#something something love as an endurance sport

[estravven]

just rambling

[parfaitblogs]

fresh out the slammer ❀ s. reid x reader

in which spencer reid comes home from prison, and needs to fulfil everything he has missed about you. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: smut & comfort (18+ mdni) tags: post prison!reid. soft dom!spencer. teeth might rot i was cringing during some of this. established relationship. the briefest of breast play because what do i hate? the word nipple! fingering. p in v. no protection is mentioned but imagine what you will. casual nudity afterwards. spencer's got bruises from prison. i lowkey forgot about his thigh wound until the very end.  word count: 5.7k a/n: there's a completely different version of me in a world where i didn't write this. i hope she's doing well. i feel like i've been reborn. this is stupidly long LOL my apologies. pleaseee tell me if you liked this! or if you didn't! i love feedback! here's my monthly smut fic see you all in october!

Three months wasn't a long time, in the grand scheme of things. A quarter of a year usually went by too quickly for anybody's liking, the year sprinting through seasons until all twelve months were complete, and you were repeating it all over again. Usually. Three months without Spencer Reid, however, went by achingly slowly. And you hadn't originally considered just how agonising they could be. 

Each day was another painful mirror of the last, waking up and going to bed with the same sense of dread in your stomach, oftentimes swallowing you whole and leaving you unable to do just about anything at all. 

Living life without Spencer Reid was hard.

You saw him — of course you did. Despite his original efforts to keep you off the approved visitors list, Penelope Garcia had seen one glimpse of your heart shattered expression upon being told, and marched her way to the prison to slap sense into him. You weren't sure if that was metaphoric or not. 

However, seeing him once every other week and living with him were two very different situations. You hadn't realised just how much you had depended on him always being there when you woke up in the morning until you were waking up to cold bed sheets and a pillow clutched petulantly to your chest in hopes of recreating the warmth only Spencer could provide. 

And then he was free. 

From prison, that is. You hadn't heard it all — information about his time in prison had been kept from you in an attempt to protect your own peace of mind. But you knew from at least the bruises he was always sporting no matter when you went to visit him, that something awful had happened to him in there, and his own brain would keep him imprisoned for as long as it wished. 

But he was free.

And he was here, and you were staring up at his face littered with unkempt facial hair and a head of untreated curls, and regardless of everything horrific he had endured brewing behind his eyes, he was staring at you with the same softness he had before any of this happened. 

Despite the beginning of a protest when you wrapped your arms around his torso, you hugged him, and he hugged you, and even the faintest smell of grime and blood couldn't stop you from gripping onto him with so much force you thought your knuckles would break. 

"You're real," you whispered into his chest, muffled by it, and it shook beneath your face as he laughed, quietly. Beautifully.

"I am," he answered, and you could feel him crushing his own facial features into the top of your head, no doubt inhaling your shampoo. "You're real."

"Yes," you confirmed with a nod.

Maybe hours passed, perhaps only minutes. Whichever it was, you were still reluctant to pull away from him until he did, your face stained with tear streaks you don't remember shedding, his own eyes glassy as your gazes met. 

"You don't want to talk about it, do you?" you asked him, walking backwards as you led him out of the doorway you two had been finding solace in, and further into the apartment space you were ecstatic to share together again. 

"Not particularly," he answered, strides catching up to you and encasing your waist between his hands, tugging your body closer to his own. "Is that okay?"

"As long as you promise not to keep it in," you replied, teeth chewing into your lower lip in a contemplative habit. 

"I have counselling at work," he said, and you nodded, your facial features softening only a little — you knew him well enough to know he wouldn't enjoy said counselling sessions. Breath tickled your lips as he leaned in a little closer, inciting heat onto your cheeks. "Any other questions?"

"No," you replied, your own lips twitching in amusement. "That's it. Why?"

"Because I haven't kissed you in three months," he murmured, "and I want to."

"Maybe," you said with a hum, and he said your name chidingly, eliciting a laugh from you. "Yeah. Okay."

To be honest, you had spent a few too many nights allowing your thoughts to wander and end up dreaming about what it would be like to kiss him again. Whether or not either of you would have the patience to be gentle and kind to one another. In those nights, you had decided you would be. Your heart cracking every time you thought of Spencer alone in a concrete cell that it left you with a gaping hole in your chest. All you really wanted was to hold him and remind him how adored he was. 

Right now, you learned you wouldn't be. 

There was a tenderness in the way his hands found your cheeks to cup, and there was a softness in his fingertips against your skin. Yet, everything he kissed with was anything but. Feverish and quick, swallowing you whole and inspiring a spark in your chest that resulted in you kissing back just as hungry. 

Just when you thought there was nothing left to trigger within him, a squeak left your lips as the result of him tugging you impossibly closer, and he was beginning to walk you backwards, even further into the apartment, his kiss growing all consuming. 

"Spencer," you said, breathlessly, jerking your head back, staring at him, waiting for him to realise you weren't returning your lips to his, and his eyes opened. 

"What?" he asked, almost irritatedly. When he watched the slight flicker of hurt flash on your face at the tone, his own expression became gentler. "I'm sorry. Is something wrong?"

Immediately, you shook your head. "No. I just wanted to check how far you wanted to go," your hands travelled up to his hair, fingers scratching gently against his scalp. "I know there's a lot going on up here."

"Actually, right now it's just you," he said, tilting a head to the side to lean into one of your palms. "It's mostly you all the time. But right now you're consuming it."

"I make such an impact on your life," you quipped. 

"I know you're teasing, but you do," he replied, fingers tracing up and down either side of your jawline, eyes searching each small detail on your face he had no doubt already memorised. "I survived in there for you."

"Oh."

Probably not the most eloquent response for the things he had just confessed, but truly your brain had scrambled within an instant, and you weren't sure what to say.

"Sorry," he said, hands stilling on your face. "To answer your question, I don't know. I really missed you."

"I know," you said when a gaping silence followed his words. "We don't have to."

"I think I want to."

Your eyebrows furrowed. "You can't think, Spence. You've gotta know."

"I've definitely said that to you before," he chided, thinking for a moment, before, "yes. I did. First time we had sex."

"Sue me for repeating important sexual advice to you, Spencer Reid," you huffed. He laughed. 

"No, I mean, I do. Want to," he finally replied. "I'm really scared of hurting you."

"Do you want to hurt me?"

"No."

"Then you won't," you reassured him, despite knowing whatever doubt he had in himself would not be resolved just like that, and it'll probably eat at his mind for a long while. "And even if you do, I won't be upset with you." When his face scrunched and his expression mirrored judgement, you stammered to clarify. "Not in a kinky way. Don't look at me like that, Spencer. Stop it. I just meant I'll understand. And I won't be mad."

"Didn't take you to be into masochism," he mumbled, and you groaned at his selective hearing, dropping your forehead to his shoulder, that shook with his laughter. "Kidding, honey. I know what you mean."

"Not funny."

"It was a little," he countered, a hand reaching up to entangle within your hair to pull your head back, gently, so he could look at you again. 

"Hi," you said when your eyes locked once more. 

"Hello," he answered, his lips pulling into a smile. "I'd like to kiss you again."

"You've used up your kiss for the day, actually," you replied, sweetly beaming up at him. 

"Quiet," he shot back, leaning forwards and allowing his lips to brush hesitantly against yours, eyes searching your own with an added hint of desperation. "Please?"

You pretended to think for a moment too long, because he was already mumbling something that sounded a little like 'brat', and pressed his mouth to yours once more. 

You couldn't complain. 

It was the same intensity as earlier, and yet there was something in it that differentiated the homesickness of the kiss from then, and the desperation now. Large hands — that you would probably allow to encase you whole — pathetically held your face lightly, hips knocking with yours as he walked you backwards and up against the back of the couch. 

"Spence," you whimpered embarrassingly, hands clawing at the sleeves of his suit jacket, trialling and failing at tugging it off his body. 

"I got you, sweet girl," he mumbled against your lips, not breaking the kiss for even a second as he helped you, shrugging the jacket off and allowing it to fall to the floor — something he will certainly chastise himself for later. 

"Bedroom," you said, in between heavy breaths and feverish kisses. A request he was more than happy to comply to, for he had nodded, and you were instantaneously tugging on one of his hands in the direction of the room, his eyes fixated on your body as he trailed behind. 

"Missed you so much," he murmured as he tugged you back towards him the second he had kicked the door shut, lips finding the corner of your mouth, then your jawline, then your neck, as he kissed down you. 

"So you've said," you breathed out, tilting your head to the side as he gently nipped at the skin. 

"Do you get off on being mean to me?" he chided, lifting his head to look at you again, and your heart stuttered. 

"No. Just that dominance act that it brings out," you murmured, attempting to keep the mood light. Successfully so, for air huffed out of his nose as his lips twitched, fingers that had dropped to your waist squeezing it gently. In unresolved doubt, you added, "I missed you too. Don't worry."

"I'm not," he replied, and the weight lifted off your shoulders. "Lie down."

"So demanding," you teased, though his tone was anything but firm.

You were met with an unimpressed look, and you merely grinned back as you climbed onto the bed, sitting cross legged atop it, staring up at him expectingly.

Instead of moving over you like you had expected, he crouched at the foot of the bed, holding his hands out on the mattress in front of you. Needing no more than the simple gesture, you untangled your legs and stretched them out in front of you, and he tugged you down towards the end of the bed, breath hitting the skin of your thighs deliciously. 

"I'm supposed to be making you feel good," you argued when his fingers trailed up the sides of your legs, finding the waistband of your pyjama shorts.

"Why?" he questioned, halting his movements as he searched your face. 

"Because you're the one who just got out of prison," his face scrunched at the verbal reminder. "Sorry. But... yeah. I have thought about making you come the day you got home like daily."

"Oh have you?" his eyebrows shot up, and it was then that your brain caught up to your running mouth, and your cheeks heated up. 

"Nope. Forget I said anything."

"No," he pushed himself up from the floor, moving his body over yours on the bed, successfully forcing you to lie back. "Tell me those thoughts."

"Spencer," you moaned, shaking your head as you buried your face into your hands, that he was a little too quick to catch and pry away. 

"I'm not going to judge you," he said, amused. "In fact, I aspire to know every single thought there is up in that pretty head of yours. Especially the ones about me. Please tell me."

"I just thought about making you come. There's nothing more exciting to it."

"Yes, but how?" 

"My mouth, I guess," you mumbled, voice going impossibly quiet. "I don't know."

"You're acting like you have never given me oral," he said, catching your gaze within milliseconds of you averting it, thumb and forefinger straightening your head again. 

"Nobody says oral, Spencer. Say head," your own face now scrunched up. 

"Lots of people say oral," he defended. 

"Yeah, old people. We are not old people."

"Fine, you're acting like you have never given me head." 

Despite it being a jab at him to take the heat off of you, the phrase coming out from his lips sounded exceptionally vulgar for what it was, and it only resulted in your stomach flipping. 

Finally, you regained some control over your own thoughts, and you found it in you to reply. "That's what I want to do. Because I want to make you feel good."

"You underestimate how much I gain from making you feel good," he countered, fingers lazily caressing the skin of your jaw as his eyes studied your face with an intensity that had your stomach flipping. 

"It cannot be as good as an orgasm," you huffed, stubbornly so. 

He nipped at your nose. "It is."

"Can we compromise?" 

"So you don't want me to give you oral?" his eyebrows rose. 

In every other situation, you would not be fighting him on this. In fact, he would probably have already gotten his foreplay of teasing and teetering you on the edge out of the way by now, and you'd be well and truly content. However, the forefront of your mind was still plagued by how little time Spencer had to take care of himself, and the last thing you needed him to be was at your service. Despite his protests. 

"Head," you corrected. "And no."

He searched for remnants of a lie for a few beats longer, before he nodded his head, giving in. "What's your compromise, honey?"

"I don't think there's a sexy way to say to just put it in me," you said, and his lips curled up into an amused smile, followed by a huff of laughter. 

"No, I don't think there is," he agreed. "I do think anything you say can be sexy, though."

You pulled a face, and you shook your head. "No. Don't say that ever again either."

"I can't compliment you, I can't give you ora—head," he rattled off. "Is there anything good I get out of this?"

"You get to fuck me?" you batted your eyelashes up at him. 

"Such vulgar language," he chastised, ducking his head when a hand of yours rose to swat him. 

Despite himself, his head had dropped to the crook of your neck, and he had begun placing feather like kisses along the skin that distracted you just enough to drop your hand back to the mattress beneath you.

Any other day, and you'd probably still be bickering with him until the minute he made you come. However, three months without even the faintest of touches from him left you overwhelmed with everything he did to you, and so the gentle kisses trailing down to the collar of your shirt were enough to destroy any coherent thoughts you could have. 

Cautiously, and with a touch so delicate, Spencer lifted your — his — shirt up your abdomen, fingertips leaving behind the warmest of trails as they skimmed along your skin. One quiet whine from you was all it took for him to hurry his teasing along, and soon enough your shirt was discarded. 

A quiet, sharp inhale of air was the other sound aside from your quickened breathing, and you felt tears sting your vision as another kiss was placed just below your now exposed collarbone. 

The time without you seemed to weigh nothing in his mind as he took every inch of you in separately, lips mapping out your body like it was the first time all over again, though still knowing exactly when to pause and pay attention to for the sweetest of sounds to be ripped from your throat. 

He liked to hear you. 

Fingers found your waist as his lips kissed down your sternum, then back up and over until they reached your nipple. He spent time on each breast, ignoring your impatient whining as he neglected the rest of you for a few minutes too long (in your opinion).

"Spencer," you scolded, and it was all it took for him to accept you were not in the mood to wait, and for him to decide he wasn't either. 

"Sorry, honey," he replied, voice impossibly soft as he returned his lips to your face, a kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth as his fingers found your shorts again. "Can I take these off?"

"I think we're incredibly out of balance," you replied. And though there wasn't really anything wrong with the sentence — you had certainly said it before — he still pulled back, an unrecognisable grey clouding his eyes. "What?"

"I want to keep my shirt on," was his response, the words inciting confusion to your face. 

"What? Why?"

"Do I need a reason?"

You wanted to scream that yes, he did. But did he? Wordlessly, you shook your head, but it didn't help the pang of worry in your chest. 

"Unless there's something like an embarrassing tattoo, I'm not going to judge you," you decided to say instead. "Did you get an embarrassing tattoo in prison?"

"No," he shook his head, and you were comforted by the amusement in his tone. "I didn't have the best time in prison."

"I know," you replied.

"And I wasn't very liked. By the men in there."

You knew that too, to an extent. You knew the bruises on his face weren't self inflicted. "You're liked by me."

"I know, sweet girl," a heart shatteringly sad smile stretched across his face as a hand lifted to your cheek. "It just isn't very pretty. And I don't want you to worry."

Well, now you were. Regardless, you nodded your head, turning your head to the side so you could kiss the palm of the hand on your face. "I won't worry, then."

"I want to keep my shirt on. Can that please be okay with you?" 

Silently, and after a debate inside your brain, you nodded your head. Gratefully, he pecked your lips once more, before his focus shifted back to you and your body. 

"Shorts. Can I take them off?" he asked, again.

"Yes."

"Thank you."

His fingers collected the fabric of your shorts' waistband, and gently pulled them down your legs, cool air washing over you despite the final leftover article of clothing on your body. You shivered, and you could hear him mumbling nearly incoherent apologies as he kissed your stomach.

"These too?" he then asked, eyes flickering between your face for confirmation, and the pair of underwear you still had residing on your body. You nodded your head, and he pulled them down too.

You do not remember a time ever fearing being naked beneath Spencer Reid's gaze, and that did not change even now, as an arguably different man drank in your entire body, the love he had for you not having wavered despite the passing of time. 

And you certainly did not fear the way one of his hands slid up your leg, seemingly soothingly, until it teetered on the edge of too far up the limb to be innocent, and he was intensely watching your face for every reaction you could possibly make. 

Achingly gently, his middle finger ran up the centre, collecting arousal you hadn't realised was there and knuckle gently bumping your clit, eliciting a quiet mewl from you. You watched him smile at the sound, dragging his finger back down, gathering more of your arousal until he was pushing the finger in.

Your eyes fluttered shut, the feeling oh so familiar, and yet seemingly foreign all at once. Too long, you decided then. Three months is too long.

Leaning back down, his lips brushed your jawline, the otherwise odd sensation of there being something — someone — inside of you balancing out with the pleasure that came from the comfort of it being him. And of course the delicate circles his thumb had begun to draw on your clit. 

"Did you do this while I was in prison?" he asked you, lips moving against your skin. 

"Touch myself?" 

"Mhm."

"Yeah," you said, voice breathless. "Was never good, though."

"No?" he asked, curling his finger inside of you and tugging a louder moan from your throat. "Why not?"

"Just never felt as nice. Not like you."

"Oh. I'm sorry, angel," he murmured, pulling his lips away so he could look at you again. Though, your eyes were still planted shut. "I'll make up for it then, yeah?"

You feverishly nodded your head, and he laughed. Fulfilling his promise, he sped up the motions of his finger and thumb, your hands grabbing ahold of fistfuls of the sheets, in hopes that it will provide some comfort from the overwhelming feeling of Spencer touching you again. 

"Can I add another finger?" he asked, and though slightly hesitant, you nodded your head. 

He waited a beat longer before fulfilling your request, and there was something obscene about how easily another finger entered you. Though, Spencer thought it was pretty, and your back arching was pretty, and yes, he had missed this and he had missed you and he was biting his tongue from telling you that all over again. 

"Spencer," a delicately breathy whine left your lips when the heel of his palm collided with your clit — thumb long forgotten once he had gotten distracted with thrusting fingers in and out of you. 

"Hm?"

Your eyes fluttered open to meet his, the kindest smile on his face reminding you just how much he adored you, and your heart sporadically beat in your chest. When you didn't say anything else, he quickened his ministrations, eliciting more whines and moans.

"Is two orgasms too much for tonight?" he asked you, the question seemingly innocent regardless of both it's undertones, and what he was currently doing to you. 

In hindsight you should've probably said yes. It most certainly would've hurried things along to something he would enjoy as much as you. However, if Spencer Reid fingering you was a religion, you were an eternally loyal follower, and you would do anything to keep him there for as long as you could. 

So you shook your head, murmuring a quiet, "No. I can do two," and allowing him to fasten his fingers once more. 

Fingers found and massaged that spot inside of you he had probably engrained into his brain, and he was leaning down to swallow the loud moan that followed from the feeling. Practiced motions tore the same sounds from your throat as he repeatedly brushed up against it, until your eyes were forced to squeeze shut once more, and hands that were once seeking solace in the sheets, found his wrist and wrapped around it. 

"I can't move if you're going to keep my arm locked up, angel," he said when your nails dug into his wrist, lips smiling against your skin. 

A few short jerks of his hand convinced you to let go of the death grip you had on him, instead returning them to the mattress.

Then he was doing that motion again, and again, and you were silently praying he would never stop. Although, if your moans were any indication to where you were at — and they were — Spencer wouldn't. 

Your hips bucking told him more than he needed to know, and the absence of his body above you when he lay down on the bed next to you was long forgotten when a splayed hand on your abdomen pushed you back down into the mattress, your heart stuttering at the feeling. 

Gentle whines of his name, and a repeated mantra of 'please, please, please' was the only thing your otherwise dismantled brain could come up with, and Spencer was relishing in the knowledge that he was doing this to you. And though it is something he knows he's done before, it had been far too long since and the reminder was always welcome. 

"I know, sweet girl," he said against you when your eyes came open and searched his desperately, walls fluttering around his fingers indicating just how close you were. 

"Please don't stop."

"I won't," he confirmed, punctuating the promise with his thumb returning to your clit. He had your best interest in mind — you knew that. He now wouldn't stop even if you begged him to. 

Overwhelming seemed too insignificant of a word to describe what you felt like when you came, nerve endings all over your body sparking, instead of just the ones he was stimulating. 

His thumb rubbing circles and his fingers thrusting in and out of you didn't falter until your shaking body had stilled and your strings of moans had diminished, slowly coming to a stop and leaving your body — seemingly — as fast as they had entered. 

The content smile on your face was interrupted with Spencer's hand lifting to your lips, and instinctively you parted them, already knowing exactly what he was after. 

His middle and ring fingers entered your mouth, and your face scrunched up despite yourself as you tasted yourself on them. He laughed at that — of course he did — and pulled them out soon after. 

"You do that every time," he murmured, hair tickling your skin as he placed open mouthed kisses over your shoulder, up towards your neck. 

"It tastes weird," you argued, and his teeth nipping your skin told you he disagreed. Though, he wasn't in the mood to argue, for he didn't say anything else on the matter. 

"Still got it in you for one more?" he asked you, pulling his head back so he could see you once again. 

"Yes."

"Good."

Your eyes watched him even as he rolled back to take his pants off, and the awkward smile he gave you provided the inkling of comfort that there was still the man from three months prior in there. 

