#it's too early to judge as a whole and there are worse things for a show to be than silly and charming and tropey

[deliriousblue]

kidnap is precisely replicating the experience of finding a 50k somewhat-ooc idfic at one in the morning and reading it all in one go

[itzpookiepooh]

Poor Baby

How the boys act when you��re sad

A/N: it’s that time of the month and I’m sad and got too much going on so bear with me. (It’s 2am don’t judge me)

Zayne takes in every detail about you down to the way you sigh. It’s been one of the roughest weeks of your life. You were out late fighting wanderers, doing paperwork, helping new hunters, the list goes on. Work started spilling into your personal life and it was daunting. What made it worse? You had to keep rescheduling time with your boyfriend. You felt…negligent. Going on week two you were leaving work rather late. You walked out of the association sluggishly.

Was this even worth it anymore?

Was this what you wanted to do anymore?

The pressure of work was crashing down on you. You felt alone in everything. Yeah you had people in your life but you don’t see them as often now. It was rare you had anything planned outside of work. Your mind raced a lot lately with different questions. Your eyes filled with tears, the day to day repetitive activity, the long hours, all of it was getting to you.

“Do you need a ride?” You heard a familiar soft voice. You lift your head to see Zayne standing in front of you.

You didn’t want to burden him with what you had going on personally. He could see it though, the exhaustion. He could see you were drained and that whatever was plaguing your mind was taking a toll on you. He stepped closer letting you get a whiff of his cologne. You didn’t move, you didn’t speak, you just let the tears roll down your face.

Zayne tilted his head when you didn’t answer catching a glimpse of your tear stained cheeks. Your head was down no signs of moving. He didn’t know whether to comfort you or take you home first. He had better things to be worried about, he’s a cardiologist for goodness sake’s you weren’t expecting him to say anything to you at all.

His actions took you by surprise when he wrapped his arms around you. His chin on top of your head as he rubbed small circles into your back. You still didn’t move not even to embrace him in return. He knew you were tired and hurting.

“I’m always here.” He whispered into your hair and that is what broke you. Your sobs were soft as your tears soaked his coat. Your fists clench his coat tight as you cried and he comforted you.

He managed to get you into his car and drive you home. He stayed there with you all night making sure you ate and were hydrated. Luckily for him he always kept a few of his clothes at your house. He gave your job a call saying it was doctor’s orders that you take a few days off (perks of having a doctor as your boyfriend).

You apologized to Zayne all night for your uncontrollable crying. He was barely listening to you since he didn’t care about that but cared about your wellbeing. He wiped your tears and even tried to cheer you up with dumb jokes. His tone was what really made them funny.

By the time you came back to work you were refreshed and felt like a whole new person.

Caleb was always taking care of you. Always. He would cook, clean and even wash your hair for you. He would even come home early from the academy for break just for you…and grandma of course. Everything he did was so you wouldn’t have to lift a finger. You wanted to repay him for all he has done til now. So you planned the perfect day of relaxation for him.

Here’s where it started going wrong. You were supposed to wake him up to breakfast but you tried multitasking and burnt the pancakes causing him to make breakfast. He didn’t sigh, complain, or even get angry. You thought it’s just one thing ruined you could handle the rest. You wouldn’t mess up again.

WRONG!

You took him to the arcade to let off some steam however, when you tried to win him a plushie the claw was flimsy and wouldn’t grab it let alone hold it. He offered to use his evol to which you shook your head and reminded him what today was about. In the end you left with nothing considering the owner had to put an out of order sign on the machine due to the claw not gripping. He gave you a refund telling you he meant to shut it down before opening. An honest mistake.

Caleb needed relaxation. If he didn’t get it this would be all for naught. You took him to the best spa in Linkon and all went well at first until it was time to get massages. Caleb enjoyed it since they got all the kinks out of his neck and shoulders. Being a colonel is hard work! You however got the roughest treatment which left your right leg and ankle hurting. You had to limp the rest of the day because of it. Discreetly though because you didn’t want to ruin the day for Caleb.

Finally you make it home and order dinner and desert. The desert was a cake saying thank you for all that you do. It was the cherry on top of this catastrophic day. This had to go well. Caleb sat on the couch as you went to get the food from the delivery person. When you were handed the food Caleb was behind you to take it as you went to grab the cake. The driver wasn’t paying attention and the cake slipped from his hands making your fast reflexes come into action. Unluckily for you so did the his and his head slammed right into yours making you clutch your head and he flinches swinging his head upwards slamming into your nose.

Caleb drops everything to help you. You were fuming from the pain as you held your nose and head. Blood gushed in your hand from the impact of his head to your nose. The driver apologized repeatedly before leaving. Everything was ruined and it set in for you as you sobbed. Caleb frowned as he pat your bloody nose. He had no idea what kind of day you were having.

“I ruined everything!” Your voice trembled as you curled up head to knees. Caleb purses his lips placing a reassuring hand on your leg.

“No you didn’t, Pips.” He reassures you but it wasn’t enough.

“Yes I did. This day was supposed to be about you and I ruined it.” You cry. He chuckles trying to comfort you.

“You tried and that’s what matters. You didn’t have to do all this for me.” You look up from your knees, lashes wet from the tears.

“But the day—“ He shakes his head quickly before making you look at him.

“You tried to give me a day of appreciation and while I do appreciate it you’ve had a rough day just trying. Don’t think I didn’t notice that limp.” He raises an eyebrow tilting his head slightly. You look away in embarrassment.

“You saw that?” She mumbled making him nod as if it were obvious from her point of view.

“Why do you think I told you I wanted to rest on the bench and admire the pond? While it was pretty to watch your limp wasn’t.” He said in an authoritarian manner. He very much talked to you like he was your guardian.

“All I’m saying is I enjoy helping you or just doing an act of service for you. It’s what makes me happy. That’s why I do it.” He explains to you making you nod slowly in understanding.

“Are you sure?” You whimper making him smile softly and nod.

“Now let’s not let the food and cake go to waste. I can already guess what flavor it is.” He chuckled hoisting you up before checking your face for swelling.

Sylus is just as observant of you as you are of him maybe even more than you. He knows when you’re sick, angry, hungry, even tired. Nothing gets past him and he prides himself on that. Recently he had to leave elsewhere for business and you were staying at the base because your apartment complex is dealing with a gas leak. You insisted on finding somewhere else to stay and mentioned that you might stay with a colleague. He flat out refused you and came and got you himself.

You decided you’d go out to lunch with Tara and Simone. The problem was your hair wasn’t cooperating with you. You tried brushing it, putting it in a ponytail, a bun, curls, nothing worked. You thought it looked horrible and then on top of that you couldn’t find your watch. It was closer to the time you had to leave but you couldn’t leave like this. You hit yourself in the head with the brush as the bump in your hair would not go down.

You put the brush down and cried. This was so overwhelming and you couldn’t fathom how hard this became. You hear the door creak open before a familiar set of footsteps approached you. You feel hands on your shoulders caress you softly. You already knew it was a little white haired someone.

“Take a deep breath.” His voice rumbled from behind you as you take a shaky deep breath.

“My hair looks stupid.” You tell him your voice filled with sorrow. He purses his lips before grabbing the brush and rubber band.

“It does not look stupid. You’re just rushing so you think it does.” He puts the rubber band around his wrist and gently brushes your hair smoothing out the bump you once struggled with.

When he’s finished he lets you look at it making you crack a smile. He smirks walking away with a nod. You rush behind him to hug him as he let out a chuckle. You thanked him countless times squeezing him tighter.

“You’re welcome, now go before you’re really late.” He reminds you handing you your phone and watch before you dash out the room. Not before giving him a kiss of course.

Rafayel is what many call a diva. Many knew this about him especially you. Throwing himself on furniture and sassing people out was his signature move. Today was different though you seem to beat him in the diva category in his eyes. You went out with him to a fancy ball for his art as usual everyone flocked around him like seagulls on a beach for bread.

This was normal and you usually go off on your own until he finds you again. This time was different though as someone who frequently bought his art came up to you starting conversation. They noticed he always brought you along and that you would end up alone. It was like a never ending cycle. This piqued your interest because you didn’t think anyone watched you that closely but maybe it was just because you came with him.

“It must be hard being an artists’ lover. I couldn’t imagine always being forgotten whenever I went out with him.” The woman rambled not realizing how she was making you feel. “I mean come on! You’re pushed aside and forgotten! No respect and then he comes back around like nothing happened!”

Your chest ached at the thought. It was true that you were forgotten but not by Rafayel no, never by Rafayel. You were forgotten by the critics, buyers, admirers of his artwork. You were never not at the forefront of his mind. You were always the first person he thought about whether he was near you or not. You didn’t know that though.

“It’s not like that.” You try to reason with the woman as you feel a lump form in your throat.

“Isn’t it though? You’re forgotten I wouldn’t be surprised if you were just for show.” She scoffs shaking her head. This broke you for some reason even if you wanted to believe it to not be true it still stung.

Tears dripped onto your clutch leaving dark stains from your mascara on it. You clutched it tighter as you hiccuped slightly. The woman moved in closer caressing your arm sympathizing with you. Maybe Rafayel was using you for show like a trophy. You felt like you were a burden and holding him back from something.

“Why are you crying cutie?” His voice rings in your ears making you stop crying. He then eyes the woman suspiciously his eyebrows furrowed as he watches her hand on your shoulder.

“Leave.” He commands the woman as if she were the bane of his existence. She scoffs glaring at him.

“Excuse me?” She challenged him but she obviously didn’t know Rafayel personally. He was the last person you wanted to argue with.

“Should I say it in a different language?” His tone poisonous. You grab his wrist indicating that this wasn’t the time nor the place. He sighed dragging you to the garden to talk.

“Alright spill it.” He demands with his arms crossed. You didn’t want to tell him you were embarrassed.

“She just got under my skin that’s all.” You brush him off as your hand caressed the roses in the garden.

“You’re a terrible liar cutie. She said something and I know it.” He told you making you side eye him. You sigh before giving in only because of the stare he was giving you.

“She felt bad for me and then…ugh! It’s stupid!” You pout turning away. Rafayel crossed his arms and raises an eyebrow at your actions.

“Well whatever she said it’s not true.” He reasons sitting next to you on the stone bench.

“How would you know? You don’t care—“ You sigh in frustration clenching the rose before sadly letting it go. You explained what the woman said and boy did it upset your boyfriend.

“I don’t think I’m good enough for you.” You whispered sadly as you pick at the skin around your nails.

Rafayel pouted angrily at your statement. Who cares what some random lady thought? Everyone was ugly and annoying compared to you in his eyes. What was that lady trying to accomplish by telling you such things? No one was going to tell him who he can’t have around and what they are to him.

“Who gets to decide that?” He snaps glaring at you. You look at him and shrug before he sighs dramatically. “I do. Only I get a say in who I bring around!”

He grabs your face squishing your cheeks together. You looked like a puffer fish to him now. He presses your cheeks together a few times before you groan in annoyance. His expression nor his actions let up until he’s satisfied. He wanted to drill into your head who you are to him and how he felt about you.

“Don’t listen to some crabby old lady. You are the most important thing to me and all of Lumeria knows it.” He says softly as he stops squishing you and just holds your face instead.

“You need someone to keep up with you and—“ He groans loudly squishing you again.

“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you telling me I needed to make an appearance. I’m only at these events because you convince me to. Otherwise no one would ever know what I look like!” He tells you his face pouty. His forehead touches yours as he sighs.

“There’s not a soul on this planet that is more important to me than you, understand?” He explains lacing his fingers with yours. You nod as you both stare at each other.

“And if that lady says anything else to you I’ll have her become an ocean delicacy.” He threatened making you giggle. Unbeknownst to you he was dead serious. He placed a soft kiss on your lips before staring into your eyes again.

“Now let’s get out of here I’m starving and I do not want caviar.” He gagged dragging you to the car as you laughed at his reaction.

Xavier has always been soft spoken and kind. He always tried not to overstep or upset you. Not like he was walking on eggshells or anything but he just didn’t like making you upset. He didn’t like anyone making you upset. So imagine his surprise when you both got off work and he invited you out for hotpot and you declined. You never declined hotpot especially if he’s paying.

“What’s wrong?” He questioned tilting his head sideways, his eyes never leaving your face.

“I’m just not feeling it today.” You brush him off walking towards the train station. He was closely behind you he wasn’t going to let this go so easily.

The ride was silent only the sound of the wheels hitting the tracks filled the train car. Xavier kept eyeing you wondering what he could do to make you feel better, then it came to him. He wasn’t going to force you to talk but he would give you the space to do so. When you made it to the complex he followed you to your front door, you thought he was just making sure you got home.

“May I come in?” You were going to protest until he gave you that sad puppy look. You couldn’t resist so he came in and got to work on his plan. You watched him stack your cushions and pillows into a fort using the sheets as a sturdy foundation. He beckons you to come inside making you sigh and do so.

You sit next to him as he hugs you. He didn’t need to say anything the hug was just what you needed. You cried a little before explaining anything to him. He let you cry to your heart’s content. He waited for you to tell him whenever you felt comfortable.

“I got my bike stolen and then i decided to find it myself but whoever stole it crashed it.” You pout. That was your baby it was one of the first things you got yourself as an adult.

“We can shop for a new one. It doesn’t matter as long as you’re safe.” He reassured you with a tight squeeze.

“Besides that means you can ride with me more often.” He nudges you making you laugh. He was waiting to hear that laugh he missed hearing it.

“Yeah that’s an upside.” You sniff and wipe your nose. He crawls out of the fort helping you do the same. As you both stand you hug him tight.

“I’ll get dinner started.” He kissed your forehead but your eyes grew wide.

“A—Actually, hotpot sounds so good right now.” You nervously laugh pushing him towards the door. You refused to lose your apartment to his cooking skills.

This is my first time doing dividers because I could find any I thought would go with this.

The hardest one to write for was Sylus because I had a plot but I went to sleep and forgot it also who would be sad with Sylus I mean come on (any of these men really).

I hope you like it muah bye 💋

[cherrygirlfriend]

─── YOU'VE GOT MAIL .ᐟ

...or being under the stars with him.

★ pairing.ᐟ frat!rafe x nerd!reader

★ summary.ᐟ rafe cameron is the golden boy of kildare university; certified frat boy, captain of the football team, relentless party animal with lines of girls to sleep with.

reader couldn't be more different; while she has the best grades in the whole school, she suffers from social anxiety disorder, and her social life is limited to her three best friends and the cat she secretly snuck into her dorm room.

both of them decide to join the anonymous chatroom for their campus, and start talking to one another, a friendship starting to form between the two; but neither of them know how different the other is.

★ author's note.ᐟ posting this one hour early because i need to sleep !!

YOU'VE GOT MAIL!

the ache in your head caused by the one too many drinks you'd had the night before was so strong you were sure even half a bottle of aspirin wouldn't be enough to help, but what was worse, was the case of hangxiety looming over you as the night's events came back to you.

you hid your head in your hands; you couldn't believe you'd ranted to some random guy about your issues, your anxieties. even worse, you'd probably annoyed the hell out of MalachiConstant with your drunken messages. you grabbed your pillow and pressed it to your face in it, screaming into the soft fabric.

meanwhile, rafe had spent most of the night rolling in bed. he stared down at his phone screen, before running a hand through his hair and letting out a sigh. no matter how much time he'd spent thinking about you, about how he could finally put a face to the girl he'd spent weeks talking to. he didn't know what he was supposed to do next.

fuck.

the whole point of your… thing was to be anonymous. he had no idea how you'd react if you knew who rafe was. he wasn't an idiot, he knew the kind of reputation he had around the college. he knew what people thought about him. entitled, rich fuckboy.

you were the first person who hadn't judged him, the first person who saw rafe as he was. but if you found out who he really was… he doesn't think you'd see him the way youb

he let himself crash back into bed. rafe took one more glance at his phone, before turning it off and staring up at the wooden ceiling; the boy needed to figure out what to do.

is he going to keep it a tell you that he knows who you are and risk you never talking to him again, or is he going to keep hiding it just to hold onto you a little bit longer? it was too early and rafe was too damn hungover to think about these kinds of things.

his slippers made a soft, rhythmic noise against the hardwood floors as he lazily made his way down into the kitchen. rafe pulled open the refrigerator and grabbed an energy drink, the tab letting out a hiss as he opened it and took a large chug.

"hungover much?"

rafe's eyes widened when he heard the voice coming behind him, turning around to see a familiar pink-haired girl standing there, an oversized shirt on her frame he immediately recognized as belonging to topper. "not really." he shrugged, "you guys fuckin' again?"

"you make it sound so crude." vivian rolled her eyes yet grinned as she made her way to the coffee maker, "it's just a bit of drunken fooling out. nothing huge. i am surprised about one thing, though."

"and what's that?"

"that in the few days we've been here i haven't seen any half-naked girls leaving your room." vivian narrowed her eyes as she poured coffee into a cup, "do you have a secret girlfriend or something?"

"no." rafe snorted, "i can go a few days without sleeping with someone. i'm not that big of a fuckboy."

"uh, yeah you are." vivian said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "every time i've slept over in topper's room, the next morning i'd see at least one girl come out of your room and do the walk of shame. so, what gives? you have a crush or something?"

rafe snorted as if the girl had said something absurd, taking another chug out of the can, "i'm not talking to you about crushes." "so you admit that you have a crush." vivian grinned. "not admitting shit." rafe grumbled, before clearing his throat, "you seen your friend?"

"emilia's probably—" "not emilia." rafe interrupted the girl before she could finish her sentence, making vivian narrow her eyes in suspicion, "why are you curious about her?"

rafe shrugged his shoulders, slightly defensively, "just askin'." "i thought you were into emilia." "i never said that." vivian crossed her arms, cocking her head to the side, "if you try to play one of my friends, especially my best friend, i will feed little rafe to pigs before you have enough time to beg for forgiveness." vivian's threat only made rafe roll his eyes, but the girl continued, "i'm not kidding. she's a fragile person, and i'm not gonna allow someone who thinks with their dick take advantage of her and ghost her once he gets laid."

"jesus, do you really think that little of me?"

"i know guys like you. hell, i am a guy like you, rafe." vivian took a tentative sip of her coffee, "i refuse to watch her get hurt. so if i were you, i'd seriously think about what i do."

you didn't receive a single message from MalachiConstant for the rest of the break. it was now the night before you were bound to go back to school, your hair flowing in the cool night wind as you leaned on the balcony railing, looking up at the few dim stars up on the sky.

you felt so stupid for being emotional over a random guy online ignoring you; for allowing him to have such an impact. you sighed, about to push yourself away from the railing, before you heard someone clear their throat behind you.

when you turned your head, you saw rafe standing at the doorway, "oh. it's you." you mumbled quietly, before facing forward again. the boy let out a snort of laughter, and you could hear him approach you, "don't sound so disappointed."

"sorry." you said with a tight-lipped smile, drawing patterns on the wooden railing with the tip of your finger, "i just have a lot on my mind." "yeah? like what?" "you wouldn't get it."

"won't know until you try." rafe said, making you roll your eyes, "i don't know. it's stupid." you shrugged. "there was someone i was starting to like, but suddenly he just cut me off out of nowhere."

"oh." rafe took a moment. he'd needed time to think about things, needed time to decide what to do next. he hadn't even considered that his absence could affect you.

"i bet that's never happened to you." you said with a quiet, slightly self-conscious laugh, "i bet you've done that to people." rafe looked down at his feet, shoving his hands in his pockets. you weren't wrong, and he couldn't help the slight pang of guilt in his chest at the thought. "but, uh, that happened to me. and i've never been great with people, so finally connecting with someone and then have this happen feels like crap."

"maybe… maybe he's just been busy." rafe scratched the back of his neck, his words making you let out a humorless huff of laughter, "i love the optimism. unfortunately i'm more of a hopeless realist. but i'll be okay. at least i can focus more on studying."

"come on. give the poor guy a break. i happen to be an expert on how the male brain works and sometimes, we can be a little dumb." "only sometimes?" you asked with raised brows, making rafe shake his head and smile. "most of the time."

you straightened up and look up at the half-crescent moon and the stars on the sky, "is it bad that i'm excited to go back to college?" "you seem the type to be." rafe said quietly, making you snort, "way to kick a girl while she's down." you nudged his side. "what? i feel like half the time i've seen you, your head's been buried in a book."

"you been watching me?" you raise your brows inquiringly, only for him to give you a small, slightly flirtatious smile, leaning into you. "what if i have?" you shake your head even as warmth slowly creeps up your neck.

you let out a small sigh, tracing the constellations above, tracing them with your finger, "god, i love the stars." "i know." the boy's statement made you furrow your brows, only for him to let out a soft chuckle, "you told me that the night we first met. and you did that whole finger thing."

rafe's hand moved to take hold of the back of your hand, the feel of his warm hand holding onto your cold one causing a shiver to run down your chest spine, your breath momentarily knocked out of you. he was looking up at the sky, but you couldn't help but stare at him.

but when he finally looked at you, there was a smile on his lips, "the night we met, your eyes were pretty much twinkling with stars." as you listened to his words, you couldn't help but glance down at his lips before looking back up into his icy blue eyes. your heart was pounding against your chest so hard you could've sworn it might burst out, "i need to tell-"

"goodnight, rafe." you say abruptly, pulling away from him unable to resist the need to put some distance between you and him, rafe's lips twisting into a slight frown before the boy cleared his throat, "goodnight, shooting star."

you rushed back into the room you shared with emilia and vivian; the former already asleep and the latter gone from her bed, as expected. you laid down on your own bed, placing your hand on your chest to hopefully calm your racing heart, only for your phone to let out a ping!

when you opened your phone, your eyes widened slightly in surprise.

MalachiConstant: sorry i haven't been texting MalachiConstant: i'm thinking about you tho MalachiConstant: and i miss you

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[rhaeverie]

was not, were not, is (pt. 2) — ldh

      alt title: anything, everything, always

pairing. haechan x reader  genre. best friends to lovers, tooth-rotting fluff, angst if you squint, he fell first and harder wc. 4.8k summary. Donghyuck's stuck dwelling on your drunken confession from the night of the wedding. That is, until he finally puts his foot down and decides that he needs to do something about it (or else he'll go crazy); alternatively, a glimpse into Donghyuck’s feelings for you over the past few years warnings. nothing horrible, just hyuck yearning for 4.8k words if i'm being honest, a drawn out (!!) confession scene (but it's cute), winter cameo, hyuck’s love language is still very much acts of service, ?excessive use of italics and long sentences an. HAPPY EARLY HAECHAN DAY!! aint no way I just wrote a part 2 that’s longer than the first part LMAO—some people asked for part 2 so i said why not (this was so self-indulgent too),,, wrote this all while listening to yearning music (aka laufey and OPM) bc i needed to channel tht mindset ykwim? i think it worked ^‿^—pls enjoy!

read part one!

