#Seven Colour Drive

[icara-mack]

Doth your bells jingleth?

Being demisexual and bi is funny to me. Anyone can hit it but you must suffer The Gauntlet first

[102ki]

liella find the ayumu pair and agupon is distraught before remembering she doesnt mind as long as nobody else finds the yuu pair

[no-144444]

telling- o.piastri

summary: your first season as an f1 driver doesn't start the best, and you quickly realise McLaren doesn't like women very much. On top of that, your race engineer is as smug as the rest of them, and you have to deal with him all the time.

pairing: race engineer! oscar piastri x f1driver! fem! reader

warnings: lots of misogyny, lando is an asshole in this, illusions to ed behaviour, reader is not in a good head space, all of mclaren is super sexist, mentions of crashes and injuries

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven | part twelve more to come...

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“You alright?” he mused, his hand squeezing yours. You nodded softly, smiling at him. 

“Fine,” you nodded. “I’m just… worried, I guess.” 

He shook his head. “Nothing to be worried about, they love you already.” 

You followed just a step behind him as he led you to the dining room. You’d been dating Oscar Piastri for 2 whole days. The sun set over Melbourne and the wonderful colours poured in from their large windows, as everyone sat down to dinner. Oscar had ‘stolen’ you away from Mae and Nicole for the day, opting to take you to meet some of his old friends and show you around his home town a bit, and you’d really enjoyed yourself. Australia was beautiful, the kind of place you’d like to live once F1 was over. The weather was warm, the sea was blue, and the people were kind. And Oscar was there. You liked it a lot. 

“What did you two get up to today?” Nicole asked over dinner. 

Oscar shrugged. “Not much, just took her to meet some of my old mates and showed her around a bit. She’s never been to Australia.” 

“She can speak y’know,” Mae sassed at her older brother, who rolled his eyes and shut up. 

You chuckled. “It was cool. Melbourne’s really nice. I usually only see it from the cockpit of the car.”

“What’s it like driving so fast?” Tim asked, still fascinated by it. 

“It’s kind of… unnoticeable unless something has gone really wrong,” you chuckled. “It’s cool though, everything just kind of whips past you.” 

“Fascinating,” he nodded. “Different from my line of work anyway,” he laughed. 

“Oh yeah, what about your parents? What do they do?” Nicole asked. Oscar stiffened beside you, watching carefully at how the question would play out. He knew about you and your parents' estranged relationship. He knew it was a sensitive subject. 

“They’re doctors, I think,” you shrugged. “One of them was a psychologist, and the other was a general practitioner.” 

Nicole’s face fell, a pit growing in her stomach as she feared the worst. “Are they passed?” She placed a comforting hand on your forearm. 

“No,” you shook your head. It was awkward to explain, but who cared? They’d probably find out anyway, just like everyone else did. It got leaked to the press in the middle of your 2nd season in F3 that you were estranged from your very famous, very powerful folks, and moreover, that they had a new family. It used to bother you. Sometimes, it still did. But Nicole wasn’t a nosy reporter, and you weren’t 17 anymore. “They just kind of… shipped me off to boarding school when I was 8 and cut me off when I was 17. We just weren’t close and it was clear they didn’t want kids at that time.”

“I’m sorry,” she squeezed your arm and you offered a soft smile. 

“Thank you,” you nodded. “Sorry for bringing the mood down.”

Hattie shook her head. “You didn’t, and anyway, their loss is our gain.” 

You smiled appreciatively at them. “Well, I did want to thank you all again for having me.”

“Any time,” Nicole smiled. “Always.”

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Oscar smiled as he pulled off your top and pressed your head against his chest. You wrapped your arms around his middle, relaxing into his touch. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice low. 

You hummed against his skin. The both of you were lit by only candles (Oscar’s favourite thing ever), his bedroom looking increasingly cosy under the light. The soft breeze coming in from the window gave you goosebumps, but he was warm enough for the both of you. “Yeah, you?”

“I’m good,” he nodded, his hands wrapping around your legs and hoisting you up so that your legs were around his waist, and your arms were around his neck. You squealed and he dropped you onto his bed with a chuckle, pressed a kiss to your cheek, then walked to his bathroom to shower and brush his teeth. He loved kissing you. It was addicting, you were addicting. He had never pinned himself as a physical touch sort of guy, but there basically hadn't been a moment where he hadn't been touching you since you'd made it official, and you didn't seem to mind.

You cuddled up in bed, enjoying the soft pillows and lingering scent of Oscar. As you heard the shower turn on, your eyes fixated on the view outside the window. The ocean flowing gently just outside, the beach in front of you, the moon reflecting off small shells embedded in the sand, it was so beautiful. 

You heard the shower stop, and your attention turned back to you and Oscar. You two were official and it felt insane to be able to say he was your boyfriend, but you enjoyed it all the same. “Osc?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, the sound warped by the toothbrush in his mouth. 

“Do you want to tell your family about us?” you questioned, playing with the hem of one of the pillows. “No pressure, of course.” 

He poked his head out from the bathroom, the towel around his bottom half dangerously low. You let your eyes wander all over him, his wet hair, his build physique, his goofy smile. “You mean it?” 

You nodded. “I mean… yeah? I feel weird being here and them not knowing,” you shrugged. “I don’t want to keep it from them, or really anyone, but especially them, right?” 

He nodded. “I agree,” he grinned. “We’ll tell them this week.” 

You smiled. “Cool,” then turned to your side and grabbed your book. 

“Are you going to act like that wasn’t a milestone?” he mused, joining you in bed, shorts on and towel-dried hair. 

“What?” you questioned, not looking up from your book. 

“You want to tell my parents about us,” he smiled. “That’s big.” 

You shrugged, unconvinced. “Is it though?” 

He nodded and pressed a kiss to your neck. “Yeah, it is,” he lay there for a moment, just watching you read. “You look beautiful,” he smiled. 

You turned to him and laughed. “You’re such a sop.” 

He rolled his eyes but smiled all the same. “Uh-huh,” he nodded and kissed you again. 

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“Do you want to come with us to Sydney?” Hattie offered as you two ate breakfast together. “We’re just going for like a few days, but we’d love to have you.” 

“Plus Mae will be like, miserable without you,” Eddie chuckled. You smiled. 

You shrugged. “I’d love to come.” 

“Where are we going?” Oscar asked as he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. 

“Y/n, Eddie, Mae, Mom, and I are all going to go on a trip to Sydney,” Hattie explained. 

Oscar nodded. “Can I come?” 

“Sure-” Eddie shrugged. 

“Mum wants it to be a girls trip,” Mae reminded them. 

“Come on, Y/n is my-”

“She’s our friend too,” Mae argued. 

“Yeah, and arguably, you could let Y/n out of your sight for more than three seconds,” Hattie chuckled. “She doesn’t constantly need you looking out for her. She can have a week away with her mates if she wants.” 

They were both quiet. 

“Hattie, what the fuck?” he scoffed. “If you’d let me finish, I could tell you that Y/n is my girlfriend, and I’d very much like to spend my break with her.” 

Hattie, Eddie, Mae, Nicole, and Tim’s eyes all looked to you for confirmation. You swallowed the bite of food in your mouth and turned to Oscar. 

“It’s only like 4 days,” you shrugged, and he stared back at you. “And then I’ll be back. Or I don’t have to go.” 

“Oh, I thought it was the month trip mum had planned-”

“You’re dating?!” Nicole cheered, rushing over to hug the both of you. “That’s great news!” 

“How’s he done that?” Eddie whispered to Hattie, who just laughed. 

You graciously accepted the hug, then turned back to the conversation. “I don’t mind.” 

“You go, I thought it was the month-long thing my mum wanted to do,” he explained, and kissed the top of your head. “When are you leaving?” 

“Tomorrow,” Hattie interjected. 

“Cool,” he smiled. 

“Cool,” you mirrored. 

It wasn’t exactly how either of you were planning on telling them, but it worked all the same.

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[giannaln4]

GIANNA'S KINKTOBER '24 SEASON

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Kinktober day seven.

Dry Humping (1k words)

summary: You simply couldn't wait to be in a private place to show Lando how proud you were of him, so you decide to do it even though you are very aware of the people around you.

warnings: NSFW, +18, smut, MDNI, stablished relationship, very heavy makeout, dry humping, public sex-ish. lmk if i should add anything else!

The music that thrummed through the huge speakers was loud, and the people cheering any time a new song came were even louder. The air was so thick with coloured lights and a layer of smoke that you couldn’t quite distinguish your surroundings, and there were drunk people stumbling on their own feet anywhere you looked. Lucky for you, you found yourself in the VIP area with your boyfriend, some other drivers, and a few friends.

You were all out celebrating Lando’s newest win, and you couldn’t be happier for him, so of course you had to go out to commemorate such an achievement.

Everyone was already feeling the alcohol they had been consuming since you got there, including you two, as you found yourselves sitting on one of the bigger couches, passionately making out and him gradually placing you onto his lap. It was heavy, and you didn’t care one bit; it had gotten to the point where everyone around you disappeared, even with the loud reminders of the people that were currently around you.

The VIP area was on a high platform and was secured with side rails to avoid any incident, so whatever you had going on there couldn’t really be seen from the lower ground. That included any cameras and phones that were constantly being pointed in your direction.

All they could really see were your faces basically devouring each other, which wasn’t exactly new to the public. What they couldn’t see, however, were your hips starting to rock against Lando’s and his hands grabbing you with such force only to bring you closer to him.

As expected, you were way too out of it to fully analyse what you were doing, and if you did know and were aware of it, it was clear you didn’t care; you just wanted to show him how proud you were of his fantastic race. You came straight to the club after leaving the track, so you didn’t have any alone time afterwards, and all you got to say was ���I’m so proud of you,” muffled by the hundreds of cheers coming from his team and the fans.

But that was long forgotten, and all you could do right now was hold onto his shoulders as you continued humping his hard cock still stuffed inside his pants, your combined saliva falling from your chin and into your chest as the kiss got messier. 

“You did so- so good,” you managed to say between kisses. “I can’t even describe how hot you looked coming out of the car with the number 1 cardboard in front of it.”

“Yeah?” He asked, squeezing your hips as his lips left yours, trapping your lower lip between his teeth until you were too far from his face. 

“Mhm, all I could think about was having that one finger inside me.”

“Shit, baby, you are driving me insane.”

You got closer to his ear, and with a very seductive voice, you whispered. “So you are gonna go even more insane when I tell you I’m not wearing any underwear right now.”

“Fuck.”

He held you even tighter as you started to drag your hips harder, a moan scaping his lips. Your dress was rolled up, and it was now covering only your thighs, but it was pretty obvious what you two were doing to anyone at surface level.

With your pussy being completely uncovered, the feeling of the hard fabric of his jeans was heaven to you, and the thought of all your juices going straight to his jeans, pretty much the only layer between you, made you eager to come.

One of his hands came under your dress and sneaked between your folds; he just wanted to feel you, and God, he almost let it all out when he realised how wet you were.

“So wet for me, baby.” He whimpered, leaving your core and placing his hand back on your side.

You were both feeling so desperate that he also started thrusting up into you, making the sensation for you not only better but easier. A thin layer of sweat was forming on your bodies, only adding to the hot atmosphere the club naturally had.

Luckily, your moans were being muffled by the loud music and the people around you, so no one could even hear you no matter how loud you were being, and right now, it was a little embarrassing how loud you were being.

Your legs were already getting tired, but you were so close that you knew you only had to chase your orgasm for a little longer. His hands that were previously on your hips were now everywhere, feeling every inch of any uncovered skin he could find as he moved along with you.

“Mhm, Lan.” You moaned, moving a little faster than before, making him squirm under you.

“Yeah? You gonna cum in my pants in front of all our friends?” He whispered. All you could do was nod in response, and you could feel his smirk on your neck. "I wanna rearrange your guts and turn you into a mess, baby. I’m making you all mine as soon as we are back at the hotel." 

“Ah,” another loud moan left your lips.

"You want that, don't you?" 

“Please, let’s get out of here.”

As soon as he heard you say that, his hands fell back on your hips to make you drag them even faster, harder, as his own picked up his desperate pace. He could feel your body starting to give out; that could only mean you were about to snap.

With a few more thrusts, he felt your orgasm hitting you, making you drop your head on his shoulder as he chased his own release, which came a few seconds later.

“Shit,” he whimpered as his cum stained his clothes, the warm and thick fluid coating both of you.

You pressed your foreheads together as you tried to catch your breath, a laugh escaping both of you as you came down from your high. 

“We can never come back here,” Lando whispered as he kissed you again. Not as desperate, but just as hungry for more. 

“Are you done-?” You heard Oscar yell above the noise as he came close to you, making both of you look at him in pure embarrassment as Lando pushed you off his lap, revealing his cum-stained jeans. “Oh my God, you are done... Okay, we are getting out of here.”

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[yeyinde]

PRAIRIE WOLF | hinterland

John Price x Reader

MASTERLIST. AO3. [PREV]

“So,” he drawls, eyes skirting down the length of your body before coming to a pointed stop on your midsection, belly hidden under a thick cable-knit sweater he gave to you to wear. “What's the plan?” 

It takes you a minute to realise he's talking about the baby.

allusions to abuse. descriptions of injury. trauma.

The sound of rain pelting against glass rouses you from a threadlike sleep, one full of loose, spooling dreams and fractured memories. 

(dirty, blood-drenched snow. a hole in your belly. the acrid burn of heated, melting metal in your nose. a grunt—

come on, Coyote, hold still—)

It hums there, even with your eyes open. Even as you blink into existence. Sitting on the edge; little clots, microcosms you can reach out and pop like bubbles. Hypnopompia. A strange place where dream and reality blur—surrealism in fatigue blue. Ghosts pulled into consciousness. 

It's dark in the truck when you blink again, sluggishly mapping the features that stretch out before you, all shaded in black. 

Through the windshield is a world of dark green. Thick, dense clouds gather above the angular tops of conifers and giant evergreens. Thunderclouds rumble overhead, groaning with the heavy rainfall that pours down over everything in a howling baptism. 

Only the orange of the truck cuts colour through the thick deluge of blue-green and slate. Warmed by the heat of the engine. The cable-knit throw covers the red leather seats. It's as close to comfortable as you think you've ever been. Swaddled in a Levi's jacket tucked under your bare feet resting on the bench of the truck, hanging loosely over your shoulders. It smells of smoke—thick and dense, but sweeter, earthier than nicotine. Scorched pine and soot. Bonfires. Laced with sweat and oil and dirt—humus. Like the soil after a rain shower. A summer storm. 

It smells good. You sink into it a little more—into this cosm that you know won't last. A blanket of succour, soft wool that tickles your nose and warms your cold hands. Chases away the tendrils of a grasping dream reaching for the edges of your periphery—all claws and teeth and misshapen memories. 

Fractured bones. Burst blood vessels. A knot your belly—

The radio crackles as the truck drives down the winding highway, crooning something low and melodic through the static:

—stopped into a church I passed along the way—

The clock on the radio reads that it's just after seven. A jarring thought; the slow, sinking realization that everything happened in the span of hours. Ended only an hour ago. And now—

He's a wild animal you're not sure how to breathe around. A bear. His hand curls loosely over the steering wheel, the other braced on the ledge of the window, fingers tapping to the music spilling out, filling the cab. 

He doesn't look over at you, but you get the feeling he knows you're awake. Watching him. Hunter. Hunted. 

—well, I got down on my knees and I pretend to pray—

You thought you knew better. Come on, Coyote—

“Gonna stop and grab some burgers,” he grunts, a low growl barely an octave higher than the brassy singer on the radio. Softly spoken—or as soft as a man like him could manage—to not startle you. “Takeout. Tha’ alright with you?” 

You're not sure what to make of it. Him, this. Being asked, maybe. That alright with you?

When you don't speak, he peels his eyes away from the road, glancing towards you. A brow raises. Waiting. 

You shrug.

He grunts again. “Fine.”

His eyes slip down briefly to the metal name tag still pinned to the faded pink of your shirt, staring at the slanted words stamped into the enamel pin. 

Taking them in. Their shape. Then: 

“Why Coyote?” 

Another shrug. It pulls at the hand-shaped, fist-sized ache in your shoulder blade. “It's what everyone calls me.”

“It's not your real name.”

“No.” 

“Why do they call you Coyote, then?”

You think of a different weight on your shoulder. Heavy metal. Stale, warm beer and cigarette smoke coming in a puff of air over your cheek. Stay still for me, pretty girl. Gonna be in a world a’hurt if your squirmin’ makes me miss my shot—

A hand on your thigh. On your neck. 

Hole in your belly. Blood on the snow. 

“They just do,” you mumble around the crooning verse that swallows the tremble in your voice. “They always have.” 

Come on, Coyote.

John brings to you a small, rustic-looking drive-thru with a menu that has less than ten items on it. 

It's made of log and glass and smells of sizzling grease. There's a small parking lot to the left of the rectangular shack with a big moose's head on the front. All long antlers and a broad snout. 

MOOSEHEAD the sign reads in faded, firetruck red. home of the moose burger. 

When he said drive-thru, you assumed McDonald's. Burger King. Harvey's. The small shack nestled in front of a looming, slate-coloured mountain was not what you were expecting, and as he twists the wheel, navigating the winding path to the bright yellow menu behind a brown box, something shifts in your belly. A knot. Hunger, maybe. 

You can't remember the last time you ate. Not good for the baby. 

“What d’you want?” 

You blink through the haze of rain, the thick plume of condensation that gathers at the bottom of the window, and read the boxy letters pressed into the lit board. HAMBURGER. CHEESEBURGER. MOOSEBURGER. FRIES. SOFT DRINKS. MILKSHAKES.

John rolls the window down. The heavy scent of wet, oil-slick pavement and rust fills the cab. 

The speaker crackles. “Hi. What can I get you tonight?”

“Moose burger and fries,” he grunts. “Coke to drink.” A glance is sent your way. “And—?”

“Um. The same.”

“Make it two of those.” 

“Sure thing, hun. Come ‘round the front. Your order will be ready. Total is twenty-two seventeen. Thank you.”

He doesn't roll the window back up. Mist sprays against your arm, glistening under the smear of neon lights glistening through the wet windshield. It's cool outside. The mountain air is clean. Crisp. 

You've never been to this part of town before. To this town, you suppose. An hour out from the flat valley that made up the port city. The bay at your fingertips. Claws in your neck—

It's nice here. Green. Dark. Everything shifts, like it's on an angle. A slope. And you know it is with the towering mountain that looked like craggy chevron from the valley below pressed, imposing and massive, at your back. Your ears pop at the elevation, and breathing is both easier and heavier at the same time. 

The air is thin here, but you're so far away from that city, from him, that it doesn't matter if you suffocate now because it'll be your choice and not—

His hands on your neck. Ever try to run away from me again, Coyote, and it'll be the last thing you ever fucking do—

The bag is wet when he presses it into your arm. Dropping it down on your arched legs when you don't take it from him quick enough. You startle. Blinking. He doesn't glance over, just slides your drink into the cupholder beside his, and after a moment, mind reeling because how much did you miss just—

Thinking.

You hurry to settle into place. Legs twitching, sliding out from their protective curl against your chest—

A hand on your covered ankle stops you. “Don't need to move,” he murmurs, glancing at you briefly. But not—

Not really. Not looking at you but out the window, you realise, the truck dipping down on an angle as he hovers near the exit, waiting for the thin line of cars to pass before he turns back onto the highway. 

“Get comfy.” It's a suggestion. “Eat.” But that's a command. 

Your inside twist at the sound of it. Military, you remember Elliot saying. You feel it acutely in your bones, still thrumming, pulse tripping over that growling demand. Eat. 

Your body moves without thought. Obeying. Hands snaking out of the warmth cradled on the back of his Levi's jacket, one he must have thrown over you in your sleep, and peel back the rolled paper bag that smells of grease and meat. It's warm in the bag. You fish out the first burger and can barely close your hand around the thick of it, blinking slightly in startled awe at the size. 