"I really missed you, you know?" This time it was you saying it, piercing the air as his hand came down between your thighs to part them. The head of his cock nudged against you, brushing delicately through your folds and eliciting a quiet whimper from your lips. 

"I know," he answered, pressing kisses on your shoulder once more. "Are you okay?"

"Me? Yeah. I'm fine," you confirmed with a nod, confusion crossing your features all up until you learned why he was asking. 

A broken moan, choked and caught in your throat, left you when he painstakingly slowly pushed inside of you. There's not a lot going on inside your mind when he stops, your entire body aflame and equally desperate for more, as you were for him to take a moment here. 

"I love you," he breathed out, the words hurried and encouraging your heart to speed up, and your mind to melt even more. 

"I love you too," you said back, voice just as quiet, gently nudging hips ushering for him to move. 

"Impatient girl," he muttered, but you smiled nonetheless because he did (move). 

His thrusts were slow, and gentle, but you never truly minded how much time he took with you once you two were here. Even more so now, for you were on the same page as him, and you wanted to savour every single moment of this down to the second. 

A whimper left your lips, followed closely by the desperate whisper of his name, and lips that were still resting against your shoulder smiled. 

"I thought about this a lot," he said to you, his hand that was holding your thighs slightly open sliding up to find your clit. "I definitely shouldn't have."

"Why?" You knew why, but the thought of hearing him answer it aloud excited you a little. 

Unfortunately, he knew you better than that. "Don't play coy. You know why, honey."

"You're cruel," you huffed, and he laughed, rolling his hips to meet yours, earning another moan. "Maybe I don't."

"Use that wonderful imagination of yours, then," he answered, rubbing your clit at the same time as he moved his hips once more, effortlessly rendering you unable to respond to him again. 

A teenage boy probably could've lasted longer than the both of you, but you decided to blame it all on your already sensitive nerves from a prior orgasm, and the fact that Spencer Reid had not had you like this for over 2190 hours (not that he was counting).

Whimpers escaped your throat as he kept his hips thrusting into you at an achingly slow pace, while his fingers working on your clit did anything but. It was an aching juxtaposition that left you reeling for more, and Spencer was now the one shutting his eyes so he could hold onto some semblance of composure. 

"Spencer," you pleaded, and it was a quiet moan from behind you that told you he was exactly where you were. 

"I know, honey," he replied, the desperation in his voice jumpstarting your heart. "Need to come, yeah?"

"Mmhm," you nodded your head quickly, breathlessly moaning. "Please."

"You're going to. Don't worry. Don't need to beg, sweet girl."

Commingled moans and obscenely wet noises filled the air, and your hips stuttered as your stomach twisted into knots. 

Chanting his name like a prayer, you meet him wherever your two souls go in that moment, and it's a shuddering feeling as you come at the same time as him. For the first time in forever. 

His hand drops back to your thigh and he massages the muscles there gently, willing himself to stop before he crossed the line of overstimulation — not that you think you'd complain about that. 

There was an emptiness when he pulled out, but then he was kissing you again to make up for it, and you were smiling against his lips as you kissed him back. This time, without the fever. 

"How're you feeling?" he asked you, quietly. 

"Happy," you answered, forcing your heavy eyelids open when he pulled back. "How are you feeling?"

"Also happy," he agreed, and your heart soared. 

"Good."

"You need to go pee," he said, placing another kiss on your cheek, before he leaned his body away entirely. 

"Help?"

Arguably, you could do it yourself. Your limbs were tired, yes, and your mind was melting, but you were coherent enough to brave it alone. 

Thankfully, you didn't have to. 

He carried you to the bathroom, running the bath water after you had silently begged him for it with your eyes (looking between him and the empty bath with wide eyes and a jutted lip worked wonders), and leaving you to pee. 

"Are you getting in with me?" you asked him as wobbly legs akin to a fawn carried you over to the now full and steaming bathtub. 

"Do you want me to?"

Hesitantly, you nodded your head, fidgeting with your fingers in front of you. "But you'd have to take your shirt off. So you don't have to."

He studied your face for a moment longer, before he nodded, and fingers expertly worked at unbuttoning down the shirt. 

"I'm okay now. That's the important thing you have to remember, okay?" his words provided little comfort, but you nodded your head regardless. 

You had a suspicion already of what sight you were going to be met with, but it didn't stop the guilt settling into your chest when the shirt fell to the floor anyways. 

"Spence," you murmured, taking a hesitant step forwards, heart falling to your stomach. 

Bruises littered the skin, some fresh and still purple, others nearly healed and yellowing. But there were so many, and it was then that you were swallowing the rest of him in with your eyes, catching the bandage on his thigh. 

"What is that?" you nodded towards the covered wound, and when your eyes returned to his face again, he was staring at you with an unreadable expression. 

"A lot happened," he answered, quietly, before repeating, "I'm okay now."

You nodded your head, tears stinging your vision for nothing more than your ridiculous amount of empathy. "Can you tell me about it?"

"I will," he promised. "Eventually. Just not now, okay? I haven't processed it all yet."

"Okay," you replied, and his heart shattered at the sight of a tear slipping down your face. 

"Hey," he took ahold of your hand and tugged you closer to him, fingers running through your hair and resting at the base of your scalp. "I promise, honey. I'm not going to disintegrate from a few bruises."

"It isn't just a few," you answered, voice wavering. "There's so many."

"You have a heart too big for your chest," he decided to say instead, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. "Most of them don't even hurt now. Please believe me when I say I'm okay."

"I'm trying," your voice is thick with a sob caught in your throat. "I think I'm just really tired."

"Yeah," he crooned, agreeing. "Your body's released a lot of prolactin, which encourages sleep. Alongside the endorphins and dopamine that you're crashing from upon seeing this."

Wordlessly, you nodded your head, and he kissed the tip of your nose in an attempt to comfort. 

"Bath, then we can sleep, and we can talk more in the morning," he listed off, and you merely nodded your head once more, sniffling and wiping your eyes. 

"Okay."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Contained Monstrous Family  

Thinking about being born into a monstrous family

You, a baby human lovingly in the arms of a vampire man and his werewolf husband 

“Aw isn’t our little peony just perfect!”

“Another gorgeous cub, in our pack. Good job hon!”

“Thanks!”

Inside your opulent crib with a bone ladden mobile above you and the heads of two of your eldest siblings show

“They haven’t got nearly enough fur!” your moth brother says 

Your basilisk sister scoffs,” Or any scales for that matter!”

Life is lovely for awhile 

You’re the apple of everyone’s eye as the youngest of the family

But it’d be early on when you’d discover that wasn’t all that made you different

If they had been more careful perhaps you wouldn’t have discovered what the family hunts were all about 

Chasing humans–creatures just like you–for sport

Who could blame 5-year-old you?

The school lessons you’d sneak to listen to always said to call the authorities if something was wrong

You can vaguely recall the events that followed your brain clearly walling off the memory out of guilt

Time has passed and you are a partially thriving adult

Able to support yourself and devote your time to your study of the mythical

In a movement that had recently come to light, plenty of creatures spoken about in folktales were appearing

And your place of work was housing them

Housing was a strong word

maybe detaining and experimenting were better

As part of the maintenance crew, your job is to upkeep the creatures by their specified scientists demands

Occasionally offering your observations about whatever habits they have when it comes to eating, cleaning, etc.

As someone who’s been working with the facility for a long time so long you may not remember when you’ve become the experienced lead of your department

But you do still interact with the creatures specifically the most high-priority or high-maintenance ones

And like any other, you’ll report for duty with the newly acquired vampire 

Apparently, they’ve been talked about for their violence and intelligent ramblings

Claiming it was married to an earlier capture and the father of some others

So far it drained forty of your employees 

So now it was time for you to come face to face with this menace

You’ll wave off the security guard as you come up to the window

“Your file says your name is Villar? 

“GRAAGRH!!!”

“We won’t get very far if you keep lashing out like this. I’m in charge of making sure you eat, I suggest you get it in gear if you want to ever to see your husband again.”

At the mention of his husband the blonde vampire deflates

His black scleras morph into white 

He tiredly rests his head against the silver bars despite the skin burning

“You…will let me see him?”

You tilt your head sympathetically,” If you can comply with some of our tests. It’ll be a lot easier to make it a necessity for you two to meet if you cease killing so much of our staff.”

He growls tearing himself from the bars to glare 

“What do I have to do to see him?”

You smile flipping through your clipboard

“There’s three blood tests, four endurance tests, and intelligence quizzes for a start. That sound like a plan?”

The vampire reluctantly nods 

You look back at the camera and begin to walk out 

“Hey! What’s your name so I’ll know to tear your throat out if they lie to me?”

You smile again on your way out hushing the security guard

“I’m (Y/n). Pleasure meeting you Villar.”

The black-haired vampire loses his vitriol as he’s reminded of the little bundle he’s agonized over losing so long ago

“WAI–”

“Doctor (Y/n) your absolute genius has saved this company again.”

“I appreciate the thought, but I’m just someone trying to have a peaceful work environment.”

As planned you handle the older werewolf man

Violent, giant, and usually rotting in his corner 

He hasn’t moved much until you got involved

*knock**knock*

“Hey bud, I’ve got good news for you.”

At the sound of your voice, the werewolf Rod is at the silver bars, practically grazing them as he gets as close as he can to your little window

“Hello (Y/n), have you been eating well today?”

“Sure did but I have an update about your husband.”

He stills but looks interested

“He’s going to work with us so he can see you.”

“That is…what you want?”

“Yes and for you to do the same.”

He stands tall for once, taking an unusual air of authority

“I refuse to do anything if my conditions are not met.”

“Even if it means not seeing him again?”

He growls and turns away from the window

“Look my Uncle is not going to let me go in alone for your tests. Even if you’ve been peaceful so far, he just doesn’t want to take that chance.”

He snarls at the mention of your uncle 

“Fine. Then come in with twice as many guards but I will only agree if it’s you.”

You thank him for his time, “we’ll have to see what Uncle says.”

When you leave the werewolf man slinks back into his corner 

You’ll have to negotiate with your uncle about the most prized pieces of his collection his facility

Not to count the latest editions claiming to be related to the vampire and werewolf 

The real obsession starts because every member of the original family realizes just who you are 

And using your job as a mediator to piece together how you managed to slip out of their grasp

When Villar and Rod finally meet they nuzzle and kiss each other as they whisper to one another

“That’s them! Isn’t it? Our baby’s okay!”

“I know, now we just have to take them far away from here.”

Thus chaos is bound to ensue as they balance escaping with their long-lost human child 

With promises to pay back your abductor and all these scientists back ten-fold for the pain they’ve brought their little family

Part 2

[abyssruler]

furina’s guide on the art of matchmaking

neuvillette x gn!reader

it’s no secret that furina is constantly bored of the mundanity that comes with court, but with the recent discovery of neuvillette’s crush on you, things have just gotten a lot more interesting. if only you and neuvillette would just get together, but alas, it comes down to the great hydro archon to bring justice to neuvillette’s sad, pathetic love life.

furina pov, comedy, furina being dramatic as hell

Furina knows the best way to get under Neuvillette’s skin is through you. The Iudex may seem impassive from the outside, but she knows where to look for his tells, particularly when he’s annoyed (she has, after all, been the recipient to silently judging stares, usually those of a disappointed or even irritated nature).

And she’s seen the way Neuvillette looks at you—his face softening, an almost imperceptible smile on his lips, and most damningly of all, the slightest hint of a blush whenever you stare into his eyes a little too long to be considered proper.

It’s all so entertaining to watch, if a bit miffing to endure seeing how utterly slow the two of you are. If Furina had been in Neuvillette’s shoes, she would have long since enacted a performance grander than anything Fontaine has ever seen and asked you out on a date. Not just any date though, no, she would have to pull an all-nighter to come up with the best date there is. One does not simply go on a date with the God of Justice and have it be mediocre.

But all that aside, with how boring Neuvillette is with his stricter than strict rules and views on how one must go about their day, it falls upon her to make sure he doesn’t die as a decrepit old bachelor who’s never felt the touch of another person intimately. (Not that Furina had any say on the topic of intimacy, seeing as she’s never had any experience in the romantic aspects of life, but experience means nothing compared to the wisdom of the God of Justice!)

So, after many nights spent huddled beneath her blankets, scribbling on her notebook and brainstorming the best way to get a rise out of Neuvillette, she happened upon a breakthrough. An idea so great it would not only be something worthy of the Steambird’s headlines, but also be something the people of Fonatine would speak of for years to come.

Yes, it all comes down to this very moment, standing over the highest place in the opera with hundreds of eyes watching her as she points an accusing finger at your figure standing on the very stage she’s set up.

Neuvillette watches it all with his eyes narrowed at her, hands clasped tightly around his cane, and Furina would have loved to relish in that reaction, but alas, she must continue with her script.

With a haughty smile, she meets your eyes as she yells out loud to her captivated audience.

“I charge you, (Y/N), with the crime of theft!”

The people below gasp in shock at the sudden accusation. Only natural, of course. You, an esteemed person of reputable background who most people view as a kind person, being charged with theft? How scandalous!

But that’s not all!

“You stand accused of thievery,” Furina pauses for a dramatic effect, feeling the spectators hold their breaths as they await her final verdict.

She then looks up at Neuvillette, and it takes all she has in her not to burst in hysterics at the comically pinched face he’s sporting. She moves her finger from you to Neuvillette, practically preening in place as the assembled crowd below let out varying expressions of shock.

And with a smug smile, she deals the final blow.

“For stealing the Chief Justice of Fontaine’s heart!”

One, two, three—

Screams erupt from below. Women squealing in delight while the men cheer at the sudden twist from accusation to romance.

Furina basks in the attention as the people sing praises of her.

“Of course, how could not I have seen it before?”

“Lady Furina is so sharp to have caught on!”

“Monsieur Neuvillette and (Y/N) do make a good pair, don’t they?”

“How ingenious! As expected of our Lady Furina!”

But then, Neuvillette stands, a stern look on his face as he taps his cane on the ground hard enough to rattle her eardrums.

“Order!”

His face could have been made from stone with how hard he’s looking at her. If looks could kill, she’d be dead on the spot. Yikes! Perhaps it’s time to make a swift escape…

“Lady Furina, might I remind you that charges and accusations are not to be made lightly within the court. To abuse your position in order to make a ridiculous statement. I…”

With every word that leaves his mouth, Furina slowly begins to feel that perhaps she’d been too hasty in thinking that all would turn out well. And oh, maybe she should have thought up of scenarios and what-to-dos after she finished performing her grand plan, but in her defense, she’d been too excited at the prospect of finally pushing you two together that it completely slipped her mind!

Is it too late to claim it was all an elaborate performance not meant to be taken seriously?

Neuvillette stares thunderously up at her.

She’ll take that as a no, then.

Just when all hope seemed to have been lost, a savior comes in the form of you raising your hand.

Neuvillette immediately stops speaking in favor of addressing you.

“Would the accused like to defend their innocence?”

You take a deep breath, gaze briefly flitting to Furina’s before meeting Neuvillette’s. And even without much prompt, from that single glance alone, she knew she was about to witness something extremely entertaining.

“I… I would like to press charges as well,” you say evenly, and for a second, Furina’s heart drops as she thinks you’re about to charge her for false accusations and perhaps even slander, (the first time in history that anyone has charged the God of Justice for a crime!) but then, you continue—

“I would like to press charges against you, Monsieur Neuvillette, for stealing my heart too.”

Your statement is followed by a stunned silence that only lasts for a brief moment, before it’s overcome by exclamations and whoops at the sudden turn of events.

Furina falls back on her seat and howls with laughter as she watches Neuvillette be struck speechless, red creeping up his cheeks as your statement echoes across the cavernous hall. She reminds herself to gift you something extravagant for saving her at the very last moment.

Ah, what a delightful way to end the show.

She watches you direct a besotted smile towards Neuvillette. Another day, another poor sod saved from the horrors of a nonexistent love life.

Furina mentally pats herself on the back for a job well done.

[classyrbf]

DO I LOOK LIKE HIM! #2 — MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

SYNOPSIS...all his life it was just him and his mother, his father nowhere to be seen or found, vanished, a ghost. No one ever spoke a word of him, he didn’t even know his name. But deep down he begs for answers as his mother always said that he looked just like ‘him’

INFO...megumi x mom!reader, toji x reader, angst, family issues/trauma, absent father, implications of suicidal thoughts, talks of depression, toji is an assassin/in a gang, implications of murder, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

part 1

It was a chilly Saturday morning. The birds chirped as snow fell from the sky, laying a thick blanket across the trees and ground. Megumi was still asleep while you cooked breakfast for him like you always did. His favorite being eggs, hash browns and bacon. Two weeks ago you could’ve sworn your relationship with your son was ruined, came crashing down when he found out about his father. Toji Fushiguro. Though, it only seems like the situation only brought you closer than ever. He kept asking you about him, what he was really like, how he talked, what he used to wear, did he play any sports. He asked everything. And you told him everything.

You didn’t forget one detail about Toji. From the fifteen years that he’s been gone, you still remember every detail on his face like it was just yesterday. You remember the exact clothes he was wearing the night he left and you remember the look in his eyes when he walked out the door while you pleaded for him not to go. Fifteen years and it still breaks your heart to remember. Sometimes you wished you forgotten about him. Every since then you haven’t been with anyone else. You’ve tried and failed. Went on dates, went out to clubs and bars, whatever it was, but no one was him. No one was your Toji.

Some of your high school friends live happy lives, married, nice house and car with a big family and of course the family pet. But you never got your fairytale ending. You didn’t get the easy way like everyone else. It was just you and your son the entire time and whatever hardships you endured, it was for him. After Toji left you fell into a depression. You never left the house unless it was to get groceries or other essentials, but otherwise you were cooped up. It was just you and your son. Crying yourself to sleep every night seemed like the only option you had at that time. Wasting hours trying to call Toji only for it to go straight to voicemail. You prayed he come back for you two. But he didn’t. Years and years went by and you lost hope. You believed he was dead and maybe he was.

You loved Megumi so much. Everything you did was for him, every battle fought. He was the reason you kept going. He couldn’t grow up without a mother and a father. He doesn’t know that he’s saved your life.

“Mom?” You hear your sons groggy voice as he walks into the kitchen. You glance over your shoulder and laugh at the way he stands there, his hair messy and one of his eyes barely open.

“Morning, Megs. I’m just making you breakfast.” You smile. He hums in response, turning back around and dragging his feet into the bathroom. Even down to the mannerisms he acts exactly like him. You shake your head with a laugh, turning the stove off and grabbing his plate to toss the scrambled eggs on top. “Megs, your food is on the table when you’re done!” You shout. You run over to the fridge, grabbing the orange juice and pouring him a glass when the doorbell rings. “Hold on!”

Putting the juice away, you walk over to the door with the glass in hand. “Who is it?” You ask.

“It’s me.” A voice speaks. It almost sounds recognizable, but not. Your brows furrow while undoing the locks and when you open the door, the frigid air cuts through the warmth of your house and surrounds you.

“You must have the wrong—” As you look up, your eyes widen and the glass drops from your hair, shattering against the wooden floor. Your mouth opens to say something but not a word comes out. It was like you were stuck, frozen. Tears filled your eyes as you took in the man who was standing in front of you. “Toji…?” You utter, bringing a shaky hand up to your mouth.

“Hi, sweetheart.” He grew slightly taller, his hair shorter and you can see the slight wrinkles in his face. He was a lot more muscular too, but nonetheless he still looked like him.

“Oh my god!” You jump into his arms, hugging him tightly. “Toji!” You sobbed. Being in his embrace felt so natural despite how long it’s been. He hugged you back, clenching his eyes shut as he breathed in your scent.

“Mom?! What was that?!” Megumi came rushing out the bathroom running towards where he heard the glass break. Instead, he halted in his steps when he saw the familiar face he only recently learned from photos. “Dad?”

Toji opened his eyes, his expression dropping when he saw Megumi standing there in front of him. You removed yourself from his arms, turning to see your son standing there with tears in his eyes. “Megs, it’s your dad.” You smiled, wiping your tears.

And Toji couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It was like he was looking at a younger version of himself. But he couldn’t wrap his head around it. He knows it’s been fifteen years, but he was still expecting to see his two year old son walking towards him. Toji stepped into the house, slowly walking towards Megumi, hesitating to say or do anything until Megumi jumped into arms. “Dad!” He cried.

Toji clung to his son, hot tears streaming down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” He muttered against his hair. “Please forgive me.” He breathed. You stood there with pursed lips watching the two of them reunited, but hearing Toji’s apologies broke your heart. “I never wanted to leave you. You understand me?” Toji pulled Megumi away so that he was looking at him. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“Ive missed you too.” Megumi nodded his head wiping his tears. “Mom told me. She told me everything. I don’t blame you, dad.” He sniffled, shaking his head. Toji looked towards you his eyes softening. It’s like you could see everything within him. All the regret, the sadness, the anger he’s been holding within him for all this time.