Donghyuck thinks that it’s utterly ridiculous that he’s losing sleep over this.

But he’s already replayed it a shameful number of times in his head, and he still isn’t sure how he’s supposed to approach it. 

He can’t just act like you didn’t confess what could possibly be the confession he’s been waiting his whole life for. 

But he can’t just bring it up to you so carelessly either. 

Donghyuck’s afraid that if he casually pulls up to your house, drops that bomb that you drunkenly spilled your (maybe) feelings for him, that he’d be putting you in a vulnerable position that would harm your friendship (or worse, you). 

And that’s the last thing he’d want to do. 

But let’s say your feelings were real, and he doesn’t confront you about this? Then, what will happen? What if nothing else happens between the two of you and a game of waiting continues until you’d have to end up with a love you wouldn’t want and you both end up old and die of old age and—

Donghyuck gasps out loud, shooting upright in his bed as he shakes the overthinking out of his head. 

No, he can’t let that happen. Not when he’s in the position to change something.

Donghyuck glances at the clock—3:28am—and he curses under his breath. It’s late, and he remembers you have work later this morning, but there’s no way he’s going to let another night pass without acting on this.

He has already fucked up letting a week pass so, no, another night can’t wait. 

Pulling on the nearest sweater he could find, Donghyuck slips his glasses on, grabs his car keys and leaves the house in his house slippers without a second thought. There’s a little bug in his ear that’s telling him that if he were to pause for even a second, he’d change his mind and turn back.

Should he be warning you that he’s on the way to your place at fuckass o’clock to get things straight? Yes. But in Donghyuck’s mind, his priority is to get to you first and figure it out from there. 

Besides, he knows you. 

You’ll let him in, no questions asked. 

A tune on the radio causes Donghyuck’s head to pulse, and he’s quick to push the button to turn it off. He refrains from playing music on the way there. And instead, his thoughts are plagued by the words you had confessed the night of the wedding.

      “It’d be weird if it wasn’t your hand I was holding…”

Donghyuck is sure that his lip was bleeding. 

He could taste it, something metallic mixing with the aftertaste of the fruit punch. But he couldn’t care any less when he’s busy watching you and what’s-his-face sway slowly to the cheesy Ed Sheeran song. 

His eyes twitch at the way he’s gripping your hips, as if you’d run away if given the chance. But judging by the look on your face, you were far from uncomfortable, a pretty smile gracing your face. 

Donghyuck wants to hate the sight with every single living cell of his being, but how could he hate a sight if you were a part of it?

“So, do you regret it?” 

Minjeong’s voice cuts through the music, catching Donghyuck’s attention almost instantly. He feels grateful that his friend has come to distract him from his current fixation. He needed it, especially when he could feel that green monster fighting to break out of his chest.

“Regret what?” Donghyuck falls back to chewing his bottom lip, letting his gaze settle to the floor between his and Minjeong’s feet. He already knows where the conversation was going, but Donghyuck feels that choosing to avoid the topic as long as possible would save his heart from harm.

Minjeong turns to look at you and the other guy, “Oh, I don’t know… not asking her to the dance? Not asking her to dance?”

It’s funny because Minjeong doesn’t even feel the need to even ask Donghyuck. Though knowing him, having Donghyuck talk through the problem was the only way for him to process the situation.

“I’m scared to say that I do regret it,” Donghyuck almost winces, frowning.

Regret was the ugliest feeling that a person could feel—a close tie with frustration and nostalgia. They all remind you that time was a bitch and there was absolutely nothing you could do to go back and change the past.

Minjeong sighs, using her thumb and index fingers to pinch Donghyuck’s hand, “Then, why didn’t you?” 

And although Donghyuck truly, genuinely wants to answer Minjeong’s question, understanding that she was just here to help him out, he couldn’t—there’s that frustration. He couldn’t answer even if he was held at gunpoint, not accurately, at least. He could chuck words at Minjeong and hope they’d make sense. 

He figured you’d have more fun like this, anyway, going to prom with someone who wasn’t afraid to cross boundaries. He wanted you to live the night to the fullest, something you were droning on and on about for the past few weeks. 

The way he pieced his thoughts together was odd, but it made sense in the moment. He wanted you to enjoy yourself, and in return, he could keep his own heart safe from jumping out of his chest throughout the entire night, which then means he wasn’t at risk of ruining your friendship.

It was a win-win. 

Well, at least that’s how he wished he could confidently interpret it.

“I don’t know,” Donghyuck whispers, “But it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay if you look like you’ve been dragged through dirt, not once, but twice,” Minjeong points out, letting out a short snort. “You need to consider your own feelings, Hyuck. Be selfish for once. I say this for the sake of you and Y/N.” 

Donghyuck takes one more glance at you, your hands now linked with this other boy. Then he blinks down at his own hands, Minjeong having taken the lead because Donghyuck had initially refused to even step foot on the dance floor. 

He wonders how it feels to hold your hands like this. He was sure that it wasn’t the same as you taking his hand and dragging him through the halls, or him taking yours and guiding you through a busy street. 

He wonders how it feels to hold your hands like this. When it feels like it’s just the two of you and the music nudging at you both to dance to its tune.

He wonders how it’d feel to intertwine his fingers with yours. 

He wonders if they’d fit like puzzle pieces. 

“It’s okay,” he repeats, “If she’s okay, then I am too.”

      “If it wasn’t you I was waking up to…”

The first thing that plagues Donghyuck’s head the second he wakes up is the memories of last night’s sleepover and you. 

Just you. 

He hasn’t even opened his eyes, and all he could think about was you. 

He quickly concludes that he’s certainly gone crazy. 

Well, maybe not mentally crazy, but crazy over you. 

He remembers falling asleep, missing your guys’ nightly sleepovers during the summer as kids. The games you’d play in an attempt to go to sleep, only failing because it’d lead you both to tears from trying to hold in your laughs. Midnight snacks tucked under his bed despite his mom’s disapproval. Parents sticking to check up on both, only to find you both wide awake…

He compares it to you guys now and how it’s been rare because of life and how busy it's gotten. 

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Donghyuck hears you giggle quietly, sun bleeding through the blinds soon covered by the shadow of your figure. He feels a tap on his nose. “I know you’re awake, sleepyhead.”

He draws his eyes open, though slowly, just so it isn’t too obvious that he was already awake. He suppresses a smile at your hyperfixation on his nose, the tip of it burning from making contact with your finger. 

“Good morning, Hyuck,” you squat next to him at his bedside, bringing your face down to his level, “Well, it’s more like late-morning, but still.” 

Donghyuck’s eyes flicker to his clock and reads that it was nearing noon. Then he settles his gaze back on you. You’re smiling down at him, eyes still a bit droopy and a bit puffy from waking up not too long before he did. He watches as they light up at a thought, and you settle comfortably on the floor. “I had a crazy dream last night…”  

And that’s all Donghyuck manages to hear because soon he’s distracted by your messy hair, the way your eyes crinkle when you smile, your chapped lips, the sleeve of your shirt hanging loosely off your shoulder, your exposed collarbone, the way you’re somehow so talkative just minutes after you’ve woken up…

How could you be so perfect after waking up? 

Donghyuck doesn’t notice the way his eyes soften, brows relaxing and sinking to a neutral state. His jaw lies slack, but the pillow underneath his cheek holds it closed. And then there’s a familiar flutter in his chest, one that he’s grown accustomed to every time he looks at you.

His mind leaps to a new thought: what would it be like to be able to wake up and see you? You being the first sight he sees when he’s just woken up from a dream or a nightmare or a dreamless sleep? 

God, he would never get tired of that. 

And Donghyuck was a lover of sleep. Knowing he could wake up and see you the second he did? He’d look forward to waking up if that was the case.

But that’s likely something he could only imagine.

“And it’s funny because Renjun… Hyuck?” 

Donghyuck lies there, taking in your appearance. 

One day, he’ll gather up the courage to tell you how beautiful you were—are—a genuine compliment that wasn’t followed by an affectionate insult. 

“Hyuck? You okay?” You question. Holding a hand up, you wave it in front of his face and watch the way he blinks and shakes his head, almost as if you’ve taken him out of a trance. You frown, “Was it that boring?” 

“No, sorry, Princess,” Donghyuck replies, the rarely used nickname slipping out, “I was just… processing everything.” 

“Yeah… shouldn’t have bombarded you like that, huh?” You say sheepishly.

“You didn’t—you never bombard me. I like hearing your crazy dreams,” Donghyuck shakes his head, reassuring you, “I’ll cook us brunch and you tell me what happened? I’m hungry.”

      “If the kisses I was getting weren't from your lips…”

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

The entire room chants, some wedding-goers use the nearest utensil to tap lightly on the wine glasses. The room was buzzing, and it was difficult not to get caught up in the excitement. 

Donghyuck, himself, was cheering along, throwing a fist up as if he were protesting. He feels like it was appropriate at a time like this, the two newlyweds having just shared a heartfelt speech to sum up the day, and ending it with a kiss would tie it together. 

You’re seated at his side, all danced out and far past tipsy. You’ve mentioned to him around once or twice that your head was spinning, your feet were hurting, and that you were thirsty. So he’s dragged you off the dance floor to let you rest and get you hydrated. 

Now you’re clinging onto his arm so you don’t topple over, still aware enough of the situation to chant along with everyone else. You’re giggling, watching as your cousin and her now husband shyly turn to each other before leaning in. 

Donghyuck’s heart swells. He’s known your cousin for so long, and has only been familiar with her partner for a fraction of that time, but he knows how long they’ve been together. He can’t help but admire the idea that two people can still be so in love after so long—he wonders if he can find love like that, too. 

You squeal when the couple shares a kiss, the room erupting in whoops and cheers. They smile into the kiss, eyes lulling shut out of instinct. It was a cute kiss, not one you’d cringe and want to look away at, but one that could shake jealousy out of you. 

Donghyuck turns to look at you amidst all that was happening, eyes melting when he sees you resting your head against his shoulder. You’re unaware that his attention has shifted to you, completely distracted by the stars of the day. The softest look occupies your face, as if you were in a dream state. 

Out of curiosity, his attention stumbles down onto your lips, which look just as plush as he’s imagined. 

Sure, Donghyck’s stolen glances of your lips before, and sometimes he lets his mind wander about what it would be like to press his own against yours. Then he lets his thoughts drift even further, knowing that it’s been long established that he could not for the life of him imagine himself kissing anyone else.

He’s a terrible friend for thinking this about you—at least that’s what he believes. But he can’t help it. Tonight, they look so tempting to just bring his head down and just… 

“Donghyuck?” 

Donghyuck turns to find your mom, “Hi, Auntie.” He fixes a smile on his face and gestures to you, “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop her from drinking too much.” His cheeks heat up, slightly embarrassed that he hadn’t fulfilled his promise to your mom.

Your mom shakes her head and laughs, “Sometimes it’s okay to let go like that. Besides, I trust you watching her. Thank you, by the way.”

Donghyuck nods his head before your mom takes his hand, “Can you please take her home? Knowing her, she'll pass out soon. I need to stay here and help the hosts clean up a bit.”  

He doesn’t hesitate to say yes, gathering all your things before he carefully guides you out of the venue.

      “I just feel like it’ll all be wrong if it wasn’t with you…”

“Hyuck? What the hell?!”

You tug Donghyuck into your apartment, brows furrowed because it was just shy of 4 AM and your best friend is standing in your living room, out of breath. Questions are racing through your mind, having absolutely no idea what could be happening. 

“What are you doing here? Are you okay?” 

Donghyuck cursed under his breath. He hadn’t gone that far into saying what he had to say. He’s still hung up on your confession, playing in his head like a broken record. 

“Y/N…” There’s a lump in his throat and he feels as though he wants to cry, but he doesn’t know why. Maybe he was overwhelmed, or maybe because he’s scared that his spontaneous decision to show up here could ruin your friendship, and it’d be his fault. “Y/N I…”

Say words goddamnit. 

Donghyuck squeezes his eyes shut, scouring the depths of his mind for the perfect thing to say, something that would work in his favour. His lips part, but only air comes out.

Then you yawn, simply because you’re tired. But you fight fatigue and wait patiently for Donghyuck to say something. The man has always been like this. His actions were always greater than his words. “Do you want tea, Hyuck? I’ll make us so—“

“No,” Donghyuck hastily refuses, “I mean, thank you… but I’m okay…” 

Regret scratches at the nape of Donghyuck’s neck. How could he play out this scenario in his head millions of times but not run through what he was supposed to say to you? How could he bring the problem up without putting you on the spot about what you had said? 

“You know what? I’m sorry for barging in like this, you’re tired and you need sleep and—“ 

“Lee Donghyuck, if you need help with something, then literally fuck sleep,” you scoff, smoothing your bed head out. 

You begin moving to the kitchen, the idea of tea now sounding appealing, but Donghyuck is quick to stop you. “No, Y/N, I’m actually fine.”

“You’re not fine,” you counter, “It’s obviously bothering you if you came here at this hour.” You lean forward and squint at your best friend through the dim lighting of your apartment. It’s easy to make out his eye bags and his beaten-up bottom lip from all the chewing. You know damn well… “And it even looks like you’ve been going through it. You can tell me, you know that, right?”

Donghyuck nods, still at a loss for words. He’s afraid to make eye contact with you for too long, letting his eyes flicker between you and the floor.

“But,” you follow up, “It’s okay if you’re not ready, too. I’ll still be here to listen then.” 

Silence dances in the air while you wait for Donghyuck to say something. He doesn’t know that you can see the way his eyes shift back and forth in deep thought, or the way his teeth cling onto his lip for comfort. 

Then Donghyuck says, “Can I stay over?” 

A tired smile rises onto your lips, “I wasn’t letting you out at this hour, anyway.” 

“Are there blankets and pillows in the extra closet? I’ll grab them—“ 

“Hyuck, you can sleep in my bed like always.” 

Shit. 

Donghyuck nearly panics, eyes growing wide. Sure, it wasn’t the first time you’ve slept in the same bed, but sleeping with you in the same bed with his current state? When the only secret he’s kept from you was waiting to be hacked out after years of lingering in his chest? 

“You have no choice,” you protest, reading his mind. Huffing out a loud sigh, you reach for Donghyuck’s hand, instinctively slipping your fingers in between his before you yank his taller figure to your room. Donghyuck can’t find it in him to protest, words stuffed down and trapped in his throat. 

When you let go, Donghyuck almost reaches back out to keep your hand in his. 

You’re quick to settle back into your bed, letting out another yawn as you watch Donghyuck expectantly. Almost like you were going to start throwing a fit if he didn’t fill the spot next to you.

And that’s how Donghyuck finds him laying right next to you, heart damn near breaking his ribcage and defeaning his ears. He’s thankful that you have your back turned to him, completely oblivious to his state. It feels like he’s going to implode if he doesn’t say anything. 

It was kind of funny—maybe to an audience, but not to him. 

“What would it take for you to stop being my friend?” Donghyuck blurts out. The mattress shifts underneath him, and he feels your body turn to face him, peering at him through the darkness. 

You raise a brow, but it’s hidden in the darkness. You scoff, “What kind of question is that?” 

Donghyuck sighs, “Please, just answer it.” 

Sensing the tone in Donghyuck’s voice, you press your lips together and think, what would it take to stop being friends with Donghyuck?

“Everything,” you say simply, “But even then, I think I’d still forgive you.”

“I call bullshit,” he murmurs, “What if I killed someone and pinned the blame on you? What if I broke something special and irreplaceable to you? What if I purposely broke your leg or… or…”

“Those are all so stupidly unbelievable, Hyuck. You’d do none of that,” you chuckle, “At least make it believable.” 

Donghyuck almost chokes, his heart fighting to escape his chest. It’s like it was pushing up his throat as if he were ready to throw it up. “Or what if… my feelings for you changed and yours didn’t change in the way mine did?”

“Hyuck… you’re scaring me… Did I do something wrong?” you frown, heart dropping to the pit of your stomach. “Fuck, it was when I was drunk wasn’t it? Did I say or do something wrong?”

      “I want you to love me.”

Donghyuck panics. Now he wishes he had worded his last question differently, one that didn’t have you misinterpreting it. 

“N-no!” He hurriedly answers, “No, never. I could never hate you.” Never. 

He nervously swallows the spit pooling in his mouth because now he’s sure that he needs to be upfront about his feelings. There’s no other way he could go now. He’s taken the final path down whatever road this was. 

“What if… I fell in love with you and you didn’t love me back?” He exhales a shaky breath, both out of relief and anxiousness, afraid that he’s ruined everything. There’s silence, and it scares Donghyuck. There really was no telling what you were thinking, whether you were thinking of ways to reject him or dodge the question. He doesn’t know and he doesn’t like it.

Then, through the darkness, he hears you laugh nervously, “Hyuck… Hyuck, I said you have to make it believable.” A pause. “You can’t love me… not like that at least.” 

You finally sit up and go to turn the lamp on. Donghyuck finally sees your expression clearly in the yellow glow. Your brows are furrowed, a look of confusion stuck on your face. It looked as though you were processing what he had just said.  

Donghyuck immediately sits up, almost mirroring you. He’s ready to reach out to you, but he holds back for now. He can’t take anything back now. 

“But I do, Y/N.” His tone is sprinkled with desperation, hoping you’d hear it and understand that he’s being dead serious. 

And when it’s your turn to lack words, Donghyuck quickly musters up what he can, piecing things together under pressure in his head. He doesn’t have much time before you overthink, and he knows it. “Do you remember what you told me the night of the wedding? When I was taking you home?”

You shake your head and your heart skips a beat. Your mind tries to reel back to that night, but all you remember is Donghyuck urging you onto his back. Everything after that was a mess, like a fever dream you’re trying so hard to grasp but can’t for the life of you remember. 

“Well… I do.” Donghyuck isn’t sure if he feels dejected or relieved that you don’t remember your confession. Because if you did forget it, did it mean anything? 

Still, he continues, keeping his head down to avoid your gaze, “You said that…” He’s unsure if he should tell you everything you said, or if he should be straight to the point. He doesn’t want to embarrass you, but it feels like finally bringing this up will help him get to his point. That he really, truly, loves you. 

“You said a bunch of things, and I was reflecting on them and… and even though I’ve known my feelings for you this whole time.” Exhale. “I realized that I was pretty much thinking the same thing.” 

Donghyuck lifts his view in the slightest, enough to put your fidgeting hands in view, before he gently grabs them. He takes them in his, rubbing his finger along the bumps of your knuckles. And though he feels like he’s mainly doing this for himself, he knows that he’s comforting you, too. 

“I can’t imagine myself being with anyone but you,” Donghyuck says carefully, as if the words were fragile on his tongue, “In fact, I think I hate the idea of being with anyone but you.” He squeezes your fingers, chewing his bottom lip out of habit. 

“You told me a bunch of things,” he repeats, “But you ended it all with how you wanted me to love you. How you feel like it’s too much to ask for me to love you back every day…” Donghyuck shakes his head, frustrated when he recalls that last part, “And I hate thinking that I’ve been making you feel like that this whole time.”

“And I’m cringing at what I’m about to say… it’s pretty fucking cheesy… but… you don’t even have to ask me to love you, Y/N,” Donghyuck concludes, nodding his head, “I love you so much and… I’d do anything just to make sure you know it.” 

Donghyuck had not noticed that he was crying until a tear fell right onto his thigh. He looks up to keep more from dripping, but that’s when his eyes finally catch sight of you, eyes drowning in your own tears. 

“Shit,” he’s quick to catch them before they fall off your face, letting your hands go and wiping your cheeks with the heels of his hands, “Shit, Princess, I didn’t mean to make you cry, I—” 

“It’s okay, Hyuck,” you interrupt, shaking your head. Donghyuck continues to frantically wipe your cheeks, frowning. You can’t help but laugh, reaching for his hands and bringing them to your lap, “I’m okay.” 

“Then, why are you crying?” Donghyuck is taken back to your conversation on the night of the wedding. If this wasn’t deja vu, he wonders if there’s another word for it. 

“You’re so annoying,” you sniffle, dropping one hand and lightly hitting his knee, “You say all that and expect me not to cry?” You slip your hand back into his. 

Donghyuck’s gaze drops to your hands, thumbs tracing over his knuckles, “I wasn’t sure what was going to happen. I didn’t know if your confession was real, but after I heard what you said, I couldn’t not do anything about it.” 

There’s a brief pause as you process his response. Then, just above a whisper, cutting through the thick, but comfortable, air in the room, he hears you say, “I love you, too, you know.” 

He feels his heart stutter, almost leaping right out of his chest and straight into your hands, where it belonged. But of course, now, he’d let it if it chose to do so. 

“Hyuck, I—” You let go of his hands, and this time, Donghyuck lets himself reach out back for them, a subtle flash of panic in his eyes. 

And as soon as it came, that frantic feeling dissipates when he feels your hands cup his face. You nudge his head up to look at you.

He’s confused, lips parting to say something in objection, but then he reads a look in your eyes that he’s never seen before. You’re peering at him through your lashes, and Donghyuck swears he sees the glow of your lamp dancing in swirls right in your irises. They grow big, melting into his own, and despite being unfamiliar with the emotion, he immediately understands what you’re trying to say. 

Or, better yet, what you’re trying to do.

Donghyuck’s doe eyes, as red and puffy as yours, flicker to your lips and back to your eyes. A flutter in his chest confirms what he’s feeling. He wants this—he really does. 

So he nods carefully, thoughts of finally kissing you making him dizzy as his hands instinctively travel up to your arms to draw you in… closer and closer and…

Donghyuck’s hands found their way up to cup your face, using his pinkies to angle your head so he could easily press his lips against yours. And then your arms instinctively slide up and around his neck before they fall limp and hang loosely around him. 

The kiss wasn’t passionate. 

But it was tender, and it was perfect. 

It was a kiss that perfectly suited your relationship with Donghyuck, a love that’s gentle and comforting, one that didn’t hit you both like a truck. 

Donghyuck’s head was spinning, lips moving against yours as if he wanted to memorize how they felt on his. And though he’s imagined—dreamed—about how it would be like to kiss you countless times, the raw feeling of having your lips pressed against his was nothing compared to all of that. 

He nudges his nose against yours for one final push before you both finally come up for air. Your foreheads stay connected, eyes still drawn closed and basking in the feeling of finally getting what you wanted. Donghyuck’s hands have slipped down to your waist, forearms resting against your crossed legs. You both were out of breath. You could feel Donghyuck’s air tickling the skin under your nose. 

