bulge from the question, my back arching slightly, an automatic reaction from his breathless request. 

Nodding, I lift my hips as he tugs the fabric down, kicking the pants off and letting them carelessly fall to the floor. Cold air rushes up my legs, the shocking temperature change most apparent against my core as he pushes my inner thighs further apart while I straddle myself over his lap again. 

“Fuck…” Chris mutters, his eyes entranced at the sight between my legs as both of his hands settle on my upper thighs, one of them inching upward as he looks up at me with yearning. 

Biting my lower lip, I nod. Chris lets out a shaky breath, his fingers lightly tracing just along the hem of my underwear. 

Oh god. 

The cool air of his room intensifies as I feel myself grow wetter. His teasing touch travels right beside the bridge of my panties, the pads of his fingers delicately pressing against my core through the fabric as my jaw drops open.

My eyes plunder into his. He’s staring directly at me, his lips slightly parted as he hesitantly rubs the pad of his thumb in circles around my entrance through the thin cloth. 

I let myself grind into the touch, a sharp breath erupting through my lips as he carefully drags his hand upwards, using three fingers to flatten and push against my heat, rubbing circles as I feel my clit ache beneath his touch. 

“Chris,” I pant, my brows furrowing as he presses his hand further against me. The added friction makes my thighs quiver, my legs tensing as I try to create more movement. 

Before anything intensifies, it stops. 

My hips roll desperately, my muscles burning as I hear Chris gulp.

“Please, I—” I look down at him, watching his lips smack open and shut as he stares up at me with desperate eyes, “-please. Sit on my face, I…please,” he whispers, completely breathless as his hands massage over the tops of my thighs.

My body freezes hearing his request. He gently pulls on my hips, but I plant my hands on his chest, staring down at him with thoughts sprinting through my head. 

“I’ve, um, I’ver never done that, I don’t wanna hurt you—”

“You won’t,” he rushes, his eyes softening as he places his grip on either side of my hips, “-you won’t.” 

Swallowing thickly, I feel my head get lighter. The thought of him between my legs like that makes my heart skip over a beat, but it also makes me nervous. 

Well, nervous and excited. I can’t differentiate the two when he stares at me like he needs me more than anything.

“Please, baby, I…I want it so bad,” he purrs, his voice strained with longing as the nickname rolls off his lips naturally. 

His words lure my thoughts to silence. Instincts radiate over my skin, consuming my racing heartbeat as I drag his hands to the side of my underwear, helping him as he drags the fabric down. 

“Fuck—thank you,” he whispers, a heavy gulp from his end making my body itch with desire as I awkwardly shift to let my panties fall to the ground. 

Chris directs me to straddle him again, this time pulling me upwards. I halt, my hands tangling in his hair as I hover over his face. Chris tugs on my hips, whining before staring up at me with pleading eyes. 

“Just…let me know if I’m hurting you—”

“I will, I will,” he interrupts, licking over his lips as he peppers light kisses on the inside of my thighs. 

Slightly lowering myself, I gasp as I feel him lick against my hooded clit. Chris moans from the taste, immediately pulling me harder onto him before starting to sloppily make out with the sensitive bud like he was with my own lips just minutes ago. 

“Oh…oh—my god,” I gasp, my hands latching onto his head board as I feel his mouth desperately devouring me. 

My hips buck against his face as he sucks onto my clit, my pulse thumping through every pore of my body as I feel his hands lock around my thighs, keeping me steady as he continues to eat me like he needs it to breathe. 

“I—fuck, just…” he pants, my dripping slick against his lips echoing with a sloppy noise as he kisses me between his words, “-so good, tastes so damn good,” he praises, not wasting another breath between burying his tongue between my legs.

My mouth drops open. I feel his wet muscle prod against my entrance, tracing around the rim of my hole as I clench around nothing. 

He slowly slides in his tongue, the intrusion feeling utterly intimate. “God, Chris,” I moan, his nose wiggling against my clit as he shakes his head softly from side to side. 

One of his hands readjusts, his thumb writhing against my sensitive bud as I feel him crane his head to push his tongue even deeper inside of me. 

He hums into me. The vibration makes an elongated moan fall from my mouth, the sound seeming like encouragement for him to repeat the same action again.

And again. 

And again.

It’s so good. I can’t think of anything but him, the way he’s holding me—the way he’s making me feel. 

Every inch of my body burns with a warm electricity, my limbs starting to tighten as I feel the knots in my stomach build with pressure. 

I’m so close, but something is holding me back. 

Chris seems to notice, pulling back breathless as he kisses my inner thighs between words, “-c’mon, just—relax. Let—let go for me,” he says, diving in even hungrier than before. 

My body seems to comply with his words. I feel palpable to his touch, hot waves of bliss crashing over me relentlessly as he rubs on my clit, fucking his tongue into me with sloppy noises echoing in the room. 

“Chr—fuck, Chris!” I yelp, my voice cracking as he rubs me just right, the feelings so consuming that the knot in my stomach bursts before I can even give him a proper warning. 

My hips rock on his face. Chris slowly brings his actions to a stop, letting me ride out the high before helping me hover over his face as my legs shake on either side of his head. 

“You’re…you’re perfect for me, you know that?” he praises, his words making me let out a humors sigh. 

A breath halts in my chest as he lightly presses a kiss against my pulsating core again. I look down, watching as he gives me a sympathetic smile with devious eyes. 

“Hmmmmm…sorry, couldn’t help myself,” he whispers, slowly helping me climb off and lay on the bed. I rest on my back, the sound of his shuffling barely registering as I try to ground myself. 

The sensation of fabric gliding over my legs makes me look down. My eyes crinkle with amusement as he pulls my underwear over my hips, his eyes struggling to stay on my face as he licks over his lips while staring between my legs. 

“All good?” he asks. 

I nod, smiling as he spares me a soft grin, his eyes gleaming into mine as he slowly leans down, pressing a gentle kiss against the top of my underwear. “Good,” he murmurs. 

My chest slows rising and falling as I reach my hand down to comb through his hair. Chris gets comfortable, laying on his side with his cheek resting against my pelvis and his arms hugging one of my legs as he kisses my thigh mindlessly. 

“I thought you wanted to ‘lay down and relax,’ hm? What happened to that?” I tut, his words from earlier echoing through my head. 

Chirs hums, clutching my leg closer in his hold. “I’ve been laying down and relaxing, I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about...” he puffs, his voice silky and calm with a slight sarcasm that makes my nose scrunch from a lighthearted feeling washing over the energy in the room. 

I really like him. I like how he makes me feel, I like how he tries to compromise and always tries to be mindful of my needs. 

I like how he’s him—I like how he makes me feel like me. 