He stepped towards you, cupping your face in his hands, his eyes searching yours. “You still look so beautiful.” He smiled. “I never once stopped thinking about you.” He said, holding back tears. “You and Megs were always with me. I’m sorry for leaving you, baby.” He hugged you.

It was hard not to cry. You couldn’t hold in your emotions. Not anymore. Everything that you’ve been holding back was finally letting out. You missed him. You missed seeing him with Megumi. You missed his voice, his scent, his everything. “It was so hard, Toji.” You cried. “I needed you. We needed you.”

“I know, I know.” He kissed the top of your head, gently rubbing your back. “Be angry with me, do whatever you want to me. I’m just happy to have you both back.”

You could never hate him. That was never a thought in your head. You could never hate the man you love. All you could do was understand him and his pain. He was hurting just as much as you. He left to protect you and your son. “I thought you were dead.” Your voice broke through your sobs. “I thought…”

“Shhh, shhh, I’m here now,” he whispered. “I’m right here.” He kissed you again. “Come here, little man.” Toji opened his arm, allowing Megumi to hug him.

Toji thought he’d never live to see this day. He began losing hope, drowning in his fears and bad choices. When he left, he remembered your cries, carrying that hurt in his heart for years. He only dug himself into a deeper hole trying to get out of it. Trying to protect you and Megs, he did unspeakable things, shit that left him traumatized. The amount of blood on his hands was staggering. But it was all just to have his family back.

That life was well behind him now. It’s been behind him for months. All this he’s been looking for you, jumping through hoops to even get a glimpse of you and Megumi. He wouldn’t have blamed you if you moved on, if you found someone else and replaced him, deciding to leave this hellish place. But you stayed. Despite everything, you stayed.

“You’ve gotten so damn big.” Toji eyes scanned over Megumi. “About as tall as me.” He laughed.

“Yeah, well, I do look exactly like you.” He shrugged, smiling. “I’ve been hearing it my whole life. It’s finally nice to see the original.”

“The original, huh? I ain’t that damn old,” he scoffed.

Seeing them already get along and bicker with each other like it came naturally gave you a warm feeling in your chest. You’ve never seen Megumi’s eyes so full of life, like he found his other half. And in a sense, he did. You did as well. All of you did.

“We have a lot of catching up to do.” Toji ruffled Megumi’s hair. “A lot.”

“I know. But can you promise me one thing?” Megumi asked.

“Of course.” Toji was quick to answer.

“Please, don’t leave me again. I don’t care what it is. Promise me you’ll never leave me, dad.” Megumi nervously began biting the skin off of his bottom lip.

Toji stared at his son. “I promise.”

a/n: a lot of you wanted a part 2 so I made one. I hope it lived up to the expectations tbh cause I wasn’t really sure what y’all wanted to me to write

[a-pute11as]

Softie - Alexia Putellas

warnings - none?

words - 1.3k

Game day was your favourite, the build up of emotions, the performance anxiety mixed with the joy you felt every time you stepped onto the pitch. Nothing could ever beat the highs you felt when playing the sport you loved so much. Today was one of those days, well it was meant to be, yet the difference was that a very discoloured and swollen ankle caused by a dodgy tackle during international break meant you’d be missing out. The Barca medical team had decided it would be best to miss out on the upcoming away game, advising you to stay home and focus on rehab for the couple of days that your teammates would be away. 

Alexia had always been overprotective, both as your captain and girlfriend, she always had your best interest at heart and wanting her squad at full fitness meant she was quick to agree with the medical advice, even if that meant a couple days of prolonged separation. At first she did try her best to figure out a way you could successfully rehab whilst traveling with your team, but given the amount of walking an away trip often endured and the crutches you were temporarily restricted to, she decided against it. 

“Lo siento mi amor, we both know it’s for the best” Alexia hummed, her hand pressed against her cheek as you were saying your goodbyes at the front door of the shared apartment. Your body half limped against the wall as your crutches had been abandoned next to the sofa in your bid to say a proper goodbye to Alexia.

“Can you change your mind? It’s not too late for me to pack some things” You muttered, leaning into her soft hand as her thumb rubbed back and forth along your cheek. 

“Cari, you know what my answer is” She whispered, planting a small kiss on your forehead, leaving you to mumble in defeat.

You said your goodbyes and Alexia was soon gone, leaving you alone with the lack of comfort from your favourite person.

The next few days were full of rehab at the training center, consistent check ins from your girlfriend and a couple of facetime calls when she didn’t believe that you were doing your at-home recovery, something that Alexia often had to bribe you into doing.

You were now more stable on your ankle, meaning you could get around without the reliance on your crutches, allowing you the extra freedom of moving as you pleased. Ale was due home in a couple of hours and you knew she’d be tired so you set about the task of tidying your apartment. It didn’t take too long but the slightly limp in your step did somewhat slow you down and drain extra energy. 

After finishing you were quick to take a shower and put on a change of clothes, consisting of a pair of Alexia’s Spanish national team shorts and her hoodie. Stumbling back towards the sofa, you planted yourself on it comfortably, waiting for the door to open to embrace the person you’d had been missing. 

It didn’t take long for you to adjust yourself into a comfier position whilst the time seemed to drag. You searched for a questionable English reality show, one that Ale would ridicule you for whenever you asked to watch it together, she never got the appeal of British humour yet it made you feel at home. Your phone pinged as you made another adjustment to your leg to seek some kind of peace from the discomfort of baring weight on it had caused. 

Amor -

Get some sleep, the plane has been delayed slightly so i will be late home and i know you’re tired already

You furrowed your eyebrows at her suggestion of sleep, determined to greet her with wide eyes and a smile as soon as she entered the room. 

You -

Ale i’m wide awake, i’ll be here when you’re up so you can tell me all about it

In reality you already knew all about it, you had watched the match with Ellie, who was also kept back from traveling due to recovery, you had been receiving updates from both Patri and Pina about the ‘cute’ things Ale had said in passing conversations about you. As well as a message from Kiera asking if your girlfriend would ever not make up excuses for the time when you both snuck away from a team celebration to cuddle. Her usual excuse was to blame it on you, but in reality she was tired after a big win and didn’t want to look too soft to the rest of the team. 

*Incoming FaceTime call from Amor*

“Hola cari” Alexia smiled, as the phone lit up your face.

“Hi babe, everything okay?” You smiled back, stifling a yawn that tried to expose your tiredness to your girlfriend. 

“Just thought I’d check in before the flight, make sure you’re as wide awake as you say you are” Her smile shifted into a smirk knowing exactly the type of person you were. 

“No confias en mi, amor?” You questioned, tilting your head to the side, teasing her intentions. 

“No cariño, confío en ti, pero siempre estás cansada y siempre te quejas." She responded, mocking your head tilt with similar teasing intentions. 

“Ale who’s that?” Patri said, peering her head into the screen, a smile appearing on her face as she realised who it was, “It’s lover girl!” She added, using the nickname she had given you when you first let her know about your relationship. She was quick to take the phone from Alexia’s han for herself. 

“Patri, give her the phone back” You laughed, knowing she had every intention of causing some kind of trouble.

“No, venga, say hello to everyone” She held the phone up, announcing your presence causing you to wave at your teammates that had now focused their attention on the phone.

“Are you staying up to give your girlfriend a goodnight kiss?” Pina laughed, as she began to blow kisses towards the phone.

“Oye, dámelo” Alexia said, standing as she grabbed the phone from Patri’s hand swiftly, “The flight is boarding now amor, go to sleep”. You mumbled in response before saying your goodbyes and hanging up.

Even though you were determined to stay awake, it didn’t take long for your eyes to grow heavy as the comfort from Alexia’s borrowed clothes took over your senses.

“Mi amor, wake up” Alexia cooed, her hand running through your hair to stir you through your sleep.

Your only response was a few very tired grumbles as your eyes opened to the sight you’d been waiting for. It took a couple of seconds for you to realise what was going on before a sleepy smile overtook your face.

“Ale, you’re home” You smiled, pushing yourself up off the sofa and wrapping your arms around her quickly.

“Si, I thought you weren’t tired huh?” She laughed, placing a kiss on the top of your head. 

“It was an accidenttttt” You whined, “I got comfy in your clothes and they smelt like you so it made me tired”. 

“Oh nena, vamos a la cama” She suggested, taking hold of my hand and leading me towards our bedroom. 

“I’m not even tired amor” You announced, as if there was any use convincing her that you were telling the truth. 

Within 5 minutes both you and Alexia were settled in bed, your head resting on her chest as her fingers made their way through your hair slowly. Your hands ran up and down her chest as you both sleepily talked through how you spent your days and the parts you missed each other the most.

“Patri and Pina didn’t stop teasing me about you staying awake for me to get home” Alexia laughed slightly, “They don’t think I’m tough anymore”.

You sleepily laughed in response, “You’re a massive softie, I think they already knew that”. 

a/n - not sure how i feel about this one, so v sorry if its a lil shit x

[enha-doodles]

Hey can you do a reaction to Slytherin boys reacting to the reader being a bookworm ?

Thankyou 💗💗

SLYTHERIN GUYS REACTION TO YOU BEING A BOOKWORM | ✧⁺。

Pairing : ( Mattheo , Tom , Theodore, Lorenzo, Draco ) x reader

Note : tysm for the request and i hope you enjoy it hehe 🤭🤭

Warnings : none

Mattheo Riddle

Even though Mattheo thinks reading sessions are about as thrilling as watching paint dry compared to his usual parties, he puts on a brave face for your sake because he loves you so much . He sticks around while you bury your nose in books, though his mind might wander to livelier activities. Despite the occasional yawn, he's willing to endure the quiet moments for his darling , he is a romantic and caring guy afterall

Tho he'll complain and whine all the while you won't pay attention to him and roll his eyes upon your books

Tom Riddle

Tom secretly enjoys the peaceful vibe when you're both lost in your own literary worlds. He won't admit it out loud, but he finds it oddly comforting to share comfortable silences with you, even if he'd rather be plotting world domination. Who knew the Dark Lord had a soft spot for reading?

He'd leave some of his books on your table so you'd read them , he loves seeing you smile while you read something interesting especially of his choice , your reactions making him obsessed fall deeper for you .

Theodore Nott

Theodore scratches his head trying to figure out why you're so obsessed with books, but he's a good sport about it. He might ask you why on earth you spend so much time with your nose buried in pages, but hey, to each their own, right? As long as you're happy, he's cool with it, even if he doesn't get it.

He is someone who is smart without much effort - that is the reason he doesn't understand your affection with books , which also has some people wonder why he's not into ravenclaw but then his Slytherin tendencies prove his loyalty to his house

Lorenzo Berkshire

Lorenzo is like a kid in a candy store when he realizes you both share a love for books. He's all in, racing you to finish books first and gleefully bragging when he beats you to the last page. Who knew reading could be such a competitive sport? But hey, it's all in good fun, right?

He's also a very literature typa guy so he'd have you on his lap while you're cuddled into him and you're both reading the same book . You have many of your dates in the library and none of you seem to mind .

Draco Malfoy

Draco puts up a fuss about your bookworm tendencies, claiming they're not even close to being as exciting as qudditch or poker or any other rich kid shit he has done . But secretly, he's low-key intrigued by what you're reading. He'll grumble about it, of course, but then he'll sneakily ask about the plot or characters, trying to act like he's not interested. Classic Draco, always putting on a show.

He's also very bratty so he'll be annoyed af if he's speaking and you'll tell him to shut up because you're on a good part atm coz sweetheart does he look like he cares ? He does

。　　　　✧　　　　⁺　 　 　。

[imfoive]

Fool, Hopelessly in Love

Minho x Reader (fem.) Genre: Brother’s Bestfriend au!, Angst, Romance, unrequited love, slow-burn, slightly NSFW (mdni) Warnings: mentions of cheating, drinking, cursing, blood, physical violence, somewhat proofread WC: 12.7k A/N: raise your hand if you needed a pining lee know fic 🙋‍♀️ Feedback is always welcome, enjoy! ── MASTERLIST

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Lee Minho was an ordinary man. Minus the occasional dangers of his profession, he thought of himself as just an average guy leading a typical life. He was quiet and composed, enjoying his solitude, yet loved goofing off and letting loose with his closest friends. Again, despite the challenges of his job as a cop that he found fulfillment in, Minho was perfectly ordinary.

But hidden deep inside was a secret he had kept locked away for what seemed like forever.

Lee Minho was a fool, hopelessly in love.

He hadn’t anticipated falling for her. 

No. 

Never in a million years.

He wasn’t aware he’d fall this hard. The aching feeling in his heart intensified just at her presence, drawn to her like a moth to a flame, unknown to anyone but himself.

Yet all he could do was pretend.

After all, she was his best friend’s little sister.

It hadn’t always been like this. Despite knowing her for more than a decade, he had never felt such an overwhelming pull to her before.

How was it possible that now, after all this time, he was painfully aware of these newfound feelings?

Her brother, was his first and only friend in high school. The then-sixteen year old had transferred in the middle of the semester, recently losing his mother, and had come to live with his uncle and aunt. He was a loner for the most part, yet by the second week of school he had gained a reputation for being blunt and rude, a cold demeanor displayed by a teenager who was still mourning. Still, the class mood maker, who was absent for the two weeks Minho had been there, due to a sports injury, smiled brightly in front of him. Knocking on the desk Minho had laid on with head buried in his arms. 

   “So you’re Lee Minho huh? Hey, I’m Seo Changbin!”

His voice was loud, yet Minho never understood why he had smiled at him. Even approached him, when he was hobbling around the school and had lots of school work he had to catch up on.

But slowly they became close. Changbin would persistently stay next to him, well aware that Minho didn’t want him there. The sound of Changbin’s lunch tray clattering across from him would become something he became used to. And suddenly he found himself laughing, opening up to something he didn’t know he needed. A friend. 

By the time the semester ended they were best friends. The notorious reputation he earned, long gone. They played basketball, went on trips, hung out at each other’s places for hours, fingers working against game controllers in frenzy. 

That’s how Minho met her. His best friend’s sister.

Y/N was only two years younger than they were. The siblings were always bickering. Their teasing and pranks were things that stretched even into their adulthood. But still, anyone could tell they were close. Even at fourteen, Y/N’s voice rang out loudly, matching her brother’s, if not even louder.

When Minho introduced himself, she quipped, “Ah, so you’re Grumpy Minho from Bin’s class,” earning a nudge from her flustered mother.

Their mother, a warm and kind woman, who had been acquainted with Minho’s aunt, understood the tragedy he had endured before living in this town. Initially uncomfortable with the sad look in her gaze, Minho gradually grew accustomed to her kindness. She welcomed him into their family, treating him like a second son and providing the love and support he had lost.

As the years passed, Minho’s bond with the Seo siblings deepened through shared experiences and countless hours spent together. By the time they graduated from high school, Minho had become a protective figure in Y/N’s life, someone she could rely on when her brother couldn’t be there.

And a few years later, once Minho graduated from the police academy, Y/N proudly declared she would marry him someday, eliciting chuckles and teasing from those around them. He was too good for her, they scoffed. Her mother, though, secretly wished it would come true, hoping Minho would become a permanent part of their family.

They all laughed.

Only a handful of years ago, Minho, who laughed at such a ridiculous thing, was now at a loss for words.

What changed so drastically that she became someone who occupied his thoughts day and night? He found solace in her smile, joy in her laughter, and pain in her tears. 

Probably that night. 

The day before his promotion. The week after Changbin secured a full time position at the company he had been interning at.

It was also the day Y/N planned to officially introduce her boyfriend to them.

Her birthday.

It was her first attempt at bringing a romantic partner in front of her protective older brother and his equally overwhelming best friend. One was a gym enthusiast, the other a cop, easily intimidating for any suitor.

They made reservations for dinner and drinks at an upscale venue later that evening to meet the man who supposedly made her feel special. But with so much to celebrate, the siblings decided to hit a club first. Though Minho’s promotion was not yet official, the occasion demanded dancing, laughter, and drinks. The birthday girl, initially beaming with joy, danced gracefully to the music. However, her mood shifted upon receiving a text from her boyfriend. He was busy at work and couldn’t step out, couldn’t make it to her birthday celebration. She returned to find the two older guys at the bar, masking her disappointment, though they could see right through her facade.

So they decided to distract her.

They continued drinking, dancing, and trying to lift Y/N’s spirits. Minho found himself back at the bar, navigating through the crowd when he accidentally collided with someone who looked eerily familiar. He squinted in disbelief, he’d only seen that face in pictures that Y/N shoved in his face, but he was sure it was that person. Minho’s face had contorted, and he tried to convince himself that it wasn’t who he thought it was. Perhaps the shots he downed were playing tricks on his mind. Changbin intervened, pulling him away, something about getting some fresh air. Minho nodded absently, stealing one last glance over his shoulder, but the familiar face had vanished from the bar. 

The familiar face was outside, and Minho’s initial hunch proved correct.

All three of them stood in stunned silence as they witnessed Y/N’s boyfriend passionately kissing another girl by the club’s entrance. Changbin hesitated momentarily, glancing back and forth between Y/N, frozen in disbelief, and the scene unfolding before them. Like Minho, it took a moment for the realization to sink in for him as well. Y/N’s soft voice, barely audible over the bass of the loud club music, booming even outside, and the chatter around them, was enough to confirm their doubts.

   “He wasn’t at work after all.” Her voice carried a mix of hurt and resignation.

Her boyfriend finally noticed them, his face going pale as he hastily pushed away the girl he was with. Who turned out to be a mutual friend, looking awkward and guilty. He stumbled over his words, attempting feeble excuses that neither Minho nor Changbin found convincing. His eyes darted nervously between them, fully aware that the two men were probably going to kick his ass.

Minho let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his temples as he stepped forward to restrain Changbin, whose fists were clenched and ready to strike. Y/N remained silent, her gaze fixed on her boyfriend, processing.

   “Hey, I’m a cop…” Minho started, his tone cool and controlled, fully aware of the consequences of any altercation, especially the day before his promotion. And this loser was not worth it.

He glanced briefly at Changbin, silently urging him not to attack.

But before Changbin could respond, Y/N cut in sharply, her voice firm and decisive.

   “Let’s go.” She said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

She turned on her heels and walked away, leaving her boyfriend standing there, stunned and calling after her futilely. But the boyfriend’s calls cut short, seeing the deathly glare Changbin had shot his way.

Minho sighed heavily, his frustration evident as he glanced back at the cheating man, who was now taking cautious steps backward, still shielding his cheating partner. 

   “Pathetic.” Minho muttered under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief at the situation.

The Seo siblings found themselves seated in a humble hole-in-the-wall bar, far from the upscale place they had originally planned to celebrate Y/N’s birthday. Despite its lack of glamour, the dimly lit bar became the perfect place where they could gather their thoughts.

Changbin struggled to find words that could provide comfort or solace, as he sat in the stool next to his quiet sister. His initial attempts were drowned out by the bitter taste of anger and disappointment. But each time he began to speak out in a string of curses, Minho’s subtle gestures urged him to hold back, a silent reminder to tread carefully.

   “Ugh, let’s just drink.” Changbin finally muttered, breaking the heavy silence that hung over them.

The brother-sister duo began drinking. Minho observed them quietly from his seat, knowing he would eventually need to ensure they got home safely. His gaze shifted between Changbin, visibly letting off steam with each drink, and Y/N, surprising him with her capacity to match her brother’s pace despite her usually lightweight tolerance.

Changbin had fallen first, his head landing with a dull thud against his folded arms on the bar counter. His shoulders rose and fell rhythmically with each breath. Meanwhile, Y/N swayed slightly in her seat, her elbows propped on the counter as she cupped her flushed face in her hands. Her eyes struggled to remain open, the effects of alcohol painting her cheeks with a noticeable tinge of red. When she spoke, her words slurred together in whispers that caught Minho’s attention. Frowning slightly, he leaned in closer, trying to decipher her drunken murmurs.

   “Why can’t I find anyone decent?” She began questioning, turning towards Minho, who truly did not have any answers for her.

Minho listened intently as Y/N poured out her frustrations, her voice wavering with a mix of disappointment and vulnerability.

   “I just want a good man who will treat me well.” She lamented, her glistening gaze searched his face for understanding.

   “Before this cheating dog, there was the jerk who just wanted a fling. Before him was the thief. Even you laughed at the idea of marrying me.” 

Minho had blinked back, suddenly caught off guard by her last sentence. 

   “Have you never seen me like that?” Her question hung in the air, heavy with implications that Minho suddenly struggled to process.

He continued to blink, big eyes taken aback by the unexpected turn of the conversation.

For a moment, silence enveloped them, broken only by the soft murmur of the bar and Changbin’s occasional sleepy shuffle on the other side of her. Y/N’s eyes bore into Minho’s, waiting for a response that he didn’t have.

   “You are a good guy then.” She whispered finally, a fragile smile playing on her lips.

And she leaned in, her lips meeting his.

The man next to her stiffened. Wide eyes bore into the air behind her. His mind raced as Y/N’s lips brushed against his, a gentle press that sent a jolt through his entire being. Her warmth lingered on his lips even as she pulled back, her sheepish smile breaking the spell of their fleeting moment. 