Moose burger. A fitting name, but you think of home, suddenly, painfully, and wonder if it's real moose. Feel the clench in your belly at the thought. Of moose steak drenched in fat, seared on the stove. Moose stew in the slow cooker, left to tenderise in the simmering broth. 

“Ain't real moose.” 

You wonder how he knew, and can't be sure if you like the fact that he did. Guessed right. Chiselled inside of your head. Read you like an open book. It makes your pulse thunder, a roaring in your ears that dulls the scattered thunderclaps from above. 

“Oh,” you say, and feel the disappointment trickling in, thick in your throat. “Just the size, then?” 

He hums, and reaches into the bag, rifling around for a handful of fries. “Yeah. Jus’ the size. Ever had it before?” 

You think of then, of being tucked inside pants that don't fit. A shirt that's too loose. Feet in boots a size too big. All tattered and aged, worn down. Holes. Patches where the fabric was ripped and sewn back together. Jagged lines from an unpractised hand. Loose threads. Knots. The scent of cigarette smoke clinging to your skin. A plastic bag. A bruised apple that your teacher slipped you during the first recess. Leftovers. 

Moose meat stew. Rabbit. Ew, Coyote's eating something weird again—

Thirteen and crouching behind a bush as your dad angles the gun over your head. Big boy, he whispers. Gonna be eatin’ good this winter. Look’it the size of ‘im. 

The smell of duck fat sizzling in a pan. The crack of a beer can. Squeals of wood on slippery, cheap vinyl. Fried dough resting on the counter next to a tower of pop cans and an old Costco popcorn bottle filled with tabs. remind me t’send Robbie in the mornin’ to drop ‘em off. need the money for cigarettes. 

Then:

Moose tonight. Go’an an’ get your sister.

It's mild. Like beef but better, you used to think. Less tangy. Less thick. Depends on the season, your dad would say. Best cut is when they're just on the end of their rut. When they're eating big. Getting nice and fat. Tastes better like that. A bull not in rut, a skinny one, ain't as good. 

Moose is a strange meat. Prey animal, but it tastes nothing like a caribou or a deer. Rabbit. Not gamey, like a predator, either—like bear (braised black bear with gravy to make it tender; the fat stored away for later—another staple you think about). It's good. Different.

You miss it—even if the idea, the memories, that come with it make you feel scraped out and raw. Hollow. Empty. 

Your tongue thickens. You don't think you can speak. Not right now. So you nod instead—this shallow, jerking thing. Too solemn. Too low. Chin to your chest. 

John hums, and sinks the handful of fries into his mouth before he turns on the highway, one hand on the wheel. Knuckles raised. Marbled mountain peaks. Purple and red. Blotchy in the washed out glow of the dashboard. Swollen and painful looking but he doesn't even flinch when he grips the wheel, and the clotted scab peels, lifting off skin. Oozing thick, syrupy blood out from under the cracked shell. 

He pulls back when it beads too much, wipes it on his shirt, careless and unbothered by the stain it leaves, and then puts his hand back on the wheel. Smeared ink black in the gloom. 

That hand sunk into his—Sam’s—face. Caught on his sneer, knuckles tearing. Leaving blood between Sam's teeth. A split on his lip that made you think of the one—the ones—he left on yours. Tender and painful and swelling up in an instant. A pulsing throb, a heat. 

Over and over again—

His hand rifles through the bag. “Eat,” he says again, low, muffled around the dangling end of a fry. “s’gonna go cold.”

It already is. Somewhat. A soggy, grease-soaked bun. Patty still warm. Dripping ketchup and mustard down the sides and onto the plastic wrapper. It's heavy. Thick. You bite the end flattened by the press of your thumbs, teeth sinking into the burger. Taste familiar on your tongue. 

It's good, you suppose. Filling. You eat half before dropping it back onto the paper, reaching for the fries in the bag. Thick cut and crispy. Salted. 

The truck smells of salt and grease, and when your stomach knots—too much food after too little for so long—you wrap the leftovers up and slip it back into the bag for later. 

He doesn't say anything after that. His hand slides over the wheel as he turns up the winding road. Up, up. Deeper into the mountains where the air thins, and the trees thicken. An endless sprawl of darkness cut only by the muted gold glow of his headlights illuminating the wet, twisting pavement. 

You sink into the silence. Feeling the heavy, warm weight of the half-eaten burger on your thighs. The stretch of leather beneath your ankle. 

Heavy-lidded. Stuck in the sticky cobweb of fatigue and hyperarousal. Never really sleeping for more than a handful of hours at a time. Survival, you think. It's what the text in the pamphlet said, the one the lady shoved into your hands when you went to buy a pregnancy test from the store. It's not your fault: how to seek help for domestic abuse. 

Her eyes were kind—like the paramedics. Oh, hun. It ain't your fault. 

The problem is you don't think that's true. 

He—Sam—was a good man before he met you, wasn't he? 

But every so often, your gaze will slide towards his hand still curled around the steering wheel, knuckles split. Eyes suddenly heavy enough that you think you could fall asleep again.

His cabin is perched on the maw of a bay, accessible only by boat. 

He seems hesitant as he unloads the luggage from his truck, throwing them into a sleek-looking fishing boat bobbing from where it's anchored in a dock. Wary. Watching you closely like he expects you to run. 

And you know there should be trepidation. A strange man you've had less than a handful of conversations with, one who stuck his nose where it didn't belong, and is now herding you into a boat late at night. 

Jarvis Inlet, he grunts. A place called Dark Cove. And then he looks at you, just stares, as if waiting for something. A fight, maybe. More questions. But you've slept in worse places, and the idea of being out of the rain as quickly as possible is more appealing than your potential doom. 

You slide into the boat, hands curled into his jacket. He follows after a beat, unlatching the ties holding it to the dock, and steps inside, murmuring something when it shifts under his weight. Starts it up. He digs under his seat for a moment, rifling through a box, before grabbing something out and turning towards you. A blanket. He tosses it your way, grunting under his breath about keeping warm. 

It's a short trip through the water. You spend most of it huddled under the blanket, hands squeezed between your thighs as he navigates around a massive, jutting rock with thick, dense conifers clustered along the sloping edges of the island. 

You expected it to be higher up. Hidden in the mountains. But it sits at an arcing curve that cuts through the ocean. Tucked in the protective curl of his land is the still, ink blue waters of the bay before it bleeds into the sound. 

Mainland is a craggy, green rock on the horizon. The ocean dips, dizzyingly vast and unfathomable, behind the jagged mass littered with the lights. A city in light polluted pointillism. 

He pulls the boat up to a bigger one. A yacht. Sleek and white and bobbing in the waters. It's tethered to a dock out in the lake. A bridge connects it to the shore. 

He reaches over when he cuts the engine, yanking on the makeshift hood you crafted from the loose throw until it covers more of your face. “Hold onto the railings when you walk. Gets slippery.” 

John turns away after, hefting your meagre luggage on one shoulder as he pulls the tarp over the boat, shielding it from the rain. You step back onto the dock, back nudging the pristine boat behind you. 

The world is awash in shadows. Dark, jagged peaks. Crooked trees drooping in the downpour. Ink black. An abyss that yawns out for an unfathomable stretch before kissing the dark mass of a mountain cutting out from the sprawling pool. 

You've heard people say before that places like this can swallow you whole. Slip beneath the waves, turn behind a tree, and no one will ever see you again. But you've always found that sentiment to be wrong. 

Cities are where you disappear. Indifferent places made of concrete and money. No one cares if you go missing, but out here—

You think this land spit you back out. 

“Come on,” he grunts, sliding beside you. His hand is heavy on your waist. Urging. “This way.” 

You follow, clinging to the firm hold he has on your back as you wobble along the slick bridge to the rocky embankment just up ahead. 

The bridge continues even on land, sloping up in a set of stairs before coming to a stop on a small cliff above the beach. 

You turn back towards the mainland when John stops, hand rifling through his pocket for the keys. 

The distance, the knowledge that this mass you stand on—all soft, wet moss; peat soil—is so far away from that place that it clumps, black and jagged and imposing, against the shoreline is calming. In shades. Small increments, like the loosening of your shoulders. The ache there, too. The breath in your lungs comes a little easier when you stare down at the mainland, at the stretch of blue between it and you. The little thread in the distance that ties it together. 

He nudges you quietly with the muted clearing of his throat. Not touching you, but—

Hovering. In sight. On the edge of your periphery. Making his presence known. 

You're not sure what to make of it. 

What to make of any of this. 

His chin jerks towards the cabin bracket between a dense thicket of trees. “C’mon. Let's get you outta the rain.”

His cabin is modest in size. 

The entrance is on a deck overlooking the bay. All open. Big, ceiling-to-floor windows. French doors. It's framed in thick cured timber. Logs stained a warm, honeyed brown. 

Inside is simple in design, too. 

The kitchen is to the left. A living room to the right. Straight across is a loft with a staircase angled into the kitchen. A small, dark hallway rolls out from beneath the balcony and leads to two bedrooms, the laundry room, and the bathroom.

The living room is cosy. An old, worn couch is pushed against the vaulted window overlooking the deck. A chair tucked beside it. Against the right wall is a hearth next to another big, open window angled into the forest. 

A coffee table sits in front, cluttered with stacks of books—carpentry, woodwork—and pieces of wood. Blocks shaved down into the idea of an object. Incipient creations. A knife lays overtop. Pens, markers scattered around. 

Along the log walls—all the same warm honey-coloured—are trophies. A moose head. Antlers. Books line the shelves. Newspaper rests in a thick stack by the armchair.

The kitchen is tucked into a nook, hidden behind an island. The same rustic brown as everything else, save for the faded, yellow refrigerator and the off-white stove. 

Where a dining table might sit, is a workbench. Tools. A saw. It spills over the surface.  

It's lived in, you know, but something about it feels detached. Cluttered madness, but—

Not really. 

Everything, even in this disordered chaos, has a place. From the scattered markers to the books on the walls. It all fits some unseen cohesion even if you thought his house would have been neater. Military. 

There's a blanket on the couch that catches your eye. The design—the pattern. Achingly familiar. 

“Loft or bedroom?” 

You tear your gaze away from it, swallowing down the acrid longing that surges in your throat. “What?”

He jerks his chin towards the balcony. “Wanna sleep up there or in the spare bedroom?”

“Don’t you sleep up there?”

“No. Used to. S’more of an office now.”

There's a guest house to the left of the cabin. A bachelor with the kitchen running into the bedroom. The washroom closed off. But it's not finished, he says, something frissoning over his expression. Knotting between his brows. Something about the look on his face screams don't ask because he'll never tell. 

You glance away. It's not in you to pry. To care. Whatever secrets he keeps are his and his alone. Just like yours. Why Coyote—

The only other choice is the spare bedroom tucked inside the dark hallway beside his. Close. Barely an arm's length away—

“Loft.” 

He nods like he expected it. Jerks his chin again towards the back, holding your duffle bag out for you to take. 

“Showers through there. Go get warmed up. And I'll heat up some stew.”

The bag dangles on the width of his hand, swaying from the momentum. This ugly, tattered black backpack—

“I don't—I didn't bring any clean clothes—” it's embarassing to admit now that inside your meagre bag is nothing but four hundred dollars and an old, tattered blanket. A sweater. Dirty, bloodstained pants. Everything else is with—

With Sam. 

The plan had been to cash your last cheque, and go back to the motel. Grab the rest. A stupid decision in hindsight. 

There's a tick in his jaw. A terse set to his shoulders. He lowers the bag, letting it fall to the floor, collapsing in on itself. Empty. 

“Nevermind,” you say, slipping the wet blanket from your shoulders, letting it pool in your arms. “I can just wear this—”

His eyes rive over the crumpled, wet uniform shirt. Faded pink—bubblegum, you think; with chocolate brown trim—and stained with grease. Coffee.

Another tick. His brow furrows. Knots. Anger slashing over his face, rucking three, jagged lines through his forehead. 

“No. I'll bring you somethin’ to wear. Somethin’ warm. Gets cold out here. Go.” Another jerk of his chin. A command. 

He does that a lot, you realise, shivering at the bite inside the cabin, the chill ghosting over your damp skin as he turns away from you, walking deeper into the house. Towards his bedroom. The broad expanse of his back bigger than anything you'd ever seen—

All height, and heft. Soft in the middle, but thickened with muscles. And with it, he commands. All biting, unignorable demands. Do this, eat. Go. Get warm. 

You're used to it, you think. Being told what to do. How to act. Marionette on strings. All you're good for. 

Sam used to say the reason you made him hit you so much is because you never listen. Gotta box you around the ears a bit, just for you to even pay attention to me, Coyote. It's not my fault, baby, you make me do it—

But there's something about his commands that sink beyond noise. Reaching into the slick, pulsing gyri, and sending off his own current of obeyance. Innate. Unconscious. He says eat and you find yourself taking a bite of a burger you didn't think you even wanted. Weren't hungry for. Chewing. Swallowing. Another bite. Chew. Swallow. Again. Again. Again. Utters watch your step and your eyes drop to the slick ground, carefully treading the planks. 

Get warm. Go shower. You drop the blanket on the back of the chair, covering up the other one, and walk towards the bathroom. Thoughtless. Head silent. Empty and still. Quiet for the first time since you were thirteen—

It's because you're tired, you think. Exhausted. 

That's all.

But when you finally sink into the bed—lumpy and thick and perfect—sleep evades you. Skirts just out of reach until you're staring up at the log ceiling, thinking about nothing. Everything. 

Sam. Blood on the pavement. The split in his knuckles. Grease. Burgers. Come on, Coyote—

The knot in your stomach—

Your hand goes there. Slips under the thick cable knit sweater he gave you to sleep in, the boxers that fit like loose shorts, and curls around your lower belly. Flat and empty because this thing inside of you isn't even really there. Small, the book said. Tiny. A speck. 

A life-changing, mind-melting thing. 

You—

A mother. 

The thought is soaked in the rotten, fetid sludge of the past. Of your own mother with her dark hair and her hard eyes. Her strange moods. Don't touch me, Coyote. I don't wanna be touched right now, fuck. Can't you ever listen? Mercurial. How come you never hug me? Actin’ like I ain't your mom an’ shit. Shifting. Evolving. Changing shape depending on who she was with at the time—

Unravelling at the seams ever since your dad died. You look like your dad, Coyote. It makes me fuckin’ sick—

You can't think about it. Won't. 

So you don't. Swallow it down. Cotton in your ears. Noise in the back of your head. 

Memories on your skin. Ghosts in your veins.

Come on, Coyote. 

You'd be a terrible mother, you think, and peel your hand away, knotting it into a fist by your side until your nails sink into skin. 

There's something a little grounding about the pain this time.

You stare up at the ceiling all night until the sun rises, golden and warm, and spills in through the vaulted window. 

Below you, you hear John stir. Rising. 

You follow his lead.

He does odd jobs, he says. 

Carpentry. Woodwork. Makes things that people want. That they need. Most of it gets sold in town—patio chairs, kayaks for the tourists—or by the few locals in the bay who need things made. Repairs, too. Easy fixes. 

Most of it is on backlog, but he'll get the occasional phone call asking for something to be done. 

And that's where you come in. 

The loft has a small space made up of a makeshift office. A phone. A ledger. Papers. Pens. It's pushed up against the railing of the balcony, right across from the top of the stairs. 

All you really have to do is answer when people call, take their information, and find out what they want him to build. He doesn't do cabins, he grunts. Say no. Always. 

Everything else goes into the ledger for him to look at later. 

“Don't worry,” he rumbles, scratching at the thick curls beneath his chin. “Most of the orders come from Elliot. You'll just be fielding local work. Kayaks, mostly.” 

And he's not wrong. The first week, you get all of a single phone call—a woman down in Osoyoos who wants a kayak. Her information is penned into the thick, waterlogged ledger next to the other names. Contact information. He'll get back to you soon, you say, but John just grunts when you tell him about the woman. 

Its mostly just—

Laying around. Organising the mess in the loft. The boxes he shrugs at, and tells you to put them in the closet along with whatever else is clogging the upstairs. Forgotten remnants he seems disinterested in going through. 

Or watching him. 

John fills space as easily as breathing. Makes noises. Commands. The order he's working on is spread out over the deck, and spills into the cabin. Little saws on the workbench. Tools. He wanders in and out with purpose, grabbing things, using them, putting them back. Silent as he works. 

He's a mystery. An enigma. Seems unbothered by you being here, sinking your fingers into his things. He adjusts in that strange, quiet way of his. Makes dinner for two as if he'd been doing it the whole time. Leaves clean towels in the bathroom. Runs into town and comes back with clothes—from Savannah, he grunts out, thrusting the bag in your direction; Elliot's wife, said she'd be about your size—and pads, tampons, that he shoves under the bathroom sink. An extra toothbrush. Shampoo that isn't five-in-one and smells of honey and oats. 

But it's not seamless. 

Sometimes, you think he forgets. Walks in—caked in sawdust and covered in sweat—and peels his shirt up, baring his thick, hairy damp chest without a second thought, scrubbing his face, his neck, with the bottom of his stained shirt. Or rips it off. Comes in drenched in sweat, and reaches behind himself, one hand curling into the fabric against his nape, and pulls—

Broad, slick skin. All covered in a dense layer of fur. 

Bearish. 

Remembers himself only when you make a noise. A huff. Silent laughter because this whole thing is a little unreal—

He doesn't apologise, though. Just shrugs. Reaches for a face cloth he keeps slung around the back of the couch and pats himself dry. 

Dinner is quiet, too. Sombre. He leaves food out for you, but eats between work. Often outside, reclining on the patio chair on the deck. Pours himself a glass of whiskey. Has a cigar. Inhales his food before you've even put together a plate, and then the saw starts up again. Back to work. 

It's tense. The atmosphere is thick. It feels like you're dancing around each other, trying to make room in a space too small for even just himself. 

You stay upstairs most of the time. Staring out at the sprawl of glinting blue. The jagged green.

The bay is prettier in the daylight when the sun is high in the sky casting a golden yellow arch across the veridian world around you. Still. Silent. 

The city was loud. Cars on the pavement. Horns. Chatter. Noise. People. An endless spill, a cacophony of life. Sirens. Motors. Barking commands. 

Sam's condo downtown was never quiet. Too close to the harbour—foghorns, the roar of ships entering the port. Television playing something he was interested in at the time. The radio on. The sounds he made spilling out—fuck, Coyote. Can't you do anything right?

Noise, noise, noise—

More coffee. When's my breakfast comin’ out. Hey, cutie, what time you done work at? 

You should really leave him, Coyote, because what the fuck? Have you seen your eye? It looks worse with makeup, come on, girl, you're fuck up our tips!

And now—

The saw. Scrape of a knife on wood. A grunt. Fuck. A loon in the distance. A splash. Watch your step on the deck, Coyote. Got shit everywhere. The lap of the sea against the rocks. The rustle of the trees in the breeze. Makin’ stew tonight. Want some? The ringing of the telephone. Etta James crooning on the radio. The knock of the metal boats against the dock. Grab yourself a beer if you want. Only got that or whiskey. Help yourself. The soft shlick of the fridge peeling open. The hum. Clink of a bottle on glass. The hiss when you open it. A saw. A splash. Rain on glass. The thunk of his boots across the deck. The soft thud of a door. 

Anyone call? A grunt. The rip of laces as he peels his boots off. You shake your head, reaching for a bun. No. A sigh. Good. 

Most of the noise is in your head. 

Memories. Malformed dreams dancing in the recesses of your mind. 

Crack of a twig. Hands on your throat. Come on, Coyote—

Inescapable. 

Inevitable. 

And that's what it all is, isn't it?

He stares at you, too. Sometimes you catch him watching in that careful, measured way of his. The same look on his face as before, in the diner—anger: what happened to you; wariness: whatever it is, don't bring it over here—but morphing. Shifting. Dropping from the curve of your neck tucked under the fold of a pink collar, bruises melting seamlessly into your skin, to the roll of his sweater over your midsection. Pausing there, like he's expecting to see something more than the curl of cream yarn woven together. 