[clockwayswrites]

A Hill to Die On Chapter 5, part 3

masterpost tiny short bit. please no concrit/editing. life is hard enough right now

“Next outfit, next outfit,” the group chanted. Their ability to ignore the side eye from the sales woman was impressive. Maybe it’s because they knew if she tried anything with them, Cass had the Wayne card to pull out. Dick did too, of course, but it was a hit or a miss if he would use it. Not because of how he was dressed, of course, but it would depend on if Cass seemed willing. He liked to see her stand up for herself, they all did.

Caroline fussed with her hair for a moment before stepping out of the dressing room. It she was more of a blusher, she’d have flushed brightly with the newest string of compliments. Obeying Dicks hand motion, she did a little twirl. A camera went off if she did so.

“Sending this to you to send to Danny, because this? This is totally date night material,” Babs said.

“Or,” Stephie said, drawing the simple word out as long as she could. “You could just put him in a group chat with us and we can sent them ourselves!”

“I don’t think you quite understand the not scaring him away part of earlier,” Caroline said as she brushed a hand over the the skirt. It was a lightweight, pleated fabric that faded from opaque black to a sheer red. She loved how it move.

“Ashamed of us,” Cass said somberly.

“No!” Her head shot up as she assured them quickly. It was a joke, mostly like, but if it wasn’t… She tugged at the black top where it barely hung onto her shoulders. “You’re all amazing. And I don’t really think you would scare Danny away, after all, he put up with us, but do you know how special that is? To not only find someone who doesn’t mind what we are, but to embrace it? And above that what I am? Or rather, what I’m not, I guess. I just…”

“You just aren’t ready for the meet the family and friends,” Dick finished kindly. “I get that, especially when it’s us. You want more time for the two of you first. Ah—I mean three of you. Maybe four.”

Caroline let out a relieved breath. “Exactly. And I really think that all of the family should know about me first. Which is already moving much quicker than I might have planned. Not that I’m not glad for this, I’ve enjoyed today, but it is… a lot.”

“Okay,” Dick said. His eye were that sad sort of kind that knew they should expect him to show up at the apartment again soon. He’d want to give them, and especially Tim, a chance to talk.

“Was teasing,” Cass said.

“Yeah, same,” Steph said, an apology in her smile.”

“I wasn’t,” Babs said, “This outfit it absolutely date night material. Now go try on the last few things. We still need shoes and bags.” She paused before adding, “And lingerie.”

Dick grimaced slightly. “I’m going to learn things about my little siblings I don’t want to know, aren’t I?”

“You could always leave,” Steph pointed out with a smirk.

“But girls night!” Dick whined.

“Exactly,” Babs said. “So we have to talk about cute boys and or girls. You’ll live.”

“Rude,” Dick said with a sniff as he flopped dramatically over the arm of the sofa they were occupying.

Caroline held back a laugh and disappeared back into the dressing room.

It was a lot, but it was a good a lot.

[livvymd]

Everyone Thinks They’re Dating—They’re Not. (Yet)

Chapter Two — Not a Date (But Maybe It Is.) george clarke x reader.

Y/N groaned as her ringtone buzzed sharply through the stillness of her room.

She blindly reached for her phone on the bedside table, knocking over a nearly empty glass of water in the process. “Shit,” she muttered, dragging the phone toward her.

Her eyes barely adjusted to the light when she saw the name flashing across the screen.

Incoming FaceTime Call — George Clarke 🍻

She blinked.

Then blinked again.

Was this a mistake? Maybe he butt-dialled her?

She stared at the screen like it might give her an answer—but it just kept buzzing, insistent and cheerful, like of course George Clarke would FaceTime her before 10am after a night out.

Her heart thumped in a weirdly alert way, completely mismatched with how dead she felt physically.

She let it ring once more. Twice. Then sighed and hit “accept.”

The screen flipped to reveal George, all annoyingly handsome with sleepy curls and a smug half-grin, holding a mug of tea like he’d just walked off the cover of a Sunday morning lifestyle shoot.

“Good morning, poppet,” he said, far too cheery.

Y/N winced at the brightness behind him, rubbing her face. “You’re disgusting.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Why are you awake?” she groaned, flopping back against the pillows. “And more importantly, why are you FaceTiming me at—” she glanced at the time, “—9:47am like an unhinged person?”

George took a sip of his tea. “Woke up early. Didn’t feel like texting. Wanted to see how rough you looked after pub golf.”

“Well,” she muttered, dragging her blanket over half her face, “mission accomplished.”

He chuckled. “You actually look better than I expected.”

“You’re a menace.”

“You answered though.”

She hesitated, then shrugged. “Curiosity. Or delusion. Could be either.”

“You were definitely snoring when I called.”

“I don’t snore,” she said quickly, pointing a finger at the screen. “Take that back.”

“Alright, alright,” he smirked. “Probably just heavy breathing. Dramatic stuff.”

She narrowed her eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips. “You’re unreal.”

George raised an eyebrow. “You said that like it’s a bad thing.”

She exhaled slowly, dragging herself upright and pushing her hair out of her face. “I need tea if I’m gonna tolerate this conversation.”

“You’re on a FaceTime hangover call with me, and tea is your concern?”

“I’m British, George. There are rules.”

He grinned and leaned his phone against something, giving her a view of his kitchen while he pottered about. She did the same, propping up her phone on a cereal box as she shuffled to boil the kettle. Somehow, the call didn’t drop. Neither of them made a move to end it.

“So,” she said while dunking a tea bag lazily, “how do you feel? Post-pub golf?”

“Surprisingly okay,” George replied. “Although Chip owes me £20 because he swore I’d tap out after hole seven.”

She laughed. “You were suspiciously good at it. I feel like this isn’t your first time.”

“I’m not saying I’ve trained, but I’m not not saying that either.”

“Dangerous,” she grinned, wrapping her hands around her mug. “You’re the dark horse of the group.”

“Don’t tell Chris. He’ll make it a bit.”

They fell into easy conversation after that, swapping blurry memories from the night before, laughing about Arthur Hill getting heckled by a passing hen party, and rewatching part of Chris’s Instagram story where Y/N and George could be seen fake-flirting across a beer pong table.

“Oh my god,” she groaned, watching it again, “I look like I was in love with you.”

“You were,” George teased. “I was irresistible. You said I had ‘surprisingly kind eyes.’”

“I what?” she choked on her tea.

“Don’t worry,” he said, grinning wickedly. “I’ve got witnesses.”

“Oh, piss off—”

“Nah, sorry. Too late. I’ve written it down. Gonna frame it.”

Y/N hid her face behind her mug, laughing. “God, I’m never drinking with you lot again.”

“You say that,” he murmured, softer now. “But you didn’t seem like you hated it.”

She glanced back at the screen, heart giving a traitorous skip. “No,” she admitted. “Didn’t hate it.”