Before he could process what had just happened, Y/N slumped forward onto the bar counter with a heavy thud, the sound echoing in the quiet bar. Changbin stirred beside her, groggily lifting his head and scanning the scene with furrowed brows of confusion. Minho could feel his heart pounding in his chest, entire body igniting with a burning sensation.

   “What’s wrong?” His best friend muttered, still a little drunk, a little sleep hazed. 

Minho snapped out of his daze, still utterly at a loss for words.

The siblings had shown up hungover at his promotion ceremony, they had gotten so drunk to the point that Changbin only remembered bits and pieces of the previous night, while Y/N didn’t remember anything at all. Her genuinely puzzled expression left Minho feeling conflicted, uncertain of how to process the situation. 

He couldn’t help but wonder if he should be relieved that she couldn’t remember, sparing her from embarrassment. Yet, another part of him wondered if he should have felt worried that she did something like that? What if it had been someone else?

Or maybe he should’ve been mad that he had to be the only one who knows what happened between them? 

But ultimately, Minho did not want to confront it.

Instead he lied. Nothing stupid had happened.

Minho brushed off the incident as a drunken mistake, burying it deep within and keeping it hidden from everyone. Even her.

But then his mind wandered beyond his control, bringing up questions he never anticipated.

What did Y/N mean when she included him in the list of guys who hurt her?

Did she truly want to marry him back then? 

Why did she kiss him? 

The detective wracked his brains. The unanswered questions gnawed at Minho’s thoughts like an unsolved case. It replayed in his mind, each detail scrutinized for clues. Surely, part of her had to be aware she was kissing him and not someone else.

Her words, “You are a good guy,” echoed in his mind.

His eyes tracked her movements with a new intensity, questions at the tip of his tongue but never said aloud.

That’s probably how it started.

A slow time-lapse of his resolve breaking down, a gradual shift in his perception of her, something that seemed to have easily slipped under his radar.

He found himself looking for her, his eyes wandering until they landed on her. Each time he saw her, his mind replayed the moment. The soft of her lips, plush against his, the warmth of her smile afterward, and the sheepish glance she had given him before succumbing to unconsciousness.

He had smacked himself, shuddering for even remembering such details. Despite his efforts to push aside those memories, they persisted stubbornly, haunting him.

Then he woke up one night, stunned. Eyes darted from one end of his room to the other, his chest heaved with each panicked breath. 

He had dreamt of her.  

He had dreamt of kissing her. 

And he had liked every second of it.

The sensation was so vivid, so real, that it lingered even in the darkness of his bedroom.

It doesn’t take much for a woman to get a man to notice her, even if it’s just from a drunken encounter.

Minho wrestled with himself, debating whether he should have just told her the truth when she asked the next day if she had done anything foolish. 

But it was too late he concluded. He had already lied.

Instead, he made himself busy.

The new detective was commended for taking on so many new cases. To the outside world, he appeared focused and driven, but deep down, only Minho knew the real reason behind his relentless workload. It was his defense against thoughts of Y/N.

Against the memories of that kiss, the confusing emotions that followed, and the vivid dreams.

And for a while, his strategy seemed to work. He managed to avoid seeing Y/N frequently, although he had little energy left for socializing with anyone else at all.

Minho was becoming a fool, falling hopelessly in love.

There was a particular instance when she dropped by unexpectedly with coffee, and his new teammates couldn’t resist teasing him about whether she was his girlfriend. His response was unexpectedly sharp and loud, heavy with denial. 

   “Of course not! Never!” 

It made her flinch, visibly taken aback.

   “Geez, you don’t have to deny it that eagerly.” She retorted, rolling her eyes at him before turning to his team and introducing herself with a lighthearted smile.

If only she had known how much of his thoughts she had taken up. 

Minho tried to convince himself out of those forbidden feelings til the very end.

But then he found himself smiling at her while she did something she always does. In that fleeting instance, he found her utterly endearing, cute even.

The realization hit him like a sudden wave, his smile fading as he stood frozen, eyes cast downward. It was as if his heart had sent a clear message to his entire being.

 Accept it, you like her.

Everyone always talks about the five stages of grief, but what about the stages of secretly crushing on your best friend’s sister?

Then came anger.

His emotions finally boiled over one day when Y/N visited him unexpectedly on New Year’s Eve, insisting that he take a break from his relentless work schedule and join their celebrations. His outburst wasn’t just about her interrupting him, he knew it stemmed from the frustration and confusion he felt about his growing feelings for her. The emotions he shouldn’t have even felt to begin with.

Why was he the only one tormented by that damn kiss?

Why was he the only one dreaming of doing things to her that made him shudder just thinking about?

Was it even fair to blame her?

These questions gnawed at him, stirring up a storm of conflicting emotions that he struggled to contain.

In a moment of raw vulnerability, he lashed out, slamming his hands against her and the wall,  unintentionally caging her between them. Y/N was stunned at his outburst, confused as to why he acted that way, worried even. Her concerned eyes darted between his shining gaze.

   “I’m not supposed to feel like this.” It was a panicked mutter to himself.

The intensity of his emotions surprised him, and he quickly recoiled, realizing his eyes had lingered on her lips. 

Afraid that he’d be the one to kiss her this time. Fully sober. 

He pulled back abruptly, his fear palpable. The thought of doing something and crossing a line that he had been desperately trying to avoid, terrified him.

Y/N thought Minho’s outburst was because of stress from work, concerned that he was dealing with a particularly challenging or disturbing case.

She misunderstood. And he let her misunderstand. 

Then he disappeared. 

Well, attempted to disappear. Believing that some time away would help him sort out his feelings and make them fade, much like Y/N’s apparent teenage crush on him. 

He was confident at one point that he would be able to overcome whatever disease he believed it to be. If he believed hard enough that he would convince himself that it wasn’t so.

But the dreams.

The damn dreams that often woke him up in the middle of the night, sweaty, ears and cheeks red and flushed, the painful tent in his pants. All make him groan, rubbing his face in his palms.

He had transferred to another city for a year to get away from the source that made him feel those emotions he’s never felt before, but once there and away from her, he did nothing but pine for her. 

Alone in a city over, Minho had constantly prayed for those forbidden feelings to fade as quickly as they surfaced. But after crying to himself countless nights, feeling overwhelmed by the turmoil within him, the tug at his chest whenever he thought about her, the detective’s prayers changed.

He prayed she would be his.

That’s how this game of pretend began. 

After returning back, Minho slipped back into his routine. As if the year apart hadn’t stirred and set his feelings for Y/N in stone. As if he hadn’t been pushed over the edge. Pretending that he hadn’t fully accepted the fact that he was probably in love with her.

He smiled and laughed as he always did. Changbin and him would hang out, catching up on everything he’s missed over the last year. He lied he had been well, that the city he was working in kept him so busy he didn’t have time to think.

Of course his thoughts were full of his best friend’s sister, but the detective would never admit that.

Throughout this charade, Minho often found himself searching for Y/N in crowded rooms or during quiet moments. In hopes he could simply observe her and take in his fill of her for the day.

Then one day, when he asked about her, Changbin casually mentioned that she was on a date with her boyfriend. Unlike the fleeting relationships Y/N had described before, this one seemed different.

This one stayed.

This one was a good man. ──────────────────────── Y/N had known almost instantly that she saw him as something more than just a brother figure. From the moment she met Minho, she teased him. A familiar sense of comfort lay over her whenever she was with him. At fourteen she didn’t know what that feeling was, concluding it was because he was someone she looked up to in some sense, much like she did with her own brother.

But when she began maturing, going from a fourteen-year-old who was busy fangirling over her favorite boy band, her eyes began opening up to the beautiful chapter of teenage love.

It started out as a crush. Her heart raced at the sight of her brother’s best friend, her cheeks flushed whenever Minho spoke to her. At seventeen, she convinced herself it was love, it had to be love. So when she realized that she would never be able to cross that line and get out of his blatant sister-zone, she was heartbroken. He was, after all, her first love.

First loves, however, often end up as stories scribbled in diaries or reminisced about in old age. The chapter of secretly loving Lee Minho closed by her college years. Or so she thought, because exactly on her twenty-second birthday she had kissed him. But the only problem was that the memory of it was all fuzzy.

If only Minho hadn’t abruptly chosen to leave and transfer, perhaps things would have unfolded differently. But that all remained unknown, probably in another storyline, another universe.

Y/N had a knack for falling for the wrong type of guys, the ones who effortlessly wielded charm and knew the right words to say.

A magnet for heartbreak, her friends would tease.

But everything changed when she met Han Jisung.

Han Jisung, a good man. 

Their paths crossed at the cosmetics company where Jisung was in finances while Y/N worked in the marketing department. Initially, they didn’t cross paths, beyond sharing the same workplace. However, when Y/N’s team leader, responsible for a critical product launch, went into early labor, she was suddenly thrust into the role of temporary team leader. Finding herself collaborating with the finance department frequently.

Their relationship unfolded like a classic enemies-to-lovers tale. The ambitious temporary team leader, determined to ensure a flawless campaign, clashed with the detail-oriented man who managed budgets and processes. Despite the initial dislike, they found themselves drawn to each other, their feelings blossoming into a deep romance.

A year had passed since Minho left, a year of change. Suddenly, when Minho decided it was time to confront his feelings he had a painful realization.

It would remain a dream, a reality that that was unreachable and impossible. 

Minho felt his heart race, cheeks flushed with a mixture of emotions he surprisingly managed to mask. Extending his hand, his smile concealed the turmoil within him, meeting Jisung’s steady gaze.

   “Nice to meet you. I’m Han Jisung, Y/N’s boyfriend.”

Glancing at Y/N, Minho caught the nervous anticipation in her eyes, a silent plea for his acceptance. He realized how much his opinion mattered to her, how dear he was to her. Though not in the way he yearned for. Her eyes sparkled with admiration as she looked at Jisung, a gleam of affection shining through.

Returning the handshake, Minho nodded graciously, his voice smooth, even though he tasted bitterness with every word.

   “Nice to meet you too.” He smiled, lying straight through his teeth.

Her brother’s best friend found himself hoping this new man was just another in the string of disappointments Y/N met. Like every other asshole she thought made her feel special. Minho wished she would discover him cheating, or catch him stealing from her. Anything that would rid him from her.

He wished she would cry because of this other man.

How selfish of him.

But he couldn’t help it. 

Like he couldn’t help loving her no matter how much distance he put between them.

His yearning for her so painful that sometimes he found himself clutching at his chest. Sometimes crying in the solitude of his bedroom.

Minho had never thought he would love secretly.

No, an unrequited love story was something he had never imagined for himself. Especially with his best friend’s little sister.

Lee Minho was an attractive man. He had dated his fair share of women, was successful as a detective with a good income. It was obvious he’d be able to protect his woman. And no matter how much of a cold front he put up in public, he could love his woman madly.

He would love his woman madly, doing exactly that, with his walls of pretend built up so high no one was able to catch even a glimpse of it.

Except he didn’t think when he tucked that photo into his favorite book.

A captured moment of Y/N’s radiant smile, standing beside him with a bouquet of flowers held between them. He was sharply dressed in his police uniform, a proud symbol of his graduation from the academy. It was the photo that brought him solace during his time away. The one he couldn’t help but stare at every time he missed her that year he was away.

He was a cop, yet he had done a terrible job of hiding the picture.

So when he was caught, he was utterly surprised. His eyes widened as he froze at the entrance of his bedroom door, seeing his best friend holding up the photo in his hand, the open book it had been in, flat against the desk.

Changbin glanced at him, his furrowed brows relaxing, and in an instant, the detective understood exactly what that look meant.

Realization.

Changbin wasn’t the brightest in the box growing up, yet he was sharp enough to become an accountant at a very big company.

Only a handful of minutes ago, the accountant’s ocd got the best of him as he stared at the clutter on Minho’s desk. He rifled through to somewhat organize, instantly his eyes caught sight of a familiar paperback novel. Its spine bent at a particular page, the book hovered open slightly. Changbin had opened it, eyes immediately seeing the photo, fingers automatically picking it up. At first he smiled, thinking back to the day it was taken. He was probably the one who took it. He glanced down at the half open novel, eyes narrowing, wondering why the photo was in there in the first place. His free hand flipped through the pages to see if there were other photos in there from that day, or even of Minho’s other friends.

But there wasn’t.

So the best friend stared intently at the photo of his sister and Minho. At the creases at the corner, clearly there from constant holding. And then his mind went back to that one time right after Minho’s return. The night the two of them drank by the river. 

Changbin had asked if Minho wanted to be set up on a date. Some of his female colleagues were constantly asking him if he had any single friends, so he thought of Minho. Weirdly, the detective was single even with that handsome face. Weirdly, he chose to be single. For a long time. 

Changbin had poured some liquor into his glass, asking why he didn’t want to go on a blind date. Minho smiled and leaned back into his seat. 

   “I have someone I like.”

His alcohol induced confession, surprised his best friend, who blinked back a couple times, leaning in. With both elbows on the table, his brows raised.

   “When? Who—Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Minho let out a faint chuckle.

   “She doesn’t know.”

Changbin frowned. There was a clear look of confusion in his eyes.

   “Why? Are you not going to tell her—ah, dummy what are you waiting for?” His mind racked, awaiting for a valid excuse.

   “She has a boyfriend. She’s happy.” It was evident that the smile on Minho’s face was a sad one, eyes staring at the bottle of alcohol set in the center. 

Changbin silently sighed, quickly catching on. This was something he wasn’t able to help out with. Instead he cleared his throat, waving it off, attempting to quickly changing the topic. 

   “Wait—just tell me. Is she someone I know?”

Minho looked up. He blinked at the man across from him, before he sat up in his chair. Slowly he shook his head and he smiled. 

   “No.”

Even if it was for a second. He hesitated.

Of course once sober, Minho had cursed himself for confessing such a thing to his best friend. But neither of them had ever brought it up.

Until now.

Maybe a part of him wanted to get caught. Maybe he wanted someone to uncover this harbored secret and rid him of some of his suffering.

   “She has a boyfriend. She’s happy… It was Y/N?”

Changbin’s voice broke the tense silence that hung heavily between them, his tone a mix of disbelief and shock.

With a resigned nod, Minho finally acknowledged the truth. There was no use in denying it anymore. Changbin had already pieced it together.

The two men fell silent, the room almost seemed as if it froze in time. Minho kept his eyes fixed on the ground, the weight of his unrequited love heavier than ever in that moment, while the best friend grappled with Minho’s hidden feelings out in the open.

Changbin, usually quick-witted, was unsure how to react. He suddenly wrestled with conflicting emotions. He wasn’t exactly thrilled that his best friend had romantic feelings for his sister, but at the same time he couldn’t bring himself to be angry either.

Should he feel betrayed? Upset or curious?

Should he ask “since when?” 

Questions swirled in Changbin’s mind, yet he didn’t ask any of them. Instead a wave of sympathy washed over him and he stared at his silent friend with concern. Aware that Y/N was the woman who didn’t know, the one that had a boyfriend.

The one that was happy. 

His friend was simply a fool, hopelessly in love.

Finally breaking the silence, Changbin suggested quietly, “Let’s get a drink.”

Minho looked up, surprise flickering across his features at the unexpected invitation. Changbin turned away from him, returning the photo to its place between the book’s pages. With deliberate movements, he placed the closed book back to the place he found it. After his best friend had learned of Minho’s well kept secret, the detective hoped a weight would lift from his shoulders, that he would no longer need to wear a constant mask of smiles. Yet, he found himself more conflicted than ever.

Y/N had gushed about her boyfriend. The one that made her laugh, beam with joy.

The one that made her happy.

The detective would nod along as she told him about something funny her boyfriend did, as if his knuckles hadn’t grown white from the extremely tight ball of his fists he made. He would reach over with a smile and ruffle her hair. Pretending that he wasn’t just thinking about enveloping her pretty lips in his so he didn’t need to hear her talk about another man.

But instead he sighed.

   “Enough.” He murmured softly, his eyes were dark with emotions she couldn’t quite grasp.

He turned away, attempting to busy himself, while she pouted, unaware of the turmoil within him. 

And just like that another season had passed. Her brother’s best friend continued to bury his secret deep inside.

────────────────────────

The summer air hung heavy as Minho clicked away at his desk, ignoring his team’s complaints about the heat. It was only before leaving that he was summoned to an emergency meeting about a suspect.

Minho was assigned to apprehend the man. But suddenly the youngest detective on the team found himself in the middle of a chase. And although Minho and his partner had eventually managed to tackle the suspect to the ground, the young detective groaned after the heated altercation they had. The sudden scuffle that had ensued before he managed to pin the suspect to the ground, hands cuffed behind the flailing and cursing man’s back.

   “You’re bleeding.” His partner pointed out, concern etched in his eyes as he gestured to Minho’s forehead.

   “Huh?” Minho touched the stinging wound, feeling the wetness of blood on his fingertips. He shrugged saying it was nothing.

   “You sure you’re okay?”

The detective shakes it off as he nodded.

   “I’m good.”

Except he wasn’t, and his legs buckled under him, his vision grew hazy as he fell to the ground.

Y/N smoothed her lipstick, preparing for a date she had spent too long getting ready for. Sighing at the mess around her she mentally groaned. A problem future Y/N would have to deal with, she concluded.

As she stepped outside, her phone buzzed with Changbin’s name. The younger sister narrowed her eyes wondering what he wanted. He was at a conference in the next town over, surely there wasn’t anything he would have needed her for. But immediately after picking up she was taken aback by her brother’s urgent voice.

   “Where are you!” 

   “I’m on my way out. Why?” Locking the door, she started walking out.

   “Get to the hospital now! Minho is hurt.” 

Her brother’s words made her falter, eyes staring into the night.

   “H-Hospital?” She repeated in a shout, looking around to halt a taxi.

   “Yeah, he got hurt on duty. They called me as his emergency contact.” Changbin’s voice is laced with worry.

Y/N begins to freak out, thoughts conjuring up the worst scenarios. With fear and worry coursing through her, she managed to hail a taxi. Her heart raced as the cab sped through the night. When she arrived breathlessly, she began running through the hospital corridors until she found the front desk.

   “L-Lee Minho. Where is he?” 

It isn’t until she’s drawing the curtains back to reveal a wide awake Minho, that she almost melts with her sigh of relief. He’s sitting on the hospital bed with his feet on the ground, a look of annoyance etched across his face. But upon seeing her sudden figure staring at him with concern, he’s stunned.

He had swore he was okay, the nurses had said he only had a concussion, yet they wouldn’t allow him to leave on his own. He insisted he was fine, that he’s been hurt even worse before, that it was nothing. But still, they didn’t sign off on his discharge. His teammates were too busy with the suspect, his emergency contacts either not picking up or out of town. He had fully expected to spend the night here, or at least be kept here until they thought he was fine to leave on his own. But seeing Y/N’s distraught form sliding into the open chair as she caught her breath, almost had his own breath hitch.

   “What are you doing here?” He finally asked, puzzled.

Glaring at him, Y/N finally stood and approached, eyes scanning his injuries. There was a wound on his forehead covered by the dressing of bandages, a red gash on his jaw, blood on his shirt and bandaids on his forearm. Clear signs of a scuffle he didn’t want her to know about. He stiffened under her hot gaze, his next words stuck in his throat.

   “I heard you were fighting the nurses to leave. How can a grown man not listen to the professionals?” Her voice is stern.

   “I’m fin—”

   “No you’re not.” She cuts him off.

Her finger pushed back the hair that fell over his bandaged forehead, trying to take a closer look. He grips at the sheet of the bed, sucking in a breath.

   “Does it hurt?” Worry tinged in her words.

Minho can’t help but break into a smile at the softness of her tone, as if seconds ago she wasn’t scolding him. He brushed away her hand.

   “It doesn’t anymore. I’m actually more embarrassed that I passed out on the streets.” He laughed, trying to dismiss her concern.

   “I’m fine, I promise.” He stated, as he looked back up at her.

But, once again, he stumbles as he takes a stand. This time she caught him, grabbing his torso to steady him before shooting him another glare.

   “Just a little light-headed.” He grinned sheepishly, slowly allowing her to throw his arm around her shoulder for support.

Minho felt exhaustion wash over him as they settled into the back seat of the cab. Despite waking up in the hospital bed not too long ago, he now felt the urge to sleep again. His head swayed momentarily before he leaned against Y/N’s shoulder.

Just for now. He told himself, his eyes closing.

Y/N glanced down at him, though his eyes were closed, he was still awake, his slightly furrowed brows revealing his discomfort. She swallowed, wondering whose heart was beating so fast, hers or his?

Helping him back to his apartment was easier than she expected. Inside, she gently settled him on the couch and placed her belongings on the coffee table.

   “I’m fine now. You can head back.” Minho insisted, noticing her taking off her jacket and rolling up her sleeves.