It makes you a little sick. Like that time when he and the paramedic hovered. You hate them both, you thought. Felt. An acid burn in your chest. Go away, stop staring. Stop gawking. Leave! 

The woman in the drugstore. Oh, you poor thing. Pushing an unwanted pamphlet into your hands. Don't worry, hun, it'll get better. 

People look at you and see what they wanted to see. Unwrapping you until they found the hurt below. A reason for their sympathy. 

Because girls like you aren't deserving of pity unless you're all broken up. Shallow graves and forgotten names. A box collecting dust. 

They looked for the marks, the bruises, and sighed with relief when they found them. Oh, you poor thing. 

It's petty, and you hate yourself for it. Just a little bit. But you know how far sympathy will go before it dries up and oh, you poor thing becomes well, you kinda deserved it. 

You're not special in this regard. All of your friends had similar stories growing up but what always set them apart is that people would have looked into that room, seen a grown man with his hand on their thigh, a sixteen-year-old child, and thought oh, your poor thing.

When it happened to you, their lips curled in disgust. Stay away from my husband, you slut—

Because at the end of the day, it's always your fault for looking the way you do.

("Like you want it," he grunts into your ear, spiteful and ugly, fingers digging in because they can.)

You figure it's only a matter of time John, too, stops finding reasons for his pity. 

His charity. 

Because, really—

"What makes you so special, Coyote?"

A pretty face. Split thighs.

The only thing you're good for is being on your knees—

Come on, Coyote. You should know this already.

But the dance continues. 

He leaves in the mornings. Goes on runs. You haven't gathered the courage yet to go farther than the deck, too worried about the call of the forest. The sprawling blue. Of sinking into evergreen and sleeping forever—

John doesn't seem to mind your reclusiveness. Only a matter of time. He brings back books when he leaves the island. Little things for you to occupy yourself with. You never ask, won't. The fewer favours you owe, the more of yourself you can keep when the good Samaritan act has run dry. 

You don't say thank you. It wasn't your choice to begin with. You clean up after yourself, but that's it. A guest in his house. Nothing more, nothing less. 

You do your job, even though it's obvious it was a joke. 

No one calls besides the woman in Osoyoos and Elliot—

Something that shouldn't have surprised you as much as it had. Military dogs, he once said as you poured him another cup of coffee. We tend to mingle. 

But hearing his voice is a cruel relief. The only exception to the rule has ever been Elliot, a man who seemed to adopt an uncle stance when it came to you. 

Kin, he'd said, and laughed when you scoffed. We're practically cousins. 

“Might stop by soon. See how you're holdin’ up.”

“Don't bother. I'm fine.” 

“Well, maybe I'll come bother Price. He loves it when I visit.” 

“I'll pass on the message.” 

“No, don't do that,” he laughs, loud and free. It tickles your ear. “He'll call the dock and tell ‘em not to rent me a boat.” 

“Should take it as a sign, then. That John—Price doesn't wanna be around you.” 

“Ah, cruel girl. You wound me.” 

“You don't wanna get hurt, then stop calling.”

“Gotta check in on ya. You get into all kinda trouble when I’m not around.” 

It makes you tense. Belly knotting. “No one asked you to do that, Elliot. I didn't ask you to.” 

“You're a lot like Price, you know. Both of you…you don't like askin’ for help even if you need it.” He breathes into a line. A heavy sigh. 

Elliot is a good man, you know. The best. But—

“I'm fine, Elliot.” 

You tend to hurt people like that. 

“You're a good kid,” he says instead. “Just—be gentle with him, huh? Been through a lot.” 

“He's six foot and like, three hundred pounds. How much damage could I really do?”

More’in you think, is what he says after a long pause, low and solemn; voice full of things you can't unravel. Unwrap. And you scoff in response because what does he know? Huh, Elliot? Be so serious, ta. 

A man like John—Price—could rip you apart before you even put a scratch on him. 

“Not everyone hurts with their hands, Coyote.”

John's been through a lot. Please remember that. 

Something has to break, you think. 

And you can feel it, too. This thickness in the air. In the coil of his shoulders. The line between his brow. Anger, inward. The heavy, measured way he stares as he dances around you. Moving in circles. A clumsy routine built on mutual avoidance. 

It's I didn't ask for help and don't bring that over here merging into a whitewater confluence. A narrow channel where one must go under first in order to fit. 

You're tired of it being you, but you don't think a man like Price has ever backed down from anything in his life. 

Stalemate, maybe. 

Or—

It cracks after dinner when he lingers. Hovering in the kitchen as you slip down the stairs in search of something to fill the chasm in your belly. The thing growing—

He meets you there, shoulders tense. His head is bowed between them, hung low as he looks over the plans spread out on his workbench. You make to skirt around him, but he looks up when you get close. Pins you in place with his stare. 

“So,” he drawls, eyes skirting down the length of your body before coming to a pointed stop on your midsection, belly hidden under a thick cable-knit sweater he gave to you to wear. “What's the plan?” 

It takes you a minute to realise he's talking about the baby. 

“Adoption,” you force out, squeezed between the ache of the past chiselling inside rotted marrow and the shape of your future; a hole in your belly. Blood on the snow. 

You were always meant to die, you think. Snuffed under the heel of a boot or at the end of a shotgun—the how never mattered much over the spread of a carcass on the ground. Inevitable, maybe. Just like—

Just like your mother. 

But at least this way, this little thing leaching off of you, an unwanted seedling, will grow. Might have a chance to be different. Escape the generational trauma that plagues your lineage—an inherited curse. Inescapable. Maybe it'll be different. Better. 

“I think—adoption might be best. Maybe.” 

He says nothing, just stares in that strange, measured way of his. But then—

Why would he? It's not his kid. Not his choice. 

It seems to dawn on him all the same. His jaw clenches tight, bruised knuckles peaking as he curls his fingers into a fist. 

Something fractures over his expression. Gaze turning inward. Shuttered. Haunted by ghosts older than you, maybe. But he's good at shaking them off. Putting them away. 

He catches your stare, eyes following it down to his bloodied knuckles, and his mouth pulls into a taut, absent smile. He knocks them on the wood once, twice. Leaves a drop of blood smeared on the grain. 

“Alright,” it's strained, pinched. “If that's what you want.” 

It is. It's an unfathomable kindness you wish your mother graced onto you. It—it—will understand. Eventually. With time. Once they realise the only thing in their future was sleeping in the back seat of a car while you worked odd jobs—waitress, stripper, labourer in a factory—and barely having enough money to scrape together to get a happy meal, they'll come to thank you for this choice. 

You nod instead, and his lips twitch again in that mockery of a smile. Something shatters. Breaks. 

There are more ways to hurt, Coyote, than with teeth and claws. 

He peels away after a beat, muttering something under his breath about an order. A kayak the neighbours ordered. 

You don't watch him leave. You're too busy staring at the smear of blood left behind, the smear he didn't seem to notice. 

for those wondering what John's cabin looks like. Jervis Inlet is just perfect for this little fic.

[homunculus-argument]

Rural Finland gothic

the asphalt road you are driving has been cut through the woods. the sky is clouded and grey, the asphalt is grey, the forest on both sides of you is green. no other colour exists other than green and shades of grey. sometimes blue roadsigns point towards places whose names you've never heard. you don't google them. it's none of your business.

sometimes you drive past a house, a wooden house painted white, yellow or red. the paint is faded and chipping, there is moss growing on the roof tiles. there are lace curtains in the windows and a bench on the yard, but you cannot tell by the quick glance you get whether the house is abandoned or not. the residents don't want you to know. it's none of your business.

you pause at a gas station. it seems to be a part of a chain that you thought went bankrupt in the 90s. a handful of those wooden houses are settled around it, and you wonder if any of the people living there work at the station. not that it matters. it's none of your business.

there are a handful of locals gathered inside the gas station, drinking coffee at the table. They smell like pine soap, resin and mosquito repellent, and you can't tell whether paused their conversation to silently stare at you when you stepped in, or whether they had been sitting in silence to begin with. you don't ask. it's none of your business.

the station cashier doesn't talk to you save for a greeting and a few quick nods. you can't tell whether it's because they assume you don't speak finnish. they don't ask where you came from, or where you're going. it's none of their business.

the road leads you somewhere with more houses and buildings. the locals don't call the town by the name. it's just church town, the church is there. people don't say they're going to the town to buy their groceries, they say they'll be at the church. you're not sure whether the town was built around the church or the church was built into the town. It's none of your business.

people talk of going to the church when they're going to the town, but nobody seems to go in the church. people only go there to be christened, for confirmation, to get married and to be buried. a child has not been officially named before they're christened, and no-one will tell you the name of their baby before the child has been given their name by a priest. most of them don't seem to know why, and you don't ask. it's none of your business.

even the town is strangely quiet. you see seven people altogether, and half of that number is a family of four. besides the sound of a car rumbling by, and the occasional barking of a dog, you hear nothing. you're standing in the parking lot of a grocery store, across the street from a library, in a walking distance from the town square, and it's so quiet you hear the sound of wind whispering in nearby trees.

there is a dog barking somewhere. of course they are barking, they are guard dogs and hunting dogs. they're supposed to do that. they bark to alert their masters of game, of intruders, of strangers and outsiders. sometimes they bark at the woods, when it doesn't look like there's anything there. the locals don't go investigate it. it's none of their business.

you see the same symbol drawn, doodled and carved anywhere that graffiti accumulates to. an oval divided in the middle, with rays like a sun. it's called the "church boat", though everyone knows it's meant to be a cunt. you remember reading somewhere that it's an ancient symbol, from the time of the Old Gods before the christians came, when the inherent power of the woman of the house was considered stronger than even death magic. you don't ask what the people here know about this. it's none of your business.

the locals can tell you're an outsider here because you don't look like anyone they know. if you were someone's visiting grandchild, they could tell by your face which clan you belong to. they don't ask you what other business you could possibly have here. it's none of their business.

[natailiatulls07]

Mick Schumacher x Platonic!reader Oscar Piastri x Platonic!reader Logan Sargeant x Platonic!reader Liam Lawson x Platonic!reader

Summary - Five young drivers, five different teams and one friendship group

Warning - One hate comment??

Reader drivers for Redbull

Part two three

-

yourusername

Back in the paddock, who's ready for the season??

Tagged: redbullracing

Liked by fernandoalo_oficial and 203,479 others

username Can't wait for more success from our girlie

username We miss you, where have you been??!

= logansargeant She spent the whole winter break binge watching gossip girl and gilmore girls

= yourusername Shhhhhhhh

username Just waiting for the baby drivers content!!

liamlawson30 posted a story

logansargeant

Fuck I'm friends with some weird ass people

Tagged: mickschumacher liamlawson30 oscarpiastri yourusername

Liked by alex_albon and 202,735 others

username Nah Oscar's just being cute ngl

username Liam is giving main character energyyyy

yourusername Why is mine the worst one here omfggg??

= logansargeant Because you are the most weird one!

= yourusername I'm not sharing my sushi with you after the race this weekend

= mickschumacher Aww mate, you've really fucked up there lolll

yourusername posted a story

yourusername Should I die my hair Red?? Seriously debating it rn

OscarPiastri No, please no!

SchumacherMick Hell yeah! Fire hair!!

LiamLawson30 Oh god! Mick don't encourage her!!!! OMFG

LoganSargeant All I'll say is that you drive for Redbull, and the colour red is owned by a rival of yours

yourusername OMG YOU ARE SO RIGHT!! Let's do rainbow then!

LiamLawson30 Well done Logan! That worked well didn't it?

OscarPiastri I'm so done with you four, so done.

SchumacherMick You know you love us!!

mickschumacher

Y/n choose the group activity today and she choose sushi, surprise surprise! And Liam turned up in his Ken hoodie which he was very proud of lmao

Tagged: yourusername oscarpiastri logansargeant liamlawson30

Liked by georgerussell and 214,648 others

username That sushi looks sooo good thooo

username Is Y/n wearing friendship bracelets?? Please tell me she made the rest of the guys one each!!?

= username OMFG CAN YOU IMAGINE

liamlawson30 We should defo do sushi again!! I'm still very proud of my hoodie!

= yourusername I loved the hoodie!

Groupchat - Baby drivers (Mick-Purple / Logan-Blue / Oscar-Orange / Liam-White / Y/n-Pink)

HELP FUCK

WAIT WHAT?!

Mick what did you do?!?!

Are you in safety?!

Whats happened???!

I was stalking this girls page when I accidently liked a post from when she was fifteen!!

Aww mate you're screwed!

When she was fifteen?! How old is she now??

Damn you really fucked uppp

She's 23! So over seven years agooo

Yeah that's awkward ngl!

maxverstappen1

Soo thank you for the smashed trophy Y/n, always so helpful! :|

Tagged: redbullracing yourusername

Liked by yourusername and 223,781 others

username She really said 'Let's all share this win'

oscarpiastri I don't know why they trust her near trophies, pretty sure almost all of her own are broken

= yourusername Shhh, I'm trying my best to seem trust worthy

username Thing is she just laughed about it lol

= username I'm just glad that Max isn’t that annoyed, he joined in with her laughter

yourusername posted a story

f1gossip

Spotted: Redbull driver, Y/n L/n and Actor, Barry Keoghan are seen and paped leaving a restaurant together in Monte Carlo. From our sources, it looked like they were on a date and that they were both very intimate with each other. Do we have a new wag in the paddock and are we going to see one of our baby drivers walking a red carpet more often?

Liked by logansargeant and 59,572 others

username Y/n and Barry Keoghan??! The same Barry who was in Saltburn??!

username He is almost ten years older than her ewww

oscarpiastri Oh so this is how we find out...

= logansargeant Ikr!

= mickschumacher She said that she was busy at a redbull event tonight

= liamlawson30 Apparently nottt

username Not the other baby drivers finding out through this post!!!

Groupchat - Baby drivers

So Y/n how's the redbull event??!

Yeah are you and Max bored yet?

Yeahhh

Uh guys I can't really talk rn, me and Max are needed on stage to speak

Oh don't worry, say hi to Barry for us

Barry? Who's Barry??

You know Barry Keoghan, the Barry who you were seen cosying up to at a restaurant in MONTE CARLO

Yeah didn't know the new Milton Keynes is in Monte Carlo, crazy right!

Fuck you've seen the paparazzi photos right...?

Yep! So what's going on with Saltburn guy???

Yeah go on tell us how it went

Or how it's going

yourusername posted a story

-

[sturnsdarling]

save a horse...

you and Matt go to a ranch for your anniversary and end up finding an old abandoned barn, taking the perfect opportunity to live your true wild west fantasy.

vibe check: smutty fluff, cowgirl position (obvi), public (kind of) sex

3k words

A/N: it hurts to write my dreams instead of living them. anyways the idea of cowboy!matt makes me feel a bit wobbly in the knees so this is my version of that, this fic is dedicated to the one and only cas (@sturnioz) because she, and I quote, 'loves this shit'

love and cigs, merc

It was yours and Matts year anniversary, you were driving through the South West, Matts hand on your thigh as you drove towards the ranch you had found as a surprise for him.

It was huge, an old family run ranch in the middle of nowhere. Recently, Matt had been on a kick about reconnecting with nature so, with your anniversary coming up you thought a long weekend in a ranch would be perfect for him to live out his cowboy dreams.

When you got there,

the family that rented it out was welcoming and lovely, showing you both the little house you'd be staying in for the weekend. It was an old converted barn, all the old wood work still intact and the furnishings being very on theme for yours and Matts 'wild west' weekend.

It was perfect, and the look on Matts face when he saw the cracks of light seeping through the cracking wood walls made everything worth it.

Once you guys had dropped off your stuff,

you and Matt decided to wander around the grounds and find a nice spot to have a picnic. After a while of walking about and taking photos of the beautiful scenery, you noticed a large tree a little ways walk from where you were, telling Matt it was the perfect spot and he agreed, looping his arm over your shoulder and leading you both to the tree.

When you sat down,

Matt laid down your picnic blanket and told you to sit down, saying he'd get everything ready and that you didn't have to do anything. You complied, watching as he unpacked everything, the bright orange sun illuminating his beautiful face perfectly.

"I can feel you starin' at me, you know" Matt smirked, pulling to plastic wine glasses out the basket followed by a bottle of root beer.

"i'm not staring, i'm admiring" you corrected him.

Matt chuckled, shaking his head and turning to face you, hooking a soft finger under your chin and pulling your head up to him. He pressed a tender kiss on your glossy lips, slotting his mouth between yours perfectly. You let out a satisfied hum into the kiss, relishing in the feeling of his lips on yours.

Matt pulled away and opened the bottle of soda, he held it out to you like a waiter holding wine and made a fancy, silly face, "will this do, your highness" he spoke in a posh English accent.

you giggled, nodding and trying to pull a serious face, "yes, that will do nicely" you mimicked his tone.

Matt chuckled and poured you a cup of soda before pouring his own, holding it out to you to cheers before sitting down next to you on the blanket.

You were facing the horizon, watching as the sun began to set, leaving the sky a hazy orange and pink swirl of colours. You rested your head on Matts shoulder and he turned to place a soft kiss on your hair.

"happy anniversary, beautiful" Matt said, softly.

You lifted your head, resting your chin on his shoulder as he looked down at you, batting your lashes at him as you gazed at him, "happy anniversary, my love"

He smiled, placing a soft kiss on your lips before turning back to face the sunset.

You stayed there for a while, eating, laughing and enjoying each others company. The sun was still setting, and you were laying on Matts chest, peppering soft kisses all over his face as he chuckled beneath you. You were giggling the whole time, loving how he let you shower him with love like you so desperately wanted to twenty four seven. Matt placed his large hands on your hips, flipping you both over so he was on top of you. You giggled at the swift movement, and Matt hovered over you, watching in awe at the way your face lit up when you laughed.

Your giggles subsided, and you looked up to Matt, who's eyes were flitting between yours and your lips. You looked to his plump lips, and bit down on your bottom lip at the sight of him looking at you as if you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Matt craned his head down, pressing his lips against yours with a firm hand on your jaw. You wrapped your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss with a swipe of your tongue against his lip. He accepted your invitation and pressed his warm tongue against yours, absentmindedly grinding his hips down into yours as you hooked one leg around his waist.

Everything was perfect, you were in a beautiful place, with a beautiful boy, making out on a picnic blanket like sneaky teenagers trying to get some alone time in the wild west.

Once the sun had begun to slip under the horizon, you decided to do some more exploring before heading back to where you were staying.

On your adventure, you guys had spotted an old barn, it was falling apart at the seams and looked as if no one had touched it in years.

"we have to go see inside" you said, pulling Matt towards the old barn with your hand in his.

He followed you, letting you lead him town the dry hill towards the large old structure.

You reached the doors, pulling on the old lock slightly as it basically crumbled in your hand. Matt reached above your head, pulling the door open and letting you walk in.

It was like a time capsule, bails of old hay everywhere, old horse riding equipment and a beat up tractor in the middle.

"this is so cool" Matt said, looking around in awe.

You were just looking at him, watching his face light up with every new thing he noticed. You did a full lap of the barn, and didn't take your eyes off him once, just letting him guide you about with his fingers locked between yours.

"y'staring again, baby" He chuckled, turning to face you, placing his hands round your waist and pulling you into him.

you looped your hands around his neck, "admiring" you corrected him again, brushing your lips over his.

Matt pulled you into him, capturing your lips in a kiss that was quick to become desperate. His warm tongue pressed and pushed against yours as your hands found the tangled curls at the back of his head. His hand snuck down to your ass, gripping and squeezing at the flesh over your flowery sundress. Matt walked you backwards towards the bails of hay, laying you down gently on top of them without breaking the kiss.

He laid you down, one hand on your face and the other on your thigh as he looped your leg around his waist. Matt ground his hips down onto yours, pressing his growing cock against your pussy as your dress fell bunched around your waist. You whimpered into the kiss, tugging at Matts hair and pulling him closer into you with your leg.