“You don’t…” Donghyuck sighs, catching his breath, “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to do that.” 

You giggle, eyes fluttering open before you steal a peck from his lips and pull away, “Was it worth the wait?”

Donghyuck quickly catches your wrists, tugging you back to repeat your actions. You can’t bite back a smile. 

Of course it was, he thinks. It would have been worth it no matter how long he had to wait. 

It was you, after all. 

And as far as he knew, anything and everything that had to do with you would always be worth it. 

But Donghyuck knows that he’s been cheesy enough for one night. And after noticing your tired, half-lidded eyes, though his mind floods with so many things he wants to tell you, for now, he settles for a simple answer. 

“Always.”

an: ngl i think this was one of my fav fics tht ive written ever :(( i loved writing these two so much,, likes and reblogs and comments are soso appreciated, i wanna know if u guys found this as cute as i did! thank you for reading!

[snowseasonmademe]

All up in Your Mind

warning ‼️: smut

word count: 3,116

pairing: lewis hamilton x black female reader

summary: lewis is obsessed with you and you love driving him crazy

tag list: @sucredreamer @irishmanwhore @whoevenisthiz @iamquiantrelle @dexastres @coffeevacation @goldenngt @btslover117 @kennasutopia @jessnotwiththemess

note: bae @irishmanwhore wanted this one too yall. say thanks everyone!!!!! she has great ideas :) this one was very fun to write, lewis is lowkey subby in this just a little bit. as always, enjoy and tell me what you think🤍!!!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lewis sat at the head of the long conference table, his crisp black suit doing little to mask the heat simmering beneath his skin. His team was discussing strategy—sponsors, contracts, logistics—but every word went in one ear and out the other. All he could think about was you.

You had consumed his every thought since the night before. He should’ve known better than to let you out of his sight on that red carpet. You were untouchable, and radiant, your confidence commanding every room you walked into. In a crimson gown that hugged every curve just right, you moved like you knew you were the only one anyone could see. And you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

“Don’t stare too hard baby” you had teased as you leaned in close during the event, your lips brushing the shell of his ear, your fingers grazing his chest in a way that set his nerves on fire. “You know how easily… excited you get.”

As if he could help himself. Your sultry glances, the way you whispered wicked things into his ear when no one else could hear, the brush of your fingers along his thigh under the table—it had been pure torture. By the time you got home late that night, he was ready to claim you, but you had been too tired, and he had that early meeting to prepare for.

Now here he was, sitting in a room full of people, barely able to breathe because all he could see was you. The way you smiled. The confidence in your stride. The way you had whispered jokingly, “It’s like I’m the only thing on your mind”

But it was true. It wasn’t a joke. It was the truth.

Lewis exhaled sharply, gripping the edge of the table as he shifted in his seat, his mind nowhere near the conversation happening around him. His team continued talking, numbers and projections flying across the room, but he couldn’t focus. Not when flashes of the night before kept playing in his mind—how effortlessly you had owned that red carpet, how your dress clung to your body in a way that made his mouth go dry, how you had leaned in close, whispering filth in his ear like you weren’t in a room full of cameras and flashing lights.

You had done it on purpose, of course. You always did. It was a game to you, watching how long he could last before he cracked, before he stopped caring who was around and dragged you somewhere private. But last night, he hadn’t had that luxury. You had teased him relentlessly, dancing just out of his reach, smirking over the rim of your champagne glass while he sat there, jaw clenched, hands fisted in his lap, hard as fuck beneath the table while the whole world watched.

And then, to make it worse, you had denied him. Had kissed him sweetly, stripped out of that sinful dress in front of him, and then crawled into bed with a yawn and a soft, “Goodnight baby” Like you hadn’t just spent the whole evening torturing him. Like you hadn’t left him lying awake for hours, painfully hard, fists clenched in the sheets, gritting his teeth because he couldn’t even touch himself—not when the only thing that would satisfy him was you.

You knew exactly what you had done. And judging by the way you had left that little message in his ear before disappearing into the crowd last night, you had known he’d be thinking about you today. You had wanted this. Wanted him distracted, restless, aching for you while he sat through his meetings, barely able to function.

His phone buzzed in his lap, and for the first time since he walked into the boardroom, Lewis moved fast. He glanced down, breath hitching at your name on the screen.

You: Bet you’re struggling.

His jaw tightened. You were so fucking smug.

Lewis: You have no idea.

You: Oh, I do.

You: Poor baby. So hard at work.

You: Or just hard?

His breath left him in a sharp exhale. His grip on the phone tightened as his other hand curled into a fist beneath the table. You were evil. He knew it, and yet, he still couldn’t get enough of you.

Lewis: You’re a fucking menace.

You: And yet, you love me.

Yeah. He did. And you knew it.

Lewis: You knew what you were doing last night.

You: Maybe I did. What’s on your mind?

He smirked, shaking his head. You always knew exactly how to get under his skin—in the best way.

Lewis: You. You’re all I’m thinking about.

You: I figured.

He stared at your response, his chest tightening. Of course, you figured. You always knew.

Lewis: The way you looked last night. The way you touched me.

You: Oh lol, you mean the way I teased you all night and then fell asleep the moment we got home?

Lewis: Exactly that.

You: Poor baby.

Lewis groaned softly, earning a curious glance from his manager across the table. He gave a quick, apologetic nod before typing again.

Lewis: Just wait until I get home.

There was a long pause before your reply came through.

You: You’ll have to catch me first.

His jaw tightened, a slow smile tugging at the corner of his lips. You were playing with him, and he loved every second of it.

The moment the meeting ended, Lewis was out of the building, his car tearing down the road at a pace just shy of reckless. His pulse raced as he thought about you waiting for him, probably grinning to yourself because you knew exactly how wound up he was.

When he finally stepped through the door, you were there, leaning casually against the kitchen counter, wearing one of his oversized shirts and nothing else. Your legs were bare, and the smile on your lips was nothing short of sinful.

“You made good time” you teased, tilting your head as you watched him.

“You’re a problem” he muttered, dropping his keys and crossing the room in a few long strides.

“A good one though” you replied, your tone light and playful as your fingers danced up his chest.

“The best kind” His voice was low and strained.

You smiled up at him, your hands sliding around his neck as you whispered, “Last night, all I wanted was you”

“Then why’d you fall asleep on me?” he teased, but his voice was thick with affection, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you closer.

“Because I like driving you crazy” you admitted with a sly grin. “And I knew you’d be thinking about me all day today”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he kissed you, his mouth crashing into yours in a way that made you gasp. His hands roamed your body with a hunger he didn’t bother to hide, pulling you flush against him as he deepened the kiss. You smiled into it, your fingers sliding into his hair and tugging just enough to make him groan.

“You’ve been torturing me” he murmured against your lips, his voice dark and thick with need.

“Mm, I know” you said, laughing softly as you pressed your body closer to his. “You love it though”

“Too much” he admitted, lifting you onto the counter in one smooth motion. His lips found your neck, his hands sliding up your thighs as you tilted your head back to give him more access.

“Keep this up” you teased, your voice breathy but still playful, “I might start thinking you can’t get enough of me”

“I can’t” he growled, his hands tightening on your hips as his lips moved lower.

Your laughter filled the air, rich and warm and utterly intoxicating. You cupped his face, forcing him to look up at you, and the heat in your eyes made his breath catch.

You didn’t rush. You wanted him desperate, aching, teetering on the edge before you gave him what he wanted.

Lewis stood there, watching you, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as you stepped back, your fingers trailing down his torso. His shirt was —somehow— already undone, exposing the warm, golden brown of his skin, the way the ink of his tattoos contrasted beautifully against it. He was everything—gorgeous, sculpted, utterly wrecked for you, and you hadn’t even really touched him yet.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he murmured, voice low and strained, a teasing smirk ghosting his lips.

“You like when I stare” you countered, letting your hands wander, sliding over the tight muscles of his abdomen, tracing the lines of his inked skin.

He let out a shaky breath when you kissed along his collarbone, your tongue flicking out to taste the salt of his skin. “Yeah” he admitted, barely above a whisper, his hands tightening on your waist. “I like it.”

You smirked against his skin before pressing one last kiss to the hollow of his throat, then, without warning, you grabbed him by the belt and started walking him backward toward the bedroom.

Lewis let you. He let you take the lead, let you push him through the doorway and toward the bed, though you could feel the way his muscles tensed, the restraint in his grip. He was holding himself back, letting you play your game, but you knew—eventually, he’d snap. He always did.

“Turn around” you whispered when you reached the edge of the bed.

His eyes darkened, but he obeyed, letting you push him down so he sat on the mattress. His hands immediately found your thighs as you stepped between them, his touch firm, warm, possessive. You dragged your nails lightly up his chest, taking in the way his breath hitched.

You kissed him slowly at first, savoring the taste of him, the warmth of his mouth against yours. Then you deepened it, pushing him back until he was lying beneath you, your body pressing flush against his. His hands roamed over you, sliding under your shirt, up your back, fingers digging in like he needed to feel every inch of you.

You pulled away just long enough to strip your top off, and Lewis groaned, eyes locked onto you like he couldn’t get enough. His hands immediately covered your bare skin, smoothing over your waist, up to your breasts, his thumbs flicking over your nipples in a way that made your stomach tighten with anticipation.

“Mmm” he hummed, mostly to himself, before his lips found your skin again. He kissed his way down your neck, over your collarbone, then lower, his mouth hot and open against your chest.

You let your head fall back, exhaling sharply when he dragged his tongue over your skin, his stubble leaving a faint burn in its wake. “Lewis” you breathed, rolling your hips against him, feeling the way he hardened beneath you.

He groaned, the sound deep and broken. “You feel what you do to me?”

You nodded, biting your lip as you reached between you, palming him through his pants. He was so hard already, twitching under your touch, and the way his head tipped back, the way his lips parted as he let out a breathy moan—it made heat coil low in your belly.

“You’re not very patient” you teased, undoing his belt, popping open the button of his slacks.

His gaze snapped back to you, his hands gripping your hips tight. “Not when it comes to you”

You kissed him again, swallowing his groan as you slid his pants and boxers down all the way off. He was thick and heavy in your hand, leaking already, and you loved knowing you’d done that to him.

He let out a shaky breath as you wrapped your fingers around him, stroking slowly, teasingly. His grip on your hips tightened, his body tensing beneath you. “Don’t start something you’re not ready to finish”

You smirked, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Who says I’m not ready?”

You dragged pussy along his length, letting him feel just how wet you were, and the way he groaned—low and rough and wrecked—made your stomach tighten in anticipation.

“Fuck, baby don’t tease me” he muttered, voice strained.

“Why not?” you purred, rocking your hips just enough to drive him insane.

“Because if you don’t sit on my dick in the next ten seconds, I’m flipping you over and handling it myself”

You knew he meant it. And while you loved pushing his buttons, you wanted him just as badly.

So you sank down onto him slowly, letting him stretch you open inch by inch. His hands shot to your thighs, gripping them hard, his moan deep and broken as he filled you completely.

“Jesus—fuck—” His head pressed back against the pillows, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment before snapping back open to watch you.

You rolled your hips in slow, deliberate circles, dragging out every inch of him, making him feel every slick, tight squeeze of your body around his. It was torturous—exactly how you wanted it.

“That’s it baby” you purred, your nails grazing down his chest, tracing over the tattoos you knew he loved having your hands on. “Let me hear you”

And fuck, did he. A deep, shuddering moan tore from his throat, his head tilting back against the pillows as his hands tightened on your hips. He was trying to stay still, trying to let you set the pace, but you could feel the way his muscles tensed beneath your palms, the way his fingers flexed against your skin like he was barely holding on.

“You feel so fucking good” he groaned, voice thick with arousal. His grip tightened, like he wanted to take control, but he didn’t. Not yet. He loved this—watching you move, letting you take what you wanted, needing you so bad it made him ache.

You leaned forward, pressing your hands against his chest for leverage as you rolled your hips a little faster, grinding down against him in a way that made his breath catch. “You’re obsessed with me, aren’t you?”

His hands slid up your back, one tangling in your hair, the other pressing against the small of your back to keep you close. “I am” he admitted, his voice wrecked.

“Say it” you murmured against his lips, teasing, demanding.

His jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling beneath you. He let out a shuddering breath, eyes locked onto yours, raw and desperate. “I’m fucking obsessed with you”

The confession sent a rush of heat through your body, making your thighs tremble as you clenched around him. His head dropped back, a strangled moan escaping his throat as he felt it, as your body squeezed him tight and hot and dripping wet.

“Shit, baby” he groaned, his fingers pressing hard into your skin as he squirmed in pleasure beneath you. “You keep doing that and I won’t last.”

You smirked, leaning down to lick across his collarbone, your tongue tracing the ink on his chest, the tattoos he loved when you worshipped. He shuddered beneath you, letting out a sharp exhale, his hands moving restlessly over your body like he couldn’t get enough.

You pressed a slow, teasing kiss to his lips, moving against him in deep, rolling thrusts, grinding your clit against the base of his cock every time you came down on him. His moans were getting louder, more broken, his hands gripping your hips like he was right on the edge of losing it.

And then, just as you expected, he snapped.

With a rough growl, Lewis’s hands clamped down on your hips, fingers digging in almost bruisingly, and suddenly, he was slamming up into you. Hard. Fast. Desperate.

You gasped, your hands flying up to grip the headboard as he took over, fucking into you like he had no choice, like he needed it to survive.

“Lewis—fuck!” you cried out, your body jolting with every powerful thrust, your back arching as he drove deeper, harder.

“I tried” he gritted out between thrusts, his voice thick and wrecked. “Tried to let you have control, but fuck baby, I need you so bad”

You moaned helplessly, nails raking down his chest, leaving red streaks over his inked skin. “Yes—fuck—just like that baby”

His jaw clenched, his dark eyes locked onto yours, wild and hungry and completely, utterly gone for you. “Uuhh I fucking love this pussy”

You nodded frantically, your pleasure climbing unbearably fast. “Mmmmm” you moan loudly and desperately, not able to properly respond.

Lewis groaned, the sound breaking into something close to a whimper as he fucked into you harder, rougher, his hips snapping up to meet every grind of your body against him. You could feel how deep he was, how perfectly he stretched you, how completely he filled you, it was too good.

His fingers found your clit, rubbing tight, relentless circles, pushing you higher and higher, making your thighs shake as the pleasure coiled tight in your stomach, ready to snap.

“You’re gonna cum for me” he rasped, his voice shaking, his thrusts turning erratic. “Come on, baby. Give it to me.”

The moment his lips brushed your ear, whispering, “Let me feel it” you shattered.

Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, stealing the air from your lungs, making you cry out his name as your whole body trembled. You clenched around him, squeezing so tight that he cursed, his hips stuttering as he lost himself completely.

With a strangled groan, Lewis slammed up into you one last time, burying himself deep as he came, his moan breaking apart into breathless, desperate sounds against your skin.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, both struggling to catch your breath, the only sound in the room your ragged breathing and the faint hum of the city outside.

Then, finally, Lewis let out a soft, breathless laugh, his arms wrapping tightly around you, pulling you down against his chest. “Fucking hell” he muttered.

You smirked, pressing a lazy kiss to his jaw. “That good, huh?”

His hands smoothed down your back, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles against your skin. “You have no idea”

You grinned, completely satisfied, completely spent. “I have a pretty good idea”

Then you collapsed against his chest, pressing lazy kisses along his damp skin, feeling the rapid thump of his heart.

He let out a shaky laugh, arms wrapping tightly around you. “You’re gonna kill me one of these days”

You smirked, tracing a finger over one of his tattoos. “You’d die happy though.”

He groaned, tilting your chin up to kiss you slow and deep. “Ecstatic.”

note : j'ai une fic d'aurélien à venir pour vous tous le jour de la saint-valentin!

[milkamel]

I’ve been thinking about Fount of Knowledge and beasts in general lately. Devsis know what they’re doing when they’re throwing crumbs of information at us but no clear backstory for the guy. They know that Shadow Milk is one of the most mysterious and important beasts and that revealing things too early wouldn’t be wise. Also he’s a fan favorite lol.

Anyway what got me thinking was the term “beasts” in general. I don’t know if it's just me but this name feels kind of dehumanizing (or in their case decookienizing-?). As if the talk is about the creatures who are feral, unintelligent and cannot be reasoned with, when in reality these beasts are like other cookies, just more powerful and created for a bigger purpose. The whole description of their fall from Elder Faerie made that first impression on me, they feel intimidating and unpredictable.

I just wonder if virtues were viewed the same way? Not as cookies with feelings but as a symbol of a certain virtue? When it comes to Fount I have a headcanon that he was treated more like a “living library” rather than a person. He didn’t have any meaningful connections (besides the other beasts) as cookies viewed him as someone above them, a godly creature they cannot reach and only use him to gain knowledge he offers (kinda similar to Mystic Flour and how cookies demanded her blessings and even resorted to violence when denied).

And even Shadow Milk’s good gift affection line kinda hints at that?

“Ha-ha-ha! Not bad. What do you want?”

Like who reacts to a gift like that? It’s as if he expects to be asked of something in exchange for it (like when gods are given offerings so they’d share their wisdom) and it’s a normal occurrence which is sad. This cookie doesn’t know genuine kindness or compassion of course he freaked out when PV offered it to him, perhaps he expected it to be a trap because that’s how it usually is.

It’s no wonder he got corrupted. Imagine being created with the sole purpose of fulfilling such an important role and having big expectations without being able to decline. No childhood, just an endless knowledge in your head by default that you must share with others, kind of hard to stay sane.

And if we assume that one of the reasons why Shadow Milk started telling lies was because cookies didn’t like the knowledge he presented it becomes even sadder. That’s his purpose, what he was created for yet he’s being disliked and judged for doing that? Then what he’s supposed to do? Does he even do his job right? That’s what the witches wanted yet others don’t seem happy. He isn’t happy.

(The whole milkcrowns and tear-themed things related to Smilk that I heard ppl mention make it worse ngl)

But he is quite fulfilled when he breaks away from that role and does what he wants. When he’s the puppeteer and not on the strings, when he finally has control and freedom. No expectations, no responsibility, just a world you can twist however you wish. And when he finally has it he gets locked away. Tragic fate.

I feel bad for every beast but Fount,, oh my precious Fount,, he breaks my heart

(can't believe such a majestic cookie turned into this thing)

[theseh00perscanh00p]

Coaching Violation: Part 7

paige x azzi

a/n: no warnings just moving the story along...

word count: 5.9k

Apartment Door – Early Evening

Azzi’s POV

Azzi juggled her keys in one hand, the strap of her duffel digging into her shoulder as she finally reached the familiar door to her apartment. Her body was still humming from the trip — the game, the press, the bus ride that felt like holding her breath for five straight hours. She was tired. But it was the kind of tired that came with adrenaline still burning at the edges.

She just hadn’t expected to find someone waiting for her.

“Finally.”

Caroline stood there, arms crossed, one foot tapping, a bottle of red in hand and a bag of what looked like every type of chip in existence hanging from her wrist. Her eyes were wide and suspicious and way too delighted for someone who hadn’t seen her best friend in less than a week.

Azzi blinked. “How the hell did you—”

“I tracked your location. Don’t judge me. I’m invested.”

Azzi dropped her bag and groaned, pressing her forehead to the doorframe. “You’re insane.”

Caroline held up the wine. “And yet, I brought Pinot. And Cool Ranch. So.”

Azzi laughed in spite of herself, unlocking the door and swinging it open. “Fine. Come in. But I’m not saying anything until I get out of these shoes.”

Caroline breezed past her like she owned the place, setting the wine and snacks on the kitchen counter with the grace of a woman on a mission.

Azzi kicked off her sneakers, letting her muscles finally relax, and walked barefoot toward the living room. Her hoodie was oversized. Her face still slightly puffy from sleep deprivation. But none of that mattered. Because Caroline was looking at her like a detective about to crack the case.

“So,” Caroline said, plopping onto the couch and cracking open the wine with a twist, “what exactly happened in Vegas that you couldn’t say over text but apparently broke the part of your brain responsible for complete sentences?”

Azzi opened her mouth.

Closed it.

Then grabbed the wineglass offered to her and drained half of it in one go.

“Oh my God,” Caroline breathed, eyes gleaming. “It’s worse than I thought.”

Azzi slumped next to her, glass still in hand. “It’s… complicated.”

Caroline snorted. “Everything with you and Paige is complicated. That’s your whole thing. Now spill it.”

Azzi stared into her wineglass like it might tell the story for her. But then she exhaled, long and slow, and said the words out loud for the first time.

“We kissed. Again.”

Caroline’s mouth dropped open. “No—”

“And she stayed.”

Caroline gasped like she was watching a drama unfold live in front of her. “YOU—ARE—KIDDING—ME.”

Azzi just shook her head, a quiet, disbelieving smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

And for the first time in a long time, it felt good to say it. Not just hold it. Not just feel it like a secret pressed too close to her chest.

They’d kissed.

She’d stayed.

And something — everything — had shifted.

Caroline grabbed the bag of chips and tossed them in Azzi’s lap. “Start at the beginning. And don’t leave anything out.”

Azzi smiled. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

Caroline raised her glass. “I’ve been training my whole life.”

“So,” Caroline said, glass filled, legs folded beneath her on the couch like she was preparing for battle, “let’s go over everything in your ‘what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas’ situation.”

Azzi gave her a crooked smile, the kind that tried too hard to be casual. “Well… let’s hope what happened in Vegas doesn’t stay there this time.”

Caroline’s eyebrows lifted — impressed. “Okay, damn.”

They both laughed, that kind of nervous, heart-racing laugh only two best friends could understand. But underneath it, Azzi could feel the knot tightening in her chest again. The one that formed every time she thought about how long she’d kept this secret. About how big it actually was.

Caroline tilted her head. “Alright. Hit me. The beginning. Like, actual beginning.”

Azzi hesitated. Then nodded, setting her wineglass down on the coffee table and curling into the corner of the couch.

“All-Star Weekend,” she began, voice quieter now. “Ten months ago. We were both in town for events, stayed at the same hotel. We didn’t even plan for it — not consciously. But I saw her sitting alone at the hotel bar and I decided to take a seat.”

Caroline narrowed her eyes. “Got it. Classic rom-com movie type of tension.”

Azzi gave her a look, but didn’t argue. “It was this bar in the lobby. Real low lighting, kind of classy. She was already sitting there with a drink when I walked in. Alone.”