They paused. Just long enough for the silence to feel meaningful.

Then George cleared his throat, scratching his neck. “You know, if you ever wanted to hang out... not during filming or in a pub full of forfeits and camera angles...”

Her eyebrows raised slightly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Like, just us. No games. No chaos. I think we’d get on alright.”

Y/N tilted her head, teasing, “Are you asking me out, George Clarke?”

He raised both hands. “Not officially. Not yet. I’m asking if you’d want to get coffee or something. I mean, we’ve technically had breakfast together now, so it’s only fair.”

She bit her lip, then nodded slowly. “Alright. Coffee sounds nice.”

A smile flickered across his face, warm and boyish and just a little bit smug. “Cool. I’ll text you about it.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“You better.”

They ended up staying on the call for nearly three hours.

It wasn’t on purpose—there was just always another tangent, another laugh, another “Wait, before we hang up—” excuse to stay. By the time Y/N finally ended the call, her cheeks were sore from smiling and her heart felt oddly light.

As soon as the screen went black, her phone lit up again.

George Clarke 🍻 You still look good with bed hair, by the way.

She stared at the text, grinning like an idiot, and typed back:

Y/N: You’re full of shit.

George Clarke 🍻 You love it.

And maybe... she did.

TAGLIST @sundarksposts @tyna-19 @wherethezoes-at

just send a comment to be added to the taglist x

[scowlczumly]

"Like" has fuck all to do with it, and again you're ignoring any context as to why these policies were implemented in the first place. It is arguably not fair to do this, but what was also unfair was taking those people and enslaving them in the first place. An unfair situation for one group lead to an unfair situation for everyone in the future, so attempting to correct the course of previous deeds is honestly a good thing.

May not be the most painless but neither was the first part, so what can we do? Just rely on the law? Evidently we can't because black Americans still report unfair hiring practises or discrimination at work according to PEW research, for instance.

And anyway you're saying I WANT this, or LIKE it, proving you don't care either and just want to dunk on me specifically, so I don't expect you to meaningfully engage.

No but the Hunger Games really said "what do you hate more- the atrocities or the people who commit them against you? Because like it or not there IS a difference. If you hate the people who commit acts of pure evil more than you hate the acts themselves, what will stop you from becoming just like your enemies in your pursuit of justice? What will keep you from commiting those very same acts against THEM when the opportunity arises? And what then? The cycle of pain and suffering will never stop. Round and round it'll go. Nothing will ever change. But. BUT. If you hate the atrocities. If you hate the vile, senseless acts MORE than you hate the people who did them to you. If you are able to see that evil is evil regardless of who does it... The cycle ends with you. No, you may never get justice. But you will never be responsible for making others, even your enemies, suffer the same crimes you have. The atrocities will never be committed by you, never by your hand. And that's the way you change the world. It's the ONLY way" and that's why I am sure it will never stop being one of the most relevant works of fiction ever created

[heyimkana]

WC: 1.3K

thinking about guildmaster!Jinwoo who's been stuck in his office room all day, doing one paperwork after another. He's pissed off, silently complaining that he's not built for this, wanting nothing more than to get out of there and do something more... physical. Of course, raiding a dungeon is the first thing that comes to mind, but when you, his secretary, come knocking on his door, well... A different idea pops up.

"Good evening, Mr. Sung. I'm sorry to bother you when you already have so much on your plate, but I need you to sign these papers for me."

He wearily sighs, "Set them down here."

You walk over to his desk, your heart's racing. He looks so handsome today, exceptionally so, with the collar of his shirt unbuttoned, his strands a little messy from how he ran his hand through them earlier. Frustration looks perfect on him. “I need you to sign over here, Mr. Sung.” You lean forward, guiding him.

You get into his space, the smell of your perfume driving him insane. He tries to shake the feelings of attraction away, focusing on the task at hand, but after he signs his name with one swift motion, his gaze shifts to your face, then your figure. You’re wearing a pencil skirt and a thin blouse. You look pretty damn good today, he has to admit.

He casts his gaze away. "Would that be all?"

"Another one over here, Sir."

His body tenses up as you lean in closer, his eyes glued to your body and the way your fingers run across the paper, wondering how pretty they'd look wrapped around his cock. The urge to grab you and bend you over his desk is getting almost too powerful.

He can feel the tension in the air, something that had built up over the past couple of weeks. Every time you’d come in to drop off some files, the two of you would linger in the room together, the air between you growing more and more heated. You’re making it damn near impossible for him to hold back now. Just when he thinks he might have a handle on his feelings, you do something like this, unaware of the effects you have on him.

And now that he's feeling all pent-up...

"Mr. Sung? Is there something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong. Just lost in thought."

He seems to be distraught. You wonder if you can ease his mind. “Mr. Sung, is it... all right if I am honest with you for a second?”

He raises his brow, his curiosity piqued. "Of course. What is it?"

“It’s… I just want to say that your performance during the meeting yesterday was awe-inspiring. I could tell Chairman Go was absolutely taken away by you. I’m… I admire you, Mr. Sung.”

He watches as you speak, his eyes taking in your features. His resolve begins to slip with more words you utter. He tries to keep his voice calm, but he can’t stop the slight huskiness that falls into it. "Thank you," he smiles, a little bit softer than you expected.

You can't stop the heat that crawls up to your face. Hastily, you collect the papers from him. "I will be, umm... right outside if you need me." But before you can walk through the door, his deep voice rings in the air, calling out your name.

"Come here for a moment."

"Sir?"

"I need to talk to you about something. Privately.”

You swallow. Something about the way he says it fills your body with anticipation. You take a few steps closer, standing in front of his desk.

"Closer."

The authority in his tone sends shivers down your spine. Drawing a breath, you take a couple of strides further, now standing before him as he leans back on his swivel chair, his gaze intense with a little smile playing on his lips.

"W-what is it that you need from me, Mr. Sung?"

That same sweet smile grows into a smirk. "Sit on my desk."

"P-pardon?"

"Come over here and sit on my desk. Now."

The command in his voice leaves no room for you to argue. You do as he says, sitting stiffly on the edge of his table, facing him with your legs squeezed together. Your skirt rises to the middle of your thighs, and you cover the exposed skin with shaky hands. "L-Like this, Sir?"

He leans further back in his chair, his legs spread apart, his breathing heavy as he enjoys how flustered you look. His eyes traverse down your body, his lip almost bitten as the thought of you spreading your legs for him enters his mind. "Yes, just like that. You’re doing very well.”

Jinwoo brings his fingers to his lips, masking the smirk that threatens to turn a little bit sadistic. "You seem nervous. I can practically hear your heart racing from here."

You wet your lips nervously. "I don’t think this is... appropriate, Sir."