Matts hand wandered up your leg, pushing your dress further up with his soft hands as his hand edged impossibly close to where the two of you connected. He pressed and kneaded at your skin as he ground his hips down into your core, hard and slowly, chasing his own friction just as much as he was trying to help you chase yours.

You whined into Matts mouth once more, biting down on his lip and bucking your hips into his. Matt chuckled, breaking the kiss and pulling away from you slightly.

"so needy" He muttered, lips still brushing yours.

"you like it when I'm needy" you pretended to sulk, earning a smile from Matt

Matt nodded, quickly pressing his lips to yours once more, "I love it, baby, y'so sexy when you're all desperate f'me" Matt smirked.

You let out a satisfied hum and kissed him again, this time, just after kissing you back for a moment, Matt began to trail is lips down your neck and along your chest, pulling at the bust of your dress with delicate fingers to expose your hard nipple to him. He locked his mouth around it, sucking down before biting it between his teeth, toothing the sting with another warm press of his tongue.

Your back arched into him, your head falling back onto the hay with a small moan. Matt made his way down your body, watching as you arched into his touch, bunching your dress around your hips and coming to eye level with your already soaked folds. Matt groaned at the sight when he saw you weren't wearing any underwear, his mind reeling at the thought of you not wearing any all day.

Your folds glistened for him, and he swiped a gentle finger over your core, earning a soft moan from your lips as you bucked your hips, chasing the feeling.

"so pretty and perfect" Matt uttered, his breath hot over your pussy as he edged impossibly close.

He wanted to tease you, he really did, but the sight of you like this for him, in a pretty sundress, spread open in an old barn with cowgirl boots on and no underwear, Matt was desperate to taste you.

Matt pressed a soft kiss against your slick folds, brushing his thumb over your puffy clit as his tongue dipped into your sopping hole. Your hands found his hair, pressing gentle fingers into his scalp as he began to lap at your pussy.

A soft, breathy moan left your lips, your legs coming to hang over his shoulders, boots wrapped behind his head as he groaned at the taste of you on his tongue.

"fuck, Matt, that feels so good" you moaned, head rolling on its hinge as your eyes fluttered shut.

Matt hummed in response, the vibrations making you clench around nothing as he continued to lap and kiss at your pussy, his nose brushing against your clit periodically, sending bouts of shivers up your spine every time.

It was blissful, his slow pace making your whole body tingle as you moaned his name, unable to stop the noises that left your mouth. He was bringing you to eye watering orgasm with just his mouth, working you so slow and tenderly, his steady pace making your stomach tense and your legs tighten around his head. You were a whimpering mess, moaning his name over and over again as you approached your high on his tongue.

it was as if Matt had a sixth sense that was tuned into your body, knowing exactly when you were going to cum without having to be told. He kept his pace, lapping softly at your pussy, driving you to a piercing orgasm. You were seeing stars, releasing your cum all over his mouth as you ground your hips against his face desperately.

Matt continued his pressure against your pussy, helping you ride out your orgasm. Your hands found his jaw, and you pulled at him, dragging him away from your pussy and whimpering as you pulled him upwards to you. Matt chuckled, crawling up your body and following your request as you pulled him down into you, kissing him with feverish need.

"see how good you taste, baby?" Matt spoke into your mouth.

You whined into the kiss, and Matt flipped you both over, so you were on top of him, sopping pussy pressed against the rough material of his jeans. He toyed with the fabric of your dress, pushing his hands under the material and pressing bruises into your skin as you ground down onto him, kissing him like he was oxygen and you were struggling to breathe.

You moved your kisses down his neck, inching your hands down the buttons of his shirt. You expertly unbuttoned his flannel, his bare chest exposed to you as you pushed it open, leaving it loose on his arms. You arched into him as you peppered wet kisses down his stubble ridden jaw, down his neck and across his chest. You were crawling down his body, your tongue inching closer and closer to the little trail of hair that led to your favourite thing.

You paused as you reached his bulge, palming him through his jeans as you looked up at him through your lashes. You fiddled with his belt, Matt helping you remove his jeans and boxers in one swift movement. His leaking cock slapped against his stomach, the sight of it making your mouth water as Matts gentle hand found your jaw, moving to the back of your head to take a handful of your hair.

You took Matts length in your hand, pumping him slowly as you hovered your mouth over his leaking tip. His head hung back, jaw slack as a soft moan left his lips.

You wrapped your lips around him, lowering your head down his length with a flat tongue against his stiff length. Matts grip on your hair tightened, him fighting every muscle in his body not to fuck into your mouth, wanting to let you do your thing that you did so well. You began to bob your head up and down against him, hollowing your cheeks out as you let him bottom out in your throat.

Matt gently guided your head down onto him, pressing his hips against your lips as you gagged around him.

"fuck, baby, your mouth feels s'good" Matt said breathlessly, letting you continue to bob up and down on him.

You hummed around him, the vibration sending a jolt up his spine as he softly bucked his hips into your mouth. Your hand came up to his balls, cupping him with a tender pressure, a throaty moan escaped his lips at the sensation, his eyes fluttering closed as he let you work your mouth over him.

Pools of saliva gathered at the corners of your mouth, your throat opening to take his whole length as you flattened your tongue against him, the thick vein running up his cock tickling your taste buds as you lost yourself in the motion.

Matts stomach began to tighten, legs twitching periodically and you knew his was close. Before he could unload in your mouth, you pulled off him completely with a pop, earning a desperate whine from Matt who's head shot up at the feeling of your mouth no longer around him.

"why'd you stop?" he whined, eyes trained on your glistening mouth.

you chuckled, rising to straddle him, pumping his wet and sticky cock from behind you as you lined yourself up with his tip.

"I wanna ride you, cowboy" you said seductively, swiping his cock through your puffy folds.

Matt groaned at you taking control, loving when you rode him and loving it even more when you called him silly nicknames like that. He attempted to muster up a witty reply, but his train of thought was cut off by your gummy walls clenching around him as you lowered yourself onto his cock.

Matt let out a blissful sigh, eyes closing at the sensation of being nestled in your warm pussy. You bit down on your lip as he entered you, bringing your hands to rest on his chest as small whimpers left your throat, instinctively grinding your clit down against the small scattering of hair at the base of his cock.

Matts eyes fluttered open, locking with yours as he took in the sight above him, one hand finding your hip as the other tucked behind his head. He loved you like this, needy and desperate to make him feel good, and the sight of you, tits hanging out your dress as it laid bunched up around your hips, steadily bouncing up and down his hard cock, made his head spin.

You leaned forward slightly, pressing your body weight against Matts chest though your palms and you began to shift your ass up and down, dragging your tight walls over his cock as you milked him.

Matts grip on your hip was bruising, him holding you steady as you rode him. His lip was tucked between his perfect teeth, relishing in the sight of you fucking him. Your eyes were closed in pure pleasure, the stretch of your pussy around his cock making you feel lightheaded. His hand came to your ass, kneading at the flesh under your dress, he smacked the fleshy fat, soothing the sting with a massaging touch before repeating his action, spanking you as you bounced on him.

His spanks egged you on, making you feel all the more confident. You opened your eyes and smiled down at him, lip tight between your teeth.

"you look so good like this, pretty girl" He cheesed at you, shaking his head in disbelief that you were his.

You smiled at him, blushing slightly at the compliment as you picked up your pace, causing Matt to moan, his eyes closing as his head craned back into the hay.

"cum inside me, Matt, please, cum for me whilst I ride you" you muttered, your words coming out accompanied by moans, his dick hitting your gummy g-spot as you fucked down onto him harder.

Matt let out a guttural groan, pulling his hand from behind his head and palming your tit, his fingers pressing bruises into your flesh as he maintained heavy eye contact with you though his low hanging lashes.

You picked up your pace, shifting so you were rested on the bottoms of your feet, knees tight against your chest as you fucked him at a relentless pace. Matt couldn't control the noises that left his throat at the new position, the angle letting him hit a deeper spot inside you, your walls tight around his cock as he began to fuck up into you, matching your pace.

The moan that left you was throaty, eyes rolling to the back of your head as Matts balls slapped against your ass with every thrust of his hips, meeting you in the middle as you rode him.

Matts movements began to falter, breathy moans leaving his lips as he kneaded at any exposed flesh of yours he could. You were clenching hard around him, moaning his name, begging him to cum.

He didn't need to be told twice, his hand moved up to cup your jaw, pulling you own into a sloppy kiss as he pressed his cock base deep inside of you, his hips stuttering as he released spurts of white, warm cup into your perfect pussy, filling you up just like you asked. He bit down on your lip as the last remnants of his cum left his tip, coating his dick as you continued to fuck down onto him.

"I love you" he breathed into your open mouth, his whole body relaxing back into the hay.

You followed suit, letting your body weight drop down onto him as the ache of your thighs became instantly prominent, "I love you too" you muttered.

You were both spent, Matt pulling out of you with a hiss as you slumped down onto him, one leg by his side and the other over his hips. He pressed a long kiss into your hair, trailing soft tickles over your arm as you nestled into him, catching your breath on his chest.

The sun was fully set, and the light of the moon was creeping through the cracks in the battered barn walls. Crickets began to chirp outside, the night time wild life coming alive outside the barn doors.

It was a perfect end to a perfect day, and without meaning to, you both fell asleep on the hay, tangled up in one another in the warm embrace of the warm western air.

taglist: @sturniozalt@mattslolita@shaquilles-0atmeal@blahbel668@sleepysturniolo@le4hsblog @sarosfilms @joemamaaa42069 @2muchofaslvt @seluky10 @cherib3lla @jetaimevous

[leomitchellart]

MISSING TARGARYEN EGGS:

I’ve been driving myself a little insane as of late; Obsessively pondering and pouring-over the fact that there’s a staggering amount of unhatched dragon eggs in ASOIAF. All the way up to the mad king Aerys II’s attempts to hatch them. With potentially over twenty left unaccounted for after being first mentioned. That’s not assuming how many of these eggs got passed-down and given to the next generation after the Dance of the Dragons.

Despite that, only six of these established eggs had their appearances described. So I decided to draw them! Since I loved doing Dany’s eggs last year. 

MAELOR “THE MISSING” TARGARYEN:

Like his elder siblings, the twins Jahaerys and Jahaera, Prince Maelor’s egg was placed in his cradle at birth. But unlike his sibling’s eggs, who would hatch and be bonded to Shrykos & Morghul respectively; Maelor’s remained unhatched by the time civil war broke-out between the Black and Green factions of House Targaryen. Being born in the latter, his egg was a fitting pale green with silver swirls. After the Greens were forced to flee King’s Landing, Maelor and his egg were to be escorted by Ser Rickard Thorne of the Kingsguard to the safety of Oldtown. Only for the three year-old Prince and his escort to meet a gruesome end at Bitterbridge in 130AC. The ruling Lady Caswell had the egg sent to Maleor’s great uncle, Lord Ormund Hightower, hoping it would appease the Greens. It did not. The Massacre of Bitterbridge followed soon after.

AEGON THE USURPER: 

After the prolonged death of his dragon, Sunfyre, in 130 AC, Aegon II of the Green faction had a maester send him seven eggs from Dragonstone, hoping he could quickly gain a new mount to finally win the civil war. As armies still fought in the name of his half-sister, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, whose crown he’d usurped. Out of all his options, he had his eyes set on an egg of purple and gold. Believing it would hatch a worthy replacement:  "—a new Sunfyre, prouder and fiercer than the last". Aegon would be poisoned the following year and none of his chosen hatched. Why yes, this egg does remind me of Spyro, I’m glad you agree.

ELAENA TARGERYAN:

Despite the many vast and interesting details we know of the life of Princess Elaena Targaryen, from her and her sister’s imprisonment in the Maidenvault, to her unofficial time as Master of Coin and advisor to Daeron the Good, the final whereabouts of her egg are not officially given. Even though it was said to be her most cherished possession; its shell sharing the same platinum white colour and bright golden streak as her own unique hair. 

AEGON THE UNWORTHY/LORD AMBROSE BUTTERWELL:

An egg of red, with golden flecks and black whorls. It once belonged to Aegon IV, but ever the reckless, entitled, and lustful man he was, he simply gave it away. He offered it to the lord of House Butterwell of Whitewalls in exchange for being permitted to bed all three of the lord’s virgin daughters. The Lord accepted the egg, and supposedly Aegon would get all three pregnant that night.  The egg remained in House Butterwell’s possession until the lord’s grandson, Ambrose Butterwell, held a tourney in 212AC to celebrate his wedding, with the egg as the coveted prize for the winner. The tourney, however, was merely a cover for those conspiring in the second Blackfyre Rebellion. The plan was for all competing knights to be bribed and lose to Daemon II Blackfyre, disguised as John the Fiddler. Daemon had prophetic dreams of a dragon egg hatching at Whitewalls. With a living dragon at his side, Daemon would be able to take the iron throne from House Targaryen. In the end, the rebellion was a failure, with the hatching egg proving to be a lot more metaphorical. Daemon was arrested and the egg returned to the crown’s custody by Lord Brynden Rivers, aka Bloodraven. (Calling it now: The egg in the upcoming TV series, ‘A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms’, won’t look anything like this, as none of the eggs have. Watch them just make it Drogon’s egg instead, continuity be damned. Like HotD’s attempt to claim Syrax was the mother of Daenerys’s three dragons.) 

AERION “THE MONSTROUS” BRIGHTFLAME:

Like the rest of his brothers, Prince Aerion’s egg was placed in his cradle at birth, as per Targaryen tradition. His looked as if it was “—made of gold and silver, with veins of fire running through it”. I think I speak for everyone when I say it’s a good thing he never had a dragon to bond with. It seems he gave up any hope of a thing the egg, instead meeting his end by drinking the dangerous substance known as Wildfire, thinking it would transform him into a literal dragon.  I do have a personal theory that Aerion’s unique sense of style was actually inspired by his egg. 

AEGON “EGG” THE UNLIKELY:

Like the rest of his brothers, Aegon V’s egg was placed in his cradle at birth, as per Targaryen tradition. His coloured “—white and green, all swirly.” For years, Aegon became obsessed with dragons and never stopped hoping he’d see them return. Moreso during his reign as king, knowing a living dragon could’ve helped enforce his new reforms and protections for the smallfolk against many contentious lords that opposed him.  In 259 AC, Aegon gathered his family and friends at Summerhall to celebrate the upcoming birth of his first great grandchild. There he would make his boldest attempt to hatch seven dragon eggs using Wildfire. Instead, Summerhall, and many members of the Targaryen family, including him, perished in the resulting inferno. Perhaps his own egg was among those seven? 

[b3ach-bunn7]

27 DRESSES (1/6)

You try not to lose your mind while planning your sisters wedding to the man you're in love with. All the while, a certain blonde haired reporter can’t seem to leave you alone

noquirk!au, movie turned fanfic

——————————————-——————————

You love weddings.

Maybe it’s a cliche, being a woman and all, but you really love weddings. It had all started at six years old, at your aunt Cassie’s wedding. When you’d walked down the aisle with the end of her long white dress in your hands, the fabric soft and the audience filled with tears, everything had changed. 

What’s there not to love? If not the extravagant flowers and decorations, the three tiered cakes or the beaming guests, but the love. There’s nothing more beautiful, in your opinion, than two people promising themselves to each other for the rest of their lives. And that look the groom gives the bride as she walks down the aisle, tears clouding their vision. There’s nothing like it.

It’s partly why you buy the paper every day. It’s all for the Commitments section. The author, a mysterious person who calls themselves Hawks, is incredible at what they do. They write the most heartfelt articles that leave you tearing up and laughing all in the same breath, your favourite ones clipped and stuffed into the drawer in your bedside table.

It’s your love for weddings which has led you to be a bridesmaid at twenty five different ones. You’ve gone from theme weddings, to traditional ones and ones where you had to wear an alarmingly short dress. You keep all the dresses actually, rather stupidly your younger sister says, as a keepsake. Or a tally, a reminder of all the couples you’ve watched wed. You’ve only been a bridesmaid in so many because of your reputation in them. You have a knack for thinking for the bride when she can’t, and it's why you’ve found yourself at the front of the ceremony hall twenty five different times. 

Twenty seven weddings after tonight. You don’t really know how you’re going to pull off two weddings in one night, but you’re nothing if not determined.

Tonight is Kaylee’s very purple, modern wedding and Lorena’s Indian and African fusion one all on the same night. They’re both across town but you figure you can spend twenty minutes at one before your presence is needed at the other. You hurriedly explain all this to the taxi driver as you start pulling out your sari from your bag, slamming the door shut behind you.

You look up at him in the rear view mirror and point. “Alright. I’ll give you 300 even for the whole night. Every time you look back in the mirror I’m deducting.”

His face darts with confusion. “What-“

“Drive! Come on, I’m already late.” You usher him to look away as you start fiddling with the back of your dress.

The streets bustle with New York’s nightlife. It gets increasingly stuffier in the back seat as your arm stretches round to carefully peel your dress back, fingers slipping over the small zipper. Kaylee had picked dresses that looked awfully like ones you’d wear at a highschool prom, but the last thing you’d do is complain. Your eyes catch the cab drivers and you thump the back of his seat.

“Hey! That’s 280.” You huff. He holds his hand up in surrender, and carries on driving.

It doesn’t take too long for you to get there. You hop out of the car as quickly as you can, the long trail of your green and yellow sari slipping off your shoulder. You turn back to the cab as you clip on your shoes.

“I’ll be back in ten. Or twenty. Don’t leave, cab man.”

“It’s Ziggy.”

“Ziggy! Don’t leave Ziggy.” You point and he rolls his eyes.

Lorena’s wedding is beautiful. All oranges and greens and pinks, the guests colourful as they mill about. There’s a huge ice sculpture of a swan in the middle of the room, long tables with colourful cloths that brush against the ground. Theres a soft lull of music that fills the room, the live band just as joyous as everyone else. You rush to find the bride, and she looks just as relieved to see you as you are to see her.

“Oh, Y/N! There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Her voice is desparate and there’s a sheen of sweat on her forehead.

You smile brightly. “Sorry, I was mingling.”

“Do you have the-“

You hold up the bindis. “These?”

“Yes. You lifesaver!” She groans, grabbing them out of your hands.

You stay for your twenty minutes, as decided, and manage to slip away when the guests start making their way incredibly slowly to their seats. Judging by the huge amount of guests on both sides of the family, you’ve got some time. You run as quickly as your heels let you and are glad to find Ziggy still waiting for you out front.

“Okay! Now the venue on 7th street. Please.” You’re out of breath and already throwing your clothes off.

Ziggy shakes his head. The car rumbles and the smell of the exhaust fills your nose as he drives off. You try to make small conversation but it’s hard when you're about one second away from flashing the general public. And Ziggy. He’s down to 240 by the time you pull up to the next venue, and you slip your purple bow into your hair.

This wedding is much calmer. Less colours and more muted tones that accentuate the outdoor area they rented out. Tjhere’s fairy lights hanging form all the trees and branches, fancily dressed waiters handing out hors d'oeuvres. You find Kaylee adjusting the bodice of her dress in the reflection of the big glass doors in the back room, her mother fussing over her elaborate up-do.

So that’s how you spend your night. Back and forth between two venues halfway across town, insisting to Ziggy that it’s all worth it. Sure, you wear the wrong heels one time and have to awkwardly explain it away, and have to hold up Kaylee's huge white dress while she pees for a slightly alarming amount of time, but it’s worth it.

That look of relief on their faces after everything goes right. Standing at the front of the ceremony hall holding pretty bouquets. The little speech dedication they give you for all your help, the claps from the audience. How could you ever say no? You’re only human. And probably a people pleaser, but that’s not relevant right now.

You finish the night at Kaylee’s wedding. Lorena is long gone in her honeymoon suite by the time you get back to hers, just in time for the bouquet toss. The bouquet you’ve never caught, by the way. Despite the 26, soon to be 27, times you’ve been involved in them. 

