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svt17-imagines · 5 months ago

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𝕽𝖔𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖘

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴꜱ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴏᴍʙɪɴᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏʙꜱᴄᴇɴᴇʟʏ ʜᴏᴛ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ ꜱʟᴀꜱʜ ʀᴏᴏᴍᴍᴀᴛᴇ, ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴏᴊᴜ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ɢᴀᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ Qᴜᴇꜱᴛɪᴏɴꜱ?

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 14ᴋ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ʟᴏᴛꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴅɪʀᴛʏ ᴛᴀʟᴋ, ᴘᴇɴᴇᴛʀᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ꜱᴇx, ꜰɪɴɢᴇʀɪɴɢ, ᴏʀᴀʟ (ꜰ. ʀᴇᴄɪᴇᴠɪɴɢ)

ᴀ/ɴ: ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴍʏ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ꜰᴜʟʟ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ ꜰɪᴄ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡʜᴏʟᴇ ɴɪɴᴇ ʏᴀʀᴅꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴜᴄʜ, ʜᴏᴘᴇꜰᴜʟʟʏ ɪ ᴅɪᴅ ᴏᴋᴀʏ ʟᴏʟ ɪ ꜰᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴍʏꜱᴇʟꜰ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴡʀᴀᴘᴘᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴜɪʟᴅ ᴜᴘ ꜱᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ɪꜱ ᴅᴇꜰɪɴɪᴛᴇʟʏ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ ꜱɪᴅᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ!<3

—

You couldn’t contain the maniacal laughter that escaped your throat as Wonwoo choked on his drink, a coughing fit erupting as he reached for the closest napkin he could find.

“I’m sorry… what did you just say?” He held his forearm to his mouth, desperately trying to contain any remaining coughs still threatening to escape.

“You heard me.” You leaned back against the foot of the couch, your legs sitting criss cross on the floor while you knocked your head back to take another shot. You giggled afterwards, wiping any leftover soju from your lips. “No man has ever made me come. Not even Si-woo.”

It was an embarrassing thing to bring up in retrospect, especially to your roommate of three years who up until now you’d only ever sparingly told the details of your intimate life to. But who the hell even cared about pride anymore?

Certainly not you… and certainly not the copious amount of alcohol currently traversing your system.

“But… you two were together for so long?” The confused expression on Wonwoo's face was downright adorable, and the subconscious urge to pinch his cheek was immediately pushed down.

“All relationships take sacrifice, mine just so happened to be any chance of ever achieving orgasm.” You cringed outwardly as you thought back to a particularly tough memory. “I remember one time he rubbed my inner thigh for like fifteen minutes thinking it was my—“

“STOP!” He croaked out, cheeks flushing brightly as you released a loud cackle, your eyes tearing up at your precious best friend.

You and Wonwoo had first properly met at the start of college, which was baffling considering you both had gone to the same highschool for four years without uttering so much as a single word to one another. It wasn’t to say you'd been completely blind to his existence that entire time, he had just always been much more reserved and quiet back then.

Not to mention way too handsome for you to even think about approaching.

If anything, the only people he ever really spoke with was your current mutual group of friends. You remembered meeting Seungkwan junior year, but it wasn’t until you were actually partnered as lab buddies in college that you’d grown close enough to get invited over for a pool party at his friend Soonyoungs place. Kwan had been in the middle of introducing you to Jihoon when a few people shouting from across the yard had stolen your attention, you could hardly recognize the goofy grinned boy who was getting flicked after losing a punishment game to be the same shy Wonwoo whom you’d only ever snuck spare glances at for the past four years.

The first thing you noticed was just how effortlessly funny he secretly was. Never in your life would you have guessed that Wonwoo, who only a few years prior refused to even make eye contact as you borrowed his pen, would’ve been right in front of you borderline screaming his lungs out into a karaoke machine. You and everyone else couldn’t breathe laughing as he strained to sing as high as his uncharacteristically deep voice could manage, all in an attempt to beat Soonyoung's high score. The entire night he continued to crack the most absurd one liners, which somehow felt even funnier because of just how impassive he usually was at school. You couldn’t contain the fit of giggles that escaped you practically every time he spoke, all while his hyungs encouraged him and wheezed in fits of laughter by your side.

The second thing you noticed was just how much the two of you actually had in common, your first real conversation sparking from an in depth discussion of FPS games, resulting in a borderline nerd off between the two of you for the rest of the party. You both got along so well that you had made plans for a duo match later that night, which then led into exchanging numbers, and then discord tags. You soon discovered a mutual love of classic movies, which turned into weekly film nights, then sleepovers, which led to grabbing breakfast together, then lunch… The two of you eventually spent so much time together that Wonwoo suggested you become roommates.

It was an offer that you agreed to almost instantly.

It worked perfectly. You each liked to have your own space, but not too much as you both got lonely pretty frequently. And the best part about two introverts living together meant that you also understood each other's social battery, which for some reason never really drained around Wonwoo. It wasn’t uncommon for one person to knock on the other's door out of boredom, asking to have a movie night or a meal together, or even just relax quietly in each other's presence. He was easy to talk to, listened to your ramblings and never judged. You’d rant to him whenever anything bothered you or made you upset, but you always made sure not to take it too far as you never wanted to risk making him uncomfortable.

But you were feeling a bit too loose tonight, maybe it was the alcohol buzzing through your system or the fact that you had just dumped your boyfriend a few days prior. Maybe it was the frustration you’d been bottling up at how shittily your, now ex, treated you for the past year. Everything was slipping through your lips a lot easier than usual, even the information you typically kept close to your chest was pouring out without any filter.

As was evidenced by the abrupt confession about your sex life.

“I thought things were, um, really good between you two on that front?” Wonwoo let out, his brows furrowing together in pure confusion. “I mean you never really talked to me about that stuff, but the noises coming from your room—“

“Fake. All of it.” You snorted, and the look on Wonwoo’s face was so comical you had to force your dizzy head not to fall over laughing. “What can I say, I’m one hell of an actress.”

Wonwoo had to practically wrench his gaping mouth shut, taking a swig of his beer as he seemed to mull over that information. You knew he wasn’t a big drinker, but after you came home practically begging to have a few drinks together to get your mind off of the hellish week you’d had he couldn’t just say no. Letting him have a few beers was the best you could compromise, as you were left to down the harder alcohol sitting in front of you both.

“Is that why you guys broke up?” He asked carefully, testing the waters. Your eyes widened slightly, realizing you’d never actually explained the details to Wonwoo, partially because the wound was still fresh but also because it was yet another embarrassing situation that made you feel small and vulnerable. You gave him a gentle smile and shook your head no, allowing the alcohol to explain for you.

“He’d been texting other girls for the past three months.” You sighed, pouring yourself another glass. “Wasn’t even careful about it either, he got a tinder and a hinge notification while I was over one night. What a dumbass.”

You downed the shot, this one burning your throat slightly more than the rest and you scowled at the feeling. It pissed you off, the fact that you wasted a year of your life with such a shithead and there was nothing to show for it in the end. Wonwoo’s silence might’ve been your cue to shut up if you’d been sober, but your inebriated brain just took it as an invitation to continue.

“I think the part that confused me the most was that I actually felt so relieved when I found out.” You put the shot glass on the coffee table, Wonwoo raised a brow in surprise. “I mean yeah, I was fucking furious about it. Woke that asshole up by dumping a cup of water directly on his head, packed my stuff and didn’t look back once.”

You fidgeted with the soju bottle, thinking over all the conflicting feelings you’d been working through the past few days. “But once I saw those notifications on his phone it really just kinda put everything into perspective for me, I guess. I don’t think I ever once actually imagined a future with the guy. I think, secretly, I always wanted some kind of excuse to end things.”

You adjusted your hand, even all the alcohol in your system suddenly wasn’t enough. “It probably makes me a bitch to say this, but I don’t think I meant it a single time I told him I loved him.” You winced slightly at your own words, a sliver of guilt trailing up your spine. “I would’ve felt bad if I didn’t say it back, you know? We were together for a while, and it’s not like I’m getting any younger.”

Wonwoo shook his head. “You’re not a bitch.” Your eyes shifted to study his face, his expression concerned but his eyes soft. “I’ve been here the entire time, every fight and every argument. The guy was a douchebag.”

You offered him a grateful smile, Wonwoo was always there. He comforted you and listened to you during even the absolute worst moments of your relationship, but never once did he tell you to break up with him. It confused you, since most of your friends came to that very same conclusion any time you so much as brought Si-woo’s name up.

“... Why don’t you ever… talk bad about him?” You remembered sniffling into a crumpled tissue, leaning into Wonwoo’s shoulder after finishing a particularly rough venting session. You’d just bawled your eyes out after the usual spat with Si-woo, and Wonwoo was rubbing slow, comforting circles on your back.

He furrowed his brows together and paused his motions. “What do you mean?”

“You listen to me cry and complain about him so much, usually Hao or Jihoon get sick of it and tell me to just dump him already.” You hiccuped slightly, and you noticed his lip curl up in amusement. “But you never say anything… Doesn't it bother you? That I still stay with him even after all of this?”

“I hate that you’re hurting, and I don’t like seeing you sad.” He frowned slightly, and brushed a strand of hair from your tear stained cheeks. “But if you have to cry, I’m just glad I can be here so you’re not feeling these things alone.”

He playfully placed his index finger between your eyebrows and pushed your head back softly, you laughed and another hiccup escaped “I trust that you would leave him if you felt like it was the right thing to do. I don’t think offering up solutions and badmouthing him while you’re in so much distress will help anything.” His gentle smile practically froze you in place, the genuineness in his tone melting away any lingering tears.

“I’m always here, if you ever need someone to just listen.”

That singular moment provided you more comfort than you could ever remember receiving from someone. You weren’t scared to talk about your feelings anymore, you didn’t have to hide your emotions around Wonwoo like you might’ve done around the other guys. But it also disappointed you to a certain degree, because in all honesty if there was anyone you wanted to tell you to end things with Si-woo… It was him.

You knew you’d developed feelings for Wonwoo about a month after meeting him. It wasn’t hard, with how easily the two of you had bonded and how breathtakingly handsome he was. It was more difficult to actually keep it a secret, as you were both practically inseparable and he was always looking at you with such kind eyes and the prettiest smile.

The thought of confessing never so much as crossed your mind. You never dared even speak about it aloud, not even to your friends, but the feelings involuntarily stuck around longer than you anticipated. One month of friendship turned into two, then three turned into four, and when you hit a year was when it all came to a crashing stop.

Your friend Mingyu had set Wonwoo up on a blind date with someone from his job, and they ended up becoming official not long after.

Hana was her name, gorgeous with long dark hair and wispy lashes, she had a model figure and the most charming Daegu dialect. She suited Wonwoo well, the two of them immediately becoming an absolute powerhouse of a couple in terms of visuals. You congratulated your friend and his new girlfriend with smiles and squeals of course, but it did nothing to stop the silent cries you’d given your pillow the weeks following. It took time, it took effort, and it took a lot of strength, but you eventually got past it.

Si-woo was your first venture into dating after properly getting over your little crush, about a year after Hana and Wonwoo got together. He treated you like a princess in the beginning, and you had to admit it helped soothe that leftover ache.

It was the small moments, the good moments with Si-woo where you felt yourself properly moving forward, moving past all those lingering feelings. But it was the bad moments that made you regret it, the ones where he would search through your phone while you went to the bathroom, the ones where he would ignore you for days because you were laughing a little too much at one of Dokyeom’s jokes, the ones where he wouldn’t take you on any dates unless you agreed to pay for them.

It wasn’t right, all your friends knew it and you did too, but routine can be a scarily addictive thing.

You remember being proud of yourself for not feeling much when Wonwoo had told you he and Hana had broken up, roughly a month into your own relationship with Si-woo. Obviously you felt concern for your friend’s wellbeing, for his mental state and whether or not he was heartbroken over it all. But you didn’t squeak in concealed excitement, you didn’t jump for joy behind closed doors, and you didn’t go to bed picturing yourself and Wonwoo’s first date like you probably would have a year prior.

You might’ve felt a little bit of happiness. But only a little.

“Look at you, finally saying something bad about him.” You chuckled, watching your own hand pour soju into a glass as if you had no control over it. “I’m surprised you held back for so long, Hao always had lots of creative words to describe Si-woo. “

“I’m not gonna lie, keeping it in was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.” You snickered outwardly as he exhaled. “But you needed someone to listen. That was much more important than making it known how badly I wanted to shove his head into a wall.”

“Tell that to Cheol, he almost strangled the guy when I told him half the shit he did.” A sigh escaped and you softly swished the soju against the shot glass. “I mean honestly, when he used to get mad at me for hanging out with the guys? Calling the video games I played childish, nagging me if I wore something even slightly revealing to class, the list goes on and on.”

Wonwoo shook his head with a huff. “I never knew how you dealt with him, I respected it, but I never understood it.”

“I honestly have no idea either, dude.” You exhaled, your cheeks puffing as you leaned your head back to look at the ceiling fan. “What’s even worse is I faked so many orgasms for that fucker just so he wouldn’t feel bad, I gave the performance of a goddamn lifetime too!”

“You were doing charity work honestly.” He chuckled, sipping his beer once more. “I don’t think I remember you ever saying a single good thing about the guy while you were together, isn’t that crazy?”

“That’s because there wasn’t.” You snickered, your eyes glancing to look at Wonwoo once more. “The worst was when we fought about you, though.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. “Me?” You nodded, smiling at his expression. “You never once mentioned you guys having arguments because of me?”

“I never wanted you to feel bad because of it.” You shrugged a single shoulder, the rest of your muscles completely relaxed. “You’re my roommate. You’re also an attractive guy. He was a controlling and jealous asshole. It’s pretty easy to put two and two together with how he’d react.”

Wonwoo seemed conflicted, as if unsure whether to apologize for causing issues or to agree with the sentiment of Si-woo being a terrible partner. Your next words came out like an echo, and your mind was much too slow to stop them from spilling out before they reached your tongue.

“To be fair, he was right to be worried.”

A stifling silence fell upon the cozy living room, and you weren’t even able to fully process what you had actually said because you were too busy taking another shot. The movement of it made you feel fuzzy, and the look Wonwoo was giving you made you giggle.

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?” His eyes were slightly narrowed, and his mouth looked oh so attractive at the moment you just wanted to crawl over and nibble on it. A stray laugh escaped your mouth.

“I had a crush on you, dumbass.” You hiccuped, using your hands to emphasize something large. “A biiiiig one, a long time ago~”

You reached down to pour another shot but Wonwoo stopped your hand. You frowned, watching as he brought the soju bottle and glass to his side and away from you.

“If you’re just gonna sit there drinking your little beer like a baby, one of us has to at least finish all the real alcohol!” You whined, pushing your arm out and attempting to snatch the bottle back weakly.

Wonwoo was still for a moment, and instead of giving in to your complaints proceeded to take a long swig from the bottle itself. You couldn’t hide the dumb grin growing on your face as he drank it all down in one go, a couple of coughs escaping to show his unfamiliarity with the drink.

“There, all gone. No more for you.” He spoke while clearing his throat, and your head was barely able to comprehend the fact that he was right. The bottle Wonwoo had just finished was the last, everything else on the table being empty or with just enough to fill a cap full. You groaned.

“We should go get moreee, you need to get on my level so we’re even.” You grunted, attempting to stand up from your seat on the floor but stumbling and falling back down in your original spot.

“I don’t think any amount of alcohol would ever get me to the state you’re in right now.” Wonwoo chuckled, his voice low and deep, practically giving you goosebumps. “You should get ready for bed before you black yourself out.”

“You promised you’d distract me from my shitty week, if you send me to my room all I’m gonna do is drive myself insane thinking about everything.” You pouted, swaying slightly and giving your roommate a questioning brow. “Are you going back on your word? Abandoning your drunk, sad, pitiful friend like this?”

Wonwoo let out a deep sigh and you knew you had him, he grabbed his beer once more and took his final sip of it before placing it on the coffee table. “Fine, what do you want to do?”

“Games.” You clapped excitedly, shaking your head when Wonwoo started crawling over to set up the PlayStation a few feet from you both. “Not video games, board games! Or a card game or something.”

“I’m pretty sure we left all our physical stuff at Jun’s place last time we all hung out.” Wonwoo frowned after peering through the glass cubbies of your media cabinet. “I’m not sure we have anything here to play with.”

You thought for a moment, eyeing down the empty shot glass when the idea sprang up almost instantly. “What about ‘Questions’? We haven’t played that in so long!”

“A drinking game? Did you forget that I just downed the rest of the alcohol?” Wonwoo motioned to the table, scratching the back of his neck. “The whole point is to drink if you can’t answer.”

“We can just answer everything then!” You snickered, watching as Wonwoo rubbed his eyes under his glasses, no doubt exhausted by your behavior tonight. “Orrrr we can bet. Whoever doesn’t answer first has to do whatever the winner wants.”

He looked at you for a moment, considering. Those spare seconds allowed your delirious mind to subtly ogle your roommate, your mouth drying up just from a mere once-over of him. He picked out the most basic, comfortable clothes he owned, a plain cotton black tee with loose fitting black sweats, and yet it always baffled you how he still managed to look runway ready. His long black hair was messy, and the itch to run your hands through it all was interrupted when Wonwoo moved to settle in and leaned his elbow on the table, his chin resting in his palm.

“Fine, deal. You first then.” He nodded towards you and you couldn’t help the feelings of excitement and happiness that bubbled up in your stomach. You sat up straight to think.

“If you had to make out with one of the guys, who would you choose?” You cackled loudly as Wonwoo scrunched his face in disgust at the question. He hesitated for a while, and you grinned thinking you might’ve already won.

“Jeonghan, but specifically when he had his long hair.” You let out a noise of approval but he visibly shivered at the thought. “I’d simply close my eyes and try not to think about it.”

“Hot.” Wonwoo threw a stray couch pillow at your face in retaliation and you snorted a laugh. “Jokinggg~ It’s your turn.”

“… So, when exactly did you have that little crush on me?” You rolled your eyes.

“Not letting that confession slip past, I see?” You scoffed at his small self satisfied smirk, the urge to kiss it off fighting every nerve in your intoxicated head. “You’re so obvious, trying to fluster me… but I’m over it buddy. Those dazzling charms don’t work on me anymore!”

“I’m not hearing an answer.” Wonwoo hummed, the corner of his eyes crinkling to match his smile. “Should I take that as me winning? Or~”

You sighed and gave in reluctantly. “A few weeks after becoming friends.” His smile turned to a look of genuine surprise and you suddenly felt a bit self conscious at airing it all out.

“That early on?” He spoke uncharacteristically gently, and you nodded slowly. His brow furrowed. “Why didn’t you ever tell me—“

“Woah there buddy, not your turn anymore!” You laughed a bit anxiously, already trying to think of a question that would get him to lose lest he keep pressing the subject. “My turn now!”

Wonwoo appeared disappointed but motioned a hand for you to continue. The hammering in your chest was a little too hard, and you weren’t sure if it was just because of the soju anymore.

“Why did you and Hana break up?” You spoke softly. In your head it was a sure fire way of winning, he had never told anyone the reason, not even the guys. You respected his privacy enough not to prod the subject, but you figured if there was any time to casually ask about it, it was while the soju was still thrumming strong in your veins. He stayed quiet for a few beats, and right when you were sure you had won, he sighed before answering.

“We never actually loved each other.” He spoke quietly, almost to the point where you had to strain to hear him. “We distracted each other for a decent amount of time, but that’s pretty much it.”

You knitted your brows together, shocked at how his one answer managed to cause a million other questions to run through your mind. What on earth did he mean by that? Him and Hana were a match made in heaven as far as you were able to see, both of them practically glowing whenever they had each other around. They never fought, always went on dates, hell she even stayed over at the apartment a few times.

“When did it stop?” Wonwoo’s voice tore you out of your own racing thoughts, and you looked at him dumbly.

“What?”

“The feelings you had for me.” He specified, his tone a lot more serious compared to when you began. “When did they stop?”

You swallowed dryly. If you were to be completely honest with yourself, they never went away. The overwhelming crush you had on him had been gone for a while now, but nothing ever really stopped those lingering feelings that still sat heavy in the back of your chest. If they were gone, why were you still finding him as gloriously kissable as the day you’d met.

“When you started dating Hana. I officially gave up around that time.” You let out whatever the liquor allowed you to, trying not to ponder too hard on it. “I mean, I couldn’t exactly have feelings for a taken guy, what would that make me?” An awkward chuckle escaped as you did your best to diffuse the tension a bit.

Wonwoo’s expression was unreadable, and your brain wasn’t even focused on the game anymore. Your head simply became muddled with questions, barely able to remember that you were only allowed to ask one at a time.

“What do you mean by ‘distracted each other’?” It was an odd thing to say no matter how you put it, and there was no guarantee that even if Wonwoo felt that way that Hana did as well. And maybe it was a delusional one track minded bias towards your roommate, but you didn’t want to think that he was just using her either.

“When Mingyu set us up, I had feelings for someone else at the time.” Your eyebrows raised in surprise at the new piece of information, Wonwoo distracted himself by picking at his fingernails. “And when I met Hana, she told me she had feelings for someone else as well. But she said that it would never work out, she was extremely resigned to that fact.”

It took you all but a minute to put the pieces together.

“… Mingyu?” You asked, Wonwoo nodded.

“The person she liked most set her up on a dozen blind dates, how much harder can you really friendzone someone?” You nodded in understanding, feeling a heavy amount of pity for the poor girl. “My own self confidence was pretty low at the time, so we kind of just saw ourselves in one another. We did actually try dating at first but it never really felt right, it became more like a mutual partnership than anything else. We talked a lot, mostly about how hard it was to bottle everything up. We’d go out but would never hold hands, we’d sleep over but I would always take the floor, I’d pat her back while she sobbed over Mingyu and she’d listen to me vent till we knocked out. We just… helped each other. Distracted ourselves for a bit.”

You nodded in thought, noticing a small weight lift off your chest. What he had with Hana was companionship, it was sweet and caring but never romantic. It slightly fascinated you that they were able to maintain such a platonic relationship for an entire year, and baffled you even more that neither even came close to falling for each other when they were both such attractive people inside and out.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Wonwoo’s voice came out slightly strained, prompting you to give him your full attention. He suddenly seemed… frustrated? Upset? You weren’t sure, but the tightening of his jaw and downward gaze made your heart clench just from looking at him.

You could’ve lied, you could’ve said a half truth like being scared of ruining your friendship or that you just hadn’t thought about all that in forever. The alcohol flowing through your bloodstream had other plans though, and you had no restraint as you felt the real answer pour out without a second guess.

“What? And embarrass myself?” You laughed airily, watching Wonwoo’s expression tighten slightly. The most you could offer him was a shrug. “It was more like a fantasy to me, something I used to daydream about. Trust me, I am very self aware of where I rank on the attractiveness scale, especially compared to you. Telling you would’ve done nothing but humiliate the shit out of me, and getting rejected would have sent me spiraling.”

Wonwoo frowned, looking up at you with his brows scrunched in concentration. “Did I do something to come across as unapproachable to you? I hope you know I’d never ever make you feel bad over something like that.”

You shook your head immediately. “Nothing like that at all.” The fuzziness in your brain made your words slur a bit, and you paused before continuing. “I just meant I’ve always thought of you as way too out of my league to even consider—“

Silence.

Wonwoo’s conflicted expression dropped altogether, a small smile forming not too long after. Fine, maybe you’d just hinted that you still thought that way now. But what did you have to lose at this point? He knew about the crush, and there wasn’t much else for you to really expose about yourself. The feeling was oddly liberating, not having to hide or keep it all in anymore. Surely your sober self will be mortified in the morning, but right now you were simply enjoying the freedom that came with your inebriated state.

Just when you were about to scoff out something about never boosting his ego like that ever again, you noticed that the smile that had appeared faded just as quickly. You held your breath, his gaze becoming stone serious.

“I never want to hear you bringing yourself down like that, you have it completely backwards.” The sudden sincerity in his tone took you by complete surprise. “I’m sorry if I’ve ever come across as indifferent to you, but I do think you have severely underestimated just how breathtaking you are.”

Your eyes widened, utterly dumbfounded by the abrupt admittance. In the past three years Wonwoo had only explicitly called you attractive a handful of times, each one forever being burned into your memory as something to cherish. Granted it wouldn’t exactly have been appropriate for him to constantly be calling you hot while he had a girlfriend or when you had a boyfriend, but it just made the flattery he did give that much more heartfelt and genuine.

You felt your cheeks burn warm and you suddenly became incredibly overwhelmed by the temperature of the living room, pressing the back of your palm to your forehead briefly in a half-assed attempt to cool your face. You offered him a small smile, trying to play off how affected you become just from his praise alone.