He chuckles, "Perhaps not, and yet, here you are." As you turn even more abashed, he rises from his chair, eliminating the distance between you. He places one hand on your knee, and another on the table, his gaze heavy and misted with desire. “You’re a good girl, aren’t you? Always doing the right thing, always doing everything I say."

You throw your stare down to your lap. "I'm just... doing my job."

"Mm. But you know how I feel about you, don't you? You've seen the way I look at you, but you never go past the line, never cross that boundary, no matter how much I wish you to. You’re such a good" —he leans close to your ear, his voice reducing to a whisper— "obedient little secretary. And it makes me want to ruin you."

Your eyes shut close as goosebumps break on your skin.

"You got me all curious, Angel." The tip of his nose brushes against your cheek. "Beneath that sweet, obedient exterior of yours, what is it that you want? Is there something more, something hidden deep down inside you, that only I can bring out?”

"M-Mr. Sung—"

He grabs you by your chin, his grip possessive as he tilts your face up to meet his gaze. "It's Jinwoo. Call me Jinwoo."

His dominance over you excites you, and his scent is so intoxicatingly sweet, leaving your body aching for more. Being in such close proximity to him, you can't help but let your eyes cascade to his lips. He catches it, even if it is only briefly, and his gaze darkens.

"Should we cross the line, Miss Secretary?" he whispers, his thumb gliding across your lips.

Your intense yearning for him takes over the moment you see the chance, and you press your lips against his, just tentatively, just to let him know the answer you're too ashamed to speak out loud. You pull away, meeting his eyes with a sheepish gaze. He seems taken aback for a moment, but the second it sinks in, the thread snaps.

"You're so goddamn adorable," he groans against your mouth, kissing you hungrily, his hands gripping your thighs possessively.

Both thrill and panic rise within you when he pries open your legs, settling himself in between as if you were made to take him. "J-Jin—"

He silences you with another kiss. He's a greedy man, and he wants more, everything you can offer him. His nails dig into your thighs, drawing you even closer to him until you can feel the contour of his hardening cock beneath his trousers. His tongue slides against your bottom lip, demanding entry into your mouth, deepening the kiss as soon you permit him.

Jinwoo pushes you down on his desk, caging you underneath him. His body is pressed flushed against yours, his lips scorching against your neck. As your moans fill the air, he reaches under your skirt, hiking it up to your waist, and suddenly, his hands are everywhere, roaming over your body desperately, his fingers sliding up your thigh, tracing the edge of your lingerie.

"W-wait—" you gasp out as your body slides against the documents on the desk. He was in the middle of doing something important before you came in, wasn't he? "The paperwork—"

His lean fingers circle your throat as he says—

Part 2 of this

[terraswallows]

A secret about me.

So here’s a little secret wrapped in soft science and a whole lot of queerness: my body naturally produces more estrogen than testosterone. Yeah—turns out, I was a little bit magical from the start.

Growing up, doctors were confused, of course. They gave me blockers and boosters like I was a science experiment, all in the name of making me fit a more “typical” boyhood. But something inside me always knew the truth—knew that “typical” wasn’t meant for me. I was never just a boy playing dress-up in someone else’s body. I was a girl waiting to bloom, held back by expectations and biology that never quite knew what to do with me.

Later on, I found out the reason behind all of it: a genetic disorder. Or maybe something more quietly beautiful—something intersex. A little twist in my DNA that refused to play by the rules. And honestly? I love that for me.

It’s kinda fascinating, isn’t it? To realize your body was always whispering its truth, long before you found the words to say it out loud. Like she was leaving a trail of clues for me to follow. And I did. Slowly. Carefully. With a little lipstick smudged along the way.

Sometimes I wonder how different things would’ve been if I’d been allowed to grow as I was meant to. If someone had looked at me—not just as a puzzle to fix—but as a girl in the making, radiant and raw and real.

But in a way, I’m grateful. Because now I get to reclaim all of it—the time lost, the girlhood, the curves, the longing, the me. And when the right hands trace along my hips or cup my chest with reverence and curiosity, it feels like something ancient and sacred. Like my body is finally being read the way it was meant to be.

And yeah, maybe my DNA was queer before I was. Love that little gay overachiever.

[riddlesrizzler]

𝙃𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙑𝙚𝙣𝙤𝙢

summary: your twang, makes mattheo develop a thang for you.

characters: southern! reader. down bad! matty. mentions of slytherin boys

warnings: none! just sweet!

word count: 1.4k

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

It was a typical day at Hogwarts, or at least, that’s how it was supposed to be. Mattheo had been looking forward to the rare moment of peace when his schedule was free of detentions and irritating professors. But no, of course, life at Hogwarts never went as planned.

Instead of being tucked away in the dungeons with his friends, Mattheo found himself begrudgingly walking down the corridor with an unexpected new responsibility. He had been “volunteered” by Professor McGonagall to show around the new transfer student.

"Mate, it won’t be so bad. Just walk her around, show her the ropes," Theo had said earlier, a smirk plastered on his face, knowing full well that Mattheo hated babysitting anyone.

"I don’t babysit," Mattheo had growled in response.

"You’ll be fine," Draco added, adjusting the collar of his robes as he walked beside them. "Think of it as a chance to make a good impression on the new girl."

"A good impression? Why do I have to make a good impression? I'm not interested in being her tour guide." Mattheo couldn’t help but sigh as he glanced at the clock. The afternoon had barely begun, and he was already regretting this.

But his friends’ words stuck with him, and reluctantly, Mattheo dragged his feet toward the entrance hall where the new student was waiting. He turned the corner, his mind preoccupied with how much he’d rather be anywhere but here.

You stood there in your black robes, nervously twisting the end of your sleeve. Your boots were a little scuffed, your uniform skirt a little too short for the dress code. And your eyes-bright, curious, framed by lashes that could kill a man - flicked up to his.

“Oh, hell,” Mattheo muttered under his breath.

She was pretty.

Like, too pretty.

For a moment, everything around him seemed to fade. The chatter, the footsteps, the hum of the castle-all of it disappeared. It was just her, and her eyes were locked on his. His chest tightened, and for the first time in ages, Mattheo felt something stir inside of him-something that had nothing to do with his usual dark thoughts or aloof indifference.

She was beautiful.

He hadn’t expected it, and that’s what made it worse. He never allowed himself to think of girls in those terms-especially not in this place, not with everything else on his mind. But there she was, and everything he had told himself about being too detached, too cynical, seemed to vanish in the wake of that first glance.

She smiled softly, a slow, warm curve of her lips that made him feel like an idiot for standing there, staring. His mouth went dry as he forced himself to take a step forward.

"Hey, you must be the new transfer student, right?" he asked, a bit too sharp. He mentally cursed himself for sounding so curt.