Ignoring his protests, she proceeded with her plan. Through tired eyes, the older man watched as she moved effortlessly around his apartment, reheating a pot of soup on the stove before bringing him a glass of water, which he gulped down quickly. And then she’s swiftly taking it back. The injured man observed her from his spot, soft gaze taking in the sight of her doing something so simple, yet his heart clenched. His watching gaze is interrupted by the soft vibrating sound of her phone. His eyes flickered to the device on the coffee table, his throat suddenly feeling dry as her boyfriend’s name flashed across the screen with another missed call.

The boyfriend she had forgotten all about.

Once again, Minho tried to convince her to leave, but she persisted. She helped him out of his jacket, placing it neatly on a nearby chair, then handed him an ice pack wrapped in a towel for his bruising jaw. 

   “Press.” She instructed firmly, and he complied.

A comfortable silence settled between them. And sometime after he felt his eyelids getting heavy.

Minho wasn’t sure when he had drifted off to sleep again, but when he woke up in the early hours of the morning, he was still dressed in last night’s clothes, feeling his head still ache faintly. The coffee table was clean of last night’s contents, her belongings, the bowl of soup, and the make-shift ice pack were gone. Just like she was.

Heading to the kitchen for another glass of water, his eyes caught sight of a note on the fridge.

Medicine on the counter. Bin should be visiting this afternoon. Take it easy and DO NOT WORK!

He couldn’t help but smile at the familiar messy handwriting, sticking the note back onto the fridge before pouring himself a glass of water.

Han Jisung had come to realize, sometime into their relationship, that Y/N’s eyes didn’t light up for him the way they did when she spoke about Minho.

Initially, he thought Minho was just a brotherly figure to her, but he started noticing subtle gestures. The way the so-called brother figure would hold his hand over the corner of a table when she bent down to pick up whatever she dropped. The way his gaze would follow her across the room, full of emotions he would mask as quick as they emerged, were far from brotherly.

She blew off their date. And this wasn’t the first time. 

Jisung wanted to ask her to move in with him last night, to replace the small corner of her heart where Minho unknowingly seemed to reside, with himself. He wanted to end this one-sided battle with the detective. But she had stood him up.

She was sitting across from him, yet her mind was on Minho, glancing back at her phone to see if the injured detective had gotten up, had read her messages. Any word from him that would’ve calmed her mind.

There was always a reasonable excuse. Just like this excuse she gave him. Minho was injured, and there wasn’t anyone else to help besides herself. She apologized profusely. But her boyfriend couldn’t shake the memory of his unanswered calls, and then the message she sent after finally leaving Minho’s place at dawn. He thought back to the lingering gazes his girlfriend had.

   “You love him.” Jisung finally said, the conclusion painfully obvious to him.

It was such an easy connection to make, yet she stared back at him slightly taken aback by the directness of his statement.

He watched as her expression contorted to a frown.

   “What are you talking about?” Y/N’s fingers tug at his arm across the table.

He sighed, dropping his head briefly before meeting her eyes, holding back the words he wanted to say. Instead, he withdrew his arm.

   “You love Detective Lee. Your brother’s best friend.” 

The accusation seemed absurd to her, and her brows furrowed into a deeper frown. How could she love Minho.

How could she still love Minho?

There was no way. She cared for him, certainly… but love? However, when she tried to speak, the words of refusal didn’t come out. The denial she wanted to voice remained stuck on her tongue.

She couldn’t say anything against it. And her eyes widened in realization.

The boyfriend watched as the truth dawned on her, the emotions she thought she had locked up and thrown away the key to long ago, flooding her. Shock and a lingering fearfulness filled her gaze.

Jisung attempted to smile, but of course he couldn’t bring himself to be happy, he’d be crazy if he did. He gently grasps her hands, guiding her out of her thoughts, noticing the tears that had welled up unknowingly, shimmering under the lights.

   “No. I-I don’t. Jisung-I…” Y/N attempted to deny it, to shake off this unsettling feeling, but she failed.

She couldn’t even lie.

   “It’s okay.” He muttered gently.

Jisung didn’t expect to have gotten in the way of something that ran so deep, even though she herself wasn’t aware of it. He felt quite foolish, but surprisingly he didn’t regret it, falling for Y/N.

And another beautiful chapter of her life had ended just like that. ──────────────────────── Changbin watched his sister sigh once again, her fingers absently stirring the creamer into her coffee. Her mind seemed far away, lost in her thoughts.

Y/N had been like this for most of the past couple of weeks, though it wasn’t until recently that Changbin, usually not very observant, began to take notice. Their mother would ask her a question, snapping her out of her worries momentarily, her frown smoothing into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

The older brother sensed that something was amiss with her. Her behavior had been unusual, especially when it came to her boyfriend. Whenever he tried to ask probing questions, she deflected or shut down the conversation entirely. He couldn’t shake the feeling that her boyfriend was somehow involved. Changbin convinced himself that the asshole had done something.

His suspicions were confirmed a month later when Changbin spotted Jisung out with another person, clearly on a date. Normally composed, Changbin found himself reacting in a way that he probably shouldn’t have, resulting in a trip to the police station.

Sure, the brother was the type to use his fists first, and his typically level-headed best friend wasn’t there to restrain him either. But Minho did not see Y/N’s boyfriend leaning over to press a small kiss onto whoever he was with. The confrontation left both Changbin and Jisung bruised and battered. 

So there Seo Changbin sat, surrounded by an officer, who glanced back and forth between him and the other man, both marked with bruises and cuts from their altercation. At one point, Changbin had even been on the other side of those bars, though Jisung had steadfastly refused to press any charges. 

Minho practically sprinted up the stairs, alerted by a call from an officer who recognized Changbin as his best friend. When he arrived at the holding area, Minho took in the scene before him with a sharp inhale, surprised by what he saw. But before he could even begin to ask what the hell had happened, Y/N’s voice cut through the tension.

   “What did you do?” Her voice crackled with anger as she strode towards the now group of four men. 

Changbin sighed inwardly, shooting a glare at Jisung. He was certain Jisung had been the one to call her.

   “You didn’t tell them?” Jisung raised an eyebrow, a red bruise marring his cheek, causing Y/N to grimace in a mix of guilt and embarrassment.

   “I didn’t. I’m sorry.” She shook her head apologetically.

Changbin frowned deeply, casting a bewildered look between the two of them.

   “You two actually broke up?!” His exclamation made Minho clench his fists at his sides, his eyes widening even more as another piece of the puzzle fell into place.

The ex boyfriend had admitted to the breakup when Changbin had grabbed his collar earlier, but at the time, Changbin hadn’t believed him. “Cheating bastards will say anything to make excuses”, he had spat out then.

Now, though, the older brother found himself grappling with the reality of it all, followed by a heavy dose of embarrassment.

The officer finally cleared his throat, directing a pointed look at the detective, bringing Minho out of his thoughts.

   “This appears to be a personal matter. Since Mr. Han has decided not to press charges, I suggest you resolve this among yourselves.” The officer sighed, returning to the paperwork that awaited him.

   “Thank you, Officer Kim.” Minho finally spoke up, nodding gratefully at his colleague, who responded with a thumbs-up before refocusing on his duties.

For the past three months, Y/N had wrestled with her thoughts. In the solitude of her bedroom, she would give herself a pep talk. Each night, she lay beneath her sheets, urging herself to muster the courage to confess to Minho. Yet, every morning, as the sun rose, she found herself backing away, consumed by doubt.

It was an endless cycle that would’ve continued if she hadn’t received the stressful call from Jisung, the ex boyfriend sighing into the phone as he informed her of what had happened. There was only one reason she hadn’t disclosed the breakup to her brother or his best friend.

It was pretty obvious, she had no excuse.

Jisung was a good guy. He was always going to be a good guy. Even the way he broke up with her was the coolest way she had ever heard.

What would she say when Changbin inevitably asked about their split?

She feared she might confess everything. Her emotions, her thoughts, her lingering gazes, everything that tied back to Lee Minho, his best friend.

So she hid it, hoping to pass it off as lovers drifting apart or becoming too busy for each other. But as she watched her swollen-lipped brother and bruising ex boyfriend exit the station, regret washed over her. She realized she should have come clean sooner. At least to her older brother who had always been protective of her in his own way.

The weight of it all suddenly felt heavier than ever before.

Changbin might have been one to always jump to conclusions before hearing any side of any story, but he wasn’t shameless to not accept his mistakes. He bowed his head in apology, guilt plain on his face as he surveyed Jisung’s injuries. Jisung, the good guy, smiled reassuringly, shaking his head as he comforted the older brother.

   “It was all a misunderstanding, don’t worry about it.”

Minho remained silent, catching the meaningful glance Jisung shot his way before bidding farewell.

The three of them sat in tense silence in Minho’s car, heading towards the detective’s place where they knew Changbin could find refuge because they knew his mother would have a heart attack if he went home looking like that. Once inside, Changbin wasted no time, directing an accusatory glare at his sister.

   “We need to talk!” His voice was strained with anger, his words cutting through the quiet.

Changbin headed inside, pacing restlessly in Minho’s bedroom, trying to calm his nerves.

Minho tugged at Y/N’s hand, halting her before she could follow behind. 

   “Are you sure everything is okay?” His voice was gentle, eyes filled with concern.

She fought the urge to not jump into his embrace, as she slowly shook off his gentle grip, nodding.

   “Everything is okay. He was just trying to protect me. I understand why he’s upset.” Y/N nodded again, mustering a reassuring smile before retreating into the bedroom, the door closing softly behind her.

Changbin’s questions came immediately, causing Y/N to unintentionally flinch as she leaned against the door.

   “When did you break up?” His tone was urgent, probing.

   “No, why did you break up? I thought you really liked him?” The questions poured out in a torrent, exactly as she had anticipated since arriving at Minho’s apartment.

Y/N felt her nerves intensify, her lips trembling slightly as she prepared to answer. It felt like all the emotions she had bottled up were now on the brink of spilling out, her brother’s steady gaze bearing down on her.

   “We broke up three months ago.” She whispered, her voice barely audible.

She watched as Changbin took a deep breath, his expression tightening as he processed her words. She felt overwhelmed, the heavy feeling from earlier washing over her with more intensity.

The brother had been about to barrage her with more questions, but the sight of tears streaming down Y/N’s face left him speechless and bewildered. Panic surged through him as he rushed to her side, unsure of how to comfort her, his eyes darting around in confusion and worry.

   “W-why are you crying?” He didn’t know what to do, his voice quivered with concern as he gently reached out towards her.

She wasn’t entirely sure why the tears were flowing so freely either. But deep down, she knew her heart was in turmoil. She could feel her heart clenching, the alternate paths she had taken to forget Lee Minho had ultimately led her in a circle, back to him. Her brother’s best friend, unaware in the other room, stood oblivious to her feelings.

The words poured out with ease, much to her surprise.

   “I just love Lee Minho so much.” Y/N’s voice squeaked out between sobs, her palms pressed against her eyes in a futile attempt to stop the downpour of tears.

Changbin froze, his hands dropping limply to his sides as he struggled to process what he had just heard.

She wasn’t talking about his best friend Lee Minho right?

He blinked, processing her words.

   “W-what?” His voice came out in a calm yet incredulous tone, his eyes blinking in disbelief as he locked gazes with his sister’s pained expression.

   “I’ve always loved him. I-I was just too scared to admit it.” Y/N confessed, her voice wavering with emotion.

Dumbfounded didn’t even begin to describe how Changbin felt at that moment. Shocked and stunned, he stood rooted to the spot, unable to comprehend whatever was happening right now.

His sister loved his best friend. 

His best friend loved his sister.

Were these two playing a game he wasn’t aware of? 

For some reason the brother felt anger bubbling within him.

He had been patient enough.

But after taking a beating from his sister’s apparent ex boyfriend, who was trying to defend himself, and then staring at his best friend flash sad smiles ever since he found out about his one-sided love, Changbin had finally lost it.

   “You two are going to drive me fucking insane.” His muttered words shattered the uneasy silence that had settled in the room.

Frustrated and visibly upset, Changbin flung open the bedroom door and strode into the living room where Minho sat. The detective stood up immediately, concern etched on his face as he noticed Y/N trailing behind her brother, her confused eyes, red and teary.

   “What happened?” Minho’s voice was laced with worry as he glanced between the siblings, searching for answers.

Changbin’s frustration boiled over. He scoffed before he shot a pointed glare first at his sister, then at his best friend

Though right now, that title was very close to being revoked.

   “You!” Changbin snapped, jabbing his finger accusingly at Minho, who blinked, startled.

   “Tell her everything, or I swear to god I’ll end up in jail again.” 

He turned swiftly to face his stunned sister.

   “If you don’t tell him today I’m gonna shave your head.” He threatened, his frustrated anger, palpable.

Minho and Y/N watched in surprised astonishment as Changbin grabbed his jacket he had thrown on the stool upon their arrival and stomped towards the door.

   “But your face—” Minho began.

   “I’ll live!” Changbin yelled back over his shoulder.

The door slammed shut with a resounding echo, the automatic lock beeping a few moments later. In the sudden aftermath of Changbin’s outburst, Minho and Y/N stood frozen, trying to process what had just happened.

After a long, tense silence, Minho studied Y/N’s tear-streaked face, his mind racing with questions. What had her brother said to upset her so much? Or was it about Jisung? The mere thought of her ex boyfriend tightened his jaw with unresolved emotions.

   “Why did you break up with him?” Minho finally broke the silence, his voice gentle yet probing, his gaze soft as he waited for her answer.

Another few seconds of silence after, Y/N seemed to finally find her voice.

   “I-I don’t love him.” She whispered, the admission slipping out easier now that she had opened up to Changbin.

She watched as his brows relaxed, taking in her words. Minho felt a wave of relief wash over him, her words sinking in, but his brows furrowed slightly again as he processed this new revelation.

   “Since when?” He took a step closer.

   “Since I realized a few months ago.” She confessed, a small sniffle escaping before she wiped away the remaining tears that had mostly dried on her cheeks.

Minho took another step forward, now only an arm’s reach away from her.

   “Why didn’t you tell anyone? Why did Changbin have to end up at the police station before he found out?”

His questions mirrored those her brother had asked. But how could she explain it to him? She couldn’t say that she was a fool, hopelessly in love with him. Even though she had practically admitted as much back in the room to Changbin.

She was terrified. Afraid that once she acknowledged the feelings that she had tried to suppress for so long, she would end up in the same place she was all those years ago.

She did end up in the same place, loving her brother’s best friend.

   “I was scared.” Y/N breathed out, her eyes darting nervously between Minho’s.

His gaze softened, his fingers reaching out to gently wipe away the tear stains on her skin, unaware of the goosebumps his touch gave her.

   “Scared of what?” His voice was barely a whisper now, his head tilting slightly as he searched her eyes.

Y/N felt his touch like a burning imprint on her skin, her heart racing so fast and hard that she was certain he could hear it.

She swallowed.

   “That I’d have to tell everyone about my feelings for you. About how infatuated I am with you.”

Silence enveloped them as Minho’s gaze widened slowly, his fingers freezing at her jaw before falling to his side. His expression was a mixture of surprise, and something deeper, unspoken emotions flickering in his eyes. He seemed to be processing her words, his mind racing with thoughts.

It wasn’t what he was thinking right?

Surely not.

He was imagining it, his crazy mind making up stuff, stretching and connecting her words into what he wanted to hear.

But Y/N’s heart sank as Minho stunned stare, his expression a mix of shock and confusion. His silence weighed heavily on her, confirming her worst fears.

She had gotten too bold.

Let her feelings slip too easily.

She let out a self-deprecating laugh, trying to mask her sadness. Unable to meet his gaze, she dropped her eyes to the ground.

Finally confessing her feelings, words she had carried since her teenage years, had only led to this moment of painful realization that she had expected, but wasn’t prepared for.

Of course he didn’t see her that way. He never had, and likely never would.

   “I know you don’t feel the same way. I know you’ll always see me as just—“

   “I love you.” His voice cut through her self-doubt and resignation, stopping her mid-sentence.

Y/N’s head snapped up, her eyes widening as she searched his face for any sign of deceit or misunderstanding. But Minho’s expression was sincere, his earnest gaze, unwavering.

This time, it was Y/N’s turn to feel at a loss for words, her eyes reflecting a mix of disbelief, excitement, and a touch of fear at Minho’s sudden confession.

His words hung in the air, sinking in slowly. Her heart raced so loud, so quickly, it scared her. 

Minho dropped his head slightly, the weight of his confession finally released into the open. There’s a sudden sense of relief that washed through him, making him break into a soft smile.

   “I love you Y/N. So damn much.” He repeated, his voice soft and sincere. A tinge desperate.

Her mouth parted in surprise, a silent gasp.

   “S-since when?” Y/N managed to ask, her voice barely above a whisper.

She hadn’t realized she had been holding her breath, the chaos of emotions swirling inside her, threatening to overwhelm her.

Minho took a final step forward, closing the distance between them until he was standing so close that his presence seemed to tower over her. Her back brushed against the wall, leaving them in an intimate space where the air between lingered with unspoken feelings.

   “I’m not sure. All I know is that you have always plagued my mind, driving me mad with thoughts of you and only you.”

Y/N’s heart raced as he spoke, her cheeks tingling with heat. The man she had just confessed to was now pouring his heart out in return, with words she had never expected to hear.

   “Minho…” Her voice was barely a whisper, but it caused Minho to shut his eyes tightly for a moment, overwhelmed by the delicate call of his name coming from her lips.

He leaned in, closing the gap between them until her figure was pressed flush against the wall.

This moment between them was something neither had ever dared to imagine, yet here they stood, their deepest feelings laid bare in the open.

It brought Minho back to the last time he had trapped her against this same wall. The last time he had almost kissed her but had pulled back, in denial. Out of the fear of crossing a line he believed was forbidden.

But in truth, Minho had been wandering in that forbidden territory for a long time, his feelings for Y/N gnawing away at him with each passing day.

He opened his eyes, locking onto hers with intensity, his hand reaching up to gently cup her cheek. The warmth of his touch sent another shiver through her, a fluttering feeling erupted in the pit of her stomach.

   “Do you know how crazy you’ve driven me?” Minho’s voice held a growl, his jaw tightening as he struggled to contain the emotions surging within him.

His intent gaze makes her stiffen, fully reminding her of the position they were in all over again. Her heart drummed against her chest.

   “How crazy you still drive me?” His tone softened to a whisper, eyes searching hers with a mix of tenderness and desperation.

Y/N felt her breath catch in her throat as she tried to decipher the emotions swirling in his gaze. The words he had spoken, her heart continuing to pound with anticipation. She wanted to hear more.

   “How?...” The response comes out automatically, a genuine curiosity laced in her words.

But her response to his rhetorical question faltered the intensity in his gaze. Minho chuckled softly, a brief, welcome break in the tense atmosphere that had enveloped them.

His head dipped momentarily before he lifted it again, his eyes darkening with a look that sent another shiver down Y/N’s spine. His fingers trailed down to gently grasp her hand at her side, daringly lifting them to his mouth and pressing a soft kiss against her fingers.

She stared in fascination almost, feeling the warmth of his lips against her skin, the touch erupting a searingly hot sensation that surged through her. She shuddered slightly, her throat drier than it already was as she struggled to find her voice amidst the whirlwind of emotions.

   “I dream of you every night. I have for god knows how long.” Minho’s confession hung in the air, Y/N stared with her mouth slightly agape, stunned all over again.

Every word he had uttered was making her feel warm and fuzzy. Curious, yet the want to pull him into her arms tugged at her.

He continued, his lips pressing another tender kiss, this time on the palm of her hand.

   “I’ve dreamt of holding you close.” His voice was a gentle murmur against her skin, filled with longing and sincerity.

Her heart raced erratically, its beats thundering in her ears amidst the silence of the room she was sure it was going to explode.

   “I’ve dreamt of kissing you.” Minho’s other hand grazed her cheek, his knuckles trailing down the soft skin before fingers settled on the point of her chin.

He lifted her head gently, his touch searing and intimate. Y/N’s arms were littered with goosebumps, her eyes fluttered closed briefly to calm herself, then opened to meet his intense gaze.

   “I prayed you could be mine.”

She swallowed hard, her eyes dropping momentarily to his lips before meeting his eyes once more. 

Y/N can hear the thread snapping. His heartfelt words both biting and heart wrenching, has her peeling herself off the wall, closing the gap between them to finally, finally press her lips against his.

For a split second, Minho stiffened, just like he had done the first time she had kissed him years back.

But this time his eyes fluttered close, lips instantly parted to kiss her deeper. Returning it with a desperation he had suppressed for far too long. His arms encircle her, pulling her into him as if he’s afraid she would disappear if he let go. 

The kiss was full of desire, a feverishly hot kiss that has them melting into each other’s mouths. The sounds of sucking are loud in the air, tongues swirling, exploring, was breathtaking almost. And when they finally part, they’re panting for air.

Minho doesn’t let her go. His eyes remained closed, afraid that this moment was just another figment of his imagination. That he was going to wake up in his bed and mourn this fleeting dream. 

But it wasn’t a dream.