“Jeon Wonwoo,” you begin, a mock warning in your voice. “You’re not sly, I know you’re still trying to fluster me.”

“Maybe my goal is to get you to fall for me all over again~” He wiggled his brow, and you felt your eyes roll back for the millionth time that night. “Your turn, go.”

You tried to think of anything other than the one real question that kept stubbornly pushing its way into the front of your mind. You knew it had the power to either help you move on, hurt you, or… something else. You weren’t sure, but one look at Wonwoo and it felt almost as if he knew what you were thinking. Without wasting another second, the question tumbled out without a spare thought.

“You mentioned having feelings for someone when you started dating Hana…” You licked your lips, trying to sound as casual as you could but failing miserably. “Who was it?”

The stare you gave Wonwoo was anything but subtle, but you didn’t care. Your heart pounded, palms sweated, face heated as you found that you didn’t care to hide it anymore. It had been years since the “end” of your crush and you had already spilled everything tonight, the least he could do was give you the closure you’d been craving all this—

“You.”

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as Wonwoo offered a genuine smile. You simultaneously wanted to smack it off and kiss it off at the same time. You had to remind yourself that this was years ago he was talking about, not now. It was the only thing grounding you to the spot and keeping yourself from lunging at him.

“You’re such a dumbass.” You let slip, making Wonwoo’s smile fall slightly from his face. “What kind of idiot gets into a relationship with another girl when he has a crush on someone else? Talk about self sabotage.”

“Now how the hell was I supposed to know you liked me too?”

“Dude, you really think I actually enjoyed just sitting there and watching you play League for five hours straight?”

“Do you think I enjoyed driving you to the official Sanrio store every week to look at the same five plushies you were never gonna buy?”

“… Touché.”

You both let out a stream of chuckles, but your muddled mind couldn’t let go of the fact that at one point in time, you both had feelings for one another. The guy who you dreamt and fantasized about for a year straight had liked you. Not only that, but he’d liked you even when he was with Hana, one of the most beautiful girls you’d ever seen. Your heated blood combined with the temperature of the room grew to be almost unbearable.

“If you don’t mind me asking, then…” You picked at a stray thread coming from the bottom of your shorts to keep yourself busy. “When did the feelings stop? On your end, I mean.”

You looked up at Wonwoo when he remained quiet, his expression unreadable. You raised an irritated brow at him when you couldn’t handle the silence anymore, and he grinned mischievously.

“I would answer, but it’s not your turn~” He hummed, you groaned.

“Fine, go.” He didn’t even hesitate to ask his next question, your entire body tensed.

“You said the thought of us together was like a fantasy to you,” your finger that had been picking at a thread pulled it out a little too harshly, “what kinda stuff did you fantasize about?”

The copious amount of alcohol in your bloodstream wasn’t nearly enough to answer any easier than if you were sober. You couldn’t quite look at his face, but felt only a portion of the truth slip past your lips. It took every ounce of strength in your body to restrain yourself from exposing more than needed.

“Just, you know, stuff that everyone thinks about when they like someone.” You shrugged, fighting the blush creeping up your neck. “Going on dates, holding hands, sometimes kissing…”

“Being intimate?” Wonwoo asked and you froze, indirectly answering the question for him. “Was I good at it? In those fantasies?”

You didn’t need to look at him to realize he was probably just messing with you now, and you suddenly felt a small rush of regret for the potential ammo you’ve just given him to tease you for the years to come. Sure, he’d confessed his past feelings too, but that was still nothing in comparison to just how much you’d spilled about yourself tonight.

“Have you ever thought about me? When you were—“

“It’s my turn!” You interjected, eager to get a break from embarrassing yourself further. “You need to answer my question first.”

He shut his mouth and nodded, sitting back slightly with his hands relaxing in his lap. Perhaps it was wishful thinking or the soju clouding your brain, but after finally looking at his face again you noticed he seemed to be more genuinely curious than joking. His posture was straight, and his demeanor was surprisingly serious for someone who only meant to tease you.

“Same question I asked before.” You spoke softly, looking him up and down. “When did your feelings stop?”

Your heart practically stopped beating when he shook his head, his posture still stiff and seemingly anxious. You crinkled your brow, unsure if you actually understood the meaning of his response.

“They didn’t.” He spoke a bit shakily with a nervous grin plastered on, you felt a clump form in the back of your throat. “I ended things with Hana because I started feeling bad. We used to be pretty balanced when it came to communication, but after you started dating Si-woo… Let’s just say she listened to me vent a lot more than was healthy for either of us.”

You stayed quiet and unbearably still, afraid that moving would wake you from the potential dream you were currently experiencing.

“No matter how hard I tried, I’ve just never been able to stop thinking about you.” He mumbled carefully, eyeing your reaction. “But that’s not to say I can’t suppress it, as long as I have you in my life at all I’m more than happy. Even if it’s just as friends—“

“I used to go to sleep imagining what your lips would feel like.” You croaked out before you could stop yourself. Wonwoo’s eyes widened. “They just… they always looked so soft… I wanted to kiss you until I felt like I couldn’t breathe anymore.”

“Wh— What…” He stuttered out, swallowing loudly. “Um, what else did you think about?”

“Whenever I went into your room while you were playing a game, I’d imagine you grabbing my waist and pulling me into your lap.” You shuddered slightly, watching Wonwoo’s eyes darken. “I thought about h-how your hand might feel squeezing my thighs, my waist… brushing under my shirt.”

“You remember that heat wave we had a few months ago? The one where our AC broke for a week straight?” He tilted his head slightly as he looked you up and down, you nodded your head slowly. “I lied about the maintenance guy being booked. I just wanted to see you walking around the apartment in that skimpy little tank top and those silk short-shorts a little longer.”

You smiled at that, your blood pumping faster at the thought that you might’ve affected him just as much as he affected you. Your eyes locked on the pair of lips that had plagued your mind for years and your mouth went dry.

“I used to think to myself a lot, about how hot you look in those glasses.” You spoke dumbly, biting your bottom lip as if to reign it in for the time being. “I always wanted to know if they stayed on. Whenever you…“

His brow raised almost instantly at your question, he smiled a little and adjusted the pair of glasses almost instinctively. You all but drooled at the sight, finding it nearly impossible to control anything at this point.

”They tend to either fall off or fog up, so I typically just take them off.” Wonwoo said, seeming to think over his next sentence carefully. “But I guess I wouldn’t mind trying to keep them on, if it was something my partner was into.”

You had to force yourself not to nod subconsciously, your veins thrumming at the very familiar fantasy of a half naked Wonwoo holding himself above you in his dorky little glasses. Instead you chose to shift your position to sit on your hands, lest your arms decide to reach out and touch the very tempting man seated across from you.

“Have you ever thought about me?” You scrunch your nose at Wonwoo, making it clear you didn’t fully understand his question. He let out a slightly shaky breath but spoke in a voice that oozed seriousness. “When touching yourself… Did the thought of me ever make you…”

You grinned and bit down the blunt ‘orgasm?’ that attempted to spring from your throat haphazardly. You looked towards the floor, still a slight bit anxious despite everything already having been aired in the open.

“I’d say nearly every time.” You chuckled softly, the silence that followed not going unnoticed. “I felt really guilty and awful, especially since I was dating Si-woo at the time and I also felt like I was objectifying my best friend. But then somehow it kinda ended up being the only way I could get that release, it’s fucked up I know… I should’ve just tried porn or something—“

“I thought you said you stopped liking me after I started dating Hana?”

You froze, gaining an entire arms worth of goosebumps at the note of realization in Wonwoo’s tone. You licked your dry lips, willing your voice not to crack.

“Uh, y-yeah. I did.”

“But you started seeing Si-woo after me and Hana got together.”

“O-oh, yeah you’re right I was probably just confused—“

“So you lied then?” Wonwoo’s posture was arrow straight, not a single hint as to what could possibly be happening in his brain. “You still liked me, even after I started dating Hana?”

You looked him in the eyes, mouth opening and closing but the words remained stuck in the back of your throat. He waited patiently, eyes locked in and tracking every move you dared to make, from the ragged breaths you took to your fidgeting fingers gripping the carpet fibers.

“… I lied.” You nodded, unable to look away from his piercing gaze. “I-I mean the enormous crush I had on you disappeared but… those feelings are still—“

Wonwoo didn’t wait for you to finish, he stood from his place across the coffee table and walked over to sit next to you. Your eyes followed his movements nervously, shifting awkwardly to give him a few inches of space.

Both of you now sat with your backs to the foot of the couch, your bodies facing forward with your heads turned towards one another. Wonwoo studied your face carefully and you swore you felt your cheeks burn an impossible shade of red.

“You know I won, right?” Wonwoo smiled softly, causing your intoxicated brain to stutter at the sudden shift in topic.

“What?”

“You lied to me. That counts as refusing to answer a question.” He shrugged slightly. “That means I won the game.”

You huffed out in mild annoyance, acknowledging that there was some validity in his reasoning. You were the one who rattled on yourself, there was no sense in fighting him.

“Fine, you won.” You admitted with a sigh, pouting out your bottom lip. An act that immediately caught Wonwoo’s gaze, and you felt your heart pick up its pace slightly.

“I believe there was a bet in place too,” Wonwoo spoke slowly, inching slightly closer to your side, “the loser has to do whatever the winner wants,” he brought his hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his finger grazing your cheek and causing you to shiver, “do you remember?”

You nodded softly, anxiety and nervousness and excitement all bubbling up together in one big mesh of feelings within your chest. The proximity of your face to Wonwoo’s was close, but he was hesitating slightly and you were itching to pull him into you already.

“Is this okay?” Wonwoo asked shakily, cupping your chin and pressing his forehead to yours. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

You nodded once more, a little too enthusiastically this time. Your hands slid up to wrap around his neck and lock him in place, as if subconsciously terrified of him changing his mind.

“God yes…” You practically whispered, Wonwoo smiled softly at your words. “Please, I—“

The kiss was gentle, at least at first. Nothing but the soft feeling of pressing lips together and the closeness it provided. And yet at the same time it felt like a gong being smacked in your head, ringing throughout your ears and reverberating throughout your entire body. The motion of his lips moving against your own combined with his scent, the feeling of his calloused thumb stroking your cheek so carefully, it made you feel lightheaded. It was as if you were floating on nothing, completely weightless, the only thing grounding you being Wonwoo’s lips on yours.

He pulled away too quickly, looking at you seemingly for some kind of confirmation that what you both were doing was still okay. You gave him another quick nod, and he immediately dove back in.

The second time was much more intense, both of your eagerness quickly surpassing Wonwoo’s original intent to keep it slow and steady. Your lips moved languidly, opening slightly in an attempt to deepen the kiss to which he hungrily accepted. His hand hurriedly shifted to the back of your head to grab a handful of hair and tug it gently, it lowered to your neck, to your shoulders, to your arms, your waist. He gave you a squeeze and pulled you closer, almost like he couldn’t feel enough of you as quickly as he wanted. You clung on to the back of his neck like your life depended on it, relishing in the firm grip of his hands on your waist.

Your blood was on fire, every inch of you burning to be touched and to get closer to him. Your head grew dizzy from the very thought that any of this was actually happening, that Wonwoo was kissing you like he needed it to survive, that you were kissing him back. You almost didn’t believe it was real, that any moment now you’d wake up in a puddle of sweat in your bed and panting like a damn dog. If your hands weren’t the only thing steadying you from the exhilarating feeling of Wonwoo’s lips on yours you might’ve tried pinching your thigh to wake yourself up.

After a few breathless moments Wonwoo pulled his mouth away, moving to kiss your jaw up and down, his favorite spot being right below your ear. The sound of his heavy breathing caused your entire body to shiver and you practically felt his smirk press into your skin. His mouth moved to the crook of your neck, licking slowly and sensually before sucking the places he especially liked. His mouth trailed back up your neck to nibble on a particularly sensitive spot and you involuntarily let out a small whine.

Wonwoo froze, and you started panicking.

“Oh god I-I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I sound like that I’ll be more quiet—“

He dove back in to kiss you with a renewed fervor, his hands gripping your sides as if to anchor him as he let out a muffled groan. You gasped into his lips as he kissed you roughly, drinking you in as much as physically possible.

You couldn’t stop the satisfied smile that grew on your lips as you climbed yourself into Wonwoo’s lap, causing him to release an incredibly strained moan. His arms tightened around you, and his hands dipped under your sweater to make skin to skin contact with your waist. You arched into it, encouraging him as those same hands trailed up your back and down your spine, sending waves of tingles throughout your body.

The two of you continued to kiss heatedly as Wonwoo proceeded to explore your stomach and upper ribs, not allowing himself nor you the pleasure of touching just a little higher and causing you to whine repeatedly. He seemed to partially enjoy being a tease, partially hate torturing himself by holding back.

“I-I can’t… Touch…” Wonwoo mumbled out between wet kisses, you eventually detached yourself from his mouth to return the favor of sucking and licking his neck, somewhat allowing him to get a few more words out. “I can’t touch you…”

You frowned slightly and nibbled on his collarbone before pulling away to face him. His hair was a wreck and sticking up everywhere, his glasses were fogged and barely hanging off the edge of his nose, his pale skin was beginning to flush and his eyes were lidded and dilated. If you hadn’t known that the guy had been sipping the same beer for the past two hours you might’ve thought he was completely hammered.

“Why? Why not?” You crinkled a brow, placing your hands around his own that had been gently stroking the skin just above your stomach. “It’d feel so nice, soft, sensitive…” You slowly inched his hands higher, and felt his fingers subconsciously brush against the underside of your breast. Wonwoo let out a surprised grunt and you silently celebrated your choice of going braless beneath your oversized sweater. You tilted your head all the way back and leaned into his touch with a whimper, trying to get him to do it again.

“Fuck, fuck…” Wonwoo practically whispered, his breath hitching as he closed his eyes in an attempt to regain his control. He took a few deep breaths but froze his motions completely much to your irritation, you huffed out in frustration and wiggled in his lap impatiently causing whatever remaining strings were left in him to snap.

He removed one of his hands and used it to pull you closer to him. His hand roughly gripped the back of your head to rest on his shoulder while his other traveled to your sternum, still not quite close enough to touch your breasts but enough to make you audibly groan out.

“Are you trying to fucking torture me, huh?” He choked out, his already deep voice managing to go two octaves lower. “I’ve thought about this moment for years. You know how easily I could make you come right here? Right now?”

You whined and nodded quickly, feeling his hand sliding back downwards toward your navel. His mouth was pressed right against your ear, and the sound of his heavy breathing was fueling the boiling ache between your legs like nothing else.

“But no. I’m gonna take my time. I want to spend hours on you. I want to make sure you come back begging for me to touch you again.” His fingers trail the outline of your panties, causing you to shiver. “I’ll fuck you so good and dirty that it’s all you think about for months. You’ll be coming to my room in the middle of the night craving my tongue, and I guarantee my face will be buried between those thighs till you’re dumb and limp.”

Your entire body tensed up as the fire in your blood burned hotter, your whimpers became desperate as the desire to grind down on Wonwoo grew exponentially stronger. He seemed to catch on to this, immediately moving his hands to your hips to stall any movement. You groan out in irritation.

“But, I refuse to do any of that when you’re drunk.” His once incredibly lustful tone turned into one of gentleness and patience. You moved back from his shoulder to meet his eyes, gleaming with sincerity. “I need you to be completely aware of what we’re doing. I need you to be one hundred percent certain that this is something you want. And you definitely can’t do that right now.”

You pouted and were about to argue when you felt a spell of dizziness hit like a slap to the face. You gripped his shoulder to stabilize yourself, and his hold on your waist hardened to help steady you.

“See I know you’re right, but part of me is even more turned on that you’re being a good person and not taking advantage of me.”

Wonwoo laughed audibly, his goofy smile warming your heart and instantly reminding you of how you came to fall for him in the first place. You leaned in to offer another slow, languid kiss to which he accepted. The fact that you could do that now, just kiss him whenever you wanted to, it was genuinely like a dream you never wanted to wake up from. You sneakily attempted to escalate the kiss before you felt your head being tugged back.

“That’s enough, bedtime.” You whined.

“Now tell me why the hell you riled me up that much if you were just going to send me to bed.” You frowned, pouting as Wonwoo chuckled.

“I held back for three years, do you have any idea how much self control it’s taking just for me to stop?” He smiled, fidgeting with a loose strand of your hair. “I can wait one more day, but first I need to make sure you don’t wake up regretting all this.”

You shook your head quickly, not wanting that thought to plague his mind for even a second. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and leaned in to hug him, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck.

“Never. I could never regret any of this.” You murmured, feeling your eyes flutter shut. A rumbling from his chest that indicated a soft laugh reverberated through your body, and you distantly felt yourself getting picked up off the ground and taken into your own bed.

As you felt the familiarity of your blankets and sheets being tucked in tightly around you, you realized he had no intention to stay. It took ninety nine percent of your inebriated brain’s capacity, but you managed to quickly snatch one of his hands before he turned to go to his own room.

“Stay tonight..” you mumbled out without even opening your eyes, you felt his hand tense. “I won’t do anything, just stay…”

The last thing you felt was the feeling of the bed sinking in next to you as you drifted into a dreamless sleep.

You were hot.

Extremely hot.

Did you forget to take off your clothes before bed last night? You typically slept in your underwear for that exact reason.

You shifted your legs slightly and grunted out when you felt the thick lining of your favorite sweatpants rub against one another. No wonder.

You adjusted your position in an attempt to remove the pants when you suddenly found yourself locked in place, a heavy weight over your shoulder pressing down and restricting you from moving freely. Not only that, a warm, soft hand was gently wrapped around your own.

Your eyes flew open as you suddenly became extremely aware of the predicament you’d put yourself in. His breathing felt slow and steady, indicating that the former still hadn’t woken up yet. His mouth seemed to be directly behind your neck, if the warm air continuously tickling the back of it was any indication. You let out a small shiver at the feeling.

And to make matters even worse, the hard length that seemed to be poking into your leg definitely belonged to none other than the guy you viciously made out with last night.

IT WAS REAL?!

The splitting headache you’d initially felt completely dissipated as you instead focused on your actions last night. Your first thoughts began with denial, the truth that you’d spilt the entirety of your guts and more to your roommate and best friend who’d just been trying to cheer you up… it was humiliating. Not only that, you practically threw yourself into his lap and shoved your tongue down his throat.

You closed your eyes tightly as you held back the urge to sneak out of bed and run to the nearest airport. Maybe you could vacation to America for a bit, you spoke a decent amount of English, you could get by. Just long enough for Wonwoo to forget how desperate you had behaved last night—

I will never recover from this…

Next came the anger at yourself for drinking that much in the first place, what did you think was going to happen?? You were freshly single, drinking an absurd amount of alcohol around the guy you’d been fantasizing about since you MET him. You could barely control your hormones when you were sober, nevermind when you’re completely wasted.

Yeah, big genius you were.

Not only that, the two of you are roommates. What if things got awkward now? What if you had to avoid each other, what if he’s grossed out—

Wait.

…

He wasn’t grossed out.

In fact, if you remembered correctly, he had muttered absolute filth into your ear about what he wanted to do with you. He’d even been encouraging it as much as you were egging him on, he liked you back. He admitted it himself—

OH MY GOD?!

WONWOO LIKED YOU BACK?!

Your eyes opened once more and your jaw dropped slightly in realization, the soft snores from the man behind you had slowed to a halt and you felt your body tense. His limbs stirred and he lifted his head groggily to check if you were awake.

“Good Morning…” His raspy morning voice caused a tingle to run through your spine, and he didn’t even hesitate to offer a small kiss on your temple before laying back down. Your heart melted, and you slowly moved to pinch yourself slightly just to double check.

It seemed he was hit with a reality check of his own too though, because not long after the kiss you felt his entire body stiffen. He stuttered out, trying to form a sentence but struggling.

“I— uh… are you? O-OH!! Oh I am so sorry—“

He cleared his throat and shifted back slightly, enough so that you wouldn't be able to feel his “morning problem” against you. Your face flushed as you found yourself disappointed by its absence.

“I—it’s okay…” you coughed out, voice hoarse and mouth dry from all the alcohol you’d consumed the night prior. “I didn’t really mind…”

Wonwoo hesitated for a beat but never removed his arms from being wrapped around you, which you took as a good sign. You placed your free hand atop his and squeezed, boldly snuggling further back into his arms to let him know you were okay with being held by him. His muscles relaxed, squeezing you tightly in return and nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

“Do you… Remember last night?” Wonwoo mumbled into your skin, goosebumps prickling your arms at the feeling. “You drank so much, I wouldn’t be surprised if you blacked any of it out…”

“… I remember everything.” You confirmed in a small voice, still a bit anxious for some reason. “At least I think I do? I could have definitely just imagined some portions, I’m not too sure what was fantasy and what was reality.”

Wonwoo laughed softly and you had to admit it was a bit embarrassing, knowing that he was practically sober all night while you had drowned your sorrows in soju and were unable to trust your own recollections.

“How about you tell me what you remember and I’ll let you know if it happened or not then?” Wonwoo suggested, and you felt your heart rate quicken at having to say it all aloud again. You knew that at least some of your memories had to be real, judging from the forehead kiss he’d given you and the clinginess he’d been showing, but what if you had completely imagined the steamy parts? It would be even more embarrassing…

You were way too sober to go through this again.

You sucked in a breath and started easy. “I confessed that I used to have a crush on you last night.”

“Wrong.” Your heart stopped briefly. “You confessed that you still have a crush on me last night. Present tense.”

You elbowed his side softly, causing a deep chuckle to escape his chest. “You know what I meant.” Still, a small bit of pressure was slightly lifted off your shoulders at his confirmation. “You told me you have feelings for me too.”

Wonwoo nodded his answer, his head still buried into your neck. You smiled at that, never once thinking that him returning your crush was even a possibility in the past.

“We—“ you paused, treading into dangerous territory. “We kissed… a lot. I got on your lap.”

You felt him clench his fingers around your own slightly. And before he could confirm or deny the claim, you rushed to get the rest out as well.

“You said some things… Some really, really dirty things…”

“I did.” Wonwoo spoke stiffly, probably embarrassed in his own way. You felt a rush of excitement at the confirmation, and a bit of nervousness as his rigid body tensed up behind you.

You both stayed that way, still and quiet for a few minutes, processing everything that had happened and where to continue from there. It was a lot easier and a lot less nerve wracking when you were drunk, but you gathered enough courage to softly press your behind into Wonwoo’s front.

A grunt of surprise escaped his throat and you sucked in your lip, hoping that it wasn’t too late to collect on last night's promises. You pressed back again, this time rolling your hips slightly in encouragement.

“Y-you… you still want…” Wonwoo groaned, his hand instinctively clinging on to your lower waist to pull you closer into him.

“Yes.” You sighed, wiggling slightly as you heard him suck in a sharp breath. “And for fucks sake touch me this time.”

Wonwoo didn’t need to be told twice, his hand immediately dipped under your sweater, once again exploring your navel, your sternum. An incoherent moan forced its way from your throat when his hand finally cupped your breast, kneading and prodding.

“It fits so perfectly in my hand, doesn’t it?” He gave a soft squeeze, using his index finger to play with your perked nipple. “God what I would give to see them bounce while I pound into you…”

You couldn’t do anything but whine when he moved his mouth to kiss your neck, never once stopping his ministrations on your chest. The feeling of his tongue traveling up to your earlobe then back down to your shoulder was almost enough to make you scream into your pillow, you clung to his bicep desperately as you practically melted into his arms.

You could barely register this was actually happening, hell you would’ve thought you’d been dropped directly into one of your dirty dreams if it weren’t for the fact that his physical presence around you was so strong. His scent, his weight, his voice… God you would have never imagined Wonwoo would be so vocal in bed.

.. Not that you were complaining one bit.

“Speaking of…” He spoke directly into your ear, causing a pool of heat to rise in your lower belly. His hand released your breast, finally exploring lower and dipping beneath your underwear. “Let me see just how fucking wet you get for me baby.”

You were practically panting at this point, and the soft pressure he provided as he prodded your folds almost made you come on the spot. You were getting impatient and he knew it too, proceeding to circle your clit with a deliberate smirk as he moved his hand faster, his eyes observing every detail of your desperate expression.

“Are you gonna look like this when I put my dick in you? God I bet it would just slide right in…” He let out a hollow chuckle as he inserted a single finger, making sure to also put pressure on his palm. You instinctively attempted to grind into it, shivering when he let out a deep groan. “What kind of noises do you make when you come, huh? I wanna hear them all.”

You gasp as his hand picks up its pace and he curls his fingers inward to find the perfect spot. You attempt to ground yourself by gripping the sheets, crying out and pleading for any kind of release from the intense pressure threatening to burst.