But you think you might have some hope today. The bouquet is coming towards you, soaring through the air, little flutters of petals floating to the ground. And you know it’s a dumb tradition, but maybe it will be your turn next. Of course, there are absolutely zero men on your roster and you’ve never been in love, but that’s neither here nor there. The bouquet would make it happen.

You think you have a real chance of catching it. Until some girl slams into your shoulder and sends you careening to the ground.

The floor is hard where it slams against your shoulder and soon after your head. You groan, and the gasps from all around you do nothing to help the small quell of fear in your chest at the throbbing pain in your head. 

“Alright! Everybody back up.”

You hear a voice break out above the rest. Calm and smooth, and as you blink slowly you come face to face with a man. A very handsome man, if you’re being entirely honest. You wish you were in a more dignified position to meet him, and not laying down on the floor like a crime scene victim.

“Alright. I need a bag of ice and a 1999 Chateau wine, and something for her to bite on.” He sounds serious and it scares you all the more.

The two bridesmaids surrounding him, handsy ones from the way they’re gripping his broad shoulders, freeze. He looks up at them.

“Now, go!”

The girls disperse quickly. The man waves the small crowd around you away, insisting you’re fine. He offers you a hand that you take, and you rise to your feet, dusting off your dress. You look at him properly for the first time when you’re finally on your feet.

He’s handsome. You concussed vision were not wrong. He’s got hair just long enough to curve around his cheeks, a dusty blonde that compliments that tan of his skin. His eyes are so hazel they look almost yellow, and from what you can see he fits the suit he’s wearing quite nicely.

“You a doctor?” You ask.

He smiles, and his teeth are white and shiny. “No. But Tweedledee and Tweedledrunk were getting on my nerves. Had to get rid of them somehow.”

“Right.” 

You rub at your elbow where it had collided with the floor. He nudges your shoulder.

“You know your name?”

“Yep. Y/N.”

“Well, Y/N. I’m Keigo.” 

You nod, smiling politely. “Thanks for your help, Keigo, but I’d better go.”

You only walk about an inch before your knees buckle and Keigo’s arm grabs yours. He laughs slightly. “Alright, let’s get you a cab.”

You say your goodbyes, and let Keigo walk you back out to the front. Night has settled over New York, but the streets are no less alive. You hear noise bustling down the street and the commotion of the party behind you. Your hands are heavy with the bouquet Kaylee had gifted you on the way out, and the wind cools your skin as you make the short walk to the cab.

“So. I liked your thong.”

Your cheeks burn red and your head whips around to Keigo. “What did you just say to me?”

He holds up two hands. “Joke. You buzzed past me earlier and I saw you changing gowns in the back of the car.” You avert your gaze and he hums.

“You went to two weddings in one night?” His head tilts slightly like it’s a question, though he knows it’s the truth. You roll your eyes.

“Maybe.” 

He huffs a laugh. “That’s a little upsetting, no?”

You shrug. “They didn’t know. And they’re two good friends. What was I supposed to do, say no to one of them?”

He shakes his head and his hair bounces around. “Nah, not for them. For you. One wedding is bad enough. I can’t imagine going to two.”

He sounds ever so slightly vindictive, and it’s a little shock from his cheery personality. Your eyebrows furrow ever so slightly. 

“I love weddings. Always have.”

You reach the cab and give Ziggy a wave. He glances at Keigo through the window.

“Wedding gift?” He teases.

You roll your eyes as Keigo hops in beside you. You dump the bouquet in his hands. “Just drive, Ziggy.”

The car jostles and your shoulder bumps Keigo’s. “I mean, what’s there to love? The terrible food, the handsy guests, or all the fake love?”

“Maybe the annoying cynics like you.” You drawl.

It doesn’t take too long for you to pull up outside your apartment complex. You get out the car, juggling all your things in your arms. You press the money in Ziggy’s hand, now 140 after all his misdemeanours, and wave goodbye. 

“What, 140?”

“You know what you did. Keigo’s gonna need a ride home so don’t go anywhere.”

Keigo, to your dismay, hops out of the car with you. 

You round on him, arms full of saris and flowers. “I live here. Goodbye now.”

“Love is patient, love is kind. Love is slowly losing your mind.”

You laugh a little. “Wow. You a poet?”

“A writer, actually.”

He doesn’t look like one. You tell him as much, and he grins.

“I think I should be flattered.” 

You all up the steps of your flat and he follows. Your kitten heels click as they hit the concrete.

“Don’t you think it’s so much? For something that, I mean let’s face it, has a fifty percent chance of dying out in a couple years?” He follows after you easily.

“Wow. A man who doesn’t believe in marriage. Very refreshing.” You deadpan.

He sighs. He leans against the threshold of your apartment and you find yourself standing there with him. You could easily buzz yourself in and tell him to piss off, but there’s something keeping you there. Maybe it’s the way your porch light makes him look warm or the fact you haven’t spoken to a man in months. You don’t care.

“I don’t know, I see no reason not to point out the hypocrisy.”

“Oh so noble.” You nod slowly. “Do you go around telling kids Santa isn’t real, too?”

Keigo raises an eyebrow. “So you admit marriage is about as real as Santa Claus?”

“I-“ You laugh slightly. “I don’t know why I’m arguing this with you but.” 

You swap the arm your bouquet is in and sigh. “Marriage, like all good things in life, is not easy. Cynicism always is though.”

With that, you start punching in the code for the door. Keigo watches

“It was very interesting meeting you.” He says.

“Sure.”

“You in any more weddings this week?”

“Goodbye, Keigo.”

“How many have you been in?”

You smile a little despite yourself. “Bye.”

“Just a ballpark.”

—

You may have lied before. You have been in love. Or actually you are in love. Just not with a man who loves you back.

Togata is an incredible boss. Really. He’s so passionate about everything and it makes you so passionate about everything. It helps that he’s also good at what he does, and that he is very attractive. It’s not the smartest thing to be crushing on your boss, but you can’t help yourself. 

“So who are the flowers from?” 

Rumi, your best friend and coworker, is rubbing bright pink tulip petals between her fingers. They’re impressive. Vibrant and big as they sit proudly on your desk. 

“What? What flowers?”

She squints at you. “Uhm. These flowers?”

You blink at them. “Right. Uhm, no, I have no idea. Is there a card?”

You place the papers you had in your hand on your desk. It’s cluttered and a mess. You’re not one to keep your work space tidy, and it’s been especially bad this week. You have no idea where your planner is, too. Probably under all this junk. 

Rumi shakes her head. “Nope. Pretty shitty secret admirer. Didn’t even sign his work.”

You scoff. Your eyes dart over her outfit. It looks oddly familiar.

“Nice button up. Think I saw that on groomsman two yesterday.” 

Rumi grins. “Come on. You know I only go to weddings for the easy hook ups. The one night stand outfit is not shameful, it’s prideful.” 

You giggle. “Right.”

“I’m assuming you didn’t get any hook ups in. How is Togata, by the way?”

“He-“ You glance out the window where he’s typing away at his desk. The blue shirt he’s got on looks good on him.

“He’s fine. I guess, I don’t know.”

Rumi rolls her eyes. She balances on the edge of your desk, tapping her shoes against the floor. You hold up some pictures you picked out for the next catalog. You ask Rumi if Togata will like them.

“I do. I think he’ll love them so much he’ll pull you into his office and make sweet love to you all over his desk.”

“Rumi!”

You smack her shoulder with the pictures as she laughs. “Come on, Y/N! Please tell me the reason you work so hard isn’t because of that crush of yours.”

Your mouth opens to defend yourself. It takes a second for the words to come out. “No. I like my job.”

“I bet you’d like-“

“Hey, girls.” 

Togata pops his head into the room. You immediately straighten up, brushing your skirt a little. Rumi shakes her head as you wave.

“Hi. Hello.” You smile.

Togata peers at the desk. “Those the new photos that came in?”

You gather them up and pass them to him. “Here. What do you think?”

He hums slightly, finger on his chin. He makes a noise of discontent in the back of his throat. “I think they’re too corporate.”

“I agree.” You don’t. You quite like how they look but you’d never tell him that. You nod. “They don’t- They don’t have enough of an outdoorsy feel, right?”

Togata grins. “Yes! Looks too corporate. See this is why I keep you around, Y/N.”

You try not to let that comment get to your head. Your face feels a little hot and you ignore Rumi’s badly concealed laughter beside you.

“I’ll let management know.” You quickly grab your calendar before he can walk out. “You also have a charity ball in a few weeks. Shall I confirm your attendance?”

Togata frowns. His face is wrinkled around his eyes and mouth but in a good way. Makes him look rugged, you think. You brush a stray lock of hair out of your face for something to do.

“Shit. Yeah, I suppose. Do I need to make a speech?”

Rumi is fiddling with the flowers again. You shrug.

“Nothing big. Something about how much you care for the environment and sustainability.”

Togata sighs. “Right. Yeah, I’m in. I’m assuming I need a date, too? That’s the one thing I can’t ask you for help.” He laughs.

Your heart jumps a little in your chest. Yes, you want to scream, I can help with that! Instead, you laugh with him, a little too loudly.

He taps the back of the door. “Alright then. I’ll see you ladies at Tonya’s engagement party tonight, right?”

You shoot him a thumbs up. He goes to leave when he suddenly stops in his tracks. He turns back to you. His eyes are very big and brown, like a dogs. But in a cute way.

“Yeah?”

“You leave that breakfast burrito on my desk this morning?”

“Thought you might be hungry.” You say sheepishly.

“That’s why I love you.” He calls out as he walks off.

You sigh, looking at the now empty doorway longingly. “I love you, too.”

Rumi shoves your shoulder. You shake yourself out of the daze you’re in, and stalk over to your desk. “Thanks. I think I needed that.”

You make quick work of putting away the now useless pictures. Rumi watches, bored.

“Hey, a couple of us are heading to Roy’s for drinks before the party.” She singsongs.

“Sounds fun.” You mumble. You’re currently digging though your drawer for your planner.

Rumi rolls her eyes. “That was an invite, you weirdo.”

You look up at her. “I know. I’d come, but I need to pick up Tess from the airport.”

Tess is your little sister. Rumi doesn’t like Tess that much. She thinks she relies on you too much for everything. And yeah, maybe you did kind of step into the motherly role after your own passed away twenty years ago, but what other choice was there? You were young but Tess was younger, and you never minded it anyway.  

Rumi crosses her arms. “If only there was a service you could hire to do things like that. Maybe yellow or black cars-“

You wave her off. “She’s my sister, Rumi. Of course I’m going to pick her up.”

“Sucks to be you.”

—

The little bar Tonya’s party in is nice. It’s quite empty for a Wednesday night, and you nurse a cosmopolitan in your hand as Rumi rambles besides you about one of the guys at the pre drinks.

“And- Oh, hi, Togata.”

Rumi nudges you in what might be the most unsubtle way ever, like you didn’t notice him walking over about ten minutes ago. You smile brightly as your drink jostles slightly in your hand.

“Hey, girls. Great party, Y/N.” He winks at you.

“Thanks! Thank you.” You laugh.

“I’m headed to the bar. You ladies need anything to drink?”

You hold up your own and shake it. “I’m good, thanks.” 

He waves goodbye, disappearing off into the busy crowd. The music is low but full of bass that rumbles in your chest. 

Rumi flicks your arm. “Ow!”

“Idiot! If a man asks you if you want a drink you always say yes. If you already have one, then you down it and ask for another.” She scolds and you pout, rubbing your arm.

“Alright, alright. I just don’t want him to think I’m irresponsible.” 

Rumi scoffs. “Yeah, that’s what guys want. Responsible.”

You take a sip of your drink. It’s burns a line down your throat, and you wince slightly. There is way too much vodka in this.

“He likes me for the way I am, Rumi.” You brush a lock of hair behind your ear. 

“What’s the point in liking someone if nobody’s naked?”

“Y/N.”

Togata is back. You stand a little straighter. “Yes?”

“You get what I leave on your desk?”

You freeze a little. Your desk? As in, the big bouquet of pink flowers on your desk? Rumi nudges your arm again and you shove her away with more contempt.

You sound a little breathless when you next speak.

“Yes. Yes, I did.”

“They were okay?”

“Okay? They- They were more than okay.”

He smiles, as charming as ever. “Great.”

You and Rumi squeal like school girls the second he’s gone. “Did you see that? He- It was him! I told you he liked my responsibility!”

Rumi grabs your shoulders, her face determined. “This is it! Real life. You have to go over there and tell him how you feel.” 

You nod erratically. “Okay. Yeah. No, you’re right. Okay, I’m going.”

Your words are more encouragement for yourself than a response for Rumi. You can see him across the room. He’s leaning on a tall pillar, watching the crowd around him. You don’t recognise the song playing, something soft and romantic and god this couldn't be more perfect. All your years of pining winded down to this very moment.

He’s close. Close enough you could reach out and touch him. Also close enough to see that longing, love struck look in his eyes.

Eyes that aren’t looking at you. But are looking at Tess.

It’s a joke. Some sick twist of karma, even though you think you’re a pretty good person. You really don’t deserve this. 

“Jane.” Your sister is talking to you but her gaze is directed right at Togata’s face. “You gonna introduce me?”

You clap your hands together much louder than necessary, bringing yourself out of your daze.

“Right!” You say a little too loudly. “Togata , this is my sister Tess. Tess, this is my Togata- I mean- Not like that!” You fumble.

“I’m her boss.” His voice does not sound that sultry when he’s talking to you. You bite down on your bottom lip.

“Yeah, she’s like my right-hand man.”

Man. You’re like a man to him. How lovely.

Tess nods, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “Lucky her.”

“Yeah. Hey, you wanna get a drink?”

The question sounds much more flirtatious when he asks Tess. And she definitely knows the ways of the game because she immediately agrees, linking her arm in his and stalking off.

Is this what torture feels like? Or hell? Maybe both, together. 

It’s your own fault. You invited her here, you even let her borrow your nice yellow dress. It feels like a little piece of your heart has shattered as she leans her head back and laughs at something he says to her. Togata is not that funny. At least never with you.

“Hey!”

This is really the last thing you need right now. You have no idea what Keigo is even doing here.

“Hi.” You breathe out, eyes still on your sister

“How are ya? You get my flowers? Were they too much?” He winces a little and you shut your eyes.

You dart your head back to face him. His words are enough to steal your attention away from Tess’s very confident hand placement.

“Oh my god. They were from you?”

He looks so proud of himself. You want to throttle him.

Because of course. Of course they were from him and not the man you’re in love with. It’s your own fault, really. He’s never shown any interest in you, it makes no sense why Togata would suddenly confess his feelings. It was wishful thinking and a daydream at best.

“Oh, god.” You laugh, incredulous. “They were from you. Mr marriage-hater.”

He looks a little confused at your sour attitude. You down your drink in one swell go. 

“Oh, I also have something for you.” He digs in his back pocket and pulls out your planner.

You probably need a new one. You definitely need a new one. It’s fat and full and stuffed with every wedding invite you’ve ever been given, and also your never ending to do list. You grab it, huffing it close to your chest.

“Oh! Thank god, I was looking all over for this.”

“Yeah, you left it in the cab. It was either meet you at the engagement party or Thursday’s bikini wax.” He jokes.

You narrow your eyes at him. “You read it?”

He has the smart idea of looking a little apologetic. “Sort of. Wasn’t easy. You have very small writing. And there’s a lot of it. You know they have digital ones now? Take care of all of that in a much more organised way.”

Keigo taps the cover of your planner and you move it out of his reach. You have bigger things to deal with then him right now. You try and look over his shoulder at the new couple you’d inadvertently created.

“I don’t need to be taken care of. Thanks for this.” You try and walk away but he pulls you back. His hand is soft and warm on your skin.

“Come on, have a drink with me.”

You shrug him off. “Thanks for bringing back my planner. Very nice of you.”

Keigo rolls his eyes playfully. “It’s a drink, not a weekend in Hawaii.”

You don’t respond but you don’t leave either. He takes that as encouragement to continue.

“It’ll take the edge off. Sure looks like you need it.” You glare at him, and he points towards the bar.

The bar where Togata is leaning so close to Tess, whispering something into her ear. She has that look on her face you’ve seen enough to know she’s flirting with everything in her.

You turn to Keigo. “Look, I’m sorry. I really don’t think I’ll be much fun tonight.”

Keigo deflates a little. “Sure. No problem. I’ll see you Thursday, maybe.”

You give him a sharp look.

“Maybe not. I’ll see you around.”

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

ugh guys 27 dresses is my FAVOURITE ROMCOM everrr and hawks is litch exactly like the main character in my head

this fic is a goal im setting to acc finish.. the aim is six chapters so everyone pray for me.. and dw hawks will deffo be involved more in later chapters

PLZ ENJOY!!!

[cybsoo2]

the flowers of evil

╰┈➤ synopsis — The garden is growing, a red romance is in full bloom. The seven boys each pick a bloody blossom to show you their love. Lovesick lilacs, weeping roses, and black dahlias. Which one will you choose?

╰┈➤ pairing — yandere!bts x reader

╰┈➤ word count — 3.7k

╰┈➤ content warning — yandere behavior, stalker behavior, manipulative behavior, murder, graphic depictions of violence, breaking & entering, implied/referenced abuse, religious undertones (namjoons section)

—Kim Seokjin

flower type — Wilted Roses

Your room is full of wilted roses

The petals falling to the floor 

What was once a pale pink is now a weeping red 

The flowers die and decay, turning darker as each hour passes

He hates the smell, so bittersweet

Floral from another man mixed with your salty tears

Jin hates him for what he did

How could he hurt his darling divine? 

If you were his then you wouldn’t have any time for tears

He’d kiss you so sweet that your cries would be quiet

He’d leave lipstick stains all over your shirt

The people on the subway would stare, but then they’d know that you’re all his

Of course he’d let you do the same

To claim his skin with crimson kisses

 Leaving purple bruises that bite at him

The marks would leave a sting, a reminder of your love

And he’d press down on them with his fingers, feeling how deep your love can go

He’d never hide your love, not like your (soon to be ex) boyfriend did

Cheating on you from behind closed doors

Then sending rancid roses as an apology

They aren’t even the ones you like

No, Seokjin would take pride in your passion and show it off to the world

He's so certain he’d be the better boyfriend

He has all these thoughts of dates at dusk, your shy smile as he makes you laugh, shadows of your touch on his skin…

Jin has the perfect plan

He’ll step into your boyfriend’s shoes, throwing the man aside and slowly taking over his life

Seokjin will speak sweet lies, watching as they spread like wildfire

Lies that’ll turn you two lovers against each other

Driving a wedge between the both of you

All the while Jin watches from afar

Playing patient and slowly planting his seeds of deception

Days go on of you drifting apart

Arms once wrapped around one another slowly unwinding

Heartstrings finally snapping and the bond you two once had now broken

After the hard parts done, all Seokjin has to do is sweep in and steal you away

Letting you cry on his shoulder as he charms his way into your heart

The blueprint is drawn out in his mind and he’s ready to take action

But first, he’ll start by setting fire to these flowers

—Min Yoongi

flower type — Black Dahlia

The days are getting darker

Black dahlias in bloom

Their floral scent fills his room

The sweet smell reminds him of you

Yoongi paces back and forth, flattening down a trail in his cream coloured carpet

His mind is such a mess

Tossing around ideas of what to do, it feels like a tennis match going on in his head

All the words blur together until its hazy lines and he feels as if he’s hyperventilating

His head and his heart are splitting himself apart

Torn between two choices: Ask you out for Valentine’s day? Or stay away and suffer in silence

He knows the logical option– and he wouldn’t even be considering this if it wasn’t for how sad you looked…

Sitting on the curb, a chill brushing over your bare skin

September has set in and along with it is the autumn air 

It paints your cheeks pink, dusting them a rosy red colour

Your confession almost got lost in the wind, just a hushed whisper only he could hear

“I wish just this once… I could be someone’s first choice to love.”