Y/N pressed her forehead against his, their breaths mingling in the intimate space between them.

   “This was a better kiss than the last one.” She stated quietly after a long silence.

Minho’s eyes shot open, his heart skipping a beat at her words.

Shock, surprise, and finally, a profound realization washed over him.

She had never forgotten that night.

The night of her birthday. 

The night she had impulsively kissed him because that voice in her head told her to do so. The voice that belonged to a part of her that still pined for her brother’s best friend.

The night he could never forget.

And apparently she hadn’t either.

He pulled back slightly, trying to find the right words to say. His words spluttered almost.

   “Y-you remember?” 

Her lips were still swollen and wet from their kiss, shining under the dim light of his apartment. She softened them into a gentle smile and nodded slowly.

   “When I had asked you the next day if I did anything stupid…” Her voice trailed off, and suddenly Minho was transported back to the day after her birthday. After his promotion ceremony when she had pulled him aside.

He had lied. Reassuring her that the only foolish thing she had done was accidentally slam into a trash can while he chased after her brother.

Minho had chosen to pretend it didn’t happen.

And Y/N had accepted his lie.

The detective in her arms was rendered speechless at this turn of events. How was he never able to tell that she pretended not to remember? That she had been pretending this whole time. He wished he could strangle himself from back then. There were a lot of things he wished he could redo.

Her gentle fingers grazed his skin, a soothing touch that brought him out of his thoughts.

And he decides it’s not important anymore.

Minho had spent so many years stuck in his thoughts, stuck yearning, pining, when right now all he should be focusing on is the woman he had been waiting forever for. His eyes returned to Y/N, drinking in the sight of her in his arms, waiting for him. He pulls her close again, head ducking in for another kiss.

   “Don’t forget about this one.” He whispered against her, his hot breath gently fanning against her parted lips.

Her hands crossed into a tangle behind his neck, a smile spreading across her face as she pulled him in closer.

   “I won’t.” 

And he’s kissing her again, almost slamming her against the wall. Yet there was also something gentle about his touch, fingers intertwined with hers as he lifted their arms over head, tangled hands pressed against the cold wall. Minho’s lips traced kisses down the expanse of her neck, wet, lingering, needy. The warmth of his body flush against hers, fingers groping at parts of her he only eyed shamelessly. Lips sucking softly at any part they come in contact with, elicited a whimper from her. A sound that makes Minho growl into the crook of her neck, repeating the suckles that had her make such a pretty noise.

   “S-show me.” She finally breathes sharply, “h-how crazy I drive you.”

In an instant Minho’s lips left her throat, pulling out to look into her hooded eyes, her fingers grasped at the collar of his shirt, a urgency in her actions.

Minho’s patience had long left the room. His eyes darken with an intensity that made her feel tingly.

In a swift motion the man that had been longing for this moment, lifted her off of her feet, hands gripping at her legs to tightly secure them around his waist, his lips met hers hungrily once again, taking their tangled bodies into his bedroom.

The same bed that Minho would wake up on, drenched in sweat after dreaming another painstakingly hot dream of the woman he could only describe as being madly in love with, was now filled with the scent of her. 

Their clothes have long been discarded, laying in a forgotten trail on his floor, at the foot of the bed, remnants thrown across the room in desperation.

He wanted to do things to her that he had only dreamt about, his deepest fantasies he had never thought would come true. He had conjured up scenarios, imaginations of her welcoming arms laying on his bed, but now he could stare with a fascination that made him inhale sharply. A real moment that his dreams could never compare to.

He had already etched her naked figure, in his brain, his thoughts, taking in the beautiful sight of her under him. Splotches of bites, trails of wet from his tongue and his kisses running down her body, was suddenly something he would never be able to live without, he concluded.

Fuck, he was a ruined man.

And finally when he feels her clenched around him, filling her enough to earn a sweet moan of his name, he could only melt into her.

Minho grunts into the air, his body working against hers in a soft rhythmic pace, forehead gleaming in sweat. A pull and slam that leaves her clinging to him, to his sheets. His fingers graze over her warm skin, lingering here, tracing there. Her whimpers are music to his ears, his name escaping her swollen lips in heightened whispers whenever he moves a certain way, already memorizing it, already diving in to swallow her moans.

   “Pleasepleaseplease” Her cries are full of desperation, a need for him to be closer, deeper.

Y/N’s fingers traced his tightened jaw, guiding him back to her lips, kissing the man that had always been her first love and probably the only man she would ever truly love. She never thought there would come a moment where Lee Minho was completely hers. That he would see her in such a light.

That he would make her feel him, his fingers, his lips, his tongue. Him.

He took his time with her. Testing, feeling, gauging what made her inhale sharply, what made her roll her eyes back as she was thrown off her edge. Everything made her squirm under him, ecstasy coursing through her. He made her see stars. The sight of his sweating and disheveled figure, kissing, nipping, grabbing at parts and places of her that make her moan and cry nothing but his name, had her writhe under his grinding figure with nothing but blissful pleasure. And finally when she came down from a high Minho drew out from her, when he dove into bury his face in her arms, she spoke out the words she had once attempted to bury.

   “I love you.” 

The confession came out in a low whisper, she was sure he hadn’t heard them, his mouth too busy latching onto the skin of her collarbone, creating more flourishes of red, that would darken to purple and blue. But his body stilled at her words, lifting his gaze up to meet hers. His eyes search hers, a glimmering shine in them. Tears that she could only look at with both astonishment and a fluttering emotion, made her stomach tingle. She wiped away the ones that pricked his eyes, threatening to fall, while Minho could only hold her hand to his lips, muffling his face into her palms, inhaling deeply before quickening his pace, his hips rocking against hers roughly, quickly. Filling her as much as he could before ultimately crashing his lips against hers.

   “I love you too.” 

There was a comfortable silence that settled in Minho’s bedroom. His fingers traced random patterns on the skin of her arms, making her giggle the few times he got too close to her armpit. The two of them broke into hushed laughter as she attempted to tickle him back.

   “I don’t always cry during sex, you know.” He finally voiced.

Y/N’s head shot up to meet his nonchalant expression, though his ears were bright red from embarrassment.

She broke into another low giggle, lifting herself out of his embrace to hover over him. Her fingers pushing away the strands of hair in his eyes.

   “That must’ve really been lingering on your mind this whole time huh?” She raised a brow, a teasing smile played on her lips.

The way her head cocks to a side cutely had Minho erupt into a hearty laughter Y/N hadn’t heard in a very long time. Reminding her just how much they had truly hidden during the years trying to forget one another.

She leaned in and kissed him, smiling into his slightly caught off-guard expression before pulling away.

   “Can you prove it then?”

This time he raised a brow, a challenge he would never turn down.

   “Come here.” 

He’s already tugging at her, making her crash into his embrace, his lips already finding hers easily. ────────────────────────

Changbin stared at his best friend and his sister, their fingers intertwined as they giggled and whispered into each other’s ears.

Usually, weekends were his time to relax and goof off with Minho, but now his best friend seemed to be in another world. He suddenly regretted leaving them unattended that evening.

Those idiots.

   “You know, usually in these kinds of scenarios I should be kicking your ass.” Changbin interrupted whatever intimate conversation they were having.

Minho blinked up at the third wheel, while Y/N scoffed at her brother’s remark, laughing as she gracefully exited the sofa and headed towards the dining table. Minho’s eyes followed her, but Changbin slapped his hand against the coffee table to get his friend’s attention.

   “You jerk. How can you date my little sister? Let’s fight right now.” Changbin’s tone was theatrical, almost like something out of a cartoon, but Minho sighed, not amused.

   “How many times do you want to end up behind bars?” Minho shot back.

The detective’s question shut him up, and Changbin muttered under his breath.

   “Dammit, I should’ve become a cop instead.”

The tension eased with a shared chuckle, and Minho shook his head fondly at his friend’s antics. They might tease each other, but deep down, they both knew that Minho would protect Y/N with his life.

And though Changbin had begrudgingly accepted it, he didn’t have a single worry.

It was clear the best friend could no longer laze around in Minho’s apartment. Though it was thanks to him that the two had finally poured out their feelings.

Minho’s place, which was often empty because of how much Minho stayed out due to the nature of his job, had turned into a love abode. The detective, who was rarely home before, began rushing out the door as soon as his shift ended, much to the surprise of his captain and teammates.

He’d often come back to find Y/N passed out on his couch or in his bed, exhausted after her own demanding day at work. Sometimes, he’d collapse into her arms with a blissful sigh, inhaling her sweet scent as they embraced.

He’d often come home and pin her against the wall, push her against the couch, into the bed, as his lips kissed her hungrily, hips drilling against hers. Fingers raking into each other’s hairs.

Minho could love his woman madly, and he was doing just that.

He was a fool, hopelessly in love. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ end.

[chososcamgirl]

(SHE’S) JUST A PHASE CHAPTER FOUR: holy waters

masterlist

“Give it up for Miss Ayesha Erotica, everyone!” Yn announced with infectious enthusiasm over the radio waves.

Miwa, sporting vibrant teal hair and an equally vibrant grin, followed up with theatrical flair, “God, I love emo boy!”

Yn shot her a smirk. “Well, I’m pretty sure that’s a sentiment we can all get behind, right?”

Miwa didn’t miss a beat, her excitement bubbling over as she declared, “No Yn, I really, really love emo boys!”, being sure to enunciate the s at the end.

Yn’s face contorts as a picture of Megumi flashes through her mind.“That makes one of us,” Yn quipped, “but I see your point.”

“Seriously, though,” Miwa said, barely containing her glee, “today is shaping up to be amazing!”

Yn arched an eyebrow skeptically. “Oh? Do tell.”

Miwa’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she revealed, “Because Tridant has graced us with 10 free tickets to their show this Saturday, and we’re giving them away!”

Yn’s face twisted into a mix of dread and disbelief, her jaw nearly hitting the studio floor. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered into the mic, trying to cover her panic with a forced grin. “Trident? You know I’d rather listen to nails on a chalkboard.”

Miwa’s eyes widened in playful astonishment. “Huh, since when did you become such a critic?”

Yn leaned over and mouthed, “Just roll with it.”

Miwa nodded, her grin widening. “I know, but that’s exactly why this is going to be hilarious. We’re going to make someone’s day—and maybe even get you to enjoy yourself.”

Yn groaned dramatically. “Alright, but if I have to endure this concert, you owe me a full day of Solange on the station.”

Miwa clapped her hands together, her laughter echoing. “Deal! Alright, listeners, if you want a shot at these coveted tickets, call in now and tell us why you’re the ultimate Tridant fan. And don’t forget to shout out how much you adore these emo boys!”

As the phone lines lit up with eager callers, YN slumped back in her chair, torn between dread and reluctant amusement. Despite her best efforts to look disgruntled, she couldn’t help but be drawn in by Miwa’s infectious enthusiasm. And she knew Twitter would have a field day with this one—especially with a certain raven-haired boy likely to make an appearance in the trending topics.

“Megumi, get off your phone! We need to practice otherwise Gojo will be up our asses!” Yuta barked, his voice cutting through the cluttered practice room like a drill sergeant.

The space was strewn with old gear, tangled cables, and random junk, making it look like a tornado had hit a music store. Yuta, already in dad mode, stormed out, his footsteps echoing off the mismatched walls as he went in search of something crucial.

“Yeah, but Toge’s on his phone too,” Megumi shot back, his fingers still scrolling through his screen, barely lifting his gaze.

“Yeah, but nobody gives a fuck about him,” Yuji interjected from the corner of the room, where he was perched on a drum stool, grinning like he’d just won a prize.

“Suck my dick ,” Toge retorted, his white hair bouncing as he turned, looking genuinely miffed.

Megumi rolled his eyes with exaggerated drama, reluctantly shoving his phone into his back pocket. He could feel the buzzing vibrations through his jeans and couldn’t help but smirk, taking a twisted pleasure in the fact that he was managing to irk you.

“Ugh, Megumi, why are you grinning like that? A jumpscare warning would’ve been nice,” Toge commented, half-annoyed, half-amused, from his spot by the amp.

“Go fuck yourself,” Megumi snapped back, his smugness evaporating into a gruff irritation.

Did he really find joy in annoying you? Megumi mused, a hint of doubt creeping in.

“Hey, Megumi, you seem unusually cheerful today,” Yuta announced as he reentered, clutching whatever he’d gone to fetch with an air of importance.

“See? Even Yuta’s noticed,” Toge snarked, his eyes glittering with mischief.

“So what’s up, big guy?” Yuji asked, his grin widening as he strolled over, clearly enjoying the chaos.

“Did you finally get your dick sucked or something?” Toge blurted out, his tone blunt and unapologetic.

“Why would that make me happy?” Megumi shot back, genuinely confused.

“Because everyone can tell when you’re sex-deprived,” Toge replied matter-of-factly, adding with a laugh, “Plus the horny slash hate subtweets you’ve been posting do nothing for your case.”

“I’m not sex-deprived,” Megumi insisted, his face turning a shade of crimson.

“MY BOY!” Yuji cheered, rushing in for a celebratory dap.

“Not like that,” Megumi murmured, his cheeks burning as the room erupted in laughter, the awkwardness of the situation making it clear that maybe he should have kept his phone in his pocket.

“Alright, let’s get down to business. We need to nail this new song for our upcoming gig,” Yuta finally says as the laughter dies down, holding a stack of sheet music with an air of importance.

“Finally!” Yuji cheered, bouncing on his drum stool.

“Yeah, yeah,” Toge muttered, putting his phone away and grabbing the microphone. “Let’s see what this new song’s all about.”

Yuta handed out the lyric sheets and nodded at the band. “This one’s a bit different—more upbeat. I want to hear energy and precision. Let’s start with the intro and build from there.”

extras!

• the band in sjap is called triDANT not triDENT bc the group collectively came up with the name together but toge was the one entrusted (first mistake) who had to write it down for copyright purposes etc paper work ete anyways this man CANNOT spell so that's why it's with an A instead of an E lol

• yes the group definitely clowned him for it but they couldn't change it so it stuck and they ran with it

• toge did go to the gym but he snuck in when yuji went and they definitely blasted him on their social media page and stuck his face on the wall of shame😭

• the tickets sold out COMPLETLY and yn lowkey wanted one for herself…

• definitely did not smile to herself when panda told them he scored her tickets thanks to toge..

• dramatic ass

• megumi has convinced himself he only texts yn to piss herself and nothing more than that

• i aspire to be at his level of delusion

• yn, panda and nobara all went to whole foods and asked if they had any close to expire tomato’s at the back (they did)

• they went home with 2 crates full of the most saggiest wettest tomato’s in existence

• hope u guys enjoyed the week overdue chap :3

taglist: @shokosbunny @luvvmae @catobsessedlady @satoryaa @prozacprinc3ss @essjujutsu @therealsatorugojo @yeehawslap @gojodickbig @dawnisatotalqueen @j2upiters @nappingnai @lalalasillybilly3000 @totallytatum @3cst4syy @lysaray @saltypuffin1040 @aozui @noodles-icetea @makeshiftproject @kurtcobaingirlie @kokoiinuts @renbittt @dashingaurries @slvttycorpse @cuupidsss @mochroialainn @tenjikusstuff4 @oroborosttheiii @ichcocat @iiwaijime @drugzforyou @sugurubabe @allthestarsarecloserrrrrrr @tyigerz @yoyo-yui @megoomies @yizmiu @jasminasblog22 @yomamablazeit @marst4rz @guitarstringed-scars @qtnfer @kalulakunundrum @lovefrominaya @beepbopzlorp @iheartlindz @itsdragonius @meguemii @chilichopsticks @7kn0wn @starantulas @1l-ynn @bonitoflakez @rcveriees @solaqes @starrysho @sukunaspillow @evry1luvssm

*if i can't tag you please change your tag settings otherwise i will remove you from the list!

[f1byjessie]

HE LIKES MY AMERICAN SMILE ━━ OP81. [REWRITE]

he may not be a london boy, but you love him all the same, and you’re about to learn the hard way that loving someone can be a wild ride.

( oscar piastri x sargeant!reader )

━━ part one.

INSTAGRAM.

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yourusername me and london boy have made so many memories here together and i’ll cherish them forever ❤️. i love this sport and i love the people i've met in this sport. i'll always love it and them, but sometimes you have to take a step back and set your sights on new horizons. that said, neither of us will be competing in any events this year— endurance or otherwise. london boy will stay in richmond and continue to receive the best care possible from people who have grown to love him as much as i do, and in the meantime, i'll start looking to those other horizons.

view all 1,761 comments

user wishing you the best of luck!! we’ll miss seeing you and london boy, but we know this decision wasn’t made lightly and we hope whatever you do will make you just as happy as riding does!!

user london boy lives a more luxurious life than i could ever hope 

↳ user real like why am i jealous of a horse 😭😭

↳ user knowing how well these horses are treated? we should all be jealous

↳ user some of these horses have rain coats that cost more than my entire wardrobe combined… the day i learned that was not a fun day… 😔

user honestly only ever tuned in to watch you both

user the events won’t be the same without you!!!

user I’LL MISS YOU LONDON BOY

user take all the time you need to explore other options! you can love something and still get burnt out on it. sometimes taking that step away can be the decision that allows us to continue loving something instead of growing resentful towards it. do what you need to do to be happy! 🫶

↳ user this is such a good way to put it!!

↳ user THIS. i did competitive jumping for ten years and towards the end of that time i started seeing it more as a chore than the sport i used to be so passionate about. you absolutely CAN love something and still get burnt out on it. taking breaks is so important.

user i’m sure london boy will miss you but you do you girliepop! take a trip or go on an adventure!

user oh to be a girl riding her horse across the beach at sunrise 🥲

↳ user IKR?!? talk about dream life, she’s literally living out scenes that i’ve only ever seen in movies

↳ user it’s london boy’s world and we’re all just living in it

user wait does this mean no more horse content???

↳ user i mean she’s not getting rid of her horse or even outright retiring, she just won’t be riding competitively for 2023

user is she leaving the uk or smth?? bc she said other ppl will be looking after london boy?? i know nothing about horses guys i’m sorry

↳ user london boy will be staying at the stables as per her caption! he will be looked after by many trained professionals who will ensure he is properly fed, watered, exercised, and groomed each day! it’s actually very common for people to board their horses at a stable since horses often need large fields to graze and exercise in, and not a lot of people have big enough backyards or own property to be able to provide that themselves. whether she’s leaving the uk or not, we don’t know, but it definitely sounds like her training with london boy will be put on hold for the time being!

user miss girl we’ll always remember you and london boy as the greatest duo in endurance racing history

↳ user REAL REAL REAL

user does this have to do with her falling off a few months back??

↳ user it could, she did mention the encounter leaving her pretty shaken

↳ user yeah but the possibility of something like this happening is so high that a lot of riders have accepted it as an inevitable occurrence in their career

↳ user even still, that doesn’t change the fact that she could very well be traumatized or experiencing lingering side effects

↳ user guys!! speculation will do us no good!! if she wants to tell us, she will!!

user YOU KNOW I LOVE A LONDON BOY 🗣🗣🗣

logansargeant wanna trade one paddock for another?

There’s a sort of terrifying uncertainty that comes with breaking a long-standing routine.

It’s like a fucked-up sort of package deal— you stop following the methodized schedule you’ve meticulously upheld for years, and in exchange, you receive more time than you know what to do with and an overwhelming responsibility to fill it.

The only question is: with what?

The muscle memory lingers, and you suspect that it’ll take some time for your body to un-familiarize itself with a sleep schedule that you’ve religiously held on to for years, but there’s no demands to maintain any of it and that makes any sort of attempt at continuing to run through the motions feel entirely obsolete. You may instinctively wake up at the ass crack of dawn, but without the necessity of a horse relying on your punctuality to get him fed, watered, and turned out to the paddock, there’s nothing you can do beyond filling the morning with something until your internal clock catches the memo and decides to let you sleep in for once.

“You know, when I invited you to tag along with me,” Logan begins in lieu of a greeting when he opens the front door and sees you standing on the stoep of his apartment, clad in athletic wear and a pair of well-worn running shoes, “I was under the impression that we both understood that to mean the traveling to races part and not necessarily the pre-season training.”

“‘My dearest sister,’” you sarcastically quip back in a mockingly deep voice, feigning heartfelt sincerity and pressing your hand melodramatically to your chest. “‘How good it is to see you after so long! I would be absolutely delighted if you joined me on my morning run today.’”

Your twin brother shakes his head in exasperation, but through the facade of annoyance, you can recognize the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Honestly, Logie,” You pretend to wipe a tear from the corner of your eye and add in a sniffle for extra flair, “you're too sweet. What would I ever do without you?”

“We saw each other a week ago at brunch,” he grumbles, reluctantly taking a step back from the door and allowing you to pass over the threshold into the warmth of the apartment and out of the winter’s frigid morning air.

“When?”

“Last Wednesday—”

“—did I ask? Oh! Boom! Gotcha!” You whoop out an exclamation of victory as you continue down the hall. “Gosh, I am four for four now. You gotta step up your game, Logie-bear, or this is gonna end in a miserable shut out for you.”