And when she spoke, Mattheo felt his entire world shift.

“Well, I reckon that would be me," she said with a gentle smile, her southern drawl lilting through her words like honey dripping from a jar. "Name’s Y/N. Nice to meet ya.”

He blinked.

Your voice.

Mattheo’s heart skipped a beat. He was certain he'd heard accents before, but nothing like this. There was something intoxicating about it, something that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The way her words flowed... it was like music to his ears.

It was like sweet tea and slow Sundays. Like porch swings in the heat and lightning bugs in jars. Mattheo wasn’t used to soft. He wasn’t used to voices that lilted like that.

“Where are you from?” he asked before he could stop himself. He was genuinely curious, but more than that, he wanted to hear her talk again.

"Georgia," she replied, twirling a lock of her hair absently. “It’s a southern state in the states. We’re known for our peaches.”

"Peaches?" Mattheo’s lips curled into a slight smile. He couldn’t help it. Her voice was too mesmerizing, and he wanted to hear it again. “I’ve never heard anyone talk like you before."

Her laugh was soft, a melodic sound that only made him more captivated. “That’s 'cause most folks up here don’t know much 'bout the South. But trust me, there’s nothing quite like it.”

"Peaches," he muttered under his breath, the word feeling warm and comforting. “I think that suits you. I’ll call you... Peaches."

She raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Peaches, huh? Alright, if that’s what you wanna call me.”

He couldn’t stop himself from grinning. It felt right, the way her name sounded in his mouth, and something inside of him clicked. He was already drawn to her, to her voice, to the way she made even the simplest words seem enchanting.

-

Throughout the tour, Mattheo couldn’t help but ask her more questions—anything to keep her talking. Her voice was like an addiction he couldn’t shake. They passed the Great Hall, the dungeons, and the greenhouses, but all he could focus on was her voice.

“So... do you always say things like 'reckon'?” Mattheo asked, his voice casual, though there was a glimmer of intrigue in his eyes.

She blinked, surprised by the question. “Well, reckon is pretty common where I’m from. It’s like a way of saying 'I think' or ‘I suppose.’”

"Reckon,” Mattheo repeated to himself, savoring the sound. “I like that.” He paused for a moment, looking around the hall as if searching for his next question. His eyes caught on a few banners hanging in the corridor. “What about... ‘y’all’? Do you say that a lot?”

Her lips curled into a smile. “Of course. It’s the plural form of ‘you,’” she explained, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “We use it when we’re talking to a group of people, like ‘How are y’all doing?’”

“Y’all,” Mattheo repeated, tasting the word like it was something sweet on his tongue. “It’s... it’s charming.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, clearly amused by his fixation on her accent. “You sure like how I pronounce things.”

“I do,” Mattheo confessed. “It’s... it’s different. But in a way that makes me want to hear it more.”

“Well, you’re in luck. I reckon I can keep talking, if you like.” The soft blush that spread across her cheeks made Mattheo’s heart flutter. She didn’t seem bothered by his words, but rather intrigued, a little amused.

-

That night, in the dim green light of the Slytherin common room, Mattheo collapsed onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. Theo was already half-asleep with a book on his chest, Blaise was flipping through a Quidditch magazine, and Draco was polishing his wand.

“She’s got the voice of a goddess,” Mattheo said, staring at the ceiling.

“Already?” Blaise drawled. “You fall in love every Thursday.”

“No, no, listen,” Mattheo sat up, animated now. “She talks like… like butter melting on toast. Like bourbon on the rocks.”

Draco snorted. “You sound insane.”

Theo peeked open one eye. “Didn’t you say she was from America?”

“The South,” Mattheo said dreamily. “She said,‘Well, you’re in luck. I reckon I can keep talking, if you like.” Do you understand what that did to me?”

“Turned your brain into soup, apparently,” Blaise muttered.

Mattheo ignored him. “I swear, she could be reading potion ingredients and I’d still be hanging onto every damn word.”

“She cute?” Theo asked.

Mattheo glared. “Don’t even look at her.”

Draco laughed. “Oh, he’s whipped. Already got dibs.”

Mattheo slumped back into the couch, a dazed grin on his face. “I’m gonna make her say my name. Just once. Mattheo. Like Mat-thay-oh, in that voice…”

Blaise threw a cushion at him.

“She’s from Georgia,” he announced.

Theo looked up. “Is that a real place?”

Blaise nodded. “I think it’s in America.”

“No,” Mattheo said, pointing a finger in the air like he was making a grand proclamation. “It’s the Peach State.”

Draco looked bewildered. “What the hell does that mean?”

Mattheo leaned forward, eyes wide and intense. “It means it’s hot, sticky, there are bugs that sing at night, and-get this-everyone’s got porches and eats fruit off trees like they live in some kind of fairy tale.”

“She told you all that?” Blaise asked.

He nodded. “With that voice. That accent. I swear, I’d listen to her read me my own death sentence and thank her for it.”

Theo threw a pillow at him again. “Get a grip.”

“Too late,” Mattheo said, already leaning back into the cushions. “She’s mine. I’ve already named her.”

“You named her?” Draco asked.

“Peaches.”

There was a moment of silence.

“God, you’re pathetic,” Theo muttered.

And still, Mattheo just grinned.

[highlyentropicmind]

Your idea inspired me to write

Rematch

But life survived, and humanity survived, if only in one small group. Over the years their suffering turned into community, their survival turned into life, and eventually they thrived

“Let's make a tower to reach the heavens, so that we don’t spread over the Earth again,” one of them said one day “Last time we tried that God punished us,” one of them warned them. “I remember, from the old stories.” Indeed, only she among them was old enough to remember “Oh?,” he replied, looking at her, processing her warning. “How did God punished us back then?” “God confused our languages so that we couldn’t work together” “Languages…” he said and went to a corner of the house, were the old books were kept, relics of the past. “People had mastered the science of languages back then” “That came after,” she explained. “By then people were already divided and could never work together again. God had achieved its goal” “But we have the science of languages now,” he insisted, waving the book around. “It won’t be the same, we know what to expect”

And so they planned ahead and prepared themselves. They learned every aspect of the science of languages which the old ones had sent them through time in their books. They learned the parts that were clear, and the parts that were obscure and esoteric. They made no distinction. From Semiotics to Kabbalah, they made no distinction

Then they finally started building, and eventually God noticed

The confusion didn’t come all at once. It permeated them, confusing small phrases and simple greetings. Two friends would say hi to each other only to realize with horror the sounds weren’t quite right, and they couldn’t remember which one was right, and to each other the other sounded wrong

At first writing was enough to keep this at bay. They made dictionaries, they used clear symbols for the sounds, if there was disagreement they could consult the book and follow it. But the confusion became more and more common, so people began writing the words in their clothes, writing them on their skin. The confusion floated among them, but they were swimming through it

And the tower grew taller

Then the structure of sentences began to change, people felt compelled to put verbs at the end of sentences, or they felt they made no sense if the verb wasn’t at the start. They felt a noun had to change forms somehow if it was a place, or the subject of an action, a thing being posses always had a slightly different word that something that wasn’t possessed, right? And the time… How did we use to talk about time? Actions can be complete or incomplete, or in the past and the future… Or the present, or even more the present… What do you mean even more the present?