Caroline leaned forward. “And?”

“And it was just… immediate,” Azzi said. “Like all the shit we’d never said to each other was sitting in the space between us, and that night — we finally let it in.”

Caroline stared. “You’re telling me you hooked up with Paige Bueckers at All-Star Weekend and I’m just now finding out?”

Azzi groaned, pulling a cushion into her lap. “I know. I didn’t even tell my therapist.”

“You didn’t tell your therapist?” Caroline yelped, dramatic as ever.

“I was in denial, okay?” Azzi snapped, laughing despite herself. “I thought it was just… a moment. Something intense and stupid. We were drinking. We didn’t mean to. I wanted it to mean something but she left like nothing happened soooo.”

“But you did,” Caroline said, voice softer now. “You meant to. Even if you didn’t say it.”

Azzi nodded, eyes far away. “Yeah. That night was messy and chaotic and…” Her voice dropped. “Everything. It was the first time someone touched me like they meant it. Like it wasn’t complicated or performative — it just was.”

Caroline blinked slowly, like she was trying to absorb the weight of that. “And then she ghosted you?”

Azzi nodded once. “I woke up, she was gone. I texted her — more than once. Nothing.”

Caroline let out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s… ice cold.”

Azzi tucked her knees under her. “Okay. So. Ever since Paige became my coach… we’ve basically been avoiding each other.”

Caroline blinked. “Avoiding?”

“I mean — not outwardly. But yeah. Avoiding.” Azzi twisted the edge of the throw blanket in her hand. “Like pretending there wasn’t history between us. She stayed professional. I stayed annoyed. It was… easier that way.”

Caroline tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. “Easier, but not better.”

Azzi nodded. “Exactly. And then, one night a couple weeks ago — I’d had a couple drinks, and I was just so tired of pretending like it didn’t affect me… so I sent her a text.”

Caroline’s eyes sparked. “How risky?”

Azzi gave her a sheepish look. “Risky enough that I knew the second I hit send it was probably a mistake.”

Caroline leaned in. “And she replied?”

Azzi shook her head slowly. “Nope. Left me on read.”

“Damn.”

“I know.” Azzi sighed. “And honestly? I was hurt. But it was probably my own fault. I didn’t exactly make it easy for her to respond.”

Caroline let that sit, softening a little. “Still sucks.”

Azzi nodded. “Yeah. So then we get to Vegas… and guess what room they assign me?”

Caroline’s jaw dropped. “No.”

“Yep. That room. The one we…” Azzi trailed off, flushed. “So I panicked and asked to switch.”

“Reasonable.”

“And apparently Paige saw the room number, had a full guilt spiral, and went knocking on the door looking for me.”

Caroline gaped. “Wait — like, actually went to your door?”

“She accidentally knocked on KK’s room thinking it was mine. It was a whole thing.”

Caroline cackled. “Oh my God.”

“Eventually she found me,” Azzi said, quieter now. “And we just… talked. Not about everything. But about enough. Then the next day at the pregame press conference, she held my hand under the table. Like, fully just grabbed it.”

Caroline’s hand slapped the couch. “Are you kidding?!”

“I wish,” Azzi muttered, cheeks burning again. “Then after the game… we both ended up in the same elevator. Total coincidence. It broke down.”

“Oh, this is fate-fate.”

“And we almost kissed. But didn’t. And then…”

Caroline’s voice dropped. “And then?”

“She came to my room later that night. And we did… everything.”

Caroline’s eyes went wide. “Like everything everything?”

Azzi just buried her face in the pillow.

Caroline shrieked. “YOU DID EVERYTHING AND YOU WAITED THIS LONG TO TELL ME?”

Azzi exhaled, falling back into the couch cushions like the weight of the last few days had finally caught up with her. “And after I texted you this morning…”

Caroline raised her brows expectantly.

“She sent me breakfast,” Azzi said softly. “Like, room service breakfast. Full tray. Bacon, eggs, fruit… with a note tucked under the fork.”

Caroline’s eyes were already saucers. “What.”

Azzi smiled, small and dazed. “It said, ‘Facetime me? –P.’”

Caroline slapped her hand over her mouth like she needed to physically contain the scream. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” Azzi said, laughing now, the disbelief still fresh in her own voice. “We ate together over Facetime before we had to leave this morning.”

Caroline dropped her hand and pointed at her with it. “Ohhhhhh. She’s trying. Like, really trying this time.”

Azzi’s smile faltered. “I think so… I want to believe that. But I still don’t know what we’re really doing, to be honest. I mean…” Her voice dropped. “I won’t lie — part of me’s scared this was just a heat-of-the-moment thing. We were in Vegas. You know, the place where unspoken mistakes get made every hour.”

Caroline’s expression softened instantly. “Az. No.”

Azzi looked at her, helpless. “But what if it was just that? What if I’m reading too much into it because I want it to be more?”

Caroline scooted closer, wrapping an arm around Azzi’s shoulder. “Look, I don’t know Paige the way you do. But from everything you’ve told me — from what I can see — this doesn’t sound like someone playing games.”

Azzi bit the inside of her cheek.

“I mean,” Caroline continued, “she tracked you down after you switched rooms. She held your hand under a table in front of the media. She ordered you the same breakfast as her just to talk to you before a team bus ride. That’s not heat-of-the-moment. That’s intention.”

Azzi’s voice was small. “But what if she changes her mind?”

Caroline leaned her head against hers. “Then she’ll have to answer to me. But I don’t think she will. I think this time might actually be different. You just… have to let her figure it out. And trust her enough to let you in while she does.”

Azzi nodded slowly, her voice barely a whisper. “Yeah… I want to.”

They sat in silence for a moment, wine glasses half full, the sounds of the city faint through the window behind them.

Then Caroline nudged her playfully. “Also, next time? Don’t wait ten months to tell me you’re sleeping with your on-court rival turned head coach.”

Azzi laughed, head falling back on the couch. “Deal.”

Paige’s Apartment – Late Evening

Paige’s POV

She dropped her duffel bag by the front door and just stood there for a second. Everything was still.

Her apartment smelled like lavender detergent and barely-used air conditioning. The city buzzed faintly through her balcony glass, a world too calm for the chaos in her chest.

She hadn’t slept more than two hours last night. Hadn’t stopped replaying everything since the elevator. Since the hotel room. Since that kiss.

And now, alone again, she wasn’t sure what to do with herself.

She changed into sweats, mindlessly moved around the apartment — opened a window, stared at the fridge like it held answers — but her thoughts stayed locked on one thing.

Azzi.

The way she looked in the soft morning light. The weight of her arm around Paige’s waist when they woke up, like she was holding on for both of them. The way her breath hitched when Paige whispered I meant it.

She ended up sitting cross-legged on the couch, phone in hand, thumb hovering over their thread like she was thirteen again trying to text her crush for the first time.

What do I say?

Do I even say anything?

What if she thinks I’m overstepping?

What if I don’t say anything and she thinks I regret it?

She let out a breath. Ran her hand through her hair.

“Okay,” she whispered to herself. “Don’t be a coward.”

And finally—

She typed: hi

Sent it.

Panic instantly bloomed in her chest.

Then—

Az #35

hey

Paige stared at it, bit her lip, then typed:

how was your day?

The typing bubble appeared almost instantly. Then stopped. Then started again.

Finally:

Az #35

omg not the “how was your day” 💀 lol

Paige winced. Okay. Deserved.

She sent back:

sorry I’m… new at texting women I almost kissed in an elevator who I also technically coach so I’m kind of malfunctioning

Three dots. Then—

Az #35

lmao that’s fair. malfunction noted. I’ll let it slide… this time.

Paige smiled, tucked her knees up to her chest like it would somehow contain the warmth flooding her face.

She typed again:

so… what’s the protocol for texting someone you’re pretty sure you’re terrified of messing things up with but also can’t stop thinking about

A beat.

Then the typing bubble flickered back to life.

Az #35

i’m not sure either

but i think i want to figure it out

Paige’s heart stuttered.

She didn’t even realize she was holding her breath until she saw the little bubble pop up again.

Az #35

as long as you promise not to ghost me this time lol

Paige let out a soft laugh through her nose. Winced.

Fair.

She replied:

scout’s honor

(do basketball players have scout’s honor or is that a baseball thing?)

Az #35

lmao idk but it’s cute that you tried

you get half a point for effort

Paige:

rude. i feel like i deserve a full point for texting first while still hiding under the emotional blanket fort i built for myself

Az #35

okay okay 1 point

but i’m keeping the scoreboard this time 😌

Paige:

dangerous

you always were competitive

There was a pause. A longer one. And then:

Paige:

i’d really like to see you again

like… outside of practice

and not in a broken elevator

The reply came quicker than she expected.

Az #35

damn. there goes my plan to fake another elevator malfunction

guess we’ll have to settle for something normal

you free tomorrow night?

Paige blinked. Smiled.

Paige:

that depends

you gonna bring the same energy you did in that hotel room or am i gonna have to pull it out of you

Az #35

first of all rude

second of all, i guess you’ll have to find out

Paige:

can’t wait.

She stared at the screen for a beat longer. And then, almost without thinking:

Paige:

hey

thank you for not giving up on me

The typing bubble appeared. Then disappeared. Then:

Az #35

i wanted to

but i think part of me always knew you’d find your way back

Sparks Practice Facility – 10:02 AM

Azzi’s POV

Practice was brutal in the best way. Drills moved fast. Screams echoed off the walls — sneakers against hardwood, ball slaps on passes, the low grunt of bodies fighting for position.

Azzi pushed through it all like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Because it kind of was.

What had happened — what they did — was still thrumming under her skin. And now Paige was twenty feet away with a whistle, a clipboard, and that same impossibly focused expression.

Except sometimes, her eyes gave her away.

During passing drills, Azzi caught her watching.

Not long. Not obvious.

Just a half-second too late in looking away.

Azzi held her breath and looked back down the line.

Hydration Break – 10:37 AM

Paige’s POV

She didn’t even know what she was doing at this point. Hovering near the Gatorade table like she was auditing hydration levels or something.

But Azzi was there. Tight curls pinned back. Shoulders gleaming with sweat. Reaching for the yellow Gatorade and wiping her face with the hem of her jersey.

Paige stepped closer. She didn’t mean to brush her fingers — really, she didn’t — but the touch still happened.

Light. Fast. Electric.

Azzi glanced up, the faintest curve of something on her lips, but she didn’t say anything.

Neither did Paige.

She just stepped back and said, quiet, “Your footwork on those curl cuts was cleaner today.”

Azzi tilted her head. “Didn’t realize you were watching that closely.”

Paige pretended to check something on her clipboard.

“Always.”

Film Review – 11:15 AM

Paige stood at the front, walking through offensive sequences from the previous scrimmage. Her voice was steady. Professional.

But she felt Azzi’s presence like gravity.

“Fudd,” she said, pausing the video. “Talk me through this screen read.”

Azzi didn’t flinch. “Missed the slip. Was half a beat late.”

“Correct it.”

Their eyes met — a single beat of loaded silence. It was all anyone else would’ve seen. A coach and a player.

But for Paige, it was a collision.

She looked away.

Post-Practice – 12:30 PM

Locker Room – Low Music, Fading Voices

The crowd had thinned. Most players were in the showers or already gone. Azzi sat quietly, tape remnants piled at her feet, one shoe still untied.

She didn’t expect to hear footsteps behind her.

But she knew right away. The pace. The way it slowed near her row.

Paige stepped in — slow, deliberate — until she reached the edge of the bench.

“You looked good today,” she said. Soft. Careful.

Azzi didn’t look up. “I had to.”

A pause.

“You okay?” Paige asked.

Azzi’s fingers stilled on her laces. “Don’t ask me that when we’re surrounded by people.”

“I’m asking you now.”

Azzi finally lifted her eyes. And there it was again — that ache. That quiet tension neither of them had learned how to put down.

She swallowed hard. “I don’t know. This is… hard.”

Paige nodded, just once. Small. Measured.

And then — barely noticeable — she tapped two fingers gently on the edge of the bench near Azzi’s hand. Like a question. Or a signal.

Azzi glanced at the motion, then back up at her.

One breath. Two.

Then, just as subtly, Azzi gave the smallest of nods. Like a reply. Like yes.

Their eyes held, the silence between them finally loosening — not solved, but not as sharp.

And then Paige turned, shoulders a little lighter, and walked out of the locker room.

Azzi sat back against the locker, one hand curled around the edge of the bench where Paige had touched, finally letting herself breathe. Just a little.

Paige’s Apartment – Later That Evening

Azzi stood in front of the door, hoodie sleeves tugged down over her palms, heartbeat annoyingly loud in her ears.

Then the door creaked open.

Paige stood on the other side, barefoot in sweats and an oversized UConn t-shirt, hair damp from a post-practice shower. She looked… soft. Nervous, but trying not to show it.

“Hey,” she said, a little breathlessly.

Azzi smiled, small and real. “Hey.”

Paige stepped aside to let her in. “Make yourself at home.”

The apartment was dimly lit, cozy — a small candle flickering in the corner, low R&B humming from a Bluetooth speaker tucked behind a stack of books. The scent of takeout drifted from the coffee table: one open pizza box, a plastic container of Caesar salad, and a bottle of wine with two glasses.

Paige scratched the back of her neck. “I, uh… I’m not exactly a chef, so… hope you don’t mind delivery.”

Azzi dropped her bag by the door, grinning. “I don’t. But next time, I’ll cook.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Confident.”

“I can make exactly three things really well,” Azzi said, toeing off her sneakers. “And I’ll make the best one.”

They settled on the floor, cross-legged with slices in hand, dipping in and out of laughter over practice bloopers — a mistimed pass from Rickea, a ball that ricocheted and hit the Gatorade cart, Paige pretending she didn’t see Azzi nearly trip over a cone.

It was easy. Until it wasn’t.

Until the laughter faded into a quieter moment. A slower breath.

Paige set her crust down on the plate and wiped her hands on a napkin. She glanced over — at Azzi’s socked feet curled under her, her gaze fixed on the TV that wasn’t really playing anything.

“We should probably talk about…” Paige started, voice tentative. “Y’know. What we’re doing.”

Azzi looked over, the smile fading just a fraction, but her eyes were steady.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “We probably should.”

Paige nodded, nerves starting to edge back into her posture.

But the moment didn’t feel sharp.

It just felt real.

And overdue.

The pizza was mostly gone. The playlist had looped once. The candle was burning low.

Paige leaned back against the couch, fingers playing with the corner of a napkin. Azzi was still on the floor, legs stretched out now, leaning on one elbow — close but not touching.

The silence stretched, not heavy… but not quite easy, either.

Paige cleared her throat.

“I’ve been thinking about how weird this all is,” she said quietly, gaze fixed somewhere near Azzi’s knee. “Not in a bad way. Just… weird.”

Azzi tilted her head, watching her. “Weird how?”

Paige hesitated. Then:

“I’m not really sure what we’re doing. I don’t think either of us is, and I think maybe that’s okay for now. But—” She exhaled, slow. “I keep thinking about how I’ve known of you for so long. Since we were teenagers. I’ve competed against you, read interviews about you, argued with fans online about you…”

That made Azzi huff out a small laugh, but she didn’t interrupt.

Paige kept going.

“I know the player version of you. The one I was always told to guard tighter. The one I envied. The one who showed up on every scout report like a damn warning label.” A flicker of a smile tugged at her lips. “I know the idea of who you are. The public opinion. The rivalry story. The headlines.”

Azzi’s smile faded to something quieter. Her eyes didn’t leave Paige.

“But I don’t think I really know you,” Paige admitted, voice lower now. “Not the real you. Not all the quiet parts. The stuff people don’t get to see.” She finally looked up, met Azzi’s eyes. “And I want to. I want to know who you are when it’s just… you.”

A pause.

Paige’s voice turned softer, barely above the music.

“Because I know how you make me feel. That part’s crystal clear. But everything else? I want to learn it. If you’ll let me.”

Azzi didn’t answer right away.

She just watched her. Like she was cataloging every inch of that vulnerability.

And then—

“I want to know you too,” she said quietly. “Like, you you.”

Another beat passed between them — one that felt a little more certain.

Then Azzi added with a small grin, “Also… for the record, I was never scared of guarding you.”

Paige let out a breath — part laugh, part relief — and nudged her foot against Azzi’s playfully.

“You should’ve been.”

Azzi pulled her knees up loosely, arms wrapped around them as she rested her chin on top. Paige was still perched on the couch, one leg folded beneath her, eyes fixed now on the soft flicker of the candle between them.

“I think I built a version of you in my head,” Azzi said after a beat. Her voice was low, like she was testing the sound of her own truth. “This… fierce, impossible person. Always untouchable. Always two steps ahead.”

Paige glanced over, eyebrows raised slightly.

“I think I did the same with you,” she said. “Only mine was… always composed. Always calm. Like nothing got to you.”

Azzi let out a soft breath. “It wasn’t true.”

“Mine wasn’t either.”

They sat with that for a moment.

Then Azzi asked, “So what’s real?”

Paige looked at her. “Right now feels pretty real.”

Azzi nodded slowly, chewing at her bottom lip. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

“What changed?” she asked. “Ten months ago, you left. No text. No explanation. And then the next time we saw each other, you acted like I didn’t exist. And now you’re… here. Saying you want to know me.”

Paige’s expression faltered.

She swallowed. “I don’t have a good answer. Not one that’ll make it hurt less.”

Azzi waited.

“I panicked,” Paige admitted. “That night was the first time in a long time I felt something I didn’t know how to name. It scared the shit out of me. And then my injury happened, and I spiraled. And I think… walking away from you felt like one thing I could control.”

Azzi nodded, slow and silent, trying not to let that sting show too much.

“I’ve regretted it every single day since,” Paige added. “That’s the part I need you to know.”

Azzi’s voice came quieter now. “And this time?”

“This time I want to stay,” Paige said. “Even if I’m still figuring it out. Even if it’s messy. Even if we have to pretend around the entire damn team. I just… don’t want to pretend when it’s just us.”

Azzi studied her for a long second, then reached forward, brushing her pinky finger against Paige’s — a quiet signal, deliberate and slow.

Paige curled her pinky back around hers.

They stayed like that, in soft silence, tethered by something fragile but real.

Azzi’s POV

She’s quiet for a long moment, just watching Paige — watching the way her thumb rubs slowly across the rim of her glass like she’s still turning over every word she just said.

Then softly, almost too soft:

“So… no one else since then has made you feel something?”

Paige blinked. Looked over. “What do you mean?”

Azzi shrugged a little, like she regretted asking. Like it slipped out. “I just mean… I’m sure I’m not the last person you’ve—”

She faltered.

“—slept with. So.”

Paige’s brows furrowed. “Wait. What?” She shook her head, like she didn’t even understand the premise.

Then, firmer: “No. You are the last person I’ve slept with.”

Azzi’s eyes snapped up. “Seriously?”

Paige nodded. “Seriously.”

Azzi blinked, visibly surprised. Her lips parted like she had a follow-up, but nothing came right away.

Paige let out a small breath, rubbing the back of her neck.

“The last ten months…” She trailed off, searching for the words.

“My whole world got knocked off its axis. I was grieving something I never thought I’d have to give up. And grieving it while everyone else kept moving around me — it shut me off. From everything.”

Azzi watched her carefully.

Paige looked up at her then, voice quieter, steadier.

“No one I talked to after you made me forget how you made me feel. So I didn’t try to replace it. I didn’t want to.”

A silence stretched between them — but it wasn’t tense.

It was heavy in the way honesty always is.

Azzi leaned her head back against the couch, trying not to smile too obviously — but her eyes gave her away.

“Okay,” she said, almost under her breath.

A beat.

“That’s… good to know.”

Paige smiled faintly too. “Yeah?”

Azzi nodded, biting her lip. “Yeah.”

Azzi shifted. Slowly. Deliberately.

She rose from her seat across from Paige and crossed the space between them, not saying anything yet. Just easing down beside her still leaning against the couch, close enough their shoulders brushed.

Paige’s breath caught — not in fear. In recognition. That closeness again.

Azzi turned slightly, tucking one leg underneath her, and reached for Paige’s hand. Not forceful. Not searching. Just… there. Warm. Willing.

Her thumb gently brushed Paige’s knuckles before she asked, voice barely above the soft hum of the music:

“Do you wanna talk about the injury?”

Paige didn’t answer right away.

Azzi didn’t rush her.

“Because,” she added carefully, “based on what you just said… it sounds like it’s been a really lonely recovery. Like you haven’t had anyone to really carry it with you.”

That cracked something open.

Paige looked down at their joined hands. Her jaw flexed, once. Twice. Then relaxed.

“Yeah,” she said softly.

Her thumb brushed over Azzi’s this time.

“It’s been… quiet. Really quiet.”

Azzi’s chest tightened.

Not in pity. In understanding. In the kind of ache that comes from knowing exactly what it means to carry something alone.

Paige continued, her voice steadier now but still raw:

“When it first happened, everyone said the right things. My team. The league. My family.”

A pause.

“But after a while… people stopped checking in. I stopped wanting them to. Because there’s only so many ways you can explain that the thing you built your life around… just stopped being an option.”

Azzi squeezed her hand, just once. No words yet. Just presence.

“I didn’t know who I was outside of the game,” Paige went on. “And then I had to become someone else entirely — a coach. A leader. But not the kind I ever pictured being. I was still grieving something I hadn’t even named.”

She laughed, bitter and soft.

“It felt like I was expected to turn the page while I was still stuck in the middle of the story.”

Azzi leaned in just a little closer. Her free hand resting lightly on Paige’s thigh — grounding.

“You don’t have to keep carrying all of that alone,” she said gently.

“Not with me.”

Their eyes met.

And in that look — Paige finally let her guard fall all the way down.

“Okay,” she whispered.

A beat.

“Then I won’t.”

The room had quieted to a hum. Music faded. The city outside Paige’s window felt far away — muffled by the kind of silence that didn’t feel empty, but full.

They sat like that for a while. Paige’s head tilted slightly toward Azzi’s shoulder, Azzi’s hand still wrapped loosely around hers. No need to fill the space with more words. Not yet. Maybe not at all.

And then Azzi moved — just a shift, subtle but sure.

She let go of Paige’s hand, only to reach up and gently brush a strand of blonde hair from her cheek. Her thumb lingered there, against the soft skin beneath Paige’s eye. Paige blinked up at her, slow and unsure, her expression asking a silent what are you doing?

Azzi didn’t answer it with words.

She leaned in.

No rush. No hunger.

Just a kiss.

Soft. Intentional. The kind of kiss that didn’t take — it gave. It said I see you. It said you’re not alone. It said I’m here now. And I want to be.