Your words are all that ring through his ears and he’s right brought back to his dilemma

His nerves set him alight, his whole body on fire

He clenches and unclenches his fists, squeezing the stem of the flowers in his hands

The thorns tear through his skin, leaving scarlet to trickle down his arms

The pain doesn’t even register in his mind, all too focused on the heavy weight in his heart

Breathing is hard, each inhale stings his throat as short pants echo out into the room

It doesn’t help that he’s also mumbling his thoughts to himself, trying to clear up the mess in his head but leaving no room to breathe instead

Realistically, Yoongi knows how this should end

He knows what’s right and he knows that if he indulges himself just this once… There no telling how far he’ll go

Caught up in a selfish choice and spiralling further into obsession

All Yoongi has is his mind

His bodies betrayed him, he gets so sick when you’re not near

He can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t do anything without feeling like he’s in a constant state of free-fall without you

His heart is a traitor too

It longs for you, begs to bring you in close and keep you as his own

But he bites back the agony and locks it away in his ribcage

 Yoongi’s mind is the only sliver of sanity he has left

So he’ll keep you at arms length

Far enough away that he can’t hurt you, but close enough for comfort

Yoongi’s just about made up his mind when fate is taking the chance out of his hands 

You walk into the room, tears on your cheeks and words ready to leave your lips

But whatever you were about to say is suddenly silenced as your eyes land upon the flowers in his hands

A bit mangled and blood dripping down the sides, but the black dahlias are beautiful nonetheless

Your eyes stay glued to them, a thousand thoughts running through your head

One idea must’ve clicked because now your iris shines with something akin to adoration

You look at Yoongi and ask, “Are those for me?”

And when you look at him like that, all he can do is say yes

Taking the flowers from his hold, you’ve officially accepted your place in his life

Yet you couldn’t be more unaware of just exactly what you got yourself into

—Jung Hoseok

flower type — White Lily

White lilies, the fragile flower

So delicate, so desirable, they look just like you

Petals drifting downwards

They follow the wind, flowing freely just like your white wedding dress

It should be a day to enjoy

The sun rising over east

Birds twitter their spring song

The leaves turning over as they change colours along with the season

April is warm and everyone wears it with a smile

That winter chill has begun to defrost

Melting away and bringing forth short dresses and sun-kissed skin

To be honest, everyone is in their element (everyone except Hoseok of course)

Glowing skin and bright smiles

Hundreds of eyes look at you and when Hoseok turns to follow their gaze…

He would be lying if he didn’t say you were the happiest of them all

You look so gorgeous in your gown

You as Mother Nature and your dress the earth’s decoration

Your train flows like the river, ivory patterns of lily pads woven into the lace

Silver jewelry adorns your wrists, sparkling in the sunlight

It wraps around your arms like Hoseok wishes he could do

White sleeves are also sewn into your dress, intricate designs traced into the fabric

Thread twists into your arms like cravings on tree branches

Barely visible outlines of flowers stems tie into the silk

Nobody else would ever notice, but Hoseok does

It reminds him all too well of the words he wrote on his own tree when the lilies were in bloom

The floret filled the field, their petals brushing against his skin as he etched your names into the ebony wood

He was so unbelievably naive back then, but at least he was at his happiest

Blissfully unaware of the other man who stole your attention and captured your heart (as if it was ever his to begin with)

Hoseok lived in a glass castle in the sky

Watching the seasons change thinking you were still his 

All the while you shared drunken kisses in the dark with someone whose name he doesn’t even know

And as the years went by you found your happiness in someone else’s heart

The dam has broken and Hoseok’s delusion is beginning to disappear 

There’s cracks in the glass and it threatens to shatter, but he’ll hold it together just a little while longer

You gaze happily over at another man

Affection in your eyes and a smile that Hoseok hasn’t seen on you in years

Suddenly everything has become all too real, and Hoseok understands that you were never met to be

He could never treat like you deserved, never measure up to a real man, never make you truly happy (but he could’ve loved you like no other)

As you say your vows and the sun begins to set, your ceremony has reached its end

All while Hoseok keeps a porcelain like smile on his face

The wedding takes on it’s final dance and Hobi marches into his funeral

He walks away without a goodbye (His last ‘I love you’ is in the letter in your pocket, he couldn’t find the strength to spit the words out)

Hoseok passes by the lilies in the field, tramped under his feet

He heads back home where silver blades and shiny painkillers are waiting for him

And he knows that the happiest you’ll ever be, is the day he dies

—Kim Namjoon

flower type — Carmine Carnation

Snowdrops and scarlet petals fall upon the open casket

There lies your lover, surrounded with carnations and encased in an empty box

Really, his tragic fate was his own fault

He got too tied up in you

Acting as if he owned you, as if your skin was his to touch and his to harm

He forgot his place on the podium is all, and Namjoon knocked him back down to where he belongs

Buried down in the dirt and six-feet below you

He’s nothing compared to a goddess 

So far beneath you that he’ll soon become the bones you walk on

His skeleton nothing but the stairs that uplift you

Each rib a rung in the ladder you’ll climb 

Digging the back of your heels into each vertebrate, the spines of the fallen could stretch for miles

It’s not like he was the first anyways

Namjoon’s gotten his game down to a tee

Killing is ever so easy

It takes no more effort then to offer a simple– push

The coroner said it was an accident, tripped over his own two feet

Tumbled down the stairs, cracking his head open on each concrete step

Spilling his scarlet like sin down the whole spiral staircase

Namjoon’s been the silent executioner for years

Taking hold of the sinners like cattle only to send them to the slaughter

The light in their eyes wouldn’t hold a candle in comparison to the sun of your soul

And while hundreds of corpses lay behind your back (you none the wiser), something about this time is different

Namjoon hasn’t seen you this sad in years

The tears don’t stop, not even when he offers his hand to wipe them away

Your sadness has been steady ever since you found out

An ocean in your eyes, running down like a river to your lips (Namjoon has hallucinations of how it’d feel to kiss them. Soft while you stutter through a breath. Tasting like salt as your tears run down his tongue. But, he’s quick to shake these impurities away.)

You always cry so easily to tells himself

Your tears are not his fault, but rather apart of your very nature

Breaking down from the simplest of things, you truly care for every creature in this world

It always surprises Namjoon how you could have empathy for even the foulest of criminals

But isn’t that why he’s so drawn to you?

So caring and kind, you’re the light in his darkest of times

An angel who can do no wrong

It’d be impossible for you to ever harm a human soul, even if it has to be done

But that’s why you have Namjoon to do the dirty work for you

He’ll avenge his archangel from the rot that uproots the earth

Protecting your innocent eyes as he slaughters those sinners like pigs

Eternal warrior, he worships the ground you walk on

Commander of his mind and captor of his heart, he gives his all to you

—Park Jimin

flower type — A Blooming Bruise

February is the season of blooming bruises and careless cuts

They fall like flower petals down your arm

Each blossoming bruise is shaded with all the pretty pinks and purples you like, but Jimin thinks they’re the ugliest things he’s ever seen

Each purple petal is shaped like fingerprints

Indents on your skin, a constant reminder of what he did

 Jimin can’t believe he didn’t notice it sooner

Too blinded by hate to see that his soulmate was suffering

The guilt is a hungry monster caged in his chest

It gnashes its teeth and claws at his heart

He’s so unbelievably sorry that he couldn’t see the truth sooner

But before he can fall into a spiral of self-hatred, Jimin’s rage is redirected to the asshole who broke your beauty

The man– no– boy who you call your lover

The one who smells like cigarettes, their scent drowning out your floral perfume

The boy who kisses you rough, leaving marks all up your neck

The bastard who tells you he loves you, only to turn a fist when you do something he doesn’t like

Jimin hates him so much it almost outweighs his love for you

Almost

He can’t stand to see you cry

It makes him sick to his stomach and he can’t stop his own tears from trailing down his face

Your happiness is his first priority

So, he’ll stay by your side until you’ve got no tears left to cry

Even after all your sadness has run dry, he refuses to let you go

Your head tucked into his shoulder, breathe tickling his throat and sending chills down his spine

Chapped lips that crack down the center, how he wishes he could kiss you without consequences

Jimin takes you into his arms, a hand placed under your thighs and one wrapped around your waist

Your curious as to where he’s taking you, moved from sitting on the firm floorboards and now wandering away to somewhere unknown

You pry your eyes away from the crook of his neck and try to peek over his shoulder

But his palm pushes your head back down and he tells you to get some rest

Jimin wraps you both in a blanket and brings you down to lay on his bed

Sinking down into a sea of blue sheets, sleep comes quick

You settle in with Jimin behind your back

A shield against any monsters that might sneak up on you at night

He buries his face in your hair, breathing in the floral scent that was once so smothered by smoke

Jimin places kisses upon your neck, sending you off to sleep the safest you’ve ever felt

And as you’re drifting off in a dream, Jimin thinks up all the ways to get rid of your lousy lover

—Kim Taehyung

flower type — Red Roses

Romantics can be so predictable 

Flipping through the acts of love like it’s a playbook

Placing red roses on your doorstep every day of the week

Putting chocolates in your mailbox that’ll end up melting from the May heat

Romantics are the writers, the poets, the purely in love

They write lyrics with every word they speak

Singing sonnets as if it’s as easy as the breathe they take

Little drawings of cupid scrawled into table-tops and love letters written on napkins

These are the trademarks of any hopeless romantic

And at first glance, all these acts would make your heart stop and cheeks flush

But when does it begin to border on the obsessive?

Taehyung isn’t driven by desire, he doesn’t have his head in the clouds or act like lovers do

But rather, it’s the armoured emotion that has him under its control

Stuck on the idea of love and a slave to obsession, he won’t stop at anything until he has it just right

Everything has to be perfect when it involves you

Always needing more and it’s never enough

At first it started off small

Flowers petals found their way to your front door– then past the entrance and scattered throughout your home

Chocolate covered strawberries sit wound up in a bow– placed inside your fridge so they won’t start to melt

He’ll put a teddy bear upon your bed– tucked in tight and smelling sweetly like his cologne

Taehyung hopes that it’ll chase away the bad dreams you’ve been having lately

He sees your pale skin and the purpling eyebags that drag you down

He can only dream that the bear, dressed handsomely in a suit so like his own, will ward off the monsters that scare you in your sleep (unaware that he’s the very monster hiding in the dark)

Taehyung also writes words to you, twisted in obsession

They fall from his tongue faster than his hand can catch them

Messy handwriting and clumsy sentences

But he tries to make it pretty just for you, dotting the ‘I’s with hearts and looping the ‘O’s to look like flowers

Poems of pure passion fall down from your mailbox, overflowing because every though he has of you is a confession of his heart

‘Days flow by like the flowers. A bud blooms in the early sky and I awake to your smile.’

Pieces of a passage are stuffed into the trash

You can’t stand to look at the words without tearing up in terror

 ‘Dawn breaks and the petals begin to fall. I gather them in my arms, taking in their memory and etching their beauty into my mind. I take them away like the kisses I steal without you knowing.’

Taehyung notices all his notes have found their way to the bottom of the bin

Maybe he wasn’t obvious enough? He’ll try again

Taehyung texts you the next line of his poem

‘Flowers so fragile I fear they’ll fall apart. Twilight takes over the sun and the flowers will wilt. Delicate and like a dance, I collect the crimson leaves. Holding them in my hands like I do you at night.’

You’ve changed your number

His blue words are sent into the abyss

So he turns to the phone placed upon your wall

Drilled into the drywall and built into the brick, you’ll have to tear the thing out if you want to get rid of his voice

Taehyung calls out into the empty apartment, his honey-tone ringing out into oblivion 

‘Darkness grows like roots in the earth. A disease taints your touch and the weak rose is dying. Burn like iron but broken like a ribcage. Hollow glass that lets my heart see through. Such brittle beauty needs nothing more than my protection. I’ll take you into my arms before you drift afar.’

His words don’t reach your ears

You haven’t let him into your heart just yet

But next time he’s for certain, because when he delivers the next lyric in his love song, he’ll make sure to do it in person

—Jeon Jungkook

flower type — Hemlock

Jungkook’s wrath will be the death of you

His anger raging on in his heart

It builds day by day, burning ash catches fire and soon his whole life is a flaming inferno

He tried so hard to hide it too

Only after you’ve fallen fast asleep would he sneak out into the shadows

Dressed in darkness and eyes of evil, the reaper has come to wreak havoc on the world

He sees his target and stalks them like prey

His footsteps match the unknown mans

Jungkook’s so close he can hear all the dirty thoughts slipping out of his head

Hurtful words and harmful thoughts you came crying to him about only a few days prior

And now his hands twitch to kill, the only weapon he brought with him

He’ll wrap his slender fingers around the man’s throat

Choking back his cries and staring at him with empty eyes

The man would lose his blue breath

Hands scratching at Jungkook’s arms, leaving long lacerations that’ll stick to his skin

Then, Jungkook would start to squeeze harder

Thumbs digging into his throat as he tries to scream

His trachea begins to crack, bone breaking under pressure

But before he loses consciousness, a slide of his hands has Jungkook snapping his neck

And that’s just what he does

The same as he’s done to the thousands of others who’ve hurt his angel

Tonight will be like any other, slipping out of your arms in the dead of darkness

Tucking you in tight as he kisses your forehead

He lingers for a second, staring at you in your peaceful sleep

But then the angers rises once again and next thing you know he’s grabbing his weapon of choice and walking out the door

This nights pick of poison is ironic

A fatal flower that Jungkook knows the florist will enjoy

Killed by the very thing she loved most

Poison hemlock that he sprinkled into her drink

So unassuming as the tainted water slides down her throat

Jungkooks watches in anticipation, waiting for the seeds to sprout

For the roots to dig through her skin and spread their poison to her stomach

He watches and waits, checking the clock over and over

Time ticks on and on as nothing seems to happen

And while Jungkook waits for the woman to meet her end, in another room, you take of sip from the same glass

Both sitting on the bedside table, but mixed up in Jungkook’s mess of emotions

You drink down the drug, its venom running through your veins

Flower petals fall past your lips

They flood your mind and fill up your heart

And all of a sudden, you finding yourself falling fast asleep

Your eyes shut slowly, tiredness taking over your bones

It’s only a minute before your soul starts to slip

A fast and fatal death before Jungkook even has the time to realize

© cybsoo2 2025, all rights reserved ‎

[monstersandmaw]

a biker orc has spawned in my drafts... here's an unedited snippet from what I have so far. Lemme know if you want the rest and I'll do it.

male orc, modern fantasy setting, gn reader who uses a cane as a mobility aid but their disability, while accommodated for later in the story, isn't the focus, or an issue.

___

You were used to your dog getting stares from people in the park. Tiny as a teacup, and as ugly as they came, Tinkerbell had been a rescue three years ago, and the two of you had pack bonded better than most werewolves who grew up together. The little chihuahua cross (crossed with what, no one knew and it would take an entire mage’s laboratory to unravel the DNA of your mystical little creature anyway) was sort of sandy coloured, with white socks and a hint of Jack Russel about the tail, but her bug-eyes and little teeth were all chihuahua. There was a tuft of longer hair on her head that made her look like a gremlin after midnight, and she had the attitude to go with it.

She also hated everyone.

It didn’t matter if they were the cutest, sweetest little fawn, or the gentlest fairy, she hated them.

So when you were taking a break on a chilly bench at the edge of the park after walking her as far as your body would let you that day, and three orcs on obscenely loud motorbikes drew up to the curb only a few metres away and cut the engines on their bikes, you fully expected her to go absolutely ape shit on them.

One of the orcs removed his helmet and propped it on his bike’s mirror, and pointed at The Creature. A very un-orcish giggle escaped him and he began to make little cooing noises over her, so much that you found your mouth curling into a smirk at his antics.

The others kept their helmets on, but you could tell the were orcs too just by their build. They were laughing at their mate, who was rapidly losing his mind over your dog. Quite why, you had no idea, but there it was.

“She’ll eat you for breakfast, buddy,” you called over to them, and the orc without his helmet froze.

His expression turned from gooey-eyed to comically devastated and you couldn’t help the laugh that erupted out of your chest.

Tinkerbell looked up at you and then over at the bikers.

“I’m warning you,” you said with mock-seriousness. “She’s a killer.”

The orc without the helmet swung his leg over his monster of a sports bike and came round the front to stand, staring at her from a distance. You, in turn, stared at him.

Where his mates had perhaps more stereotypical clothing for the kind of bikes they rode — both choppers — he had on a baggy black hoodie which you hope was armoured underneath. By contrast though, his faded black jeans were tight around his tree trunk legs, and there was a slight rip in the thigh that showed his dark, olive green skin. The jeans clearly had knee armour though, and he had sporty looking biker boots instead of the scuffed, black work boot style shoes his friends had on. His black hair was plaited back off his gorgeous face in a complicated braid that was studded and adorned all the way down with charms made of bone and metal and wood, and it ended below his waistband. His tusks were rounded at the tip, unlike the more traditional orcs, but he did have a cuff of engraved silver around each one, showing he was over the age of twenty five.

His hands were covered by black, armoured gloves that did unreasonable things to your sex drive for some reason, and he crouched down and held one hand out towards Tinkerbell, though at that distance he couldn’t possibly hope to pet her. He was a good six or seven metres from the bench, but Tinkerbell took notice. They were all hard to miss, after all.

The orc’s mates were snickering openly, and one of them had got out their phone to record their friend. You hoped they wouldn’t get you in the frame. You had no inclination to become some prop on a stranger’s social media, though you didn’t mind if Tinkerbell had her five minutes in the limelight.

Propped up beside you on the bench, your walking cane started to slide slightly along the wooden seat, toppling slowly towards the ground, and you grabbed for it and tucked it up against your thigh. The movement freed up your hand for a moment, and it was all the excuse Tinkerbell needed to yank herself free of your clutches and launch herself at the orc.

“Oh shit,” you gasped, but the dog was off like a guided missile, trailing her pink leash behind her as she tore across the grass towards him, yapping wildly.

Instead of sinking her tiny little dagger teeth into his armoured arm though, she bounced up like a wayward baked bean and hurled herself at his chest — honestly, you couldn’t blame the girl — and he caught her, giggling like a small child. You stared, astonished, as the creature who had once fought a five year old at a birthday party for a single square of cheese proceeded to charm the hell out of a seven and a half foot orc with a litre sports bike that looked like it could eat a dragon for breakfast.

“What the actual fuck?” you hissed as the orc continued to fuss your minuscule dog and make little baby noises at her as he held her up like he was presenting a well-known lion cub to an audience while she squirmed in his frankly illegally huge hands before lowering her again and nuzzling his flatter nose against her pointy one and setting her down on the ground with surprising care for someone so bulky.

Baffled by her betrayal and change in personality, you stood awkwardly — painfully — leaning on your cane for stability, and the orc’s green eyes tracked the movement, his attention sliding from the dog to her owner as you eased yourself to your feet.

There is a bit more written but this felt like a good spot to leave it for now. Lemme know if you want the rest!

(EDIT: Chapter One is now up on Patreon - free to access from 21st Feb 2025)

[ceesimz]

hand-me-downs

a blurb set after GKTTSL and Part Two, though this makes sense without having to read them :)

Very brief warning! There's a hospital trip in here, some mentions of blood and dislocations (😵‍💫) but nothing terrible, enjoy :)

One of the greatest joys in Alexia’s newfound life as a parent was sharing her passions with her children and seeing them become almost as obsessed as she was. With Anaís, her six year old daughter, the two played and discussed football for nearly all hours of the day, seven days a week. Her relationship with her first child resembled the relationship she had with her father too, something she did not take for granted and most definitely did not tear up at quite frequently. She relished in Anaís’ appreciation for the sport, because she knew it might not last forever, no matter how much she desperately wanted it to. 