For this reason every night a person would be chosen at random, they would stand in the dinner, and they would tell everyone about their day, about their work, what they had done and seen. Everyone had to listen carefully and the next day they would have to immitate this way of speaking, no matter how odd it sounded to them. It was always familiar to what everyone already spoke, they just had to get used to the ways in which it was different. This way they would understand each other for another day

And the tower grew taller

That was the secret, wasn’t it? Talking to each other

They noticed that people who worked together would be confused in similar ways away from the others. The same was true for friends who kept in touch, and families

God could only separate them from the people they were already distant from. The people they didn’t work with, the strangers they didn’t know. By making an effort to know everyone, at least a little, God couldn’t pull them apart

Until eventually that of course wasn’t enough. The confusion would reach deeper into their minds until everything was foreign. A person would discover in horror they couldn’t understand anyone around them, whether spoken nor written, and they would speak with new words they didn’t know

Then the new rabbis, and gurus, and druids and dervishes and linguists would come. They would hear the person speak in this new language, and they would marvel in its beauty, they would chant the words, they would recite the phrases, they would twirl in contemplation of the sounds, and they would analyze the grammar

Each new language was a gift

The confusion was not something to be feared

As they came to understand the new languages they had been blessed with, they realized they could do new things, think new thoughts, sing new songs, divide the universe in new ways

Some would never forget the position of North, South, East and West, some could talk just by whistling, or humming, some could talk in complete silence, with their hands….

Still, communication was hard, so they encoded a new language, one not made by God, but by them. Every time someone was blessed with a new language they could just learn this one again. It was difficult, and yet, it was easier every time

And the tower grew taller

Eventually they learned to protect themselves from God’s confusion

They found that a circuit of a hundred rabbis chanting the secret names of the angels would ward of the confusion. Something similar could be achieved by chanting sacred mantras, or reciting new vedas

Writing also protected them. The walls of the tower were adorned by spiraling lines of sacred poetry in all the languages God had gifted them. The poems began at the base and they continued spiraling up as the tower continued to grow, past the mountains, past the clouds, past their air itself, into the darkness where stars could be seen at any hour of the day, the tower continued to grow

They did not spread over the Earth, they worked together and eventually they reached God, and greeted him with their smug smiles

“Best of three?,” God asked

(I put it in Wattpad, if you care)

Computer game where you're building a tower level by level and the closer you get to heaven the harder it becomes to fight off God.

[itsnesss]

𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐝 | oscar piastri × fem!reader

summary | you meet oscar by chance, and one race turns into something much more

warnings | fluff, mild swearing, romantic tension, kissing

word count | 1.1 k

🖇️ masterlist

You were never someone obsessed with racing drivers. You didn’t collect posters, you didn’t know the names of every circuit, and you never imagined yourself dreaming about gasoline and adrenaline. But it only took one race to change everything. For him to change everything. Oscar Piastri.

At first, it was casual. You were at a friend’s house watching the Monaco Grand Prix just to be polite. And there he was—calm, young, with a kind of presence that doesn’t scream for attention but is impossible to ignore.

You started following him. At first under the excuse of “trying to understand the sport.” Then it was interviews, then TikToks. Then came the secret Twitter account for updates, and finally your first live race. Silverstone.

The air smelled of burnt rubber and excitement. Your hands were trembling. You had won a McLaren giveaway for an exclusive meet & greet. You didn’t know what to say to him, how to act, whether to smile or freeze completely.

And then you saw him.

He saw you.

Oscar was talking to someone from the press when your eyes met. It wasn’t the look of a star at a fan. It was fleeting, curious... as if he too was wondering if he’d seen you before.

“First time in the paddock?” he asked when it was finally your turn. His Australian accent was even more charming in person.

You nodded. You swallowed hard. You weren’t sure whether to shake his hand or just stand there awkwardly. You somehow did both.

“I’m Oscar,” he said, like you didn’t already know exactly who he was.

“I know,” you replied, and instantly regretted how obvious it sounded.

He smiled. That kind of smile that shows up when someone wins a silent battle. And you noticed how his gaze lingered on you just a little longer than it should have.

“Are you enjoying the race?” he asked.

“Very much. Though… I still don’t fully understand the strategies. Sometimes I just hope you don’t crash.”

He laughed. A genuine, soft laugh.

“Well, that’s what I’m hoping for too.”

Before he said goodbye, he took your cap. And with a marker, he wrote on the brim:

"For the girl who made me laugh before the race. O.P."

He handed it back with a wink.

You went home with your heart racing faster than any car on the track.

You didn’t expect more. It was a moment. A fleeting second among thousands. But a month later, you got a notification:

@oscarpiastri followed you.

And then a message.

Oscar P.: “Would you like to come to Monza as a McLaren guest? I’ve got a spare pass…”

You nearly dropped your phone. You hesitated. Was it real? Was it a mistake?

But you went. Of course you went.

Monza, Italy.

The speed of the cars didn’t compare to the speed of your heart as you stepped into the McLaren hospitality. And there he was, dressed in team gear, relaxed, as if he’d been waiting for you.

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” he said, adjusting his earpiece.

“I thought it was a joke,” you admitted, shrugging.

He smiled. This time, slower. More… interested?

“What do you think now?”

“Now I’m worried I might be enjoying this more than I should.”

There was a silence that hung between you, but it wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. Like he felt something too, something neither of you could quite name.

The race was a whirlwind. You watched him drive, watched him gain positions, watched him so far away and yet somehow so close.

And at the end, when he returned to the hospitality still sweaty from the race and buzzing with adrenaline, the first thing he did was look for you.

“Did you like it?” he asked.

“A lot. Although…” you hesitated. “I think what I liked the most was seeing you happy.”

Oscar blinked. Then looked down, almost like he was trying to hide something.

“Want to go for a walk tonight?” he asked. “No F1. Just you and me. Italian pizza and a city that doesn’t sleep.”

You felt like the ground was disappearing under your feet.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I’d love to.”

That night.

Monza under the lights was magical, but walking beside him made it feel even more surreal. You talked about everything and nothing. About what he liked to cook when he wasn’t racing. About your favorite books. About how strange it is to have thousands of people watching you, but still feel alone.