“Wonwoo… fuck! Pleaseeee!” You whined out, any leftover teasing in his voice seemed to dissipate at that.

“You’re gonna come on my fingers, then on my face, then on my cock.” He spoke carefully, inserting another digit and causing you to hum out in relief. “Then we’re gonna repeat it, over and over until you’re completely satisfied and your legs can’t even function anymore.”

You were gasping for air, eyes screwed shut as you focused in on the strings in your body tightening enough to snap any godforsaken second. He used his other arm to shift you from your side to your back, his face right above yours as you involuntarily spread your legs even wider to grant him better access. He chuckled darkly.

“You look so fucking good all desperate like this.” He mumbled, slamming his digits into you as he watched your reactions. “Open your eyes. I want you to look at me while I make you come.”

You struggled to focus but eventually your lids fluttered open, finding Wonwoo’s direct eye contact nerve wracking at first but soon realizing how much more intense it made everything feel. His finger curled once more and you arched instinctively, reaching a hand up to grip onto his muscular shoulder as an anchor.

“You like that baby?” He smiled slightly, eyes darkening with every small reaction you let out, you nodded quickly. “When you told me no one’s ever made you come I took that as a challenge, you know?”

You whimpered as he shifted to use his free hand to lift your top, nipples hardening as they made contact with the cold morning air. He took a moment to quietly admire their shape and size, but before you could begin to feel even slightly self conscious Wonwoo had leaned down to take one eagerly into his mouth.

You squeaked in surprise as the pleasure began to overwhelm you, your eyes screwing shut against your will and your mouth forming a giant ‘o’ as Wonwoo flicked his tongue around your breast, nibbling softly all while pressing his palm onto your clit.

“F-fuck!!” You cried out, moving your hand to grip the back of Wonwoo’s hair in encouragement. “Please please pleaseeee!! You’re gonna make me comeee!”

Wonwoo picked up his pace and sucked harder, causing you to scream out as all the sensations combined into a height you’d never even come close to replicating with your own fingers. You tugged Wonwoo’s head back suddenly to pull him off your breast, opting instead to pull him into a sloppy, messy kiss that was all tongue and teeth.

Your breathing staggered and an embarrassingly throaty noise escaped as the pressure finally burst into a feeling of complete euphoria. Your entire body twitched involuntarily and you groaned as Wonwoo pulled away from your lips to watch you ride through the sensation.

His fingers never stopped toying with your clit and his whispers of encouragement kept coming, creating an orgasm that felt more intense than anything you’d ever experienced before.

“That’s it baby, I want you to feel so fucking good, I want you to feel everything.” He muttered softly, not once slowing his fingers' pace. “I’m gonna make it so you feel this good whenever you want. You look so perfect like this, you’re so good for me.”

You whimpered when the stimulation grew too intense, and Wonwoo removed his fingers carefully. He leaned down to kiss you softly, sweetly and your heart fluttered at how gently he placed his hand on the back of your neck to pull you into it.

“Did you feel good?” He asked, pulling back to observe your face, scanning for any sign of regret or hesitation. “Was that okay for you?”

You breathed deeply, body limp with barely any energy remaining but you managed to nod enthusiastically. He chuckled and you immediately leaned in to kiss him once more.

“God, yes.” You murmured into his lips, using both your hands to pull him in deeper. “I could’ve probably come just from you speaking to me like that.”

He laughed heartily into the kiss and your chest warmed as he held you close, as if afraid you’d disappear if he let go. You bit his bottom lip and prodded his mouth open, meeting each other's tongue once more.

A needy whine escaped your throat when his mouth's pace remained steady against your own, you decided that he was way too calm for how hard he had just made you cum. He finally let out a deep growl when you gripped the back of his hair tightly and you felt the corners of your lips quirk up into a satisfied smirk.

“I want you to feel good too…” you muttered in an attempt to be sultry, moving your hands down his body to graze his hard length. He groaned loudly, pulling you in tightly as you ushered him on to his back, moving to straddle him.

“I thought I told you.” He grinned and pulled back from the kiss, using his own hand to stop yours from unbuttoning his pants. “This is for you. You already came on my fingers, now I want to taste you.”

You tensed at the idea of Wonwoo putting his mouth on you, a spark of both excitement and nervousness flooding the pit of your stomach in a dangerous mixture. The instant pooling of moisture between your legs was your body’s own indication that it had no qualms with his suggestion, but Wonwoo could sense your hesitation almost immediately and sat up to look at you.

“I hope you know I would never do anything you’re uncomfortable with though, are you okay?” His concerned expression softened your resolve almost immediately, and you nodded your head.

“I’m okay, it’s just… No one’s actually ever done something like that to me, down there…” Your face reddened slightly and Wonwoo’s eyes widened in pure shock. “I'm just worried it might, you know, smell or taste weird or something.”

“So it’s not just that Si-woo was bad at sex, but he never even tried something as simple as that either?” Wonwoo questioned in disbelief, you nodded with an embarrassed chuckle. “… Two years together, and the guy never even thought about eating you out?”

You felt your neck beginning to flush at his reaction. “I asked him if we could try once or twice, but he was kinda grossed out by it. I just gave up on the idea after a while.”

Wonwoo’s jaw went slack in a mixture of horror and incredulity, and you couldn’t help a stray giggle from escaping as he didn’t even hesitate to flip the two of you around. Your back was once again flat against the mattress, and you bit your lip in anticipation as he wasted no time in pulling your sweats down.

“I’ve wanted to do this for three fucking years…” He muttered, his tone giving your arm goosebumps at how deep and serious his voice was. “The amount of times I’ve thought about how you might taste… And that fucker couldn’t even be bothered to— You know what, I’m not going to bring him up right now.”

Wonwoo leaned down to take your mouth in his for a desperate kiss, his tongue circling yours and tingling deeply as if cherishing the closeness and intimacy. He pulled away slowly, trailing his tongue down your cheek to your neck and up to your ear while nipping at your most sensitive spots.

“Right now, all I want is for you to think about how good I’m making you feel,” he whispered, you let out a pathetic whimper as he traced the outline of your soaked panties with his fingertips. “I want you to scream out my name while I fuck you with my tongue.”

He leaned back and pulled up your sweater, taking a moment to blatantly admire your chest once again before diving in to take your left breast into his mouth, his hand palming the other. You squeaked at the sudden stimulation, arching into his wandering tongue as he proceeded to lick lower, and lower.

His kisses peppered along the top of your underwear and you tensed, he looked up at you reassuringly and brushed his lips softly along your inner thighs, squeezing and licking. You held your breath in anticipation but noticed his kisses had softened as if to soothe your very obvious nerves. You held his gaze as he nuzzled his cheek into your thigh, he was very obviously waiting for your approval to proceed any further and all it did was turn you on even more.

“Please…” You whispered, nerves on edge and the heat in your stomach only growing hotter. You wanted him to rip your underwear off already, to finally feel what someone’s mouth would feel like down there. His warm breath grazing against your heat was already exciting you even more, and you held your breath as a teasing grin bloomed on his face.

What you weren’t expecting was Wonwoo to lick you directly over your panties, right where your lips were. Your eyes widened and a guttural groan left your throat without meaning to. The feeling sent an electric shock shooting straight down your spine, and you braced yourself as he teased you, pressing his hot mouth and wet tongue against the already soaked barrier of your underwear.

“Oh… oh my god…” you gasped, shocked that simply feeling his mouth kissing you down there could elicit such a strong reaction from your body. Your mouth was stuck open in silent screams as he finally pushed your underwear to the side and began devouring you without restraint.

You barely even recognized the noises you made as your own, mind going completely blank as your muscles tensed at the vibrations of Wonwoo humming into your pussy. He seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself, lapping up from top to bottom, swirling his tongue and licking up every single crevice like he was a man starved.

It was an experience you’d never felt anything like before, your skin and blood on fire from the heat his mouth emanated. Every lick stoked a flame that burned hotter and hotter until you were practically chanting his fucking name over and over again.

“Fuckkk, Wonwoooo!!” You cried as his pace slowed down, his desperate slurps turning into long, slow licks right down your slit. The tip of his tongue circled the nub atop your sensitive folds and you were groaning at how you could feel him smirking into your cunt.

“Hmmm.. I love when you say my name~” He mumbled darkly as he continued to flatten his tongue over your folds, chuckling as you blindly reached for the back of his hair to steady yourself. “When you come I want you to scream it out for me, okay baby?”

You nodded exasperatedly, eyes practically rolling into the back of your head when Wonwoo decided to insert a single digit. You cried out as you felt your walls clench around it, the feeling of something filling you almost enough to send you over the edge. His pace quickened, and you swear stars blinded your vision once his tongue began to flick your clit in time with his finger.

If your brain wasn’t currently MIA you might’ve been embarrassed at how quickly he was about to make you come again.

“Pleaseeee, Wonu!“ you opened your eyes to look down and realized he’d been observing you the entire time. You arched helplessly and released a strained moan. “Please I’m so fucking closeeee!”

His speed picked up slightly at your desperate tone, but it was him inserting a second digit along with his tongue lingering a little too long over your clit that sent you finally careening over the edge.

And fuck did you feel weightless.

Your entire body shuddered, your eyes scrunching shut as you felt your orgasm plummet you off a cliff and free falling into the air. Waves of unbridled pleasure crashed through you as Wonwoo continued his ministrations the entire way through it, and you heard in the far distance the sound of your own voice screaming his name out deliriously.

Your eyes opened to a blurry ceiling, your head and body still reeling from the aftermath of bliss you’d just experienced. Wonwoo remained between your legs, peppering soft kisses against your thighs and you couldn’t help the actual audacity this man had to be so talented with his tongue.

“Come up here before I ask you to do that all over again.” You pant out, completely spent and only half serious. Wonwoo smiled giddily and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“You might need to pry me away… Because fuck if I could eat this every day—”

You tugged on his shoulder insistently with an exhausted giggle, and he reluctantly came up to your side to wrap his arms around you. You burrowed your face into his chest with a content sigh, smiling to yourself as you timed your breaths to the sound of his heartbeat.

“Good?” He questioned as if he didn’t already know the answer, you scoffed but nodded anyway.

“Phenomenal, outstanding, unparalleled!“

“Same goes for how you taste~” Wonwoo grinned. “Delicious, exquisite, absolutely delectable—“

“Next time I want to taste you too~” You teased, tracing the outline of his muscles, watching them tense up as you neared his nipple. You looked up as his expression suddenly strained, and you mentally smacked yourself as you noticed his obscene hardness poking into your side.

“Please don’t worry about it.” He shrugged casually, snuggling you further into his chest with a happy cat-like grin. “Close your eyes, let’s enjoy the rest of the morning and sleep in.”

You frowned, you knew he was trying to allow you ample time to rest and recover. Two orgasms back to back was practically unheard of when it came to your sex life after all, and your body was definitely not used to it. But three years of sexual tension was a long time to wait, and you were not about to blue ball him after everything he just did for you.

“I thought you said you were gonna make me come three times?” You questioned boldly, reciting his words from earlier this morning. Your hands trailed down to the top of his sweats and you noticed his jaw clench. “First on your fingers, then your face, then your cock—“

His mouth was back on yours instantly, his fervent kisses already winding you up and sparking a dim heat in your belly once more. You knew it wasn’t likely for you to finish again, but you also knew your body was aching to feel Wonwoo inside you. It was a carnal desire that went past pleasure, you just needed him as connected to you as physically possible.

“We don’t have to, we can just relax if you want instead.” Wonwoo mumbled out as he pulled away from your lips. His eyes were dark and heavy but there was still enough clarity in them to show he was still able to control himself. “I know you’re tired, if this is just for me I don’t want you to feel obligated—“

“I want you.” You interrupt, watching his molten eyes dilate and most of the clarity disappear all too quickly. Your hand reached lower, gripping the hardness of his length through his pants and he inhaled a sharp breath. “I need you inside me. I’ve never needed anything more—“

It was the last confirmation he needed to hear before attacking your lips again, crawling above you while sliding his sweats off easily. You grinned into the kiss and let out a gasp as he prodded your entrance with his finger, swirling your clit with his thumb.

A mewl escaped you as your sensitive bud was played with gently, you released his mouth and he immediately dipped down to flick your nipple with his tongue playfully. He kissed and sucked at your breast until you were careening into him once more, a faint rush of heat pulsing in your core as he slid his finger inside.

“It’s so soft in here.” Wonwoo breathed out, his patience very obviously wearing thin. You shivered at the sound of his voice, knowing that he definitely felt the swell of wetness that came just from hearing him talk. “Are you gonna let me fuck you nice and good, baby?

You cried out at the overbearing stimulation combined with his words, moving your hips in time with his fingers thrusting inside you. He entered another digit and you immediately knew it wasn’t going to be enough.

“Put it in. Fuck!” You groaned as he put a bit more pressure on your still recovering clit. You felt him shuffle with his underwear, kicking it off somewhere that you couldn’t be bothered to think about at this moment. “Put it in me right now. Fuck a condom, I’m on birth control.”

Wonwoo stuttered in his motions and let out a shaky exhale, muttering curses under his breath as he tried to keep his composure at the new information. You needed him raw, you needed to feel every inch of him pounding into you and you needed it immediately.

You relaxed your body when you felt him lining himself up to your entrance, and you both moaned cohesively as he rubbed his tip along your folds to moisten it up. He pushed in softly, slowly, carefully as you felt yourself fill up inch by inch.

He was big. Not too girthy but exquisitely long, and the further he entered you the more you were shocked at how easily your body allowed him to slide right in. You could feel the veins pulsing alongside his length and your walls clamping down around him, effectively keeping him locked in place. The two of you breathed out deeply as he finally bottomed out, and you’d never felt more full in your entire life.

“Oh… fuck! Oh my god…” Wonwoo gasped shakily, his hand gripping your waist so tightly you wouldn’t be surprised if it was bruised in the morning. You groaned as you clung to his shoulders, itching for him to move already. “You’re so fucking tight… I can feel everything…”

“Wonwoo please…” you all but begged, he took one more deep breath and proceeded to thrust downward, resulting in an obscene moan from the both of you. “Please! Fuck meeee!”

Any semblance of self control remaining in Wonwoo seemed to have snapped at that, as he proceeded to drill you into the mattress furiously until you let out the most animalistic groan either of you had ever heard. It did nothing to quell the fervor in which he rammed into you, if anything causing his passion to escalate tenfold.

“Oh yeah? You fucking like that?” He grunted out, the slapping noises of your bodies meeting making you feel lightheaded. “You like when I fuck you like this? Raw and hard?”

You whined out and nodded exasperatedly, gasping as he paused to lift your legs over his shoulders, grabbing you by the waist to lift and pull your body up into his. A strangled cry escaped at the new angle, his length deliciously hitting you right in the sweet spot as he plunged himself into you full force once again.

“Tell me you fucking want it.” He panted out, a light sheen of sweat forming on his chest and his eyes locked in on where your bodies were connecting, in and out, in and out. “Tell me you want me to fuck you like this over and over again.”

You screamed as he brought his hand down to play with your clit once more, and you found yourself absolutely overwhelmed by the fact that you were yet again on the brink of orgasming for the third time this morning.

“Pleaseeee Wonwoo, I want you to fuck meeee!” You begged out, your words pitching up with every thrust he gave. His free hand reached down to play with your breast, your other one bouncing liberally as he proceeded to pound into you.

“You look so fucking hot like this…” He muttered, practically to himself which only fueled the ever growing knot in your stomach. “F-fuck!! I’m gonna—“

“Cum in me, pleaseeee fucking fill me up—“ You cried out, and it was the last thing both of you needed to hear before finally climaxing together.

If your last orgasm was like a free fall, this one was like being hit with a freight train. Wonwoo’s thumb on your clit combined with his last full force thrust shoved you over the edge so hard and fast you swear you stopped breathing for a moment. The added feeling of him filling you up simultaneously was so intoxicating that you swore from then on that you would always let him come inside.

Wonwoo collapsed atop you, panting heavily into your shoulder as you stroked his back, equally as breathless. The aftermath of your body spasms calmed down after a few minutes, your simultaneous heaving settling down into long, deep breaths.

Taking a second to gather some energy, you couldn’t help but wince as Wonwoo pulled himself out slowly and slumped to your side. You nuzzled up to him, throwing your weak limbs around his body and practically melting into the mattress. You heard him exhale loudly.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” Wonwoo murmured tenderly, obviously still dazed and reeling. You let out an airy laugh.

“And now we have all the time in the world.” A cheesy grin grew on his face at your words as he squeezed you tightly, and you’d never felt more comfortable and safe than you felt in his arms at that moment.

“You’re right.” He smiled, gently stroking the back of your head. He ran his fingers through your hair sweetly, kissing your forehead as your eyes fluttered shut and his last words echoed in the distance.

“And I’m never letting another second with you go to waste.”

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femonologue · 1 year ago

Text

Many years ago, I was wandering around downtown Ottawa with my best friend. We ran into a friend of his who offered us some hash (it sucked), then said there was a really good house party nearby if we wanted to go. We were like, yeah, sure. So that's how we ended up at some completely fucking random person's house.

I look around to ask if my friend knows anyone here and he's simply gone, as is his friend. And this isn't some red solo cup hangout; this is a party. There's people counting out pills on the kitchen counter. I am clearly neither as cool nor as drug-savvy as the kitchen people, so I back away and instead wander aimlessly into the living room, which seems to give off more of a chill vibe.

A bunch of people are seated in a circle on the floor. One of them is fiddling with a big wad of newspaper or something. A really cute grunge girl with piercings and tattoos scoots aside to make room for me, so I sit down.

"What's that," I ask her, gesturing at the newspaper wad.

She gets a really big smile on her face. You know the smile. It's the I'm About To Watch This Innocent Soul Get High As Fuck smile. "You've never smoked a tulip?"

"What's a tulip?" I ask.

"It's like if a joint was also a bong," she replies. "You gotta try it."

"Alright," I reply, a little uncertainly. This will not be my first encounter with weed. I am more comfortable with the janky newspaper bong than I am with whatever the fuck is going on in the kitchen. Besides, this girl is really cute and I would like to have a friend here now that my existing friend has turned into vapor or been transported to the Upside-Down or whatever the hell happened to him.

I watch as one person holds the newspaper joint-bong upright and holds a lighter over the top while another gets beneath it, tilting their head back to take a puff. Apparently smoking this Cheech & Chong monstrosity is a two-person job.

"Oh," I say, looking at the fist-sized knob at the top of the wonky newspaper joint. "Yeah, it does kinda look like a tulip." Grunge girl smiles at me.

I watch as the tulip is passed around the circle, along with the lighter, and hits are cooperatively taken. It reaches grunge girl, who takes a huge puff and holds it for an extended moment before exhaling an impressive blast of smoke. She smiles expectantly and holds the tulip up for me, preparing to spark the gigantic meteor of dank that makes up its tip. By this point I have completely forgotten about my missing friend. I only care about making a good impression on grunge girl. I tilt my head back and hit the tulip like a smokestack.

It is the following morning. I am sleeping between a couch and a wall. I'm not positive that this is the same house I was just in. My memories are gone. Someone is yelling at me: "dude! Dude! Wake up, dude!"

I sit up. My mouth tastes like cigarettes. I do not smoke cigarettes. "Wha," I ask the yelling man, who I am quite confident I have never met before in my life.

"We're going on a quest," he tells me, gravely. "You have to come with us."

I look around. Neither my friend nor his friend are anywhere in sight. I also do not see grunge girl anywhere. I shrug helplessly. "Okay."

We embark from this house. I learn that the destination of this quest is Tim Horton's. This is a relief to me, as coffee and a donut sounds really fucking good right now. Somehow, the route to Tim Horton's takes us past the Governor-General's residence, which everyone else in the group loudly heckles on the way past. I do not know what the Governor-General has done to raise their ire, nor do I particularly care. I trudge along with my hands in my pockets, pleased to note that I still have my wallet, phone, and keys. I fervently wish that I could remember anything about last night. Maybe I talked to grunge girl. Maybe she's why my mouth tastes like cigarettes. The tulip tasted nothing like cigarettes.

I am asked about my politics. I voice my frustrations with corporate corruption, the pay-to-win electoral system, the lack of transparency and accountability. This is met with great approval. The guy who was yelling at me claps me on the back. I get the impression that we became friends last night. I don't recognize his face. I do not know his name and he definitely does not know mine. I behave as though we're friends anyway. We are comrades on a quest.

By the time we make it to Tim Hortons, the gaggle of stoners I'm walking with have all run out of energy and/or attention span. People order snacks and break away in pairs or solo, to call for rides or plan the day's events or just vegetate and wait for the drugs to leave their systems. I look around and find that my nameless friend has also gone to the Upside-Down. As I wash the cigarette taste out of my mouth with coffee, I unsuccessfully try to remember whether I saw grunge girl smoking tobacco at any point. I remember nothing. That tulip was so fucking powerful that it instantly sent me a whole day forward in time.

Alone in the city, I try to call my best friend and get no answer. I walk to the nearest bus stop, catch a bus most of the way home, and call up my parents to ask for a ride back. They ask where my friend is. I tell them that I have no idea; we went to a house party and I don't remember anything else.

When they pick me up from the bus station, they ask me some very safe, nonspecific questions, and seem to relax when I describe what little I can remember. It isn't until years later that I realize they were probably terrified I'd gotten rufied or something, and were so relieved to learn otherwise that they didn't even bother chiding me for smoking myself unconscious in an effort to impress a strange woman. In any case, they were probably happy to find out that I did, in fact, like girls; I suspect they had been privately wondering whether I was gay.

After getting home, I finally manage to get my best friend to answer his phone. I discover that he tried the kitchen pills, spent most of the night crossing the entire city on foot, and crashed at his cousin's house. He sounds like shit. I tell him that he should have tried the tulip, instead. He fervently agrees with me.

I never see grunge girl again.

That's okay, though. She got to see a clueless stranger get fucked the entire way up on some ungodly strain of giga-weed, and I got smiled at by a cute girl, and then I got to go on a quest. Wherever grunge girl is, I hope she's happy. I hope she's smoking the fattest fucking blunt and smiling as some kid passes out behind a couch.

#I have no idea what to tag this. if you need me to tag it as something just tell me I guess

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confuzing · 3 months ago

Text

Ok but what if Shen Yuan and Shen Jiu were the same person.

Little YQY is used to little baby SJ being a little strange. He talks about missing 'the internet' and one night when they almost freeze to death he solemnly informs YQY that "this transmigration experience sucks, 0/10 would not recommend."

As they grow SJ stops talking about odd things, but since he never explained about his past life to YQY he doesn't realize SJ is forcing himself to forget those memories of being warm and safe and happy because they hurt too much now when he is none of those.

The System is still there if course but since LBH isn't even born yet it's in low power mode. But that night locked in Qiu Manor after YQY leaves it pops up with a notification he's finished the 'Sorrowful Parting' quest and he loses it.

He alternates between insisting it doesn't exist and demanding to know why it only shows up when something bad happens to him. The System explains this is all necessary character development before he meets the main character.

SJ rages, not because he's not the main character but because he apparently needs to suffer for them, this person he's never met. Eventually the System turns off all notifications except essential ones, and that at least leaves SJ mostly alone in his own head.

And he takes that buried ache of his past memories and that he was apparently born to suffer and uses them to save himself when YQY fails him. Even though he promised. And he's fine- look, he's a Peak Lord! He's fine.

Until LBH turns up at the peaks, the System lights up for the first time in a decade, and SJ looks at this little boy and hates him. SJ can't see him without thinking about all the hurt he suffered, which the System insists was necessary for this boy's story.

So he does all those horrible things to LBH that he railed about as SY a lifetime ago and doesn't regret it. (PIDW is mostly lost to him, buried under the trauma, he doesn't know who LBH is, or who he is)

Until the qi deviation, which wipes all his memories except the ones he has buried. So he feels like he's a different person. He thinks he's transmigrated in late because he can't remember being 5 and teaching YQY carmeldansen.

A week after the deviation YQY hears SJ mutter something about Google and he relaxes, he does recognize this SJ after all.

Meng Mo pulls the memories out of SY's head after all. For all that SY draws the line between himself and SJ as different people he still remembers SJ's memories. But crucially not the ones from when he was little where his past and current lives overlap the most.

Sometime after the series ends SQQ is humming something modern- my heart says 'Never Gonna Give You Up'- and YQY casually mentioned he's always liked that one most of SJ's songs.

SQQ: What songs?

YQY: The ones only you know. You used to sing them all the time when you were little.

SQQ's head is spinning and he finds some privacy and questions the System which confirms he did in fact transmigrate as a baby like SQH did.

The memories come back slowly after that. He remembers telling LQQ he'll kill him after a bad fight, street kid him trying to explain to YQY what a T-Rex is... exactly what was going through his head when he dumped a cup of hot tea on an orphan he'd just met.