Wth Oriol, he was a very affectionate, quiet, and caring young boy whose favourite thing in the whole world was being with his family, in any capacity. It was very rare for a toddler to be that way, but he had a lot of separation anxiety that meant having his family with him was the thing that brought him the most happiness. Along with dinosaurs, cars, story books and drawing, of course. The one surefire way to get him to sleep was taking him for a drive around the block, and he loved watching the world go by out the car window rather than whatever weird dancing fruits his parents played for him on their phones. He was introverted around most people, but with his loved ones and his family’s friends, he came out of his shell and it was one of the best sights in the world.

Alexia, who now only played for her beloved Barcelona after retiring from the national team, was happier than ever. Her children were growing into beautiful little humans, inside and out, and she had a woman at her side whom she adored more and more everyday, especially since you became the most incredible mother. Everyday, the now naturally brunette woke up with love bursting from her heart and a smile on her face, because there was no longer anything missing from her life. She truly had it all. 

The day her daughter asked to join a proper football club instantly shot up the ranks of the best days of her life so far. She remembers the moment so clearly; laying in Anaís’ bed the night of her sixth birthday with the girl in her arms as they read a bedtime story together, a book named You Choose that you saw in a thrift shop and decided to buy for your daughter’s birthday. Alexia loved the idea of it when you showed it to her – the premise of it was to show young children that they could do absolutely anything they wanted with their life. Upon the first time of reading it, when Anaís got to the page titled ‘Is there a job you’d like to do?’ she pointed out the small drawing of a boy playing football. She pointed to it with determination, and stated that she didn’t want to be like him, but she wanted to be like her Mami. There were tears immediately present in Alexia’s eyes, to which she nodded, and before she could respond to her daughter, the little girl asked to join a club.

To nobody’s surprise, Alexia argued that she could easily get a place for Anaís in the Barça academy. But that wasn’t what you wanted, and parenting went both ways. Just because it was Alexia’s world that Anaís was entering, didn’t mean you couldn’t have a say in it either. There were a handful of frosty conversations, one in particular that featured a lot of colourful language, tears, and a night of going to bed angry at each other, but after some more talking that was handled in an adult way, you both came to a decision. And Alexia, in the end, was more than happy with it. She did a lot of grovelling, because she quickly realised it was definitely the better option. Anaís would join the local girls’ team at first, so she could get a feel for it, and in a few years’ time if she wanted to join the academy, there was a place for her there already.

Fortunately, you were able to be much more flexible with your job, which meant you could choose to work in the office or at home depending on what situation you were in. If your children were on a school break, you could work from home and still spend the day with them, even if it was with your laptop in front of you. If Alexia was away and they were missing her, you could still be there for them too. And Alexia pulled her weight too of course, it was far from one-sided; sending you to the spa whilst she took them for days out, treating you all to family holidays, she did as much as she could and more. Things had just fallen into place perfectly, and none of you would have it any other way. 

That all meant you could quite easily take Anaís to training and to her games, whilst Alexia had to move heaven and earth to ensure she never missed more than one session at once. So far, there had only been one where she had missed two sessions in a row, a practice and a game in which Anaís had scored in, and the anger her daughter harboured at the fact the only other person she cared about impressing wasn’t there… well, it was enough for Alexia to never miss it again if she was in the city. Knowing her daughter was angry at her was one of the most gut-wrenching things she had ever experienced.

And that’s why, mere minutes before Anaís’ game kicked off one Saturday morning in February, you laughed with Oriol sat in your lap at the sight of Alexia running across the field, still in her training kit, to make sure she was there in time. She looked way too under-dressed in the freezing weather, that point backed up by the redness to the tip of her nose and her cheeks, but she didn’t care because she was here and that was all that mattered. 

Just before she reached you, Anaís spotted her from her team huddle and waved emphatically at her number one fan, who instantly reciprocated the excitement before blowing a kiss and gesturing for her to listen. The young girl nodded, her face turning serious (and it looked just like Alexia’s game face) whilst Alexia made her way over to you and your son. In her hand was a cup of coffee, which she handed to you when she sat down.

“Hola amor, hola hijo.” Alexia kissed your cheek and then Oriol’s, quickly adjusting the woolly hat he wore before sighing and turning to the game.

“You didn’t get one for yourself?” You wondered, happily taking a sip of your drink as it helped to warm you up from the inside out. Oriol fidgeted a little, trying to move from your lap into his Mami’s. Alexia smiled down at him and transferred him over, standing him on her knees and hugging him tightly. He giggled into her ear and squeezed her back as best he could. 

“No, just for you. I dropped mine in the car park.” Alexia huffed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as Oriol sat back down on her lap, his beady hazel eyes looking around desperately for his big sister.

“Ahí!” Oriol pointed at her with a grin, to which you and Alexia both smiled at.

“Sí, Oriol, well done.” You kissed his forehead and he preened under the attention. You turned to Alexia then, offering your cup to her. “Have it, Ale. It will help warm you up.”

“I’m not col-”

“Yes you are. You’re shivering already, just take the drink. I have a blanket for Oreo here too if you need it.” You pushed the drink into her hands, which she instantly wrapped around the small cup, relieved to feel some heat back into her fingers, but shook her head at the blanket. She didn’t exactly feel like being spotted in public with a dinosaur covered blanket around her shoulders. 

“I got it for you though.” She frowned, only for you to roll your eyes dramatically and kiss it away quickly. You raised an eyebrow at her, which she knew meant don’t argue back anymore. She couldn’t really fight that one, it was her favourite coffee after all.

The whistle blew then as the game kicked off. Alexia shouted some words of encouragement for Anaís and her teammates, but you had to stifle your laughter at the disapproving look on Oriol’s face at the noise. She grimaced at his unimpressed face and ducked down to kiss his cheek, whilst you smiled and shuffled closer to your wife and rested your head on her shoulder.

It turned out to be a pretty fierce game, considering it only featured children no older than eight years old, but Alexia half expected it. The opposing team was all boys, and even despite the progress that had been made in society’s view on football with all genders, some people still had a sour taste in their mouth at the thought of girls playing a 'man's sport'. That was evident in some of the calls from the parents of the other team, as well as how rough they played too. 

You were sat there, wracked with nerves at the physicality on display in a game with such young teams, especially since Anaís wasn’t quite the tallest yet and was only six. Some of the boys nearly towered over her, at least a head or two taller, and whoever organised the match-up was most certainly on Alexia’s hitlist. The brunette was tense the whole game, hardly staying in her seat for longer than a few minutes at once. Oriol had moved back to your lap not long after the game kicked off, understandably. There were multiple points where you could hardly bring yourself to watch, and it felt like a matter of time before someone got injured.

Anaís played as a winger, she was very quick and like all kids her age, loved nothing more than scoring goals. That to them was much more important than any other aspect of football, and even though Alexia had tried explaining to her that it wasn’t the only key thing, you had to remind the captain that she was just a child after all. It would be some years before Anaís fully grasped the whole idea of the sport, so for now, it was all about scoring and nothing else. Fortunately for her, she was very good at it. 

In the other team’s opinion, she was too good, because by half time, Anaís had scored one goal and assisted another to make it 2-0. Alexia was prouder than ever, as always, and she boasted and beamed to you throughout the short break about all the brilliant plays Anaís had made. 

However, it seemed that the boys’ team weren’t happy at all. More specifically, their parents and coaches weren’t happy. If the first half was rough, the second half was bordering on dangerous. And for a reason you nor Alexia will ever understand, Anaís was the target of it all. 

Her team got another goal, increasing the score to 3-0, and it was then that the other team finally lost it. 

With the ball at her feet as she dribbled with outstanding control, Anaís ran as fast as she could down the left side of the pitch, past where you were sat watching. Her attack was cut short when one of the boys from the other team went in with a two-foot tackle, taking her to the ground instantly. 

Your heart dropped at the sight as you froze in place, consumed with worry for your daughter. Alexia was on her feet and going over almost as soon as it happened, but Anaís was already back up and shouting at the boy who tackled her. That sight was a little relieving; she didn’t seem physically hurt after the tackle, just angry. Alexia went to the referee immediately, who stood between Anaís and the boy, and to no one’s shock, the brunette started arguing with the older man. You stayed off to the side, keeping Oriol calm in your arms who was a little upset by what had happened, whilst talking with Anaís’ team coach. 

It was only when Alexia ended her rant at the referee that she noticed the quiver to her daughter’s lip. And the way she discreetly cradled her elbow close to her. The second Alexia caught wind that Anaís might be hurt, all the anger dissolved immediately as she crouched down in front of the six year old. Now that she had a good look at her, she saw the pain in her eyes and the blood seeping through her kit sock.

“Anaís, what hurts? Tell me, princesa, I need you to tell me.” Alexia said desperately, mentally kicking herself for not checking in sooner.

“My shoulder. And my ankle.” Anaís mumbled, her eyes filling with tears but doing her best to fight back all the overwhelming emotions she felt in that moment. 

“Okay, okay. Will you let me carry you to Mama? Let's check you out, hm?” Alexia waited for the little girl to nod, which she did, before scooping her up into her arms whilst being mindful of her shoulder. She jogged carefully off the pitch towards you, her eyes conveying to you the concern she felt in just one glance. “Amor, she's in pain. She got hurt.”

“Sit her down.” You followed the pair of them to where you and Alexia were sitting earlier, watching with worry as tears rolled down Anaís' cheeks. Alexia crouched on the floor in front of her whilst you sat beside her, and that's when you spotted the blood soaking her sock. “Anaís, can we take your boot off?” 

She nodded rather robotically, staying completely silent as she held her left arm close to her body still. The tears were falling, but she still made no noise. Her eyes seemed distant too, and all these were signs pointing towards her being in shock.

You kept your eye on her face closely as Alexia gently took off her boot as well as her sock, only to find quite a gash on the inside of her leg above her ankle. It was bleeding quite a bit and would most likely need stitches, meaning a trip to hospital. Alexia nudged you to urge you to look at it quickly, before the footballer bunched up Anaís’ sock and pressed it against the wound to try and suppress the bleeding. 

“That boy was wearing metal studs. Increíble!” Alexia scoffed and shook her head. Then she took a deep breath to force down her anger, and turned back to her daughter. “Anaís? What about your shoulder?”

The brunette girl didn’t reply, like she hadn’t heard what Alexia said. That caught your attention in an instant.

“Ale, I think she’s in shock.” You told her, voice dripping with concern.

Alexia recognised your anxiety and knew she had to take charge of this situation. She needed to be strong for her family – when all was hopefully settled later, she could off-load her stresses then. For now, all three of her loved ones needed her to be a steady figure in all this worry.

“She’s okay, don’t worry.” She quickly squeezed your knee in comfort, before the same hand cupped Anaís’ cheek to try and bring her back to earth. “Hey chiqui, can you hear me? I need you to talk to me for a moment so we can make you feel better. Please.”

At her mother’s words, Anaís blinked slowly and met Alexia’s worried stare. She nodded twice, a few cries leaving her that she couldn’t quite hold back. Her mind was in overdrive, feeling totally panicked and scared. There was a lot of pain in her shoulder, she felt it pop after falling and again when she pushed herself off of the floor, and it wasn’t until about a minute after her fall that it really started hurting. And when the pain arrived, it arrived hard. She hadn’t felt anything like it, and it seemed like it was only getting stronger. 

“Hurts, Mami. So bad.” She broke out into full-blown sobs then, which only caused her shoulder to throb more in absolute agony. Never, in her nearly seven years of life, had you or Alexia heard her cry so extremely. There were tears of your own brewing at the sight and sound, and Oriol was getting more worked up at it all too.

“I will fix it, mi amor, Mami will fix it.” Alexia hastily took off her quarter zip jumper and somehow tied it carefully around Anaís in a make-shift sling. Her heart broke at the especially loud cry Anaís let out when the captain moved her arm into the right position, but she knew it was a necessary evil and that’s what she focused on in that moment to ensure her confident demeanour didn’t crumble on the spot. 

“Hospital?” You asked quietly, swallowing the lump in your throat when Alexia nodded. 

With the adults and other children watching on, Alexia picked Anaís up and headed off in the direction of the car park. Yourself and Oriol followed along behind with your bag on your back, glad that your wife had driven in her car that day since you and your children had walked. Though it came too late for your standards, you slipped into auto-pilot parent mode then, allowing you and Alexia to work together like a well-oiled machine so you could care for your children. It was decided that you would sit in the back with them so you could comfort them both, despite being squished in between two car seats.

Oriol calmed down quite a bit during the car ride, to your relief though not to your surprise, whilst Anaís sniffled the whole way there with tears still falling steadily. Alexia drove quickly but safely there, and though it wasn’t convenient for all four of you to go, there was no way you weren’t going to be there for your daughter, and your son definitely wouldn’t have wanted to leave you three after the chaos that had occurred. 

That meant you were seated in the waiting room with Alexia to your right and Anaís curled into your chest, her legs in Alexia’s lap whilst Oriol entertained himself with the toys in the kids’ area. The cut to the six year old’s ankle had been stitched up already, only needing three, and now you were all waiting for an x-ray to her shoulder. It had been near enough confirmed that she had dislocated her shoulder, but she had somehow put it back in place herself when she got back up off the ground. Alexia turned a sickly pale colour at the sound of it, to which you knew you would tease her about some point in the future, though the main thing now was that Anaís was a lot calmer after being given some strong painkillers, thankfully.

Her head was tucked under your chin as you ran a hand soothingly up and down your back, yourself exhausted by the day’s stress, even if it had only just turned midday. Alexia had an arm around your shoulders, having pulled you in slightly to lean against her, and her index finger drew comforting circles around Anaís’ knee. The little girl soon caught on to her Mami’s actions, smiling shyly at the woman she idolised which brought a similar smile to the older woman’s face. It turned into a game then, Alexia drawing or writing words on her daughter’s skin as the younger Putellas tried to decipher what had been traced. You watched on in admiration whilst keeping an eye on Oriol, who was lost in his own imagination as he played with some of the cars they had there. 

“Mama, Mami, did you see my goal today?” Anaís wondered out of the blue.

“We did, nena, it was so good. We are so proud of you for it, you played really well.” Alexia answered immediately, smiling brightly at her daughter. 

“Well, that boy said girls can’t play football. But I scored, and he didn’t.” Anaís shrugged her good shoulder, and her words changed Alexia’s smile into a smug smirk.

“That’s my girl.” Alexia held her hand out for a high-five that Anaís accepted with a grin of her own. “Girls can play football. Girls are better at football than boys. Like you are.”

“I know.” Anaís hummed, making you and Alexia laugh. She definitely was her mother’s daughter.

“I thought after you retired that I would get a break from that dangerous sport.” You huffed teasingly, Alexia shaking her head at you and turning to kiss your cheek.

“That will never happen, amor. Nunca.” She said, watching as Oriol came wandering over, seemingly bored of entertaining himself. Alexia picked him up and sat him on her lap, smothering his face in kisses that ignited his adorable little giggle. You watched with love in your eyes as he tried to push his Mami’s face away, only to turn the tables and start covering her face in wet kisses. “At least you get a break from it with this príncipe, no? Because this one is going to get lost in his stories, he will write and draw and write and draw forever, one day we will lose him to a library.” 

“And you wonder where your daughter gets her dramatics from.” You shook your head at her antics, but really, Alexia was doing an incredible job at distracting everyone and keeping them happy. Deep down, you were a little ashamed at how you had acted earlier, and those thoughts were eating you up inside. There wasn’t much you could do about them right now apart from ruminate on them and spiral further into the doubts. 

“Mama? High five?” Oriol wondered, and at that moment, it hit you, what a special little human you were raising. His heart was small but filled to the brim with love and care, and you hoped that it was down to what he saw and experienced in his day to day life. 

“Thank you, Oreo.” You replied, gently hitting his hand just to see his smile afterwards. A smile that was extraordinarily similar to your wife’s, a feature in both your children that you adored endlessly.

“Cookies?” His ears pricked up at his own nickname, which just so happened to be a result of his love for the biscuits he just asked for. Anaís had started it, something you and Alexia overheard as the two children ate lunch together at their tiny table one time, and it had stuck since then.

“Yes, I have oreos for you, tesoro.”

Anaís’ name was called after that, and you decided to go with her into the room whilst Alexia waited outside with Oriol. It was far from a nice experience; the doctor maneuvered her arm into a couple uncomfortable positions which brought the tears back, and it broke your heart to have to wait in the booth as she cried out in pain. The second you were allowed to, you went straight to her and comforted her, like you should have done when she first went down earlier. 

They decided that there was fortunately no further damage to her bones or any surrounding ligaments, meaning she was free to go with instructions to rest, ice it, take some painkillers, and use the sling for around a week to help it heal. Your little family made its way home after that, driving home in comfortable silence since everyone needed to decompress after the ordeal of the day. Oriol’s eyes were drooping shut by the time you arrived home, so you cradled him in your arms as you made your way to the sofa inside, where everyone dropped down together. Some family time was much needed.

It was exactly what was needed, as Oriol quickly fell asleep on top of you as did Anaís in between you and your wife. Now that you had a moment near enough alone with Alexia, you could feel her eyes on you. At this point in your relationship, having known you for so many years now, she could read you easily. It didn’t help that she pretty much knew how your brain worked too, and though she had anxieties of her own about the day, she knew that you would be eating yourself up about it all. Even if she did think you didn’t deserve to treat yourself that way.

Luckily, this was a situation that Alexia was familiar with, in terms of football and injuries. They were unfortunately inevitable, and today was probably Anaís’ first proper introduction into that side of the tough sport. A small silver lining of the day, though it might be more of a selfish thought, was that Anaís hadn’t seemed to have lost any interest in football, which was something Alexia was worried about since her daughter’s first training session. 

You avoided her stare for as long as possible, but a conversation you didn’t want was one you couldn’t avoid. Alexia’s desire for clear communication and her caring nature was one of the things you fell in love with initially, after all. No amount of stalling by closing your eyes and stroking your son’s back could get you out of this one.

“Amor?” Alexia whispered as to not disturb the two sleeping figures beside her.

“I know.” You replied a moment later, taking a few more seconds of cuddling your son before carefully moving him onto the sofa, all whilst he soundly slept. You stood up and made your way to the kitchen, Alexia not far behind after placing forehead kisses on her children.

Your back was to Alexia as she came in, trying to delay the oncoming tears, but that attempt was pointless as the second your wife hugged you from behind, they came pouring out anyway. You tried to keep them silent, for the sake of the sleeping figures not too far away. That was another futile attempt.

“It’s okay to cry, cariño. It makes me sad too.” Alexia told you, frowning when you pulled away from her and turned with a shake of your head.

“But you were there for her. You were the only one out of us two that actually realised she was hurting, I wasn’t there for her then.” You rambled through shaky breaths, one hand clutching the counter tightly as you spoke. “And we should have done something sooner! About the game, it was dangerous and stupid, it shouldn’t have hap-”

“Shh.” Alexia cut off your rant gently, her hand taking yours from its tight hold against the marble, your knuckles nearly white, as the other wiped away your tears. “Don’t get stuck in the ‘what ifs’. This is what parenthood is, we can’t keep them safe all the time, no matter how much we want to.”

“I know.” You muttered reluctantly. “Doesn’t change the fact I wasn’t there for her. I just… panicked. I can’t do that, she needs me, us. She had you but I was stuck in my mind, I wanted to help but I… I froze, Ale. And that scares me.”

“You were there. You looked after our son, you helped him not get worked up, and you were there by her side. You recognised she was in shock, something that I missed, and told me so that I could bring her out of it. You were there in the car, in the hospital. You were there for her, amor, please don’t think you weren’t.” The next point Alexia was going to make was one she wasn’t particularly proud of. “She sees me acting strong when I shouldn’t, something you have always shouted at me for, and she tried to do the same. I didn’t know how badly she was hurting either. Instead, I was arguing with the referee, like it was a game I was playing in.”

You giggled at that admission, knowing it was absolutely true. Anaís had definitely gotten that trait off of Alexia, and no matter how much you loved your wife, you’d be damned if your daughter carried that with her for the rest of her life.