“Sometimes I feel like no one really knows me,” he confessed, sitting beside you on a bench. “Everyone sees me as the driver. The quiet guy. But they don’t know who I am when the helmet comes off.”

You looked at him. Not like a fan. Not like someone who idolized him from a screen. You looked at him like someone who had felt that too—the weight of pretending to be okay.

“I want to know you,” you said, almost without thinking.

Oscar looked at you. This time, with no walls. No filters.

He leaned in.

And when his lips brushed yours, there were no fireworks. There was peace. There was that feeling of everything falling into place.

“I don’t care if this is weird,” he murmured. “But with you, for the first time in a long time… I don’t feel alone.”

He kissed you again. Slow. Gentle. And you knew no podium would ever compare to that moment.

Days later…

The relationship became the perfect blend of secret and sincerity. You didn’t tell anyone. You didn’t need to. There were glances exchanged at circuits. Messages at midnight. Calls between training sessions. And even though you weren’t a driver, every time you were with him, it felt like you were racing toward something worth it.

One night, before another big race, he wrapped his arms around you from behind as you stared at the lights of the paddock.

“What are we?” you asked softly.

Oscar rested his chin on your shoulder.

“You’re my escape. My calm. And if you want… we can be something more.”

“Something like what?”

“Like what no one finds on a racetrack. What you don’t win with speed, but with time.”

You turned around, looked at him. And for the first time, without fear, you said:

“Then let’s take that time. But promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“That when you finish a race… the first thing you’ll do is look for me in the crowd.”

Oscar smiled. He kissed your forehead.

“Always.”

[softtdaisy]

venus / Aaron Hotchner

summary. you're begging your bodyguard to tell your code name, little do you know the meaning behind it

words count. 1 956

what to expect. sweet and flirty, brief angsty moment

a/n. @pastelpinkflowerlife i could never thank you enough for putting the idea in my head, i'm so happy to write more of reader and bodyguard!hotch and i hope you will all follow me in this fantasy 🤍

bodyguard masterlist | criminal minds masterlist | F1 masterlist | general masterlist | request

“Gorgeous?”

You heard Hotch’s amused sigh in your back. At least you made him laugh, and that meant a lot considering he wasn’t doing it very often. 

“Why would it be that?” he asked.

You turned around, putting your sunglasses on top of your head, to look at your bodyguard. Just like he did a minute ago, Hotch was still standing right behind you, his eyes hidden by his own aviator sunglasses. But you could swear he was looking straight in front of him. Which was sad, because there wasn’t much to look at.

You frowned and said, “Because I am gorgeous,” in a very obvious tone.

You couldn’t see his eyes going down on you, but you noticed the very subtle way his head tilted while doing so. He was a man, after all.

When you were looking for a new apartment to hide from your stalker, you had different requirements. If you had to spend more time there, at least you wanted to enjoy it. So as well as the privacy, the security system, or the natural light inside, you asked for a pool. 

And you got it. A rooftop pool barely used by your neighbors since most of them weren’t there during the day.

So there you were, lying on a deck chair, enjoying the sun in peace with your bodyguard watching over you. 

You loved the peace and the silence that came with being alone there. You could have easily spent the whole afternoon without speaking, just reading a book and swimming now and then. 

But there was something even more enjoyable in annoying the so-stoic Aaron Hotchner.

“No, it’s not your code name,” he replied. This time, he watched as you turned your head again, your ponytail flying in the air. The thought of grabbing it left as soon as it came to his mind.

It wasn’t easy for him to stay focused when you looked this good in your bikini.

You grabbed your book again, like you did after every refuted proposition you did. The thought came to you while reading this new romance everyone was talking about. The love interest had given the girl some cute Italian nickname that he only knew about.

That was when you realized it wasn’t fair that you didn’t know what your code name was. You were sure Hotch gave you one; it was the procedure. You were dying to find it.

You tilted your head back but not enough to see him. “The singer?”

“Too obvious,” he said with the very same tone.

You tried everything you could think of: something related to your appearance, from your hair to your height or your eye color, a song from yours, or even the city you were born in. But Hotch kept disproving them.

You put your book down again and got up. “The most amazing girl in the world?” you asked, standing in front of him. Even with your hands on your waist and squinting, you didn’t look that threatening. From outside, the situation must look funny with you in your bikini and Hotch in his all-black outfit—a t-shirt and shorts to bear with the weather.

You were quite obsessed with the way this color was good on him. Or how his crossed arms on his chest seemed so much bigger.

His enemies should be afraid of him.

Your body was very much attracted to him.

As for Hotch, he was surprised how you didn’t seem to get tired of this little game. “You realized this isn’t supposed to be that long?” 

You looked down on him before reaching his eyes again, with a little smirk. “Is that what women tell you when they get on their knees?” you said, fluttering your eyelashes. 

This time, Hotch couldn’t contain the smile that appeared on his lips. Of course he should have expected that from you. He wasn’t showing any type of reaction, just like he was taught to.

But the thought of you getting on your knee in front of him right now was somehow very tempting. Nobody around but the excitement that anybody could show up at any moment. Your eyes looking at him, your mouth on him, and his hand in your hair. Yes. Hotch could really experience that. 

This thought would probably stay with him the whole day.

After winking at him, you took the time to walk to the pool. He watched every single one of your movements. How your hips were moving in a silent rhythm only you could hear. The way your legs slowly disappeared in the water. How your arms reached for your hair to tie it higher. How the rest of the sunscreen on your body made your skin even more glowy. And then you dived, like a siren in the water. Maybe that could have been your code name, now that he thought about it.

The rest of the afternoon didn’t go as smoothly. You kept proposing other code names that he all said no to. You kept flirting with Hotch, and you will never know if the red on his cheek was from your comments or the sun—or both. 

Until you had to go back to your apartment because you had another meeting about your stalker. You hated those. Every week, you had to sit next to Hotch, listening to him and his team evaluate the situation. But there was nothing more to say when that asshole wasn’t sending a new threat, but you all knew he would strike at any moment.

These meetings were always some kind of blurry for you. You didn’t listen to most of it, your brain going somewhere else. You would rather focus on something else, pretending to follow the discussion when you were only physically present—not mentally. Most of the time you thought about some songs, sometimes even writing them. And you knew Hotch could tell you were the discreet type, but he never said anything.

Sometimes he was the one you focused on during these meetings. Like today, mesmerized by the subtle tan the sun left on his thighs and arms, the way the hair on his arms seemed to fade with his skin more. By the little redness on his nose that gave him some freckles. Or by his dark hair, messy on his head, that gave you crazier thoughts.

No. You didn’t follow most of the meeting, but you could sing another song about your bodyguard.

Yet, once it was over, you needed to find some comfort. Especially since you found yourself alone in the living room after Hotch left to his own room—still crazy to you that this man was sleeping at the same place as you. 