And SY has to deal with the fact that yes actually, that was him. That wasn't some other asshole. It's him, he's the asshole. Maybe that was the worst possible version of himself, maybe he got a second chance and changed for the better - but it was still him, and he's still capable of being that man again if he isn't careful.

#this would absolutely effect his relationship with LBH but this post was already so long #svsss #shen qingqiu #shen jiu #shen yuan #svsss au

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keferon · 4 months ago

Text

Chapter 2 of Blurr storyline >:D

“Actually” says Swerve ”I'm an alien.”

“Heh” giggles Blurr ”sorry, my head is all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.”

Part one

Holy shit I actually managed to finish it…..Oh. My god.

Under the cut⤵️

Is it stupid to miss someone who doesn't even exist?

Probably yes, but hey, Swerve already has several degrees, might as well get another one. A degree in Stupidity or something. Who cares?

For the first few days after waking up from his coma, he feels like he's going crazy. Everybody has realistic dreams, right? The ones where you can scrutinize every angle, memorize every face and smell and sound. The ones that make you lie still for a while after waking up, grasping at every thing you can. Trying to memorize everyone you meet, imprint them in your head.

Because apart from your mind, they don't exist anywhere else. So that's your only way to keep them.

It never works. Obviously. Details slip away. Impressions fade. Just a couple days, and you won't be able to recall anything but the main events from memory.

Wait, hell, not days. Cycles.

His life is a weird, pathetic, fantastical circus. Earth term. Heh. There are no circuses on Cybertron, haha!

But Swerve remembers. And the word circus, and the smell of asphalt, and rains that were made of water not acid. Remembers the English language. Can speak it fluently, even if you wake him up in the middle of the night.

Remembers his work schedule and remembers which company makes the best details. And Tailgate with his bright blue uniform and Wheeljack with his endless experiments and Swindle with his expensive coat and of course...yeah, no, don't think of Blurr, don't think of Blurr, don't. Don't.

He'd heard about it. Read about it, too. Mechs waking up from comas and doing wild things. Some forgot how to speak at all, some gained a new skill, some lived a whole life while they slept.

Articles tell Swerve, don't worry, what you've experienced isn't unique. The doctor tells Swerve that the same thing has happened to others before you, it will be okay, it will pass.

Swerve isn't sure he wants it to pass.

He's been in a coma for who knows how long. The medic said it was caused by an internal trauma that decided to suddenly get worse. One minute he's recharging , the next he's gone. Internal injuries are insidious.

So it turns out. One day he just disappeared from the world because he was busy slowly dying in his room and no one noticed until a thief tried to sneak in. The only one who came to him was a Mech who wanted to steal his stuff. Huh.

That feels revolting. Swerve liked to think he had enough friends. Or at least enough good connections. Enough those who should have noticed his absence, right?

Apparently not. His shifts at work were reassigned, his contacts never texted him first, his...

His small persona wasn't important enough for anyone to notice his disappearance.

Would his human coworkers notice? Would Tailgate have noticed? Or Jazz? Swindle?

Jazz would have noticed, he was always surprisingly attentive when it came to his friends. And he was friends with just about everybody.

Swindle would probably get upset about the money he'd lost.

It's amazing how much his brain-- wait, no, his processor. How much his processor could create to entertain him. It's a more elaborate world than the most complex series Swerve has ever known. And that scrap had forty-six seasons and fifteen encyclopedias!

People, Earth, a bunch of new languages and rules and all for the sake of the end being like, OOPS! ...it was all a dream. Hilarious. Worst plot twist ever. Swerve hates it when stories go in this direction even more than when they kill off their characters.

In his humble opinion, death is better than the revelation that none of the experiences made sense or had any value. In terms of writing scripts obviously. Haha.

He's busy roaming haphazardly through his own memory. He's looking, comparing, trying to find inconsistencies or things that don't make sense. All the stuff that usually gives away the fact that what happened was a dream.

Most of his memories are occupied by--No. Frag.

Don't think about Blurr, don't think about Blurr, don't think..

He's thinking about Blurr. A lot.

Blurr occupies a surprisingly important role in his comatose dreams.

In the time he spent just looking at him, you could hand-build an entire Mech. Maybe even three. Swerve remembers picking up every bit of merch he could reach with his paycheck. Watching hundreds of videos and buying every new themed drink even if it was a flavor he didn't like.

Then spent a surprising amount of time resenting Blurr for not living up to his fantasies.

Blurr's behavior hadn't helped either, of course, but now, looking back at the past himself Swerve thinks that.. Oh wow. You weren't just annoyed at him. You blamed him for ruining your beautiful fantasy. You were having so much fun entertaining yourself with thoughts of this marvelous image, and he came along and corrupted it. Poisoned the well you drank joy from.

But that's not quite true, Swerve thinks.

Blurr was more complicated than that. But exactly how, he'll never know. All he has are his memories, and those memories are cut short at the most interesting point.

Swerve knows this plot twist. The asshole character that no one loves at the last second turns out to not be what everyone thought, but it's too late.

Oh no, he's not an evil jerk, he's actually traumatized. Oh no, he wasn't bad, he was actually secretly helping everyone. You thought he was awful? Well now you're going to feel awful reading fanfics.

Serevus Spayne didn't actually betray the main character's dad, no no, he was in love with him! Bam. Drama.

Swerve isn't a big fan of this stuff. He likes his characters developed properly. But he can't deny the appeal of a character leaving behind a bunch of questions you thought you knew the answer to.

Uggh.

The doctor was wrong. These thoughts don't go away. These memories don't dull.

Swerve just boils in them, constantly getting stuck in his own head. Sometimes he puts English words into his speech and everyone looks at him strangely. Sometimes he reflexively says some inside joke and no one gets it and he's left standing there with an awkward smile. Because. Guys, you don't understand, if my coworkers were here they'd think it's hilarious. I promise, in my fantasy world, it's funny.

When he gets a job on one of the Autobot ships, he accepts it thinking it might be a good distraction from his thoughts.

When he happens to see Prowl with a tiny human on his shoulder in the corridor of that ship, he thinks he's lost his mind.

The whole thing. The whole load-bearing structure on which his picture of the world has been held suddenly gives a lurch. Living your life in a super realistic dream is wild, but meeting a character from your dream in real life??

Freaking cursed.

Jazz looks puzzled by his reaction, but all Swerve can think about are two things.

One, if Jazz is here, does that mean everything else was real, too???

Two - holy shit, Jazz is tiny.

It never occurred to him. But he didn't really know what size humans were. Well, sure, he could measure it in numbers. But he was among humans himself. And about the same size. He was generally even shorter than most of them.

If Jazz is so small, he can't imagine how tiny Tailgate would be. Or--

He can feel his spark freeze. In fact, he can almost hear the sound of a string breaking in his processor. Does that mean Blurr is real too? Real and just as tiny and currently dead? Because Swerve was there but was too convinced it was all just a dream to help?

He's going to get sick.

He needs to talk to Jazz right now.

____________

Swerve taps his fingers nervously on the countertop. Come on. You're good at talking. Talking is your greatest skill. All you have to do is tell someone else about your comatose hallucinations and hope they don't think you're crazy.

They're sitting at a table at the bar. More specifically Swerve and Prowl are sitting at the table, and Jazz is sitting right on the table. (God he's so small).

“So uh. I got injured a while back and...uh...well, it got worse, turned out important systems were affected and I kind of. I was in a coma. For a really long time.”

Jazz frowns

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

He speaks in a mildly wonky Common, Swerve notes to himself. He waves his servo a little too cheerfully in response.

“'Ay it's no big deal really. I saw a whole other world while I was asleep and like. See, I thought it was just my fantasies, but it seemed very real and...”

Swerve mentally crosses his fingers.

“And it was about this planet called Earth and about people who were building their own inanimate huge robots to fight huge aliens and their boss wanted to launch Mechs into space, so he picked the best of the pilots named Jazz and sent him on this test mission and...”

Jazz looks at him with huge eyes before switching to English in surprise.

“Mech, what the hell?”

“...And we lost him...” finishes Swerve with a sad smile.

Before thinking for a bit, and adding.

“I'm going to show you a trick I can do.”

And then projects his holoform onto the table in front of him.

This. It's weird. Not in a way that would tilt it in the direction of unnatural. More like walking around in his comfy indoor pajamas right in the middle of the street. Being human is familiar to him, but being human amongst huge Cybertronians? Strange. And a little creepy.

Prowl looks confused.

Jazz looks absolutely frantic.

“SWERVE????”

Swerve doesn't even manage to respond, only to smile in relief before Jazz rakes him into his arms. In his holoform, Jazz feels right again. He's taller than Swerve and oh boy, he's alive and unharmed. To think everyone thought he was dead, staying up nights trying to find what was left of him, and he was on the other side of the universe the whole time?

Swerve chuckles into Jazz's shoulder. Then picks him up and spins him around a couple times just because he needs something to get his energy out. Man, it's nice to hug people. Warm and soft, eight out of ten.

Jazz pulls away but still stays standing very close. Swerve can literally see the happy stars in his eyes.

“Dude, I'm not complaining but what...how???? You just kinda..."

Swerve laughs and twitches his eyebrows playfully.

“I still speak English, you don't have to torture yourself with Common.”

“Oh thank fuck.” Jazz throws his hands up dramatically “you're my favorite person right now.”

There is a polite click of the vocalizer resetting above their heads.

“I” Prowl says “very glad you two are happy but I'd like some explanation”

Swerve presses his head into his shoulders guiltily. Prowl has the unique ability to always sound like you've done something wrong in front of him.

Although Jazz doesn't seem to feel the same way?

“Short version - I sleepwalked my holoform to another planet.”

He pauses dramatically.

“The long version is...”

Jazz raises his hand

“What's a holoform?”

Swerve sighs.

“It's a holographic avatar that I can project using a holomatter generator. Sort of like a remote controlled game character.”

Jazz whistles impressed. And then immediately turns back to Prowl

“Have you been able to do that all this time too?“

Prowl hums

“I can create an avatar, but it takes a lot of practice to make it at least believable. And to fully perceive the world through it takes even more. It's a whole new technology. What Swerve does is essentially an art form. Sophisticated and impressively detailed may I add.”

Swerve shrugs shyly. He's still using the holoform to stand on the table next to Jazz. Looking up to speak to Prowl isn't exactly comfortable, but Jazz definitely looks like he's been missing the human presence. Swerve isn't human, but he might as well be.

“Thank you. Yes! Uh. Anyway, it seems while I was in a coma my processor projected my avatar onto Earth and I...let's just say I lived there for a while.”

Jazz laughs

“Dude. So you're telling me you were basically sleepwalking the whole time?”

“ I was.”

Prowl frowns.

“But the range limit of the holomatter generator is only four hundred miles...”

“.... I had a lot of practice...”

Jazz claps his hands.

“You learned a whole other language! Got an ID!. You had a job!!!”

“I got carried away,” Swerve admits.

Jazz scratches the back of his head, still looking very amused

“How many degrees did you get? Haha wait no, I have a better question, did you pass your driver's license?”

“Two. And I failed my driver's exam.”

“Dude you are literally a car without a driver's license!” collapses Jazz on the table with laughter.

Swerve blows the hair out of his face

“Says you who retook the physical several times. You couldn't pass the "being human" exam.”

Jazz just wheezes incoherently in response. Prowl looks alarmed.

“Don't worry, that's him getting excited. So...where have I been...”

Swerve nervously shoves his hands into his pockets

“...Do either of you two know where Earth is?”

Prowl twitches his door wings

“No. Since Jazz was teleported we don't have much clues.”

Swerve grimaces. Scrap. Of course nothing's going to be that easy. He's also been, like,....teleported.

He stands there for a couple minutes and just feels fifteen different emotions rise up in his head at once. A crooked, unsteady smile creeps across his face.

He's thinking.

Oh hell, yeah! I knew it wasn't a dream!

Then he remembers the mess he left behind.

Oh, no, it wasn't a dream.

Jazz puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Swer... Swerve? Dude, are you okay?”

“Ah frag..” Swerve says weakly ”it wasn't a dream.”

Jazz looks...puzzled.

“Is that bad?”

Swerve remembers his friends. Remembers the Mecha program. Remembers fire and smoke and screams and rumbling and crackling flames. Ashes flying through the air and the smell of burnt wires. He remembers blood and debris and...

“It's...complicated.”

This wasn't just a stupid plot twist he'd dreamed up because he'd watched too many shows. This wasn't a hallucination or a disembodied fantasy that just happened to linger in his head. This was real. His friends exist out there somewhere. His work and his collections and his little apartment...

And Blurr. Was real. Or still is? Swerve doesn't know. Blurr wasn't a product of his imagination. He was real and what he did was real and Swerve left him there alone, bleeding and trapped in rubble and tiny and...

Hahahahah oh fUCK.

He doesn't like this plot. It's too much. Too much to handle, too complicated, too ambiguous.

It's also probably too late.

But he can't leave it like this, right? Blurr went into the damn burning building just because of the possibility that there might be someone alive in there.

And Swerve doesn't even have to go through the flames. He has to look. He has to try at least.

Jazz glares at him with a worried look on his face

“ That expression you have...”

Swerve puts the smile back on his face.

“I need to get to Earth.”

___________________

Swerve is not an idiot.

Or maybe more accurately an idiot, but with several degrees.

He's well aware that finding Earth in space with only a description of it is impossible. Which leaves him with two options.

Ask the Quintessons. Or look for it himself.

The first sounds like death. The second like coma. Swerve has exquisite enough taste to know which is better.

He just needs to do some preliminary reserch.....

Jazz, now back inside his Mech looks doubtful.

“You're not going to die suddenly and for no reason, are you?”

Swerve laughs.

“Pfffff what, no of course not, would I kill myself hah. No no, look I'll just put myself in stasis for a bit. Send myself to Earth. And try to figure out where it is from there. Get the coordinates. If I'm lucky, I can see what Space Bridge the local Quintessons use. All you'll have to do is wake me up after a while.”

“It's not harmful?”

Swerve makes an uncertain gesture with his hand...servo.

“If I have enough fuel. And an additional connection to an external generator.”

Jazz tilts his head

“ Why are you so eager to get to Earth? Don't get me wrong, I miss it too and want to go back, but.”

Swerve bites his knuckles.

“ I have some unfinished business?”

“Pshhhh you sound like a ghost.”

Swerve only laughs in response.

_______________

Concentration is tricky.

Swerve tries to think about Earth. And not to think about the fact that he doesn't know where it is. If he's already been there once, he might as well go there again yes? In theory? Perhaps?

Except for the possibility that his sleepwalking just takes him to random planets. That would be very inconvenient. It would be a whole new level of lost

Shit. No. Earth. Think Earth.

What's he even gonna do when he gets there? How far away is it? Swerve is very talented with his holomatter generator, but if it's really far away... maybe he should reset some settings.

He mentally starts going through his options. Does he need tangibility? Probably not. Come to think of it, it would only make him more vulnerable and take a lot of energy. Yeah, the tangibility has to go. What else? Touch, too. Sight and hearing should stay, that's not even a question, but colors and textures are not really necessary.

The amount of detail and picture quality can be reduced as well. His holoform will become colorless and grainy and will probably ripple with static, but he'll survive it.

After he finishes making changes to his holoform he thinks about his old stuff left in his house. Then about the posters. Then reminds himself that he needs to focus on the goal or he'll never find Blurr and...oh FUCK his phone! Where was his phone when he disappeared? Was it found?? There were so many personal things on that phone, he's hoping the phone was burned under the rubble. Either that or the arriving investigators will find his browser history and he'll go into another coma from pure embarrassment.

He blinks dazedly when he realizes he has loads of rocks in front of his eyes. Oh..Did he screw up? Did he end up on the wrong planet? Is it a cave or--

Then he notices the odd shape of the “rocks” and. Oh, no. It's not a cave. It's charred concrete debris.

This is the place where he was last.

He hastily looks around. Anxiety creeps up the back of his neck, makes him feel like something slippery and cold is crawling over his skin. There is nothing but ruins all around.

Blurr is not here. The place where his Mech was lying is empty.

Which means he was at least found and dragged out. Dead or alive.

Swerve's bites his knuckles. Okay.

All right.

He's got things to do.

_______________

He's trying to stay out of sight. Which isn't hard, considering he's just a hologram. At first, he just sneaks around in the quiet areas. Then proceeds to do a facepalm and start teleporting. Think, Swerve. Did you read all those comic books for nothing? Superheroes who couldn't really use their superpowers creatively always annoyed him. And he does, in fact, have a superpower. Gotta get creative, right?

He stops and looks at himself again. His holoform is going static and is a dull white color. He thinks for a bit, and then shrinks himself. Thinks some more, and makes himself almost transparent. There's no way he could pass as a normal human right now, so he'd better just do his best to avoid being seen by anyone.

He looks around thoughtfully. Hmm. Even if he's going to be absolutely tiny, he needs to make sure no one sees him, otherwise the whole base will think the Quintessons are now spying on them through holograms or something.

Breaking the rules feels...it's exciting.

All his ..human life here he hadn't thought about it, but if he threw away the rules he was used to about what people could or couldn't do...

He looks up in a sudden rush of sly genius. All people look under their feet when they walk, but how many look up? And how many of them notice the barely visible tiny holoform hiding just behind the blinding lamps?

The answer is probably none.

Swerve projects himself onto the ceiling and mentally pats himself on the shoulder for his impressive intellectual accomplishments. A creativity degree should definitely be a thing.

A degree in spying on the Quintessons' ships wouldn't hurt him either.

Fortunately sneaking onto their ship turns out not to be that difficult. Swerve makes himself absurdly tiny and hides in the darkest corners that no one would ever think to look into. Why hasn't anyone thought of using holoforms for spying before? Could he be the first to think of it? He doesn't know, but he mentally decides to patent the idea.

Finding the Space Bridge is surprisingly easy. The local Quintesson fleet is clearly used to being the dominant force in space. And that's generally logical. Even if humanity collects a mountain of money from somewhere to throw a dozen Mechs into space - there will be thousands of monsters waiting for them. In such a situation, you don't have to hide, the guards are enough.

Well done, well done, don't hide, Swerve thinks, copying the coordinates and address of the space bridge to himself. You have absolutely nothing to fear here, he thinks, so stay where you are and don't move. Please and thank you.

Once the coordinates are obtained, he... has some freedom to explore. And he uses it for probably the most boring-sounding thing in the world. He returns to his usual workplace.

It’s simple. As damning as the Mecha program was, Swerve loved his job in it. He loved his position in the assembly shop. And he missed his friends.

He quickly teleports through several rooms, continuing to hide close to the lamps. Tailgate is here. Alive and unharmed. Wheeljack is too, though his face has some scars added to it. It's great to see them again, even if he can't talk to them right now. No one will probably react well to a grainy unexplainable hologram. He's just glad to know they're okay and honestly, the last thing he needs is paranoid Onslaught installing extra signal jammers.

It takes time to find Blurr. Partly because Swerve is terrified of what he might find if he started looking. So he goes to check the death lists first, and only after flipping through and re-reading them three times does he finally exhale in relief.

Blurr's name isn't there.

So his smug, shiny ass must be around here somewhere.

He checks the hangar. Flips through the Mech launch logs and feels an uncomfortable knot begin to form in his chest. Blurr's Mech has never been repaired or launched even once since the incident. Its plating has been replaced with new, well polished, and put in a prominent place where anyone who wants to can take a picture of it. But all the internal systems are destroyed. This machine hasn't been used for anything other than being a beautiful exhibit.

That's...something's wrong.

He checks offices and schedules as well as eavesdropping on a few conversations and ends up secretly following Swindle, who is arguing loudly with someone on the phone. He says something about deals and how he doesn't need anyone meddling in his business. Then he talks about how he's got everything under control and the person on the phone is “a dumbass who's making drama out of nothing” and that “he doesn't need anyone's handouts". Then he sighs and says, “you know how celebs are. Dumb and dramatic. You can't take their words literally.”

Then drops the call and for a couple seconds looks like he's just had a large bill taken right out of his hand. Curses again, but in a quieter voice. Leafs through his contacts and stops at the one signed 'free ice'.

“Blurr? Where are you? Wha...ah, no wait. No, the advertising agency called. No, liste...Can you shut up for one second?Where are you?

Uh-huh....... Uh-huh.Okay.

Give me half an hour...okay, yeah.”

This is it, Swerve thinks.

He shrinks himself further and teleports under the collar of Swindle's coat.

He wants to take a look. Just. Just a peek. Make sure everything's all right. Then he can go about his original mission in peace. He watches Swindle get in his car and drive off somewhere. Swerve doesn't recognize this part of town. The houses here are much nicer than where he lived. The streets are cleaner.

He tucks himself further under the coat collar. He's not going to be a stalker or anything, but he's worried and he doesn't have time to wait for Blurr himself to show up for work. Just one little look and that's it.

Swindle's car stops outside a beautiful, shiny hospital. Swerve nervously tries to bite his knuckles, but remembers he's disabled touch in his holoform. Shit? Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shi

Blurr looks like a mangled corpse.

Okay, not really. His left side that faces the door to the hospital room looks like a mangled corpse and that's the first thing that catches Swerve's eye when he's inside.

Blurr is pale and thin and his hands are covered in bandages. The left side of his face has been turned into an absolute ugly nightmare. A piece of his ear is missing. In the place of the left eye is a creepy empty hole.

Suddenly Swerve realizes why Blurr didn't show up for work. You can't even show him to his coworkers like that, not just to the public.

Blurr turns his head and the spell breaks. His lips stretch into a cocky smile.

“'Got bored without me Swindle?”

Swindle doesn't show the slightest emotion at the gruesome sight. He casually pulls a chair over to the hospital bed and sits down.

“Shockwave is trying to sneak a new project into the program. And he's slowly swaying investors to his side, using you as an excuse. Tells everyone you're a poor martyr he can save if only he's given the green light from above.”

Blurr wrinkles his nose.

“Not that he's wrong. The doctors say I need to pick a new career because with this...” he jerks his head to the left implying his damaged half, ” neither racing nor piloting is an option for me anymore. I'm out of your project.”

Then he stops talking for a few seconds and raises an eyebrow curiously.

“You wouldn't have come here in person just to say that. Why are you really here?”

Swindle adjusts his glasses

“Have I ever told you why I made the contract with you?”

“Because you like money” Blurr says without hesitation.

Swindle lets out a quiet chuckle.

“Fair point. But money wasn't my only priority.”

He pauses for a second. Gets up. Draws the curtains in the room. Checks to make sure no one is outside the door.

Goes back to his seat.

“You didn't see what the Mecha project was like before. Brutality and absolute disregard for human rights multiplied by a thousand. People were desperate and no one cared to maintain any decency.”

He raises his hand when Blurr rushes to say something.

“No no, listen to me. If you think things are bad now, you're right. But it used to be much. Much, much worse.”

Swindle sighs and adjusts his glasses again

“Vortex was taken as a boy. He wasn't even out of high school when they shoved him into the lab. Me and Onslaught were pulled right out of the college exams. The others were no better, although they were usually a little older. My point is that it was allowed. It's what the superiors could do and no one told them no.”

Blurr tilts his head and gets a little all turned around to see Swindle better with his right eye.

“But you... found a way to change that, didn't you?

Swindle rubs the bridge of his nose

“I have no power over my own superiors. But Onslaught and I have come up with a plan. Look. I'll put it in simple terms for you. Above me is my boss, and above him is another boss, and so on but at the very end of that chain are people from the government. The investors. So we figured out a way to cut through the chain of command and influence them directly. Make them worry about us. It's a kind of social shield. Onslaught is a genius.”

Blurr blinks.

“Why are you telling me all this.”

Swindle takes off his hat and just. Crumples it in his hands. The back of his head shows numerous scars and the glint of tiny metal implants barely visible behind his hair.

“You're that shield right now, Blurr. You can't leave.”

Blurr's eye widens

“Is that why you insisted on ‘befriending’ me with all those bullshitters?”

“I needed to make sure that in their minds we weren't just a military unit. To keep them thinking that we're as human as they are. So I gave Project Mecha a face.” He tugs on the hat again, “Your face.”

Blurr runs his fingers through his hair

“Shockwave can't do whatever he wants cause...because of me his efforts would risk going public and people wouldn't like it and it would ruin the reputation of our investors-and-they'd-cut-off-his-funding.”

Swindle puts his hat back on.

“Exactly.’ That's why he's being so persistent right now. He knows you're vulnerable and he wants to capitalize on the opportunity. Make you part of his new project and tell the world about it. Make publicity his weapon, too.”

The lamp above them flickers faintly. Blurr takes a breath. Long and tired and exhausted and. a bit doomed.