Paige melted into it, her hand finding Azzi’s knee. There was no frantic heat, no urgency like the last time. Just breath. Just warmth. Just that gentle press of lips that lingered like a promise.

When they finally parted, Paige’s eyes were still closed. Like she didn’t want the moment to end. Like she was scared it might vanish.

Azzi smiled softly, and her forehead touched Paige’s.

“You don’t have to feel lonely anymore,” she whispered.

Paige exhaled — shaky, grateful.

They sat in that closeness until the clock on the microwave blinked 12:41 AM.

Azzi pulled back just slightly, groaning softly.

“I should go.”

Paige hesitated, hand still on her leg. “You don’t have to.”

“I know,” Azzi said, a little smile tugging at her lips.

“But we don’t need to rush. Right?”

Paige looked at her for a long second. Then nodded.

“Right.”

Azzi stood, gathered her jacket slowly. Paige walked her to the door. Gave one kiss goodbye. Held one last look. Loaded. Quiet. Trusting.

“See you at practice?” Azzi asked.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Paige replied.

And with that, Azzi stepped into the hallway, the door clicking softly behind her.

Paige stayed there, hand on the knob, heart impossibly full.

She was already counting down the hours.

Practice Facility – Morning

Paige’s POV

Whistles, squeaks of sneakers, the occasional sharp clap echoing against the gym walls. A normal practice. At least it was supposed to be.

But nothing about it felt normal.

Not when Azzi was on the floor.

She was locked in — smooth footwork, clean follow-through. The kind of locked in that came when she was trying not to feel something.

And Paige?

She felt everything.

Every time Azzi got near her, she tensed. Every brush of skin — the shoulder tap, the whisper-close pass near the out-of-bounds line — burned like a brand. Azzi wasn’t making a show of it. No smiles. No flirt. Just there.

Which made it worse.

It was the restraint that made Paige want to crawl out of her own skin.

Near the water station, Paige walked past, clipboard tucked to her chest, and Azzi moved behind her just a little too close — her hand grazing Paige’s hip like it was nothing. Like it never happened.

Paige’s breath hitched.

She stopped beside the bench to “check notes,” heart racing like she’d just run suicides.

Azzi walked by moments later, slowing just enough to murmur, “Still good for later?”

No one else would’ve caught it. No one else was listening.

Paige didn’t look at her, just gave the faintest nod — yes.

Azzi kept walking.

Locker Room – Late Afternoon

Azzi’s POV

Most of the team had cleared out — a few stragglers still swapping shoes or arguing about who owed who lunch. Azzi was half-pretending to dig through her bag when she heard the familiar click of sneakers down the hall.

She didn’t even have to look.

Paige.

Azzi smirked to herself, standing up just as Paige stepped into the threshold of the locker room, trying to look casual. She failed spectacularly.

“You know,” Azzi said, voice low as she crossed her arms, “if your plan was to keep this a secret, you probably shouldn’t have stood that close during huddle today.”

Paige blinked, caught. “I stood the same as I always do.”

Azzi tilted her head. “You touched my back. Twice.”

“That was—” Paige started, then faltered. “Accidental.”

Azzi stepped forward, just enough to close some of the distance. “Right. Like the clipboard that magically grazed my hip three different times during drills.”

Paige fought a smile. “You think I’m the problem? You spent the entire scrimmage ‘accidentally’ boxing out into me.”

Azzi raised a brow, clearly not sorry. “Maybe I was trying to make it fair. You were watching me like I was the only player on the court.”

Paige opened her mouth to respond, but her words died when Azzi reached for a water bottle… and their fingers brushed — deliberate, slow, charged.

A beat.

Then—

“Yo, Coach—!”

They both jolted apart so fast it looked choreographed.

Rickea stood halfway in the doorway, holding up a left-behind hoodie. “KK was looking for this. I think she thought it was yours.”

Paige cleared her throat, stepped back like she’d just remembered where she was. “Nope. Not mine.”

Rickea’s eyes bounced between them. “Okay… well. You good, Azzi?”

Azzi coughed, trying to school her face into something neutral. “Yeah. Just, uh… hydrating.”

Rickea smirked faintly. “Right.”

She turned and left.

The second the door swung shut again, Paige whispered through clenched teeth, “You are so gonna get us caught.”

Azzi grinned and bumped her shoulder into Paige’s as she passed. “Me? I was just hydrating.”

Paige looked to the ceiling like she was asking for divine patience. “This is going to kill me.”

Azzi didn’t stop walking — just tossed a wink over her shoulder. “You make a great dead woman walking.”

[jarofstyles]

Flower 2

Okay so I really love these babies so I think I'm gonna do 3-5 parts! I'm loving the tension hehe. Let me know your thoughts!

Flower Masterlist

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WC-4.6k

Warnings- mention of age gap romance, mention of bdsm, mention of bad sexual experiences, loads of sexual tension, low-key sugar daddy h, trust me

Sleep didn’t come too easily for her, but she felt absolutely wired when she woke up. Her coffee only made it worse as she wrapped herself up in the dark wash denim jacket she’d borrowed from Harry when he drove her home a few weeks back. His truck pulled into the driveway and she was grabbing her tote bag and phone, making sure to lock up before turning to face him. 

There was a weird expression on his face- something she couldn’t place. It wasn’t quite angry or mad, but it was a little darker as his eyes ran over her face and then body. He remained quiet until she got down her porch steps. “S’that… my jacket?” He asked lowly. The tone was strange to her as he stepped closer, tugging on the collar of it. 

“Yeah, it’s really cute and I figured I could wear it around today and give it back to you at the end. Is that… is that okay?” She worried her brows. “I can take it off now if you want to wear-“

“No.” He cut her off. “No, it’s totally fine. It just… it looks really good on you, is all.” He mumbled, squeezing her shoulder. “You look beautiful, as always.” His compliment was genuine, feeling his finger tap her nose, making her crinkle it. “Put the shiny stuff on it again? Your fairy sparkle?” 

Y/N laughed out loud at his nickname for her highlight on her cheeks and the tip of her nose. “Mhm. I got a new pink one, think it suits me.” And maybe she’d been a lot more meticulous about her makeup now that she had a feeling this may be a more-than-friends situation. “I really like this look.” It was a tease, considering he wore the same thing off duty. Jeans and some sort of tee shirt with a quirky phrase or obscure musician on them. Today’s was relatively tame with a bee surrounded by some words about honey and health. Cute. “I actually like the tee today. A bit muscle-y.” His arms looked real fucking nice in this one. Of course he would have some considering he worked with his hands and was a pretty physical person but… damn. She allowed herself to admire it, respectfully. 

It wasn’t something she’d caught before but a slight pink brushed his cheeks at her compliment. “Thanks, petal.” He smiled. “I… I got us some coffee, got your favorite. It’s only half an hour away but I figured….”

“You know I love coffee. You’re the best, as usual.” She sighed, leaning into him to have a hug. It wasn’t usual for her to do it first but he reacted quickly, pulling her close as he rubbed her back, content to keep her there forever. He was never the first to pull back from a hug, but Y/N would happily stay like this for hours  if the option was there. He smelled good, was so warm and sturdy and he knew exactly how to play with hair. Unfortunately she did have to pull back, shooting him a shy smile as he took her by the shoulder to the car. 

Of course he opened the door for her, made she she was in properly before jogging to his own side. He ever did the whole hand on the back of the seat while backing out move, which… wow. It never missed. The weirdest turn on, but something about it just elevated a man. 

His car smelled ridiculously good, and judging by the little clips on his air vents, he had just changed them. He had a few lanyards for access to work yards and membership cards to certain stores, but no fun little fuzzy dice, or a air freshener with a kitty on it like she had. There and then, she took a mental note to get him one. Maybe a puppy one, though. His German shepherd was his best friend.

“Are you getting any books?” She asked him after a little time passed. The chatter had been casual so far, easy. The tension she felt since last night wasn’t bad in the car if she continued topic switching and slight gossip. 

“Mm, I dunno. I haven’t done much reading lately. What are you gonna get?” He questioned, sneaking a peek at her as they stopped at a red light. 

“Probably romance. I’ve been most interested in that. I’ve seen some good book recommendations online and the girls sent me some, Gia and I wanted to do a book club thing for one of the books by our favorite author. It’s a bad boy romance but it’s called Reaper.” She figured he’d have no idea what that was, but she watched his brow raise as he gave her a look. 

“Well… you do have a naughty side, don’t you?” He snickered, watching her eyes widen. “Think m’clueless? Just because I don’t read a lot doesn’t mean my ears don’t work. Tony told me his wife was reading that and it’s full of sex. Basically erotica.” He licked his lip, looking her over. 

“Oh- well, yes there’s sex but there’s plot to! Just because a book has sex doesn’t mean it isn’t good!”’she crossed her arms, huffing at him. It was a bit to rile him up a bit considering he was doing it to her and it worked. She watched his mouth open and close before rushing out an explanation. 

“No! No, m’not saying that. It’s not bad at all. It’s empowering, but uh, I was just saying I didn’t expect you to read books like that.” He had to pull away as the light turned green but he looked a little stressed that he offended her. 

“I’m joking, H. I know you didn’t mean it like that.” She snickered, watching his face turn to a bit to a scowl. “What, you thought I’m a nun or something? Just cause I’m not spilling all my stories at the table doesn’t mean I don’t have them.” She knew a lot of the group was very open about their sexual experience which was more than fine with her. Y/N was nosy and loved knowing other people's business, But in her life she didn’t share sex related things. It was private, for her and her partners. She didn’t want to betray their trust either, regardless of the terms they were on. 

“I….” His face was more pink now, hands flexing around the wheel as he cleared his throat. “I just thought maybe you didn’t care as much about it. Which is fine, by the way! It’s cool. I just wasn’t sure you cared too much. You never talk about it when we have our confession nights so I… I was being a bit presumptuous. I’m sorry. It just shocked me a little.” 

It was funny to make him squirm a bit but he didn’t need to feel bad. “It’s fine. Promise. No one really asks anyway, so I don’t offer it up first. I’m usually private about it because some of our friends are loud mouths but you can ask me stuff if you want. Maybe after we get our books you can ask me whatever questions come up.” She knew there would be plenty based on his face alone. 

“Really?” He seemed surprised. “Yeah, sure. I mean, I’m not trying to be weird or anything but you know about the time I called someone by the wrong name and the girl who put her tongue in my ear so….” He shrugged one shoulder. 

“Oh, god.” Her giggle was muffled by her hand. He had shared some of his horror stories and she’d found out he was a bit of a bondage fan and dabbled in kinky stuff but until now that info had been locked away in her brain under padlock and key. Suddenly someone had taken nippers to the lock and it was spilling out again, staining the floor. “Yeah… I suppose that is fair.” Angling her knees towards her, she stirred her coffee with the straw. “I think the worst thing that’s happened to me… hm. Probably the time I went home with a guy after a few dates in college and his place was really gross, but he was even more so. Like…” her nose scrunched. “Took his pants off and there was a smell coming from them. I couldn’t do it.” 

“Oh, fuck.” He hissed, wincing at the thought. That was pretty much a nightmare situation. Harry always smelled good and never seemed to be anything but hygienic so she knew he gave a shit about it but still. No one wanted to think of that. “That’s… unfortunate for both of you. Was he embarrassed? How did you get out of it?” 

“He wasn’t, is the thing. Said ‘girls should like a natural musk’ and I told him that it wasn’t a musk, it was a stench. He wasn’t happy with that so he didn’t refuse when I left. I had to take a long shower after that.” Shuddering in disgust, she hated recalling that. “At first I felt really guilty too, cause that’s such a hard thing… but he ended up being such a dick. It was surprising considering he had been sweet on the dates but apparently men change a lot in the bedroom.” That was an understatement. 

“I can agree with that, but I’d hope it’s a positive change.” He shook his head at the thought. “Like, sweet in the streets and freak in the sheets or whatever the saying is.” 

A laugh peeled from her throat, leaning her head against the headrest with her face turned towards him. “Yeah, close enough. But ideally they would be. I dunno, you don’t have to be crazy to be good in the bedroom but I’d hope for the same level of respect. Some men have no idea how to actually handle women so it’s partly why I stopped dating.” And why she had stayed up looking at his Instagram last night and thinking about how she’d look inserted in his life. Harry seemed like a man who could potentially handle her. 

“I wish I could disagree but I can’t. I’ve heard many horror stories from girls, way more traumatizing than men. It’s why…” he stopped himself. “Sorry, was gonna overshare. But I can only imagine how it is and if it’s any consolation, I’m sorry for all the men.” 

God, he was cute.  But… wait. 

“No no, you can definitely  overshare.” She perked up. “If you want to, anyway. I don’t mind.” Blinking at him, he cut a look at her and let out a laugh as he lifted a hand to run it over his chin, the slight sound of skin scratching stubble audible in the cab of his truck. 

“Well, I was gonna say it’s why I try t’be aware of that when I’m with someone that their comfort is first. If there’s anything they don’t like they can say it, that m’not gonna be mad. I don’t want someone to walk away from something with me and feel uncomfortable.” Seeing him a little shy was really fucking adorable. “I don’t really do hookups anymore. They’re not fulfilling, at least not to me. Lost their appeal a few years ago but, the few relationships I’ve been in the whole goal was to make them feel good. I think there’s a lot of selfishness that’s mainly revolved around men and sex, which I noticed a lot. The fact that a lot of women aren’t getting off at all is fucking ridiculous.” He scoffed, looking truly bothered by it. 

Another point added to his growing list. 

“Yeah, it is. It was rare I could because for me, and I think a good amount of women, there needs to be the foreplay aspect of it. Mentally, I need to be stimulated. Y’know, like teasing or not so clean talking.”

It was her turn to feel a little shy but she powered through. “And men can dive right in. It’s where we differ a lot of the time. I think part of it is biological too, I guess. I tried hooking up for a while but it never did anything for me either. I prefer someone with a connection so it’s easier to get to that point.” Now she was the one oversharing. 

“I understand that. I like those things too. A bit of cat and mouse can be fun…” he pushed his hair back before returning his hands to the wheel, squeezing it. “It’s laziness and selfishness. I’d say for me personally, M’more of a giver. Not saying it to praise myself or anything but it’s just… it’s what I like.” There was a pause. “Sorry if that’s a bit much.”

No, it wasn’t enough. She wanted to know more. Her neglected cunt was more than interested in how he was in bed and if he’d like to be a giver for her, but she had to at least try to behave. 

“It’s not. We’re just being honest, right?” She placed a hand on his knee, giving a daring squeeze and let it linger for a few moments before peeling it away. Again, testing the waters of initiating touch. Once she’d realized last night that she hadn’t shown her own interest much she had vowed to at least try today to see how he'd respond.

In this instance his smile grew and he couldn’t look right at her, but he nodded at what she’d said. “Yeah. I jus’ don’t want to seem like some creep. But uh, what other sort of books do you like? Romance, yeah, but what sort of tropes?” He did know some of those. 

“Oh, I’m pretty adventurous.” A double meaning. “I like the grumpy and sunshine ones, the billionaire romances, mafia is a guilty pleasure. Meet cute is something else I enjoy for a light read. I dunno, I think I mainly go for what the summary calls to me for. I do read some darker stuff but it’s nice to have a little fantasy world to escape to. And the fantasy men know how to find a clit.” Throwing the joke in there was meant to diffuse some of tension but somehow it seemed to make it grow. 

Not in a bad way, per say, but he looked at her curiously. “Don’t tell me that all of them couldn’t….”

“No, no. Some of them did, but majority no. They rub the side and think they’re doing something. But I’ve never faked it, I refuse to give a man an ego boost for something he didn’t do.”

“Good on ya, petal. S’bullshit that they get off and you don’t.” He genuinely seemed bothered by it. “Buncha pricks is what they are.” 

“They are.” She snickered. “But I’ll let you read some of the blurbs for the books I pick out today, you can get a read on what sorta books I like.” It was yet again, another way to experiment. 

“I’m very intrigued to see what you’re into.” 

Y/N hopes that held a double meaning too. 

—-

Harry was hovering a bit. 

Normally that would annoy her. She’d huff and tell him to sit in the cafe, or go look at his own books- but she hoped that it was because he was paying attention to what she picked up. 

Plus, he was holding the basket for her. 

The store was earthy and rustic, exposed wooden beams running along the ceilings. There was a little cafe that served teas and coffees which she definitely planned on getting after her shopping, and from her nosy look over when Harry greeted the owner she had seen a blueberry scone. That would be coming home with her too. 

The shelves were high and they had multiple different sections. It was far bigger than any indie bookstore she had been to in the past , and that lead her to quickly realize quickly she was going to make a monthly trek out here. Maybe Harry would be interested in joining her in them. 

Maybe he’d be interested in doing a lot more with her. 

“I’m almost done.” She promised, plopping a used copy of a vacation town romance into the basket. It had to be a little heavy but Harry didn’t complain. It didn’t even look like the weight bothered him, the basket hanging off his arm. They’d stuck mostly to the used section considering they were far cheaper, but she was ready to go for the new ones now. 

So what if she took a little bit out of her savings for this? She deserved a little treat for once. 

“There’s no rush, Flower.” He assured her, following closely behind her as she moved towards the new books. “I was wondering if….” There was a pause as she looked up at him. It seemed to make his brain buffer for a moment, his eyes looking over her face before he blinked out of the stare. “Uh, it you wanted to have lunch or something after?”

Why was he so cute, and why did he look so nervous? Maybe Y/N wasn’t giving the signals she needed to. That would be her own fault, but it was hard to flirt when she was as serious as she was about her books. 

“On the condition that the iced mocha with a pump of caramel and the blueberry scone I get for the car ride doesn’t count as lunch, yes. I would very much enjoy that.” She chirped, watching the nerves melt off of his face. It was mind boggling that her of all people could cause him to be nervous in the slightest but you learned something new every day. 

“I’ll agree, because that’s more suitable for a dessert.” He drawled. Harry did like to tease her about her sweet tooth which always made her roll her eyes. So what if a girl liked to have a brownie with each meal? Life is nothing but spinning on an orb in space. You may as well enjoy the creature comforts. 

“If that’s your dessert I don’t think you’ve had a true one in a while.” The flirtation was light, testing the waters as she looked over the book covers. His eyes could be felt on the side of her face as he was quiet for a moment before letting out a little laugh. 

“Suppose I haven’t. You’re right. Maybe I’ll need to try yours and see what you mean.”

And oh. Oh. She did everything in her power not to react besides a little smirk, though she could feel the heat radiating off her cheeks. Harry could most defintely try her dessert whenever the fuck he wanted. 

“Should you be so lucky.” Was her slightly snarky reply, but he followed it up quite quickly. 

“One could only hope, Petal.” 

And yeah, maybe she felt her new heartbeat between her thighs as the newly heavier silence settled on them like oil in water, but it wasn’t necessarily bad. The anticipation was in her stomach as he got a bit closer, looking over her shoulder at the book she had picked up and was currently reading the back of. 

“What’s this one?” He asked, so close that she could feel the heat of his body against her back. 

“It’s called The Highest Bidder. It’s about… a girl who goes on an auction block at a BDSM club, he is one of the owners? Well he’s one of the richest. Anyways, I saw someone recommend it saying it has sugar daddy vibes and there’s some juicy stuff in it.” Y/N explained, taking the moment to lean back into him as she held the back cover for him to read. 

If he was surprised he didn’t show it. Instead, his hand came up to rest on her shoulder, pinky finger nearly grazing the side of her neck as he looked over to read. Such a casual touch of affection, but he seemed to like it. “And you’re gonna get this one?” It was a bit weirdly arousing feeling the vibrations of his words through his chest and onto her back. 

“I think so. I haven’t read an age gap for a while. Just hope the sex scenes aren’t shit. It’s hard to tell with books sometimes, even if they’re more kinky oddly enough. I’ve seen books that have the best summaries and seem super steamy have a two pump sex scene- or fade to black. Which, you know, is fine. Not all books need to have that, but what’s the point of making the book seem like it then?” She muttered. Clearly she had been victim to it a time or two.  “Then the authors get mad about low goodreads reviews. It’s like, cmon! Don’t mislead the readers about the book then.” 

It was something the woman did get passionate about when provoked, but Harry had opened that can of worms in the car when he had given his go ahead that he didn’t mind discussing things like this with her. 

“Mm. I see.” He nodded and she swore she could hear the smile in his voice. “Show me the others you want to get.” 

Y/N felt increasingly more comfortable as she went through the next five books, letting him read the back covers and giving him the low-down about what she had heard about them. Each time they moved their position would go back to where it was, with his hand on her shoulder and her back leaned into him, only he had gotten a little braver with running his smallest finger back and forth over the side of her neck. 

It nearly made her choke when she first felt it. She definitely stuttered when he did it, but she didn’t comment on how the little action felt incredibly intimate and soft, yet charged with an unspoken sexual energy that would probably kill her if she thought about it too long. Harry was being casual about it, but he always had been. He’d been the first to initiate most touches with her that Gia said were abnormal. Of course he didn’t start off their friendship by being super grabby and touchy but it had morphed into that, and it definitely did take him by surprise when she had initiated last night and again today. Kind of like she was reinforcing that it was more than okay to touch. 

“Are you sure you’re done?” He asked after placing her final book in the basket. Y/N felt like if she didn’t stop this weird, hot position of him asking questions about the books earnestly and his chaste-yet-sexy touches she may bend over the book table and get inappropriate really fucking fast. 

“Mhm.” She assured him. “Please, I’m gonna have to dip into the rainy day fund to afford all the stuff from today but it’ll be so worth it.” The sun shone through the windows and highlighted his features which, god, had her testing her own willpower. Of course she was far too shy to be super direct with him verbally, but she didn’t hide the fact that she was admiring him. 

Considering she had already been successful in her little experiments today, she saw the lock of hair that had flopped over his forehead and decided to push it back. Letting her fingers card through his hair, she pushed the strands out of his face and back into place. If she hadn’t been looking so intently she wouldn’t have seen the shiver he had from the action. His hair was so soft and obvious that Harry took care of it, and she had never really touched it all that much but the temptation had been too much. “Sorry, it was bothering me so it must have been bothering you.” She said simply, giving him a small smile. “I’m just gonna run to the restroom quickly and then we can check out. Okay?”

“Course.” He cleared his throat, nodding his head as if the question had taken a moment to load in his head. “I’ll be by the cafe then.”

Y/N really hated that bookstores made her have to go in there but it was a right of passage. Taking care of her business took only a few minutes, but when she came out she didn’t see him at first. 