He heaves out a heavy sigh that carries with it twenty-two years of suppressed brotherly rage and the exhaustion that can only come from being reminded at every chance that he is, and always will be, a minute younger than you. “You're the bane of my existence, and I do sincerely hope you know this.”

“Aw, I love you too!”

You step into the small kitchen at the end of the hall. With the exception of a little potted cactus sitting on the windowsill— a housewarming gift from you— it looks nearly identical to how it was the last time you visited.

A month ago.

When he moved in.

There's a woven mat on the floor in front of the sink, an ashy green that contrasts nicely with the off-white cream color of the cabinets and laminate countertops. You can't really tell if Logan actually bought the mat, or if it came with the place, but it's cute nonetheless and serves as one of the few pops of color in the otherwise monochromatically beige apartment.

“I see that my cactus continues to reign supreme as the only individuality in this place,” you comment, glancing over your shoulder in time to see him appear in the doorway.

He shrugs at your words. “Yeah, well, you'd be surprised how busy you can get when you're preparing for everything you've ever dreamed about. No biggie.”

“Logan,” you turn to face him, “you'll do great. There are two other rookies on the grid—”

“And I'll be in the worst car out of all of them.”

“You don't know that,” you chide gently.

This side of Logan isn't unfamiliar to you— the anxiety and fear of failure. It's always existed, and you've known about it since the morning of his first kart race when he confided in you that he was so nervous he felt like he was going to be sick.

The insecurities surrounding his own skills have persisted and thrived with every new track, every new team, and every new series, and as you've grown alongside him you've found ways to challenge his self-doubt, but you've also learned to accept that there's only so much you alone can do.

You can debate it and challenge the self-deprecating thoughts all you want, but the voice in his head will always be there, no matter how quiet it occasionally becomes.

So you choose to drop the topic for now.

It's too early in the morning for an impromptu therapy session anyway.

You turn back around and scan the countertops until your eyes latch onto the container of pre-workout tucked away in the corner, nearly hidden amidst the mountain of vitamin and nutrient supplements.

“I thought it was part of Benny’s job to make sure you didn't have to use all this shit,” you comment, picking through the jars and eyeing them each with unapologetic distaste.

Logan reaches over your shoulder and plucks a packet of vitamin C tablets from your hand, “Sometimes these just work better.”

“Yeah, maybe if you don’t have a nutritionist being paid to quite literally curate a diet specifically to ensure that you don’t need to use these,” you gesture widely to the assembled mass of supplements. “But, last I checked, dear brother of mine, you do have a nutritionist— and a very good one at that— who would be horrified to learn you’re substituting real fruit for…” you squint down at the nutritional label of another one of the jars, but there’s very little that you recognize amidst the scientific jargon and long, five-syllable words, “little gummies that taste like fruit.”

He huffs, “Get your pre-workout or I'm leaving without you.”

“You wouldn't dare leave without me,” you grumble.

“I've done it before and I'll do it again,” he snipes, giving a brief yank on your ponytail and cackling when you swat behind yourself in futility.

There’s more he isn’t saying— there always is, nowadays— but you recognize the deflection for what it is. You want to claw him apart with questions and demand answers that bare every inch of his soul so you understand what he isn’t telling you and why he feels the need to keep it locked away even from you, but you know better than to keep pushing at something Logan clearly doesn’t want to talk about.

It makes you nostalgic for a time in your life when he’d sneak down from the top of the bunk bed after your parents had tucked you away for the night and slip under the covers with you, a well-loved stuffed bear hugged to his chest. He’d curl up beside you and you’d pull the blankets up to your chin and watch him with big, curious eyes until he’d whisper out into the darkness of your shared bedroom what he was worrying about.

More often than not it was a byproduct of a hyperactive imagination still plagued by the fears of childhood. Something about the space beneath your bed and— “What if there’s something down there? And the only way you can see it is by its glowing eyes? But what if it knows when someone is gonna look under the bed, so it closes its eyes so you can’t see the glow?” Or the curtains and— “You have to make sure they cover the whole window because what if you don’t and then something looks inside and it knows I’m not asleep and then it comes inside? I always hold really still and pretend to be asleep even when I’m not if the curtains aren’t closed.”

But sometimes it was about anything and everything else like the fox sitting in the bushes by the bus stop on the way home from school and whether or not it had water to keep it cool in the Florida heat, or the purple glitter pen Mrs. Moore used to grade his spelling test and how the girl sitting next to him had gotten her test graded with the green glitter pen, or— “I forgot my coat in Mr. Garrison’s class yesterday, and you went and got it for me and brought it to the car with you, and I didn’t say thank you, but I always feel bad when I leave my coat behind because what if it has feelings and felt really bad because it thought I was abandoning it, so thank you for getting my coat so it didn’t feel abandoned.”

But that was then and this is now.

You’re both adults, and you live in different apartments on different ends of the city, and you work different jobs that separate you by half the globe at times. There’s no more talk of foxes by bus stops or glitter pens, and certainly no more sentient coats with fears of abandonment.

When you look at Logan now, he isn’t wasting away, and really you owe it to him after you announced out of the blue a week ago that you weren’t just taking a break from competitive riding, but rather taking a break from riding as a whole. He didn’t press you on it then— still hasn’t pressed you on it despite having every right to do so. The least you can do now in return is respect the boundary he’s trying to set.

You mutter a few curses beneath your breath— words your mother would throw a fit over if she could hear you— and feign a scowl, but some of the tension in Logan’s shoulders has released and that's all you can ask for.

“If you leave me behind, I’ll leak a picture of your pathetic kitchen to the tabloids and let everyone tear apart your design choices,” you threaten, digging your knuckles into the tender spot of his arm where bicep meets shoulder and taking pride when he squirms away and beyond reach.

He flips you off. “You’re just jealous I have a cool cactus and you don’t.”

“Hey!” You give a lazy kick in his direction, but he sidesteps it easily with a laugh. “I gave you that cactus!”

“Tomato, tom-ah-to.” He flippantly waves his hand in your direction, laughing again at the indignant squawk you make. “Just hurry up and make your damn drink.”

As he makes his way out of the kitchen, presumably to grab his shoes, you unscrew the lid from the container and reach for the scoop.

Only to find it entirely empty.

“You asshole! There's nothing in here!”

Logan’s cackle echoes from another room.

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yourusername day 14 without london boy and i have officially succumbed to the boredom and willingly subjected myself to the presence of my arch nemesis (love you logie 🫶)

view all 1,382 comments

logansargeant in my defense, you just showed up

user you could not PAY me to go out in this weather

user as a florida girlie myself, this is my nightmare

↳ user REAL

↳ user genuinely seeing this makes me so glad i live in a place where there’s no snow cuz yea, the view is pretty and all, but not even a gorgeous sunrise would make up for me freezing my ass off and having to wear seven layers just to keep the feeling in my fingers and toes

user i wish the most stressful part of my day was going for a morning run 😔

user calling logan her nemesis is so real i just know that man is a menace

↳ user the f2 clips of him and liam are proof enough

↳ user logan sargeant was a menace back in f3 💀 have you SEEN the prema videos with oscar and fred? bro is diabolical when he wants to be

↳ user i'm so excited for the chaos he'll bring to the grid this year

user the snow man is so cute!!

user “14 days without london boy” OH I AM ILL 😭😭😭

user ok but that view is gorgeousness

↳ user ikr?! winter sunrises are genuinely so pretty

user i’m still so confused as to why she isn’t riding anymore?? can someone pls explain

↳ user to be entirely honest, i’m not sure really what there is to explain. first and foremost, we aren’t owed any sort of explanation as to why she’s decided to take a step back from riding. it could be a personal decision, a career decision, or something else, but whatever it is we aren’t automatically entitled to it just because y/n has previously been very open and vocal about her and london boy’s training. second, she never actually said that she isn’t riding anymore. she said she’s taking a step back from competitive riding to focus on other things, and the “without london boy” part of her caption implies that she hasn’t seen him, but she could just be taking a prolonged break, or she could be focusing on something else that has prevented her from going to see him. but again, none of it is our business and she doesn’t owe us any further explanation to what she meant.

↳ user THIS THIS THIS!! as sad as i am to not have london boy on my feed, y/n is a grown adult with her own private life and we have to respect her decisions!! if or when she chooses to come forward about the specifics of her future plans and goals, then that’s great and i’ll continue to support her endeavors, but for the time being we all just have to be patient

user the selfie logan posted with you on his story was so cute!! 🥰

user she’s a runner she’s a track star

user i’ve missed the twin content!

↳ user me too!! i really hope that her taking a break from competitions (as much as i love london boy) will mean we get to see her actually going to more of logan’s races, especially now that he’ll be in formula 1!!

oscarpiastri if the rumours are to be believed, i look forward to getting to catch up at the races this year

━━ tags: @urfavnoirette @casperlikej @awritingtree @f1-is-lovely-33 @chasing-liberosis @405rry @aquangxl @bellezaycafe @peqch-pie @formulaal @chonkybonky @mess-is-my-aesthetic @flippingmyshit @peachiicherries @spacegirlstuff @myxticmoon @landosgirlxoxo @k-pevensie28 @moonypixel @lewisvinga @81vas @maih23 @thatoneembarrasingmoment @elz-xo @the-navistar-carol

━━ a/n: surprise! i've been working on this for a little while now (i got my wisdom teeth removed yesterday, so the time i've spent recovering has been spent polishing up the last few details for this first part) but here she is! as promised, the newly rewritten and revamped 'he likes my american smile'! i feel like i always say it, but the original genuinely holds such a special place in my heart because it was the first work i ever posted here on tumblr, so i'm really happy to take all that i've learned since then and apply it where i can in this new version. i really hope the changes and development is as loved by you all as it is by me, and that you all enjoy!

[samuelsdean]

Next To You

pairing: sam winchester x reader

summary: waking up next to sam was your favorite thing in the world.

genre: fluff

word count: 1.4k

author's notes: i would very much love to wake up next to sam don't y'all think so? i literally wrote this because i think t'd feel so good to be hugged by him the entire night and wake up to him first thing in the morning.

WAKING UP NEXT TO SAM WAS PROBABLY YOUR FAVORITE THING IN THE WORLD. IT WAS YOUR REFUGE, A SANCTUARY FROM THE WORLD'S HARSH EDGES. It was a reminder that each day is another day you get to spend the rest of your life with the love of your life.

You loved waking up next to Sam because his warmth radiated like your favorite hoodie, chasing away the remnants of a cool summer night. Tucked into the space between his jaw and chest, you could feel the steady rise and fall of his breath, his arms encasing you.

Slowly, you untangled yourself from his embrace, careful not to disturb his sleep. The light of dawn peeked through the window, painting a golden sheen across Sam's face. His brow furrowed slightly, a crease etched between his eyes, usually reserved for facing down monsters, but right now, it softened with sleep, replaced by the slight ajar of his lips.  

Watching Sam sleep had you going through your memories in a flash—the way he surprised you with your favorite flowers, after being gone from a hunt, a shy smile gracing his features as he laid a gentle kiss on your reddened cheeks. You smiled wistfully when you recalled how Sam confessed to you his feelings the night he had gotten home from a hunt that went on too long and could've gone sideways.

The motel room door creaked open, revealing a battered Sam Winchester. Dried blood stained the sleeve of his jacket and he was sporting a nasty gash on his right cheek, a grim souvenir from the hunt gone south.

Exhaustion hung heavy around him, a storm cloud threatening to unleash the floodgates of aches and pains. He wanted to go to sleep as soon as he stepped inside the dank motel room, but the tiny flicker of light beneath the door held him captive.

There you were, bathed in the warm glow of a lamp, hands wringing together and brows crimped in worry. Sam seemed to forget all about sleep when he saw you. He has never yearned for anything the way he has right now with the sight of you, his relic of normalcy in his chaotic world. He pushed the door open further, the sound jarring in the silence.

You looked up, surprise giving way to relief. "Sam! Thank goodness you're alright. I was worried sick after you've been gone for so long."

A weak smile formed on his lips. "We got them. Nasty ghouls took longer than expected." He shuffled closer, the weight of the hunt pulling at him. He could feel the warmth radiating from the room, a stark contrast to the bone-chilling night he'd endured.

You stood up and reached out, your hand brushing against his cheek. The touch, even through the grime, sent a jolt through him. It was a simple gesture, yet it held the power to ground him, to remind him of what he was fighting for—what he was going home to.

"You look like hell," you said, your voice laced with concern. "Go wash up, then I'll get you something to eat. There's a diner near here, open 24/7 apparently, Bobby told me on the phone earlier, bless his gruff soul."

He allowed himself to be ushered towards the bathroom, crumpling onto the tub with a groan. As the hot water washed away the grime and fatigue, something else started to wash over him. It was the weight of his unspoken feelings, a truth he could no longer keep buried.

He emerged from the bathroom, a fresh towel wrapped around his hair. You were already by the table, a steaming cup of coffee and grub waiting for him. He caught your gaze, the way your eyes held a warmth that chased away the chills of the hunt.

"Listen," Sam began, his voice thick with emotion. You tilted your head in confusion as to what he was trying to say. "This life… it's not easy. It's dangerous, messy, and frankly, it terrifies me sometimes."

He took a deep breath, his eyes locking with yours. "But then I come back here, see you… and suddenly, facing it all over again, well, it doesn't seem so bad. It feels… bearable."

A blush crept up your neck, mirroring the heat rising in his own. You opened your mouth to speak, but he pressed on.

"I know this is crazy," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "But, I can't keep it in anymore. I… I care about you. A lot more than a friend."

The silence stretched, heavy with anticipation. He braced himself for a rejection, the fear of a cold fist squeezing his heart. Then, you reached out, your hand gently cupping his cheek.

"Sam," you said, your voice soft, "you're not the only one who feels that way."

Relief flooded him, warm and exhilarating. A hesitant smile spread across his face. "Really?"

You nodded, your eyes sparkling. "For a long time, actually."

He leaned in, the space between them collapsing in a rush. The kiss was soft, a tentative exploration of your unspoken feelings toward each other. But within it, there was a spark, a promise of something deeper. He pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, a newfound warmth radiating from within.

"So," he whispered, a grin tugging at his lips, "does this mean I get to keep bothering you for a while longer?"

You chuckled, a sound that filled the room with a melody of hope. "Looks like you're stuck with me, Winchester. Now, about that coffee…"

He pulled you close, the scent of coffee and the lingering warmth from the confession clinging to the air.  

Yes, in the face of whatever darkness awaited, this peaceful moment with Sam was a treasure. You leaned in, brushing a kiss against his cheek, a silent promise whispered against his lips, "I'll wake you soon, pretty boy."

The sunlight, bolder now, sliced through the gap in the curtains, landing right on Sam's eyelids. He let out a soft groan, sleep fading as he blinked the light away. Unlike you, mornings weren't exactly his best friend. For a moment, his eyes fluttered closed again, then snapped open, a glimmer of surprise crossing his face when he realized you weren't there.

"Morning, baby," he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep. He reached out instinctively, his hand brushing against the empty space where you'd been. A frown tugged at his lips for a brief moment before it softened into a smile as he spotted you by the window.

You were turned away from him, busy reading a paperback. The rising sun cast an ethereal glow around you, highlighting the way your hair seemed to catch fire with golden light. A shiver danced down Sam's spine, a mix of the cool morning air and the unexpected sight before him.

"Hey there, Sleepyhead," you said over your shoulder, your voice laced with amusement as you turned back to face him. "You look like you could use some more shut-eye."

He stretched languidly, the movement sending a groan escaping his lips. "Nah, I'm good. Just gotta get the lead out before Bobby gets impatient." He winced slightly, a reminder of the recent hunt probably still clinging to his muscles.

A playful glint lit up your eyes. "Lead out, huh? Sounds fancy. Did you polish your shoes too, Mr. Winchester?"

He chuckled, a low rumble that sent a warmth radiating through you. "Only the finest demon-blood repellent for this hunter, sweetheart." He reached for you, his hand warm and strong as he pulled you close, grinning at how easily he could make you laugh with his comebacks.

As you snuggled into his embrace, a comfortable silence settled between you. However, a shadow lingered in the back of your mind. The thought of Bobby calling usually meant trouble brewing. You decided to break the comfortable silence.

"Any whispers about what Bobby wants this time?" you asked, your voice soft.

Sam shook his head, his expression turning serious. "Not a peep. Knowing Bobby, it'll involve something nasty, a whole lot of rotgut, and probably a cryptic message scribbled on some random book." He paused, his gaze softening on you.

"But whatever it is," he continued, his voice low and reassuring, "we'll face it together. Like always."

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his cheek. "Always," you whispered the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air—together, no matter what the coming day brought.

[puckinghischier]

can we just talk about following quinn around while he’s golfing for a min? all of this content of him playing golf is getting to me soooo bad

like, he’d always ask you to tag along with him and drive the cart for him, just wanting to spend time with you. it’s definitely not because he loves to see you wear your little golf skirt and canucks visor.

you would say no most of the time, not wanting to go ride around in the hot sun all day when you could stay in your air conditioned apartment and watch reality shows. when the weather turns, though, you’ll grace him with your presence every once in awhile.

you especially like to go when he’s playing with his teammates. you loved being his cheerleader and subtly sabotaging his teammates. like the time they asked you to hold the flag while they putted, and you “accidentally” hit quinn’s ball in the hole with the pole.

or the time brock tagged along and you blew the horn on the golf cart just as he was putting for a birdie, causing his ball to sail right past the hole, rolling right off of the green entirely. when he looked over at you, face red and angry, you claimed innocence. “what? i was thirsty and needed to get the cart girl’s attention. how was i supposed to know that was an important putt?”

you always had the most fun when all three hughes brothers were golfing together. you would drive quinn around in a cart while jack and luke had their own. and, occasionally, ellen and jim would join too. ellen and yourself would sit and chit chat while the boys and jim were on the green, teasing each other and not playing by official golf rules in the slightest.

ellen would always pack a cooler with snacks and a light lunch for everyone to have while on the course. the whole group would find a shady spot right off of the course and eat, giving the guys an opportunity to make wagers and bets on who would win and what the others would have to endure if they lost.

usually the punishments were lighthearted and harmless, but every once in awhile one arises that causes some trouble. like the time jack had to jump into one of the small ponds on a course when you were all on vacation together in hawaii, resulting in a lifetime ban for every single one of you when he got caught.

you enjoyed when it was just you and quinn, too. the days that a cool breeze was constantly flowing and you would bring along a book. quinn would let you choose the music that flows through the clip on speaker attached to the cart, knowing you always have a new playlist you’re wanting to show him. he’d buy you a cocktail to sip on throughout the day, knowing how much you loved a fruity drink.

quinn’s favorite part of you tagging along was knowing you were there because he asked you to be. even though you hated golf and claimed it was the most boring sport ever created, you went simply because he wanted you to be there and you knew it was something he enjoyed. he loved being able to look over and hear your little cheers for him every time he putts the ball into the hole. or the way you always say “sounded like a hole in one to me” after the initial stroke at every new hole.

he loved that every time the cart girl drove by, you always made sure he had a fresh beer if he wanted one. he also loved how you’d trade out the beer for water around hole 12, making sure he’s not getting too crazy since he’s the driver in the relationship (other than at the course, of course).

quinn would offer to teach you to play nearly every time you went with him, but after trying to hit a ball or two you always gave up, telling him it’s much more fun to watch him play than having to focus on anything other than how good his ass looks in his pants when he’s putting, considering that’s the real reason you agree to go with him. but what quinn doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

[inkdrinkerworld]

𝓒𝓤𝓟𝓘𝓓'𝓢 𝓒𝓤𝓡𝓢𝓔

Synopsis: James can make your days trying to get a story for your company really hard, he gets under your skin and knows exactly what buttons to poke and you hate it.

cw: a bit of an axious!reader, rugby!james, i used the house names for the clubs but it is not at all set in the HP universe.

wc: 1.1k

-`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´-

Sports journalism is fun and rewarding. 

You love going to the post and pre-match interviews and talking to the players and managers and getting all the insight you can to then write your story. What you don’t like is having to interview James Potter. 

Everytime James sees you in the press room, he decides it’s his time to be the most non-descriptive, non-responsive to all of your questions and make it difficult for you to even write a story. He loves giving you vague answers that don’t answer any of your questions and it gets under your skin like nothing else. 

It’s even more tiresome when he’s the team’s go to media-man because of his looks. He’s England’s current heartthrob first and their best flanker second. He’s beefy and burly, with curls that look like they’ve been ink dipped individually and dimples that throw a wrench into many a woman’s plan. It also doesn’t help you, mostly, that he’s the perfect gentleman the minute the cameras are on and everything he says takes on this sugary, colying tone.

Dread fills you as you walk into the media room, finding a few familiar faces before you sit to the back. You hope in vain that James isn’t on media today, maybe they’ll put his sweet teammate Remus on media duty. He’s always sweet and succinct, answering all the questions, no matter how ridiculous, with a grace and precision you suspect makes him perfect for being the team’s fly-half. 