Swindle puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Please. Don't leave. At least not now. And don't let Shockwave get to you. That would open the way for him to get to the rest of the pilots you represent.”

They just. Sit in silence for a while. Blurr quickly taps a finger on his knee. A rapid tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

Swindle moves his hand away and gets up from his chair.

“There's a press conference coming up. I need you to be there. I've told everyone who needs to know that the problem is exaggerated and you're fine but they need to see you.”

Blurr smiles sourly.

“My lawyer is going to charge you such a handsome sum for that stunt.”

Swindle laughs, but his cardboard advertising smile doesn't reach his eyes.

“We’ll see about that. Seriously though. I need you there.”

Blurr bites his lip.

“I..don’t know...”

Swerve...doesn't know what to think of that.

Blurr shows up for the press conference. Late, but he makes it. Just as Shockwave is presenting his new project in his amazingly well-pitched voice. Blurr swings the door open and waltzes lazily inside, skillfully pretending not to notice the many cameras and eyes instantly directed at him.

Swerve, whose memory is still fresh thinks for a second that no, no this can't be the same person. Past Blurr looked like a wreck. Past Blurr was tense and tired and hunched over. Present Blurr couldn't look more alive. His shoulders are squared proudly, there's that cheerful springiness and grace in his stride. He moves with ease and confidence. Smoothly.

The left side of his face is neatly covered with fresh white bandages. Carefully, without leaving the even the slightest gap through which his injury could be seen. His hands are hidden under a fancy jacket. He smiles wide and bright and squints playfully toward the table.

The very embodiment of nonchalance. The few pilots sitting in the audience roll their eyes.

Swindle breathes out a barely perceptible sigh of relief. Swerve, once again using Swindle's collar as a tactical cover, can't help but let out a silent triumphant laugh. Maybe slightly more nervous than he is supposed to be.

Blurr sends Swindle a sly, sharp smile and even knowing it wasn't meant for him, Swerve feels his cheeks heat up.

Ah, damn it.

Swerve breaks the rules. He tells himself that peeking is fraught with consequences when it comes to military organizations, but he can't stop himself from being curious. And from worry, too.

And now that he knows where to look, he sees things he'd rather not see.

Blurr ... is crumbling.

Swerve doesn't know all the details and consequences, but that incident did leave a mark.

But every time Swindle calls him and says “I need you at some place in two hours” he gets up and assembles himself into a human being. Like a goddamn puzzle. Tapes and covers the burned half of his face. Covers up the bruises and hides the stitches. Fixes his hair and sets off on shaky legs to pretend he's fine.

He smiles so bright and carefree, laughs so sweet and beautiful that no one would ever think that even standing up sometimes hurts.

And continues to act like a jerk of course.

The only difference is that this time Swerve mentally gives him the presumption of innocence before he starts judging.

Blurr does a lot of things that seem rude. He also does a lot of things that are actually rude and figuring them out without resorting to alien superpowers would be nearly impossible.

When the pilots see Blurr sitting right on the table while negotiating with investors, they roll their eyes and make comments about his terrible manners. Or when he stops showing up for even the most basic, rudimentary training.

Or when he develops that stupid habit of leaning his elbows on people standing next to him.

It's the model behavior of a rich, spoiled brat.

It's also an inconspicuous way to stay upright.

Employees say “that dumbass has never heard of personal space.”

Investors say, “I think he likes me.”

Blurr leans on Swindle's shoulder and through a charming smile says “Don't move or I'm gonna fall.”

Swindle also keeping up the smile discreetly holds him back, pretending it's a friendly half hug.

Swerve feels like yelling at both of them, but he's not sure what for exactly. For one thing, Blurr in his condition is very VERY VERY contraindicated to even get out of bed, let alone participate in social activities.

On the other hand, without Blurr, everything is going down the pit.

Without Blurr, all the government sees are dry reports and spreadsheets. Without him, all the high command has is numbers and a sense of impunity. Swerve is sickened by how easily people tend to forget that numbers represent other people.

Most pilots are able to draw a parallel between deteriorating working conditions and Blurr's sudden fondness for staying home instead of working. But they think the rich jerk got scared and ran away. Considering the way Blurr has always behaved at work - Swerve can't even judge them too much for it. They assume Shockwave getting more freedom is the cause of Blurr's absence, not the result.

Blurr's influence only becomes noticeable when it slowly starts to fade away. It's like switching from expensive tea to a cheaper one. The awful flavor only becomes noticeable in contrast.

Blurr doesn't lead the development of new technologies or go out to fight in the field. He doesn't make plans and reports, he doesn't participate in drills, he doesn't cover anyone's back in battle.

But he's the one who puts his hand on the government's shoulders when they're about to sign the next piece of paper. He's the one they have to look in the eye before they have a pen in their hands and a document authorizing Shockwave to stick more needles in people's brains.

It makes a difference. Small one. But still.

It turns a disembodied imaginary “combat units” into a tangible person.

From “do you want to accelerate the combat training of new soldiers” to “are you willing to tell the living, breathing guy standing in front of you that shoving poison under his skin is an idea you approve of.”

More importantly (And Swerve actually admires Swindle for this) Will you be able to explain anything to your families later on, when this same guy is on TV all over the country saying that's what you did to him?

There have been two fronts here all this time, Swerve realizes.

While the pilots were protecting people from monsters wearing teeth and armor, Blurr was protecting the pilots themselves from monsters wearing ties and lab coats.

After another conference, Shockwave stops Blurr in the hallway.

“Good show.”

Blurr laughs. Soundly and proudly.

“Thanks darling~ Sorry I interrupted you. Your speech sounded like something important, but I don't really know much about nerd stuff.”

Swerve, hiding on the ceiling again, snorts.

Shockwave doesn't move. Doesn't give any indication at all if he's offended or upset or whatever.

“It must have been hard getting here with your injuries.”

Blurr shrugs and lazily turns his head around distracted.

“It's just a few bruises here and there. Not the end of the world.”

Shockwave nods slowly. His voice and posture and all, Swerve thinks, looking very uncomfortable.

“Of course it isn't. But hardly good for your career.”

Blurr freezes.

No, Swerve thinks. Shit. No, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't

“Your brilliant achievements have always been a source of admiration to me” continues Shockwave “it would be a pity to lose them.”

Blurr makes an indifferent face and tucks his hands into his pockets.

“Like I said. Not the end of the world.”

Swerve imagines choking Shockwave. Dropping a lamp on his head. Maybe jumping on top of him himself. Shut up, he thinks. Shut up, shut up, stop fucking talking.

Shockwave with a nice, slow gesture pulls out a notebook from somewhere and flips a couple pages.

“Multiple burns, cracked ribs, poisoning from carbon monoxide and combustion products of toxic chemicals...”

Blurr visibly shivers and looks away.

“...loss of vision on one side...” Shockwave continues reading, ”and partial hearing loss. Finally, the impact of neural link malfunctions. And this, if I'm not mistaken, is on top of the already existing memory problems?”

Shockwave takes a step closer. Not fast enough to make it look threatening, but enough to hover.

“It may not be the end of the world, but it is the end of you.”

He writes a set of numbers on the same page, tears it off, and hands it to Blurr.

“You are broken. I can fix you.”

Blurr frowns, but takes the piece of paper.

“That fixing would involve giving you consent to mess around with my head, wouldn't it? It's brave of you to think I'd go for that.”

Shockwave tucks the notepad into his pocket.

“I can assure you, neither I nor anyone else is interested in your brain. I just want to give you back what you're truly valued for.”

Blurr flinches.

“I don't need your help.”

“ If you say so,” Shockwave agrees easily. Nods, slowly and smoothly. Then starts to walk away “But you do need your fame.”

...

“By the way, you might want to wipe the blood off.”

Blurr waits until Shockwave's back disappears around the corner, then quickly pulls a tissue from his pocket and brings it up to his nose.

____________________________

Swerve wakes up looking up at the ceiling of his room. The high, metal ceiling, of a metal room on a metal spaceship.

Holy shit...

Jazz pokes him gently on the forearm

“Are you alive? You've been gone for like quite a while...Did it work?”

“Hey Jazz” frowns Swerve “what do you know about Blurr?”

Jazz laughs

“What are you fanboying over him again? Still??? Dude's smug and arrogant. Good boss though. I was hired to perform at his parties before I became a pilot.”

Swerve sits up and rubs the back of his head.

“Ah...”

“So it worked?”

“Wha...ah! Yes! Yes, it worked! I managed to get the number and codes from the space bridge the Quints used on you. We just need to find another space bridge and we'll have a pretty much direct route to Earth...well. Or rather, to the Quint ship that's located near Earth. You get the idea.”

Jazz rubs his hands together happily.

“I'll take it.”

Swerve jumps to the floor and heads to grab an energon cube. Man, these holoform exercises are burning energy like crazy.

He stares at his metal hands like an idiot for a couple minutes. Just...Contemplates how non-human they are.

He has eight fingers again instead of the human ten. Huh.

Prowl downloads the information he's gotten and immediately runs off to plan a route to the nearest working space bridge and for a while Swerve is just.

Left to himself.

He tries not to think about Blurr. What would he even say to him? Hey, look, I'm sorry I accidentally set you up, see, I'm actually an alien who was sleepwalking and thought you were fictional, surely this won't affect our non-existent strictly professional working relationship? Nah, screw that. If he's going to sound crazy, he needs to at least come up with a good presentation for his insanity.

....

Is it weird to think humans are beautiful if you're not human? If you're kind of human, but only in your soul and only half human?

He looks at Jazz and Prowl.

“You two get along really well.”

Jazz chuckles, sitting on Prowl's shoulder.

“Right now, yes. But we got on each other's nerves quite a bit when we first met.”

Swerve looks up at Jazz's chattering legs from his height and thinks. This is working somehow.

On the other hand, Jazz is the exception rather than the rule. He's friendly with everyone, he's easy to get along with, he's the soul of any company and most importantly, he was a little too much into robots before he discovered they could be alive. If anyone could find common ground with the Cybertronians, it would definitely be Jazz.

_____________________

”Are you a ghost?”

Swerve shrieks in fear and gets covered in static. He hadn't planned on talking. He hadn't planned on being noticed at all. Blurr was supposed to be asleep! And Swerve just wanted to close the curtains and leave, because there's some noisy party going on outside and bright illuminations are very bad for a patient already suffering from neural connection withdrawal.

He freezes in place like that dude from Jurassic Park. Like if he's still enough, he won't be noticed. Oh, or was that from another movie?

“I'm just uh” he awkwardly reaches up and closes the curtains “Lights. Bad for...you...now.”

Blurr chuckles. It sounds suspiciously joyful. His whole posture and facial expression. He looks very relaxed for someone who had a ghost materialize into the room out of thin air.

Swerve traces the line of the IV with his gaze. Oops, that looks like painkillers.

“Yes I am. Uh. A ghost watching the curtains. And now the curtains are fine, so I guess I'd better go?”

Blurr squints amusedly.

“You can walk through walls?”

“Uh, I can teleport into the next room?”

He backs up his words by making himself disappear and reappear in another corner of the room.

“Cool!” says Blurr cheerfully.

Swerve is involuntarily infected by his mood and makes a couple dramatic bows as if he were some kind of magician.

“ Show me more?”

“Hehehe okay eh” Swerve spreads his arms like he's presenting something and then makes himself the size of a soda bottle and teleports to the edge of Blurr's bed “Ta daaaa~”

“Wooooo look at you, you're like an action figure~”

Blurr immediately makes an attempt to touch him, but fails to reach and drops his hand back on the blanket.

Swerve chuckles and steps closer. It's funny to see the usually incredibly agile Blurr struggling with something so simple and ridiculous.

“They really drugged you huh?”

“It's not the drugs” snorts Blurr ”...it's my eye.”

He raises his hand once more and hesitantly pulls it towards Swerve until it bumps into his hair

“... depths Per…percen.. ah, shit. I can't tell how far away things are.”

Swerve just. Lets Blurr fidget at himself, while starting to feel really bad at the same time.

"If you can't tell how far things are, how are you going to drive?

Race???”

He must have a plan right? Something? Let’s-prove-Shockwave-wrong tactic???

Blurr drops his hands back on the blanket

“I won't.”

He freezes when the all too close fireworks rumble outside the window. Then points to his head.

“With this. I can't drive, I can barely walk at all, and I look like horror movie material. Pathetic heeh.”

Swerve sits down quietly cross-legged on the blanket.

“Well...at least you're alive....”

Blurr shakes his head.

“If I had died, it would have been epic. You know? Dharm...dramatic! It would be big news and everyone would be talking about what a hero I was or...or something...”

“...”

“Swindle would be so angry, but he'd figure out a way to make money out of it. He'd make a commercial about how people should be heroes. I'd be remn..remembered for being cool and brave and stuff.”

Fireworks can be heard from the street again. Swerve notices that there is a thin slit between the closed curtains through which a slim, flickering strip of multicolored light streams into the room.

Blurr frowns and leans back against the pillow, looking up at the ceiling.

“I've turned into a boring wreck. My records will be beaten, my career forgotten , and all the guys from work will remember me as a brat. In a--in a--in a way, it's worse than death. Shockwave's right.”

Swerve isn't sure what exactly would be an acceptable gesture of comfort, so he kind of just. Places his hand on the blanket covering Blurr's lap.

“Hey, don't say that. I think what you're doing is great.”

“Liar” smiles Blurr crookedly ”You hated me. I saw your posters collection.”

Oh shit. The ones he ripped off the walls and destroyed in a fit of fan frustration? He didn't even hide them, just shoved them in the back corner. Aw, man...

Swerve folds his arms awkwardly across his chest.

“I can be mad at you and think you're cool at the same time. I'm a multitasker.”

“You're a very specific kind of ghost.” says Blurr. Then, apparently inspired by the painkillers, decides to drop the conversational equivalent of an atomic bomb on Swerve's head “You died because of me?”

Swerve stiffens.

“I...Wwhat?”

“You know.” he makes a gesture with his hand that's ..unclear what it's supposed to mean. “You were working there with everyone else, and then there was that fire and I was sure I saw you down there under the rubble.”

He's silent for a couple seconds before he hesitantly continues

“And then no one could find you so most assumed you either burned or ran away. And now you're here with all your weird ghost stuff, so you must be dead.”

Swerve has.No idea what to think about it. And what to say? He's been so busy blaming himself for Blurr getting hurt that it hasn't occurred to him to think about what it looks like from Blurr's own perspective.

“Actually” says Swerve ”I'm an alien.”

“Heh” giggles Blurr ”sorry, my head’s all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.”

Swerve wants to run around and bang his head against the wall.

Instead, he gets up from the hospital bed. Carefully.

“You're high. I'm not going to explain things to you while you're high, you won't understand or remember them. Go back to sleep. It's the middle of the night.”

“You'll tell me later?”

Swerve hums quietly and pulls the curtains all the way closed.

“If future, sober Blurr would want my company.”

---------------

Jazz looks at him. Very intensely.

“Are you going to tell me who this mystery person you keep coming back to Earth for?”

Swerve snorts.

“What makes you think it's anyone in particular?”

“You're right, you're right~” raises his hands in surrender Jazz “So are you going to tell your friend the whole thing?”

Swerve crosses his ..metal arms over his metal chest.

“Is it that big of a deal? He thinks I'm a ghost or something.”

Being a ghost...somehow better, he thinks. If you're a ghost, it kind of automatically implies you're human. Or was a human.

“Sooner or later, he'll put the facts together~” says Jazz in a chant.

Swerve laughs.

“That's unlikely. He's got a pretty bad memory.”

_______________

His plans to stay out of anyone's sight combust with a dramatic pop the next time he projects himself to Earth. He doesn't plan to interfere, he doesn't even plan to linger. He just wants to see what's going on.

He actually just quietly sneaks into the hospital to make sure nothing's happened to Blurr since last time, but when he finally finds him then...oh shit, is that Pharma in the same room with him??? This can't be good.

They don't speak, but Pharma has clearly locked his eyes on Blurr and starts making his way towards him with the relentlessness of a industrial metal press.

Swerve does some rough math in his head. If he briefly gives his holoform back its detail and voice, will that be enough to fry his processor? He's not sure.

Pharma gives a believable impression of a shark getting close. The staff, as if sensing something untoward is about to happen, leaves the room in a hurry.

Blurr looks indifferent, but Swerve's attention is drawn to the way he squints tensely. Man, the lamps are too bright in here.

Pharma smiles sweetly and reaches out for a handshake

“Mind some company?”

Swerve's mental processes fly out the window. Oh no no. Not Pharma. Not in his fucking fanfic. He quickly changes his work clothes into a slightly more business-like looking shirt. Thinks for just a moment and adds a cap to his head to blend in more strongly with the attendants and hide his face to an extent. And then projects himself around the nearest unoccupied corner and runs out of behind it looking as anxious as he feels.

“Blurr!!! Sir, there you are!!! I've been looking everywhere for you!”

Pharma wants to say something, but Swerve doesn't even let him start. He stands in front of Blurr separating him and Farma expressively waves his hands trying to keep his head down.

“The guys you were talking about didn't bring the new hydraulics! It's a disaster, we'll have to use the one on the old models!”

Blurr, to his surprise, backs up his act almost instantly

“Really? But I thought there was nothing to take from the old models?”

“That's exactly the point! I got the paperwork this morning and...oh those assholes are going to screw it up if you don't step in as soon as possible!”

Pharma tilts his head

“Can it wait? We were actually talking here!”

Oh no, thinks Swerve I'll show you who's talking.

“Sir, no offense but this is a matter of extreme urgency. Are you implying that the safety of your patients is not important?”

“What do you mea...”

“Old faulty hydraulics, that's what you want?” raises an eyebrow in horror Blurr.

“No I'm just...”

“I had a better opinion of you, to be honest.”

“I...” opens his mouth Pharma “...WHAT...?”

Swerve shakes his head.

“And I thought his profession was to help people, can you imagine?”

“Wh..”

Blurr rolls his eye.

“Any idiot can get an important position these days.”

“Wait..”

“Tell me about it. Especially doctors.”

Pharma looks like he's about to start pulling the hair out of his head.

“Can at least one of you shut up??”

Swerve adjusts his cap in a businesslike manner

“Sir, I understand you're a bit detached from reality spending so much time in your department, but you need to take better care of your reputation.”

He raises his eyebrows knowingly

“Wouldn't want the rumors about you to turn out to be true. You know what I mean?”

Pharma doesn't even answer anymore. Pharma just looks like a discarded fish.

“…..Wha....there's rumors?”

“Of course” shrugs Swerve ”Ask Norman, he usually knows everything about everyone. And about your interesting tricks with safety, too.”

He leans in conspiratorially, effectively pulling all of Farma's attention to himself

“So if I were you, I'd stay out of any more things you don't understand.”

Pharma wants to say something. Swerve can tell by the look in his eyes. Pharma tries to come up with a witty and context-appropriate response, but this whole conversation has no more context than a typical episode of Teletubbies.

“Where does this Norman guy work?” finally finds the ground beneath his feet Pharma

Swerve shrugs.

“Block C, if he hasn't been transferred yet. He's already been fined several times for spreading harmful information you know? The guy can't keep a secret.”

Pharma throws his hands up angrily and storms away. Probably looking for context. Or revenge.

A quiet cough sounds behind Swerve's back.

“So. Should I be worried about Norman's health?”

Swerve feels the hair on the back of his neck shiver and slowly turns to face Blurr while still looking somewhere on the floor.

“Uh...only if you're concerned about the fate of fictional characters. I made up Norman's wife, she'll be upset if he gets fired for gossiping.”

Blurr chuckles. Then goes silent. Then, after a couple seconds, starts laughing again. That's a good look for him, Swerve thinks. It's not like Blurr's usual velvet-smooth laugh that he uses at social events. It's more like a quick, jerky giggle, and in Swerve's subjective opinion, it's pretty damn cute. He can't help but grin.

Blurr snorts one last time, cutting off the laughter.

Then he reaches out his hand to him.

Swerve reaches back, expecting a handshake, but Blurr ignores his hand and instead goes for his cap and lifts it by the brim.

Swerve, not expecting this, freezes with his hand outstretched.

Blurr freezes as well, still holding the cap in his hand and looking...like he's rethinking his life. A little.

Ugh, and how to explain it all to him....

“Uh...you...uh...probably don't remember me. I...it's...”

Blurr shifts his gaze from Swerve to the cap in his hand. Then back to Swerve.

“You're real???”

Swerve awkwardly waves his hands in front of him

“Ah not.., not really. Do you know why Pharma was looking for you in the first place? He doesn't work with patients anymore, he's been reassigned to the research department, right?”

Blurr shrugs.

“Last time I saw him, he said I might have implant rejection in the third ..uh..what? stage? or something? I think he's trying to get me in for a checkup.”

Swerve twitches.

“Third??? How are you still standing???”

He then quickly reaches up with both hands to Blurr's head and tilts it so he can see his face better. Using one thumb, he pulls his lower eyelid slightly and mentally catalogs. Temperature normal, pupil normal, eyes are steady, no darkening or trace of blood on the eyelid. Implants? He puts both palms up and gently feels the places behind Blurr's ears. No signs of rejection or malfunction.

“No no no” sighs Swerve ”You're fine, it's only stage two. I mean, second sucks too, migraines and all, but you just need to rest and no bright lights and...” he finally notices his hands are still on Blurr's head and pulls them back as fast as if he's been burned ”I MEAN I'm uh...sorry, I didn't mean to, I...”

Blurr laughs quietly.

“I'm glad you're back.”

_____________________

He wakes up in his quarters and can feel his face burning.

When he goes out to get the energon, Jazz throws him a look.

“Is something wrong? You're all kinda...shaky.”

“Hhhhhhuuuuuuuuuuuu” imitates signs of life Swerve “Say, doesn't it bother you that Prowl isn't human?”

Jazz smiles

“ Oh, I went crazy when I found out. But we figured it out.”

“Like...on a scale from ‘bad grade in school’ to ‘an asteroid is coming to Earth’ how crazy was it?”

“Worried about what your human friends will think?”

Swerve swings back and forth on his heels

“Pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff. Whatnooooo, no of course not. I'd be worried if I planned on telling them at all.”

Jazz frowns

“No offense, but keeping secrets isn't your strong suit.”

“Haha” Swerve waves his servo “ Watch me.”

#maccadam #tf mecha universe #blurr #Swerve #mecha writing #mecha kef writing #mecha bs writing #if you saw any mistakes - no you didn’t #it’s six am I need to go to bed but I wanted to post it before my brain shuts down completely #mecha pilot jazz au #jazzprowl #jazzprowl happens on the background lol #Swindle #two nano seconds of Vortex #Shockwave #Pharma

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girlivealwaysbean · 2 years ago

Text

it's been a year since i lied to you and told you that yes ive moved on so can we please be friends again. can you really blame me? i thought getting good at suppressing our memories from that one month meant moving on. i didn't know that i would feel a lump in my throat when you called me suddenly in the middle of a sunday even tho the plan was to talk once a week and we had talked only 3 days before. i didn't know i would feel butterflies in my stomach when i heard your laugh so close to my ear, but can you really blame me for being reminded of you giggling talking about the logistics of kissing on your study table?

but it's been another year since we've talked on the phone. those memories are so distant and blurry and full of light and happiness that i can't even believe they happened to me, it feels like they happened to a different person. so you don't have to worry, because ive moved on now.

remember when i used to tell you that i miss you so much i can't think about anything else, that i spend all my day reading our old chats? and you used to say, you need to stop and there are other people in the world? well, you don't have to worry about feeling uncomfortable now. i passed the exam i failed because i was too heartbroken over you. i go to tuitions and then i go to internship and i come home so late that all i do is eat and sleep. ive been doing better these days.

and you were right, there are other people in the world. but do you know, i asked a girl to come watch barbie with me, and she made a disgusted expression and said she'd already watched it and she hated it? this happened after we shared a coffee and realising we live next to each other and finding out that she watches kdramas and i listen to kpop. so surprising isn't it? someone who probably understands toxic masculinity and gender roles are fucked up still has internalised misogyny in her? nobody can compare to you, you lecturing me about feminism in tenth standard and your little book club with assigned reading as a thousand splendid suns and you having tears in your eyes showing us harry styles with pride flags in his concerts and you being mean and blunt saying i need to talk about my internalised homophobia. im starting to think you were one in a million and i was a fool to lose you, and an even bigger fool to have had you back and then lose you again.

but do you understand now? you told me you didn't, two years ago. i asked you, don't you understand that i was going crazy dealing with my psychotic family and i was depressed and tired and couldn't talk? and you said no, you're sorry, you really don't, you don't understand how someone can not share why they're sad to the person they supposedly love the most in the world. as i was writing this, daylight by taylor swift started playing. ironic, isn't it? there are many memories ive tried to erase from that one month, but this one i cannot forget- me coming into your room the night we planned and asking you if you're sure about this and is this like an experiment thing a oh what's kissing like thing or is it a we're in love with each other thing, and you smiling softly and saying girl yes i am sure it is one hundred percent a we're in love thing.

ive been getting better at sharing my sadness with my loved ones. my parents haven't stopped fighting, my dad shouted at my mom today morning because my brother lost the car keys, but it's okay, ive learned to tune it out. he only lives here for half a month, he stays somewhere else the other half so it's been easier to bear. my sister moved out, finally. ive been sad because of it but i know she's obviously happier there so it's okay. we have a neighbor and they have this tiny tiny annoying si kid she always comes to her house after her mom scolded her to sulk and watch tv with us. how is your little sister doing? i think of her when our neighbor devil comes. and how is your mom doing? are they settling in well to the new city? and how are you doing? have you been okay? we don't have to be exes trying to be friends again. but can't we just be childhood friends (if age 15 was childhood) who drifted apart briefly but found their way back to each other? please?

but it's okay, if we can't. cause like i said, ive moved on.