He wouldn’t just leave her, so it took her a second to realize he was leaving the counter, two bags of books hanging off his arms and two coffees in the little tray. A brown paper bag clutched crumbled in the hand he used to balance the drink tray, making her eyes widen.

“Hey! I was gonna pay for our coffees and stuff.” She pouted as he approached. “You’ll have to let me get lunch then.” Her eyes went down to the two tote bags with the store logo on them. “Ooo, that’s so nice that they gave you these to hold them in. Let me just grab my wallet and we can go to the till to-“

“Don’t worry about it.” He cut her off, shrugging a shoulder. There was a pregnant pause, her eyes blinking rapidly before her eyebrows crinkled. 

“What do you mean? I have to pay.”

“They’re paid for.” The reply was simple and matter of fact. Again, words escaped her as she looked between him and the books. 

“Did you-“

“I paid. It’s fine, Flower.”

“Uh, what?” Her eyebrows shot up as her stomach dropped. It did the weird thing that had her feeling a little lightheaded as he stood there, like he didn’t just spend probably close to two hundred on books. “No way I can accept that.”

“If I told you I got a discount for building this place will it help?”

“Harry.” She said quietly. “You…. Why?” 

“Because I’m happy you agreed t’spend the day with me.” The reply was so to the point, not hiding anything at all that it almost felt unreal. Hell, it did feel unreal because who the fuck spent two hundred on books for a friend? Granted, she had a feeling-or a hope- there was a crush in there, but it felt like a huge gesture. 

“You already do so much for me.” She swallowed the lump down her throat. “You help me at my place and you drive me home from get togethers and you buy me drinks when we go out and… I feel like it’s a lot. I surely don’t do as much for you.”

“I’d do even more if you let me.” He stared honestly, nothing but truth on his face. “So jus’ let me do this for you. I want to. It makes me happy.” 

Y/N didn’t know how to argue with that. Instead, she nodded, and reached to take the bag and coffee tray from him since he had the much heavier books. “Thank you. I could cry, probably.” That wasn’t a joke. Her eyes felt like they were stinging. 

“None of that, Petal.” He shook his head. “C’mon. I’ve got plenty of questions and you’ve got answers you promised me on the way here.” Without thinking twice, he grabbed her free hand with his own, tangling their fingers before leading her to the truck. 

Y/N had no idea how so much had changed in 24 hours,

But she had a feeling it was about to change a whole lot more.

[wttcsms]

DRUNKEN CONFESSIONS WITH HIGURUMA PLEASE AND THANK YOU! (and maybe some nsfw if you're up to it?)

a rendering of regret, hiromi higuruma ;

pairing hiromi higuruma x f!reader word count 4.1k synopsis like everyone else who suffers from early onset midlife crisis syndrome, hiromi discovers two important things: he wishes he could fix things between you two and YOLO. like any other man with nothing to lose, he finds himself leaving the city and going back to his hometown, ready to be back in your good graces. content contains drinking, small town that sucks the life out of you but is home as the setting, being disappointed that growing up does not, in fact, solve all your problems, hiromi's mother is heavily implied to have committed su*cide, smut (riding hiromi, creampie, drunk sex)

Returning back to his hometown shouldn’t be as shameful of an ordeal as he makes it out to be, but the thing is, when you make a big show out of outgrowing small-town life, only to come back when it turns out the Real World sucks the soul out of you, it all becomes startlingly clear that you were never supposed to make it out in the first place. Becoming a hotshot attorney in Tokyo quickly disillusions any and all grandeur of being special and adulthood for Hiromi Higuruma, resident prodigy. 

It turns out that city living is even worse than a quaint little town because, while there’s really nothing to do back home, there is entirely too much going on in Tokyo. The subway is always crowded and reeks of B.O., cheap perfume, overpowering cologne, and crushed dreams. There is never not a case that needs his immediate attention. With so many people existing all in the same place, at the same time, it somehow becomes increasingly harder to form real, human connections. 

He knows that his mental break was long overdue, and honestly, he’s just shocked that his snapping hadn’t occurred sooner. Innocent people get tried for crimes on a daily basis; he knows this. He goes into this job knowing this, and witnesses it firsthand. It shouldn’t hit him so hard, but you told him, once upon a time, that at his core, he’s a good person. Hiromi Higuruma doesn’t think that a good person would punch both the prosecutor and the judge, but it certainly made him feel good. 

The justice system is a sham, and growing up sucks. Hiromi thinks that for someone who popped out his mother’s womb a full-blown genius, he was a bit slow on the uptake when it came to realizing these two monumental truths. He decides not to waste any more time on trying to tackle the world’s problems on how he used to do, which is rationally and with a clear-head. Lately, Hiromi’s just been letting the intrusive thoughts win more often than not. He’s certainly not punching judges in the courtroom, but he tests out new experiences when he’s feeling particularly adventurous.

Adulthood is all about being able to take a bath in your suit and tie, and no one can give you shit about it besides yourself. There are absolutely no consequences to doing this, and Hiromi thinks people should advertise adulthood as getting to do batshit crazy things to yourself without fear of a scolding. That is much more realistic and sounds much more promising than bullshit like you’re going to change the world. The world sucks. Everybody sucks. Tokyo sucks. His hometown sucks. He sucks.

Perhaps the only good thing to come out of this life is you. You, Hiromi thinks, are the only person in the world who he can never look at differently. 

Hiromi realizes too late that when you spend your whole life running from something, it eventually catches up to you, and it usually does whenever you’re out of breath and decidedly not prepared for life and past regrets to start pummeling you into the gravel. Hiromi has spent literal years avoiding any trace of you, and now he’s back home, probably worse off than he was when he originally decided to ditch this place, and his biggest past regret is standing in the staff lounge, making coffee from the communal coffee machine.

A shame, really. It’s almost embarrassing to be a grown man who gets literal heart eyes whenever he sees you. It’s doubly embarrassing whenever he realizes it’s been a decade since he’s last seen you, and that somehow, you still manage to make his heart get all hyperactive on him. 

“Hi, stranger,” you say, pretending like the fucking ghost of Christmas Past isn’t standing in the staff lounge of the community college you work at. 

“Hi,” he says, because for all his booksmarts, he can’t seem to come up with anything better. When he first skipped town, not even bothering to walk the stage for graduation, there had been a lot left unsaid between the two of you. Bringing up the past now, dredging up buried memories, seems like a bad idea. 

“You must be the new law instructor.” 

“Yes.” Apparently, as eloquent as he can be when it comes to defending his clients, he sure as shit is awful when it comes to saying the right thing to you. Then again, there are no instruction manuals to reference when it comes to facing your ex-girlfriend from high school who you never actually properly broken up with, just ghosted. 

You stare at him, study him for just a second. Take in his tired appearance. The circles under his eyes. An apathetic expression you aren’t quite used to. Strands of hair still stick up a bit in the back of his head and a few more hang in his face — that, at least, is one thing that hasn’t changed. 

“Good for you.” You tell him, and you leave it at that.

Hiromi Higuruma returning back to this shithole is certainly not on your bingo card on situations you thought would occur this year. Growing up, you were convinced more than anybody that Hiromi didn’t belong here. Not because of his appearance or the fact that his household was infamous for being a loveless, lifeless shell of a home and family, but because if anybody was destined for bigger and better things in life, it certainly would be Hiromi. 

He’s always been smart, to the point where the teachers would practically give him free rein to do whatever he wanted to during class because he already studied the material beforehand. Usually, he just spent this time helping you with your assignments. You remember making a comment to him in high school one time. 

“I’m holding you back, aren’t I?” You poke the book he’s ignoring in favor of helping you edit your essay for English Lit. 

“No,” he says, eyes glued to your paper. He’s erasing something. 

“Sure I am. You could be doing anything else besides editing my paper.” 

“I don’t mind.”

“Well, I do.” 

“You shouldn’t.” He’s rewriting a sentence for you. “There’s nothing I’d rather be doing.” 

“You should stop helping me, Higuruma.” 

He finally looks up from the paper. “What?”

“You should stop helping me.” You yank back your essay, unceremoniously shoving it into your bookbag. “It’s bad for me in the long run.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ll just keep on depending on you, and then what am I gonna do when you leave?” 

You mention this hypothetical as if it’s a fact. As if he is one hundred percent going to ditch this town and everybody in it. At the time you’re saying this, he doesn’t even know he’s going to leave yet.

“What makes you think I’m leaving?”

“You’ll die if you stay here.” Looking back, it’s comical how teenagers have a bad habit of voicing assumptions and then presenting them as fact. Hiromi Higuruma is the type of guy who cares so damn much about people and the state of the world, no matter where he goes, death’s going to follow. Caring is killer. 

“Even if I do leave, I’d want you to come with me.” He doesn’t know why he says this, but he knows that it’s the truth. If you want to stay here, that’s the only reason he needs to stay. If you want to go, he’ll have his bags packed. 

You search his eyes, looking for a possibility that he’s just saying stuff to appease you. Apparently, you find the sincerity you’re looking for because you give him a bright smile, hands already digging in your bookbag in search of your now-crumbled up essay. 

“Pinky promise?” 

“Pinky promise.” 

He seals the deal by interlocking his pinky with yours. This is a sacred act. You made it a strict rule in your friendship, and Hiromi is a stickler for rules. You can’t break a pinky promise; it’s the type of vow that transcends legality. To break a pinky promise would be to break off your friendship, make it null and void. So, when the time to walk the stage and receive your diploma in front of the town comes, you’re confused as to why Hiromi isn’t there. He’s not home, either. 

Hiromi left, his dad tells you. He looks like Hiromi, but since that’s his father, it’s the other way around. The only difference, besides the fact that he is a grown-up, is that Mr. Higuruma has what you call dead eyes. Lifeless. Like, he’s looking, but he’s not really seeing what’s there. He talks funny, too. All flat and emotionless, like he’s perpetually unbothered. You can’t even tell how he feels about his son’s departure, or the fact that there’s a teenage girl on his doorstep at seven in the evening, still wearing your cap and gown. 

“Do you know where to?” You ask Mr. Higuruma, still hopeful, still feeling the ghost of his pinky twisted around yours.

“Tokyo.” 

That checks out. You always knew Hiromi was meant for something more. 

“I’m shocked he’s not put behind bars,” Yuki tells you, wiping down the bar counter. “Didn’t you hear what went down in the courtroom with him and that judge?”

It had made the news. You normally don’t care to tune in, but it was something that concerned Hiromi. Of course you heard all about it. 

“I just don’t know what he’s doing back here.” 

“This place is a dump. ‘Course someone down on their luck is gonna come slinking back in here.” 

“Yuki…” You look at your best friend. “Didn’t you technically come back, too?”

“Well I never said I wasn’t down on my luck, now did I?” You can’t imagine someone like Yuki having to come back home with her tail tucked in between her legs. Yuki is the opposite of a loser; while the world beats people to a pulp, Yuki curbstomps the world. If Tokyo managed to send Yuki and Hiromi packing their bags, you don’t want to leave your hometown. Ever.

You meet Hiromi in grade school. Your town is too small to actually have its own public school, and so all the kids from home walk the two miles to the designated bus stop where this ugly, wretched faded yellow deathtrap on wheels comes squeaking and squealing to pick you up and take you all to the nearest city’s school.

Everyone knows that you all are the students from the rinky-dink town that’s such a shithole that it can’t even produce its own school. Finding work in that town is hard enough as it is, but you grow up used to being surrounded by your other financial equals. It’s hard to find your footing amongst a crowd of kids who get new shoes every school year and can afford the fancy crayons. You know, the ones that aren’t just glorified lumps of colored wax that would probably work better as candles instead of cheap art supplies. 

Hiromi gets most of the city students’ attention, though. It’s not as if it’s a surprise to you that they like to pick on him for his nose — it’s like the joke’s practically staring them right in the face. 

You are surprised, though, that he takes it so hard. He’s sitting alone at the front of the bus, staring out the window, and you think you catch a tear running down his cheek. 

You know that Hiromi is always early to a fault; he waits outside for the bus a good thirty minutes before it’s even scheduled to show up, just to ensure that he won’t miss it. You have to get up extra early as a result because you think it would be better to try to make friends with Hiromi without an audience. 

Before you can lose all confidence in yourself, you go for it. You take one grubby little hand of yours and swipe awfully close to his face, nearly hitting his nose in the process.

“Got your nose!” You wave your hand in the air, smile slowly falling when you realize that he doesn’t look amused. “Sorry. I was trying to help.”

“How was that supposed to help?” He doesn’t sound mean when he says it. He sounds curious, like he’s genuinely trying to hear you out. You will soon learn that that is the type of person Hiromi is. He might be the only person in the world who doesn’t judge someone within the first five seconds of meeting them. 

“Y’know, so when the other kids in school make fun of your nose, you know they’re lying.”

“How would they be lying?” 

“‘Cause I got your nose. How are they making fun of something they can’t see?”

Logically, young Hiromi knows that this is not the case. His big, fat nose is still smack dab in the center of his face, and the “nose” you captured is just your tiny thumb tucked under your fingers. Logical thinking is no fun, though, so Hiromi goes with it, and the two of you have been inseparable ever since.

Hiromi Higuruma has a lot of regrets, actually. In his mental tier list, the bottom of the barrel shit is made up of petty things, like not punching his grade school bullies in the face for being little assholes, or not trying Kitakata ramen when he had the chance. Then, there’s the stuff just a level above, which is less-silly things, like how he regrets the way he handled certain cases and the fact that in his haste to return home, he didn’t pack a pair of comfortable house slippers, and the ones he bought at the only convenience store in town feel too stiff. 

At the very top, his biggest regrets are all centered around you. This isn’t to say that he regrets you, but he does know that his treatment of you haunts him during the nights he lies awake in bed and wonders why the fuck life sucks so hard. He hates that he didn’t admit to you that he liked you sooner, that he wasted so many of his high school days awkwardly trying to hide the fact that he’s hopelessly devoted to you. He hates that he didn’t get a chance to take you to prom. He hates that he didn’t tell you that he was leaving, that he didn’t think to bring you with him, that he never called or texted after he left because he was too embarrassed and scared at the prospect of you not wanting to hear from him after how he left without a trace. He regrets not telling you why he left, that he caught his father and his mistress together, and how disgusted he felt at seeing such a sight. That the next day, he vowed to tell his mother, only to knock on her bedroom door (it’s no surprise that his parents never shared the same bed for as long as Hiromi could remember), and when she didn’t answer, he opened the door, only to be greeted by her still body in bed, three empty orange pill bottles on the nightstand. 

He couldn’t have stayed, and he was rendered speechless. Final transcripts had already been released, and walking for graduation was optional. Hiromi took whatever meager savings he had, clicked “accept” for his college admission to Tokyo U (full-ride, because if anyone was going to get a scholarship based on academic merit, it would be Hiromi), and skipped town. Everything in the world to him appeared to be in shades of black and white, the occasional bright orange catching his eye, haunting him, taunting him. 

Life is too short, though. Too short to waste time in bed, in an apartment he hates located in a city he despises, to look back at all his shortcomings. If he could go back in time and do things differently, he would. He wouldn’t have punched that judge or the prosecutor (even if they totally did deserve it), and he wouldn’t have kept his acceptance into Tokyo U a secret from you. He would have taken you to prom, and he would’ve asked you to come with him to Tokyo, escape this dump of a town and take on the big city together. He thinks he probably would have hated Tokyo less if you were with him, you and your nonsensical logic that makes the worst things to ever happen to him suddenly seem bearable. 

He should tell you all of this, but he’s drunk because Yuki is manning the bar, and she pours with a heavy hand. He never really spoke to the blonde despite the fact that they grew up down the street from each other, attended school at the exact same time, same grade, same everything. The downside of living here, it seems, is that everyone you’ve ever known is entirely unavoidable. You run into them everywhere. You want to drown your sorrows in amber liquid served in questionable, grimy glassware, and the person aiding in your slow death is the very girl who used to wake you up in the middle of the night due to the sound of her revving up her obnoxiously loud and ancient (she claims vintage) motorcycle that she bought for cheap at a junkyard. 

The upside of living here, it seems, is that since everyone is unavoidable, you are running into him here. 

You take a seat to his left, conveniently leaving one barstool between the two of you. Yuki is joking around with you, saying something that makes you laugh, and the urge to do something very stupid builds up in Hiromi. He’s been totally chill with the whole “letting the intrusive thoughts win” routine, but he wants to handle his relationship with you with a delicate hand.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks you, hoping that his words don’t come out slurred. 

“I’d normally say yes, but Yuki gives me my drinks on the house.” 

Yuki yanks back the drink she made you. “If Ace Attorney over here wants to pay for your drink, you’re getting charged, hon. Sorry. Girl’s gotta make a living.” 

Conversation with Hiromi comes naturally to you. Everything you do with Hiromi comes naturally. The alcohol helps warm you right back up to him, dormant feelings now coming back to life. You think you’re too old to have butterflies in your tummy when you make tequila-induced attempts at flirting with him (at least, you think you’re flirting; it’s been a while since you actually tried). You think that you definitely don’t give a shit whenever he plays along, because that’s just what he does, what he always has been doing. 

When he left, everyone in town was under the impression that Hiromi had been stringing you along. The fact of the matter is, you have Hiromi wrapped around your finger to the point where he doesn’t think he could ever get unstuck. 

Everything you do with Hiromi comes naturally, and it’s only natural to have him walk you back to your apartment. It’s only natural that you invite him inside to “catch up” some more, and it’s only natural that “catching up” involves you grinding on his lap, sinking his body deeper into the pink loveseat in your living room. 

Your dress is tugged up to your waist because easy access means you don’t have to get naked to get dicked down. Hiromi’s suit pants are admittedly not made for quick fucks, but if there’s a will, there’s a way. His pants are unzipped, briefs adjusted enough so that his dick can unceremoniously be freed from its confines and make its way to where it truly belongs, which is buried deep inside the warmth of your cunt. 

Hiromi finds pleasure in the discomfort of it all. If he was doing this with anyone else, he’d be hyper aware of the stiffness of his dry cleaned suit, and how the loveseat seems to protest with the combined weight of you two rocking back and forth on top of it. He’d be too irritated with the way sex would wrinkle his clothes, and he probably wouldn’t even be this hard because he drinks so he has a valid excuse for never taking a woman home with him. 

Because it’s you, everything is felt to the extreme, but you have this way, this charm, this spell, that makes everything that happens to Hiromi better. The best. You are the best he’s ever had, and he thinks he grunts this into your ear as you rest your body against his, upper body limp and boneless, your lower half moving up and down, trying to get a good angle so his cock can hit right there.

He kisses your shoulder, and he experimentally thrusts up, and you let out a string of moans that are interspersed with little breathy fuck’s, and he thinks this might be one of his most favorite sounds in the whole entire world. So he keeps thrusting, keeps relishing in the way your walls seem to clamp down on him, keeps enjoying the way you hang onto him and whimper out his name. 

He is drunk, and he is in love, and he knows that he didn’t come here with the intention of fucking you boneless, but you don’t seem to mind, didn’t seem to mind when you kissed him first and started grinding on him, the catalyst to the situation he’s in now. 

He planned on telling you the truth, the story about why he left, about how he feels stupid on how he handled the whole situation. The bourbon he downed earlier this night seems to be affecting his brain, though, because all he knows is that there is only one confession he is capable of giving to you right now.

“I love you.” He groans, his hands finding your waist, gripping hard. “Fuck, I love you. Never stopped.” 

His cock feels too good when it's buried deep inside of you. You know it’s silly and stupid, but you want to tell Hiromi that you want him to fuck himself so deep that he can touch your heart with his dick. No other man would want to hear some creep shit like that, but Hiromi is Hiromi. He would get it. You drunkenly tell him your wish, and he lets out a little breathy laugh, rolls his hips, and rocks your world. 

“I’ll give it my best shot.” He says, and because the alcohol tells him that his sobriety makes him a bitch, he reminds you once more. “I love you.” 

You cum. The sex is drunken and messy, and while drunk sex usually happens in a blurry haze for you, you are seeing everything clearly. You can see the crease in between his brows as he concentrates on maintaining the perfect balance between relishing in your wetness and not overstimulating you. You can see the way his eyes greedily, lovingly, admire the messy sight of your joined bodies. You can see his nose, tall and as noticeable as ever, and so Hiromi. 

You want to tell him that you love his nose, but speaking is hard when he dicks you down like this. All you can do is press a kiss to the tip of it. This only makes him tighten his grip on your waist, his thrusts getting more erratic, and then you feel a nice warmth flooding inside of you. The two of you are rational adults, and rational adults know that cumming inside should be a no-no between two people who have yet to establish what the fuck you are to each other. 

“I love your nose.” You tell him, when you finally manage to catch your breath. He’s still buried inside of you, and you’re afraid that when he does eventually have to pull you off of him, everything’s going to come spilling out of you. The thought of separating from Hiromi makes you frown. You just got him back. 

“I love you.” He says back, for the nth time this night. Maybe he’s making up for lost time. Maybe he’s just drunk. You don’t care. Hiromi is back, and even if he leaves again, you’re happy that he’s at least here with you right now. 

“You’re drunk.” 

“If I tell you when I’m sober, will you believe me?” 

He’ll sober up tomorrow. If he tells you when he’s sober, that means he’ll have to stay. He won’t go. 

“Yes.” You say, trying not to reveal the fact that you already believe him. Hiromi is not as impassive as he thinks he is. “Pinky promise.” 

You feel the familiar warmth of his finger twisting ‘round yours. 

“Pinky promise.”

[autisticrosewilson]

Hello to the one blog I've been loving to read for the past few days :) <3

Just wanted to add a little something that I started thinking abt after reading a few of your really cool posts, I think we should also discuss abt how Bruce's argument abt killing (with Jay) are often framed with "you're not the judge, jury & the executioner" which is really telling of who he thinks can exersise this legitimately? ? ?

I think it'd be constructive to actually properly discuss this aspect of Bruce's philosophy too. Plus, we get more nuanced Bruce characterisation. (Also keeping in mind uh... comic book propaganda of the writers and DC themselves)

YES ABSOLUTELY! Like what if someone is given a death sentence by a court of law? Does Bruce still care? I'm sure most writers would tell you no because Bruce has become a cop allegory. He's a violent enforcer of the law, and he seeks to uphold the law. Which is a recent switch! Batman comics used to be more radical, but now they're being written by old white men. So it's another one of those things where you can ignore it for your PERSONAL INTERPRETATION but you can't say that it's not A Thing because it's been like this for at least a decade.