“That really isn’t the best of your hand-me-downs you could have given to her.” You teased, to which she laughed and nodded.

“I know. Sorry about that.” She responded with a grimace. You were both quiet for a moment, just taking the other in after the hectic day that it had been so far, before Alexia raised her arms and gestured for you to hug her, which you did. “It’s normal for you to get scared, especially at that moment. I did too. It was the scariest thing ever, and don’t call me dramatic for saying that.”

“I won’t.” You said. “It’s always going to be like this, isn’t it?”

“I think so, yes. There will always be injuries in football, and though I will be speaking to whoever let that game go ahead, it’s just how the sport goes. It won’t always be this bad. Look at my career, how many trophies, eh?”

You laughed into her shoulder and lightly pinched her where your hand rested on her back under her shirt. Within the short conversation, the majority of your anxieties had been laid to rest. The only thing you could do to erase the ones that remained was to curl up on the sofa with your wife and children and relax with them for the rest of the day. 

“I love you, Ale. Thank you.” You stated softly, hugging her just that bit tighter as you spoke. “If it’s always going to be this scary, then at least I have you, right?”

 “Always. Like I said before, at least Oriol evens out the stress a little bit, no? The worst injury he could get is probably a paper cut, so.” Alexia shrugged, smiling shortly after you laughed once more. “Now come on. Your children will always love you, no matter if you freeze or if you run off to shout at the referee, because you taught them how to love and they know to do it unconditionally. Please, do not let this one bad day make you doubt how good of a parent you are. Okay?”

“Okay.” You smiled shyly up at her. “I know you are upset by it too, Ale. You did an amazing job with her, really. I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t there.”

“No sweat, mamacita.” You rolled your eyes at the nickname, before taking her hand and leading her back to the lounge. Back to your caring, compassionate, loving children, to cuddle with them and make sure they knew they never had to experience a day like today alone.

“I hate when you call me that.” 

“Well, don’t be sad and I won’t say stupid things just to see you smile.” 

—

had to throw my favourite childhood book in there, 'you choose' ;) also side note if there are any typos in this either affectionately let me know or ignore pleeeeeease i have stitches in my hand and it hurts to type and i rushed this a little 🙃

[beforeyearning]

i saw god at the bus station once. click for better quality. transcript under cut.

                                Of the six-seven-eight reasons to abandon the soul

                at the bus station as an act of planned obsolescence, the way I turn

                                rabid at the sight of your eyes catching any ray of light from

                                                golden hour isn’t among them. It’s my predisposition to

                                devoutness that’s the driving force, I find new ways to worship

                                                you. I contributed heavily to the compendium of loving you,

                                                                & I’m aware of the effects it has on my mental health.

Who would’ve thought the yearning would’ve bore a hole through my chest?

Probably you. You’ve joked that I’m at a high risk for joining a cult, but never said why,

                                and I’m starting to see it. I so desperately want a purpose to life, so I imbue

                                                things in your colour. Mornings are less nauseating when I keep

                                my eyes peeled to the sky, waiting to glimpse into a complex swirl of colours

                                                at every sunrise, attributing each to an aspect of you, a multi-faceted god.

                                                                Red was a colour never seen on you. Orange was the way you

                                                Indifferently construct hope. Yellow was to grieve. Pink was to

                                make way for a reckoning. Blue & purple was to remember.

The necessity of love is to believe in something other than yourself.

                I don’t believe much in myself but I believe in you too much.

[hikariyaps]

505

i'm going back to 505, if it's a seven hour flight, or a forty five minute drive synopsis ☆ what you're doing with him at 5:05. starring ☆ [separate] satoru gojo, suguru geto, megumi fushiguro, yuji itadori, toge inumaki, yuta okkotsu, takuma ino, choso kamo, noritoshi kamo.

satoru gojo

even though he was sure he'd make many more memories with you throughout your lives, he wanted to take this moment and frame it. the sunlight filters through the curtains, the haze of sleep casting a golden glow on your skin. satoru thinks you're an angel. a glowing angel, tangled in his linen sheets, curled up against his chest. head leaning on his shoulder, you were sleeping. you looked so soft and radiant. he thinks he must've won the universal lottery to have you like this. warm and safe. with him. but most importantly his. and he was yours unconditionally. now and forever.

suguru geto

suguru geto would do anything for him to relieve this moment a thousand times. you were sprawled out on the floor with nana and mimi. the three of you giggling and drawing something on paper. he was sitting on the floor, cross legged, after his freshly done makeover, courtesy of the three of you. his girls. he just admires you. the way you colour the spot nana asked you to and the way you boop mimi's nose. the way the girls laugh when you whisper something to the girls and they glance his way. he gives them a quizzical look. you turn to him. and smile. and he knows in that moment he'd made the best decision of his life - becoming yours.

megumi fushiguro

megumi's hair is fussed up. your hands tangled in them. he can't look away from the mirror. you were just too damn cute. the curtains drawn haphazardly, light illuminating your scrunched up features as you try out a hairstyle you saw on pinterest on him. he smiles to himself watching you beam when you secure the hair tie. you look at him in the mirror. your eyes meeting his and you smile. the big grin you give when you tell him he's the best boyfriend ever. and he looks at you, eyes full of adoration. there was nothing in this moment but pure love. and megumi knows the universe has been good to him. because there was no way he'd scored you without luck. you were just too good. and as you kiss his head, everything’s right in this world.

yuji itadori

he can't not take pictures of you. you looked so perfect. so sweet, just like your personality. you guys were filming tik tok trends. well, you were trying. yuji kept ‘accidentally’ taking pictures of you in the middle of filming so you'd had to redo it multiple times. not that you were complaining though, you were laughing. loud and carefree. and that to yuji itadori was the biggest gift of all. he just beams at you, and you blow him a kiss. and as he tucks it away, he knows, he will never, ever, ever find happiness without you again.

toge inumaki

toge smiles at the way your lips curve up when you see the leaderboard on screen. he'd let you win on purpose. not because you sucked at the game, but because you'd had a bad day. and what kind of boyfriend would he be if he let his sweet, perfect girlfriend who’d made him smile on more than one bad day, lose? he loved playing video games with you. loved seeing that triumphant smile on your face. he loved the way you'd pout on losing a game. your look of concentration. when you look at him with a knowing smile, and throw your arms around him, controller still in hand, mumbling little ‘i love you's. he says it too softly, for no one but you. and he knows he would never love anyone but you.

yuta okkotsu

you were grinning at him. oh how he loved that grin. you'd always listen to his stories with a look on your face.

a look he had memorized. and a look he wishes he could forget just so he could memorize it again. he never got to talk much about his life before jujutsu high. but you'd always listen. he'd talk about rika and the little moments of joy he had after she passed.

you'd listen, you'd promise him more happiness and he knew, you would always live up to that promise. you always have.

takuma ino

you were sitting on the bed, scribbling as he talked. he paused and you looked up. he smiled.

no one ever let him talk about his technique or anything about jujutsu in general. and here you were, his pretty little girlfriend, making notes about his latest mission. you urge him to continue and he chuckles, you pout, genuinely interested in whatever he was saying. he leaned down and kissed your forehead.

god, you couldn't be more perfect.

choso kamo

choso adored you. right now, you were on the floor, tummy down, resting on your elbows, choso beside you. you enthusiastically point to something in the encyclopedia and explain it to him.

he has no idea how he ended up with you, but he thanked the heavens for it. here you were, his smart girl, explaining things to him about the human world he didn't understand.

you never got annoyed at him for not knowing something. you'd always respond to his confused look with a reassuring one. and he knew you'd explain everything about it to him once you got home.

today's topic was butterflies.and as you looked at him asking him if he understood, he smiles sheepishly and you launch into explanation again. you never felt frustrated with him.

he didn't know a lot, but he knew that you were the only one for him.

noritoshi kamo

noritoshi didn't know he ended up here. his head in your lap, your fingers in his hair, while you read a book. massaging his scalp occasionally. noritoshi had never feel loved.

but now at this moment, the sunlight falling on his face, him being so close to the person he loved the most.

he felt more than loved. he felt secure. and happy.

a/n: this song makes me feel things <3

©hikariyaps2025

[yourislandgirl]

*:ꔫ:*ₓₒ SUMMERTIME STRESS ˚ ༘♡ੈ✩ || 김선우 x fem!reader || drabble

— KISS ME, DON’T SAY NO series

summary: feeling the overwhelming weight of your future pressing down on your heart, you were barely present for the relaxing beach day your boyfriend had planned for you, thankfully, sunoo knew how to create the perfect medicine for lingering anxiety using laughter

genres: fluff, romance, non-idol!sunoo x non-idol!reader, est. relationship, ft mentions of other members plus karina

warnings: attempts at humour, swearing/cursing, pet names like once or twice, a little angsty, fear of adulthood, i mention internships in case you’re like .. idk scared of those (i don’t blame you at all), sunoo is king of the sassy men apocalypse and you are not spared

w.c: 2.3k

[archive]

Summer was supposed to be about relaxation. When the days stretched long and far, and you’d wake up without the burden of a schedule or the foreboding feeling of responsibilities. There’s always some sort of beauty in summer, like the glimmer of sunlight reflecting off of window panes or how slushie flavours mix together and colour your tongue. Typically, the emotionally tortured college student would bask in the weeks ahead of absolute nothingness regarding academia. But not you.

No, you were special in a way that felt particularly targeted. Because why, on Mother Nature’s glorious Earth, were you gripping your phone as if it’s overheating metal would sustain your life?

“You hold that thing any tighter, it might explode.”

You flicked your head to the side and gave your boyfriend an expression that read ‘Leave me alone, I’m in crisis’.

more under cut !!

The road to the beach was pleasantly empty, a few cars here and there but for the most part, it was nice. Sunoo had rolled the windows down just a little to let the breeze thread through your hair, a smooth indie tune playing on the radio on your favourite station.

It was instinctual, the desire you felt to sing along, lower the window more and let your fingers stretch out but not too far, take pictures of the ocean as it drew closer and closer. But your instincts weren’t working at that moment.

Your eyes were trained solely on the light pink sheen on your finger nails, picking at them slowly, scraping the nail bed clean.

You didn’t even hear Sunoo sigh beside you, and you barely registered his hand move from the steering wheel to your knee.

“I’m being serious Y/N,” he said softly. “You need to put it away.”

“Fine.” You slid your phone into your bag, your fingers itching to reach for it again but you resolved to simply curl them into a fist and look out the window for the remaining stretch of the drive.

Summer had only commenced for a week, the time ahead was basically beckoning you to embrace it for all its leisure and laze and lethargy. But it was also the last summer before senior year, where things go to shit, classes determine your will to live and every single thing you’ve been working towards will be culminated in the coming semesters. This was it. You were at the start of the end.

Your course counsellor had mentioned offhandedly that internships would be vital to look into — a way to ensure your career straight out of college — you’d left your appointment holding around seven or eight different pamphlets and brochures, your inbox filled with application sites and recommendations.

It was setting in, the cement block of reality, your inevitable future. No more afternoon classes where you’d sit in the back, drawing on Sunoo’s hands. No more late night two minute noodle cups with Jake, Heeseung and Karina. No more hangover breakfast waffles handmade by Jay.

No, you were becoming an adult.

Responsibility wasn’t just an expectation anymore, it was an obligation. There was no room for error, no space for slip up, there was only monotony.

And yet success was just within your grasp, all you had to do was get a head start like the teachers and tutors and parents would always recommend. And that was exactly what you did. Three applications were sent yesterday, you were working on two more and had a final back up in case all else failed.

You were going to succeed. If not…

“Sand in my eyes might be great way to go,” you muttered to yourself.

Sunoo gave you a once over, wondering if he’d misheard you before he went back to parking the car.

You got out of the vehicle, immediately hypnotised by the salty sea air. It tingled in your brain and for just a moment, you felt like you were reliving every time you’d visited the beach — the sight of the ocean would do that a person.

“Pretty, right?” Sunoo had your beach bag slung on one shoulder, his other hand reaching for yours as he gestured to the sea with his eyes. “I can’t want to take photos.”

You took a deep breath in. “Yeah, same.” You didn’t sound convincing, even to yourself. But you were grateful for Sunoo’s simple nod.

It felt grounding to hold his hand as you both walked onto the beach, looking for a pair of beach chairs that were side by side and away from too many people.

It was a little therapeutic to go through the motions of putting on more sunscreen, wearing your hats and taking off your shoes to feel the sand prick deliciously against your bare feet. It gave you something to do, some task to focus on.

Sunoo had stayed silent for the most part, setting your towels against the beach chairs, placing a bag on each one so people knew they were claimed, carefully pulling out the sun spray and holding your arm to spray you first.

It was sweet of him. He was always so sweet. And he was trying so hard to make today worth relaxing for. Your stomach twisted and tugged at you, anxiety running your brain while the little twinge of guilt pulled at your heart.

You needed to make sure Sunoo’s efforts weren’t in vain. “Do you wanna go for a walk on the waters edge?”

His smile could fuel the universe, and even if that wasn’t logically possible, it certainly fuelled your heart.

“Yeah, that sounds perfect.” He pecked your cheek, a lightness in his movements as he pulled you along with him towards the water but far enough that the fast tide wouldn’t splash against the two of you.

Honestly speaking, you tried. You tried your very best. You tried to focus on the sand in between your toes, on the salt in the air, on the sound of the waves, on the words Sunoo was speaking. Nothing registered in your mind. It just kept nagging at you — the incessant need to check your inbox, over and over again.

Sunoo was rambling about the last episode of his current kdrama obsession, its story was so fresh in his mind he could not help but rant about it to you. His thumb rubbed against the back of your hand as you walked in tandem.

“And honestly, I never understood what she saw in the guy,” he said, exasperatedly. His other hand moved in an animated fashion to express his feelings further. “I mean, you remember last episode where he blamed her when— Hey…” He finally noticed your lost gaze.

He slowed down slightly, frowning at the way you slowed down with him as if on pure instinct but remained focused on the sandy ground, deep in thought. “Hello?” He waved a hand in front of your face.

You look up. “Hm?”

Sunoo’s eyes dart back and forth between yours, trying to decipher the muddled string of worries that were tied taught around your mind. He finally pursed his lips and nodded. “Ok, come on. Come with me.”

He made a beeline for your beach chairs, his hand firmly holding yours. When you found yourselves under the adjoined umbrella, Sunoo fished out your phone from the beach bag before moving the bag from his seat to yours. He sat down, shuffling slightly across.

You reached to remove the bags off your chair, halting at the way Sunoo shook his head. “Nope! That’s the beach bag’s seat. Here, sit right here.” He patted the space beside him, arm outstretched to envelope you into a hug as you curled up against him. “That’s better,” he sighed.

He then unlocked your phone and held it between the two of you so you could watch as he refreshed your inbox. Over and over and over again. Repeatedly.

“I— I think I get it,” you muttered, feeling your face heat up as Sunoo giggled.

He placed a soft kiss on your shoulder. “You can’t hang on to this stress because there’s literally no point,” he whispered.

You tried to use his touch and his scent to ground you. “I just… I need to know that I’ve got a shot.”

“You do know! You already applied!” Sunoo squeezed you tighter for a few seconds, hoping to pull that stress out of you through mere contact. “Applying in itself means you had a shot and you took it. Whether or not you pass is now completely out of your hands.”

The seagull squawks and the laughter of children permeated the setting and yet you felt completely cocooned, in the haven of your boyfriend’s embrace.

“You just need to let it go”

Now that made you pause. You sat up a little, turning to look the man in the eyes while you spoke. “Weren’t you the one that stayed up still three because Ben & Jerry’s said they might discontinue their mint chocolate flavour?”

Oh the debacle of the potential discontinuation. The random songs Sunoo had come up with it, singing them every few minutes like they were some tribute to the art of ice cream making. A whole week of mint chocolate flavoured desserts as his method of coping through the unofficial announcement.

Presently, Sunoo smirked a little, humoured that you brought it up. “It’s called Mint Chocolate Chunk, actually.”

“It’s called glorified toothpaste, actually.” You returned the smirk.

“I think I bring you around the other guys a bit too much, because this is unprovoked slander.” He poked your cheek gently before asking, “And anyway, your point?”

You made an expression like your point was obvious. “You got stressed over ice cream! I’m not judging — clearly, it was a big deal for you.”

“Clearly.”

“But my point is, you signed the petition and you stayed up anyway repeatedly refreshing the page.”

He looked away, a small scoff leaving his lips. “Ok, I’m coming off really embarrassing in this story. You realise that, right?”

“Sunoo, you slept the entire day after that. And you complained about your eye bags for the whole month!” Your laughter fluttered out at the memory. Looking back, it was a lot funnier than you’d realised. But your point still stood; “You didn’t let it go, did you?”

“I know, I know, I didn’t.” Reaching forward, Sunoo played with your fingers, frowning at the way your nail polish cracked and broke off on certain spots, a little of it still stuck under your nails. He sighed, understanding. “You need to know.”

“Yeah.”

He looked up and held your gaze, feeling as if he could only get his message across if he knew you saw his own stress, his own worries, about you. “Baby… Are you really ready to live the next few weeks constantly needing to know? You might use up half of this summer in needing to know.”

“Because it’s the only thing on my mind.” You flopped back against the beach chair, covering your eyes with one hand, feeling the heat radiate off your forehead.

They say laptops overheat when you use too much power at once. You scoffed at the realisation that humans were the same.

Sunoo fidgeted with the hem of your shorts, pulling at one of the threads before he perked up slightly. “How about I propose a solution.”

You groaned. “God, anything. Just help.”

“Any time you want to check your inbox, you think of mint chocolate.”

He said it so assuredly, as if it was the most genius response, a new height to healthy thinking habits, the fix to all forms of stress — mint chocolate.

Even when you gave him a withering expression so deadpanned the dead had turned to ashes, he still smirked and nodded.

“Baby,” you sighed, “I need solutions, not subtle brainwashing.”

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “Trust me, I’d rather have all the mint chocolate to myself. But I have a plan.”

“Mhm.” You were not convinced.

Sunoo once again opened your phone and reloaded your inbox. “You see this? No change. This was me at 3am on a school week.”

You giggled into his shoulder, remembering his crazed hair and constant muttering.

Sunoo rolled his eyes but continued all the same. “I was anxious over ice cream flavours, Y/N. I can’t even begin to understand your anxiety right now. It’s about your future. I get that. But you cannot sit in one spot refreshing your inbox every minute because you want that ice cream.”

You frowned, not seeing his point.

“You keep opening that freezer, hoping that the ice cream has solidified and is ready to eat. But every time you open the door the hot air is melting it. It’s gonna taste like shit, babe. I’m sorry.”

“I mean, considering the flavour, it already tastes—”

“Don’t even go there.”

Your smile bloomed like a flower under daylight, for the first time in the day you felt the gradual release of stress, with every little circle that Sunoo drew on your shoulder with his finger.

“You need to let the ice cream get cold,” he whispered to you. “If you want a nice treat, you got to wait till it’s ready to eat. Otherwise, you’re gonna be more disappointed than satisfied.”

You bit your lip, finding his analogy amusing and endearing and oh so Sunoo. “I needed to hear that,” you said softly.

“That’s what I’m here for.” He gently nudged his forehead against yours. “Now I think my genius deserves a kiss. What do you think?”

“Hm… Do you taste like mint chocolate?”

He shrugged, easily. Leaning back against the chair. “Only one way to find out.”

Your shoulders dropped, your head stopped pulsing, your cheeks twinged from the stretch of your smile and you felt the summer air breeze past you. You had all summer to find out whether you’d get the internship. Any internship.

But right now, you wanted to find out what your boyfriend’s lips tasted like on a sunny afternoon at the beach.

a.n: next instalment of the kiss me, don’t say no series !! i finished and edited and uploaded this instead of crashing out about university even tho it would have been a totally valid crash out . anyway, i hope you enjoyed it xx

taglist: @oceanstide — @sheepsgf — @itsrinsdrs — @enjakey

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