#it's 2:29 am and i can't sleep #do you get sad on these specific dates too? probably not cause you don't remember dates well #30th july my exams ended 5th of august we had a sleepover with our mutual friend it was the last time we were ever okay before i fucked #it all up permanently it was the last time you let me kiss you in the balcony last time you let me hold your hand tho you pulled away under #the pretense that you were cold. i still don't know if you were really cold or just mad at me #fast forward 28th august you said we should end this and i didn't put up a fight i just said okay if that's what you want #sept 12 we again had a sleepover and you let me rest my head on your shoulder for the last time ever and i rmbr not watching the movie at #all just silently wiping my tears on your shirt #and was it sept 21? you left here forever and you said you'll never come back to this shitty small town and you've kept your word #all of this probably makes you think i haven't moved on at all right?#but i have because i know that the person in my memories no longer exists and i have made my peace with it im glad it happened #and i also know i don't know anything about the person you are today #but id like to know #and you have a tumblr so if you're reading this and you maybe miss me a little too #text me?#okay bye kuch zyada hi bol diya #messages i can't send

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tiramissyoucake · 1 month ago

Note

what would mark react if his child was human no blood viltrumite dna just human would he like kill him or her (depends the gender you want) or not?And would the viltrumites react to it especially Nolan mark's dad

Mark would already establish that he wants more than one child, so if one didn't get any powers, the other probably will.

No way he's harming his own, especially when he sees you cradle the child like you're the only two things that exist in that universe.

As for Nolan... here's a blurb:

"What do you mean 'no powers'?" Mark grimaced as he heard his father, he can't back down.

"I mean that there's a small chance where my firstborn won't develop Viltrumite powers." Nolan's fist tightened as he heard his son explain, he should've killed that human the moment the ship approached Viltrum.

He glared down at Mark, and Mark glared back, the spark in that dark gaze reminded him of a distant ghost from earth. "I know my defiant son enough, you won't get rid of the child, will you?"

"I'd rather slit my own throat." He hissed, he could feel a pounding in his head developing from the anger. "You'd kill MY child, over the finite chance of no powers?"

"You'd rather a fragile bag of meat lead our empire?"

"You've been really daring when it came to my children, dad." He spat the word out, like it was an unwelcome taste. "I stand here, a testament of human-viltrum genetics, the first human with Viltrumite powers and the best Viltrumite-"

"Don't get ahead of yourself, son." Nolan spat that tone right back to him, Mark continued. "You saw it firsthand, how my powers were late."

That brought up memories, how Mark would destroy things by accident due to using excessive power, flying out of control, craters in the field from landing practice were still visible even now. "I'd go as far as to say you never expected my powers to come in."

There's an anger lurking in his father right now, waiting for him to say one more wrong thing. He may have been in a position of power but there's always that little boy's anxiety when it came to his own father somewhere deep down.

"Besides." Mark leaned away with a snarky smile. "You don't have a say in what happens to my children, my word comes first."

Nolan mentally berated himself for raising such a smart ass, either that or that tone was genetics from the other side of the family. "You'd better pray to god that kid develops powers."

"I was never really religious." A childish response, but he deserved to drop a smug reply after the ordeals he went through. "If you'll excuse me, I have to attend to my wife and child."

#your stars have aligned .•°✧✦✧#mark grayson x reader #invincible x reader

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misshuntereevee · 27 days ago

Text

The Winner Takes it All, part 2.

( part 1. )

Synopsis: You look like the MC, and you actually remember bits and pieces of the myth (not all.) But MC finally shows up, with no memory, and Sylus can’t help but be drawn in. What will happen?

Notes: Thank you guys so much for the love. Part 3 will be coming probably in a few days as I prepare to start a new series for Raf. However, there has been some interest in a taglist for this series. I won’t be doing this at this time, but I will keep considering. Comments, likes and reblogs are encouraged but not necessary. Enjoy the groveling. (Also don’t forget I’m not beta-read.)

Sylus knows he fucked up. The moment you were gone -- Miss Hunter ceased to exist. Multiple calls from her went unanswered. And he didn’t even wonder once if she was okay. But every moment since you’ve been gone, Sylus has been searching.

If you’re mad at him, that’s one thing. But he has a duty to you to make sure that Ever never lays a hand on you. And no matter how mad you are at him, he refuses to let that promise go. If he has to rebuild the trust… he will. Brick by brick.

But the pit in his stomach doesn’t subside when he sees you. He’s not a jealous man, never felt the need to be. But right now -- he understands he’s the closest he’s ever been to losing you. And he is feeling envy creep up into his veins.

You were flirting with the cashier. Well, he started it but you definitely were returning it. In all honesty… the attention felt nice. It had been a few weeks since you felt like you got this sort of attention.

The cashier is already blushing. “You know, I get off around -,”

“We don’t care,” a smooth voice comes from behind you, and a shiver runs down your spine. Sylus. You hate that it elicits such a reaction, but there would never be a day it didn’t. Your memories of your past life were hazy at best, but his voice — you don’t remember a single time it didn’t made you fall head over heels.

A hand comes to rest on your shoulder but with a loud huff, you yank it off spinning around. You’re angry. Passionately so. “Don’t you dare,” you hiss at him. “You don’t have a right—,”

“Keep the change,” Sylus tells the cashier, ignoring you.

The cashier looks between you both before he lets out an awkward low whistle and backs up. “Sorry, ma’am, but I’m not risking my life for a date with you.” And with that he leaves the customer service desk, leaving the two of you alone. You swivel around to face him, and you notice a swirl of emotions around his face.

Relief. Anger. Annoyance. Relief again. Adoration. And then finally in lands on one thing you didn’t expect —

“You were actually flirting with him,” he points out, his eyes looking… hurt somewhere underneath an accusatory jealousy. You don’t say anything. In fact, you grab the book you purchased and start walking out the door. He follows you, and you try to put your earbuds in. He takes them immediately with his Evol. You scowl at him and yank him into a nearby alleyway.

“What the hell are you doing?” You spit at him. “Leave me alone. If I wanted to talk to you, I’d answer my phone.”

A flicker of hurt crosses his face for a moment. But finally, he forces a calm look on his face. “My little bird, I know I forgot our —,”

A flicker of surprise crosses his face when you laugh loudly and bitterly. “Are you kidding me? You think that’s all I’m upset about?” He stays quiet, seeming to realize you aren’t done with him yet. In all honesty, he needs to hear what you say. Sylus knows he can’t fix anything until he knows how you’re feeling.

You frown at him before continuing: “She comes along and just because she looks like me she grabs your attention? Oh and that stupid fucking linkage bond thing ---,” How could you forget? You could resonate with him, yes, but there has never been any physical bondage connecting the two of you. That was new -- something only Miss Hunter had. And you had wondered —

Was it enough that you should doubt? Your fears were confirmed when he forgot your anniversary to take her home after a mission.

“And Ever wants you both,” he adds, his eyes narrowing. “Which was enough for me to wonder if you left… or disappeared.”

“Ha, no, more like your ego couldn’t handle that I left!” You say, poking his chest. He scowls at you. “And you know what -- I fucking remember. Does she?! I might not remember everything, but I remember! She can’t… she’ll never —”

You stop, your voice about to shake with tears. A lump forms in your throat, your chest tightening. You remember when he forced the blade through his heart. You remember slaying the dragon. And you remember the pain your past self carried -- everywhere. “Does she remember losing you like I do? However hazy it may be, she doesn’t carry that pain.”

And that’s when you turn away from him. A hand comes up, pushing tears away. “Oh, my little bird,” he murmurs behind you, his voice sounding raw. He can’t stand the fact you’re crying… over him. Self-loathing was the only thing swirling in Sylus’ red eyes right now. “I’m sorry.”

“No. I don’t forgive you. I’m not willing to fight with another version of myself for you. Go away,” you spit. You need time. And you start to walk away from him. However -- You’re only about two feet away from him when you’re yanked backwards. Something is tethering around your wrist, pulling you back.

“Stop it,” you hiss at Sylus. “Let me go!” But as you turn around completely, you can tell — this is not his Evol. You’d be able to resonate with him and make him stop. This isn’t that.

Sylus stares at it for a moment before there’s a small smirk on his face. “Well,” he says. “It looks like you’ll have to hear me out now.” A linkage.

***

“No, don’t you even start,” you say to him, staring at the link. “I’m sure if I just resonated with you — when you finally resonated with her, it went away right?”

You try to resonate with him but —

“You’re blocking it!” You accuse him. “You’re trying not to resonate with me.”

“What can I say? If my little bird flies away before I can tell her how sorry I am, that just won’t do,” he nearly purrs.

“Oh, I hate you. Stop this!”

“You have every right to be angry,” Sylus starts. Granted, you weren’t expecting that, so your response doesn’t come quickly. He keeps talking. “I admit… seeing her threw me off. But anything drawing me to her was pure curiosity, nothing more. Any other pull I felt — it felt empty. Like it belonged to you. Because it does.”

You cross your arms, pretending not to be fazed by his declarations. He leans down, gripping your chin. “You’re right, my Queen. You remember me,” he says. The other hand — the hand linked to yours by the bond — laces fingers with yours. You don’t lace them back right away.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “If you wish for me to never see her again, I’ll let someone else investigate her appearance for me. I have to know — for both our sakes why she’s here. Just please -- I can’t lose you. You’re right.”

“Sylus —,”

“Please. You don’t understand. These last two weeks have been — eye opening.” He lets out a deep, ragged breath. “I’ll do whatever it takes to prove to you that I mean it.”

A deep breath. Your thoughts are so consumed with confusion. Because you’re also curious to why there seems to be two of you - albeit two crazily different lives. You mean, she had her life and you certainly had yours.

But you also missed him. Your dragon. And the look on his face. You found it remarkable how this crime boss of a man could look like a kicked puppy, begging for forgiveness. And you absolutely hate how much you’re softening. How much you’re still attracted and pulled to him.

“Mhm. Fine. Come back tomorrow and apologize again just as passionately… and I’ll think about it,” you finally say.

His mouth opens and closes. “My little bird — okay. If that’s what you want.” And he takes your hand, ready to resonate and undo the linkage so he can leave you for the night. Sylus doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to give you a single chance to overthink it and -- not forgive him. But he also knows -- if he pushes this, he could lose you forever.

The glow of resonating begins — but nothing happens. Your heart drops. It’s not working. So… it wasn’t Sylus that was holding it together. A brief moment of confusion flits across his face.

He remembers what the scientists had told him when he failed to resonate with the hunter. That they wouldn’t be able to resonate because she was disgusted and angry with him. And in striking clarity -- he knows for a fact that it’s not him holding them back from resonating like he previously thought. It’s you.

“What’s happening?” You says, seeming a little panicked as the bond only tightens the more you try to pull away. In fact, the link tightens so much that you stumble forward into his arms. The more you try to get away from him, the closer you get.

“Hm.” Sylus says, staring at it. He’s currently trying to make sure he isn’t smiling -- this might be a small win, and he knows he has more opportunities to remedy your relationship. “I have a theory.”

“Okay -- so spill,” you say, your eyes widening at him. “I have work tomorrow, and I can’t bring you with me! You’re a crime boss!”

“We’re linked because you’re mad at me,” he finally says. “Or disgusted. Or --- you hate me.” He almost can’t get the words out. Because you can’t. You can’t hate him. There is so much he never got to do with you. You blink at him several times before it clicks -- you’re both bonded until he can fix what he broke.

#lads fanfiction #lads fanfic #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #lads sylus #sylus x reader #sylus fanfic #guess who got this done anyway :)#hope y’al like it uwu

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leclerc-hs · 5 days ago

Text

the color violet - ln4

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

summary: in which you and lando can't seem to quit each other OR you and lando are casual fuck buddies

warnings: SMUT, language, angst, jealousy, NOT PROOFREAD, toxic!

word count: 7.4k

author's note: hiiii this is another one that's been sitting in my drafts for some time that i never got around to finishing! i've been sick for the last 4-5 days so I've had some time on my hands recently. I hope you enjoy!!! xoxo. feel free to help me pay off my student loans 💓

You meet him in Monaco.

Not in the ocean blue light of day, but in that violet hour where the sky bleeds into night on top of a rooftop party that neither of you seemed to be enjoying. You don’t even know why you came. Maybe it was to feel something. Maybe to forget someone. Maybe just to remind yourself that you still exist when someone looks at you the right way.

He looks at you the right way.

From across the deck, drink loosely gripped in his hand, his curls messy from the wind and his shirt slightly undone. He looked reckless, a little bit on edge. He doesn’t smile. Just watches you like he’s trying to put you in a memory that hasn’t happened yet.

And you feel it. That slow ache blooming in the depths of your chest.

You find yourself leaning over a balcony later on, fingers curled over the ledge like you might fall, and that’s when he slips behind you.

He doesn’t say anything at first, but you can feel him. You don’t turn around. At least, not right away.

But when you do, he’s looking at you like he’s not sure if he should speak or just walk away.

You break the silence first.

“You’re staring.”

“Yeah,” he says, not apologetic at all. “You’re hard not to look at.”

A beat. Then you smirk, soft. “Careful. I bite.”

He doesn’t even flinch. “So do I.”

You look away first, back out over the city lights flickering below, your pulse thrumming beneath your skin because you can feel him now. He’s closer. Warmer. Quieter. Feel as if he’s studying the back of your neck and imagining what you’d do if he pressed his mouth there.

“You always do this?” You mutter, voice barely heard. “Stare at girls like you’ve already undressed them in your head?”

His lips twitch, barely, and you can hear the smirk in his voice when he says,”Only when they look like they want me to.”

You turn to him, slowly, hair falling over your shoulder in the process, and your eyes catch his with an intent that makes his breathing falter. Just slightly.

“And if I do?” You ask, voice laced with something dangerous in it.

He takes a step closer. Close enough that you can smell his cologne, something expensive and intoxicating, and he tilts his head just slightly, eyes flicking toward you mouth.

“Then I’d say you’re playing a dangerous game.”

You don’t break eye contact.

He kisses you just past midnight.

Not in the middle of the party. Not in front of anyone else. But in the hallway, against the marble wall, where the noises from the party have dulled into a minute hum that neither of you care about.

It’s not a sweet kiss.

It’s messy and hungry, something full of desire twisted with loneliness. His mouth crashes against yours like he’s angry you’ve gotten under his skin, and your fingertips trail the edge of his jacket, pulling him closer like you need to prove something.

He kisses you like he’s trying to forget something, and you let him. Because you’re only doing the same.

Because when his hands find your waist and your back hits the wall, and when his tongue slips against your with a kind of desperation that makes your head spin, it’s the first time in weeks you’ve felt anything at all.

And when he pulls you further against him, grinding his hips into yours just so you can feel how badly he wants you, the thick press of his cock against you, makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Tell me this is a bad idea,” he groans, voice rough and full of need.

You don’t.

Instead, you curl your fingers into the collar of his shirt, tugging him closer, dragging his lips back to yours.

“Didn’t come here for a good one.” You whisper, biting his lip.

“Fuck,” he groans. “I knew you’d be trouble.”

And then his hands are slipping under your dress, slipping up the back of your thighs, fingers digging into the skin of your ass as he lifts you. Lifts you.

Your legs wrap around his waist. Instinctive. Needy. Your breath faltering as he ruts himself against you through his unbuttoned slacks.

“Want you just like this,” he mutters. “Whining and dripping. And so fuckin’ desperate.”

You moan…loudly. And you’re now burning, aching for him, for this.

And he knows it. He’s so fucking smug over it.

“Bet you’re already soaked.” He slips one hand, pushing your lace panties aside, two fingers teasing. “Shit. Knew it.”

You buck your hips, leaning into him, begging for anything.

“Lando, please.” Your nails dig into the back of his neck.

He freezes. And his eyes meet yours. Dark. Heavy.

“Say it again.”

“Please.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Say my name.”

“Lando,” you groan.

“Fuck. That’s gonna ruin me.”

It takes a second. Just one. For him to push his boxers down just enough, and then he’s inside you. One hard thrust that knocks the breath out of both of you.

You cry out, legs squeezing around his hips. You drop your head to his shoulder.

“Too much?” He breathes, voice as if he’s in pain from not moving.

You shake your head, “Not enough.”

That makes him groan. His mouth finds yours again as he begins to move. It’s hard and deep. Pounding into you so good that has you clawing at his back and biting down on the fabric of his shirt just to keep from yelling.

“You feel fucking insane,” he mutters. “So tight.”

And every word hits you deep in your belly.

“Want it rough, don’t you?” He keeps talking, voice mixed with something wrecked and possessive. “Want me to fuck you like I’ve been waiting for this all night, yeah?”

You nod repeatedly, panting hotly into his ear.

“Then take every fucking inch.”

And you do. Every thrust. Every kiss. Every moan. You take it like it’s yours.

You come first. Hard and sudden. Your entire body shaking around him, clenching his cock that it makes him curse into your mouth.

And then he’s following, fucking you right through it, one hand braced on the wall and the other gripping the skin of your thighs like he wants to leave a bruise.

He groans your name. Your name. As he spills into you, hips stuttering, jaw clenched.

It was just one night.

A mix of heat and hands and messy kisses dragged out in a hallway too dark to see. A fast, hard, and reckless fuck. No promises. No gentle words. Just the sound of his voice in your ear, and your nails dug into his skin.

And it should’ve ended there.

You didn’t even exchange numbers.

But then, your phone buzzes. And it’s nearly one in the morning.

You don’t expect anything. Especially not from him.

But there it is. Burning brightly on the lock screen of your phone.

You up?

And even though you have an inkling of who it is, your thumb hovers, and against better judgment…taps.

Who’s asking?

A moment passes. Then, Didn’t think you’d forget that fast.

Your mouth goes dry and you sit up a little straighter in bed. You shouldn’t answer. You should put your phone down and sleep this off. But where is the fun in that?

Wasn’t planning to.

His response comes almost immediately.

Come to Barcelona.

You blink. Heart rate spiking.

For what?

Race weekend. Just come.

You stare at the screen like it might change into a much different conversation if you look at it long enough. Like it wasn’t real. He wasn’t supposed to want more, and you weren’t supposed to care if he did.

And yet…

Only four days later, you find yourself at Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya, wondering what the actual fuck you’re doing here.

You’re dressed casually. A pair of dark jeans, plain tank top, black sunglasses, hair tied back, but you still feel like you’re being watched. Like you’re out of place in a sea of uniforms and lanyards and people who belong. You don’t.

You glance at your phone again.

Media pen now. Be there in 5.

And there is he. Coming around the corner, his suit half unzipped, fireproofs sticking to his chest, curls damp with sweat. And his eyes.

His eyes lock on yours like you’re the only thing he wants to see.

He barely slows down as he reaches you, slipping a hand to your lower back. His voice is soft and warm in your ear.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show.”

You don’t look at him, but your lips twitch. “Guess I was intrigued.”

“Careful,” he lets out a soft laugh. And you feel it in your stomach. “I might start thinking you missed me.”

“I didn’t.”

It’s a lie. He knows it.

And he leans in like he’s about to force you to say something more truthful.

“You wearing anything under that shirt?”

You step back, cheeks burning. “Don’t make this into something it’s not.”

He smiles, its slow and crooked. Like he’s not listening because he already knows how this ends.

“I’ll see you after quali,” he says, walking away without another word.

And you hate that you already know you’ll be here, waiting, when he comes back.

You don’t expect him to find you so fast. But maybe you should have.

You’re tucked into a corner of the paddock, half behind the hospitality wall, leaning against a wall with your sunglasses perched low on your nose, watching the post-quali chaos unravel.

The chaos and sound fades around you just as he enters the frame. You hear his voice before you see him.

And he walks over, with that smug look on his face that always comes after a good session. The kind that says yeah, I know I did well and yeah, I know you saw it.

“P1,” he says, stopping in front of you with a glint in his eye and a drop of sweat trailing down his thick neck.

You raise an eyebrow, “You look pleased.”

“I am,” he admits.

“You looked like you had something to prove.”

“I did.” His eyes drag down your body, slowly. Deliberately. “Still do.”

You roll your eyes, but your stomach clenches.

Because this version of him, flushed, fast, high off competition, and the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, is impossible to ignore. He’s all heat and focus and unleashed energy, like he could press you up against the nearest wall and not even blink.

His room is colder than expected, the air conditioning humming low in the background, and the sheets crisp and untouched…

At least, until he’s pressing you into them with the full weight of his body, his mouth dragging across your collarbone as his hands push your shirt up, slow and greedy.

There’s no fumbling this time. No rushing. His hands are on you like he’s been waiting for this all day. Which, in hindsight, he has.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you in the car,” he groans against your skin, his tongue tracing the edge of your bra before unclasping it with ease. “All I could see was you on top of me. Moaning my name.”

You arch into him softly, fingers tugging at the waistband of his race suit. “Then take it off.”

He doesn’t hesitate. Just shoves it down enough to free himself, cock already hard, already leaking, and when he lines himself up, dragging the thick head through your slick folds, you choke on a moan and claw at his shoulders.

“No teasing,” You warn, half plea.

He bites your lip, “Didn’t plan on it.”

And then he thrusts in one deep, smooth, harsh stroke that makes your legs shake and back arch. You cry out, but he doesn’t stop.

He groans hotly into your hear, thrusting harder, his hips slamming into you as he presses your thigh up, folding you so he can get deeper. “Feel that? Y’feel how good you take me?”

You nod, your body tingling like its on fucking fire. “So good, Lan. Don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he grunts, his skin dampening as he pounds into you. “Not until you come. Not until you fall apart on my cock.”

And you do.

Twice.

Once with his hand on your throat, thumb teasing your jaw as he mutters nothing but pure fucking filth against your lips. And once again with his fingers pressed to your clit, coaxing an orgasm from you with ease until you’re shaking beneath him, sobbing his name.

He follows with a strangled groan, burying himself inside of you with deep thrusts as if he wants to stay there for forever, his entire body tensing as he spills into you, head dropping into your shoulder.

Afterward, as you lie tangled in the sheets, skin flushed and limbs heavy. Neither of you speak, just stare at the ceiling like it’s casual.

And eventually, he turns his head towards you with that practiced lazy smirk, “You’re trouble, you know that?”

You hum, already rolling onto your side, reaching for your underwear. “You invited me, Norris.”

He laughs, and it hits your stomach like a thousand butterflies. “Yeah, and I’d do it again.”

You shoot him a look as you stand, pulling your shirt over your head. “Don’t make this a habit.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

And it’s full of shit. You both are.

It’s been a few weeks.

Long enough that the ache between your thighs has faded, and the bruises from his hands have disappeared. Faded along with the last words he said to you, something half-smiled and forgettable, something that tried to make it feel casual.

You haven’t seen him since. Because why would you? It’s casual.

So when you see him again, back home in Monaco, at a rooftop with too many people and not enough room, it’s odd.

Because the first time was accidental. The second time was reckless. But this? This feels like a sick and twisted game.

You’re laughing with your friends, sunglasses perched on your nose even though the sun is long gone, and you catch the flicker of him in your peripheral vision. A flash of curls. And you turn your head, instinctively.

And there he is.

Leaned back on one of the couches, drink in his hand and a girl beside him. Someone pretty, someone blonde, and definitely not you. He’s smiling, head tilted back, hand draped casually over the cushions behind her.

And he doesn’t even see you at first.

You have, what feels like a lifetime of time, to stare before he notices. And when he does, his smile falters. Just for a second. Not noticeable to anyone but you, because you’re looking for it.

You give him a small smile and glance away.

Later, he finds you.

Not in a dramatic I’ve been looking for you way, but just casually, like it doesn’t matter. Like he didn’t have you spread across his hotel sheets, legs shaking from how hard he made you come, just a few weeks ago.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he says, sliding up beside you as you face the bar, casual, like you aren’t people who know each other like that.