So you ended up making yourself a bowl of ice cream with your favorite flavors. It has always been some kind of guilty pleasure of yours, doing it on tour when you felt homesick and at home when you felt toursick. And more these days after learning your life was threatened.

You didn’t get to hesitate before making one for Hotch too, with his own favorite flavors.

You had a discussion about this not long after he started working for you. One night when you didn’t flirt with him but were anxious, you ate ice cream on your balcony, and he joined you. Hotch being Hotch, he didn’t reassure you much with words, but his presence was safe enough to comfort you. 

“It might sound so childish,” you explained, with a spoonful of ice cream. “But it’s comforting to eat something you know you like and can’t disappoint you. And ice cream does that to me.” 

You didn’t expect him to understand. But he did. And he told you about what he loved too.

This explained why you ended up knocking on his door with a fresh bowl in hand. When you opened the door, he was sitting on the desk that had been installed for him. You didn’t hear him shower, but you noticed his wet hair and the little drop falling on his neck. You found it funny how he only put on his glasses when he was alone in this room. 

Maybe some part of him thought he looked less threatening with them.

You actually found him just as hot.

“I thought you might need one too,” you offered, putting the bowl on the desk next to his computer.

Hotch’s eyes went down your body, again, from your naked legs to your comfy dress so light it would be easy for him to put a hand underneath. “Thank you,” he replied with a hoarse voice, trying to find composure next to you. 

Sometimes you wished you could sit there and stay with him, chatting about everything and anything. But Aaron Hotchner wasn’t your real friend. You couldn’t pretend he was. Even if you loved teasing him and wished your flirting would give you what you wanted from him.

So instead you simply smiled at him and went to the door just as fast as you came in. 

“Venus.”

You stopped midway. Unsure to have heard right. 

But when you turned around to look at Hotch, his eyes were on you. Still on you. But this time, he was expecting an answer. 

When he noticed the confusion on your face, he added, “Your code name is Venus.”

You couldn’t help the little laugh that escaped your mouth. “The planet?” you asked, leaning against the door. You didn’t know much about astronomy apart from what you learned from school. You tried to search through your memory and your knowledge but couldn’t point out why you would be Venus. Maybe it was their thing in his agency. 

“The goddess” of love and beauty, he didn’t add.

Hotch had been the one to find the name. And the truth was, you didn’t technically need one since he was with you almost all the time—the very few hours spent away were when he had no other choice and someone else was replacing him. He was doing most of the meetings at your place. Sure, it was better for you to have a code name in case of.

His team made fun of him for being incapable of finding you a name. And it was during an event he had to keep an eye on you that he found it. Venus.

You were undeniably one of the most gorgeous women he had ever met in his life—that, he could admit. And Hotch had been working with many, many people in his life. But you. You. It was above beauty; it was your whole charisma. You were charming everyone in each room you came into, and he had a hard time resisting you. Your face was painted in black ink under his eyelid, seeing you in all his dreams. And he knew he wasn’t the only one.

As for the love, Hotch couldn’t deny that you had been nothing but affectionate with him. Sure, sometimes he couldn’t point out if you were nice only to flirt and get him in your bed or if you were being honest. Or both, maybe. 

He had given up on love a long time ago when he started this job. And never in all these years had he ever regretted it or thought about falling in someone else's arms again for something other than pure lust. 

But you. Aaron already knew that a part of him would miss you the day this mission would end. Your beauty, your smile, your touch, your love for him even if he was just the bodyguard protecting you.

So Venus, you were. 

The goddess of beauty and love. 

And desire. He sure had a lot of desire for you too.

Tag List: @kiwriteswords @monzabee @raysmayhem-72 (if you want to be in it, ask me and I’ll be happy to add you x)

[everlastingserenitys]

cw. fondling, fingering

a/n. sorry for being inactive.. quick thirst 'cause im sick nd on my period

fake doctor!caleb who told you he'd just do your check up so you dont need to spend several minutes driving to zayne's hospital for him to check you up.

fake doctor!caleb who told you it was fine if zayne didnt know you weren't going, I mean, he could always wait a day for you to let him know. so you hesitantly agree to whatever the fuck Caleb was about to put you through and sat on the bed as you waited for Caleb to come back with the medical supplies.

fake doctor!caleb who comes back to the room with literally nothing in his hands and walks towards you with a cheesy grin plastered on his face. you raise an eyebrow and ask about the supplies.

fake doctor!caleb who just innocently shrugs and kneels in front you, resting his fingers along your waist and stroked slow patterns on it. "of course I'm not a reaall doctor, pips. you wont get the full effect, but we can always compromise." he teased

you ask what he meant by "compromising" and the same grin still remained on his face, Calebs violet iris glowed at you as he stood up from the ground and towered over you. his large arms cage you on the small bed you were on and you chuckle awkwardly.

"seriously?"

"tell me what I should do first. you should know better than me." Caleb whispered.

"you're supposed to be the doctor, Caleb. why don't you figure out."

Caleb scoffed and leaned in closer, resting the side of his head against your chest, trying to listen to your heartbeat. but after listening for a few seconds, the results were disappointing, why was your heartbeat so slow?

"it seems too slow, don't cha think?" Caleb asked, sliding his fingers down your body and stopping at your breast, his fingers slid against your perked nipple poking through your shirt and lightly tugged at it.

a muffled moan escaped your lips and you shook your head. Caleb chuckled and rested his head against your chest again, trying to get a good listen of your heartbeat, and when it still remained the same he frowned.

"should I try something else then?" he mumbled, removing his finger off of your breast and skid it lower on your body, his cold fingertips soon reached your waistband of your pants and he slid a finger under.

his fingers made contact with your twitchy clit and he rubbed small circles against it, letting you savour the moment before he's gonna shove his two fingers deep inside you.

and seconds later, thats exactly what he did. Calebs two fingers slid inside your soaking cunt and he stroked quick deliberate patterns, the feeling of his fingers working soo well inside you almost made you faint.

your moans filled the room, light tears streamed down your eyes, and god, you were practically over the moon. Caleb watched your reaction and this time, he knew your heartbeat would rise.

for the third–and final time, he pressed himself against your heaving chest as his fingers continued their movements inside you.

and to his calculations, he was right.

your heartbeat increased, a little more than he expected.

"close?"

you shook your head and Caleb nodded, curling his finger inside you, which sent a reaction out of you. you rock your hips against him and try to ride out your release as quick as possible.

when you came undone on his fingers, Caleb slowly pulled out and stared at you with a proud look. his eyes scanned your whole body and he chuckled, helping you sit up on the bed.

"are we done?" you ask.

"we still have a little more of the check up, pipsqueak."

god, you were so going to have to book a real appointment with zayne the next day.

why Caleb always fingering her urrghhhh