You’d even interview his rowdy teammate Sirius, possibly the best winger in the game right now, and endure his loudness and even his flirtations with the camera so long as you just got good answers. 

Your hope is shattered when you hear James talking as he rounds the corner, your hands grow cold knowing that today is the day you write a half decent story about the Gryffindor team. 

“Morning,” he calls as he enters, his eyes find you immediately and the smile he shoots you makes you scowl. It’s going to be a long press day. “It’s great to be back.” 

“How have you and your team prepared for the start of the season? Knowing it’s a derby game must make it all the more exciting to be back.” One journalist starts, sweat already pebbling on your brow. 

James answers perfectly, in depth and with the knowledge that you sometimes forget these players possess. 

“What about the injured players from last season? Can we look out for their names on the starting squad? What sort of system can we look forward to this season?” You ask, hands shaking as you prepare for the worst. You hate how much anxiety courses through you nowadays in these interviews. They used to be far more fun. 

“I can’t well say what we’re going to play this weekend, it’d be a bit of a helping hand to the Slytherin team.” The media room laughs and you have to bite your tongue to keep the scowl off your face. “However, we’ve got a lot of key players back in the squad, so I’ll say keep your ears open for some names you haven’t heard in a couple months.” 

By the time you’re finished with the conference, you’ve got sufficient answers for the hopes of the beginning of the season but every other question was bypassed or you’d received a roundabout answer. 

You’re picking up all your equipment, the other journalists all gone already. James hovers near the door, watching you for whatever reason but it makes your skin crawl. He has to know what he’s done. 

“Can I help you, Potter?” You ask, lifting your head to catch a peek at him. His arms are folded across his chest and he’s leaning against the doorframe, something sort of like a smile on his face. 

“Just waiting for you to be done. Wouldn’t feel right to just leave you in here alone.” There’s a bit of sincerity but mostly amusement in his tone and you roll your eyes. James laughs and pushes off the door frame moving towards you, “All done?” you huff and sigh, hoisting your bag over your shoulder and walking past him. 

“Have a good training session, James.” he nods, watching you go with a smile on his face, one that spreads bigger when your perfume lingers in the room after you. 

-

When you hit submit on your report you feel good but stressed. 

What usually takes you an hour and a half to get done, took you twice as long because reports have been so slow during the off-season that you wanted to get it perfect before the opening match. Stretching, you make your way into the kitchen. 

You’re sure half the worry was unnecessary and the other half was about impressing your boss. God knows you need that woman to be pleased with something you do this year. 

Your phone rings before you can give in to that anxiety inducing thought, your stomach pits and the cup of tea you had to your lips lower. “This is Y/n.” 

“Hi, I want to talk about the interview you just submitted,” Your boss is a bit of a hardass. She’s always harping about things being ‘perfect’ and stories being complete, so in the two years you’ve worked there, though you’ve climbed to higher and higher positions, you’re still the fresh and sort of peppy girl you were to her when you’d handed in your resume and appeared in her office in a blue suit. 

“Sure,” you set down the tea and open your laptop, ready for a slew of changes or to change whatever she wanted you to. 

“It’s great,” that’s high praise, yet you sense something in her tone. You’re almost certain she’s going to make you rewrite the entire thing to make the opening game of the season, a derby game no less, seem even more anticipated than it already is. “I just want you to add a little more about the history of both teams. Potter’s already brought in an influx of new fans, we want to make it easy for them to get into the season and get behind either team and feel the rivalry.” 

That’s not what you’d been expecting. Not what you were expecting in the least. 

“I’ll resubmit tonight by eight.” is what you say but inside you’re twirling and jumping around your apartment while morning sun streaks through your living and early 2000s pop music is blasting through the house. 

James Potter and his non-answers be damned, you just got the best compliment of your work life.

[callsign-fox]

You Can Have Me - Rafe

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader (Jj's twin sister)

** MAJOR SPOILERS IF YOU ARE NOT UP TO DATE**

18+ ONLY!!

Written with the help of my darling BFF @fanficgirl429

This is my first dip into OBX and I am not disappointed in myself :P Leave some love if you like it xo

---------------------------------------

I jolted awake, the torment of my latest nightmare abruptly dissipating. The early morning sunlight caressed my skin as it filtered through the delicate white curtains. The movement beside me anchored me to the reality that I was home in North Carolina, secure, if only for the moment. 

“You good?” Kie asked beside me in a sleepy tone.

My body resisted as I cast aside the comforter and compelled myself to rise from the bed.

“I don’t think ‘good’ is the right word,” I muttered, grabbing my sports bra from the floor and moving toward the bathroom. 

She mumbled something I couldn’t quite make out before rolling away from me. 

Upon our return from Morocco, the stark reality of having lost both our home and business hit us with overwhelming force. Rafe Cameron, who seemed the most improbable of heroes, extended the hospitality of his beachfront home to us pogues. John B would say this was a gesture to Sarah and the fact Rafe would soon be an uncle. Conversely, Sarah claims it was because of me. I chose to ignore her. 

It may be difficult to comprehend, but experiencing homelessness was not the most distressing event of the past month. Upon our return home, we found ourselves one member short of our original group. My sole family member, my twin brother, is now lost to me permanently. My heart has been irreparably broken, as the only true family I ever knew was taken away by our estranged and unstable father.

I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried. 

It has been more than three weeks since that happened. While I have not fully come to terms with the loss of a significant part of myself, I have become emotionally numb to it. I could not endure another expression of sympathy or inquiry about my well-being from anyone in the community. With that being said, for the past week, I have rarely stepped outside the small room that Kie and I shared.

I brushed my teeth and then swiftly threw my hair up in a loose ponytail. Once I was done, I grabbed some running shorts and paired it with a loose tee, desperate to release endorphins. 

“I’m going for a run, I’ll be back in an hour.” 

The door was already shut but I smiled at the muffled ‘be careful’ from Kie. 

My sneakers slid on effortlessly, and before anyone had the chance to engage me in conversation, I exited. Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, I halted suddenly, intrigued by the sound of music coming from one of the open garages. It was a quarter past seven, and we were not particularly a lively bunch this early in the day.

As I approached the open door, Rafe came into sight. He was standing there, humming to the music, dressed in a snug white t-shirt and boxers. A wave of butterflies stirred in my stomach at the mere sight of him, evoking a mix of confusion and excitement within me. He glanced up from the bike, removing the black grease from his fingers onto his shirt.

“Y/N, hey.” 

I smiled at him as I leaned against the frame to the garage. “Hey Rafe.” 

A week prior to our departure for Morocco, I had spent hours wrapped up in this man. His skin pressed against mine, his lips caressing every inch of my body. The mere recollection of those moments left me feeling lightheaded. However, since our return, our communication had dwindled to almost nothing. I stood at the door to his bedroom one night, desperate to feel him inside of me again, but terrified of being denied. I went to bed tense and alone. 

My body yearned for him once more as he gazed at me with his deep ocean blue eyes. It was evident that he was attempting to decipher my thoughts, his eyes narrowing while I remained silent.

“Are you ok?” he asked, leaning on his bike. 

I pulled myself from the trance and stepped further into the garage. “Please don’t ask me that, I’m sick of people asking me that.” 

He cocked his head to the side before dropping a tool in his toolbox. “Fine. Am I allowed to ask if you are having a good morning?” 

“I am so far, but maybe check back later as things can change at any given moment. I’m going to go for a run.” 

Rafe nodded and reached down for something I couldn’t see. “Cool, cool. I would have thought maybe you were going to the shooting range or something.” 

I decided it was best to play dumb. “Why would I be going to a shooting range?” 

His hand resurfaced holding a black gun. 

Shit. 

I looked at the gun then back at him. I was careless, and couldn’t remember where I’d left. It must have been in the back of his truck. “I can explain.” 

“I actually have a few questions. One, where the fuck did you get this? And two, are you insane?” 

This wasn’t at all how I was hoping this morning would go. “Look, I know how to use it. I’ve been practicing.” 

“Oh, you know how to use it? That makes me feel much better,” he laughed, removing the clip and putting it back into the bag he pulled it out of. “What are you doing, Y/N? Are you planning on going and killing Groff yourself?” 

“Why not?” 

Rafe’s eyes widened as he straddled the bike. “For fuck sake, Y/N.” 

I moved closer, standing right beside him and the bike. “Why not, Rafe? I don’t want anyone else hurt, and we know he isn’t above killing his own children let alone my friends. I can do this, I have to do this!”

“And what if he kills you first?” 

As if I didn’t think about that. “That’s definitely a possibility.” 

“A possibility…” He had that crazed look we all knew so well. “Do you even know where he is?” He asked, clearly irritated as he rubbed his eyes. 

His question surprised me. “No, I don’t.” 

Rafe nodded, then reached for a wrench in his toolbox. “Alright…” 

I leaned forward trying to catch his gaze, “Alright what?” 

“Once you know where he is, you let me know.”  

This time I laughed. “Why would I do that, you’d try and stop me.”

“I won’t. When you know where he is, I’ll go with you and we’ll kill the son of a bitch.” 

I stood there silent for a moment, confused at the sharp turn the conversation just took. He continued on his bike as if no words had just been exchanged. Like neither of us were just perfectly ok with committing murder three seconds ago. 

“Rafe…I can’t ask you to do that.” 

“You didn’t ask, I volunteered.” 

He threw the wrench back into the box and reached out to me, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me into him. “I’m supposed to be the crazy one, but right now you’re scaring me a little.” 

My hand instinctively reached for his abdomen, applying a gentle pressure against his muscles.

“You scare me too.” 

An unexpected rush of life filled my heart, which throbbed so vigorously that I worried it might burst from my chest. He moved in closer, our lips nearly aligned, brushing softly against one another without fully making contact.

His calloused hands traversed the bare skin of my waist, then stealthily slipped under the waistband, pulling me tightly against his thigh. He smiled at me, and I could feel the heat rising, a flush spreading between my legs.

“Y/N…” his lips brushed my cheek, before moving to my ear sending a shiver down my spine to where my body wanted him most. ”I need you, and if Groff takes you away before I even get to have you…let’s just say things won’t end well.” 

I moved my hand down to his boxers, slipping beneath the elastic. My fingers curled around his firm erection, gliding back and forth. “Rafe, you can have me whenever you want me.” 

Rafe moaned, biting softly on the nape of my neck. 

He gently pulled me closer, lifting my leg so I could straddle the bike to sit on his lap. Our lips finally reunited, but this time there was no hesitation, only an intense desire. My arm encircled his neck as I leaned back on the handlebars, arching my back into him while feeling the ignition pressing against my shoulder blades. It didn't matter though, as I was completely enthralled with this man. 

Rafe withdrew slightly, his fingers gliding up my leg until they encountered my shorts. With a delicate motion, he eased them down, removing them as if he had performed this action countless times before. As he leaned in once more, his lips met my thigh, placing rough kisses upon the exposed skin. I arched my back as his mouth connected with my pulsating center, his thumb teasing the thin, damp fabric.

“Oh, god.” I let out a soft sound as he moved the loose fabric aside, teasing my sensitive area.

His tongue swirled over my core, and my body threatened to tip over the edge. I could feel him smiling as he devoured me, the sounds escaping me only egging him on further. He momentarily withdrew, prompting me to reach out in protest.

“I like you begging, but I’m just getting these out of the way so I can ruin you.” 

My underwear fell away effortlessly, and before I could utter another word, he returned to his position between my legs, guiding me nearer to my peak. The sensation coursing through me was the most intense I had ever experienced. His tongue glided over my center, while two fingers rhythmically entered and exited, propelling me toward the precipice of pleasure.

“Fuck, I’m going to come.” 

The apparent struggle in my voice served only to urge him to quicken his movements, and I was unable to withstand it any further. A delightful tingling spread throughout my body as I reached my peak, my heart racing and my breath becoming erratic.

Rafe reclined slightly before rising to his feet, a smirk playing on his lips, fully aware of the effect his actions had on me. His blue eyes roamed over my figure as he extended his hand toward me. I placed my hand in his, and he swiftly drew me up and guided me toward the wall. His hands descended to my waist, and he pivoted me so that my back was firmly against the wall.

“Should we stop?” Rafe asked, his fingers playing with the hem of my t-shirt. 

His boxers were halfway down his thigh when I looked up at him, towering over me with a devilish grin. “You’re so fucking funny.” 

He suddenly placed his lips against my neck, leaving a series of kisses before ultimately returning to my mouth. In a swift motion, he elevated my leg and pressed his aroused tip against my core.

“You’re nice and wet, all for me.” He whispered, biting my already inflamed bottom lip.

His length entered me effortlessly, the sensation of his movements eliciting soft moans. One of his hands firmly grasped my thigh, elevating my leg, while the other hand held my backside, his fingernails creating delicate crescent impressions as they traced my skin.

Rafe's movements began with a deliberate yet pressing urgency, intensifying with each thrust. I felt myself tighten around him as the well-known pleasure surged within me. His lips met mine, our tongues intertwining amidst our shared moans.

“Damn, you feel so good.” 

My hand clung to his shirt, pulling him tighter to me.

A wave of bliss enveloped me, my head tilting back as I softly uttered his name repeatedly. Rafe was just behind me, a deep groan escaping his lips as he nestled his face into the curve of my neck.

The two of us stood there for a moment, catching our breath. Rafe reached down and pulled his boxers back up before gently placing a kiss on the corner of my mouth. 

“For that, with you,” he smiled and took a breath. “…I’d kill a hundred Groffs.” 

The expression in my face revealed my own satisfaction. He gently placed his hands on my cheeks and kissed me one final time, this time with significantly more passion.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally withdrew, his teeth grazing his lower lip as he returned to the project he had been engaged in earlier. "Are you still planning to go for that run?" he inquired, casting a glance in my direction.

I shook my head, “No, I think I’m good.”  

[onsomenewsht]

Helpless to the bass and faded light

About when she bribes you and you dance with her like a filled stadium isn't looking

》 Leah Williamson x Reader

》 words count: +1k

》 she took my arm / I don't know how it happened / we took the floor and she said

You don’t like football.

It’s quite a boring game if you stop to think about it for a moment. Two dozen and counting people running around a ball trying to kick it into a huge net.

Not something you look forward to sit through for almost two hours.

Despite your father’s best efforts, you being his only kid and his only hope to pass down his passion, the sport never managed to interest you long enough to care.

You even found yourself in the stands of your dad’s favourite club’s home more times than you’re able to remember, going beyond yourself and cheering when the other people around you did.

The things you do to make your parents proud.

How you managed to have the English captain wrapped around your finger, regardless of your well-known dislike for her biggest passion and purpose in life, is still a mystery for your families and friends.

“Pretty please, just this one”

“Oh, shut up!”, you hit her arm and push her off you, both still naked.

You can’t believe your girlfriend is actually trying to bribe you with sex, not even waiting for you to fully recover before asking to go to the game.

“No, you ruined the mood”, you state as the blonde tries to kiss you again.

The huge grin of her beautiful face is quite dangerous, she can win you over so easily and you both know it.

Leah rises off the bed to retrieve a warm cloth from the bathroom and a clean shirt from the closet. You accept her attention, she’s always caring when it comes to you, but you’re pretty sure the extra effort has a not-so-subtle second purpose.

“You can’t buy me so easily, Williamson”

She can.

“It’s a really important game, my love”

“For who?”

“For me?”, she tries as she slots herself under your open arm, a grin hidden between your neck and the pillow.

“I barely bear you playing”

“You love watching me play”

“I love you, period”

Leah knows how much you think the sport is boring, going way out of your comfort zone just to cheer her. She feels immensely supported when she finds your big smile in the stands, wrapped in one of her jerseys.

It’s not that difficult for you to sit and admire your girlfriend in her element, focusing more on her movements and attitude than paying attention to the actual game.

What you find quite annoying is enduring Arsenal’s men’s team.

The defender’s fingers on your side are slowly soothing you in a compromising position, too relaxed and smitten to keep denying her anything. You know she doesn’t need much more to lure you into her trap and, unfortunately for you, she’s perfectly aware too.

When the blonde’s lips find the particularly sensitive spot on the base of your neck, you’re doomed.

~

You’re glad your father is already dead or you’d have killed him as you take your seat in the Emirates Stadium, surrounded by the Gunners’ colours. Your girlfriend’s name on your back could be the final nail.

The things you do to make your lover happy.

“You know I love you, right?”

“You better never forget this”, you quip back.

The English captain has been looking forward to this game for weeks now, you couldn’t have been able to turn her down in spite of it all.

She doesn’t need to know though, you didn’t accept to spend one of your date nights watching the North West London derby for free.

“Maybe you will enjoy it at the end”

Nice try, you will not.

“You know, my dad was a West Ham supporter”

“Could have been worse”, she smiles at you, reaching for your hand.

Talking about your father is getting easier as time finally moves forward and your grief keeps changing its shape. Compared to the abyssal black hole it felt like the first year and a half, its progress.

Leah didn’t meet him, crushing in your life a couple of months after his passing, but she managed to find a space in your heart that keeps growing despite all your fears.

They could have hit so well, bonding over their shared passion for the sport and their never-ending determination to make you happy.

You told her some stories about him, mostly memories to make your girlfriend understand how stubborn and passionate he was about the thing he cared about.

The one thing you all have in common.

“Yeah, he used to gift me a West Ham jersey every year on Bobby Moore’s birthday”

Leah’s laugh managed to overcome the buzzing atmosphere of the stadium, making you feel like she was the reason all the people around you were cheering. You sure think so.

“He sounds like an incredible father”

“Football obsession aside, he was good”

When you turn to look at her, the blonde’s eyes are already on you and the smile on her face is enough to warm your heart.

~

The first goal coming within five minutes has you quite engaged in what’s happening on the pitch, you even drag your girlfriend in a kiss as you both rise from your seats to celebrate.

Your commitment declined quite easily after that, more entertained by Leah’s reactions than the actual game. You nod in amusement every time she tries to talk you through one of her analyses, placing a hand on her thigh to stop her from standing up every time the ball is somehow close to the box.

The second half is more eventual, at least that’s what you can understand by the excitement the defender and the people in the stands around you seem to radiate.

You’re not clueless, you’re perfectly aware a five-nil win against Chelsea is quite the result. You care enough to think you can’t wait to go home - Leah is always in the mood for a private celebration when her team triumphs, especially over another London club.

“Can we go now?”, you ask as soon as the referee whistles three times, declaring the end of your and the Blues’ torture.

Leah’s happiness is contagious, so you’re not mad when she drags you in her arms to join her cheers and enthusiastic dance. It takes you less than a second to indulge her, letting the blonde spin you around and matching her excitement.

When she dips you and seals the move with a kiss the laugh that rises out of you is genuine and loud.

At first, neither of you notice the stadium’s camera pointed in your direction, recording your little moment of pure bliss in each other’s arms.

Looking back at it, as all your friends sent you the viral video, you know Leah saw you two on the big screen and went along with her little cocky display of affection and excitement for the victory.

You’re sure your father could be laughing at it too, despite the colors you’re wearing.

fine.

[drdemonprince]

I am a trans man and I have lots in common with cis men.

I am a Jewish man, and my “ethnic” white features are the ones that trans men meet with fear and revulsion: hairiness, balding, shortness, and carrying weight in my hips and ass. I look like my father, my grandfather, and my brother. I will not apologize for that.

I am a queer man, and I love and defend my queerness. I get de-gendered and they/themmed because I am expressive, I am dynamic, and I am loud. I love drag, I love to queen out, I love gay mens’ history and culture. I love leather, I love kink, and I love seeing other people like me in those spaces. I love to feel, see, hear, touch and connect with other men— cis and trans.

I am a disabled man. I have that in common with cis men too. Men who are afraid they are not manly enough because they are not physically strong, because they cannot endure hard labor, or work out or play sports. Men who are “weak” for being mentally ill, or autistic, or expressing their emotions at inappropriate times. Autistic men who have “childish” interests and are terrified of being mocked for them, or who can only enjoy what they love “ironically”.

I am on HRT. I have that in common with hundreds of men who have naturally lower testosterone, and older men. I wear a binder, which is something I have in common with men with gynecomastia.

The longer I transition, the more the constellation of traits that make me “clockable” or “non passing” as trans shifts, and takes on new meaning. Yes, I have wide hips, a big ass, I am short, I am queer, I am mentally ill. No, I am not like “the average” man. But I see myself reflected in new places all the time.

I am a person who wields the privileges of whiteness and male gender. I am constantly learning how to be humble, how to let others speak, and how to be in mutuality and support instead of “protective”. I see this same struggle in other men in activism, who have been assumed to be leaders, but now need to learn to follow, and learn to listen.

I am a man, straightforwardly. Other men are my brothers, and I love them. Women are my sisters, and I care for them and want them to walk freely in the world. No person is not my kin, and I want them to be liberated. All our fights are entwined.

Thanks for making the space to share this.

An absolutely beautiful message, thank you.