“Didn’t expect you to speak,” you reply, swirling the ice in your glass. “Thought we were keeping it to once every few countries.”

He grins, a small laugh escaping. “Didn’t know we had a pattern.”

“We don’t,” you say, sipping your drink. “And there won’t be.”

But your eyes say otherwise. And so do his.

Because his hand brushes against yours, and the warmth makes your stomach clench. Because he leans in, his mouth too close to your ear, and you let him.

Because later, when everyone is starting to leave, he catches your wrist lightly. “Yours or mine?” He asks, voice low.

And even though you hesitate, you already know how it ends.

“Yours.”

Because it doesn’t mean anything.

There’s no rush when you walk into his apartment.

The door shuts quietly behind you, and he doesn’t pounce on you like he did in Barcelona.

Instead, he tosses his keys onto the counter, shrugs out of his jacket, and mutters something about grabbing a water. It’s nothing. Casual. But somehow, it makes your skin jump with anticipation.

You push your shoes off before making way towards the large windows, taking in the view.

He hands you a glass of water without asking. You take it without speaking.

You end up on his couch. Your legs curled beneath you, a soft hoodie tugged over your frame because he offered, and you didn’t bother to pretend that you weren’t cold.

He sits beside you, not touching, but his arm stretched lazily over the back of the couch. His fingers softly grazing your shoulder every time he shifts.

“You gonna keep looking at me like that?”

His mouth curves. That same slow, smug look he had on his face the first time. And the same look he had in Barcelona after you came on his fingers.

“You seem comfortable. Didn’t want to interrupt.”

“How polite.”

He shifts closer, enough that your knees bump and his thumb rubs the edges of your thighs.

It starts softer this time. No messy kisses or desperate pulling at clothes. Just two mouths meeting slowly, like two people who’ve done this before and know that they will do it again.

His lips part against yours, a soft groan escaping. And you drag your fingers into his hair, tugging his curls, pulling him into you even more.

He drags you into his lap with no struggle, hands resting on the skin of your hips. His tongue slips into your mouth lazily, tasting you, teasing you. Like he has all the time in the world with you.

You grind against him slowly, and he breathes sharply against your mouth, head falling back slightly as you feel the pads of his fingers dig deeper into the skin of your hips.

Clothes come off in pieces. First it’s your shirt sliding over your head, his hoodie pooling by your feet, jeans tugged down. It’s slow and warm and filled with need.

He lays you flat on the couch, his body settling between your thighs, and it feels so fucking right.

“Missed this,” he says softly, almost like you weren’t supposed to hear it.

You don’t respond.

You just hook your legs around his waist and pull him into you, guiding him inside with a hiss and a string of curses. Because somehow, it still feels too good.

And when he starts to move with slow, deep thrusts that make your body arch into him, you cling to him like you want to make it last.

“Look at me,” he breathes. “Want to see you.”

You do. Gasping his name with every soft roll of his hips. And you match his pace, his rhythm, until you’re both breathing hard and cursing into each other’s mouths.

You come first. Quietly, slowly. And he follows, hips stuttering, breath catching as he groans your name.

It’s quiet afterward again.

You lie on the couch, chests rising and falling in sync with one another.

Eventually, he moves. Just to grab the blanket from the back of the couch and toss it over the both of you.

“You’re not gonna start getting clingy on me, are you?” You joke, your voice teasing.

He smiles. “Not a chance.”

You smile back.

You stay the night. And neither of you ask why.

It starts slowly.

A brunch here. A mutual friend’s birthday party there. A weekend boat trip where someone invited you and someone else invited him, no one though of it.

You’re not surprised when he shows up to places anymore. And he doesn’t act surprised to see you. He just stretches that easy grin and slips past you, hands grazing, like its the most natural thing in the world.

Because you’re just acquaintances. Maybe friends.

Who sleep together. Sometimes. When its convenient. When you’re both lonely and no one else is around.

And the table you’re both seated at is too full, but the wine flows easily. You’re seated somewhere in the middle, pressed between your two friends from your side of the circle, but your eyes drift…to the other end of the table where Lando’s talking with one of his friends, a beer halfway to his mouth, cheeks flushed from the heat or the drinks.

He hasn’t looked at you yet, but he know’s your watching.

That’s the game.

You smile at something someone says. Sip your glass of wine. Pass around another bottle. And laugh.

And every so often, your gaze meets his. Not long. Just for a moment. Just long enough to feel it.

The tension. The fun.

He glances over mid-conversation, eyebrows raised like he’s asking something you two will never say out loud. You tilt your head slightly, smirk, and turn back to your friends.

The table is half-cleared now, crumpled napkins, stained glasses, and a few olives remain.

You’re laughing. Really laughing, head tilted back, hand over your mouth, tears prickling the corners of your eyes. And Lando, he’s just watching you.

The bill gets passed around later and you rise from your chair with everyone, slipping your jacket over your shoulders. And you feel him move behind you, just barely, as you gather your stuff.

“Leaving?” He asks, words only meant for you.

You don’t look at him as you dig through your purse. “Depends,” you shrug. “You planning on texting me later?”

He laughs. “Probably.”

You smile softly. “Then I won’t go too far.”

And he doesn’t say anything back, just watches you gracefully step out the restaurant with your friends. A knowing smile tugged on his lips like he already knows how this night ends. With you hot and moaning beneath him.

Cause that’s how it usually does.

You hadn’t planned to go back with him that night. But all your plans and intentions seem to melt whenever Lando is involved.

He opens the door with one hand, hoodie slung over his shoulders, and flicks the light. And you like that. The casualness. The fact he doesn’t reach for you immediately. He just walks in, leaves the door open for you to follow, and tosses his keys onto the counter.

You drop your bag and kick your shoes off, already heading toward the couch where you’ve curled up countless times now. It doesn’t feel new. And that realization lands heavily in your chest.

“You want anything?” He asks, the sound of the fridge opening in the background. “Water? Juice?”

You laugh. “Juice?”

He shrugs, grabbing two water bottles before shutting the fridge. You take one of the bottles he hands you when he sits down beside you.

“You always this healthy?” You tease him.

He takes a sip, stretching an arm behind you along the couch.

“I eat chocolate for breakfast during race weeks. Don’t be fooled.”

You let out a small laugh. “I respect the balance.”

And its easy. The conversation stretches. He asks about he tattoo on your wrist, the one you never though he notices. You tell him it was just an impulsive one. He admits his worst haircut. He tells you about the time he crashed his scooter in the hotel lobby a few years ago.

Somewhere between all the talk, you tuck your legs under you, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, his eyes catching on the bare skin there for a second too long.

“You always wear this necklace,” he says, nudging his hand along it. “Is it meaningful?”

You toy with the silver chain, twist your finger around it. “Not really. It was my mom’s.”

He nods, but doesn’t ask more. Doesn’t press.

Just sips his water and nudges your knee again.

This time not so subtly.

Eventually, the space between you closes. His lips find yours, familiar. Warm. You move into him like you’ve done it dozens of times. But there’s something else there now. Softer.

His hands slip under your shirt again, tracing over your ribs, and yours curl around the back of his neck, pulling him into you as you let the water bottle fall to the floor.

It’s still casual. Still fucking.

But you’re starting to notice more of him.

And his eyes are starting to linger longer than they used to.

It dies down in small ways.

The late night texts from him slow. The touches grow a little more careful. And you start seeing him a lot less. Not because you’re avoiding him, but because suddenly, he’s no longer around.

His season is going well. Really well.

Every time you check your phone, there’s another photo of him on the podium, another headline. He’s locked in, focused in the kind of way that leaves very little room for anything else. Including you.

At first, you don’t question it. You tell yourself that it’s natural. He’s busy, you’re busy, and this was never meant to be anything serious.

You still see him sometimes, at group dinners or sometimes race weekends if your friends want to go, his voice always casual, his touch no longer lingering like it used to.

It finally all snaps on a random Monday.

You hadn’t planned to see him. He texted you really late, a you up?

And even though its been a while, you went. Because you kinda missed him. Because you thought that maybe it could still feel the same.

But now, you’re standing in his apartment with your arms crossed against your chest and he’s pacing. Hands tugging a the ends of his sleeves like he’s trying to work up the courage to say something.

And he doesn’t meet your eyes when he finally speaks.

“I think we should…” He pauses, struggling. “I think we should put a pause on things.”

You blink. You blink again, because the words don’t make sense at first.

“Right,” you say slowly, “because you’re busy.”

His jaw tightens, like he’s struggling to even do this. “Because I need to focus.”

“On racing,” you clarify, because you need to hear him say it.

He nods once. “I can’t be distracted. The season’s going really well. There’s a lot of weight on my shoulders.”

You swallow around the lump in your throat. “So I’m a distraction?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“No,” Your voice is flat. ‘It’s what you mean.”

“That’s not fair.”

You laugh. And its bitter.

“It’s fine,” you shrug your shoulders. Put on a fake smile. “This was nothing more than easy fucking anyways.”

And you swear you see his eyes widen, and they look black. His hands fist at his sides. Like he’s angry you would ever say that.

“You should move on.”

You grab your bag, backing up towards the front door. “See you around.”

And you don’t slam the door. You don’t even yell.

You just walk out.

And even though this was casual, it hurts a lot more than it should.

You haven’t seen him properly in weeks. Sure, you’ve been in the same rooms. Same dinners, same events, same rooftop bars. But you’ve nearly perfected the art of pretending that he isn’t there. And he’s mastered pretending that it doesn’t bother him.

Or maybe he hasn’t.

Because lately, his eyes linger way longer than they should.

Especially now that you’re here with someone else.

Nothing serious. Not yet. But he’s charming. Sweet. Says nice things and refills your drink without having to ask. He kisses you sweetly, like its allowed to mean something.

And he’s present.

Lando sees it. Of course he does. Because he sees everything when it comes to you.

He sees the way your hand rests gently on this new guy’s arm. The way you lean into him. The way your smile comes quickly.

And it drives him fucking insane.

He hides it pretty well. Jaw tight, voice easy, and laughing a little louder than usual.

And later, when he finds himself beside you on the sidewalk, his shoulder brushing against yours as you walk beneath the city lights.

You say nothing. Neither does he.

But when your date turns to say something, slipping his hand along your waist, Lando’s breath halts.

A jaw twitch.

And then lowly, he’s leaning into your ear. “So this is how it is now?”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

He doesn’t stop to look at you, just keeps walking, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket.

You stop walking, so does he.

“This,” he says, gesturing to your new guy. “Him.”

“What about him?” You ask, trying to ignore the fact your heart rate is spiking.

He scoff. And you stare at him.

“You don’t get to be jealous.”

His eyes flick toward you, sharp. “I’m not.”

And you smile, bitterly. “Good. Because I'm not yours.”

And he fucking hates it.

The suit zips up easy. His helmet is snug. And the radio crackles into his ears with a voice thats measured, focused. The exact opposite of what’s happening in his head.

He’s meant to be locked in. And he looks like he is. He checks his gloves, throws a casual thumbs up at the camera. But his mind? His mind is nowhere near here.

It’s on you.

Always on you now.

In the way his fingers twitch as he straps into the car. Remembering how your hand fit against his chest the last time you were in bed with him, your fingers dragging across his skin like you didn’t know what time it was and didn’t care.

It’s in the way he zones out during debriefs, eyes unfocused, thinking about the text he wanted to send, but didn’t. The one that said you looked happy with him and I fucking hated it.

And it’s the worst when he’s in the car. Where he’s supposed to be able to disappear with no emotions, no mess.

But now? It’s like you’re in there with him.

He hears you in his head, your voice, your laugh. And he hits a curb harder than he should. And Lando’s heart pounds. Not from the high speeds. Not from the car. But from you.

You with another person. You slipping further away.

And all he can think is, what the fuck did I do?

You didn’t plan on seeing him. Nor did you expect to show up at his afterparty. Especially not weeks after silence, after he told you that he needed the space, that you were a distraction.

And yet here he is.

Leaning against the bar like he owns the fucking place, jaw tight, drink in hand like he’s not on edge.

You’re talking to someone when he finally comes up behind you. And you feel him before you hear him.

“Didn’t take you long,” he says, leaning in close like its nothing. Like you’re still his to touch.

You don’t turn around. “Excuse me?”

He takes a sip of his drink. “To move on.”

You turn to face him then. “Are you seriously doing this right now?”

He shrugs, smile lazy, but his eyes are hard. Dark. “Just making conversation.”

“No, you’re being an asshole.”

“I’m just being honest.” He says, stepping even closer, just for you. “You’re the one who kept saying it meant nothing.”

You laugh, a little breathless. “Right. Because you taught me that.”

And he flinches. But then that smirk twists back into place, cruel.

“You were never supposed to catch feelings.”

“And you were?” You shoot back.

He leans in again, his mouth grazing your ear. “I never said I didn’t feel something. I just said I couldn’t do it.”

And there it is.

You stare at him. Furious. Aching.

“This is the reason I stopped answering your drunk texts.”

But he just looks at you. Dark. Possessive. And soooo fucking sure of himself.

“You’ll answer the next one.”

You’re in bed when the knock at your door comes. It’s sharp, loud, and impatient.

You let the silence stretch, knowing who it is. You think maybe he’ll leave if you ignore it long enough. But you know better.

Another knock.

“Open it.” Another knock. “I know you’re up.”

You don’t want to. But you do anyways.

And when you pull the door open, there he is. Lando, in a hoodie, eyes wild with something that’s not just anger but maybe sorrow too.

He walks past you without being invited in.

You close the door behind him, arms crossed, “You really have no sense of boundaries, do you?”

He turns, finally facing you. “You’re still seeing him?”

You laugh, cold. “Really? Straight to that?”

“I asked a question.”

“No, you made a demand.” You bite back. “And you don’t get to do that. Not anymore.”

“I just need to know.”

“Why? So you can tell yourself that you didn’t fuck it up?” Your voice is shaking now. “So you can pretend I was never yours to begin with?”

He doesn’t answer. He just looks at you. And you can see it all in his eyes. The confusion, the guilt, the jealousy. The way he misses you. The way he wants you without knowing how to have you.

“You told me to move on,” you whisper. “So I did.”

He takes one step further. Then another. Until you’re toe to toe.

“I didn’t think you would.” His voice is hoarse.

You stare at him. “That’s not my fucking problem.”

His hand moves. Fast. Grabbing your wrist, just enough to make your whole body go still. And you don’t pull away.

“You think I haven’t thought about you every fucking day?” He says, his words angry and honest. “You think I don’t see you with other people and want to rip the world apart?”

“Then why did you push me away?”

“Because I was scared,” he mutters. “Because this season is everything I’ve ever wanted in life and I can’t fuck it up.”

His hand slips to your waist, pulling you into him. And you should push him off, but you don’t. Not when his hands feel so good on you.

And when he kisses you, it’s fucking desperate. Teeth and tongue and too much heat. But you meet him equally, pulling him closer.

He lifts you, walks you backwards to the couch, and everything is frantic. Rushed.

And when your fingers slide to undo his belt. “You hate me,” he pants, dragging your shirt over your head.

“I should,” you snap back.

And still, you let him fuck you like you’re his.

It happens quietly. Slowly.

There’s no grand reunion. No apology. Not even a discussion about that night on your couch. The one where he fucked you deep into the cushions, like you were his to claim.

You just show up. And he opens the door like he was already expecting you.

No words, just the sound of your keys hitting the counter, shoes slipping off, sliding around him like you know your way around. Like nothing has changed in the last few months. Like everything has.

And he watches you. Suspiciously. A fearful kind of watch.

He kisses you first, and you kiss him back. But there’s something off in the way your hands move. Its deliberate, methodical. Like you’re checking off a box.

Your mouth is warm. Skin soft. You still sigh and moan when he pulls you onto his lap. But he feels it in the way your eyes don’t meet him.

In the way you don’t say his name anymore. In the way you flip him onto his back like you’re in control now.

And it kills him.

He wanted you back. The comfort, your laugh, the way you snuggled into him like it was thoughtless. He wanted you.

His hands find your hips, dragging into your skin, and all you do is exhale like you’re chasing the release, not the connection.

You don’t wear his clothes anymore. When you come back, he’s lying on his side, watching you in deep thought.

You crawl back into the sheets, slowly. And just as you begin pulling the blanket over your shoulder, you hear him.

His voice low, “you don’t look at me the same.”

You don’t turn around.

“You wanted it to mean less,” you say quietly. “So that’s what I'm doing.”

You show up like you always do. Late, quiet, and unbothered.

You don’t kiss him when you step inside. You just give him that half-smile, and he still lets you in.

Because the moment you’re here, all restraint melts. He wants to touch you. Wants you pressed underneath him. Wants to pretend, for a few hours, that he hasn’t ruined the one thing he seems to care about most now.

So he takes you. On the couch this time, rougher than he means to be. His fingers dipping into your hips as you ride him slow, head tipped back, hands on his chest. And you look fucking beautiful.

Detached.

It drives him insane.

“You always this quiet now?” He mutters between clenched teeth, his hands gripping so hard they might leave bruises.

You don’t answer. Just roll your hips, again and again, deeper, slower.

“Tell me who you’re thinking about,” he says, eyes locked on you.

And you meet his gaze, breathless, but say nothing.

And that’s what snaps him.

He sits up fast, grabs the back of your neck, and kisses you. Hard. Like he thinks if presses hard enough, you’ll stop pretending you don’t feel something.

“Say my name,” he grunts against your mouth. “Just fucking say it.”

You breathe it out, “Lando.”

But its flat.

And it nearly kills him.

You pretend.

You show up late, kiss him first, leave before morning. You pull his hoodies on while he’s asleep and take them off before he wakes up. You let him touch you like you’re his. But never look him in the eye for too long.

Because if you do, you’ll crack.

The last time you slept with him, he touched you like he missed you. Not your body. You.

And it made you fucking ache.

Because you know you love him. And he doesn’t even know that you’re doing everything you can not to show it.

There was no exact moment in time where you knew you loved him. You just did. And maybe it came along the way of him remembering how you take your coffee, or when he fixed your neckless. Or whenever he begged you to not go.

But then he made you feel disposable. So you pretend. You pretend like you don’t love him, but stay with him in the only way that lets you keep him.

The paddock is crowded. Loud.

Your credentials hang around your neck, and your phone buzzes. You’re walking toward the hospitality building when someone stops you. Someone you met last night at the team dinner. Who is all smiles and friendly charm.

He touches your arm when he says your name.

And suddenly, Lando’s there.

Still in his fireproofs, hair soaked from the helmet, chest rising with adrenaline, and his eyes cold. Dark.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just steps in. Places a hand on your lower back like he owns the right. Which he does. The guy takes one look and steps back.

Smart move.

Lando doesn’t even glance at him when he speaks. He keeps his eyes on you. It’s territorial.

“You’ve got a type now, hm?”

You raise an eyebrow. “He was just being polite.”

“Looked more than polite.”

“Are you serious?”

He shrugs, but the clench of his jaw tells enough. “You said this doesn’t mean anything.”

You fold your arms, throat tight. “It doesn’t. That’s what you wanted, remember?”

His eyes trail down your face, your body, back to your eyes. Hungry. Angry.

“Doesn’t mean I want anyone else touching you.”

And there it is. That possessive, raw, honesty.

You blink. “You don’t get to say that.”

He takes a step closer. “You think I don’t notice you pulling away? That I don’t feel it every time you fuck me like it doesn’t matter?”

And your heart fucking thuds against your chest.

“You told me to let it mean less.”

“And now you hate me for it,” His voice is soft. “But you’re still here.”

He slips his hand around your waist again, his fingers fisting into the fabric of your shirt at your lower back. “I can’t have you looking at someone else like that. Not when I still—“

And he doesn’t finish the sentence. He never does.

Just pulls you in and kisses you hard. In the open. Like it means everything. But he can’t say it.

“You’re not fucking anyone else, right?” He mutters into your neck.

You exhale hard, angling your head back as he sucks a bruise beneath your jaw. “No.”

He pulls back, eyes searching. “Say it.”

You meet his gaze. “I’m not with anyone else.”

He nods once. It’s not enough.

His hand slips between your legs, rubbing slow and rough over the fabric of your panties. “This pussy’s mine, yeah?”

You gasp, hips instinctively pressing into his hand.

“Say it.”

“It’s yours,” you whisper. “Only yours.”

He fucks you like he’s trying to brand you with himself. On the bed, legs spread, hands gripping your thighs.

And its something you never want to stop.

You’re curled into his side, fingers tracing lazy patterns over his stomach. Neither of you have spoken since the race.

He didn’t win. Didn’t even make podium. And it’s been weighing on him all night.

You think that he might just fall asleep like this.

“I love you.”

The words fall from him like they slipped out before he could stop them. You freeze. His eyes are on the ceiling, but his hand tightens around you.

“I love you,” he says again. “But I don’t know how to do this.”

“I want you here.” His voice is rough. “I want you in my bed, in my fucking life, but this season is killing me. The pressure, the travel, the expectations, they’re eating me alive.”

He looks at you then. Finally.

“You make me feel like I can breathe. But that also scares the fucking shit out of me. Because I can’t lose you.”

Your heart pounds in your ears.

“You don’t have to choose,” you whisper.

“But what if I’m shit at this? What if I fuck it all up?”

“Then you try again.”

And he pulls you in. Clinging to you. Like maybe, just maybe, you’ll stay.

The night is soft.

There’s a party inside, somewhere behind the tall glass doors and the low thump of music, laughter floats.

But you’re not listening.

You’re out on the balcony. Alone. Leaning against the railing with an unfinished drink in your hand, gazing at the skyline.

And it feels like the first night again.

And maybe that’s why your chest tightens when you hear the glass door slide open. You don’t turn. You close your eyes for a few seconds.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

Your lips tug upward, glancing at your drink. “I wasn’t hiding.”

“I know,” he mutters. “Didn’t know if you wanted to be found.”

You turn around. He looks tired. Not just from the grueling season. But from everything. His eyes though. Those goddamn eyes. Are softer now. Calmer.

Your lift an eyebrow, “Did you win?”

“Not even close.”

A pause. Then, “Not if I don’t have you.”

Your breath catches. And it would be so easy to look away. Turn around and pretend he isn’t there.

He steps forward, slowly. Like a predator cornering his prey.

“I love you,” he says. “And I’m tired of pretending I don’t. Tired of pushing anything that matters in my life away.”

“I was scared,” he confesses, his hands shoved into the pockets of his slacks. “I didn’t know how to be in love and still be…still be good a this.” He gestures around him, like he’s referring to the career, the pressure. “But I don’t want to be good if you’re not in it with me.”

You swallow hard. “You made me feel like I didn’t matter when you shrugged me off all those nights ago.”

“And I’ll never forgive myself.” He whispers. “Just let me try. Let me be better.”

And when he reaches for your hand, you let him. You lace your fingers together. You let him rest his forehead against yours.

“You’re late,” you smile.

He smiles back, and lets out the biggest breath like he can finally fucking breathe again. “And I'll spend forever making it up to you.”

#lando norris x reader #lando norris smut #lando norris angst #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x you #lando imagine #lando x you #lando x reader #ln4 imagine #ln4 fic #ln4 x reader

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humanjarvis · 2 months ago

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i learned from you

synopsis: while talking with your colleague, you realize caleb is the closest thing you have to a mother figure.

pairing: caleb x reader, reader is mc tags: light angst, comfort, fluff, reader had a rough childhood, reader has a period, reader and caleb's relationship is ambiguous but he kisses her head once, reader questions existence, reader is kind of a crybaby, grandma josephine implied to be a bum in this no shade to her word count: 1.3k

a/n: i hope this doesn't read weird #imnotintothat i just keep thinking about how caleb fulfills like 6 different roles in mc's life. he is so gender studies to me

“What do you mean you don’t know how to straighten your hair? Didn’t your mom ever teach you?” Tara asks in genuine confusion.

With your sandwich halfway to your lips, you freeze. Although you were close with your colleagues, you weren’t all that open about your upbringing, for obvious reasons. Before now, everyone had always accepted your reticence on the topic. They’d never been people to overstep, but you guess there’s a first time for everything.

“I don't remember much about my parents,” you respond carefully. “My memory from before the Wanderers came is a little blurry, sorry.”

Tara’s mouth forms a small ‘o’ as her cheeks turn scarlet. “I didn’t mean to—” she starts. “I wasn’t trying to—I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

You knew she didn’t know. That was kind of the point. Your whole thing was to move through life ignoring your early childhood, pretending you’d simply spawned into Linkon as a tween. But you couldn’t tell Tara that—she was sweet, it was an honest mistake, and she didn’t need your baggage at noon on a Friday.