His argument would likely be that everyone deserves a fair trial, that everyone has the right to be seen in court. Something which I do think Jason would agree with because when he's being written well he's not just shooting petty criminals! Jason's stance comes in with the big players, the disgustingly rich or well connected upper class who get away with murder. This has been true since the Garzonas case, the whole point was that Felipe was virtually immune to the law, and Jason couldn't allow that.

I think what it comes down to is whether they believe in reformative justice or punitive Justice, and I can most assuredly say that Batman believes in the latter. You can argue that Bruce is an advocate of prison reform but we don't really have evidence of that. He considers himself a punishment for criminals, he considers himself an equalizer but that's not true because he just delivers criminals into a system that is fundamentally corrupt and unfair. Do you actually think a trial in GOTHAM of all places is going to look at a rich man vs a petty crook the same way? That rarely happens even in real life.

And I don't think that Bruce does what he does out of inherent malice. Bruce is a deeply empathetic person, the core of Bruce Wayne is that he cares. But that's not enough, Bruce was allowed to grow up sheltered and it gave him an intrinsic idealism. He only has a Birdseye view of what the common people go through, that is not enough to stand there and say that he understands . Because he doesn't. He literally can't. And I think this bias, certainly one projected by the writers but that's another issue, comes through the most with Jason and Steph.

As far back as Jason's Robin era - widely regarded as Bruce's peak of being a good dad - he still makes some pretty big mistakes. Because he finds this homeless kid whose family has been ripped apart by the corrupted systems, who has actively experienced the worst Gotham has to offer, and he comes to the conclusion that if he doesn't take Jason home Jason will inevitably become a criminal even after Jason explicitly says he doesn't like stealing. So he takes Jason in but he makes that position as his son synonymous with Robin. And this is where we have to talk about meta because Jason is intrinsically tied to meta narratives. I'm not sure if you saw my other posts about Robin, as a concept, but I'll summarize here.

Child sidekicks are fine, in early comics. When things were campy light hearted whodunnit mysteries with a few action sequences, when you always knew that the child hero would come out unscathed, would always live till the next issue. And so when Bruce makes Jason Robin you have this veil of suspension of disbelief. But Jason's era is where you start seeing these kids' storylines get worse. More gruesome, more violent, more cruel. They start really testing the limit of Bruce's morality.

Batman: The Cult - Robin Jason has to crawl through a pile of dead bodies and while Bruce is having a mental break this MAYBE 14 year old is trying to get them out. The Diplomats Son - Jason watches a rapist be let go, because he's powerful and his dad has money. He sees exactly the kind of damage it does to the victims, he's the one who finds Gloria Stanson. A Death in the Family - Jason is murdered. Tortured and murdered and betrayed. He's dead and he was always intended to STAY dead. And all throughout Tim's run and then into Steph's the writers retroactively change everything about who Jason was because it has to be HIS fault, because if it's not Jason's fault then it might be Bruce's. Because how can audiences see Bruce as just and good for taking in new kids after what happened to the last one?

The suspension of disbelief shatters. Because now Jason is back and he's angry. Because maybe we as readers know that Tim, and Steph, and Damian need to be Robin because Robin makes money with young readers. But you know who doesn't know that? Jason, who no doubt assumed that his survival depended on being Robin. Who was sold out because he was Robin. Who was badmouthed and disgraced the entire time he was gone by people he loved and trusted. Jason doesn't know that he's in a comic book, but I argue he knows he's in a Batman story.

If not from his first appearance then definitely in recent ones. What can you do besides lay down and forgive and keep coming back when you know that the universe revolves around one man? How do you get rid of the terror and anger at realizing that you can never leave, that no matter how much he hurts you the universe will bend itself in half so that he is still just and right? When you realize that the love that has defined you is a disease rooted so deeply that to rip it out would be to kill yourself, that you can't even stay dead because Bruce does not want you to be.

And they couldn't even stick to Jason being the problem! Because then Steph dies. And all I could think was "Of course she did. She's an East End girl whose been compared to Jason constantly. Or a version of him. Of course she would be tortured to death trying to get Bruce's approval." Here we are, history has literally repeated itself, and...Tim is Robin again. Why? Because this is a comic book, and Batman needs Robin.

But what do you think everyone in-universe thinks? What do you think that looks like? How can you possibly still call Bruce a good parent under these circumstances? Bruce calls Robin a blessing, a gift, a necessity. He relies on Robin, physically to watch his back and emotionally to keep him in line. He trains them, he molds them, he loves them.

But sometimes love just isn't enough and the good Robin does shouldn't negate the harm they get in the process. Robin then becomes this horrible force of change, you get it and you know that this has doomed you, one way or another. Because Bruce believes that suffering is noble, that pain can reform people. It's baked into his character. Even if he doesn't intend to hurt his kids, it's not like we haven't seen him justify it to himself and others. "I love you, I did this for your own good, I thought I could help you, it was your fault I did that, it won't happen again, I lost control of myself but only this once, we can be a family again if you just come home." It reads an awful lot like an abuser trying to convince you or himself that he's not in the wrong.

This was longer than I intended it to be, but I guess my main point is that Bruce and Batman can't ever be fully separated. Something that I think his relationship with Cass shows us he's aware of but chooses to ignore. We know that Batman is dangerous, that he wouldn't hesitate to hurt his kids, we saw that with Zurr-Batman (WHO BRUCE ADMITTED WAS A FACET OF HIMSELF YOU CAN'T SAY IT WASN'T HIM BECAUSE HE HIMSELF SAID THAT IT WAS). So why try and act like it's this impossible out of character thing for Bruce to be harmful? For his kids to feel angry and hurt about his actions or for their feelings to be as or more valid than Bruce's. Batman has and will hurt his kids and Bruce will try to rationalize it all away because he loves them, he would never want to hurt them. And the narrative will tell us that Bruce is right, that this is good and fair and just, that Bruce's perspective is the correct one, that his kids deserve this, because this is a comic book and outrage sells. Or they'll retcon it and pretend it never happened. Or they'll just never bring it up again. Or Bruce will be forgiven regardless just to hammer home how good and right he is.

Because this is a comic book about Batman, and Batman is a hero, he is our protagonist, and so he is reliable and we should never doubt him, or call him out, or be mad at him. Naturally.

[autisticgoten]

More thoughts on aroace Goku/the autistic Son family (+ headcanons and postcanon ideas)

Because I couldn't justify putting them all in the art I just posted lmao

[Image ID: An aroace flag colour picked from Super Saiyan Goku, with Goku in front of it. End ID.]

I have always read Goku as somewhere on the aroace spectrum, especially during the early series.

(Thoughts/Goku-based thesis under cut)

In early Dragon Ball, Goku often has to have social concepts such as sex, gender, romance, etc., explained to him. This, of course, is related to the running joke that he's sheltered and has no comprehension of things which are second nature to most people.

[Image ID: A panel of Roshi saying "I am appalled by your inability to judge women!" Goku responds, "Really...?" End ID.]

(From Chapter 25, where Roshi is horrified that Goku does not objectify women. The surrounding panels are worse, typical early series jokes.)

He's 12 here, around the age where media often portrays young people as developing feelings of attraction. Though his lack of interest may be portrayed as due to his isolation, that really wouldn't have that much bearing on experiencing romantic interest when he explores the rest of the world. Toriyama consistently choosing to write Goku like this seems to say something more about him than just this running joke.

Then, of course, there's the (somewhat infamous) scene where Chi-Chi confronts Goku when they are both 18 or so and insists that he promised to marry her.

[Image ID: Two panels. In the first, Goku thinks, "Wow... And all this time, I thought she meant something to eat! Well, I guess that's it... I did promise!" In the second, he faces Chi-Chi and says, "Okay! We'd better get married!" and she says, "Yay!" End ID.]

(From Chapter 171. Searching for this exposed me to too many people's opinions on Chi-Chi.)

Goku is remarkably casual about agreeing to marry someone, especially as he didn't really know what it meant a few minutes ago. I really don't think this is intended to be taken too seriously -- it's largely a joke about how nonchalantly Goku treats things that are super important to most people, because he has other priorities than most people.

I don't think this is a reckless/stupid moment for Goku (or a predatory moment from Chi-Chi as I've unfortunately seen people say). He's young and doesn't understand social expectations very well and you know, he made a promise. It's perfectly reasonable to him.

Goku is now 18 and still exhibits the same cluelessness when it comes to romance, even though he has been around the world and met many people, including people his age.

This moment also makes me think a lot about my headcanons of both Goku and Chi-Chi (and the whole Son family) being autistic. Goku is so so autistic to me -- he largely exists outside of social expectations and is confused when they are imposed onto him, he is focused on one thing (mastering martial arts) to the point where other things seem unimportant to him, etc. On the other hand, Chi-Chi is also autistic but in the way of attempting to adhere strictly to social expectations because she wants to Fit In (#girlautism). Women get married because they were promised to someone when they were young and that's that.

This diverts from manga canon/Toriyama's writing, but in the anime filler about Goku and Chi-Chi's wedding there's a whole dumb bit where a character called Grandma Hakkake 'teaches' her how to be a good wife by making her clean her house.

[Image ID: A screenshot from the Dragon Ball anime where Chi-Chi is intently cleaning up a pile of dishes. End ID.]

(Episode 151)

It's so absurd that it makes me think about Chi-Chi rather desperately adhering to the social role of a Good Wife. When you consider this, it contextualises a lot of her characterisation. She is frustrated with Goku because he doesn't fulfill some socially-expected aspects of a Good Husband, such as earning the household's income, keeping Gohan in school, etc. She is frustrated because she has done her very very best to be a Good Wife and yet he doesn't seem to be trying at all.

This is NOT an attack on Goku in any capacity, I don't think he's a bad husband or father at all. There is a difference, however, between Goku's personality and the social construction of a Good Husband.

I'm thinking about this post by @gokustits where @dbfandom breaks down this rather infamous panel from the original Japanese (I highly encourage reading and interacting with the post because it's excellent).

[Image ID: A panel where Chi-Chi is yelling "Oh, come off it, Goku-sa! You never do any work, and you never look after Gohan-chan--!! Have you ever made a single penny since we got married--!?" End ID.]

@dbfandom: The first bubble is her scolding Goku for being an absentee father, but it's through the societal lense. She's saying he's a bad father (by societal norms: aka a "provider"), but not a bad "dad", and she's angry about the year and a half in which Goku was absent but could have not been (due to the wish to Porunga to be brought back that Goku refused!)

The difficulties in their marriage largely come from this miscommunication, where Chi-Chi assumes that Goku knows these societal norms because they're societal norms, but of course he doesn't. This isn't really either of their faults, especially as they got married at 18 (!!!). It's more tragic than anything to me.

Their early relationship feels kind of like 'playing house' to me. Chi-Chi has a very specific idea of marriage and Goku goes along with it. I do think they're happy, especially before the Saiyan Saga starts, but it feels less related to the social expectations and more in spite of them. They develop a relationship and enjoy spending time together, fall in love in some capacity for sure, but when Goku is pulled in other directions that relationship is strained.

This is going more into the realm of reading between the lines/headcanon, but my interpretation of Goku's feelings for Chi-Chi are really just that he enjoys spending time with her and doesn't mind what form it takes. I view him as a sex-neutral ace (he doesn't care much either way).

I don't think there's any doubt that Goku loves Chi-Chi as their relationship ends up.

While Chi-Chi's initial feelings for Goku definitely seem like she convinces herself that she has them because she's betrothed to him, I also think she develops very real feelings for him. I read her as a little aroace-spec too, though I think she specifically enjoys romance as compared to other ways of being with someone more than Goku.

Anyway! Onto the kids!

[Image ID: A coloured DBZ chapter cover in Japanese, with Videl, Goten, and Gohan. End ID.]

(Chapter 428/DBZ 234)

Gohan is actually the only one of the Son family I read as totally allo, lmao. Well, there's really not much evidence either way, but his romance with Videl feels fairly natural to me. If anything, they have more obstacles to their relationship than pressures.

(Except that one weird moment where Chi-Chi is excited that the girl Gohan likes is rich, but I personally don't think that influences him too much.)

I do really think Gohan and Videl is just one of these rarer cases where people fall in love in high school and get married young but end up with a pretty healthy relationship.

(It happens. I started dating my partner of 8 years in early high school lmfao, though we do certainly have some aroace-spec shenanigans going on)

Not to say they're completely untouched by social expectations and all. Being in a heterosexual marriage certainly comes with plenty of that. Gohan getting married young like his parents does also play on my mind. Even if he wasn't pressured into it, society certainly doesn't object to anything he does.

As for Videl, she is also very allo to me with her initial crush on Gohan. I like a lot of their early relationship which is built on training together.

(This only makes Super even more frustrating with how they completely strip Videl of her personality and what made this relationship interesting.)

[Image ID: A trading card of high school Videl and Gohan back-to-back, looking at each other over their shoulders and smiling. End ID.]

I also read Gohan as autistic, though he's better at masking than Goku. He also sometimes struggles socially (though this may also be part to his isolated upbringing) and has special interests (entomology in Super, of course, but also martial arts just like Goku -- I'm sure he has complex feelings about this considering his trauma but also his earnest love for it in less high-stakes situations i.e. Saiyaman).

Okay! Finally nearing the end, onto Goten (and a bunch of my headcanons)!

[Image ID: Three panels. In the first, Trunks says, "Y'know what, Goten?!" and Goten responds, "What?" In the second, Trunks says, "If I tried... I bet I could only beat you with one arm!" In the third, Goten says, "What?! One arm?! You can not!" End ID.]

(Chapter 433/DBZ 239)

To the surprise of absolutely nobody, I love Goten. I love the energy that he and Trunks bring the Buu Saga and their fun, childish outlooks.

I read Goten as autistic too ("no way, tumblr user autisticgoten"). Alongside some of his characterisation which feels very inspired by young Goku's, his friendship with Trunks also makes me think of this.

Often, Trunks is the instigator, proposing schemes for Goten to join in on. This may be explained by Trunks being the older and more confident kid, but I also like reading this as Goten being Autistic in the way that he really wants to fill the role of Trunks' friend well.

[Image ID: A full-body illustration of young Goten in his gi, smiling. End ID.]

(my art! full post here as I remain proud of it)

As for queer stuff, well...

We only have brief appearance of teen Goten as written by Toriyama, in the DBZ epilogue.

It's fairly brief and the most insightful thing, really, is that he mentions he's going on a date, which means he's interested in romance in some capacity.

[Image ID: A panel where Goten says "And I had a date tomorrow, too". End ID.]

Honestly, any conclusions drawn from that alone would be pretty narrow (I'm not analysing GT or Super in this particular post).

So... now for headcanons and my personal ideas!! Everything from here is from my own writing of post-canon DB, so fair warning if you're only interested in the analysis.

I really, really like teen Goten being bisexual and aroace-spec.

[Image ID: A digital sketch of teen Goten in a gi holding up a peace sign and saying "i love bisexuality", with a bisexual flag in the background, and another tiny doodle of him in the corner. End ID.]

(little scribble from 2023 I didn't post)

Goten is the first one in his family to actually identify as queer. This brings up a whole BUNCH of feelings when he comes out. Goku wouldn't care at all, of course. Chi-Chi definitely isn't intolerant but has some traditional ideas. Her entire marriage is built on heterosexual gender roles. She has a lot of talks with her son which lead her to consider a lot of things differently.

Goku never identifies as aroace because that doesn't matter to him but the idea helps him understand that the way he sees romance may not be the same for everyone. He and Chi-Chi talk a bit and while I think their relationship is definitely better after the Buu Saga in general due to their age and a lack of stressors, this really helps them come to terms with the unexamined issues in their relationship and how they've always had different expectations.

(Young queer people helping their older relatives understand things about themselves is so, so important to me and I just want to see it more. On a personal level, my sister and me coming out helped my mum realise she's bisexual.)

Anyway, my interpretation of teen Goten does flirt around a lot but he rarely has serious relationships and the people he dates always just end up as friends. This is because he's aroace-spec, and also because he can't conceive of anyone in his life being more important than Trunks.

In the end, as an adult he has a semi-romantic bestfriendship-based queerplatonic-y thing with Trunks. No particular labels. They just live together and are in multiple kinds of love!

(I hc Trunks as a trans man and gay but I will not go into that today because I will never shut up)

I think Gohan is definitely the first person Goten comes out to, though. After Gohan moves out, Goten has a habit of just appearing on his roof to talk with him, and this happens during one such talk.

[Image ID: A digital sketch of Goten and Gohan sitting on a roof under a night sky. End ID.]

(an unfinished sketch also from 2023)

And, to circle back to the Autism! During one of these talks, Gohan also tells Goten that he's been doing a lot of introspection/research and thinks he's autistic (and their dad is likely autistic...). And so the family are able to put a name on that certain thing that seems to set them apart from others.

(Last personal anecdote: I got my autism diagnosis right around the time my dad started to realise he is autistic too, as runs in his side of the family.)

Anyway! I could go on and on but this headcanons segment is already too long so I'll save it for other posts.

If you made it through this monster of a post, thank you!!! I hope you found something that rings true for you.

AROACE AUTISTIC GOKU FOREVER!!!!! <3

[spicyllewyn]

Kinktober 3. - Breeding / degrading.

Bud Cooper x F!Reader.

Tags & warnings. Breeding + degrading + age gap. (Early 20's + late 30's) (+18)

Important writers note. Since Suburbicon is set in 1959 you can guess it right, this is kinda misogynistic lol, there's a bit of dub-con with the breeding part.

Word count. 2k.

Summary. Bud is dying to make you a mommy.

Kinktober masterlist.

Bud was sweet, well, most of the time. You just weren't used to accepting the idea that sometimes he seemed to be obsessed with you.

Flowers, cards, expensive gifts. Having a boyfriend with a job was more fun than you thought, but at the same time, you had to deal with the burden of an older man with completely different aspirations from yours.

You loved him, and he undoubtedly loved you, but did you love him enough to set aside your life plans?

Attending college was a huge privilege, the idea of getting a job, your own apartment. You never saw yourself as a housewife, although you didn't judge those who made that choice; many of your girl friends were living a dream life that way.

And you weren't a fan of kids.

Oh, and weddings were too expensive to even consider.

Needless to say, it was the opposite of what Bud wanted for you. Well, for him. Or should you say, for the both of you, maybe?

"How was work?" Your arms wrapped around his neck as you kissed his lips. As usual, the only thing between you two was a bouquet of flowers. Beautiful sunflowers that matched the aesthetics of your room perfectly.

"They're considering me for a promotion." The tip of his nose rubbed against yours, making you laugh. "You should think about... you know, what we've talked about."

You pursed your lips, shaking your head afterward.

"No." You had lost count of how many times you had to repeat this. "I've already told you, love. No marriage, no engagement, no living together, and no kids until I finish college." You knew the dialogue by heart, and he probably did too.

He groaned, a little pout appearing on his lips.

"People talk," he whispered before kissing your lips again. Ah, you knew that by heart as well; it wasn't very difficult for him to distract you from the main topic.

Ever heard the popular saying "Small town, big hell"? Turns out, for the whole neighborhood, your relationship was more than scandalous. Bud already had a reputation due to his recent divorce, and you had managed to make it even worse with what everyone considered "progressive" ideas for the 50s.

You weren't married, everyone knew that, and you weren't in the process of getting married because every time you attended a boring neighborhood party, they always checked your hands and your partner's hands as a way to confirm that there was no ring yet. But still, you never hid the liberties of your relationship.

You spent whole nights at his apartment, the old lady from the house around the corner always spied on you when you left in the early hours or even in the mornings, with disheveled clothes, messy hair, and smeared lipstick all over your mouth.

The public displays of affection were on your part, although it was difficult for him to give in a little, he later understood that you did not have to be a prude in front of people, in fact, he started to enjoy the way in which people stopped to look. how you devoured his mouth against his car and how it brought moans from your throat because of the way his big hands squeezed your waist as if you were going to get away from him.

He loved your cherry flavored lip gloss and letting everyone know you were his.

"They've always talked." You lowered the bouquet of flowers, placing them on the dining table as his hands traveled the same path over and over, from your hips to your waist. "You know it's not what I want."

He sighed but gave you the same defeated smile as always.

"I know." He took just two steps closer until your body was against the table. "I've got the migraine of the century."

You chuckled. You already knew what that meant.

"And how could I solve that?"

With little effort, he sat you on the edge of the table, and your hands traveled down his chest, brushing his abdomen until they reached the edge of his pants. You tugged at the fabric until his hips were comfortably positioned between your legs.

“You know well what I want.” It was the last thing he whispered before his mouth was on yours, kissing you wetly and desperately.

It was no different than other times, you would never have guessed that Bud had a mission for that night.

While he was nibbling on your lower lip your hands quickly unbuttoned his shirt, you were never going to get tired of admiring his body, muscles and tanned skin were the perfect combination, although this time he was so focused on your mouth that you couldn't move away to do it this time.

His fingers slowly lifted the hem of your mini skirt, the one that made older women look at you with disdain in the streets, the one that he loved so much. Bud only pulled away from your lips when he wanted to, looking down as his thumb brushed the center of your panties.

"Look at that." He whispered, applying more pressure with his thumb. “You're wet from just a couple of kisses."

You nibbled on your already swollen and red bottom lip, your eyes not leaving him for a single second.

“You are such a whore, you know that, sweetheart?” You whimpered as his thumb began to trace small circles over your still covered clit.

You felt how your little pussy throbbed around nothing. 'Whore' was a word that you knew was constantly floating around town to refer to you, it was fucking hot when your boyfriend used it before fucking your brains out.

You nodded slowly and bit back the urge to smile.

“So desperate.” You felt him teasing your hole with his middle finger, wetting your underwear even more as he pressed the fabric against the exact spot your slick ran from.

You sighed and your hands rested on the table for some support while you held your legs open for him. His gaze was still fixed on his hands against your puffy little pussy lips, marking the line between them with his fingers.

“People talk.” He repeated what he had said minutes before. “They talk about what a whore you are for letting yourself be fucked without being married to me.” You thrust your hips forward in desperation when his hand finally slipped under your underwear. You needed him.

“I know y-you love it.” You whispered with a breathy voice. “Letting everyone know I'm nothing but your slut.”

That was enough for him, you knew how to drive him crazy with a flutter of your eyelashes, even more so with a couple of words. He stopped touching you, and you were about to complain until you saw him unbuttoning his pants to give you what you really wanted.

It was your hand that delicately helped him position his cock between your legs. The head pressing against your hole after only pushing your underwear aside.

"This is what you want?" No matter how much he pressed he just didn't thrust into you, a few nights ago you had realized how much he liked to push you to your limit.

“Bud, p-please.”