Scrambling for something to break the tension, you blurt out, “I think she did teach me how to dry it, though!”

The peace offering is bland—to most people, drying hair is nothing special—but it works. Tara jumps back into the conversation, tactfully choosing to talk about her childhood so you could keep yours locked away in the depths of your mind. Crisis averted, you think.

Except as the minutes tick by and Tara drones on, you realize the crisis is very much not averted. You’d brought up your “mom” teaching you to dry your hair to save you both from an awkward lunch, but when the lie left your mouth, it wasn’t your mother you were thinking of. It wasn’t Grandma Josephine. It was Caleb.

Caleb had taught you how to dry your hair. It’d happened when you were twelve; a rowdy classmate had snuck up behind you and pushed you into the pool, leaving your hair a tangled, matted mess. When Caleb had found out your teachers were letting you go home early, he’d skipped his last two classes to be right by your side, running a shower for you while you sulked by the bathroom door. After you’d dried off and changed into the pajamas he’d left on the counter, Caleb came in from the hallway, carrying the same towel he’d used to dry your hair countless times before. Section by section, he’d squeezed the water from your hair, showing you how to without frizzing it up. “Not saying that ‘wet cat’ is a bad look on you, but I get the feeling you don’t want to look like that all the time,” he’d quipped.

Caleb had been there for you for as long as you could remember, you realize. As you walk back to the Hunters Association, halfheartedly entertaining Tara’s chattering, the memories flood your brain: Caleb teaching you math. Caleb nursing you back to health when you had the flu. Caleb packing your lunchbox, Caleb doing your laundry, Caleb holding you through your first period. For all your firsts, all your milestones, and even the dull moments, he had been there. Your head spins as you stare at your desk, not even remembering sitting down. All your life, has Caleb been your only mother figure?

You go home lost in thought.

You stay that way for the whole afternoon, nearly forgetting about the movie night you’d planned for that evening with—you guessed it—Caleb. As you float around your apartment on autopilot, tidying up your living room and throwing on comfier clothes, the doorbell rings. He’s right on time.

“Hey, pipsqueak,” he greets as you welcome him in. “I hope you’re hungry—I brought your favorite snacks.”

You thank him with a smile, hoping his observant eyes can’t spot the way it wavers. Just two hours, you think. Two hours and then you’ll be free to question your existence all weekend.

The movie plays as normal. It’s easy to escape the worries on your mind with a fantasy blockbuster stealing your attention. It’s only when Caleb offers to make you a late dinner that the weight of your day falls back down to your shoulders.

“No, that’s okay. I can just order something after you’re gone,” you refuse shyly. Having returned to your earlier haze of overthinking, you make a mistake. As Caleb moves to ruffle your hair, you flinch, dodging under his hand. The ensuing beats of awkward silence are all it takes for him to register that something is off.

“...You just pulled away from me. You never do that unless you’re upset. Talk to me, pips—did I do something wrong?” He pauses. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” you rush, throwing your hands out in front of you. “No, it’s just…”

When you trail off, he steps closer. “It’s just…what? I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me,” he presses.

“It’ll sound silly. And weird,” you say quietly, avoiding his gaze.

“Nothing about you is silly, pipsqueak. Except when you’re actin’ cute for my attention,” he adds, gently poking your nose.

You reward his efforts to put you at ease with a shaky giggle, finally finding the will to talk. “Earlier, Tara just asked me about my parents—wondering if my mom had ever taught me to do something.”

Caleb grimaces.

“And with Gran so busy all the time…and with her…gone…now… I just realized the closest thing I’ve ever had to a mother figure is you,” you breathe, your voice breaking at the end of your confession.

Caleb’s unreadable gaze makes the tears arrive faster. “It’s just…you’re everything to me, Caleb. You’ve been with me through everything,” you sniffle. “Every role in my life you could possibly play, you play it, and I didn't even notice until now. You’ve spent over half your life guiding me through mine, and I just feel so helpless. I don’t even know if I'd be alive without you, and—”

Your tears constrict your throat, forcing you to pause if you want to breathe properly.

Even though he knows now is a bad time to dote on you, given the circumstances, Caleb would rather eat glass than turn a blind eye to your tears. He quickly shushes you, letting you cry into his sweater, and the more you relax in his embrace, the more you hate yourself. You really can’t do anything without him.

Settling you both on the loveseat, Caleb rocks you for a few moments before he begins. “I didn't know you felt that way, but it seems like you didn't either. Look, pipsqueak,” he sighs, tilting your head up to make eye contact. “Don't ever feel bad about how you were brought up. I won’t let you keep stressing yourself out over something that was never in your control.” He pauses, as if weighing the consequences of his next words. “And if it means anything, which I hope it does, I thank the stars every day that the universe was kind enough to let me take care of you. To see you grow,” he murmurs, pressing a long kiss to your temple. “Any way you'll have me in your life, I'll be there. Never feel ashamed for that.”

With your heart pounding, you peek up at him, hesitant awe on your still-teary face. He meets your gaze with a soft smile, softly stroking your back, and you wonder what heroic deeds you accomplished in your past life to deserve him. “I’m sorry for pulling away from you earlier,” you whisper, nestling your head into his shoulder.

You don’t know how long you stay there curled beside him, but the moon is high in the sky when he next speaks.

“So…mother figure, huh?” he asks, voice mischievous now that your tears have dried. “Better me than anyone else. You might have liked her more than me—can’t have that.”

Lifting your head, you swat his chest. “Caleb!” you groan.

#iris writes #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #caleb x reader #lads caleb #caleb #lads #lads x reader #lads comfort #lads angst #lads fluff #lnds #lnds caleb #love and deepspace fluff #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace comfort #love and deepspace angst

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demonic0angel · 2 months ago

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Dealing With Death (click for clarity)

CW: blood, gore, death

Or… what happens when the Phantom family encounters death? These are my hcs as to what happens when they travel to the DCU world and get one-shotted.

1) In some circumstances, Danny is able to be revived via a specific ritual. Anyone who believes in him or is one of his followers can complete this ritual and revive him.

2) Jazz has a special clock given to her by Clockwork, which rewinds the time for her to five minutes before she died. It can only work 12 times, and she’s on her ninth life.

3) Dani has more clones made of her (by Frostbite and family) that are pretty much only used as a potential vessel. Since she melts when she dies, her remains can be reused for memories like nothing happened. However, she usually doesn’t remember her death.

4) If Dan was killed, he’d never be able to come back, since he’s a one-of-a-kind existence from a very specific timeline. As such, when threatened, he will mindlessly eliminate everything around him that he considers an enemy.

Image description below:

Comic one is about Danny. He’s shown dead, a hole in his chest that bleeds red and green with a galaxy inside before a pink carnation is suddenly placed inside of the hole. Someone kneels next to him, praying earnestly. In the next moment, Danny sits up, entirely healed, and beams at the person who helped him. The helper is shocked at his sudden rise from the dead, but is soon pleasantly surprised by Danny’s happiness.

Comic two is about Jazz. She falls over in an alley, having been shot 4 times by a jealous rival within Arkham Asylum, three times in the back and another in the head. The rival leaves in a huff and Jazz is left on the ground, bleeding out. A purple clock then appears above her and sparkling tendrils wrap around her. When the rival arrives at Arkham the next day, expecting Jazz to be dead and for the attention to be on her, she’s left horrified as Jazz smiles at her, still very much alive, with Shadow’s eyes staring.

Comic three is about Dani. She lies in a puddle of green and red, already melting. A Fenton thermos is used to suck up her remains and she’s brought to a lab where many, many clones of Dani are already set up. Once the remains are used, a Dani clone opens her eyes and leaves her chamber, exhausted and dressed only in wet rags. Later, she is smiling, cheerful, and clean, as if nothing happened.

Comic four is about Dan. He stands in the middle of a bloody room, clearly where a lot of people have been killed. Blood is all over the floor, ceilings, and walls. His back is faced away from the viewer, but in the next moment, he turns and all that is seen on his face are his glowing red eyes.

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ruinix · 8 days ago

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Could you make a Quinn X Reader, where the reader is deaf and communicates by sign language? How would Quinn be about it?

Hello, lovely. I tried my best writing this. Please do note that I am not deaf or hard-of-hearing. I unfortunately don’t know any sign languages, even the one in my country. [I tried learning but it didn’t stick. I lack people to converse with it]. Simply, I hope this doesn’t offend anyone. If people do, I can take this down… 😔

Spoken Gestures

TW/CW: Deaf!Reader, 18+ MDNI, Smut, Slight description of a past injury (blood and stitches), Choking (is it choking? Yes, ask Quinn, he’s the receiver. 😏 😏 😏), Oral sex (fem receiving), Unprotected Sex (use protections, silly), Just Quinn in love and horny over here

Count: 3532 words | Masterlist

You’re washing the dishes by hand early in the morning. Quinn yawns, sneakily getting himself a glass of orange juice. At that moment, you slam a cup down. He startles, jumping, almost spilling on himself.

He instantly faces you, his eyes zeroing in your hand, making sure you aren’t hurt if the cup breaks. Thankfully, you’re fine. The cup didn’t break. If you had, it won’t be the first time that you’ll break something when you unknowingly slam it. It’s not your fault. You simply can’t hear it.

Plus, it’s not like you do it all the time. You just occasionally put down some things harshly. Honestly, Quinn does that too.

On one side, breaking glassware—or anything at all—isn’t a big deal, because Quinn can always buy replacements. On the other, the possibility of you getting hurt during or after the process is his major concern. He doesn’t want another repeat of you getting a laceration across your palm like before. No. He can’t bear it. Even if it didn’t leave a scar, it burns through his memory. Forever haunting him.

Grounding himself, he focuses on the fact that you’re not hurt right not. He exhales a sigh of relief.

‘You’re okay’, he repeats in his head.

Slowly, he approaches you, taking the oven mitt on the counter, he uses it to lightly fan at you.

The gust of wind makes you turn towards him, smiling your kind grin. You dry your hands on a towel, then you sign, “Hi, Quinn.”

The sight of his signed name always makes his heart flutter, skipping a beat as it races in his chest. You’ve given that name to him and he will forever cherish it. It makes him feel so connected with you, especially when he knows yours. He signs it while he says, “My Love.”

A flush paints your cheeks when you watch both his hands and his lips. For a moment, you turn your face away, covering it with your hands as a soft ‘hmmm’ escapes you.

Yeah, you do that sometimes. Like you’re brimming with so much giddiness at the simple sight of him calling you your name and his endearment for you. It makes Quinn want to do it again and again and again.

He comes closer, gently putting his hands around your wrists, pulling down from your face. You look at him with wide eyes, your cheeks still so red. His thumbs trace circles on your skin of your inner wrists before tracing over your palms, feeling your delicate skin.

The laceration didn’t scar—thank fuck—but for Quinn, he swears he can still feel its existence. He can never forget how hot the blood rushing from the gash before he pressed a towel on it, how his heart slammed in his chest like battering ram from your panicked sounds as you cried until you two got to the hospital. It truly haunts him. He doesn’t want it to happen again.

He runs his thumbs over your palms once more, then he lets go.

“Be careful. You are slamming the glassware,” he says while signing it, just like how you taught him.

Your head tilts to the side. “I did?”

“Yes, please be careful. You might get hurt again.” He sighs, rubbing his chest as an ache bloom right there. “Why are you even doing the dishes? We have a dishwasher.”

“For a few cups and plates?” You sign exasperatedly, lecturing him about saving water and energy, explaining how you find it therapeutic to wash them.

Your gestures start small then turn bigger when you suddenly go into a tangent about electric energy, electric cars, and then crocheting beanies. How you get to that subject is a mystery to Quinn.

He can only blink as he tries to keep up. There are a few signs he fails to understand but by context clues, he gets it.

He makes a mental note to ask for your help. He needs to understand everything you say. It’s not good if he still heavily relies on clues when he’s been learning sign for quite a while now. It’s hard learning sign. No. Not that. It’s more of he’s still very new to it despite the whole year of learning it.

He still finds himself going word-for-word. He doesn’t realize it until he replays the gestures in his mind and realizes he could’ve done another sign. Sometimes you sign so quickly that he cannot catch it. Like right now. You’re getting so fast that he’s getting overwhelmed instead of understanding. It makes his eyes sting as tears build up from his slight panic.

He brings up his hand, making you pause. Slowly he takes your hands, a silent plea for help, because he truly needs it. He can’t keep up.

“Sorry,”he mutters, enunciating the word.

You step closer, gripping his hands back as tightly as he does. You shake your head. Quinn understands the look in your eyes, because he knows you so well. They say, “No need to apologize. Do you want me to repeat it?”

To that, he nods. You both take a seat on the stools by the counter. The dishes are long forgotten as you repeat everything slower. It’s a wonder how you manage to remember everything you’ve said. Still, you carried every bit of emotions—though all over the place—like you had. Your gestures are bigger as they were.

Quinn finds himself relaxing when he can understand you.

You’ve been utterly patient with him. So warm. You’re perfectly the reason why he does his best in his sign language classes which he keeps as a secret. There will be a time in the future when you don’t need to repeat yourself because he’ll understand everything no matter how fast you speak. A time when he doesn’t need to sneak to his classes because he’s done with them. A time when he won’t be so clumsy with his signs. He just hopes it comes sooner.

He wants to talk to you so much every day. He wants his words to be seen by you. You lip-reading him is not enough when he has limbs to speak with you. He needs to learn so when—not if—you two have children, he’ll teach them too.

“I want to crochet a sweater for you.” Your eyes are twinkling with excitement. You ask, “Will you wear it after I finish it?”

It’s such a wonder how washing the dishes came to crocheting, but Quinn’s here for it.

“Yes,” he says breathlessly as your fingers traces the veins on his hand, feeling up his forearms and back to his hand. When your eyes come back up his face, he mutters, “Thank you for repeating what you said.”

“No problem, Quinn. You always repeat what you say for me too.”

Your words make him wonder. Does he? He never notices if he repeats himself. His memories are more locked onto him making you go over what you’ve said. Maybe he does. He doesn’t mind it if he does. He’ll continue doing it, because you’re so important to him.

He notes the grin on your face, showing your pretty teeth, the corners of your eyes crinkling. He loves how expressive you are. Always communicating with him. Your face and your body.

When you’re happy, your eyes basically beam like stars in the skies of a rural area where they can be seen without the pollution in the air. When you’re so excited, you are basically jumping while you gesture with lightness and just pure joy, which he can feel.

When you’re sad or disheartened, your shoulders will slump, and your signs will be a lot smaller. When you’re angry or pissed, your ears would turn so red, your eyebrows extremely furrowed, and your signs would be so choppy and wild. You would either face him or turn away so you wouldn’t see him retort. Luckily, he doesn’t get you angry at him frequently. He tries not to.

He loves your sounds. They’re indiscernible, coming out when you’re getting into the conversation so much. He doesn’t mind it. He doesn’t think that he should at all. It’s just you. It’s another way of how you communicate. Sometimes you try to speak his name. The slightest sound of Q. Quinn takes that. The sound basically ingrained in his soul.

You’re trying to say his name.

His. Name.

Nothing’s better than that.

On that note, he always gets annoyed when people throw glances when you sign and let out those noises in public. He doesn’t mind curious or confused glances, but he loathes those who judge or scoffs. They should mind their fucking business. Every time he gets pissed, you will give his forehead a chop, reprimanding him. When he doesn’t ease, you will walk away because you’re so done with his antics, and he has no other choice but to stalk after you like a lost puppy, trying to get you to look at him for minutes until you finally do.

He can’t help it. He gets protective over you, even when you don’t need him to. You told him many times, but he really, really, really can’t help it.

He needs you to be comfortable. Anywhere. Everywhere.

That includes your—and his—home.

It’s really casual changes. Really. Like the doorbell that’s connected to lights he installed in every room, so you’ll know if there’s someone at the door when he’s not home. Like the flashing alarm for fire, smoke, carbon monoxide, so that you’ll always be safe like him in case of emergency. Like the speakers that have good bass, so you’ll enjoy your music. Like the TV with a permanently on closed captions—along the subscription programs that should always automatically play with them—so that you’ll have fun with your shows. Like the little nook he prepared for your reading or crafting or working or whatever you want to do. Little things. Casual things. Just for you.

If you two were to move to a bigger place, he can’t wait to do it all over again. He’s making a home for you. It has to be perfect.

When you first got together, Quinn did a ton of research on having a relationship with a person with hearing disability. That was why for your second date, he asked how you wanted him to approach you. Honestly, he feels so fucking proud when you stared at him with surprise and your jaw open, because you didn’t expect that. Then you smiled so widely that it made him fall so deeply in love with you on the second date. It’s surreal.

Quinn still didn’t know sign back then, so you conversed with your notebook or your phone. You explained about flicking the lights on and off, lightly fanning at you, doing a bigger wave when he’s in your peripherals, and even stomping on the wooden floor. He’s been doing those things and still to this day, he feels so amazing whenever you greet him with that beautiful smile.

“Hmm,” you hum, bringing him back to reality. “Where did you go?”

“Just here,” he scoots closer, putting a thigh between yours so he can get even closer. “What are your plans today?”

He shudders when your hand comes up to rest over his neck while he speaks, his hands stopping immediately mid sign. He sees the way your eyes dart from lips to his eyes, your slow and seductive blinks over your eyes with your pupils blowing out, your breaths that come out deeper like pants. The corner of his lips comes up, a chuckle escaping him which makes you preen and visibly crave for more.

“No plans,” you sign with so much longing in your eyes, “Your voice rumbles.”

“Does it?” He presses your hand firmer against his throat. He groans when you take that as invitation—thank fuck—and squeezes perfectly against his carotid arteries, controlling his blood circulation to his head. He moans, eyes rolling up for a second. “Fuck, yes.”

He’s so fucking hard. Another squeeze, and he’s making a fucking mess in his briefs. When your other hand runs down his chest, down to his crotch, he groans which makes you moan. Fuck, you sound so good. Feel so good.

He gives both of you a few more minutes to take each of your touches in, before he drags you back to your shared bedroom. He immediately kisses you, his tongue immediately seeking comfort against yours. He pushes you on the bed, crawling over you, panting as you spread your legs so readily for him. Yet, he still hooks his knee under your thigh, spreading further.

When your hand slips under his shirt, he quickly removes it, helping off yours, until both of you are naked. He grinds his aching cock against your wet slit, rubbing on your clit over and over again. Damn it. He’s already so fucking close. He’s not even inside of you yet.

Your whines are tiny as you breathe them out. He wants to sink into your pussy so bad but the way you tug at his hair, your touch around his throat before it snakes to his shoulder to push him down, he knows what you need.

So he kisses your lips, your jaw, your delicate neck. He sucks on your skin hard enough to leave his marks. He licks his way down to your wonderful tits that fit so well in his hands. He licks the underside of your breast before sucking your pert nipple.

One after another.

Oh the way you sigh. The way your fingers slip into his hair, your nails scratching his scalp so wonderfully. You look like a Goddess looking down at him, urging him to do your bidding. So he lightly nip at your buds, groaning when you moan and whine, making sure to press his front against yours to let you feel all the noises he makes. He needs you to know how much you affect him.

When your hips lift, begging for friction, he pushes them down, but he starts kissing his way down, down, and down. Pressing a light kiss on each of your hip, he hooks his hands over your thighs and lifts and settles between. He watches your arousal drip from your pussy.

Taking deep inhales, he takes in your scent. It’s so heady, making him all dizzy, his eyesight blurring as he leans closer, greedily taking in every hint of you. Then he licks from your entrance to your throbbing clit. He doesn’t stop when your thighs squeeze around his head, when your delicate fingers tug his hair. He laves at your cunt like it’s his last chance to consume you. You tastes so exquisite, and when he blows over your clit, you hips buck off, threatening to suffocate him. He doesn’t care if he does.

He continues eating you out, fucking you with his tongue and his fingers. He moans into your heat, letting you feel the vibrations from every sound he makes. By the time your pussy walls convulse around his tongue, you are screaming. The sound of you being undone by him is music to his ears.

Giving your clit one last suck, he crawls over you, kissing your lips, ensuring that you can taste yourself on his tongue. Your sharp inhale only ignites the fire in him as your hands hook over his shoulder, pulling him closer and closer, bearing his weight on you. His cock slides against your sensitized pussy, making you both moan into each other’s lips.

Fuck.

He needs you.

He pulls away, not wanting to crush you with his weight for so long, only for your hand to wrap around his neck, pressing once more on his pulse points. Its thud, thud, thud is so loud, so strong.

Can you feel it?

Can you feel how his heart race for you? How it only beats for you? How every space, every atom, every cell running through it is yours?

Can you?

Do you?

You overwhelm his senses the right way. His head swims with nothing else but your feel, your touch, your smell, your sight. Maybe it’s just him being light-headed from your hand. Maybe. No. It’s just that. He—

You give him a squeeze, pulling him out of his head. He sees the worry in your eyes before it turns to relief. You smile, pressing a soft peck on his nose. An intelligible grumble escapes him, before he goes all out. He showers you with kisses. On the tip of your nose, your eyelids, your eyebrows, your cheeks, your temples, your forehead, your chin. He just can’t get enough of you.

When you give his throat another squeeze, he groans, resting his forehead against yours. “Gonna come if you don’t stop,” Quinn gasps, rubbing his length on your slicked folds, shuddering when your thumbs trace over his chin, over his lips. “Harder, my Love.”

He watches your lips mimic his word like you’re tasting it, savoring the two syllables. A small smile dances on your lips, pressing one thumb over his lower lip keep pressing your thumb over his lower lip. Quinn grunts, kissing it, saying his name like a plea, as you choke him harder.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he curses both in his head and out loud, never afraid to be vocal. He knows you can feel every rumble of a word that escapes him. He knows how much you like it.

He grinds harder into your pussy. He’s so hyperfocus on the feel of your pussy, of your hands around his throat, of your warm breath on his skin, of your pussy walls as it hugs him so perfectly when he finally slides in, that he doesn’t care how much lightheaded he’s getting.

The only thing important for him now is for you to come around him and for him to come deep inside you.

He wants that so fucking bad. You always let him come deep inside you, always let him lick your cum-filled pussy right after, always let him get his fill even if you get too overstimulated.

Fuck.

He needs that.

“Q,” you cry out, fueling his thrusts.

You said his name. His name.

“Again, please. Please,” he pleads.

Your mewls and moans are music to his soul that wants nothing but to be one with you, his Love. His nickname with your whimpering sounds amazing, alluring as you say it again. Just for him. Oh, he loves hearing his name on your tongue. He kisses you as he angles his thrusts to hit that specific spot that has you screaming into his lips, has your hips bucking up to meet his brutal thrusts, has your nails digging into the skin of his neck.

The pain just amplifies the pleasure Quinn is feeling.

He needs more, so he bites into your lower lip.

The action is responded with a tighter grip around his throat, as your pussy convulses. You’re coming so hard, wet pussy walls clamping around him, your thighs shaking, your back arching off the bed, your lips parting with your silent and breathy scream.

The next thing Quinn knows is him slamming deep as he spills and paints your walls white with his cum.

And he fucking faints.

Just for a second because you immediately slap him awake.

“Ow,” he groans. “What the fuck, my Love?”

You chuckle as if you two didn’t just get the best fucking orgasm—every orgasm is the best with you—of your lives. Your hand gently rubs along his neck, making him hiss from the slight pain from the nail marks you’ve left. He shifts, gasping as your pussy clenches around his softening cock. Shamelessly, he starts getting hard again like his body is cursing him from trying to rest when he’s still seated inside you.

“You’re heavy,” you tease, keeping him in place with your shaking leg. “I love your weight on me.”

Quinn lets out a choking sound, burying his head into your neck, making sure he’s not fully crushing you. You can’t just say things like that.

Now, he’s really, really hard again.

It hurts being so hard after coming. Did you know that?

When your fingers gently tap the shell of his ear, a little signal that you want him to look at you, he does. He parts from your neck after he places a kiss right on your pulse. He meets your beautiful gaze, lips parting at how ethereal you look all fucked by him. Your hair is sticking to your skin that glistens with sweat. Your cheeks are flushed and red. You’re so pretty.

“Let’s stay like this for a moment,” you request to which Quinn nods.

He easily shifts your position on your sides. His cock is still in your pussy. Both of you spend minutes just staring into each other’s eyes, your hands on each other’s chest, feeling each other’s racing heartbeats.

Quinn can hear his own.

He swears he can hear yours as it beats under his palm.

He hears both for the two of you.

That’s enough for him.

#idk if i went overboard or not with the smut...#sorry for the wrong grammars #no BETA yet #quinn hughes #qh43 #qhughes #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes drabble #quinn hughes smut #ruinix answers #ruinix drabbles #nhl x reader #nhl imagine #smut #sweet #sweet quinn

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