"Sorry?" You saw the corner of his mouth twitch with the threat of a smile.

"Please please." You whispered, your pleading eyes boring into him.

"Please what?"

“Please fuck me, please, please.” You pushed your hip further to the edge of the table, not even with the pressure of your body you could make him continue. "I need it."

“Yeah? You do?” He cooed, a mocking pout on his face.

“I beg you.” You whimpered, your high pitched voice getting more demanding.

He clicked his tongue and in one thrust he buried himself in you, fulfilling your pleas in one expert movement.

“It doesn't matter h-how many…” He stammered as his fingers dug into your thighs. “How many damn times do I try to stretch you out.” He started with a slow rhythm, strong and deep, enough to use his own hands as a method to keep your body from sliding back on the table. “You are still so fucking thight, baby.”

Your hands traveled to your breasts, squeezing them over the fabric of your sweater, giving him a bit of a show before taking it off.

Ah yes, the fact that you didn't wear a bra was also something that attracted glances on the streets.

“Look at you, pretty girl.” He leaned enough so that he could bury his face between your breasts, licking his lips before beginning to place wet kisses on your soft skin. “Fuck, I want to marry you.”

His voice almost sounded pleading as your fingers ruffled his hair and pushed him even closer to you. He took one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking on it as his hips slammed into you again and again in a desperate rhythm.

“Please, please.” He whispered against your skin. “Please, marry me.” You were too cock drunk to think or speak clearly, you just nodded even though he couldn't see you.

It didn't take long for Bud to find that spot inside you, you moaned as loudly as you wanted, your back arching as if your body was begging to be as attached as it could be to his.

“Be my wife, baby.” You recognized well the way his voice broke, he was close.

He rested his chin on your chest and looked up. His eyes looked bigger from that position, it was stupidly adorable.

“P-Pull out.” You whispered between whimpers, your forehead resting against his.

Who were you trying to fool? You both loved each other so much it hurt.

He didn't obey you, his movements became more abrupt and you heard the table creak under your body along with the slap of your skin against his.

He was fucking you merciless.

“B-Bud.” You patted his cheek, trying to get his attention. “A-Ah, shit. P-Pull out.”

He dragged his hand up your thigh slowly until he reached between your legs, he pressed his thumb against your swollen clit making you see stars.

“Bud!” You exclaimed loudly, your entire body trembling with pleasure. “Yes, y-yes, God, yes.”

“You are going to be such a pretty mommy.” His nose brushed against yours as he straightened his back, seeking to be at your height.

You wanted to refuse, you really wanted to tell him to stop but your body was at his mercy, begging for more.

Praying he wouldn't get out of you.

“You want me to pull out, sweetheart?” He took your bottom lip between his teeth, nibbling on it and giving it a little tug before releasing it. “Tell me, do you want me to?”

Only moans came out of your mouth, shouting Bud's name and the word 'more' over and over again.

"I thought so." A delicate kiss on your lips. And another, and another, and another, and another. “You want my baby, don't you?”

You weren't thinking, you really weren't when you nodded.

A smile appeared on his face, accompanying his flushed cheeks and bright eyes.

It only took two more thrusts for you both to reach the limit, for the first time you felt the pleasure of being filled to the brim by him as your walls squeezed every last drop out of him. The warm liquid running down your thighs as your insides couldn't take any more.

“You are such an…” One more thrust silenced you, the way he pushed his spend deeper inside you. “Idiot.” You whispered, closing your eyes at the sensitivity of your body.

“You should start thinking about names.” His teasing smile made you want to punch him, but the soft, slow movement of his hips made you want to ask for more. “What do you say, love?” He pretended to pay attention to your babbling. “Yes, I think so too.”

He kissed your lips once, twice, three times.

“I'm not sure one is enough either.”

Tag list. @ninebluehearts @shousha133 @unear7hly @onefinnedwonder-fm @automnepoet @lokisremainingsanity @uncle-eggy @just-a-nightdreamer @spktrgantenk

Remember to comment if you want to be on the kinktober tag list!! <3

ngl, i kinda liked this one lol

[rockwgooglyeyes]

When I heard the beginning of Heart, the creaking of the crank winding up stood out to me, though I didn't know quite why. When the instrumentals drop and the vocals begin, it's easy to forget about the literal wind-up of the song. @crustyfloor mentions in one of their posts about Heart, though, that it sounds quite like a music box, and it could be likened to one of Sua's owners winding Sua up to perform her role, and I think that's quite the apt description. Sua has always given the impression that she's untouchable, immaculate, an ideal of beauty and grace, just like the ballerina in a music box. (PLEASE LOOK AT CRUSTY'S POSTS BTW THEY'RE SO COOL)

The thing that really drew me in about Heart, though, was the lyrics. The song itself feels inoffensive, the instrumentals clean and pleasant but not terribly adventurous, I would say, nothing too out there, nothing that could possibly turn someone away- which furthers Sua's palatable, perfect image. The lyrics on the other hand, man, the lyrics. "When the spotlight fades out, closing credits, when the curtain falls down" which is such a Sua metaphor it almost hurts. Sua has always been an actor in a grand play, for her whole life she's been fulfilling whatever role she was given, in fact she's playing the role that she was arguably made for. This is another reason why I headcanon her as autistic but the depth to which she masks is truly remarkable, on par with Ivan's unreliable narration. I would say that's even the reason why she dislikes Ivan so much, because she can see so much of herself in him and that includes the ugly parts- the parts about herself that she actively hate she can see on full display within him, and by hating him, she can both avoid confronting those parts of herself and take out her frustration on something tangible.

The cinema/theatre parallels in the lyrics (spotlights, closing credits, curtain fall) echoes the way in which Sua herself feels as though she has to perform in order to survive, and in a way, she does. If she's not able to fulfill the role she's been given by her own, that of the emotionless and obedient doll, she would probably be killed or even worse. At the same time, we know that Sua's owner, Nigeh, dresses up all of her pets as dolls and has all of her pets look exactly or near-exactly the same. Even in Sua's identity as "faceless doll" she isn't unique, lost amongst the crowd of her owner's other pets.

Society is a constraint against Sua's every movement, she's constantly watched, judged, and she has these responsibilities that she never asked for. This ties into a weirder, tangential point I want to bring up, and that's the old-Hollywood energy that Sua has. Sua has always had that air to her of a movie star from the black-and-white days of cinema- in fact, I would say her white dress, despite its color, is actually pretty similar to the "little black dress" worn by Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's. Especially with the long opera gloves, the low collar, and adornment at the neckline but the lack of adornment around the hips. Additionally, the little black dress is seen as something of a radical form of fashion, when it comes to the early 1920s in the USA, at least, and it is something of a symbol of women reclaiming their femininity and power during a time period where women's suffrage was nationally established in 1920. The fact that the dress that Sua dies in is a dress that is a subversion of her previous style, which is to say, the frilly doll-like look, that kind of stands out to me. Maybe they were trying to make a nod to that iconic silhouette but admittedly, it's probably a bit of a stretch. My brain just wouldn't let go of it ahah

Sua's cinema/theatre symbolism is a truly fascinating part of her character, even if it makes a lot of sense. She talks about her life as if it's one grand stage play because in a way, it is. She's been following a script since she knew how to read and she's never really gotten to make choices for herself, which is why her last and only act of defiance was dying for the one she loved, dying for Mizi. But even with Mizi, she's never been able to be truly herself, and that's touched on in the lyrics, And now, under that mask of mine, you don't want to see what's inside" which is basically just Sua talking about how she's putting on this face, this happy beautiful facade, and she knows that it's fake. She's miserable and she doesn't want anyone to know, so she wears her mask of blind, ignorant bliss.

It's one of the most interesting aspects of her relationship with Mizi because, in some ways her relationship with Mizi shows Sua's true colors the most, but in other ways, it shows the depth of her deception. Sua knows that she's lying to Mizi about the true depravity of the world but it's a lie she's desperate to keep. Mizi is an oasis of innocence in a world full of cruelty, a sanctuary from the reality that Sua has been forced to live with her whole life, and not only that, Mizi loves her. Of course Sua wants to do anything she can to preserve that safety, that feeling of belonging. At the very same time, Sua knows how tenuous this feeling is. She knows that, were Mizi to learn the truth and realize how long Sua has been lying to her about the reality of the world they live in, that Mizi very well might resent her. (and for good reason!!)

One of the biggest reasons that I view Sua and Ivan as so similar is the fact that, I think when push comes to shove, they both believes themselves to be harming the people they love. This line from Heart "You know our time's running out (The dream I held is filthy as hell)" feels like it echoes that idea, with Sua acknowledging how they're living on borrowed time but I would argue, the second half "the dream I held is filthy as hell" is Sua saying that she believes the happiness that she's held so dear, the love she's cherished, the dreams of a future without pain, those have been tarnished merely by her holding them in her hands. She believes that she's the problem, she's the one who has been bogged down by the misery and suffering of their world, and perhaps that's why she's so willing to sacrifice herself for her love. She gave it the good old college try, she got to experience a lot more love and happiness in this life than she ever thought she would, and now she's going to give the goodness in her life, the one who illuminated her darkness, a chance to live past this moment.

tagging @bluemoonscape come get your Sua food and tagging @apriciticreveries thank you so much for spawning this horrible brainchild and giving me your translation of the song lyrics, it was very helpful <3 I love you both

[orphiclovers]

I wanna talk about rape/SA in Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint err so that's what this post is about!

cw: discussion of rape depiction in media ( it's exactly as graphic as orv makes it so if you read it and were fine this post is probably okay too) ; also various homophobic/transphobic/misogynistic tropes related to SA. let's fucking go

rape is referenced in orv shockingly often early on.

1. there is the jung heewon backstory - the most neutral and nonproblematic of the depictions of SA but its still pretty.... It's certainly a choice to make your female character's whole premise be "ordinary" gangrape victim (picked up and carried to safety by our Male Protagonist of course) growing into an empowered and strong and badass sword woman with a strong sense of injustice who uses her powers and experience to kill all evil abusers going forward. classic weak-to-strong storyline. "crouching figure" evolves into "judge of evil".

making your female character go through rape AS the start of her arc will always be a tough premise that could be easy to fuck up and make offensive, but it's not like you CAN'T write a story like that and have it still be good. aside from a couple of things, I feel like her character was handled respectfully overall in regards to the rape backstory, perhaps because it's non explicit and basically never brought up again later. mostly approved👍 7.5/10

2. then there's the human slave farms/forced gangrape and murder livestreaming operations, one of which Kim Dokja's old buddy from Minosoft ran (lol) and Han Sooyoung ends up in. her clothes are ripped to the point her underwear is exposed (which is Sexual Assault obviously) and the threat of imminent rape is explicit. once again kim dokja shows up and rescues her heroically, but this moment is subverted when we learn she was just pretending to be unconscious in preparation to strike and kill and everyone so didn't "need" rescuing at all. I guess there's technically nothing to criticize here, its just weirdly more explicit than jung heewon's assault and feels more unnecessary and random. 5/10

3. there is Nirvana who plays into the tired old tropes of Gender Ambiguous/crossdressing men are Crazy Sexual Predators AND Homosexuals are Preying On Straight Men. sigh. These are really bigoted and untrue homophobic ideas that have been used in media to spread bigotry for decades. including a caricature of a queer person like this so thoughtlessly and uncritically sucks and actively harms the queer community bc homophobes STILL use these same long disproven talking points to discriminate against transgender women and drag queens.

especially for a work that is so concerned with deconstructing tropes and storytelling and what it means to write fiction and how it affects reality, they should really know better. ESPECIALLY if the authors plan to gain most of their profit from their overwhelmingly young queer readers that they gained by doing agressive queerbaiting (dont argue you know its true), its just the bare minimum to think it through if youre not playing into really old homophobic shit. anyway.

this particular example is really annoying because I would LOVE nirvana's character otherwise, but this really ruins him and leaves the story A HUNDERED TIMES WORSE OFF wjy did tjey have to write him like this UGH -1000/10. explode

in summary its a really mixed bag of depictions, some worse and some better. there's actually way more examples I want to talk about but that's gonna go in part two of this post eventually

[lyracarvahall]

HeartBeat Sync Part 28

Reunited And It Feels So Good

Mingi and Wooyoung helped Y/N clean up quickly before getting back on track. Wooyoung started pouring extra affection on, sneaking kisses and snuggles when he could. After giggling about the situation, Wooyoung got up again to actually record the track this time. But first, he snuck in one more kiss.

"I love you baby. Your song is amazing but I will be unable to unlink it from that sexy scene I just witnessed. Made a killer sex soundtrack I will tell you that." With that he shot her a wink over his shoulder and walked back into the recording booth. She cackled in laughter at his antics. It was such a relief that tension was gone now. She hoped to get a proper night with him soon.

As Wooyoung slipped on the headphones and properly listened to the reference track one more time, singing quietly to himself, Y/N turned to Mingi, who was squatted next to her chair.

"Thank you for what you did Mingi. I don't know how we got so off-track but thank you for helping set things right. I am sorry our first time together was marked like this." she teared up at the thought of ruining their initial experience.

"Oh baby don't be upset. I think it was sort of epic. I know I will never forget it. I am a romantic but we have plenty of other times to get those moments together. I....I know what anxiety is like and how it can swallow you whole if you let it. The second I felt that from you I had to help." He knelt down, gently grabbing her left hand and traced Yunho's soul mark with his fingertips.

"I felt you so stressed and it hurt my heart. I never want you to suffer even an ounce. I know this was silly and petty in the grand scheme of things but I wanted to keep it from getting worse in any way I could." He picked up her hand and kissed the back of it.

"Alright lovebirds. Let's get this show on the road! I think I have it down this time." Wooyoung shouted from the booth.

Y/N giggled, kissed Mingi on the cheek, releasing his hand. Once she set up the track again, Wooyoung began recording his part. His unique tone gave a sense of urgency to the intro track exactly as she had intended. This was meant to be an intro and a warning of the danger in the tracks to come. A prequel to their track "Panic". After he finished recording, he turned to her.

"Did I do it right? I was trying to capture the danger the lyrics gave."

"Woo, you did perfect. Come here!" Y/N giddily leapt from her seat and ran to Wooyoung as he left the booth. She collided with him in a massive hug. "Damn baby, you like it that much?"

"Woo it was perfect! You captured exactly what I was going for. Thank you!!" Y/N nuzzled into his chest and Wooyoung caught himself melting into her, feeling her absolute joy through the bond.

"I could definitely get used to this, sunshine." He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. She felt his peace and the soul-mark began to burn anew, almost like a reconnection being made between the pair.

Mingi wrapped his long arms around the pair. "Group hug!" He chuckled deeply at their startled reactions to being broken out of their reverie. "I love you both but know the others will be here in a little bit and I should probably get my part done before they get here, yeah? We have to go to sound check later and we should get this done before then. Thankfully we got here early in the morning so we can do a lot."

"Oh! Yeah I almost forgot the concert is tonight and not tomorrow. I will get you set up. Sorry honey." She wiggled out of both of their holds and made way to her laptop to get Mingi's part of the track set up.

"Mingi, whatever you do, promise not to laugh at me."

Mingi looked confused. "Baby, why would I laugh at you?"

Y/N blushed deeply as she explained. "Well, I had to record your reference tracks too. Don't judge my rapping too harshly or anything."

Mingi smiled widely and almost frolicked into the booth. "I am sure it will be fantastic! You are amazing at all that you do."

"While I appreciate your faith, this isn't my strong suit. I threw a couple of song low notes in there too. I hope you don't mind. The into is an 8 person harmony, you included."

Mingi raised his eyebrows, "Now I feel like the one that should tell you singing isn't my strong suit."

"Honey, I love your vocal tone. You should use it more and it will be blended it with everyone else. You will do great. I believe in you."

She could see a look of pride on his face as he slipped on the headphones. Wooyoung made his way to the couch and began playing on his phone. "Gonna order us some food so lunch will be here when Joong and Jongho arrive."

Y/N nodded to Mingi, set up the reference track, and joined Woo on the couch. She placed her head on his shoulder and watched him order the food on his app. "Oh I should let the security guard know that the food is coming!" Both men nodded and Wooyoung followed her out back to the security booth in the front room of the building.

Y/N waved her hand to grab the guards attention. He looked away from the cameras (which thankfully only showed the entrances and hallways) and looked at her. She signed to him Just wanted to let you know that food will be here soon so there will be a delivery driver coming.

The guard looked enthusiastic that she could communicate with him. He signed back Are you deaf?

She shook her head. My grandmother was. I spent a lot of time with her as a child so learned a lot, but sorry if I am a bit rusty.

He smiled back at her. I think you are doing great. Thank you for letting me know about the driver. When will they be here so I can keep an eye out?

Y/N turned to Wooyoung who looked at her surprised. "What is the ETA for the boys and the food?"

"Um...both should be here in about a half hour."

She noticed the guard was able to lip-read what Wooyoung had said and nodded in confirmation.

Thanks again...She read his name tag Terry. Do you have a sign name? My name is Y/N. She showed her sign name.

The guard showed it to her his and smiled. No problem! Let me know if you guys need anything.

Y/N nodded and the pair made their way back to the studio.

"Hold the phone...How did you know how to do that?" Wooyoung looked astounded. Mingi looked confused.

"What happened. Baby are you okay?"

"What HAPPENED was our girl talked IN SIGN LANGUAGE to the guard. Like full convo. It was so cool!"

"Well, like I told Terry, my grandmother was deaf and I stayed a lot at her house when I was a kid. No biggie. Just like learning another language. Anyway, what did you think of the track Mingi?" They could sense she was trying to avoid the topic but decided to let it lie.

"Baby that was AWESOME! I think you are selling yourself short on the whole rapping thing because WOW. Your voice was adorable but your flow? SO COOL!" He looked genuinely proud of her and she should feel his pride through their connection.

Y/N blushed further. "Awww you are so cute!" Wooyoung grabbed Y/N and pulled her down on the couch with him, wrapping his arm around her. Reaching across to restart the track, she was swiftly pulled back down giggling into Wooyoung's eager arms.

Mingi sang some low notes in the intro meant to weave through Yeosang's and Yunho's. His voice was gritty and raw but beautiful. She knew she would have to use it more on future tracks. When his rap part came up, he gave it a fire and passion that was undeniable. It was hard to not be turned on by witnessing it. She realized the pair could feel how she was affected as Woo squeezed her tighter and Mingi had a big smirk on his face.

Once he was done, he exited the booth with the swagger of knowing how he affected her. Kneeling between her legs as she was leaning on the sofa between Woo's legs, he hugged her and placed his head on her belly. Just then, there was a knock on the studio door. Mingi got up to pull up the curtain and let the guy in to place the bunches of food that was ordered on the table in front of them.

Wooyoung served plates to everyone and it was nice. She felt like it was a family dinner, which growing up was never a great experience. She was glad to have found this new family. This new home.

Couldn't imagine it getting any better.

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

Sorry this chapter was a little short. Next part up Sunday❤

Taglist: @vtyb23 @mrsminseochoi @mygsis @nuggiesnuggetdog04 @anni-3 @yeosangsluthousewife

[antler-queen1996]

Can you do adult taivan deciding to get married before Van dies 🥺

•I can Hear the Bells

cw-none, just taivan experience happiness instead of the horrors

A/n- I actually loved this idea and all I could think of was I can hear the bells from hairspray so you guys have to deal with the title but I hope you guys like it also sorry for in inaccuracy I only did I quick search on courthouse weddings 😭😭

Border creds on pinned post

Van held onto Tai’s hand, leaning really she could barely hold herself up; but she it was a mutual thing in here mind.

She was dressed up in her best suit: a white button up with only a few stains in it and black pants. Not the best wedding attire.

That’s right. Wedding. After all these years she found her way back. Taissa Turner. Even if it’s just for a week. A week to live a lie, to hold the wilderness that is one another, in the palm of one’s hand once more, away from the judgmental eyes.

She didn’t care if it was real Tai or her, all she knows is, even if it’s just for a split scene in her life. She had Taissa Turner, the love of her life. The one that in every life time, in every universe would find some irrevocably, unconceivable way to find her.

So they made their way to the justice building, she was hesitant to ask Tai how she got all the right licenses and certificates but she was too, too tired. She finally admitted to herself she was tired. And she needed this.

Vans heart beats rapidly against her chest as she makes her way up the steps, so fast she was sure it would break through.

Tai holds the door open for her, staring longingly; as if she wanted to take a bite out of the red head. They joined hands once more, Tai leading the way.

It was all a blur to Van, as if she was just fast forwarding an old VHS tape, just skipping through the scenes. Until she gets to the most important part.

She had found herself in a room a man in a suit stands next to the two of them. Tia held both her hands now, standing in front of her, brown eyes wide staring at her as hard as she did the first time they met. Her mind wanders back to those memories, the early memories of them, when things were good; as the judge read off something unimportant opposed to her girl. Her Tiassa Turner.

“Now, if you would like to exchange vows?” The judge says looking between the two woman. Tia grips Vans hands harder, clearing her throat; “Vanessa Palmer,” Van cringes at the sound of her whole name, like she’s getting in trouble at schools again. “I’ll never forget the first time I laid my eyes on you, 9th grade Bio class. You were getting into an argument with Jesse Nears who was the better character on some show I couldn’t care less about;” Van smiles at the distinct memory, feigning offense to what her brown-eyed girl had said about her favorite tv show.

“But, all I could think was. Wow, that is one beautiful girl. With hair like fire and eyes like the forest; And that’s all I’ve ever thought since then. I know I’ve made some mistakes.” Tai’s eyes glass over with the glaze of tears, she was right she hurt Van, so much.

Her voice cracks when she tries to speak again, clearing her throat her voice small as whistle. “But I promise, nothing and no one will harm you ever again. Even me.” Her voice trails off her vows ended and Van knows she’s expected to say her piece now. She was worried that when it was her turn she would black out, or worse nothing would come out. Turns out what they said was true at least for her; once you start you can’t stop.

“I have loved you from the very moment I met you, every single part of you, parts. It’s been hard, being without you.” Van chokes up clutching onto Tai who looks into her very soul. Her voice cracks when she speaks up.

“But you’re here now and every step I get closer to death but I’m glad because at least I’m taking them with you. Taissa Turner you are the only woman I have ever truly loved.”

And with that the officiate reads the rest of the marriage contract finally getting to the big moment were he says:

“I may pronounce you, Mrs. And Mrs. Turner-Palmer.”

The sweaty, bald man smiled happily watching the two woman kiss; or more like Tai devouring Van’s face.

Unapologetically Van kisses her back, they’ve had to hide for far too long.